Oh, my God. Someone Has Been Sleeping In My Dress!

[I'm so overdue to update. You haven't even heard about my delightful and meaningful trip to Santa Rosa last Sunday to see a rather fresh-out-of-the-box local theatre company's production of Mame. Ahem. John and I were perhaps at our most homosexual when we had a couple of serious fights about that show. I grew up on the ONLY Auntie Mame, Rosalind Russell. John loved the musical (Lucille Ball?!), and regaled me with "We Need A Little Christmas" every single year.]

[No, that's not why we broke up. But still.]

[So probably nothing could save what has always been a bad show, and it's just not nice to make fun of small town theatre. On the up(son) side:
-the kid who nailed young Patrick looked torn from a Campbell's soup can. I think my nephew (if it's a nephew) might look like that;
-"The Moon Song" was brilliant, like a different show had landed in the middle of the rest of it;
-the prom queen who played Gloria looked creepily like Kylie Minogue, and obviously has a bunch of gay friends who made her watch Auntie Mame until she could do a flawless Joanna Barnes.]

[No, the day was really delightful and meaningful because Susanna invited me, showed me her house in the amazingly Stepford-like Town of Windsor (she even showed me specimens of the robot wives), and treated me to Sonoma County's Largest Margarita after the show. A friend since 1981 with whom the understanding still clicks. A miracle even more welcome than my own Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside would be.]

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