& day windows, and windows into yesterday, today & tomorrow. lots of windows. all looking out onto something, or nothing, & sometimes not looking at all.
nausea created by any or all of the following ingredients:
1. crap cab driver with either a heavy braking foot (that caused the car to stop suddenly...ALL THE TIME) or a penchant for alcoholism (he did mention carrying a flask at all times to make drinks stronger-a great thing to hear from the man driving your mom, sister & yourself-yowza.)
2. junior mints that i didn't want
3. THE WORST ACTING I HAVE EVER SEEN (thank you a.c.t.'s rendition of charles dickens' "a christmas carol")*
*i really can't put into words that would accurately describe the horror of this play. my mom, sister & i agreed that we realized the potential for awful within the first 2 minutes. the set? blah. the screenplay adaption? boring. the acting????? i can't stress how bad (sorry to any a.c.t. actors reading this...but i can't sugar coat here).
you all know the story-scrooge, tiny tim, the 3 ghosts...a story whose popularity could really only be topped by maybe santa & the reindeers or the birth of jesus. so you are asking yourself...how crap could it actually have been?
within the first couple of minutes, i turned to my mom & say "this is not going to work. it's bad"...little did i know the extent of what that word..."bad"...would later come to encompass.
let's put it this way-after the first speaking lines were "delivered", and after the cooperative (lame) audience had doubled over at the "funny lines"...i mouth to ana "fake laugh"-@ which point ANY TIME there was anything the audience started chuckling at-ana would throw her head back & bust out in a raucous, mid-westerner-at-a-comedy-club type laugh, that trailed off at the end (aaaaaaahhhhh) & the words "great stuff" (the reader should realize ana's performance would last far & beyond the audience's chuckle fest...meaning everyone got to enjoy it's ridiculous quality). at which time mom & i would cry from laughing so hard-& then all three of us would fall apart until the next time. sadly, we are all fairly certain the people unfortunate enough to sit around us thought this was really her laugh-and they were highly annoyed that they were sitting next to "that girl".
& then came the side comments from the 3 of us-the peanut gallery-which can't exactly be categorized as "heckling" since we only whispered them to each other...but the fits of silent-i-shouldn't-be-laughing-now-laughter that would follow these comments only kept the momentum going...we decide we are most definitely going to be leaving early...this is agreed upon with merely a look we pass between the three of us...ana later described this look as meaning "i would pay the full price of the ticket again, just to get the f* out of here".
the "commentary" we were delivering from the sidelines really came to a head when the ghost of christmas past appeared...a larger man...on a swing from the top of the stage...painted all in gold...wearing gold lamee tights...singing..."don't you remember"...
i look at my mom with a look on my face similar, i believe, to something that could be classified as pure & sincere shock. "mom...let's be sure we are clear. is that a larger man, in gold tights, dangling his large calves off a swing, flying from the sky? is this really happening?"
this apparition's entrance was really the point of no return-it was just a matter of when we would be pulling our gypsy exit...because this ghost-this central part to the lore of a christmas carol, was not the ghost of christmas past meant to remind dear old ebenezer about how happy he once was.
he was the queen of the big-thigh-gold-tights club. he did leaps, he did jazz hands, he did spirit fingers (yes, like what you would see at a high school football game mixed with what you would see at a senior citizens water aerobics class), he kicked his feet in what some would call a "jig dance step" (others would call it feet convulsions). he spoke with an acting style something like what is seen on the outtakes of american idol.
now, when the curtain went down at the first half, we looked at each other & say (again, still in a semi-comatose shock) "maybe we should stay...at least to see the ghost of christmas present..."...our reason for saying this is what is known as "rubber necking". human being's base desire to watch a train wreck & see actual carnage (or at least a really jacked up car). we were morbidly curious as to how much more awful this little play could deliver...
we go to the bar to get water (we are beyond being able to use alcohol to numb the wounds)-and we collectively realize how impossible it was going to be to get back in those seats & sit through a single additional minute of the performance.
what a night.
latin for "out of nothing".
in a sentence-the animaniacs made for fantastic tv...without a real "theme", basically ex nihilo they conquered syndicated cartoons (lame sentence...i'm brain dead...let it go).
and on that note (really the reason i am bothering to post at all)..albeit outdated now by political boundary standards...
without further ado...
i love xmas, don't get me wrong. i think it's great-spending money, wrapping gifts, the food, all of it.
my first xriticism, however is...
the american motto? buy stuff. lots of stuff. buy buy buy buy buy buy spend $$$, buy, charge it, buy buy buy.
then why in the name of everything santa, do department stores force all this crap into your hands to buy...and then give you the jankiest carry-away bags ever made? obviously the money spent on clothes/shoes/sheets/peppermint bark @ crate & barrel isn't put back into the "shopping bag" fund.
twice, i repeat TWICE since christmas shopping, i have had handles rip right off the bag.
and am forced to either steal bags from unsuspecting non-shopped stores, or shove everything into my purse, and not look like i'm stealing.
i'm beginning to think santa really is a fat SOB with a penchant for breaking in & rummaging through sorority girls unmentionables drawers...maybe he really is a totally pervy weirdo.
grrrrrr......it's almost enough to force me into the ebenezer-corner.
if it happens again before my shopping jollies are over, i will ever be an online gifter from here forward.
i've said my peace.
amen.
