AS WE LEAVE SANDY-EGGO
a) I guess I got my answer as to whether Yevgeni Plushenko's "I'm-too-sexy-for-my-shirt" aura was real or just part of the performance: he's been spewing sour grapes about his second-place finish, as if the execution of a quadruple jump is the sine qua non of a first-place finish. Bollocks, borscht-boy.
You didn't have the "it" that night (and certainly not for the short program either-- blech). Evan Lysacek had the "it": that indefinable quality that courses through your veins and tells you it is your night.
Brian Boitano had it the night he be beat Brian Orser in '88 (sigh)-- Canadians wanted it not to be so, but when you watched Boitano skate you knew what a winner looked like.
Go suck a lemon, Goldilocks -- don't want to hear from you.
b) I was entirely right in my prediction that I'd walk into the local Borders and find my copy of the original Broadway cast recording of Man of La Mancha.
[Barnes & Noble had a "new Broadway cast" version featuring a bunch of people I never heard of. Uh, I think not.]
At last.
c) While surfing around the bio's of long-ago Bard buddies, I neglec
ted to note that Powers Boothe is also one of those rare Hollywood birds with a 40th wedding anniversary and a coupla kids to his credit.Kudos, Dudos.
I'm just feelin' the warmth.
d) Farewell to So-Cal, where it's been sunny and clear and frighteningly comfortable. Astonishing views all round us, and this just down the road:
I could get to enjoy this -- even for extended periods. But not all year, every year. No changing seasons is bad for the soul.
Sign at the lovely ravine inside the neighbourhood compound, where my grandson rode his trike today: "BEWARE -- FIRE HAZARD, POISON OAK, RATTLE SNAKES."
...and that's just the state government...
Rim shot.
