Friday, January 29, 2010
That was a mouthful, or maybe a fingerful.
Great concert. In all of our years in Boston, we had never been to Mechanics Hall, a beautiful concert space with great acoustics and chairs that didn't paralyze your butt after an hour. There's something about a military band and pipes and drums that calls up a latent atavism. There's something about men in kilts and swirling bagpipes and drums and all the noise and testosterone. I couldn't have liked it more.
Pre-concert, we had an early (somewhat lonely) dinner on Shrewsbury St. at Tribeca. Wonderful food, nice atmosphere. Lovely, pampered feeling. Managed to get in and out of Worcester with getting lost. . . well, maybe a little.
Nothing beats punching "home" into the GPS, and no matter where you are, it will direct you, and if you screw up, the lady will very patiently recalculate and get you on your way again. She never screams, "you pathetic idiots!" or some such vituperation. The worst is "make a U turn at the first opportunity." GPS is right up there with sliced bread and good anesthesia.
In some respects, I am of the Old School, whatever that means, probably that I partake of a big of fogeydom. I just love to hear the National Anthem played as a March or a snappy tune and not as a (insert expletive here) dirge, or worse, as a "treatment" which frequently happens at sporting events, where "home of the brave" is droned and drawled until you just know it's home of the wuss and the wimp. Don't like that. A springly pace, if you please.
Haven't been blogging much, because I'm rewriting a book and doing lots of first-of-year things like cleaning out files. Busy, too, somehow.
One of the best things in the concert was when they played the Army, Navy, Airforce, and Marine songs, and veterans from the various services stood up when their song was played. Lots of applause.
One last rant. I can't believe anyone would negotiate with people who throw acid in school girl's faces. In my book, never, never, never. Never. Scum of the earth.
The Highland flings and Scottish dances (sword dance) were great. Agile young men with strong legs and expressionless faces.
Now I have to finish my revisions. Then print the manuscript and take a look. I've cut over 3000 words, and previously cut 5,000 words. Trying to get under 100,000 but it won't happen. Big meaty book with lots of characters, sub-plots, craziness and romance. Not your little chicken-shit 70,000 twee mystery. Nope. The only way I could write so small is to attempt a novela. Onward.
Check out Mechanics Hall