Saturday, the Major and I drove up the Sonoma Coast for the day, stopping at Tony’s in Tomales for barbecued oysters and clam chowder, then on to Bodega to visit the schoolhouse in Hitchcock’s The Birds, pastries in Sebastopol, then back to the CocoPlex for a screening of the Hitchcock classic.
The Major looks like a former marine but talks and gesticulates with a near-lispy sweetness and gaiety that is just a pleasure to be around. That contrast is something that has always been very attractive to me. If the last two left to be chosen for my team were a furry femme bear or a lumberjack, I’d go with the furry femme bear. Oh, and he calls me “buddy,” which just melts my butter, fueling my Skipper and Gilligan fantasies.
And speaking of Gilligan, my first thought on Sherwood Schwartz’s recent passing was that I never got to ask him how “The Pro-fes-sor aand Ma-ry Aann” became “aand the rest.”
Seeing Suzanne Pleshette all pecked up on her front her steps is always upsetting. How could Mitch have ditched her anyway? Soulful and sexy, an educator, and looking like Elizabeth Taylor’s younger sister… The jerk.
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