Next to Normal

Chalk another Broadway hit up on my musical scoreboard. Last night, myself and two friends went to "Next to Normal" at Booth Theater on 45th. And it was one of those rare experiences -- most certainly the strongest I've had with a live show -- where I have to admit, in spite of all my macho testosterone hormones pleading me not to, that I was moved.

The score and libretto tell the story of how Diana Goodman (Alice Ripley, Tony Award winner for this role) battles with bipolar disorder and how it affects her suburban family. I have never witnessed such a powerful singing, acting, and story triumvirate. The lead voices were light years beyond what I'd heard on Broadway so far, and the rock opera tunes were funny at times, sad at others, and absolutely gut-wrenching when they needed to be. By the end of Act 1, I didn't see a pair of dry eyes in the theater.

Cover your ears, Elton John, because I really believe "Next to Normal" was robbed of the 2009 Best Musical Tony by "Billy Elliot" (which some of my friends who have seen both shows completely agree). But I guess that happens to the best contenders. There is, however, consolation in knowing that "Next to Normal" is one of only eight Broadway musicals ever to win a prestigious Pulitzer Prize. So take THAT, American Theater Wing.

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Later on, after hanging around the stage door and getting four of the stars' signatures, myself and my friends headed down to the Lower East Side for some after-show food. I was promised the best meatballs and crepes I would ever have.

And Oh. My. God.

The Meatball Shop, despite having the name of a raunchy gay strip club, delivered the tastiest meal I've ordered in New York thus far. The fresh apple salad and mashed meatball sandwich with mushroom sauce was a late night, heavenly Eucharist. And the hot honey-butter crepe that followed was ten bites of delicious coronary heart disease.

At one point between meatball sandwiches and butter crepes, it hit me.

No, not diabetes.

A thought. The thought that my weekends and evenings and interests are definitely different from those of the happy drunks who were rolling by the restaurant windows outside. I mean, it was Saturday night in New York City's Lower East Side. The nightclubs were buzzing, the party buses were bouncing, and all over the sidewalks the boys and girls gone wild were... well, going wild. Meanwhile, I had just finished watching my tenth Broadway show and was happier than I'd been in a long time just sitting and chatting with a couple cool theater friends over meatballs and salad. Don't get me wrong, I love a good party. But last night highlighted the single best thing about New York City: everyone can do whatever they want and have the time of their life.

There is no "weird" or "stupid" or "bad".

There's just diversity. So while what some of us do or who we are might not necessarily be the definition of "normal", there's nothing wrong with leading slightly different, next-to-normal lives, either.