Well, dear readers, the hills are alive with the sound of mucous. That is because my malady is nearing its end and everything has turned into mucous. I don’t mean to skeeve anyone, but that is the way it is. Yes, right now I am The Mucous Man, and I Say It With Mucous, there is Mucous In The Air, and I say Make The Most Of Your Mucous, for if mucous be the food of love, then play on. Even these here notes are filled with A Little Night Mucous. Well, I think we’ve beaten the mucous into the ground, don’t you, dear readers? In any case, within a day or two I should be malady free and in perfect working order for the remainder of December. Speaking of December, yesterday I slept in quite late, having gotten a perfectly perfect night’s rest. When I awoke, I was so congested that I thought I would have no voice at all, but within the hour, after my cup of warm EmergenC, things were looking up. I then proceeded to sit on my couch like so much fish the entire livelong day, which was the best thing to do. I had some leftover cake, and drank one Diet Coke. I then was whisked away to a belated birthday dinner, about which see yesterday’s posts. In fact, for those who were errant and truant over the weekend (you know who you are), do catch up on the fun goings on, both notes-wise and posts-wise.
Yesterday, I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled 21 Hours To Munich. Even though it would seem as if this were a theatrically released film, it is, in fact, a TV movie from 1976 (probably released theatrically in Europe), starring Mr. William Holden, Mr. Franco Nero, Mr. Richard Basehart, Miss Shirley Knight, and others. It is the story of the terrorist attack at the 1972 Olympics in Munich – the same event which is covered in Steven Spielberg’s new film, Munich. It’s pretty ordinary fare, competently directed with no style whatsoever. The story is, of course, compelling, but oddly, the only character which is written to elicit any sympathy at all is the head terrorist played by Franco Nero. I found that a bit peculiar, but the fact is, it’s just not a very well-written film. And it’s weird having William Holden play the head of German police with no accent, while everyone around him is of German descent. Transfer is ordinary – however, watching it has whetted my appetite to see the Spielberg film.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because it’s time to put another nickel in in the Nickelodeon, so we can hear Mucous, Mucous, Mucous. Oh, a Theresa Brewer reference.
This morning I shall be working for a couple of hours with Miss Linda Purl, singing through some material to see what we like and don’t like from things that came up at our last two meetings. I should think it will be a very pleasant way to spend a morning, listening to the sultry tones of Miss Purl’s luscious voice.
After that, I shall return to the home environment, where I shall lunch and relax until this evening’s rehearsal. The first half of the rehearsal will be working on the very complex sequence we blocked on Thursday and Friday, and then we’ll be starting the second act, which I hope to have blocked by Thursday at the latest.
I also must begin catching up with many messages to be returned and many details to be attended to. I have meetings to set up, and I must finalize all my plans for next weekend, for which I have a full dance card already should everything come to pass.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, call the plumber to come attend to the drainage problem that has suddenly showed itself in the shower (after the showerhead and water pressure were fixed, now the shower is draining slowly – not a big deal really, but why shouldn’t things be perfect), and I also want to have a chimney man come out to figure out why the chimney in the den isn’t working properly. I would, in fact, like to start using it, especially as Christmas approaches. Today’s topic of discussion: What are your all-time favorite duets – either female/female, male/female, or male/male. Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, and let’s fill them with the sound of mucous.