Sunday, February 19, 2017


Not did you know the fact that I'm a big screaming show-tune queen who reflexively bursts into the entire score of "On the Twentieth Century" every time someone inadvertently says "fiery pride" or "why, you filthy slu ... and so and so and so." And you'd be surprised how alt-often people inadvertently say those things around me. Not that I'd need them to; I'm so gay that when I was in grade school, every time the kids spun me around for Pin the Tail on the Donkey I turned into Wonder Woman. But somehow I wandered off topic here. That's odd. The point to this not-really-the-point paragraph is that pretty much everything on the playlist in this screen grab is a Broadway cast album. Except for the Hoodfellas "Raise Your Glass" remix, which really doesn't do much to underscore my feral masculinity either. Anyway, the point that I managed to derail only one sentence ago is that I bought all these Broadway cast albums -- plus about 7,492 more Broadway cast albums that don't fit on my screen -- using Amazon Prime. And my niece -- who's been here most of the afternoon niecesplaining and ITing all the forlornly misunderstood and unsynched and woefully underutilized Apple devices in our home -- just casually mentioned that I should download the Amazon Prime app and see what it does after I told her I had Amazon Prime, and within seconds HOLYSHITALLMYSHOWTUNESWEREATMYFINGERTIPS.

But before I go any farther with this narrative of childlike wonder over the magical marvels of modern technology, please note that I've been repeatedly using the phrase "Broadway cast album" and not "soundtrack" in my relentless insistence that I somehow might be gay. A soundtrack, for those of you who don't know that coriander makes the gravy grander, is for movies. A Broadway cast album, should you genuinely need me to Jakesplain it to you, is for football. (Kidding! It's for Broadway! Or is it?) Please memorize this distinction so you can self-righteously complain to the manager at Best Buy that "Soundtracks" is an overgeneralized, misleading and potentially emotionally scarring label for aggregating art like "On the Twentieth Century" with horrors like "Kickboxer IV: Butts Get Kicked."
The electronic world is a glorious and still-unexplored frontier of show tunes that are shipped to your door AND streamed to your phone on a free app (though the phone costs upwards of ten billion dollars). And today has been a day of emotionally fulfilling apotheosis of kicklining revelations on this topic. And it makes me very, very happy. But explaining it all to you makes me very, very not listening to my suddenly streaming show tunes. So so long and farewell and all that gay stuff.

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