Well, dear readers, the birthday was quite nice in just about every way. It was a lovelier than lovely day with lovelier than lovely wishes here and on Facebook (hard to tally the exact total as their numbering is absolutely impossible to understand, but I think around 800 of ‘em and I managed to “like” every one of them. I got almost eight hours of sleep and once up I was a lazy loafer, answering texts and emails, mostly birthday wishes. I did very little other than picking up no packages at the mail place. I opened the rest of Robert Yacko’s presents – in addition to the new Mel Brooks memoir, there was Stanley Tucci’s food memoir, and a book called The Boys about Ron Howard and his brother and presumably father Rance. So, some good reading ahead. I had some telephonic conversations on the telephonic device, and then I shaved and showered and got ready for the birthday dinner at five.
The Pearls gathered me up at four-thirty and we got to the Smokehouse right on time. We were seated quickly in a nice booth. Barry had the beef stroganoff, a shrimp cocktail, and a side Caesar salad, Cindy had the small cut of prime rib and a baked potato along with a side salad, and the birthday boy did his appetizer thing – a cup of clam chowder, a shrimp cocktail, and the wedge salad with thousand island dressing. And, of course, a full order of garlic cheese bread – I was a good boy, eating only three thin pieces of it, which is basically like having a piece and a half of bread. The food was great, we have fun conversation and were there for close to two hours. Oh, and we all had dessert – Barry had carrot cake, Cindy had Boston Cream Pie, and I had my usual crème brulee. A good time was had by all. Then they drove me home.
Once home, I went to Facebook to “like” another 100 birthday wish posts, I caught up on e-mails, I did a few things that needed doing, and then I sat on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I watched the first twenty-something minutes of a western entitled The Harder They Fall, a real, authentic smart-ass, show-off piece of filmmaking by some guy who’s a singer/songwriter and who now thinks he’s a director. From the opening shots, you know we’re in “let’s imitate Leone” land, but it’s Leone as filtered through Tarantino and it’s just what you’d expect. Even before that scene you know exactly the kind of writer/director you’re in for, when this legend appears on the screen: These. People. Existed. Anyone who punctuates in that silly hipster fashion is not anyone I’m going to like. After the opening scene, we jump ahead many years and the film continues in its meta way, with a rap song over the titles, and hip-hop music and all that junk. The actors, all fine, look like they’ve just stepped out of wardrobe before the western garb has been distressed to look lived in. The effect is watching a bunch of 2021 actors look like they’re in a western in high school or something. There’s also a lot of mumbling. The critics have mostly been kind because I think they’re afraid not to be – but there have been some decidedly negative reviews and even the raves have reservations. There’ve been black westerns before, but not one in the Tarantino style. Thus far, I’ve found it insufferable, but I’ll give it another twenty or thirty minutes to see where it’s going.
And now, Mr. Munch is munching away on the Chausson Poeme for Violin and Orchestra, an interesting piece, and I am writing these here notes, just because I can. Have I mentioned that it was a lovelier than lovely birthday day and evening? Because it was, and I don’t care who knows it.
Today, I’ll be up when I’m up, I’ll do whatever needs doing, I’ll continue writing on the project with David Wechter – I actually wrote four pages before going to sleep so I’m back in the swing of things – then we have our second Kritzerland rehearsal at two o’clock and we should wrap up around four-thirty, I think. Then I’ll check to see if there’s anything to pick up, after which I’ll eat something light but fun. Then I’ll try to finish The Harder They Fall and if I can’t, I’ll try to watch something else. I did watch ten minutes of the new Clint Eastwood movie, Cry Macho, but I really didn’t care for it at all. It’s directed well but Clint’s voice is so gravelly and slow now, and his gait is so slow now, that I find it painful to watch him. Then I’ll listen and relax.
Not sure what’s happening tomorrow, but there may be a meal in there somewhere. Saturday, she of the Evil Eye is coming so I’ll go have something light to eat and then come back at noon and get everything ready for our two o’clock stumble-through at two o’clock. We’ll run anything that needs running after, and then perhaps one or two of us will go grab a bite to eat somewhere, or I may just wait and get a little something in the early evening. Sunday, I can relax and rest my voice until it’s time for sound check, and then we do our show. I’m sure some of us will go downstairs afterwards for a bite to eat.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up when I’m up, do whatever needs doing, write, hopefully pick up packages, have a rehearsal, eat, and then watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: What have been your favorite books, both fiction and non, of 2021? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, so happy to have had such a lovelier than lovely birthday.