Well, dear readers, they say be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. First of all, who is this "they"? Why are "they" always saying things? I'm a little tired of "they", aren't you? In any case, "they" say be careful what you wish for because you just might get it, and that is, in fact, what has happened (therefore proving "they" right, damn them all, damn them all to hell).

What we wished for was to have The Broadway Radio Show be wildly successful. And, if our premiere show is anything to go by, we have been wildly successful. And therein lies the titular conundrum. Have you ever had a titular conundrum? It's an odd experience, rather like eating Bratwurst. Where was I? Oh, yes, the wildly successful The Broadway Radio Show and The Titular Conundrum. But first, according to the Law of Mr. Mark Bakalor, I must tease, because this little splash page section is just supposed to be a tease, a ploy (yolp, spelled backwards), a gambit to get you to click the Unseemly Button Which Isn't A Button (UBWIAB for short) and get to the main text. One of these days I'm going to break the damn Law of Mr. Mark Bakalor and write the entire notes right here. That will teach him a thing or two. But for now, let me tease - I'm wearing a pair of Nike Shorts (my Guy Haines boxers haven't arrived yet, damn them, damn them all to hell) and a t-shirt (my bedtime attire) and my legs look quite supple this morning, quite supple indeed. If you could only see my quite supple legs, I'm quite sure you would..

...Vomit up your breakfast, because who wants to see some fifty-three-year-old Jew's quite supple legs? Oh, have I broken the mood? Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I have indeed broken the mood. What the mood did to deserve being broken I have no idea, but whatever it was it certainly must have been heinous (heinous, do you hear me?). I have lost my train of thought. Has anyone seen my train of thought? And what was my thought doing on the damn train anyway? My thought usually likes to travel by plane or automobile. Oh, yes, The Broadway Radio Show and the Titular Conundrum, a Study of Rare Birds. What the hell am I talking about? My train of thought is so far down the tracks it's halfway to Barstow.

Before I get to The Broadway Radio Show and the Titular Conundrum, may I ask a question? Wouldn't you think that the company which is releasing my two latest album productions would have the courtesy to send me a copy of said albums? Wouldn't you just think that? Wouldn't that just be a no-brainer - to send the person who is not only the producer of the albums, but the person who made the albums happen, and, more importantly, made deals so that the company wouldn't even have to pay the bulk of the recording costs on the two albums in question, copies of the CDs? The mind boggles. The mind reels. Sorry for the interruption, but the mind was boggling and reeling, and one must simply mention these things when the mind is boggling and reeling, because if one doesn't mention them then one will explode from boggling and reeling buildup. These are not the only things I will be mentioning, either. No, there will be many more things to mention, and I am collating my thoughts, gathering my thoughts, putting my thoughts in order.

And now, The Broadway Radio Show and the Titular Conundrum. So, I'm online last night, basking in the glow of our radio success, when Mr. Mark Bakalor IMs me. And he tells me that the good news is that the radio show was wildly successful and the bad news is that the radio show was highly successful. Hence, the titular conundrum. Because, even though we wanted the radio show to be successful, even though we wished for the radio show to be successful, we apparently can't handle success in terms of bandwidth use. Now, Jews of my age don't know from bandwidth, but apparently we can have only so many listeners before we use up our allotted monthly bandwidth which, by the way, is not free. No, bandwidth costs money, and the more you use the more they charge. "They" again. Damn them all, damn them all to hell. We are safe for the moment (even as wildly successful as we were/are), but we have to address this issue right away, so we are looking into getting greater bandwidth so we can be wildly successful and get rid of the titular conundrum. It may be that we leave the radio show up for only a few days, that may be one way to handle it. In any case, be patient with us whilst we figure it out. Mr. Mark Bakalor is going to present me with some options, and I will study said options carefully, and then do whatever we need to do to remain wildly successful. If any of you dear readers have any suggestions, please post them below in the Unseemly Comment Box.

Isn't it time we had a "what if"? I think we all need a "what if" right about now. What is a "what if" our new dear readers are asking, and it just so happens I've written a little ditty called "What If" which explains the whole damn thing. The music to this ditty (which you won't be hearing), is by my friend, the wonderful composer Claibe Richardson (he of The Grass Harp, and The Night of The Hunter).

THE WHAT IF SONG Music by Claibe Richardson Lyrics by Bruce Kimmel

Some people like to dabble
With Monopoly or Scrabble
And other games like Hearts, charades and Clue.
Some people like to toss words
Into anagrams or crosswords
But if you?re looking for a game that?s new?
I?ve got one that?s terrif,
It?s fun, unique and diff,
You can learn it in a jiff,
And the name of the game is simple ? it?s What if.

(spoken: ?As in What if so and so wrote such and such ? like What if Stephen Sondheim had written Cats ? well, you get the idea)

We know that R and H wrote Oklahoma!
We know that Mr. S wrote Sweeney Todd.
We know that I. Berlin wrote Call Me Madam,
But if he?d written Rent you might be screaming ?Oh, my God??

We know that Bock and Harnick gave us Fiddler,
We know that B & S wrote Martin Guerre.
We know that Strouse and Adams gave us Birdie,
But if they?d written Passion you?d be tearing out your hair!
(Bye Bye Fosca! I?ll miss your ugly face)

The purpose of this exercise is simple,
Imagine your worst nightmare coming true.
Imagine Styne and Merrill writing Sunday In The Park,
And you?ve got a good idea of what we?re setting out to do?
(Painters ? Painters who paint People ? Are the luckiest Painters ? In the park)

We know that ALW wrote Phantom,
And Jerry Herman?s Mame had style and wit.
We know that L & L wrote My Fair Lady,
But if they?d written Hair would My Fair Hair have been a hit?

So let?s get on with the shows
That nobody knows
The shows that you?ll never see!
Reviewing the What Ifs of Musical Comedy.

So, what if Frank Loesser had written Sweeney Todd? And it goes something like this (to the tune of Sit Down, You're Rockin' The Boat):

I dreamed last night that a customer named Turpin,
Came in the shop, for he spied my barber chair.
And as he sat, well, I sharpened up my razor,
For the Judge he had his jury right there!

And I said to the Judge, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!
Said to the Judge, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!
And my razor'll work such wonders,
And your blood will flow down your fancy coat!
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!

And then I dreamed Mrs. Lovett made a meat pie,
And in this pie there were fingers, toes, and knees.
And people came and they ate up all the meat pies,
So we needed more ingredients to please...

And I said to the folks, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!
Said to the folks, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!
Just relax while I strop my razor,
Just a little nick and that's all she wrote!
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!

And still I dreamed, this time of a beggar woman,
Who sung of muffs and a jig-jig in the hay.
And as she sung, well I realized, she's crazy,
How could I have known this was Judgment Day?

And I said to my wife, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!
Said to my wife, sit down,
Sit down, I'm slittin' your throat!
And I suddenly felt the panic
Of a sinking man on a sinking boat
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down,
Sit down I'm slittin' my throat!
Sit down, I'm slittin' my throat!

Well, dear readers, I think that's enough notes for today. After all, we've had a titular conundrum, a wildly successful radio show, quite supple legs, a what if, and a producer who doesn't have copies of his latest albums. Damn them all, damn them all to hell.