I seem to have stepped in it today. In about three hours I have to a) chaperone; b) drive to; and c) cater yet another end-of-year party for one of Kate’s school things. (These are the safety/service kids, the ones with a future in law enforcement.) I see that I’ve signed up to bring a salad, and a quick look in the fridge confirms that yes, once again there’s no food in it, much less an already prepared salad appropriate for a picnic on a 90-degree day. So it’s off to the store to find something with a wide age-group appeal and no mayo.
What I’m saying is this: Don’t expect much from ol’ Nance today. (As usual.)
Watched part 1 of “John From Cincinnati” last night. I imagine Tim Goodman has his reasons for calling it “a mess,” and I won’t argue too much — it’s weak out of the gate — but I remain hopeful. For those of you who were “Deadwood” fans, I can tell you the show continues two of David Milch’s big crowd-pleasers — cascades of profanity and a certain mannered style to the dialogue. There are other pleasures. Rebecca DeMornay was born to be photographed in golden-hour light, and the surfing is lovely without being that “Point Break” fantasy crap.
Parts 2 and 3 are on the menu for the weekend, and I can tell you more then (of course, you’ll have seen part 1 for yourselves by then, too). But I’m still optimistic. I didn’t think it sucked out loud; it was just a bit self-conscious and, sad to say, no “Sopranos,” alas. Or even “Six Feet Under.” But I’m optimistic, because in the history of HBO series, they’ve only flat-out disappointed me twice. (And those are, boys and girls? Yes, “Mind of the Married Man” and “Carnivale.”)
Time, she slips by whether we want it to or not. In this order: Shower, grocery store, school, park. It’s a lovely day. I’m not complaining.