Feelin' Groovy

No doubt many of you were eagerly awaiting my next installment on the nature of evil.

Sorry to disappoint you.

This morning I was tenderized, brutalized, and rubbed down with camphor oil by a big brute named 'Ty', only he spells his name 'Tyghe', and I paid $90 dollars for 90 minutes of this.

Get yer mind out of the gutter. It was a legitimate transaction. It was a massage, and being blissfully married as I am, it didn't feel right to be massaged by a female. Besides, we talked about football the whole time. I swear.

Well, that and bartending, since we've both done that in the past.

Following this was a greasy omelette with Salome in the thoroughly charming town of Normandy Park, and then a whirlwind tour of some pretty unappealing houses because our realtor (who is awesome, by the way) was bored and wanted to get out of the office. During this tour, I get a call from a doctor who wants to buy, so I am furiously scribbling down notes and credit card numbers in the living room of someone else's house.

After this, a trip to Costco, where I nearly lost my life due to Salome's driving (This will be frequently referred to in this blog from here on out, now that I have adequate ammunition) and we purchased a new vacuum cleaner. It's purple, and eats cat hair, from what I've been told. I'm ambivalent about the purple, but I can't wait to see it eat cat hair. Or maybe a cat. That would be funny.

We return home to a message from a realtor saying that they were a 20 minutes out from our place and would be there soon (they never showed), so we went pet shopping and bought a rather phallic looking cat toy stuffed with catnip that, so far, only Lucy has made friends with. But the price is worth it, given how adorable she is with it.

We change clothes, drive to downtown Seattle, and eat dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, and ply ourselves with a few powerful drinks. Once properly fed (and lubricated), we proceed to the 5th Avenue Theater to see 'Cabaret'. Not without its flaws, of course, but the more I see this particular musical, the more convinced I am that the problem lies within its script (Have I mentioned that in a previous incarnation I used to be a theater reviewer?) and the fact that two of its characters have become so iconic that each succeeding production must pull out every trick in the book to make them 'novel'. My advice? You can't beat Liza Minelli and Joel Gray, so don't even try. Do yourself a favor: dial it back, because you can't win. Still, nice singing, nice staging, and here I go again in 'reviewer mode'. Screw it. It was good. There. Done.

Now, I am at home and blogging, before I evaporate into sleep. I have the 'John Adams' HBO mini-series saved on Direct-TV (I was also a nerd in a previous life) and no firm plans tomorrow. I can't write about evil right now, because no matter what evil is afoot right now, I'm feeling pretty darn good. But I do have this offer in regards to thoughts on hell:

I believe that there is a hell. I believe it is a place where people get precisely what they want.

I also believe that they are forced to watch any sit-coms starring Tony Danza throughout all eternity.