Chita, Not Forgotten...

I think most theater-goers would agree, at least the New Yorkers amongst us, that Chita Rivera is an icon of the Broadway stage. About a month ago I had the pleasure of attending “Chita Rivera: The Dancer’s Life,” her almost-one-woman show that opened on December 11 and closed on Sunday, February 19 after 72 performances. Admittedly the show wasn’t great (although SHE was) and should have had a solid six-month run just from loyal New Yorkers. So where is this missing audience? I have a theory that breaks my own heart, so be warned, it’s liable to hit a bit too close to yours.

I read fairly recently that during the plague years of the 80’s and 90’s nearly 80,000 New Yorkers died of AIDS. This is an awful fact and now here’s my theory about Chita and her show (don’t forget the following statistics are made up out of whole-cloth by me). Out of this 80,000 let’s guess that 60,000 of them were gay men. Of these gay men, 40,000 were patrons of theater in general and Broadway in particular. Go ahead, play with these numbers as you wish but my meaning is clear; there are 30,000-40,000 people missing who should be filling up the empty seats. Although all shows miss this constituency it is the ones like Chita’s and Bea’s and, somewhat, Elaine’s successful foray onto the Broadway boards that reap the consequences. If you aren’t able to reference these names, don’t worry, they were probably before your time. Off-Broadway and Off-Off probably suffer even more.

The next time you go to a Broadway show, take a stretch at intermission (presuming there is one, these days you can never be sure) and count noses. Don’t just look for gay men; look for gay men OF A CERTAIN AGE. Go ahead, don’t be shy, everyone has a certain amount of Gaydar that can be utilized for this little “game.” When I did it at Chita’s show, which was a Saturday night and therefore had few empty seats, it was resoundingly clear to me that there were very few singles or couples (or a gang) of men in their 50’s and 60’s. In the second act, despite the joy of seeing Chita’s performance up close (4th Row Center Orchestra) my heart sank into my shoes and leant more poignancy to the second act than I had counted on. Those tears in my eyes weren’t all from my adoration of the star.

Chita is taking her show on the road and the tour-cities will be announced soon but it’s a shame she has to seek out her audience so soon instead of basking in her glory as a Broadway diva in the city where she became one. Will she be missing her constituency (my contemporaries) on her tour? Depends on the city I suppose, but wherever she goes she deserves our respect and high regard.

JELLY BELLY BLUES

This is not a commercial for jelly beans; this is a blog about excess. Here’s the 49 flavors in question in alphabetical order (feel free to skip to the end): Baby Blue, Blueberry, Bubble Gum, Buttered Popcorn, Cafe Latte, Cantaloupe, Cappuccino, Caramel Apple, Caramel Corn, Chocolate Pudding, Cinnamon, Coconut, Cotton Candy, A&W Cream Soda, Crushed Pineapple, Dr. Pepper, French Vanilla, Grape Jelly, Green Apple, Island Punch, Juicy Pear, Kiwi, Lemon, Lemon Drop, Lemon Lime, Licorice, Mango, Margarita, Orange Juice, Orange Sherbet, Peach, Peanut Butter, Pina Colada, Pink Grapefruit, Plum, Raspberry, Red Apple, A&W Root Beer, Sizzling Cinnamon, Strawberry Cheesecake, Strawberry Daiquiri, Strawberry Jam, Tangerine, Toasted Marshmallow, Top Banana, Tutti-frutti, Watermelon, Wild Blackberry.

These are the flavors of the “gourmet” jelly beans produced by the Jelly Belly Candy Company.

Courtesy of a misguided Valentine’s Day present, I have tried them all individually and some of them mixed and matched. Don’t get me wrong, I love jelly beans and I think the Jelly Belly jelly beans are the best jelly beans in the jelly bean business. Most of the above flavors, however, engender an urgent need to gag. Remember the special candy in the Harry Potter books/movies that can surprise the taster with flavors like barf and hog warts? Jelly Belly seems to have come up with the American version of this same sort of thing. You think you like buttered popcorn; I mean the stuff you get at the movies or in those lovely Orville Redenbacher’s microwavable packages? Well, you can forget that because the jelly bean version is disgusting…it really is. Bubble gum flavor sucks. The root beer sucks, mango sucks…and so does a very high percentage of this list. So what’s up with that?

Because they are labeled “gourmet” and thus presumably aimed at the “adult” market, these guys and girls can foist off basically unpalatable candy at premium prices? Not only do they taste bad but some of them even look weird (presuming weird equals bad) with unidentifiable flecks of clashing colors. At least the visual shouldn’t offend, don’t you think?

Also, because of the huge variety of flavors the list of ingredients on the label is mind-boggling. And who knows what the inadvertent mixing of this stuff can do to your general health? Can’t be good.

Anyway, in the future I’ll stick to the basic Jelly Belly’s and forego the “surprise” flavors, so keep that in mind in case you are moved, next February, to favor me with the new “baked potato” or “tarpaper surprise” flavors. I’m not kiddin’.

The Tunabreath Saloon

Lyrics by Peebstuff; Music by, uh...

Torbin is the ‘tender here
He opens up at noon
He checks the nooks for bodies
And swamps away the gloom

Susannah waits the tables here
And starts her day at three
She opens up the ladies room
Her eyes are deep blue see

There are no swamps in Memphis
Old walls can make you swoon
Relentless in the mornings
At the Tunabreath Saloon

Oh Tunabreath, oh Tunabreath
There’ll never be another
Even though the flower was hot
The day is done and gone
The bloom has passed forever
On the Tunabreath Salon

Nothing ever happens here
It’s quiet and benign
The jukebox has a Joel tune
But mostly Cash and bluesy songs
That no one ever listens to…

And nothing ever happens here
Or nothing that would shock us
Oh sure, it does get raucous here
When all is said and done
It’s liquor does the talkin’ here
But not for 911

There are no swamps in Dallas
Old walls can make you swoon
No malice in the mornings
At the Tunabreath Saloon

Oh Tunabreath, oh Tunabreath
There’ll never be another
Even though the flower was hot
The nights are gone and soon
The bloom will pass forever
On the Tunabreath Saloon