Well, dear readers, the winds have arrived and they are in fine fettle. Oh, yes, the winds are in fine fettle. The winds were quite strong yesterday and, in fact, they knocked over every trash can on my block. They caused my hair to run amok whilst I was out doing the things that I do. They blew me hither and thither and once, when I wasn't expecting it, they blew me yon. When I finally went to bed last night the wind was kicking up its heels like an insane Hora dancer. Branches were clacking against my very own house. After I fell asleep I was awakened by the wind several times - each time the wind made it sound like there was an uncouth interloper in my house. I hate that - I hate thinking there is an uncouth interloper in my house. I do not like uncouth interlopers. However, if there was really an uncouth interloper in my house, my handy-dandy alarm system would alert me. Of course, it would also alert the uncouth interloper who would probably find me and kill me. That is one of the anamolies of my alarm system. I probably was up half the night because of the wind kicking up its heels like some insane Hora dancer causing me to think there were uncouth interlopers in my house. Of course, there are uncouth interlopers everywhere, even in our daily lives and we must avoid them like we would avoid an insane Hora dancer.

Well, I think we've had enough talk of the wind, don't you, dear readers? I think the wind will be gone with the wind for the rest of these here notes. That will knock the wind out of the wind. That will teach the wind a thing or two or possibly even three.

We've added a few more talented people to our Tourette's Syndrome benefit: joining us will be Joan Ryan, Paul Kreppel, Paul Keith and David Naughton. Ticket sales are amazingly brisk. My hardest task as director is to keep this show at two hours. I simply will not allow it to be over two hours. I have been adamant about this since day one because I hate going to benefits which clock in at three hours or more. I don't care how many stars and how wonderful everything is - it's too long and too much. There are, of course, certain things you have no control over, and one of them are speakers - people who speak. I was at a benefit for the wonderful Nanette Fabray once, and the speakers, who were told to keep it brief, went on and on and on - one of them would not shut up for forty minutes. That benefit clocked in at four hours. So, we've alloted each speaker a certain amount of time and after that certain amount of time if they are not off the stage an uncouth interloper will come and throw them in the orchestra pit.

I see by the hands on the clock that it is time to click on the Unseemly Button below. Do your clocks have hands on them? If so, how can you see what time it is? Those stupid hands just block everything. And whose hands are they anyway? Oh, these questions are too deep and profound for such an early hour as this.

Last night I watched David Mamet's latest film, entitled Heist. I must say that I mostly enjoy David Mamet's films even though they are all very similar. I like his heightened dialogue and I like his cast of regulars, including wife Rebecca Pidgeon and Ricky Jay. Heist is typical territory, full of cons and twists and who is doing what to whom. But it's entertaining, and of course Gene Hackman is always a pleasure to watch in just about anything. I did find Danny De Vito oddly annoying, however, and also I really don't like the actor who plays De Vito's young henchman. The DVD looks very nice, and I rather liked the score, too. I also watched a little bit of Mr. William Castle's very amusing Straight Jacket, starring Miss Joan Crawford. It's a standard thriller, and its "secret" is easy to predict in the first ten minutes. However, we do love the beginning - a flashback scene where Joan has a great entrance coming off a train looking thirty years old and at her most flamboyant - she then discovers her husband in bed with another woman and proceeds to ax the happy couple into a million pieces. This she does with some glee. The rest of the film, with Joan looking more subdued, is not nearly as good, but it's got good actors, including the always-lovely Diane Baker.

Do you think the uncouth interloper is like the double-breasted sapsucker or the spotted lapwing? Just asking. By the way, since I talk about outre films here quite a bit, if you're a fan of same let me recommend the magazine Video Watchdog to you. It is filled with articles and reviews of the wild, the weird and the arcane, and is a fountain of information. It's published once a month now, and if you like it, you can get most of the back issues easily. Just click on the Video Watchdog link right here in this sentence and you will be whisked away to VideoWatchdogland and you can see what the magazine is like.

Well, I must run off to yet another meeting, then a lunch. Then I shall try to finish watching Sexy Beast, which I hope isn't going to be as annoyingly arch and hip as the first ten minutes would lead me to believe it's going to be. Then I'm going to attempt to put my kitchen in order. That is where I keep my handy-dandy laptop computer and the table has become overrun with papers and CDs and I cannot stand any kind of mess, it goes against the very fabric of my being, which today is tweed. Yesterday, the very fabric of my being was 100% cotton. What the hell am I talking about? Today's topic of discussion: What is your favorite Cy Coleman song? I'll start: So many, so many. I'm particularly fond of the score to Wildcat, including the beautiful You've Come Home and Tall Hope, and the boisterous What Takes My Fancy. Sweet Charity is just one great song after another. I love his ballad, Then Was Then and Now Is Now, and of all his perky marches I like Pass Me By from the film, Father Goose. Your turn - post away. Before I go, I read yesterday that there is currently a show in New York, a very strange-sounding show, sort of a musical of Hamlet crossed with a revue about two mythical songwriters. Apparently, it isn't very good. Isn't that annoying? I mean, why do mythical songwriters when you could do Meltz and Ernest, or even Gluckman and Fitz from the old One From Column A days? Perhaps the authors read One From Column A. Wouldn't that be a fine kettle of fish or fatty meats?