Bit of a busy weekend for us.
The Princess went to Grandma’s house for a couple of days, and this was the last weekend before the Boy comes back from his summer with his biological papa, so the Mrs and I had to make the most of it. We’re a bit out of practice, though, so our adventures will seem pretty tame to you young ‘uns. Sure all the other parents can relate.
Oh, and pardon the crappy picture quality throughout. Only had my phone with me over the weekend, so the images aren’t the greatest.
Friday
Phantom of the Opera
Kicked off the weekend with the Friday evening showing of Phantom of the Opera over at the Keller Auditorium. Now I’ve mentioned before that Silja and I see the occasional show and that we have Broadway Across America season tickets, so we’re not exactly strangers to the whole musical theater thing. Still, though, this was this first time either of us had seen Phantom (or any other Andrew Lloyd Webber, for that matter).
Great performance, especially considering that our showing had a couple of newbs in key roles (Christine and the Phantom). And the show itself is an impressive technical feat, between the elaborate set, costumes, and the infamous chandelier.
Oh, and it has about 849x more pyrotechnics than all the concerts I’ve been to combined.
I get it now, though. All the Andrew Lloyd Webber hate out there? Why he’s the butt of so many jokes and criticism?
I used to think all that shit was just elitism rearing its head, that it was all douchebag rhetoric spread by the same people who insist that anybody without a private university education might as well be a sharecropper. But now that I’ve been exposed, I get it. I don’t agree, but I understand where they’re coming from.
There’s a certain over-the-top campiness that I can see getting under the skin of the snobby types who love an excuse to take shots at the show.
Take the music, for instance. It’s full of synthesizers and electric guitars, with that very distinctive 80s sound. You can just imagine the writers sitting around a Moog, an 808, and a mountain of coke while bustin’ out the score. There were times I thought we accidentally walked into a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert.
We had pretty good seats, too. Again, shitty camera phone shot, but it should give you a rough idea of our location:
One thing that’s consistently biting us in the ass during these shows? The other douchebags in attendance.
The guy sitting next to Silja looked like he was preparing for his gymnastics routine, with his legs spread so far out that his knee was nearly rubbing against mine a full seat over. She had to put her purse on the armrest and barracade herself from him. She wouldn’t let me shank him, though.
Oh, and his wife? Fucking brain trust there. They constantly chatted throughout the show, with her channeling Marv Albert for some brilliant play-by-play. My favorite? When, as the little musical monkey starts playing after the Phantom’s heart-breaking farewell to Christine, she yells “A monkey!!” My four-year-old knows better.
Still, though, we don’t regret going at all. Like I mentioned, it was, overall, a good show, and it’s one that everyone should see at least once (especially the people so quick to knock Webber).
Saturday
Market and Voodoo
Saturday morning, we decided to head over to the Portland Saturday Market for a little food and shopping. Hadn’t been over there for about five years or so, so we figured it was about time we graced the place with our presence again.
Found out that I’m not as into the place as I was in my youth. Our food wasn’t all that great, and I didn’t get really excited about any of the goods people were shilling (though Silja did find herself a cute wrap-around skirt). Guess I’m getting old.
I was, though, impressed by one of the street performers out that morning, a sword-swallowing juggler named Sash:
We couldn’t stick around for too long, though. Sash was the long-haired, Mediterranean-accented type my wife gets all weak-kneed over, so we had to split before my jealousy inspired me to hide that sword in another of his orifices.
So instead of getting arrested for 2nd degree battery, we decided to pop around the corner and wash away the crappy gyro aftertaste with Bacon Maple bars and Peach Fritters with cream cheese.
Mmmm… doughnuts… and bacon…
Huh…
Ya know what? There was actually a bit more to the weekend, involving beer, pizza, Wes Anderson, and lesbian book clubs, but I just realized that all of this shit is pretty damn boring to everyone but me and, maybe, the Mrs.
And fucking long. God, 800 words? Did anybody actually get this far?
Suppose I’m making up for the fact that there won’t be a post tomorrow. The Boy’s plane lands in the early afternoon, so I’ll be taking the day off and won’t be anywhere near a computer.
Oh, and Wednesday I’ll be pretending I’m an Englishman, so any post I vomit up over here will probably just tell you all to go over there.
