So I have spent several hours in the Apple store trying to recover what is left of my sanity that can re-collect in a world dominated by technology, heartened by the presence of one of the truly fine hotel managers of the world, Frank Bowling, who was for many years Himself for the Hotel Bel-Air, when it was one of the Greaties. Ah, those were the days.
Anyway Frank was in my I-phone class at 10 AM this morning, impeccable as always, unbelievably elegant tie and coordinated pocket kerchief, serene as always in spite of life's unrelenting complexities, intensified by all this electronic madness. The tutorial from the very pleasant teacher was infinite, as are the possibilities of the iPhone but you have to have that kind of brain and I don't. To make things worse, I had to renew this blog, when I am not in New York to Blog for Broadway, and it costs plenty, and I have no idea if anyone reads it, and everything I saw when in New York was disappointing to say the least. Have returned to LA to work on my musical, SYLVIA WHO? which may or may not be realized in my lifetime, or indeed anyone else's.
And if all that were not disturbing enough, I received a bulletin that they are bringing The Bridges of Madison County, one of the arch arches of our time, to Broadway as a musical. Is there no mercy from the universe?
Yesterday I had the unexpected fun of running into Sylvester Stallone-- it is Hollywood, after all-- and being able to comment on the musical of ROCKY which is coming to Broadway via Germany, where everybody was ecstatic about it Or Else. But in all good faith, which I have to have, because the book is by Tom Meehan, one of the darling souls on the planet, a man of infinite generosity with a wife who has my same birthday and is beautiful besides, so I have to root for him, which it is impossible not to do (he also wrote the musical of The Producers with Mel Brooks who remains the funniest man alive but still needs help with structure.) Anyway I was able to tell M. Stallone that I understood they went wild for Rocky in Munich, and Sly, which I did not have the temerity to call him and wouldn't even if he asked me to, said he understood not a word besides 'YO' but wept anyway. I have to say with all due respect that I saw the movie of Rocky a few weeks ago while still in New York, and it really holds up remarkably, seeming even better now than it did when I first saw it, maybe because I have become less cynical except perhaps about The Bridges of Madison County.
Anyway, I am sad and frustrated because nothing was accomplished today except I did connect with my darling friend Olivia-- the name alone lends some indication of her elegance-- PR for the Peninsula in Hong Kong, and just to hear that accent makes me feel more intelligent and accomplished, so the day has not been wasted. Her little doggie, Tuki, went missing and never returned (she has as many as 9,) but she sounded the most beloved. The hills around Olivia's place in Hong Kong are filled with enormous wild pigs, which of course the hills here are, too, except here they are in clothes, and often run agencies. (Only kidding, anyone who wants to represent a new old author.) It is Olivia's hope that Tuki, about whom she "fears the worst," a phrase that is most moving and Bronte-ish in that accent, met with a serpent, because that would have been quickest. The parallel does go on, doesn't it? I mean, there is Shakespeare and all, how sharper than a serpent's tooth, etc. but I will not go on about my children.
Oh, I hope it was worth $178.00 to do this damned blog. I hope there is something worth blogging about on Broadway. I hope, if there is a Heaven, and Tuki is there, remembering what a loved life she had in exotic Hong Kong, with exotic Olivia, she will speak in her doggie tongue to the Powers to give me the strength and the skill to carry this through to a joyful finale, or, even better, a joyful continuance. Or at least put some dynamite under the bridges of You Know Where.