haines his way

Log Archives
January 2002

Thursday, January 31, 2002

Well, dear readers, I got home yesterday afternoon, I put the key in the lock of my front door, turned said key and said key promptly broke in two, half remaining on my handy-dandy key ring, the other half cleverly lodged in the door lock. I tried dislodging the lodged part, but the lodged part wasn't having any dislodging and therefore remained lodged. Therefore, I could not get in my very own front door. I stood there like an idiot for a full ten minutes - just stood there looking at the half-of-a-key lodged in the door lock, thinking, "Oh, dear, whatever shall I do," when it finally occured to me that I always carry a duplicate key with me. So, I went around the back of the house, used my duplicate key to enter the porch door and voila, there I was inside my very own house. I called a handy-dandy locksmith (I tried calling a handy-dandy locksjones but only smiths were available) and they were over in a thrice, they removed the half-key bit from the lock, made me a brand-spanking new key and all was well with the world. I began the habit of carrying a spare key in my pocket at all times because I used to lock my keys in my car all the time. So, I made a spare house key, just in case. Then, quite brilliantly, I made spare car keys too and now I never have key problems. Making those spare keys was the key to the key problem and now I am covered, key problem-wise and I recommend my brilliant solution to everyone.

One of our dear readers came to haineshisway.com this morning and searched "cole slaw". They got a "0" response, but I do hope they come back, because when I'm through with today's notes (entitled "Cole Slaw") they will get at least fifty hits. Anyway, as I looked at "cole slaw" I began to think about "cole slaw". Now, I like cole slaw as much as the next person (the best is at Farmer's Market), but just who in hell named it "cole slaw"? I'd understand if it was "cold slaw" - well, I'd understand the "cold" but not the "slaw". Anyway, I did a bit of research and found out the true story of "cole slaw". To read about it, merely click on the Unseemly Button below and we will have The Unseemly Tale of Cole Slaw".

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- Thursday, January 31, 2002 @ 09:54 AM PST

Wednesday, January 30, 2002

Well, dear readers, I can hardly believe it. As a matter of fact, I can softly believe it, too. Can you hardly or softly believe it? January is almost at an end. Just where the hell did January go? It just started and suddenly it's gone. Shortly, it will be February and January will be a thing of the past, until next January when January will be a thing of the present - until then, January is a thing of the future. There, I have covered the whole Past, Present, Future thing in a wholly scientific and ponderous way. I do like to begin these here notes in a wholly scientific and ponderous way. My allergies have really kicked in and my nose is running like crazy. Wait a minute. Stop the notes. Hold the phone. Ixnay on the ypingtay. "My allergies have really kicked in and my nose is running like crazy." Look at that sentence. First of all, what did "in" ever do that my allergies should kick it? That is just heinous (heinous, do you hear me?). Second, why has my nose suddenly taken up jogging? And jogging like "crazy" of all things. Have you ever seen "crazy" jog? "Crazy" looks totally stupid whilst jogging. Can't my nose find a better role model as a runner? What the hell am I talking about?
Well, whatever it is, it is wholly scientific and ponderous. So much so, that I feel we should all click on that wholly scientific and ponderous Unseemly Button below.

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- Wednesday, January 30, 2002 @ 09:43 AM PST

Tuesday, January 29, 2002

Well, dear readers, I have survived another Disney/ASCAP workshop, and I am here to tell the tale. But before I tell the tale, perhaps I should tell the tail. The tail of the White Dog. No, I'm not ready to tell that tail or tale yet. So, perhaps I should tell the tale of Sweeney Todd? No, most of us know that tale. Perhaps I should tell the tale of Ed Sullivan and How He Loved and Helped Broadway musicals. No, I'm not ready to tell that tale yet. Perhaps I should just tell The Story. Perhaps it's finally time for The Story, but The Story is going to take an entire week to tell, so perhaps I shall not start The Story today. Look at all those tale possibilities. I don't mean to keep wagging all those tales in front of you like prime USDA beef, and yet that is exactly what I am doing. Do you know what is really interesting? Well, I'll tell you what is really interesting because, frankly, why should I keep what is really interesting from you when you have the right to know what is really interesting. What is really interesting is that whenever I have a header title like "Telling Tales" strangers show up immediately and search for things. All manner of things. Isn't that really interesting?

Oh, I can also tell the tale of Who Is The Highest Winner of our handy-dandy trivia contest. And, just where the hell is Mr. Donald Feltham and just what the hell is his radio show about this week? Of course, I could just go listen to the damn thing, but I like to know in advance what it is I'm listening to. I'm just one of those kinds of people. In any case, since there are a few tales to tell, perhaps we should all click that horrid little Unseemly Button below so we can get on with these notes, tale-wise.

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- Tuesday, January 29, 2002 @ 10:03 AM PST

Monday, January 28, 2002

Well, dear readers, tonight is the night I do the panel for this year's Disney/ASCAP workshop. I've done this for the last seven years, I think, and I always have a very good time. It's a bit nerve-wracking to sit and critique something you've only heard once, but that is our task and by gum and by golly I will do my best. Tomorrow, I will have a full report on the whole affair.

If you missed the weekend drivel, do be sure to use the Unseemly Archive Button to catch up. We discussed many varied and sundried things here over the weekend, and had a very lengthy story (endless, really) about why we cut a musical number from The First Nudie Musical (it will be included as a supplement on the DVD, of course). I'll finish that story later on in these here notes.

Yesterday I heard the rain, dear readers. Yesteday I drove in the rain, got wet in the rain and generally had a good time watching and being in the rain (and yes, Virginia, raindrops were falling on my head). You see what happens? My sprinkler man was here fixing a sprinkler (what did you think he was here doing, fixing the oven?) and I just had to pay him for said fixing. In other words, the act of paying him took me away from writing these here notes, and now I have lost my train of thought. Have you ever lost your train of thought? My train of thought is probably in Pacoima already. By the way, my thought always travels on the Atcheson, Topeka and the Santa Fe. My thought must always have a "sleeper" car, but that's because my thought is spoiled rotten. What the hell am I talking about? Oh, yes, yesterday I heard the rain. Today I do not hear the rain, I see the sun. Just once I would like to hear the sun and see the rain.

Has anyone noticed that I have lost my train of thought? My train of thought has left the station and is bound for glory. I think that until my train of thought returns we should all click on the Unseemly Button below and then click our heels three times so that we can be carried off to TheRestOfTheseNotesLand.

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- Monday, January 28, 2002 @ 10:04 AM PST

Sunday, January 27, 2002

Well, dear readers, yesterday I watched three motion pictures in a row. Have you ever watched three motion pictures in a row? How the motion pictures even fit in a row is beyond me, but then, what isn't beyond me? In any case, I shall get to those motion pictures in a bit. As I sat down to write these here notes, I happened to glance around my kitchen table (where my handy-dandy laptop computer resides), looking for inspiration, trying to figure out a title for today's notes. And what did I see? I saw Scotch tape. A pretty ordinary thing to see. But then I started to think (never a good thing), why is this stuff called "Scotch" tape? Why isn't it called Swedish tape? Or Norwegian tape (well, it couldn't have been called norwegian tape because Norwegian was already taken by wood). or even Greek tape. Why Scotch? Did the Scottish invent tape? So, naturally I was hell bent for both leather and doing a little research on the subject of Scotch tape. And here is what I found: Scotch tape was invented by Jamie MacDougal MacGregor MacConnahy MacPhearson, way back in the late 1800s. Mr. MacDougal MacGregor MacConnahy MacPhearson was in his native land of Scotland, and he was trying to affix an important piece of paper to the wall so he wouldn't forget what was on it. He'd run out of little pins which is what he normally used to stick bits of paper onto the walls of his home (he named his little pins that he would push into the walls, push pins, very clever that), so he was at his wit's end as to what to do. He had some cellophane lying around and an idea struck him - if he could somehow make one side of that cellophane sticky, then he could use that to affix bits of paper to the walls. He worked all day on this notion, and by the end of the day, by combining various ingredients such as bits of leftover porridge, rat droppings, and some sticky stuff from a plant located outside his door, he had a gooey concoction which, when applied to one side of the cellophane, made the cellophane adhere to both paper and wall. He was so excited that he danced a Scottish jig right then and there. He decided that his new invention should have a name. For some reason, the act of attaching the bit of paper to the wall seemed like "taping" to him. He didn't know why that word came to him, since he'd never heard it before, but as he was attaching the bit of paper to the wall, he thought, "I'm taping this to the wall. I dunnot know why fer the life o' me this act of adhering bits of paper to the wall with sticky cellophane should be called taping, and yet that is the word that popped into my head." And so he named his "tape" MacDougal MacGregor MacConnahy MacPhearson Tape and the rest would have been history but no one could remember that unwieldy name. So, after his homeland, Mr. MacDougal MacGregor MacConnahy MacPhearson named his invention Scotch tape, and then the rest was history.

Wasn't that a good and pointless story for a Sunday morning? Perhaps tomorrow we can have the story of Swiss cheese, American cheese, French fries and, best of all, the Russian lady. My goodness, this first section has become unwieldy, hasn't it? Not to mention unseemly. Yes, you heard it here dear readers, this section has become Unwieldy and Unseemly, so I do believe we should all click on that Unseemly Button below so we can just all move on with our lives.

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- Sunday, January 27, 2002 @ 10:06 AM PST

Saturday, January 26, 2002

Well, dear readers, I have taken the advice of two of our loyal dear readers and I have purchased an Opitcal Intellimouse. This mouse has no balls or other moving parts. I immediately hooked it up, configured it, and am now happily using it. Why, do you know this mouse has no balls or other moving parts? It's amazingly smooth and fast. That has been the problem with the mouse heretofore - the mouse had a ball and that ball would get dirty and stick and then the only option left would be to stomp both mouse and ball into oblivion. But with my brand spanking new handy-dandy ball-less mouse, everything is optical, ball-wise, so one never has problems like one had before. Thanks to the two dear readers who suggested I purchase this lovely new toy.

Last night I did something I haven't done in quite some time. I had a massage. Now, I don't know about you, dear readers, but the having of a massage is as sublime a treat as I know, right up there with hot fudge sundaes and pancakes at Du-Par's. I've been using the same Russian-lady masseuse for a while now, and she's great. About ten minutes into a massage I just go off to some other zone, all thought leaves me and I lie there like so much fish, a mass of unrepentent jelly-flesh, letting the Russian-lady masseuse do her magic. I do have to be careful of drooling, though. I haven't had a massage for at least four months, so I really needed it and, after it was over, I felt so light and airy and relaxed and peaceful. I ate some pistachio nuts and sat on my couch like so much fish and I was in a state of bliss. I went to bed and slept right through the night and woke up feeling refreshed. This is beginning to sound like an infomercial, isn't it? It's not cheap to have a massage, but if our bodies and minds don't deserve the occasional extravagance, then I don't know what.

In fact, I'm feeling so good, that I don't even mind clicking that damnable Unseemly Button below, which will whisk us all away to ExtendedTextLand.

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- Saturday, January 26, 2002 @ 09:50 AM PST

Friday, January 25, 2002

Well, dear readers, yesterday I purchased a little table for my living room. I have been looking for a little table for my living room for three years, and finally, yesterday, I saw one that was perfect and I purchased it immediately. It looks splendid, this little table does, and I'm very pleased with it and I looked at it over and over again last night. And when I woke up this morning I looked at it again and was pleased with it again. Speaking of waking up...

Last night I dreamed I was at Manderly. I had one of my recurring dreams last night, one I absolutely hate, one that I always wake up from yelling and screaming like a rum-soaked fruit cake. I may have even spoken of this dream in these here notes, but I shall speak of it again. In this dream people are trying to break into my home. I hear them outside creeping along the pathway outside my bedroom window and when I hear them I get very upset and I start to shout cursewords at them - when they hear me shouting they start running madly and talking loudly, and then I know they're out there for sure and I start shouting cursewords louder and louder, whilst they continue running and talking loudly and bumping against the house, which makes me shout cursewords louder and say scary things like, "I've called the police, you unmitigated peckerheads" and they continue running and bumping against the house and then I wake up screaming cursewords and saying, "I've called the police, you unmitigated peckerheads." What must my neighbors think? Why do I have this dream? Because I think people are trying to break in and take what doesn't belong to them? Because people are trying to make a safe environment unsafe? Oh, there could be so many interpretations. In any case, the reality was I was safe and sound, there were no people running amok and bumping into the house, so I went to the bathroom and then went back to sleep, where I dreamed of Manderly, and also cheese slices and ham chunks.

Have I mentioned that I purchased a little table for my living room and that I look at it over and over again? Perhaps I'll even take the price tag off of it today. There we go with "it" again. Once again, "it" inserts itself into the conversation. Why does "it" have a pricetag on it in the first place? And why would I take the pricetag off of "it" when "it" clearly looks better with a price tag? What the hell am I talking about? I'll bet if we searched "it" in our handy-dandy search box that we would find many examples of "it", "it" might even be the winner of how many times a word is used. It's all about "it", isn't it? The ego of "it" never ceases to astonish and amaze me, not necessarily in that order. Oh, well, perhaps if we all click on that damnable Unseemly Button below, we will have no more "it".

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- Friday, January 25, 2002 @ 09:34 AM PST

Thursday, January 24, 2002

Well, dear readers, last night, just after midnight I committed murder. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I committed a brutal murder right in my very own kitchen. It was not premeditated exactly, although my ire has been building for several weeks. Oh, yes, my ire has been building for several weeks, and last night, just after midnight, the building was completed. It was a highrise, my ire building was. So, just who or what did I brutally murder? My mouse. Not a real live mouse, no, I brutally murdered my computer mouse. Why? What did the mouse ever do to me to deserve being brutally murdered. Well, I'll tell you what the mouse did to me, because frankly you deserve to know. This mouse had been "sticking" for the last three weeks. I'd had this problem before, but someone had cleaned it for me and it seemed to work fine. But, soon thereafter it began "sticking" again. I mean, you'd move the mouse on its handy-dandy Guy Haines mousepad, and the cursor on screen would sit there like so much fish, stubbornly refusing to go anywhere - then, after a few more mouse moves the cursor would finally move, but not necessarily where you wanted it to.

I took it, dear readers, I took it for as long as I good, while my ire building began construction. It kept getting worse, though. Last night, just after midnight, it became unbearable, and I suddenly lost all semblance of sanity and I began to pound the mouse with a closed fist. I had tried to pound it with an open fist, but there is no such thing as an open fist, so I ceased trying to do that and pounded it with a closed fist. But that wasn't enough, no, I was too far gone by then. I unplugged the mouse, threw it to the floor, put on my shoes and then stomped on it for five minutes. I smashed that fershluganah mouse to smithereens. Yes, I freely admit it here and now and also now and here - I killed the mouse. Luckily, I had another mouse which I used when I was traveling, and I plugged that mouse in and voila, it worked perfectly. What a brutal story that was. Shocking in its sudden violence - rated "R" for Really extreme violence to a computer mouse. In any case, that mouse is no more, that mouse is done, that mouse is finito, that mouse is deader than a doornail, couldn't be deader than that mouse, that mouse is bereft of life, that mouse is kaput, done for, ixnay on the ousemay, that mouse is history, it has gone to mouse heaven. Let's all observe a moment of silence for the nolongerinexistence mouse. And while we're having our moment of silence, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below.

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- Thursday, January 24, 2002 @ 09:44 AM PST

Wednesday, January 23, 2002

Well, dear readers, every time there is a holiday weekend I get discombobulated. Not discomjimulated, mind you, nor even discombillulated, no, I get discombobulated and that's all there is to it. You see, yesterday seemed like today, and today seems like Friday and Monday seemed like Sunday, so I just don't know where the hell I am, day-wise. The days have become an olio, a stew, a melange, a hodge-podge, a podge-hodge, a gumbo, a porridge, and I find it all very confusing. I got out of bed this morning and it felt like Friday. Why "it" felt like Friday I have no idea, why don't you just ask "it" why it felt like Friday - I don't keep tabs on "it", I don't answer for "it", "it" can speak for itself as far as I am concerned. What the hell am I talking about? I have no idea, but that's what happens when you think it's Friday on a Wednesday.

A man was arrested for trying to steal money out of someone's pockets. He was caught red-handed. But the funny thing was that he was only trying to steal the coins in the pocket, he wasn't stealing the paper money. When asked why he was only trying to steal the coins, he said, "I thought the change would do me good". I first heard that joke when I was ten. I don't know why, but it just came back to me and I thought I would share it with you. I believe I saw it in a Myron Cohen book of jokes which was given to me when I was a mere sprig of a twig of a youth. You see, this is the sort of thing that happens when that Wednesday/Friday thing occurs.

Well, I just had a phone call that lasted fifteen minutes, and I have lost the momentum I'd been building as I was writing these here notes. I have no more momentum and I must now build momentum from scratch. What scratch has to do with building momentum I have no idea. Perhaps if we all click on the Unseemly Button below we'll find out what scratch has to do with building momentum.

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- Wednesday, January 23, 2002 @ 10:05 AM PST

Tuesday, January 22, 2002

Well, dear readers, today is a very exciting day, because today one of my favorite guilty pleasures, film-wise, comes out on DVD. That motion picture is entitled The Young Girls of Rochefort (Les Demoiselles de Rochfort, for our French amis), and it's directed by Jacques Demy (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg - Les Parapluis de Cherbourg, for our French amis) and it stars Catherine Deneuve, Francoise Dorleac, Gene Kelly, George Chakiris, Grover Dale, Michel Piccoli and lots of dancers in color coordinated outfits. The music is by the great Michel Legrand (Michel Legrand, for our French amis). It's a very strange movie, practically "through-sung" as they like to call it these days. It's gorgeously photographed in widescreen. I went to the theater for its "restored" showing a couple of years ago - the audience just didn't know what to make of it, frankly. I once had a 16mm scope print of it in I.B. Technicolor, that was breathtaking, and the "restoration", while good, didn't quite capture the luster of dye transfer Technicolor printing. For those who were wise enough to purchase the Guy Haines CD, you know that Mr. Haines also loves this film and he sings a song from it, You Must Believe In Spring, one of Mr. Legrand's most haunting melodies. In any case, I recommend at least a viewing of it - Deneuve and her real-life sister Dorleac are stunningly beautiful (Dorleac would tragically die in an auto accident soon after making this film), Kelly is fun, and the dancing and numbers are sprightly, and the whole melodramatic affair is quite addictive if you give yourself over to it.

What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? The one thing that concerns me is the quality of the DVD - I'll report on that tomorrow. But I did pick up three other releases from the same company, all touting themselves as "restored", and none of them were enhanced for widescreen tvs (no excuse for that shoddy treatment, in my opinion), and the prints used were less than stellar. I'm hoping that Rochefort is the one they got right.

Well, dear readers, I have received my third blurb, which I will tell you about shortly. And, we don't have an official winner in the trivia contest - but I can't get to that stuff until we do our dreary clicking of that damnable Unseemly Button below.

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- Tuesday, January 22, 2002 @ 09:21 AM PST

Monday, January 21, 2002

Well, dear readers, I've said it before and I'll say it again. Why am I always saying "it" so much? I've said "it" before, I'll say "it" again. Enough with the "it" already. Every morning I go to this handy-dandy place that Mr. Mark Bakalor has set up for me to write these here notes, and every day I look at this blank header bar that says "Subject" and every day I stare at that blank bar until a title hits me. Have you ever been hit by a title? It's painful. In any case, I find it difficult to start writing unless I have filled in a title. That is why, some weeks ago, I called these here notes "Untitled", because I simply couldn't think of anything. In any case, since I was coming up blank I decided to use that as a title, so I could get started, because I've got a lot to write and then I must work on my musical comedy.
Of course, if I were writing about that very talented orchestrator/arranger/conductor, Mr. Larry Blank, then the title of these here notes would make perfect sense, would they not?

Don't forget, you still have time to submit answers to this weekend's Unseemly Trivia Contest. If you haven't seen the question and the new rules, just click on the Unseemly Archive Button and check out Saturday's notes. We still only have partial winners, no one has guessed all the answers necessary to have a Highest Winner. Also, Donald's new radio show is up and running, so give it a listen.

I feel the subject is blank today, don't you dear readers? I feel I have said nothing whatsoever of any importance at all. That is because the title of these here notes is The Subject Was Blank, and that has led me down a blank path of nothingness. I feel I am in a blank void, a blank black hole, a blank bermuda triangle, notes-wise. Well, perhaps if we all click on the Unseemly Button below we will find substance and meaning.

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- Monday, January 21, 2002 @ 10:30 AM PST

Sunday, January 20, 2002

Well, dear readers, it is Sunday, and mercifully I got a very good night's sleep last night. I did not wake up at the crack of dawn, I did not even think or dream about the crack of dawn. Even my dreams were not unseemly. Now, I know all you dear readers are sitting there scratching your collective heads and thinking, "Yesterday he's going on and on about the crack of dawn and today it's an interesting fact about meat. What on earth is going on inside his head"? Of course, there is no answer to the question of what is going on inside my head - even I don't know what's going on inside my head. Inside my head is a stew, an olio, a melange, a salad with many ingredients, a hodge-podge of porridge, a boullabaise, a chowder, a many-layered cake, a poo poo platter, a vegetable medley, a revue, a montage... Whoa, that's a lot of stuff inside my head. It's crowded in there. In any case, a bunch of things are inside my head and they simply come pouring out willy-nilly and also nilly-willy, one after another in any order they so choose. I have no control over this, it just happens and out come these words. What the hell am I talking about? I have lost the point. The point is now jumbled inside my head with all that other guck. Oh, now I remember - the fact that yesterday's notes were entitled The Crack of Dawn and that today's notes are entitled An Interesting Fact About Meat. Now, you psychoanalyst dear readers just stop right there. Let's not try to read anything into this that isn't there. I mean what does the crack of dawn have to do with an interesting fact about meat, I ask you? Nothing. And yet, psychologists and psychoanalysts would try to make something out of it, would try to give it deeper meaning, they would make a deal out of it when there is no deal to be made. Oh, dear, this is simply getting too long, this is too much information (TMI) for this section. Oh, dear, I do believe Mr. Mark Bakalor is flying down here right now to bitch-slap me into oblivion. Let's all click on the Unseemly Button and be done with it.

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- Sunday, January 20, 2002 @ 09:23 AM PST

Saturday, January 19, 2002

Well, dear readers, here I am, once again up at the crack of dawn. Have you ever been up at the crack of dawn? You know, I think I shall stop right here. I think I shall not touch the crack of dawn with a ten-foot pole. I think I shall move right along. Today is the day for our handy-dandy Unseemly Trivia Contest, and David Levy has a good question for you - however, I think it's a bit to easy, so I'm adding a bonus question, and you must get both answers correct to be the Highest Winner. Aren't we devilish here at haineshisway.com? Has anyone noticed that I am up at the crack of dawn?

Last night I watched a very interesting motion picture from days of old. It was called Bright Eyes, and it starred that cute and bubbly, Miss Shirley Temple (I'd managed to score advance DVDs of Bright Eyes and Dimples). I'd never seen Bright Eyes before and I was thoroughly captivated. And, it was not at all what I was expecting. I was expecting all cuteness and cuddliness and frankly I thought I would most likely vomit, but that was not the case. Bright Eyes is actually quite a strange and in some ways dark little film. Yes, it has "On The Good Ship Lollipop" in it, but that's the film's only song (and it's great). But, in this film, Shirley's father was killed in a plane crash, her mother is hit by a car, she lives with a conniving, scheming and abusive rich family (Jane Withers as Joy, the daughter of said family, plays her character to a fare-thee-well, and you simply want to flush her down the toilet). But, Shirley keeps her chin up, and everything works out well in the end. I liked James Dunn as her pilot pal, Loop, too - good actor. It is fun to see the conniving, scheming rich family get their comeuppance at the end.

Say, I'm not supposed to be giving away the store in this first section. I'm supposed to be teasing. I'm not supposed to give away the store until the next section. So, let's all click on that damnable Unseemly Button below, because that is simply the thing to do, giving-away-the-store-wise.

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- Saturday, January 19, 2002 @ 06:04 AM PST

Friday, January 18, 2002

Well, dear readers, I have received the second blurb for my very own novel. How exciting is that? I'm hoping for two more, but my deadline is approaching, although both people have promised me I'd have them by Monday. My second blurb came from none other than the wonderfully talented and amusing Gary Owens, he of Laugh-In and radio and television fame. I'd given him a copy of the book when I had dinner with him at Christmas-time. My friends called him and told him that if he'd enjoyed the book that we'd love a blurb from him (they told him that Ira Levin had already done so). And the next day, we had the blurb. And here it is:

"I can really relate to Bruce Kimmel's Benjamin Kritzer, what a wonderful, beautifully written rush of 50s nostalgia - I love it! And it's even funnier than Rosemary's Baby (sorry, Ira). Bruce is a great talent who even mentions my favorite lunch of pickle and pimento loaf. Bravo! Bravo!" Gary Owens, Hollywood Supreme High Nurgle.

Isn't that a wonderful blurb? And I love the little comment regarding Rosemary's Baby and Ira Levin. Thank you Gary Owens. As promised, as soon as the other blurbs arrive, I will share them with you immediately.

David Wechter and I had a very good meeting with two producers yesterday, in regards to the musical we're writing. The producers seemed very excited and we're hoping they come on board.

Last night I dreamed I was at Manderly. And here is what happened - oops, we better click on the Unseemly Button below before this section becomes too long and we all get bitch-slapped by Mr. Mark Bakalor, Internet Bitch-Slapper.

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- Friday, January 18, 2002 @ 09:36 AM PST

Thursday, January 17, 2002

White. A blank page or canvas. The challenge: Bring order to the whole.

Well, dear readers, I am staring at a blank page and I am finding it difficult to bring order to the whole. I'm even finding it difficult to bring order to the half. I'm sitting in my kitchen like so much fish, and there is simply no order. Oh, I'm filling up the blank page or canvas with words, but there is no order to the whole and that is unseemly. There is even no order to the hole. Did you know that I write these here notes in the kitchen, on my handy-dandy laptop computer? Well, you do now. Now you can have a mental picture in your heads of me in the kitchen writing these here notes. I hope the picture you have of me in the kitchen on a Thursday writing these here notes has Design, Composition, Balance, Light and Harmony, or DCBLT as we like to call it. Of course, DCBLT could also stand for Definitely Crave Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato. Have I brought order to the whole yet? Or am I still scrambling around trying to find the fershluganah order?

It is important to bring order out of chaos. We simply cannot have chaos because chaos is one of the stupidest-looking words I've ever seen. I think the word "chaos" looks chaotic, frankly, all those letters laying there like so much fish, like someone threw them up in the air and they landed and suddenly made a word. What the hell am I talking about? I feel we need some order to the whole here, and I feel we need it in a thrice. Perhaps if we all click on that Unseemly Button below we will finally bring order to the whole.

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- Thursday, January 17, 2002 @ 10:33 AM PST

Wednesday, January 16, 2002

Well, dear readers, I have received the first (hopefully not the last) blurb for the dust jacket of my very own novel. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I, bk, have received the first blurb. Isn't that exciting? I've never received a blurb before. Somehow, heretofore, blurbs have eluded me. No blurb has come my way. No blurb had ever good newsed me. Blurbs had been in absentia, out of sight, not in evidence. I was sans blurbs and I felt empty inside, somehow, I felt blurbless in Studio City. But now I have my very own blurb and I now feel complete, blurb-wise. Isn't blurb a strange word? It was invented by Samuel X. Blurb. A long time ago, someone had written a book and they wanted their best friend, Samuel X. Blurb to say something nice about it. They called him and said, "Hello, Samuel X., I would like a Blurb for my book. Please say something nice, can you?" and the rest is history. Samuel X. Blurb gave a Blurb for the book and his name passed into legend. What the hell am I talking about? Oh, yes, the blurb I have received for my very own novel.

The nice thing about said blurb is that it is from a Very Respected Author, who also happens to be a Well Known Author, which makes the blurb that much nicer. Oh, it would be fine to have a blurb from Hymie Kornblatt, Pickle Maker, but what would it mean? No, for blurbs to mean anything they must be from authors, or celebrities or People In Show Business - then people pick up the book and say, "Oh, look, so and so thinks such and such and so I must buy this book right this very minute". For example, let's say a horror novel came out, by a first-time novelist. If that person had a blurb from, say, Stephen King, that would be a great help, because Stephen King knows whereof he speaks. horror novel-wise. In any case, I am pleased as punch to have my very own blurb. Yes, I am pleased as punch, and we all know how pleased punch is. Punch just sits there, lying in a bowl, smiling all the livelong day, so pleased is the punch. So, just what is my blurb? Well, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below and read it, shall we?

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- Wednesday, January 16, 2002 @ 08:13 AM PST

Tuesday, January 15, 2002

Well, dear readers, I am happy to report that The Case of the Smashed Fingernail by Erle Stanley Gardner, is finally at an end. The old bad blackened fingernail is no more, and a new unsmashed fingernail is taking its place, and I can once again hold my head up high. Yes, I've got a goal again, I've got a drive again, I can feel my heart coming alive again, because the old nail has passed by. Well, that was Jerry Hermanesque, wasn't it? I am so happy to not have a black fingernail anymore. It was my pinkie, and frankly it made me look like a middle-aged drug dealer.

Last night we had a very long meeting for the Julius Wechter benefit that I'm directing. It's going to be a whiz-bang of a show, I think, with loads of great talent and some pretty cool surprises. I've hired a terrific stage manager and set designer, and David Wechter is arranging all the video aspects of the show, which will include slides and some incredible video footage (he's also writing the script, and producing the event with mom Cissy and brother Jerry). They told us that we should arrive at Cissy's house at 6:30 for a light repast, so we could start at 7:00 sharp. Well, light repast my Aunt Fanny's eyeballs. There was home made pea soup, there was salad, there was asparagi, there was a cheese souflee, there was garlic chicken. It was a veritible feast this light repast. And, of course, we took a break from the meeting to eat the ice cream cake. I had to be wheeled to my automobile. In any case, if any of you dear readers in the Los Angeles area and environs are interested in attending, do send me your addresses and I'll make sure you get on the priority flyer list. I think tickets are going to go very fast indeed. As I've said, it's April 28th at the Alex Theater in Glendale.

"My Aunt Fanny's eyeballs"??? Sometimes not even I know where these things come from. They just appear like so much fish and I look at the words in wonderment and horror, just as you do. In fact, I like "My Aunt Fanny's Eyeballs" so much that I've made it the title of today's notes. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, "My Aunt Fanny's Eyeballs" has usurped the original title of these here notes. It has usurped them and that is that. When something is usurped it's usurped, you can't unusurp something, because a) it can't be done and b) it would be unseemly. Speaking of unseemly, isn't it time we all click on that damnable Unseemly Button below.

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- Tuesday, January 15, 2002 @ 09:23 AM PST

Monday, January 14, 2002

Well, dear readers, you will not believe it. I went to write my handy-dandy notes over an hour ago, to that special address that Mr. Mark Bakalor has set up for me. And I got that obnoxious thing I hate to see: WEBSITE NOT RESPONDING. All other internet sites were working for me, but not this one. I had someone else try and it worked for them, but of course they are not writing these fershluganah notes. I tried Internet Explorer. Nothing. I shut down aol and restarted it. Nothing. I rebooted the computer. Nothing. WEBSITE NOT RESPONDING. That's what I got, over and over again until I wanted to throttle the nearest pork chop. Luckily, there weren't any pork chops nearby. I finally tried it one last time and I still got WEBSITE NOT RESPONDING. However, this time I clicked on "RELOAD" and that did the trick. Suddenly the website responded and so here I am writing these here notes one hour late. On top of that, the plumber is here and I've got to show him where various and sundried problems are occuring. So, I feel rushed and fragmented and also fragmented and rushed. But at least we're not getting WEBSITE NOT RESPONDING right now and that is a good thing, because when I see that WEBSITE NOT RESPONDING thing, no pork chop in Los Angeles is safe.

Oh, I feel fragmented and rushed, dear readers, although not necessarily in that order. Perhaps we should all click on the Unseemly Button below and see if that helps.

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- Monday, January 14, 2002 @ 09:36 AM PST

Sunday, January 13, 2002

Well, dear readers, the first thing I'll tell you on this fine morning is that we've only had a measly three people take a stab at our handy-dandy Unseemly Trivia Contest this week. We need far more stabs than that. We need as many stabs as the shower scene in Psycho. In short, get stabbing, Hainsies.
Even if you think you don't have a clue, answer anyway, and I will publish the wackiest answer right here in these notes.

Today, I shall be going to my very own Aunt Lillie's apartment, where I shall meet up with my very own brother, and various and sundried others. My very own Aunt Lillie is something like ninety-three years old, but she's in fine shape and she calls me "dahlink". My very own brother is three years older than I, and he lives in Hawaii. I shall bring him back to my very own home and he will have a sleep-over and we, I have no doubt, will reminisce and amuse ourselves with tales from our sordid pasts. My very own brother and I have never been all that close, but in the last couple of years we've sort of become brotherly, which is very nice. He was one of the first people I sent my very own novel to, and he liked it very much (let's just say there some autobiographical elements in the book), which made me very happy. I'll be telling you all more about the book in the coming weeks, so, if you're at all interested in what kind of novel a person like me would write, then come back and visit often. Yes, you never know what kind of a novel a person like me would write (well, I know what kind of a novel a person like me would write, because I wrote it) - it could be about anything, couldn't it? Any event, any story, any old thing at all.

Tell me what you think of this, dear readers. After finishing my notes, I got ready to leave my very own home to do some errands. I called someone I had to pick up something from (who lives four blocks from me) and told her that I'd be there in five minutes and to wait downstairs for me. I then got in my car and promptly got on the freeway and was halfway to Westwood when I realized I'd forgotten to go pick up what I was supposed to pick up. Is this what they call a "senior moment"? I mean, I called this person and said "I'll be there in five minutes" and then I forgot. Ten seconds later, as I was getting into my car, I did not remember what I'd said five minutes ago, and I blithely drove directly to the freeway and off I went. Perhaps my head was in the clouds. Oh, well, I guess I've got a lot on my mind. It's a nice lot, however, quite large, and a beautiful home could be built on it. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I've got a lot on my mind - and that lot is located in Arleta. What the hell am I talking about? Is this what they call a "senior moment"? Let's all click on that Unseemly Button below, before I forget what else I want to write about.

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- Sunday, January 13, 2002 @ 09:40 AM PST

Saturday, January 12, 2002

Well, dear readers, I should know better. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I, bk, should know better. Last night I went to a nice little Italian joint I like. Now, I've been to this nice little Italian joint I like many times, and I, as is my wont, always order the same thing - the large antipasto salad with only turkey as the featured meat product (or turkey product - in other words, no salami or other unseemly meat products or bi-products). The large antipasto salad is most excellent and they have a wonderful Italian dressing to go along with said large antipasto salad. The have a fairly good propasto salad, too, but, as everyone who knows me knows, I am totally anti pasto. I just don't like that naughty pasto at all. In fact, I don't even associate with people who are pro pasto. People who are pro pasto always seem to resemble head cheese, have you noticed that? What the hell am I talking about? Oh, yes, the nice little Italian joint. Well, last night I decided I should order something else, as I'd already eaten a salad for lunch. I decided to be bold, to take a chance, to take a flyer, to go where no bk had ever gone before, to take the bull by the horns (have you ever been in France and taken the bull by the horns? They're French horns, you know), in other words, to try something I'd never tried. So, I ordered something called Penne Pasta with Sausages and Peppers. First off, let me say I am entirely pro pasta. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I am anit pasto but pro pasta. We could go on for hours having a pasta/pasto debate, but why bother? To find out the results of my bold ordering endeavor, I do believe we will all have to click on that damnable Unseemly Button below, because this section will become unseemly if it gets much longer, at least according to Mr. Mark Bakalor, who, as you know, is ready and willing and able to bitch-slap me if this here section is too long.

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- Saturday, January 12, 2002 @ 09:02 AM PST

Friday, January 11, 2002

Well, dear readers, my novel is winging its way to the publishers, after endless proofing by several people. I had thought I'd pretty much found everything in the first go-round of proofing, but there was so much other stuff to fix it was ridiculous. My guess is that when I see the galleys, I'll probably find yet more things. The fixing process is interesting to me - my proofers were catching every little comma, but sometimes I wouldn't do commas if I felt it impeded the flow of a sentence. The flow is everything, and while one wants to be gramatically brilliant at all times, sometimes it's at the cost of the flow or the intent, and I won't do it. I won't, do you hear me? You can boil me in oil, you can give me the water torture, you can rip my fingernails out (well, one fingernail in particular), you can put scalding hot pancakes on my butt cheeks, but I won't impede the flow and that is all there is to that.

My goodness, such strength so early on a Friday morning. But one must have strength, otherwise the flow will be impeded and we cannot impede the flow, dear readers. To that end, I can assure everyone reading these here notes, things are going to flow like a river today. And we will not impede the flow, will we? Because to impede the flow is heinous (heinous, do you hear me?). Yes, things will be flowing to and fro and also fro and to, not to mention hither and thither and yon. And all manner of things will be flowing, all the flotsam and the jetsom and the sharksom and the jetsom, they will all be flowing.

I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, do you? Sharksom and jetsom? I mean, that is the Ralph Nadir of these here notes. By the way, someone used our handy-dandy unseemly search box and searched the word "the". They got a ton of hits, let me tell you that, because I use the word "the" a lot. I am a proponent of the use of the word "the" as you can tell by this very sentence in which the word "the" appears no less than five times. In any case, I feel it is time for us to click on the Unseemly Button below so that I can continue using the word "the" many more times.

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- Friday, January 11, 2002 @ 10:07 AM PST

Thursday, January 10, 2002

Well, dear readers, this is book to the publisher day, so I have to make these here notes short and sweet, which, I suppose, is better than making them long and sour. I shall make up for this heinous (heinous, do you hear me?) happenstance tomorrow, when I shall write notes that are so long it will make the film The Ten Commandments look like a Three Stooges short. Actually, some of the film The Ten Commandments is funnier than a Three Stooges short. Speaking of short, these notes will be very short, or, in Hainsian terms, brief. Well, brevity is the soul of whit, they say, and frankly I'd like to find "they" and throttle them for saying "Brevity is the soul of wit" because it is such an oblique and obtuse saying. I would prefer "Soul is the wit of brevity" or even "The wit of brevity is soul" or even "The sole of wit is filet" or even "Brevity is the sole of my shoe". Oh, let's all click the Unseemly Button below and be done with this section. After all, brevity is the sole of wit and why should we linger here when we can linger elsewhere?

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- Thursday, January 10, 2002 @ 08:49 AM PST

Wednesday, January 9, 2002

Well, dear readers, I am hopping mad. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I am mad and because I am mad, I am hopping around the house like some kind of demented bunny rabbit. Why am I hopping mad, you might ask, and I might tell you because you have a right and perhaps a left to know. I am hopping mad because I was just about through with these here notes, when I went to amazon to do a handy-dandy link. After highlighting the link address, I closed out the amazon page, which closed out everything, including today's notes. Yes, I lost today's notes, and so here I am writing today's notes when I'd already written today's notes. That is one today's notes too many in my book (Chapter Nine - Why The Hell Do I Have to Write TWO Fershluganah Today's Notes?). How annoying is that? Is it any wonder I am hopping mad. Well, I shall try to reconstruct what I'd written, I suppose, and the devil take the hindmost.

Last night I dreamed I was at Manderly. In my dream my mouse wasn't working properly. Okay, get your collective minds out of the gutter. I mean my computer mouse, not a euphemism for some unseemly thing. In any case, my computer mouse was not working and I smashed it to smithereens. I suppose I could have smashed it to Jonesareens, but instead I smashed it to Smithereens. Perhaps I should have smashed it to Jonesareens, because now I am not keeping up with the Joneses. Isn't that a rather stupid and banal dream? And, of course, my real computer mouse is working just fine.

What on earth is a "smithereen"? That word just belongs in the pantheon of inane words, does it not?

I am having an extreme sense of deja vu, dear readers. I feel I've already written these notes, and yet, here I am, writing them again. Oh, well, I guess it's just one of life's little conundrums. Can one have a conuntympani, or a conuntrumpet? Just asking.

Perhaps it is time we all click that unseemly Unseemly Button below. Perhaps I won't be so hopping mad when we've all clicked that damnable Unseemly Button below. Let's find out.

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- Wednesday, January 9, 2002 @ 10:05 AM PST

Tuesday, January 8, 2002

I'm doing a rather unexpected update, dear readers, and one that is very sad indeed. I just received a call from Todd Ellison, my main musical director (currently conducting 42nd Street on Broadway) who told me the sad and shocking news that Donald Johnston, a friend and a terrific orchestrator, died late yesterday of cancer. None of us knew anything about it. I'd met with him over the summer about a project and he seemed fine, and, in fact, that he and the person he'd been seeing romantically were most likely going to marry (they did, in October). Donald and I worked together four times, on albums I produced while at Varese Sarabande. A Superman film music compilation, a Godzilla film music compilation, and my album Titanic: The Ultimate Collection, which was my biggest selling album ever, and an album that spent forty-two consecutive weeks on the Billboard Classical Crossover Chart. The other album we worked on was my favorite of all: The concept album of Claibe Richardson and Stephen Cole's musical of The Night of the Hunter. He had recently done the Broadway revival of 42nd Street. He was wildly talented, but more importantly, one of the nicest people who ever walked the planet. I will miss him. RIP, dear Donald.

Well, dear readers, this morning I awoke at six o'clock for no good reason. I just woke up and that was all there was to that. I stayed in bed like so much fish, trying to go back to sleep, but sleep was done with me, so I got up. I remembered the expression "the early bird catches the worm", so I went outside and tried to catch a worm, but it was so early it was still dark out and so I couldn't tell what I was catching, outside of, perhaps, a cold. The singing bird wasn't even up, because it knew there were no worms to catch, and besides the singing bird was very tired from having performed the entire score to The Threepenny Opera (in German yet). I really have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm just blithely typing away, because I am quite tired and also because I didn't even catch the fershluganah worm.

You loyal and true Hainsies will be happy to know, that despite the dearth of unseemly comments posted recently, the traffic here at haineshisway.com has been great. Lots of visitors, and many radio show listeners. That makes my heart go pit-a-pat, it truly does. Sometimes, when I'm really excited, my heart not only goes pit-a-pat, it also goes pat-a-pit. Sometimes, when my excitement can't be controlled, my heart goes a-pit-pat-a-pat-pit. Sometimes it does the whole routine backwards, just to confound me (tap-a-tip, tip-a-tap, a-tip-tap-a-tap-tip). I haven't fully awakened yet, that much is clear. Perhaps if I play an early morning variation on The Pediatrician and the Randy Vicar, that will wake me up pronto. If we're all tired of playing The Pediatrician and the Randy Vicar, might I suggest we now play The Ear, Nose, and Throat Man and the Deep Sea Diver. Although, to play that naughty game, one must have a stethoscope, a swab, a rubber suit and a snorkle. What one does with those items in entirely up to the various players, and that is what makes everything interesting.

I really feel we need to get off this page right now. On the count of three, let's all click the Unseemly Button below. One...two...three

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- Tuesday, January 8, 2002 @ 09:54 AM PST

Monday, January 7, 2002

Well, dear readers, I have been having so much fun playing The Pediatrician and the Randy Vicar all the livelong day and night. Now, tell the truth - many of you dear Hainsies are sitting there scratching your collective heads (no mean feat) and thinking, "The Pediatrician and the Randy Vicar? Just what in tarnation is he going on about now?" And you are thinking that because some (not all) of you have been truant and errant, not necessarily in that order. So, you will have to use the Unseemly Archive Button and go back and read this weekend's notes to find out what in tarnation I'm going on about.

I was very excited to see that we had an Unseemly Donation this morning, and to that lovely person I offer a hale and hearty thanks. Your Unseemly Donations will allow us to add handy-dandy improvements and new features to this here site, for example, an interactive version of The Pediatrician and the Randy Vicar.

We have a High Winner in our trivia contest. This week we only had three people actually try to guess the answer to the question, so this means that the question was very hard or we had many errant and truant Hainsies this weekend. Speaking of errant and truant, my errant and truant and quite disgusting fingernail on my right pinkie, the one that I smashed in a drawer in the Doubletree Hotel in Manhattan last September, is hanging there like so much fish and it is making me nauseous. Whatever shall I do. It is ready to come off, is completely loose at the left side and the back, but is tenaciously attached at the right. I want to yank the mother right off, but will that hurt? Will that be good or bad, hanging nail-wise? If there are any manicurists out there, or anyone who knows how best to get this grody thing off my pinkie, please post it below in the Unseemly Comment Box so I can get this damn unseemly thing off me. Also, if someone could please tell all of us why my pinkie is called a pinkie rather than a yellowie or a greenie, we'd all be ever so appreciative.

Well, let's announce our trivia contest High Winner and Subsequent Winner, shall we? But first, you know the drill - first we must all click on the Unseemly Button below, so that we can be whisked off to Triviaanswerland.

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- Monday, January 7, 2002 @ 09:32 AM PST

Sunday, January 6, 2002

Well, dear readers, it never ceases to amaze me. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, it never ceases to amaze me. It is always doing the most outrageous things, and I am always amazed at it's outrageous behavior. Has anyone noticed how much time I spend talking about "it"? As Mr. Stephen Sondheim might put it, the pundits query whether "it" and "I" are having a moment, a thing, a little tete a tete? Are "it" and "I" an item, are we having a sordid affair, are we supping on steak tartar and potatoes with chives? Are "it" and "I" running around, dancing to the Latin rhythms of Lester Lanin and his dance band, eating chocolate-covered pretzels and naughty games, such as The Pediatrician and The Randy Vicar? Does anyone know what the hell I'm going on about? It doesn't make any sense. There I go again, talking about "it". I have to stop it, because "it" is taking over this entire blog or log or journal or daily dose of drivel. Stop "it", stop "it", stop "it". There, that felt good to get "it" out of my system. Let's just ignore "it" for the rest of these here notes, although I did thoroughly enjoy playing The Pediatrician and The Randy Vicar.

And just what does Bangers and Mash have to do with the price of tomatoes? Well, not much really, as the price of tomatoes has remained fairly constant for the last three months. The price of tomatoes has not wavered one iota. Isn't "iota" a rather stupid word? I mean, just look at the damn thing. "Iota". It just sits there like so much fish, looking like a totally useless bunch of letters strewn together. Of course, we won't even talk about "strewn", will we? And just what does all this have to do with the price of Bangers and Mash? And just what the hell does Bangers and Mash mean? We need answers, but of course we won't be getting answers until we all click that Unseemly Button below. Let's all click it now, and we shall be whisked away to Answerland.

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- Sunday, January 6, 2002 @ 10:44 AM PST

Saturday, January 5, 2002

Well, dear readers, here we are starting the first weekend of 2002, which, of course, is 2002 backwards. It's a fine Saturday, and being a fine Saturday I do believe that all our loyal and true Hainsies know what that means. It means our handy-dandy trivia contest. Today, because Mr. David Levy was too lazy to get me a question in time, we are going to have a special guest quiz, courtesy of dear reader, William Lurie. Remember, the first one of you to e-mail the correct answer gets a special handy-dandy prize. The first two handy-dandy prizes are currently winging their way to our first two contest winners.

But before we get to our trivia question, may I just say that Prime Time Jiminy Glick is the funniest show on television? Of course, I haven't really seen any other shows on television in about ten years, but of all the shows I've seen (this being the only one) I can safely say that Prime Time Jiminy Glick is the funniest show on television. After watching the great Skip E. Lowe for all these many years, it's great to see someone do him one better. I rarely laugh out loud, but this show frequently elicits laughing out loud from me. It's on Comedy Central, so check it out.

I ate so much Mexican food last night that I got up this morning and started dancing the Mexican Hat Dance. I didn't have a Mexican Hat, so I'm dancing it around my haineshisway.com baseball hat. If you haven't seen our fabulous haineshisway.com products, just click on the appropriate unseemly button and you will be whisked to Productland. Speaking of unseemly buttons, isn't it about time we all clicked the one below?

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- Saturday, January 5, 2002 @ 12:43 AM PST

Friday, January 4, 2002

Well, dear readers, my brain does not seem to be functioning at this time, hence the "Untitled Friday Notes". Actually, I always enjoy when the announce a new film that way, like "Untitled Woody Allen" or "Untitled Steven Spielberg". I mean, if it's good enough for Hollywood, it's good enough for the likes of haineshisway.com. Speaking of Hollywood, I watched a new DVD last night, a motion picture comedy entitled Neil Simon's California Suite. I think they should have called it "Untitled Neil Simon" but, no, they called it Neil Simon's California Suite because it was based on his hit play, which, by the way, had a title, so they couldn't exactly call it "Untitled", now could they? Well, they could, but it would have been unseemly. The play was entitled California Suite, but for the film they decided it should be Neil Simon's California Suite, so that it wouldn't be confused with John Huston's California Suite. It was very interesting to watch it, for a variety of reasons. Not a Hollywood Reporter of reasons, mind you, no, it was interesting to watch it for a Variety of reasons, or, more accurately, a Daily Variety of reasons. Of course, this paragraph is getting so long I've forgotton what those reasons are, but I do remember they were interesting. Perhaps if we all click the Unseemly Button below, I'll remember what the Daily Variety of reasons were. Click on.

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- Friday, January 4, 2002 @ 10:56 AM PST

Thursday, January 3, 2002

Well, dear readers, I am very late for a very important date, so I will have to keep these here notes short and sweet. Which, I suppose, is better than long and sour. I shall make up for it tomorrow - I shall wear eye liner and rouge and a bit of pancake make up for "it" tomorrow, because "it" loves when I makeup. What the hell am I talking about? Didn't I just say these here notes have to be short and sweet?

Now, we mustn't dawdle, Amaryllis, we must make haste, we must zip and zoom (piz and mooz, spelled backwards) through these here notes so I can be on my merry way. Just think of today's notes as the Reader's Digest bk's notes II. So, without further delay, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below with great vim and verve.

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- Thursday, January 3, 2002 @ 10:43 AM PST

Wednesday, January 2, 2002

Well, dear readers, it is the year 2002, a year with two twos and two zeros, not necessarily in that order. Where else can you get such information other than here at haineshisway.com? Writing a daily journal or log or in our e-world, blog, can be very difficult. One has to have actual thoughts and actual things to write about, but some days you get up and you don't have any actual thoughts or actual things to write about and then you must vamp until something pops in to your head. Rather like a painter staring at a blank canvas, waiting for inspiration to strike him or her. What him or her ever did to "inspiration" to make it want to strike him or her is anyone's guess. In any case, this paragraph is a perfect example of not having any actual thoughts or actual things to write about and thus what is known in the blog trade as "the vamp". In other words, if one were to dissect what I have written this far in these here notes, what one would find is a big glob of nothing. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, thus far today's blog is a big glob of nothing, but that's only appropriate since "glob" is "blog" anagramed. Did you notice that I began the last sentence with "In other words"? What does that mean? "In other words". I didn't use "other" words, I used the words I wrote, at no time were there "other" words so just what the hell does "in other words" mean when I didn't write "other" words? I tell you, that sort of thing drives me up the wall. Have you ever been driven up the wall? It's quite a nice trip, especially in a convertible.

Now, you see, no more blank page. Now I'm in the thick of things, unlike before when I was in the thin of things. I think the best thing we can all do to keep these here notes moving along at a steady clip, is to click on the Unseemly Button below.

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- Wednesday, January 2, 2002 @ 09:02 AM PST

Tuesday, January 1, 2002

Well, dear readers, on this very first day of the new year, I slept in for the first time in who knows how long. And if who knows how long why doesn't who tell us how long instead of just keeping it to itself? In any case, I slept until ten-fifteen and had a most excellent and peaceful night's sleep. I feel rested, and frankly I am feeling my oats this fine morning. My oats have been sad lately, because they haven't been felt in quite a while, and oats love to be felt. So, I am feeling my oats and we've got nothing but happy oats around here.

I've got some exciting news, but I think I'll tell you what that exciting news is a bit later in the notes. According to Mr. Mark Bakalor, I must never give away exciting news in this "teaser" section of the notes, because that would be unseemly.

Apparently, a controversy has arisen regarding the answer to last week's trivia contest. Apparently, according to Mr. David Levy himself, the question was not "who" (Miss Nobody, USA) but "If a girl isn't pretty" what is her address? Apparently the answer to that question was contained along with the question when Mr. David Levy sent it to me, but I neglected to check it, because everyone's answers (Miss Nobody, USA) seemed right. Well, they were not right. Apparently, we had no winner last week, because, according to Mr. David Levy, the correct answer is "oblivion". However, since we already awarded the prize, we won't take it back because that would be unseemly. Speaking of unseemly, isn't it time we all click the fershluganah button below?

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- Tuesday, January 1, 2002 @ 12:17 PM PST