Wicked Wednesday

If you have read Gregory Maguire’s book, or have heard Idina Menzel sing... you will understand my obsession with not only seeing this musical, but seeing it in London (with most the original Broadway cast).

The story is a genius retelling of the Wizard of Oz from the secondary characters points of view. By the end of the book you really feel sorry for the "Wicked" Witch of the West, and saddened by her death... after all she is merely misunderstood; a characteristic that is very easy to identify with.

So, on Wednesday I rode the tube to Victoria station, took my place in line and waited in the lobby for the Apollo Victoria theare to open its doors. H13 was my seat and as I keep getting closer and closer to the stage, I begin to think that spending many, many, many pounds on tickets was the right choice. As the lights go down, the curtain rises and the show begins, I am 100% sure that not a cent (excuse me: pence) has been wasted!

I am mesmerized from start to finish. Nothing, not even the deafening applause that erupts from the audience when Idina enters stage left, can distract me. I am a women transfixed. I laugh, and pout, and cry alongside the characters... that last bit, I'm not really proud of, as I pride myself on being a big girl... but whatevs, I identified with the character... so what?!

By the time I get home, the immense joy has settled itself into sing-song happiness, and I am ready to take on the night. Craig and I decide that the best plan of action is to head into town in a mini cab (the veritable understudy of the more knowledgeable and pricey Black cabs that London is known for). We arrive in Soho and plan to meet up with one of his flatmates for drinks and din at a cozy place named Black's. As we approach, I am faced with a non-descript building. We take the stone stairs down and are met by a sign that can only be described as a big fat head with oozy ooze coming out of its ear... the caption basically reads: Turn off your cell phones, don't make your brain bleed! I was taken aback, but loved it in the way you love things that are very different from your own existence.

Once you enter the resto/bar you almost feel at home... or at least in a home better laid out than your own. Decorated with long communal wooden tables, a fireplace and candles; it has great wine, and a rice pudding that made me momentarily forget my hatred of all things milky and clumpy. The staff was so nice that the only reason I even gave the rice pudding a try was because the hostess offered me a bite of rice pudding off of her own dinner plate (Although now that I think back on it, this may have had more to do with the fact that by this point the boys had charmed her within an inch of her life, and she was diggin' it)

So I guess tonight's lesson was two-fold:
1) Never judge a building by its cover.
and
2) Even if you absolutely despise something... give it a try every couple of years; just in case. Who knows... your tastes may have changed... you may want different things... I now know I do!