Well, dear readers, after a few weeks of rain and cold, I seem to have brought the sunshine and summer weather back with me, because it’s been absolutely gorgeous here in Los Angeles, California, USA. Yesterday, we had a lovely book signing at The Mystery Bookstore in Westwood. We sold many more books that I’d have thought we would and everyone seemed very pleased. We didn’t do a reading this time around, just sat and schmoozed and signed. After that was over, I came back to the home environment, where I looked through about half of the new Ken Bloom book, Broadway Musicals. The photos are truly stunning, and Mr. Bloom takes my line (almost verbatim) about Li’l Abner not being dated and that people, with productions like Encores, tend to blame the show for being dated rather than the production for just being bad. I also did some errands, and then I headed to the Wechter residence for Hanukkah dinner. The food was splendidly splendid, and the company is always nice. I met some new folks, ate way too much food, and then went on my merry way back to the home environment. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?
I have been very lax regarding my DVD viewing. I’ve got piles of stuff, but just haven’t felt motivated to even step into the den to watch anything. Last night I did, though – I watched the first half of a motion picture entitled Testament, directed by Lynne Littman, and starring Miss Jane Alexander. I remember liking the other nuclear disaster movie that came out the same year, I believe (coincidence – I think not), Desert Bloom. Testament is a little more contrived and Miss Littman is not a wonderful director, but still, I’m a sucker for nuclear disaster movies and the acting is fine.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I’m quite tired and I can barely see what I’m typhing, which is the reason I just wrote “typhing” instead of typing.
Say, what ever happened to dear reader Robin, who just up and disappeared one day? I just don’t understand it really – people come, people go, like Grand Hotel, but without so much as a by-your-leave, whatever the hell that means. Dear reader Lulu shows up once in a blue moon, posts a bit, and then disappears for ages. Who am I forgetting? There seems to be a whole cadre of dear readers who come here, have a great time, and then discard us like so much fish. Curious.
Don’t forget, Donald should have a new radio show up for your listening pleasure.
My goodness, that was a one-sentence paragraph – hardly worth the effort, but for Donald we did it anyway.
It was nice to see Mr. Walter Willison yesterday at the signing. He helped me with certain details regarding out-of-town tryouts for Writer’s Block. Walter and I go way back – for those who’ve read Kritzer Time, you know that Benjamin, at the end of the book, is about to go into rehearsals for The Wizard of Oz at the little theater in Culver City. In real life, I played the Tin Man, and Walter played the scarecrow. That’s how far back we go. I have a wonderful memory of Walter, the girl who played Dorothy, me, and the show mascot, Miss Lorna Luft, all sitting in Mateo’s in Westwood, playing with a Ouija board.
Memories – like the corners of my mind. Or is it the windmills of my mind. Can a windmill be in the corner of your mind? Just what is a windmill doing in one’s mind anyway? Frankly, I’ve had it with the windmills of my fershluganah mind. Well, I no longer have a clew as to what the hell I’m talking about, so we may as well just wrap these here notes up posthaste.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must do errands, I may just write a bit, I must be round like a circle in a spiral like a wheel within a wheel, and all because of the windmills of my mind which happen to reside in the corners of my mind with my memories. What am I, the Bergmans all of a sudden? Today’s topic of discussion: It’s free-for-all day, the day in which you dear readers get to make with the topics, and we all get to post about them. So, let’s have loads of lovely topics and loads of lovely postings whilst we contemplate the windmills of our collective minds.