Here is the deal – it doesn’t matter what story Leanne Borghesi tells or what tale she spins – none of that matters. She could knit a sweater while she is up there, or clean out a toaster over, and we would still be glued to her.

“Some people are born into show business,” she tells us, “and others just bust right through.”

Borghesi is of the latter sort.  She busts through any malaise, any reservation, any measure of ho-hum you might be carrying around and blows it to the sky.  She sweeps you up into an embrace that would reduce even Scrooge to a giggling bowl of Jell-O.  She is a perfect combination of sarcasm and joie de vive that New York needs right this very minute.