Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
I went to a costume party Friday night. That was rather interesting. There's a basic protocol for that sort of thing: If you see someone you know, you absolutely have to hug them hello and good-bye even if you secretly hate them. You must also compliment their costume, and you DO NOT EVER, EVER, EVER ask them, "But what ARE you?!" Not if you want a spot in their will. Even though it is an insult and a threat to your own personal morality, it is in your best interest to lie when asked if you like someone's costume. "No, you do not look like a slut in your Playboy Bunny costume. No, I swear. It's totally fine. You look cute." Come on, people. Are we really that far gone that we believe such outrageous lies?! I guess we are, since there are people who are actually going to vote for McCain.
Revolutionary that I am, I took the liberty of not dancing at the aforementioned costume party. I don't dance. I just don't. Never have, never will. I hate dancing more than I hate Rent, which you give you an idea of just how very much I loathe dancing. I didn't not rotate my hips one single time at this party, I promise you. I was as stiff as Sarah Palin's beauty queen grin. I think maybe I should change my name to the Immobile Goat. But I digress. Let's backtrack a little. As soon as I walked through the door to this groovy shindig, I certain friend who shall remain nameless practically dove on me and announced, "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE HOT!!" Um, thanks. I guess I am. Thanks for noticing. Two hours later, as I was standing in a crush of people and not even swaying my hips, said friend once again bounded up to me and said, "Don't waste the hotness, shake your ass!" No, that's really okay. I'll just stay right here and watch these Gossip Girl wannabes grind on eachother. I'm fine, I promise. I think maybe I'll keep the hotness to myself for tonight.
And now on to the reason why I actually came here to blog tonight. I can hardly bare to type these words, but I actually saw HSM 3 tonight. While waiting on line amongst ten thousand little girls quickly being roped into the traps of corporate America, I heard someone scream, "HE'S GOT A GUN!" Indeed there was someone a few feet infront of me that was exercising his right to bear arms. My heart started pounding, but our loyal police force was there in seconds to cart this young hooligan away. At that point, wasn't aware of the fact that I would have been better off if he had shot me.
So I soldiered on bravely into the theatre and plunked down in my seat, a tad bewildered as to what I was actually doing there. If there was any justice in the world a meteorite would have hit the building and killed us all in a blinding blaze of glory, but there is no such miracle to speak of. Instead, I sat there and endured two unending hours of my personal circle of hell. It was the longest two hours of my life. And I sat through Legally Blonde, folks. I cannot even begin to list my grievances with this film. Oh wait, yes I can:
1. The whole thing was basically a series of shots of Zac Efron's sweaty face and body, which provoked the animatronic little girls in the theatre to start squealing like pigs. Oh, please. Over the course of the movie, Sir Efron removed an article of clothing exactly four times, and those little darlings just ate it up. (I still haven't forgotten their gasps and shrieks of extreme terror when their Lord and Savior said, "Kiss my ass" in the sad big-screen adaptation of Hairspray. Oh, how I hate that movie. Really, people, was there any real reason for John Travolta to look and sound like he swallowed Carol Channing?)
2. That sweet little tart Gabriella wore either a skirt or dress for approximately 97% of the movie. Whenever the characters came home (and may I point out that everyone in this movie had really nice houses, how convenient), their mother would be in the kitchen, dutifully preparing a meal for her husband and male children. Thank-you, Disney, for setting the American feminist movement back fifty years.
3. I have to point out that the most painful part of the movie was Zac's big angry eleven o'clock number entitled "Scream." Funny, that's what I wanted to do throughout the whole movie, but never more than during this number. I think they were aiming for a sort of no holds barred-screw the world-I'm running things now kinda thing. What they got was a series of shots of Efron running screaming through the halls of East High, including a particular gem where he's climbing all over the production equipment, briefly evoking memories of the stripper scene from Rent. It's this year's Bet On It, and we all know how that ended up.
That's all I dare say right now, lest the billion screaming HSM fans come to give me what I apparently deserve. I don't know. Maybe I just don't "get it." I don't know about you, but I'd take the story of rape, suicide, and abortion that is my poor, fated Spring Awakening over this corporate drivel any day. But that's just me. Oh, well. Until next time, friends. In the meantime, I'll be sitting here waiting for HSM 4: Ryan finally admits he's gay.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Okay, so the shock is starting to wear off. Confession: I'm crying. Judge me all you want. Just don't come crying to me when High School Musical 3 bitterly disappoints you becoz Troy and Gabriella totez only kissed lyke twice omg omg omg lol. You folks can't imagine the magic that was tied in with this show. I mean, look at this! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wS7q1T36t6w I was there that night. Hear all the screams? One of them is mine. That song got a five-minute standing ovation, and stands alone as the single greatest theatrical experience of my life. How soul-crushingly ironic will it be if my posting it here will cause it to get deleted.
I honestly don't know what to think right now. Joke's over, guys, and it sure as hell ain't funny. I guess I'll just sit here and wait for Ashton to come running out with the camera crew.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Reason #2 why I haz a angree: That dumb-ass McCain and his adorable little marionette Sarah Palin. Everytime either of them uses the word "maverick", "drill", or "troops" I die a little inside. I have tried very hard to discern who's stupider, and I've come to the conclusion that it's Palin. If the right-wing freakos get elected and Old Man McSame puts her in charge of energy, well, to quote a very wise friend, "Say good-bye to Alaska." Yeah, it's true that nobody lives there, but the moose are just screwed. Poor chaps.
Reason # 3 why I haz a angree: Lifetime. Does anyone who's not a very lonely forty-year-old woman watch this channel? If you've never endured this abomination of a channel, let me ruin it for you: Someone gets raped in every single movie. There is always a dominating male character. The aforementioned dominating man will, inevitably, be killed by the victimized woman to avenge her rape/kidnapping/spousal abuse. At night. In the rain. In an environment that is mysterioulsy devoid of all other human beings.
Reason #4 why I haz a angree: The literary state of our nation is pitiful. Let's have a show of hands. Who out there has read a book in the last five years that was not written by Stephenie Meyer, J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown, Danielle Steel, or Mitch Albom? In the last five years, who's read a classic without being forced to do so? Huh. That's what I thought. Okay, folks. Put down the Tiger Beat and go out and read Gone With the Wind. We will all be better for it.
Hopefully the next time I drop in here I will not haz a angree.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Before I wrap this up, I feel compelled to point out that tonight marks the closing of Legally Blonde on Broadway. OMG you guys, I totez didn't see that coming. I, for one, am not at all sorry to see it go. I am also not sorry that this means Laura Bell Bundy, everyone's favorite little homewrecker, is out of a job. So Legally Blonde is soon to be gone. Ding dong, the witch is dead, though I suppose that the witch won't truly be dead until Wicked breathes its last sugar-coated breath. Unfortunately, I doubt any of us here will live to see that day.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
So there. For those of you who had previously never heard of an LOLCat, you just don't know what you're missing. Here, I'll fix it: http://www.icanhascheezburger.com/ There. All better. Nothin' like a bunch of gramatically incorrect felines to turn that frown upside down.
Now that that's covered, I just don't know what else I can think of to entertain you all! Oh, that reminds me. It has come to my attention that my blog is read by approximately than .00000000000000000001% of the world population. WOWEE! I never expected to get that many readers so shockingly soon! Gee, I didn't prepare a speech or anything! This is just so unexpected! You guys all see where I'm going with this? Or should I say, "The ten of you who read this blog all see where I'm going with this?"
Well, let's see. I've already talked about Broadway enough for one week, the fact that I run on two hours of sleep, my severe allergy towards Sarah Palin, my favorite Youtube videos (my apologies if any of you still need morphine to dull the pain), and my deep dark hatred of Rent. Oh, wait, I know!! I have to tell you guys about the most brilliant show ever!!!
Behold! The Griffin family. You may also see it spelled Griffen, but the people who spell it that way are wrong. It is Griffin. My greatest regret in life is that I am not one of them. They are, in my opinion, the greatest family in the history of everything. Who doesn't wish that they had a talking dog and a sadistic baby running around the house? I don't care if you think it is stupid, Family Guy is a fantabulous show. You may argue, "But I don't get it!" That's just the point. You're not supposed to get it. There is nothing to "get." It is funny. Accept it. In the words of the pill-popping mother from August: Osage County, "The world is round. Get over it."
Monday, October 13, 2008
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7esLjR_O3SI Here's a clip of their Tony performance, the night they were robbed by the piece of corporate crap that is The Lion King. I still say that the Tony that year belonged to SIDE SHOW, but this comes in as a close second. Listen to the lyrics. "Beggar and millionaire/everyone everywhere/moving to the Ragtime." That is pure genius! You can't top that, unless your name is Stephen Sondheim.
Hmm, let's see what other gems I can dredge up for you to sample....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFVWA6dNMHk "Our Children", one of the best songs in the show, hold the cheesy, gold-tinted video of two young whippersnappers frolicking in the sand.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBQNed6Zdmk "New Music." Yet another example of brilliant lyrics. "Just like that tune/simple and clear/I've come to hear/new music." Not as good as the lyrics in the first video, but still pretty damn good.
Just a warning if you watched the video: You have willingly subjected yourself to one of the catchiest tunes in the history of catchy tunes. You are now doomed to spend the next three weeks walking around humming "da da da da da Ragtime." Perhaps I should have warned you beforehand.
I am no stranger to the night. Seriously, I'm like a freaking vampire. Or a werewolf, though I like to think of myself as considerably less hairy than that. Ever since I was a teeny tiny baby and my parents would sit up and stare at my wide-open eyes, I have needed very little sleep. It's a proven fact, along with my hatred of Rent and my love of high heels. (My very favorite pair of shoes are red polka dot heels that are too high for any human being to ever actually wear. Try navigating Times Sqaure in them. My legs ached for weeks.)
So I guess you're wondering what I actually DO while I stay up and wait for the sun to rise so I can return to my coffin and wait it out till sunset. Well, that's easy! I read. I write. I surf the net. And, obviously, I blog. I never actually get tired, I just go to sleep when I run out of things to do. I drink massive amounts of blue Powerade. (And if you've never had blue Powerade get up and get some RIGHT NOW.) Come to think of it, the sugar in those bad boys might be the reason I don't fall asleep till five in the morning. Trust me, I think of plenty of things to do in the middle of the night. It's like I'm teetering on the edge of being bipolar, except I've never passed out on the floor in Costco or called someone in the middle of the night. Since someone out there is bound to take that the wrong way, let me point out that I was KIDDING about the bipolar thing. No need to call Bellevue just yet.
Well, I've run out of things to talk about. I think now I'm gonna go watch Gypsy. The original one, aka the better one. (And Rosalind Russell was SO a good Rose!)
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
For anyone out there who has hope in the future of musical theatre, prepare to have it shattered by these guys.
I am strangely addicted to this ridiculously catchy song about electroshock therapy. Huh. Who'da thunk it?
The fabulously fabulous song A Little Fall of Rain from the fabulous Les Miz sung by two of the most fabulous actors I have ever witnessed. Pure fabulousness.
The video that sparked a year-long obssession. I haven't watched this one in a while, but I'm watching it now. Oh, God. Nostalgia. Tears. Magic. Ridiculously censored lyrics. Example: Instead of saying "breast" they had to say "chest." Why weren't they allowed to say breast? KFC says it all the time. Oh, and the legendary changing of "Totally F*cked" to "Totally Hmphed." That's really hmphed up! That's right, I said it! Hmph you! Hmph you ALL!
Ask kicking. Not a crime in all fifty states.
And you all thought I was kidding about the drunken chorus girls armed with pretzels.
The single funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. Warning: Language!
The lovely Phoebe Strole sings what may be my least favorite song ever. Yet another one of the videos I watch on a daily basis.
God damn you, Charlie!
Edward should have listened to his British father. British people know everything. Duh.
So do you guys give up? Have you had enough pain? Okay, okay. I give up. It's been fun. Until next time, folks.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Not to veer to far away from the main idea of this whole blog, though, this would totally make a great musical. Let's see: We've got teen pregnancy, which is totally Spring Awakening, a mentally unstable person, which is straight out of Next to Normal, and this whole situation just screams "freak show", which is rather Side Show-esque. I see it now: Coming to Broadway in 2011, a saga of a family torn apart by stupidity: NEXT TO AWAKENING THE SIDE SHOW! Featuring such hits as the opening number "Fall From Grace", the show-stopping "Pillbox Tango", the powerful ballad "What's the Worst That Could Happen?" sung on the night Jamie Lynn gets pregnant, and the powerful act one closer "Leave Britney Alone!" It'll run forever.
Well, it's been fun, chickadees (I cannot believe I just used that word), but I am rapidly running out of things to blog about. I suppose it won't be long until this whole thing goes down in a blaze of glory.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
But there are, in fact, things that make me happy. I'm a kick-ass Scopa player (and if you've never played/heard of Scopa then we are not friends) and I'm just tickled pink by a good episode of Arthur. I have a thing for really obscure, offbeat musicals about things nobody talks about and/or cares about. I'm totally serious about that. Really, I kid you not. My favorite musicals feature teen pregnancy, mental illness, Siamese twins, insane barbers, and crazy cat ladies living in dilapidated old mansions. And you thought you were weird just because you enjoyed "From Justin to Kelly."
Sweet Besty from Pike, look at the time! I inteded for this to be a long, soul-crushingly interesting peek into my interests, but, in the interests of watching Barack Obama rip Old Man McCain's political guts out in tonight's debate, I bid you all adieu.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
In the Heights is a rap musical about the Upper Manhattan community of Washington Heights. It's half in Spanish and there are no white cast members, so Republicans need not attend. If the thought of an incredibly one-sided musical that screams, "Move to Washington Heights! We've got piragua and wise old ladies who feed birds and sing songs about their long ardurous journies from Cuba!" offends you, keep on walking. If not, stay right here with me. It really is a good show, though, if you're not looking for anything too deep. Oh, and, while nestled comfortably in my seat at the beautiful Richard Rodgers theatre, a thought popped into my head. Where are the crack dealers? Where are the muggers? I though this was about Washington Heights!! The fact of the matter is that if people randomly started dancing and singing in the streets of Washington Heights (or anywhere in New York, for that matter) they'd all get shot. Don't look at me, folks. I didn't write the show. If you want the REAL Washington Heights, get ye to the A train and get off at 181st. Just don't be too surprised when there are no people twirling eachother around in the streets and the guy selling the piragua isn't a baritone belter.
And now on to my abosolute favorite play of all time: Speech and Debate. Trust me, friends, it's not about speeching and debating. Thirty people that make up the audience sit in a room three levels underground and watch three teenagers scream at eachother and argue over whether their teacher is gay or not. (I just spent the last twenty minutes sitting here trying to make that not sound creepy.) It's long, intermission-less, music-less, and hysterically funny. Too bad it closed, cause it was, and I'm quoting here "a miracle that must be seen to be believed." And the lead actress was "magic every time she is on stage!" So while all the serious theatre freaks were trembling in awe of Patti LuPone's so-so performance in Gypsy, the new-age theatre freaks like myself were sitting in a small, stuffy, dark room on 44th Street. Good times. Good times. Now see, isn't this better than Wicked? Why go see a light fluffy musical about the witches of Oz when you can watch someone shoot themselves on stage, or have a nervous breakdown because their stripper daughter has rejected them after years of ruthless stage-parenting, or watch a demon barber slit people's throats, or watch a fifteen-year-old boy scream and sob because the girl he got pregnant died of an abortion? I leave you with that.