![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
healingmirthAccording to the stack of playbills on my dresser, I saw American Idiot eleven times during its year-and-a-bit on Broadway.
That's probably about right, but the sum of the pieces feels like both more and less than that, in my head. American Idiot easily consumed twelve months of my attention, but there was still a whole season in there where I was busy alternately being a grown-up and watching much shorter-lived shows, and didn't walk into the St. James once. I saw four St. Jimmys, two Johnnys, two Wills, three Tunnys (four of those too, if you count Broadway in Bryant Park), two Whatsernames, four Heathers, two Favorite Sons, two-and-a-half Theos, two more-or-less Extraordinary Girls and more ensemble/swing permutations than I could possibly map out. There are still a few shows that I'm sorry I missed.
I bought tickets early and same-day; right before I walked out the door for the theater and as soon as I heard the Big News; at the end of an exhausting week, and throughout a long stretch when I simply had nothing better to do. There were more than a few times when I left the theater convinced that I would never, or should never, go back, because the reality of that next performance could never match the awesomeness of the memory of the one that had just ended. That decision never stuck until closing night four days ago, and will probably be tested if the national tour is within travelling distance and I have free time.
I left the St. James on Sunday night with my ears ringing from Green Day turned up to 11, a little nostalgic for my actual youth and ready to leave the characters to grow up. Still...
Dear Will, it sucks that you are not here.
That's probably about right, but the sum of the pieces feels like both more and less than that, in my head. American Idiot easily consumed twelve months of my attention, but there was still a whole season in there where I was busy alternately being a grown-up and watching much shorter-lived shows, and didn't walk into the St. James once. I saw four St. Jimmys, two Johnnys, two Wills, three Tunnys (four of those too, if you count Broadway in Bryant Park), two Whatsernames, four Heathers, two Favorite Sons, two-and-a-half Theos, two more-or-less Extraordinary Girls and more ensemble/swing permutations than I could possibly map out. There are still a few shows that I'm sorry I missed.
I bought tickets early and same-day; right before I walked out the door for the theater and as soon as I heard the Big News; at the end of an exhausting week, and throughout a long stretch when I simply had nothing better to do. There were more than a few times when I left the theater convinced that I would never, or should never, go back, because the reality of that next performance could never match the awesomeness of the memory of the one that had just ended. That decision never stuck until closing night four days ago, and will probably be tested if the national tour is within travelling distance and I have free time.
I left the St. James on Sunday night with my ears ringing from Green Day turned up to 11, a little nostalgic for my actual youth and ready to leave the characters to grow up. Still...
Dear Will, it sucks that you are not here.
