Oct. 1, 2011.
Not that this is a secret, but I have never felt the need to come out as badly as I do right now. I’m going to say it. I watch Glee, and I like it. I absolutely adore Chris Colfer and Darren Criss and their characters and I know fans (e.g. me) call them Klaine (Kurt+Blaine, anyone?) and I have a Lima Bean thermo and a Comic-Con poster signed by Darren Criss and all that jazz. There, I said it. I no longer hold any secret from the world.
But tonight. Tonight I left the New Yorker festival in SVA Theater (23rd St. and 8th Av.). True to this blog’s name, this entry is being scribbled on a Greyhound bus back to Philadelphia. That’s one great thing about Philly, actually. You are welcome to stay and enjoy all the city has to offer, or you can hop on a bus and find yourself in New York or Washington D.C in two hours.
This Saturday was originally a relatively spontaneous trip designed only five days in advance, when one of my good friends from middle school admitted that he had never seen Broadway in all its whimsical glory. Well, how is a theater-fanatic supposed to respond to that? Naturally, I went right ahead and planned a 2-person Broadway trip, complete with bus tickets, restaurant details, and coordinated outfits (so maybe I told him to dress semi-formal because it’s theater, sue me). Mamma Mia! was “introductory” enough for “fresh blood”, and though the audience average age is decidedly on par with my grandparents’, I knew we would waltz out of Winter Garden Theater dancing and singing “My, my, how do I resist you” out loud (which, fyi, did happen, and I didn’t even feel embarrassed).
And then Chris Colfer had to go and tweet about his upcoming appearance on Saturday at the New Yorker Festival. “Chris Colfer talks with Susan Morrison” was at 7pm, which was perfect after a matinee and a quick dinner. The New Yorker, however, decides to sell tickets to the all festival events on Friday from 12 to 4. Any of my friends would tell you, I don’t do anything half way.
When I looked at the long line for rush tickets before the event today and the completely packed auditorium, I was just glad I dashed out of Bryn Mawr Hospital on Friday and just left for New York in hopes of securing myself a seat in the same room as Chris Colfer.
Colfer is something I have never seen on Hollywood screen. He doesn’t have the stoic classic beauty of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, etc. (I honestly have never seen the appeal). He sports a genuine baby face, complete with high-pitched voice and giggly laughs. There really isn’t a reason for this boy to captivate so many people across the globe, but god he does. Colfer and his toothy smiles and little witty remarks and incredible, incredible courage, despite his insistence to the contrary. (When his high school bullies sneered at him “How’s sex with men like?” he would yell back “Don’t you remember?” and seriously, who dares to do that days after days?).
For an hour and a half, I sat and listened to everything from what it means to go from Clovis, California to billboards in Times Square, to how putting on a leotard makes him look like a chicken in spandex. When a friend I hadn’t talked to for months called me in the middle of the show, I picked up and kept the line open because she wouldn’t have survived her 17th birthday without telling herself “It gets better” every day.
When Susan Morrison asked what dream roles would he like to play on Broadway some day, Chris Colfer said “I haven’t written them yet.”
8.45pm of Saturday saw me wandering out of SVA Theater with a permanent and perhaps slightly delirious grin. So maybe I was still running a bit of a fever and still have a 2.5hours trip back to Bryn Mawr ahead. So maybe I have production of an entire newspaper tomorrow. But it’s worth it. Broadway and Chris Colfer are worth at least a weekend, aren’t they? (I quote my friend Morgan, “you have problems, child. Problems.”)
