Last night L and I went to see "Twelve Angry Men," which was incredible. It made me excited about democracy and the court system, but the play had enough Grisham-esque elements to keep it interesting. It was a good story about underdogs and standing up for what you believe in - a real Atticus Finch kind of work. It was suspenseful, touching, thrilling. At one point, during a particularly nasty character's equally nasty and racist diatribe, somebody else suddenly slammed a chair against a desk and everybody in the audience jumped. The people on the stage froze, in this simmering moment of anger and violence and tension, and nobody made a sound. There were no cell phones or whispering, you could practically hear them breathing on stage. Just these twelve men looking like somebody was about to get beat up. After a long, surprisingly pregnant pause for a play without any female characters, one of the other men said to the nasty guy, "Don't open your filthy mouth again."
Oh, SNAP! It was awesome. It was the greatest bitch-slap beat-down in all of broadway.
Then L got me tipsy, we had some lovely conversation, I made my way back home, James and I watched "Project Runway" and "Road to Stardom" (Put a huuuummp in yo back!), got sundaes at McDonalds, and I was in bed by three. Just another awesome Manhattan Wednesday. Bright lights, big city, homeboy.
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