This? Pretty much one of my favourite books of all time.
Ever since I heard about the musical I have wanted to see it. I know every single song by heart. I also have not so minor crushes on Idena Minzel and Kristen Chenoweth (seeing her on Glee? LOVED it.)
One item on my bucket list is to see another show on Broadway (Lion King was amazing). This probably stems from me being a TOTAL tech theatre geek.
As some of you may know, me and Scarlett flew to New York City to help Marilyn prepare for her wedding and Scarlettt was also one of the bridesmaids while I got roped into the catering service when the actual service was short-handed. To those of you who cater for a living, I have no idea how you do it but you are now my heroes. We had a blast with the third member of our trio and kind of ignored her when she said she would pay us back for all our help thinking it would be like sending us a thank you card or something of the like.
No it wasn’t.
So today, November 11th in the year 2009 at about 10:40 AM EST I hear a knock at the door and see a Fed Ex truck in the driveway. Trying to remember if either me or Scarlett had anything on order, I answer the door for the man who is carrying two packages. One adressed to Scarlett. The other adressed to me.
I signed for them as Scarlett was at class and wouldn’t be back for hours, thanked the man, and went to the table to open my box. Now when I see it is from Marilyn, I’m expecting something like a dildo.
Because she’s just that kind of person and knows I would find it funny.
When I opened it up, I felt like Pumpkin opening up Wallace’s package. I might have stared for a full minute.
While I always knew Marilyn’s family was rather well off, I never really understood what that meant until seeing their summer home where the rehearsal dinner would be. I find out that Marilyn talked to a friend of hers who works with Broadway productions. How it was pulled off I do not know but sitting on my table were two, not one, TWO tickets to the Gershwin Theatre to see Wicked on January 9 complete with an invitation to go backstage and meet some of the cast.
There may have been an intense desire to squee.
There was a moment of hyperventilation.
Followed by an acid-inspired improptu dance party in my kitchen.
I called Marilyn and left her a voicemail that was half-screaming in the most undignified way and half-thanking her profusely while promising to find some way to pay her back.
I’m going to Broadway. I’m going to Broadway. I’m going to Broadway.
So I hear you’re about to bomb the shit out of the Moon? Oh, you’re not. Wait, you’re ramming the Moon? You’re ramming the Moon?! Kamina would approve.
The way I understand it, you are going to ram the surface with a rocket sending a plume of debris into the air, big enough that a good amateur telescope can see it with another right behind it collecting samples to search for ice and water vapor mainly to use in the creation of fuel. While all this is going on, you’ll still be receiving data from the shuttle.
As a kid who once wanted to work for you, this coverage has been like crack to me.
And just when I thought you had outdone yourself, you up the ante and make a theme song?
The nerdgasm. It is intense.
All we need now is Worf to say “prepare for ramming speed!”
Keep up the good work,
[or “But Mommy, where do Baby Smurfs come from?”]
As our dear Lilu always says: “Join us all in humiliating the crap out of ourselves every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week?” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!”
I all ready know I’m going to Hell. My handbasket has long been on layaway at Michael’s and the decorations are on stand-by. With the things that come out of my mouth, this is simply advance preparation.
But sometimes I am convinced that somewhere inside of me is the unconscious desire to piss all over my box seat in Hell. Things like making zombie jokes about Michael Jackson the day he died, failing to not snigger when Anna Nicole Smith died, and finding the mullet equal parts horrific and utterly fascinating? All sure-fire tickets to burning. Today’s story is worse.
I’m fairly positive most of us saw Hanna-Barbera cartoons when we were kids even if it was just the Flintstones and the Jetsons. Another little “nugget” were the quirky, communist pygmies more commonly referred to as the Smurfs. Here is a quick vid to refresh your memory.
The man in the dress, this real nutjob called Gargamel, basically wants to bake the little suckers into a pie. A pie? Seriously? Anyhoodle, so this guy comes up with all this crazy schemes to catch them with the…not quite sure “help” is the right word but he has this evil cat with a crazy ass laugh. I see this show now and can only wonder what the fuck the creators were smoking to come up with this shit.
Now the show caught a lot of flack for what is now called The Smurfette Principle where a show will feature just one female and she will be a highly stereotyped one. Considering the target audience, I don’t see it mattering all that much. But during a late-night conversation with Scarlett that involved a ridiculous amount of booze, we somehow get on the topic of where baby Smurfs come from.
Scarlett: “If there’s a Papa Smurf, then there has to be a Mama Smurf somewhere?”
Me: “Maybe she died or maybe she couldn’t handle that many kids.”
Scarlett: “Or maybe she never existed. If the cake is a lie then maybe Mama Smurf is too.”
Me: “If the smurf is a lie, then where the hell did that entire village come from?’
Scarlett: “Maybe the smurf fucked a rock. It would explain so much.”
Me: “Maybe Gargamel wasn’t evil. Maybe he was just a stalker with a crush.”
Scarlett: “You’re drunk.”
Me: “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong though. Maybe he wanted Papa Smurf to himself hence the whole wanting-a-pie which we all know is a metaphor for some lovin’.”
Scarlett: “So what would happen if he succeeded?”
I pull out my laptop and show her the screen.
She gives me a drunken glare which looks like constipation followed up with a smack to the back of the head.
Scarlett: “I hate you.”
Me: “And I revel in it.”
That picture folks? I’ll just post the link as it is very NSFW.
You’re welcome Internets. You’re welcome.
Tonight’s a short post, sorry folks.
I make no secret of the fact that I am a nerd.
So when Scarlett called me yesterday and said they had bought Gears of War 2 for the XBOX 360, there was no way I or The Bait were going to turn down coming over to play it. Is it strange that I find butchering masses of monsters while making quips with my friends relaxing?
Now ask me if I give a horse’s left nut.
Folks, the nerd in me was near orgasmic level in happiness. Take a short gander as to why.
Best quote of the night (Me and Scarlett vs Marilyn and The Bait):
Scarlett: “I drive, you shoot.”
Marilyn/The Bait: “Shit.”
This is going to be my last post until Monday probably so hope everyone has a safe and relaxing weekend.
P. S. Bonus points if anyone can tell me where this post’s title comes from.