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Dearest Julie Andrews:
I love you, Julie. I really do. I love you, passionately. So please don't misunderstand me when I say that I feel there are a few things I should draw to your attention, for your own good. Like, okay, well, for starters. So, Julie, when you learn a song, you probably get some sheet music for it, right? Like, notes on a page. I'm not sure if anyone ever told you, but those notes on the page? They're the notes you're actually supposed to sing. You're not really supposed to start with the note just below the note on the page so that you can swoop up into the note, or the note just above the note on the page so you can scoop down to the note; not even the four notes below the note on the page so you can swoop up through *all* of them, or the two notes above so you can jitter down through both of them. Oh, and when you sing a note? You could stand to sing it, like, right away. Instead of all this wacky shit with the delayed gratification singing, where we get to wait an aeon or two before you decide to progress to the chord that the orchestra has been patiently holding for a measure and a half just for you. Rubato does not mean "singing like you got your feet stuck in a puddle of glue on the previous note".
I said it before, but I love you, Julie. You're beautiful and you have a gorgeous singing voice and you look really really hot in drag. And you've even been known to write a half-decent children's book or two. So why this nonsense with the scooping and the swooping and the waiting eight years to move from one note to the next? You're better than that, Julie. Please take note.
Don't make me vote for Bernadette Peters in my own poll.
P.S. You could also stand to dial the vibrato down a notch or two, but we'll leave that for the moment.
P.P.S. Please stay gay for Carol Burnett, though.
P.P.P.S. I hope you got your voice back after that botched vocal-cord surgery, because otherwise this post makes me a total tool.