Oh, darlings, such good news - I'm almost as happy about it as Sandy, Bing, Pearlie Mae, and Bob!
After far too long, our own dear Thombeau has, in a lovely DollyLevi-ische way, come back to the lights of 14th Street - or at least to his own cozy corner of the digiverse, the splendiferous, long-missed, and wholly invaluable Redundant Variety Hour. It's a festival of entertainment so wrong it's very, very right. Where else might you find the Lennon Sisters in corsets, Tom Jones waxing histrionic in doubleknit, and Gwen Verdon in gaucho mode - to cite only the current top three numbers?
Hurry on over, carissimi, and let your clever host expand your consciousness. Soon you, too, will understand the central importance of Ann Miller to Western civilization, experience the profound surreality of '70s Italian prime-time television, and, possibly most importantly, learn that there has never been a more crucial forum for bringing together the greatest talent in the world than the pinnacle of twentieth-century performance art, Hollywood Palace. If it's your first taste, I'm deeply jealous; if, like me, you're rediscovering old friends (in the company of an even older one, the Master of Fabulon himself), well, at least now you know what you're doing in the evenings for the next week or so.
But do eventually come back this way - I can't tell you how I'd miss you if you didn't...