Maine has many lobster shacks. Today, I watched lobsters swimming, playing out their version of West Side Story. As my brood ordered their artery-clogging meals, replete with beer and wine, I wandered over to see the tribute to Michael Jackson. Imagine my horror watching Mariah Carey singing five hundred scales for one note, her hands flying everywhere. Can't singers sing ONE freaking note instead of twenty? Too many young "artists" fall back on troping, not realizing the power of singing without all the detours. MJ certainly didn't trope us to death. Stop it, Mariah. Also, she could build papier mache pinatas with all her hand activity.I stirred up an attempt at romantical excitement by flirting with a barely legal bartender "Warren" from Jamaica. So classy of me. I gave him a nice tip for finding me a crappacino and then I let him pick my dessert. It was so How Stella Got Her Groove Back except I'm white as a ghost and my fatness levels are far higher than Angela Bassett's.
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