Chicago, Chicago!

You remember "Bossanova, Eh?" I've got another gem for you all from deep within the bowel's of Bam's dance class. You're familiar with the Sinatra song, "Chicago?" I am, unfortunately, dancing to it. With your sister, Gabe. Me and Liana are a bad match in every way.

I'm an artist. I can say that with complete conviction. I am an artist. I am a theatrical artist. And I just don't like to leave any piece of art, be it a painting, skit, play, musical or poem unfinished or mediocre. Liana, I'm afraid, has no such scruples.

Time and time again I've had to explain to her the simplest of moves because she doesn't care to concentrate. "No, Li-li. It's hands clasped, next to your cheek. Not hands splayed aboth your head." I know I'm complaining, but I feel like Mme. Giry here! Next I'll be speaking in a pronounced French accent and carrying a gold tipped cane.

As I said, I am an artist, and I consider this dance a piece of art. I'm like Erik in that respect. I cannot stand to have a piece of art done that is less than my absolute best, and I do not accept the concept of impossibility. I'm not like one of those ridiculous people who say "I can do anything if I just believe in myself!" I simply have looked at the facts, thought about it, and rejected the concept of impossibility.

Now, let me tell you about this dance. I think I may have been a bit miscast. I play a - oh my Phantom. Wait. Hold everything! A black lady just passed by in the most amazing hat I've every seen.

I love hats. They're far too underrated nowadays, and hers is simply sublime. Black gauze, in a sort of lovely pillbox pattern, with a pink rose at the top. Granted, it could do without the rose, but -

(Stares at readers, which are dominantly male.) Right. Moving on.

I play a very street-wise, savvy showgirl. Think Velma Kelly.

He had it coming!
He had it coming!
He had it coming all along or something like that!
Et cetera, et cetera,
And they abused us!
It was a murder,
But not a crime!

Now that my Cell Block Tango moment is over, we can contemplate the absolute absurdity of casting me thus. The Hot Box doll in Guys and Dolls was bad enough, I tell you, bad enough. I'll never forget the look on Ben, Gabe and Max's faces when I told them that. Max stared at me a little like Christine stares at Erik during the First Unmasking, Ben screamed "What?!" in that way we know so well, and Gabe opened and shut his mouth, totally in denial. I'm also supposed to be showing Liana's character, a complete hick, around town. (For Liana's character, think Milly the Thoroughly Modern.)

The irony of this is that Liana is a quite popular accepted girl - of the lipgloss miniskirt variety - whereas I am the social equivalent of one of the Untouchables from India.

Oh well. At least this time around I don't have to wear a yellow tutu. . .

Not to say I wore one in Guys and Dolls.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.