Celebrate Your Father's Birthday by Seeing Theater

My father is 74 years old today.

That seems inconceivable to me, and only partly because that means I'm turning 39 this year.  I just can't wrap my head around the idea of my dad as an old guy.  I just tried to call him at my brother's home in San Diego, and he was out on his walk.  Which is good, 'cuz I think my dad's holding up pretty well for his age, and anything he does to keep himself around a while longer is A-Okay in my book.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

I am, but the way, becoming, I think, enormously fat.  It's my own fault.  Between being on vacation, then sick, and then lazy, I haven't been to the gym in over a month.  It can't come as a surprise, then, that I'm gaining weight - and the first place I do that is in my face, which is where I'm seeing it. 

I've gotten to the point where I just can't stomach any pictures of myself.  Case in point:  Kevin & Kirsten, Steve & Michelle, their friend Maureen and I all went to see The Play What I Wrote, written by and featuring the famous British comedy duo Foley & McColl.  I brought my camera along to snap some shots of the group, and everyone was surprised that I didn't want to be in the shots as well.  It was then that I realized I've been avoiding taking pictures of myself whenever my camera is out and snapping akimbo.

I'm just hopelessly vain, I think.  Either that, or Amy's right when she jokingly tells me I have some sort of eating disorder.  Hmmm... maybe shes not jokeing.  Either way, it worries me a little.

To combat my aversion to my own photos, and because I've been thinking that I need a more recent photo posted in my online personals, I've been trying to capture a decent photo of myself.  Well, a photo of myself that I think looks like me and is reasonably flattering.  Am I just too critical?  Maybe.

So, The Play What I Wrote is really, really funny.  Did I tell you how we got these tickets?  Steve Burnett just happened to be watching TV the other day when he saw a story about how the play's director, Kenneth Branagh, apparently wanted to fill up the house during the preview weeks, so he was offering orchestra tickets for $5, mezzanine seats for $2, and balcony seats for $1.

Steve immediately dragged his wife Michelle out the door and they went and stood on queue for these tickets, and bout six mezzanine seats.

The show itself is about the Foley & McColl's attempt to stage the play that Hamish McColl has written in an effort to become a serious playwright.  He's had enough, you see, of their duo comedy act in which he's the straight guy and never gets any of the laughs.

Mostly, the play is an excuse for the two guys to reminice about their comedy act - doing skits and monologues and asides and - I swear to God - there's even a pie in the face.  It's all very Benny Hill.

I enjoyed it a lot, but I have to say I don't think I'd pay full price for it; the usual ticket prices are $70-80.  I'm not a big enough fan of British sketch comedy (think Benny Hill for two hours) to really be anxious to see it.  That having been said, I had a good time, and the idea of selling cheap seats to fill the house is just an amazingly clever marketing idea.

And to tell you the truth, if the audiences paying full price eat it up the way the cheapie matinee audience with whom we saw the show did, then The Play What I Wrote is gonna run forever.  Those people loved it (hell, the rest of my group loved it)!  All this simply proves what we already know:  My tastes can not be used as a predictor of the tastes of the world at large.