Wandelprobe is over—and without a single inappropriate giggle from anyone who said it out loud. So we count that as a win.

Oh—and our orchestra is freaking AWESOME. This show is an absolute vocal-gymnastics pleasure to sing, especially now that we’ve finally layered in our small army of instrumentalists.

And thanks to the geographic witchcraftery of the theater, I just took a selfie that’s simultaneously in the Tottenham Court tenement AND Henry Higggins’ study at wherever the hell 27-A Wimpole Street is. Life upon the wicked stage is NOT for the logical.

Tomorrow is our billion-hour tech rehearsal. And then the full-time magic begins. Just you wait ...

Aloha!

My intrepid, brilliant, humanitarian-minded niece is as we speak flying to Guatemala with her Spanish class to do community service work and then explore the country from the valleys to the volcanoes. Meanwhile, her white, privileged, North American-insular, US-resident uncle has found himself humbly obligated to do some googling to learn that Guatemala is NOT, in fact, in South America but is five countries north of Panama on the Pacific side of the narrowing continent.

Fun fact: Guatemala is also in the central time zone—though it doesn’t have stupid Daylight Savings Time, so I’m sure my niece and her Spanish class have wicked jet lag. ¡Qué lástima!

Some not-so-quiet conversation

Apparently there was a presidential debate a year ago today

Apparently I live-blogged stuff like the below paragraph as I watched it because there are tons of similar angry, dumbfounded posts in my Facebook memories today, and apparently the debate was -- in the pussy-grabber's own ad-nauseam repeated attempts at talking -- a "disaster."

Once again, Hillary is talking in thoughtfully nuanced paragraphs to answer the question about what she would do about the humanitarian crisis in Syria. Trump just calls her a "disaster" and has to be re-asked the question TWICE plus have the subject patiently explained to him by Martha Raddatz and he not only can't answer the question but he says he's never even talked about it with his running mate. HOLY SHIT.
If only Dotard McCovfefe had given us some sort of sign a year ago that he was a catastrophically incompetent psychopath, maybe we'd have a president today who can locate Puerto Rico on a map.