Between Mr. Wu’s fishing expedition and my own off-the-Wu-grid “party and a play”, there was plenty of room for misbehavior.
I’m pleased that my sins of omission exceeded my sins of commission, if that makes sense–which I suppose it does, just not in a mathematical way. Note I didn’t say I was proud–I just said I was pleased, meaning that I know I could have done much more damage in an instant of crazy than I did by doing nothing.
Mr. Wu announced to me on Tuesday night that he would be accompanying some friends to Pickwick Lake, the scene of some of Mr. Wu’s most renowned fishing safaris. He informed me that he would not be around on Wednesday night to fix my dinner. I wished him the best of luck and told him I would be just fine.
Now I will admit I contemplated both the latitude and the leeway such a situation might afford me in the way of straying from the Path of Wu. Henceforth known as Tao Wu. My mind pondered the possible choices–a salmon fillet? a shrimp cocktail? even as my appetite fantasized as to how I could be good while being bad-that’s the human condition for you. It has gotten the best hero into a heap of trouble.
But reason and goodness won the day. I picked up a box of Royal Panda Chicken that is served in lettuce cups. And that was that, I done good. I got through the day without Mr. Wu’s benevolent direction. I was pretty proud of me.
Then there was today–when I didn’t eat breakfast, didn’t eat lunch until 4:30, and then never had supper, in spite of attending a perfectly lovely gathering at the Hunt Phelan home in celebration of RSVP’s 15 years of documenting the social milieu of Memphis–while at the same time promoting our various charities.
Now it is not that I did not fill my plate –and attempt to eat it, but somehow with all of the interesting people like Roger from Ballet Memphis, and Whitney Joe from Playhouse on the Square, I just never managed to tie into it. Tao Wu, for sure!
Then on to the next big thing, which in this case, was Wicked. And what can you say?
It was very green, and very very loud.
If you go, do not sit in the front–as it is meant to be a” spectacular spectacular” as they say in the movie Moulin Rouge–and if you are not far enough away from the stage craft you will miss out totally on the effects. And also be blasted by the high decibel performances.
Vicki Noon who played the role of Elphaba was extraordinary. You don’t listen to this woman sing–you blissten to her. It was bliss to hear her. Just wonderful. Her green shoulders do all the heavy lifting in terms of making the whole elaborately techno- fabricated conglomeration have any connection to the fragile and quiet voice that is the human condition. You want to friend her, but you know that really, she is you.
Had we been seated further back, and had the two gentlemen seated in front of us not been munching on odoriferous peanuts throughout the second act–think eau de air plane, then perhaps I might have joined Glinda up in her magical bubble, willfully suspending my disbelief.
But sadly, I clicked my ruby red slippers in vain, for the world was too much with me.