How will Clay fare as a triple threat? As far as the show’s producers are concerned, who cares? Every American woman over 50 (and many others from outside that demographic) will be flying, driving or walking to Manhattan and trying to snag a ticket.

No. I won’t be there to see Clay Aiken in Spamalot. His presence doesn’t make me want to see it at all. So there you go. And I’m an American woman over 50. As long as you count months as well as years. (And I only have one month to go until 51 pops up.)

I don’t really understand the Clay attraction … those “Claymates” are befuddling. Especially the one I saw who is an oboist. That is doubly puzzling. But I suppose the double reed makes everything double puzzling.

In Other News
For those of you who knew today was to be a Day of Splendor for me (well, if “ostomies” are splendid) I am home and just fine. The worst of it all was the magic potion—all four liters of it—I was blessed with last night.

I’m so hoping that those scanners Dr. Crusher used in Star Trek will become real tools sometime in the near future. Either that or beaming capabilities. With the latter I’d just beam myself somewhere else if I ever saw that huge container of awful tasting, gag inducing potion again.

Anyway, enough of THAT. I’m not going to dwell on what is past. Good idea, eh?

Now I can dwell more on what I have next week: One recital was canceled, so there will be no Quiet City after all. But I’m still playing in Symphony Silicon Valley (just one work, since I’ve opted for the English horn book), and a faculty recital at UCSC. (All of this can be seen at My Performance Schedule.