The Producers, Opening Night, and Shakahspeeere.

Heh, heh, heh. Don't Nathan and Matthew look cute?

Leo Bloom might be God.

Actually, that would bode really ill for the world.

But just imagine if Max was God. Or Ulla. She'd paint everyone white.

Opening night! Opening night! It's opening niiiight! It's Max Bialystock's latest show, will it flop or will it go? (Ahem.)

The Producers aside, tonight was the opening night of my show, five o'clock sharp. (I know, I know, why didn't I tell you. . .the truth is I'm more languid and I-don't-want-to-get-out-of-bed-I-hate-life these days than usual.) It was only for natives of the area, so you guys couldn't have come. What we usually do is two shows for natives of the area, two shows for y'all. Only one show each this time, I'm afraid. Ah well.

But aside from the major Producers withdrawal that I'm going through - don't laugh. I said don't laugh. I seriously need my daily dose of Matthew Broderick. (I am way fonder of him than can possibly be healthy.) Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick are God. Seriously. And I need the Producers. Badly.

So yes. Opening night. Squee for us.

It went fairly well. My Portia monolouge was such a rush, not to mention Mercutio. Damn, that was fun. And the play I wrote, a sendup of Brokeback Mountain called Brokeback Mafia, was fairly well recieved. Squee.

That will be all.

Quote of the Day

"A secretary that doesn't speak English? But Max, what will people say?"

"They'll say bowowoowowoaw!"

- The Producers. Good stuff, Nathan.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.