After attending last night’s Second Annual Broadway Speaks OUT! “Very Mary Holiday” benefit for The Ali Forney Center at Dixon Place, I really wanted to write some big effervescent piece on its awesomeness. The Ali Forney Center does important work (learn more here) and any benefit to support that work is worth writing about. Plus, it was a really great night out.
Then I sat down to write. And there’s one huuuuge problem. A problem that goes by the name of John Arthur Greene. He’s all I can think about. Or write about. His presence last night basically obliterated everything around him. Ugh.
If only Greene weren’t so disgustingly hot. And talented. With that cocky swagger. And red hair.
Things are bad enough when he’s just being a real-life Riff. They get exponentially worse when he picks up a guitar. I almost fell out of my chair. I’d consider elaborating here, but my mom reads this blog, so… let’s just say I find him stupidly, mind-obliteratingly attractive. And it’s completely distracting to see him as a part of an ensemble cast.
I suspect at least 50% of this can be explained by my biological imperative to propagate the species. Greene is a ginger. Meaning, if he gets me knocked up, we’re doing our kind—and the universe, obvs—a favor, really. In other words: it’s not my fault. Also. It is clearly so much bigger than me and my hormones, y’all. (Just let me tell myself that. If I keep repeating it, I think I might even believe it someday.)
Still. This is kind of out of control. I’m thinking I might need to invest in a blindfold before his next performance, just so I can focus on the task at hand…
Photo: Julie DeMarre
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