![]() I’d ordered food the night before from Daugher’s Deli, having loved my first experience there – Daughter being the daughter of the owner of Langer’s Deli. I got nine hours of sleep, which I needed, got up, did stuff that needed doing, did some Kritzerland show stuff (not just for the upcoming August show, but for the big tenth anniversary September show – I’ve set two fun guests so far. Yesterday seemed like a Tuesday to me, which is good since it was, in fact, Tuesday. Well, it was conductors like Ormandy, Leinsdorf, Walter, and the Bernstein of the Columbia years, who made the classics popular again, so we should be nothing but thankful to them. Ormandy is another they like to poo-poo, these know-it-all, pretentious and pompous classical aesthetes. What a wonderful conductor he was, but it’s fashionable to poo-poo him because, horror of horrors, he was popular and a hugely successful recording artist with the masses. Leinsdorf’s wonderful recording of the Mahler fifth with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I finally finshed the Bruno Walter box set, a marathon of listening for five days, but what fun. Other than that, I am sitting here like so much fish, listening to music. In any language, the fly is dead: La mouche est morte. When will flies learn not to enter a dwelling without being invited? Do they have no brains? Ah, well, the fly has met its maker, the fly is no more, the fly has ceased to be, the fly is bereft of breath – in other words, the fly is dead. The fly passed away at approximately four o’clock yesterday afternoon after coming into the home environment without being invited, flying around in hyperdrive for thirty minutes, annoying me to no end, and finally, tuckered out, flew over to the front door and finally lighted there at which point I was there in a flash and the fly breathed its last breath. ![]() Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, the fly is dead.
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