waxing poetic about 42nd Street. Never a good sign.

Here's a dumb cell phone picture I took during 42nd Street when I was running wardrobe this summer. I remember thinking what a stupid play it was. But recently I've begun to feel more kindly towards the accursed musical. It is, after all, a story about a young girl who gives up the security of home for the magic of the theater. And she gains a persnickety, loyal and annoying tap dancing family. And I like that she ends up single at the end, with what seems to me like two gay boyfriends. I'm feeling that, innocent, single theater girl in the big city vibe. I came home today humming "young and healthy" under my breath. Could be I've been running wardrobe for too long. I feel like I haven't seen natural light in ages. Joe Turner has come. And Gone.