"Crap! I wish I hadn't seen Ricky on the sidewalk."

"You will be fine for 31 minutes. You will be dead in 32 minutes."

Saturday, June 1, 2013


"I get the jobs the guys who don't sing don't get. I'm the piano tuner who's heavy on the pedal."

It's time to watch The Singing Detective again.

Am I right or am I right?

I've seen it five or six times since it was first broadcast and though I feel like I carry much of it around in my head, it's time to watch it all over from the very beginning. 

I can't hear "Peg o' My Heart" or see Michael Gambon without thinking about Dennis Potter and The Singing Detective.

I know I would have found the series on my own at some point, but it was Andrew who insisted we watch it the first time.

He'd just returned to Los Angeles after working at Marvel Comics and needed a place to stay. I was newly married, but that didn't keep me from extending an invitation to crash on our couch.

I have two lasting memories from that period of cramped living. 

I remember Andrew shaking an empty cereal box at me, a box of Raisin Bran I purchased and he'd eaten, and I remember Andrew baking an apple pie from scratch for my then-wife's birthday, which was very thoughtful. 

I honestly can't recall how long he stayed. Two months? Three? My memories of urging him to find a job and finally asking him to leave are fuzzy.

It was only a one bedroom apartment.

But we'll always have The Singing Detective.


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