Last night I saw Sunset Blvd. Not the street or the musical, mind you, no, I saw Sunset Blvd. the movie. A friend of mine screened it in his very own screening room in tribute to Mr. Billy Wilder. I, of course, have seen Sunset Blvd. the film many times, although not as many times as I've seen Sunset Blvd. the street. But it was very interesting to watch it again, especially in light of all these new movies I've seen recently. Because what really shines through in this film is the writing. The direction is great, the acting as good as it gets, the score and photography top-notch. But the screenplay is audacious and brilliant and it is inconceivable that a film like this could be written today. I wonder if Mr. Wilder and his collaborators sat there and said, "Now in Act One this happens, in Act Two that happens, in Act Three this happens - this character's arc is this, this character completes his journey this way..." I would highly doubt it - in those days writers didn't attend Screenwriting 101, didn't have these catchphrases for scriptwriting, and wrote films in the way they wanted to write them. Were there formula pictures within certain structures? Sure. But not like today - today it's all by rote, today it all adheres to a really small set of rules which somebody decreed were the Rules of Screenwriting. It's why most movies today feel the same - they all follow these structure and character rules, no matter how original they're trying to be. Believe me, I've sat in on meetings where they discuss these things and make writers change things to conform to these rules.

Since I'm not finished about Sunset Blvd., why don't we all click on our Unseemly Easter Button below so I can finish.

- Sunday, March 31, 2002 @ 09:38 AM PST

Saturday, March 30, 2002

I looked in the mirror and I was no longer buff and toned with abs and buns of steel, I was like an urn of lumpen gravy. "An urn of lumpen gravy"? An urn of lumpen gravy? What in the name of Cecil Kellaway is an urn of lumpen gravy? That is just too outre for even me. What is the thing that you put lumpen gravy in? It's not an urn, for heaven's sake. It's that thing. That thing you put lumpen gravy in. Why can't I remember the name of that thing you put lumpen gravy in. A pitcher? Is it a pitcher? A lumpen gravy pitcher? Oh, I hate when I can't remember Simple Little Things, like the name of the thing you put lumpen gravy in. That is a real pet peeve of mine. I have several pet peeves. They are so cute, so furry and lovable and my peeves don't even do their business in the house. Do you have any pet peeves? They're very loyal, you know, they stay with you through thick and through thin these pet peeves do. What the hell am I talking about? Pet peeves? Urns of gravy? Where did I make a wrong turn. I can't even remember what I was talking about. Oh, yes, my craving and how I satisfied it.

In any case, there I was, craving satisfied, when I began to have another craving. After all, I'd only eaten a House Chopped Salad, two pieces of rye bread and two scoops of ice cream. That didn't seem like all that much food. But I was determined not to satisfy this new craving because it seemed unseemly to satisfy two cravings in one evening. I was determined for about five minutes, then I got in my car and drove over to Jerry's Deli (from whence my House Chopped Salad had come) where I got some French Fries and Ranch Dressing to go. I brought them home and ate them all up. They were quite delicious. I then looked in the mirror and I'd begun to resemble not an urn of lumpen gravy, but a vat of lumpen gravy. Oh, well, I suppose one must give in to these occasional cravings. Today I shall have no occasional craving and I will eat only a small amount so that I don't resemble an urn or vat of lumpen gravy.

My that was an exciting tale of occasional cravings, wasn't it? It had everything: drama, urns and vats of lumpen gravy and adorable pet peeves. I don't know that there's anything else to do at this point, other than click on the Unseemly Button below.

- Saturday, March 30, 2002 @ 08:48 AM PST

Friday, March 29, 2002

Yesterday I attended a rehearsal with the newly reconstituted Baja Marimba Band and what fun it was. To hear all those great old Julius Wechter songs in that unique sound well, it just makes you smile. And the musicians, most of whom are in their late sixties or early to mid-seventies, still have their chops. Yes, Virginia, these musicians still have their chops. Not their sirloin tips, mind you, and certainly not their meatloaf, no these musicians have their chops and the devil take the hindmost which, of course, is the rump roast. What am I, trying to sound like S.J. Perelman? He wrote Horse Feathers, by the way, a great Marx Brothers movie (he wrote it with Kalmer and Ruby) and it features one of my favorite lines. Zeppo (playing Groucho's son!) has a comely young lady sitting on his lap, and Groucho says to him, "Young lady, would you mind getting off his lap so I can see the son rise?"
Where was I? I have taken a detour through MarxBrothersland. Oh, yes, the Baja and how fresh they sounded. By the way, tickets to the benefit are going very fast indeed and we're thrilled at the response. And we've still got four weeks to go. I do hope to see some of your dear readers at the event and yes, Virginia, there will be a reception afterwards, complete with ham chunks and cheese slices.

Someone was using our handy-dandy search engine last night, and they searched for "blue light special". They got 0 hits. But, if they were ever to come back, now they would get a hit. Isn't that thoughtful of me? I don't even know what a blue light special is. A blue plate special, yes. A red light special, yes. Perhaps one of our dear readers can illuminate us as to what a blue light special is. Until that time, we shall have to remain in the dark, blue light special-wise. For now, however, why don't we all click on that Unseemly Button below before Mr. Mark Bakalor shows up in some unseemly costume and bitch-slaps us into another time zone.

- Friday, March 29, 2002 @ 09:09 AM PST

Thursday, March 28, 2002

Damn the eyes of a wombat, I was right. What the Hell am I Talking About is a Hinky Meltz and Ernest Ernest song. How appropriate, when I was just talking about being ernest. This is synchronicity. This is serendipity. Here's the song:

WHAT THE HELL AM I TALKING ABOUT? Music by Hinky Meltz Lyrics by Ernest Ernest

Words pour out of me like water from a tap
I talk and I talk and I talk.
But the words that pour out of me are just so much crap
I get so angry - I take a walk -
And think

I have a conversation
I'm speaking words no doubt
But people don't have a single clue to
What the hell I'm talking about!

I speak in simple rhythms
I never scream or shout
But people just look at me and say, hey
What the hell are you talking about?

Yeah, what the hell am I talking about
When I blab and blab and blab?
My thoughts aren't lean, my prose ain't clean
I do not have the gift of gab!

When I am at a party,
The words come tumbling out
But people just scratch their heads and sigh, why
What the hell is he talking about?

So that's my situation
I do not mean to pout
But every time I happen to speak, eek!
What the hell am I talking about?
What the hell am I talking about?
What the hell am I talking about!

My goodness, Ernest Ernest is so ernest. And that is why he's a role model for us all. So, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below that I can answer your question in ernest.

- Thursday, March 28, 2002 @ 09:47 AM PST

Wednesday, March 27, 2002

I haven't been invited anywhere for Passover this year. I shall have to celebrate all by myself. I shall have to eat my matzoh ball soup, chopped liver, bitter herbs, cheroses, and the rest by myself. I shall have to plotz by myself. I shall have to cast out plagues by myself. Oh, well, maybe Elijah will show up.

Last night I had a handy-dandy massage from my handy-dandy masseusse, Marina from Russia. I was so overtired from having been awakened by the phone call from The Beeper the night before, that I really needed to relax and the best way I know is to have a handy-dandy massage from Marina from Russia. After it was over, I sat and watched the end of a movie I was in the middle of (of which more later) and then I hit the sack at eleven, fell asleep and was awakened by a phone call this morning at 8:45. In other words, I went out like a light and stayed out. Why it was necessary to hit a sack before going to bed is a question for the sages amongst us. However, that said, I always find it helps me to sleep if I hit a sack before going to bed.

Does anyone reading these here notes thus far feel I had too much sleep last night? I feel these here notes feel they are being written by someone who had too much sleep last night, but I could be wrong in that assessment, so I invite other assessers to assess. Right now, why don't we all just click on that Unseemly Button below.

- Wednesday, March 27, 2002 @ 09:36 AM PST

Tuesday, March 26, 2002

I'm very tired right now. I'm yawning right now. I feel that whoever invented the word "yawn" did a very good job. That word "yawn" is just perfect to describe a yawn, isn't it? Perhaps I'll go outside and yawn on my lawn.

Well, that was a piquant paragraph, wasn't it? That was tart, like a lemon frappe. It had a certain brevity that was admirable, I feel. What the hell is a lemon frappe? Beep...beep...beep...beep...

Thus far, I feel these notes are the equivalent of my phone call this morning - an endless drone. But what can I talk about at 5:39 in the morning? I can barely even see what I'm typing, let alone form any coherent thoughts. Perhaps if I had a lemon frappe I could form some coherent thoughts.

Perhaps if we all click that Unseemly Button below I will be able to form some coherent thoughts. Let's try, shall we?

- Tuesday, March 26, 2002 @ 06:01 AM PST

Monday, March 25, 2002

So, what were the highlights and lowlights? For me, there was one highlight and that was Mr. Woody Allen, who was terrific in his little segment, and it was great that he came out to do it. I like Mr. Robert Redford, so I enjoyed his segment, too. And Sidney Potier, who is very classy indeed, and who looks pretty damn swell at seventy-five years of age. And Mr. Randy Newman finally winning the Academy Award made the whole show worthwhile. His was the best acceptance speech of the evening. And even though they didn't belong there, the marvelous Cirque du Soleil folks. Nathan Lane was amusing, too.

The lowlights? Where to start? Julia Roberts, who is fast becoming a blithering idiot and total goofball ("I got to kiss Sidney Potier...sorry, honey." and then grabbing on to Denzel Washington as if she were going to shtup him right then and there). Gwynyth Paltrow's dress (and the fact that she managed to look absolutely nothing like Gwynyth Paltrow). Having high-class actors, Donald Sutherland and Glenn Close as backstage announcers. Enya (enough already). And, excuse me for living, Halle Berry. Now, I say Halle Berry knowing full well I will be lambasted and yelled on by most. I know she was excited, I know she was touched, I know she was emotional... But she won an award for a performance in a film. She did not win an award because she's a person of half-color. Was it historic? Sure. But to go on and on and on and on about it was too much. Others throughout the evening managed to be gracious and not over the top (and succinct), such as Mr. Denzel Washington. When she named her lawyer and then screamed at John Williams who, after five minutes, was probably raising his baton to throw at her, well, I began to scream at Miss Halle Berry to get off my television screen.

Oh, now I feel bad that I lambasted poor Halle Berry. After all, it was a momentous moment and she was so emotional and had to let it all out. I was sad that Mr. John Williams did not win for A.I., but happy for Howard Shore, even though I don't like his score for Lord of the Rings. And I was happy for Miss Jennifer Connelly, an actress whose career I've been following since discovering her in Mr. Sergio Leone's marvelous Once Upon a Time in America. In fact, unbeknownst to her, I was semi-responsible for her next job, Seven Minutes from Heaven. A producer, Fred Roos, was desperately looking for someone for that film, and after I saw Miss Connelly, I recommended that he run, run, run (that is three runs) to the Vogue Theater in Hollywood to see her. He did, and she got the part. In any case, let's get to the dirt, the dish. But, in order to get to the dish and the dirt we must click the Unseemly Button below.

- Monday, March 25, 2002 @ 08:25 AM PST

Sunday, March 24, 2002

I started talking about Bridget Jones's Diary yesterday. It is certainly an amiable film, competently directed and filled with the charm of its excellent cast. I was very impressed with Rene Zellwegger, and I alway enjoy Colin Firth and Hugh Grant. What I do not enjoy, however, and which this film is really guilty of, is the incessant and mind-numbing use of popular songs on the soundtrack. They've gone out of their way to find songs that would comment on the action in oh so cute ways, and it's so annoying that I almost shut the damn thing off. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that it stops the film from being the excellent movie it could be. The times when scenes are unscored, or when they have Patrick Doyle's lovely music, the film works like gangbusters. Can you imagine Breakfast at Tiffany's having pop standard every three minutes, rather than just the one original song (Moon River)? Or any of the classic romantic comedies pre-1980 (or even the post-1980 Tootsie)? I've said it before and I'll say it again - I don't need help in being told what emotion the film is trying to impart. The film, script and performances all do that, or at least they should. Films that use songs or underscoring to underline and make things blatant don't give their audiences any credit whatsoever. Of course, maybe it's necessary these days, although I'd like to think not.

Intermission. What type of pizza shall I order? Thin and simple? Thick and gooey? With or without meatstuffs? Onions? Decisions, decisions, decisions (that is three decisions). While I contemplate, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below, because if you thought I was ranting about Bridget Jones's Diary, a film I enjoyed, wait until you read the next bits.

- Sunday, March 24, 2002 @ 10:00 AM PST

Saturday, March 23, 2002

There. A new paragraph. That is called progress where I come from which, by the way, is Los Angeles, California, where new paragraphs have always, to my knowledge, been called progress for some obscure reason known only to Los Angeles, California itself and whoa Nellie if this hasn't turned into one of those consarned runon sentences (I know runon should have a hyphen but we're not doing hyphens today) and I can't stop it because it's got a mind of its own and why does one of those "its" have an apostrophe and the other "its" doesn't that's what I'd like to know and isn't the word "apostrophe" really kind of stupid in the extreme, such a big word for such a little mark and speaking of little marks just where the hell has Mr. Mark Bakalor been because we could really use him now to toss us a period and whoopsydaisy there's one now let me grab it.

My goodness, my fingers are out of breath from all that typing. I read a review of Miss Bernadette Peters' new CD, on the Show Business Weekly site, written by someone called Mr. David Hurst. It pretty much echoes (and I mean echoes) my very own thoughts about the album that were written here some weeks ago. What was interesting about the review was that the reviewer didn't enjoy the CD for reasons similar to my own, but he didn't really know how to express what he didn't like about it in any kind of meaningful way. In other words, he's pretty much typical of many reviewers today. But let's not go there, shall we? Let's not get into a discussion of reviewers and their credentials. In any case, with the internet, everyone is a critic and a reviewer. If you want to read someone who knows how to write, read Mr. Peter Filichia. He's fun, knowledgable, and a terrific writer. He's not pompous, doesn't take himself seriously and has style and wit.

Oops, I forgot, we must not shilly-shally, we must cut to the chase or, in our case, to the Unseemly Button below.

- Saturday, March 23, 2002 @ 09:40 AM PST

Friday, March 22, 2002

Now, they saw the necklace glinting in the light through a partially opened window in a black limosine? Right. And then they just walked up and thrust a hand through the half-opened window? Right. And Miss Minnelli just happened to be sitting right next to that open window? Right. And then they gave this story to the press but not the police? Right. Of course, the fact that the person who posted this story believed it is the most unbelievable thing of all. The most important detail in the story, however, was that Miss Liza Minnelli and her radiant husband, Mr. David Gest, had been out the night before until the wee hours of the morning. They'd then come back to their one thousand pound a night hotel suite (yes, they gave the cost) and told their butler not to awaken them one minute before three-twenty in the afternoon. Their butler! The article is accompanied by a photo of Miss Judy Gar..., oops, sorry, Miss Liza Minnelli (she really is doing herself up just like Mum now) and her radiant husband, Mr. David Gest. For those who do believe the story, I have some toe nail clippings that I will sell you - they're really valuable, too.

I spent most of yesterday consolidating the notes of my three proofers. An endless ordeal - I then typed them all up, and also red-marked the galley - I do hope this is the final go-through, although I do get one more chance to fix anything after they do these fixes and send me one more galley. I really thought we'd caught mostly everything the last go-round, but we found an amazing amount of small things (plus the errors that the publisher somehow made in formatting it - mistakes which are correct in the manuscript they were sent - how those things happen I have no idea). In any case, we're definitely in the final stages and soon I trust we can put the thing to bed and then all of you can read it.

Well, I see that it's time to click on that Unseemly Button before someone notices my bejeweled necklace glinting in the light and tries to thrust their hand through the partially opened window of my black Merceds Benz limosine which I use when I'm not in my thousand pound hotel suite not being awakened by my butler.

- Friday, March 22, 2002 @ 08:18 AM PST

Thursday, March 21, 2002

how it was I quote before Pim with Pim after Pim how it is three parts I say it as I hear it

Here is the second sentence/paragraph:

voice once without quaqua on all sides then in me when the panting stops tell me again finish telling me invocation

Isn't that marvelously obtuse? Rather like these notes. I especially like the fact that there is no capitalization (except the "I") and no punctuation (that continues for the entire book). And any writer who uses the word "quaqua" is okay by me. Have I mentioned that it has just occurred to me that nothing has occurred to me except, of course, it has occurred to me that I will be using the word "quaqua" many times in today's notes. That way, if anyone happens to search the word quaqua whilst using our handy-dandy Unseemly Search box they will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. Speaking of wildest dreams...

Last night I dreamed I was at Manderley.

In my dream, I came out of my bedroom, walked into the living room and sat down at the piano. I began to play some clever tune, but I noticed that not much sound issued forth. I thought that strange. Then I noticed that the whole keyboard was slightly askew. I looked at the slightly askew keyboard and began to get a bad feeling. I looked up at the window near the piano and it too was askew. I than ran into the kitchen and saw that my handy-dandy laptop computer was gone. As I ran to the den I began chanting, "No, no, no, no, no..." over and over again. When I got to the den the whole room was a mess and everything was missing. I ran back through the living room and out the front door, yelling for help. When I got near the driveway, there was a van of some sort parked there and it was clear that the uncouth interlopers were still in the midst of robbing me blind. I began to yell at the top of my lungs, "Neighbors! Neighbors! Help me! They are stealing my stuff! Neighbors!" Either no one was home or they didn't hear me or they were not inclined to come help, but no one answered my call. I then looked down the pathway that leads to the yard and there was a man there coming toward me with what looked like an automatic weapon. Then I saw someone coming down the street. Then the whole thing got even more surreal, and it turns out the police were already there and they captured all the uncouth interlopers with great glee and all my stuff was safe and sound and they put the uncouth interlopers in chains and took them off. Then I woke up.

Wasn't that an interesting dream? I hate when I dream about uncouth interlopers who come and steal from me, come and take things that don't belong to them. Who do these uncouth interlopers think they are? And what is up with my neighbors? I won't be having any of them over for dinner, let me tell you that. In any case, the uncouth interlopers got their just desserts, and I don't mean a Cherry Pie. I am glad my dream had a happy ending, otherwise it would have been a nightmare and we hate nightmares, especially as regards uncouth interlopers trying to take what doesn't belong to them.

Someone once asked if I make these things up. No, I do not make them up. I really dreamed it, and my dreams are quite vivid and luckily I remember enough of them so that I can hurry to my handy-dandy laptop computer (safe and sound in my kitchen) and mention them in these here notes.

You know, it has just occurred to me that we should all click the Unseemly Button below before we all find ourselves saying "quaqua".

- Thursday, March 21, 2002 @ 09:22 AM PST

Wednesday, March 20, 2002

Several new and interesting DVDs came out yesterday, the most fun of which were two two-disc sets of the tv series, Peter Gunn. I was quite fond of Peter Gunn as a youngster - I thought it was cooliscious, and I loved the suavity of Craig Stevens who played Peter Gunn. He was like a tv Cary Grant. I haven't seen any episodes of the show since they first aired. In any case, I bought both sets and I watched the first episode last night. I remember it being an action-packed show, and when the prologue came on it was not only action-packed, it was extremely violent. The rest of that first episode, however, is all talk. Talk, talk, talk (that is three talks). But I liked it anyway, because it was cooliscious. I mean, it has Lola Albright singing Day In, Day Out with a jazz quintet. It has a nightclub called Mother's, owned by, you guessed it, a character called Mother. It has future Tevye and Zorba, Herschel Bernardi as Lt. Jacobi, and the first episode also featured a very young (and very thin) Gavin MacLeod and Jack Weston. It's all very noirish, with great photography by Phil Lathrop. And can we talk about the music? Henry Mancini changed the face of television music with his score to Peter Gunn. It's big-band jazzy swinging main theme is unforgettable (right from the famous vamp on), and the album from the series sold millions of copies. The show was created by Blake Edwards, and he directed the first episode (and I'm sure others). I'm sure the show got better as it went along - they were setting up all the characters in the first episode - and I'm looking forward to seeing the other episodes.

Well, today is the day when I answer the questions you posed yesterday. Yes, Virginia, yesterday's questions are going to be answered today because today is the day when I answer the questions you posed yesterday. So, let's all click on that Unseemly Button below and get to it, shall we?

- Wednesday, March 20, 2002 @ 08:43 AM PST

Tuesday, March 19, 2002

My goodness, that was a long paragraph about absolutely nothing whatsoever. However, it is chockful of factual information, so there you are.

My goodness, that was a short paragraph about absolutely nothing whatsoever, which just goes to show that there is a certain consistency here at haineshisway.com.

Well, I feel it is time to impart some factual information, don't you, dear readers? I feel it is time to click on that idiotic Unseemly Button below. How is that for factual information?

- Tuesday, March 19, 2002 @ 09:22 AM PST

Monday, March 18, 2002

Did you know that at the very same time Little Miss Muffet was sitting on her tuffet that her close personal friend Little Jack Horner was sitting in a corner? I can't remember what Little Jack Horner was doing in the corner although he most certainly was not eating curds and whey.

I hope everyone had a safe and sound St. Patrick's Day. I actually forgot to wear green to a dinner party I attended, and I got pinched by the various and sundried people who were there. Everyone at the party commented on my dazzlingly white teeth. I now have to do my lower teeth, because my upper teeth are so incredibly dazzlingly white that my lower teeth are from dullsville, man. My lower teeth are unseemly-looking compared to my dazzling upper teeth. My lower teeth aren't fit to be around my upper teeth. So, I shall have to go back to Dr. Chew and have him create a device for my lower teeth so they can be dazzlingly white, too. For now, I shall keep my lower teeth hidden from one and all and also all and one.

The galley for my novel arrived on Saturday, and I have several people proofing it and soon it shall be ready to go to print. And then we can all sit with our curds and whey and read it. Well, let's all click on that Unseemly Button below and hope something interesting happens down there.

- Monday, March 18, 2002 @ 08:29 AM PST

Sunday, March 17, 2002

Yesterday, I went to a lovely antique show in Glendale. It's really not an anitque show per se, it's a moderne show. Only things moderne and outre, although one dealer had only things that were outre and moderne, damn his eyes. My friend Leo was there, and as usual he had a beautiful assortment of illustration art - mostly paintings used for paperback covers and pulps, but a few other cherce items as well. I've bought many paintings from him over the last few years, and sometimes, when I tire of them, we do a little trading and I get brand spanking new paintings. That is what we did yesterday and I got some lulus. I wonder if dear reader Lulu has ever gotten some lulus? It is a good deal of fun to get lulus. In any case, I got the original watercolor for a very late Saturday Evening Post cover from December of 1968. In fact, there would only be three more issues of the Post after that, before the magazine finally went out of business after more than sixty years. Interestingly, most of the Post covers by that late date were photographs - this is one of the few art covers that were done in the late sixties. And it's a lulu. It depicts a couple of major cities in the future and asks the question, "Are we heading toward the day everything stops?" It's got great detail and is pretty cooliscious if you ask me. Then I traded for the original painting from a Michael Shayne Detective Magazine from the mid-sixties, which shows Mr. Shayne and a beautiful dame. Love that. But the key trade (I had to trade three count them three pieces to get it) is a Dean Cornwell painting which is really wonderful. Mr. Dean Cornwell was one of the deans of illustration art, and I have always wanted something by him and now I have it. It depicts an artist painting a beautiful redhead and was used in American Magazine in the late forties. Maybe someday, Mr. Mark Bakalor will teach me how to upload images to this here site and I can share some of my wonderful art with you.

Uh oh, it's that time again. It's the time to push that green Unseemly O'Button below.

- Sunday, March 17, 2002 @ 09:16 AM PST

Saturday, March 16, 2002

Have any of our young dear readers thought about a career in checking the gender of grasshoppers? It sounds like it would be very challenging indeed. I, for one, don't even know how you would begin to check the gender of a grasshopper. Do they have miniature girl and boy parts? Or are their genitals peculiar to the grasshoppers? Certainly if that were the case then our genitals would be peculiar to the grasshoppers, too, and vice versa. Can we get off this subject already? Who cares about the fershluganah genitals of a grasshopper? Who wants to know from the genitals of a grassshopper? In any case, the last that was heard from any of the surviving male grasshoppers of Beginning of the End was that they were hanging out at a leather bar on Santa Monica Blvd., a pretty outre thing to do in 1957.

Okay, I only mentioned the word "leather bar" because someone searched it using our handy-dandy Unseemly Search Box. Oh, the things people search for. Why, once again, someone was up at the crack of dawn searching for something and we do hope they found what they were looking for and that it has enriched their lives in ways we can't even imagine. I love the expression "the crack of dawn" and I would love to deconstruct it in the way you know I have a penchant for, but it would simply be too unseemly.

As you know, today is our Unseemly Trivia Contest - we must have more people participate - otherwise the same people keep winning the prizes. All the questions we pose are answerable if you do a little research. While you're doing the research, by the way, can you please find out how we determine the genitals of grasshoppers? Well, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below so we can find out the question and get on with these here notes.

- Saturday, March 16, 2002 @ 09:23 AM PST

Friday, March 15, 2002

I have decided that I want to run amok. Excuse me for a moment.

There. That was fun. I ran amok and no one was the wiser for it. I did it in the privacy of my very own yard. I recommend that everyone pauses right now to run amok. If we all run amok at the same time, it will be a communal thing and we will have a mind-meld, or is it a meld-mind, amok-wise. And if you run amok in privacy remember, no one will be the wiser for it. Does anyone have an inkling or even a penciling of what the hell I'm talking about?

By the way, the word "amok" has an interesting history. It was invented by Delmer Plink. Delmar Plink was a slightly backward dyslexic ham baster and he was given to episodes of running around like a crazy person, for no reason whatsoever, usually while he was basting a ham. One day, his mother, Thelma Plink, said to him, "Delmer, my goodness, if you keep running around like that you'll put yourself into a coma." Delmer thought that was ever so amusing. He'd never heard the word coma before. He got a piece of paper out and wrote it down. Since spelling was not his forte (his forte was ham basting) he wrote down "koma" but since he was dyslexic it came out "amok" and the rest is history.

Wasn't that a fine story about Delmer Plink? Sweet Smell of Success opened officially last night. The reviews are in and they are, for the most part, not pretty. Oh, a couple of critics had good things to say, like Clive Barnes, but most were pans. I find this interesting. Let's all click on the Unseemly Button and find out why, shall we?

- Friday, March 15, 2002 @ 10:03 AM PST

Thursday, March 14, 2002

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.

- Thursday, March 14, 2002 @ 08:49 AM PST

Wednesday, March 13, 2002

When I got home last night, I checked my e-mail here at haineshisway.com and whilst doing so someone IMd me. I didn't recognize the name, but I figured it had to be someone who knew me. So I IMd back and we had a sparkling conversation. After a time it finally became apparent that this person had no clue who I was. It turns out that someone else had once used the moniker "haineshisway" and this person thought I was that person. I hate when that happens, when this person thinks you're that person when, in fact, that person is totally incorrect about you being that person. Or is it this person? Now I've gone and confused this and that. In any case, that or this person thought I was a fellow named Haines. I told him that I most certainly was not a fellow named Haines but that Haines was a friend of mine who allows me to use his website. However, my Haines and his Haines are two totally different people. His Haines was a banker from the mid-west and my Haines is a singer from Metcalf. It was all very Samuel Beckett. I did suggest he become a Hainsie/Kimlet. This seemed to confuse him. I also got a most wonderful e-mail from dear reader Tracey, who enjoys these here notes. I do love getting e-mails from you dear readers, and this one was especially sweet.

I recently got the new Bernadette Peters Rodgers and Hammerstein CD along with a couple of new DVDs, Sexy Beast and Mr. David Mamet's Heist. I haven't had time to check out the DVDs yet, but will in the next couple of days. But I did check out Miss Peters' new CD. However, I'm afraid we must all click on the Unseemly Button below at this time, because Mr. Mark Bakalor is very rigid about this sort of thing. Mr. Mark Bakalor is rigid, he is unbending, he is unyielding and he will bitch-slap us until the cows come home. However, we have thwarted him as regards the latter, because Mr. Rigid Mark Bakalor, the cows came home last night. That lets the air out of your rigid balloon, doesn't it. So, I guess he won't be bitch-slapping us until the cows come home because the fershluganah cows are home and sleeping in, thank you very much. Where was I? Oh, yes, we must click on the Unseemly Button below, and while we're all doing that I shall try to remember what the hell I was talking about.

- Wednesday, March 13, 2002 @ 09:27 AM PST

Tuesday, March 12, 2002

My God, my teeth are now so dazzlingly white that it's starting to hurt my eyes when I look at them in the mirror. My teeth now resemble white Chiclets, and I'm so proud of them that I walk around all the livelong day smiling like an idiot. But here's the problem: I have only given the upper teeth the treatment. Therefore, the lower teeth are dull and uninteresting-looking. They just sit there like so much fish, looking bland. So, I fear I must now give the lower teeth the whitening treatment or otherwise they will be sad and they will commit Hari-Kari or, as it's known here in the US, Harry Carey. Well, we simply can't have our lower teeth commit Harry Carey, or even John Agar, so whiten them we will.

I have a confession to make: I have been craving enchiladas. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I have been craving the enchilada. And yet, I have not done anything about the craving. That is because the opportunity has not presented itself to do anything about satisfying the craving. I am very particular about my enchiladas, oh yes, I am particular about my enchiladas. There is a restaurant near me, a very old and established Mexican restaurant called Casa Vega where they have quite excellent cheese enchiladas, not to mention quite excellent guacamole and salsa. However, the problem with this very old and established Mexican restaurant called Casa Vega is that one can never get in. It is always crowded, there is always a long wait, and frankly I hate waiting in restaurants. Casa Vega has become "in" with the younger set, can you believe it? It has become, in fact, quite the singles and pickup place. It is an amusing amalgam (maglama, spelled backwards) of older patrons who've been going to the restaurant since the Dawn of Man, and these very young and very loud people trying to score with each other and pick each other up to do heaven-knows-what filthy dirty things. These very young and very loud people don't care about the enchiladas or the guacamole or the salsa - no, they sit and drink their beers and wear their thong underwear and frankly I want to curse them, oh yes, I want to curse them and tell them to go hang out elsewhere so that those of us who do care about the enchiladas and the guacamole and the salsa and who do not wear thong underwear can actually get into the damn place and eat. There, I've said it and I'm glad, damn their thong underwear eyes. I blame the entire downturn of civilization on thong underwear, the single most disgusting invention in the history of the world. Even worse than the George Foreman Grill. What the hell am I talking about? I am now livid about thong underwear! Ban it, bring back the panty line. Damn them, damn them all to hell. There, I'm finished now. Let's all click the Unseemly Button below so we can move on to bigger and better things.

- Tuesday, March 12, 2002 @ 09:31 AM PST

Monday, March 11, 2002

I just want everyone to know right here and right now and also right now and right here, that I never had love beads, I never had flowers in my hair and I never shook a tambourine and chanted Hare Krishna. I did, however, have some flour in my hair once, but that's another story. Have I mentioned that I am tickled pink that someone searched for Liberace?

Last night, my friend Grant Geissman called and invited me to go with him to the STAGE benefit party. So, I said yes, and tagged along as his guest. I had quite an unexpectedly good time. Let's all click that Unseemly Button below and find out why.

- Monday, March 11, 2002 @ 07:29 AM PST

Sunday, March 10, 2002

At this juncture, you might be wondering why I have titled today's notes "Omelet". Well, the answer to that is quite simple, really. I have no idea. I was trying to think of a title and "Omelet" just came to me, out of the blue. Not out of the red, mind you, or even out of the yellow, no, "Omelet" came to me out of the blue. Look at that word - "Omelet". My goodness, what a stupid word that is. Frankly, it just lies there like an omelet. How did such a word come into being? Someone invented a particular kind of egg dish, looked at it and said, "Wait, I know, I'll call this particular kind of egg dish an omelet!" It's not only the word, of course, it's the spelling of the word, too. Even if you have to have such a word as "omelet" can't you at least spell it like it sounds? "Ahmlet". Well, that looks Armenian, I suppose, so maybe there was a rhyme to their reason, whatever the hell that means. If there was indeed a rhyme to their reason, was it "season"? Or "treason"? Then there's the word "egg". Let's not even touch that one with a ten-foot pole, or even a ten-foot czech.

We have had only one guess in our handy-dandy Unseemly Trivia Contest. Now, you contest people need to keep those guesses coming. If you don't, you will be forced to write the word "omelet" one hundred times. Now, even though I didn't think it possible, the one guess was not what I was looking for, and yet was correct. I really didn't think there could be two right answers. So, I will give the guesser credit, but I will say now that the singers in question are female and the person they were/are married to is male. It turns out that if you reverse the sexes and have the singers be male and the person they were/are married to female, there is a correct answer. And I will throw down the guantlet (no mean feat) and say that I predict that no one will get the tie breaker or bonus question. Now, if that's not a challenge, I don't know what.

Omelet. There, I feel it's necessary to reference the title of today's notes every now and then and also every then and now. However, let us not tarry, let us click on that cursed Unseemly Button below and get on with things.

- Sunday, March 10, 2002 @ 10:10 AM PST

Saturday, March 9, 2002

May I just say, dear readers, that I hate spam. In addition to my handy-dandy laptop computer, I also have the internet service formerly known as Web TV. And every time I check my e-mail on Web TV, I have spam. Now, if it were one or two pieces of spam, okay, fine, I delete and move on. But it's thirty pieces of spam at a time. First of all, do these ignoramuses who spam think that anyone reads this crap, and even if they read it, do these ignoramuses really get any response? Do people really order Viagra over the internet? Do men and women really take advantage of the opportunity to have a seventeen-inch tallywhacker (don't answer that)? Do people really visit websites like Women In The Barnyard? And, of course, if you click on the thing that says you will be taken off any future mailings, you are immediately put on fourteen other lists. I know there are now things like spamcop, but who has the time to forward thirty pieces of spam to them? Furthermore, these cretins are very clever sometimes - in other words, I can mass delete spam, but some of the headers imply that the e-mail is from someone you know. That is one of their heinous (heinous, do you hear me?) ploys. We need to round up these spammers and we need to make each and every one of them eat nineteen cans of Spam. That would teach these wazoos a thing or two. That would give them their comeuppance. Especially those who send that spam that isn't even written in English. It's written in that gobbledegook that isn't even a language as far as I can tell. That's brilliant. I'll order that, whatever the hell it is. It would be wonderful if we could spam the spammers, give them a taste of their own medicine, but these people are devious, they are foxy, and there is no way to do that. People who spam are simply slime in my book (Chapter 11 - The Spamming Slime). Interestingly, here on aol, I have three different e-mail addresses, but only one of them gets spam. The other two don't get spam. Now wait just a darn minute. I'll be right back.

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it (that is three I knew its). The great Hinky Meltz and Ernest Ernest wrote a song about spam (it's one of their latest - yes, they're quite old but still alive and writing - in fact, we're going to have an interview with them very soon). Quick, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below so we can read it.

- Saturday, March 9, 2002 @ 10:20 AM PST

Friday, March 8, 2002

Finally. Frankly, I thought that paragraph would never end. Well, we better just click the Unseemly Button below before we all get bitch-slapped by you-know-who.

- Friday, March 8, 2002 @ 09:09 AM PST

Thursday, March 7, 2002

Yesterday, I worked with the lovely Michelle Nicastro, who is singing a demo of songs from my new musical (written with David Wechter). First of all, Michelle looks lovelier than ever. And hearing her sing these songs was a total treat. We'll be doing the demo early next week.

I picked up a few new CDs, most notably the new Dreamgirls concert CD and DRG's reissue of the cast album of The Nervous Set. I'll listen to them very soon and have a full report for you. I also picked up the new release of an older soundtrack, Mr. Bruce Broughton's The Boy Who Could Fly. First off, I'm very fond of that film and I do believe they should put it on DVD right this very minute before I have a hissy fit. Of course, there is nothing worse than a loose and ill-fitting hissy, so I don't really see what's so wrong with having a hissy fit. I think The Boy Who Could Fly (with the exception of one scene that actually does considerable damage to an otherwise wonderful film) is a feel-good film with excellent performances, especially the young girl, Lucy Deakins, who is terrific. I think she did this film and maybe one or two others and then disappeared. Where has she been? Anyway, Mr. Broughton's score is a wonder - gorgeous melodies - soaring, tender, and luscious. There is an extremely rare Varese Sarabande soundtrack CD, but it was a rerecording and very short. That situation has now been rectified by Percepto Records who presents the original soundtrack complete, for the first time. I truly recommend The Boy Who Could Fly if you're a fan of orchestral soundtracks.

What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? We've got questions to answer. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, every Wednesday (starting yesterday) is Ask Bruce day, where you can ask me any questions your little hearts desire and I will answer them the following day. The first question, of course, is "Do I have to click on the Unseemly Button below to see the answers to the questions"? And the answer is, "Yes".

- Thursday, March 7, 2002 @ 09:29 AM PST

Wednesday, March 6, 2002

Today, Miss Michelle Nicastro will be coming to my very own residence where she will pick up the music to two of the songs from my new musical (which I'm writing with Mr. David Wechter). Once she learns them, we will record them for a little mini demo we're putting together. Then later today I will be heading over to Image Entertainment to online our Nudie Musical documentary. This, apparently, takes three evenings to do. The good news is that I found a missing box of Nudie memorabilia. Have you ever found a missing box? It is ever so exciting. In any case this no-longer-missing box of Nudie memorabilia is chockful of rarities that can now be included in the supplementary section of the DVD. All right, I want to know right now - who amongst us is laboring under a misconception. This is weighing heavy on my mind. Exactly what kind of labor are you doing under the misconception? Hammering spikes? Sawing wood? Repaving the sidewalk? When I labor under a misconception it usually involves heavy lifting. I love heavy lifting. I find heavy lifting invigorating. In fact, I find the word "invigorating" invigorating. And stupid.

I was glancing at yesterday's notes and realized when I said to buy Lisa Richard's new album, I wrote "by it now". I do hope you forgive the occasionally hastily typed typo, becuase I sipmly donut have tyme to proof and ficks them.

Why have I called today's notes "A Wand'ring Minstrel I"? I have no idea. First of all, I am not a wand'ring minstrel I. I don't even have a wand'ring minstrel eye. Sometimes I do have a wand'ring eye but it has nothing to do with minstrels. Do minstrels eat minestrone? Is this what is known as going off the deep end. The only possible way out of this madness is to click on the Unseemly Button below, before we're all sentenced to hard labor under a misconception.

- Wednesday, March 6, 2002 @ 08:24 AM PST

Tuesday, March 5, 2002

Isn't it exciting? Our very own Meltz and Ernest album, and it will be available exclusively here at haineshisway.com. In case you don't understand what that means, why it's simple. You will only be able to purchase your Meltz and Ernest album here, not there and everywhere. In other words, we won't tell you that you can only purchase it here, only to have it show up there and everywhere all of a sudden, like a chipmunk in an arctic snowstorm. No, that would be unseemly. When we say here we mean here and that is all there is to it. Perhaps we'll try to have it ready by Cinco de Mayo, since one of the most famous of all Meltz and Ernest songs is "I Eat Mayo on Cinco de Mayo". I'll print the lyrics for that one tomorrow. I'd print them today but I must hurry along with these here notes because I am having a pedicure. All right, all right, stop your sniggering right this very minute. I have only had one pedicure and it was quite pleasant, so I thought it was about time I had another. But, for those people who think having a pedicure is for sissies, I'm also having a MANicure, because MANicures are manly. I think all Hainsies and Kimlets should have a pedicure as soon as possible. Then we can all sit around and admire our feet. And what is more fun than sitting around and admiring our feet? Well, one other thing we could do whilst admiring our feet is click on the Unseemly Button below. That would kill two birds with one stone, although, that said, I prefer killing one bird with two stones.

- Tuesday, March 5, 2002 @ 09:14 AM PST

Monday, March 4, 2002

There, I just went to the drawer where I keep my balls of waxy buildup. I took one of the balls out and threw it, so now we are indeed both in the throws and throes of March. Is this what they mean by stomping an idea into the ground? Just asking.

We are toying with an idea here at haineshisway.com. We love to toy with ideas here at haineshisway.com, especially Tonka Toys. Here is what we are thinking, vis a vis this idea: How many of you would be interested in buying a CD of the songs of Hinky Meltz and Ernest Ernest as interpreted by our very own Guy Haines and special guests? Because, frankly or even harryly, that is the idea we are toying with here at haineshisway.com. Why are we toying with this idea? Well, first of all, I had a request from one of our dear readers. Yes, Virginia, one of our dear readers was interested in the songs of Hinky Meltz and Ernest Ernest. Second of all, isn't it time we celebrate the work of these great yet virtually unknown (except to the "with it" denizens of this here website) Meltz and Ernest? We here at haineshisway.com think it's time, but not if the "with it" denizens of this here website aren't interested in owning it. Let us know what you think vis a vis this idea which, by the way, we are toying with in a Mattel fashion.

Here is another idea we are toying with. We are toying (Hasbro) with the idea of a special giveaway for people who purchase my novel (hardcover version) here at haineshisway.com. Those who do so would receive a special CD included with the novel. This CD would have all the songs that are mentioned or used in the novel, as interpreted by our very own Guy Haines. In other words, music to read Benjamin Kritzer by. Since all the songs are classics that I loved from the mid-fifties, it would be a lot of fun. What do we think of that idea? That is two ideas and I simply must know what you think of them, so post your thoughts vis a vis these ideas in the Unseemly Comment box in the next section.

Here is another idea we are toying with here at haineshisway.com. We are toying with the idea of clicking on the Unseemly Button below before we are all bitch-slapped into oblivion by Mr. Mark Bakalor.

- Monday, March 4, 2002 @ 08:36 AM PST

Sunday, March 3, 2002

Look at the size of that paragraph. That paragraph is worthy of Tolstoy. Benny Tolstoy used to write the longest paragraphs, and I'm happy to have done something worthy of him, even though he was an unseemly little twit.

Last night I dreamed I was at Manderley.

In my dream Rupert Holmes was trying to get Bette Midler to commit to his latest play. Bette was doing a movie and wouldn't commit - Bette's mother was there (I have no idea who Bette's mother is) and I also wanted Bette to do a project and I went around Bette and tried to woo her mother so her mother could get her to do my project. Then I was suddenly in a car with two dogs. I think it was a Thunderbird, and one dog was in the front seat, and the other dog leaped through the open window and went into the back seat where he couldn't get comfortable and ended up lying on his back with his feet in the air - I believe he'd gotten stuck in that position. To find out the outcome of the dream, let's all click our heels - oops, wrong dream - let's all click the Unseemly Button below.

- Sunday, March 3, 2002 @ 09:07 AM PST

Saturday, March 2, 2002

I finished watching the DVD of The Men Who Shot Kennedy. It is over five hours, and very interesting and very powerful, and sometimes very difficult to watch. This saga never ceases to anger, confuse and annoy. As several of the witnesses say, the fact that the government has been allowed to get away with so much obfuscation, lies, deceit, and then, when they finally admit there was obfuscation, lies, and deceit, to do nothing to those that perpetrated the obfuscation, lies, and deceit, is truly shameful. It's not that one believes everything in this epic documentary, but there is so much there that makes so much sense, that it must be taken seriously. This documentary, made by an Englishman, was originally aired (if the copyright dates are to be trusted) in 1988 and 1989. The final episode was aired in 1995. It's a bit overdramatic and pompous at times, but it's never less than fascinating. If you want an epic conspiracy weekend, run this and then Oliver Stone's director's cut of JFK (the only Oliver Stone film that I can watch).

What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? And has anyone noticed that I used the word "obfuscation". I'm sorry, but that is just a ridiculous-looking word. It looks like some wiseacre took the words "obscure" and "confuse" and jumbled them up, invented a new word which meant basically the same thing, and then patted him or herself on the back for their cleverness. They then, I have no doubt, danced the Hora or, at the very least, the Jersey Bounce, and ate cheese slices and ham chunks. Frankly, I've had it with the word "obfuscation". I'm done with the word "obfuscation". You won't be seeing the word "obfuscation" in these here notes again.

What the hell is going on here? Am I writing the whole of these notes in this first section? That is not Kosher, sayeth Mr. Mark Bakalor, who knows from Kosher. And the whole of these notes must be Kosher. So, let's all click on the Unseemly Button below to keep the whole of these notes Kosher.

- Saturday, March 2, 2002 @ 10:13 AM PST

Friday, March 1, 2002

Anyone who tuned into these here notes after two yesterday, knows what I've discovered. For those who didn't, I will mention it again. I was nosing around the website of the company that's publishing my very own novel. If you go to www.1stbooks.com, immediately click on "book search". Then type in Kimmel for author and Benjamin Kritzer for book. When the next page comes up, immediately click on "Benjamin Kritzer: A Novel" and you will be whisked away to Mybookland, where you will see an almost finished version of the cover (the title treatment font is being changed and the title treatment layout and color will be different). Then you can read "About the Book", you can read "About the Author" and cooler than cool, you can read a "preview" of the book, for they've printed the entire prologue. I was very excited when I discovered this yesterday - so excited that I immediately danced the Mambo and got the pain. A few of our very own dear readers have already been there and read and posted very nice things.

Speaking of pain, if we don't click on that extremely silly Unseemly Button below, we will all experience a bitch-slapping from Mr. Mark Bakalor and we don't want that, now do we?

- Friday, March 1, 2002 @ 09:59 AM PST