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. <\/p>\n

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:<\/p>\n

Me: “I’m here to pick up tickets”
\nPD1: “Name?”
\nMe: “They’re under Michael Healey.”
\nPD1: “You’re not Michael Healey!”
\nMe: “I’m his brothe–”
\nPD2: (finding the tickets during all this and thrusting them at me) “CONGRATULATIONS. NEXT!”
\nMe: “…And his mother is coming too, you really don’t want to cross her.”<\/p>\n

Bitter cow. Not even giving me the satisfaction to gloat over my brother’s success.<\/p>\n

Every ten minutes after the show, Mom would turn to me and ask who paid for the tickets. <\/p>\n

“Mirvishes,” I would say, which wasn’t far from the truth.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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”. <\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

Wham. My nose makes contact with a solid wall of suit covered beef.<\/p>\n

I hit a body guard. <\/p>\n

One of David Mirvishes<\/a>‘ body guards. <\/p>\n

“Excuse me!” we respond simultaneously, politely. <\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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