Now, here's to the
ladies now.
Forget about the
Milords.
This is only for the ladies.
Chateau
Duhart,
Milan, 1994.
Wow, that is an expensive
bottle.
Here's to the ladies who lunch,
everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans and planning
a brunch on their own behalf.
Off to the gym, then to a fading,
claiming they're fat
And looking grim, cause they've been shading,
choosing a hat
Does anyone in this joint
still wear a hat?
I drink to that, over there I see a hat,
a nice hat
Here's to the girls who stay smart,
aren't they a gas?
Rushing to their classes in optical art,
wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a print, a play, perhaps a piece of my life,
drink to that, and
one for
Mama, an d one for me.
Here's to the girls who play wife,
aren't they too much?
Keeping house but clutching a copy
of life just to keep him down
The ones who follow the rules and
meet themselves at the schools
Too busy to know that their
foods are at their jam
I drink to them
Let's all drink to
That's all,
that's all a drink to them
And one for me
Yes to the girls who just watch
Aren't they the best?
When they get depressed
It's a bottle of scotch
Plus a little jest
Another chance to disapprove
Another brilliant tinker
Another reason not to move
Another vodka shinger
I drink to that
Let's all drink to
Let's all drink to that
Here's to the girls on the go,
everybody tries
Looking through their eyes and
you'll see what they know
Everybody dies
Toast to that invincible punch
The dinosaur surviving the crunch
Now here's to the
ladies who lunch
Everybody rise
Everybody rise
Everybody rise
Everybody die
Everybody rise,
it's yours my friend.
Let's talk about the moon over the
Café
Carlisle.
The moon always had been a symbol and a
theme to so many writers and composers.
A theme of love and romance.
Also a theme of craziness, addiction,
and all of that.
So many songs
have been written about the moon.
Ah, which ones did I choose?
The moon dance,
Ren
Morrison.
Moon over
Bourbon
Street,
Sting.
The grapefruit moon,
Tom
Waits.
The moon at the window,
Joni
Mitchell, and all those lovely,
sarcastic moons written
by
Bertolt
Brecht and
Kurt
Weill.
You know, the moon, after all,
is involved.
Right now he thinks he's in
Spain, in the city right there in the north,
and he sees
this new museum built
somewhere in the last century.
It's not so new anymore.
Lots of aluminum, lots of reflection.
Ooh, the moon is slightly confused to
see his brother right down there in this little
Spanish city.
That looks like me.
So he looks through
the glass roof of the
Palhaus in that city
and he sees the old pianist
Joe playing in that pub.
Joe is so old, he's older than the moon,
he's already in his next life
and he knows all those
beautiful melodies about the moon.
Ach,
Joe, play me one more time the
song from those old, old, old days.