Schedulus Rex
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

Kindly join Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love in a rousing chorus of "Kill Me, It's Christmas." If this song has not yet been written, it surely should be. The prospect of mall shopping sends shivers down the spine and a chill through the heart, doesn't it? It gets worse every year. This year, I'm counting on denial to save my evenly tan hide.

Last week, Your Lamb With Mint Jelly promised to investigate the Sun Records tribute special with which PBS stations across the country attempt to pry from you your pin money. Ugh. Ahmet Ertegun should be deeply ashamed of this confusing debacle, which can be unfortunately summed up in one mortifying moment: Rob Thomas. Of Matchbox 20. Tells Jerry Lee Lewis. What to play. On the piano. Vomitrocious! After that stunner, if you're still seated on your couch, congratulations! The Thorazine's kicked in!

But, as Your Plump Meatloaf first asserted here seven months ago, music is everywhere. Within the space of 48 hours last week, I saw Lunar Bear Ensemble, a spoken word art band at the Brighton Bar, Ex Number Five/Gameface at the Court Tavern, and Philomusica, a sacred music choir, sing Vivaldi's Gloria.

Don't make that joke. The one on the tip of your tongue. Don't do it!

Anyway, during the choir concert I realized within the space of 12 hours I'd warbled "I was born with a tail" and "Dona nobis pachem." Your Filet Smothered With Mushrooms, never a churchgoer, sat in a back row pew waiting for scent of sulfur. Smoke? No smoke. So far so good.

This weekend's absolutely positively cross-their-hearts final A Halo Called Fred show with Alice B. Talkless and (the best act ever ever ever: TBA) at the Court has me all a-flutter. Wear your dancing shoes! Listen, days before Christmas, you need a burp-sealed, crinolined Reason To Live. And now you have one!

©2001 Robin Pastorio-Newman