A Wicked Review: 6 Degrees of Donnie Wahlberg

I mentioned in my last post that I was going to see the travelling Broadway production of Wicked. Many of you have sent texts or tweets inquiring as to how the evening went. It all started with a photo shoot...

This is our "we're normal, we're adorable, look how pretty we are" shot.

This is our "we're giddy, we're overly-excited,
OMG we're going to see Wicked" shot.

...followed by our prompt arrival at the theater. As in, we pulled into our parking space at 5:45. They didn't open the doors to the event until 6:45. And the show didn't start until 7:30. We were the FIRST ones there. Seriously. I'm not joking. Even the parking attendant was amused at our punctuality.


And so, Tina and I stood outside of the theater for over an hour, noses pressed to the glass, peering inside to "see what we could see." We were thrilled to see tables of Playbills nearest to our door. We squealed with glee when we saw the swag table, decked out in t-shirts and coffee mugs and track jackets, all in varying shades of green.


And when the ushers began to appear, all wearing Elphaba-green bow-ties? Well, we may have joined hands and jumped up and down. Maybe.


When they finally opened the doors to the theater, Tina was the FIRST person inside. We enjoyed frosty beverages (daiquiris--both banana and strawberry.) We tried our best to seem nonchalant as we casually browsed the wares for sale. I noticed a large book on one of the tables and realized (with some enthusiasm) that it was the Grimmerie. (For those not familiar with the book or play, the Grimmerie is the book of magic spells used by the Witch.) While there were no spells to be found in the pages of this particular Grimmerie, it was instead a 'behind the scenes' book, all about the characters, music, creators, and design of Wicked.


I flipped open the heavy green cover, and the first page I turned to had a large picture of Fiyero, Elphaba's love interest. I gasped as I instantly recognized the actor as Joey McIntyre.

For those with no clue who Joey McIntyre is, and why I nearly swooned with delight when I realized he'd been the 2nd Fiyero (and voted "Favorite Fiyero" on BestofBroadway.com) on Broadway, let me remind you of the title of this particular blog post. (I'll wait while you scroll back up to read it.) Then, let me point you to exhibit A:

NKOTB....from left to right, Joey McIntyre, Jon Knight,
Donnie Wahlberg, Jordan Knight and Danny Wood.

It's like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, except with Donnie Wahlberg. If there really was a yellow brick road, I'm convinced it would lead me to Donnie's house.


ANYhoo...


We left the swag table, Tina listening to me chatter on and on about Joey McIntyre, and headed over to the double doors leading into the theater. We stood there, waiting patiently, until they finally opened them up and let people stampede wander to their seats. Tickets clutched in our hands, we asked the first usher we came to where we might find Row K, Seats 36 and 37.


She pointed her flashlight down toward the stage and said, "Just keep following the stairs until you find Row K on your right. Then, head toward the center until you find your seats."


I followed Tina down the stairs. Each step took us closer to the stage. We found Row K, and Tina led the way down the row. And the closer we got to the center, the more excited she became. She kept looking over her shoulder at me, eyebrows raised in disbelief. And there they were, seats 36 and 37--smack dab in the middle of theater, 10 rows back from the orchestra.


Tina sat down, a huge smile on her face, and said, "Remind me that any time I go to a play, I want YOU to get the tickets. These seats are AMAZING!!!"


She wasn't kidding. This photo was taken from my seat:

We were SO CLOSE, I couldn't even get the dragon AND the stage floor into the same shot.


At 7:30 sharp, the lights went down, the orchestra began to play, and the show started. I won't tell you much about it, in case you ever go to see it yourself. Suffice it to say that I laughed, I cried, I applauded and whooped and hollered. At intermission, Tina and I stayed glued to our seats, never willing to miss a single minute. We talked about every single aspect of the show: from music to actors to costumes to lighting. And when the curtain came down at the end of the second Act, I was absolutely awed. 


I was expecting it to be great. But it was SO much more than I ever anticipated. I get weepy just thinking about it.


I will say this: every single person I talked to who had seen the show previously said that "Defying Gravity" would be the highlight of the live show. I'd seen it on YouTube and on various TV shows, so I knew exactly what was going to happen. But when Elphaba took to the sky on her broom for the first time, I was absolutely awestruck. I had goosebumps. All the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. And involuntary tears rolled down my cheeks. It. Was. Amazing.


Wicked was the topic of conversation for the rest of Tina's visit. We listened to the soundtrack over and over, talked about our favorite parts over and over, quoted from the show over and over. When she left Saturday afternoon, she gave me a big hug and thanked me for the memory we'd created together. And then my Wicked Weekend came to an end.


I can't wait for the opportunity to go and see the show again. And I will. Believe you me.


But for now, I'm going to ride the Wicked high I'm still on.


And I'm going to figure out the 6 degrees of separation between Donnie Wahlberg and Kevin Bacon. 


What? I really think I could do it...


*EDIT* Thanks to friend, reader, and fellow book clubber, Rachel, who figured out the 6 degrees between Donnie Wahlberg and Kevin Bacon. If you're curious, here it goes:  Kevin Bacon was in JFK with Gary Oldman who is married to Uma Thurman who was in "The Accidental Husband" with Ajay Naidu who was in "Office Space" with Ron Livingston who was in "Band of Brothers" with Donnie Wahlberg!

Defying Gravity

Today is a huge day. It's a day I've been waiting for since early November of last year. The tickets have been bought, the dress has been selected, and my date arrived last evening.


Today, I get to see my first off-Broadway play.


Today, I get to see "Wicked."

This is my "OHMYGODI'MSOEXCITED" face.

I was a senior in college when Wicked first hit the stage. Like all successful musicals, the Broadway stars made their rounds to all the daytime talk shows, to promote the show. I watched Kristin Chenoweth sing her brains out on the Rosie O'Donnell show. I saw both Kristin and Idina Menzel belt out "Defying Gravity" on award shows and late night talk shows. I vowed to see it on Broadway, in New York City, before it ended.


Last fall, Brian and I were watching Jeopardy, eating our dinner, and minding our own business when a commercial, announcing Wicked was coming to the North Charleston Performing Arts Center, came on the screen. I squealed. I cried. I jumped up and down. And I begged Brian to take me.


We bought the tickets as soon as they went on sale.


I've been patiently counting down the days on my Donnie Wahlberg calendar while harmonizing with Kristin on "Popular." And the day has finally arrived.


About 2 months ago, Brian made it plain that he wasn't interested in going to see the show. (He's not into musicals. I know, he's a crazy person.) His response to my excitement? "I'll go if you can't find anyone else who wants to go."


So I offered the ticket to the one person in the whole wide world who I knew would be just as jazzed as I was by all the jazz hands. Brian's Aunt Tina.

The first time I met Tina, we all climbed into my car to go out somewhere. My huge CD book (remember those?) was in the backseat. As we drove through the little town of Boone, headed toward our destination, Tina flipped through, checking out my taste in music. Suddenly, she exclaimed, "You have the soundtracks from Little Shop of Horrors, Annie, AND Oklahoma!!?!! You're the ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD that I've ever met who has all three. Well...except for me."


We've been thick as thieves ever since that moment.


And so, tonight we will pretty ourselves up. We will brave the traffic and drive to the coliseum. We will be there earlier than anyone else, and we will stand in line singing "Popular" and "Defying Gravity" and "I'm Not That Girl." We will bounce up and down in our seats until the house lights go down. We will take in every single aspect of the production, from lighting to costumes to staging to props. At intermission we will giggle like school girls and relive all the wonderful moments we've just witnessed. We will race back inside the theater as soon as the bell dings to signal the end of intermission. We will sing along with all our favorite songs. We will cry when Fiyero dies, and when Elfie takes to her broom, and when Glinda mourns the loss of her friend. 


And when it's all said and done, we'll get in our car, drive back home, and talk about the show for the next 3 weeks to anyone who will listen, and to some who won't.


Today is a huge day.

Today, I see Wicked.

I Pity The Fool

Meet Mr. T.

If you were expecting the guy from the A Team, I'm sorry to disappoint. Mr. T was the nickname for my first car. That's him in the background (and me in the foreground, on graduation day, 1999.)


Let's rewind a little. It was the summer of 1998. I had just turned 17. I desperately wanted to be able to drive my senior year, and in order to do that, I was determined to have my own means of transportation. And that meant work. A LOT of work. I'd been promoted at my summer job at a local water park, from lifeguard to lead guard (the highest on the lifeguard ladder you can get as a student.) 


While my peers spent their summer days basking in the sunshine, splashing in the water, and saving the occasional life, I patrolled the park, walkie-talkie hooked to my belt. My responsibilities were to oversee the lifeguards, put bandaids on skinned knees, and deal with water park emergencies (ranging from a rogue turd in the lazy river, to a broken leg on the speed slides.)


Every week, when my paycheck came in, I diligently banked that money, leaving myself little to spend frivolously on my rare days off. When I had enough for a car, I went to my dad, gave him the figure, and left him to find me something reliable. I know I tossed in the word "cute" more than once. But, having little cash flow, despite my summer of savings, I wound up with Mr. T instead.


An all-white, boxy, slightly rusty 1982 Datsun Maxima, Mr. T sported a sun-roof, a cassette player, electronic windows, and a back door that wouldn't open.


I was instantly in love.


This little car took me and my friends everywhere we wanted to go. Afternoon trips to the beach, weekend drives up to Myrtle Beach to visit the boardwalk, Walmart for school supplies....Mr. T did more than just schlep us to and from school. And for that, we loved him.

Spring of 1999, 4 best friends, and the beach. One of my favorite memories, captured on film.
From left to right: Trish, Tifany, me, and Becca.

Mr. T was solely responsible for many of our double-date nights. He took Trish and me prom dress shopping. If it weren't for Mr. T, the four of us, thick as thieves, might have missed some of the most memorable moments of our lives (senior parties, sleepovers, days by the pool, nights by the ocean).


Becca was my most frequent passenger. She lived one neighborhood over, and I picked her up every morning for school. On the warmer days, she knew I'd be opening the sunroof at some point. I'd turn to her and say, "Sunglasses secured." We'd flip our glasses down onto our faces, I would press the button, and the sunroof would creak open, raining down shards of rust and debris. The glasses were less about protecting our vision from the sun, and more about protecting our eyeballs from the detritus trapped between the metal and the glass.


But you may still be wondering how my little Datsun got his nickname. So let me tell you that tale.


It was the first day of school. It was also the first day driving my car alone, as a legally licensed driver in the state of South Carolina. I remember my mom standing on the front porch, tearfully waving goodbye as I backed out of the driveway. I'd gotten to school just fine, the day had come to an end, and Becca and I decided a trip to Georgetown was necessary. You see, we'd found out that a favorite teacher of ours was in the hospital there, recovering from surgery. We also needed supplies for one of our classes, and Walmart was calling our names.


So we loaded into the car and hit the road, Madonna blaring from the speakers.


As we pulled into the hospital parking lot, I started the hunt for a parking spot. I wasn't trying to be a hero--I knew parking wasn't my strong suit. I was looking for a spot as far away from another vehicle as I could manage. The best I could find was near the back of the visitors' lot, near a big brown van that looked older than my Datsun. I figured it was worth the risk. So I turned on my signal like a good little driver, and started guiding the car into the space. 


And almost had a heart attack when I heard the telltale "SCREEEEEEE" of metal on metal.


Still halfway out of the parking space, I slammed on the breaks and threw the car in to park. Becca and I turned to look at each other, eyes wide. "Did you just hit that van??" she whispered.


"I totally think I just hit that van," I replied.


Panicked, I threw the car into reverse and sped out of the parking lot.


Minutes later, safely parked in the Walmart parking lot (approximately 2 miles from the actual store, or so it seemed.)  We stepped out to survey the damage to my new-to-me car. We studied it from headlight to tailpipe and could find no evidence of the collision at all. The paint job was still in tact (in all the places it had been in tact before.) There had been no paint transfer, and there were absolutely no dents to speak of.


Becca looked at me, dumbfounded, and said, "Your car is indestructable."


"Apparently," I said. "Like a super-hero of cars."


"Like Mr. T," she said. And in her best Mr. T voice, continued, "I pity the fool who tries to scratch Abby's car."


And that is how my Datsun forever became Mr. T.


I had that car for 3 years. It went with me to college. I drove it from the mountains to the beach and everywhere in between. As Mr. T started declining in health, I even learned how to change the hoses beneath his hood. And when he took his last breath in the driveway of the basement apartment I shared with Brian and Jenna, I mourned for him.


RIP Mr. T. The super-hero of cars. 1982-2002.

Labels

Things That I Am:

Loyal. 

Funny.

Obsessive.

Wordy.

Loving.

Silly.

Ever been to Mordor? I have. Sort of.

Slightly neurotic.

Overly enthusiastic.

Quick to trust.

Loud.

Larger than life.

A wee bit self-conscious.

Only Richard Simmons could save me from the evil FAT monster.

A musical-theater junkie.

A Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan through-and-through.
A New Kids on the Block uber-fan.

A video game enthusiast.

A connoisseur of bad television programs.

A self-proclaimed artist.

"Me." A Self Portrait by Abby.

Nerdy. (Live long and prosper.)

Polite (mostly.)

Slightly crude (sometimes.)
Potty mouth. (Sorry Mom.)

Mother of 4 cats. (Yes, I said cats.)
Fan of parentheses (can't you tell.)

Sarcastic. (Who? Me?? Naw...)

When jury duty happens to good people.

I am a wife. A daughter. A sister. A friend. I am a godmother. A writer. A wannabe chef. A collector of picture frames. I am struggling with weight loss, writer's block, and PMS. I drink coffee, and wine, and even an occasional beer. I love books, good movies, bad TV. 

I am a soul. Single. Solitary. Unique.

I am so much more than the sum of my parts.

I am me. Not what the world labels me to be.

What labels are you trying to change in your own life? Link up 

with Just Be Enough and let's collectively change the conversation.

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We invite you to join us, to celebrate our strengths,
to celebrate our diversity, to celebrate
our voices and change the conversation.

Abby Gabs News: A Video Blog

While watching the news with my husband the other day, a question popped into my head. I turned to him, and the following conversation ensued.


Abby: Do you think they teach the newscasters how to talk like that in school?
Brian: I dunno. Maybe.
A: Like...is there a text book? 
B: Guest speakers, maybe?
A: *In bad newscaster voice* "Today in class we will teach you how to use the inflection of your voice to make your point."
B: You should blog about it.


So I did. In video blog form. Enjoy.

Can't see the video? Point your browser here: http://youtu.be/eGafzYC4dTw