Speechless (literally!)

So, I’m back. The terribleness of the weekend, I could practically write a book, but beyond that, I’ve decided to stop bitching about the state of the nation, about which I can do nothing at the moment except bitch, and just write about any old thing that comes to mind.

Jet was gone all weekend at a work-related conference, staying at the rah-jah-jah J.W. Marriott in downtown DC, where our friend Uncle Mame works and made sure Jet was treated to the best of everything. So, I was at home alone with Dino, but without much time to sit and stew because I was performing in a sold-out cabaret of Noel Coward and Cole Porter songs, cleverly titled – wait for it – “Noel and Cole”.

Thursday night, I started feeling that terrible heavy feeling in my lungs, which means that a chest cold is imminent. Friday it was still there, but holding steady. Friday night I downed about a half-bottle of Robitussin, which not only kept me awake most of the night, but is apparently hallucinogenic. As I lay in bed watching a History Channel comparative biography of Hitler and Stalin (which I’m allowed to do when Jet is gone – watch TV in bed, that is), I was gripped with empathy for how horrible their respective childhoods had been, and convinced that if only I could invent a time machine, I could go back in time, kidnap them both as infants, and raise them up right. Then I was locked in a night-long debate with myself as to whether it would really do any good, or whether their evil was genetic.

Saturday matinee, worse. Saturday evening, I had to make several spur-of-the-moment exits off stage to get water, clear my throat loudly and disgustingly, and sneak back on without causing too much of a commotion.

Sunday I woke up with no voice, and had to muscle my way through two more cabaret performances as well as a Cathedral service in the morning.

It was murder, honestly, maybe the worst feeling in the whole world. The closest I’ve come to crying in public in a good long while. But to blow my own horn a bit, a fellow cast-member (who is also an internationally experienced stage performer and respected teacher) said the dramatic choices I made to get through said shows were smart and the sign of a true pro. So that’s that. I’m a true pro, but I still have no effing voice, and I’ve got gigs lined up every day from now through December 26, and what’s a girl to do?

I’ve been mainlining Mucinex and drinking, on average, a gallon-and-a-half of water every day for the past four days, with no discernible benefit. Last night, I tried Mother Rubble’s cure-all, a Hot Toddy (liquor, water, lemon juice and honey – though I suspect Mother Rubble used quite a bit less water than I did). I seem to remember having one once, going to bed, and waking up the next morning completely cured of all that ailed me. So I guess I made it wrong, because the result was that I was wide awake all night, swimming in a pool of my own sweat, and still have no voice today. Thankfully, I DID get to see an episode of my beloved Bewitched, and an Aunt Clara episode to boot! Unfortunately, I also saw an episode of Gunsmoke, from the 70’s when Marshall Dillon looked like a wax figure and Miss Kitty was, like, ninety years old, and I got engrossed, only to find that it was a Part 1, which means I have to wake up at 6 tomorrow so I can see Part 2.

I also saw plenty of "Girls Gone Wild" commercials, and I ask any straight men that might be reading to please write and explain to me what is appealing about young women pulling up their halter tops while staring blankly into space, or worse yet, gyrating their hips while making a face like they've just gotten a mouthful of iodine and are trying to scrape the taste off their tongues with their teeth.

So, I'm back at work, my first full day since last Thursday, and glad to be greeted with emails from oddly-named scientists from around the world! Here are my favorites so far:

Dr. Eberhard Fuchs
Dr. Electron Kebebew
Dr. Alison K. Death

Last night, Jet and I finished Gone With the Wind, which we’ve been watching in installments, and Jet now avows he’s never seen before in its entirety. It’s been quite awhile since I’d seen it, and it made me realize how political correctness has permeated the popular culture, as I was startled every time a character said “darky” - which was, like, a THOUSAND times. But I still love it, and many of you will remember that it’s Code Dependent’s favorite movie of all times and she could watch it a hundred times a day every day for the rest of her life. It also made me think, why the hell won’t they release Song of the South (also starring Hattie McDaniel)? It’s not nearly so offensive (I have a bootleg copy, of course, but would still pay good money for a restored version on DVD). The movie was released on VHS in Britain, and Laserdisc in Japan, which accounts for the ease of acquiring a bootleg copy. But, according to my sources, nervous Disney execs, planning the eventual video release in the US, had a notion to ask a prominent African-American celebrity to film a framing sequence that would place the film in its historical context. This being the mid-1980’s, the first person approached was Maya Angelou, who promptly refused and threatened boycott should it ever be released. This, apparently, is why Disney has pretended the movie doesn’t exists ever since.

But come on – if Maya Angelou isn’t out protesting Gone With the Wind, she CERTAINLY wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in protesting Song of the South, which as I said, is not nearly so offensive. I’m just sayin’.