We’ve all but decided to go up to New York for the Edgar banquet. I mean, what are the odds that I’ll ever be an Edgar nominee again? And on the ultra-remote possibility that I were to win (stranger things have happened, though not many) it would be a shame not to be there. We’re going to go to have a good time. Dress to the nines and mingle with high society with no expectations of anything more from the evening than a nice meal. (Seriously — it better be a good meal.)
I fnished Ridley Pearson’s Killer Summer this weekend. Review to come but in brief I thought the caper was overly complicated for what they hoped to achieve. What was the point of all that elaborate misdirection?
Picked up Gaiman’s Anansi Boys and finally got into it. I’m up to the point where the main character’s brother has just replaced him at work for the day, rummaged around in the computer and discovered some offshore accounts that he brandishes around to save his brother’s job.
Was asked to contribute an essay to the 2011 King desk calendar, so I came up with an idea, pitched it to the editor, and was given the green light. It’s a terrific gig — I got the first draft done this morning and should have the essay finished by the end of the week. The pay is very nice. Not enough to cover a trip to NYC, but it will definitely defray some of the trip.
Searched out all the Easter Eggs on the Lost Season Five DVD (not very many this time around) , so now I’m completely up to speed for tomorrow night’s Season Six debut. I have been studiously avoiding absolutely anything that might give away any of the plot, including reports of the sneak preview they had on the beach in Hawaii a couple of days ago.
Stumbled across an old Levinson/Link TV movie called Guilty Conscience this weekend. It stars Anthony Hopkins as a philandering criminal attorney who is trying to come up with a foolproof way to murder his wife (Blythe Danner). Each time he concocts a plan, he puts himself on trial and tries to poke holes in his story…usually successfully. Much to his surprise and chagrin, it appears that his wife has similar designs — and a willing co-conspirator: one of his current lovers, Swoozie Kurtz. The ending is a bit abrupt, but it just goes to show that you can overthink a problem sometimes.
Flamboyant piano-playing songwriter rockets to attention partly because of considerable talent and partly because of outlandish outfits. Almost 40 years ago, that was Elton John — in 2010 it’s Lady Gaga. I’ve been aware of the name for a while but only this weekend sought out some of her music. I found a brief concert performance/interview combo on our OnDemand system. I have to confess to being impressed by her savvy and her chops. Pairing her with Sir Elton seems like a no-brainer. Their performance on the Grammies wasn’t earth-shattering, but I enjoyed it. At some point, like Sir Elton, she’ll probably tire of the camp and the performance art and let her music speak for herself, but I don’t begrudge her the theatrics.
