I can't remember my memory being this bad, which shouldn't surprise you if you read on. There are signs that I'm losing it. While ordering lunch the other day, in the minute from deciding and closing the menu to placing the order with the waitress, I completely forgot what it was that I wanted. Things worsened a few nights later when I was discussing Broadway shows with a friend at one of my favorite watering holes. (Don't ask me which one.) "Hello, Dolly" came up in the conversation and neither of us could remember the name of the restaurant to which Dolly Levi returns after a long absence.
"It's something like Magnolia Gardens," I said, knowing I was close but not quite on the money. "I'll probably wake up at about four in the morning and know the right name, so I'll call you." I only meant it as a joke, however, sure enough, in the wee small hours I woke up and exclaimed "Harmonia Gardens!" Unfortunately, by that point, I'd completely forgotten who it was I'd been talking to. If you read this and remember being the person in question, will you please try to remember to let me know next time I see you. Now what was it I meant to write about? Ah, yes. I remember it... well...
28 April 2007
19 February 2007
A Certain View Goes On
I'm back. No explanations. Live with it. And yes, I survivived this particular assassination attempt.
It seems that some deranged and misguided persons (there were two shooters, not one) were so determined to prevent me from expressing a certain view, that they would try to kill me! Can you believe it? Now the neighbours know that they have someone who is not only a real celebrity, but a power-broker of the first order, living in their midst. And with all the television cameras and police cordons, Johnny, Hillary, Rudy, and wee Oby can't just drop by like they used to, to get some unvarnished advice. I will not be forced into making a choice so soon, despite the gunfire. The pre-pre-Primary campaigning will go on and on and on. I assure you.
It seems that some deranged and misguided persons (there were two shooters, not one) were so determined to prevent me from expressing a certain view, that they would try to kill me! Can you believe it? Now the neighbours know that they have someone who is not only a real celebrity, but a power-broker of the first order, living in their midst. And with all the television cameras and police cordons, Johnny, Hillary, Rudy, and wee Oby can't just drop by like they used to, to get some unvarnished advice. I will not be forced into making a choice so soon, despite the gunfire. The pre-pre-Primary campaigning will go on and on and on. I assure you.
31 January 2006
One little word
A Certain View almost never gets serious about anything. For most of the last week I've felt pretty damned serious about everything thanks to one little word: biopsy. Watch this space!
16 January 2006
Some things I don't like
This is just a random sampling.
1. Gratuitous use of the word fuck. It’s too powerful a word to be wasted, and I particularly hate to hear it used by a woman. If you have to use it, make the occasion worth it. Remember that there’s no other word to replace it when its frequency of use leads to its loss of impact. Then what will we say?
2. Blogs that give graphic descriptions of the blogger’s sexual encounters. When I want to read that kind of thing I’ll reach for one of the millions of art magazines that I possess.
3. Turnip. Except when in soup.
4. Liver, though I wish I did like it because it looks so delicious raw.
5. Kidney. It’s disgusting.
6. The works of Lord Andrew Sir Lloyd Webber. Cats especially: the whole kitten kaboodle.
7. The use of the word “savings” when the speaker or writer means “saving”.
8. Stupidity and sometimes just plain old ignorance. Never underestimate the powerful stupidity of people in large groups.
9. Buying drinks after happy hour. It’s a crying shame.
10. Getting home, having forgotten to pick up items from the store, because once I sit on that sofa there’s no shifting me, and that's going to lead to random acts of bloggery.
1. Gratuitous use of the word fuck. It’s too powerful a word to be wasted, and I particularly hate to hear it used by a woman. If you have to use it, make the occasion worth it. Remember that there’s no other word to replace it when its frequency of use leads to its loss of impact. Then what will we say?
2. Blogs that give graphic descriptions of the blogger’s sexual encounters. When I want to read that kind of thing I’ll reach for one of the millions of art magazines that I possess.
3. Turnip. Except when in soup.
4. Liver, though I wish I did like it because it looks so delicious raw.
5. Kidney. It’s disgusting.
6. The works of Lord Andrew Sir Lloyd Webber. Cats especially: the whole kitten kaboodle.
7. The use of the word “savings” when the speaker or writer means “saving”.
8. Stupidity and sometimes just plain old ignorance. Never underestimate the powerful stupidity of people in large groups.
9. Buying drinks after happy hour. It’s a crying shame.
10. Getting home, having forgotten to pick up items from the store, because once I sit on that sofa there’s no shifting me, and that's going to lead to random acts of bloggery.
Big hair
People, it’s got to that point! Either I have to get a haircut or take up the violin. I could relocate to the South but the thought and hassle of going through yet another move fills me with dread, and could make me even greyer than I am today. My hair grows at an alarming rate, and it’s almost unmanageable. Years ago I got completely shorn: a complete baldy. Unfortunately, with my build and shape of head, I looked as if I’d just had chemotherapy. The haircut also led to the abrupt ending of a beautiful relationship, and I don’t mean the one with my hairdresser. But that was all a long time ago. I’ve outgrown it.
15 January 2006
Zaggers
Avid and regular readers will be be aware of my ongoing commentary on the behaviour of people on the street. I'm feeling too lazy today to provide links to those particular previous posts, so please feel free to read the archives from start to finish. They're in there somewhere.
Anyhoo, there's a category I'd like to name "zagger": people who don't zigzag down the street as they weave among their fellow pedestrians, they simply get in the way, usually using a diagonal movement in which they obstruct foot traffic in a most annoying fashion. Typically a zagger who wants to make a left turn will start from the extreme right and vice versa. They drive me nuts.
Anyhoo, there's a category I'd like to name "zagger": people who don't zigzag down the street as they weave among their fellow pedestrians, they simply get in the way, usually using a diagonal movement in which they obstruct foot traffic in a most annoying fashion. Typically a zagger who wants to make a left turn will start from the extreme right and vice versa. They drive me nuts.
14 January 2006
New York is such a small world
In the last 24 hours I have participated in four of those unexpected "it's a small world" encounters. First, a client from Florida arrived with a tour group, and as she got off the coach at her hotel, a former student of hers walked by. Secondly, as I was meeting another group from Georgia at their hotel, a friend of mine walked by, who happens to be a friend of the leader of the Georgia group. I did not know that they knew each other. Later, a colleague whom I was with, had a chance encounter with someone with whom he had gone to elementary school in Kansas. And at the end of the day, as I stood outside the Eugene O'Neill Theatre before seeing Sweeney Todd, another client of mine from Florida crossed the street and said hello. She had told me by email this week that she would be in New York for the weekend and she jokingly said she hoped to run into me on the street. She too was seeing Sweeney Todd.
Avid and regular readers will be curious about my view of the show. I'm too much of a Sondheim fan to say anything other than this: if God had wanted actors to play instruments, he would never have given us orchestra pits.
Avid and regular readers will be curious about my view of the show. I'm too much of a Sondheim fan to say anything other than this: if God had wanted actors to play instruments, he would never have given us orchestra pits.
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