Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Feinstein and Hepburn, the new 'it' combination

Michael Feinstein sings with such open sincerity. I like to play him over and over in my modest YouTube collection. Sometimes though my easy listening is interrupted by tres horrible ads of Goldilocks and other products. Why can't the Tube just let the ads appear atop the video or further to the right and not inside the video itself? I keep having to press the "Skip ad" button. 

Yeah, yeah, even the Tube has to earn income the way Jurassic newspapers do.

So Feinstein, as I was saying, sings "I Won't Send Roses" from the musical Mack and Mabel so well that I can only weep along quietly. The awkwardness of the character of Mack reminds me much too much of certain men who can't say it like it is (ahoy there, mate in the Cordi boondocks). Part of the lyrics goes:

My pace is frantic
My temper's cross
With words romantic
I'm at a loss
I'd be the first one to agree
That I'm preoccupied with me
And it's inbred, kid
So keep your head, kid
In me you'll find things
Like guts and nerve
But not the kind of things
That you deserve
And so while there's a fighting chance
Just turn and go
I won't send roses
And roses suit you so.
 
So this Mabel (after all, Isabel or Isabella is some other language's equivalent of Elizabeth) responds in pictures:

Remember when my smoke used to get into your eyes?
This blogger is too old for balcony scenes, whether in Funny Face or Romeo and Juliet fashion. Besides, I don't think the materials new balconies are made of can bear Big Mama's weight.
That hat! It can fit a bunny inside. It gives me an idea of what to wear for my next trip.
Large sunglasses, you say? Got 'em! Never go out without 'em. As for the little sleeveless dress, would you settle for a kaftan?
 With thanks to the creative commons for the availability of Ms. Hepburn's pictures
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