What, this old thing?

I sang in a recital this last Wednesday. The studio I take lessons with does a themed recital every two months. This month (October) is the "Halloween" recital. We're supposed to choose something scary or comic, and it is best if it's a character piece so that we can dress up. Traditionally, I have done funny stuff for this recital, not scary stuff. I did the Annie Get Your Gun bit three years ago, I did a song from Little Shop of Horrors, I did Huckleberry Fin (I, Huckleberry, Me from Big River)--

This year I didn't get to choose my song, because my teacher is making us do "music through the ages", where we learn about a different time period and the music and singing that happened then. It's been fun to re-learn some of this stuff (I minored in music, and so I took some music history classes), but it has been difficult to find a song appropriate for each month's theme AND each month's time period of focus.

For this last two-month installment, we studied the Romantic period (1800's.) Basically, the Romantic period plus humor= Gilbert and Sullivan, which I sort of like and sort of don't. At the beginning, I chose the song "As Someday It May Happen" from the Mikado.

The words go like this (watch out-- it's extremely politically incorrect. In fact, this version is even tamer than the original, which contained racial epithets.):

On that site, you'll notice that there are two other versions, made to fit more modern themes. Here's yet another one (also slightly offensive in the third verse, politically-speaking).


So, OK, I wrote my own version of these lyrics. Ready?(hopefully not quite as politically incorrect):

As someday it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list, I've got a little list
of society offenders who may well be underground
and who never would be missed, who never would be missed!

There's the loudmouthed commentators who aren't righteous as they seem,
they coin phrases that link womens' lib with male Fascist regime,
and then take their oxycotton far more often than they ought
parading propaganda that sounds great, until they're caught
wearing ties that cause more seizures than cysticercosis,
They never will be missed, I'm sure they'll not be missed.

There's the date who somehow grows eight hands and invites you to his place,
when first he has been kissed! I've got him on the list!
and all bimbos who chew doublemint and breathe it in your face,
I've got them on the list, they never will be missed!
and the idiots who came up with sizes zero, one and two,
who expect us to go traipsing 'round in eight-inch platform shoes
and all people who walk runways and have celery for lunch
and the people that they pay to give their stomachs extra "crunch"
and all jerk writers who were dissing female novelists,
they never will be missed, I'm sure they'd not be missed.

That's as far as I got-- I was going to do the last verse listing all those male jerk writers and their works, using Elizabeth Peters as a resource for the names, but this song just... ew. I mean, it's funny, but too acidic for me to feel comfortable singing, particularly in front of a bunch of elderly men and women.

So I asked to change my song two weeks ago to this:

Someone is giving me flowers.

Someone is giving me flowers,
Oh, what a sweet thing to do.
Every new day brings another bouquet
but I don't know who to say thank you to.

Sometimes they come through my window,
then down at the chimney, they fall.
Sometimes at night when I turn out the light,
they come through a crack in the wall.

Now that my house is a garden,
bursting with blossoms and blooms,
I stand here for hours, admiring my flowers
I'd like to sit down but there just isn't room.

First, they were sending me bluebells,
oddly enough, they were grey.
Each faded bloom had a nasty perfume;
besides being grey, they were paper mache.

next came a garland of fungus. Then, as a tropical treat,
they sent me a plant that proceeded to pant,
and later, began to eat meat.

The cactus corsage touched me deeply,
a marvelous plant, in it's prime.
I felt just the same when the rock garden came,
one rock at a time.

Somebody madly adores me. I know not whom to suspect,
but I cannot afford to be madly adored,
if they keep on sending me flowers collect.

So, fun. Anyway, the point of this crazy, rambling post:

I wore my red hat.


It's a beautiful, beautiful hat. When I bought it in Wal-Mart two years ago, an older lady was standing right next to me in front of the rack of red hats. (Yes, there is a rack of entirely red hats at our Wal-Mart-- don't ask me why). As I was examining possible red hats, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. A few minutes later, she turned to me and asked, "Dear, are you a member of the Red Hat Society?"

I smiled like she was joking (although it was a sort of weird and random joke, if she was). But she was totally serious. The red hat society? What the crud?

I felt like I was in a spy movie or something.

I wore it at my wedding reception. (Ok, I admit I'm a bit eccentric.) Actually, I didn't plan on wearing it throughout the reception-- my sisters and I did a bit where we sang and had cool hats and gloves.


And then afterwards, Skywalker wanted to dance and I didn't have time to change back into my wedding dress, and then I just gave up and remained the lady in red all night.



I LOVED IT. It was a wedding reception dream come true-- no stuffy white dress, just RED. With a cool RED hat and RED gloves and swing dancing. Yay.

Anyway, this red hat is special to me, and I loved the fact that it got another go at this last recital. And afterward, a little old lady came up to me and said,

"Dear, that hat looks really good on you. You should wear it all the time!"

It was the best thing that everyone has ever said to me.

Well, one of the best things.

And yes, I am a member of the red hat society. Actually I'm not, but I plan to be someday, when I have the time.

Are you a member of the Red Hat Society?