Monday, July 12, 2004

S. A. Carrie here with you for the next two weeks after having been unwittingly press-ganged* into running our Mr. Nestruck's 'web-log.' Never having been a diarist of any stripe (and actually having long held the view that the world would be better off had S. Pepys and his diary been lost in the Great Fire), so I'll ask all six of you readers to bear with me.

To the theatre people whom Mr. N. informs me flock to his 'web-log' in great humming droves: I'm sorry. It's unlikely I'll be able to entertain you since my father's career as a theatrical designer ended years ago and with it any insight into the eating habits of Sharon Pollack. Mr. Nestruck will return with his customarily great-hearted love-letters to the Toronto theatre community in a fortnight.

Tomorrow: Jeopardy and David Foster Wallace as clairvoyant...?

*although I imagine the 'unwittingly' part there may well be a tad redundant; one assumes that a witting/willing individual will have found himself at the 19th century equivalent of a recruiting office long before being beaten about the head and carried onto a British naval vessel. And speaking of press gangs: what on earth possessed some late-eighties British television execs to name a children's show after that most insidious form of military draft?

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