Speaking of the miserable
This affects the entire country.
(Scott Johnson) We went to see the current touring production of Les Misérables at the Orpheum Theater in downtown Minneapolis last night. The tickets were a birthday gift to my wife — it was her third time seeing various productions of the show. She wanted to see it again.
Last night it played to a packed house of 2,600 in the conclusion of its six-day run in town. I identified with the characters. I too was miserable. I hated the music. I hated the singing. I hated the English-language lyrics (adapted from the French by Herbert Kretzmer).
From the orchestra’s first note, the audience cheered the production. That level of appreciation held throughout. The response was more like rooting than applause.
Unlike most shows that I attend, the demographic distribution of the audience extended far beyond Social Security/Medicare beneficiaries. I saw no oxygen tanks in the crowd. I think the average age must have been 35-40. Many young people were in attendance and obviously among the show’s biggest enthusiasts.
I don’t get it. It wasn’t just the lady sitting behind me with ICE Out button and accompanying T-shirt that turmed me off. I didn’t see her until the lights came up for the intermission. Vive la révolution!
Two final notes. The Orpheum must be the most uncomfortable venue I have ever attended. I can’t think of anything close. The seats are old and narrow. The rows are cruelly long. They make (comparably priced) air travel feel luxurious. I bought the tickets early enough that I could pick aisle seats for us. Thanks to the size of my prostate, dear readers, I need easy access to the men’s room.
However, I didn’t notice the outrageous discomfort of the venue when I saw Bob Newhart at the Orpheum in June 2019. I felt like I was in heaven. As I am wont to say, laughter is the best medicine!
This affects the entire country.
(Scott Johnson) We went to see the current touring production of Les Misérables at the Orpheum Theater in downtown Minneapolis last night. The tickets were a birthday gift to my wife — it was her third time seeing various productions of the show. She wanted to see it again.
Last night it played to a packed house of 2,600 in the conclusion of its six-day run in town. I identified with the characters. I too was miserable. I hated the music. I hated the singing. I hated the English-language lyrics (adapted from the French by Herbert Kretzmer).
From the orchestra’s first note, the audience cheered the production. That level of appreciation held throughout. The response was more like rooting than applause.
Unlike most shows that I attend, the demographic distribution of the audience extended far beyond Social Security/Medicare beneficiaries. I saw no oxygen tanks in the crowd. I think the average age must have been 35-40. Many young people were in attendance and obviously among the show’s biggest enthusiasts.
I don’t get it. It wasn’t just the lady sitting behind me with ICE Out button and accompanying T-shirt that turmed me off. I didn’t see her until the lights came up for the intermission. Vive la révolution!
Two final notes. The Orpheum must be the most uncomfortable venue I have ever attended. I can’t think of anything close. The seats are old and narrow. The rows are cruelly long. They make (comparably priced) air travel feel luxurious. I bought the tickets early enough that I could pick aisle seats for us. Thanks to the size of my prostate, dear readers, I need easy access to the men’s room.
However, I didn’t notice the outrageous discomfort of the venue when I saw Bob Newhart at the Orpheum in June 2019. I felt like I was in heaven. As I am wont to say, laughter is the best medicine!
Speaking of the miserable
This affects the entire country.
(Scott Johnson) We went to see the current touring production of Les Misérables at the Orpheum Theater in downtown Minneapolis last night. The tickets were a birthday gift to my wife — it was her third time seeing various productions of the show. She wanted to see it again.
Last night it played to a packed house of 2,600 in the conclusion of its six-day run in town. I identified with the characters. I too was miserable. I hated the music. I hated the singing. I hated the English-language lyrics (adapted from the French by Herbert Kretzmer).
From the orchestra’s first note, the audience cheered the production. That level of appreciation held throughout. The response was more like rooting than applause.
Unlike most shows that I attend, the demographic distribution of the audience extended far beyond Social Security/Medicare beneficiaries. I saw no oxygen tanks in the crowd. I think the average age must have been 35-40. Many young people were in attendance and obviously among the show’s biggest enthusiasts.
I don’t get it. It wasn’t just the lady sitting behind me with ICE Out button and accompanying T-shirt that turmed me off. I didn’t see her until the lights came up for the intermission. Vive la révolution!
Two final notes. The Orpheum must be the most uncomfortable venue I have ever attended. I can’t think of anything close. The seats are old and narrow. The rows are cruelly long. They make (comparably priced) air travel feel luxurious. I bought the tickets early enough that I could pick aisle seats for us. Thanks to the size of my prostate, dear readers, I need easy access to the men’s room.
However, I didn’t notice the outrageous discomfort of the venue when I saw Bob Newhart at the Orpheum in June 2019. I felt like I was in heaven. As I am wont to say, laughter is the best medicine!
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