The Home: A Maybe-Should-Be Musical About The Elderly and Their BMs

Ever since my grandma fashioned one her residence during the final two years of her adorable life, my mom has been saying I need to write a musical comedy based on nursing homes.  Think Avenue Q and Spamalot-style song and dancery in the setting of your common neighborhood nursing establishment.  Those places are so full of depression, wrinkles, funny smells and urine-soaked carpet that they offer tremendous opportunity for humor and parody, and could use a little pep in their step.  A musical would be an awesome way to explore that.  There could be passion and horror.  Drama and pizzaz.  Imagine the dramatic songs between a sick elderly mother and her concerned daughter juxtaposed with an uptempo number during Bingo night with grannies twirling around on their walkers and tangoing with their oxygen tanks.  Brilliance!  Move on to cover musical guest night, solid foods night, being alone on holidays… and we can’t forget songs about wiping bums.  NO SIR.

Playbill design: Check

Potential acts I came up with in the last 2.3 minutes:

Opening number, performed by an old lady:
“All On My Own (I Used To Walk)”

She discusses her depressing life with a new resident at breakfast:
“Life’s Not Over Just Yet”

Her eggs don’t agree with her digestive system:
“It Takes Two to Tango, But Just One to Wipe Jeannie’s Ass”

In bed, thinking about how she’s not ready to die:
“Hey St. Peter, That Light Is Too Bright (Good Thing I’ve Got My Blu-Blockers)”

Soiling another pair of pants to get a moment of pleasure:
“Those Cheeks (The Studly Man-Nurse)”

Thinking about the family she never sees:
“Quit Trafficking Drugs and Call Your Nana”

Talking with a man over The Price is Right:
“Greg Died in the Parlor”

Family takes her home for a holiday:
“I’ll Forget This Place Before I Come Back”

Looking at old family pictures of her teenage dancing days:
“I Used To Be a Ballerina, Now I Have Handles On My Toilet”

Family returns her after the holiday:
“I Don’t Live Here, You Fascist Bastards! WHERE THE F!#@ ARE WE?”

This is something I very much want to do.  Why hasn’t it happened?  Well, I don’t know how to write music, for one, which is a significant reason.  I could write lyrics and melodies and come up with songs, but actually composing music and putting little squiggles on paper for musicians to read?  NO SIR.  Plus there’s always that whole “I don’t have enough time” argument, which is a lame but effective reason for not doing things.

If I take advice from Smash, which I’ve been watching because I’ll watch anything musical theater-related even if it is ridiculous, all I need is a partner with whom I can engage in witty and mostly unproductive banter in a bright, well-lit loft apartment.  One to bounce ideas off of and who has a similar creative mental direction to myself.  Preferably a hot 43 year-old woman with fiery red hair and nerd glasses.  ARE YOU THIS PERSON WITH WHOM I SHALL MAKE MAGIC?

I also think a Mamma Mia-style show with nothing but Jonathan Coulton music would be intensely fantastic.  JoCo, let’s discuss.

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