So last night the abortion play closed, to an audience of several, and the results are in, Vanities is no longer the least attended play in recent Love Creek history!

Not that I wanted it to do badly, I'd certainly prefer to make money and sell cupcakes than just sit there for no reason, but if they are going to do badly, it's nice that they had the manners to beat my record of patheticness.

My total audience was 29, including Le, including Philip, including any usher that I flung in, 29 pairs of eyes saw the play. This show? Twenty-one. That is eight more pathetic than me, and it had a larger cast.

I am officially off the hook.

Yesterday, I went running into the deli, hoping against hope that those damn meatballs would be there again, but meatballs were there none.

Actually, meatballs were there some, but not proper meatballs in sauce--Swedish meatballs. In a creamy gravy. I think we all know how I feel about gravy, and if we don't, it's that gravy is icky and I hate it, particularly creamy grey gravy, unless it's on my mother's beef stroganoff.

I got a few, scraping off as much of the gravy as I could, hoping for the magic that was Tuesday's meatballs, but it was not to be. They weren't grotesque, they were okay, but what I want is softball-sized meatballs in sauce, not superball-sized meatballs in gravy, is that too much to ask?

I'm starting to think that I imagined the meatballs. They were the Brigadoon of meatballs.

Next week I'm going to count how many people come into the lobby in a week, exclaiming, "I have never seen this place before and I walk by all the time! How long have you been here?" since it happens so often that I can chorus along with it.

I think it's at least four times a day. I mean, we are a subtle building, but it's not as though it's a secret speakeasy of a theatre, known only to those who knock the secret knock of secrecy, there are posters out front and things.

I'm assuming that in a year or so, every single person in New York will have come in and made that exclamation, then everyone will know about us and we will be the most popular theatre in all the land. Either that, or all new people will move into New York and it will start all over again.

Moira came to the show last night and had a can of Red Bull in her hand. I was curious, so I tasted it, and I'm mildly ashamed to say that I like it. It's kind of like carbonated Hawaiian Punch.

For some reason, I had it in my head that it tasted like meat broth, like a bullion cube. Probably because the rather old-fashioned drink, a Bull Shot, that I learned back in bartending school and never forgot, has beef broth in it.

Anyway, it tasted good, but I wouldn't be seen dead drinking something as flat-out white trash as Red Bull. I have some standards. Not many, but some.

I'm watching SNL, and there was an opening sketch about the whole American Idol who's fucking who scandal, and Paula Abdul came on at the end.

Now normally when an unexpected celebrity shows up during the show, the ovation is so tremendous, they cannot even get the lines out at first! Hilariously, Paula's appearance was to...absolute silence.

I'm thinking that American Idol has jumped the shark.

Also, I do love the racist deaf comedian that Fred Armisen plays. I've said it before, the reason it works is that he can really sign. It's not just that the signs are real, it's that he's a really proficient signer, which means the joke isn't him waving his hands around like Robin Williams, it's that the character he plays is racist, not that he's deaf. It's not easy humour for dumb people (Robin Williams),

On the other hand, Kenan Thompson is a crap interpreter.

And SNL? Please, no more Bear City, please.

One year ago today:
The saddest thing in the show was the commercial for the series finale of Frasier next week. It was all, "Remember us? The other show that's been on for a decade that is ending? Hello? Is this thing on?" Poor Frasier. Nobody cares that it's over.

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