The humidity-coiffed SJG at Sardi's
This morning, I woke up to the bummer news that "Next Fall," nominated for two Tonys (Best Play, Best Director), will shut its doors at the Helen Hayes on July 4th. I've had the great honor of seeing my dear friend Connie Ray and the gifted cast perform "Next Fall," just for me (and maybe a few others) on two joyous occasions: once off-Broadway, and once on.
Last month, hubby and I sat in the audience, mesmerized on many levels. We marveled at this glorious celebration of dysfunctional relationships, heartache and loss. We marveled at the weird and wondrous way my hair behaved, as well. After much reflection and commentary -- Dear God! Will you look at my hair! What's it doing? -- I can only conclude that my hair needed to express itself. My hair wanted to get right up there on stage with Connie. My hair wanted a role in this magnificent show. I hearby launch a campaign to bring "Next Fall" to Los Angeles, for selfish and humanitarian reasons. I need to see Connie back home where she belongs. And my hair needs a shot at fame, or at the very least, a chance to audition. It better brush up on its lines, just in case.
No comments:
Post a Comment