Well, dear readers, I am dreaming of food. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I, BK, am dreaming of food. I know not why I am suddenly dreaming of food, but dreaming of food I am. This can only mean one thing: I am dreaming of food. Oh, I suppose it could mean that I’m dreaming of Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda, but then why wouldn’t I just say that? No, I’m afraid I am dreaming of food. I must say, that in the last two weeks I have not lost one pound, but have maintained exactly the weight I was at that time. That’s a good thing, since I’ve eaten a few large and lusty meals in the past two weeks. But, I also have eaten very reasonably on most occasions, so I think it’s high time I start losing my last ten pounds. However, since I am dreaming of food I do think that this very evening I shall dine somewhere interesting, where I can satisfy my dreams of food, without going overboard. I shall be pondering all the livelong day exactly where that jernt will be – it won’t be anywhere fancy-shmancy or even anywhere shmancy-fancy, but it will be interesting and I will want to eat something quite yummilicious. Normally I do not dream of food. Normally I dream of cabbages and kings or, at the very least, cauliflower and queens. Have you ever dreamed of queens? What a complete waste of a paragraph this is. I mean, what in HELL am I talking about? I’m sure I have important things to discuss in these here notes, but on I go about dreaming of food ad nauseum, with an emphasis on the latter.
Speaking of ad nauseum, yesterday was a day very much like a Wednesday. It had that Wednesday sort of vibe. The first thing I did was to arise after a nice night’s sleep. I then had to go buy shipping supplies for shipping. I then jogged briskly, then spent two hours addressing and preparing packages for the shipping of the Kevin Spirtas DVD. Said DVD didn’t arrive as planned, but it will be here by ten this morning, and then I’ll insert them into the packages and all of them will get shipped this very day. I then entered fixes and corrections into four of the seven short stories, and plan to do the rest later this afternoon. That took me most of the afternoon, and then my music guy came over and we recorded the new Brain song, along with the new intro to another Brain song. He’ll transcribe those this weekend. He really seemed to like the new song and the new intro, so that was nice. You know what? The whole time I’ve been writing this here paragraph I’ve been dreaming of food. I hate when that happens.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because maybe we’ll find a snack in the next section that can tide us over until the dream of food becomes a reality.
Nope, not a snack in sight. Damn them, damn them all to hell.
Last night, I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled The Pink Panther. No, not the original Pink Panther, but the new remake, starring Steve Martin. I will say this – the film sat on the shelf, had several reshoots, and then came out to lousy reviews and lousier box office. Of course, then the “reviewers” at the imdb came on and said, “Don’t believe the lousy reviews, this thing is hilarious.” So, I took a chance. I shouldn’t have. Believe the lousy reviews and if you don’t want to believe them then be afraid, be very afraid (to use the parlance of a Pogue). Actually, the lousy reviews were kind, because this is one of the worst movies every made, an affront to comedy. There is not one single laugh in the entire film. Blake Edwards at his worst is 5000 percent more talented and stylish a director than someone named Shawn Levy. The screenplay is filled with one terrible scene after another, and the “humor” and “visual gags” never rise above the pathetic. The score by Christophe Beck is appalling and everything I hate about today’s scores – Mr. Mancini he’s not, and every time they actually use Mr. Mancini’s theme, it’s like a breath of fresh air amidst the rotting, smelly corpse on view. Steve Martin is the worst I’ve ever seen him – all winks and thinking he’s funny and putting quote marks around every line and gag. Mr. Sellers was a natural – he never did that. He just was Clouseau, whereas Mr. Martin has to work at it way too hard. Kevin Kline is awful and Beyonce I just don’t get. And why on earth was Kristin Chenoweth cast in this? I must say that film and TV are not her medium and she should stick to the stage. Only Jean Reno escapes unscathed, because he just plays it straight and is amiable. Shame on everyone connected with this – it is a blight on the memory of Peter Sellers and Blake Edwards. I wasn’t fond of any of the Clouseau films after A Shot In The Dark, but this thing is a new low in film “comedy,” and it makes the worst of the Edwards Clouseau films look like a masterpiece. Even the transfer isn’t much to write home about – in fact, it suits the film perfectly – it’s completely blah.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Don’t I have things to do? I do have things to do, or to put it in a Schmidt and Jones sort of way, I Do! I Do! I must ship a bunch of packages, and then I must try to go over Grant Geissman’s home environment to begin work designing the cover for the short story collection. And then I must dine, which I shall be looking forward to all the livelong day and night. I also am waiting to hear about a little gig that would happen in a week or so – no biggie, just recording a few tracks for someone to sing to. But, if the budget is approved, I have to book the band and the studio quickly. And directly after that, we hold auditions for the Brain.
Now wait just a darned minute. This is a big birthday month here at haineshisway.com and by gum and by golly and buy bonds we’d all better put on our pointy party hats and our colored tights and pantaloons again, we’d better break out the cheese slices and the ham chunks again, we’d better dance the Hora or the old-fashioned waltz again because today is the birthday of S. Woody White. So, let’s give a big haineshisway.com birthday cheer to S. Woody White. On the count of three: One, two, three – A BIG HAINESHISWAY.COM BIRTHDAY CHEER TO S. WOODY WHITE!!!
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, dream of food, jog, do fixes and corrections, ship packages, see Grant Geissman, and drive about in my motor car like a gazelle in a Stutz Bearcat. Today’s topic of discussion: Automobiles. If you could own any kind of automobile from any era, what would it be and why would you want to own it? What color would it be, and describe the car of your dreams in detail or, better yet, post photographs of it. Let’s have loads of lovely questions, shall we, whilst I continue dreaming of food.