Ah, January 1st. That magical day of the year when the world collectively agrees to nurse its hangover while engaging in the sacred art of doing absolutely nothing. It’s the epitome of laziness—shops are closed, streets are deserted, and the only sound you hear is the faint rustle of regret. But not for me. Oh no, I had a mission. A noble quest. A Herculean task. I, dear reader, went to see Wicked.
Why? Because when your daughter asks you to go watch a musical movie, and your wife backs her up, you don’t say no. You don’t even hesitate. You just sigh, grab your coat, and accept that your day of doing nothing is now a distant dream. Call it fatherly duty or self-preservation, but resistance is futile when faced with the combined forces of familial persuasion.
So off we went to the theater, where the real test of patience began. The snacks. Oh yes, because no cinema experience is complete without mortgaging your house for nachos and a Coke. As I looked at the mountain of nachos in front of me (seriously, I could’ve climbed that thing and planted a flag on top), I realized this might not be so bad after all. At least I had provisions for the journey.
The Movie Begins…
And let me tell you, I was ready. Ready to endure 2 hours and 40 minutes of overly dramatic singing, overly colorful costumes, and overly predictable storylines. But what happened instead? I cried. That’s right. Big, macho, 80’s action hero style me. Tears. Streaming. Down. My. Face.
Why? Because Wicked is freaking phenomenal, that’s why. From the opening number to the final scene, I was hooked. The visuals were stunning. The choreography? Flawless. The music? So good it made me forget about my New Year’s resolutions. And the acting? Let’s just say they could’ve performed the phone book, and I’d still give them a standing ovation.
The colors transported me straight into Oz (though, let’s be honest, they could’ve used a bit more yellow to balance things out—just saying). The story sucked me in so much that I forgot I was sitting in a theater. I wasn’t just watching Wicked; I was in Wicked.
And Then It Hit Me
Here I was, expecting a mediocre dad-movie moment, and instead, I got a cinematic masterpiece. A rollercoaster of emotions. A life-affirming experience that left me sobbing like a baby. When the credits rolled, I turned to my daughter and wife and said, “That was a crappy movie,” as I wiped my tears with a nacho. Because, you know, sarcasm is my only defense mechanism.
The Aftermath
By the time we left the theater, my heart was full, my nachos were gone, and my family was happy. And really, isn’t that what New Year’s Day is all about? Forget the resolutions, forget the gym memberships. If you can kick off the year with a shared experience that makes you laugh, cry, and appreciate life a little more, then you’ve already won.
So here’s my advice: if you haven’t seen Wicked yet, stop what you’re doing and go. Take your family. Take your friends. Heck, take your neighbor. Just go. You’ll thank me later. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand why I’ll be singing “Defying Gravity” for the rest of the year.
TL;DR:
Started the year thinking I’d have a lazy day. Ended up in a theater watching Wicked. Expected mediocrity, got a masterpiece. Crying happened. Nachos disappeared. Family happy. Life good. Go watch Wicked. Thank me later.
📸 Captured & Edited
Shot with: Apple iPhone 14 Max Pro
Edited using: Lightroom Mobile & Skylum Luminar AI
All photos are my own work, except for the screenshot of course. All nachos eaten by me.
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