They're dimming the lights tonight on Broadway. Wendy Wasserstein, the playwright who chronicled the hopes and despairs of a generation of women, and in so doing won every top award the theatre has to offer, died yesterday at the age of 55. She had been battling lymphoma for a while, the obituaries say, yet that didn't stop her from shepherding her last play, Third, through its off-Broadway run at Lincoln Center. She first came to the attention of the theatrical world when the play she wrote as her college thesis -- Uncommon Women and Others -- was optioned and produced off-Broadway. After that came a succession of hits: Isn't It Romantic; An American Daughter; and the play that won her the Tony Award and the Pulitzer Prize, The Heidi Chronicles. She also wrote for the screen, and at the time of her death was working on a musicalization of her chidren's book Pamela's First Musical. She leaves behind her body of work; her daughter, Lucy Jane, born when Wasserstein was 48; her surviving family members; and a Broadway that will surely, and sorely, miss all the plays she had still within her.

Coretta Scott King. Just saying the name evokes the image of the strong woman who endured her husband's assassination almost 40 years ago, raised their four children, made sure his legacy and his name would never be forgotten -- and in so doing, became the "first lady of the human rights movement". I will remember her as one of the few leaders of the black civil rights community who stood up and openly declared that gays and lesbians and bisexuals and the transgendered also had civil rights that had to be fought for. She put her reputation and her name on the line to support us time and again. Her loss leaves a hole almost as big -- no, I'll say bigger -- than that left at her husband's death.

Happiness is...: Taking the train into New York City. Walking around the Lincoln Square area in a light rain -- enough to get your coat wet, but not enough to turn you into one of the orphans of the storm. Discovering a crowded little restaurant with nice hot coffee and chocolate cake and apple pie with crumbs on top. Finding a store called "The Sensuous Bean" and walking into a wonderland of coffees (does anything smell better than coffee?) and imported honeys and chocolates and caramels and teas. Being with someone you love while doing all of this.

Happiness is not...: Yesterday was the last day of operation for Barrymore's, my favorite theatre district restaurant. I've been going there for over 35 years. I've taken all four of my lovers there, plus assorted friends, plus my sister. The food was good (especially the chicken pot pie), the prices were moderate (well, for NYC), the staff without exception friendly and welcoming and dedicated to good service (and getting you out in time to make that curtain). Bill-the-honeybear and I were there this past Friday for dinner, and to say the joint was jumpin' doesn't begin to tell you what it was like. I had already decided that I would be there for one last time on the day it was closing, for one last meal, one last good-bye.

Mistake. We walked in to find the place empty. Only one waitperson who was doubling as bartender. The only food available was open roast beef sandwiches (without french fries!) or eggs. No beer at the bar, either. All the menus had been taken (or stolen, depending on who you talked to). The remaining contents of the place would be sold at auction on Tuesday. We walked out, took a picture or two of the exterior, then went around the corner and had lunch. I'm gonna pretend I wasn't there on Sunday. Friday will be my last memory of Barrymore's -- a wonderful place that has no place anymore in the redeveloping theatre district.

Oh, it's a long, long time... Especially since I last posted, over a year ago. So much has been going on that I just haven't had time to tell you about, so I'll be making up for it now.

Listen to the rain on the roof: The first Big House Thing to get done this year was the replacement of the roof and gutters. The gutters should have been done when we first moved in -- they were decrepit, with missing sections and ends that just, well, ended without going anywhere (which doesn't help the basement stay dry or the water stop dripping on you when you walk down the front steps). We now have a beautiful blue roof that won't need to be looked at again for, oh, 30 years or so. Note to self: hire gutter cleaners each year.

But when hunger comes a rat-tat-a-tat at the windows: Well, there's no denying it -- the windows in this house are strictly from hunger. We redid eight of them this year: the three in the living room, the two at the top and bottom of the stairs, and the three in the dining room. Six were replaced outright, while two in the dining room were removed and replaced with a huge garden window. Now all the plants are out of the kitchen (thankyewJeezus), and the bonus in extra light and space in the dining room is an unexpected pleasure -- we never knew the view out the back was so good before! The next ones to get done will be the ten windows in the sun room, sometime during this year (hopefully in the summer and not the fall -- don't know why, but our window replacements have always been in October, and we always just beat the onslaught of bad weather).

Our house is a very very very fine house: At least that's what a bunch of carpenter ants thought. When measurements for the windows were being done, damage was spotted along one dining room window and wall (facing the left side of the house). We called in an exterminator recommended by friends of ours, and the verdict was carpenter ants (not termites, thank God). The exterminator said that because the walls were wet with rain (those damn gutters, remember?) not only did the ants feel welcome, the interior walls sustained some damage too. Anyway, the house was treated, the carpenter ants are gone, and the wall will be first on our repair list this year, hopefully in the spring.

When you're racing with the clock: This was my first year editing Challenge, the newsletter of the Gay Activist Alliance in Morris County (or GAAMC). My last editing job, in junior high school, resulted in a year in which no school newspaper was printed -- which didn't exactly bolster my confidence in handling anything of an editorial nature. Still, I volunteered for the job -- and whaddaya know, I made it happen, ten times this year, on time and in the mail to the members before the start of the new month! Along the way I learned more about editing (including the fine art of editing other people's work without having them kill you), practically everything about working with a printer (the always-helpful folks at FedExKinko's), and a lot about mailing and distribution. I also created editorial policy from scratch, including the "house style" and rules for submission and complimentary subscriptions. The February issue, which was mailed off last Monday, marked the end of my first year. To say I'm proud of myself for doing this is an understatement. To say that other people are proud of me (including Bill-the-Honeybear, who gets to see everything as it's coming together) and telling me how good the newsletter is, is only relaying what I'm being told.

I think I'm smart: Well, at least I'm in Mensa. This month marked the start of my term as Chairman of the Gay and Lesbian Special Interest Group (or GaySIG), one of the largest SIGs in Mensa. As Chairman, one of my duties is to write a column for the SIG newsletter, LeGambit. Which means while I'm cracking the whip over deadlines with Challenge, there's another editor cracking the deadline whip over me! (grumble, grumble, growl) It's also one of my duties to run the SIG Hospitality Suite at the Annual Gatherings. This year should be fun, since we're going to be at Walt Disney World in Orlando -- in August. The world's smartest people, and we're meeting in bloody humid central Florida. Go figure.

Bit by bit, putting it together: I've volunteered to put together a guide to Disney for the Mensans attending the AG (actually WG, for World Gathering, since this year marks the 60th anniversary of Mensa worldwide). I have been working with an intellectual property lawyer to draw up a licensing contract for Mensa to use my work, which I have copyrighted, including the work's name, which I have trademarked: The Pooka Guide. For those who don't know, "the Pooka" was a nickname given to my first (now deceased) lover, a magical sort of man -- and a Pooka is a magical sort of creature. (The giant invisible rabbit in "Harvey" was a Pooka.) I should have a contract sent off to American Mensa by the beginning of February. Oh, yes, the consideration (what I'm asking to be paid for all this)? One dollar.

Another openin', another show: Well, only the latest ones. On Broadway for the last week in December, I saw: Fiddler on the Roof, the revival, with Harvey Fierstein and Rosie O'Donnell as Tevye and his wife Golde. Yes, the original show about traditional family values, with a gay man and a lesbian in the leads. And they were wonderful, as was the entire production. The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee is a riot -- yes, it's a musical, and yes, it's about a spelling bee, and yes, they take four volunteers from the audience to join in the fun on stage, and yes, it's probably the funniest and most touching thing you'll see. It's not in the "hock your grandmother and buy tickets" category, but it comes close. Chita Rivera: The Dancer's Life was the disappointment. Yes, she's 72, so she ain't doing those high kicks and high energy routines, but she still can move (watching her demonstrate different choreographers' styles is a master class in stage dancing). But the show's book -- Chita reminscing about her life -- falls flat, which is a pity considering all the shows she's done (including the original West Side Story and Bye Bye Birdie, and her last big hit, Kiss of the Spider Woman) and all the people she's known and worked with. But the rest of the audience adored it. The revival of Sweeney Todd was weird, strange, and mesmerizing. A cast of only 10 playing all the parts, led by Patti LuPone and Michael Cerveris, which also doubled as the orchestra -- and they carried it off, with a minimum of scenery and props. A good, scary, musical night in the theatre.

Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys: Brokeback Mountain. It deserves all the awards it's getting. It's a powerful movie about how harsh love can sometimes be, especially when it's being denied. Do not wait until it comes out on DVD. The Montana countryside has to be seen on a large screen, in all its harsh beauty. So does this story.

I never make resolutions, but... I do need to blog here more regularly. Thanks to all of you who have read my stuff from last year (meaning 2004-2005). I'll try not to disappoint you again by waiting so long to write.