So, before we start - Fela FAIL. Sorry bout that, folks.
Now. This afternoon I was sitting in the living room, working on a poem and cursing like Barbara Fordham. (Ever tried to write a poem that doesn't suck? Try. It's more strenuous than running a marathon.) Anyway, Mom drifted in, saw me sitting in a sea of crumpled papers and empty Powerade bottles, and said, "You look stressed. We should see a show tomorrow night." And that we will do. We've got such lovely Night Music tickets. I am no BP fan, but huzzah for Elaine Stritch. I very nearly picked La Cage, but perhaps that will come later. Still, send in the sonofabitching clowns. I'm gonna get to see Elaine Stritch in one of her bitchy moods.