fish

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Yesterday, Sarah and I had fish for supper. She is wildly in favor of fish now, having finally sampled it from my plate at Friendly's a week or so back. She asked for two fillets, having eaten that much last time we had it, but left one on the plate. She said she'd come back to it later.

At 8, we went up to brush our teeth. I found out that she had indeed come back to the fish. It was on her breath when she was laughing in my face, and she said she had some in her pocket. I hoped she was kidding, but no such luck. She had put a large piece of fish in her pants pocket. I'll be washing those pants this morning.

She seemed pretty fresh and lively this morning, considering that she managed to keep herself awake until about 11:30 last night. Probably when she has to start going to school every weekday, she'll start to remember her sleep deficit and start trying to make it up.
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emergency room

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via Mark Evanier:

Her name was Lily and I overheard her doctor say something about lacerations and contusions and he also used much more complicated medical nouns that sounded even more painful. Then I heard him mutter something about, "...her husband beating the crap out of her."

It's not long. Give it a read.
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o superman

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Some of you may know that Charles Laughton directed one movie: the original Night of the Hunter. I haven't seen the remake, but I seriously doubt it could have come closer to being a literal translation of the book into a movie so atmospheric that it feels like I am watching a silent movie that just happens to have sound. Reading the book after seeing the movie (and re-reading it after seeing it again), I am struck by how closely the text of the book was followed in the movie. I'm not sure I've ever seen such a tight adaptation of anything.

It seemed a pity Laughton didn't do more, I thought. Then one day I found that he had. Laughton, along with Charles Boyer, Cedric Hardwicke, and Agnes Moorehead, had formed a group called "The First Drama Quartet" and performed the "Don Juan in Hell" dream sequence from Bernard Shaw's play "Man and Superman." The scene is as long as a lot of plays all by itself and is often performed separately.

TFDQ, however, gave it as a radio play for four voices (no sound effects, no background music) and released it on a set of LPs. I have the LPs, and sometimes considered ripping them to mp3. I'm pleased to report that a kind soul has taken the work off my hands and uploaded the four sides to the old-time radio section of archive.org. I just finished listening to it. Now you can too, if you're so inclined.

If someone wants to follow along, the script seems to be here. Without checking from a printed copy, it seems like it might complete.

THE OLD WOMAN But how then can I be in hell? Purgatory, perhaps: I have not been perfect: who has? But hell! oh, you are lying.

DON JUAN Hell, senora, I assure you; hell at its best: that is, its most solitary - though perhaps you would prefer company.

THE OLD WOMAN But I have sincerely repented; I have confessed-

DON JUAN How much?

THE OLD WOMAN More sins than I really committed. I loved confession.

DON JUAN Ah, that is perhaps as bad as confessing too little. At all events, senora, whether by oversight or intention, you are certainly damned, like myself; and there is nothing for it now but to make the best of it.

THE OLD WOMAN [indignantly] Oh! and I might have been so much wickeder! All my good deeds wasted! It is unjust.

DON JUAN No: you were fully and clearly warned. For your bad deeds, vicarious atonement, mercy without justice. For your good deeds, justice without mercy. We have many good people here.

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pandas

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You've seen panda photos. You've seen panda movies. Now I pander to you fans of those bamboo-eating raccoon cousins with panda cams!

Pandas of San Diego (perfect for watching while listening to California Dreamin'.

Pandas of the East Coast at the National Zoo. Might as well listen to California Dreamin' on this one too.

There you have it. They get up. They lie down. They eat bamboo. You can watch and watch (15 minute limit at the National Zoo, but then you can start again).
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tuesday

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After Cathy and Sarah were gone, I saw that Sarah had left her sleep toy -- the penguin she has chosen to be her companion during nap times at school. There were also books to return to the library, so I gathered them up and went out. 3/4 of the way to Sarah's school, I realized I'd also forgotten the toy, so I cursed my way home, picked it up, and brought it to her. She was delighted to see me in the middle of the day, and there was much hugging.

On my way away from there, I saw that the Never Open Record Store had an OPEN sign on the front door. In all my time here, I've never found the place open, so I turned back, parked, and went in. It was even more squalid inside than it had looked through the windows, partly because the owner was packing everything up to move. I wandered through empty shelves, observing the wretched condition of LP sleeves and the delusion -- not just once, but over and over -- that three-disk sets of anything are worth $20. On the way out, I saw a box of sheet music and started poking through it. "Those aren't for sale individually," he said, "Only the whole box." "Well, how much does the whole box cost, then?" He cogitated. "Fifty dollars." I stopped looking. I'll go see his new location, when he's settled in.

I also passed a used-book store that somebody had said was small but good. It wasn't open this time, either, but they had at least posted some hours on the door so I could try and guess at a time when I might find somebody in. Then I took the books to the Westfield library (books from our library can be brought back there) and bought some used books for Sarah at a dime each. On the way home, I got groceries.

This evening, Cathy was looking for something for supper. I pointed out my new purchases. When Sarah heard the word "pierogies," she was all for pierogies, so I made pierogies for everybody. A few minutes later, I was transferring laundry to the dryer. Sarah came back to see -- the sound of something happening in the laundry room draws her like a special whistle for kids.

"Can you make me some popped-up popcorn?" she asked, meaning microwave popcorn. "Honey, we just ate. Maybe later." "How about in ten minutes?" I continued delaying. "How about half an hour from now?" "How about ten hours?" I repeated the half hour offer. Sarah now had a definite promise from me to consider making popcorn at 7:00. I heard her in the living room asking Cathy how long a half hour was.
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