Fun Follies Fact: I'm the king of whatever it is that I'm the king of in our "Circle of Life" finale. I carry my lovely and regal queen onstage among all the romping animals and glorious singing at the end of each show. I spin her around regally for all to admire on my regal shoulder (which is actually just one of the two regal shoulders I possess; they come in a set for us royalty). I set her down. We ascend a singer-lined staircase, gesturing gracefully with our regal arms. We reach a platform at the top. Our adorable child races up the staircase after us. I lift her proudly and regally to my regal shoulder (though I remind you that both of my shoulders are, in fact, equally regal) in that momentary musical breath between the singers' final "of" and "life." The profoundly emotional and eternally grateful audience leaps to its feet in roaring waves of obsequious adulation. And, scene.
Now, I spend a great amount of manly backstage time each show moving our massive staircase and platform units. I spend a great amount of showtuney onstage time each show dancing on our massive staircase and platform units. I am therefore exceedingly familiar with their roomy massiveness. But every night when my beautiful and regal queen and I gracefully ascend our "Circle of Life" staircase, it seems uncharacteristically crowded. Up until tonight I've been focusing on not tripping during our ascent, so I didn't spend any time focusing on solving the mystery of the uncharacteristically crowded staircase. Tonight, finally confident in my ability to climb a staircase without tripping, I noticed that all the singers were actually leaning forward on our graceful ascent, as if they had each simultaneously dropped a quarter and wanted to make sure it didn't roll away. Which happens more than you'd think in big splashy musicals. In any case, all that quarter-searching was really restricting our stair-climbing space, and it was reigniting my temporary dormant fear of tripping.
And then tonight, halfway up the staircase as the music soared around us and the animals romped below us and our graceful arms gestured regally about us, it suddenly hit me: There weren't any lost quarters; everyone was BOWING. To US. Because we were ROYALTY. In CAPITAL LETTERS.
Now, despite all the rumors and the understandably logical conclusions they inspire, I have never, in fact, been royalty. So until tonight I've never been -- or even suddenly realized I was being -- deferentially mass-bowed to, on a staircase or otherwise. Being surrounded by servile sycophants has never really been my thing. UNTIL IT SUDDENLY WAS TONIGHT ONSTAGE IN FRONT OF 2,000 ENRAPTURED WITNESSES. And even though it royally impedes my royal ascension of our royal-by-association staircase, I WANT MORE BOWING. So you need to always remember to bow in mass obsequious deference when you see me, whether or not there is any combination of soaring music, romping animals or graceful arms involved in the circumstances of your sycophancy. Kthanks.
Other Fun Follies Fact: I maintain a balanced and equitable budget in whatever it is that I'm king of by pairing my royal, not-at-all-triage-nurse-or-attending-surgeon-looking regal garb with my house-painting shoes that I got for $3 (total! not each!) at Walmart. It's royal austerity measures like this that go a long way toward keeping my peasants bowing not because they're desperate to keep their quarters from rolling away but because THEY KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR THEM.
And, scene.
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