Well, precious readers, its happened. Our first sponsored post. Fear not dull content, for our price is as high as we are on a Tuesday night cocktail of Ambien, weed, and just a dash of that new elephant tranquilizer they’re putting into heroin. Ketamine is for pussies!
Last Thursday (on our Thursday night cocktail of some liquid Valium we put into an emptied container of one of those Vick’s Vapor Inhalers-tutorial to follow- and a small sassafras suppository) Helen and I had the great pleasure of previewing what we consider to be the Off-Broadway, 5-Year-Old-Pair-of-Victoria’- Secret-Period-Panties, Bleach, Blood Stains, And All, version of the ever delightful hit, Hamilton.Premiering in the auditorium of Denver’s Thomas Jefferson High School, this is no philistine piece of work. We were ushered to our seats by members of the school’s Young Feminists Club, but we can’t be certain the school actually knew about the performance, since to enter the campus we had to scale a large fence. Nevertheless, it was a magical night of symphonious satire and casual drug consumption.
A delightful feminist diatribe, the play is ripe with euphonious exposition on the microaggressions faced by females in modernity. It is the story of twenty-something writer and everygirl Liz Nightingale and her first year in New York City: a lyrical bildungsroman about friendships, love, and careers. The eponymous opening number, “Leggings Aren’t Pants!”, discourses on the factions of society who continuously criticize women’s quotidian, zealous wearing of Zellas with blouses that don’t shroud our bottoms and their intent. The motivation behind this denunciation, says writer and director Nancy Seymour-Filmore-Longmore, is the wrath of the ever pesky green eyed monster. She posits: “Clearly, the refusal to accept leggings as pants is an extension of the patriarchy’s grappling for control over women; did you know that in some courtrooms, right now, lady lawyers are disallowed from wearing pants? For me, it all leads back to vulva envy-from the scheme of the Vestal Virgins in Rome to suffrage-men have always been a wee bit jealous that we don’t have to deal with those pesky “wees”! But before I get all feminazi (excuse my French), I will say: its jealousy. Their love muscles just don’t look as good in Lululemons.”
While the play starts out playfully lighthearted, in the thick of it, Seymour-Filmore-Longmore does not shy away from riffing on tampon luxury taxes, the delay of processing rape kits, or the gender pay gap. In our favorite number, the sexual harassment sensation “Don’t Pinch My Elbows And Give Me Back My Bra”, the lights dim and the spotlight is commanded by lead actress and powerhouse vocalist Jenny Frey, who sings alone on stage: “why must you pinch my elbows, when I’m sitting in my cubicle/I don’t find it farcical/how did my bra end up in your desk drawer/this is outrageous, I’m reporting you to HR.”
From the plainsong parody “I Should’ve Been A STEM Major” to the funk-fueled dance spectacular “Get It Out, Get It Out (The Clearblue Digital Boogie)”, Leggings Aren’t Pants: The Musical! is the antiestablishment comedy fantasyland we didn’t know we were waiting for. Tickets start at $44.99, and can be purchased on Denver’s EventBrite page. For a chance to win a pair of tickets for next Wednesday’s midnight matinee, tweet the name of your favorite brand of leggings to @nancymourmoremore.
Update: Happy news. It has come to our attention that 20th Century Fox has purchased the movie rights from Nancy, and is in talks with Emma Watson to take on the role of Liz.