I love the holiday season. I love Christmas music and, perhaps just as much, the lights. I love the Christmas lights in the city, but perhaps even more, I love the lights in my hometown. In fact, I'm the only one who didn't nearly cry, vomit, and/or pee my pants when my brother in law drove us "kids" around seemingly for 37 "festive" hours one Christmas Eve, the evening that was finally brought to an end when a tiny voice begged from the backseat, "Pleeeeeease no more lights, Uncle Mike."
So I was totally bummed out when I wasn't able to enjoy the season at all last year. No Rock Center tree, no holiday parties, definitely no nog of any kind. I was completely nogless and hopeless.
In a world where there is no music, and tomorrow isn't guaranteed, only one man with a mean pair of jazz hands and a ruffled satin shirt can save us.
And that man is Hugh Jackman.
I had blinding headaches and the inability to keep my eyes open, but I also had tickets to Hugh Jackman's one man show on Broadway. This, I would not miss.
Now, if there's anything I like more than the holidays, it's
In fact, I am fresh off seeing Annie last Friday. Which I thoroughly enjoyed. And yes, I did show up wearing a red dress, "just in case." I do have curly red hair - and I pay a lot for it so it should get some stage time.
But I digress.
I find Hugh Jackman to be highly enjoyable. Don't ask me about really about any of his movies though, because unless it's one of the romantic comedies he did that everyone but me hated, I haven't seen them.
I don't have impure thoughts about Hugh. I just want him to come over to my apartment with a stuffed koala and read me a bedtime story and brew me some of that tea he makes (although he will have to use the microwave because we do not use the stove in my house and he will have to bring the tea and a mug but I think I have water) and then do a little song and dance number and smile and laugh.
Hugh Jackman smiles a lot. In fact, he reminds me of my first song and dance man, Barry Manilow. When I was four, I told everyone I wanted "the smiley guy" for Christmas -- which translated to the Barry Manilow Live album. Released in '77, I still have it and still love it. Perhaps I would have done better in college if my brain space wasn't full of every single word -- it WAS a double album. And on the cover, Barry is wearing blue polyester and doing some kind of broad theatrical gesture with his arms like "Suck on this haters!" And above all, he is sing-smiling, if I had to guess, "Daybreak."
I love Barry so much.
But I just might love Hugh more.
So off to the theater I staggered last December 9th to see Hugh. And he brr-rroooouggghhht it.
When he shook his (literal) maracas, he made me forget that my head was about to explode and I couldn't see so bad that I was wearing clip on sunglasses over my regular glasses inside a dark theater at night. It was an attractive look.
I didn't even mind when, as a result of my enjoyment, I spent the next 24 hours at home essentially riding out what I can best describe to you people (I know who reads this blog) as what felt like being both drunk AND hungover at the same time with the worst nausea/dizziness/bed spins you ever had AND a monster headache, lacking the benefit of any alcohol.
Only for you, Hugh.
And now he's back with Les Miserables. And I am about to pass out in anticipation. Christmas is such a meaningful holiday, and this year, it also means that Les Miserables will be in a theater near me. As kids hit their pillows with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads, I will see Hugh Jackman in a puffy shirt singing, "On my own, pretending Len's beside me..." It cannot come soon enough.
I have to admit, at first I was skeptical. I love Les Miz. I've seen stage productions four times. I wasn't convinced it could be made into a watchable musical.
But then one day recently I was walking down Broadway and saw Hugh on a giant billboard. His eyes bore straight into my soul. He said, "Girl, I mean, Sheila, as if you won't see this movie. Who are you trying to kid? Now be a good girl and show me your jazz hands."
I felt ashamed. I had forsaken him. But I am a believer.
When a friend mentioned he had an advance copy of the movie, all of a sudden it was like one of those cartoons where, to the starving man in the desert, everyone looks like a chicken leg. Every time I looked at him, I saw Hugh Jackman and heard him singing as Jean Valjean, "Who am I? 24601!!!!"
Will it be good? The critics say it is, but I don't even care. With taste as bad as mine, I generally don't agree with the critics. I like what I like.
And I like Hugh Jackman and Barry Manilow and singing and dancing and Impractical Jokers and the Muppets and the Yankees and cupcakes and bedazzled helmets and world peace and my new iPad mini and hoarding hotel toiletries, and, oh yeah, Christmas.
But not necessarily in that order.
I need to keep Hugh on his toes.
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