What We Do for Love ...

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This Friday, I’m being dragged to a show I wouldn’t normally go to: Dionne Warwick at Centennial Hall. My husband is the fan; he went so far last weekend as to play her greatest hits CD while we cleaned house as the wee one slept. By the time I see Warwick, what novelty I’ve built up will have disappeared along with the dirt on my kitchen counters I scoured during "Do You Know the Way to San Jose."

This isn’t the first time I’ve been dragged to entertainment venues I wouldn’t normally go to. Besides classic all-stars like Dionne, my husband is also a musical-theater junkie. I love theater, but I have to admit that musical theater isn’t an interest. I think my husband thinks of me as his experiment—although it’s been 20 years now of experimenting with Mari and musical theater. When does it end?

It probably could end by now, but I never say no. Problem is, sometimes ... I like it. This happened with Rent, Wicked and then again with Monty Python's Spamalot in Las Vegas (the Vegas part helped). Even my 6-year-old shares his father’s love of musical theater (took him to see Wicked and Spamalot). Tonight, for example, it was my son who turned off the TV to listen to the Wicked soundtrack during dinner. I’m outnumbered. I wonder if the dog and cats like musical theater, but pretend to be indifferent because they like me?

In a couple of weeks, we are off to see Avenue Q as part of the Broadway in Tucson series. My son loves this show soundtrack, too, although he’s staying with friends that night. We’ve been turned into censors—skipping over "The Internet Is for Porn" and a few other numbers.

Perhaps the Weekly Club Crawl(TM) is one way I can cleanse my soul between Dionne and the puppeteers of Avenue Q. I haven’t seen the Sand Rubies for years; perhaps they have some redeeming quality after all these years away. (Confession: I have a beat-up Auntie Ramos' Pool Hall cassette I would play in my truck or at home when I missed Tucson.) In my day, they were still the Sidewinders, but Slutes' hair was gray back then, too. Perhaps it is Hopkins who will give everyone’s age away.

Funny thing about Dionne and Avenue Q that I’ll admit: I bought the tickets. Sometimes you do painful things for those you love.

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