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September 12, 2012:

IF IT’S TUESDAY IT MUST BE WEDNESDAY

Bruce Kimmel Photograph bk's notes

Well, dear readers, if it’s Tuesday it must be Wednesday. That is always the thing when one is writing these here notes prior to midnight. For example, right now I am writing these here notes prior to midnight, hence it is Tuesday. And yet, I must write these here notes as if it was Wednesday because if I wrote them as if it was Tuesday then we would automatically be passé, we’d be a beat behind, we’d be yesterday’s mashed potatoes and today’s yesterday. Havoc would reign supreme and supreme would reign havoc. There would be chaos and infirmity and people would suddenly sing songs from Whoop Up and the world would run amok. There would be anarchy and looting in the streets. The marijuana cigarettes would be legalized and people would take LSD trips and the world would revert back to 1968. In short, it’s Wednesday because it MUST be Wednesday even though it’s Tuesday – mum’s the word. I speak of metaphysical things here and, as Olivia Newton-John always says, “Let’s get metaphysical.” I seem to have gone off on a tangent, I seem to have taken a fork in the road or a spoon on the freeway, I seem to have gone into left field when I should be in center field, because, as most of you know, to be too far to the left or right is not a good thing, depending on whether, of course, you’re too far to the left or right. This might be a good time to ask the age-old question – “Don’t I have some notes to write?” I do, and I shall, not necessarily in that order.

Tuesday, which was yesterday and yet is still today, was a day in which things must have occurred and yet I do not remember what those things might have been. That won’t make for very entertaining notes, I’m afraid. Oh, I remember I got up at ten after a pretty good night’s sleep. Oh, I remember printing some orders and answering some e-mails and even having a telephonic conversation. Oh, I remember going out and having an omelet and a bagel and I remember going to Staples and buying a big box o’ paper and various inks for my printer and saving over sixty bucks because I had so many handy-dandy coupons. Oh, I remember picking up no damn packages. Oh, I remember coming home and not doing some work I should have done, and I remember trying to cast two males who were not available and one female who was not available, so we still need one male and two females any way you look at it. I also remember the gardener vacuuming up about two hundred of those damn falling orange ball things – it’s reached epic proportions and before he vacuumed them up I could literally not walk from the garage to the house without stepping on four or five at a time. And I remember sky, it was blue as ink – or at least I think I remember sky. And of course I remember sitting on my couch like so much fish.

Last night, I watched two count them two motion pictures on Blu and Ray. The first motion picture was entitled The Sound and the Fury, a first-class potboiler based on the novel by William Faulkner, starring Miss Joanne Woodward, Mr. Yul Brynner, Mr. Jack Warden, Miss Ethel Waters and many others. It’s not a great film but it is entertaining in that trashy way of 1950s potboilers, and the performances are nice and ripe and Southern fried. The blaring score by Alex North is quite good. The transfer is excellent, with accurate color and good contrast and sharpness. I then watched another piece of Southern fried cheese called Steel Magnolias, featuring an all-star “I want the Oscar” cast, including Sally Field, Shirley MacLaine, Daryl Hannah, Dolly Parton, Julia Roberts and others, including some unnecessary male actors. Based on the play by Robert Harling, the film was directed by Herbert Ross in his usual workman-like way. I’d managed to miss it when it came out and I probably could have been perfectly happy to have kept on missing it. The film is one of those 1980s cotton candy-colored affairs in which a lot of actors don Southern accents, some more successfully than others, but if there was one actress I never needed to hear do another Southern accent it’s Valley girl Sally Field. There are some good lines, but I just don’t care for this kind of thing, which I’m sure was much better on stage with its small cast of women only. The Georges Delerue score is pretty but just emphasizes the treacle, rather than helping it. It looks lovely, thanks to John Alonzo’s photography and the transfer is tops – kind of perfect, really, although I’m surprised the “if it doesn’t have grain I can see” crowd hasn’t mentioned just how fine-grained this transfer is – barely any, just as it should be for the way it was shot. Both Blu-rays are from Twilight Time.

Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because now it really is Wednesday and I need to get these here notes posted so I can hopefully get a good night’s beauty sleep.

Today, I really must buckle down, Winsocki and do the stuff I didn’t do yesterday, which includes getting Juliana some revised patter, ordering yet more boxes, booking shoot dates for the first three season two Outside the Box episodes, write a new set of liner notes, but most importantly finish choosing songs and finish casting the October Kritzerland show. It has to be done by Friday so everyone has enough time with their music. I shall hopefully pick up some packages, then I’m having a dinner meeting, after which I’m seeing a play at the Falcon Theater.

Tomorrow and the rest of the week I have meetings, meals, I’ll be comping vocals and finessing mixes over the weekend for the East Coast Singer’s Christmas album, working with Juliana, and seeing a few other things.

Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, revise patter, order boxes, book shoot dates, finish choosing songs and casting, eat, and see a play. 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 postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, happy in the knowledge that if it’s Tuesday it must be Wednesday.

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