I stepped on my Kindle.
This is one of the main things you should not do with your Kindle. Step on it. When you step on it, it stops being a Kindle. The only thing it's really good for after you step on it is throwing it at librarians. Because it would be really ironic. Other than that, though, a stepped-on Kindle is useless.
I've stepped on a few books in my life, and the books remained readable. Not the Kindle. They don't tell you that when you buy the Kindle. They don't say, "Hey, you can't step on this thing, you know." If they had said that, I probably would have stepped on it anyway, because who thinks he's ever gonna step on his Kindle? Not me, baby. I had gotten into the habit of placing my Kindle on the floor beside my bed (because my night stand, which is a stool, can hold only my radio alarm clock, my reading glasses, and my iPhone), and I was diligently leaning up and over my bed to put my DVDs in alphabetical order...What, you don't have your DVDs in alphabetical order? What's the matter with you?...and after I had squeezed MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY (1935) between THE MUSIC MAN (1962) and MY COUSIN VINNY (1992), I leaned back to admire my assiduousness and heard a tiny little "crack," which was my Kindle turning into a large coaster.
I contacted Amazon and, amazingly, even though the warranty had expired, they reported that they would replace my $350 Kindle for $89. I thought this was a good deal. But then I realized the brand new up-to-date generation Kindle was $189, so I ordered that one. It's smaller, I understand, which gives me a little better chance of not stepping on it.
But I'm guaranteeing nothing.
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I just received a call on my cell phone. I monitored it, because I didn't recognize the number. When I checked the voice mail, I was advised that the call came from "Beverly Hills, California." Cool, I thought. Maybe my ship had finally come in. When my ship comes in, I am convinced it will come in via telephone. People don't write letters or send emails when they have "your ship has come in" type news. They call. I never look for anything exciting in the mail. But when the phone rings and it's from "Beverly Hills, California," there's always the possibility that something I wrote, somewhere out there, has been discovered and I will not have to go on relief. Or whatever destitution is called these days.
Well, it wasn't that kind of news, but it wasn't bad. It was Warner Bros., or somebody affiliated somehow with the Ben Affleck film, THE TOWN, inviting me to the premiere, which is going to be held in Boston on September 14. I had a couple of days as an actor on the film and when I returned the voice mail and learned about the invite, I asked the person if this meant my scene had made it into the movie. She couldn't promise me that, but she could promise me two tickets to the premiere. This is good. I may even shower that day.
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I have switched my dinner hour repeats viewing from SEINFELD to THE OFFICE. My God, are those shows funny! I really think they should stop filming when Steve Carrell leaves after this season. Not that the writers and producers couldn't still come up with more funny situations but...what they'll have accumulated after seven or eight seasons, or whatever it is, is so GOOD, it could only be comparably lame, in my opinion. Gervais stopped his British OFFICE after two and a half seasons, and it's considered a classic. I think this American OFFICE will eventually be considered a classic series as well. So why not stop with Carrell's final episode? Please!!!!
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I'm ready to read the sequel to THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO.
But I can't.
I stepped on my Kindle.
And that's where the book is.
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Now that I live in New Hampshire, it's become necessary for me to fling dog shit over the fence. I never did this in Lowell. I did encounter dog shit in Lowell, because the people who moved in downstairs had a dog and he would "contribute" to the front yard, but if I had flung his dog shit over the fence, it would have landed on the windshield of passing Nissan Sentras and would not have been appreciated. In Derry, though, our backyard fence features, on its other side, a mini-forest that belongs to my brother and sister-in-law and when Eddie and Timmy (the dogs) "contribute," all we have to do is get the little dog shit shovel and flick the DS over the fence into our mini-forest. My first two or three attempts were somewhat hazardous, in that I was using way too much wrist. When you are flinging dog shit over the fence, you MUST keep the wrist out of it. Or wear goggles. The wrist just makes the flinging way too treacherous. No. What you must do to properly fling dog shit over the fence, is you treat the little shovel like a shot put, stiffen your arm, brace your legs, and "put" the shit, with a hearty thrust, over the fence. I have to admit, I've become very good at this, so if you need a lesson in dog shit thrusting, please, give me a call. My rates are very reasonable.
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Monday, August 16, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
August 11, 2010 Remembering Ed LeLacheur
So much has been written over the past few days about my friend--our friend, everybody's friend--former State Rep Ed LeLacheur and his boundless enthusiasm for life and service, that nothing I can contribute here can really add much to his legacy. I do have two stories, though, from my experience with Ed, to pass along.
If you played baseball at any time in your life, you remember that one play that is the "best" you ever made. Some of you are lucky, in that the "best" play happened in a real game, a sanctioned game, maybe even a playoff game. Not me. The "best" play I ever made happened in batting practice.
We were at Manning Field. Probably a Saturday. The Sacred Heart Parish--"The Haht"--was putting together a softball team to play in the church league. Maybe the late 70's, early eighties, something like that. A bunch of guys were fiddling around before the first practice started, and the fiddling evolved into something of an organized batting practice session. You know--guy grabs a bat, takes a few swings, another guy grabs a bat. Not all that formal, but...organized nonetheless. For some reason, I planted myself at third base to shag whatever came off the various bats as I awaited my own turn. All I remember about the rest of that day is Eddie, taking his swings, lifting a pop foul behind the bag at third, which then drifted toward the corner in left. I sized it up, and started back to shag the fly. Shagging flies in batting practice usually means picking the ball up off the ground after the fly lands. But I saw that I could get to this pop up. It would not be easy, but...I don't know...for some reason I felt I needed to make the play. So I turned on the jets--don't laugh, I had jets then and when push comes to shove I have jets now--and I kept the soaring sphere (yeah, I've read purple baseball prose before, too) in sight as I peeked when I could at the chain link fence that separated the field from the parking lot down the left field line. I wasn't going to make it. The ball was going to hit the ground and my effort was going to be all for naught. (I try to do as little as possible for naught in my life.) My back was completely turned from the field. LeLacheur was probably leaning into the next batting practice pitch. Nobody was watching me. Still--I had to catch this ball. And just before it was to scrape the fence, I lunged forward and Willie Mays-ed the thing into my glove. Without question, the best baseball play I ever made. Nobody cared then. Nobody cares now. I know this. But Eddie's passing allows me to tell the story, because he was the guy who hit the ball.
My second and favorite recollection of Ed has to do with his infectious sense of humor.
It's another "Haht" story. This time, again in the 70's, it's the Sacred Heart Bowling League which met weekly at the Brentwood Lanes. A machine of a league coordinated by the late, great Frank Flynn, and we all had a terrific time. From this point on in the story, except for LeLacheur, I'm not going to name names. I think everybody's dead, but I'm still clamming up on the names. People have relatives.
Anyway, it's early in the evening and LeLacheur is there, yucking it up with the rest of the guys. At one point, one of the older guys in the league--big,blustery, pipe-smokin' Irishman--points to another guy about to roll. The other guy is also older, but smaller, quieter, and probably not all that Irish. Kinda reminded me of Donald Meek in the movies or John Fieldler on TV. Anyway, the blustery Irishman takes a look at Donald Meek and says to LeLacheur, "That's the pastor, isn't it?" Of course, it was not the pastor. Not even close. But Eddie saw an opportunity and took it. "Sure," says Eddie. "That's the pastor. Absolutely."
And that was it. For a while. The evening wore on and, for all intents and purposes, Donald Meek guy was the pastor to the Blustery Irishman guy. The rest of the bowlers in LeLacheur's group got into it, too, deferring all evening to Donald Meek guy--"Nice one, Father!" "Way to go, Father!" "Which Mass are you saying on Sunday, Father?" LeLacheur, the instigator, just let it keep going.
Until the end of the evening approached. At that point, Eddie pulled Donald Meek guy aside just before he was about to try for a spare and whispered something into his ear. Donald Meek guy nodded, and made his way to the lane. He took his duckpin ball, and lined up his shot. Blustery Irish guy watched. Donald Meek guy made his approach, rolled the ball, and missed the spare.
(In the interest of keeping the blog relatively clean, I'm misspelling the featured word in this upcoming rant.)
"What the eff was that!" Donald Meek guy roared! "Did you guys see that effin' ball! The effin' lane is effin' warped! I'm not bowlin' at this effin' place ever again!"
Blustery Irish guy blanched. I think he may have even dropped his pipe into his lap. Every bowler in the place, by that time, was in on the joke. Everybody roared.
Nobody, though, more than LeLacheur. I had never seen anybody more ecstatic in my life. His laughter thrust him away from the lanes, over by the bench near the front door, where he collapsed in an avalanche of guffaws.
To me, it wasn't just the idea of the gag that was brilliant. It was the execution. The timing. The patience it took to get from the set up to the delivery.
I will remember Ed LeLacheur for many things--including the fact that the last time I saw him, he came to see my play THE PORCH in Stoneham, and I believe he had a great time.
But this memory--which I call "That's the pastor, isn't it?"--is my favorite.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
August 4, 2010 (a Surrounded By Idiots entry)
I would like to introduce you to Timmy on the right, and Eddie, below. They are very sweet little dogs owned by my brother and my sister-in-law, and they live with all of us in Derry, NH. As you can see from a quick viewing, these dogs are not Idiots. However, they are living in a worldwhere Idiots abound, and they are not happy about it. Especially Eddie.
Earlier this summer, I was making daily trips between Lowell, MA and Derry as I moved from one place to the other, and as I toodled in my Sentra off the Exit 4 ramp, I would be greeted by two huge stores, both of which sported huge signs reading FIREWORKS! Two stores. Within 100 yards of each other. Each store selling FIREWORKS. I knew I was not in Kansas anymore. Or, maybe I was, I have no idea what the FIREWORKS situation is in Kansas.
Anyway....back to the doggies. These little guys are just the best tempered animals you could ever want to meet. Loving and playful and almost always silent. Just...perfect pets. Until the Idiots interfere.
Okay, so, you're a guy. And you're an Idiot. You're looking for something to enliven your dreary summer. Your options are few, because of the Idiocy. I mean, let's face it, you're not planning trips to Tanglewood or the Williamstown Theatre Festival. The Red Sox are wallowing around .500 and there haven't been any new episodes of COPS for weeks. What's a fella to do? Well, that's simple. A fella goes to one (or maybe both) of the TWO stores in town selling FIREWORKS, and he loads a shopping cart full of things that blow up and make a lot of noise. Because what else will enliven a calm and balmy summer's evening better than a shopping cart full of things that blow up and make a lot of noise?
So you get home and you unpack your goodies and you go out in the back yard and you wait until after 10pm, because what good is blowing up stuff early in the evening when everybody in the neighborhood is AWAKE? Ten o'clock rolls around and BOOM BITTY BANG BANG you are off and running, lighting up your firecrackers and cherry bombs and whatever the hell else it is you put on your debit card that rocks the audible universe. (I apologize for knowing no technical terms for the things that blow up and make noise, but my Idiocy is in another area altogether.) The night is alive with snaps, with crackles, with pops and with ungodly booms. Your summer is enlivened. Good for you!
I ask you (the reader, not the Idiot) now to scroll back to the top of this entry and re-introduce yourself to Eddie and Timmy. They live in a neighborhood where these noisemakers live. And the following is my interpretation of what they are "saying" to each other as they try to relax in their previously quiet little home. Anything below in small letters is a growl. Capital letters denote barking.
Scene: Eddie and Timmy sit in the living room, enjoying the blissful peace of a summer evening. Then...
BOOM!
Eddie: WTF????
Timmy: Oh, Jesus. Oh, what was that? Oh, Jesus. Oh, crap.
Eddie: WTF WAS THAT SHIT?
Timmy: Oh boy. Oh, boy. Not good. Not a happy thing. Bad stuff. Oh, boy. Bad shit going down.
Eddie: COME ON! LET'S GO TO THE WINDOW!!!
Timmy: Really? You think we should do that? All the way to the window? Closer to where the shit is?
Eddie: COME ON!!!!
They leap onto the sofa and look out the window.
Eddie: Okay, nothing. No more whatever that was.
Timmy: You think it's over, Eddie? You really think? Jeez, I hope so. Boy, that was god awful whatever that was.
Eddie: Ssh! Listen. Listen. (beat) Nothing.
Timmy: Okay. Good. Whew. Glad it was nothing.
BOOM!
Eddie: WTF??? WTF????!!!
Timmy: Oh, Christ! Oh, CHRIST! We're gonna die. I know we're gonna die!
Eddie: W. T. F??????????
Timmy: And I don't even know what dying is!
Eddie: COME ON, LET'S GO TO THE BACK DOOR!
Timmy: Why?
Eddie: MAYBE WE CAN GET OUTSIDE AND ATTACK IT!
Timmy: Attack what?
Eddie: HOW THE HELL DO I KNOW, ATTACK WHAT? LET'S JUST GO. WE CAN'T STAY HERE ON THE COUCH.
Timmy: Oh, Jeez, okay...Oh, Jeez...Oh, boy...
They leap off the sofa and race to the back screen door.
Eddie: OKAY, WHOEVER YOU ARE OUT THERE, STOP THIS SHIT OR WE'LL COME OUT AND BEAT THE CRAP OUTA YOU!
Timmy: Oh, Eddie, do you really think that's a good idea, I mean, maybe they'll get madder and just...
BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!
Timmy: WTF!!!!!
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Okay, you get the idea. I know nobody who reads this blog of mine is an Idiot, so I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but, my GOD...is there anything less productive, less constructive, and more dehumanizing than going out in your friggin' backyard POINTLESSLY setting off firecrackers and cherry bombs and other BOOMING things in the middle of the night and scaring the bejesus out of sweet little dogs?
Anyway...if you run across any Idiots who might benefit from reading this, please pass it along.
Friday, July 23, 2010
July 23, 2010
So I believe I've determined that I don't know enough about any one thing to ever put together another blog entry on a single subject, so rather than risk running out of Roman numerals with the "Shards" thing, I'd thought I'd just title the entire blog "Shards" and identify each entry by date.
That way, the pressure of trying to come up with 250 words on one issue would be eliminated. Eliminating pressure is one of my main goals in life.
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I finished reading THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO and immediately brought up the Swedish film version on my Blu-Ray via Netlflix. (Of course, I checked out what Roger Ebert had to say about it first.) I enjoyed the book. I loved the movie. Usually the other way around with me. And just about everybody. The film, featuring a number of actors whose names I can't spell, eliminated a couple of the sexual dalliances featured in the book, in order to more specifically focus on the mystery unraveled over the course of 140 minutes. Subtitles, of course, but that's never bothersome after a couple of minutes. I will now read the second installment in the "Millennium Trilogy," and, after that, check out the second film. I know there's an American version on the way, though I can't imagine casting could be any more appropriate than what the Swedes managed. I like George Clooney, too, but...come on....his name is way too easy to spell for this story.
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Speaking of sexual dalliances uncovered in film versions of best-selling novels--I'm reminded that, in Peter Benchley's JAWS, the Richard Dreyfuss character, Hooper, has an affair with the wife of Roy Scheider's character, Brody. How unnecessary that would have been to the Spielberg film. Besides, Lorraine Gary wouldn't have given Dreyfess a second glance.
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I stayed up until 2 this morning watching the Red Sox beat Seattle, mainly because I couldn't believe they blew a five-run lead in the ninth. That kind of disbelief can lead to all kinds of insomnia.
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Everywhere I drive this summer, there is construction. I had no idea there were that many orange barrels and cones in the world.
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I am totally infatuated with my new GPS. I love being told where to drive. I had originally gone with the female voice (I forget her name--isn't that just like a guy?), but that became way too distracting. I kept wanting to go to dinner and then drive to the Showcase Cinema and see "The Kids Are All Right." So I am now taking directions from "Jack," the voice that shares my name. I like to mess around with Jack's electronic brain every once in a while, and I will disobey his instructions just to hear how many times he can say "recalculating" without getting pissed off at me. So far, every time!
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I have set up the DVR to record the mini-series of Ken Follett's PILLARS OF THE EARTH this week. Ian McShane and Donald Sutherland. Hope it's as good as the book.
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The end of my daily run these days, now that I'm living in the wilds of New Hampshire, is a relentless one-mile incline. The first few times I tried it, I kept my head down and just looked at the road, forcing myself to not stare up the road at the never-ending hill. Lately, though, I hold my head up and laugh derisively at the mini-mountain as I trundle my way to the top. I always bring my iPhone with me, though, in case my derisive laughter turns into a cardiac event. Never had to worry about that when I ran around the very flat Edsen Cemetery on Gorham Street in Lowell.
That way, the pressure of trying to come up with 250 words on one issue would be eliminated. Eliminating pressure is one of my main goals in life.
-----
I finished reading THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO and immediately brought up the Swedish film version on my Blu-Ray via Netlflix. (Of course, I checked out what Roger Ebert had to say about it first.) I enjoyed the book. I loved the movie. Usually the other way around with me. And just about everybody. The film, featuring a number of actors whose names I can't spell, eliminated a couple of the sexual dalliances featured in the book, in order to more specifically focus on the mystery unraveled over the course of 140 minutes. Subtitles, of course, but that's never bothersome after a couple of minutes. I will now read the second installment in the "Millennium Trilogy," and, after that, check out the second film. I know there's an American version on the way, though I can't imagine casting could be any more appropriate than what the Swedes managed. I like George Clooney, too, but...come on....his name is way too easy to spell for this story.
-----
Speaking of sexual dalliances uncovered in film versions of best-selling novels--I'm reminded that, in Peter Benchley's JAWS, the Richard Dreyfuss character, Hooper, has an affair with the wife of Roy Scheider's character, Brody. How unnecessary that would have been to the Spielberg film. Besides, Lorraine Gary wouldn't have given Dreyfess a second glance.
-----
I stayed up until 2 this morning watching the Red Sox beat Seattle, mainly because I couldn't believe they blew a five-run lead in the ninth. That kind of disbelief can lead to all kinds of insomnia.
-----
Everywhere I drive this summer, there is construction. I had no idea there were that many orange barrels and cones in the world.
-----
I am totally infatuated with my new GPS. I love being told where to drive. I had originally gone with the female voice (I forget her name--isn't that just like a guy?), but that became way too distracting. I kept wanting to go to dinner and then drive to the Showcase Cinema and see "The Kids Are All Right." So I am now taking directions from "Jack," the voice that shares my name. I like to mess around with Jack's electronic brain every once in a while, and I will disobey his instructions just to hear how many times he can say "recalculating" without getting pissed off at me. So far, every time!
-----
I have set up the DVR to record the mini-series of Ken Follett's PILLARS OF THE EARTH this week. Ian McShane and Donald Sutherland. Hope it's as good as the book.
-----
The end of my daily run these days, now that I'm living in the wilds of New Hampshire, is a relentless one-mile incline. The first few times I tried it, I kept my head down and just looked at the road, forcing myself to not stare up the road at the never-ending hill. Lately, though, I hold my head up and laugh derisively at the mini-mountain as I trundle my way to the top. I always bring my iPhone with me, though, in case my derisive laughter turns into a cardiac event. Never had to worry about that when I ran around the very flat Edsen Cemetery on Gorham Street in Lowell.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Shards V (not so delayed)
So until I can construct one extended, cohesive thought, I'm gonna have to keep the "Shards" thing going. I'm trying to remember the last extended, cohesive thought, I had. Let me see...uh...
On another matter, I'm in Shaw's in Derry the other day, seeking out my beloved Waist Watchers aspartame free diet soda, when I see this kid, like eight years old, and not a miniature eight years old at that, sitting INSIDE the shopping cart his mother is hauling through the store. The kid (young adult) barely fits inside the thing, and his mother has to find whatever body-part-free nooks and crannies the lazy brat has left so she can stuff her various shopping items in them. He's sitting there, sucking on some kind of ice cream treat, while she's gathering foodstuffs and carefully inserting them in the parts of the cart where her son isn't. Okay, I'm coming down pretty hard on the kid when, truthfully, what the hell is this mother thinking? I hope she's thinking, "He'd better remember me when it comes time for the nursing home." And he'd better.
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The cable went out for a few hours yesterday afternoon, during the Red Sox game. And...I didn't care. Goes to show you what kind of season they're having. Plus, I dropped two notches down from leading my fantasy league this week. It doesn't help to have Pedroia, Buchholz and Justin Murneau all on the DL at the same time.
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I finished a short play which I hope will be part of the new Emerson College-Paramount Theatre event this fall. I utilized, once again, the two characters from my recent Boston Theater Marathon plays--Bethel and Clarice--who have been so beautifully played by Ellen Colton and Bobbie Steinbach. It's called CASTING AMANDA, for those of you keeping score.
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From the "My Mother Never Threw Anything Out" department--I just found my father's draft card from 1944. He never entered the service, but from the card it looks like he was 1-A. Perhaps the events in Normandy slowed things down a bit. Plus, I think he was kind of the head of his household at that time.
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Up until this year, I had not been in a swimming pool since 1973, when I broke down and took a swim in Gail Gilman's pool. Why, you may ask, if I'm such an aquaphobe, did I take a swim in Gail Gilman's pool in 1973? One look at Gail Gilman in 1973, and you'd have your answer. She asked me to. I did what I was told. Since that time, though, I've had no reason to indulge in any kind of waterfest. Now, though, with a beautiful pool in the backyard, I've come to see the attraction of a cool dip on a sweltering afternoon. "A Cool Dip On A Sweltering Afternoon." Sounds like the B-side of a bad Mel Torme 45.
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I listened to the Original Cast album of CHICAGO as I ran today. We're kinda thinking of doing the show at Dracut High School next spring. I have my fingers crossed, 'cause I'd love to direct it. Listening to the album also reminded me of the great, great show business career turned in by the late Jerry Ohrbach, who played Billy Flynn in the original. A New Yorker who pretty much stayed there, he fashioned himself a career that, while based in the theatre, spanned movies and TV, including superb work on LAW AND ORDER and in Woody Allen's terrific CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS. He was the original El Gallo in THE FANTASTICKS and the original stage version of Chuck Baxter in PROMISES, PROMISES. And then there was 42nd STREET. And many other shows. Amazing.
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Okay, I'm now guilty of over-using the word "amazing," and I will work to avoid using it in the future. I'm still trying to get the rest of the world off "awesome," but I'm failing miserably. Even when I suggest the far more jauntily tongue-tripping "wicked pissa" as a replacement.
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Two entries in one week. I'm exhausted.
On another matter, I'm in Shaw's in Derry the other day, seeking out my beloved Waist Watchers aspartame free diet soda, when I see this kid, like eight years old, and not a miniature eight years old at that, sitting INSIDE the shopping cart his mother is hauling through the store. The kid (young adult) barely fits inside the thing, and his mother has to find whatever body-part-free nooks and crannies the lazy brat has left so she can stuff her various shopping items in them. He's sitting there, sucking on some kind of ice cream treat, while she's gathering foodstuffs and carefully inserting them in the parts of the cart where her son isn't. Okay, I'm coming down pretty hard on the kid when, truthfully, what the hell is this mother thinking? I hope she's thinking, "He'd better remember me when it comes time for the nursing home." And he'd better.
-----
The cable went out for a few hours yesterday afternoon, during the Red Sox game. And...I didn't care. Goes to show you what kind of season they're having. Plus, I dropped two notches down from leading my fantasy league this week. It doesn't help to have Pedroia, Buchholz and Justin Murneau all on the DL at the same time.
-----
I finished a short play which I hope will be part of the new Emerson College-Paramount Theatre event this fall. I utilized, once again, the two characters from my recent Boston Theater Marathon plays--Bethel and Clarice--who have been so beautifully played by Ellen Colton and Bobbie Steinbach. It's called CASTING AMANDA, for those of you keeping score.
-----
From the "My Mother Never Threw Anything Out" department--I just found my father's draft card from 1944. He never entered the service, but from the card it looks like he was 1-A. Perhaps the events in Normandy slowed things down a bit. Plus, I think he was kind of the head of his household at that time.
-----
Up until this year, I had not been in a swimming pool since 1973, when I broke down and took a swim in Gail Gilman's pool. Why, you may ask, if I'm such an aquaphobe, did I take a swim in Gail Gilman's pool in 1973? One look at Gail Gilman in 1973, and you'd have your answer. She asked me to. I did what I was told. Since that time, though, I've had no reason to indulge in any kind of waterfest. Now, though, with a beautiful pool in the backyard, I've come to see the attraction of a cool dip on a sweltering afternoon. "A Cool Dip On A Sweltering Afternoon." Sounds like the B-side of a bad Mel Torme 45.
-----
I listened to the Original Cast album of CHICAGO as I ran today. We're kinda thinking of doing the show at Dracut High School next spring. I have my fingers crossed, 'cause I'd love to direct it. Listening to the album also reminded me of the great, great show business career turned in by the late Jerry Ohrbach, who played Billy Flynn in the original. A New Yorker who pretty much stayed there, he fashioned himself a career that, while based in the theatre, spanned movies and TV, including superb work on LAW AND ORDER and in Woody Allen's terrific CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS. He was the original El Gallo in THE FANTASTICKS and the original stage version of Chuck Baxter in PROMISES, PROMISES. And then there was 42nd STREET. And many other shows. Amazing.
-----
Okay, I'm now guilty of over-using the word "amazing," and I will work to avoid using it in the future. I'm still trying to get the rest of the world off "awesome," but I'm failing miserably. Even when I suggest the far more jauntily tongue-tripping "wicked pissa" as a replacement.
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Two entries in one week. I'm exhausted.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Shards IV (greatly delayed)
Clearly, I need to work on my blogging.
Clearly, I am not a dedicated blogger.
It's good that I have only eight followers, because, clearly, I am not a good leader.
I will try to improve.
Some random things to type about, relative to the last two and a half months...
I am typing this from a lovely deck overlooking a lovely back yard and a lovely pool in Derry, New Hampshire, where I now almost reside. I am in the process of actually moving ALL the stuff of my life for the first time in twenty-five years, and the undertaking is mammoth. I have thrown NOTHING away, and, while I'm getting better at discarding little bits and pieces of my life, I'm still a hoarder. I have until July 31 to gather and store what needs to be retained. I have moved and stored all my books and my vinyl. You know, the important stuff. Now, for the rest of it.
I have created a mancave here in my new digs. I have ensconced myself in a corner of the first floor of my brother and sister-in-law's house, and turned it into a combination screening room, library, kitchenette, sleeping quarters and semi-office. And the bathroom is only a few feet away. Eventually, the plan is to build a real office out over the garage. I may never leave New Hampshire again.
An exaggeration, but it is very, very nice here.
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Just back from New Century Theatre at Smith College in Northampton where I directed my play TO FORGIVE, DIVINE as part of New Century's 20th Anniversary Season. I am co-founder of the theatre, along with Sam Rush. On July 18, 1991, we presented the first performance at New Century--my play JERRY FINNEGAN'S SISTER, featuring Chris Connell and Jenna Moscowitz. Jenna was in the audience for TFD last week and looked not a day over the 21 she was when she did the show. TFD, after battling through the smallish audiences over the July 4th weekend, played to big, responsive houses for the final five shows, and it was a wonderful experience, working with old friends Dave Mason, Sandra Blaney, Ed Jewett, Barb McEwen, and Catherine Bloch, and introducing the NCT audience to young Nora Kaye. Good show, I think.
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Been getting some significantly favorable response from some savvy actor friends about my new play, AULD LANG SYNE. In the well-respected tradition of not jinxing it, that's all I'll say about it.
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Anybody seen Kevin Bacon in TAKING CHANCE? Worth the rental. He's never been better, and the story, about a Marine colonel accompanying the body of a fallen soldier back to his hometown, is gut-wrenching.
-----
And then there's the just-released documentary on Joan Rivers, entitled JOAN RIVERS, A PIECE OF WORK, which I highly recommend. It is honest beyond belief and Joan is funny as ever as she scratches and claws through a year in the business, battling a system that reveres youth and sidesteps performers of a certain age. Check it out.
-----
Reading a couple of swell books on my Kindle: THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO by Stieg Larsson and THE MEN WHO WOULD BE KING, an examination of the life of DreamWorks SKG, by Nicole Laporte.
-----
I'm glad THE CLOSER is back and I don't give a damn how much you don't like Kira's Southern drawl because the stories are interesting and well written and the acting is terrific. So there.
-----
Among the vinyl I have successfully stored in my move is an album of John Kiley organ solos. Does anybody know who that is? Don't quote me on this, but I bet John played "Sweet Caroline" at Fenway before he passed away.
-----
Okay, I'll try to save something and perhaps come up with another entry within the next three months.
Clearly, I am not a dedicated blogger.
It's good that I have only eight followers, because, clearly, I am not a good leader.
I will try to improve.
Some random things to type about, relative to the last two and a half months...
I am typing this from a lovely deck overlooking a lovely back yard and a lovely pool in Derry, New Hampshire, where I now almost reside. I am in the process of actually moving ALL the stuff of my life for the first time in twenty-five years, and the undertaking is mammoth. I have thrown NOTHING away, and, while I'm getting better at discarding little bits and pieces of my life, I'm still a hoarder. I have until July 31 to gather and store what needs to be retained. I have moved and stored all my books and my vinyl. You know, the important stuff. Now, for the rest of it.
I have created a mancave here in my new digs. I have ensconced myself in a corner of the first floor of my brother and sister-in-law's house, and turned it into a combination screening room, library, kitchenette, sleeping quarters and semi-office. And the bathroom is only a few feet away. Eventually, the plan is to build a real office out over the garage. I may never leave New Hampshire again.
An exaggeration, but it is very, very nice here.
-----
Just back from New Century Theatre at Smith College in Northampton where I directed my play TO FORGIVE, DIVINE as part of New Century's 20th Anniversary Season. I am co-founder of the theatre, along with Sam Rush. On July 18, 1991, we presented the first performance at New Century--my play JERRY FINNEGAN'S SISTER, featuring Chris Connell and Jenna Moscowitz. Jenna was in the audience for TFD last week and looked not a day over the 21 she was when she did the show. TFD, after battling through the smallish audiences over the July 4th weekend, played to big, responsive houses for the final five shows, and it was a wonderful experience, working with old friends Dave Mason, Sandra Blaney, Ed Jewett, Barb McEwen, and Catherine Bloch, and introducing the NCT audience to young Nora Kaye. Good show, I think.
-----
Been getting some significantly favorable response from some savvy actor friends about my new play, AULD LANG SYNE. In the well-respected tradition of not jinxing it, that's all I'll say about it.
-----
Anybody seen Kevin Bacon in TAKING CHANCE? Worth the rental. He's never been better, and the story, about a Marine colonel accompanying the body of a fallen soldier back to his hometown, is gut-wrenching.
-----
And then there's the just-released documentary on Joan Rivers, entitled JOAN RIVERS, A PIECE OF WORK, which I highly recommend. It is honest beyond belief and Joan is funny as ever as she scratches and claws through a year in the business, battling a system that reveres youth and sidesteps performers of a certain age. Check it out.
-----
Reading a couple of swell books on my Kindle: THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO by Stieg Larsson and THE MEN WHO WOULD BE KING, an examination of the life of DreamWorks SKG, by Nicole Laporte.
-----
I'm glad THE CLOSER is back and I don't give a damn how much you don't like Kira's Southern drawl because the stories are interesting and well written and the acting is terrific. So there.
-----
Among the vinyl I have successfully stored in my move is an album of John Kiley organ solos. Does anybody know who that is? Don't quote me on this, but I bet John played "Sweet Caroline" at Fenway before he passed away.
-----
Okay, I'll try to save something and perhaps come up with another entry within the next three months.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Shards III
I'm at Barnes and Noble again. I come here so that I can be in the company of human begins instead of staring at the four walls of my office all the time. However, sometimes the humans make me crazier than the four walls.
What some of the humans like to do, usually female humans who are at Barnes and Noble with mute friends or husbands, is grab a magazine from the rack, take it to a table, and read impertinent facts to the mute friend or husband. Interminably. Today, the female human who visited the magazine rack brought the current Red Sox Yearbook back to her table, which just happened to be right next to mine. And then she proceeded to broadcast to her friend the vital statistics, player by player, of most of the team members.
"Dustin Pedroia. Five-nine. A hundred eighty five pounds. Imagine."
Pause. Pause. Pause. Nothing from her friend. Then...
"David Ortiz. Six-five. Two hundred thirty five pounds." Pause. Pause. "Imagine."
My God.
------
Gotta tell you, they REALLY pissed off Jack Bauer a couple of weeks ago when they shot Renee through that apartment window, thus ending her two-year (excuse me, two day) stint on the show. Haven't the bad guys on 24 learned that it's just not a good idea to piss off Jack Bauer?
For those of you missing Renee, she has resurfaced as Annie Wersching in this month's Esquire. She is the featured player in the "Funny joke told by a beautiful woman" page. the joke isn't funny. It doesn't matter.
-----
You know, you guys, when you drive by in your car and you see me running up by the Edson Cemetery or Shedd Park, and you honk your horn and I wave back as if I don't know who you are, it's because, most of the time, I don't know who you are, because I cannot see through the glare in your windshield. Nothing against you. It's just your windshield. But thanks for caring.
-----
Disappointed in DATE NIGHT, which is one of the few movies these days I went out of my way to see. (It's easier, ain't it, to just wait for the DVD?) I couldn't be a bigger fan of Steve Carrell or Tina Fey. Each is at the top of his/her game these days. But the movie, with so much star potential, just kinda fizzles in its preposterousness. These are clever actors, and writers, and they are put through typical romcom/action movie moments through most of DATE NIGHT, and it wears thin fast. I wanted to like it. I really did. But I didn't. Sorry.
-----
I did, however, really like Roman Polanski's GHOST WRITER, with Ewan McGregor and Pierce Brosnan. Say what you want about Polanski, he knows how to make a thriller that keeps you guessing right up to the last frame of the movie. CHINATOWN. ROSEMARY'S BABY. Good stuff. Even idiots can make good movies.
-----
I am currently leading my fantasy baseball league, which only means this is a fleeting moment of glory. There must be something very wrong about my being at the top of the league this early in the season. Reminds me of a photo the Globe took somewhere in the early sixties, at the first of June, with the entire Red Sox team, lead by manager Johnny Pesky and first baseman Dick Stuart, smiling into the camera, and with the photo captioned "Look Who's In First Place, Fellas!?
-----
ABC'S MODERN FAMILY is the best new TV comedy in years. Performances are wonderful, the writing is incisive and witty and the comedy unrelenting. Ty Burrell, late of Kelsey Grammer's underrated sitcom BACK TO YOU, plays a young Dad and he is brilliant. And, best of all, Ed O'Neill is back on TV, in a vehicle that maybe even Al Bundy would appreciate.
-----
So this year I'm losing 24, DAMAGES and LOST. That's a lot of TV to take away from a guy in one season. Maybe somebody will pick up DAMAGES, which still has some life in it. The only really bad thing about the end of 24 is that there's no way they can do something spectacular like kill off Jack Bauer. Because they're already planning the movie.
-----
I've just finished reading Charles Van Doren's A HISTORY OF KNOWLEDGE, which I truly enjoyed. A thoroughly readable analysis of ideas over the course of human history. For a guy (me) who has trouble understanding Facebook, Charlie kept me involved and informed throughout the book. Kinda makes me think a little more of him after learning all about his escapades on the TV quiz show "21" in the fifties. See the Redford movie. You won't regret it.
What some of the humans like to do, usually female humans who are at Barnes and Noble with mute friends or husbands, is grab a magazine from the rack, take it to a table, and read impertinent facts to the mute friend or husband. Interminably. Today, the female human who visited the magazine rack brought the current Red Sox Yearbook back to her table, which just happened to be right next to mine. And then she proceeded to broadcast to her friend the vital statistics, player by player, of most of the team members.
"Dustin Pedroia. Five-nine. A hundred eighty five pounds. Imagine."
Pause. Pause. Pause. Nothing from her friend. Then...
"David Ortiz. Six-five. Two hundred thirty five pounds." Pause. Pause. "Imagine."
My God.
------
Gotta tell you, they REALLY pissed off Jack Bauer a couple of weeks ago when they shot Renee through that apartment window, thus ending her two-year (excuse me, two day) stint on the show. Haven't the bad guys on 24 learned that it's just not a good idea to piss off Jack Bauer?
For those of you missing Renee, she has resurfaced as Annie Wersching in this month's Esquire. She is the featured player in the "Funny joke told by a beautiful woman" page. the joke isn't funny. It doesn't matter.
-----
You know, you guys, when you drive by in your car and you see me running up by the Edson Cemetery or Shedd Park, and you honk your horn and I wave back as if I don't know who you are, it's because, most of the time, I don't know who you are, because I cannot see through the glare in your windshield. Nothing against you. It's just your windshield. But thanks for caring.
-----
Disappointed in DATE NIGHT, which is one of the few movies these days I went out of my way to see. (It's easier, ain't it, to just wait for the DVD?) I couldn't be a bigger fan of Steve Carrell or Tina Fey. Each is at the top of his/her game these days. But the movie, with so much star potential, just kinda fizzles in its preposterousness. These are clever actors, and writers, and they are put through typical romcom/action movie moments through most of DATE NIGHT, and it wears thin fast. I wanted to like it. I really did. But I didn't. Sorry.
-----
I did, however, really like Roman Polanski's GHOST WRITER, with Ewan McGregor and Pierce Brosnan. Say what you want about Polanski, he knows how to make a thriller that keeps you guessing right up to the last frame of the movie. CHINATOWN. ROSEMARY'S BABY. Good stuff. Even idiots can make good movies.
-----
I am currently leading my fantasy baseball league, which only means this is a fleeting moment of glory. There must be something very wrong about my being at the top of the league this early in the season. Reminds me of a photo the Globe took somewhere in the early sixties, at the first of June, with the entire Red Sox team, lead by manager Johnny Pesky and first baseman Dick Stuart, smiling into the camera, and with the photo captioned "Look Who's In First Place, Fellas!?
-----
ABC'S MODERN FAMILY is the best new TV comedy in years. Performances are wonderful, the writing is incisive and witty and the comedy unrelenting. Ty Burrell, late of Kelsey Grammer's underrated sitcom BACK TO YOU, plays a young Dad and he is brilliant. And, best of all, Ed O'Neill is back on TV, in a vehicle that maybe even Al Bundy would appreciate.
-----
So this year I'm losing 24, DAMAGES and LOST. That's a lot of TV to take away from a guy in one season. Maybe somebody will pick up DAMAGES, which still has some life in it. The only really bad thing about the end of 24 is that there's no way they can do something spectacular like kill off Jack Bauer. Because they're already planning the movie.
-----
I've just finished reading Charles Van Doren's A HISTORY OF KNOWLEDGE, which I truly enjoyed. A thoroughly readable analysis of ideas over the course of human history. For a guy (me) who has trouble understanding Facebook, Charlie kept me involved and informed throughout the book. Kinda makes me think a little more of him after learning all about his escapades on the TV quiz show "21" in the fifties. See the Redford movie. You won't regret it.
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