& May

Mike Nichols and Elaine May were what “grown up” funny sounded like, floating through an open door on a cloud of Kent cigarette smoke. The sound was black and white with silver silences. Except for the recording of their Broadway revue, their albums offered no audience to cue laughter with laughter. They were desiccant-dry and precise as a tonearm stylus. Their characters were immediate, vivid, finely tuned in lilting disharmony. They were a knife and a fork, politely, delicately stabbing and slicing, feeding me food I’d never tasted and would forever crave.

And the movies… The movies.

Farewell, Mike. Thank you for sending up Vanguard.

Nichols & May

In Answer to Your Question, My Special One, on Valentine’s Day


Logic of the bio kind,
A pheromonal torrent,
First summoned our surrender
To nature’s wanton warrant.
Deeper, deeper, deeper, down
We fell into our thrall.
But love? I love you now as then…
Hardly, if at all.

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Sometimes it’s so easy.
Sometimes it’s just not.
Sometimes it costs twice as much
As everything you’ve got.
Sometimes it goes slowly,
Sometimes way too fast.
Sometimes it’s the right time;
Sometimes it’s half past.
So don’t take it for granted;
Give it all its due.
Just don’t wait til it’s over
To ask “what is it to you?”

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