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This is from the musical, Carousel, but we discovered it first on
Bernadette Peters Loves Rodgers & Hammerstein
“Oh his name is Mister Snow
And an up-standing man is he.
He comes home every night in his round-bottomed boat,
with a net ful of herring from the sea.
An almost perfect beau.
As refined as a girl could wish.
But he spends so much time in his round-bottomed boat
that he can’t seem to lose the smell of fish…”
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YVONNE: It’s hot and it’s monotonous.
LOUISE: I want my glasses.
FRANZ: This is not my good profile.
NURSE: Nobody can even see my profile.
CELESTE 1: I hate this dress.
CELESTE 2: The soldiers have forgotten us.
FRIEDA: The boatman schwitzes.
JULES: I am completely out of proportion.
SOLDIER: These helmets weigh a lot on us.
OLD LADY: This tree is blocking my view.
LOUISE: I can’t see anything.
BOATMAN: Why are they complaining?
It could have been raining.
DOT: I hate these people.
ALL: It’s hot up here
A lot up here.
It’s hot up here
Forever.
A lot of fun
It’s not up here.
It’s hot up here,
No matter what.
There’s not a breath
Of air up here.
And they’re up here
Forever.
It’s not my fault
I got up here.
I’ll rot up here,
I am so hot up here. …
I hate these people.
ALL: It’s hot up here
And strange up here,
No change up here
Forever.
How still it is,
How odd it is,
And God, it is
So hot!
…
DOT: Hello. George.
I do not wish to be remembered
Like this, George,
With them, George.
My hem, George. Three inches off the ground
And then this monkey
And these people, George-
They’ll argue till they fade
And whisper things and grunt.
But thank you for the shade,
And putting me in front.
Yes, thank you, George, for that…
And for the hat…
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Pretty isn’t beautiful, Mother,
Pretty is what changes.
What the eye arranges
Is what is beautiful.
Order.
Design.
Tension.
Balance.
Harmony.
Sunday,
By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Purple yellow red grass,
Let us Pass
Through our perfect park,
Pausing on a Sunday
By the cool
Blue triangular water
On the soft
Green elliptical grass
As we pass
Through arrangements of shadows
Towards the verticals of trees
Forever…
By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Orange violet mass
Of the grass
In our perfect park
Made of flecks of light
And dark,
And parasols:
Bumbum bum…
From Sunday In the Park With George
It’s even better when you hear Mandy Patinkin sing it.
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Louis is really an artist:
Louis’ cakes are an art.
Louis isn’t the smartest-
Louis’ popular.
Everybody loves Louis,
Louis bakes from the heart…
The bread, George.
I mean the bread, George.
And then in bed, George…
I mean he kneads me-
I mean like dough, George…
Hello, George…
Louis is always so pleasant,
Louis’ always so fair.
Louis makes you feel present,
Louis’ generous.
That’s the thing about Louis
Louis always is “there.”
Louis’ thoughts are not hard to follow,
Louis’ art is not hard to swallow.
Not that Louis’ perfection-
That’s what makes him ideal.
Hardly anything worth objection:
Louis drinks a bit,
Louis blinks a bit.
Louis makes a connection,
That’s the thing that you feel…
We lose things.
And then we choose things.
And there are Louis’s
And there are Georges-
Well, Louis’s
And George.
But George has George,
And I need-
Someone-
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Order.
Design.
Composition.
Tone.
Form.
Symmetry.
Balance.
More red…
And a little more red…
Blue blue blue blue
Blue blue blue blue
Even even…
Good…
Bumbum bum…
More red…
More blue…
More beer…
More light!
Color and light.
There’s only color and light.
Yellow and white.
Just blue and yellow and white.
Look at the air, miss-
See whet I mean?
No, look over there, miss-
That’s done with green…
Conjoined with orange…
Ruff! Ruff!
Thanks, the week has been
Rough!
When you’re stuck for life on a garbage scow
Only forty feet long from stern to prow
And a crackpot in the bow-wow, rough!
The planks ere rough
And the wind is rough
And the master’s drunk and mean and-
Grrrruff! Gruff!
With the fish and scum
And planks end ballast-
The nose gets numb
And the pews Bet callused.
And with splinters in your ass,
You look forward to the grass
On Sunday,
The day off.
(barks)
Off! Off! Off!
Off!
The grass needs to be thicker. Perhaps a few weeds.
And some ants. if you would. I love fresh ants.
Roaming around on Sunday,
Poking among the roots and rocks.
Nose to the ground on Sunday,
Studying all the shoes and socks.
Everything’s worth it Sunday,
The day off.
(sniffs)
Bits of pastry…
Piece of chicken…
Here’s a handkerchief
That somebody was sick in.
There’s a thistle…
That’s a shallot…
That’s a dripping
From the loony with the palette…
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A generally underrated musical, Sunday In the Park With George, is a lovely dramatization of how hard it is to love and support the unique (but difficult) talents among us. There isn’t a song in this musical that doesn’t strike us, eventually, and then it’s like — realizing why something someone said to you an hour ago was a very, very clever joke.
Topics scrutinized in this amazing musical include:
Looks to me like this links to the whole libretto. But
much better to listen to the CD first, then watch the
video.
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One of the fun things about this song is that it positively outrages
quick-to-judge grownups when they hear children (or anyone) singing so cheerfully about possibly throwing
their lives away on the Wall of Death. When you listen carefully, though,
you realize that the song is actually about riding a roller-coaster. Extremely catchy tune, also.
We are much taken by Nanci Griffith’s rendition on
Other Voices, Too (A Trip Back To Bountiful)
Let me ride on the Wall of Death one more time
Let me ride on the Wall of Death one more time
You can waste your time on the other rides
But this is the nearest to being alive
Let me take my chances on the Wall of Death
You can go with the crazy people in the crooked house
You can fly away on the rocket or spin in the mouse
The tunnel of love might amuse you
And Noah’s Ark might confuse you but
Let me take my chances on the Wall of Death
On the Wall of Death
All the World is far from me
On the Wall of Death
It’s the nearest to being free
Well you’re going nowhere when you ride on the carousel
And maybe you’re strong, but what’s the use of ringing a bell
The switchback will make you crazy
Beware of the bearded lady
Oh let me take my chances on the Wall of Death
…
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| Author: | Ayn Rand |
| Reading Level (Conceptual): | Children 12 and up |
| Reading Level (Vocabulary): | Children 12 and up |
| Genre: | Fiction |
| Year of publication: | 1946 |
At one point, I actually believed that Ayn Rand had overreacted and that most people respect and understand that they need intelligent, capable people around them. Read The Fountainhead; Atlas Shrugged is identical except that it's much longer. | |
If you found this review helpful and/or interesting, consider supporting our book habit: Buy this book!: Fountainhead, The | |
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| Author: | Jonathan Stroud |
| Reading Level (Conceptual): | Children 12 and up |
| Reading Level (Vocabulary): | Children 12 and up |
| Genre: | fiction |
| Year of publication: | 2003 |
CAUTION: This wonderful trilogy features characters with whom the reader will fall in love, and significant violence that has predictable consequences. Please, before recommending this first volume to a sensitive young reader, either read the whole trilogy or read our reviews of book two and, especially, book 3. Sardonic musings of a demon summoned by an academically under-challenged 12 year old apprentice wizard. | |
Together, they save Civilization as they know it. First in a trilogy. Luckily, unlike Inkheart and Eragon, this book's sequels are already in print. -- Emily Berk | |
If you found this review helpful and/or interesting, consider supporting our book habit: Buy this book!: Amulet of Samarkand, The (Book One of the Bartimaeus Trilogy) | |