You know what is funny? I am watching a British cooking show. Better yet, a British version of Iron Chef, wherein the host is trying to get the guest Italian cook to compliment English wine. As we were given dire warnings about impending starvation and I have survived so far on sandwiches from French bakeries, this is TERRIBLY amusing. Haaa!
Also, the wireless in the hotel (which is not free) is barely an improvement over my parents' circa 1990 dial up. I had to switch places on the bed with Phillip to get it to work. I am not making that up.
Anyway, I am a big fan of London. I first visited when I was twelve and my dad made us all do his sadistic version of a summer book report. My topic was the British royalty, so we went to the National Portrait Gallery and the Tower of London and then I had to sit in the hotel room at night writing about what I'd learned and drawing pictures of Queen Elizabeth. But we saw three musicals on that first trip and I decided to screw the whole writer bit, I was going to be a STAR! On STAGE! Hee. As proof of my devotion, I offer the fact that I've memorized nearly every word on my Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, without ever having seen the actual show. (My aunt and I picked up discount tickets on our one free afternoon on my next trip (where we saw something like 8 shows in 7 days, it was HEAVEN) and at the point where the chandelier was supposed to drop, nothing happened. The power was out in the theater, sorry, they had to cancel the show. Bummer.)
So I've heard all this talk about Wicked Wicked Wicked and that was the show I donated my kidney for to find myself sitting, like, THIS far from a Tony Award winner last night. I was wearing a skirt that, I swear, fit me before my trip, but had to be left half unzipped. I was wearing the cheapo boots I bought in Italy (and apparently I am wearing them WRONG, because every woman in Europe is wearing her skinny little jeans tucked into her skinny little boots, not with bare legs and a skirt like me, but EXCUSE ME, Europe, I have gigando peasant stock calves and can't pull off the matchstick leg look you all have going on and actually I don't like jeans tucked into boots ANYWAY so THERE.) Ahem. I had my coat on my lap and my elbows digging into my sides, because the theater is much like an airplane and I was sitting between my husband and a Rather Large Man. And for the first 15 minutes the Tony Award winner was nowhere to be found and I was bored. For that I felt very very guilty because some of you (cough) LOVE this show and I knew I would have to report back and be in love too.
But people! It was chick flicky! Phillip kept looking at me like, "I can't believe you donated your kidney to take me to THIS," and I wanted to throw a little dart at Galinda and deflate her skirt and her hair and her voice, her VOICE, oh my GOSH. The songs weren't hooking me, the staging wasn't amazing me...
AND THEN. Elphaba does her first big song and I was all, "DUDE. This was SO WORTH MY KIDNEY."
By the end of the show I was sobbing (but I am blaming this on being pregnant, I am allowed to cry over anything I want) and telling Phillip how utterly WONDERFUL the entire show was and could we please go see it tomorrow? Because OH. That last song? Where they're singing about being friends? Like, WAY TO MAKE ME BAWL, LONDON. Sigh.
A few things: For the longest time I kept thinking the kid playing... I forget his name. The one in love with Galinda but tending to Nessarose- him? Clay Aiken. SPITTING IMAGE. And it finally dawned on me that everyone had a proper British accent except for Elphaba and at intermission a man behind me said, sort of snottily, "They're supposed to be getting a British Elphaba in January." How come the green makeup never rubbed off? The monkeys were freaky. I had to ask Phillip who the Lion was... I never figured that one out. Actually, I was pretty slow on all of that (except the Scarecrow) and I loved who Nessarose ended up being. I went back and forth between hating and adoring Glinda about 400 times. Elphaba never got to be pretty.
Oops! Right about here I hit 'Publish' accidentally. Or something like that. I don't know. I hate the laptop.
ANYWAY! In a few hours we will be seeing our second musical, Chicago. We're seeing Chicago because I LOVE the songs and I LOVE singing and dancing and it was a hell of a lot cheaper (and better seats) than The Lion King. There are a hundred other shows to see and I am rather distraught about NOT seeing them, but we leave at 2pm tomorrow and I suppose I don't get to have everything I want. Bollocks. Look, I'm English already!
Oh, and I finally found a baby store in Europe. It's on Regent Street and it is selling the most adorable winter baby clothes, none of which I bought because they cost as much as theater tickets, and my baby will be born in May. And although I hear there is SNOW on the ground where I live, I'm IGNORING the Pacific Northwest weather. Last time it snowed I had to call my boss to take me to work because I am such a ninny. I hope it's all gone by the time we get home. Of course, my hopes are cancelled out by Phillip's, who loves snow like each snowflake is a tiny little Transformer, descended from the sky just for him.
Did you know they still have The Weakest Link in the UK? Weird! Also, the TV sucks. Where is Sky News? These BBC anchors are reeeeeally irritating.
I think this is my last post until I get home. Sorry I was such a horrendous bore. I think all extraneous energy has gone directly to my poor aching feet. Pray for my airplane! I hate the airplane. In fact, I wrote a very long post in Word about how much I hate airplanes, but I figured no one wanted to read that. I've got 9 hours of the middle seat ahead of me and the doctor disapproves of Valium. GAH.