Joe and I are alive and well and living at the Marriott Marquis de Sade Hotel in Manhattan. (The one with the super-high-tech elevators that leave you stranded for an hour, so you can miss your curtain time for a show accross the street.)
Joe is napping, and I slipped over to an Internet Cafe (the first time I've ever used one of these here things) to try to catch up on the posts about our wonderful NY hainesy/kimlet gathering and the Divine Miss O's show. I'm still only up to Friday's posts, alas and alack, but decided to break my usual rule and cut to the chase.
I will add my own observations about the festivities once I read everyone else's. But for now...
PennyO: Remember what Nabokov said. When you publish a novel, the critics fall all over themselves trying to prove it is autobiographical. When you write your autobiography, they insist it is all fiction.
Caught BK's close personal friend Dame Edna on Sunday. As we were in the first row, albeit out on the end, we did not escape entirely unscathed. She observed that Joe was here with his "grandfather", elderly and highly medicated. "He doesn't understand what's happening, but he notices the color and the movement," she said, shaking her beaded miniskirt in my direction.
Sunday we dined with DR Jose at Barrymore's, as I assume he has reported. We had planned to get together once eight years ago when he was in town playing auditions, but he was called suddenly back to Washington. So this was the Long Expected Partay.
I do not exaggerate when I say that this gentleman is a delightful conversationalist and amazingly modest about his considerable musical talents.
Last night DR and Wussburger Jason joined us at Angus. It was a treat to finallly meet him and catch up on his life. He has moved from his famous mouse-infested digs in Brooklyn to a nicer place in Astoria. Is busy busy busy, and regrets that he could not join our festivities last weekend, but he was ushering at the Met both nights.
More news later. Time to wake up Joe and plan for Hairspray tonight.