Here in my little world we go to the theatre. We drink. We smoke. We eat. We take cabs and subways. We go to museums. The list is endless. In my world I review everything that happens to me on the day that I go to the theatre. Nothing is sacrosanct and everything is subject to my contempt or acclamation. Give me the hook or the ovation but remember it's my world and you're just living in it! Welcome to my world...

On Sunday my roommate and I decided to see John Leguizamo's one man show, Freak, a demi-semi-quasi-pseudo autobiographical work in progress. Since tickets were only thirty bucks we decided to charge them and hop a cab for The Atlantic Theater on West Twentieth. When we had arrived we remembered we'd been to this tiny reconstructed old church before. The last production we'd seen there was Minutes From The Blue Route which was forgettable at best. Very so-what-ish.

I'm sure you all remember Leguizamo from such films as To Wong Foo(banal), and Romeo and Juliet (amazing art direction though insipid) as well as Mambo Mouth and Spic-A-Rama (hilarious). Or maybe you saw his apartment in New York Magazine a few weeks back (ingenious camp). Anyway, suffice it to say that although I've never loved a film he was in, I've always loved his performances. Freak, is a raucous trip down memory lane where the pot holes are filled with greasers, micks, wops, krauts and every other ethnic stereotype imaginable. I expected to laugh my ass off. I expected the entire production to be a complete riot but it wasn't, it was also touching. Leguizamo takes us through from his birth to his first role in a way Off-Broadway show and every pit-stop along the way. His masturbation sequence is hilarious as is his first sexual encounter with an old German prostitute who works at Kentucky Fried Chicken. One sequence tells how his gay uncle would take him "second-acting" on Broadway. He tells that it was his first time he'd seen a Hispanic portrayed as anything other than a junkie or a whore. The musical was A Chorus Line and the character was Morales. This he tells us is what inspired him to study with (and later kill) Lee Strasbourg. The most important and often touching vignettes deal with his relationship with his father and his mother's independence. John Leguizamo's performance is a gut-busting, tear-jerking, tour de force and is not to be missed.

After the theatre, we walked over to The Lemon on Park Avenue South between Eighteenth and Nineteenth for dinner. The place looks like one of those barns in a Judy Garland and Andy Rooney film that's been decorated by rotten cadavers of the Spanish Inquisition. Everybody goes there, even Madonna has hosted two parties. Every vacuous model in the city can be seen there discussing Sartre and eyelash curlers over a plate of spring rolls. Hey, maybe they're born with it, maybe it's Maybelline. We started off with the seared rare tuna and calamari (both were delicious). For our entree we split the Chinese mustard salmon with Asian stir-fry which was quite tasty. The chocolate profiteroles were the piece de resistance. I'd throw a my mother in the East River for one of those! Fran Leibowitz loves them almost more than Marlboros. Now that's saying something!

Stuffed to the gills we headed up to Le Colonial on Fifty-Seventh for a cocktail. The place looks like it's right out of a Marguerite Duras novel, very Indo-Chinoise. Although it's decor is lovely it's tiny cocktails are not. When the waitress approached us with two short glasses packed with ice and a quarter filled with Lillet we downed them, threw our money down and ran down the street.

The beautifully designed bar by I.M. Pei at The Four Season's Hotel on Fifty-Seventh is my favourite in our neighborhood. I started off with a Chartreuse and Soda and Stephanie had a Stoli-Raspberry and soda. After we'd thrown those back we decided to choose something from their drink menu. I opted for the "French Martini." It's delicious concoction of Absolut, Chambord, and pineapple sent me reeling. The cocktail is served with a side of dried fruit. In my drunken stupor I asked the waitress, "Hey, are these prunes?" "No, ma'am, they are dried bing cherries." "Oh." After I polished that one off I went to use the Ladies Room. I nearly wiped out at the hostess stand and pulled myself up with one arm. The lady behind the podium looked at me aghast as I busted out laughing in her face. You'd think I'd have gone home after that, wouldn't you? "Have another?" Stephanie asked. "Cheers, thanks a lot!"

I don't even remember staggering home. I do however getting home and writing some rather embarrassing emails. But we needn't get into that.

In closing, if you like John Leguizamo's irreverent sense of humour or are of Latin decent then you need to see Freak before it closes October 18. If you love to rub elbows with the beautiful people and want the best calamari this side of Rome then go to the lemon on Park Avenue South between Eighteenth and Nineteenth. If you want to take a step back in time to French occupied Vietnam, then pop your head in Le Colonial on Fifty-Seventh and run back out. If you love a grand setting where you can sit and get sauced. Then I suggest trying the French Martini at Fifty-Seven/Fifty-Seven in the Four Seasons Hotel. Stop at three, if you want to be able to remember your evening. And never write amorous emails to people when you're drunk-you'll regret it.

See you next Thursday,

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