Believe it or not, I had two such days this weekend. In Nebraska, of all places. For some reason, perhaps years of Kansas relatives telling me so, I thought Nebraska would be a little flat, a little brown, and a little dull. Not so. At least, not the part I saw.

But let me back up. Yes, the scenery was surprisingly lovely, but there were many other parts of this weekend that contributed the blissfulness. First, I had to pick up Irving from his very important, very fancy job. We decided to take my fancy new car on this trip because, well, why wouldn’t we? So I drove down there and met him in the parking. Rather than jet away immediately, he gave me the nickle tour. The best part? Being introduced.

You may find it hard to believe, but at 28 years old I had never been introduced to anyone, ever, as a girlfriend. Imagine my delight when I was introduced to the very fancy coworkers as “girlfriend Kari.” It was pretty cool. I’m feeling pretty cutesy at this point, all girlfriendy and relationshipy, when we decide to hit the road.

I don’t know much about meditation. I’ve never been great at it, in fact. However, something about the drive to Nebraska put me in a practically meditative state. Sure, there was some rotten traffic getting out of Denver, but there was mostly the gentle rocking of a smooth car ride, the quiet sounds of local radio stations, the passing of green fields, and the security of holding hands with someone I really care about. The time passed quickly and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed my view. (Sorry Mom, but it was really nice.)

Not even the attack of the hunger beast, which hit about 45 minutes before reaching our destination and about 45 minutes after the last fast food option, could quell my zen-like state. We arrived and I was blown away by the bluffs and the creeks we drove past, choosing to focus on them rather than the shooting hunger pains.

We arrived in substantially less time than we’d originally allotted, and we were greeted with beer, barbecue beef sandwiches, and really relaxed conversation. Admittedly, I was a little nervous, but I think handing over a freshly made chocolate cake helps one feel more confident about being liked.

After two bottles of beer and two really tasty sandwiches, we all chatted in a comfortable fashion. Irving decided that the lovely bedroom that was all set for us would be too hot, despite his father’s efforts to put in a new ceiling fan before we arrived (actually, I completely agreed with him, but you were not going to catch me saying one word against anything, especially not after beer and delicious sandwiches). Instead, he set up a surprisingly firm and comfortable air mattress in the den downstairs, which was substantially cooler and a very wise choice.

We finally went to bed and I know I slept more soundly than I had in days. We woke up the next morning and his parents and I teased him while he made coffee. Then Irving and I went for a drive. I got to see this amazing national landmark, get my history geek on, and visit a little gift shop. Then we drove around the town and I got a tour with personalized landmarks, such as the hospital he was born in, the school he graduated from, and the grocery store where he had his first job. As someone who’s moved so often as to not have much of a home town, it was wonderful for me to be part of that.

After the drive we stopped home, then went out for burgers. Pretty good burgers, in fact, from a place in business for over 50 years. I hate to use the word quaint because it feels like a lazy cliche, but I really felt that about the town. It was charming. Oh, and because it’s a small town and we kept running into people, there were more girlfriend introductions.

We all ate at home and then there was napping to the sounds of the Food Network. Once we’d rested, we piled in the car and went to a chili cook off and beer garden. Even though we missed most of the chili, we had a blast. Parents and youngsters meandered separately and together. We got sun and met old friends and watched people hula hoop to the notes of Honky Tonk Gal and Mustang Sally. It was everything you’d want from the experience.

We came home again to freshen up. In my case, that meant trying to look less sunburned and more adorable. I settled for a cool rag over my face to wipe off some of the sheen. Then it was off for Mexican food and a pitcher of margaritas. Um, awesome?

We finished the night with a live band, another beer garden, and lots of old friends. More girlfriend introductions, thank you very much. (I know, but it was a really neat experience.) I will confess, though, this was the one moment I had a tremor of concern. At this point, I’d been running around all day, I was sweaty and gross, and I wasn’t wearing anything remotely sparkling, form fitting, or fancy, unlike most of the other girls hanging out and swaying to the music. When we met one of Irv’s old friends and his tiny, skinny, blond girlfriend, I admit I got a little nervous. I had this image of a side conversation consisting of “Dude, you could totally do better. At least get a girl with high heels or something.”

Not one to let a little self image issue ruin an otherwise perfectly wonderful day, I decided to take a deep breath and look at Irving again. He was relaxed, one hand on the small of my back, chatting with all of us and occasionally whispering little jokes to me. Sigh. The man could give “rocking boyfriend” lessons. I’m not kidding. He’s that good at it.

By the time we made it home, we were all sleepy and over heated and very happy. After a shower and some clean clothes, we drifted to sleep.

The next day was hanging out on the couch, eating muffins for breakfast, having grilled steaks for lunch, and bonding with the parents. (At least, I feel we bonded. I’m hoping they think so.) When it was time to leave, we drove to an ice cream parlor/dairy that’s been in business for more than 40 years. I rode out of town with my lime sherbert cone feeling like I couldn’t create a better time in my head if I tried.

We stopped in Denver to see a movie. I admit that part of why I was so on board was because the movie looked good, but a bigger part was that I wasn’t ready to go home and step back into my real life. (By the way, Inception was awesome. You should see it.)

After the movie, we came home and slept.

And that was the abridged version of my two and a half days of Nebraska-born bliss. Pretty amazing.

I’ve always been a big fan. Lately, I’ve become a bigger fan, and I don’t mean that my enthusiasm has grown. As you know from the South Beach postings, I’ve put on a few (dozen) pounds and I’m working them off. Not one to let a little thing like cellulite get in my way, I decided I’d hit the VS in my local mall anyway and find somethings that put my increased self where I belong.

I found lace and string and ruffle and feathers, but when I went to find my size, I couldn’t. I was bemused for a bit and realized that none of the drawers in the store even went up to my size (which, by the way, is only one up from what was on the drawer). Embarrassed and a little self conscious, I decided to bite the bullet and just ask one of the wee, petite things walking around the store with a headset and measuring tape to bring me something from the back.

I stood there, mortified that I’m shopping from the storage room because they don’t put out clothes for people like me in the main room, when the sales girl dropped the next load of self-esteem kryptonite: They don’t carry it anymore.

They don’t carry it!? Are you kidding? As I let it sink in that I’m now officially too big for VS, she added, “Well, you can still get it online.” Oh hell no! I’m too large to fit in your store, I’m too unsightly to be in your place of business, but I can spend my hard-earned dollars from the dingy comfort of my custom-made, big-girl house? I say again, “Oh hell no!”

So here is my call to you: Don’t avoid the stores. That’s what they want us to do. Go to the stores and ask about their sizes. Don’t shop at their website. Call them. Tell them how much we wish we could shop at their stores. Tell them that most of America does not look like Tyra Banks or Heidi Klum or whatever anorexic thing they have on their runway this season.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that obesity isn’t an issue. It is. If I wasn’t uncomfortable being this size, I wouldn’t be living on eggs, almonds, and Laughing Cow cheese. This isn’t about making it ok to be overweight. It’s about making it ok to be yourself. Eventually, I will fit back into the VS standards. In the meantime, when I really need the support (both literally and figuratively), they are backing away.

I’ve included their “Contact Us” links. Contact them! Email, call, and post about it. Tell people. Maybe we can bother them enough that they cave and realize that it’s not fair to withhold sex appeal just because they don’t get that the joy of a chocolate donut is not a sin.

Email Victoria Secret And Tell Them to Bring Back Big Sizes

Call Victoria Secret and Tell Them to Bring Back Big Sizes: 
Sales: 1.800.888.8200, 24 hours a day, 7 days per week
Customer Service: 1.800.411.5116, 8:00 AM EST to 2:00 AM EST, 7 days per week

Fight back, ladies!

I must confess, I did cheat a bit on Sunday. On our nation’s birthday, I withstood cake, cup cakes, potato chips, potato salad, and whipped cream. I walked away from full-sugar soda pop, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, and the many offers of a Jack and Coke (ok, Pepsi but you get the idea). I was so proud. Then came the very impressive fireworks show in Palmer Lake, which would have been more impressive if I hadn’t been outside in the downpouring rain, huddled under a flannel blanket being held aloft by my tall, very nice boyfriend. We stood in a muddy puddle and watched the display while the fact that flannel is far from water proof became more and more obvious.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, the show ended. Faced with trying to get out of the crowded parking lot in the mud and the dark, we decided it would be in our best interest to find O’Malley’s, a little dive bar with great hot wings and cheap beer. Imagine our enthusiasm when, after scaling a hill made entirely of slippery dirt and a few tall weeds, we emerged to find we’d parked directly in front of the bar. Glory Hallelujah!

We thought we were so clever with this brilliant plan. We were so not clever. Or rather, we were, but so were most of the other fireworks watchers. We crept inside, slipped our way through the door blockers, and insinuated ourselves to the bar. Irving, God bless him, asked if I was still going to be dieting. I looked around, shook some rain from my hair, and ordered two Fat Tires*.

We found a place by the juke box, sipped our frothy beverages, and when we left and made our way back down the muddy, weedy, slippery hill, the parking lot was nigh unto empty. We made our escape and made it almost home when a sudden fit of ravenousness lept on top of the car, shook it around, and redirected it towards the local Taco Bell.

I’m not proud. I’m only human. Don’t begrudge me my crunchy taco and burrito supreme. Please?

So I may have stumbled. Sue me. Last night I made beef and veggie skewers with vegetables purchased at a local farmer’s market that same day. I’m back on my South Beach bandwagon and enjoying the view. You see, from up here, I can see that my scale says 4 pounds lighter than last Monday. It may not be a big victory, but a victory is a victory nonetheless.

So that’s my most recent South Beach triumph/failure/triumph. Keep sending your positive dieting thoughts my way. I need the encouragement. And I need dark chocolate. In case you were feeling generous.

*For those who don’t know, Fat Tire is an elixer from the Colorado Beer gods. It’s awesome. And not exactly low-carb. Sigh.

If I did, you would have been subject to much whimpering, some boasting, and a bit of weeping. As I’m back on South Beach, and now have said blog, brace yourselves.

For those who aren’t familiar with it, let me give you the super-short version. For two weeks, you live in sheer carb-less misery. No fruit, no grains, no alcohol, no fun of any kind. Just meat, cheese, green vegetables, and more meat. Also nuts. Yeah. That’s it. After two weeks, you start to slowly integrate healthy options back into your stomach. Things like berries and whole grains and apples can finally show up on your counters again. After you do that forever and you’re finally at a weight that works for you, you just take it easy and try not to get too carried away again.

I did this once before. Over the course of a summer I lost 30 pounds and kept it off for more than a year. Pretty friggin’ impressive, I think. Then, I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Potato pushers. Danish dealers. Carb carriers. I was just a young, mixed up kid. I can’t be held too accountable for my missteps. Right?

So now I’m back to the starting point. This first week of carb-free living is no picnic. Not only are you irritable because you’re dieting, which is an admission that you need to be on a diet, but you’re going through a bit of withdrawal. No sugar? No bread? No pasta? No beer? Gadzooks! No wonder I have a headache and growling in my belly.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not hungry. What I love about the South Beach diet is that you can eat until you’re full. You just have to be careful about what you’re eating. It’s partially the psychological stuff, and partially the physical reaction of giving something you’ve gotten used to. It’s no fun.

But it’s effective. I’ve been on this diet for 2 1/2 days and I’m 2 1/2 pounds lighter than when I started. I’m not looking for miracles, I’m really not, but I want to take more control of my body.

The reason my first attempt was so successful (and every other attempt has been so disastrous), is that the first try was the only one where I had a support system. Johanna and I dieted together. We didn’t want to be the first to cave and let down the other one. We called each other for moral support mid-day. When I nearly ripped the head of a friend for eating a chocolate-covered donut in my presence, Johanna pulled me away to save that friendship and that woman’s life. When Johanna didn’t think she could stand one more salad, we went to Whole Foods for a fabulous antipasta platter instead. It was an essential part of the diet plan that they conveniently left out of the book.

I’ve never had that since we both dropped this diet years ago. Now, I think, I have it again. Irving, dear Irving, is dieting with me. No, he doesn’t think I’m fat. No, I don’t think he’s fat. Still, the unescapable truth is that we have put on weight. It’s not horrific, but it ain’t great.

When we were considering what our options were, I heard the dulcet tones of my sister playing in my ear. When I was in Tennessee for a certain wedding, I mentioned that I looked heavy in the mirror (obviously, hoping for a quick, “That’s nonsense! You look great” the day before putting on a bridesmaid’s dress and walking down an aisle). Her response? “Well, you do eat a lot of bacon.”

Yep.

But then I got to thinking. Was there a way to cling to my bacony preferences and still shed pounds? I thought back to the days of smaller pant sizes and flippy skirts and remembered that there had been bacon. I could have my bacon and eat it too! (It was this or invest in bacon candles and I thought that might adversly affect my furniture.)

So here we are, three days in. Bacon, several salads, and tons of cheese already and the pounds are starting to think about going elsewhere. It’s not going to be easy. I’d mug an old lady for a toasted bagel or some mac and cheese. Still, I think that having the support of Irving, the taste of bacon, and the too-small clothes hanging in the closet will help keep me motivated.

Updates to follow.

Bear – Here is a “guest blog” for your site:

To my daughter Bearski -

Tis Saturday morning, up at 6:30 after bed at 1:30 because no human being except your mother can sleep through the horrendous “I’m extra quiet in the morning” sister as she slams drawers, clinks glasses, and stomps through the house getting ready for work. So now what shall I do I asked myself, mainly because mother was still sleeping through the horrendous daughter onslaught and being alone there was no one else to ask, I know I answered – I’ll prove my number 3 daughter wrong. She may think she is an expert at cooking because she has read the entire Joy of Cooking cover to cover, has more time watching the food network than an airline captain has in the cockpit, and basically has become a self proclaimed (and quite excellent if I may add) self made born to cook chef`, but I am after all – her father and we all know — Father Knows Best.

You see, this quest started on fathers day when all six of my children minus the oldest daughter making it actually 5 came to the house and decided to make dad his favorite breakfast for brunch consisting of bacon – extra crispy of course, biscuits and gravy, fruit and of course southern fried eggs. As they began to cook, the aroma was almost too much to bear. I was swiggin coffee like pig at a trough who wasn’t fed the day before. I was observing with glee and festivity my children as they cooked for, chatted with, and doted on — me. It was incredibly warm, comforting and of course put a huge smile on my face.

Then – quietly, it almost happened – disaster. My youngest daughter (who ya gotta love cuz she’s the baby) opened the fridge and took out —– the wrong eggs. She grabbed the white eggs not the brown. Gadzooks I said to myself (this time because I did not want anyone to hear) she is about to ruin brunch. I quietly slipped over to her and gently whispered into her ear – “Hon – please use the brown eggs as they have a deeper richer taste, they cost more of course but I only buy the best”. (This may be disputed by some in the room with a hearing issue because they may describe it as a rather loud bark of “hey – didn’t I teach you better than to use cheap white eggs? What’s up with that?”) to which my the daughter I’m trying to prove wrong (Remember her? the chef from the beginning of this story?) replied and here is the crux of the story – “sorry to bust your bubble father dear, but there is no difference between them” To which I argued – and quite vehemently mind you – that:

-Brown eggs have a richer flavor,
-it must be more protein in the yolk,
-they are bigger and
-they cost more
-and the different taste makes them a better choice.

She simply replied (and with a smirky smile that says “Oh father dear, I raised you far better than this”) – “Nope, they are the same inside, no difference, only color of the shell”. Well, as I did not wish to spoil the brunch, I secretly vowed that one day, I would prove her wrong on this vital piece of cookery trivia.

And today is the day. So, doing what every father who knows best does, I sat down here at the PC and did what all fathers do – Goggled “Brown eggs v. white eggs” and “which is better, brown eggs or white?”. And to my utter astonishment – and as painfully as this may sound (if you are a father, you may want to skip the rest of this paragraph as it contains words of brutality that may conjure up images that will only sadden you beyond any sense of reality) – it appears, I mean it looks like, Uh, it may be possible, ummm, I have read here, oh my – yes, it appears she may be—– oh hell just say it — “RIGHT.”

How can this be? site after site spewing words destroying a belief I have held since my grandma first slammed a plate of brown eggs in front of me and Gramps said “yep – brown eggs sure make breakfast better” The sites said Brown eggs are brown because chickens with brown feathers and ear lobes lay brown eggs (have you ever seen a brown chicken ear lobe?). There is no difference in protein, the white, the smell and yes even the taste. Simply put, they cost more because the chickens that lay brown eggs are bigger and eat more which of course is passed to – the consumer (like me). NO WAY!!!

Nay I said, Nay. This can not be true. So, with all the brilliance of a dad who simply must be right – I did what all of us males in the house would do – I conducted – an experiment. I cooked one of each, put them on the same plate, cut them up each on their own half, placed the plate in front of me, closed my eyes, spun the plate and with my eyes still closed, I sought to prove all of the “no difference in eggs” pundits on the planet that they were all wrong. I am the king and am always right. My people follow my wisdom – I do not fail them – I lead them into the waters of ….oh what a bunch of crap. The truth is – my daughter rose to the height of Gulliver solving the egg dilemma of Lilliput and simply said – “there is no difference, the eggs are the same, deal with it Daddy” and – she was and is right. They taste the same. I owe you an apology my dear, you are right.

So, Like Tommy finally becoming aware, I will now no longer care about the color of our eggs. I am however off with a vengeance to right the wrong of years gone by. I am off to research lawsuits to see if I can recover extra money spent on those damn brown eggs.

Love Dad

I currently work on the 12th floor of a large building. Twelve flights of stairs is a lot. I know this not just from speculation, but because after one unnecessary fire alarm evacuation I tore down those stairs in my brown heels. This experience is why I stick to elevator.

The thing is, there are elevator perils you don’t necessarily consider until you have to take the lift up to four times a day or more. They come in the form of elevator companions.

For instance, I have a sensitive sniffer. I have issues with my sense of smell and I try to use it more than the average person. (There’s a whole reason for that, but it will get its own post someday after more therapy.) When you have a hard-core smeller, innocuous aromas can get to you. This brings us to the “they can’t tell I was smoking again if I dowse myself with perfume” elevator partner. Oy.

There you are, trapped in an 6×6 room with the scent of menthols clinging to her knit sweater and the fresh burst of perfume she added to cover the smell. Why do people think this is a good plan?

Another travel companion who distresses me is the “cell phone talker.” Admittedly, I use my phone a lot. I’m a big texter. But here’s the thing about elevator cell phone use–you’re most likely going to lose reception, we have nowhere to go to pretend that we’re not listening in, and those walls bounce your bad jokes back to every one of us. It’s a little too personal.

Then there’s the “let’s continue this meeting on the way out” group. This is a group of about six people who all decide to join the elevator with you, squishing you into the corner, which is decidedly unpleasant enough, but even worse if you’re a closeted claustrophobe like myself. Then they keep up an animated discussion that often involves hand guestures that scarcely fit in their conference room, let alone our wee space.

Sometimes you get an off-shoot of this breed with the “buddy, I have to finish this story” type. I really don’t have much of a problem with foul language, but when the guy across the hall insists on dropping his f-bomb stories everytime you leave for lunch, it gets a little old.

I felt the need to share this frustration with you today. I’ve dealt with the “earthy hippy, I ride my bike that I take on the elevator with me and I don’t shave my legs” type, the “I can see that you’re trying to get the door open and even though we’ve made eye contact, I’m just not going to help you” type, and the “I’m not part of your conversation but I feel as though we’re close enough that I can chime in” type.

Me? I’m the “stand in the corner by the numbers, reading a book or texting and hitting my floor over and over in an attempt to get there faster” type. It’s who I am.

Dear Tony Awards® Fan,

My name is Hunter Bell and like you, I am a Tony junkie.

A few days ago the Tony Awards team asked me to reach out to you to talk about why the Tony Awards matter. Now, some of you may be asking, “Hunter, what makes you such a Tony authority? Couldn’t they get Julie Harris?” Well consider this: I am a Broadway writer and performer, I am a former Tony nominee for Best Book of a Musical (for [title of show]…hold for applause), and I have a collection of VCR tapes entitled “Tony Award Highlights 1, 2, and 3” which contains every musical number (and a few scenes from plays) from the Tonys starting with The Act up through the late nineties! Pre-YouTube, people. And yes, I know. That is awesome.

Also, Julie Harris was not available.

Why do the Tony Awards matter?

A few answers popped into my head immediately. They matter because the awards acknowledge talent. That’s good, especially if you’re the one being acknowledged. They also bring the national spotlight to Broadway and theatre, which in turn sells a lot of tickets. That’s good too, for everybody…but those reasons are sort of “business-y” things.

Why do the Tony Awards matter? A few other thoughts popped into my head.

I grew up in the South, in North Carolina and Georgia. I was a creative, awesome little weirdo who loved the theatre. It became my home. It is where I felt safe to be myself, to express myself, and where I found my true friends and my chosen family. I did not live near New York, but I knew about Broadway. How did I know about Broadway? Well, I had my original cast recordings (OCRs for you junkies) and one night a year…I had the Tony Awards. It was my Super Bowl. My Olympics. My night to plop in front of our TV and lose myself in a world of marquees and songs and dances and Bernadette Peters and Gregory Hines and all my favs and watch and dream. I wanted to crawl inside my television box. I remember so vividly being so excited.

The Tonys are more than just Broadway, or even New York. For millions of Americans—especially those that can’t afford to travel to New York and see a show—The Tony Awards are one of the few glimpses to see Broadway come to life. They were for me. The Tony Awards matter because they are the only national telecast that celebrates the theatre community. Think about that. It’s the one night that celebrates our art–our passion–on a national stage. And even more than recognition and celebration, The Tonys are an inspiration to the next generation of theatre fans and performers. I am living proof of that. When I sat watching the awards as a creative, awesome little weirdo in the South, I started dreaming. I discovered my world.

The Tonys matter because theatre matters. Because art matters. As I type this, arts advocates are fighting to keep arts education alive in schools. Celebrating theatre and the arts always matters. Out there on June 13th in every city will be you guys, because you think it matters too.

Of course, as one of our biggest supporters, you already know all this. I’m preaching to the choir, as they say. But because it matters so much, and because the Tonys are so close, I’m writing to you to ask you to help.

“But how can I help, Hunter?” Well, today, and over the next week, take a minute to think about what the Tony Awards mean for you personally, and what they mean for our art, and for culture in general. Think about why they matter. And if you decide that they matter enough to you, think about how you can share that passion and inspiration with your friends and family.

“But then what, Hunter?” Well, more on that in upcoming e-mails! “Upcoming e-mails? Are you gonna be blasting me with more awesome pre-Tony e-mails Hunter?” Well, maybe I am and maybe I am. This first e-mail is to just get your Tony juices flowing. Next week I will be hollering at you with another pre-Tony love e-mail, and then a final one right before the show, with some tips and ideas on how to help connect with your friends and family, and rock an awesome Tony night. I’ll also be revealing how I’ll be spending my Tony night. I think you’ll be interested in that too. Hint: It might involve technology and you. Yes, I know. That does sound awesome.

So the countdown is on people and as the ole cheer goes, “We got spirit yes we do, we got spirit how ’bout you?” I think I’ll go pop in my “Tony Award Highlights 1 tape.” I need to see Liza sing “City Lights.”

Until next time, fellow Tony junkies,

Hunter Bell

I am trying to condense some of my Tony posts into one big Tony post since I’ve been a terrible procrastinator and we’re already only 10 days away. To start with, I have included the list of all of the Tony nominees. (Of course.)

I will be working on adding all of the links and my own personal comments between now and next Sunday. I have to admit to you that I’m actually more excited about the plays this year than the musicals. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll still be freaking out every time someone begins to sing or even looks like they’re about to shuffle across the stage, but the plays this year sound so brilliant that I can’t wait to see them. While I’m only about 7/8ths as excited as usual about the new musicals, the revived musicals are amazing! I love all four of them. I’m about 9/8ths as excited as usual about them this year.

Additionally, I wanted to share with you all my fabulous Tony theme. Ready for it? Have you braced yourself? Are you sitting down? It’s a good one….

BI-COASTAL!

Ya see, a lot (and I mean a lot) of the nominees this year are Hollywood folk taking a twirl on the Great White Way. Normally, I’m not really a fan of blending my Hollywood world and my Broadway world. Still, when the actors are good, when the effort is genuine, and when the performance is top notch, I’m going to be a fan. Besides, most of them are actually actors I’ve loved for a while anyway.

You may be asking yourself, “Self, how does one eat ‘bi-coastally’?” I’ll tell you. My menu is a blend of familiar California-inspired foods and New York-inspired foods. Behold:

California:
- Green salad with citrus fruit, avocado, and rasberry vinaigrette dressing
- Lemon tartlets with fresh berries
- Guacamole and tortilla chips
- Perhaps a wine-infused cake as an homage of the Napa Valley

New York:
- Mini reubens on cocktail rye
- New York-style cheesecake
- Cocktail franks wrapped in puff pastry and served with a mustard dipping sauce
- Considering doing mini apple tarts as an homage to The Big Apple.

Doesn’t that sounds divine? I think so, too. Any suggestions or additions?

And now for the really big stuff–the nominees!

Nominations for the 2010 American Theatre Wing’s Tony Awards®
Presented by The Broadway League and the American Theatre Wing

Best Play

In the Next Room or the vibrator play
Author: Sarah Ruhl
Producers: Lincoln Center Theater, André Bishop, Bernard Gersten
This show looks fantastic. Not only is it an interesting look at the Victorian era, but it’s a new story that doesn’t often get talked about. Come on! It’s subtitled “the vibrator play.” That’s just awesome.

Next Fall
Author: Geoffrey Nauffts
Producers: Elton John and David Furnish, Barbara Manocherian, Richard Willis, Tom Smedes, Carole L. Haber/Chase Mishkin, Ostar, Anthony Barrile, Michael Palitz, Bob Boyett, James Spry/Catherine Schreiber, Probo Productions, Roy Furman, Naked Angels
They didn’t give much information on this one, but I love most any story about faith and love.

Red
Author: John Logan
Producers: Arielle Tepper Madover, Stephanie P. McClelland, Matthew Byam Shaw, Neal Street, Fox Theatricals, Ruth Hendel/Barbara Whitman, Philip Hagemann/Murray Rosenthal, The Donmar Warehouse
It has Alfred Molina. Love him. ‘Nough said.

Time Stands Still
Author: Donald Margulies
Producers: Manhattan Theatre Club, Lynne Meadow, Barry Grove, Nelle Nugent/Wendy Federman
So many of my favorite broadway stars in this one show! And I’ve met one of them.

Best Musical

American Idiot
Producers: Tom Hulce & Ira Pittelman, Ruth and Steven Hendel, Vivek J. Tiwary and Gary Kaplan, Aged in Wood and Burnt Umber, Scott Delman, Latitude Link, HOP Theatricals and Jeffrey Finn, Larry Welk, Bensinger Filerman and Moellenberg Taylor, Allan S. Gordon/Elan V. McAllister, Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Awaken Entertainment, John Pinckard and John Domo
Ok, so I’m all for these fun, “juke box” musicals. I love me some Mamma Mia, I admit it. Still, I’m a little on the fence. Let’s enjoy the moment, but not expect anything too out of this world.

Fela!
Producers: Shawn “Jay-Z” Carter and Will & Jada Pinkett Smith, Ruth & Stephen Hendel, Roy Gabay, Sony Pictures Entertainment, Edward Tyler Nahem, Slava Smolokowski, Chip Meyrelles/Ken Greiner, Douglas G. Smith, Steve Semlitz/Cathy Glaser, Daryl Roth/True Love Productions, Susan Dietz/Mort Swinsky, Knitting Factory Entertainment
A good dance show is important. I actually saw a performance of this show on the Colbert Report and thought it looked outstanding.

Memphis
Producers: Junkyard Dog Productions, Barbara and Buddy Freitag, Marleen and Kenny Alhadeff, Latitude Link, Jim and Susan Blair, Demos Bizar Entertainment, Land Line Productions, Apples and Oranges Productions, Dave Copley, Dancap Productions, Inc., Alex and Katya Lukianov, Tony Ponturo, 2 Guys Productions, Richard Winkler, Lauren Doll, Eric and Marsi Gardiner, Linda and Bill Potter, Broadway Across America, Jocko Productions, Patty Baker, Dan Frishwasser, Bob Bartner/Scott and Kaylin Union, Loraine Boyle/Chase Mishkin, Remmel T. Dickinson/Memphis Orpheum Group, ShadowCatcher Entertainment/Vijay and Sita Vashee
A story of multiracial romance and of rock and roll. Could be awesome.

Million Dollar Quartet
Producers: Relevant Theatricals, John Cossette Productions, American Pop Anthology, Broadway Across America, James L. Nederlander
It’s essentially the story of some of America’s most influential performers. Ever.

Best Book of a Musical

Everyday Rapture
Dick Scanlan and Sherie Rene Scott

Fela!
Jim Lewis & Bill T. Jones

Memphis
Joe DiPietro

Million Dollar Quartet
Colin Escott and Floyd Mutrux

Best Original Score (Music and/or Lyrics) Written for the Theatre

The Addams Family
Music & Lyrics: Andrew Lippa
I love Andrew Lippa’s lyrics and music. He did Wild Party, which is one of my favorite shows. Still, The Addams Family? Really?

Enron
Music: Adam Cork
Lyrics: Lucy Prebble

Fences
Music: Branford Marsalis

Memphis
Music: David Bryan
Lyrics: Joe DiPietro, David Bryan

Best Revival of a Play

Fences
Producers: Carole Shorenstein Hays and Scott Rudin
August Wilson should be on Broadway more often.

Lend Me a Tenor
Producers: The Araca Group, Stuart Thompson, Carl Moellenberg, Rodney Rigby, Olympus Theatricals, Broadway Across America, The Shubert Organization, Wendy Federman/Jamie deRoy/Richard Winkler, Lisa Cartwright, Spring Sirkin, Scott and Brian Zeilinger
A madcap romp! Don’t you love those?

The Royal Family
Producers: Manhattan Theatre Club, Lynne Meadow, Barry Grove
A classic tale of the love of the stage or the love a beau?

A View from the Bridge
Producers: Stuart Thompson, The Araca Group, Jeffrey Finn, Broadway Across America, Olympus Theatricals, Marisa Sechrest, The Weinstein Company, Jon B. Platt, Sonia Friedman Productions/Robert G. Bartner, Mort Swinsky/Joseph Deitch, Adam Zotovich/Ruth Hendel/Orin Wolf, Shelter Island Enterprises, The Shubert Organization
Ok, so I love Arthur Miller and I love Liev Schrieber. Not sure how I feel about Scarlette Johannson.

Best Revival of a Musical

Finian’s Rainbow
Producers: David Richenthal, Jack Viertel, Alan D. Marks, Michael Speyer, Bernard Abrams, David M. Milch, Stephen Moore, Debbie Bisno/Myla Lerner, Jujamcyn Theaters, Melly Garcia, Jamie deRoy, Jon Bierman, Richard Driehaus, Kevin Spirtas, Jay Binder, StageVentures 2009 Limited Partnership
If you can see this movie, you should. Fred Astaire is delightful.

La Cage aux Folles
Producers: Sonia Friedman Productions, David Babani, Barry and Fran Weissler and Edwin W. Schloss, Bob Bartner/Norman Tulchin, Broadway Across America, Matthew Mitchell, Raise The Roof 4 Richard Winkler/Bensinger Taylor/Laudenslager Bergrère, Arelene Scanlan/John O’Boyle, Independent Presenters Network, Olympus Theatricals, Allen Spivak, Jerry Frankel/Bat-Barry Productions, Nederlander Presentations, Inc/Harvey Weinstein, Menier Chocolate Factory
Love this show! I saw it live once and it was breathtaking. Interestingly, this was revived not long ago.

A Little Night Music
Producers: Tom Viertel, Steven Baruch, Marc Routh, Richard Frankel, The Menier Chocolate Factory, Roger Berlind, David Babani, Sonia Friedman Productions, Andrew Fell, Daryl Roth/Jane Bergere, Harvey Weinstein/Raise the Roof 3, Beverly Bartner/Dancap Productions, Inc., Nica Burns/Max Weitzenhoffer, Eric Falkenstein/Anna Czekaj, Jerry Frankel/Ronald Frankel, James D. Stern/Douglas L. Meyer
You already know how I feel about Sondheim. And if you don’t, you should.

Ragtime
Producers: Kevin McCollum, Roy Furman, Scott Delman, Roger Berlind, Max Cooper, Tom Kirdahy/Devlin Elliott, Jeffrey A. Sine, Stephanie P. McClelland, Roy Miller, Lams Productions, Jana Robbins, Sharon Karmazin, Eric Falkenstein/Morris Berchard, RialtoGals Productions, Independent Presenters Network, Held-Haffner Productions, HRH Foundation, Emanuel Azenberg, The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Michael Kaiser, Max Woodward
The original presentation of this show stole my heart and introduced me to some of my favorite stars of all time.

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Play

Jude Law, Hamlet
Alfred Molina, Red
Liev Schreiber, A View from the Bridge
Christopher Walken, A Behanding in Spokane
Denzel Washington, Fences

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play

Viola Davis, Fences
Valerie Harper, Looped
Linda Lavin, Collected Stories
Laura Linney, Time Stands Still
Jan Maxwell, The Royal Family

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical

Kelsey Grammer, La Cage aux Folles
Sean Hayes, Promises, Promises
Douglas Hodge, La Cage aux Folles
Chad Kimball, Memphis
Sahr Ngaujah, Fela!

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical

Kate Baldwin, Finian’s Rainbow
Montego Glover, Memphis
Christiane Noll, Ragtime
Sherie Rene Scott, Everyday Rapture
Catherine Zeta-Jones, A Little Night Music

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Play

David Alan Grier, Race
Stephen McKinley Henderson, Fences
Jon Michael Hill, Superior Donuts
Stephen Kunken, Enron
Eddie Redmayne, Red

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Play

Maria Dizzia, In the Next Room or the vibrator play
Rosemary Harris, The Royal Family
Jessica Hecht, A View from the Bridge
Scarlett Johansson, A View from the Bridge
Jan Maxwell, Lend Me a Tenor

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical

Kevin Chamberlin, The Addams Family
Robin De Jesús, La Cage aux Folles
Christopher Fitzgerald, Finian’s Rainbow
Levi Kreis, Million Dollar Quartet
Bobby Steggert, Ragtime

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Musical

Barbara Cook, Sondheim on Sondheim
Katie Finneran, Promises, Promises
Angela Lansbury, A Little Night Music
Karine Plantadit, Come Fly Away
Lillias White, Fela!

Best Scenic Design of a Play

John Lee Beatty, The Royal Family
Alexander Dodge, Present Laughter
Santo Loquasto, Fences
Christopher Oram, Red

Best Scenic Design of a Musical

Marina Draghici, Fela!
Christine Jones, American Idiot
Derek McLane, Ragtime
Tim Shortall, La Cage aux Folles

Best Costume Design of a Play

Martin Pakledinaz, Lend Me a Tenor
Constanza Romero, Fences
David Zinn, In the Next Room or the vibrator play
Catherine Zuber, The Royal Family

Best Costume Design of a Musical

Marina Draghici, Fela!
Paul Tazewell, Memphis
Matthew Wright, La Cage aux Folles

Best Lighting Design of a Play

Neil Austin, Hamlet
Neil Austin, Red
Mark Henderson, Enron
Brian MacDevitt, Fences

Best Lighting Design of a Musical

Kevin Adams, American Idiot
Donald Holder, Ragtime
Nick Richings, La Cage aux Folles
Robert Wierzel, Fela!

Best Sound Design of a Play

Acme Sound Partners, Fences
Adam Cork, Enron
Adam Cork, Red
Scott Lehrer, A View from the Bridge

Best Sound Design of a Musical

Jonathan Deans, La Cage aux Folles
Robert Kaplowitz, Fela!
Dan Moses Schreier and Gareth Owen, A Little Night Music
Dan Moses Schreier, Sondheim on Sondheim

Best Direction of a Play

Michael Grandage, Red
Sheryl Kaller, Next Fall
Kenny Leon, Fences
Gregory Mosher, A View from the Bridge

Best Direction of a Musical

Christopher Ashley, Memphis
Marcia Milgrom Dodge, Ragtime
Terry Johnson, La Cage aux Folles
Bill T. Jones, Fela!

Best Choreography

Rob Ashford, Promises, Promises
Bill T. Jones, Fela!
Lynne Page, La Cage aux Folles
Twyla Tharp, Come Fly Away

Best Orchestrations

Jason Carr, La Cage aux Folles
Aaron Johnson, Fela!
Jonathan Tunick, Promises, Promises
Daryl Waters & David Bryan, Memphis

* * *

Special Tony Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Theatre
Alan Ayckbourn
Marian Seldes

Regional Theatre Tony Award
The Eugene O’Neill Theater Center, Waterford, Connecticut

Isabelle Stevenson Award
David Hyde Pierce

Tony Honor for Excellence in the Theatre
Alliance of Resident Theatres/New York
B.H. Barry
Midtown North & Midtown South New York City Police Precincts
Tom Viola

Tony Nominations by Production

Fela! – 11
La Cage aux Folles – 11
Fences – 10
Memphis – 8
Red – 7
Ragtime – 6
A View from the Bridge – 6
The Royal Family – 5
Enron – 4
A Little Night Music – 4
Promises, Promises – 4
American Idiot – 3
Finian’s Rainbow – 3
In the Next Room or the vibrator play – 3
Lend Me a Tenor – 3
Million Dollar Quartet – 3
The Addams Family – 2
Come Fly Away – 2
Everyday Rapture – 2
Hamlet – 2
Next Fall – 2
Sondheim on Sondheim – 2
Time Stands Still – 2
A Behanding in Spokane – 1
Collected Stories – 1
Looped – 1
Present Laughter – 1
Race – 1
Superior Donuts – 1

www.TonyAwards.com

There was a play. A personal crisis. Another play. A new job. Another play. A wedding. A move. Another wedding. A dead transmission. And this month we have another wedding, a graduation, and a potential personal crisis.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to say that this has even been that bad of a year. I’ve had many good things so far in 2010. They just happen to be big things, you know?

Something I’ve noticed this year is how, occasionally, a very big thing can come from a very small person. People who are petty, vindictive, or mean-spirited can manage, with surprisingly little effort, to really try and tear things up for other people.

I guess I’m naive, but I don’t understand it. I don’t understand the draw of hurting someone just to be hurtful. I’ve seen it several times and from several people this year. Men and women, younger and older. It doesn’t seem to be relegated to any type or race or religion. It’s just something that pops up in people unexpectedly.

And it’s sort of like finding out that you’re susceptible to a rare genetic disorder after being healthy for your whole life. There was no real way to see it coming.

Did you know that it was Tony Nomination Week? I did. I got my Tony nominations emailed to me and everything. And have I posted about it? Has there been even one squeal of disproportionate, girlish delight? No. You can be darn sure that it had to be something big to get in my way if it’s overshadowing Tony Nomination Week.

I think that I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by the enormity of 2010. It’s almost like it’s a perfect storm. You know what that is, right? There was even a George Clooney movie about it a few years ago. It’s when several rare meteorological instances occur at once, creating a storm of intense magnitude. I think I feel like maybe I’m on the edge of that perfect storm. So many things are swirling around right now that it’s possible that the storm may collide and create untold damage. Or, possibly, things will dissipate and the air will have that great “just rained” smell.

I’ll try to keep you posted, one way or the other.

Yes, it seems like a tough thing to know just from looking at people, but there are ways to check. For instance, everytime you go to the salon, your hair dresser can sign a form, which must be notarized, saying that your hair is still natural. As long as you carry this form, you should be fine.

Now, we don’t want these unnatural folks walking the streets with the natural types, but how can we tell? A good dye job looks natural from a distance, and even natural hair can look a little wonky from time to time. It’s simple! We’ll create a new police division who are tasked solely with hunting down the hair deceivers.

Sure, it seems like it would be a little unfair. What if your highlights are the honest result of too much time in the sun? What if your family is blonde and you just happen to be a natural brunette? Just keep your papers handy and all will be well.

Of course, if you get arrested, taken into custody, and have your head shaved against your will, it’s all in the name of keeping our streets pure, isn’t it? A small price to pay to keep those filthy hair liars out of our community.

Besides, it’s just hair. It’s not like I’m suggesting we force a minority population to walk around with their immigration papers, basically granting the police the right to accost any and every person of color they could conceivably accuse of being an illegal immigrant under the pain of arrest and fines. And it’s not like I’m suggesting we engage in state-mandated racial profiling or a Gestapo-like police state in which any citizen can be harrassed and even arrested simply for not being able to immediately produce papers.

Hey, here’s an idea! Why don’t we just set it up where those with chemically treated hair have to wear some sort of indicator? Like a pair of scissors pinned to their clothes? Then they won’t need to worry about that silly paperwork. We’ll know who they are from a distance.

You’re right, you’re right. It’s insane. It’s the first step to a terrifying reality in which our state governments can legally violate our rights and our privacy and in which no citizen is truly safe. We don’t want that. Do we, Arizona?