Well, dear readers, as those who read yesterday’s notes know, yesterday I became the proud owner of a machine called iPod. I didn’t really see the need for such a machine, but I must say it’s very nice to have, as I can take it in the car and not have to drag CDs out there anymore. I can take it from room to room if I so choose, and I can hook it up to little external speakers. Unfortunately, the external speakers I bought do not give enough volume, so back they go today and I shall get others. The most amazing thing about this new machine was hooking it up to the computer and watching it import seven hours worth of music in about twelve seconds. And it will automatically import any new tracks that I load from this day forward. You’ve heard of I, Claudius, I, Robot. Well, now I’ve become I, Pod. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?
I’ve decided that the city known as Los Angeles, California, USA is now completely hopeless in terms of traffic. The jams I’ve run into in the last three days have been rather mind-boggling. These jams are occurring at times when there should be no traffic. Either that or everyone in Los Angeles, California, USA is out of work and all happen to be on the road at eleven o’clock in the morning, or eight-thirty at night. Laurel Canyon has been closed, so there is no convenient way to go over the hill and end up in the Sunset/Fairfax area. You must go all the way to Hollywood and then double back, most annoying. Other than taking back my little speaker system, I shall not venture forth out of this neighborhood if I can possibly help it. And there you have the sad tale of the traffic. Thus spake I, Pod.
Last night I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled The Village, a film of M. Night Shyamalan. I didn’t care for it too much. I have heard Mr. Shyamalan proclaimed as “this generation’s” Hitchcock, but that is hardly an apt description. The Village is simply too long for its slight conceit – it’s like a thirty minute Twilight Zone stretched out to 108 minutes. Certainly it is competently made, and it has one magical performance from newcomer Bryce Dallas Howard, daughter of Mr. Ron Howard. She’s fresh and natural and a pleasure to watch. William Hurt is, well, William Hurt, and ditto for Sigourney Weaver. It’s not a disaster, and it’s not a bad film, but it just sort of sits there like so much fish with James Newton Howard’s score both elegiac and lyrical and then ominous and loud every two seconds. The transfer is fine and the sound is excellent.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I, Pod have more to say.
Perhaps I shall write a book entitled I, Pod. It would be a fine book, in my opinion (IMO, in Internet lingo). Perhaps one of you dear readers can come up with a plot for I, Pod. Perhaps we should write the book together, right here at haineshisway.com. Perhaps not.
Yesterday, I also did a little thisa and a little thata, with an emphasis on the latter. I heard from Mr. Kevin Spirtas that his presentation went very well indeed and he has a lot of interest in his show. In the coming weeks we’re going to start putting it together, as my close personal friend, Mr. Stephen Sondheim would say. I will, of course, keep you posted, because I am you faithful servant, I, Pod.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must return speakers, I must lunch with Miss Tammy Minoff, I must attempt to hook up the device in the car which will enable me to play my iPod as I motor about, and I must do a little thisa and a little thata, with an emphasis on the latter. Today’s topic of discussion: Of today’s “funny” people, whom do you think are truly funny in the way that our classic funny people were funny? And who are your favorite classic funny people of old? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we? For if we don’t, it will be a job for I, Pod.