That’s “Here comes the lion, folks!” in Zulu

Thursday night, Mom, Dad and I drove into D.C. to see The Lion King at the Kennedy Center. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I knew that no matter what the costumes would be phenomenal. I wasn’t disappointed! Costume designer (and mask and puppet designer, oh yeah, and Director!) Julie Taymor won awards for this show (among 70 major international theater awards), which first played for ten years on Broadway. It’s now off Broadway, and we took advantage of the D.C. show dates to check out the theater version of this beloved Disney classic film.

The first thing I want everyone to know is, I will NEVER be able to adequately describe the masks and puppets that are showcased in The Lion King. They are PHENOMENAL — totally on a level of exceptional that I can’t believe I’ve glimpsed… During the intermission I was able to walk out into the foyer and there were some samples of the masks (and of the bird, Zasu) and storyboards explaining how they were conceptualized, created and executed. I don’t even know where to begin, except to say that if you ever get the chance to see the show, watch the DVD or watch a “making of” show… DO IT.

The Lion King used stylized African and South African patterns to dress up a very pared-down stage, and the lighting effects were just… (I’m going to sound extremely redundant here very soon) phenomenal. I wasn’t sure they could pull off such a large production on the stage, but they made very clever use of rolling stage parts (cliffs, bones, and a BLOODY BRILLIANT stampede scene) in order to bring the story alive.

Showcasing humans as the different animals was a daunting task, but the masks and costumes were so ingenious that it made a believer out of the audience. I sat behind three small children and their father, and I don’t think even they had trouble understanding who the characters were or following the story.

My favorite scene was probably the stampede scene, if for no other reason than I didn’t know how in the heck they were going to pull it off… then the scene progressed and my jaw dropped and I turned to Dad, “That is SO FREAKING COOL!” Of course, he couldn’t hear me, but he saw my face and just nodded, knowing.

My favorite characters were probably some of the ones from the opening and closing “circle of life” scenes — an elephant, a rhinoceros and most especially two giraffes. Each giraffe was a person, bent forward in a crouching position with their hands and feet on stilts that were shaped into the lower legs. Atop their heads, they had a “hat” that was the neck and head of the giraffe, and when they moved you really believed that they were giraffes. Amazing.

The show made clever use of real actors in costume and masks, puppets, and shadow puppets throughout the telling of the story of Mufasa, his son Simba, and the evil uncle Scar. I couldn’t always hear all the words, but what my eyes got to see totally made up for what my ears failed to decipher. Specifically, there was a scene where the stage tilted up for us all to see, and there was a puddle of blue fabric. As the savannah dried up, the fabric was pulled through a small hole in the center, and we watched as the lights faded from lush blues and greens to dry and brittle yellows and browns. That time, Dad turned to me, “That is neat!” And I nodded, knowing.

Going to the theater, whether it is to see a Broadway (or off Broadway) show, can make for an expensive evening… one that Dad admitted he’s not sure if he feels is worth the expense. But Mom and I agreed that there’s just something special about going to the theater and seeing a show in person. You may not be able to take in everything happening on the stage all of the time, but having a chance to take in the story in a very live, textured way is so much better than simply watching the filmed versions.

Theater will always be a special treat… an evening about twice a year to sit down in a hushed theater and immerse myself in not just “culture,” but in the song, dance and art envisioned by people - passionate experts - who have the ability to take audiences on a leap of faith and imagination right from the moment that the lights dim and the curtains pull apart. I’m so glad that I was able to add The Lion King to my list of theater experiences… (Thanks Mom!)

I haven’t had a soda (aka, caffeine) since Sunday. That’s three days without indulging in a Coke at lunchtime. I’m tired, and I’ve had a headache for two days. This is my week to be “broken” (aka, “that time of the month”). I’m eating less than normal, and have already significantly reduced my daily carb intake despite a very real, 3-D craving for Doritos. My attitude is wavering between wanting to cry because everything between my ears hurts and feels like it’s melting on the inside, and this:

My best friend Amy is getting married in September, and I’m her Lady of Honor. As such, it was my responsibility to plan the bachelorette party… only, Amy had a few requests that I had to factor into the plans:

1. No boys - just her sisters, Julia and I
2. No Bohagers - someone slipped something in her drink at this bar during her first bachelorette party, and she spent the night in the ER
3. No phallic or otherwise trashy bachelorette paraphernalia; tiaras; sashes; obscenely large fake, blinking diamond rings; veils; buttons… you get the picture

And I thought to myself, “Damn, I guess this means I have to cancel my $349.27 order to the ‘Drunk, Slutty Whores Bachelorette Party’ catalog.” 

Turns out, that out of what? TEN bachelorette parties, two bachelor parties, two “It’s my 21st Birthday!” parties and at least three other birthdays, we were the only celebratory group that chose NOT to don the apparently required party apparrel. Sashes, mardi gras beads and leis, tiaras and penis straws were especially popular.

Later that evening, when the entire bar was sufficiently drunk and after Amy probably got herpes from sipping from another drunk bachelorette’s proffered bucket of booze during her on-stage roast, I turned to her and screamed into the side of her head, “TAKE A GOOD LOOK AROUND AND JUST KNOW  THAT I LOVE YOU BECAUSE ANY ONE OF THESE GIRLS TONIGHT COULD’VE BEEN YOU!”

I daresay she gave me a kiss on the cheek.

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Scenes from Amy’s Baltimore Bachelorette Bash, all courtesy of Julia and her camera:

Erin, Amy, me, Julia and Kelly sip into a large bucket of booze (the Margarita version, very yummy!) at the Howl at the Moon dueling piano bar at the Power Plant Live in Baltimore.              

The dueling piano players swapped out about every two hours all evening… we were all amazed at their talent (no sheet music) and their ability to play the drums and bass as well as sing and play the piano!

This lucky fella was gifted with a penis straw from one drunk bachelorette, and he wore it proudly behind his ear (as if it were a pencil and he was an architect and not a pimp) for the remainder of the evening. I bet his momma is proud.

I took a picture of Erin taking a picture; Julia and I pose for a self-portrait; Kelly, Erin and Amy all gather for a sisters photo.

Our bachelorette party got called up onto the stage by one of the piano players, but only Amy and I got up. We were rewarded by being asked to face the pianos, place our hands on top of the shiny black surface, and step back towards the edge of the stage. He then began to play (and sing!) “Baby Got Back.” Erin used her camera to get a video of our 15 seconds of fame. Ahh, immortalized by modern technology. My mother would be so proud.

After spending the night at a nice hotel near the Inner Harbor, we got up the next morning and went to the Cafe Hon for brunch. Cafe Hon is in an area called Hampden, full of cool stores and attitude. You know you’ve found the cafe when you see the giant, three-story flamingo and check out their menus, which feature photos from the Hon Fest. The children’s artwork inside is pretty dang good too!

Julia and I each enjoyed a rather great cup of coffee, if I do say so myself. Apparently Cafe Hon brews a local bean, Zekes. Julia and Erin pose, and then Amy and I lean in for a picture before our food is served and we all slip into good-food comas.

Amy, me, Julia and Erin finished off the Bachelorette Bash with good friends and good food. Also, some good shopping as we puttered around the Hampden area for a bit before saying our goodbyes and getting back in the car for the ride home.

So, to summarize:

1. All girls, all fun (and there was cheesecake in there too!)
2. No ER visits or hours spent praying to the porcelain gods
3. No cheap whore dollar store accessories - even the hostess at Howl praised us for celebrating “with class.” (Silly girl… we don’t have class! We were under cover! Now bring us martinis please - shaken, not stirred.)

But Amy, just so you know… you came *thisclose* to having me go up to the drunk bachelorette with the giant, pink stuffed penis and stealing it, just so you could have a phallic memento. Seriously… *thisclose*

Ahh, summer. So much more daylight yet so little time… Can tomorrow *really* be July? Show me a calendar, I don’t believe it! My two weeks at home is up, and I’m back to dog-sitting. Same two, wonderful dogs - Kelsy & Dakota - only next week I get to add the brother’s dog - Pepper - into the mix.

Unfortunately, the gig is also up… I can no longer hide it, or cover it up. As of July 1st (yes, that’s right, tomorrow!) I’m going on a… oh my goodness I can’t barely say it… (the “D” word)… gulp… here goes! I’m going on a diet. EEK! *checks pulse* Well, I didn’t die, so that’s a good sign.

Many of you will attempt to beat me upside the head with powdered and jelly-filled and chocolate frosted doughnuts in an attempt to bring me back to sanity, but first, let me explain (and for heaven’s sake, DON’T COME NEAR ME WITH A DAMN DOUGHNUT UNTIL SEPTEMBER!)…

I have a beautiful dress hanging in my closet right now. A gorgeous Ann Taylor, navy-with-ivory-embroidery-strapless dress that is the *perfect* dress to wear to Amy’s September 13 wedding. A bonafide Lady of Honor dress, already paid for, in my closet. Did I mention it’s a size 4? Did I mention that I’m not a size 4?

Did you just say, “Uh oh!”  No? Well, you should. It’s okay. I give you permission to be horrified.

Say the zipper on the dress is this long: |————-|

After pulling the dress on over my head, I can zip this much of it: |—->———|

Which is not enough zipped-upedness to earn the title of “Lady.”

*sigh*

Since my 10-day August Motorcycle/Camping trip to Utah will consist solely of bought food (probably mostly of the roadside diner variety), I really have to treat July like Boot Camp Month. And it’s not like I’m trying to drop half my body weight in thirty days or start a bout of anorexia or anything, so clear the comment field of the health lecture I’m sure you were preparing to write.

I’ve decided to give weight loss one good, fair try. After all, it’s not asking too much to go down a size and a half from a size 8 to a size 4+ or 6- in 75 days (because that’s the size I need to be to fit into the dress on 9/13). And if I fail, I’m prepared to spend the last two weeks in August scouring the East Coast to find a replacement dress that meets the zipped-upedness requirements of a Lady of Honor! HOWEVER - since I miss my smaller, less jiggly bod anyway, I figure if nothing else the Ann Taylor dress hanging in my closet and Amy’s wedding will serve as incentives for me to:

1. Quit drinking soda unless absolutely necessary. (The answer is, “Yes. Sometimes, a Coke is just NECESSARY.”)
2. Actually cook healthy meals instead of settling for PB&J or ham & cheese sandwiches for lunch AND dinner.  (Yeah, being single wreaks havoc on a girl’s kitchen-life.) 
3. Drink more water, which should also improve my complexion - yay!
4. Do more cardio both at the gym and outside (hiking).
5. Keep up with the personal training sessions with Darryl, for toning and gut-blasting.

I start tomorrow, so if in two weeks you notice that I’m lookin’ good but have an attitude the size and shape of a hairy, mud-covered rhinoceros butt… you have been warned!

Walking skipping up to the entrace to Nationals Park with Courtney and Aimee (because that’s how you avoid being handed papers you don’t want, explained Courtney, the wise city-fied girl), I felt a twinge of excitement: my first baseball game! Ever. Seriously.  

The outfield had a “W” mown into it, and Amy shot a picture of it along with a text to her fiance, Rob, “We need to learn how to mow a monogram into our yard!” His reply? “I’ll get right on it.” We laughed, because seriously? How cool would it be to have your front (or back) yard monogrammed?!

Like any baseball game virgin, I’d heard tales of the famous Game Dog… a time-honored tradition passed down from Fathers to Sons, where you sit on hard wooden (or plastic) bench (or individual folding chair) seating in anticipation of America’s Game. You flag down the vendors and order a Game Dog, a  Coke and Cracker Jacks. Ahh, family bonding in the multi-caloric throes of human consumption and team revelry. Only, for me there were only beer vendors - I had to leave my seat and go to the little game shop to order my $7.50 dog, fries and coke. I chose not to spring for the Cracker Jacks, because they didn’t come in a fun box; they were served in foil? plastic? bags not unlike Lays or Doritos. *sigh* I wouldn’t come back for the fries, but I did enjoy my hot dog.

And, I enjoyed working on a new knitting project (felted bowl #2!) with my fellow Stitch-n-Bitchers! From left: Me, new knitty friend Cecilia, Amy, Karin and Aimee. Missing is Courtney, she was taking the picture (all of the pictures)! Methinks that the Stitch-n-Pitch will become an annual event for us! At $14.50 a ticket plus metro fare (and a bit of driving), it was a cheap foray out into the world! Not to mention, I really enjoyed the incredulous expressions on the baseball fans around us who didn’t realize that awesome women - young, beautiful, awesome women - knit. Wake up fellas! Baseball ain’t only for boys, and knitting ain’t only for grannies!

On Sunday, June 22, George Carlin died of heart failure at the age of 71.

I’m sure as many people were offended by George and his often profane counter-culture ravings as there were hordes who flocked to hear him, laugh with him and be challenged by his thoughts. Me? I was one of the ones who found George witty and intelligent, and with a few exceptions I went right along with his perversity. George was a master of taking something obvious and twisting it and looking at it from different directions. I’ve written about why I like George before, and I’m so glad that Jaci and I were able to see him in person. This year I’ve been flipping through my daily Carlin calendar, and back in May I came across one Carlin-ism that so tickled me that I’ve been saving it… waiting for the right time, the right post topic to drop this sentence into:

“Unbelievably, a goldfish can kill a gorilla. However, it does require a substantial element of surprise.”

I never found the right post, but perhaps it made you laugh (as I did)… And in the wake of the sad news of George’s passing you’ve found a moment of joy, and George is out/up there grinning, happy to have surprised and delighted you with his often amusing observations.

Goodbye George… I hope that heaven is a place where you can tune into the human adventure, just as you hoped it would be. Pay close attention and put together a good show, because we’ll all be clapping and whistling, waiting for the encore.