"I won't have to once I marry your daughter."

We are not talking subtle.

By the second act (better of the two), last night's assembly had degenerated into its own big party. As Lord Basil Decongestant and Lady Wilmaslipshow cavorted on stage, be-fogged alums and sotted students groped with one another, threw rice and generally had a hell of a time. So what if they couldn't hear Captain Comic, aka Lord Clark of Kent, aka Chad Hummel or even less from Ophelia Thise, played by Michael Anderson, who is mirable dictum, president of Hasty Pudding Theatricals. And may be there did seem to be two too many dancers on the stage all the time. Who, after all, really cares?

Not me, I just wanted to--and did--have a nice time. Why else would anyone go to a Pudding show. Maybe we're all whistling past the graveyard, watching all the loveable aristos thwart those gnarly peasants. Never will you see a group of people more determined to have a good time than at opening night at the Pudding. By the end they are desparate for the traditional kick-line. They erupt when the hairy legs finally start pumping.

"It's Ash Wednesday today, "one woman said, "Isn't it?"

"Well, kind of, "her friend said.