Thursday, May 24, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Devin!
110 in the Shade Star to Play Metropolitan Room
 |
| Devin Richards |
Devin Richards, who plays Curjith McGlaughlin in the Roundabout Theatre Company's revival of 110 in the Shade, will go it solo at the Metropolitan Room in June.
Richards will play the New York cabaret June 4 at 9:30 PM. Cabaretgoers can expect to hear Richards' renditions of "With Every Breath I Take," "Fever," "Too Darn Hot" and "My Own Voice." The latter is the title of his show and a composition he penned with his musical director Dan Furman.
Richards will be backed by Furman on piano, Ritt Henn on bass, Doug Hinrichs on percussion and John Depinto on synthesizers. Alton Fitzgerald White directs.
On Broadway Devin Richards has been seen in Carousel, Smokey Joe's Café, The Pajama Game, Jesus Christ Superstar and Victor/Victoria. His television credits include "30 Rock," "The Jamie Kennedy Show" and "Law & Order."
The Metropolitan Room is located in Manhattan at 34 West 22nd Street. There is a $20 cover charge and a two-drink minimum. Call (212) 206-0440 for reservations.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Last night, in room 301 at the LGBT Center, the same room where I've spent many a Monday night over the past howevermany years, I learned a little bit more about what LGBT activism really is.
I arrived almost 25 minutes early, for this meeting of the Queer Justice League (it's a temporary name, to be sure), clutching my venti white chocolate mocha. My hesitation, spinning in my mind as I played with the buttons on my cell phone, stemmed from this constant internal dilemma - what do I want to be? Do I want to be an activist? Do I want to participate in actions that could get me arrested for fighting for what's just... what's right? Maybe I could just go and listen. Maybe that will calm me down.
Familiar faces. YES kids. YPC kids. People I knew from the blog-osphere. People I've seen around the Center. I quickly sat down in what was clearly the "kiddie" part of the room (although, I point out to myself, on Monday nights, I'm most comfortable with a far different crowd). I'm chatting with a friend and a very handsome transman, when in walks Larry Kramer.
This, to me, is the pinnacle of the evening. I think back to the lonely nights at Kenyon, right after Dickie died, pouring over Larry's words, his essays, his plays... I think of that moment in the Paul Monette biopic where he and Larry meet at the March on DC in 93... I think about sitting with Leon at the Public Theatre after The Normal Heart, struggling just to breathe. Suddenly, 301 doesn't feel like 301 anymore. Except for the fact that, as ever, it's stiflingly hot. But Larry Kramer is sitting ten feet away from me. He looks my direction, and I smile.
A lot happens at this meeting. Not a lot gets done, but the way in which it all goes down is mind-bloggling. The person sitting next to me (who is genderqueer, and keeps mumbling things about getting rid of the gender binary system) speaks several times, critical of those who of us who aren't really sure we can nail down why we're here. "This is about action," this person says. "This is about the radical homosexual movement."
Okay.
The guys who are here from ACT-UP attack the youth. The youth attack back. We spend 15 minutes talking about whether or not to adopt Robert's Rules. There's no consensus, so we table it. We also table the discussion of what our name is, what we do, and how we're going to be inclusive of all races, ages, genders, orientations, and a whole host of other categories on which someone can be excluded.
Some people stand up and talk about why they've come to the meeting. Everyone has a different reason. People are fed up. People are inspired. People are angry and excited, ready to take the streets. Some issues (like gay marriage, transphobia and AIDS) I am already deeply involved in. Other issues (the right to have a parade permit for more than 50 people) I'm less interested in. It's the last issue that gets people going though. They're going to storm Christine Quinn's office at City Hall next week and get themselves arrested because the city passed a stupid law about the right to assemble without a parade permit. Well, I think, if that's what stirs you.
Larry stands up, towards the end of the meeting. Because I'm sitting directly behind Ann Northrop, I've been in Larry's line of sight the whole night. He speaks softly, about the surge of activity in the last month. Letters from all parts of the globe, wanting to find out about this new group that has spawned out of the renewed interest in ACT UP.
"There is an enormous amount of interest and energy out there. All eyes are on us."
I think about the difference between this group and NYCGMC. There's always so much talk about social change, but this, maybe, is where it's going to happen. I think of the current struggle in the Chorus to define what we WANT. I think of my friends who show up only to sing, who couldn't give a damn about outreach, or about change. I think about how proud everyone was of the number the guys did at Night of 1000 gowns. I wonder how, in the grand perspective of things, that matters at all, the glitz and the glamor and the merriment, when there are wars being fought that we're not weighing in on. We let ourselves be taken advantage of, as long as we're having a good enough time.
Suddenly, I'm uncomfortable with myself for thinking badly of a group that has fostered so much love for me for the past decade. And all the same, I'm frustrated, because why aren't we, as a Chorus, united? Why, instead of focusing on the music and the mission, do we have the constant struggle just to keep people quiet during rehearsal?
I look around the room and wonder how these people in 301 are going to impact my life. If I'm going to let myself get too involved. Could I ever find my way out?
Larry Kramer believed that something had to be done, 20 years ago, in a small apartment where he gathered his friends to start GMHC. What do I believe in?
ALS, 2007
I arrived almost 25 minutes early, for this meeting of the Queer Justice League (it's a temporary name, to be sure), clutching my venti white chocolate mocha. My hesitation, spinning in my mind as I played with the buttons on my cell phone, stemmed from this constant internal dilemma - what do I want to be? Do I want to be an activist? Do I want to participate in actions that could get me arrested for fighting for what's just... what's right? Maybe I could just go and listen. Maybe that will calm me down.
Familiar faces. YES kids. YPC kids. People I knew from the blog-osphere. People I've seen around the Center. I quickly sat down in what was clearly the "kiddie" part of the room (although, I point out to myself, on Monday nights, I'm most comfortable with a far different crowd). I'm chatting with a friend and a very handsome transman, when in walks Larry Kramer.
This, to me, is the pinnacle of the evening. I think back to the lonely nights at Kenyon, right after Dickie died, pouring over Larry's words, his essays, his plays... I think of that moment in the Paul Monette biopic where he and Larry meet at the March on DC in 93... I think about sitting with Leon at the Public Theatre after The Normal Heart, struggling just to breathe. Suddenly, 301 doesn't feel like 301 anymore. Except for the fact that, as ever, it's stiflingly hot. But Larry Kramer is sitting ten feet away from me. He looks my direction, and I smile.
A lot happens at this meeting. Not a lot gets done, but the way in which it all goes down is mind-bloggling. The person sitting next to me (who is genderqueer, and keeps mumbling things about getting rid of the gender binary system) speaks several times, critical of those who of us who aren't really sure we can nail down why we're here. "This is about action," this person says. "This is about the radical homosexual movement."
Okay.
The guys who are here from ACT-UP attack the youth. The youth attack back. We spend 15 minutes talking about whether or not to adopt Robert's Rules. There's no consensus, so we table it. We also table the discussion of what our name is, what we do, and how we're going to be inclusive of all races, ages, genders, orientations, and a whole host of other categories on which someone can be excluded.
Some people stand up and talk about why they've come to the meeting. Everyone has a different reason. People are fed up. People are inspired. People are angry and excited, ready to take the streets. Some issues (like gay marriage, transphobia and AIDS) I am already deeply involved in. Other issues (the right to have a parade permit for more than 50 people) I'm less interested in. It's the last issue that gets people going though. They're going to storm Christine Quinn's office at City Hall next week and get themselves arrested because the city passed a stupid law about the right to assemble without a parade permit. Well, I think, if that's what stirs you.
Larry stands up, towards the end of the meeting. Because I'm sitting directly behind Ann Northrop, I've been in Larry's line of sight the whole night. He speaks softly, about the surge of activity in the last month. Letters from all parts of the globe, wanting to find out about this new group that has spawned out of the renewed interest in ACT UP.
"There is an enormous amount of interest and energy out there. All eyes are on us."
I think about the difference between this group and NYCGMC. There's always so much talk about social change, but this, maybe, is where it's going to happen. I think of the current struggle in the Chorus to define what we WANT. I think of my friends who show up only to sing, who couldn't give a damn about outreach, or about change. I think about how proud everyone was of the number the guys did at Night of 1000 gowns. I wonder how, in the grand perspective of things, that matters at all, the glitz and the glamor and the merriment, when there are wars being fought that we're not weighing in on. We let ourselves be taken advantage of, as long as we're having a good enough time.
Suddenly, I'm uncomfortable with myself for thinking badly of a group that has fostered so much love for me for the past decade. And all the same, I'm frustrated, because why aren't we, as a Chorus, united? Why, instead of focusing on the music and the mission, do we have the constant struggle just to keep people quiet during rehearsal?
I look around the room and wonder how these people in 301 are going to impact my life. If I'm going to let myself get too involved. Could I ever find my way out?
Larry Kramer believed that something had to be done, 20 years ago, in a small apartment where he gathered his friends to start GMHC. What do I believe in?
ALS, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
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