I went to a comedy and music show put on by MPR almost two weeks ago, but other happenings were more immediate so I’m just getting around to looking at the photos I took there now.
Rosanne was more subdued but put on a great concert, despite forgetting some of the words to “Seven Year Ache”. She blamed it on what all of us women of a certain age blame our forgetfullness on. We go from having issues with too many hormones to having issues with not having enough hormones.
Since the show was being recorded for radio, Rosanne’s mistake just meant we got to hear the entire song a second time.
The MPR shows are part of a monthly series called Wits. I saw the first show. Forgot about the second one. Sandra and Rosanne were the third show, which was the one I was most looking forward to and they did not disappoint. The MPR host and the format of the show continues to disappoint everytime. But Rosanne and Sandra were able to breathe life back into it.
There was accordian music before the show and during intermissions, with chances to sing along.
This is a photo of the woman in front of me standing during intermission. This normally wouldn’t be a problem but they were showing “tweets” about the show on the stage screen that were pretty funny and she was blocking my view. Take that lady!
I have been completely overwhelmed by life lately. There’s been lots of fun stuff, like mountain biking and horseback riding, but there’s also been a grueling work schedule. Add to that the continous demands of writing and reading blogs, Twitter, and Facebook and I litterly feel like I’m gasping for air as the onslaught of electrical information rains down on me.
Picture it… the electronic messages, blips and beeps rising higher and higher. The waves and impulses are knocking me two and fro. I’m weakening. I desperate keep kicking my legs when I feel a deblilitating cramp set into my right calf muscle. It’s no use. I succumb to the power of the internet and sink slowly and dramatically into the murky darkness.
Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system.
My next post, if I can ever find the time to write it, will be on my reassessment of where I’m at and where I’m going.
Do I actually know where I’m at and where I’m going? No. But during the process of writing down my thoughts, I have faith that there will be a flash of light, Gregorian chants will fill the air as a dove floats down from the heavens, lands on my shoulder, and telepathically delivers a prophetic revelation that will answer all my questions. Did I mention that there will also be the delicate scent of freshly washed sheets fluttering in the breeze during this moment of epiphany?