I've wined and dined on Mulligan stew and never wished for turkey,
As I hitched and hiked and grifted, too, from Maine to Albuquerque.
Alas, I missed the Beaux Arts Ball, and what is twice as sad,
I was never at a party where they honored Noel Ca' ad.
But social circles spin too fast for me...
My Hobohemia is the place to be.
I get too hungry for dinner at eight. I like the theater, but never come late.
I never bother with people I hate... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
I don't like crapgames with Barons and Earls. Won't go to Harlem in ermine and pearls.
Won't dish the dirt with the rest of the girls... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
I like the free fresh wind in my hair, life without care.
I'm broke, it's oke!
Hate California, it's cold and it's damp... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
I go to Coney-- the beach is divine. I go to ball games-- the bleachers are fine.
I follow Winchell and read ev'ry line... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
I like a prizefight that isn't a fake. I love the rowing on Central Park Lake.
I go to opera and stay wide awake... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
I like the green grass under my shoes. What can I lose?
I'm flat! That's that!
I'm all alone when I lower my lamp... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
Don't know the reason for cocktails at five. I don't like flying-- I'm glad I'm alive.
I crave affection, but not when I drive... That's why the ldy is a tramp.
Folks go to London and leave me behind. I'll miss the crowning, Queen Mary won't mind.
I don't play Scarlett in Gone With the Wind... That' s why the ldy is a tramp.
I like to hang my hat where I please, sail with the breeze.
No dough-- heigh-ho!
I love La Guardia and think he's a champ... That' s why the ldy is a tramp.
Girls get massages, they cry and they moan. Tell Lizzie Arden to leave me alone.
I'm not so hot, but my shape is my own... That's why the ldy is a tramp!
The food at Sardi's is perfect, no doubt. I wouldn't know what the Ritz is about.
I drop a nickel, and coffee comes out... That's why the ldy is a tramp!
I like the sweet, fresh rain in my face. Diamonds and lace...
No got-- so what?
That's why the ldy is a tramp.
Perhaps I can get this song out of my head now.
Honestly, though, I really am quite fond of flying, and the part about massages really doesn't sound half-bad (really, really, it doesn't!). But that's another story (or song?).
In other news, I've been uberbusy. Work's been absolutely insane. Rehearsals last night and Monday1 were good, though not too terribly productive. Karaoke last night was a blast, though.
A small group of us go out every Tuesday to this gothy2, kitschy3 little club to karaoke. It's usually bustling, but not busy, with mostly regulars. The DJ knows us all by name and diligently seeks out the requests we make of him.
Well, last night, we were the only ones there. Private karaoke party! We each got ~6 songs in before midnight, which is pretty amazing. And Rick (mssr. DJ) found two of the songs I'd requested. We each chose at least a couple things we wouldn't normally sing in public. It was a good night, spent with good friends, singing bad songs.
- Just a Girl, No Doubt4
- Big Yellow Taxi, Joanie Mitchell
- I Will Survive, Gloria Gaynor
- Right Hand Man, Joan Osborne4
- Walkin' After Midnight, Patsy Cline
- Hopelessly Devoted to You, Olivia Newton-John
I didn't sing them particularly well, but I sang them. I never thought I'd increase my range enough to sing Gloria Gaynor or Olivia Newton-John. I'm one happy alto :)
I'm slowly making my way back on AIM, ICQ and maybe even IRC. And cleaning my apartment. And reading Psycho-Cybernetics and Galileo's Daughter (I just finished Guards, Guards!). And catching up on correspondence and package-sending. And starting to invest a bit.
Even with all its stresses and its ups and downs and its and-and-ands, Life is Pretty Darned Good.
In yet other news, I'm devoting my life to the development of the perfect saffron cookie for world peace.
And I'm going to bed.
1 I'm not the Pope anymore; I'm now the Rabbi, and the bit is even more offensive, but I'll live. I hope.
2 Not Goth, just gothy.
4 A request of mine.
om Note to self: tell the story of Jane Teller already... and never forget: Ice Cream does not belong in the hands of cats!