Well, dear readers, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – this year is flying by like a gazelle with a hernia. I, who have thought the previous few years have flown by like a gazelle in a gray flannel suit, am not prepared by how fast this year is flying by. Why don’t we call it 2008 and just be done with it? In any case, this year is flying by like a gazelle doing the limbo, and May is flying by faster than April and April flew by faster than March. Damn them, damn them all to hell. I guess time waits for no man, just as no man waits for time. Time marches on, or, in this case, time mays on. In the meantime, I do try and stop and smell the roses or the coffee or the pickled herring. Speaking of pickled herring, yesterday was a day that went fast, relatively speaking. For example, I got up. That went fast, relatively speaking. And just which relative is speaking, that’s what I’d like to know? The aunt? The uncle? The cousins? Where was I? Oh, yes, the day that went fast. After I got up, I jogged. That didn’t exactly go fast. I then decided not to ship packages, and instead I did some work that needed doing prior to my rehearsal with Miss Joan Ryan. I then toddled off to said rehearsal. We finished going through all our routined numbers except for three, which Boswell has to write out. We determined that we still need eight more numbers. To that end, I forced Joan (and I do mean forced) to write a seven-page list of songs that she’s loved – really loved. That list was very interesting, and I have chosen thirteen songs for us to work on, out of which we’ll choose our eight. There were several things that I know I can do fun things with, including one medley thing that could be a showstopper. After that, I supped at Pig ‘n’ Whistle in Hollywood, California, USA. I got there at five, meeting Miss Adriana Patti, to go over some things for various upcoming events. She’d gotten there a little earlier and asked for a booth, all of which were empty save for one. She was told that only tables were available and despite her entreaties and telling them that I would not be happy, they sat her at a table. When I arrived, I immediately put on my attitude suit and gestured to the gentleman who was at the front. The minute he saw my gesture and the look on my face he got very defensive and nervous. I told him I expected a booth and would accept nothing less as there were nothing but empty booths. He didn’t even argue – he took me right to the booth. The gal who Adriana had talked to simply lied and said all the booths were reserved (I’d heard this lie before at this same restaurant). She said if we really wanted a booth there would be a forty-five minute wait. Now, our meal lasted a little over an hour. In all that time there was no one else seated at any booth – the booths remained empty the entire time. So, what would this idiot girl have done if we’d said that we’d wait the forty-five minutes? Let us stand there while the booths remained empty and THEN seat us? It’s not like I’m getting there at prime time and asking for a booth for a party of two when all the booths are filled, so I really don’t understand this idiocy – all they do is alienate the customer and make the customer not want to deal with such ridiculousness. I’ll be writing the manager of the restaurant and the corporate office about it, because they really need to rethink the way they do things. It’s all a pity, because the food that I have (chicken Caesar salad and mac and cheese) is always excellent. After that, I came home and sat on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled My Dream Is Yours, the second motion picture to star Miss Doris Day, once again with Mr. Jack Carson, along with Eve Arden, S.Z. (Cuddles) Sakall, Franklin Pangborn, and other fine character actors. While not as much fun as Romance On The High Seas (which is basically a farce with musical numbers and a terrifically funny script by the Epsteins and I.A.L. Diamond), My Dream Is Yours begins to try and have it all ways – comedy, pathos, bathos, and endless versions of the title song. But, Miss Day is once again completely winning and fresh, and Mr. Carson is an excellent foil for her. The plot is a little tiresome, and Miss Day seems like an idiot for much of the film for falling for a complete butt cheek and cad, plus the film could easily have been ten minutes shorter to good effect (just cut three of the nine versions of the title song). However, it’s still completely enjoyable, and the transfer is almost as good as Romance On The High Seas. Plus, there are some incredible shots of late 40s LA that are not to be missed.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because this whole section is starting to smell of pickled herring.
Today, I’ll be shipping a bunch of packages, and then, at some point, having a little meeting. Other than that, I shall endeavor to spend the entire day going as slowly as possible, in hopes that the day will follow suit.
The rest of the week will be filled with rehearsals, meetings, and I have an opening night to attend on Friday. See what I did there? I went and put everything in the first section and now I have nothing to write about. You’d think after six years-worth of notes that I’d parse things out better, but noooo, not me, not BK – I tell you, I feel addle-pated sometimes, as if I were a living pickled herring.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, jog, ship, meet, eat, and watch a DVD or three. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s Ask BK Day, the day in which you get to ask me or any dear reader any old question you like and we get to give any old answer we like. So, let’s have loads of lovely questions and loads of lovely answers and loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst we all try and stop and smell the roses and the coffee and the pickled herring.