No More @#&%ing Abba!  Okay, maybe a little more, in OCPAC’s
Mamma Mia!  My mother adores ABBA. I remember their records
playing constantly as she danced around on our living room's
shaggy green carpet, trying to entice me to join her. I just
folded my arms, leaned my mohawked head and leather-jacketed
body back against the couch, and glared at her.  It was their
MTV-splashed videos that filled me with ABBA hate—too many views
of those big boobs, sequined moon outfits, blond Nordic hair and
impossibly tight pants. My disdain for those tacky '70s and '80s
accoutrements made me avoid Mamma Mia!, the 1999 musical comedy
based on and around Benny Andersson and Bjorn Ulvaeus' hook-
happy hits. Factor in a partner who worships the ground ABBA
walks on and too many gay-bar dance marathons embedding these
songs in my head, and there was no way I was getting near it.
But like a homing signal with a good beat, I somehow felt myself
drawn to Mamma. I'd see the TV commercials, and before I could
scream Terence Stamp's an