~ WG boogies with the Queen of Disco ~
On Sunday morning Darren and I had an 8:30 breakfast reservation at the always hoppin' Hell's Kitchen in Minneapolis. (Yes, even on a romantic weekend getaway, sleeping until 7:45 is considered late for us.)
We had hoped that the establishment's name would make it a sanctuary from the GOP evangel-zombies, and for the most part, we were able to enjoy our tasty breakfast free of the disturbing sight of women in coordinating track suits and McCain pins.
[As an aside, the peanut butter they make at Hell's Kitchen is to die--and go to hell--for. I bought a small jar, but I already wish I'd chosen the large. You can buy some for yourself here.]
Perhaps it was the bison sausage I had with my breakfast combo, perhaps it was my body succumbing to GOP-toxicity, but by mid-afternoon, I began to suffer some rather unpleasant tummy issues. I won't offer further unwelcome detail.
I took a nap and many over the counter remedies, and by evening I was able to pull myself together to attend enough to attend a Donna Summer concert with my youngest sister, Sheila. For two hours we shook our money-makers to disco classics like I Feel Love, Bad Girls, Dim All the Lights, McArthur Park, and She Works Hard for the Money. It was the music I loved best in my teens, and they are songs that Sheila has literally known since she was a toddler.
Donna's voice remains something of a miracle. At age 60, she sings effortlessly, powerfully, and with full command of the range she demonstrated at the height of her commercial success in the late 1970's and early 1980's.
She is touring to promote Crayons, her first studio album in seventeen years, and she clearly had some big label money behind her production. There are several standout songs on the new CD, but like the rest of the crowd, I was there to hear the classics. Apart from the inexplicable omission of Love to Love You, Baby, I wasn't disappointed.
When I woke up on Monday, my wrists were sore from all the clapping.
Alas, my stomach was also back to its mischief, so instead of going to a cool brunch (complete with champagne-sabering) as I had planned, I spent my day lying low, feeling crummy, and watching tennis on TV.
And thus ends the tale of WG and the Labor Day weekend. And look--it got us nearly to another weekend!