So I saw Stomp
last night. Usually my life is full of activities like "folding the laundry" and "taking the dog for a walk," but this past week has been particularly eventful, what with Cameron Crowe and now a TPAC production. Now, as you'll notice from a comment on my previous blog post, my method of getting into events involves a lot of pushing and shoving and baby stomping. And this event was no exception. I'll save you the details, though. They may incriminate me.
I saw Stomp
once before, on a junior high field trip. Last night, I sat down in the audience and admitted to my boyfriend that while I didn't remember much from the previous performance, I recalled a burning desire to dance with a broom after I saw it. The boyfriend nodded but didn't say anything; he didn't really want to go to Stomp
. He wanted to watch the premiere of My Name is Earl
television show. But when your girlfriend scores tickets to see a theater production she's been blabbering about for months, ever since she got a press release at work saying that it was coming to town, you know you have to go. So we went.
And folks, it was great. Absolutely fabulous. Take the best street performer you've ever seen, give him a polished routine, an endless supply of every day objects to use as props, a few equally talented co-stars, and you have Stomp
. I don't want to dance with a broom anymore, though. Now I want a trashcan. Two trashcans, actually. I want two big trashcans that I can attach to my shoes. I will create beautiful sounds with my trashcans and then I, too, will be bohemian and adored.
So that's my review. Stomp
is only here through Sunday, so you need to act quickly if you want to see the show. And you should. Don't take my word for it, take the boyfriend's.
"That was awesome!" he said when it was over.
"Better then your television show?" I asked.
"What?" he said. "Oh yeah. Well, it's on again on Sunday."
And that was enough.