Tag Archives: excuse

A Night of Art-ness Pt 2

General

Last night Sharkboy, Mom and a couple of her friends were treated to A Chorus Line by my brother Michael, who I thank with all my cultured heart.

Mike had “arranged them”. So I had to get them from the press desk at the theatre, which resulted in this conversation with the two most bitterest press desk employees ever:

Me: “I’m here to pick up tickets”
PD1: “Name?”
Me: “They’re under Michael Healey.”
PD1: “You’re not Michael Healey!”
Me: “I’m his brothe–”
PD2: (finding the tickets during all this and thrusting them at me) “CONGRATULATIONS. NEXT!”
Me: “…And his mother is coming too, you really don’t want to cross her.”

Bitter cow. Not even giving me the satisfaction to gloat over my brother’s success.

Every ten minutes after the show, Mom would turn to me and ask who paid for the tickets.

“Mirvishes,” I would say, which wasn’t far from the truth.

At this point, I would like to state that since I got the last two days of theatre tickets for free, my brother and I are now even for all those times I had to get up at 2am to go get his asthma medicine in the 70s. I absolve you of this debt.

Prior to the show, Sharkboy and I split up to try to intercept Mom as she arrived at The Canon Theatre. Who makes two entrances to a popular theatre on two different city blocks? I am sure many of dates are destroyed because the simple statement “I’ll meet you there” turns connecting outside the theatre a mood killing process. Anyway, Sharkboy took the Victoria Street entrance in case her cabbie took her to the “box office” while I stayed on Yonge at the “Main entrance”.

I see my Mom and her friends after a while and we greet each other with hugs. As this is going on, none of us notice the huge black SUV pull up to the curb beside us. I tell Mom to go to her seats while I go collect Sharkboy from the other entrance and we’ll be together soon. I turn to head around the block.

Wham. My nose makes contact with a solid wall of suit covered beef.

I hit a body guard.

One of David Mirvishes‘ body guards.

“Excuse me!” we respond simultaneously, politely.

I’m spinning around to see David Mirvish again but they’re swept into the theatre. I wanted to thank him for the tickets and insist that he continue to commission work from my brother.

By the way, I loved A Chorus Line. It was schmaltzy, self centred, self deprecating, navel gazing musical theatre that had me humming it’s tunes even as I type this.

Not Laughing At You. Oh Wait. Yes I Am.

Distractions

“Ma’am? Miss? Excuse me?”

The barista is hanging over the counter trying to get the attention of the woman at the creamer counter. Someone in the fairly longish line steps out and taps her on the shoulder.

“What?” she snaps.

“Your card is short by $2,” the barista says somewhat quietly over the crowd.

“You rang it through twice. I know there’s at least $5 on it left.”

“I can give you a print out of your purchase…”

With a huff she turns back to the front of the line and with weighted flourish, dumps her purse on the counter. She gets the bill and in hushed tones, tries to reason with the barista why she thought there was more money on the card. Finally, angrily, she hands over the remaining cash.

“This is the longest I have ever had to wait for service,” she offers as punctuation to her $4 coffee purchase, and storms off.

I’ve known the barista for some time. Not much fazes her, but you can tell that cow got to her somehow. At my turn at the counter, she takes my order and I stand slightly to the left to wait for my tea. I’m going to tell her that she’s doing a great job… that it’s a great day… something positive. Suddenly a soccer mom with daughter in tow stands directly in front of me and orders. And orders something else. And complicates something (I wasn’t paying that much attention). The barista places my tea on the counter and while I wait for her to take my money, tries to smooth out the soccer mom’s order, which she does, except for…

“Can you give me my coffee now?” the snotty soccer mom asks.

I make eye contact with the barista. I roll my eyes and make a “mah moo mive me my moffee mow?” face behind the soccer mom’s back.

Both of us laugh. Try not to. Then snort hard. Try not to. I give up and laugh and look at the stunned soccer mom. I drop a $1 tip into the box.

It’s just coffee, people!

Summer’s Last Gasps Pt1

Celebs and Media, Distractions, iPhone

What would sexy Jesus do?

Put on a play! And not just any play, but Hamlet 2, a Homer Simpson-esque sequel to the great tragedy featuring time travel, music and Staying Alive fog machine dancing.

Look, summer is winding down. You’ve seen the Bat Man, you’ve shopped at Buy N Large, you’ve met your Waterloo, you’ve ignored that X file on your desk, you wept like a child at their mother’s death bed as Indy watched the UFO leave South America (Why!!? WHY???). The excitement is winding down. What’s to do now?

The trailer alone had me laughing more than any trailer (or movie…?) I’ve seen so far this year. No surprise, really: it has Catherine Keener finally getting work; a cameo from Amy Poehler; a title card that proudly announces it’s from the writers of South Park (songs, hopefully!); Steve Coogan, who is poised to be the next indy Brit break out, Ed Broadbent-style, on US soil; The Gay Men’s Chorus of Tuscon; and a “needle across the record screech” moment: “reintroducing Elizabeth Shue as Elizabeth Shue”, who has actually been working, you just haven’t seen anything she’s done since Hollow Man.

Hell, any excuse to see Jesus dance and hopefully get SharkBoy to stop singing Hairspray songs around the house, and I’m there.