Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wow. I have not blogged in a LONG time. I fear that any small readership I may have accumulated will have completely disappeared. Somehow I'm going to have to internet-whore myself out again. Damn. Anyway, I have reasonable excuses to justify my blogging absence. First of all, I've been quite enfolded in a torrid love affair with my Awesome Boyfriend (henceforth referred to as AB). Additionally, I've been swamped with work for grad school (I vaguely recall having made some absurd plan to not procrastinate...what rubbish), I have a huge job interview today, I have a new show opening this weekend and have been attempting to learn lines for that. Ok wait, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that the last part is a lie. I do have a new show opening on Saturday, but I have yet to even LOOK at my lines. But still. I've been busy!
So I have many things to blog about, not the least of which being a fantastical, magical trip to a mythical land called Atlantic City with AB last weekend, but that's going to have to wait. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I need to share with you the Valentine's Day Ultimate Fighting Championship-worthy brawl that AB and I had ringside seats for on Saturday.
We decided to take in the Fulton's production of Agatha Christie's An Unexpected Guest on Valentine's Day. We were sitting in the first row of the mezzanine, and approximately six seats down from us was a lovely, distinguished couple. The man was big, white, and had a long ponytail, some kind of haphazard facial hair statement, a "sweater" relic circa 1984, and ultratight jeans. The woman was African-American, wearing a halter dress that was falling off of her, and could barely keep her head out of her lap. Throughout the first act, they proceeded to yell to each other (and the actors on stage), take pictures with their cell phones, and engage in all kinds of other extremely loud shenanigans. The people surrounding us became more and more disgruntled, and starting shuffling in their seats like yuppie people do when they're disgruntled but don't know how to deal with it. I was getting a kick out of it though, honestly. It was like I was getting two shows for the price of one. At one point, AB leaned over and whispered, "I have absolutely no idea what's going on in this play because what's going on over there is so much more entertaining."
An educated guess would be that these two patrons were flying like paper and getting high like planes. Intermission came. Apparently (this has not been confirmed, and none of us heard anything like this) another gentleman came up to the couple and said something to the effect of, "You need to keep your monkey quiet." Suddenly, Ponytail Man started screaming, "F*ck you, you c*cksucker, I'm going to f*cking kill you!" Please be reminded that we were at the Fulton Opera House. It was like in old movies where there's a record playing, and it screeches to a halt. Everyone just stood in their seats, mouths agape. Ponytail man rushed after this man, jumped on top of him, and started beating the living bejeezus out of him. I don't know what bejeezus is, but it is not something I would like to have beaten out of me. I'd like to keep my bejeezus, thanks. Several other men rushed into the brawl (AB included, because he's big and strong...duh) and pulled Ponytail Man off of the insulter. Ponytail Man then fell down the stairs, still screaming death threats and other incoherent nonsense.
AB and I decided that we'd rather finish our evening by going out drinking than sitting through the second half of the play. The play was mind bogglingly inane, by the way. The only fun part would be to try to come up with other, dirtier things to refer to as "the unexpected guest." I'll let you use your imagination.
Observations and Lessons Learned:
1. Racial slurs are not funny or acceptable, but coked out crazy people are both funny AND acceptable.
2. Only go see boring plays if you think there might be a fight. If you don't see one brewing, it is a good idea to start one.
3. The cure for any kind of drama is a martini.
4. People should only try to do Irish accents (or accents of any kind) on stage (or elsewhere, really) if they are positive that they know how to do said accent.