I didn't make it all the way through the Tony Awards. Not because they weren't ostentatious enough, but because they were a little emotionally overwhelming. I think of the packed audience as the world I'm entering into...and the only room saved for even Jesus is in a musical. No way was I getting let in.
I thought of myself next year, watching the Tonys from a humble apartment I can't afford in Astoria or Washington Heights (omg I could be Nina)...and it felt like high school. I was watching the cool kids who were better than I was at honors night smiling and clapping while I sobbed into my bathrobe because my community production of The Sound of Music in Brooklyn was unfortunately not eligible for even a nomination. I hated those botoxed bitches. Hell the only awards I'll get for the next five years will probably be on a credit card...
...and then the camera went to Brooke Shields and I got to watch the Prom Queen embarrass herself on national television...twice. Poor, stunning Brooke Shields heading back to Broadway with her tail between her legs. It was like she did it for me to say, "Hey kid! I'm pretty and semi-talented and I can't even read but I get invited. There's hope for you yet!"
So maybe I won't be at the Tonys next year, but at least I know this:
I am way funnier and cuter and younger than Neil Patrick Harris and he has to die eventually and then they'll have to come to me.
Here's to hosting,
TJB: Making It
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