Friday Morning Hodgepodge

Okay, so I know that insomnia is where you try and try and try but, no matter the methodology (counting sheep, warm milk, chugging NyQuil, a crowbar across the temples), you simply cannot fall asleep. I've got a deeper understanding of that concept than you'll ever know. But my question is this: What do you call it when you fall asleep easily, but then wake up every hour or so and you can't get comfortable because your bed feels like a thousand itchy, warm bricks and the sleep you do get is fitful, dreamless, and like suffocating on an old sweater that's been in an attic for a thousand years and you can taste the stink of age and decay in the back of your throat all night, every night, for about a week? What do you call that? Because that's basically where I'm at right now. And believe me when I say this, kiddos... it ain't exactly fun like a petting zoo of mythical creatures that grant you wishes and frozen yogurt. If this situation is any kind of petting zoo, it's one that's filled with old cats who can't control their bladders and a dog that wheezes like an old-timey car and a dirty cardboard box filled with dead gerbils. And I think we can all agree that that sort of petting zoo isn't fun at all.

Anyway, if you can cut through the thick vegetative growth of my petting zoo metaphor, I think you'll find that I'm very, very sleepy right now and I'm seriously considering taking a nap under my desk until at least 2009.

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I am so making quesadillas tonight. All golden brown and slutty, dripping with cheese like an 80s saxophone solo. God, they're going to be so good. I feel sorry for all of you, what with the not being at my house later on and all.

And that's not an invitation for you to crash our party, mind you. This is an exclusive, invite-only engagement and if you show up, I'm calling the cops. Oh and they'll come... with guns and nightsticks and tasers and at least three bazookas. You want to get your face bazooka-ed off? Nope. So step off my quesadilla, motherfucker. No one has to die tonight.

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Girlfriend and I went to see the brand-new, Broadway musical Cry-Baby, last night. It's based on, obviously, the film of the same name by John Waters, who's trying to make lightning strike in the same place twice a few years after his previous, super-duper successful show, Hairspray, which for some reason I still haven't seen (I mean I've seen the original movie, but I haven't caught the stage show, nor have I seen it's other cinematic incarnation; the one that features the soul-scarring, Travolta-in-fat-drag performance). But Cry-Baby: The Musical... It's a good show. Lightweight, perhaps, but not everything has to be Les Miserables. Lots of singing, some great dance numbers, funny jokes, and a game, peppy cast. All in all, an enjoyable evening at the theater. But here's the thing: Our tickets were free. It's not important how I got them (let's just say there will be some videos released on the internet later this month of which I am not proud). What is important is that we were able to go into this show without any sort of financial burden hanging over heads, demanding that we enjoy this fucking thing seeing as how we'd already shelled out our hard-earned cash.

And that right there is the problem with seeing a Broadway show... and I know this isn't exactly breaking news or anything, but still... they are too goddamned expensive. Example: good seats to see Cry-Baby are $120. That, my friends, is a lot of money for a show that's entertaining, sure, but not what anyone would call a reinvention of the wheel, theatrically speaking.

I guess what I'm saying is this: If you can get free tickets (by any mean necessary, wink, wink!), or if you can get some cheapo, $30 seats... by all means check it out. It's fun. Otherwise, don't worry about it. You'll live.