Mr. Porter Regrets

This weekend past, we excavated the garage/shop, which had become mired in dust and mass quantities of stuff. (For instance: 24 empty gallons of paint and 13 spent cans of spray paint–the remnants of almost seven years of projects, waiting to be disposed of at the hazardous waste place.) We used the excuse of brush and bulky day to get rid of non-hazardous but offensive stuff, such as a weird and ginormous shop tabletop improvised out of the remains of the generic kitchen we demoed shortly after moving into the house. Good riddance.

These efforts only represent a partial purge. The space needs a second go-over, which we will tackle at an unspecified future date. Possibly after my sinuses have recovered from the dust trauma.

With that project nearly finished, we’re coming to the end of the purging process I began back in May. It’s so clear that we have outgrown our little bungalow, and I see all of this purging as 1) simplifying and 2) getting ready to move on. Meanwhile, a homely hot mess of a house is for sale in our neighborhood and its price is so very tantalizing. …could we afford to put our house on the rental market and buy a new project house? I so adore a project house! We have been turning over this possibility for several weeks, but many of the variables involved are outside of our control. Limbo sucks.

You know what doesn’t suck? Vauxhall and I. I found it in the garage and immediately needed to listen to it. But it was trapped in Seth’s tricky five-disk changer, the one he’s had since high school that you have to press on in a secret sweet spot to get it to open. He liberated the CD for me and I’ve had it on rotation since. Here’s a song I’d completely forgotten.

My favorite part of this live version (apart from the Moz huggers) is the lack of a buzzsaw. Though the studio version has a superior-sounding percussion section at the end (maybe it was better there, in the flesh…the studio version of this Neko song, for instance, feels flat to me but is amazing live because of the percussion).

Anyhoo. I can’t hear “Speedway” without thinking of “Kiss Me Kate.” Here is a travesty: that I can’t find a clip of Ann Miller performing this on YouTube. Instead, eight million high school theatre productions, each cringe-inducing to varying degrees. This Julie Wilson clip is cute if you can get past Bill Hayes’s clunky couple lines at the beginning:

It seems far-fetched to me that Morrissey would have a soft spot for American musical theatre. But entirely plausible that he might have an appreciation for Cole Porter.


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