It feels like early on in our lives, every one of us is convinced to cast aside a piece of ourselves. Whether that something is as big as a sexual preference or as seemingly insignificant as a favorite color. Here's my journey to taking those pieces back.
Ok. So , as you may know, it's the 75th anniversary of the release of The Wizard of Oz, and as a result there is a lot of new merchandise. Some of it beautiful, some of it kind of cheesy, and some of it just this side of creepy. The piece coming out by Enesco in August is a lot of both. For example, below you can see the cute part...
Admittedly, it's a little bit Gramma's house. A little bit, the Pipe World store that used to be at the mall where you can by little figurines of animals going into the ark, or carousel horses, or dragon sculptures wrapped around little glass jewels... but it's cute. And then there's the rest of it...
What the fuck? Right? It's a little bit Toddlers and Tiaras. A little bit, strippity-strip-strip. A lil leggy. Right??? I'm fucking creeped out. She's not just wearing a shorter dress, which would be one thing, she's wearing a maxi and lifting it up to show you her "shoes". I don't know. Maybe, it's just me, but this had to give someone in the design phase pause. You'd think.
Ok. Now, I'm usually a firm believer in "respecting the season". Christmas decorations come out no sooner that the day after Thanksgiving. Christmas music doesn't get full rotation in my car and home until December 1st, and Christmas decorations come down after on New Year's Day, or up to two days after. And Christmas candles, scents, etc...all that shit goes away. RESPECT THE SEASONS!!! It's a hold over from my friend Berv, who has been drilling this idea into my head regarding all seasons and all aspects of culture. Well...I've failed in at least two aspects this year.
1. The Christmas decorations didn't come down until last night. Mark and I had been talking about doing them, planned days to take them down, and then something had come up. Twice. And the way our schedules are lately, I finally came to the realization that our schedules were not likely to synch up a third time any time soon, so I did them myself as I watched the fifth season of "Dexter". And afterwards, I have to say. It all seemed to sparse and bare. Lacking charm and joy. When the decorations first came up I feared they might be a bit too garish, but then I got used to them, attached to them. They became "normal". To lose them left a gap. And yet, my mind is already making the adjustment.
2. I bought a soap a few days before Christmas, and it's staying in use until I've used it all up, because it smells so fucking good I just can't resist it. And it's not a smell like Peppermint, or Pine Trees, no. It's "spiced gum drop", and it's so decadent and sweetly spicy, spicily sweet, that I can't put it away. At least not until the end of January. My point being, you should get some too. It's on sale at Target and smells luscious. And on the counter it's not TOO Christmassy. It's sturdy, classic, slightly medicinal looking, like something the bearded villain in Pete's Dragon would have sold from his cart. In short, I love it. Even if it isn't in season anymore, and it makes me smell my hands which could creep people out in a major way. It's well worth it.
It was past midnight last night and a couple of my dearest friends and I were wandering home from a nearby gathering, during the first moments of the new year. The stars shone brightly upon us, a little alcohol warmed our chests, and the future seemed bright. And yet...the New Year celebrations were not yet complete. I needed a salve. I needed a balm. I needed something that would reassure me that life has meaning, it will go on, even though time passes. I needed something to tell me that some of the qualities I tried so hard to hide were actually gifts that would bless the world if I only had the courage to let my little freak flag fly. I needed something bizarre, and oddly cute to set the tone for the new year, and to recharge my batteries as I set forth on a year of creativity. In short, I needed "Rudolph's Shiny New Year" and that little bundle of adorability... "Happy".
Come on lil' friend, don't hide your light under a bushel...
Let it Shine...
And the whole world will love you for the cute lil' dumpling you are...
And characters both real and imagined will come to idolize you and shake your hand!
In case you don't have friends as kind and indulgent as mine, here's the full show, to help you get started on making your new year truly special.
In a significant way, I choose alcohol the way I, as a child, I chose the football team I was going to be a fan of. The picture. I know there's a very famous platitude which warns against judging a book by its cover, but truthfully, the cover is how a product, team or book chooses to represent itself. It is carefully chosen to clue you in to what the product promises to bring you. And a lot of times it's as good a reason to judge as any, depending on your reasons, of course.
In truth, the Bengal Tigers, which I chose as my team, and for awhile halfheartedly followed (which mostly means I drank Diet Coke from a Bengal Tigers mug) was a terrible team. So if I'd cared about them winning, I wouldn't have picked them. But I didn't care. I just needed a reason to care for them, and the striped helmet was a good enough reason for me at the time.
And today, when I'm wandering through a liquor store looking for a promising new potion, I assume if it costs a certain amount it will probably taste just fine, and if I'm unsure I can just ask someone who works there about it. This is the reason that for the past few years my drink of choice has been Sailor Jerry.
This cute lil' lady...or one very much like her, adorns every bottle of Sailor Jerry rum. So for me, I imagine this rum was made by a wisened sailor from the 40's and that drinking it is a bit like time travelling. I get in my time machine, got back to a sea shanty in 1947 where Jerry is making his rum so that I may hear a bit of his sage advice, and drink rum made by a man who knows what rum should taste like. Plus, in my imagination I have a cute little drinking companion to guide me as I drink my way through the bottle.
Of course, this choice has caused me grief amongst my friends, who think the little bottles I like to drink from are kind of creepy, but I don't care! Or at least, I didn't...but recently I got bored. I hate to say I got tired of my pin-up gal pals, but I needed something new. So I wandered the liquor stores until I found this...
The KRAKEN!!!! The beast of Greek myth that is called by Poseidon to wreak havoc upon the mortals when they misbehave. Yes. I like it. It allows me to imagine that I am releasing the Kraken, any time I open the bottle and pour a bit of it into a glass. And that will do just fine.
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...
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...
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.
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. ____________________________________________
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. ____________________________________________
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
