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November 16, 2001:

LISTENING TO MUSIC WHILST TYPING

Bruce Kimmel Photograph bk's notes

Well, dear readers, the danger in listening to music whilst typing is this: It puts you in a certain frame of mind, creates a mood as it were. For example, I’m listening to the soundtrack to Marie Ward by Mr. Elmer Bernstein right now. The track currently playing is kind of a harpsichord period thing and it’s just making me want to go put on some tights and a tunich and go romping in the fields with some faire maidens and faire men in tights. Oh, wouldn’t that be pithy fun? We could romp and play the wooden flute, and say things in metered cadence. I love saying things in metered cadence, don’t you? And then we could feast on legs of mutton and drink wine from goblets. Oops, can’t do that anymore, because the next track has come on and it’s a liturgical vocal piece. Now I have to take off my tights and tunich and put on my hooded robe. I hate all these costume changes, especially this early in the morning. I do believe I have gone off on an unseemly tangent, have I not? But this is what happens when you listen to music whilst typing.

Well, that was a waste of a perfectly good paragraph, wasn’t it? Frankly, writing a daily dose of drivel isn’t as easy as it sounds. But I go on and the world goes round and round and round and round and round and life is a cabaret old chum and maybe this time all I care about is love although sometimes a day goes by and I don’t care much about love although it is perfectly marvelous and all that jazz. Oh, I have spoken with too much candor and I’m starting to ebb so I’ll just stop. Someone really must come shoot me and put me out of my misery.

Well (that is now three paragraphs which have started with the word “well” – I feel I am going to the well way too much, don’t you?), I believe it’s time to do that thing that we’ve all grown very fond of doing. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, it’s time to click the unseemly button below so that we can continue these ramblings in all of their lengthy and unfocused glory. Clicketh noweth.

Well (number four), here we are in the “Extended Entry Text” box, writing our extended entry text, which, by the way, is optional according to the extended entry text header (which only I see – you simply cannot see the Extended Entry Text header because that would be unseemly and we can’t have that, can we? Has anyone noticed that I have been vamping. In a musical score, this would be called “vamp till ready” or a “safety vamp”. At some point I will actually stop vamping and have something real to say, but I’m beginning to fear that point will never come. Perhaps if I start a whole new paragraph I will have something real to say.

Perhaps not.

This listening to music whilst you type has got to go. It is for the birds, although I’m not sure the birds would like it either. Speaking of music (this is known as a segue), I am happy to announce the premiere date for our brand spanking new The Broadway Radio Show with Donald Feltham. The first show will debut on Monday December 4th. Donald is already hard at work preparing it and it will feature some very special guests.

Tonight I’m going to attend a little “do” for the Lehman Engel Workshop (West Coast branch) at the Gardenia. There will be lots of good singers and the whole shebang is directed by Mr. David Galligan.
I’ll have a report tomorrow (yes, Virginia, we work on weekends, too). Since my movie reviews are becoming so popular, today I’d like to review a classic of French cinema called Last Year at Marienbad, directed by Mr. Alain Resnais (who directed Stavisky, which had a score by my close personal friend, Mr. Stephen Sondheim).

Last Year At Marienbad is an enigma, like so much of life. You never know what’s really happening, you never know what’s really going on. People say things but do they mean them? Are they really saying them? Are they saying things but are their actions belying what they’re saying? Is it fantasy? Is it reality? Who are these people? What really happened last year at Marienbad? The film’s characters seem to be wealthy and they’re all in some posh hotel wandering about saying things that make no sense. It’s a puzzle, it’s a cryptogram, it’s maddening, and yet it’s mesmerizing. You sit there and watch and watch even as you say to yourself, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS MOVIE ABOUT? And then it’s over. Over and done. Finito. And you still don’t know why the people were saying things and what they really meant and if any of it was true or not. But that is why the film remains a compelling piece of art (or crap, depending on your tolerance level) – it is open to interpretation. Mr. Resnais’ direction is wonderfully arty, and the photography is amazing. It’s available on DVD from Fox Lorber, and is probably one of the best they’ve done (their quality is all over the map) – a luminous black and white letterboxed transfer (although, sadly not enhanced for widescreen televisions).

Don’t forget to tell all your friends about haineshisway.com, and don’t forget to visit us each and every day (yes, Virginia, even on weekends) for the latest. The latest WHAT is the question, but we care not about the WHAT, we care about the WHY and the HOW and the WHEN and the WHERE. The WHAT can go take a flying leap as far as I’m concerned. And don’t forget to leave your comments, we love your comments and we want more of them. Just scroll down to the Unseemly Comment Box and leave your comment (hopefully not unseemly, although you are certainly welcome to leave an unseemly comment if that is what you so choose).

Ooh, I forgot (I’m adding this after the fact) – a friend of mine from high school just happened to visit this site yesterday and she read the Susan Gordon comments. And guess what? She still knows Susan (they’ve known each other since fourth grade!) and they still see each other. Isn’t that amazing? She sent my notes on to Susan and also e-mailed her. Maybe we’ll hear from Susan soon. Well, as the Sherman Brothers so aptly put it, It’s a Small World (after all). Our dear reader, Robert Armin, also had a crush on Ms. Gordon, especially in the film The Boy and The Pirate.

Well (number five), I must put on my tights and tunich and go out into the world to romp and eat mutton and play the wooden flute. I advise others to do the same.

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