Depressing Night

My neighbor--Chinese--is singing "Memories" from that hit Broadway musical. Apparently he's rehearsing for some big KTV night because he's sung it through for the past hour and shows no sign of either stopping or improving.  All I can say is this: on a night when you've been stood up and forced to eat sauerbraten on your own, there is little more depressing than hearing a quavery tenor muff the top notes on anything from Cats. Curse you, Andrew Lloyd Webber, for writing tunes that amateur singers think they can sing. Jesus, what's next--the best of Chess? Mr. Wang Li's interpretation of Mary Magdalene warbling "I Don't Know How to Love Him?" (With a strap-on, perhaps?) Maybe I should just be glad to be spared that he doesn't know anything from Starlight Express. Oh, Jesus, no: it got worse. It's now "Music of the Night." I kid you not. I am taking the doggies out for a long walk before they start their sympathetic howling. My ears hurt, my heart is heavy, and I had way-way-way too much sauerbraten with its delicious gingersnap-thickened gravy. The only music of the night in my house is Duchess Doggie quietly being sick on the new carpet. Let's hope it was the music and not the dinner that did it.