Suppose it has been but a few days since my last write, though in emotional years it feels much longer. I'm going through it. That's all I can say publicly.
That's another reason for my silence on ye olde blog -- I feel censored by my current need to respect my privacy and of those that are close to me.
I have a lot to say, yet can't say it. I've been writing in my analog journal for the first time in months, something I did nearly daily since 1991 prior to Finding Fellini.
I saw Prairie Home Companion. I liked it. A lot. I felt sad afterwards.
The summer production season is upon us and I'm crazy at Gearhead. Overtime. Ch-ching. Bling bling. Don't be hatin. Or perpetratin.
Henry finished kindergarten today. I had the profoundly mundane realization that that will only happen once.
Michael Cassidy is in town and came over for waffles with me and the kids.
Nicola is in Hawaii, working. Henry calls it Hawati.
I nearly cut off the tip f my finger this morning at work. Typing is out of synch.
My desk is a mess. I have work to do, but I can barely keep from falling face down on my desk. Even reading the baseball scores is too much.
Macbeth in the park opens this weekend. I am looking forward to going, though I think it won't be until its second weekend.
Andrew Dickson is in town shilling for the man. Always good to see him.
I want to buy a Jeep and go camping. I could probably just go camping, but the Jeep has become part of it.
Send your money to my buy a Jeep to go camping fund when you get round to it.
Cheers,
Signore Direttore
2 comments:
So how come you can be IN a movie, but you have to be ON television?
I mean, you would know right?
My guess is biased, but here goes:
One is "in" a movie as a character is in a novel or a subject is in a painting.
Not all films are art, but cinema is an art form.
Television on the other hand is a commercial medium. Its programming is largely superficial filler between adverts, hence the "on".
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