Yesterday afternoon, I saw "The Understudy" by Theresa Rebeck. It was playing off-Broadway, and the cast was fantastic. I'm not sure how Julie White and Justin Kirk could go wrong anyway, but the surprise was Mark-Paul Gosselaar making his stage debut.
It was a little weird sitting in the same room with my childhood.
You see, for all intents and purposes, "Saved by the Bell" was my childhood.
Seeing any of the six original cast members--even that idiot Dustin Diamond--is like seeing an old toy or one of the eighty year old neighbors I had growing up.
(There weren't any kids in my neighborhood. Boy, you're learning all about my psyche today, aren't you?)
To see someone I essentially grew up with standing onstage doing a good job was a little like seeing a family member doing something well. (Believe me, that doesn't happen often for me.)
I felt overly familiar with MPG. I felt like I'd known him for years. I never get starstruck and mock people who do. I was passing the "A Steady Rain" theater where both sides of the street were clogged with on-lookers wanting to catch a glimpse of Hugh Jackman or Daniel Craig, and I shot looks at everybody I could.
Yet for some reason, when I watch Melissa Joan Hart on "Dancing with the Stars," it's like I'm watching my older sister do the cha cha. It'd odd.
One day I'm hoping I'll write an amazing novel that some producer will want to turn into a movie, and I can demand casting approval. I'll fill a conference room with Raffi, the California Dreams Band, half the New Mickey Mouse Club (the half that aren't Jessica Simpson), three of the kids from Step by Step, Ben Savage, Shari, Lois, Bram, and the elephant.
And yes, I know it wasn't a real elephant.
And no, I don't care.
It was a little weird sitting in the same room with my childhood.
You see, for all intents and purposes, "Saved by the Bell" was my childhood.
Seeing any of the six original cast members--even that idiot Dustin Diamond--is like seeing an old toy or one of the eighty year old neighbors I had growing up.
(There weren't any kids in my neighborhood. Boy, you're learning all about my psyche today, aren't you?)
To see someone I essentially grew up with standing onstage doing a good job was a little like seeing a family member doing something well. (Believe me, that doesn't happen often for me.)
I felt overly familiar with MPG. I felt like I'd known him for years. I never get starstruck and mock people who do. I was passing the "A Steady Rain" theater where both sides of the street were clogged with on-lookers wanting to catch a glimpse of Hugh Jackman or Daniel Craig, and I shot looks at everybody I could.
Yet for some reason, when I watch Melissa Joan Hart on "Dancing with the Stars," it's like I'm watching my older sister do the cha cha. It'd odd.
One day I'm hoping I'll write an amazing novel that some producer will want to turn into a movie, and I can demand casting approval. I'll fill a conference room with Raffi, the California Dreams Band, half the New Mickey Mouse Club (the half that aren't Jessica Simpson), three of the kids from Step by Step, Ben Savage, Shari, Lois, Bram, and the elephant.
And yes, I know it wasn't a real elephant.
And no, I don't care.
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