Christmas Crush

It's funny how you can see a movie several times and not notice someone, and then, like a bolt from the proverbial blue you get hit with a shock of sexy.  This particular bolt is named John Brascia, and he was a dancer in the fifties, most prominently in White Christmas.  Try to tear yourself away from Vera Ellen's skinny little dancing thighs long enough to take in those teeth, those biceps, and those confident and masculine moves...

A Garland for Christmas

 

 

Meet Me in St. Louis is screening at the Paramount tonight and in honor of that showing, here's a little Judy Garland Christmas joy.  If you're in the Austin area, I highly recommend trotting out to the historic Paramount Theatre to see the film at 7PM.  It will be followed by White Christmas at 9:25.  Even if you've seen these classics on your television, there is nothing like the communal experience of enjoying them with a big crowd of people in the dark.  The big screen is magical, and it's as close to time travel as you are likely to get.  In case you don't get out tonight, here's a clip of Judy singing the Christmas favorite she made famous...

 

                           

One of Many Reasons I Love Audra McDonald

This performance of one of my favorite Sondheim songs, "What Can You Lose", paired up with the equally moving "Not A Day Goes By".  If anyone knows of a recording of this, please let me know.  I got to be in the audience for this performance, and I've been searching for an audio only version of it, but as far as I know, it doesn't exist.

Random Musings

Working full time in addition to performing, really makes a person appreciate Sunday.  The laziness of it, especially on a day when a faulty car battery gave me the guilt free excuse to miss church and sleep in.  It's a day for lolling, for sipping coffee with peppermint creamer, and doing laundry.  For texting the cute boy I met on-line, who's only defect at this point is his wearing of a World of Warcraft t-shirt.  Although, this could be a serious flaw...

Last night we closed Arsenic and Old Lace, and I now have my nights free until mid-January, which will be a relief.  It seems like my life knows only two modes, feast or famine.  Too much, or too little, and frankly, I'm usually ok with this.  I've gotten used to it.  I've never been a middle of the road person.  If I'm in love, it's full force, and when I'm out, it's equally as easy to drop someone as it is to hold them close.  Maybe not the most effective way to live, but shit, we've all got flaws.  Mine are...

1.  An intrepid distaste for passive aggressive people
2. An obsession with weight, and my struggle to keep it down.
3. A tendency to overshare (hence this blog)
4. the ability to underestimate myself
5. a neurotic tendency toward perfection which can make Thanksgiving dinners with me a masterclass in being a control freak.  Thank god for my family who loves and accepts this about me, and my cousin who passes the vodka.
6.  Neediness.  I have a need for affection, peeps, I freely admit it.

But this is not a post in which I concentrate on my flaws, which also make me unique and can be a great tool for any actor or artist.  Sharing these things can help create intimacy, let other people know that they are not alone, and be a form of therapy.  Luckily, I've always considered "dignity" an over adored virtue.
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Last night was also "strike", of the show.  That night at the end of the run in which some of the smaller companies ask the actors to participate in the tearing down and storing of the set and props pieces.  Although, why someone would want to put a drill in my hand, I will never know.  It was fun, and festive, although I resolve to be more productive and less chatty next strike.  You will find me in the dressing room polishing and dusting, moving costumes and as far away from wood work and flats as I can possibly get, although I'll happily paint the floor black.  That I can do.
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In case you are wondering... Frozen???  My least favorite Disney animated film so far.  Don't feel bad, enough other people are singing its praises that I feel I can be truthful about it here.  Here are my thoughts-

• As one of the critics said "you can see the wires".  I prefer my stories to tell the stories without having some "girl power, making up for the passive princesses of Disney's past" message which is oddly contrasted by the anorexic exaggerated features.  In other words, they are saying "be who you truly are inside.  As long as the outside is pretty, everyone will accept you." Go girl.

• The original story on which the cartoon is based is pretty flawless on its own and doesn't need any tinkering to make it better.  It's got a strong female protagonist, who is not a princess, and not an adult.  Her happy ending is not bound up in story book romance, but in true friendship.  For once, the person in peril is not a girl, but a boy, who is becoming embittered to life's beauty.  In short, it's very original and unique, which is probably why Disney had troubles with it and ended up falling back on the conventional, because in spite of some superficial trappings, this is a very conventional story.

• The songs are unnecessary.  With one notable exception, they are not particularly memorable.  Even the power ballad that the Snow Queen sings is more reminiscent of Katy Perry than of Ashman and Menken, and it feels like a combo of "fireworks" and "defying gravity".  I am, however, grateful for the tag "the cold never bothered me anyway", which is as calculatingly sassy as Bruno Tonioli after two skinny girl margaritas, and which I delight in singing at random moments.

• For me, the one saving grace was the very character I didn't expect to love.  The little enchanted snowman is awesome.  He has so much heart, is so tender and childlike, and he sees the goodness in every situation.  His "I want" song is pretty much perfection.  Hilarious and poignant, with many laugh out-loud moments packed into about two minutes.  I may go back to see it just for him.  Congrats to Josh Gad on a really lovely performance. 

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One of the movies I truly loved this year, was Philomena.  Judi Dench is wonderful, it's sincere, and heart wrenching, and I saw it with my mom, which I highly recommend doing.  Although, there may not be enough of my mom to go around, as she'll probably get bored after seeing it six or seven times.  Probably, you should bring your own mom.

Joey Wants A Doll (or "Heart's Desire: Part 2")

Remember this?  Marlo Thomas' Free To Be You and Me?  This was a watershed moment for a generation of "sensitive" boys.  Specifically, this lil ole' video.  "William Wants A Doll". 

I saw it in the middle of Miss Duggar's home room in fifth grade.  All the kids were crowded around the t.v. watching the story of William and his doll, and how much he wants it.  Thank the Lord for the grandma who finally comes along and gives him what he wants.  Every future gay boy (or doll loving straight boy) know sit's not Father, but Grandma who knows best.  Yes.  I wanted a doll.  But not just any old doll.  Not Barbie.  She was too frivolous.  The doll I wanted, I had been dreaming of since I was three years old.  It was my holy grail, my maltese falcon, my Red Ryder BB gun.   You may remember it from my last post.  It looked a little something like this:

 



 

I'd  finally come to realize I wasn't going to get my hands on the Emerald City Playset (that would come later) but if I could just get my hands on a plastic version of my teen-aged fairy godmother, then surely everything would be alright and I would never want again.  I just wanted to be close to my dream girl, and the only way I was going to do that was by getting my little hands on that little idol, the "golden calf" that MGM had tempted me into loving wholeheartedly. 

 

Years went by.  Mego stopped making the dolls.  No matter, because there were dealers who could still get their hands on them and send them your way.  For the right price.  That price, back in the mid-eighties, was thirty dollars, and in an art imitates life moment my grandmother sent me a check for Christmas so I could "get myself something special".  I immediately called my dealer, her name was Elaine, and ordered the doll who owned a mail-order business that specialized in (get ready) Garlandia.  I was twelve. 

 

 I played sick on the day it was set to be delivered so I could lay my hands on it as soon as was possible.  The next day I brought it to school and showed it to my best friend as we sat in the back row of math class.  He and I had watched "Oz" together several times, so I knew he was safe.  And yet, after looking at it he said... "Hey guys, look what Joe has!"

 

I got a sickening feeling in my stomach.  My chest churned.  Holy shit, no!  Betrayal.  I quickly shoved Dorothy in my worn out green back pack as I cursed myself for bringing my dirty little secret into the belly of the beast.  It was a doll!  Of course it was.  It was no fucking action figure, no matter how little it was.  No matter that it didn't come with multiple outfits.  It was a god dammed doll, and no matter what Marlo Thomas or some sweet cartoon grandmother said, I had violated the sacred kid rule by owning and loving it!  What the fuck was I gonna do???

 

The answer was...nothing.  No heads turned to scoff and laugh, and scold.  The class went on as if he'd said nothing.  As a kid who ate Smurfberry during school lunches, Wes was nearly as low on the middle school hierarchy as I was.  And after all, it hadn't said it very loud, so for the moment, my secret was safe.  Safe until I would feel strong enough to let it out on my own.

 

So what's the lesson here?  I guess it's this.  Parents, you will not be able to change your kids.  They are who they are, and they want what they want.  In fact, those things they are denied will become fetish objects that they will gleefully rub and touch in the back row of their math class when they are sure no one else is looking.  Is that what you want?  Is it?    

 

  

Heart's Desire

Take a little trip with me.  Indulge me for a moment,if you will, as I revisit our life's journey.  First, of course, we are born.  Thrust into a foreign land and expected to explore, discover and make our way in this world with nothing but ourselves, and one or two ambassadors to the earth to aid our journey.  With me so far? 

At this point we are our truest selves.  Whatever we've been given in this world, our genetic make-up, our souls, our heart's desires...it's pretty much agreed that at this time in our lives we are closer to these powerful gifts than we will ever be at any other point.  We are most in touch with what we truly want, and who we truly are.  And one of the first words we learn to empower ourselves, is "no"!  We need this word.  We hold it close to us as everybody, even  those well meaning ambassadors, will try to dictate our lives.  They will push things on us we do not want, and take things from us we do.  These things will be done in our "best interests" so we can learn how to get along in a world of rules and societal laws.  They are meant to teach us the fine balance between getting what we want and giving the world what it wants.

In this process we are shamed, we are scolded, we are "gently redirected" toward more socially acceptable behaviors.  We are put in school and molded into people who will keep the status-quo.  There have been a lot of studies on what happens to our creativity, and  intelligence as we go through the schooling process.  Consensus?  The more schooling we get?  The more we lose our unique perspective and the outside of the box thinking we are born with.  Sometimes we don't even realize we are losing it?  But we grow up, feeling something is missing.  We lost a piece of ourselves at some point, our "inner child", and we spend our whole adult lives trying to get in touch with him, to get back what we lost.

With me so far?  Experienced this in your life?  Most people reading this will silently respond with a great big "hells yeah"!  You've seen it happen in your lives and you ached when it happened to your children.

My personal journey was that of what has come to be known as the "gender nonconformist".  And it showed itself in many forms.  For example, I loved purple.  Loved it.  And at age four, when my Uncle asked what my favorite color, I had no trouble telling him.  Imagine my surprise when he responded with... "no, you don't like purple, purple is an old woman's color".  I still remember him suggesting that I like brown.  BROWN??????

When Christmas rolled around and the big fat Sears catalogue came out, I immediately circled the Emerald City playset and Wizard of Oz dolls.  I described it to everyone who asked me what I wanted most.  This went on for years.  At age four, Santa asked.  I told him.  At 6, when our first grade teacher asked us to draw what we wanted to get for Christmas, guess what I drew...

 

 



At eight?  When my parents took me to Universal Studios and I saw these toys at the souvenir shop, guess what I wanted to buy?  Yep.  Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

When it came to movies, I loved fairy tales, Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty.  At play-time?  I wanted to play Cinderella, and wanted to be no one but her.  When I played by myself on the monkey bars?  I was Cat Woman, lithe and cunning, outwitting Batman at every turn.  At dress-up, I always chose the most beautiful gown my friend had in her dress-up trunk.  Thank God I grew up around women who were, for the most part, willing to let me explore this part of myself and indulged my nature in spite of any secret concern they may have had.

That was my inner child.  Those were my heart's desires.  They were gentle, creative, craft and art oriented.  They had nothing to do with wars, with guns, with cowboys or Indians.  And, in spite of my mother, aunts, and grandmother, I quickly learned that they were not approved.  I got schooled by just about anyone, and most of the time this was done by kind people, gently but firmly. 

The oldest boy in my babysitting group heard me pretending to be the Mama dog and took me aside to tell me that I shouldn't be that any more.  A friend's parent saw me in an oversized dress and yelled at me that boys did not wear girls clothes in her house.  My mother, when we went to Universal studios took me aside and gently coaxed me into buying Star Wars action figures instead of Wizard of Oz dolls.  And I learned.  I learned to submit to these desires outwardly.  I pretended to be the boy dog until the oldest boy left.  I only wore dress-up boy clothes outside, but inside??  I bought the Star Wars action figures, but the one who got the most use?  Princess Leia.  And it wasn't just older people who taught me this.  It was kids my own age.  In kindergarten, when I wore purple pants to school?  I was ridiculed by someone who I thought was my friend.  This so-called friend then rallied others to join her in mocking me. 

Why?  I ask myself.  What is it that people are responding to that makes them do this?  Here's my conclusion.  It comes not from the Bible, not from their hearts, but from their fears and what society has told them in some of those very innocuous stories that I loved.  Fairy Tales.

Fairy tales were meant to make boys and girls into productive members of society.  And thus, boys in these stories achieved their happily ever after when they gained treasure, slew dragons, won a kingdom to rule.  Girls?  Their happily ever after was when they were won by a man who slew and acquired.  It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the more powerful role is.  But girls were, at that time,  considered weaker than men, and less equipped.  They were not meant for more education than that which made them into the perfect mate.  These ideas continued, largely unchecked, for centuries, until the 1960's, when the women's liberation movement shouted loud and clear that girls could do more than they'd been allowed to achieve.  They could get their own treasure, fight their own battles.  And should!  They should be empowered with the qualities they had so long been denied.  In many ways this was wonderful.  But it led to a bizarre kind of "might is right" mentality.  It led to a raising up of the qualities that had been associated with men and a degradation of those that had once been considered "womanly virtues".  These were considered weaker qualities.  And so when a boy comes along who is drawn to the qualities of the nurturer?  The artist?  The aesthete?  These are qualities that must be squashed. 

Girls who had what were considered "tom boyish" qualities went from being discouraged in these traits to being applauded and encouraged, and this is rampant today in the newest film versions of Snow White, Alice in Wonderland, and modernizations of The Wizard of Oz.  The nurturing, open-hearted, out of the box thinking that was once celebrated has been discarded in favour of battling.  If there's a fantasy with a female heroine, she is bound to don armor and fight a battle at some point.  What do the dreamy boys have as role models?  Ferdinand the Bull, and Charlie,  of the famous Chocolate Factory (thank the lord for him). 

And yet... even though people tried to divert me from the path I was wanting to travel, that couldn't stop the journey.  They could only teach me how to hide myself and my desires, and then, it was only for so long.  Eventually, after a lot of searching myself, and therapy, I journeyed toward finding the perfect balance of both sides of me, one that celebrated that which I'd been denied and yet, didn't overcompensate.  It's been uncertain, and yet centering.  Still, I can't help but imagine what a life would be like for the child today, who grows up with a family more prepared than mine.  More aware, more deliberate?  What would his life be like?  His future.  He would certainly encounter opposition, but would he be more certain in his belief that what he wanted was best?  Could he be just as happy, maybe even more so, than myself?  Undoubtedly. 

So now??  When  when I see little boys wearing pink glitter shoes, or with painted fingernails, I celebrate them.  I gently encourage them because I know how much thought and courage goes into that decision, for them, and for their parents.  I know how vulnerable they are, and how much support they will need to be strong.  And I know that this is not deviance, but an expression of their true selves, and among the purest gifts that they have been given.  These are not weaknesses, but the beginnings of the tools which will help them change the world, and become their truest and most empowered selves.

Back to Life...

Get out the noise makers and cue the Hallelujah Chorus:  After a couple of months of searching, I have found another day-job, and I could not be more excited.  I'll be working for a small company which serves the elder community by providing companionship and care in their homes. My job will be a combination of recruiting, scheduling, and customer service.  The pay is decent, the mission of the company is inspiring and the staff is friendly and passionate.  It's a little farther north than I'm used to, so I'll be stocking up on audio books and podcasts. 

I found this without the help of a staffing agency, it's a salaried position, and I start tomorrow with high hopes, and excited to contribute to the shaping of a vibrant business.  Of course I know there will be challenges and adjustments, but I have a lot of faith right now that no matter what, this is a great move.

A Couple of Random Thoughts

1.  Caught the Lady Gaga/Muppet Spectacular on Thursday, and I never thought I would turn off a show featuring the Muppets, but I did.  It was such a fucking hodge podge.  Green screened up the wazoo, sterile, boring, and thrown together.  The Muppet segments were spliced in at random moments and looked like they were done in half a day.  Lady Gaga had positively zero charisma, and was on-screen with the Muppets for about four minutes.  It was mostly her singing with back-up dancers in a giant wig, doing some extremely labored "banter" with Elton John before singing a duet of "Gaga and the Jets" (yep, that's what I wrote)... Both The Muppets and Lady Gaga have a wonderfully bizarre sense of humor and a pretty strong understanding of "SHOW BIZ", so this could have been wonderful, but I saw nothing interesting, and certainly no heart.  But to be honest, I haven't seen much soul from The Muppets since the Christmas special they did years ago where everyone went over to Fozzie's grandmother's for Christmas.  Which leaves me wondering who is in charge of Muppet projects now?  Whoever had the idea to put Lady  Gaga and the Muppets together deserves kudos, and whoever executed (in every sense of the word) concept, needs to be schooled.

2.  Tore through And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks, co-written by Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs about a decade before they wrote On The Road and Naked Lunch, respectively, and it was a perfect companion to the Daniel Radcliffe film Kill Your Darlings.  The book was a novelized version of the events surrounding the murder of David Kammerer, by Lucien Carr, with whom he had a very complicated relationship.  I do have to cop to the fact that I've never been a huge fan of the Beats work.  I love their philosophy, but some of the art that sprung from it seems pretty straightforward and lacking.  More of a "this happened, then this happened, then this happened..." sort of approach.  I can understand that back in the mid-twentieth century, when topics like this were rarely discussed, that this could have been revolutionary, but today? 

I highly recommend the film, as it's is atmospheric, haunting, complex and inspiring.  Plus, who could avoid falling in love with this little face?

Dreaming

I've had some pretty bizarre, certainly telling dreams lately, and whereas they usually fade from memory upon waking, these have stuck with me.  I present them now for your entertainment.

1.   (Dreamt a couple of weeks ago) I was at my old workplace.  They had moved offices and I'm not sure exactly why I was there, but they had asked me back to help them out in some capacity or other and so I had stopped by.  Of course, when I was leaving for work, pants didn't seem like a necessity, but when I arrived at work I realized my gaffe.  I walked around, trying to pretend I was dressed perfectly normally, but the CFO of the company, a "by the books type" as CFOs usually are, walked by and gave me a withering look.  She stepped into a very important meeting with clients, and as she entered the conference room I realized that I was standing in front of the big glass window to said room, and that the blinds were open.  Completely embarrassed I crept to a corner of the room and slid down next to a copy machine, hoping nobody would find me.

2.   (Dreamt the night before last)  This one's another riff on a theme.  Somehow, I'd ended up naked at the Antique Mall, the realization of which came to me mid-shopping spree.  I had to get home, and driving was not an option, so I grabbed a couple of antiques from the store, using one antique to shield my front and the other my back as I raced down the busy street.  Of course two gay friends of mine happened to see me, and I ignored them as I ran, knowing they were judging snarkily.

3.    (Dreamt last night)  I had developed some kind of a condition in which my jowls had reddened and become shaped like an orangutans.  See below...

 

 

My cheeks were not quite this large however, and could be somewhat disguised by the massive main of black hair I had on my head.  I went to the doctor, who told me everything would go back to normal after a day or two, and it was probably stressed related.  Unfortunately, I had been put in charge of publicity for a concert/dance jam and could not hide in the house waiting for the swelling to go down.  So out I went, danced up a storm, met Eric from the first season of The Real World who refused to put on a shirt, in spite of the fact that his once muscular physique had gone to seed.  After the event, during which I saved an heiress from an embarrassing moment when she nearly missed her time onstage due to being in the port-a-potty, I was sitting by myself on the street waiting for a bus, when a group of twelve year old girls walked up to me and handed me a piece of candy.  On the candy was a note that I had been given a "chubby boy Valentine"!!!   It said, since I obviously loved chocolate I shouldn't concern myself with the health risks of being fat and just gorge away on the heart stopping treat I'd been given.  Of course I was righteously enraged and followed those children home, screaming and cursing at them, telling them that they were certainly not perfect and I happily notated their obviously flaws as I chased them to their apartment, where I began to berate their mother for sending them out on a errand of hate.  She eventually saw my side of things, and we became, if not friends, frenemies. 

 

What do these dreams tell me?  I'm obviously suffering a bout of low self-esteem, and while I seem to be getting more powerful in each dream, my ego is obviously in need of some stroking.  Get me to a Louise Hay workshop stat. 









A Momentary Pause to Help the Technically Challenged

Most of the time I assume you guys are pretty well versed in web conventions, but for those of you who are not, and I'm not judging... I wanted to make sure you understood the "link".  Silly as it seems, for the longest time I was unaware that when I read an article and came across a word or two in color, that that meant you could click on the highlighted portion and be taken to a website that would give me more info on the topic being discussed.  I highly encourage everyone to click those links and see bios, samples of the artist's work, and interviews. 

Revisiting...The Hollywood Publicity Photo

One of the things I really miss (although I will admit its current absence makes me appeciate the old photos all the more) is the Hollywood publicity photo.  Back in the days when the studios reigned, they had the best photographers on-staff to take photos of the stars in various settings, looking their best, completely glammed out and gorgeous.  Shots that captured the essence of what the studios was promoting in that star.  While some of these photographers still exist- Annie Leibowitz being the most famous, these photos have been taken over by the multitudinous candids of the stars looking like ordinary folks.  George Hurrell was one of the best in his day, and is certainly the most well known today, but others like Clarence Sinclair Bull, and Laszlo Willinger did some amazing work as well.  For fans of some of the more modern stars there was a wonderful book of photographs by Us Magazine, Outrageous. 

In addition to more commonplace publicity shots were shots that promoted a particular star in Holiday themed poses.  They are so kitchy and wonderful, and amp up my enjoyment of the holidays by bringing a little old Hollywood glamour to the festivities.  Here are some for your enjoyment...

The "Our Gang" cast celebrates

 

 

Judy and Mickey

 

 

 Esther Williams and friend





 

 Not all of the photos were particularly artful.  Some were just straightforward shots of the star in a signature look, posed next to a turkey, like the above photo with Esther Williams in a bathing suit (but of course) and the shot below with dancer Vera Ellen, of White Christmas fame.

 

Vera Ellen with toe shoes and turkey

 

 

Marilyn Monroe

 

 

Judy Garland

 

 

Alfred Hitchcock

 

Yet another shot of Judy

(note she is wearing her Dorothy costume beneath the apron)

 

 

And A final shot of ole Joots

 

Of course, the publicity departments went crazy at Christmas time, so when we get closer to mid-December I hope to feature more of these shots.

 

 

 

 



 

 

Opening Night!

There's a definite thrill to opening night.  Sometimes it feels more like terror, or dread, depending on how high your hopes for the show, or how much you question the quality of the show you are about to expose to a good sized audience for the first time.  The thrill  feels magnified for me tonight, since I leapt into the show with a little under two weeks before opening. 

Jumping in as I did, the process was sped up for me.  My first read-through was in front of a cast that had been doing this for awhile (although this show had what must be a record number of cast changes) and up until a couple nights before dress rehearsal I was still finding my rhythm, missing cues, and generally stumbling my way through the part.  It's truly been great to have such wonderful people in the show and crew.  Norman, Jenny, Jean, Karen, Tyler, Amy  and Andy have been extremely supportive and giving, and I could not have joined a more fun or warm hearted bunch of folks.  Plus, Sara, who plays the ingénue is just charming, and my favorite new friend. 


In short, I feel mostly solid, and might just be ready for play time tonight.

Arsenic and Old Lace

 

If you had asked me a little over a week ago, what show I'd be working on next, I would have had a completely different answer for you.  But since last Tuesday I've jumped into the cast of Arsenic and Old Lace, being produced by "Different Stages" at The Vortex.  It opens this Friday, and as of yet, I am not quite ready.  I'm covering for an actor who is unfortunately unable to continue in the part, and I know that know that a lot can be accomplished in the three days between now and opening, but I'm still a little nervous. 

I'm playing Teddy Brewster, a kook in a family of somewhat kooky folks.  His particular "quirk" is that he believes himself to be Teddy Roosevelt.  It's a really fun little part, without a tremendous amount of lines to memorize last minute, but the entrances and exits are a bit of a bitch.  In and out, in and out, shouting, bugle blowing, out and then back in.  I've made a little cheat sheet for myself to hang backstage so I don't forget any of the tiny little scenes I have in act one, and that will be a great help to pick up the slack where my mind leaves off.

Luckily, it's a great piece, and some of the cast members feel like family.  Karen Jambon and Jenny Underwood play the Brewster sisters, and two more generous and supportive (and talented) ladies would be hard to find.  Tyler Jones plays Mortimer.  This probably my fifth or sixth show with him, and he's always a lot of fun, with a wry sense of humor that catches all the bizarre and absurd little moments of life.

Again, we open this Friday, November 22nd.  We close December 14th.  If you live in the Austin area, I'd love to see you there.

DQ Country

Today is my twenty-first day on "My Fit Foods", and while I haven't lost as much weight as I expected/hoped to (I've lost about five pounds as of today) I do feel better about myself, and I am proud that I've gone this long without caffeine, alcohol, and processed food.  My skin looks better than ever, and a couple people have noticed some weight loss in my face (which, when it comes right down to it is what I care the most about, as in my opinion, a cute face can make up for a roll or two here and there).  On Thursday, I will have gone the full twenty-one days with supplements and the cranberry flush, and then I'm going to have to look at my future plans. 

I do not feel "finished" yet, as I haven't reached my goal weight of 190, but I don't want to continue with this regimented plan either, largely because even though the food is pretty tasty, I am bored to death of it.  Enough with the celery and almond butter, for fuck's sake!  Maybe I'll transition to Weight Watchers.  It's certainly cheaper, and less restrictive, so perhaps that will be my plan for the following weeks.  We will see.  I will say, as I get closer and closer to the final day, I'm more and more tempted to drop a pat of butter on my cauliflower mash, or to add some sour cream to the chili I have at dinner time.  And today while driving in North Austin I nearly pulled into Dairy Queen and had a pumpkin pie blizzard.  But I did not.  Strength prevails!

Kill Your Television?

I've come to realize that television can really deaden the impulse to create.  I'm not sure what it is about it, but I've noticed that when I have the urge to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as the case may be) it's so tempting to treat myself to an episode of "The Good Wife" first.  The problem is, once I do that, I lose track of the inspiration, the thoughts that were bubbling over just forty-four minutes before.  And it's such an unconscious act.  About to eat dinner?  If I'm home by myself I flip on the television.  And when I'm finished with the episode, all motivation is drained from me.  It's not that I feel bad, per say, I just don't feel inspired to work.  I'm not telling anyone to kill their television, I'm just making an observation which I plan to act on in the present and future.

1.  Less television.  Especially when I'm feeling the urge to create.
2.  Awareness.  When I'm wanting to turn on the television, am I actually trying to block the urge to create, and avoid the self judgment that inevitably comes with any act of creation?

Anyway, I think  I've overdosed on "The Good Wife" and am taking a break.  It's not as much an enjoyment anymore, as it is a drudge, a distraction I'm attached to.  I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, but I'm aiming for a week off and hopefully when I walk back through the doors of Lockhart and Stern I will be glad to see their "very well tanned for Chicago" faces.  However, if you are not taking a sabbatical, please pay close attention to Season 4, Episode 7, "Anatomy of a Joke", which features my dear friend Melissa van der Schyff as the makeup artist.  Her scene is in the first fifteen minutes, and she's lovely in it. 

 

The L Word

Today is the official close of my ninth day on the cleanse, and I think my body has finally adjusted to the lower calorie intake and lack of process foods and caffeine.  I have my energy back, can breathe again as my cold has weakened, and the constant cravings for sugar and bread have depleted.  I will admit I've been bookmarking autumn and holiday recipes like a madman, in anticipation of the day when I will finally be able to eat yeast again. 

So far I've lost four pounds and can cinch my belt in an extra belt hole, and since I'm feeling a lot better than I had, I'm going to up the cardio for this last half, and really get all the benefit possible from it. 

One quick plug for the library.  This place is a god send.  Truly.  Ever since I've been really reigning in my spending, I've pretty much stopped buying books, music and dvds, and that's where the library has come in.  It's great for all those topics you've been curious about and wanted to dip your toes in.  You can just check a book out on the topic, browse it, take what you need, and return it.  Bada bing- bada boom.  And if there's a novel out there that looks really tempting- you can easily check it out.  If it's popular you can put it on hold, and reserve it for when the next available copy comes in.  Another amazing feature is the vast variety available.  You can search for just about anything, and if it's not at the branch nearest you, you can have it sent to your branch from one of the others that has it on its shelves. 

A few of the things I've been indulging in from the library lately...

1.  A great new translation of the Charles Perrault fairy tales.

2.  Bone-  a graphic novel in the vein of the old Uncle Scrooge comics, and speaking of...

3. The Uncle Scrooge comics.  I've been checking out a bunch of them.  I used to read them when I was a kid, and they were so exciting, full of adventure, exotic locales, and comforting characters.  My dad, gruff and macho as he was, was a big fan of those comics way into his adulthood, and it was something I found extremely relatable about him when I sometimes found little in common. 

4.  Bewitched (season 1)-  This show's gotten a lot of flack for being sexist, but I think that's a misinterpretation of its message.  As much as Samantha tries to be as "normal" as society of the early sixties wants her to be, she just can't do it.  The magic in her is what saves her family time and time again.  And as much as he says he doesn't like magic, Darrin really just wants to protect his wife and family from a society he fears won't accept them.  And Darrin's character progresses a lot from the beginning of the series to the end becoming more and more appreciative and accepting.  And if you look back on the characters that are awful in the show, they are almost always the mortals.  Darrin's mother?  controlling and neurotic.  Gladys Kravitz?  Busy body.  Larry Tate?  Conniving money grubber.  The witches come off looking a hell of a lot better, and loads more fun than the dreary mortals could think of being.  Really, the show's message is about balance.  The more Samantha is able to keep her life balanced, the steadier and calmer her life (and the more boring the tv show would become if she ever truly succeeded).

B. Iden Paynes

It's one of those Autumn days that I remember so well from living in California, where it's chillier inside than it is out.  Not quite sure why that happens, but it gives me a nostalgic feeling nonetheless.  There aren't many things I miss about California, but sharing an apartment converted from a home, one in which Jim Morrison lived during his college days (people used to stop and take pictures of the house, which confused me until I figured out why) with my dear friend Berv, is definitely one of those things.  And eating at John O'Groats on Sunday mornings, slathering butter on biscuits as friends from my own college years sit tightly around a table and talk about our lives.  I miss that.  The sense of community. 

It's funny, because LA is not a place that fosters community.  Everyone is chasing their very specific version of the Hollywood dream, and this is a singular pursuit which tends to leave no room for casual friendships and allies (unless they can somehow further the aforementioned dream).  It causes people to become flaky.  Causes people who were already self-involved, actors, to become even more self involved.  But those college friends of mine were true, lovely people who knew each other before we got to the land where you can't really trust anybody, and I was very grateful to have them when I lived there.  I miss them.  Miss being close with them. 

In other news, I went to B. Iden Payne Awards on Tuesday, and it was quite a time.  Next year, I've made a personal promise to myself that I will have at least two drinks, because without the drinks, watching other people's drunken speeches isn't nearly as much fun.  Highlights of the evening included the musical performances from the cast of Passing Strange, and from Jill Blackwood of Zach's production of Ragtime.  Both made me emotional and stirred up empathy and zeal, and both made me want to rush the stage to be as close to the performances as possible.  I do think the ceremony could use some tightening up, but thought the committee did a wonderful job putting on a show, wrangling a bunch of heavy drinking theatre people, and providing lots of juicy and powerful, as well as hilarious moments.

 I did not win, but my dear friend Libby Detling sure as hell did, and I was so happy to see her take the stage with hutzpah and humor.  Best speech of the evening, for my money.  Was also so happy to see John Austin share a win for "best youth performance".  He flew in from college in Boston to be there, and I couldn't have been happier for him.  He's one of those idealistic, sincere and shining souls that I expect to see great things from.  Since I'm sending out congrats I also have to say huge congrats to winners Carl Booker (for costumes), Chris Humphrey (for best actress in a comedy) and John Vander Gheynst for musical direction.  This is John's second win in a row, and I'm not surprised as he's extremely talented and his musicianship is amazing.  I was a little surprised Molly Wissinger wasn't paired up with him in the nomination as vocal director, since it seems as if the two people split the duties of what is often one person's job, but nonetheless I'm real happy. 

Dragging and Drowning in "The Good Wife"

So, I'm 8 days into the 21 day challenge (although it's officially only five days, since I didn't start supplements until Friday.  Screw you and your rules "Myfit foods"-  sfx: shaking of fist) and I have been pretty sluggish ever since.  I'm sure a large part of it has to do with the fact that I'm off caffeine and I've been on withdrawal as they say, and yet, after eight days you think I'd be feeling better.  Maybe 1700 calories a day just isn't enough for someone who is 6'3 and runs every other day.  I'm trusting them though, the fit foods people, that they know what I'm doing.  However, I have felt very little motivation as of late to do anything, one reason the blog's been a bit of a desert. 

The only thing I feel motivated to do is sleep (10 hours sometimes) and drown myself in The Good Wife.  I know there are those of you will say I've just substituted one addiction for another, but I am ok with that.  If 17 hours of Julianna Margulies is a bad thing then color me filthy.  I'm also loving Christine Baranski and Anika Noni Rose.  Love a show that has such strong women.  And the men are great as well, though, not the reason for watching, in my humble opinion.

Tonight is the B. Iden Payne Award ceremony.  I'm nominated for Vampire Lesbians of Sodom, and am frankly surprised as I wasn't sure that many people saw it, or that it was very well thought of by those who did.  And yet, I'm truly grateful as I put a lot of hard work  into the part and the writer, Charles Busch, is my favorite living playwright.  He writes such smart, campy shows, loaded with embedded tributes to the greats of the silver screen, and full of heart.  I loved the role of the virgin sacrifice, aka Madeleine Astarte, aka, Madeline Andrews, and would love the chance to do another of his works.  I don't expect to win tonight, but it will be nice to go and see everyone, even without a cocktail in hand, and there should be some interesting drama revolving around the fact that the nominating committee did not nominate a director for Best Musical this year.  A letter was written objecting to this (by the director of one of the prominent musicals) and so the committee allowed for member nominations.  It should be interesting, no matter what.

Final bit of news, I'm writing a novel.  Sure I am.  It's National Novel Writing month, and though, that fact slipped my mind until just now, I can make up for the five days I've lost.  Of course, I can't say it will be brilliant, but this bitch is gonna do it.

21 Day Challenge!

The last few months have been kind of rough as far as my weight goes.  Ok, let's face it, the last year has been...dicey.  But if I'm being honest with myself, weight has always been a struggle, and may very well be that until I slough off this mortal coil.  I'm getting to be ok with that, as long as I feel like I'm winning the battle. 

But this past year?  I've gained twelve pounds, and I'm just not comfortable.  I'm in between sizes, feeling unattractive, and I know something has to be done.  And so I build up giant dreams in the sky of what I'm going to do to lose the weight as quickly as possible, and yet, that plan does not include anything structured, and rather than focus on process I focus on what the scale has to say each day, and so my "plan" changes depending on what the demon scale feels like telling me that day.  Down 3 pounds?  Oh, I can afford a brownie!  Up 2?  I'm make plans to never eat again. 

And so I yoyo back and forth, spend a few days in intense workout mode, eating healthy, drinking water, and then...I slip.   It might be the tiniest slip, but in my mind, and compared with what I'd been doing, it feels like a slide, which is what it inevitably becomes as the guilt loads up and has its way with my mental health.  Before you know it I'm cramming every donut known to man down my gullet as I prepare for another few days of "being good".  And so, it ends up I don't really end up losing any weight, and in fact can end up gaining. 

Not that I can't do it, lose weight.  I've done it before.  And I don't always need to be on some regimented plan, but if I'm not, I need a motivation that will stay with me for a month or so.  After a break-up, this motivation is easy to come by, but at this particular moment in my life, the motivation isn't there and the self regimented plan isn't working.  And yet, I can't go on gaining weight, as I can  hardly stand walking by a mirror now, dreading what monster might be staring back at me.  And so I've started the "My Fit Foods" 21 Day Challenge. 

I started a couple of days ago, on the 29th, and am feeling both hungry and tired.  There's no caffeine allowed on this plan, and so I'm going through withdrawals, as usually I will drink two Diet Cokes a day, and maybe a cup of coffee.  I know this will go away after a couple of days, but in the meantime, it's hell.  But I keep on...

Here's what it entails.  I eat only their prepackaged meals, made fresh daily, with only the best carbs and lots of light proteins.  I work out, drink half my water, take vitamin supplements and drink a "cleanse" each morning.  So far, I've been eating the meals, but tomorrow starts my first "official day" and I will add the vitamins and the cleanse.  We'll see how it goes.  My goal right now...well, I'm keeping that to myself at the moment, but if I reach it when this whole thing is through, I'll be sure to let you know.

Time Travel To A Careless Meeting

I’ve wished I could re-meet you, just stumble into you at some hipster coffee shop while we wait for our grande non-fat lattes.  And once again you’d look in my eyes with that combination innocence and purpose.  We’d chat, bond over our shared loved of Lauren Graham in “Parenthood” and after awhile you’d casually brush my sleeve.  I'd wonder if it was an accident until you run your oddly delicate fingers up and down my non-existent bicep, and again, like then, I would know. 

Only this time I’d be prepared.  I’ve studied my shit up like Bill Murray in “Groundhogs Day” and you, miraculously do not remember having met before. 

And this time I would know to hold back, not to show my proverbial cards too easily, splayed out on the table in easy submission to your charms.    If I could only do that then I could wrap my arms around your zealful mystery again, put my lips on you as your tongue rushes to meet mine.

I hate fantasizing, holding fast to a non-existent you, this idealized you without the irresponsibilities, the lies of omission, without the carefully thought out/over mature decisions that shut out possibility.  But I miss that light, that wholesome, guiless, puppy dog sexuality.  Miss the way you danced and I could watch you, knowing what you’d move like later with the lights out from the seemingly careless swivel of your hips.

And yet, I know.  Know with certainty that life in this moment, the current set of situations, our separateness is for the best.  We cannot always save each other.  But we can savor each other.  Save that for a grocery store greeting card or a magnet that goes up on the fridge.  It's too clever.  Trite.  It says nothing.

If I could take a pill and make myself mysterious to you again- would I?

When you were mine, I was far from certain. 

Things I Will Miss When I Die

I will miss those great moments of being moved by something.  Those huge emotions.  Like the night in L.A., when I drunkenly stumbled to the stereo at the place I was sharing with my dear friend Berv and cranked up the stereo to hear “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”.  The depth of  emotion in Garland’s voice just produced so much longing.  I understood so much about the beauty within her, and the magic that was being produced.  And felt a longing for and a connection to sadness, because the only way you can truly feel sadness and longing is through having glimpsed true happiness.

I will miss flavors.  Lemon, pumpkin, caramel, cherry.

I will miss stars.  Driving out on the highway late at night, windows down, some fifties doo wop song in my ears, randomly exiting and then turning down a rarely travelled road.  Pulling over to the side and crawling on to the hood of my car.  Looking up into the stars in wonder.  Stars, proof of magic.

I will miss the sweet connection and companionship I get from Ira, and from Travis and Ross and Lambeau.  I've loved all my animal friends. 

I will miss holding someone I care about, lying in their arms, tucked up in them, nestled in them.  Feeling safe, and feeling like I am keeping them safe.

I will miss the frivolous things.  Daytime talk shows with their inane chatter and designer pillows.  Novelty glasses, comic book characters, Saturday morning cartoons...

 

I will miss having the kind of friend you can call and meet at the grocery store, or at Target, just to wander through and do your chores with someone.

I will miss nature.  Of feeling like a small thing amongst the majesty of the natural world that I exist in, and that was here long before me. 

I will miss the amazing feeling of a really good poop.  Sometimes that feels like the only accomplishment I need, and I rarely take it for granted.

I will miss the excitement of wandering in the woods on a trail, the feel of the air against me, the smell of wet leaves, the sound of water.

I will miss children, and their sweetness.  The way they look when they are discovering the world, their occasional faltering, their trust, their hope, their tiny little hands, the purity of them, the uncomplicated nature that I don’t know if I will ever get back.  Nothing can bring joy to a day like the sight of a kid in a Thor costume on a Tuesday, at Randalls.

I will miss the thrill of going to the movies with my mom.  The decadence of eating a big old box of buttered popcorn and drinking a Coke in the darkness, letting go of all kid-hood troubles and losing myself in the giant pictures and sounds up on the screen.  Sitting and waiting until the movie started again.  Seeing it a second time and feeling the jolt of excitement and the privilege of it.

I will miss the comfort, the surety and the retro stability of a good plaid shirt.

I will miss being bundled up in my bed with the ceiling fan on. 

I will miss flirting with that cute guy, brushing my arm up against his, and feeling his fingers brushing my bicep, realizing that he is flirting back.  I will miss the feeling of wanting to get lost in the experience of him, to dive in deep and come up gasping. 

I will miss playing dominos and shouting, laughing, singing with my crazy, perfectly imperfect family.

I will miss the wind hitting my face and fingertips.

I will miss dunking chocolate chip cookies in coffee.

 

I will miss the Hollywood Bowl.  Nights in the open air with a good friend, juggling picnic food, drinking red wine from plastic cups, listening to sumptuous music and occasionally glancing in their direction.    Whispering in their ear, straining to hear when they whisper something in mine.  Smiling next to them, knowing we are sharing a perfect night. 

 

Keep it Clean, Keep it Neat, Keep it Dainty

Back in the day, these were the rules of "clean vaudeville", the phrase that separated the respectable acts you could bring your sweetheart to, without causing embarrassment or seeing anything to lewd or shocking.  I heard the phrase today, as I'm listening to American Rose: A Nation Laid Bare: The Life and Times of Gypsy Rose Lee, on cd as I jaunt about town.  I've had a copy of it since it came out, as I've always found that period of history, and the history of burlesque entertainment kind of fascinating.  And Gypsy herself is such a mystery, hidden by the persona she created and which much of the population takes as fact, if they've even heard of the musical Gypsy, which you can't take for granted anymore that they have.  Anyway, I happened upon an audio copy in the library, and it's currently keeping me company.  I'm determined to use the phrase "keep it clean, keep it neat, keep it dainty" in something.  Either as my personal ironic motto, or in some piece of fiction of play.  We'll see. 

The other things I'm filling my head with these days...

1.  Once Upon A Time on ABC.  I can't help myself.  I know it's trite, toothless, and half hazzardly written, like some hodge-podge piece that sticks any magical component wherever it pleases, whether it's stylistically appropriate or not, and lumps Frankenstein, Mulan, Robin Hood, and King Arthur and His Knights right along with all the other fairy tales, as the whim suits them.  In this way it's not unlike another show that I hate watched for awhile, Glee.  But instead of changing the plot with no concern for reason, or plot or character drives to insert the musical number they want, the writer's do the same to justify the inclusion of a particular character or fairy tale component.  Feel like sticking the little mermaid in the show?  Well, what if she lived in Neverland?  Cool.  There ya go.  I also can't stand the way they take the Disney version of these stories as gospel, which totally removes any edge from the stories they may have once had.  And the sets!  Most of them are green screened and the characters are blatantly painted in, making what I assume to be a pretty high budget show to look cheap.  And yet, I keep watching because fairy tales are my crack. 

2.  Master Chef Junior.  Oh lord, I can't help myself!  The kids are just so damned cute, and earnest and hard working, and they're are making shit like layer cakes and Beef Wellington!  And the judges are so sweet to them, molding these little young minds and giving them lots of affirmation (and yet, we the audience can tell when they've royally fucked up, through the coded language).  Even Gordon Ramsay is less of the raging asshole I usually find him to be, and will help the kids out if they get themselves into a real pickle.  But overall, the talent and knowledge and heart of these 10-13 year olds is what keeps me watching.  They are inspiring, no matter your age, and no matter how tired you may be of competition shows.  Thanks to Kirky G for the recommendation!

3.   Night Film by Marisha Pessl.  I've coveted it this unique and creepy novel for awhile, and was recently gifted it, and color me grateful.  Just picking it up, perusing the pages, you can catch a full and complete world within.  The paper quality is gorgeous, it just feels so good to pick it up and touch.  And the story within is a haunting page turner perfect for Halloween.  It's the story of a journalist who is looking into the apparent suicide of a beautiful young girl, the daughter of the reclusive filmmaker by the name of Cordova, who's films are so disturbing they are not available anywhere except in bootlegged versions and through underground viewing events.  The book is full of screen caps of websites, and other documents and photos relative to the characters, and it perfectly enhances the feeling of getting engulfed in another world, albeit a dangerous one.  There's also an online component which is loads of fun, but not necessary to the enjoyment.  If you download the "Night Film app" to your phone or tablet you can scan photos in the book which link to additional content, including audio interviews with the characters, movie posters from Cordova's filmography, and lots of other hidden treats I'll leave it to you to discover.  I'm about a third of the way, and addicted.

4.  Mad Monster Party.  This Rankin and Bass film was a favorite of mine as a kid, as it appeared often on television, and was done in the "Animagic" style like Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer, and The Year Without A Santa Claus.  It's a parody of and homage to the Universal monster movies of the thirties and though it was originally billed as kid's fare it's peppered with adult humor and in-jokes including vocal performances by Boris Karloff and Phyllis Diller, as well as some great vocal impersonations of Jimmy Stewart, Claude Rains, Peter Lorre, and Charles Laughton.  It also features a very James Bondesque sixties mod theme song performed by Ethel Ennis, and of course, my favorite character from the film is the red headed bombshell assistant to Baron von Frankenstein, Francesska.  who sounds like Kathleen Turner and looks like a precursor to Jessica Rabbit.

If you've got any opinions on these works, recommendations for great Halloween viewing, or other thoughts, I'd love to hear them...

Jim Henson: The New Biography by Brian Jay Jones

The first in-depth biography about Jim Henson "Jim Henson", by Brian Jay Jones, was published last month on his birthday, and I quickly got a hold of a copy and eagerly devoured it. 

I started with reservations, and lots of questions.  Would it be true to him?  Would it capture his spirit?  Would it discuss his creative process and vision or would it be salacious and too personal.  Well, the book was authorized by his family, so there was little to be worried about to that extent.  However, it might gloss over any flaws and present him as a shining beacon of perfection.  It might be completely dry, and tinged with golden hues like a lot of the material on Disney.  But after the first twenty or so pages that cover his family history, and were to me a little confusing, I'm glad to say the book is engrossing, sweet spirited, and perfectly walks the line of personal and professional.  It explores his genius, his desires and drives and dreams and his shortcomings in the context of a whole person, delves into how his being and his vision affected his work and the world in a truly wonderful way, and it also acknowledges that his workaholic tendencies and his desire to avoid confrontation did not always make him an easy person to be an intimate partner with.  It's really fair to all the people, and I was glad to see it shined a light on some of the wonderful contributions that Jane Henson provided both to the business and to his family life.  Too often I think she gets short shrift, and that doesn't happen here. 

There is so much in this book that is wonderful.  There are great glimpses at what a gentle and generous soul he was, and what a prolific and sensitive artist he was, with lots of behind the scenes peeks at what it was on the set of television shows Sesame Street, The Muppet Show, and his films The Muppet Movie, The Dark Crystal, and Labyrinth.  Most importantly, it makes you want to delve deeper into the work he and his colleagues left behind.  So much of it is available on DVD and online, and it's worth watching.  If you haven't, please take a look at some of the early works as well as the later.  , and on DVD.  Steep in it.  You won't be sorry you did.  Here's one of my personal favorites...

To close, I want to share a passage in Jim's own words that are in the bio and discuss his personal philosophy of life, and that I found pretty inspiring...

"I’ve read and studied about various other ways of thinking, and I like the way most religions are based on the same good, underlying principals… I believe in taking a positive attitude toward the world, toward people, and toward my work.  I think I’m here for a purpose.  I think it’s likely that we all are here, but I’m only sure about myself.  I try to tune myself in to whatever it is that I’m supposed to be, and I try to think of myself as a part of all of us-all mankind and all life.  I find it’s not easy to keep these lofty thoughts in mind as the day goes by, but it certainly helps me a great deal to start out this way… Despite this discussion of things spiritual, I still think of myself as a very “human” being, I have the full complement of weaknesses, fears, problems, ego and sensuality.  But I think this is why we’re here-to work our way through all this and, hopefully come out a bit wiser and better for having gone through it all.”