"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
While we were on the California portion of our trip to the US and A, we went to see the play, Wicked. Originally, we were going to Melbourne, Australia where it was also playing, but it was going to wind up costing way to much. Turns out it was in LA the same time we were in California, so seats were arranged through Ticket Bastards.
We drove the cheap rental car up and arrived 4 hours before showtime. Our dressy clothes were safe in the locked trunk of the very well locked vehicle. I was able to park on the street right next to the theatre. The meter only wanted to be fed until 6:00, so it only cost 2 bucks instead of $15 in the parking lot.
Take that LA!
We walked around Hollywood and Vine, where the shops seem to cater to the well dressed prostitute; wigs, high heels, whorish clothing. We had a quick nibble in the oldest restaurant in Hollywood and escaped with a $100 dinner bill.
Take that tourist!
Strolling back to the chariot, with 30 minutes until curtain, we noticed the car was no longer at the curb.
What, what, what???
Apparently, after 6 PM, parking wasn't free, it was illegal. A tow able offense. It said so on one of the many diverse signs all over the sidewalk. We came to park, we didn't realize there would be a reading assignment. 25 minutes before curtain.
Take another one, Foreigner!
Arising from the spit stained street was an older black woman who became our angel. She drove us to the tow yard and waited while I paid the $250 ransom and guided us back in time to see the show. We were lucky to get a space in the lot, but now the price was $20. I guess I should have paid the original $15. With gas, we were already down 400 bucks and had not even purchased any platform shoes. Plus, I know the black angel is getting something special from New Zealand.
The play is about the Wicked Witch of the West and puts her into a much more positive light.
Cut to Halloween where Kimberly was asked to help out her CanTeen group with a fundraiser. Everyone was to dress up. To Americans, "dress up" means a competitive costume, not just a sheet over the head or fake blood around the mouth. To Kiwis, Halloween doesn't even mean a sheet over the head. It means nothing at all. They don't do the holiday. They don't understand it. You can easily get by with 3 lollies for the whole night's worth of visiting children.
Kimberly, an American who loves Halloween like I love monkeys, went full out. Not just any witch, but THE witch, the WW of the W. Green face and hands, broom, hat, wig, as good as it was, probably not making the finals in a contest in a Tucson Bar. At least she wasn't Sarah Palin.
When we reached the venue in a park, there were about 100 folks there and not one of them in costume. But they certainly appreciated having the witch around and there were heaps of comments. The little kids either ran in fear or gazed in admiration. Either way, Kimberly chased them all around threatening to eat them up. And their little dog, too.
We went to a few bars in town that were pretty hopping. But no dressing up. Kimberly got more applause, but there were no competitions, so no prizes.
At the end of the night, we grabbed some Indian food and since there's no place like home, that's where we went. The hat will be in storage for at least a year.
Take that, Dorothy!
