Little Ears

So. American Idiot. Bright lights, big city. Yes, I did write on the walls. I took out my silver sharpie and wrote STOP TAKING PICTURES. By golly, that's just what I done. But we'll get to that.

First things first. Lenora knows the story. I'm not going into it, but here's the bare bones - Dear guy in the Lincoln Center library - GO TO HELL. I'm not trying to burn the place down. I just want to watch Caroline, or Change. So sue me already, Mr. Crabby Appleton. The guy infront of me got bitched out cause he wanted to watch August: Osage County. Thank God that wasn't me. Deny me my Westons. I dare you.

So on my way to the theatre, I mozied on through Times Square in the crushes of people and distinctly heard some lady behind me say, "I hate when people cross against the light and I hate Times Square. It never woulda happened with Giuliani." Sigh. I was immediately reminded of one of Stewie's best lines - "Is she retarded?" God. I can hear you, folks. And I am making fun of you.

The show. Put it this way - Norma Desmond would have loved it because NOBODY EVER TALKED. Seriously. There were like ten spoken lines. But I did enjoy it when it wasn't trying so hard to be something it wasn't. I mean - when Favorite Son puts on the army garb? Try a little bit harder to be Hair. I dare you. So let's see what we've got. I'll make a checklist.

sex - check
drugs - check
unwanted pregnancy -check
nudity - pretty close. Whatsername I'm looking at you.
bizarre choreography - SON OF A BITCHING CHECK, especially for the girls.

Most of the show consists of them screaming at you while flashing strobes in your face. Fun fun fun and seizure seizure seizure. It just gets tired. Towards the end, when they sing 'somebody get me out of here' I couldn't help thinking, "Take me with you." Also, I'm scared of St. Jimmy.

So. Show ends. Since it was Mummy and me we got to stay as long as we wanted. I love her. There are times when she just astounds me, but not always in a good way. For instance. Rebecca Naomi Jones comes to us.

Me, in some lightning strike moment of non-shyness: I love your hair.
Her: Oh, thanks. There's a lot of it.
Mom: Like Kacie Sheik.

Silence. WHAT?! I hope to God that both of them knew who my mom was talking about. Still, I have no idea how she could have possibly remembered that. Careful the things you say. Mothers will listen.

She was followed by Gerard Canonico, a Spring Awakening alum. Apparently he knew the people next to me, so he stayed and chatted with them for a while. Now, I don't know him. I don't know them. Bet your ass I was listening to every single word they were saying. And let me tell you he was saying some pretty not-nice things about the Spring Awakening replacements.

Unprofessional? Yes.
Immature? Yes.
True? Yes.

On the way back I asked Mom the question I ask after every show - Was it good or did it suck? She loved it, actually. Shocking. I said it was okay, but all Whatsername did was scream. Mom got very quiet. I turned around, and of course Rebecca Naomi Jones was there, about five paces behind me, glaring at me with afro atremble. I fail.