Pocketful of Show Tunes

Trekking through the snow-covered peaks wasn’t quite climbing Mount Everest, but remained an expedition, nonetheless. Was this a trip to Tibet? Or even Switzerland, you ask? No, this was schlepping it from my apartment to the subway in New York City.

It was truly an adventure, as the sidewalks drowned in a sea of ice and snow. The city had the feel of an Antarctica-like wonderland. Though, the snow was a challenge, it also beautified neighborhoods.

Trees, which lost their leaves in the dead of winter, were re-born. Snow magically painted the deadness with charm. However, the snow would soon play a significant role in my next New York adventure. Like any good New Yorker, I headed to work regardless of weather. I barely made into my train and miraculously found a seat.

My dilemma of the morning was quite intense. “Do I want to listen to Rent?” or should I go with ” Chicago?” Rent it is, I said myself. The 3 train went express, somewhere between from “Out Tonight” and “Today 4 U” (from Rent, naturally), The train stopped. “Oh well, I thought, I have a seat and shit happens. There’s probably train traffic. “Moving on,” I said to myself.

“Uh-oh, something doesn’t feel right,” I proclaimed. The train stood at a standstill. As New Yorkers stared at each other bewildered. My therapist’s voice came to visit me, “just relax and focus on things that make you happy.” I quickly changed songs.

I’ve always loved listening to Carol Channing. Like any good musical theatre aficionado, I put “Hello Dolly” on repeat. “Happy thoughts, happy thoughts,” I said to myself.

“Ladies and gentlemen this train is down due to electrical malfunction. We are trying to figure out a way to get back to 96th street, said the conductor.” There I sat bewildered. “Oh my, the only thing that could make this tolerable would be Carol Channing magically appearing to sing “Hello Dolly” in my honor. Yeah, that didn’t happen.

However, if you’re going to get stuck on the subway with very little ventilation, it’s good to have eye candy.  There they were, the archetype for attractive gay male couples. Of course, they kept they train entertained with their every witty one-liners. They were cute, until reality set in. I was stuck on the subway.

Miraculously, the train returned to 96th street and we were all evacuated. Both the Seventh Avenue lines (downtown/uptown) were down. I decided to bus it crosstown. I navigated through the Upper West Side, which was filled with Ice, snow and slush, oh my. ” Then, while waiting to cross the street. “Splash,” I was covered in ice water. Thanks to a very large SUV.

Nevertheless, I continued the great schlep to 86th street. I found solid snow to walk on, but inevitably there were nice puddle to fall into. I made it to the bus stop. ” Shit, no bus,” I couldn’t wait around, since I was headed to the office. With reluctance, I walked on 86th toward Central Park West.  I jumped on a B train to Rockefeller Center. Quickly, (or as quick as a local train moves) I arrived at (surprise) close to my destination.

I had never been so thrilled to see Midtown and bolted east. After being splashed again with icy/slushy water on Park Avenue, I made it to the office in one piece.

My Life As A Broadway Musical

My inner campy boy just wanted to revel in Broadway musicals. However, my more jaded side fell out of love with them. Mr. Campy pants persisted, tugging at my pea coat begging to play.

For years, I proudly proclaimed, ” I don’t like show tunes.” During my lunch breaks in Times Square, I would walk around unfazed by the extravagant advertisements for the hottest Broadway shows. It made me the gay Scrooge of Times Square. “Bah humbug,” I proudly proclaimed, while passing the theatre marquis. It was a far cry from my youth.

As a teenager, show tunes were a campy escape from my conservative Catholic school upbringing. I secretly daydreamed of performing lavish Broadway numbers to adoring fans. In my head, I was the master of ceremonies from Cabaret, joined the cast of Rent and even tap danced in performance of Chicago.

When I didn’t tap dance and sign autographs for brain cells posing as fans, I eagerly bought tickets to every musical imaginable. One day, I simply lost interest and didn’t appreciate the art of a good show tune.

Then, my alter ego, Mr. Campy pants spoke to my heart. “You’re feeling down and stressed, remember your youth?” he said to me. ” Oh shit, I don’t wanna go there,” I replied. “C’mon, you know you wanna be the Patti Lupone of your brain’s Broadway stage.” he said while throwing Playbills in my face. “The key to happiness is through a song note.” I rolled my eyes “fine, here we go.”

I pulled out my iPhone and listened to the Cabaret music station on Pandora. Something spectacular jammed my brain. Songs from Anything goes, A Chorus Line, Avenue Q, West Side Story and even Phantom of the Opera emerged after years of being buried in the cemetery of quirky interests.

The whimsical show tunes brought me to a land long forgotten about. Sitting in the balcony of a New York theatre, while eagerly anticipating the first musical number. Standing in line for Cats. It even brought me back to that theatre in Madrid, where I watched Cabaret performed entirely in Castilian. Therefore, the music lifted me from a state of perpetual back to a happier time in life.

After a journey into show tunes land, Mr. Campy pants and I felt satisfied. The adventure even tickled my creative senses. It made me think about my life as a musical.

The set would have the Manhattan skyline one side and rugged mountains on the other side signifying my life in New York & California. There would be dancing copy machines, flight attendants and coffee cups.” Oy, I got dumped,” ” I’m nervous, somebody get me coffee,” & ” the Catholic school waltz” would be featured on the soundtrack.

Show tunes has delighted audiences for years. Thanks to Mr. Campy pants for getting me back to a happy place. Today, I have a renewed love of all things Broadway.

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