I Got To Thinkin'...

Last Friday, I went to see a high school production of the mega-hit piece of musical theatre, Les Miserables. [Say it with a French accent: lay mizza-ROB-luh. In conversation, those in the know usually just call it "Les Mis" (Lay Mizz)] 

It was a great production, considering there were only two lines of spoken dialogue the whole evening and they would earnestly sing such memorable lines as, "Hey, Eponine, what's up today?" 

True Truth is, it really was impressive and especially gratifying to see/hear several Giant Step (Children's) Theatre alums blow the roof off the joint.

[For any newcomers, Giant Step Theatre is the group wherein I coach acting, choreograph dance-like spasms, and share a stage with as many as 80 3rd-9th graders. (See www.myspace.com/giantsteptheatre) We generally take a well-known fairy tale and twist it into something familiar-yet-fresh. For example, in February, we performed Snow White and the 7 or 8 Dwarfs.] 

ANYway...one of the Les Mis cast members (a Giant Step alum) suggested that we do a twisted version of Les Miserables and call it Less Miserable. 

And THAT, dear readers, is what got me thinking...dangerous, dangerous stuph. How about a show focused on:

• A hospital for folks that find it very painful to recline: Lay Misery
• Inventing a soft drink without as much carbonation: Less Fizzy
• An unmarried gal who works as a greeter at a Hawaiian airport: Lei Ms
• A bed-wetter: Lay Whiz

You can never predict from whence inspiration will spring. But because I'm a little afraid of where this particular bit of brain runoff may go, I best be cutting it off right here. Consider yourself blessed.

The earworm, my friend, is blowin' in the wind

Behold...the quarterly round-up of those irritating snippets of music that were wafting through my head, uninvited, as I woke up from a perfectly good sleep.

FEBRUARY
1 – Ooh-Ooh, The Coffee Says You Must (Okay, this isn’t really a song, but it’s a musical phrase that kept repeating itself in my head over and over when I woke up this morning…no explanation…at all…absoposilutely irritating.)
3 – I’ve Gotta Be Me (Sammy Davis, Jr.) There are plenty of other versions of this song, but I’m so glad it was Sammy’s voice I heard this morning.
5-16 – Songs from Snow White & the 7 or 8 Dwarfs (Whenever I’m in the midst of a production with Giant Step Theatre [Find us on Facebook!], my mornings, and several afternoons and evenings as well, are spent with songs from said production tromping through my brain. This time around, I’m being bombarded with lyrics like “Dum ditty dum-dum, dum ditty-doh,” “Don’t try, no don’t try to be somethin’ you ain’t,” and “I am furious. I am livid. I’m insane with righteous anger. I am seething from my toes up to my crown. I am vexed. I am irate. I find it hard to hold my temper, and in fact I cannot keep my breakfast down!”)
19 – Diamond Girl (Seals & Croft)
25 – Joy to the World (Mistimed Christmas celebration in my brain)
28 – Forever in Blue Jeans (Neil Diamond)

MARCH
4 – Mercy is Falling (“Hey-O! I receive Your mercy. Hey-O! And I receive Your grace…”)
10 – Lady (Little River Band)
14 – ‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus
15 – Who I Am (The Police)
16 – Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows (Lesley Gore)
17 – Lord, I Offer My Life to You
18 – Lady (Little River Band…again. You would think that having attended a Norah Jones concert last night would have a positive effect on my morning earworm, but nooOOoo…)

APRIL
6 – Good News (2nd Chapter of Acts, which is one of THE seminal groups of “Jesus Music,” which became “Contemporary Christian Music,” which became Big Business owned by a company that also makes a fine Kentucky bourbon)
7 – Big Yellow Taxi (Joni Mitchell)
16 – Looking for the Right One (Stephen Bishop)
17 – Words (Bee Gees)
26 – Since I Don’t Have You (Brian Setzer and His Orchestra do a suhweet rendition…very interesting that this popped up while Beloved is back home again in Indiana)

Bond on Back Burner

Cynthia Dickison reported in the Sunday (04/25/2010) edition of the Minneapolis Star Tribune:

MGM's financial woes have done what villains could not—stop James Bond. The studio's cash crunch has put "Bond 23," scheduled for release in 2011 or 2012 with Oscar winner Sam Mendes set to direct, on indefinite hold.

Let me say two things about that:

1) If something is going to be released "in 2011 or 2012," but you don't know which...is it really accurate to say that it is scheduled for release? "Studio executives are hopeful that it will be released..." maybe. "Popular opinion assumes it will be released..." perhaps. But if something is scheduled, methinks the timing of it ought to be known, you know?

2) I personally don't think finances have anything to do with the shelving of the next Bond movie. I personally think the shelving of the next Bond movie has a whole heckuva lot to do with the fact that the last Bond movie blew with the force of a major hurricane. It should not have been called Quantum of Solace. A more accurate title would have been Quantity of So-Lame.

I'm just sayin'...

Winner Wiener Whiner

Being raised as the youngest of four children (until my younger sister, DeSurprise, was born when I was ten), had its own unique blend of advantages and disadvantages:

• While I certainly got all the stereotypical attention that naturally falls to The Baby of the Family, this resulted in having four older siblings who weren't all that crazy about the transfer of power.
• It was great having those older siblings on your side when it came to dealing with bullies on the school bus, but that also meant I had omnipresent snitches eager to inform SweaterGal and FlatulenceKing about any less-than-noble activities I may have even just been rumored to have been thinking about observing.
• Household chores were spread fairly thin amongst the four of us, but they often required cooperation amongst the four of us...ACK!

The prime example of all four Roth Childs needing to cooperate to accomplish a chore was Doing the Dishes.

Notice that I did not say "washing the dishes," or "taking care of the dishes." Noooooo. Doing the Dishes was an operation that required precision, skill, stamina, and a strategic mind to rival that of General Patton. My oldest sister, DeeDee QuickWit, would use one sink full of sudsy water to wash the dishes. My brother, Dave McCool, and other sister, Darlene DontTellMom, would take the dishes from the rack, dry them, and put them away. My job, which you will see was the most pivotal and important: taking the dishes from the sink full of hot rinse water and placing them in the rack.

I know, I know...from the outside looking in, it would seem that my part of the operation was pretty easy and evidence of being treated preferentially because of being the youngest. Looking back at it from a distance of several decades, I can understand that misconception. And apparently, Dave McCool saw it that way at the time, because he once stumbled upon a way to enforce a little Older Brother Superiority:

"Hey, Dewey. I bet I can hold my hand in that hot rinse water longer than you can."

"No way!"

"Sure I can. You go first."

At this point, you all know exactly what's going to happen. I, on the other hand, hadn't a trace of an inkling of a clue.

Speaking of "the other hand," I ended up needing one, because I held my hand in that near-boiling water until the meat was about ready to slip off the bone. At which point, my loving brother quickly dipped his finger in and out of the water and said, "You win."

And now you know why I don't have much of a competitive spirit.

What You Hear Is What You Get

Last week, I spent some time with SweaterGal and FlatulenceKing (my parents). It's always a blast from the past to head to Hoosier Land and try to carry on a conversation over the cranked-up-so-Dad-doesn't-have-to-wear-his-hearing-aids soundtrack of RFD-TV:

"Hey, Dad," says I, "don't you kinda think Marty Stuart's hair makes him look more like an 80's rocker wannabe than a country legend?"

"Huh?" grunts FlatulenceKing.

"Marty Stuart's hair...that's pretty wild stuff!"

FK's face screws itself into a question mark as he replies, "Oh, I doubt he even uses snuff, no matter how mild it is. But I'll tell you one thing...he needs a haircut."

I laugh out loud. 

"What...you don't think he needs a haircut?"

"Yes, I do," I snicker in reply.

"No I don't...I just cut mine last week."

Now I'm confused: "What?"

"You said I need a haircut, too, and I said I don't because I just got one last week. You wanna borrow my ears?"

"No, that's okay."

"They're right there on the table."

"I said, 'No'."

"So what?"

"Not so...I said, 'No'!"

"Go where?"

With a resigned sigh, I answer, "Branson...are you going to go to Branson?"

This State Is Not My Home

I don't know if it's like this in every part of every country, but around here, if you're not from around here, no matter how long you've lived around here, you are never truly from around here.

The fact that I don't really fit in Minnesota, nor will I ever, was made abundantly clear to me last night at a concert by Norah Jones. Ms Jones cranked it up with a slightly honky-tonk rendition of an old Johnny Cash tune, Cry, Cry, Cry. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hP4G2QVX_wQ) It's a song just made for the audience to shout along in the chorus. (Cry! Cry! Cry!)

Well...that was never gonna happen in the comfy confines of The O'Shaughnessy theatre.

What's more, my hands were begging to clap along with the song, but my brain wouldn't allow them the pleasure, knowing that they would be alone in the crowd of politely-listening Scandehoovians.

I leaned close to Beloved and whispered, "Minnesotans just don't clap."

She replied, "That's because they don't know how."

And I immediately knew she was right (an occurrence with which I am intimately familiar). If they had attempted to clap, they'd be doing it on 1 and 3 instead of 2 and 4.

...And it occurs to me even now that many of you need me to explain what that last sentence even means.

Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

Limited Random Access Memory

I've never claimed to be an intellectual superstar, but I've always thought people in general had a general sense that I was generally more intelligent than I know that I really am...generally speaking.

Apparently, I haven't been fooling anyone. Last night, after our mid-week Prayer Pathways thang at church, a TV theme song from who knows how many eons ago popped into my head...and directly jumped into the atmosphere through my mouth. (Translation: I sang it out loud.)

It was at that moment that I learned the True Truth about the discrepancy between my perception of people's perception of me and their actual perception.

PrayerPal looked me in the eye and said, "I wonder what kind of important information you can't remember because you're taking up space with stuff like that."

To paraphrase Calvin & Hobbes: It's not that I'm stupid, I just have a mastery of totally useless information.