tavie.com

I've been tending to my sick heterosexual lifemate (as much as she'll allow people to tend to her) but I must return to the city early to tend to my sister. Call me Florence Nightingale. Or, better yet, call me Tavie-- they say I'm pretty hot stuff in the Navy!

I did stare straight at Superwoman during the slow, moving quartet at the end. I couldn't tell if she noticed. (And I really want to know who she thinks did not deserve a solo. Perri the lounge singer? Claudia the ingenue? Lee the abused fiancee?)

I did notice, and the song almost made me weep, which I think is pretty pathetic since it isn't even my high school career that is ending-- but it is poignant and sappy enough just being a friend to those ending an era (and beginning a new one.) I can be sad-by-proxy. And it was almost more thrilling than McKinney eye contact, besides!

As for the recipient of my negative review, it's rather mean and she's probably a lovely, sweet girl. (You've probably even told me as such when I've panned her in the past. I'm just a nasty, snarky excuse for a human being. But it was lounge-singer girl. I thought abused-fiance did a splended job; lounge-singer girl made me cringe. Ingenue was fine, a little rough on the ears at times, but fine. And, damn, I can't sing that high, upside-down or not, so I need to shut up.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:56 PM | shower me with attention