Sunday I took Phoebe to see a production of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”.  Tootsie organized the outing and I failed to pay any attention to details until Cristin and Ellie withdrew at the last minute due to Ellie being under the weather.  I put Phoebe in the Subaru and we headed up to the Boston theater district.  I have become so urban averse that I was immediately irritable at the very first light I hit after leaving 93.  We found our way to the parking garage and it was clear from the crowd gathering outside the theater that this would be a kid-friendly but not very multicultural experience.  There is no question that  “see Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer Musical” should be added to the “what white people do” weblist.  Once inside we found our way to our seats which were stage left and also apparently in the Wellesley section.  I had no idea what to expect but the play turned out to more or less follow the original 1964 stop action film.  The original film was rife with bullying and an overly authoritative Santa (considering he is a fictional character) and the theatrical version had a bit of fun with this.   The performance was entertaining and Phoebe was completely entranced from beginning to end.  Ultimately the kids learned that to be different means to not be accepted unless that which makes you different happens to benefit everybody else.  Try to be different in a useful way, for example Rudolph’s fog-cutting luminescent nose.  Still waiting for gauged ear lobes to save a holiday.   After the musical we went out to lunch at some trendy theater district bar.  The second floor had couch seating instead of tables and I rather enjoyed seeing the toddlers view their fancy furnishings as a giant gymboree.   We waited more than an hour for the food (which Uncle Dave explained was the downside of farm to fork) during which time the Patriots managed to block and score a TD in the first minute of the game which the Dolphins subsequently claimed was the result of some illegal defensive formation.   Unfortunately for the announcers, they missed this possible infraction at game time and had to find some other way to fill the 174 minutes of non-action in the 185 minute game.    Where does that all that time go?  Well the Wall Street Journal provides some simply amazing stats:

After lunch I packed Phoebe in the car and headed home.  Definitely a new Christmas tradition.