Alexander Hamilton

On Saturday I saw Hamilton in the Big Apple. My friend Natalie had invited me to go with her after she scored some tickets by swearing her soul to the devil. Hashtag worth it. Hashtag, not that we know what the devil is.

I arrived in New York City two days in advance of the production because I'm a generally paranoid person and I'm 1,000 percent convinced that impossibly-amazing things like me going to see Hamilton on Broadway are not going to work out.

For this reason, I was positive that a catastrophic event would occur before the Paul Simon concert last year as I waited a few months for the big day to arrive. I routinely checked all of the ticket information twice a day, every day, for eight straight weeks. I even practiced a conversation in my head over 100 times wherein a ticket taker would tell me my tickets weren't valid and I had to explain how important Paul Simon was to me so he would still let me in.

I'm not a fun person to be with.

Natalie invited me to go to Hamilton with her a few months ago. She was visiting Salt Lake City and she casually asked me if I had ever listened to the soundtrack. This prompted me to perform the entire musical, every single part, even the female roles, for the next three hours. By the time I concluded the closing number, there were tears. I mean, they were mine, but tears nonetheless.

My Conversation with Laura Linney

Natalie: Oh my gosh. That's Laura Linney ten feet in front of us.

Eli: WHAT?! WHERE?

Natalie: . . . ten feet in front of us.

Eli: I'VE NEVER MET HER!

Natalie: Should that be a surprise to me?

Eli: She's just standing there! Right. There.

Natalie: Yeah. So she can probably hear you. Because you're talking super loudly.

Eli: What are we supposed to do in this situation?! HOW DO I EVEN LOOK OMG MY BREATH!!!?

Natalie: I'm guessing from the tone of your voice and the fact that your words aren't making sense that you like Laura Linney?