I should, like, totally go into marketing. The quote above was my pithy contribution to an intelligent, adult, child-free conversation last night at The Fabulous Fox while waiting for CATS to begin.
So here is a rundown of the wacky results of peoplewatching while everyone took their seats:
* dwarf in high heels
* woman with so much botox, boobage, and collagen that she looked like a terrified goldfish wearing a hideous mink coat
* Project Runway wannabe wearing a blue pillowcase, fishnet tights, army boots, asymmetrical hair and a boofy white coat that looked like Cruella DeVille's second best umbrella
* little boy with slicked-back hair and a bow tie at his first Broadway show with his grandfather
* skeletal Asian woman wearing a black snake-print top, white fur vest, herringbone skirt, and brown cowboy boots who looked like she was wearing 3 animals and the trumpet player for a ska band, but somehow, lord help me, it worked!
And if that wasn't good enough, there was a SHOW, too!
I liked it. I caromed between "ooh-magic-cats-dancing-glitter-excitement!" and "oh, wow, grown men in spandex grooming their fake ears". It's amazing to me the difference between the song for, say, Old Gus or Jennyanydots (LAME AND BORING) vs. when Grizzabella and Mistoffelees take the stage (GOOSEBUMPS). I'm floored that the same guy wrote the music for the whole show, as well as Phantom and Evita. He's got to be mad as a hatter, or at least very, very interesting to talk to.
Whenever I got bored or weirded out, I just watched the dancers and thought about how for each of these people, this job is a life's dream. They study, dance until their toes curl under and bleed, sing and swizzle honey until they're hoarse, go through grueling try-outs and call-backs where people say horrible things about their talents and bodies, forego any hobby that could injure or stain their body or throat. Then, if they're very lucky, they win a spot as a random cat and spend their entire life riding buses around the country and doing the exact same thing every night on a hot stage for a bunch of strangers they'll never meet.
In conclusion, I like my life, and i'm glad my cat can't sing.