I'm off now to midtown, to meet up with Liisa [sic] to go see the Ragtime revival. I will probably have something to say about it tonight or tomorrow, but in the meanwhile, and because this is NaBloPoMo and I haven't posted yet today, here's something I wrote about Ragtime and being fifteen and in love with theatre and new friends:
On our way from the subway, we talked about Ragtime, about being fifteen and driving around after summer theatre singing along with the CD with new theatre friends, or bringing in the sheet music to voice lessons, and having Marin Mazzie kick your ass. We said it was a good thing we were headed to hear music, because even years after my CDs got lost or broken, we were both reciting from memory - My father's at the North Pole with Admiral Peary and Eskimos. Where is your mother? Dead. Edgar... The kind of memory that's going to keep playing the CD in your head whether you like it or not, because the memory's a whole CD, a whole show, not moments or songs, and - God, almost ten years? - every word is still there.To say I'm excited is not an understatement, but too narrow a statement. I am excited and anxious and not sure how I'll make it through without singing along, and also hoping, all my nostalgic attachments aside, that this production is good. (It's like I'm meeting up with a boy I had a crush on in ninth grade... except I don't have to worry that the conversation will be awkward. Because it's a play and I won't be talking to it.) I would like it to be really, really good. I hope I am okay without the giant descending bridge. Fingers crossed.