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Father of twins and novelist/filmmaker/musician
in New York on the
Upper Upper Upper Upper
Upper West Side.
People complain about musicals.
Nobody just stops in the street
I say you know the wrong people.
They say:
and breaks into song.
Compliments
I received a great compliment the other day, and it got me thinking about them. The compliment was this:
The guy who directed the first film I ever scored (and the second, and the third) shot a spec TV pilot in Vegas last year. I've agreed to score it and I've taken the producer's money. For reasons no worse than usual, post-production has been stalled longer than it hasn't been.
He called me while I was at Starbucks last weekend, putting the last touches on the CREDO audio track, and brought me up to date on the latest Russian absurdist comedy routines that have been preventing the project's completion. Then he paid me the compliment, which was to say that after all he's had to deal with, he considers me a true friend, because he can count on me for "the truth and a laugh."
Since those are two things I try to be reliable about, the compliment got right past all the defenses and modesties. It meant something.
While I was thinking about it tonight, I remembered another great compliment. After 9/11, nobody seemed to be reading. Someone (I no longer remember who) posted on Dorothy-L that she'd been housesitting for someone--I think it was in New York--and she'd brought THE NIGHT MEN along. She said she stayed up all night reading it, and then the next day, she wanted to check something, so she picked up the book to find the relevant detail--and read the whole thing again.
I suppose I don't have a neat wrapup for this post--no clear conclusion. But aha--maybe I'll think of one while I'm dealing with the baby squawk I just heard in the other room. (I'm in the kitchen with my laptop.)...
· · ·
False alarm. Somebody probably peed in his sleep. I always squawk when I do that, too.
And I have my conclusion:
Those rare, greatest compliments are the ones that directly address the things you worked hardest at, but you never let on how much they mattered.
And for whatever reason, they're never embarrassing.
[Best of the Blog| News & Notes about CREDO ]
The guy who directed the first film I ever scored (and the second, and the third) shot a spec TV pilot in Vegas last year. I've agreed to score it and I've taken the producer's money. For reasons no worse than usual, post-production has been stalled longer than it hasn't been.
He called me while I was at Starbucks last weekend, putting the last touches on the CREDO audio track, and brought me up to date on the latest Russian absurdist comedy routines that have been preventing the project's completion. Then he paid me the compliment, which was to say that after all he's had to deal with, he considers me a true friend, because he can count on me for "the truth and a laugh."
Since those are two things I try to be reliable about, the compliment got right past all the defenses and modesties. It meant something.
While I was thinking about it tonight, I remembered another great compliment. After 9/11, nobody seemed to be reading. Someone (I no longer remember who) posted on Dorothy-L that she'd been housesitting for someone--I think it was in New York--and she'd brought THE NIGHT MEN along. She said she stayed up all night reading it, and then the next day, she wanted to check something, so she picked up the book to find the relevant detail--and read the whole thing again.
I suppose I don't have a neat wrapup for this post--no clear conclusion. But aha--maybe I'll think of one while I'm dealing with the baby squawk I just heard in the other room. (I'm in the kitchen with my laptop.)...
False alarm. Somebody probably peed in his sleep. I always squawk when I do that, too.
And I have my conclusion:
Those rare, greatest compliments are the ones that directly address the things you worked hardest at, but you never let on how much they mattered.
And for whatever reason, they're never embarrassing.
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