Okay, so I've seen The Simpsons episode where Marge joins the Cheery Red Tomatoes, but I didn't realize these red hat women were for real. There was a whole gaggle of them at the Wicked show I saw with my mom and sister this weekend, but these two were the only ones I could snap without being conspicuous.
Wicked was good, by the way. I had no desire at all to see it, because I'd tried to read the book a few years ago and found that I just didn't care. The musical, though, was fun and funny. The story was decent and clever, the songs were fun, the sets and costumes were great, and the two leads were bursting with talent and personality. The only thing I didn't like was the choreography, which I thought was odd and ugly.
My mom, who loves the books, had a great time and insisted on buying us all shirts, and . . . I'll never wear the shirt, because I'm not that kind of girl, but I'm glad we went.
The Boy and I went with my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew to an old friend's son's 16th birthday party last night. My sister, the friend, and I are from a very small town where even the "rich" people honestly didn't have much money, and I think our friend was pretty excited to be able to blow out her oldest kid's birthday in swank(ish) suburban style. There was a limo for the birthday boy (who is now six-foot-one and nearly 200 pounds) and his closest buddies, a DJ and a buffet dinner, and then a rapper later in the evening. The birthday boy has a sister who is The Boy's age, and she had a table filled with her friends, but The Boy wouldn't get anywhere near them. In fact, he seemed to try to keep his back to them as much as possible. He would have died of a cross between boredom and mortification if my brother-in-law hadn't taken pity on him and sneaked him off to watch football in the bar.
And here's how we spent our Sunday evening. Look at his face! That smile! That's what it's like when you love what you do. Sigh. Anyway, the Steelers beat the Browns, our division rivals, and all is right with the world. Except: Either the NFL or the NFL/NBC seems to have co-opted Morrisey's Every Day is Like Sunday to use as a music bed under their Sunday Night Football bumper things. Does anyone else find this weird? I consider Morrisey and football to be two great tastes, but unlike chocolate and peanut butter, I wouldn't have thought them to be two great tastes that taste great together. I would have thought, in fact, that John Madden (and certainly that jerk Chris Collinsworth) would have wanted to beat up on Morrisey fans . . . but maybe the world is a kinder, gentler place now, where Madden and Moz can share a pizza and their feelings?
My neighbor left this pin stuck to my door last night, which sort of sums up things nicely for now.
1 comment:
The Red Hat ladies meet at our library 1x a month on Wednesdays. Yes, they are very real. And look like a fun group of gals.
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