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December 21, 2017:


Bruce Kimmel Photograph bk's notes

Well, dear readers, I am waiting for that gloriously glorious moment when it feels like a damn holiday season, but so far there are enough irritants coming this way that it makes me want to strangle a puff pastry. It makes me want to wring the very life out of a puff pastry. And, as you all know, puff is ffup spelled backwards. I rest my case. Still, every now and then I get a glimmer of that holiday season and I feel the warmth and glow and tinsel and glamor, not to mention the nuts of the chest roasting on that dangerous open fire. I only roast the nuts of the chest on a closed fire, but that’s just me. And where exactly are my geese a laying? I need my shtupping geese, damn it all to hell and back. And then there is the small matter of the swans a swimming and the maids a milking. I want my damn milking maids. What is Christmas after all without a maid or two milking. Hanukkah is, of course, a different matter altogether, but as of yet I have not received my five Cohens kvetching or my three livers chopping or my two herrings pickling. What the HELL am I talking about? We need some miracles around these here parts and like today, now, pronto, so send them most excellent vibes and xylophones, and then perhaps I’ll not only get a Christmas miracle, I might also get leaping lords, like ten of them. Less than ten lords a leaping and you don’t have a quorum.

Well, that was a paragraph. Yesterday I was in a bit of a fog due to a rough night in Jericho with only about four hours of sleep. I tossed, I turned, my tummy was upset, I got up, I did things, I went back to bed. I gotta tell you. Once up I was in a bit of a fog, which is, of course, gof spelled backwards. I attempted to answer a few e-mails, and then I had to hie myself to Doug Haverty’s home environment to pick up some stuff he had for me and deliver some stuff I had for him. After the exchange of stuff, I then went to Jerry’s Deli and had a Cobb salad with 1000-Island dressing and a bagel, all good. Then I picked up no mail or packages and then came directly home.

Once home, I did some work on the computer, had some telephonic conversations, I got the Facebook event page done for the Kritzerland show, a visitor picked something up, I took two hours and wrote mix notes for my engineer and sent those off, listened to the test track from what I was hoping would be a Kritzerland release and I was so pleased with the sound upgrade I heard that it WILL be a Kritzerland release, perhaps our next release. Then I sat on my couch like so much fish.

Last night, I finished a motion picture entitled The Florida Project. I will leave it to others to think it’s a masterpiece of filmmaking – I didn’t. I was simply not interested in the low-life characters, who I found loud and obnoxious, and that includes the kid actors (that’s the characters, though – I don’t blame the kids themselves). There’s only one character I enjoyed – the manager of the motel, played by Willem Dafoe. That character has some humanity. It’s almost two hours long, and while it’s not a terrible movie, I just didn’t respond to it at all. Then I decided to watch a cheesy “thriller” from two years ago, entitled Blackway. A terrible title for a poorly written film that somehow had a cast that included Anthony Hopkins and Ray Liotta, along with Julia Stiles. It was directed competently by the fellow who directed the final two installments of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo films. But it was just a perfunctory piece of junk, running all of eighty-five minutes sans end credits. Liotta plays a horrible villain that is supposedly very dangerous and smart, and yet he is dispatched quickly and easily at the film’s rushed conclusion, but then we have to sit through another six minutes of nothingness. Why Mr. Hopkins would do a film like this is anyone’s guess, unless the paycheck was big or unless the best parts of the film were all cut out, which I don’t think they were since the novel this is based on is only 160 pages long. Cannot recommend, much as I enjoy Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Liotta, both of whom have given the exact same performance in other better films.

Then I listened to some more music, printed out the handful of orders that came in and that was that.

Today, I’m going to spend at least three hours unboxing stuff and organizing things in the garage – I have help doing so and between the two of us I’m hoping we can get twenty to thirty boxes done or put away – that would open some clear paths, which is what needs to happen. The wiring guy is coming over to finally hook up the surround speakers, I’ll hopefully pick up some packages, I’ll eat something at some point, and I think there are other things on the agenda but I haven’t a clew as to what they might be.

Tomorrow is more of the same, a Cosco run for sure, then I’m supping at the Jones household – it’s been too damn long since I did. Saturday will be all preparing for the Do, including the chopping, slicing, and dicing of the onions, mushrooms, and garlic. And then Sunday is the Day of the Do.

Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, spend three hours unboxing and organizing, have surround speakers wired, hopefully pick up packages, eat, do a show order, write, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: What is the best Christmas present you ever got? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, hoping I get over wanting to commit a felony by wringing the very life out of a puff pastry.

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