I write to you from the quiet meadows of Greenfield, MA, land of the Boy Captive and the ancestral home of Nancy "Spitfire" Walsh, the erstwhile Fireball Kid. We drove up here to see Nan's folks on Saturday, will wend our way back down to Rat City sometime this afternoon, Gob willing.
Birds are winging out there, sun is shining, hard-working Yankees are working hard in their Yankee way, munching on Pepperidge Farm cookies and...whittling things.
And doing other Yankee-like activities.
WTFC didn't do too much damage yesterday with his big Off meets Off-Off article in the Times. In fact, we can use a lot of it, so thanks, Chuck.
Feels like he's trying, anyway.
Uptown producer-types and all other assorted industry need to come down to Suffolk Street this week and catch a ride on Jon Stancato and the Stolen Chairs' latest roller-coaster, The Accidental Patriot. Saw it on Friday night. If you like sword-fights, full-on swash-buckling, brilliant and incisive political commentary, balls-to-the wall young American acting, lean, spare language that can suddenly swoop into a Great Speech and then button back down to a punchline, all kept popping and humming by a great young director, well, you need to see this show.
If you don't like any of the above, what the hell are you doing reading this blog?
I ask you, sir.
If you're down Norfolk-ways, you have another couple of weekends to catch a production of Fatboy done by the 40th Street Stage folks. Nancy and I may drive down and catch it this week-end or next.
Inspired by the softness and gentle breezes of this Berkshire dawn, the MMMQ harkens back to an earlier and more innocent time. Going to be an Oldies round again, Rose, sorry about that.
Carly Simon's light-rock classic You're So Vain was allegedly written about her fellow 70s singer-songwriter and ex-beau. Was the man who probably thought the song was about him:
1. James Taylor
2. Jim Croce
3. Harry Chapin
4. Neil Diamond
5. Lyle Lovett?
Take a stab, prize today is a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies, unless we finish them on the drive home, in which case the prize is something roughly equivalent to the value of a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies.