Gloriosky, what a week.

Glorioski? Is that the right spelling? I don’t even know what it means, except that it’s an olde-tyme expression of wonderment. If this is the new pattern for life, every Friday is going to be a stagger to the finish line, and I’ll never do another Diner. (Don’t worry; I will.) Everything piles up on Thursday, which would be fine except this morning I was Mr. Rock and/or Roll at the school’s Read-A-Thon event. As I noted yesterday, nine AM is a bit early to rawk out, but once we started it all fell nicely into place. The very last tune we played – a long-form version of “We Got the Beat,” played until the bassist’s hand cramped up – was like the Beatles on the roof, man. That was the end of the Kids of the Past. Sniff.

Should have noted the bandmates in yesterday’s post. Jane, on Strat and acoustic, is a sculptor and an art restorer for a local museum. Ken, the professional musician and altogether cool fellow, has a production company that composes music for industrials, commercials, and films. He also played the Strat. Barb, the bassist, is a web designer. Stuart, on skins, has a technology  / internety business. It’s a great lesson: keep your day job. A few decades later, you can get back to it, and it’ll be waiting. As I said to Jane before we launched into the first number: we’ll never have a better audience for the rest of our lives.

Really: about 600 elementary students who were all a-twitch and a-twitter over REAL ROCK MUSIC in school. One girl came up before the show and asked me to play something; I did. She said “no, real fast, up there.” She pointed to a spot on the guitar. I did some really-fast-riffing, and she squealed: “JUST LIKE GUITAR HERO!” she said.

The principal did indeed show up to sing Elvis, and did so in full latter-Elvis mufti. Jumpsuit, sideburns, big glasses, thangyouvurymuch. The kids went crazy – although how many of them knew who Elvis was, I can’t say.

Now I’m listening to the Largo from Dvorak’s 9th; would have bored the kids to death. Well, it’ll be there for them. A glove waiting for their hand to grow large enough to fill out the fingers.

After the event I went home, posted on, then ran back to the school because I’d forgotten to pack (G)Nat’s shoes, and otherwise she would have had to wear galoshes. Off to the office; filed a column, home; more; brief crash for a solid nap, then Chuck E. Cheese’s. Sped home, did the Hewitt show, then settled down to finish the three items due tomorrow:, another column, and this. But (G)Nat would not let me work: she wanted to be with Dad, and I’ll take that in whatever portion it’s given. We played Roller Coaster Tycoon – I have to keep reminding her to install bathrooms  - then watched a History Channel documentary on the Great Candy Makers. (Secret ingredient: corn syrup.) I read her a book then put her down. Not in the old dog sense, of course.

The old dog was on the bed, sighing occasionally: Mommy had not come home for supper, and that had meant no scraps. It takes him a few hours to get over the disappointment.

A few nights ago the always-good Alfred Hitchcock Hour featured Diana Dors, the Marilyn of Swindon, the British Blonde Bombshell. She was good, albeit despicable, in the role. Apparently she secreted money in banks around England and died without telling anyone where the money was hidden. But she left clues! You can't take it with you, but if you're blonde enough, people will wonder where you put it. (Ahem.) Bonus fun: her son, attempting to crack the code his mother had created, consulted the Enigma team. It’s fascinating to think what the money has accomplished since she put it away, how it was fed through the banks, loaned out, ending up as an intangible element in homes and cars and businesses. Somewhere now in England someone is chopping onions on a counter financed by Dors’ work in the TV show I saw a few nights ago.

Oh: after I’d watched the documentary with (G)Nat, I deleted it on the TiVo. She was appalled. WHY DID YOU DO THAT? Well, you’ve seen it twice; sorry, hon. Force of habit. I’ll see if it’s coming up soon, and record it again.


Well, I can get it from iTunes on my computer.

She fixed me with a stern look. "I want to watch it on TV. How can you put a show from your computer on the TV?"

“I can stream it wirelessly from my laptop to the Apple TV, hon.”

She said nothing. Then she said: “That doesn’t many any sense at all.

It was then I realized something: Apple needs to advertise the TV more. Especially on Nick. It doesn’t matter if kids don’t know quite what it does; what would matter that it existed, it was white, hip, and made movies possible.

WHAT am I doing writing this? Sorry; not to diss the Bleat, but it’s midnight and I have two more columns to finish. Thanks for stopping by this week; see you at Have a grand weekend, and if you're strolling past something brown and peaty, raise one for me.