Musical Theatre Geeks of the world unite!

WARNING:  ADULT LANGUAGE IN THIS POST

I might have developed this... uh....little... small... (wee really)... obsession with Tim Minchin.  Nothing warranting  Mr. Minchin seeking out a restraining order or anything.  It's totally the Bloggess's fault.  In September of this year, she mentioned him in one of her posts.  I watched some clips on You Tube and fell hard for this comic musical genius.

 

I'm talking Donny Osmond/Shaun Cassidy hard.*   I want a poster of him for my bedroom ceiling. I'm this close to imagining what kind of eyes our babies would have.  Imagine scribblers filled with Mrs. Heather Minchin in curly letters, embellished with illuminated hearts and glitter glue.  

The dude is so freaking cool - it's hard to impart that kind of adoration in a non-sexual/stalker context.  He is the most profanely profound comedian/musician I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing.  Think Louis C.K. as a composer-singer.  Minchin has the goods, and for a guy who doesn't read music he will blow your fucking mind with his piano playing.

(Mr. Minchin - I'm really not a stalker - nothing at ALL close to Kathy Bates in ANY context here - I promise - just your average Canadian Musical Theatre Geek - who salivates just a titch when you squeeze 25 syllables into a musical phrase and can articulate them all.)

Last week we drove 45 minutes to see a simulcast of Jesus Christ Superstar from the UK.   I would have gone to see it anyway as Superstar is my favourite rock opera of all time (the best of Rice and Webber), but when I found out that Tim Minchin was starring as Judas, I lost my mind... in an adorable, not-at-all-threatening, nor indicating any sort of psychotic break, way.

The production itself was fan-fucking-tastic!  (It wasn't perfect, there were some musical direction things that I didn't agree with... DON'T, for the love of Ian Gillan, go for the Big Broadway  Finish ANYWHERE in Superstar.  It doesn't need it.)    The tour was well-staged, well-acted not too dancy-dancy...  Melanie C as Mary Magdalene killed it, Ben Foster did a great job as Jesus, Alex Hanson as Pilate was delicious,  Pete Gallagher's first notes as Ciaphus nearly had me creaming my pants... but Minchin?  Was freaking brilliant as Judas.   I didn't know he had the chops to sing it - as that epiphany hit me, I fell harder and harder for the dude.  Judas's (spoiler alert) death had me in tears - and I wasn't even anywhere close to my period.

Then there's Christmas Day!  Less than a month from getting the chance to see Superstar - Les Mis will be in theatres.  Please, please, please don't let them fuck it up!  Please!  Let it be the perfect thing for my family to do on Christmas Day!!!   Please, please, please!!!  Let me get chills, let me weep, let it be all that a musical theatre geek could hope for!!!**

*(OR for people a decade younger... Michael Jackson/Rick Astley hard.... OR for people two decades younger... Backstreet Boys/NSync hard... if you're any younger than that you probably shouldn't be reading this blog.)

**Spoiler Alert - Les Mis (apart from Anne Hathaway's I Dreamed a Dream and Eddie Redmayne's Empty Chairs at Empty Tables) did NOT live up to its hype.  For the love of all that's holy in musical theatre give us some fucking long shots!

Weight Loss Secrets Revealed!!

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE IN THIS POST

Pssssst.... over here!

You won't have to starve yourself!  You won't have to exercise!!!  Watch how these other women lost 20, 40, even as much as 75% of their total body weight! 

Take a couple of tsp of apple cider vinegar before every meal!  Spoonfuls of honey speed the metabolism!  Acacia will increase your lean muscle!

And... it's all bullshit.  Bullshit to sell women useless shit.  'Cause you know what?  There is no quick fix for ANYTHING in life.  You want to lose weight?  You need to exercise and eat sensibly.  You want to eliminate lines around your mouth and your eyes after the fact?  Too frickin' late - you should have stayed out of the sun and never smiled.*  You want to save for your retirement?  Put 10% of your salary into an RRSP every year.

Sure, you can lose 5 lbs a week!  Totally doable!  Wait, wait... why not go at it with gusto and lose 40 lbs in a month?!?  You'll be SO svelte, SO trim... and you will gain ALL the weight back because that sort of rapid weight loss is a freaking fairy tale, despite what most women's magazine covers will tell you.

Woman's World just kills me.   Always a story about weight loss on the front.  Always an incredible sugar/fat/carb filled picture of a recipe that you MUST make.  Miracle weight loss annnnnnnnnnd baked goods.
 

"You look GREAT!!  Have you been doing Atkins?"

"Nope."

"Bernstein?"

"Nope."

"Cabbage Soup?"

"Nope."

"Israeli Army?   Dukan?  Grapefruit??"

"Nope, Nope and NOPE!  I'm doing this amazing plan..."

"Yes?!?"

"It's astounding!  It improves my sleep, I'm less depressed and I have MORE energy!!"

"OH MY GOD.  WHAT IS IT?!?  WHAT IS IT???"

"It's..."  beckon, beckon, surreptitious look, for all those desperate-to-be-thin people who might mob a girl for the information  "...sensible eating and EXERCISE... "

'Cause here's the deal folks.  Recommended weight loss is 2 lbs a week AT MOST.  That's 8 lbs a month - not 20, not 40... And you know why?  Because when you sensibly adapt your eating habits and exercise you drop weight gradually, and your body?  It doesn't think that it's starving and your metabolism won't  be completely fucked.

I'm on the treadmill 6 days a week for at least 40 minutes at a time - some of that time actually jogging - and wonders of wonders!!!  Sure enough, I've lost weight and my flabby thighs are less flabby.  So in fact, NOT a miracle - it's exercise.  And I'm not saying that a person has to jog.  Do excercise that you LIKE for at least 30 minutes a day - otherwise you won't keep doing it.  Back bothers you?  Get a recumbent cycle.  Don't like being on your feet?  Swim at the Y.  You like to dance?  Grab a copy of Just Dance for the Wii. Me?  I like to walk .  I  hop on the treadmill and watch a tv show on my tablet -  that's 42 minutes - then I'm done for the day and I'm so far up the moral high ground that my nose bleeds.

It's not rocket science and it's not magic - it's working at it.  Take it from a gal who is prone to depression herself, working at it will make you healthier and happier.  Yeah, sometimes on a Saturday morning, it's a pain in the ass and you grumble most of your way through it, but you WILL feel better.  I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass and you don't have to pay me for it.  Oh and another thing?  Anyone in their 40s is ALLOWED to have lines on their face!  They're not crow's feet, they're smile lines and what you should really worry about is if you DON'T have them.
 
*Botox or plastic surgery can help with wrinkles and lines.  Sure, you look like a freaking robotic doll, but if it makes you happy and you've got the cash, go for it!  Whatever creams your panties.  However, there is absolutely NO inexpensive 'fine line' cream that you can grab at Shoppers Drug Mart that will turn back the clock.  Do NOT waste your money.

How do snakes have sex?

Asks Rissa.  At bedtime.  Because she's crazy.

"Mummy, how do snakes actually have sex?"

"Pardon?"   Gear shift.  I was mildly confused as the last thing she'd said had been:

"Mummy what if you just started sprouting extra ears all over your head?"

As to the snake sex thing, I really hadn't a clue.  I was pretty much in the dark as to the logistics of reptile mating.*  "Well I imagine the male has a penis and the female has some sort of vagina..."

"Mummy!!!!  What if the male snake IS the penis?"

I think I then made a Scooby Doo sound.

Ruh??

"No seriously Mummy!  It totally could be true!  The male snake would BE the penis and then he would just..."

"Put his entire body inside the female?"

"Maybe....  Although that would probably be a lot for a female snake to take...  Wait!  Wait!  What if all snakes are just males..."

"They aren't."

"But what if they were?"

"So basically, if there were no female snakes, and the male snake IS the penis - what you're saying is that there would be a bunch of penises slithering around on the ground?"

"Mummy.... EEEEEEEEEEW!!"

"Dude.  You totally started it."

* Oh and just in case you were wondering, male snakes have two-headed penises.  The hemi-penis.  (See the diagram below - third section up from the tail.)  When I told Rissa that - she said there needed to be a different word.  "Plurenis" is what she came up with.

Never take pictures of me when I'm talking...

Smiling... laughing - that's okay, but if you catch me on film/pixels while I'm talking,  I look like I'm either in the midst of an epileptic fit, morphing into a velociraptor or channelling Lucille Ball in one of the episodes where she has to deal with stomping grapes or packaging chocolates.

Below is a pic of me giving my Toast to the Groom at a wedding from October.  I know, HOT, right?  Who wouldn't want to tap that?  Later we played Throw Wedding Favors into Heather's Mouth!

NEVER when I'm talking.  There is a plethora of photographic evidence from more than a handful of public events where I've had to give a speech.  I'm sure that I looked just fine actually giving the speech, but catch any of the individual seconds of those speeches candidly?  It's like I'm having a stroke, and instead of calling 911, the photographer took pictures of it.  DUDE!!!  How about a little fucking dignity here?

And as I've already let that horse out of the barn - here are some others...

Help me!  I have lock jaw!!

Brain aneurysm!  I am having a brain aneurysm!!!

Nothing to do with public speaking but here's when I got too friendly with an alpaca and it spat on me.   Here is the before...

Oh aren't you the sweetest little alpaca I've ever seen!

 And here is the after...

I totally deserved that.

Don't show anyone your boobs online!!!

"Don't show anyone your boobs online!"

"Don't type anything that you wouldn't want your grandparents to see!!"  I know her friends, they're all good kids and maybe I'm worrying over nothing at this point, but my mind goes to these freaky places.  You know the ones - where my tween daughter is pregnant and hooked on Crack and debating whether she's going to keep the baby.  Aaaaaand the angina kicks in.

Ever since she hit puberty and had a defined waist - my maternal panic has gone into overdrive.  There are dudes out there who want to have SEX with my baby.  The summer she was 11 we'd go for family walks and we'd be garnering some male attention, I'd preen a bit and think to myself  "Well I guess that I look good today..."  until I saw that it wasn't ME they were looking at - it was my daughter.

"Don't eyeball her you PERV!! SHE IS 11!!" I wanted to get her a t-shirt "I am NOT as old as you think I am".  And it's not  just teenaged boys - it's MEN.  Like men my age.  "I will END you - you freak!  She is a baby!!!!!"

s

Bay Moon Studio pin

I'm so fucked.  Rissa was always an attractive girl, but what with her dance training and her height and her lovely alabaster skin - she's now frickin' gorgeous.  And the more gorgeous she gets the more I lose my mind.

Because it is sooooo much different than when I was young.  It's no longer a case of "You show me yours, I'll show you mine."  It's morphed into "You show me yours via webcam and I'll post it to the entire universe and have you labeled a dirty slut."

My mind is filled with Urban Mythological "lipstick parties" where boys have girls with different colours of lipstick give them blow jobs in the dark.

"Don't put anyone's penis in your mouth!"

"Mummy.  Eeeeeeeeeew!"

"I'm just saying...."

"Gross."

A brain wave comes to me.  Agree with her.  "Yes it IS gross and you should therefore wait until you are finished university before going anywhere near that.  Plus boys never shower enough and it would be really stinky."

"Eeeeeeeew!"

"The minute you start to get tingly around ANYONE - you tell me and we'll put you on the pill!  And you'll have a diaphragm.  And an IUD."

"Mummy, I'm only 12..."

"Yes, but you don't LOOK 12 and dudes start to think with their penises really early in life.  Trust me on this."

Please, oh please, please, please.  Keep my daughter safe - keep her smart - keep her confident.  Let her have moxie.  Let her know the difference between a guy who just wants to get in her pants and a guy who wants to cherish her heart.  Or girl. In fact a girl would be great!  At least if she has a girlfriend she can't get pregnant.

 

Under Pressure

And that's how I accidentally took anti-depressants...

I'm spending so much time stoned now.  Not REALLY stoned.  Just migraine medication stoned.  And menstrual medication.  And arthritis medication.  I slept for 4 extra hours one morning after taking the most innocent-looking of pills.  It was a wee trapezoid shape - so wee and pretty.   It knocked me out.  It was the best nap I've had in a long time.  A deep sleep where drool seeped from the corner of my mouth - leaving me feeling like a contented bear greeting the spring.

Occasionally when I'm reaching into the pill container in my purse - I'll empty an assortment of pills and I have NO idea what they are.  The trapezoid ones are some sort of muscle relaxant and I know I should have those with food because they're hard on a gal's stomach.  But the yellow ones, with the number on the one side and the random letters on the other?  Not a clue.  Aceta-something?  I am smart enough to know not to take any of these pills with alcohol, but other than that?  Is it a T3 with caffeine?  Because if it is, I can't take that after noon on account of my crazy-ass sensitivity to caffeine.

When I was 19, I was sent to Dr. Shrink because of chronic insomnia.   I just couldn't sleep at night.  My body was exhausted, but my mind would NOT shut down.  I'd recently had my existential angst/awakening to mortal fear and my GP suggested that seeing a shrink might be helpful.  The shrink put me on sleeping pills that knocked me out.  I would wake up all muzzy headed and remained kind of vague the entire day.  A couple of months later - I had a check-up with my GP and he asked how the anti-depressants were working out for me.

"Excuse me?"

"The anti-depressants that Dr. Shrink put you on.  Are they helping?"  He showed me the note in my chart from Dr. Shrink.

"So these aren't sleeping pills?"

"No, but they can help with sleep."

The next visit with Dr. Shrink I asked him why he hadn't told me that I was on anti-depressants.

"Oh, but I did."

"Ummmmm.... no you didn't."

"Yes I'm certain I did."

"I'm pretty certain that you didn't."

So... arguing with a shrink never makes a person seem sane  At best you sound whiny, at worst you come off as paranoid.  I stopped my arguing and left it at this:  "Okay... let's just say that this will be my last session with you, you Gaslighting bastard."

You know what caused the insomnia?  Caffeine.  Our family's habit was to take tea after dinner.  I had developed a sensitivity to caffeine and couldn't sleep because of Tetley's Tea.  (This was before I discovered Capt. Picard and Earl Grey - hot.) The smallest amounts of caffeine after lunch can ruin my sleep.  After a major operation, I was put on T3s with codeine and caffeine.  I was exhausted, dying for sleep, but awake all night because of the caffeine.  David called the surgeon and asked for T3s without the caffeine.

She was dumbfounded.  "There's not enough caffeine in those pills to keep a person up."

"Yes, in a normal person, that might be so," replied David.  "However, we are dealing with Heather and she is a freak of nature."

The good thing about my body being so freakishly sensitive is that I know almost immediately when something is wrong with me.  The bad thing about my body being so freakishly sensitive is that almost anything can send my body off into the land of disproportionate symptoms. Too much sugar?  Dizzy.  Too little protein?  Dizzy.  Flickering fluorescent lights?  Migraine.  Wallowing in post coital splendour for too long?  Bladder infection.

My Mom still looks at me and asks "Where the hell did you come from?"  She is healthy as the proverbial horse and my Dad - apart from cholesterol issues is doing just great.  Me?  I am the delicate flower prone to getting high off of caramel.  I can say though, that knowing to avoid caffeine - makes it WAY easier to sleep at night.  Without mis-prescribed anti-depressants.

Community Theatre CATS!

Pretty much can't be done.  According to one acclaimed costume designer - and this must intoned in a deep, throaty, Katharine Hepburn educated drawl - "There can be only ONE fat cat."

I'm not saying that there aren't svelte dancer bodies in community theatre.  I'm just saying that there aren't enough of them that you'd want to see encased in Lycra, rolling around a stage attempting to lick their nether regions.  Community theatre musicals tend to be filled with middle-aged bodies who have been through life, have found their mates and therefore no longer feel the need to go to the gym and keep toned.  Your average community theatre production of CATS! would have a cast full of Grizabellas, Old Deuteronomys and Jennyanydots.

There are certain shows that you just can't do in our small provincial town.  Even in 2012, most of our residents are the WASPiest people you'll ever see.  We can be chock a block with whores, pimps and crooks on our stage, but try to have a balanced portrayal of the real world with real skin tones?  It ain't gonna happen here.  Sure we can do Little Shop of Horrors, but Chiffon, Crystal & Ronnette are not going to be black.  South Pacific, West Side Story?  Ain't happening unless it's completely colour-blind casting.  Although some of the older generation wouldn't even pause at the thought of "throwing on a little more makeup" on the Puerto Ricans.  Hairspray?  Not a chance.  Ours is the town where, when we were looking for diversity for our cast of hippies in Hair, I went up to a stranger on the school playground, who happened to be black, and ask if she could sing.   Instead of slapping me across the face for racial profiling, thank God she took the question in the spirit in which it was asked, and 'dropped trou' with the rest of the cast. 

Basically, we're stuck doing theatre by and for white people (which if you really think about it - is what happens - even on Broadway). Gypsy, My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, Sweeney Todd, Best Little Whorehouse in Texas... Decades from now, when the rights to The Lion King come up, unless it's an all-white cast who somehow manage to be fabulous puppeteers AND dancers,  it won't be staged here.  Sure, community theatres can get away with Fiddler on the Roof - although the closest synagogue is a 1/2 hour away in any direction from our town, and most productions think nothing of having actors in 'Jewface" with over-the-top wigs and/or facial hair.  And you know why?  Because there just aren't enough Jews in our neck of the woods to be offended. 

So the way we get to push the envelope?  We do Jesus Christ Superstar every ten years or so - which as late as 2002, still had the religious right protesting the show's blasphemous nature. (Apparently Jesus would never want to rock out.)  Rocky Horror comes out every now and again - and we've done The Full Monty.  Oh, the titillation of naked or nearly naked neighbours onstage!  They just aren't black neighbours and you still wouldn't want to see them encased in Lycra.