By popular demand, I’m going to do a halfhearted and highly truncated review of the show, focusing on the musical performances, okay? Here we go:

Janelle Monae opened the show and even though it was a wildly all-over-the-place showbiz mishmash, she is a great performer who deserves our praise. She’s come a long way from an obscure fashion darling with a great Rockability look, to queer-spokeswoman Superstar. If she’s good enough for Prince, she should be good enough for you. She can sing, she can dance, she’s really pretty and she still has great style. You go, Janelle.

Idina Menzel is still someone who I don’t know anything about. I don’t like her name. It sounds like a marriage counselor who won’t be able to solve your problems. Whatever. She has great big pipes like an American Idol contestant and she wore a questionable Princess dress. I don’t know why there were a hundred other singers onstage who shouted along in foreign languages. Do you? It was stupid. Sorry, Rosetta Stone and Babble users.

Elton John was probably good but all I could focus on was the big lacquer red piano. It was so beautiful! I want one. Who doesn’t love lacquer red, especially in a piano or home appliance? I like the purple suit with the red, one of my favorite color  combinations. We will miss Elton when he’s gone, even if we’re sick of him at the moment. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Cynthia Erivo was fantastic, singing the song from her movie about Harriet Tubman. I had no idea that she was a singer! And Tony-winning Broadway star! Her performance was flawless, unlike her acting in the stupid Steven King series I’m watching on Netflix. What’s it called? She plays a weird psychic detective. It’s a terrible role and not her fault.

Crissy Metz is too fucking fat. Come at me, body-acceptance militants and fat-apologists! Too fat is too fat. It’s scary and unhealthy. Just admit what your eyes are telling you. I can’t say anything about her performance, obviously, because I’m such a big meanie that I didn’t notice her voice.

Billie Eilish singing “Yesterday” was surprisingly great. Surprising to me, since I have been braced to dislike her, given all the hype about her and her kooky green hair. But what a talented girl! She’s clearly on a bummer, and I can relate. At only 17, it’s quite a mature bummer, bringing to mind the young Fiona Apple. I think Billie will be a force in music much longer than Fiona was. I hope so.

Eminem was a big deal, apparently baffling the entire world with his appearance. Personally, I wasn’t baffled, just thrilled to see him, even though he could lose the beard, right ladies? He’s still a thrilling presence on stage, and dynamic as ever, even though someone criticized him for being winded at the end. I will have sex with him ANY DAY. Here’s what I wrote about him in 2011, and I’m standing by it:

Eminem confirmed his status as the rapper we’d most like to have sex with. An angry ball of rage, Eminem is on fire! He is the Ryan Gosling of rap. Talent plus intensity plus physical charisma = YES.

If there was anyone else, too bad for them.

There you have it. I hope you’re satisfied, you, the people!

If you haven’t seen The Big C, it’s a Showtime series about a spunky woman who has cancer.   A subplot features Gabourey Sidibe as a teenager whose boyfriend is a Russian immigrant, played by Boyd Holbrook, a popular male model and houseboy-quality hottie.

Every single time this couple appears in a scene, I can’t help but mutter, “As if” or “Oh please.” I don’t know how my husband can stand it.

I feel like if you’re not blind, you can see that Miss Sibide is too fat. She’s too fat to be healthy and too fat to be attractive. Maybe she’s a wonderful human being but she’s too damn fat.

Does the show want to make a statement about tolerance? Do we have to pretend that we don’t find the relationship absurd? Is it meant to challenge our “comfort zone?” For me, it only challenges my suspension of disbelief.

While it’s not fair that women are pressured to be thin, does that mean no one is too fat?

It doesn’t help that Miss Sibide’s acting is so awful in this role.   I’m sure she was phenomenal in Precious, but when she drones “You just want to get into my pants!” like she’s reading the phone book, I can’t help feeling she was cast primarily to irritate or disturb us. And it worked!

Thoughts or recriminations?

First of all, she is fat, let’s just admit it. I saw her on TV with David Letterman, recalling how hurt she was when the tabloids called her “fat”.   Then she talked about her ex-boyfriends, and her new reality show.

Have you ever seen someone on TV who is so stupid that you want to cover your eyes? This is the true horror of Jessica Simpson. She brays loudly and inappropriately after making awkward jokes, all the time being fat. I had to turn away out of common decency.

Now I find that she’s involved with Billy Corgan, who wrote a song for her new show. I know how much everyone hates Billy Corgan but I love him!   Loved him, I guess. Why does he want Jessica Simpson?! Is it because she’s “sexual napalm?” Isn’t napalm a bad thing? And what if he wants a coherent conversation after the napalm?

I’m just depressed about the whole thing. And don’t tell me she’s not fat. She’s not fat like her awful sister didn’t have a nose job.

I finally decided to see the doctor today, when my terrible sore throat turned into a fever with body aches and a rattling bronchial cough. Since I didn’t already have an appointment, I was told I could be a walk-in patient but I’d have to wait.

After an hour of waiting in a nearly empty waiting room, I was joined by a teenager who’d been stung by a bee. Her father was an asshole. They took the bee-sting girl and left me to wait, coughing my guts out. I asked why the girl got to be seen before me, and that seemed to elevate the hostility from behind the window.

I lay down across some chairs, and tried to stop coughing. Patients arrived and were led behind the door to see their doctors. They were all fat. The women behind the glass window were fat as well, and spoke in proud pidgin English or whatever it’s called when you’re Latina and refuse to use proper grammar.

A father arrived with four kids under the age of ten. I was entranced by how gently he brushed his son’s hair behind an ear stuffed with cotton. The youngest child walked over to me to look at the fish tank. We talked about the stuff in the tank and she called the sponge a “ponge.”   I was brokenhearted when her father took her away to see their doctor.

Three hours passed. I decided that the office women were punishing me for not being fat. I wanted to stick my head through the window and scream, “It’s not my fault I’m not fat.”

Meanwhile, I brought a book with me that I’ve meant to read for years: The Afterlife, by Donald Antrim. It turned out to be a memoir about a crazy mother. The writing is amazing. The kind of writing that hits the exact right spot, like sex. It was so intense that I had to keep putting it down to recover from it.

Finally, I pretended to have to use the restroom, and I went behind the door. I sat on a chair in the hall where no one could ignore me, and coughed dramatically.

A doctor I’ve never met before asked me what the problem was. I told her that one problem was the 3 1/2 hour wait. I confided that it was punitive because the office women hated me. She reacted badly to this so I apologized and told her my symptoms.

She gave me some antibiotics, some cough syrup with codeine, and a ridiculous lecture about my attitude. She told me that there was a time to be stoic and a time to be vulnerable. Except she said “vunerable” without the L. That was the last straw. I felt a visceral* repugnance for this doctor, who then went on to ask “What are you doing for yourself?” I am always disgusted by that question and I don’t like to lower myself to answer it. I told her, Well, I write.

She said, “That doesn’t count. I mean, like music.”

*The word for this week is visceral.