{broadway and times square and a dangerous diner}

We got these cheap tickets for a Broadway show called Newsies. The whole thing started off slow, but then there was tap-dancing and cool choreography and pretty decent high notes, and then the story sucked me in and I fully took up the cause of the paperboys in my heart and felt absolutely destroyed about it when the one kid got beat up and maybe even cried just a little sobbed through that one song, and somewhere in the middle I went from "hooked" to "I WANT TO BE A BROADWAY STAR MORE THAN I'VE EVER WANTED ANYTHING ELSE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE."

"EVER."

I get all caught up in stuff like that. If something's awesome, I feel this intense need to be part of it. Like those phases that teenagers go through, but it's no longer cute or justified since I'm 25 now. It's just alarming, probably, to those around me.

Nonetheless, I made it safely through my Broadway Star Phase, and don't really miss it all that much.

After the show, it was maybe 11 PM, and we decided to go for supper before searching for something else to do. Because, you'll remember, I was hanging out with a bunch of college kids. And even though 25 isn't really that much older than 21, if your bedtime inches forward even 15 seconds every day, that's 365 minutes every four years, which is something like six hours, altogether {right?}. So, you know, they didn't feel the need to go to bed till like four in the morning, where my friends back home usually bow out around ten. Because of that dang 15 second rule and, I guess, because of jobs and families and stuff like that that we didn't have to worry about four years ago.

And it was fun. I liked it. I took it for granted when I was in it that for the rest of my life I'd be able to run on two hours of sleep and a fifteen-minute nap, so this was kind of a weird little opportunity to turn back the clock and be 21 again for a week. If you ever have a chance to jump on a plane with a bunch of college kids and go to a city where everything stays open all night, absolutely go.

Anyway. We wandered through Times Square to see if there was anyplace good to eat. It was the middle of the night but it was as bright as day. I was leery of the adult-sized, grungy-looking Elmo walking around, the naked cowboy playing guitar, the flashing billboards, and the complete lack of personal space, but there is something, I guess, about being in Times Square. Which is funny, because aside from the giant ferris wheel in the Toys R Us, there really isn't that much going on in the square itself...just a lot of walking and yelling and picture-taking and advertising. A lot of hype. 
We finally found this place called Ellen's Stardust Diner where the waiters and waitresses sing to you while you eat. It sounds great, but it was pretty loud and our server was an angry guy who kept slamming stuff on the table and yelling at people and never smiling, and he got into this weird fight with a waitress and sprayed ketchup all over her and then she threw a handful of silverware at him. Right in front of our table. He never refilled my water, either.

The whole thing was a tad unprofessional, I thought. It might have even affected my tip, if 20% gratuities weren't included in the bill already. I wanted to write something snarky on the bill like, "The sweet potato fries were good, but totally not worth a fork in the face."