Theatre RULES!

I'm eating a popsicle and thinking about what I want to write about the theatre. I can't really type with a popsicle in one hand.

*KDHD- You can't really type at all.
*Mom- True.

So anyway, I love the theatre...and not in a snotty way, like I don't say theatah, or anything. Nor do I say theeayter. So I'm just a middle of the road kind of girl who likes plays and musicals. I've been living in the St. Louis area for quite a while now and I have to say, there are some fantastic things here. Seriously, the theatre scene here is huge and awesome. The reason I know this is because I have a job and every Monday during lunch my companions are telling each other about the play/musical they saw over the weekend. I on the other hand, tend not to leave my house once I get home for the weekend because, a) on Friday I'm an exhausted mess and would fall asleep before the curtain opened, b) on Saturdays it's too much effort to catch up on household crap AND shower and look presentable, and c) Sunday is church/nap day. But not at the same time. Pretty much.

SO, we have the Fabulous Fox Theatre. It. Is. Gorgeous. Check it out...here.... It has this massive pipe organ and a really magnificent chandelier that defies the common conception of a chandelier. When Phantom of the Opera played there, they probably worried that the real chandelier was going to upstage the fake one in the play. I would have, anyway. The very first show I saw at the Fox was The Rugrats Live! (or something like that...and yes, we took the kids). Singing, dancing babies with giant heads set against the Fox's ornate decor was a veritable visual oxymoron. Luckily, subsequent shows have been more in keeping with the nature of the place.....that is, fabulous.


We have another theatre called The Muny. I'm quite sure it has a longer name than that, but it pretty much goes by The Muny. It's in Forest Park, which is the Big Park in St. Louis. The Muny is an outdoor venue, so it only runs in the summer. It was built in this big depression in the park, so it's like this natural amphitheater, which is pretty cool. The Muny has always had a section of free seats...you just come early, get in line, picnic, play frisbee...whatever. I've never done this but KDHD has. I love The Muny, but it has a few issues, none of which are its fault.

Problem number one.....it is in St. Louis. This city has a lot of things going for it, but summer here is just plain effing hot. Hot and humid. And I like the heat. So when I say it's hot, well, you know. So. Problem number two....I don't know what the deal is with outdoor theatre, but people seem to think it's a big honkin' sing along. Plus, they tend to put on a lot of classic shows, which means half the people in the audience were in that very show in high school. I'm sitting there, enjoying West Side Story and suddenly the girl next to me is belting out I Feel Pretty!

HEY...did you buy a ticket to this show?

You did?

ME TOO!

Do you have a program?

IS YOUR NAME IN IT?

NO?

Shut up!!

So as you can see, I do manage to catch an occasional show and I have to say there is something that happens here that is pretty flippin' annoying. Part of me hopes this doesn't occur where you live, and part of me does, because then I would feel better about my town. I refer here to what is known as the St. Louis Standing Ovation. At the end of the show, before the bows even begin, much of the crowd is already on their feet. The first time I witnessed this phenomenon, I began to stand up with them, thinking, "Well, the show was good, but Rugrats? Really? Am I missing something here?" It turns out I was missing something as I realized that these people were not applauding, nor were they showing any kind of appreciation for the performers whatsoever. THEY WERE LEAVING! They were getting the hell out of Dodge so they could beat the traffic! I was horrified! And I see it at every show...no matter whether it's a Broadway touring company or local theatre. How rude.

So....the rules (see what I did there? Look at the title....now look here again...heh, heh, heh.)

1) Come to St. Louis and go to a show at the Fox. Enjoy it and keep your ass in or (in the event of a real standing ovation) slightly above your seat until after the bows.*

2) Come to St. Louis and go to a show at The Muny. Follow the above rule, but also KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Bring something with which to fan yourself. It won't help, but at least you can feel like you tried.*

3) Come to St. Louis and attend a performance at one of our million other venues (none of which I meant to slight by not mentioning them but there are sooooo many, plus I'm pretty sure nobody affiliated with them reads this blog so who cares anyway?)

*BTW...went to the Muny last night for the first time in a few years. In the program there is the usual list of *ahem* suggestions for the audience, i.e. turn off your cell phone, no recording allowed, etc. The final two "suggestions" (and I'm paraphrasing) were, don't sing along and keep your ass in the theatre until the bows are over. YESSSSS!

So there you go. I don't really have a good way to end this.

Are all kids this stupid, or was it just me?

I was not the...

• sharpest cheddar on the board



• brightest Crayola in the box



• sharpest knife in the block



• brightest bulb in the chandelier



• sharpest tool in the shed
  


• ...insert your own intelligence analogy here
  

as a child.

Who knows whether I hold any of these crowns as an adult, even though the statistics suggest a certain competence in the brain department. But anyway, as I remember it I was not what one would call brilliant when I was little. Or maybe it's perfectly normal to be uber-literal and naive.

I remember my Grandma being in quite a tizzy over the toaster when I was preschool aged. This would have been in the late sixties and we were in rural Iowa, so I have no idea how long she had been using electrical appliances regularly. I doubt if it had been her whole life, 'cause there was definitely some discomfort there. Even I could sense that. She used to go around unplugging EVERYTHING before we left the house so it wouldn't burn down. But the toaster.....wow. She used to tell my brother and I, and my cousins, and anyone who was nearby that-
You Don't Stick a Fork in the Toaster!!!

Especially not this toaster.

That could kill a man, sticking a fork in the toaster.

I would nod soberly and I'd try to stay the hell away from the toaster since it upset Grandma so. But in the back of my mind, thoughts would pop up....

Why would anyone go near the toaster with a fork? Surely a fork will do you no good when toast requires things like butter or jam or peanut butter. I'll just stick with a knife, thank you very much.

And what does the toaster have against men anyway? I have changed my mind! I WILL go near the toaster! I will definitely be getting my Dad's toast for him as much as possible since the toaster seems to have it in for him. My brother is in the clear, what with him only being a boy and all, but Dad? Even if he's carrying no flatware at all I shall get him his toast, for I am just a little girl and the toaster is only interested in killing MEN. Grandma said as much, and old people know these things!

As small children are wont to do, I would get very hyped up for the holidays, especially anything involving me getting presents and/or candy. When the radio announcers began saying "Halloween/Christmas/Easter is right around the corner!", I would go into a frenzy. Since we lived on a farm, corners were not in abundance and my mother probably wondered why I was always so eager to go to town. When there was nothing right around the corner, trips to town usually consisted of a boring trip to the grocery store and to the meat locker.

*side note* I don't know how it works now, but when I was little, we got our meat from the locker. I actually don't really know how it worked then. All I know is that we would go into this freezing cold vault to our little carnivore safe deposit box and withdraw what we wanted to eat until the next visit. I guess we bought a cow or pig or something and they kept it there for us. Like Gringott's, but for meat. I LOVED going there in the summer....for about three minutes. Then I was begging to go back outside to the hot.

BUT....the excitement of going to town when there was a holiday JUST AROUND THE CORNER! I ran ahead of my mom and brother and stealthily peeked around every corner we approached, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever holiday lurked there. Those holidays....they were always a little too quick for me. They always ducked into the alley at the last minute and I could never seem to catch them. Once I thought I saw a fairy wing flit out of sight but since fairies have nothing to do with Easter I figured she was just running errands or something. One day I was convinced that THIS TIME I was going to capture summer and keep it forever, but alas! the next day it was still mid-May and I still had to go to school.

Childhood can be very disappointing for a kid who believes her imagination.

Analysis of The Cat Came Back (as presented by the Muppets) by JaMy and KDHD

KDHD-(singing)Benny had a cat
That they wouldn't let him keep.
So he put her up for sale,
At a price he thought was cheap.

JaMy-Why did Benny's parents even let him get a cat if they weren't going to let him keep it?

KDHD-I don't know.

JaMy-That just seems cruel, parenting-wise.

KDHD-He found it, I guess.

JaMy-Then why doesn't the song say that he found it? 'Cause if he found it, why didn't he just give it away? To a good home?

KDHD-Well, maybe that was the price he thought was cheap. Free.

JaMy-You know, if he took money for the cat, it would kind of seem dishonest, what with the cat coming back and all...

KDHD-Yeah, but he didn't KNOW the cat would come back. I mean, it was just sitting on the porch the very next day.

JaMy-You'd think the new owners would have done something special to keep the cat at their house. Extra cream or some catnip or something.

KDHD-Maybe they did. The song doesn't specify what transpired at the new owners' house, except they wanted the cat to help with the mice. So maybe the cat didn't appreciate being sold into servitude. To a dog, no less.

JaMy-...and what's the deal with the fiddle-playing critter in the attic?

KDHD-I think it's a coyote. or a wolf. Regardless, they have a fiddle-playing....thing in the attic and that's just weird.

JaMy-Plus, I can't help but wonder why the cat insists on returning to a home with a banjo-playing dog out front.

KDHD-Considering that all the neighbors appear to be dogs, I think he just feels safer with Benny. In spite of the aforementioned fiddle-playing thing in the attic. Even though Benny will stop at nothing to rid himself of this cat. I think the problem lies in continually giving the cat to a dog. You can't give a cat to a dog. It won't take.

Also...what's the deal with the cat's eye patch?

JaMy-Yeah, none of the other mishaps leave a mark on this cat. Not the cannon. Not the car crash. Not the bomb.


KDHD-That cat is a survivor. She's hard-core. I wonder if the cat already had the eye patch when Benny got her. Maybe the cat is some kind of evil mastermind and that's why Benny's parents wouldn't let him keep her.


JaMy-We never see Benny's parents. I think they, like the rest of the neighborhood, are dogs. I think Benny was adopted and was a horrible, horrible disappointment to his parents when he got older and started cavorting with cats. Especially evil mastermind spy cats who wear creepy eye patches and are determined to undermine the entire dog community with their espionage.

Come to think of it...the song never actually says who "they" are. Benny might not even have parents at all. Maybe he lives with evil relatives, like Harry Potter!

KDHD-Dear Lord, woman.

Food for Thought.....UPDATE!!!

Spouse just ate there with his business partners (their idea, not his). The waiter was surly and argumentative, entrees were $15-$20 and the bread was Wonder.
*************************************************************************************
I'm not a restaurant reviewer. I'm not even that much of a foodie. If I were, this is what I would have to say about my recent visit to a local restaurant.

We arrived at the restaurant around six and were delighted to be seated immediately. We were given a lovely tour of the available tables before being seated next to the kitchen. With a reasonable amount of maneuvering and sucking in, we were eventually out of range of the swinging door. Yes, door. Singular. Isn't it supposed to be a double? In AND out? It amazed me that we didn't get a head full of pasta as the result of an unfortunate door incident. Oh well.

We were ENTHUSIASTICALLY GREETED by our server, ordered drinks and an appetizer, then entrees. When our entrees arrived, we canceled the appetizer. Our ebullient server apologized profusely and offered cheesecake on the house. We forgave her. After lovely salads, whose plates egregiously overstayed their welcome, our food arrived-in minimalist fashion. I guess we ordered from the ADD menu. It tasted fine-not spectacular- just fine, and had none of the distraction of garnishes or grated asiago. Just a wad of seared tuna and a pasta bowl devoid of even a leaf of greenery. My pasta was so filling I had to send half of it to be boxed, noting with excitement that I had left several shrimp for my lunch the next day. Spouse even commented on my lack of appetite....No Shrimp Left Uneaten is my normal policy, even if they had obviously been frozen. We're landlocked here--what do you expect? Our cheesecake came as promised and I realized that they had reserved all their garnishing skills for this moment. Raspberry coulis was swirled over and under the cheesecake in a delightful pattern. I don't particularly care for raspberry but the effect was exquisite. As I scraped the red goo off my dessert, the server commented that it might still be a little frozen, so if it was she could replace it with chocolate cake.




WHAT?




There's cake?



And you didn't mention it before?



I'm not going to get snippy about a piece of free cheesecake, so we brainfreezed our way through dessert, paid the bill, collected my go-box and left.



The next day I reheated my leftovers and enjoyed a nice lunch until I realized I had reached the bottom of my bowl and hadn't encountered a single shrimp. Not one. Zero. I find this rather mysterious. I cannot even come up with a scenario for this phenomenon. Aliens? Kitchen theft? Spontaneous combustion? None of these make a bit of sense. But waaaaaait a minute...I remember hearing a voice from a nearby table ordering linguine tuttamare AND I remember hearing a server offering a go-box to said table. Could....could it be? Yes, it could. And now my tum tum hurts because I....just...ate...a...STRANGER'S LEFTOVERS! This grosses me out to an unreasonable extent. I don't eat at potlucks if I can help it. I don't consume anything students bring me from cooking class unless I really trust them. And they still have to taste it first. So this is epically disgusting to me. But since I'm not bulimic, there's nothing I can do but look forward to digestion and expulsion.

I hope she enjoyed my shrimp.

One lump or four? or Girl parts, and not in a titillating way, so guys--you might as well just move on.

I have big boobs. I'm not bragging about it. It pretty much sucks, unless you're 25 and want to get served very quickly or you're 35 and need help at Home Depot. The benefits are fleeting. Once you're past 45...whatever few perks you once enjoyed vanish.

It's not that the boobaloobas vanish...they're still there. Today, tomorrow and for the rest of my life I am reminded of this fact by well-meaning(?) leches who think it is their duty to make sure I am aware of it. The presence of huge wads of flesh and fat on my frontside apparently did not make this point clear previously. Also, these helpful men are under the impression that the size of the boob is inversely proportional to the size of the brain, thus I need to be reminded on a regular basis that yes, I do have some mighty large boobs. Thanks guys, for keeping me abreast of this situation. And no, just because you were kind enough to point them out, you do not get to touch them.

...and again no, they will not be coming out of hiding for a Mardi Gras parade or any other event involving drunkenness and debauchery. Even if I am or had ever been that kind of girl, the sheer magnitude of logistics makes this impossible. There would need to be protective eye gear, emergency personnel on standby, waivers to sign for anyone with a cardiac condition. Trust me, it would be a total bust and just not worth the aggravation. Go ogle some nice C-cups and leave me the hell alone, k? I can buy my own damn beads.

For those readers who have been waiting for a titular reference, wait no longer....finally, there is the not insignificant task of corralling these troublemakers. The acquisition of boobular containment devices is a formidable task. There are very few stores where one can purchase such items in the proper dimensions. The store where I have the best luck is staffed by ladies who are veeeeery...helpful. On a recent excursion, I had a selection of items to try on and the helpful lady put my things in a fitting room. I eventually made my way to the fitting room and began the arduous process of finding a stinkin' BRA THAT FITS.



Here is my process for this task:

1. Remove all clothing above the waist.






2. Put on bra.






3. Curse.






4. Remove bra.






5. Adjust straps.






6. Put bra on--again.






7. Put shirt back on.






8. Try to picture self without awkward tag protruding like a broken bone.






9. Sigh.






10. Swear to eat nothing but lettuce and water until able to wear a normal bra size. (Stupid. This has almost nothing to do with weight.)






11. Repeat steps 1-10 until satisfied or lose interest.

At a certain point in my routine, the Veeeeery Helpful Lady inquires as to whether I need any help. She takes my rejects and returns with MORE STUFF for me to try on. Having only recently been dressed, I resist. She looks so forlorn and a little grandmotherly, so I agree. As I approach step 3, VHL decides to JOIN ME in my fitting room!

VHL: How's everything going in here?

Me: Ummmm, I'm good. (You can leave now)

VHL: My daughter is just like you, she has the worst time finding a home for the girls. (giggle)

Me: Mmmhmmmm.... (Get the f*** out)

VHL: The insurance company won't pay for her to have a reduction.

Me: (I. Don't. Care.) Yeah, me too. (NOOoooooo!!!! Do not engage! Do NOT engage!!)

VHL: Can I help you with that?

Me: (DO NOT TOUCH ME YOU PSYCHO!!) No, I got it. (I have been dressing myself for over 40 years now. Please leave)

VHL: That one fits you real nice....

Me: (leave)

VHL: Those straps are just a little long still.

Me: (I am half naked in here with a stranger)

VHL: You know, we have an alterations girl at our other store.

Me: (half naaaaked)

VHL: We had one here but just between you and me, she was a little crazy.

Me: (SHE was a little crazy, you nutjob?) (aaaaand still half naked)

VHL: She only charges three dollars a strap.

Me: (I am not paying a minimum of $50 for a bra that needs alterations) I don't think that'll be necessary.

VHL: Blah

ME: (half naked)

VHL: Blah. BLAH.

Me: (Please kill me. Then leave. So I can be half naked and dead.)

VHL: Blahbiddy blahdy blah.

Me: I think I'm ready to wrap this up. (that means leave)

VHL: (a little disapointed) I'll just put these back then.

Me: (Yah. You do that.) Thank you.

I am such a wuss. Why couldn't I just kick the old lady out? Geez.

But anyway. I WAS pretty rude in another store when the girl showed me this totally cute dress. The reason I know it's totally cute is because the girl said "Omigawd this dress is like soo totally cute ON. And it even has a built-in bra, look!" I took one look and laughed so hard I may have hit her with a teeeeny bit of spit. All I said was "THAT'S optimistic!" She gave a feeble laugh and put the dress back, then kind of wandered off with a puzzled look.

That built-in was not going to help me out. The shelf bra does not help me out. The sports bra does not help me out. You know why? The shelf can go two ways--either ya stuff it all in and run a breathing tube to your nose or just go with the four-boob look. Since I clearly don't know what to do with the two I already have I do NOT need to be doubled up here. Of course with the sports bra one gets the beloved uniboob look. Not only does it look absurd, it is impossible to participate in any sport more rigorous than curling while wearing one if you have boobs of any magnitude. Do any kind of bouncing and you could knock someone out.

Maybe I'll wear one on my next bra shopping trip.

***all puns intended***

Totally Stupid Signs and Other Dumb Things I've Seen

Every once in a while (for instance every time I leave the house), I find myself in a situation where I see something totally stupid. It usually involves things like signs or songs, but it all comes down to stupid people. And I feel the need to document it.

If I'm lucky, I'll have the means immediately, and the mind to actually pull out the thing and use it and capture the moment because I know I'll never remember to do it again later, or to write it down, or even what the thing was in the first place.

Generally the 'means' would be my phone.

Which is why I usually only get pictures of signs and stuff. But sometimes I overhear people saying stupid things...like "The general rule of thumb..." *ahem* overkill? I think yes. And just so you know, since I am a person as well... sometimes it's me. I might be judgy, but I am equal opportunity judgy.

On the broken door of a gas station somewhere:


Gee, and here I thought it was wide open. However, I see no mention of it being broken, and this seems a bit like a challenge to me. If the intention was to get people to not open the door, they could have just said, "This door is broken" or, "Use other door." Unless this was some really stupid psychology test or something. Regardless, I really wanted to open that door just to prove myself better than the sign.

A sign at the St. Louis Zoo for some reptile that I can't remember:


I remember now! It's a false gharial. I took this two or three years ago, and it's still like this as of last week. This is a top-notch zoo, and people see this everyday. I can't have been the only one to notice, right?

At my High School for the election:


This can only be useful for a few people who have other people to run in and request for them. Otherwise, they're already inside. Just vote there.

A local gas station:

This is just a classic nit picky thing, but it's still something that shouldn't happen. Same with 'PIN number,' and 'ACT/SAT test.' You don't need all those words, people.

Inside a Target, on the 'Entrance' door:

Possibly the only fault I've ever found in a Target.

I don't think they'll ever finish this parking lot/road thing:


This seems kind of like a challenge too...

More typos:


And common sense:


Okay, two faults for Target. But really, I think this one's more on the customers than the store. They're the ones who made this necessary.




*Mom* Remember when they tore down the McDonald's (sadly they built a "new and improved" McDonald's) and they didn't take down the "This McDonald's restaurant is currently closed" right away? We were so pissed that we didn't manage to get a photo of that sign on a lot full of rubble.

And then there's this one. The thing is, some supposedly educated businessperson hired another allegedly educated businessperson to make a sign for them. Somehow they managed to come up with a sign that almost has correct punctuation. Then one of them got paid and the other one posted this piece of crap outside their place of business.........

.....and people go to them and trust them with their money! Please note....this sign has hung there for quite some time. See how the letters and numbers are peeling off? I kind of want to get a ladder and flip the r and the apostrophe myself. But it's near the police station.

I remember when the yearbooks at school came out and they hung signs all over the place exclaiming "Yearbook's are here!" and your brother carried a Sharpie with him and crossed out the extraneous apostrophe every time he encountered one. And when his graduation announcement came and had the same problem and I e-mailed the teacher(s) responsible and all they said was "It's not OUR fault!" so I then had to e-mail the principal who issued a recall and took the hell care of the problem but it pissed off a lot of the parents because they didn't see a problem with sending an announcement lauding their child's academic achievement with a flippin' TYPO in it. The funny part? 445 kids in that class and one person brought up the mistake in the announcement.

So we do get exasperated by stupidity, because people are stupid. And what are we? We are people.