Whatever the BitB wants, the BitB gets

A touch of entertainment news.

Hubby and I took in a show last night, a remarkably evergreen piece of musical theater that isn’t about “the Wahr.”

I mean, of course, Damn Yankees: a show best appreciated neither for its book nor score but for its dancing. Bob and Gwen, I’m sure, look down from heaven.

It has Washington baseball, a torture loving devil, one pushy Republican, suggestions of the source of political corruption — what could be more topical?

I’ll tell you. Seeing the *cough* insufferable DC council member Carol Schwartz across the theater, obscured by smoke from the stage.

The one downside is the building, which reminds me of the building of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Atlanta (itself not one of my favorites; alas, no interior pic shown) but with less capacity for getting to one’s seat.

A nod, too, to PeaceBang. She and I spent a Christmas together — 2000 or 2001? — in my apartment, eating ham, drinking German wine, and watching the film version. Good times.

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