RICE-A-RONI MEETS ITS DOOM ONCE AND FOR ALL.

I head out tumultuously early for my flight this afternoon (Please, please try not to make any sense of that...), and the trek through Washington, D.C. and onto San Francisco should be a slight breeze.
The trip might not suck either, or so it is rumored.
[Editor's Note: Could there be a James Barbour meeting in Kelley's future? It's like a Tootsie Roll Pop: The world may never know...]
I'll be AudioBlogging-in occasionally (as SanFran is the Blogger World Domination Headquarters-Or-So-I-Think), not to mention ragging on any poor souls I happen to find along the way that do not meet up to Kelley Aquamarine Book Standards.
God, I love being a wiseass again.

MUMBLE, MUMBLE.

I'm tired, and it just-so-happens to be bedtime.
Any questions?

SURGERY SUCKS. DRUGS ROCK.

With an undelivered Pre-Op AudioBlogger post, my inability to get through on the line for the past two evenings, and the overall Post-Op drug mentality, I’ve been rather non-communicative with the rest of the universe. Not by choice, of course, but by circumstance and vicodin.
Honestly, I’m not complaining.
I’m having a little bit of difficulty focusing enough to finish typing, but I am certainly feeling--
That, right there, would be an example of how zoned out I happen to be. I am so very zoned out. Zoned out equals Kelley.
Surgery went well, everything went as planned, and I have everything to owe to an amazing surgical team and doctor. And Kobe’s White Sauce.
What can I say? I am zoned.

TONY, TONY, TONY.

Blair, that is.
(We're done with "Perry Season.")
There is absolutely nothing more magnificent than an hour of "Prime Minister's Questions" on C-Span. Nothing.
Try some.

GET FUZZY. OR ELSE.

"You tell that filthy weasel I'm gonna to break him like a wedding vow on The Jerry Springer Show!"
-Bucky Katt

BOXING, IN THE MOST LITERAL OF SENSES.

I'm tearing through our nearly-empty Maitland home with the utmost precision and accuracy, sweeping up boxes, donations, cell phones, and any other unfortunate human by-products that happen to be wrapped into my Whirlwind Of Packing Mayhem.
Hmm. Mayhem? Mayhew?
Same basic principle.
It will be hours (Light years, perhaps?) until we see the conclusion of said mayhem, or even a floor-like surface, but I will continue on with the valiant nature that so fits my--
Oh, whatever. That's all crap. I'm a gangster.
"Dawg."

TONY AWARDS 2005- A LOOK BACK.

-I had an entire two minutes of rapture as soon as The Great William Crystal rose up from the stage, supposedly assuming the role of host. When he played his Frogs cell phone gag, I heard (distinctly) Nathan sneer in sheer disgust. When Hugh Jackman answered on the other end, I realized that God was cruel, vicious, and only toying with my petty emotions.
-Nathan's little "buzz-cut" is annoying and disarmingly attractive, all at the same time. No, maybe that's still just Nathan. Hmm.
-None of the performances were "top-notch," excluding from that list the enchanting Light In The Piazza, 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (as if that show could pull off anything but pure genius), and even Lithgow and Butz's adorable off-stage chemistry that was only defeated by Dirty Rotten Scoundrels' atrociously ordinary libretto. Oh, and of course, La Cage looked as stunning as it always has. Thank you, Jerry Mitchell.
-I found Sara Ramirez rather ho-hum in her acceptance speech, but was absolutely amazed that she managed to pull through "Find Your Grail" despite her nearly debilitating illness at the time of performance (Over-exaggeration, you say? Have you ever tried to be a gorgeous, belting, bonafide Broadway Diva, Comic Actress, AND Tony Winner In Her Debut Tony Awards Ceremony Performance, not to mention ill? No. She wins serious Scene Points.).
-Most Poised Acceptance Speech Of The Evening: No contest: Doug Hughes (who, after seeing him at fifteen-billion ceremonies, I am beginning to fall head-over-heels in love with). Just take a look:
"Thank you. I've done a very great honor by this award, none greater than to have my name spoken in the same sentence of those masters: Joe Mantello, John Crowley and Scott Ellis. I'd like to thank my beautiful wife, Lynn, for the boundless supply of love, patience and belief she's lavished on her director/husband. I'd love to thank you, my mother and father, great actors, great parents. I know it must seem like a wild act of Oedipal revenge for the son of two actors to become a director, but I assure you that's not the case. What happened with Doubt is very, very simple. John Patrick Shanley wrote a play for our time and I was given the opportunity to work on it everyday in the company of geniuses. So if you will indulge me, I would like to live a fantasy and simply say, I love working in the world of the theater. Safe and dangerous, small and infinite, I am overjoyed to have a place in it. Thank you so very, very much."
(Believe me, it sounded much better live.)
IN CONCLUSION
-Hugh Jackman needs to get a life- one that does not involve hosting the Tony Awards. And, hopefully, the Wing has finally begun to understand that. As a performer, he's thoroughly enjoyable. But that stops very rapidly when he starts ruining classic showtunes. I love Hugh, but in the sense that he's just a little too gay to be a straight man. He played The Peter Allen, for Christ's sake.
Any questions?

HUH.

"When someone says, 'I Love You,' all it means is that you're a failure, but they have to put up with you anyway."

-Unknown

SHOWTUNE UPDATE: PART ONE.

The good graces that see fit to grant me monetary rewards as a result of high school graduation have allowed me to bring this little segment out for viewing purposes.
And so it goes...

Monty Python's Spamalot

Whereas the music is revoltingly begging to be adored, I have to say that I've grown fond of the brainless melodies and the captivating parody (Everyone says to look out for "The Song That Goes Like This" and "You Won't Succeed On Broadway," and they do so in the most rightful of manners.)
Sara Ramirez is vocally AND comically gorgeous (Both "Find Your Grail" and "Diva's Lament" showcase her powerhouse vocals and some of the nicer pieces of the score), as is (Who knew?!) David Hyde Pierce in his brief shining moments.
Hank Azaria: Are you even in this show? Despite his two-and-a-half minutes of appearance on the album, I'm sure that Azaria's Lancelot makes up in physicality whatever it lacks vocally (At least, I certainly hope it does. I shudder to think...).
Tim Curry is met with a score far below his range, which is sad for someone with so much talent and legend behind him. The loveably-quirky Christian Borle makes some very nice turns in his multiple onstage duties, despite the overly-campy "His Name Is Lancelot," which Borle still handles with grace and energetic ferocity. And after hearing his falsetto in the show's finale, I finally understand why he's Sutton Foster's boy-toy.
The strongest features of the album include the integration and re-affirmation of decades of old Python musical material. Most of it is well executed and abundantly scored for the Broadway stage. The attempt to tie in Broadway's own over-indulgent nature is a fitting choice for the low-brow Python humor, and it comes across relatively nicely on the album itself.
I am almost positive that the show stands fully alone by itself in performance. It appears to be a production where the visual antics can be imagined by sound alone, but would prove to be nothing in comparison to what Mike Nichols and his creative team have staged. It simply has to be seen, especially when we miss out on witnessing The Black Knight and The Knights Who Say "Ni" on the cast recording.
(Oh, well. I just have to wait until November when Azaria returns to the show after his June 6th leave of absence. We wouldn't want to miss another Birdcage-worthy homosexual performance from Hank, now, would we?)
This is certainly a must-have album for the musical theatre geek, the secret, "Lumberjack"-adoring Python fan, or simply those who can genuinely appreciate the value and divine nature of a Forbidden Broadway-esque bashing.
I know I can.

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT: ON ITS WAY.

Done.
Over.
Finished.
Final.
Ended.
Stopped.
A mere sprinkling of my high-school life as it is at this moment.