kpduty

Take a seat while I explain a little something to you. Every year, your local PBS station does what is called a "Pledge Drive." On the surface it's little more than an attempt to collect monies from viewers to supplement the meager funds supplied by the government. In reality, it's an insidious plot by the Illuminati to brainwash the nation's middle-aged and eldery into spending their hard-earned money on carefully constructed "talent" created in part so that Middle America believes it's being exposed to "culture." This occurs every year in waves, which if you pay careful attention to the morning news you will soon be able to decipher. Riverdance was probably the first big phenom to come from PBS fundraisers; other notables are Andrea Bocelli (otherwise known as "Blind Opera Guy"), Josh Groban, Sarah Brightman...you see where I'm going with this. These people appear in concert on PBS and for a pledge at the $125 level you can get a copy of the companion DVD.

My parents LOVE these people.

But, going back in the Wayback Machine...poor, dear Father. When I was younger, The Father was forced to drive me and my friends all over Hell and back, usually Cleveland and Cincinnati, to see various incarnations of Duran Duran. The Father would usually wait in the car. Not because of me, mind you!!! I wasn't so bad a child that I would force The Father to excise himself from my sight so I Would Not Be Embarrassed To Be Seen With My Father. No, he pretty much hated Duran Duran and didn't want to be bothered and preferred to nap. This went on until Kelmeister entered college. By then I could drive myself. By then, The Parents preferred that I drive.

By then, payback.

Yes, kiddies, I found myself in an unenviable position: I had to drive THE PARENTS to SHOWS. See, this is the thing: when you're young, and you're bouncing off the walls and climbing all over the furniture and you won't go to bed when you're supposed to and you and The Brother are beating the shit out of one another in the living room The Parents have a tendency to utter the following curse in an attempt to calm you down:

I HOPE YOU HAVE KIDS WHO ARE JUST LIKE YOU.

What Karma and God don't tell you is that there's a secret inverse to this curse that also goes into effect at the same time:

I HOPE I TURN INTO YOU WHEN YOU'RE MY AGE.

And you know what? It happens. Seriously. One day, you're driving yourself and some friends two hours away to Nine Inch Nails; next thing you know, you're escorting The Mother to see Michael Crawford sing a tribute to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Payback.

Okay, God Damnit. I ENJOY GOING TO THESE FUCKING THINGS WITH MY PARENTS. Are you satisfied?

Once, The Mother and I went to see a production of Love's Labours Lost. We had to leave during the first act because we couldn't stop laughing. We also saw Blind Opera Guy.

But The Father and I have a tradition all our own: We bond over Michael Flatley. I think it started with RIVERDANCE. I'll admit, watching it on PBS during a Pledge Drive with The Father. Thinking the music was so amazingly alive. Thinking Michael Flatley was kind of hot, and Jean Butler was so beautiful. I admit I cried at the end. So it seemed only appropriate that when it came to town we'd go see it. And when Flatley came through with LORD OF THE DANCE and FEET OF FLAMES it made sense for us to go together to see them.

You know, at the end of FEET OF FLAMES, Michael Flatley danced real fast and there was smoke coming out of the floor and IT WAS JUST LIKE HIS FEET WERE ACTUALLY ON FIRE. It was pretty cool.

*cough*

So anyway, it's more about spending some quality alone time with The Father. And making fun of people who are at CELTIC TIGER, because in actuality, we're way cooler than the other people there because we're there IRONICALLY. Because really, these shows are starting to get kind of repetitive. Here is an ACTUAL EXCHANGE The Father and I had at the intermission of CELTIC TIGER:

The Father: You know, some of this music...I think they just changed a couple of measures or something from the other shows.

Me: I warned you going in...when I saw part of this on PBS, it was the exact same thing as last time.

The Father: It's like FEET OF FLAMES Part 2.

Me: No, it's more like FEET OF FLAMES version 1.2.

The Father: Critical update 1 for FEET OF FLAMES.

Me: More like a patch.

The Father: Critical Service Pack 1 for FEET OF FLAMES.

Me: This would be Critical Service Pack 2. FEET OF FLAMES was Service Pack 1 for LORD OF THE DANCE, so this is Service Pack 2.

The Father: [laughter]

Me: It removes a trojan virus installed in the program which made you think you were watching something completely different from the last show you went to.

As The Father said as he dropped me off (I would have driven, as is required in these situations, but The Husband needed the car to visit His Boyfriend), this is more about Being Together and The Power of Love and We Should Really Do This More Often. Which we should. But Michael Flatley's only one man. And there are only so many PBS specials. And The Parents went to Sarah Brightman of their own accord.

OH!!! So you want to know about the show!!! Well, the first half was A Brief History Of Ireland. Much Like LORD OF THE DANCE and FEET OF FLAMES. Only this time, Michael Flatley, acting as a modern day St. Patrick, drove the British from Ireland with the Power of His Dance. Did you know West Side Story is actually a retelling of the Irish Rebellion against British Tyranny? I didn't know that either. So there was dancing and some guy sang a song and it sort of reminded me of American Idol for some reason. And then there was this really awesome part where the British troops burned down a cottage and there were flying dead Irish baby spirits. It was AWESOME.

The second act, everybody came to America and became gangsters. And Michael Flatley's feet were aflame, and some chick was wearing an American Flag bikini. The BEST PART was this celebration of everything that makes America Great. All the things terrorists hate: eagles, and the Statue of Liberty, and cheerleaders, and football players, and more cheerleaders, and another eagle, and a seedy roadside motel, and disadvantaged black youth playing basketball and more football and cheerleaders and THE FLAG!!! And YAY AMERICA!!! And then there was more dancing, and some explosions but no one died because an angel came down from Heaven and brought all the soldiers and Irish rebels back to life, and that biniki chick again, and Yankee Doodle Dandy. THE END.

It was EXACTLY LIKE the other two shows, only this time there were more American flags. It was very silly. But I bought a copy of soundtrack (some of the songs would be awesome for mixes because it's lots of Gregorian chanting and beatboxing) which I am listening to right now so I may better convey to you the beauty and power of this spectacle. And I also bought a t-shirt for The Best Friend's birthday, because I know he'll totally kill me, and that's what birthday presents are all about: embarrassing your friends.

So it's late. The Husband will be home soon, reeking of cigarettes and barbeque sauce. But before I go...

Dad, I had an awesome time. Next time Charlotte Chruch is in town, WE ARE SO THERE!!!!