One Singular Summation

I made my way to an Atlanta performance of the national tour of "A Chorus Line," thrilled it was too, too hot outside for the obligatory leg warmers and arm warmers over sleeveless muscle man blouse.

If I may be so bold to speak for her, I believe my wife was thrilled for me, also.

I love this musical. I've seen it three or four times over the decades. There is little more impressive in the show business than intricate synchronized dancing (and the young Barbi Twins -- and Speedy Alka-Seltzer taking a sitz bath).

This production is such an athletic workout I pulled a hamstring watching.

(I don't care for the film version of "A Chorus Line." The boneheads cut away from the production numbers to offstage drama. Sheesh. What makes the spectacle soar is the dancing, not finding something for Michael Douglas to do.)

My favorite songs are "What I Did for Love," "One," and that curvy cutie boasting of her store-bought "tits and ass."

After the curtain call, we shopped at the memorabilia counter in the lobby. Donna considered the t-shirts, coffee mug, and recordings. I said, "I'd like to buy some tits and ass."

I hope to get out of the slammer in time to go to a concert on Tuesday night.

Yes, I'm the artsy-fartsy type. I do enjoy broccoli and a show.

We have an audience with Olivia Newton-John. She wants me to let her hear my body talk, my body talk, she wants to hear my body talk--

Donna just told it to shut up.
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