Hey There, Pammy-Girl!

A few weeks ago my mother offered to take on a trip as a gift for getting my Master’s degree.  “Where have you always wanted to go?” she asked me.  “Egypt!” I screeched.  “And you’re actually going to take me?!  Awesome!!!”  “Egypt?  Where’d you come up with Egypt?  We’re not going to Egypt… we’re going to Branson.”  Uhuh.  Because southern Missouri has been at the top of my ‘Places to Go List’ for the past 25 years.  Who can compare the pyramids of Egypt with Russian comic Yakov Smirnoff?  Thus begins my tale of woe.

Branson is located in the Ozark “mountains” and during the fall, it’s actually quite pretty.  The shopping is pretty good.  But (and you KNEW there was a ‘but’ coming) everyone in Branson is easily older than dirt, making me the youngest person by at least 40 years.  Food choices included 17 All-you-can-eat buffets and a ‘Fudgery’ on every corner.  Who decided that the middle of nowhere would be the cleaner, more boring version of Las Vegas?

You all know that I’m a sucker for a man with an accent, especially one from the UK, so we got tickets to see the “12 Irish Tenors”.  My first clue something wasn’t right should have been that 9 of the 12 guys in the poster looked hot, since the true percentage of hot men from the UK is about 5% (upon closer inspection after the show, only four guys on the poster were actually in the show).  I’m not a performer.  I’m a decent if not above average public speaker.  But I don’t act, sing, and certainly don’t dance in public.  I shouldn’t judge.  But (there’s that word again)… Give. Me. A. Break. 

If I shut my eyes, their voices blended beautifully and I could imagine, well, pleasant thoughts.  Watching them, unfortunately, either found me constantly rolling my eyes or giggling uncontrollably.  At least the lighting was good.  The choreography was grotesque as I’ve seen better from my 7 year-old niece’s tap class.  They pranced.  Yup, that’s the best word for it.  They actually used ‘jazz hands’.  The worst parts came when they sang Irish folk songs and “got into it”.  Ugh.  I kept thinking that if Colin Farrell was there, he would’ve kicked everyone’s ass for embarrassing all Irishmen.  The interaction with the audience was on par with The Wiggles.  AND… when did The Beatles’ hit Hey Jude become a head-banging tune?  (remember that scene in “Wayne’s World” when they were in Garth’s Gremlin, listening to Queen sing Bohemian Rhapsody?  THAT’S what they were doing to Hey Jude!) The best part of the night was the tribute to Barry Manilow followed by Elton John’s greatest hits of the 70s.  Oh man.  The old people ate it up.  Watch the video from the link in the third paragraph.  Just imagine being trapped in the auditorium rather than snickering in front of your computer.

So that was my weekend.  On the bright side, I do feel better about myself as I was one of the few who didn’t lug around an oxygen tank, bathe in enough perfume to kill a baby elephant, or a wear purple and red outfit.  I got most of my Christmas shopping done and my REAL graduation gift?  A wrought iron bed from the Bombay Company.  I’ll get it in a few days. 

Now I realize that this post makes me sound extremely ungrateful, but I’m not.  I needed a good laugh and guess what?  I got it.  My mom laughed, too.  We both thought the show was terrible and even she commented on how geriatric Branson was.  We shopped (!) and the drive (only about 2 1/2 hours) was excellent and filled with great conversation.  But next time, I’m going to Egypt.