I own a “smart tv.” It’s definitely smarter than I am. I am incapable of watching what I want to watch, which is mostly a limited number of old shows I like to see more than once. MidSomer Murders (the John Nettles ones) and a couple others.

I have an enormous CD collection and a CD player, which I’m more likely to listen to since I get lousy reception for the best public radio station in the world (WNCW, 88.7 FM - if any of you receiving this would be willing to extend my antennae up to my chimney, I’d be most grateful. And I’ll pay you!).

After a lovely supper of ribs at my neighbor Mary’s, I came back to check the online news and play Idiot’s Delight after loading Meatloaf’s Best Hits into the CD player (which had five other discs already in it). Ever since I saw him in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I have loved Meatloaf.

That CD played, and now I’m listening to what I believe is Randy Newman, a songwriter my brother Marty told me about a gazillion years ago. When I worked for Southern Bell HQ in Atlanta many years ago, a Division level manager whose name I fortunately have forgotten, decided that for that year’s annual Southeastern Bell Convention, he wanted to put on a big show. In the company newsletter, he put out the call for help, and asked everyone who responded to come to the HQ auditorium to sign up for various roles and tech positions.

The first thing he did when we all settled into our seats was ask, “Is Lucy Gregory here?” I raised my hand, and - long story short - based on what I’d listed about community theatre experience (I mostly cited my extensive involvement with The Milwaukee Players, where I’d done literally everything except direct or hang lights), he asked me to help.

Basically, what followed was me writing the script for, selecting the music, and directing the ensemble in “The Telephone Comes to Dogpatch.” If truly talented people hadn’t signed up, it could have been awful. However, an amazing number of talented employees came together and it was a huge hit. One woman had obviously played the piano for musical shows before. The guy who painted the set (see an old “Lil’ Abner” comic strip) exactly duplicated Al Capp’s style.

We had auditions, and everyone I cast was perfect. I cast that manager guy as the telephone salesman who is carried offstage by three local yokels while they sing Randy Newman’s “Don’t Want No Short People” (he really was short!).

I believe there were about 3,000 attendees, and the show was a big hit. The only monkey wrench in the works was that Mr. Manager wanted to be credited as the director. I pointed out to him that I had written and directed it, and that his actual role was that of producer (not exactly true, since all he’d done was ask for help and accept a role). He refused that title (which I believed appropriate and - appealing to the better nature he didn’t possess - glamorous).

It’s ancient history, and that guy is probably deceased by now.

My internet crashed before I finished tonight’s story, so I’ve come back to it at 2:34 am the next day, and I have to be at my volunteer job at the Chamber in fewer than 7 hours. The fun never ends.

Goodnight!

Lucy