Gimme a Dress for Hair

It's late, it's hot, I'm adjusting to my new glasses, and, judging by the screaming, somebody within a five-block radius is having his intestines fed to him. But I figure this is as good a time as any for a spot of blogging. (Okay, so it's really not THAT hot. I just enjoy spewing Sondheim lyrics. "How still it is. How odd it is. And, God, it is so hot." Ten imaginary dollars if you can name the song and the show.)

So, friends, I am once again perfectly contented. Lenora, that bottomless pit of understanding and acceptance, does not hate me for going to see Hair without her. She has but one request - she would like to talk to Allison Case on my phone. Normally I don't go for stuff like that, but I did practically rip Lenora's theatrical guts out. It's the least I can do. Still though, I know I'm gonna clam up and/or be so wound up I forget to ask, so I think that honor will fall to Berri. Because I just don't do very well at stage doors.

I'm currently in makeover mode. Today I got new glasses, tomorrow I am getting my hair dyed blonde. It's part of this whole "I'm reinventing myself thing." Hey, don't forget. Some tourist from Indiana thinks I'm a wild one. I have a reputation to protect. So tomorrow after my hair appointment I'm off to the mall to pick up the dress I picked out for Saturday's venture to the mezzanine of the Hirschfeld Theatre.

I'd ask if you like it, but I'm gonna get it and wear it regardless, so there is really no point. No offense. I hated this dress when I first saw it. But it is an acquired taste, much like escargot and Sunday in the Park With George. Nevertheless, purchase it I will and wear it I will. And that's all I have to say about that.