All Roads Lead To This

I love the theatre.

I was a theatre major in college. (Of course, after two years in college, I moved to Israel and then after the army when I enrolled at an Israeli university, I majored in English lit because the stupid school didn’t have a theatre program, and I was three credits shy of my combined BA/MA program when I got irritated and bailed, so I have NO DEGREE IN ANYTHING and I feel the need to share that bit of information with just about EVERY PERSON I MEET which usually leaves them smiling blandly and nodding and surreptitiously stepping away from me.)

Anyway. I was a theatre major in college, and I took a lot of years of voice lessons. My love for the theatre is kind of given, considering how much I love to be the center of attention. I am fairly constantly looking for excuses to sing in front of people, or to run lines from my old stand-up routine.

When I go to see plays, I am generally entranced. When I go to see musicals, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of… jealousy. Every time I see a musical, I spend days afterwards imagining what my life would be like today if I hadn’t gone to Israel.

If I had stayed in school and graduated with a BA in theatre arts. If I had applied to Tisch and been accepted. If I had moved to New York. If I had spent my days auditioning on and off Broadway.

Last night, while the rain poured down outside, I watched Rent on DVD. It was mostly fabulous. Mostly, because of two things. One: I think they should have gotten Jon Bon Jovi to play Roger, although he might have looked a little too old. But probably not. And he would have KICKED ASS. Two: The one line in "La Vie Boheme" about “living with, living with, living with, not dying of” AIDS – a little too much, if you ask me. But the rest was wonderful.

I sat on the couch and cried when Roger left and when he came back, and I got lost in the music for a while and thought about how much fun it would be to act and sing and star, and then the movie ended and I cleaned up the kitchen and checked on the kids and went to bed.

And in the middle of the night, D. came downstairs and climbed into bed with us and put his arm around Mr. WG and told him, “Goodnight, Daddy,” and I thought, That sound is just as sweet as the sound of applause at the end of a show.