notmypresident: (Default)
The original cast album for "Groundhog Day" came yesterday.

Unfortunately, the CD makes the primary problem of the show even more pronounced: there's simply too much music. The music here runs just short of ninety minutes — and when you toss in the show's dialogue, that makes for one very long show. There's plenty of good music, but some of the numbers should have been cut. "Playing Nancy," for instance. It's a very pretty song by one of the women that Andy Karl beds, but it's a character that otherwise has only a few lines in the entire show. Why the fuck is she given a solo at the beginning of Act 2? The same is true for "Night Will Come" by (of all people) the insurance salesman. A short medley of the secondary characters would have served the same purpose of bringing some depth to the folks that Andy Karl believes are disposable. It also would have made the show much more tolerable. But Andy Karl is still wonderful as the boorish weatherman Phil.

I'm glad that I have the visuals of the show in my head when I listen to this recording, though. Some numbers really do depend on the production's clever staging (especially the show stopper "Nobody Cares"). While I enjoyed seeing this on Broadway, it was definitely the least memorable of the four musicals I saw. This cast album does nothing to alter that impression.

Time for Another Hot Guy.

notmypresident: (Even Supergirls Cry)
"Supergirl" has become the only TV show that I go out of my way to watch these days. Not because it's even remotely The Best Show Ever, but because of its Mon-el storyline and the frequent teases for the Legion of Super-heroes (a Legion flight ring was recently shown in closeup at Superman's Fortress of Solitude). I suppose if the show wasn't also quite adequate with a genial cast I would otherwise give up on it, but for now I'm watching.

Last night's episode was easily one of the best in this second season. It was especially well-written, balancing the major storyline with ongoing plot lines. That's not always something the show manages to pull off, so it was a welcomed change. Actually, the episode managed to pull off a lot, and even set the groundwork for the inevitable turn to the Dark Side of Lena Luthor. It didn't hurt to have the smoking hot presence of Rahul Kohli as the lead villain.

Now for Another Hot Guy.

notmypresident: (Garbo Alone)
I've been having a lot of Deep Thoughts lately. It's a byproduct of my deepening depression, of course. You'd never know it from the lightweight posts I've made here. TV shows and Broadway cast albums! But at 2:00 a.m. when I'm trying to fall asleep, my mind just won't stop thinking about the Big Topics.

Of late, I've been thinking a lot about how I'm likely to be alone for the rest of my life. That's fine though, on so many levels. This isn't a "pity me" post. I've done the 16-year relationship, but I'm equally comfortable by myself. That doesn't stop me from thinking about the possibility of a Mr. NotMyPresident in my life, however.

The internet doesn't help. One of my big failings is that I'm constantly running across men that I think would make a great partner. And I'm not talking about the hunks, per se (especially the muscle freaks, who can rest assured I'm not the least bit interested). I'm talking about the ones that catch my eye for so many other reasons: (a) looks nice, (b) handsomely bearded, (c) friendly smile, (d) eyes that smile. The real problem — other than not knowing if this guy lives right around the corner or a thousand-plus miles away — is that I tend to project these qualities onto said stranger. It's a difficulty that I have with the internet. Without interaction, it's easy to believe anything I want about... well, anyone.

What's more, I can ignore the fact that they might not think I have the same qualities. I currently am at a low point in my self-worth assessment. I'm too overweight, I'm getting old, and I still can't grow a decent beard to save my life. I'm also — let's face it — handicapped. I have an abdominal catheter that I always have to watch out for (no face-down on my stomach anymore). I also have to hook up to my peritoneal dialysis machine every night, which means I'm basically attached to the machine by a 25-foot tube. That's about as good a mood killer as I could imagine.

I suppose it's possible that I could still meet someone who could overlook/support all of my difficulties. But I'm not holding my breath. Mr. Hung Hippie still comes over once a week (twice a week since my NYC trip!) to help relieve some of my sexual tension, and I'm otherwise okay with being on my own (thank the gods for home delivery of just about anything I need). That doesn't stop me from thinking about being in a relationship, however.

Nor does it stop me from thinking about Another Hot Guy (with a sweet tooth).