It embarasses me to admit that I do not see enough live theater. I live in a city chock-full of theater opportunities and yet, when I am not a person on stage, I am rarely get myself together to sit in the audience.
Which is mega frustrating because when I do go to the theater, it is always So. So. (So!) worth it.
One of my new, lovely Improvised Jane Austen companions, Kate, told us all about 2 for $20 tickets for the traveling party called Tristan and Yseult going down at Chicago Shakes.
(Brief digression, this deal might still be good if you get tickets for tomorrow - Thursday. Get thee to the Chicago Shakes website and buy tickets for Thursday, April 3 and use the promo code "CST20" during checkout. I cant make any promises, but it is worth it if you do not have Thursday night plans.)
Guys. This show was the tits. It was so good. Which I feel dumb saying because everything I see there is good. Just like how nearly everything I see everywhere in the city is good. Why don't I do it more?! (PS. It's not this month, but some month of Be Happy will be dedicated to theater, this is just a teaser).
Seriously, even if you cannot get $10 tickets to this show, get some rich sugar momma to buy you the $60 version. It is worth it even that price.
Apparently Kneehigh Theater's jam is they take things that already exist and make them super awesome. And then sometimes they hop the pond and all of us dumb Americans get to oogle them.
Here are some things this show reminded me of.
1- I like British Accents.
2- I love trampoline bits.
3- Balloons are more fun when you don't knot them.
All of the actors in this show played at least two parts, played a musical instrument, sing, dance, use multiple accents, light fires, stage fight, and could probably solve crimes or perform open heart surgery if it was in the script. British theater-trained actors are amazing.
Seriously, go see this or go see something else. But you should probably go see this. You're welcome, Chicago.
Showing posts with label theater. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theater. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 02, 2014
Monday, August 13, 2012
the wonder friends
Today has kind of been the BIGGEST day for many, many reasons.
This blog is only going to talk about two of them.
Specifically these two.
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They aren't friends anymore. But in honor of the fact that they are both 30! YEARS! OLD! on this Monday, they get a joint post. Sorry ladies, its Monday night, and I am drunk on red wine and tuna melts, I only have one blog post in me.
Once upon a time, I was 19 and I had no idea what was going on. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew who I had been since the age of 6. I couldn't shake off 3rd grade memories no matter how hard I tried to redefine myself. And then I moved to New York, where I could have redefined myself if anyone had given a shit. Which, surprise, surprise, no one really did.
And then! I got to move to a small little cesspool of insanity (known as summer stock theater) where no one knew my business, and I got to be whichever version of myself I wanted to be. I managed to spin the wheel and land on a version of myself that seemed to attract some really great people.
And thus began, 8 years ago, the silliest summer of my life. I try not to dwell too long on the past, but the summer of 2004 will always be ingrained as the best, worst summer of all time. As I reminisced about it today:
"...we made some really astoundingly bad choices. And we only ever had enough money for booze. And we kissed boys who made us cry. And we had the literal definition of dead-end jobs. And we ate week-old crabs. And yet we were still the happiest of girls..."
And these two amazing women, who have pretty much knocked life out of the ball park in the past 8 years in their own ways, were the two people who bought my new personality, hook, line and sinker and wanted to keep me around - even after the dream summer ended, and I went back to my real life, 15 pounds heavier and so much more aware of the kind of person I wanted to be as a twenty-something.
These girls taught me that its acceptable to do things just for the story. To write it all down. To get your heart temporarily broken for a night of fun. To play the "let me tell you about yourself" game. They taught me that people will love you even when you pour candle wax on their chests. And almost drive their cars into a clothes line. That its okay to be made fun of when you deserve it. And its okay to cry when it all gets to be too much.
When I first met these two girls, they were fresh-faced college graduates and I idolized them. I could not believe that these two people who seemed so much cooler and more grown-up than me wanted to be my friend. And even though I have never had an iota of true self-confidence, they made me feel like I was an awesome, hilarious person. They are both also awesome and hilarious.
So thank you. Thank you for 8 amazing years of self-discovery and debauchery. Happy 30th Birthday!
This blog is only going to talk about two of them.
Specifically these two.
.JPG)
They aren't friends anymore. But in honor of the fact that they are both 30! YEARS! OLD! on this Monday, they get a joint post. Sorry ladies, its Monday night, and I am drunk on red wine and tuna melts, I only have one blog post in me.
Once upon a time, I was 19 and I had no idea what was going on. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew who I had been since the age of 6. I couldn't shake off 3rd grade memories no matter how hard I tried to redefine myself. And then I moved to New York, where I could have redefined myself if anyone had given a shit. Which, surprise, surprise, no one really did.
And then! I got to move to a small little cesspool of insanity (known as summer stock theater) where no one knew my business, and I got to be whichever version of myself I wanted to be. I managed to spin the wheel and land on a version of myself that seemed to attract some really great people.
And thus began, 8 years ago, the silliest summer of my life. I try not to dwell too long on the past, but the summer of 2004 will always be ingrained as the best, worst summer of all time. As I reminisced about it today:
"...we made some really astoundingly bad choices. And we only ever had enough money for booze. And we kissed boys who made us cry. And we had the literal definition of dead-end jobs. And we ate week-old crabs. And yet we were still the happiest of girls..."
And these two amazing women, who have pretty much knocked life out of the ball park in the past 8 years in their own ways, were the two people who bought my new personality, hook, line and sinker and wanted to keep me around - even after the dream summer ended, and I went back to my real life, 15 pounds heavier and so much more aware of the kind of person I wanted to be as a twenty-something.
These girls taught me that its acceptable to do things just for the story. To write it all down. To get your heart temporarily broken for a night of fun. To play the "let me tell you about yourself" game. They taught me that people will love you even when you pour candle wax on their chests. And almost drive their cars into a clothes line. That its okay to be made fun of when you deserve it. And its okay to cry when it all gets to be too much.
When I first met these two girls, they were fresh-faced college graduates and I idolized them. I could not believe that these two people who seemed so much cooler and more grown-up than me wanted to be my friend. And even though I have never had an iota of true self-confidence, they made me feel like I was an awesome, hilarious person. They are both also awesome and hilarious.
So thank you. Thank you for 8 amazing years of self-discovery and debauchery. Happy 30th Birthday!
Friday, February 24, 2012
From the Unpublished Archives: Do it yo' self
Sometimes I start blogs and then get distracted by something shiny and abandon them. Often times, I pick up and finish them eventually but other times I cannot figure out where I was going with those thoughts. But I want to publish them anyway. This is one of those times...
I miss New York City subconsciously pretty much every single day of my life. I miss the street food, the pace, the feeling of confidence I used to have just walking down the street. But what I really, really miss is access to all the good shit. New York has all the good shit. Good cupcakes, good delivery food, really good theater.
That's all I had written when I first started this blog. Clearly I was going to make a comparison between Chicago and New York because I spend far too many waking hours making comparisons between these two cities. I do not know what in particular where I was going with this.
New York does seem to have the best shit. And perhaps it is because, in New York I felt as though I was always in the center of everything. No matter what neighborhood I was in, I felt as though I had access to all the best parts of the city at my fingertips. In Chicago, I do not always feel this way. Even though it is all there, something about this city just feels sleepy when compared to New York.
Maybe its because I cannot manage to get street food in the neighborhood where I work (come on, food trucks, show Uptown some love) and maybe its because I had to get 15 people to come see Book of Mormon with me, because the run is going to be so short in Chicago, that it would probably sell out before I could get individual tickets or maybe its because it just is. sleepy. It will never be New York and after 5 years, clearly I have decided that that is okay for now. But I don't know if it will be okay for forever.
I miss New York City subconsciously pretty much every single day of my life. I miss the street food, the pace, the feeling of confidence I used to have just walking down the street. But what I really, really miss is access to all the good shit. New York has all the good shit. Good cupcakes, good delivery food, really good theater.
That's all I had written when I first started this blog. Clearly I was going to make a comparison between Chicago and New York because I spend far too many waking hours making comparisons between these two cities. I do not know what in particular where I was going with this.
New York does seem to have the best shit. And perhaps it is because, in New York I felt as though I was always in the center of everything. No matter what neighborhood I was in, I felt as though I had access to all the best parts of the city at my fingertips. In Chicago, I do not always feel this way. Even though it is all there, something about this city just feels sleepy when compared to New York.
Maybe its because I cannot manage to get street food in the neighborhood where I work (come on, food trucks, show Uptown some love) and maybe its because I had to get 15 people to come see Book of Mormon with me, because the run is going to be so short in Chicago, that it would probably sell out before I could get individual tickets or maybe its because it just is. sleepy. It will never be New York and after 5 years, clearly I have decided that that is okay for now. But I don't know if it will be okay for forever.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Elevated Theater
The scene: the Lawrence platform of the red El line at night. THE GIRL stands minding her own business in the corner of one of the little incubator nooks. She is exhausted after working a 12-hour day trying to do her part to make the world a better place. She hears the sound of a tin can hit the tracks behind her. She turns to find the source of the noise (rookie mistake).
SKETCHY DUDE: That was me. I threw that tin can because I was done with it.
THE GIRL realizes her mistake in even looking up from her magazine.
THE GIRL: Oh. That's fine. Hopes this is the end of the interaction.
A moment goes by while THE GIRL holds her breath and tries to stop existing to prevent any more communication.
SKETCHY DUDE: approaches girl in the creepiest way possible Can I borrow your phone? I can't find mine.
THE GIRL: It just died. I am sorry. She tries to sell this lie as hard as she can.
SKETCHY DUDE: Oh. I mean, I am not going anywhere.
THE GIRL sees how he treated a tin can that he was done with and realizes she probably made the right choice not handing over her phone.
THE GIRL: Sorry.
SKETCHY DUDE produces a disposable black & white camera from his trench coat pocket and aims it at her. THE GIRL immediately puts her magazine over her face.
SKETCHY DUDE: Can't I take your picture?
THE GIRL: No. Sorry. Yeah, Sorry you're a creeper, she thinks
SKETCHY DUDE: I am in school.
THE GIRL grips the magazine in front of her face for dear life and wonders what he could possibly be in school for that would require a disposable black and white camera. Also where do you even get those any more?
THE GIRL and SKETCHY DUDE stand in silence for a while while THE GIRL reads her magazine two inches in front of her face. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she sees SKETCHY DUDE's hand extended towards her.
SKETCHY DUDE: Hershey Kiss? He holds out a silver wrapped Hershey Kiss that has probably been laced with LSD. He is the reason your parents warn you not to take candy from strangers.
THE GIRL shakes her head while silently wondering where the fuck the train is.
SKETCHY DUDE: Do you mind if I smoke?
THE GIRL: No, its fine.
SKETCHY DUDE: lights a cigarette No really, tell me if its a problem.
THE GIRL: Its fine. I don't mind.
SKETCHY DUDE: I can go outside.
THE GIRL thinks about the fact that they are outside and if he considers this exposed-on-three-sides nook "inside" then she really does not know what to say. Also, he is already smoking. She shrugs noncommittally and goes back to her magazine.
SKETCHY DUDE wanders outside the nook.
SKETCHY DUDE: Is this better?
THE GIRL: its fine.
a moment passes.
THE GIRL hears the very clear sound of SKETCHY DUDE urinating on the nook, from, thank God, the outside of it. She quickly walks away from the nook, recognizing warmth is not worth the smell of fresh crazy man urine. THE GIRL thanks her lucky stars she was not flashed, laughs out loud, shakes her head and revels in the insanity of Uptown and gets on the, finally arriving, Red Line train.
END SCENE
SKETCHY DUDE: That was me. I threw that tin can because I was done with it.
THE GIRL realizes her mistake in even looking up from her magazine.
THE GIRL: Oh. That's fine. Hopes this is the end of the interaction.
A moment goes by while THE GIRL holds her breath and tries to stop existing to prevent any more communication.
SKETCHY DUDE: approaches girl in the creepiest way possible Can I borrow your phone? I can't find mine.
THE GIRL: It just died. I am sorry. She tries to sell this lie as hard as she can.
SKETCHY DUDE: Oh. I mean, I am not going anywhere.
THE GIRL sees how he treated a tin can that he was done with and realizes she probably made the right choice not handing over her phone.
THE GIRL: Sorry.
SKETCHY DUDE produces a disposable black & white camera from his trench coat pocket and aims it at her. THE GIRL immediately puts her magazine over her face.
SKETCHY DUDE: Can't I take your picture?
THE GIRL: No. Sorry. Yeah, Sorry you're a creeper, she thinks
SKETCHY DUDE: I am in school.
THE GIRL grips the magazine in front of her face for dear life and wonders what he could possibly be in school for that would require a disposable black and white camera. Also where do you even get those any more?
THE GIRL and SKETCHY DUDE stand in silence for a while while THE GIRL reads her magazine two inches in front of her face. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she sees SKETCHY DUDE's hand extended towards her.
SKETCHY DUDE: Hershey Kiss? He holds out a silver wrapped Hershey Kiss that has probably been laced with LSD. He is the reason your parents warn you not to take candy from strangers.
THE GIRL shakes her head while silently wondering where the fuck the train is.
SKETCHY DUDE: Do you mind if I smoke?
THE GIRL: No, its fine.
SKETCHY DUDE: lights a cigarette No really, tell me if its a problem.
THE GIRL: Its fine. I don't mind.
SKETCHY DUDE: I can go outside.
THE GIRL thinks about the fact that they are outside and if he considers this exposed-on-three-sides nook "inside" then she really does not know what to say. Also, he is already smoking. She shrugs noncommittally and goes back to her magazine.
SKETCHY DUDE wanders outside the nook.
SKETCHY DUDE: Is this better?
THE GIRL: its fine.
a moment passes.
THE GIRL hears the very clear sound of SKETCHY DUDE urinating on the nook, from, thank God, the outside of it. She quickly walks away from the nook, recognizing warmth is not worth the smell of fresh crazy man urine. THE GIRL thanks her lucky stars she was not flashed, laughs out loud, shakes her head and revels in the insanity of Uptown and gets on the, finally arriving, Red Line train.
END SCENE
Thursday, April 07, 2011
It's cool Argentina.
Last night, Boyfriend and I went and saw Black Watch. It was pretty much just as amazing as everyone told me it would be. I would recommend it if you aren't afraid of a little loud noise, men dancing and singing, and the grim reality of how dumb those in charge of America can be sometimes.
A week ago we also took in The Wizard of Oz as envisioned by Bell Elementary school. One of the youth from the organization I work for was in the cast and his Mom gave us tickets. It was a feat of theatrical amazingness for totally different reasons. I find getting elementary school students to do anything to be akin to getting a shark to abandon a bloody carcass. Nearly impossible. Particularly when they are in a large group. This cast had over 100 kids in it. Ages 7 - 12. And an actual dog. Good lord. And they pulled it off. I could get on my soap box about how kids today are coddled and they all have body mics and back in my day you learned how to project or you Got Off The Stage, but I won't. Not right now.
Anyway, in both of these shows, just like in most theatrical productions I've seen in the past 15 years, when it came time for the curtain call I found myself thisclose to bawling my eyes out. I have no idea what is wrong with me (although, I am a girl, so bawling my eyes out in public is practically acceptable, if not encouraged).
Live theater has always been my number one Boo. Watching and performing. And I get it, its not what I'll make all my dollars doing- but that does not take away from the fact that it is my most.favorite. And something about curtain call just gets me all riled up and full of emotion. Its so ridiculous.
I think part of it is just being aware of how much work goes into putting up a show. You can't know until you've done it. Until you've sewed costumes through the early morning hours, and done the same four steps an uncountable number of times. You've gotten high off of paint fumes - and not the fun kind of high, but the kind where it makes all your food taste like rubbing alcohol, you've folded programs and risked your life changing the gels in the hardest to reach lights even though you've thought to yourself that there are probably less than two people in the audience who will Even Notice.
But you do it, because you love it. And you don't even think about it, you cry in dark stairwells and over cigarettes just outside propped open emergency exit doors. The curtain call is that first breath you get after weeks of holding it in. Its weird to do something and have the end result be based almost entirely on the reaction of a whole bunch of random people. And I empathize with that first breath. Because I've been there too.
It'd be one thing if you hired to design a building, or build a computer program, or fix a car - and there is a constant dialogue between you and the customer, "I like this, change this, do this," and an invoice of how much time and thought and energy went into it. Although, truth be told, if engineers and architects wanted to take curtain calls in front of their customers, I would have no problem with that.
Because here's the thing - its awesome to take a curtain call. PS- I think its totally bogus that backstage people don't get to take one (at Bell every single student who was part of the production took a bow, all the lights/make up/choreography people - it was kind of awesome). Being applauded for doing something well is an incredible feeling and one that I think inspires more creation.
Also theater is an incredibly powerful medium and perhaps I drank a bit too much of the Kool-Aid, but the message of whatever they are saying ("War is terrible and dumb," "Love your family and your friends,") can come across so strongly in a play and the curtain call is that moment where I find it all sinking in and my emotions getting the better of me.
Anyway - so that's my really guilty secret for the week. I cry at curtain calls. I'm a weenie. But seriously, go see Black Watch.
A week ago we also took in The Wizard of Oz as envisioned by Bell Elementary school. One of the youth from the organization I work for was in the cast and his Mom gave us tickets. It was a feat of theatrical amazingness for totally different reasons. I find getting elementary school students to do anything to be akin to getting a shark to abandon a bloody carcass. Nearly impossible. Particularly when they are in a large group. This cast had over 100 kids in it. Ages 7 - 12. And an actual dog. Good lord. And they pulled it off. I could get on my soap box about how kids today are coddled and they all have body mics and back in my day you learned how to project or you Got Off The Stage, but I won't. Not right now.
Anyway, in both of these shows, just like in most theatrical productions I've seen in the past 15 years, when it came time for the curtain call I found myself thisclose to bawling my eyes out. I have no idea what is wrong with me (although, I am a girl, so bawling my eyes out in public is practically acceptable, if not encouraged).
Live theater has always been my number one Boo. Watching and performing. And I get it, its not what I'll make all my dollars doing- but that does not take away from the fact that it is my most.favorite. And something about curtain call just gets me all riled up and full of emotion. Its so ridiculous.
I think part of it is just being aware of how much work goes into putting up a show. You can't know until you've done it. Until you've sewed costumes through the early morning hours, and done the same four steps an uncountable number of times. You've gotten high off of paint fumes - and not the fun kind of high, but the kind where it makes all your food taste like rubbing alcohol, you've folded programs and risked your life changing the gels in the hardest to reach lights even though you've thought to yourself that there are probably less than two people in the audience who will Even Notice.
But you do it, because you love it. And you don't even think about it, you cry in dark stairwells and over cigarettes just outside propped open emergency exit doors. The curtain call is that first breath you get after weeks of holding it in. Its weird to do something and have the end result be based almost entirely on the reaction of a whole bunch of random people. And I empathize with that first breath. Because I've been there too.
It'd be one thing if you hired to design a building, or build a computer program, or fix a car - and there is a constant dialogue between you and the customer, "I like this, change this, do this," and an invoice of how much time and thought and energy went into it. Although, truth be told, if engineers and architects wanted to take curtain calls in front of their customers, I would have no problem with that.
Because here's the thing - its awesome to take a curtain call. PS- I think its totally bogus that backstage people don't get to take one (at Bell every single student who was part of the production took a bow, all the lights/make up/choreography people - it was kind of awesome). Being applauded for doing something well is an incredible feeling and one that I think inspires more creation.
Also theater is an incredibly powerful medium and perhaps I drank a bit too much of the Kool-Aid, but the message of whatever they are saying ("War is terrible and dumb," "Love your family and your friends,") can come across so strongly in a play and the curtain call is that moment where I find it all sinking in and my emotions getting the better of me.
Anyway - so that's my really guilty secret for the week. I cry at curtain calls. I'm a weenie. But seriously, go see Black Watch.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
The very first principle
While I am a great many things - I would never call myself principled. I have morals (no cheating, no killing, no white after labor day) but I don't really have principles. If that makes sense?! I figure there is a time and a place for everything, so I try not to limit myself...while I do love me some hyperbole I feel that saying that I am "never" going to do something is really just impractical, because with a drink or two and a "you won't" I can be game for pretty much anything.
Until today. I have found my one principle.
I refuse to buy tickets on Ticketmaster unless I absolutely have to. I understand that there are some festivals and what not that don't let you buy tickets at the door (or are so likely to sell out that trying to get them day of would be fool-hardy). But really, these exceptions are rare and for the most part I am now totally embargo-ing ticketmaster.
I am going to see the Joffrey's Cinderella in February with the lovely and talented Cindy Loo-hoo. This was my idea so it was my job to buy the tickets. No biggie - they're not that expensive for dress circle seats (although I did have a moment where I had to decide between dress circle - good view of everything, or far right balcony - amazing view of feet. I am such a ballet nerd). I even found a code online for 10% off the ticket price. Yippie! Hooray!
On Monday, while avoiding work, I logged in to ticketmaster and went about looking for tickets and after I did everything I noticed that there was a $4.50 convenience fee per ticket. Now, the tickets themselves were $37. And then 10% off, which means that the discount basically paid for (some of) the convenience fee. Well, that's kind of ridiculous when you get right down to it. And that doesn't include the tax that they added on for shits and giggles.
I decided to wait, thinking that I would just go buy them on my way to/from Hyde Park on Wednesday or Thursday, since I am going/coming from that direction anyway.
The rest of Monday happens and then some of Tuesday and then I am feeling stressed out and grouchy and lazy. Then I check the times for the Box Office and realize that they're only open until 6 PM. Which is fairly useless for me since I don't normally hit that neighborhood until about 6:15, unless I rush (which, in my lazy haze I decided I never do). So I decided I would suck it up and drop the extra money.
I decided that I would have the tickets mailed to me, because for some reason putting a 44 cent stamp on an envelope costs $2.50 LESS than me printing them out at home (really? really ticketmaster?) and that I would forgo any sort of insurance figuring that if the City of Chicago loses my tickets then I should probably take it as a sign and stop living here - because seriously, how do you live in a city that can't even deliver mail correctly).
Then when I'm all done and getting ready to give them my credit card I realize that there is another $3.30 fee that's tacked on at the very end. A 'handling' charge or something - I don't know what they're handling, but they need to knock it off.
At this point, my $66 worth of tickets has sky rocketed $79. Now I get that to all you rich white folks out there, $13 is not that much, but you have to understand that it is the PRINCIPLE of the thing (also, I am dirt poor).
How can they go about charging $13 of convenience fees??! And if I wanted the convenience of printing the tickets out on my own printer with my own ink and my own paper it would cost me an addition $2.50 (I don't know if that's per ticket...and really at this point it doesn't matter)...
Anyway - so this got me so enraged that I left work (this is all because my boss still isn't back from winter vay-cay and when you're your own boss...you get to do whatever you want including be an asshole on principle) took the train down to the theatre, had a conversation with an actual human being, picked out my tickets, handed them my credit card, and then was given a set of real tickets in a real envelope handed to me with a smile and a "Have a nice day."
You cannot BUY that people. And so now, I will continue doing stupid stuff because I live a mostly unprincipled life, except I will buy all my tickets in person...because that is what is really important.
Until today. I have found my one principle.
I refuse to buy tickets on Ticketmaster unless I absolutely have to. I understand that there are some festivals and what not that don't let you buy tickets at the door (or are so likely to sell out that trying to get them day of would be fool-hardy). But really, these exceptions are rare and for the most part I am now totally embargo-ing ticketmaster.
I am going to see the Joffrey's Cinderella in February with the lovely and talented Cindy Loo-hoo. This was my idea so it was my job to buy the tickets. No biggie - they're not that expensive for dress circle seats (although I did have a moment where I had to decide between dress circle - good view of everything, or far right balcony - amazing view of feet. I am such a ballet nerd). I even found a code online for 10% off the ticket price. Yippie! Hooray!
On Monday, while avoiding work, I logged in to ticketmaster and went about looking for tickets and after I did everything I noticed that there was a $4.50 convenience fee per ticket. Now, the tickets themselves were $37. And then 10% off, which means that the discount basically paid for (some of) the convenience fee. Well, that's kind of ridiculous when you get right down to it. And that doesn't include the tax that they added on for shits and giggles.
I decided to wait, thinking that I would just go buy them on my way to/from Hyde Park on Wednesday or Thursday, since I am going/coming from that direction anyway.
The rest of Monday happens and then some of Tuesday and then I am feeling stressed out and grouchy and lazy. Then I check the times for the Box Office and realize that they're only open until 6 PM. Which is fairly useless for me since I don't normally hit that neighborhood until about 6:15, unless I rush (which, in my lazy haze I decided I never do). So I decided I would suck it up and drop the extra money.
I decided that I would have the tickets mailed to me, because for some reason putting a 44 cent stamp on an envelope costs $2.50 LESS than me printing them out at home (really? really ticketmaster?) and that I would forgo any sort of insurance figuring that if the City of Chicago loses my tickets then I should probably take it as a sign and stop living here - because seriously, how do you live in a city that can't even deliver mail correctly).
Then when I'm all done and getting ready to give them my credit card I realize that there is another $3.30 fee that's tacked on at the very end. A 'handling' charge or something - I don't know what they're handling, but they need to knock it off.
At this point, my $66 worth of tickets has sky rocketed $79. Now I get that to all you rich white folks out there, $13 is not that much, but you have to understand that it is the PRINCIPLE of the thing (also, I am dirt poor).
How can they go about charging $13 of convenience fees??! And if I wanted the convenience of printing the tickets out on my own printer with my own ink and my own paper it would cost me an addition $2.50 (I don't know if that's per ticket...and really at this point it doesn't matter)...
Anyway - so this got me so enraged that I left work (this is all because my boss still isn't back from winter vay-cay and when you're your own boss...you get to do whatever you want including be an asshole on principle) took the train down to the theatre, had a conversation with an actual human being, picked out my tickets, handed them my credit card, and then was given a set of real tickets in a real envelope handed to me with a smile and a "Have a nice day."
You cannot BUY that people. And so now, I will continue doing stupid stuff because I live a mostly unprincipled life, except I will buy all my tickets in person...because that is what is really important.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Theaterical Genius.
So, about a year ago I went to London to visit my lovely Rachel twin and, obviously, fell in LOVE with England because its so very British. One of my favorite things that we did was go see two plays (which, considering I was there for 5 days and we spent 1 in Oxford, is fairly impressive). The two plays we saw were 39 Steps and Boeing Boeing. Both were picked entirely at random, one by Rachel and I over the internet before I got there and one by me as I tried to find day of tickets. I picked them simply because they were billed as funny and had interesting looking females in them (seriously, there is nothing more boring than really gorgeous women on stage being funny and it makes me angry-- you can't have everything).
Since I'm out of New York and so totally out of the loop it took me a few months to realize that BOTH of these plays have jumped the pond in '08. I am probably not going to see 39 Steps because it is reallllly British and I do not have faith that the American actors can make it work (unless they're using the original cast, in which case I might have to give it a chance), I am going to try my hardest to see Boeing Boeing because a- Bradley Whitford is in it and I think he'll be FANTASTIC in the part of aging play boy going insane to make sure all his girlfriends don't meet. And b- the woman who played the American flight attendant's impression of an American woman was out-of-control hilarious and I am curious to see how the actually-American actress does it.
I also have to say that there were about 40 plays* up in London while I was there. I would say that there were 15 that were American crossovers (Spamalot, Wicked, Hairspray), that leaves 25 that were from there and out of that - 2 were picked to come here and I also picked them. My opinions in theater are really top notch. Someone should probably pay me for them.
*I have no idea how many plays there actually were but the ratios are accurate.
The photo was one of the ones outside the theater at Boeing Boeing. Notice how they're all pretty in an interesting way?? That's because they're hilarious, especially the German one on the left. She's my extra favorite.
Since I'm out of New York and so totally out of the loop it took me a few months to realize that BOTH of these plays have jumped the pond in '08. I am probably not going to see 39 Steps because it is reallllly British and I do not have faith that the American actors can make it work (unless they're using the original cast, in which case I might have to give it a chance), I am going to try my hardest to see Boeing Boeing because a- Bradley Whitford is in it and I think he'll be FANTASTIC in the part of aging play boy going insane to make sure all his girlfriends don't meet. And b- the woman who played the American flight attendant's impression of an American woman was out-of-control hilarious and I am curious to see how the actually-American actress does it.
I also have to say that there were about 40 plays* up in London while I was there. I would say that there were 15 that were American crossovers (Spamalot, Wicked, Hairspray), that leaves 25 that were from there and out of that - 2 were picked to come here and I also picked them. My opinions in theater are really top notch. Someone should probably pay me for them.
*I have no idea how many plays there actually were but the ratios are accurate.
The photo was one of the ones outside the theater at Boeing Boeing. Notice how they're all pretty in an interesting way?? That's because they're hilarious, especially the German one on the left. She's my extra favorite.
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