Speaking as we were about Broadway revivals being altered to fit today's sensibilities, that's being done now for the forthcoming revival of Kiss Me, Kate.

There's a pretty good argument that can be made that this should not be attempted; that a show staged in the past and set in the past should reflect the attitudes of the past. I'm not that interested though in making that argument. I think it's okay in some instances and not in others. The revival a few years ago of Annie, Get Your Gun with Bernadette Peters changed a lot about American Indians and I suspect it was a better production for doing that. Kiss Me, Kate though is about men mistreating women and how it's wrong to do that. Don't you kinda have to keep in the part about men mistreating women in order to do that? We'll see what they do to it.

I'd never seen the 1970 Broadway musical about how four of Minnie Marx's five sons turned into Groucho, Harpo, Chico and Zeppo. The show Minnie's Boys opened March 26 of that year after an unusually-long string of previews — 64. Every so often, a new musical tries to open in New York without going outta-town first for tryouts. That means that New York audiences see the actors trying to perfect their performances plus all the stuff that the creative team decides must be tossed out or rewritten.

While Minnie's Boys was doing serious repair work, word got around and I recall reading an article at the time that said that much of the audience was going to see it not because they'd heard it was good but just the opposite. As I mentioned here, a lot of theater fans love it when a show flops and they can savor the pain of its creators and backers. Once it finally did have an opening night, it ran ten weeks and that was that.

Shelley Winters played Minnie and, according to all reports, lacked (1) the ability to sing, (2) the ability to remember lines, (3) the ability to deliver them in any tone but serious angst and (4) the sense and heroism to get out of a show she couldn't handle.

The producers wanted to fire her and bring in comedienne Totie Fields, who just might have had the star power to make the thing work, but Groucho (then 79 years of age) was insistent about how his mother would be depicted and for him, it was either Shelley W. or nobody. Also, it was rumored Ms. Winters announced that if she was ousted, she would sue the show into oblivion and also go on Johnny Carson's and others to denounce the whole project as the utterest of crap. So it was Shelley W. who stayed in it and is usually blamed for the failure, along with Groucho's stubborn refusal to allow her to be replaced.

After seeing a production of it last Sunday evening, I would like to suggest some blame is due to the script, which was by Arthur Marx and Bob Fisher and heavily rewritten on the fly during previews. A number of writers took a crack at fixing it and I dunno if they did too much or not enough but it was one of those. Ms. Winters is gone but the unimpressive book remains.

The production I saw was a one-shot staged reading in Glendale by the Musical Theater Guild, a prestigious organization which often takes on impossible challenges like this and usually succeeds. I really liked Susan Edwards Martin as Minnie and Matthew Patrick Davis, who played the man who would be Groucho. He did a fine job mimicking Groucho's famous delivery. His big problem was that Mr. Davis is 6'8" so even when he stooped over to do the famous Groucho walk, he was still taller than Harpo or Chico. Best of all was the score, which has many delights. It was by composer Larry Grossman (who was there for the performance and the limited rehearsals) and lyricist Hal Hackady.

The Broadway World website has posted two reviews of the one performance. This one I think overpraises it a bit and this one underpraises it a bit.

I admired the effort that the cast and their enablers put into it and there was a certain joy emanating from the stage that made me more forgiving of weaknesses. It also helps to remember that this was never represented as a polished presentation. It was a staged reading that was blocked, rehearsed and presented in a measly twenty-five hours with the actors holding their scripts throughout. I suspect if you saw Laurence Olivier do Hamlet book-in-hand after only 25 hours, you might well think he was among the worst actors ever.

I'm skeptical that we will ever see a major theatrical revival of this show. They don't do that for non-Sondheim shows that close on Broadway in ten weeks. But it does get revived a lot in community and local theaters. I did not have a bad time — and believe me, I've had them at musicals that had a lot more budget, a lot more prep time and a much better script to begin with.

Last June, Amber and I went back to New York and one of the things we saw there was the new production of one of my favorite musicals, My Fair Lady. I loved everything about it except the new ending. If you go to this post and scroll way down, you'll find a long explanation of why I didn't like the new ending.

The production has changed since then. Three of the stars I saw — Lauren Ambrose, Norbert Leo Butz and Diana Rigg — have departed. They've been replaced by (respectively) Laura Benanti, Danny Burstein and Rosemary Harris. Also, there appears to be a change to that ending I so disliked. Let me put up the spoiler alert —

— and then I'll quote a message I received from Dan Kravetz…

I saw the current production of My Fair Lady at Lincoln Center for the first time the other night, after having read the detailed review in your blog last May. The ending seems to have been changed. Benanti's Eliza does not run away or storm off stage into the audience.

I had read that in some early performances, Lauren Ambrose had actually slapped Higgins in the face before turning and running from him. Now, after Higgins asks
where his slippers are, Benanti comes up close to him and gives him a smile and friendly pat on the cheek, then turns and walks slowly in the other direction. The lights black out before she has stepped off the stage.

I think it much more in keeping with Shaw's proposal that although Eliza intends to marry Freddy, she and Higgins have not seen the last of each other. Her brief return visit can be interpreted as a way for her to pay one more tribute to the man who changed her life and changed her father's life, while also being changed himself, as she had observed during their scene at Mrs. Higgins' home.

People in the audience were still a bit surprised that the two are not reunited as lovers (Shaw was apparently asexual, and may have wanted Higgins to be the same), but it was really touching and effective, unlike what you described several months ago.

That's nice to hear…but did someone really think Higgins deserved a slap in the face? For what? Taking in a "prisoner of the gutters" and giving her exactly what she asked him for? Making sure she was properly chaperoned? Offering to fund her in a business of her own? Did anyone there understand that Professor Higgins was not Harvey Weinstein?

I wrote this entire post yesterday and it's just a coincidence that today, I see my buddy Ken Levine is highly recommending it on his blog. He saw the softened ending that Dan saw and still thought it was wrong…and he adored Laura Benanti. If she's still in the show next time I make it to Manhattan, I'm going again. Thanks, Dan. I hope you and my other readers enjoy these clips from the current version of the show in New York…

Give a read to Jonathan Chait here. He's quoting White House chief of staff Mick Mulvaney admitting that when he was in Congress and Obama was President, the Republican Congress did everything in their power to stop Obama from having any legislative successes. In the meantime, we have plenty of Trump supporters saying it's unethical and evil to do that to the current President.

I am informed that on tomorrow night's episode of Jeopardy!, one of the categories in Double Jeopardy will be The Eisner Awards. I have no idea what the answer is but if the correct question is "What is Groo the Wanderer?," you can probably bet that the contestant won't get it and that Jeopardy! will be cancelled soon after.

As mentioned here, our pal Frank Ferrante is currently starring in in Ken Ludwig's play A Comedy of Tenors at the historic Walnut Street Theater in Philadelphia. Frank also directed this production of the bawdy farce and like most farces, it requires the actors to make split-second exits and entrances and often costume changes. Since Frank plays two look-alike characters, he has at least twice the normal number of exits and entrances, plus plenty of costume changes.

Here's a short video shot backstage that may give you some idea of how hard one has to work doing a play like this. If you're anywhere near Philadelphia and would like to see it from the front and learn what all the running-around is about, here's how to get tickets. Frank will be doing this until March 3 by which time he should have dropped at least twenty pounds doing this eight shows a week…

Back when we had an Internet but no Facebook yet, a lot of our arguing was done on what were called Newsgroups — which I believe still exist but now Facebook is a much handier place to call someone an idiot. I once was involved with a lot of discussions on a newsgroup about Broadway-style musicals.

It was a gathering place for folks who claimed to love musical comedies but I was amazed how many of them seemed to live for the opportunity to trash some new production of something. There were people there who didn't seem to think anything was any good…and boy, were they happy when something flopped. There's no schadenfreude like theatrical schadenfreude.

As I get older, I have less tolerance for lists of The World's Worst Movies, The World's Worst Records, The World's Worst Comic Books, The World's Worst Cartoons, etc. I have one acquaintance who I doubt has ever seen a movie that he didn't describe at the time as "The worst movie ever made." They're all "The worst movie ever made!" Not long ago, we had approximately the following conversation…

HE: That movie I saw last night was the worst movie ever made.

ME: I thought the movie you saw last Saturday was the worst movie ever made.

HE: Oh, God, it was. The worst movie ever made.

ME: You cannot by definition have two films be the worst movie ever made. One of them must have been the second-worst.

HE: No, they were both the worst movie ever made.

ME: Why do you even go to movies if every one of them is the worst movie ever made? That's like saying, "Hey, tonight, I think I'll go eat the worst meal I ever had!"

HE: Not every movie I ever see is the worst movie ever made.

ME: Okay, name one that wasn't. Name one from the last three years.

HE: [Long pause while he tries to think of one.]

ME: [Trying to be helpful:] The Big Short?

HE: The Big Short? Are you kidding? That was the worst movie ever made.

ME: The Martian? Moonlight? The Shape of Water?

HE: No, those were all the worst movie ever made. Oh, I know one I liked! Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri!

ME: You told me that was the worst movie ever made!

HE: Well, maybe I did. But everything else has been so much worse so that one's looking pretty good now.

ME: Okay but you haven't told me why you still go to movies.

HE: Because I love movies.

ME: Just not 98% of them.

HE: Well…I have high standards.

I don't buy that. Maybe with some people but not with this guy. I think he hates movies because he's not part of that industry. It's not high standards. It's jealousy and resentment and maybe an inability to understand and/or respect how much hard work and best intentions go into even films that ultimately please very few people. I'm not saying there aren't bad movies — obviously there are plenty of them and reviewers should help identify them. But I sometimes can't take the glee some people show when they find something they can trash. They go in praying for it to be attackable.

This article started off to be about the musical Minnie's Boys which opened on Broadway in 1970 and closed there, eighty performances later. It has been said that it only ran that long because a segment of the theatergoing community bought tickets to chortle about how poor it was and to savor the schadenfreude. Its failure obviously pleased some.

I saw a production of it last night — a staged reading, actually — and I was going to write about it when I wandered a bit off-topic. Ill try to get on-topic by tomorrow. It was not the worst musical ever, as some have called it. I liked some of it but am not surprised it wasn't a smash and I'll try to tell you why I thought that.

Fifteen people have won an Emmy, an Oscar, a Grammy and a Tony Award. Can you name them all? I couldn't.

I go to too many funerals and memorials…but some you feel a genuine need to attend. Last night, there was a private, invite-only celebration in San Diego of the life of the much-beloved Batton Lash. Bat left us at way too early an age last month and I couldn't not be there for that one.

It was held in the mostly-empty museum in Balboa Park which will soon be the home of a museum dedicated to comic art and to the entity behind it, Comic-Con International. It consisted of several hours of people who loved the guy telling each other why they loved the guy. There were enough reasons that it didn't get too repetitive and even when it did, so what? I went fourth and I emphasized the organic nature of Bat's work; how the work was so likeable because the writer-artist was so likeable.

Also, I reminded folks that while Bat had studied the works of great comic creators and even studied with several of them, what he put down on the paper was uniquely his. He understood what they did and then did it his way…with a little help from his beloved spouse and partner, Jackie Estrada. And you'll be happy to know that Jackie, who did her usual superb event-planning, somehow managed to survive the evening without overdosing on hugs. If we must have people we care about die, they should all be sent off with an evening like that one.

Mark Mills writes to ask…

I guess I'm naive but isn't prostitution illegal in Las Vegas? Doesn't the law say it's legal only at a farther distance from state lines?

I get that it happens everywhere but it sounds like a cop could make dozens of arrests an hour. Are the police paid off or are there so many hookers that police can't dent their numbers?

My understanding is that it's legal in the state of Nevada but up to each county to ban it if they wish…and most wish. It's banned in Vegas or anywhere else in Clark County but if one drives far 60-90 minutes, one can find legal brothels in other counties.

The cops are not paid off. Within Clark County, it's one of those things where the law looks the other way as long as it stays among consenting adults and doesn't involve more overt crimes or minors or drugs. They police it when it becomes a nuisance or when someone complains they've been victimized or made uncomfortable.

At times, some of the casinos have let it be known that the ladies are welcome on their premises as long as they confine their solicitations to one specific bar and don't cause trouble. It's kind of a service to their customers. It is said that if you were a "whale," (a gambler who bets huge sums and usually loses) and you told your casino host that you wanted them to get you a girl for the night, some (not all, certainly) casinos would arrange that.

And that's about where my expertise on this topic ends.

Some years ago in Vegas, I was hanging out one evening with a group of stand-up comedians including a couple whose names you might know. They were playing whatever the comedy club at the Riviera was then called. This was back when it was run by Steve Schirripa, a few years before he hit in big on The Sopranos. Steve gave us all comps to the Riviera coffee shop after the last show that evening and we were sitting there eating free steaks when one of the comics proposed we all get into his van and drive to the next county for "window shopping."

He had in mind an area where there were three or four brothels close to each other. He explained that each had a little bar and you could go in and ask for a "lineup." All the ladies who worked there and weren't busy with customers would appear in a line wearing evening gowns or considerably less. You could look them over, pick out the one you liked best and go back to her "office" to discuss terms of employment and enjoyment. Or you could say, "Thanks, I may be back" and leave without making a purchase.

The latter is what he wanted to do — look without buying at each establishment. I'm not sure if this is because he was faithful to his wife or just cheap…probably both. But he just thought it would be fun to check out the whores and then maybe discuss which one each of us would select if we did make a selection. I couldn't think of very many things in this world I would less want to do. Maybe actually making a selection would be less desirable but not by much.

So I didn't go. One of the comedians who did described it the next night as the single most depressing experience of his life. And later, he said it made him feel worse about going on auditions.

Yes, yes…I understand why such places exist and why some men are glad they do. And I guess I think it oughta be legal everywhere for those who need the money and those who need the arousal. Supposedly when Australia made prostitution legal, albeit with many laws and restrictions, sex crimes went down and tax revenues went up.

But that's just for people who would find that appealing. Personally, I always thought the best part of sex was the thought that some woman I found attractive liked me enough to do that. A prostitute can do anything for you except give you that feeling.

As you might know, and will learn now if you didn't, Walt Disney had an apartment at Disneyland — a place he could stay when he worked late at the park. Let's go on a little tour of it, shall we?

Is there a TV show on these days that hasn't had Chris Christie on? He's been pushing his book, which ought be called Donald Trump Is One Of My Closest Friends And Here Are Some Of The Shitty Things He's Done To Me And Others and he's everywhere. When they unmask The Rabbit on The Masked Singer, it's not going to be Joey Fatone. It's going to be Chris Christie, I tell ya.

I find the former governor of New Jersey kinda fascinating. He's a good talker and he's skilled at intertwining honest admissions with dishonest ones or, when he so chooses, dodging a question altogether. If he hadn't gotten caught in that Bridgegate flap, he might have wrested the Republican nomination from Trump. Maybe. Since he did get caught, he left office with an approval rating of something like 15%, which is like two points below botulism. It makes him one of those political figures who are fascinating because they really have nothing to lose.

Here's Matt Taibbi on Christie's book. The gov ain't going away quietly. I'm not sure he's capable of doing anything quietly.

Lots of people sing this song but no one sings this song like Audra McDonald sings this song…

Okay, so here's the hooker story from my latest trip to Las Vegas.  I always seem to have one…

Wednesday night of last week, my plane got in around 9:15.  By the time I was checked into the hotel, unpacked and done with e-mails I had to send, it was 11:15 PM and I decided I needed some dinner.  I went online to the website of Giordano's, a Chicago-based chain that makes terrific deep dish pizzas and — lucky me! — has an outlet in Vegas, right in front of Bally's Hotel and Casino. I ordered an individual-size pie which, their website told me, would be ready at Midnight.

At 11:30, I left my hotel and began the hike over to pick up my order.  On the way, I passed a lot of those folks in colorful costumes who line the streets in touristy areas, hoping you'll tip them for posing with you for a photo. There was a homemade Mickey Mouse and a homemade Minnie.  There were shirtless body builders.  There were almost-shirtless showgirls.  There was a guy made up as Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movies.  Characters like that.

There were also guys trying to corral tourists — mostly male but some boy/girl couples — into agreeing to be whisked off to some strip club.  I heard one of the salesguys say, "While you're there, every third drink is free."  I don't drink but if I did, that offer would make me decide, "My, the drinks there must be very overpriced." And if two drinks are your limit, the club is now trapping you into a third which, among its other impacts on you, might cause you to spend a lot more money on the ladies than you intend.

One notch down the food chain from the strip club barkers, you had a couple of hustlers offering to fix single guys like me up on a "date." Having once been a teenage boy, I kinda understand the willingness to pay money for sex. I've never done it but I understand the feeling of necessity. What I don't get is committing to it without seeing the person you're going to be having sex with.  What if Ernest Borgnine has a surviving twin sister who's turned to prostitution?  Think about that but not for too long.

When I passed one of those fellows without showing interest, he yelled after me, "Don't like girls, huh?  Then how about some pot?  Everybody likes pot!"  Always nice to see an entrepreneur who knows how to diversify his business.

And then there were the dates themselves who had cut out the middle-men: Women who couldn't have looked more like hookers if they were holding "Will hump for money" signs. A couple of them struck me as ladies who could only make that sale to men who hadn't seen them. But a couple of them looked like if you were in the market for that service, you couldn't have done much better.

I navigated past all of these individuals and thoughts to get to the intersection of W. Flamingo Rd. and Las Vegas Boulevard.  There are elevated pedestrian walkways connecting these corners.  You do not cross on street level.  You take an escalator, elevator or stairs up to the walkway, cross up there, then take an escalator, elevator or stairs back down to street level. A trek like that would take me to my pizza.

The escalators were all outta commission and so was my knee which didn't like the whole concept of stairs just then, causing me to head for the elevator. The elevators don't get a lot of usage because they're out of the way and many people don't know they're there or that they don't double as urinals.  This one seemed clean so I got in, pressed "2" and just before the doors closed, another man slipped in with me.  He was ragged with zombie eyes…probably homeless, possibly crazy.

As we rode up, he was talking to someone — maybe even me — about killing someone — maybe even me. I wasn't particularly worried about him doing that between the first floor and the second but you don't want to engage with a being like that.

I got out on 2, relatively unkilled and walked across the pedestrian bridge to the elevator that would take me down. When it came, I noticed my unsavory elevator mate coming towards it so I stepped back and let him get in by himself. I figured I'd take the next ride down or maybe the one after.

Just then, a short black lady — obviously marketing her body that evening — started to board the elevator. I stopped her with a whispered "Don't get in."

She didn't get in but asked me, "Why not?"

I nodded at the guy and just then, as the elevator doors closed, he pointed at her and yelled, "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, bitch!" And then the doors shut tight.

She thanked me and said, "You saved my life!" I said I didn't think so but maybe we both oughta wait a few minutes before the ride down. "Let's give him time to wander back to his penthouse suite," I said. So that's how I wound up talking to a Vegas streetwalker for about five minutes. It was an interesting five minutes.

She was very young and quite attractive and it was all I could do to not say, "What the hell are you doing in this profession?" She asked me where I was from — I suspect they all ask that — and when I said Los Angeles, she said, "We have something in common! I'm from San Diego!"

That's right: We had something in common! We were both from Southern California! Just us and 23.8 million other people.

I told her I was going to San Diego next weekend and, well aware she was leading up to offering the rental of any or all of her body parts, I decided to preempt that by saying, "We can't talk long. My girl friend's back in the room starving and I need to get back there with a pizza before she eats the little soaps in the bathroom."

It was a lie — Amber was back home in L.A. — but the lady bought it and the trajectory of the conversation changed. "Are you going there for Comic-Con?" she asked. I told her no; Comic-Con's not 'til July. "Though I have been to Comic-Con a lot." She asked me how many of them I'd been to and I said, "All of them." That was not a lie…and boy, does it impress the ladies.

(Fun Fact: She told me her age and the year she was born, the Guests of Honor at Comic-Con included Ramona Fradon, Neil Gaiman, Gil Kane, Stan Lee, Irv Novick, Harvey Pekar, Stan Sakai, Joe Sinnott and Jeff Smith.)

She told me she loved San Diego but she couldn't find work there that paid decently so a year ago, she moved to Vegas where she also couldn't find a job that paid well enough…until she turned to her current occupation. I asked, "Do you like it?" She said, "Most of the time. Some guys are psycho but so were some guys I waited on when I worked at Sunglass Hut."

I thought but did not say, "Yeah, but I have a hunch there was a lower rate of disease transmission at Sunglass Hut."

About then, it occurred to me that anyone passing us, as lots of people were, would assume she and I were negotiating prices. One time late at night in New York, I got into a conversation with a lady of the same vocation at the corner of W. 56th Street and 7th. Some friends of mine were coming from the Carnegie Deli and they spotted me there and probably still think I was — you should excuse this choice of word — dickering.

That's when I fibbed again to this lady in Vegas whose name I never got. I said, "Listen, I have to really save a woman's life — a woman in dire need of pizza." We took the elevator down and since there was no sign of you-know-who, said our goodbyes. She went her way and I went to Giordano's and got my order.

On my way back with it, I took the walkway again and spotted her back up there, talking with a fellow I guess was a potential customer — or maybe he was on his way to pick up a pizza. She saw me and she waved and yelled, "Thanks again!" I yelled back, "Any time!" And a lot of folks heard that and I knew just what they were thinking.

I've complained about this before and I'll complain about it again and nothing will change but — well, just let me rant. That, after all, is why God and Al Gore invented the Internet…

I have a lot of trouble with hotel showers. I've stayed in fancy, expensive hotels and cheap, crummy ones. I'm usually not happy with the showers in either but generally have less problems with those in the cheap, crummy ones. In the upscale kind, design seems to be way more important than practicality. I can imagine the chief planner for a new hotel talking with the fellow who was brought in to design the bathrooms. They're looking at the prototype and the following words are spoken…

"I don't know, Leon. This shower you've built looks like it would be real easy for someone to fall in it and injure themselves…and there's no place to put your shampoo and conditioner when you're in there…and water's going to spritz all over the bathroom…"

"True. But look how nice the lines are…how beautiful the walls are…"

"You're right. Okay, let's order the parts to install 1,200 of them in the new building."

I probably should have started this by saying that I don't like these shower/tub combinations and I wonder how many people use the tub function at all.

The tubs all seem pretty small unless you specifically upgrade to some sort of "spa suite" with whirlpool jets, and such accommodations are usually costly and often unavailable. I don't like tubs anyway, partly because I don't fit in most of them and partly because even when I was younger, they always seemed tough to get into and tougher to get out of. When I travel alone to some hotels, I often book the cheapest room not so much to save money but because they usually have a shower that isn't also a tub.

Often at the desk, the check-in clerk asks if I'd like a free courtesy upgrade to the next level room. I always ask, "Does the next level room have a shower/tub combination?" They always say it does and I always decline the upgrade and they always look surprised. Above and beyond not trying to impersonate a bathtub, I would like my shower to meet four requirements…

1. I would like it to be designed so I can take a shower without spraying water all over the bathroom and having to step out into Lake Mead.
2. I would like it to have some sort of rack or shower caddy so I can have a place to put my little bottle of shampoo, my little bottle of conditioner, my large bar of soap and anything else I might need in there like a razor or my tube of facial scrub. I'm really amazed how many showers have no place whatsoever to put your necessities when you're in there and naked and wet.
3. I would like it to have a place to hang a small towel or washcloth.
4. And I would like it to have a couple of smartly-placed grab bars. Even those of us who don't qualify for what we used to call a "handicapped" room and now call an "accessible" room have the capacity to slip 'n' fall on wet, unfamiliar flooring.

That's all I want: Just four things. Not too much to ask, I think. Now with those in mind, let's evaluate the room I had on my most recent Vegas stay, and keep in mind that this is a new room in a recently-refurbished hotel. I'll embed a photo of the shower and fix things so you can make it larger by clicking on it…

So what do we see there? Taking them in reverse order, there are no grab bars…nothing to hold into if you feel you're going to fall. I don't get why those are not standard equipment in every shower. We all understand the upside of having them. What's the downside? The price? They're twenty bucks.

So we don't have #4.  We also don't have #3.  No bar on which to hang a face cloth or anything.  We kinda have #2.  See those little corner shelves?  My shampoo. conditioner and soap are on the top one and they fit, just barely, mostly because the bottles are tiny.  I'll give them half-credit for the shelves.  I guess they thought they didn't need bigger ones because they installed that little dispenser that's filled with shampoo, conditioner and body wash, all of unknown brand or formulation.

If you've been looking at the photo I took, maybe you've noticed by now that something else is missing.  Can you see it?  Or maybe I should ask, "Can you not see it?"  What's missing in this shower?  There is a showerhead but I didn't get it in the shot.  Something else is missing.

Give up?  A door.  There's no shower door to close and keep the water inside.

Instead — and I think this was deliberate — they installed shower heads that don't have much force so you have to stand right up close to them, putting you as far from the entrance as you could be. Maybe with a small showerer, that would work but the water was bouncing off me and going right out the opening where a door would have been. Even a plastic curtain would have stopped a lot of it. When I stepped out, it was like stepping into a wading pool. I threw down all the towels I wasn't using to dry myself and they soaked up some of the H2O but it was still messy, a bit unsafe for me and a lot of extra work for the maid.

I don't get why they make a problem out of something as basic as taking a shower. Yeah, I could ask for one of those "accessible" rooms but I feel like I might be taking one away from someone who'll check in later and really needs it. Also, there are drawbacks to them, like the last time I stayed in one, the bed was so low that it made getting into bed and out of it more difficult. And in that one, while I had grab bars, the shower also had no door on it.

I will probably complain about this again and then, as now, nothing will change so I'll complain about it again. And again. And again. And though while nothing will change, complaining about it will make me feel like I'm doing something about this. As we all know, feeling like you're solving a problem is almost as good as actually solving it. That's kinda what I'm doing here.

Coming Tomorrow: This trip's hooker story.