Mr. and Mrs. BamaDan and Mr. and Mrs. Bo asked grandparents to keep children today, so we could make an afternoon and evening of Rock of Ages and Connors.  This was an idea BamaDan had month before last.

It was a good one.

Set in 1987, the musical is built around three dozen or so arena and/or hair-metal rock songs from my formative years (with an occasional slight reach back or forward).  The plot is rudimentary and trivial in this show, serving mostly as scaffolding for the music.  It’s a witty script, demonstrating knowledge of and affection for the period.  That’s a high bar to get over with me.  There are ample jokes, including several that break the fourth wall, and there are a few obscurities to reward the savants in the audience.  (I dug the female lead getting into a bit of Judas Priest’s “Eat Me Alive.”)

And the music does work.  The live band is of varying importance in the plot, but they’re always visible.  Most of the selections are in the correct key.  A few are substantially remade, but many of them respect the details of the originals.  There are a few song combinations that aren’t quite mash-ups, but more tandem back-and-forths.  Most of them work, but squishing Joan Jett’s “I Hate Myself for Loving You” and Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” together sounded a little forced.

Perhaps it was characteristic of our attendance at a Sunday afternoon matinee in Huntsville, Alabama, but I was surprised by the crowd demographics.  I expected to be surrounded by fellow GenXers, and instead only about a third of the crowd fit that description.  (Among that third, however, was a fondly-remembered lady from two decades ago!  Great to see you, Graciela.)  The rest were not quite my dad’s age, but close.  What’s up with that?  I wonder how the dick jokes and the thigh-high vinyl boots went over for them?  Was this show mis-marketed?

The show’s run just ended here, so this isn’t much good to the locals, but to anyone Googling and looking for opinions:  go see it.  It’s a blast.

Don’t stop believin’.

8/10

 

So when I was in to surrender my semiannual tube of blood last week, I told my doctor I was ready to get aggressive on my weight.  “Good for you!” she said.  “What are we thinking about?  Lap band?  Prescription?”

I said “no, I want to try just setting regular goals with you first.”  So then she jumped out there, smiling her big smile, and said “all right, there is absolutely no reason you can’t lose ten pounds your first month.”

(Yipes.  I thought she’d say five.)

She spent ten minutes with me at my lab follow-up this morning giving me guidelines for good nutrition, and outlined an exercise program for me.  I appreciated that, but of course, my problem’s never been that I just don’t know what to do.  I don’t need more knowledge.  I need discipline.  I need to step on her scary-ass scale once a month.  See, when the interval is just thirty days, there’s never any “oh, I’ve got plenty of time” mentality.  I’m always just about to go back to the doctor.

I think I resisted asking for this because there’s something about it that feels phony to me.  I need to get back to a healthy weight for me, not for my doctor.  Now my thinking is “dude, you’re quite literally dying here.  Whatever works.”  I’ve recently demonstrated that I can lose 32 pounds on my own, but I’ve also recently demonstrated that I can give almost half of it right back.  Let’s see what I can do with three or four monthly physician visits as Part One, and we’ll figure out Part Two on the other side of them.

 

I went to YMCA day camp for a couple of summers, I’ll guess when I was 9 and 10.  I can’t remember exactly where Camp Hamilton was, though I’m reasonably sure it was north of Anniston a piece, maybe not quite all the way to Jacksonville.  I can’t confirm its continued existence with a casual [...]

 

I was whisked away to Arabia last night.  Beth hosted a murder mystery dinner party set in a market in the kingdom of Ardalan.  I was an entertainer named Nihad, with a pet monkey named Sinbad.  (Terri snapped this photo.  I suspect others shall surface.) Have you ever attended a murder party?  I can access [...]

 

Our longtime friend Alex is an architect.  As systematic as he is, he may be better suited to his occupation than anyone else we know. So six or seven years ago, we were visiting over a beer, and he was telling me about his Saturday morning.  He had a backyard construction project going, and he [...]

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