Well, dear readers, it is raining, it is pouring, and the old man is snoring. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, the old man is snoring. What the old man snoring has to do with the rain or the price of arugula is anyone’s guess. In fact, what arugula has to do with anything is anyone’s guess. “Arugula”. Doesn’t that sound like a novel by Bram Stoker?
Last night a friend of mine had a screening of A.I. in his handy-dandy screening room, and because I’ve only seen it on the big screen once, I decided to go. I still think the film wonderful and, in fact, it gets better with subsequent viewings. The crowd seemed to really enjoy it, too. One frequent attendee to these screenings at my friend’s handy-dandy screening room is Mr. George Chakiris. Yes, Virginia, Mr. George Chakiris, Mr. Bernardo himself. He is a very nice man, very cordial and friendly. But, I am here to tell you, Mr. George Chakiris must have a painting in his cellar or closet, a painting like Mr. Dorian Gray has, because, if I’m doing the math right, Mr. George Chakiris has to be seventy. And if a person can be seventy and look as good as Mr. George Chakiris looks, well, there’s hope for us all then. I mean, he doesn’t look good for seventy, he looks good for sixty or even fifty.
When I awoke this morning, my eye was bothering me. This seemed strange to me, as I most certainly hadn’t done anything to my eye, so why should my eye feel it should bother me? It began to feel like a pesky something-or-other had gotten in there (a bit of eyelash – some sleep guck – a pillow?). An hour later, it still feels that way, although not as bad. However, I now have a very red right eye, which is quite unseemly. I do hope that this pesky something-or-other will go find another eye to have sport in.
Has anyone noticed that I seem to be writing the entire notes in this teaser section? Oh, I’m in for a bitch-slapping for sure, because Mr. Mark Bakalor will not tolerate this sort of thing. He is a tough webmaster, you know. As webmaster, he parades around his house in leather, brandishing a whip and a shiny pair of handcuffs. He’s really into this webmaster thing, let me tell you that. Well, perhaps we’d all better click on that Unseemly Button before he tries to put a choke chain around our collective necks and have us get on all fours.
Well, just in the nick or herman of time. One more sentence and it could have turned into one of those stories, you know, like “The Randy Vicar and the Leather-clad Dominatrix”. We simply can’t have that, because we have young dear readers, and we don’t want them to know anything about leather-clad dominatrixes. The closest we’ll get is “The Randy Vicar and the Leather-clad Dominoes Delivery Man.”
What the hell am I talking about?
Mr. Jason Graae called me the other day to set up a breakfast with he and Susan Egan. It turns out that they were both listening to the recording we made of the wonderful musical, Drat! The Cat!. They feel it’s criminal that we haven’t done a concert reading of it and I agree. It hasn’t been for lack of trying, let me tell you. I approached Encores!, I approached Reprise!, I approached the Pasadena Playhouse. It’s such a wonderful piece, you’d think there’d be interest. Oh, the Playhouse was interested, but nothing has come of it. And Encores! – would this not be perfect for Encores!? Of course, but they are busy doing shows like Carnival and Golden Boy and Hair, not exactly what I’d call neglected musicals. Reprise! said they liked it, but they don’t seem to want to do neglected musicals. But, I think we’ll just try to barrel ahead and do it somewhere – just put together a wonderful supporting cast to Mr. Graae and Miss Egan. Even a one-nighter, just to present it and show people how terrific it is. The book and lyrics of Mr. Ira Levin are clever as all get out (Mr. Sondheim is a fan of Mr. Levin’s wordplay in this show), and the music of Milt Schaefer is delightful. I’ll keep you posted.
Don’t forget, a new radio show will be going up later tonight, and Mr. Donald Feltham promises us it’s a winner. Also, as promised, I will begin, at long last, telling all you dear readers a story – tomorrow is the day. The story will be serialized, like they used to do in Collier’s Magazine. Unless I decide that the story will be cerealized, in which case every day the story will be brought to you by a different brand of cereal. Yes, I like that idea very much. Perhaps the first installment will be brought to you by Kellogg’s Frosted Mini-Wheats.
The rain seems to have stopped (and coincidentally, the old man is no longer snoring), and the gray sky is lightening. Being Los Angeles, it will probably end up being eighty degrees and sunny.
And keep sending those Unseemly Trivia Contest guesses, so that you have a chance at being the Highest Winner and getting a deliciously lovely prize. You can’t win if you don’t play and, conversely, you can’t play if you don’t win. No, that can’t be right. You can’t play if you don’t play and you can’t win if you don’t win? You win if you can’t play and you don’t if you can’t win? Whatever. Send us your Unseemly Guesses is the point.
Since we’ve had favorite show openers and Act One closers, shall we make today’s topic of discussion favorite show finales? Yes, I do believe we should. I’ll get the ball rolling with the great finale to A Chorus Line.