So last night Ray and I went to the Capitol Playhouse in Olympia to see "Sideshow," a musical that immediately captivated me with its catchy slogan: "Come look at the freaks." Oh, yeah.
Well, the quality of the productions at the Playhouse have been kind of scattershot. Although I enjoyed "Six Women on the Verge of Braindeath" as a Bloom-Countyesque time machine trip (it was written 20 years ago and it shows, referencing Jim and Tammy Faye quite a bit), Ray was disappointed in it. He also didn't really like "1940s Radio Hour," and who under the age of 70 would, with a title like that? I'm not one for revues, myself. Anyway, we both liked "Sweeney Todd," but who doesn't? And although the hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold thing is hard for me to appreciate in this time of globalized slavery and sexual exploitation, the "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" was quite cute, if completely unrealistic.
Anyway, we liked the freaks. I thought the music was particularly good, with some of that Sondheimish rejection of verse chorus verse and a little heavy duty recitative-type sung dialogue, but catchy nonetheless. The actresses who play the lead freaks, the Siamese twins, had voices that sounded really good together, and there was a really good Egyptian-style set piece that was worth the price of admission. The costumer outdid himself with some of the outfits, especially some huge feathered headdresses. It's good to see quality local theater. It also reminded me of those head-conjoined twins, Dori and Reba (formerly Lori, but she changed her name to separate herself more from her sister and in deference to her favorite country singer, Reba McIntire), and that's always a good thing. They're some spunky ladies, Dori and Reba.
Let's see. What have I read lately. Oh, yes, "In Defense of Food," Michael Pollan's latest on how we should be organic locavores. I'm not saying he's wrong, I'm just saying he's not saying what he needs to, which is that although our western diet is killing us, the reason for we are able to produce so much is part of why this planet manages to, well, sustain isn't exactly the right word, unless you look at it like a life-support machine, 6 billion people. Farming in a sustainable fashion will not, adamantly not, support that many people. And for us to ramp down our production as a globe will be meaningful for the environment and us all eventually, it will mean there will be a lot of suffering in the meantime, and almost certainly not by the big agro-industrial companies, even if they have to give up making what Pollan thinks is the apotheosis of food product — "Go-gurt." Myself, I'm inclined to hate those fruit snacks that are basically gummi bears in fruit shapes that say they contain a serving of fruit in every package. They offend my soul.
In arts and religion news, the Methodist church across the street will hold a humorous service about the "greatest practical joke ever played on the devil" — Jesus' resurrection (drawing out Easter maybe?) and attendees are encouraged to wear "funny clothes" and last year the choir wore bathrobes, they have something else up their sleeve this time. This is not the sort of thing that would normally entice me to go to church (I have yet to find what would, although the gay, lesbian, trans etc. appreciation day at the Hoquiam Methodist church came close, except it started at like 9 or some ridiculously early hour) but the part of me that appreciates what this could be is feeling an internal sway.
The other night I went with Ray to a dinner where his friend and vice-pres of the 7th Street board, Mickey, was getting an award. She is such a cool person and totally deserved it. I have personally witnessed Ray deciding to dump work on her. Anyway, he had to give a speech and it was the best of the four, IMHO. The dinner was at the senior center and I guess we got what the seniors get. There was asparagus, roasted taters and meat and the wait staff was very good about keeping the coffee carafe refilled. I mean, they were on the coffee like white on rice. I can only imagine that the usual senior crowd chugs the stuff down as if the Yuban were the elixer of life. Not so much my table. I think I had the only cup of joe of everyone at my table. I used the creamer they provided and felt, because I had been reading Pollan, bad about all the corn syrup solids entering my body.
Next time I write I'll have to tell the tale of my mom's really brief visit to the Deen. Suffice to say everyone had a good time, she ate razor clams and the weather was (and remains) out of control. Rain, snow, hail, ice, fog ... in like a lion, still have a couple more days to turn lamb-like but I'm doubting it.
