Every once in awhile, I’ll go to the BBC to see what’s shaking.
IFC-TV is running a series of Python reunion movies and documentaries: Monty Python: Almost the Truth (The Lawyers’ Cut). At least we can see the video clips (I guess Brits can’t).
I just like this title.
Maybe Madonna should just buy the whole building.
Roman Polanski is fried. I really have mixed feelings about this whole thing. What do you say?
I don’t know how I found it last night, but somehow I ended up on some guy’s Flickr site about transistor radios. It was a walk down Memory Lane.
Back in the early 70s (around ’70-’73), Mavis and I would spend our entire summers at “The Pond” in Brown Deer (a suburb of Milwaukee) where we grew up. It was a manmade lake, complete with trucked-in sand for a beach. If you could swim to “the raft” — a stationary platform in the center of the pond where the lifeguard perch was located — then you had truly arrived, and they’d let you swim in the “deep end,” which was all of six feet. (I cannot BELIEVE I found a group of people on Facebook who started a BD Pond fan page! Ka-RAZY. Of course I joined, and so did Mavis. We had a huge laff.) Our parents bought us each a transistor radio to take with us. We used them everywhere, especially in our bedrooms.
I specifically remember putting the radio under my pillow and listening to WLS or WOKY play a list of Beatles tunes in the spring of 1970, when Paul “officially” left the group. I was so sad. The last song they played was “The Long and Winding Road,” and it was late (probably like 10 p.m., but to me it seemed like the middle of the night). I knew I’d be in a world of trouble if Mother walked in and caught me awake, listening to the radio. I loved that radio. I can’t really recall exactly what it looked like, but it was something like what is pictured here (cool photos courtesy of the aforementioned guy). It’s likely close enough; our parents bought everything at Sears.
Dad had one of these in the garage. When he’d do yard work or work on the car, he’d listen to Cubs games on it.
And I can’t remember if I had one of these mod round radios or not. I *think* I did…Mavis, did I ever? If I didn’t, I know I always wished I did.
We didn’t know thing one about sound quality; highs and mid-range and what have you. We just knew that we could take these little jobs to the Pond and spend all day singing along to “It’s Too Late” and “Maggie Mae” and “American Woman” while we nursed our intense crushes on lifeguards named Reinhardt, Jeff and Bob.
Good, good times. *sigh*
Happy Monday — off to another insane week.
Fink, all nostalgic
We did laugh. Young Frankenstein was worth every penny — even worth the ridiculous traffic via the detour in downtown Cleveland (I-71/I-90 was closed going in and out, if you can imagine).
I’m not saying it was a one-man show, but I will say that there could be no understudy for Roger Bart if he fell ill. I’d want my money back. The man was born to play this role. What fun! And the nuances that one infuses into a role after two years of playing it six nights a week cannot be overstated. You could just tell he was Frederick Frankenstein.
The supporting cast were fine — Igor and Frau Blucher were hilarious — but nothing really outshone Bart.That was fine with me.
The audience giggled in anticipation of the “What knockers!” and “Puttin’ on the Ritz” lines. And there was a really funny (albeit a trifle uncomfortable) moment when Bart forgot a line, and Igor had to lapse into improvisation. It ended up quite the cool thing, though: they sort of let the audience in on the private joke at one point during the exchange, when Bart said something like, “I’m not really sure what I should say to that…” Funny.
The set was impressive, as is expected for a high-budget show from Broadway. Two ladies were seated next to us (we had fantastic seats — middle of orchestra, middle of row), and one of them shared a story about opening night last Wednesday or whenever it was. Turns out the trucks with the sets didn’t even arrive at the theater until 7:15 p.m. — 45 minutes before curtain. I guess the show started hours late. They wouldn’t let people into the theater until way after the normal time. I didn’t hear the end of the story, but I’m assuming that everything worked and nobody died, so it was all good.
And of course, the “Creature” was hysterical. I think it’s good that Shuler Hensley was so “made up” for this role, he was basically unrecognizable. I remember thinking when Peter Boyle was cast as the dad in the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond years ago, all I could think of when I saw him was, “He’s the monster from Young Frankenstein (seen here with a young Gene Hackman).”
And yes, students…my brain is already working overtime on the tap finale for Dinner Theatre. Heh heh.
I say go see it if it comes to a town near you. It was great fun, and typical Mel Brooks: silly, naughty, big production numbers, tons of double entendres, and really funny/quirky song lyrics.
It was a fabulous night away from the realities of our lives (we both have homework sucking the life out of us now). And check out the desserts we boxed up and brought home from Longhorn Steakhouse because we were too stuffed to even attempt more than a couple of bites:
Death on a plate. Now that’s the ticket.
Have a great Sunday — I’m off to get donuts, pick up Mavis, and go see the grandsons for awhile. Then it’s time for dreaded homework I’ve been putting off for days. Delightful.
FO
Oh, by the way — while I was swiping pictures from broadwayworld.com, I noticed a collection of reviews from the new Broadway revival of Bye Bye Birdie. Not so good. Yikes.
~ Why is there such blatant disregard for the Golden Rule nowadays? Maybe it’s always been that way. Here’s a guy who has apparently spent a lot of time thinking about it.
~ We expect 18-year-olds to have a plan for their lives by graduation. They can vote, be prosecuted as adults, and take a bullet in Afghanistan. They can buy tobacco, a lottery ticket and a rifle. But they can’t buy a glass of wine at a restaurant.
~ This is funny, and pretty much true:
~ In my BU class (Have I mentioned that this is the last graduate course I will ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever take?), we’re discussing democratic education — you know, the “pedagogy of the oppressed”: letting students basically take over their school experience, questioning authority and raging against the educational machine. For the first time, I feel really, truly old fashioned and out-of-date. But I don’t care. I said the other day in class that I think this particular aspect of education, among other things, is what helped start the downward spiral in the first place. But that isn’t a very popular viewpoint nowadays. (I’ve used the word “nowadays” twice in this post so far…now I know I’m old. Soon I’ll be ordering gimlets with dinner.)
~ Even in a world where violence and war are all around us every day, to the point where the whole thing becomes somewhat routine and we are no longer horrified, I still marvel at man’s inhumanity to man.
~ Sometimes, I just want to write for a living. Sometimes. Don’t get me wrong; I love my students. It’s, well…those other people. I know: those other people are everywhere.
~ I saw this on a friend’s Facebook profile. Made me laugh, especially starting at about 1:57. I didn’t know this comedian’s stuff at all. He rather puts things in perspective, no? (Notice his play-in is “Kids” from Birdie)
~
~ The Thriller and I are going to see the Broadway touring production of Young Frankenstein this afternoon in Cleveland. How fun will this be? I will report back.
Until then, my fiends,
Fink out (of ideas on how to start the thesis — it’s only 24 pages; could it be that bad?)
When editing a post, do not press the button immediately next to “Update Post” labeled “Delete,” and then confirm it.
Cripes.