Like Warts from a Studebaker

So much for my healthy New Year’s resolutions. Yes, I wanted to work on my immunity, energy etc.  And I was doing OK.  Until yesterday – I think I caught something at the theatre when I went to see Les Mis.  Maybe.  Or maybe it just was a crack in the door to let the melancholy in.  Plus a low grade temp* and body aches.  Chalk this sick day up in the same category with the childhood friend who claimed to have contracted warts from a Studebaker.  (We weren’t a Studebaker family, so what evidence did I have against it – right?)

I wanted to be one of the last people out of the auditorium so no one would see that I wasn’t crying.  Sorry – there were a few moments when I was touched.  But cry?  No.  I’m not the lachrymose type.  Even in the depths of despair…there are very few tears.

About the movie?  The profound messages to be found in the story were virtually drowned in deluge of recitative that just didn’t work for me.  I have a vague recollection of reading the story in junior high French class; my recollection being vague because I barely slid through the class.  I remembered Jean Valjean and the stolen silver and the Bishop who gave him the candlesticks he “forgot” when the police dragged him back for his theft.  That lesson stuck with me.  And it’s basically the most profound lesson of the whole movie.  A profound lesson that I hope was not lost on those for whom this movie was their first introduction to the story. 

The ending was touching.  But all the sung dialogue in between weighed it all down. Way down.  We should have been warned by the digital sign above the auditorium; limited space….MISERABLES.

Maybe I caught a bug at the theatre.  Like warts from a Studebaker.

*Found out that Fran’s temporal temperature scanner works better if you take the cap off.  Like a camera. D’oh.  I may have reached the point of wearing glasses on a chain around my neck.  Can’t work a foolproof thermometer.  Haven’t figured out how the toaster oven works.  At least the new toaster oven has put a hold on the ongoing toaster debate.  Our pater familias would like a toaster just like the one up on the farm in the UP, which is exactly like the one Mrs. Hughes brought to Downton Abbey last week.   First world problems…