The love continues to grow! My heart now embraces that 50% grey paper stuff and Urinetown: The Musical. (Look at the sky! There's a great big heart there! There's a heart in the sky! It just is, don't ask why! It's the sky!) Pure, absolute genius. It has not out-hearted Bat Boy, but the heart quotient nonetheless remains astronomical. (Renata, have you heard Bat Boy yet? If not, you must) Anyway, regarding the Stardust Diner, it turns out that it was not at all as I imagined. As I wrote in my sketchbook:

At the Stardust Diner... where the ponytailed, poodleskirt-clad waitstaff periodically burst into song. Somehow, I don't think this was the restaurant that employed Jonathan Larson (and lately, Mary Jane Watson). For one thing, it doesn't have that big billboard I remember from my RENT book. Two, no one would here would dare don that skimpy red frock ported by the arachnophilic MJ. No, this is the place for Mama Mia and Mame, rather than Tick, Tick... Boom! and RENT. This is a place where enormous men warble in tenor, and the expectedly Pascalesque sing like Franco Nero.

I later asked an Informed Waiter if this was really Jonathan Larson's former workplace, and he told me that it had closed a while ago. Meh. My pilgrimage had been in vain. But the food was passable, so they are forgiven.

Alas, I decided that the notion of a theatre weekend coinciding with Extra-Credit Week was suicidal, so I decided to nix "Private Lives". Perhaps I can go to the theatre sometime next week and stalk Alan Rickman then. ::nods:: I still want to see "Chicago" on Sunday, though. ::nods:: Instead of theatreing this morning, I slept in and worked my bootie off on a bunch of prettily modeled facial features on my newly beloved 50% grey paper. Gravy, it's wonderful. I'm obsessed with the eye I made. ::stares::

Also, anyone thinking of sending me snails should instead direct them to my home. My parents tell me that I'm moving out of my dorm Wednesday night. Yeep.