In weak defense of my past creativity; and a hearty F*** YOU to those that besmirch it.

It's amazing what will break your heart.

Yes, the Red Wings played poorly and lost last night; but to put it another way, the Penguins played well, got good goals, and it was a hellava game and a hellava series. So, no, that didn't break my heart.

What broke my heart tonight was something so simple, and so inconsequential in the overall scheme of things that I'm embarrassed to be so affected.

It was an offhand comment over something I created years ago.

I worked for this theatre back in the late nineties, and the early years of this century. It was a small theatre, specializing in melodrama and such; and every show was followed by a "vaudeville"-style review. And part of the joy of working at this place was creating something like that. And I was allowed and honored to create a few in the four years I worked there.

I did one on Baseball I was very proud of.
And one about the old school days that nearly killed me, but turned out very well. An Emmy winning choreographer called it "genius."
And I did one that focused on an Country Western radio station that was weak.

But I did this one I was very proud of: It defined description. In fact, while all the others had names, this one absolutely refused to accept a name. Officially, it was called The Silliest Vaud, Ever. But they called it all sorts of names, including Our Tribute to the Encyclopedia Britannica.

It was series of song and sketches that I gleaned from the history of the theatre; I picked the funniest things I could find. And it brought down the house; I can still remember sitting outside with the owner of the theatre and listening to the laughter.

A very gratifying moment.
That was completely destroyed by an off-hand comment from somebody who was in it, that has been deleted from my friendslist.
Because they are no friend of mine.

Like I said.
Very silly to get your heart broken over something so stupid.

Still.
It's kind of like insulting my kid.

Make no mistake.
I'll kick your ass if you insult my kid.

But the best I can do in this case is delete the b***h that called it terrible.

My heart is broken at the thought that this person, whom I liked, was so dissatisfied with the material.

But then, I remember the sound of the audience.
And the b***h can go straight to hell.

And with that, I bid you good evening.