Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Well, not really. :)

Started the day by trying a restaurant that one of my best friends has been after me to try since before I moved to Atlanta. I figured today was The Day. So I had brunch at Ray's on the River.

It was gooooood. So good, I got incredibly full and haven't needed anything else all day.

While I was at the restaurant, there were four women sitting together doing some sort of gift-giving thing. Birthday, Christmas, anniversary...I dunno. But I did hear an exchange that almost caused me to snarf my tea.

Woman #1, upon opening gift from Woman #2: Oh! I think I gave you a cup just like this a couple of years ago!

Woman #2, with deer in headlights look: Um...yeah! I liked it so much, I decided to give you one, too!

Woman #1 either bought it or was a good actress. High-lar-i-us.

After that I came home and did pretty much nothing all afternoon, and then at 5:00 I left the house headed towards The Fabulous Fox Theatre at which Cats was playing tonight at 7:00.

I thought I was never going to make it to the subway station with free parking, but finally the idiots parted and I was able to go more than a mile on Peachtree Industrial without someone trying actively to kill me.

Made it to the theatre with a half-hour to spare and found my seat. Farther to the left than I thought because the stupid Fox numbers the seats middle out, odd numbers left, even right. It was a good seat, even for being to the left of stage, because it was third row and I could actually see the dancers. And the set. And various bits of equipment. :)

Then the people to my left arrived. She was attired in semi-formal evening wear, as was he. She was wearing an elegant calf-length black fur coat which, I suspect, was real. He was also dressed quasi-elegantly, and both were slurping on flutes of champagne. After the requisite bitching about how the seats they "paid a lot of money for" (unlike the rest of us who were there) were not what they were expecting, they decided they wanted to talk to me, so we exchanged pleasantries. They then asked me a question I'm still puzzling over. They said: "Do you know which cat Gregory Hines is playing?" I must have phased out of existence there for a second, because they repeated the question. Before I could say "Um, Gregory Hines is not only not suited for a show like Cats...he's quite dead," they proceeded to tell me that they had seen it in print that Gregory Hines was going to be "some cat starting with a T, like Ptolemy."

Speechless, I merely studied the program, looking for anything resembling Gregory Hines or Ptolemy (or anything starting with a T, as in Ptolemy).

There was a Gregory Haney and a Richard Hinds, and Mr. Haney was substituting for Rum-Tum-Tugger, so that's probably what they heard, and this is what I told them.

But I cannot imagine the leap of weirdness it takes to get...where they got. Especially since Gregory Hines is dead (since last August). So a few more minutes go by. It looked like it was going to be a fantastic show.

Until...She sat down in front of me.

She was a statuesque (5' 10", I'm guessing) black woman wearing a beautiful sable coat (probably not real sable, actually (I touched it), but trés elégante, nonetheless) and formal evening wear. She was alone and came in just a few minutes before the overture started to play.

Tall people I can deal with. Tall people who choose, as their hairstyle for the evening they're going to the theater and sitting in the second row, a bouffant fully 8 inches high are on my shit list forever.

Agitated beyond all belief, I started eyeing the seats to my right. If those people didn't show up by the time the overture started, I was going to move over and damn the bouffant lady. Unfortunately, the three people to my right arrived JUST as the lights were being dimmed and my plot was foiled.

So what I could see of the show was: the back of Bouffant Lady's bulbous head; 1/3 of the stage to the right of her bulbous head; the backdrop in a sliver above her bulbous head; HER BULBOUS FUCKING HEAD.

That. Is. It.

I kept having to crane my neck to see around her, and I strongly suspect the lady to my right thought I was trying to put my head on her shoulder a time or two, but I think she understood. The people behind me were probably as pissed at me as I was at Bouffant Lady.

At least I got to actually see and hear that magnificent song, Memory. Oh, my God, the woman playing Grizabella sang her heart out. It was moving and beautiful and, in spite of the fact that Grizabella looked suspiciously like the back of Bouffant Lady's fucking head...I enjoyed what I could see of the show. I have the crick from beyond God in my neck, and I strongly suspect I'll have back problems from leaning so far over to the right all night.

May Bouffant Lady's hair be frizzy and utterly unruly for a damned year.