Better late than never. My monitor blew last night, so I've been computerless for a half day. Now five hundred-odd dollars later, I have a sleek new flat screen monitor that takes up a lot less desk space. Thank god, it's a business write-off.
Broke my arm when I was nine rolling skating in the basement. String wound around the axle of the skate and a bit dragging on the ground stopped the wheel and threw me up in the air. I came up with a bent left arm. I thought I had maimed myself for life. I did learn how to write right-handed, however. Don't think I can anymore though.
If I could visit one place, I'd like to visit the rest of the British Isles. The lovely wife and I go to England every year, but we never really get outside of London, because I'm booking theatre from the moment we get in. Except for a few brief excusions to Canterbury, York, the Yorkshire Moors, Whitby, and Robin Hood's Bay on the North Sea (all of which I'd like to see again), I've still got a lot of castles, relics, and cities as well as Scotland and Wales and Ireland to do. I'd really like to visit Hay-On-Wye, a town of bookshops in Wales. I don't particularly like to go anywhere they don't speak my language.
Most boring show was also the most irritating show. Nicol Williamson doing a one-man show about John Barrymore, that made no pretense to give either the look or real flavour of Barrymore. It was mostly Williamson giving a self-indulgent, smug, flatulent, undisciplined performance where he groped for lines, did what he wanted and tried in the most loose way to incorporate Barrymore in it. It was the height of masturbatory theatre and he showed great contempt for his audience. The truly disgusting part was these fools in LA gave him a standing ovation. I resolutely refused to stand or applaud. Had I a piece of fruit I would have thrown it. I think I did hiss. Thank God, I got to see Christopher Plummer's masterful portrayal later to take the bad taste out of my mouth. Barrymore looked as though he had inhabited Plummer.
