END OF THE YEAR OF THE WEEK:
Tomorrow brings to a merciful close this hilariously awful debacle of a year. And not a moment too soon. For me, it was… fine. Not my best year, not my worst. So… fine. But writ large, 2024 is the most tumultuous year I can remember. Hopefully, with the election in the rearview, things will calm down a bit. But, as someone who was alive 2017-2021, I am not in the remotest sense hopeful.
That said, I don’t want this to be a “dark” column, so here’s just some more semi-humorous shit I thought about the last couple weeks.
NEW YEAR’S EVE GIG OF THE WEEK:
The plan, as I write this (259PM Monday afternoon), is for the Terry O’Brien Group (Me, Cathrine O’Brien, Dave Hughes, Ray Palmer) to rock you into the new year at Anglesea Pub, my off-season musical home (thank you, Sean McMullan!), 830-12. However, none of us have heard from Ray in a few weeks, so it’s 50/50 he’ll show up for the gig (to longtime Terry O’Brien friends, this is not a surprising revelation). In that case, the Terry O’Brien Trio will see you safely into 2025! But, uh, Cath has backed out of her last few scheduled appearences at the last minute, so let’s peg that one as 70/30 FOR. But should that 30 pay out, then Terry & “Sugar” Dave will put 2024 to bed. And smother it. With a pillow. Until it stops moving. (Dave has to show up. His PA is already there.)
A GIANT THANK YOU TO THE BEST FANS AND FRIENDS IN THE WORLD:
That would be all of you. Be ye the remaining few still paying for this thing while roaming quietly in the shadows, or be ye the ones that come regularly to our gigs and stuff our tip jars, I love and appreciate all of you. I’m not sure I say that enough. So here you go.
A GIANT THANK YOU TO MY MUSICAL PARTNERS:
I’d be nothing without Jerry Kolberand Dave Hughes. I’m extremely lucky to have Jerry as my #1, having Dave as my #2 is an embarrasment of riches.
(If all of this seems like a long goodbye, it may be. I’m not sure I’ll be continuing the column in 2025.)
SHOCKING REVELATION OF THE WEEK:
The wife and I switched bedrooms last week to one with more square footage but less wall-mounted 55” televisions. Once I hung that beauty up I k new there was no way I could ever go without it. But… my plan to buy myself a new one to hang in the new room fell through when I discovered I was out of money (don’t worry, our sons had a very good Christmas haul… and this column’s not about that…). I had a few, long staring contests with some beautiful machines at Wal-Mart, but was able to maintain a modicum of self-discipline. “My birthday,” I told myself. “March is not that far away.” In the meantime, I’d have to make do with the 24” set we had floating around between sons. The shocking revelation? I kind of love the 24” set and don’t think I need to hang a big one in there. (THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!) I’ve never really been a “less is more” guy. See; my weight, my drinking, my smoking. But in this one instance I think it just might work out. Maybe I’ll upgrade to a 32” because the picture on this one is a little off. And 32” is practically 42” which may as well be 55” so… NO! No, Terry. 32” is fine. (Keep an eye out for next month’s column, “My New 75” TV and Me.”
FOLLOW-UP OF THE WEEK:
For those asking, “Why didn’t you just move the existing TV into the new room?” The answer is, “Because it’s a goddamned miracle I got that one up there in the first place, no fucking way I’m moving it.”
SHOCKING REVELATION OF THE WEEK II:
If you recall, last week I wrote about running into my old Elaine’s Dinner Theater boss and the world didn’t catch on fire. This week, after picking up my son, Owen, in Glassboro (WHERE HE IS OFFICIALLY-OFFICIALLY DONE WITH COLLEGE) then picking up my wife at Cape May Peanut Butter Co., we decided to drop in to Elaine’s for a bite and a beverage (non-alcoholic for me, 659 days and counting…), which also went well. I had not been in since being, uh, released in 2017 and I may as well have walked in to a different planet. Aside from the main bar, a Cape May classic, the rest of the interior was unrecognizable from what I left nearly 8 years ago.
MOVIES & TV I WATCHED OF THE WEEK:
Wicked (in theaters): I’d done everything I could to avoid seeing this movie and, for a month, I’d succeeded. However, I got locked in to a family trip to the movies on Christmas day and, alas, Wicked was the consencus choice. (My lobbying for the dark and disturbingly weird Nosferatu fell on deaf ears.) I didn’t love it, but neither did I hate it, and I really felt like I was going to hate it. There are several reasons for this;
It’s not made for me. It’s made for girls 18-34 demographic who grew up listening to it (and singing it at kid’s karaoke…) and their parents.
The Woke Factor appeared radioactive. The characters, actors and setting were all ripe for heavy-handed symbolism. A black woman playing a green woman against a latina playing a white woman in a land swarming with Munchkins and literal rainbow-colored people… it could have been a disaster for this center-right heterosexual middle-aged man. But aside from one bit (the ham-handed use of oppressed animals to represent the Civil Rights moment that came out of nowhere and added nothing to the movie), it was reasonably apolitical. A fucking miracle.
The press tour was absolutely insufferable. Every public appearence from Ariana Grande (Glinda) and Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) was weirder than the one before and it made me wonder what kind of weapons-grade drugs they were able to get their hands on and FOR GOD’S SAKE WOULD SOMEBODY GIVE THEM A SANDWICH!
Erivo seems to be getting most of the praise but I found her performance to be extremely one-note. Grande is legitimately hilarious and should get an Oscar. And Jonathan Bailey will 100% win Best Supporting Actor for his Prince Fiyero. He walks way with every scene he’s in. My biggest problem with the movie is that the whole thing looks like a very high budget credit card commercial.
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