Lance/ABoyz
I am such a dork.
I’d told myself I’d be fine with going to see Altar Boyz by myself, but now that I’m here I’m not so sure. Once I got to my seat I’d be fine. Standing around in the lobby waiting for the doors to open, however, was a different story. I was beginning to seriously rethink my decision to wear my ABoyz show sweatshirt. I’d thought it would give me some measure of security - I’m a fan and the rest of you barely know what you’re here to see. You’re the outsider here, not me. Instead it just made me feel like a major fangirl. And worse yet, I was apparently the only one in tonight’s crowd.
The other two times I’d seen the show in this run, I was here with friends who’d never seen the show. During the lobby wait on those nights I was preparing them for what they were about to see and entertaining them with anecdotes about past shows. I was at a loss as to how to pass the time tonight without seeming completely awkward. There’re only so many times a person can flip through a program.
I’d just decided people watching was the order of the night and was making my way over to a bench with a good vantage point when I was almost plowed over by what felt like a linebacker coming in from my right.
“Oof.”
For once, my irritation at having my personal space invaded overcame my timidity and I swung around, ready to give this guy a piece of my mind.
“You know what…” Whatever it was I was going to say vanished from my mind when I got a look at the guy.
He was reasonably well dressed in well-fitting slacks and a button-up green shirt, but the beret and oversized pitch black glasses were absolutely ridiculous. Years of practice had me successfully swallowing the bubble of laughter that threatened to rise up as he made is apologies.
“I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah, wearing dark glasses indoors at night can do that to you,” I deadpanned.
He grinned but made no attempt to remove them. “Are you a fan?”
I looked at him incredulously. Was he serious?
“No, not of my glasses. Of the show.” He grinned again and pointed at my sweatshirt.
This time I let the laughter out. “How can you tell? This is the third time I’ve seen it for this run and the fifth time overall.” I’m usually pretty reserved when talking with strangers, but, unfortunately for this guy, I can’t help but open up when I get going on a subject I’m passionate about. “I’ve seen the bootleg countless times, but I’ll call you a dirty liar if you snitch.”
He chuckled and asked, “So, it’s a good show, then?”
“Well, that depends. If you have a well-developed sense of the ridiculous like I do, then it’s amazing. It’s a highly satirical show about a Catholic boyband.”
He scratched his cheek and frowned. “You mean they make fun of religion?”
I wondered if it would bother him if it did. Maybe I’d have to re-evaluate my first impression of this guy. “No, not at all. There are some Catholic jokes, but they’re more inclusive than malicious. What they’re really making fun of is boybands. I wasn’t really into the whole *Nsync/Backstreet Boy craze, but a friend of mine explained all the allusions to me. The choreography’s really the best part. They totally ham it up and end up looking like high school cheerleaders. My friend told me that some of their moves are slightly modified *Nysnc moves. I’m sure some of them are from Backstreet Boys, too, but I don’t really know.”
At the beginning of my explanation his jaw dropped slightly but then his expression of disbelief slowly changed to one of amusement. Since he didn’t seem to have a comment, I continued.
“Aside from all the comedy, though, there’s a nice message about brotherly love and universal inclusion despite differences. So, even if you’re not into the boyband comedy there’s something for you to enjoy.”
“Oh, I think I’ll enjoy the boyband aspect of the show very much.” Although he was still looking at me, I felt like he was talking about something else.
Just then, the theater doors opened and the crowd started wandering over. Beret Guy and I both dug in our pockets for our tickets and joined the general exodus. I didn’t expect to continue the conversation, so I was surprised when he asked, “Are you here with anyone?”
I really hoped he didn’t mean anything by that, but I just smiled and said, “Nope. I couldn’t find anyone to come with me tonight. I’ll be bringing my best friend tomorrow, though.”
“Good. My best friend cancelled on me tonight, so the seat next to me is free.” He extended one arm out to me while whipping his beret off with the other, exposing a shock of blonde hair as he executed a low theatrical bow. “If you would be so good as to accompany me, my dear?”
I had no choice but to laugh and take his arm. As we made our way down to our seats (row E! infinitely better than my discount ticket) he said, “So I know you said that you weren’t really into boybands, but did you have a preference between *Nsync and Backstreet Boys? Purely for the sake of conversation, you understand.”
I had to think about it. “I had more respect for *Nsync, though I can’t remember why. I do remember that they were the favorite among my group of friends.” By this time we’d found row E and started the awkward sideways shuffle that was necessary to reach our seats. “I remember one of my friends professed she was going to become Mrs. Lance whatever-his-name-was.”
For the second time tonight I heard an “Oof” from Beret Guy. When I turned around he was half sprawled across the laps of an elderly couple and his face was tinged pink. After excusing himself, we continued on.
“Man, those glasses really have to go.”
As we settled back into our seats (in the very center - these could quite possibly be the best seats in the house) I realized I still didn’t know who I was sitting next to.
I turned to him and extended my hand. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name. I’m Meghann.”
He laughed at my formality and placed his hand in mine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Meghann.” Despite the strange get-up, his handshake was firm and I found myself liking this character more and more. “I’m James.”
A discreet glance at my watch as I pulled my arm back revealed that we still had almost fifteen minutes to kill before the show started. “So, James, what brought you to Altar Boyz? Had you heard of it?”
“Actually, a friend of mine recommended it, though he refused to tell me what it was about. He just said that I absolutely had to see it. Let’s just say that it’s a bit of an understatement to say that I was into boybands, and *Nsync was definitely my favorite.”
Since I’d never understood the appeal, I was intrigued. “What exactly did you like about them?”
“What’s not to like?” He leaned forward and started ticking off points on his fingers. “They’d obviously put a lot of hard work into their music and dancing. Can you imagine doing what they did on stage? And they always sang live, don’t listen to what anybody else says. And with all the limitations and drawbacks of being on the road and getting mobbed if they went out in public, they always took the time to meet with as many fans as they could. They had a good image and they managed to keep up that image-“
I couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. When he started to frown I hurried to explain myself. “So you say *Nsync created an image? Would you say that this image begat a following?”
He cocked his head and waited a beat before slowly saying, “Yes, I would say that.”
James was obviously waiting for me to refute his argument, but I merely waved him on and said, “Please continue.”
He just looked at me for another second before adding, more calmly than before, “As much as they were followed for their image, the music was always at the core of it. The guys were musicians first and foremost, and I believe their songs reflected that.”
“Their songs were entirely too catchy.” This was really the only thing I knew about *Nsync, so I felt I could add my two cents. “You heard them every time you turned around and you knew most of the words by the second time through. It was really annoying.” Another line from the play popped into my head. “The next thing you knew, you were singing them in the shower or on road trips.”
James wiggled his eyebrows. “It was all part of a master plan to take over the world by subtle pop culture brainwashing. It would have succeeded, too, had it not been for solo deals. They were our undoing.”
“Maybe there was a lack of belief.”
Before he could ask what I meant by that, God announced that the show was starting. James and I sat back to laugh at the poor smog-machine guy.