Jailbreak
For the most part, Mrs. Pops and I think the choice of private Catholic school for our firstborn was the right decision. Sure, the whole magic Jesus thing makes us a little uncomfortable, but that's just because we're public-school raised commies who have a lot of lazy political biases we fall back on reflexively in certain situations. Normally if we hear "school" and "Jesus" in the same sentence, our first thought is (naturally) "ACLU". So by and large it's taken some getting used to, having our oldest in a school where giant smiling bloody Jesus faces are hanging on just about every wall and notes home from the principal always end with a passive-aggressive "God bless you".

Apart from Jesus and all that stuff, what we weren't prepared for was the extracurricular commitment we were getting ourselves in to. I've talked before about the 25 service hours per year every family is required to put in (they will charge you $50 per un-fulfilled hour at the end of the year), on top of all the fund-raising we're responsible for above and beyond our tuition.

When they start cutting in to our rare Mr. and Mrs. Pops Kid-Free Alone Time (check your local Pay Per View listings), that's where I draw a line. It's a strong line, a bold, manly line that I draw. If crossed I will pout, I will sulk, I will make cutting comments under my breath about the inadequacy of certain school office administrator's attempts at coloring their hair. Oh yes, it is all out war.

So I really really really really didn't want to go to "Joey & Maria's Hawaiian Honeymoon" dinner theater "comedy" show (I'm not going to link it directly, you're going to have to Google it yourself) at the school hall Saturday night. Dinner theater. Woo. It's not that I'm a snob... no, it is that I'm a snob. Watching struggling actors struggle to entertain me with dialogue not fit for a fixed stage between mouthfuls of cafeteria chicken is outside my list of Top Ten Ways To Spend An Evening (it's #18 if you're wondering, after "Clam-bake" but before "Rodeo").

Besides, Mrs. Pops and I hadn't been out alone together since our anniversary. That was in August. The school has no business trying to program our precious babysitter-covered free time.

Did I mention they were offering two (2!) hours of service time if we would kindly attend? Yes, well, that was enough to send us. That and the Jesus. He just stares and stares every time I have to go into that office.

For those who don't know, "Hawaiian Honeymoon" is the very necessary sequel to the dinner theater smash hit "Joey & Maria's Comedy Italian Wedding". That's a show where you pretend you're at a wedding reception for people you don't know who are all crass Italian stereotypes who are (apparently) only allowed to speak in puns and clichés. Dinner is served, a "plot" is played out and you also get to enjoy all the things you normally only get to enjoy at weddings. Like the Chicken Dance. And the Conga Line. And the Throwing of the Bouquet.

The only difference is it's a lot less interesting when it's not your tight-ass Aunt Betty out there with her dress over her head, finally loosening up after four Bloody Marys. It loses its whimsy when it's the 4th grade teacher making a drunken mess of herself. There are going to be some very awkward parent-teacher conferences this year.

And since it's dinner theater, the actors like to go out and mingle. In character. As an acting exercise, it's lovely to see the young people get to improvise and hone their craft. But for $50 a ticket (that was not a typo), I think I bought myself some fucking separation between myself and the entertainment. Please, leave me the slightest space so that I might fill it with suspension-of-disbelief. That's hard to do when someone whose parents obviously named them Trent or Austin is trying to convince me his name is Guido from eight inches away.

Ooh, but the kicker is that this "Honeymoon" thing (which is all, I suspect, exactly the same show as the "Wedding" one, Chicken Dance and all) is that there's murder and someone totally pretend-dies. Off stage.

And just like a real wedding reception (which, I think they forgot to write in, this was not supposed to be) this show is freakin' in-ter-min-a-ble. We got there at 6:30. We left at 10:30 and it wasn't even close to being done.

So the good news is, I can't spoil the ending for you people just in case you ever find yourself trapped in a similar situation and can't bring yourself to gnaw a leg off and get out of there. I have no idea who killed Don Ziti (yes, they all had Italian-food themed names. Clever, no?).

But I would like to thank my in-laws for watching the kids overnight. And for agreeing to take them a little bit early so we could go see a movie first (we saw Sideways, which was really good, although not the Be All End All Of All Film Ever as the ads and reviews suggest). And last but not least (you may want to turn your heads for this one), I'd like to thank my wife's Aunt Flo for keeping the tone and tenor of the evening absolutely consistent straight through til morning.

You may notice the lack of direct links in this post. That's for security purposes. If anyone pieces together the who-what-wheres of this event, I'm a dead man. I already know the next time I stick my head in that office, Jesus is going to be giving me the Holy Stink Eye something fierce.

All hail anonymous blogging!

Did I mention I was from Montreal? Mais oui, je suis totally au Montreal.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.9


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 11:46 PM