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| heather |
Back when I worked at the State and Orpheum Theatres I had to go set up and run an offsite promo ticket sale for Grease. It was at Planet Hollywood at the Mall of America. Completely lame. I had to go and set up a little booth and smile and sell tickets to the outer ring suburban women who figured that since Grease was on the stage it must be some sort of high art. They could chat about their theatrical undertakings while picking chicken wing detritus out of their teeth.
I hated them? Yeah, I hated them. Anyhow, this was after Livent went belly up and they had to sell off all their shows. Livent always put on the really good, high quality shows. I mean Grease may have been lame but you could count on them to spend a lot of money on the production so it would look slick. Troika was a third rate, hack job production company that bought the rights to the show and promptly screwed it tightly into the ground. I didn't see the show, but by all accounts it looked just like a high school production complete with poster paint and set pieces that fell over. Back at the Mall of America, I am pissily trying to get this shit set up so I can smile pretty and sell tickets and make people believe that the best thing in the world is to go see this crap. On my way up I had to walk by Charo and Erik Estrada, the special guests for the day. Good dear god, Erik looked like a banana fruit roll-up and Charo had managed to pull off some sort of alien technology type face lift, but the edges were starting to peel away or something.
Now I appreciate former Love Boat guest stars as much as the next person, but when they introduced me and she tickled my shoulders chiming, "cootchie cootchie" I could have freaked right there. I met a bunch of semi-famous people in my years at those theatres, but Charo and Erik were the worst.
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| jay |
jay: may i interview you. |
| jenni |
The Love Boat was swingin', but it wasn't so politically correct. That's OK, because it was before that time, and it made predicting the outcome easier. You knew the second a sexy young black woman crossed the gangway and was greeted by Julie McCoy, your cruise director, that Isaac the bartender was gonna get some. You could almost see him winking and pointing both fingers at you in an 'awwyeah' sort of way as the porn soundtrack kicked in. And you know what? If anyone on the ship deserved to get some, it was Isaac. He was the man.
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