A Slow Boat To Hell With Show Tunes Piped In

Last weekend I found myself contemplating the actual legal ramifications of yelling FIRE in a crowded theater. It was at the Kennedy Center during “The Book of Mormon” — where 20 minutes in– I realized that the first interminable nineteen weren’t just anomalies.

Don’t get me wrong, it had nothing with the outrageous-ness or the far-reaching offensiveness. I was fine with those.

It was the jazz hands.

I hate musicals.

“Best musical” is an oxymoron.

And the ones with monotonous dance numbers are my own special hell. Even if the national consensus is that they’re hysterical. (For the record, I never thought Bill Cosby was funny either. Just sayin.)

Granted I maybe should have done a touch of research before agreeing that this particular field trip sounded like a fabulous family outing. But at least I’ve reached that point in life where I no longer stiff upper lip things I don’t have to. When my relatives raced back to their seats after intermission, I stayed in the lobby. And was amazed by how much faster time went by in the cavernous, silent space.


lagging way behind.
Bon voyage!


I forfeited my stupidly expensive ticket and ended up with the best seat in the house.

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