[lit-ideas] On the Just and the Unjust

  • From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2014 18:46:07 -0700

Today Oregon's reputation for wetness was once more renewed.  Absolutely 
tipping down.  It occurred to me--you may possibly be right... could be gloom 
brought on by the weather--to ask when exactly it was that our house telephone 
became the sole domain of the recorded caller, the sales pitcher, the 
just-a-few-questions-about-your-views scripted chat-room chum?  It's rare 
nowadays that I pick up and talk to someone I know.  Those people text, e mail, 
call my cell.  No doubt it's the same with you.  

Second thought: why is it that my computer offers me updates of programs I 
don't use and not updates for those that I do?  Safari is currently about as 
well supported as several commuter bridges in New Jersey, but does Apple send 
brill new bytes along?  It does not.  Maybe I should call...  "Good day to you 
Mr. Apple, this is Vivek speaking.  May I have the pleasure of inquiring about 
your supporting services?"  

I picked up a book at the library book sale and so can aver that Dave Barry is 
still funny.  "Justin Bieber was preceded by two lesser hearthrobs.  You could 
tell they ranked below Justin because they had fewer backup dancers.  Your 
modern singing star does not go to the bathroom without backup dancers.  Your 
modern musical concert consists of the singer prancing from one side of the 
stage to the other accompanied by a clot of dancers, everybody frantically 
performing synchronized dance moves and pelvic thrusts, looking like people 
having sex with invisible partners while being pursued by bees."  

Also funny and also from the same source, Alec Guinness, "My Name Escapes Me."  
I particularly liked the tale of an actor playing Macbeth who, feeling the need 
for a drink, stepped out.   He reasoned he would have time for a swift pint 
while Lady MacB did her thing.  One thing led to another and he failed to 
return on time.  Came his cue...nothing.  The stage manager steps out and 
announces, "That's where the play ends, boys and girls."  So out into the 
British fog they file, where they encounter, coming at them through the fog,  a 
wild Scottish king in full make-up, singing.  When I told J. the tale she 
reminded me of another anecdote--can't recall who the principals were--in which 
two West End actors go drinking and then decide to take in a play.  One nudges 
the other, "Good, isn't it?  This is where I come on." 

Carry on, with (if appropriate) broken leg,

David Ritchie,
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