Sunday, October 12, 2008

What Really Grinds My Gears

If any of you are still alive after that Youtube escapade, I am here to provide further insight into my life. I assume by now you have all picked up on the fact that I am a rather negative person. If you haven't, well, then you're just an idiot. Anyway, rather then sit here and prattle about what I like, I thought it would be more fun to tell you what I hate (or, to put it in the words of my idol Peter Griffin: "what really grinds my gears".) You're gonna wanna strap in for this one, folks. I have a lot of pent-up anger and bitterness.

First off: I am a theatre-going creature, and over the years I have picked up numerous pet-peeves. The number one thing that really grinds my gears is screaming fangirls. (This may be a good time to point out that I am a rabid Spring Awakening fangirl, but I play it close to the chest. You will never catch me standing up in the middle of an incredibly sad scene screaming, "MELCHIOR, YOUR ASS IS HOT!!") Don't laugh. I have personally witnessed such atrocities, though it was at the abomination that is Wicked. If there is any fangroup that makes me less ashamed to be a Spring Awakening fan, it's the Wicked fangirls.

Pet peeve number two: Being the impeccably seasoned theatre-goer that I am, I generally avoid matinees. Why, you ask? THE FREAKING HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD LADIES!! Seriously, the next matinee you go to, look around. I guarantee you that at least 60% of the audience will be females over fifty. I wouldn't mind these geriatric lassies if they didn't think they owned the theatre. Sorry, ma'am, but just because you are old enough to have seen Merman in Gypsy does not give you the right to look down on the rest of us. To be fair, I must state that I am spewing residual anger from a previous argument with a loaded matron at a show. This little darling accused me, in a voice that could deafen a dog, of : cracking my water bottle, kicking her seat, singing along, and, in a stunning crescendo, claimed that I was eating my Junior Mints too loudly. Of course, the comedic element in this little tussle was that it took place at In the Heights. IN THE GODDAMN HEIGHTS, one of the most contemporary shows around right now. This woman was like seventy. Shouldn't she have been over at Phantom shrieking in fear as a completely harmless chandelier passed twenty feet overhead? Now you folks know why I stick to night shows, when most people are under the age of ninety and we can all eat our Junior Mints as loud as the hell we want.

This is Patti LuPone, and she is Pet Peeve No. Three. Now, there are those who will decapitate me, stick my head on a pike and parade it around 46th Street for daring to say a negative word about Madame LuPone. Let me just say this: I have no personal grudge against her. I am not some obese forty-yeard old sitting at home crying because she did not sign my Playbill after I chased her through Shubert Alley. I promise. I am not one of the devout Patti haters. I do, however, fault her for the fact that she has a voice like a snarling dog, and that her performance in Gypsy did not have me on the floor hyperventilating. (It was supposed to, as I'm told.) It was just...okay. It wasn't the best performance I've ever seen, that honor goes to Sarah Steele in Speech and Debate. I guess the thing that really bothers me is her fans. They are worse, if possible, than the Wicked freaks. If I mysteriously disappear after daring to speak out against Their Lord and Savior Patti LuPone, I can assure you that the blame lies with them.

Four: The Spring Awakening cast album. It sucks. It seriously, seriously, seriously sucks. I think the reason for it's major suckage is that it was recorded in some kind of bizarre limbo between Off-Broadway and their Broadway transfer. The result is a jumble of off-tempo songs that have alternate lyrics and none of the indescribably wonderful harmonies that we all know and love. Seriously, if any of you have it and haven't seen the show, this is the way Song of Purple Summer is SUPPOSED to sound: It's such a shame that this god-awful album is gonna be all that's left over from a truly glorious show.

Five: Rent. Oh, Lord. Rent. How can I put into words my hatred for this show? Okay, let me try to give you all a feel for what it's like. Find a friend. A very close friend. Now have said friend hit you very, very, very hard over the head with a sledgehammer. Do it again. And again. No, that's not really what the show is like, I just wanted to see if any of you were actually stupid enough to try it. But I digress. Rent is not revolutionary. It is not the best musical ever, that honor belongs to Sweeney Todd. (There, I said it.) In actuality, it is a mindless mishmash of occasionally vaguely catchy, occasionally wrist-slittingly sad songs, threaded through with cursing and nudity for shock value. The same could be said for Spring Awakening, but this is MY blog, dammit, and I'll say what I want. So there. It's not like I said, "I hate Zac Efron and the Jonas Brothers and Republicans" because, well, you just don't say those things.

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