I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change

Fiorella saw a wonderful production at the Georgetown Palace Theater last night: I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change.

She'd never heard of the musical and didn't expect much.  In fact, she and Husband were fully prepared to walk out after the first fifteen minutes  so she was delighted to be hooked from the first minute on.  The scenery was minimal, a piano and violin duo were the only accompaniment, the "plot" was loose, and the cast was limited to four, but everything worked.

Michelle Cheney, R. Michael Clinkscales, Rick Felkins, and Evelyn LaLonde, all excellent actors, had strong, good voices to boot. And the minimalist stage settings never seemed spare.  Fio was especially taken by the "automobile" scene, in which the actors propelled four rolling office chairs to portray a family of four in a car.  Oh, and did Fio mention that the pianist and violinist were on stage the whole time, but their presence never distracted from the action?

The second act, of course, was not as strong as the first.  It never is in a revue--it's the nature of the beast.  But who cares?  All in all, it was an entertaining evening.

Time Squeeze

Fiorella's mortal enemy, pun intended, is time.  She's never had enough. Too much of it has been taken up with dreary, mundane things like earning a living, picking up other people's messes, and sleeping.  If she had her way, her life would have come equipped with a bucketful of money, a full-time maid, and . . .  well, there's nothing she can think of to substitute for sleeping.  Besides, that's when her pop-up toaster brain works best.

What Fio's getting around to is that the hip operation is on Tuesday, and she wants to  make P of BB totally perfect by then so her agent can start pimping it to publishers as soon as possible.

Too much to do in too little time.  But then, when has there ever been time enough?

On the Fly!

Hurray!  The brain-dead one has recovered!  In fact, in the middle of the night, when she had to get up to take an extra pain pill and sleep in the hot tub for another couple of hours, Fio's pop-up toaster mental mechanism went into high gear,  She not only decided that Sheldon's new assistant will become Raj's sweetheart--after all, the other three guys all have girlfriends--but came up with a total game plan--literally, a GAME plan--for December's San Gabriel Writers' League holiday social.

Yes, as the clock gonged three--or it would have, if Fio had a grandfather--she was writing down titles of secular Christmas songs--ten, so far--and planning a Wheel of Fortune-type game for the gathering.

And now, full steam ahead, she's off to Austin for a pre-op hospital appointment. 

Heavy

Don't want to get up
Don't want to get dressed
Have a headache
Feeling depressed

The weather's rainy
The day is gray
God is God
And I am clay.

i

Random Observations

Fio's been cleaning up the house lately in prep for surgery next week, and most of her clean-up has involved the tons of notes she's written since time eternal, some of the random wit and wisdom of which she will now regale you with:

Finally getting an agent is like learning there really is a Santa Claus.

I put off getting writing because I know that once I start, I can't stop.

I don't understand why doctirs are so particular about prescribing hydrocodone.  I've been taking it for years and never gotten addicted.

Wouldn't it have been better if Loughner had been forcibly medicated BEFORE he shot those people in Arizona?

When it's between people, it's etiquette.  When it's between nations, it's protocol.

 

Change of Season

All of a sudden, autumn is here. Darkness comes sooner and leaves later. The air is cool. The mosquitoes have gone south for the winter.

This is Fio's type of weather. She gets to turn down the air conditioner and open up the door. She can wear slacks and long-sleeved shirts. She can breathe.

Welcome, Autumn. You've been a long time a-comin'.

Housekeeper by Default

Wahoo--Fiorella actually navigated her way through Husband's electronic tablet to write this post.

As you've probably figured out, her laptop has been out of commission since Friday, when Sonya Dog ran her snout lovingly over the keyboard and froze the cursor. What Fiorella has realized in the interim is that the reason Mother was such a crackerjack housekeeper was that she didn't have a computer in the house--or literary aspirations on the brain. Yes, Fiorella has put the basics of the Wendy book together, gone through the eight-inch tall stack of stuff on her desk, and is eyeing the ten-inch stack on the art desk in the upper hall.

But she really misses being able to divide her post into paragraphs.

Addendum:  learned how to paragraph again and have corrected this post.