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raven_cromwellAny of you who know me know impulse buyer isn't really a good descriptor. You also know, however, I've been entirely smitten with Anais Mitchell's "Hadestown" from the second I heard the full original broadway cast. Upon learning that it, somehow, miraculously, was coming here on tour from my delightful, bubbly intro to theatre prof this morning, I stepped entirely out-of-character. A. cut class early--with full professorial blessing, which tells you how much of a geek my prof is in the best way--and B. became bound and determined that if they had accessible seating, I was snagging it, come hell or high water.
There are a lot of "should I really go to x event?" considerations, for someone who doesn't quite need a wheelchair, but also isn't precisely madam fleet-of-foot with a cane, either. Since there was no one else awake in the house, I decided to grab the one wheelchair-accessible seat they had--I'm reliably informed they had other seats that could be accessed with limited mobility, but without working eyes to look at the seating chart, going for the use of the transport chair was easiest.
Further complicating and delighting the situation in equal measure, local theatre has audio description. On one performance, one day a week. There was, in what I can only call kismet *one* accessible seat left in said Hadestown performance. Which I promptly snagged to the bewildered consternation of poor box office dude, who couldn't decide if he should be more amazed over a lightning sale on a Monday, no less! Or that this madperson didn't want to think and call him back. No, my dude, not even with a no-refund policy. Not with only one seat accessible and four left in the entire theatre.
Fuck it. Just this once; I'll figure out how to snip and save and fix the budget.
Stepdad, who I was worried might be justifiably miffed at the possibility of needing to drive me well over an hour and then kill two hours--A. because there were approximately zero seats available by the time he woke up and B. because you couldn't pay him to sit masked in theatre for two hours-- was the epitome of zin. The entire day has had this surreal, magical glow to it. This is only the third in-person live performance I've been to; second musical, and for it to be a musical I love this intensely feels an almost fae gift after a grueling summer term and a difficult first couple weeks of fall.
There are a lot of "should I really go to x event?" considerations, for someone who doesn't quite need a wheelchair, but also isn't precisely madam fleet-of-foot with a cane, either. Since there was no one else awake in the house, I decided to grab the one wheelchair-accessible seat they had--I'm reliably informed they had other seats that could be accessed with limited mobility, but without working eyes to look at the seating chart, going for the use of the transport chair was easiest.
Further complicating and delighting the situation in equal measure, local theatre has audio description. On one performance, one day a week. There was, in what I can only call kismet *one* accessible seat left in said Hadestown performance. Which I promptly snagged to the bewildered consternation of poor box office dude, who couldn't decide if he should be more amazed over a lightning sale on a Monday, no less! Or that this madperson didn't want to think and call him back. No, my dude, not even with a no-refund policy. Not with only one seat accessible and four left in the entire theatre.
Fuck it. Just this once; I'll figure out how to snip and save and fix the budget.
Stepdad, who I was worried might be justifiably miffed at the possibility of needing to drive me well over an hour and then kill two hours--A. because there were approximately zero seats available by the time he woke up and B. because you couldn't pay him to sit masked in theatre for two hours-- was the epitome of zin. The entire day has had this surreal, magical glow to it. This is only the third in-person live performance I've been to; second musical, and for it to be a musical I love this intensely feels an almost fae gift after a grueling summer term and a difficult first couple weeks of fall.
