The Lunar Gemini

My Tonys score

2008-06-16T22:50:00.003-04:00

So, my prediction rate ran about the same as last year, with 19 out of 26 categories correct: best musical, best play, best musical revival, best play revival, all the lead acting categories, three out of four featured actor categories, best score, best direction of both play and musical, choreography, orchestrations and scenic design of a play. Another C minus. The technical categories are the ones that largely killed me this year. Here's where I went wrong:

Best featured actor in a musical:
Repeat after me: I will never make Raul Esparza my pick again, as he caused me a miss in best actor in a musical last year. Still, this was the only category in which my "should win" pick differed from my "will win" pick with the former actually winning. Congratulations to Jim Norton!

Book of a musical:
Well, I assumed they'd give it to "In The Heights," and I was wrong. At least "Passing Strange" got recognition somewhere. And I actually thought Stew's disguise glasses when he was up for best actor were funny, though I guess some thought they were disrespectful.

Scenic design, costumes, lighting and sound design of a musical:
There was a voter favorite this year, but I was wrong to put my chips on "In The Heights." Nay, it was "South Pacific," which won all of these categories. Very sad that it came at the expense of "Sunday in the Park With George," though, which was completely shut out. Side note: scenic design of a musical is the only category I got wrong both this year and last year.

Costume design, lighting and sound design of a play:
"August: Osage County" ruled the night, but not in these categories, contrary to my expectations. A big kudos to "The 39 Steps" for collecting a few Tonys. I withhold my opinion on the costumes in "Les Liaisons Dangereuses" until I see them for myself next week.

Final Tony predictions

2008-06-11T21:26:00.003-04:00

Best Musical:
Cry-Baby
In The Heights (will win)
Passing Strange (should win)
Xanadu
Honestly, I won't be too upset when "In The Heights" wins best musical on Sunday. It's certainly the show on the list that will have the longest shelf life and absolutely has the superior score. The book, however, is weak, almost to the point of being laughable in some parts. "Passing Strange," though not as accessible--which is why voters will go with "Heights"--is stronger overall. "Xanadu" got its victory in its nomination, and uh, why is "Cry-Baby" on this list again?

Best Play:
August: Osage County (should and will win)
Rock 'n' Roll
The Seafarer
The 39 Steps
This actually is a very strong list. In fact, "The Seafarer" would have been a worthy contender against the ultimately bloated "Coast of Utopia" trilogy that dominated last year. Tracy Letts' "August," however, already deservedly has a Pulitzer behind it and is an utterly thrilling three-and-a-half-hour show, no small feat. Whether it's as strong a show when its peerless cast leaves remains to be seen, but in the big picture, nothing else comes close.

Best Revival of a Musical:
Grease
Gypsy
South Pacific (will win)
Sunday in the Park with George (should win)
Again, a strong list, with the exception of the tinny "Grease" revival, there by default. "Gyspy" is wonderful because of its cast and, because, well it's already a darn wonderful show. "Sunday," however, is a beautiful yet flawed show that, through great performances and dazzling visuals, is elevated by Sam Buntrock's production. Still, voters are going to go with the first appearance of "South Pacific" on Broadway in more than half a century. That's not a bad thing, as it's a lovely production.

Best Revival of a Play:
Boeing-Boeing (will win)
The Homecoming
Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Macbeth (should win???)
OK, here's where I'm at a disadvantage, as I've not yet seen "Boeing" nor "Liaisons." Based entirely on valued opinions of friends who did see it, I'm certainly looking forward to it, and it very well might be the most deserving show on the list. Out of the two I did see, the easy advantage goes to "Macbeth."

Best Book of a Musical:
Cry-Baby, Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan
In The Heights, Quiara Alegria (will win)
Passing Strange, Stew
Xanadu, Douglas Carter Beane (should win)
Seriously, yes, I'm pulling for a "Xanadu" Tony. Beane turned what could have been a deplorable mess of a show that debuted in the summer doldrums to a fun, witty, suprise hits with the critics. I've already said my thoughts on "Heights'" book, but voters have a tendency to get sucked up in the zeitgeist.

Best Original Score:
Cry-Baby, David Javerbaum and Adam Schlesinger
In The Heights, Lin-Manual Miranda (should and will win)
The Little Mermaid, Alan Menken, Howard Ashman and Glenn Slater
Passing Strange, Stew and Heidi Rodewald
The less said about Cry-Baby, the better, and the stuff that was added to "The Little Mermaid" for its Broadway run ranged from forgettable to cringe-worthy. While Stew and Rodewald's score deserves praise, Miranda's is the one I'm looking more forward to buying.

Best Lead Actor in a Play:
Ben Daniels, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Laurence Fishburne, Thurgood
Mark Rylance, Boeing-Boeing (will win)
Rufus Sewell, Rock 'n' Roll
Patrick Stewart, Macbeth (should win???)
Again, my lack of seeing "Boeing" impairs my judgment here. It's pretty thrilling to have Rylance on Broadway period, so I was tempted to give him my "should win" anyway. But Stewart's Macbeth was definitely one of the best performances I've seen in a while. Fishburne also was excellent, but his show just didn't have the arc the others did. And Sewell, though also good, is probably long forgotten by voters.

Best Lead Actress in a Play:
Eve Best, The Homecoming
Deanna Dunagan, August: Osage County (should and will win)
Kate Fleetwood, Macbeth
S. Epatha Merkerson, Come Back, Little Sheba
Amy Morton, August: Osage County
What a category! As the ultimate drugged-out mother from hell, this is Dunagan's to lose, and she very well might from her own co-star. In the off chance that they split the vote, expect Best to come swooping in. But that's not going to happen. It's all Dunagan's. Side note -- I'm also truly excited to see what Estelle Parsons does with the role when she replaces Dunagan in a matter of weeks.

Best Lead Actor in a Musical:
Daniel Evans, Sunday In The Park With George (should win)
Lin-Manual Miranda, In The Heights
Stew, Passing Strange
Paulo Szot, South Pacific (will win)
Tom Wopat, A Catered Affair
Voters will swoon for Szot's heavenly baritone, even though I thought Evans was the standout of the year. Miranda and particularly Stew both, while fine, are stronger in their writing than their acting, and Wopat is giving a great performance in a mediocre show. No nearly about it; this is Szot's, thought.

Best Lead Actress in a Musical:
Kerry Butler, Xanadu
Patti LuPone, Gypsy (should and will win)
Kelli O'Hara, South Pacific
Faith Prince, A Catered Affair
Jenna Russell, Sunday In The Park With George
Yes, the naysayers are already predicting the upset of the night, and of the list, O'Hara seems the best poised to do the unthinkable and topple what some--and I'm not just talking the LuPonatics--already are calling the definitive Rose. Yeah, most of those people weren't old enough to see Ethel Merman, and neither am I. Still, it's not gonna happen. In fact, they should go ahead and give LuPone two Tonys to make up for that whole LaChanze thing a few years ago. This is a sure a thing as Big Brown's Triple Cro.....oooh, not the best analogy.

Best Featured Actor in a Play:
Bobby Cannavale, Mauritius
Raul Esparza, The Homecoming (will win)
Conleth Hill, The Seafarer
Jim Norton, The Seafarer (should win)
David Pittu, Is He Dead?
Not one of these shows is still around, so the "Tony voters won't remember" rule is mostly out the door, with the exception of Cannavale, who was great but even I barely remember that "Mauritius" was this season. Pittu was good, but considering the lead actor of his show, Norbert Leo Butz--who was better--didn't even get a nod doesn't bod well for him. Sadly, I think the two gents from "The Seafarer" might split their votes, although Norton was easily the best thing on stage at The Booth. That means this finally will probably be Esparza's year. I hated The Homecoming but can also appreciate that his performance is not undeserving, too.

Best Featured Actress in a Play:
Sinead Cusack, Rock 'n' Roll
Mary McCormack, Boeing-Boeing
Laurie Metcalf, November
Martha Plimpton, Top Girls
Rondi Reed, August: Osage County (should??? and will win)
Again, McCormack is my wild card here. Metcalf was funny and much better than her material, but see what I said about Pittu, as the same applies with regard to Nathan Lane's snub. Martha Plimpton, of whom I'm usually a fan, would not have been my pick to honor out of the "Top Girls" ensemble at all, and the show was mostly ignored by the nominators, so her chances are slim. Cusack's performance was strong but not strong enough to overcome the fact that her show is ancient history. That leaves Reed, who was a standout among aces as the tactless hurricane of an aunt who could both ease the tension and deliver a late-show bombshell with aplomb.

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical:
Daniel Breaker, Passing Strange
Danny Burstein, South Pacific
Robin De Jesus, In The Heights
Christopher Fitzgerald, Young Frankenstein
Boyd Gaines, Gypsy (should and will win)
I wouldn't complain if a Breaker, Burstein or De Jesus upset happened, but Gaines has done wonders with the usual throwaway role of Rose's beleagured and peptic-challenged beau Herbie. As for Fitzgerald, I'm making the prediction that "Young Frankenstein" will be walking home empty-handed. It's not exactly a big gamble.

Best Featured Actress in a Musical:
de'Adre Aziza, Passing Strange
Laura Benanti, Gypsy (should and will win)
Andrea Martin, Young Frankenstein
Olga Merediz, In The Heights
Loretta Ables Sayre, South Pacific
Like LuPone and Gaines, Benanti has done wonders with a long-established role and deserves the acclaim for it. Her closest competitor will be Merediz, who does great with the killer number in "Heights."

Best Direction of a Play:
Maria Aitken, The 39 Steps
Conor McPherson, The Seafarer
Anna D. Shapiro, August: Osage County (should and will win)
Matthew Warchus, Boeing-Boeing
Standard Warchus disclaimer. McPherson more than did justice to his own work, but Shapiro's win will be part of the one zeitgeist of the night I'm fully behind. As for Aitken, I'm glad she got nominated. Pity there's not some sort of ensemble award, as "The 39 Steps" certainly deserves something.

Best Direction of a Musical:
Sam Buntrock, Sunday In The Park With George (should win)
Thomas Kail, In The Heights
Arthur Laurents, Gypsy
Bartlett Sher, South Pacific (will win)
This probably was the toughest category for me to predict. Not for me to pick MY winner, mind you, as I've already given my thoughts on Buntrock. But I really don't know what the voters will be thinking. With they give a lifetime achievement to the 90-year-old Laurents for giving up his grudge against LuPone and, for the most part, faithfully recreating what he had already done wonderfully well? Will Kail benefit from straight-ticket voting? No, I think Sher will finally get his enchanted evening this year after two recent misses. How come my only two song references up to this point have been with "South Pacific"?

Best Choreography:
Rob Ashford, Cry-Baby (should win)
Andy Blankenbuehler, In The Heights (will win)
Christopher Gattelli, South Pacific
Dan Knechtges, Xanadu
Damn straight I'm advocating a "Cry-Baby" win. Despite the show's shortcomings, Ashford's choreography was fantastic throughout. It won't win, though. After the stomp-stomp-jump-on-a-chair nonsense from "Spring Awakening" won last year, I'm convinced that this category is not given the consideration it deserves by voters. Still, Blankenbuehler's work is a hundred times better than that and is certainly deserving of the Tony it will get.

Best Orchestrations:
Jason Carr, Sunday In The Park With George
Alex Lacamoire and Bill Sherman, In The Heights (should and will win)
Stew and Heidi Rodewald, Passing Strange
Jonathan Tunick, A Catered Affair
Sunday's sparse orchestrations were the weakest aspect of the entire show, and "A Catered Affair" will be ignored here. The contest here is between "Heights" and "Strange," but "Heights" had the nuance and polish that will give it the edge here.

Best Scenic Design of a Play:
Peter McKintosh, The 39 Steps
Scott Pask, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Todd Rosenthal, August: Osage County (should and will win)
Anthony Ward, Macbeth
I almost was tempted to give my nod to McKintosh merely based on the hilarious chase scene he developed, but the towering Oklahoma home of the Westons wins the day, here.

Best Scenic Design of a Musical:
David Farley and Timothy Bird & The Knifedge Creative Network, Sunday In The Park With George (should and will win)
Anna Louizos, In The Heights
Robin Wagner, Young Frankenstein
Micheal Yeargan, South Pacific
OK, as a resident of Washington Heights, I can say Louizos' design is spot-on, from the unisex hair salon to the spurting hydrants. Wagner's sets are one of the best aspects of "Young Frankenstein." And Yeargan's work is absolutlely lovely. But if anyone besides the Sunday team takes this one home, that will be the travesty of the night. You know, if they actually aired this portion of the awards on television.

Best Costume Design of a Play:
Gregory Gale, Cyrano de Bergerac (should win???)
Rob Hoswell, Boeing-Boeing (will win)
Katrina Lindsay, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Peter McKintosh, The 39 Steps
Gale's costumes were dazzling, but this is the first time I've typed "Cyrano" tonight, so we know what that means. If Christina Applegate could dazzle her boss by creating nifty flight attendant uniforms in "Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead," then I'm sure that Hoswell can...OK, I really need to see the darn show.

Best Costume Design of a Musical:
David Farley, Sunday In The Park With George (should and will win)
Martin Pakledinaz, Gypsy
Paul Tazewell, In The Heights
Catherine Zuber, South Pacific
Pakledinaz actually made some lovely touches to his costume design for "Gypsy," such as Rose's paint-splattered coat. But Farley's dual role of creating the lush dresses and quirky 80s outfits is the standout in the group.

Best Lighting Design of a Play:
Kevin Adams, The 39 Steps
Howard Harrison, Macbeth (should win)
Donald Holder, Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Ann G. Wrightson, August: Osage County (will win)
If Tony voters should deviate from their straight-ticket voting for August, this should be the one, for Harrison's crackling design for the fascist landscape in the Macbeth revival. They won't, though.

Best Lighting Design of a Musical:
Ken Billingon, Sunday In The Park With George
Howell Blinkley, In The Heights
Donald Holder, South Pacific
Natasha Katz, The Little Mermaid
Blinkley and Holder are both deserving, but remember: In design, it's color AND light, not color OR light. Oh, and as for Katz, she should just be glad to be part of their world. Boom! Two non-South Pacific song references.

Best Sound Design of a Play:
Simon Baker, Boeing-Boeing (will win)
Adam Cork, Macbeth (should win???)
Ian Dickson, Rock 'n' Roll
Mic Pool, The 39 Steps
Well, Dickson would certainly win the award for LONGEST sound design, considering the extremely long vintage-rock-underscored scene breaks in "Rock 'n' Roll." Cork gets my vote, though, even though he had to underscore that silly witch rap. But I'm guessing voters will want to fly with Baker.

Best Sound Design of a Musical:
Acme Sound Partners, In The Heights (should and will win)
Sebastian Frost, Sunday In The Park With George
Scott Lehrer, South Pacific
Dan Moses Schreir, Gypsy
I'd forgotten how long this list was. I'm completely out of things to say. Except:

Special Tony Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Theatre:
Stephen Sondheim (should have a long time ago and will win)
Duh! Happy watching on Sunday. For fun, you can flip to a different channel and actually watch the Nielsen share drop from the effect, I hear.

One month later -- I'm back

2008-06-09T23:14:00.003-04:00

It’s over. Three weeks of non-stop travel, rehearsal for the NYC Gay Men’s Chorus pride concert and putting out a massive double issue at work are finally over. Surprisingly, I don’t have too many reviews to catch up on! But here’s the ones I need to catch up:

Passing Strange
I was a bit late to the party, but—much to my own surprise—this absolutely gets my vote as best new musical of the 2007-2008. I’ll go into that more in my pre-Tonys write-up, but song/bookwriter Stew, despite his protestations of how he wants to eschew the musical theatre form, has created the most human, touching journey to hit a Broadway house this year. As stale as the “finding yourself” journey can be as material for a show—and none of what Stew’s autobiographical youth (the equally Tony-worthy Daniel Breaker) is particularly earth-shattering—“Passing Strange” and its protean ensemble give it the urgency and authenticity that it seems like a fresh concept. There's not a weak link among the ensemble, but special mention should go to Eisa Davis as the youth's mother, who manages to make a three-word line--"I love you"--into a an upsettingly gut-wrenching moment. Given what I had heard, I was prepared to appreciate, but not particularly like, this show. How wrong I was. I also was fortunate enough to attend a close-captioned performers, so I didn’t miss a syllable of the largely smart lyrics.

No, No Nanette
Why am I even mentioning this limited-run Encores! production that is long gone? Because it really needs a transfer, that’s why. What an absolutely lovely performance of an unabashedly dusty play. Beth Leavel channeled Judy Garland to the point of eeriness, Michael Berresse gave his best triple-threat performance since “Kiss Me, Kate” and Sandy Duncan—well, let’s just make a deal. If this can’t transfer, find Ms. Duncan something to do on Broadway soon, yes? Loved that she used her Playbill bio to finally put that glass eye rumor to rest, too.

Angels in America: The Opera
I rarely mention the things I see out of town, but I feel I should give mention to the premiere of “Angels in America: The Opera” by the Fort Worth Opera, which I saw in late May. First of all: Kudos to the company for taking on and, for the most part, excelling at this challenging piece. The cast did it justice, so my following criticisms are no reflection on them. That being said, Hungarian composer Peter Eotvos has condensed Tony Kushner’s modern masterpiece to a two-and-a-half hour opera that remains true to the spirit of the source and offers a few stunning moments, but largely, is far too muddled to ever stand on its own. The atonal, Schoenberg-esque yet almost conversational music fits the dialogue but is just too alienating after a long period of time, making the entire show non-stop tension with no release. As one patron a few rows behind me remarked at intermission, “I want an aria!” The structure is also problematic. While the “Millennium Approaches” segment sets up the various storylines perfectly, the truncated “Perestroika” segment nips them all, dedicating most of the second half to Prior’s dream. Other characters largely disappear and the key plot point of WHY Prior was able to survive also is omitted. In other words, the whole opera would be befuddling to anyone without a working knowledge of the source material, making this opera a nice footnote to it, but ultimately, not much else.

My Tony wish list

2008-05-12T23:37:00.003-04:00

Since the Tony nominations are a few mere hours away, rather than give my predictions -- which, come on, everybody else are already done -- here is what I would love to see nominated. I've seen almost everything with the exception of "Boeing Boeing," "Les Liaisons Dangereuses" and "Glory Days," which isn't eligible for anything, anyway, so my list is somewhat skewed by the omission of those. I followed my wish list with my realistic assessment, so it's kind of a doubling prediction/wish list thing. So, here goes! I'll grade myself tomorrow.

Best Musical
A Catered Affair
In the Heights
Passing Strange
Xanadu
Spoilers: Boy, if anyone had told me this time last year that not only would I be putting "Xanadu" as a pick for best musical, but that I didn't think it was the weakest choice for the slot, I'd have thought he/she was a crazy. No, it, along with "In the Heights" and "Passing Strange," are locks. "Young Frankenstein" might slip past "A Catered Affair," though.

Best Revival of a Musical
Gypsy
South Pacific
Sunday in the Park with George
[no fourth choice]
Spoilers: Yeah, "Grease" will get the fourth slot. Because there's no other choice. As Homer Simpson said: "Default! The two most beautiful words in the English language."

Best Play
August: Osage County
Rock 'n' Roll
The Seafarer
The 39 Steps
Spoilers: Actually, I think this is how it will go down.

Best Revival of a Play
The Homecoming
Is He Dead?
Macbeth
Top Girls
Spoilers: "Boeing Boeing," just judging by reviews, will probably take one of the slots, in most likelihood, the one I gave to the long-closed "Is He Dead?"

Best Director of a Musical
Sam Buntrock -- Sunday in the Park with George
Annie Dorsen -- Passing Strange
Thomas Kail -- In the Heights
Bartlett Sher -- South Pacific
Spoilers: I left out Arthur Laurents. Yes, the "Gypsy" revival is exquisite, but how much of that is really due to any directorial vision that hasn't been used before? If anything, it would be a credit to him finally getting over his Patti LuPone grudge. But, the Tony voters won't leave out Laurents. He'll get it over either Dorsen or Kail.

Best Director of a Play
Maria Aitken -- The 39 Steps
Rupert Goold -- Macbeth
Anna Shapiro -- August: Osage County
Daniel Sullivan -- The Homecoming
Spoilers: Again, "Boeing Boeing" will probably be in one of these slots. I'm guessing Aitken's.

Best Leading Actress in a Musical
Kerry Butler -- Xanadu
Patti LuPone -- Gypsy
Kelli O'Hara -- South Pacific
Faith Prince -- A Catered Affair
Jenna Russell -- Sunday in the Park with George
Spoilers: Nada. This is how it's going down. Bank on it.

Best Leading Actor in a Musical
Daniel Evans -- Sunday in the Park with George
Cheyenne Jackson -- Xanadu
Lin-Manuel Miranda -- In the Heights
Paolo Szot -- South Pacific
Tom Wopat -- A Catered Affair
Spoilers: "Passing Strange" (which I haven't reviewed just yet) owes a lot to its creator and lead actor Stew. He might slip in here, perhaps past Miranda, Jackson or even Wopat. Leaving off Jackson, however, would be a mistake. I saw the show in an early preview when he was not yet in it -- and believe me, him being in it made a world of difference. And I'm not that huge of a fan.

Best Leading Actress in a Play
Deanna Dunagan August: Osage County
Kate Fleetwood -- Macbeth
S. Epatha Merkerson -- Come Back, Little Sheba
Amy Morton -- August: Osage County
Anika Noni Rose -- Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Spoilers: The August ladies are locks, as is Fleetwood. And probably Rose. Merkerson made an otherwise problematic revival of "Sheba," but might be overlooked here in favor of Eve Best ("The Homecoming") or even Frances McDormand ("The Country Girl") or Laura Linney (Liaisons..."). Never underestimate the potential for starstruckness. Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing Claire Danes ("Pygmalion") on the list, but it's doubtful.

Best Leading Actor in a Play
Norbert Leo Butz -- Is He Dead?
Laurence Fishburne -- Thurgood
Nathan Lane -- November
Patrick Stewart -- Macbeth
Charles Edwards -- The 39 Steps
Spoilers: Edwards is a long shot. Ian McShane, for "The Homecoming," will probably be named in his stead. Fishburne also is iffy, but like Merkerson, he gave a performance that elevated a mediocre show into something worthwhile. And what I said about McDormand also goes for Morgan Freeman ("The Country Girl,") as incredibly disappointing as his performance was. Kevin Kline ("Cyrano") also would be a worthy nominee, although his show might be long forgotten.

Best Featured Actress in a Musical
Laura Benanti -- Gypsy
Eisa Davis -- Passing Strange
Olga Merediz -- In the Heights
Mary Beth Peil -- Sunday in the Park with George
Loretta Ables Sayre -- South Pacific
Spoilers: This was an incredibly tough category to narrow down, and it killed me not to include Jackie Hoffman ("Xanadu"). But -- she'll probably be on the list in place of Davis, who I thought gave a very understated yet devastating performance. Karen Olivo ("In the Heights") also is a contender, although she doesn't get the killer number that Merediz gets. In a weaker year, Jessica Molaskey ("Sunday....") would have made the list, but unfortunately, there's just too many other greats out there in flashier parts. And a "Young Frankenstein" gal might slip in.

Best Featured Actor in a Musical
Daniel Breaker -- Passing Strange
Danny Burstein -- South Pacific
Robin de Jesus -- In the Heights
Boyd Gaines -- Gypsy
Tony Yazbeck -- Gypsy
Spoilers: Yazbeck is the long shot here, but I had to include because he made me enjoy the one scene in "Gypsy" that has always bored the crap out of me. One of the "Young Frankenstein" guys might slip in, or even Tony Roberts ("Xanadu").

Best Featured Actress in a Play
Sinead Cusack -- Rock n Roll
Elizabeth Marvel -- Top Girls
Sally Murphy -- August: Osage County
Rosie Perez -- The Ritz
Marisa Tomei -- Top Girls
Spoilers: Once again, it's the ladies of "Boeing Boeing." Cusack is the most likely candidate for a bump, followed by Perez.

Best Featured Actor in a Play
Raul Esparza -- The Homecoming
Ciaran Hinds -- The Seafarer
Jim Norton -- The Seafarer
John Pankow -- Cymbeline
Tim Treloar -- Macbeth
Spoilers: I really went off the deep end with this one. Pankow and Treloar both gave wonderfully memorable performances as some of Shakespeare's more amorphous, forgettable characters. But they ain't gonna get nominated. And neither is Hinds, for that matter, despite his great delivery of what probably is one of the best monologues written in ages. Yeah, look for "Boeing Boeing" and/or "Liaisons" people to fill out this category.

Best Book of a Musical
A Catered Affair
Passing Strange
Xanadu
Young Frankenstein
Spoilers: While I thoroughly enjoyed "In the Heights," it's book was quite weak. While I enjoyed "Young Frankenstein" not so much, it had a better book. But "Heights" will get the nomination.

Best Original Score
A Catered Affair
Cry-Baby
In the Heights
Passing Strange
Spoilers: "Cry-Baby" won't get it. "Young Frankenstein" will. I picked "Cry-Baby" only because it had a few memorable songs I enjoyed, while I couldn't recall a single of "Young Frankenstein's" a mere week after seeing it. Go Mel Brooks and his tape recorder.

Best Choreography
Cry-Baby
In the Heights
South Pacific
Xanadu
Spoilers: "Cry-Baby," despite its deep, deep flaws, was fairly widely praised for its choreography. But, it might be the victim of a shut-out. "The Little Mermaid" might slip in here, or "Young Frankenstein."

And, to keep this post from being ridiculously long, here's a brief rundown of the categories they won't televize. Just call me CBS.

Best Orchestrations
A Catered Affair
In the Heights
Passing Strange
Xanadu

Best Scenic Design of a Play
August: Osage County
Macbeth
November
Pygmalion

Best Scenic Design of a Musical
A Catered Affair
In the Heights
South Pacific
Young Frankenstein

Best Costume Design of a Play
August: Osage County
Cymbeline
Pygmalion
Top Girls

Best Costume Design of a Musical
Gypsy
South Pacific
Sunday in the Park with George
Young Frankenstein

Best Lighting Design of a Play
August: Osage County
Macbeth
Rock 'n' Roll
The Seafarer

Best Lighting Design of a Musical
In the Heights
South Pacific
Sunday in the Park with George
Young Frankenstein

Best Sound Design of a Play
August: Osage County
Macbeth
The 39 Steps
Rock 'n' Roll

Best Sound Design of a Musical
Gypsy
In the Heights
Passing Strange
South Pacific

Do to me what Annie Leibowitz did to Hannah Montana

2008-05-06T22:26:00.004-04:00

Or don't. Honestly, I'm torn whether I should even post this. But I'm going to. Here goes.

OK, so on a dare -- I won't say from whom -- I did something that might have been really, really stupid. Time Out New York, you see, does this annual issue very subtly called "the horny issue," and as a part of that, they like to shoot photos of ordinary New Yorkers naked. Naked in what is acceptable for publications that don't come in plastic wrappers, that is. Think a risque Rolling Stone cover or such. Something that would be work-safe to view everywhere but Chick Fil A.

Through, let's just say, circumstances somewhat beyond my control, I am now one of the candidates to be one of those New Yorkers this year, and TONY is hosting an online poll to determine who it's gonna be.

Now, as anyone who has read much of this blog will be able to tell, I don't post that many photos of myself, and in almost all that I do, I'm usually fully clothed. On the other hand, I really like to win things. So, what the heck? I'm just putting it out there in case anyone wants to throw a few votes my way, or -- for those of you, which is most, with much, much more powerful blogging powers than mine -- want to throw me a little promotional bone.

Here's the link. Luckily, there are many, many people on there far more attractive than me, so I'm probably safe. In fact, I fully expect to be the Mike Gravel, or Sam Brownback if you're more Republicanly inclined, of this race and hope they don't publish the actual results. Still, thanks to my last name starting with a "b," I am the first one on the list. Let's just see where this goes, right?

And to make this seem a little bit less sleazy, I'll try to pull a positive out of it: If, for whatever reason, I come out ahead, as penance, I'll donate $100 to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Voting runs until May 22, and multiple votes are permitted. And don't send my momma this link!

Weekday review roundup

2008-05-04T22:40:00.004-04:00

I think this will finally catch me up on reviews, but first, I must give a shout-out to the two Tennessee treasures I saw this week at Radio City Music Hall. Dolly Parton is as exquisite as ever, and hearing Al Gore speak was, well, a reminder of how things should have been the last seven and a half years. At any rate, I'm going to try something a bit new with the reviews -- a final rating based on how strongly I'd recommend seeing or avoiding a production. The scale: "a must-see," "recommended," "not for everyone," "for diehard fans only" and "stay far, far away." As examples: In the reviews in the preceeding post, both "Gypsy" and "Sunday" would have been must-sees and "The Country Girl" an unfortunate "for diehard fans only."

Top Girls
Warning: Viewers of MTC's revival of Caryl Churchill's opus on the havoc capitalism ravages on the feminine mystique, might go through several stages: confusion, denial, acceptance and disappointment -- if they last long enough. I haven't seen a mass exodus of audience members as I did during my preview performance since that Earth, Wind and Fire musical nightmare. And it's a pity, because "Top Girls" actually is a brilliant work that had me thinking about it for days. So whose fault is it? The audience? Or this production, directed by James Macdonald? Upon reflection, I'd have to say a little bit of both. The first scene, in which a recently promoted career gal Marlene (Elizabeth Marvel), in fantasy, toasts her success with a bevy of semi-historical and literary figures, is meaty but confusing with continuous crosstalk and initial vagueness to whom these characters actually are. Yes, this three-hour marathon requires a little work in return from the audience, and many were more interested in catching the early train out of Penn Station. Still, while the cast, particularly Marvel and Marisa Tomei, are mostly stellar, Macdonald makes some confusing choices, largely switching around the traditional double-casting between the first-act characters and the real-life people in Marlene's life. Verdict: Not for everyone.

Thurgood
More history lesson than theatrical work, George Stevens Jr.'s maiden voyage into writing for the stage could have been deadly dull in the wrong hands. Fortunately, he tagged Laurence Fishburne to bring the story of former Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall to life. There's not much of a conceit around the piece: Marshall walks into a vague lecture hall-type setting and tells his life story from beginning to end. That's it. But it's an interesting and worthwhile story, and Fishburne tells it well. Perhaps its time to retire that old canard about an actor who can make reading the phone book exciting. Fishburne does it for what's almost a Wikipedia entry, although fortunately, Stevens peppers it with enough anecdotes to elevate it above that level. In front of me, when I saw, was a mesmerized boy of about 14 or so. Perhaps that's a stronger commendation than I could ever give on here. Verdict: Recommended.

A Catered Affair
This catered affair should have come with strong coffee. "A Catered Affair," Harvey Fierstein's new musical about a struggling Bronx momma determined to give her daughter the wedding of her dreams whether she wants it or not, is marvelously acted but so low-key that it can at times be coma-inducing. Faith Prince, as the mother Aggie, is heart-wrenching and doing her best work in years, and Tom Wopat, as her unassuming husband, provides one of the few truly cathartic moments with his song, "I Stayed." Oddly enough, Fierstein's own character, "confirmed bachelor" Uncle Winston, is the most awkwardly written, cloaked in anachronistic righteous indignation about his own aloof placing in the family unit. Verdict: Not for everyone.

Review roundup

2008-04-23T23:05:00.003-04:00

The Country Girl
Much ink already has been spilled--largely by the New York Post's Michael Riedel--about the behind-the-scenes troubles with this starry revival of Clifford Odets'...well, it's hard to say masterpiece, since he himself referred to it as a superficial work. But brushing all that aside, and keeping in mind that the performance I saw was an early preview, my verdict is that this revival, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Morgan Freeman, Frances McDormand and Peter Gallagher, is not a disaster. Merely a disappointment. Freeman, no stranger to the stage, just seems ill-at-ease as washed up, alcoholic actor Frank Elgin. The telling moment happens early on, when Elgin is brought in by director Bernie Dodd (Gallagher, back in full Sky Masterson mode here) to wow the show's writer and producer. Unable to read well from the script, Dodd encourages Elgin to improvise. Unfortunately, the audience never gets that wow factor the writer and producer are supposed to see. From there, it all gets a little unintentionally meta. Dodd is waiting for that spectacular performance from Elgin why we wait for the same from Freeman. But all we see is a competent, never thrilling, performance. The McDormand/Gallagher scenes sizzle a little more, but without a strong core, it's not enough. An integral scene also was cut out of the performance I saw, although it has since been restored. Best wishes to the cast and crew to get this together before opening, but sad to say it had a long way to go upon my viewing.

Gypsy
I posted my thoughts on this show following the first preview at City Center last summer, and although much of what I said still holds, time has only made it better. Among the improvements: Tony Yazbeck's scene as Tulsa, always my least favorite in the show, is actually enthralling now. Patti LuPone has a better wig. Oh, and her performance, thrilling at City Center, has blossomed even further: frightening, sexual and raw, single-minded force. Also even better is Leigh Ann Larkin, so at the end of her rope as frustrated Dainty June that "If Momma Was Married"

Sunday in the Park with George
Attention all producers looking to land helicopters onstage or fly cars over the audience: It is quite possible to use modern technology to create stunning visuals that add heart, not spectacle. From George's (Daniel Evans) first stroke to the creation of the act-closing tableau, Sam Buntrock's London transfer, now presented by Roundabout at Studio 54, is an exercise in dazzling understatement. Critics already have given the leads (Jenna Russell is the dual role of Dot and Marie) who came across the Atlantic with the show, but the supporting ensemble are equally strong, particularly Mary Beth Peil as George's snooty and aloof mother and Jessica Molaskey as the silently suffering wife of George's artist acquaintance, the alter ego to what a weaker Dot would have become. Between this, Gypsy and South Pacific, It's going to be a tough race for best revival this year.

State of the blog

2008-04-21T23:45:00.002-04:00

I've had this blog for about a year and a half now. When I first started, I had no idea what I wanted to do with it. But I've done it long enough now that I know what I like to do -- and, thanks to StatCounter, I know what people are more likely to read. So, with that in mind, I think it's time to finally give this blog an official structure.

My intentions are now to post semi-weekly, keeping theatre reviews on the weekend and kind of a weekly column-type posting during the week. I much prefer the long-form of writing, and I've determined that -- by and large -- my autobiography is just not interesting enough to sustain a blog!

I work much better under regular deadlines, even false deadlines, so with luck, a regular schedule will keep me posting much more regularly, too.

So, I'll be back in a few days to catch up on some more reviews, then perhaps even more reviews this weekend (I'll be checking in on the folks in Texas this weekend). Then, after that, I'll start the regular schedule. So thanks to those who've stuck with me!

Review roundup

2008-04-14T22:36:00.003-04:00

It's been a while, so I have a lot of reviews to catch up on!

South Pacific
One doesn't have to be a cockeyed optimist to think, going into this revival of the Rodgers & Hammerstein classic, not seen on Broadway in more than six decades, that it would be lovely. Just the promise of the now-too-rare full orchestra playing the overture is enough to guarantee that. Fortunately, Lincoln Center's revival, headed by Bartlett Sher, is much more than that. Great leads: Just try to resist that lump in the throat while Paulo Szot sings "This Nearly Was Mine," and Kelli O'Hara is wonderfully understated as self-described hick Nellie Forbush. Even greater supporting cast: Danny Burstein seems to channel a wacky Hanna-Barbera sidekick--in a good way--to his Luther Billis, and Loretta Ables Sayre makes a smashing debut as the ambitious Bloody Mary. Sure, the show is dated, drags in quite a few places and is almost ridiculous in the number of reprises. Still, this revival is no dusty time capsule. Without any attempts of updating or misguided parallels to the present, the piece itself remains relevant, particularly in a time when nightly news reminds us just how many people are still "carefully taught."

The Four of Us
Playwright Itamar Moses certainly found a way to shut me up. I had a couple of key criticisms about his latest, "The Four of Us," now being put on by Manhattan Theatre Club at New York City Center Stage II, and in a sudden, last-minute postmodern moment, he had his actors make those exact criticisms for me. Touche, Mr. Moses! It might beg the question of why you didn't just fix them, but no matter. In all, "The Four of Us" is an enjoyable if sometimes pedantic of two budding writers, one finding sudden success and the other finding sudden jealousy. Gideon Banner and Michael Esper are winning as the two writers playing out the non-chronological vignettes that shape the writers' imbalanced friendship. And scenic designer David Zinn makes great use of the small stage space, with an Alice-In-Wonderland-like wall of doors that open to reveal small set pieces to indicate different locales.

Macbeth
That's right, I wrote out the title. The curse seems to have lost its charm, because this production of Shakespeare's most accessible yet trickiest tragedy is actually -- gasp -- good. Director Rupert Goold moves the action to an underground bunker in a decidedly Russian setting, although all references to Scotland remain intact. Patrick Stewart is equal parts tortured, terrifying and pathetic as the power-hungry anti-hero. Kate Fleetwood makes a dazzling debut as his lady, a steely, sexy devil-on-the-shoulder. And special standout honors go to Tim Treloar, who manages to flesh out the amorphous character of Ross into something memorable. Yeah, there are a few odd choices. Like why does Banquo get up and walk offstage after he is murdered? And do we really need to see the porter urinate into the sink? But overall, it's a production well-deserving of the critical praise it has received.

Closing the book and sticking it on the top shelf

2008-04-03T23:24:00.004-04:00

Lest I turn into an all-Jay-Leno blog, I should mention that he has apologized for the remarks to Ryan Phillippe. Per People, Leno said:

In talking about Ryan's first role, I realize that what I said came out wrong. I certainly didn't mean any malice. I agree it was a dumb thing to say, and I apologize.

Not exactly contrition, but it's something. No more of this. I promise.

Also, I've never really gotten why People magazine always identifies everyone by age. Always, says Mike, 24. (gotta practice now before D-Day in August)

The new facebook

2008-03-31T23:30:00.002-04:00

Little did I know as I was composing my post on Jay Leno the other day that others--fortunately, people with infintely more blogging clout--had the same idea. Behold: a panoply of gayest looks. I'm one of the many and least creative Mikes on there. Big kudos to Melissa McEwan, Dan Savage and, of course, Jeff Whitty for putting this together.

Oh, and a special note to Chad on there: You're cute. Call me!

Spontaneity and Diligent Pre-Planning

2008-03-30T23:31:00.004-04:00

Back when I lived in Atlantic City, I spent as few weekends actually in the area as possible, usually finding my way to New York or Philadelphia for better times. So imagine my surprise this weekend when, only a few hours after waking up and not really knowing what I was going to be doing for the day, I found myself in a car on the way to Atlantic City. Yes, thanks to the wonderful devil-on-the-shoulder whisperings of a great friend, I made my first trip back into South Jersey since I was a resident there.

I didn't win anything, of course, but it's nice to get away every once in a while and also nice to see some of the changes made to the area for the better. The Boardwalk, at least the key sections of it, looks much improved since I was last there about two years ago. And those tacky elephants in front of Trump Taj Mahal are mostly gone! Also, it was strangely cathartic to do the trip I'd done so many times in reverse, having the late-night drive home be toward, not away from, the city I love.

Also of note this weekend was a great blogger meetup in Midtown, smartly organized by Esther of Gratuitous Violins. It was great to meet Esther and Steve of Steve On Broadway, along with a huge number of theatre-focused bloggers with whom I was not familiar, and I look forward to exploring their sites. Lots of great theatre chat at the table, or rasping in my case, since I have virtually no voice left thanks to a persistent cold. Here's hoping it becomes a regular thing!

Solidarity forever: MY gayest face

2008-03-26T22:42:00.004-04:00

At the very moment last night when I was typing about some of the more egregious homophobes on our nation's public platform, Jay Leno apparently was giving them more ammo on "The Tonight Show."

I haven't made a habit of watching the obsequious Leno in years, so I'll let the brilliant Jeff Whitty recap the show (complete with clip). But basically, Leno used an appearance by Ryan Phillippe to spend several minutes teasing him about playing a gay character on a soap opera 12 years ago, at one point asking to turn to a camera and make "his gayest face." Whitty called out Leno a while back about his jaw-droppingly offensive, straight-from-the-70s "Brokeback Mountain" jokes, drawing from dated gay stereotypes.

See, I don't think Leno is homophobic in the least. From all accounts of comedians who know him, he is a genuinely nice guy to all. He does a lot for charity, and unlike a lot of his fellow late-night hosts, he still does comedy shows. It's just that Leno's comedy--as well as that of the tonight show writers--hasn't exactly evolved much in the past 20 years or so.

I saw Leno live in Atlantic City a few years ago. The material, for the most part, was pretty much like a "Tonight Show" monologue: a few chuckles here and there, but mostly easy jokes about easy targets, like Michael Jackson, Robert Blake, Bill Clinton and President Bush. He even had a long bit about the problems his parents have working a VCR. Yes, this was 2004, and he was making VCR jokes, and not even jokes about how hard it was to program a VCR. Just how difficult it was for his parents to use the fast-forward and rewind functions.

So, rewind back to when those sorts of jokes were relevant--this predates even Phillippe's soap appearance, by the way--and "having to play an icky gay guy" jokes are, well, no less offensive, but a little less anachronistic. Remember, that was a time when gay representation on television was mostly the old friend with AIDS who showed up to visit the Sugarbakers or that guy planning Dorothy Zbornak's wedding.

In other words, I don't think Leno was being purposefully hateful like those folks I linked to yesterday. Just lazy and predictable. Who knows? Perhaps he thought showing that old Phillippe jeans ad was his penance to the gays. I think I'll thank him just as Whitty did -- by showing MY gayest face.

Anyone care to join me?

March madness

2008-03-25T22:40:00.003-04:00

Jeez, was Danny Noriega's American Idol appearance that offensive? WorldNetDaily columnists have been in a homo-hating frenzy lately. Yesterday, the increasingly self-parodying Chuck Norris pined for the good old days, when people could chop off the nuts of sodomites. Janet Folger whines that anyone had the nerve to say anything bad about disgusting Oklahoma representative Sally Kern--who thinks her apparently non-existant hairdresser is a bigger threat than Osama--and orgasms to the thought of fags dropping dead. Crusty dotard Les Kinsolving wrote something I'm not going to link to or even read about a bisexual bishop. This all on the heels of the Family Research Council's Peter Sprigg's call to deport all gays and lesbians.

But no one beats the unhinged rantings of Olivia St. John. Yeah, I thought that was a General Hospital character who got killed off ages ago, too. No, but sadly, this Olivia St. John is a spiteful homeschool advocate who, in the course of one column, manages to turn back the clock 60 years to the belief that all homos are shady men in the bushes waiting to grab little Timmy on his way home from school.

When will these people ever have the nuts -- the ones not cut off by Chuck Norris, I guess -- to just come out and say what they believe? They want all gay people dead. Executed. The end. They cloak it in some nonsense about Christian compassion, but there is no compassion in their words. They never call for any sort of reasoned debate, just hysterics backed up by tainted research. When people are murdered--like the poor gay kid in California who was shot dead by a bully at school--they don't have a damn thing to say, probably because they're quietly rejoicing.

So go ahead, Olivia St. John. Pull your kids out of school. Keep them away from the homos and the darkies and whoever the hell else frightens your insular worldview. In a few decades, you'll be your own little isolated island of bile while the rest of the world moves on, the Ruby Ridge of the future. We'll still send the garbage trucks and water lines your way. But none of us will talk to you.

Weekend review roundup

2008-03-23T21:56:00.004-04:00

The 39 Steps
Gus Van Sant, Vince Vaughn and Anne Heche, take note. It is possible to recreate Hitchcock without it being an utter travesty. This farcical production, a London transfer presented by Roundabout now playing at the American Airlines Theatre--soon moving to the Cort--reduces the old Hitchcock spy thriller into the hands of a cast of four with tongue-in-cheek reverence that only occasionally seems to overstay its welcome. Charles Edwards is the dashingly handsome hero Richard Hannay, Jennifer Ferrin is the trio of women he charms and Cliff Saunders and Arnie Burton are, well, everyone else. Often four or five people in the same scene, in fact. Watching the actors flawlessly walk the tightrope of bouncing between different hats, purposefully bad accents and minimal props gives the show a kind of magic-show thrill that propels it past what could have, in the wrong hands, seemed like a too-long high school group improv.

Cry-Baby
Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan, take note. It is possible to recreate John Waters without it being, well, "Hairspray." Considering this show is still early in previews, I'll be perhaps overly kind, not speaking so much to specific performances, but I smell trouble. In fact, I'll just point out what is likely to be the fatal problem to this show. "Hairspray," for all its faults, was buoyed around two interesting characters. In "Cry-Baby," however, the most fun characters are peripheral, buoyed around two characters who are bland, bland, bland to the point that they completely fade away during the ensemble numbers (not really the fault of the actors, either). Good-girl Allison and bad-boy Cry-Baby -- he's bad, I guess, because he wears a leather jacket and doesn't sing in barbershop quartet format -- are little-developed beyond expository back-story and as a result are overshadowed by secondary and tertiary characters. It's telling that the highlights of the score, most of which sounds like something thrown together from Jim Jacobs' cut songs, are largely in the hands of cast standout Alli Mauzey, who plays Lenora, a psychotic stalker obsessed with Cry Baby. There are some good points. Harriet Harris is, as usual, a highlight, Rob Ashford's choreography is mostly on-target -- although I'd say lose or cut down the tap-dancing-on-license-plates bit--and there are a few witty moments in the lyrics. Ultimately, though, I see this going more the way of "The Wedding Singer" than the obvious comparison. Considering the reviews "Young Frankenstein" received, it looks like the 2007-2008 season is shaping up to be the year of the sophomore slump.

Artist's remorse

2008-03-20T23:12:00.003-04:00

As a kid, I used to subscribe to one of those silly for-children magazine. Not Highlights. I can't even remember the name. Playmates or Playtime or something like that. The slightly older-skewed version of Jack & Jill, whatever that was called.

At any rate, one of my goals during that time was to get one of my drawings published on the page where they featured small black-and-white versions of the artwork that readers sent in. Now, I've never been great at drawing. True, I did win a best-in-show ribbon for a painting of flowers at the Brazoria County Fair, but that's when I was five, and my skills kind of never got past that level. But oh, I tried and tried.

Then one day, when I was 8, I got a letter notifying me that they would be publishing one of my drawings. Validation! And just in time, especially because the older you got, the better your drawings had to be to get in. I eagerly waited for the magazine to see which one they choose, and when it arrived, I realized it was the crappiest one I had ever sent in: a scribbled out, asymmetrical Christmas tree that looked even more pathetic with the green and all the decorations sucked out of it by the loss of color. Yet there it was. My name attached to it.

I bring this up because, many, many months ago, probably after drinking, I sent in something to Overheard in New York. And suddenly, they've decided to publish it. And looking at it, I'm realizing that it's not that funny. And I also apparently signaled to them that I wanted my full name posted by the quote.

The quote itself is pretty old, as indicated by the location of where it was overheard: a show I reviewed more than six months ago. It made a bit more sense then, when the U.S. dollar wasn't quite as pathetic as it is now, albeit still stronger to the Chilean peso. Considering that the top quote on the Overheard in New York site is from a Yankee's game, I'm guessing that it was just a matter of catching up.

Which reminds me that I sent in something else shortly after that one. If it ever appears, I hope this one, something I overheard in the audience while attending The Tyra Banks Show (yes, I went to that -- shut up). I think it went something like this:

Female intern: Wow, those makeovers Tyra did were really amazing, weren't they?
Guy in audience: Yeah. When are they going to give you one?

Validate me!

This is shameful

2008-03-19T23:24:00.002-04:00

It seems like all I write lately are excuses on why I haven't been blogging! Once again, I've been out of town, catching up with my father (who's doing much better, by the way). In addition, I've been working on one of my major projects of the year at work, which thankfully is over now. But no more travel for a few weeks now, at least, even though I very regretfully had to turn down a trip to Argentina next weeks.

But all excuses. As penance, here are one-sentence reviews of every show I've seen since I last wrote a show review:

Crimes of the Heart: Kathleen Turner makes a respectable directorial debut, the kind that an American Idol judge would call safe but just a'ight for me, dog.

Oroonoko: The show's already opened and closed with little fanfare, so all that really needs to be said is that there is a delightful riff by one of the female character on the uselessness of the king's penis.

Applause at City Center: I will never penny-pinch and buy the $20 nosebleed seats at this venue again, as the pole at the front of the balcony was the star of the show for me, although the dot that kind of looked liked Christine Ebersole sure sang pretty.

In the Heights: Even as a mere two-year resident of Washington Heights, I feel comfortable in saying this show is about as representative of the neighborhood as "Brigadoon" is of Scotland, but it still is a darn entertaining night at the theatre.

Dina Martina: Off the Charts!: After hearing my sister play it on the piano for years in the 1980s, finally someone made the theme from "Ice Castles" listenable again!

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: Anika Noni Rose, as Maggie the cat, more than makes up for a mostly miscast everyone else, and hearing James Earl Jones boom out the word "poontang" more than makes up for the disappointment in director Debbie Allen's failure to include an interpretive dance number.

Bellagio fountain

2008-03-05T21:55:00.001-05:00

Why do people shoot video of things that everybody and their brother have already filmed, usually at a much higher level a quality than the average tourist can do? Why do we take grainy photos of the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building or the Golden Gate Bridge, all landmarks that already have been shot from every concievable angle known to man? And these are photos and videos that no one really wants to see, by the way. Is it just some crude way of marking our territory?

Yeah, I do it too. Here's the video I shot of the famous Bellagio fountain, spurting to Rachmaninoff.

Paparazzo extraordinaire

2008-03-04T21:35:00.004-05:00

Yikes! I've been silent for more than a week, largely because I was in Las Vegas on business and came back with a nasty, nasty cold. As penance, here are some exclusive celebrity photos shot by moi:

TONY BENNETT!

REGIS PHILBIN!

GARRISON KEILLOR!

OK, I'm officialy 80.

An about face about faces

2008-02-21T22:28:00.003-05:00

Okayyyyyyyy...no politics for a second!

As I mentioned once before, I've diddled around on one of the dating sites out there. Actually, I have no idea why I was being coy and didn't mention the site's name in that last post. It's chemistry.com.

Anyway, they've suddenly altered their policy. See, it's a very intricate process to actually get to have direct communication with anyone on that site, which probably explains why I, the king of ADD and no follow through, have met precious few people from it (not that that's necessarily a bad thing). Here's how it used to work: They use whatever matchmaking wizardry they glean from the initial quiz you take and show you five matches. From there, you look at the photos and read their profile and decide if you want to get to know them better. Then, they look at your profile and decide if the feeling's mutual. Then, you compare your "relationship essentials," do a few short answer questions, swap insurance information, submit to a full genetic screening and share potential names of your firstborn, and then you can communicate directly.

Here's the kicker. At any point in time, if one of you decides that he isn't feeling it, you can abort at any time. The other person has no means to respond, unless you were dumb enough to include your cell phone number or something like that in your profile. A passive-aggressive person's delight. Potentially frustrating, for sure, but no pressure. Pretty brilliant, actually.

But they just changed it. Mostly, the process is the same, except with the photographs. Now, you no longer can see a potential matches photograph until AFTER you've confirmed initial interest. On the surface, it's an admirable if not a bit too utopian of a move. Sure, we should be judging potential matches on more than their hotness. (Side note to anyone using that site: Show a LITTLE forethought when choosing a photograph. We all have our good angles, but that's rarely on the south end of a beer-spitting hat or of you rafting the Colorado River, shot from the top of the Grand Canyon.) Nobody actually does that, of course, but it's an admirable goal, nonetheless.

One problem, though. Before, you could pretty much just fill in the blanks yourself if a potential match put you in the reject pile. "Eh, our profile's just didn't mesh." "He's probably already found a boyfriend on here and just didn't close his account yet." "His last boyfriend's name was probably Mike, too, and that would just be freaky to him."

Not now. If someone clicks that initial interest button but hits the eject button after the photos materialize, there can be only one reason. He hated the photo. He thinks you're hideous. Likewise, if you succumb to shallowness--if someone sounded good on paper but in their photograph looks, as my high school band director used to say, like Lurch--you're doing the same thing to them. Oh, well. Self-esteem and good karma were nice while they lasted!

New standards in journalism

2008-02-20T22:41:00.005-05:00

This handsome gentleman on the right here is the new star of WorldNetDaily. Despite the evidence to the contrary -- namely, the obvious color coordination problems between the hat and the last-pressed-in-1987 shirt--this man asserts that he is indeed gay (or, as WND would say, "gay written in quotation marks because gay still means 1890s happy to us, dernit") and once had a cocaine-fueled tryst with presumptive Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama in a Minnesota hotel.

Despite the crackerjack reporting done by WND on this case, which apparently consisted of watching this guy's YouTube video, the mainstream media has not yet picked up on this breaking story. Not even a Drudge siren yet. But just wait. This guy's going to prove his case by using a polygraph test. Basically, we'll be holding him to the same standards as one of the fine ladies and gentlemen who would appear on MTV's "Exposed."

Using WND's same standards of journalism, however, let me attempt to play a bit of devil's advocate, here. Using my imaginary reverse aging machine to determine what the man in question, Larry Sinclair, looked like in 1999, when he was a spry lad of 37 or so, let me just say -- not a chance. Sorry. Even if Obama had been trolling around upscale Chicago lounges in his limo for crack and tricks, perhaps thinking that Y2K was just going to end it all anyway, the odds of him picking up someone that looked like Sinclair, even a de-aged-by-eight-years Sinclair, are zero. There's a reason the guys from the escort services don't look like that. Not exactly a high-demand item, let's just say. The chances, in fact, are probably about as big as the chances that Sinclair would be able to get past the velvet rope of an upscale Chicago lounge.

Now, some might say WND is just throwing whatever slime it can, hoping some of it eventual sticks to the wall, particularly since another top headline on the right is "Obama mentor identified as communist." And there's another whole story about Obama's campaign, surprisingly enough, refusing to comment on this.

But nay. Go on, WND. Pursue this story and prove us all wrong. By the way, here's a scoop: Mike Huckabee and I once shot up crystal meth in a Wheeling, W.V. Knight's Inn, followed by seven hours of reciprocal fisting and a room service order of squirrel taquitos. Truly. I look forward to seeing your interview request in my inbox tomorrow.

(Sorry for the graphic imagery, but hey -- they started it!)

Faint memories of childhood

2008-02-19T23:23:00.005-05:00

So, the CDC is finally waking up after a few decades of slumber on "the choking game," or one of the many other aliases by which it's known. I hate to tell them, but it's been popular a lot longer than 10 years. I know this because I used to play it. And if we knew about it in Brazoria County, trust me: We weren't the first ones to get fads.

I'll never forget the first night I did it. I, a kid of I guess 12 or 13 at the time, was spending the night with two friends, and they apparently were old pros at it. I watched them do it to each other several times, but I was too terrified to do it myself. Finally, I succumbed. And wow.

They did it in the second way described in the article. We were never as hardcore as to throttle each other or wrap telephone cords around our necks, for goodness sake. We didn't even call it choking, as we didn't consider it as such. I don't know that we called it anything. Basically, the "victim" would bend over, take about five or six deep breaths and the hold the final breath, as the other person tightly gripped their stomach, like a frozen Heimlich maneuver, and lifted them off the ground. When the "victim" finally released his breath, you knew he was out.

I'll admit: It was pretty euphoric. No, there was nothing sexual about it. But the hallucinations and dreams experienced when one was out were pretty vivid, sometimes scary, not that I could describe a single one of them almost 20 years later, of course. And when we woke up, after what was probably only about 30 seconds to a minute but felt like hours, there would be a bizarre tingling sensation left in the head.

Adults knew we did this. Not my parents, of course, but some other adults heard us talking about it. Hell, I even remember one Boy Scout camping trip in which we were doing it in one of the leader's vans while two leaders were in the van with us. We kind of got an idea that there might be a bit more danger than we thought to it when one kid, at one of my slumber parties, started to have a seizure after we put him under. Finally, one teacher heard us talking about it and told us what we were really doing to our brains in depriving them of oxygen, even though we were pretty much over it by then anyway.

Point being: This is nothing new, nothing underground and nothing restricted to a fringe group of kids. The kids I refer to earlier who did it with me pretty much all were honor students by the time we got to high school.

That being said, some of the comments below the article are pretty appalling (and kudos to the author for calling them out). The attitude that it's just Darwinism, that the kids who die from doing this are just stupid and getting what they deserve is ridiculous. By that logic, a kid who doesn't know how electricity works and dies after sticking a fork in an outlet also got what he deserved.

Oh, and anyone who takes any of the above paragraphs -- particularly numbers two, five and six -- out of context for prurient purposes? God'll get ya for that, Walter.

If only there were a Rogaine ad next to the page's title

2008-02-13T22:10:00.003-05:00

Since my dear friend Eric has already brought the Aretha issue to the surface, let me just say that this article placement on the Drudge Report is just wrong, wrong, wrong.

Not to mention that I didn't get the Aretha article, either. Why can't both Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin be queen? And does this make Beyonce the Thomas Cromwell of soul?

Some excellent news

2008-02-12T23:37:00.003-05:00

If I may delve into the deeply personal one more time, I'm pleased to echo a good report regarding my father. It seems all tests for cancer on the prostate came back negative. An earlier bone scan had shown the cancer hadn't spread there, and some questionable lymph nodes the doctor removed during surgery also came back negative. In other words, no chemo, no radiation, no nothing. Removal of the bladder should have eradicated the cancer, and the doctor said there's only about a 5 or 10 percent chance of it being a problem anymore.

Thanks again to all for the kind thoughts during all of this. My sister recently sent out her annual request for donations for Relay for Life. I know I'll be donating this year.

If you're going to be late, why bother coming at all?

2008-02-11T23:32:00.000-05:00

This post is especially for my Texas friends, who don't know what 8 degrees (lower considering wind chill factor) feels like. And it's a lot less painful an experiment than freezing one's hair, something my family still laughs at me about.

I had just finished drinking a bottle of water in a very warm building before walking outside. Almost immediately, the bottle turned into mush in my hand. Now, if I remember my Charles' Law -- Or was that Boyle's Law? Or Murphy? Burke? Somebody like that. -- cold makes things contract (except that rebel substance water). In other words, the air inside the bottle had shrunk to the extent that the poor plastic had nothing to support it.

So thanks, Winter, for the high school chemistry refresher! You can go now. Really. Houseguests and fish and all that.

What would the founding fathers do? Keep quiet.

2008-02-07T22:42:00.000-05:00

I'm now convinced that Richard Brookhiser, senior editor of National Review, works out at my gym. Or at least a darn good doppelganger. As I finished up my ab routine this evening, I could have sworn he was the one next to me who took the big ball away when I was finished.

The thing is, he's the level of celebrity you can never be sure about. You certainly can't go up and ask. If it's not him, it's not like you just asked if he was Anderson Cooper or even Paul Rudd. He's not going to say, "No, but I get that a lot." In all likelihood, he's not going to know who Richard Brookhiser is and think you're quite odd.

On the other hand, if it is him, you're immediately suspect for recognizing him, too, especially when you don't exactly fit the average National Review demographic. Honestly, I probably wouldn't have even thought it if I hadn't seen him on Colbert last night, although I've been familiar with him since we had to read his Washington biography back in freshman university political science.

Supposedly, Matt Damon works out at my gym when he's in town. Why don't I ever see him, darn it? Ah, well. I wonder: If a conservative writer works out at Crunch, specifically doing ab crunches, does that make him a Crunchy Con?

Is this supposed to be sexy?

2008-02-06T23:33:00.000-05:00

I've never understood how spam is profitable in this day and age. It would seem to me I'd get more money rattling a cup full of coins during my morning commute than I would by tricking those one or two people who have just discovered this magical thing called email after a 20-year slumber--you know, the one or two who still forward that thing to you that says Bill Gates will write you a check for $1,000 if you just forward their email to a few dozen people.

But I understand porn spam even less. First of all, it's not like people who want porn are sitting around and waiting for an email telling them where to find it. What's more, the subject titles are never enticing at all.

Take the last few days' sampling. Sexyandtallns wants me to "see [presumably her] wide gaping holes." Charming. Grocer promises me "real university students forced to stripp (sic) of their clothes -- 2 pics!" Wow! Two whole pictures? Of a college student undressing, probably the hardest thing to ever see? Sold. Betty Klay offers a "round butt for u to play with." How about a round of mini golf? And Cassie Carrter, whom I seem to get something from every damn day, wants to show me "MidWestern Chicks Flashing Their Tits For Free." Darn it Cassie, if they were from the Pacific Northwest, I might have considered it, but the Iowa chicks just don't do it for me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some horny women to whom sweetsarah0 says are incredibly eager to beat me. Geez, don't these people have any demographic research at all?

Happy Super (um, Duper) Tuesday!

2008-02-05T11:25:00.000-05:00

I went back and forth several times, but I cast my vote this morning for Hillary Clinton. And, should Barack Obama ultimately pull it off, I'll have no problem supporting him in the general election.

This is the first time I've ever voted in a presidential primary where it actually mattered. I just missed the 1996 primary because I was too young, although I was old enough for the general election (not that the primary really mattered by the time it got to Texas, anyway). In 2000, I threw a vote to Bill Bradley, whom I really liked but was already long gone from the race. In 2004, there was a really tight race in my county for sheriff that was going to be decided in the Republican primary, so I held my nose and voted in the Republican primary, skipping the presidential section (and ardently stopping the election volunteers from stamping an "R" on my voter's registration).

With that behind me, I look forward to eating hummus and watching the returns tonight. I even switched a show ticket I had so I could be home for it. Isn't that incredibly dorky? If it's a bad night for the greased-up Wink Martindale clone, as I hope it is, it will all be worth it.

A side note: CNN was at my polling place this morning, but as they obviously were there to gauge Latino voter opinion, they paid me no attention.

Review roundup

2008-01-31T23:13:00.000-05:00

The Little Mermaid
Consider the reviews this show racked up--take a look at the filleting Ben Brantley gave it--I was expecting something along the lines of Shamu's Super High-Kicking Spectacular at Sea World. After seeing it, I'll just say: Leave the guppy alone. OK, no more fish references. But really, I didn't see anything so egregiously awful to warrant the thrashing the show received. No, there's nothing visually stunning like "The Lion King," the songs added to the production are dull to cloying, the scenery is bit garish -- oh dear, I'm doing it, too. OK, it's really NOT a great show, I'm afraid. Charming nostalgia, yes, and fun actors in broad parts, yet nothing to elevate it above a really good theme park production. But I had fun, the same way I have fun whenever I catch "King Ralph" on basic cable. And the tourists lapped it up. Having never seen "Beauty and the Beast," I had never seen the inside of the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre until seeing this show. I have a feeling the theatre is going to be uncharted waters, er, territory for a lot of New Yorkers for several years now, too.

August: Osage County
A tonic to crabs in every way. Reviewers, friends and amateur critics had talked up this new work by Tracy Letts up so much that I was afraid I couldn't help but be disappointed. Well, I wasn't. It's a brilliant dark comedy, wonderfully constructed from beginning to end acted by what is sure to be the finest ensemble onstage this season -- and that's high praise, considering my thoughts on "The Seafarer" and "The Homecoming." The insane fire from Deanna Dunagan and Amy Morton (a killer Nurse Ratched earlier this century) as a drug-addled battle ax and her mini-me-in-training fuel this three-and-a-half-hour marathon without a single sputter. Francis Guinan, playing Uncle Charlie, the most normal and grounded member of the clan, turns a rambling recitation of grace into a hilarious monologue. And I swear that I went to church with Rondi Reed's Aunt Mattie Fae growing up. If I had any quibble with this show, it's that Letts made it fit just a little too perfectly. It's OK to have a superfluous character or two. Just ask anyone who's ever played the brother in "A Moon for the Misbegotten."

Jerry Springer: The Opera
Oh, Linda Balgord. You may have turned Queen Elizabeth into Cruella de Vil last season, but all is forgiven after hearing your wonderfully shrill soprano shreik out every vulgarity thinkable onstage at Carnegie Hall. There's something oddly thrilling about seeing the lowest form of entertainment melded into some sort of Orff-ian masterwork--complete with a Klansmen chorus line, something to be topped only if someone invented a NASCAR engine that roared Prokofiev. Well, thrilling for the first two hours at least, after which the conceit started to wear a bit thin and the allegory began to bloat. But that's what concert stagings are for, yes? Here's hoping a leaner version of this finds a permanent home in New York at some point in time. A note about the Catholic protestors outside: I had intended to give a little freedom of expression blast here, but honestly, the withered showing the protesters had was so sad, I don't have the heart. Besides, one of them was even kind of cute.

A brighter week

2008-01-27T22:59:00.000-05:00

Many thanks to those of you who left the kind thoughts in comments or elsewhere. Since I broached it, the full story is that my father had his bladder and prostate removed (my oldest sister keeps calling it a prostrate, but I've given up trying to correct her) after they found and removed and orange-sized tumor off of the bladder late last year. Not to get too graphic, but they had to remove the tumor through the penis bit by bit, which, well, I've probably lost all male readers at this point.

At any rate, he made it through the surgery fine last week, but as Sophia Petrillo said, "No one looks good after surgery." Like many older patients after surgery, there were some delusion problems, which is a difficult thing to see. At one point in time, he was convinced he was in Louisiana at an LSU game. When I called to check in last night, however, I got the good news that he was passing gas. Yes, that's good news, because it means the intestines are active again and that he can eat again. And with food back in him, he's doing much, much better, and with the morphine cut down, the delusional spells are pretty much gone. And he might be able to go home sometime this week. So things are looking good at this point.

Honestly, though, I've been in so many conversations about bodily functions in the past few weeks that I feel like I'm in a Rob Schneider film. My three sisters and I were in the Best Western near St. Luke's in Houston, eating breakfast and talking loudly about urostomy bags and all sorts of other unseemly things that we barely even noticed the lone, horrified other woman trying to eat in the breakfast room. Hope she enjoyed her biscuits and gravy.

Photo distraction

2008-01-24T22:41:00.000-05:00

I just got back from Texas yet again this week. I was there for some fairly major surgery that my father had to undergo. The recovery process is going as well as could be expected, considering that he's in his 80s, but of course, it's going to be slow. And it's all left me a little drained and tongue-tied for now. So, without much to say at the present, here instead are some photos from my trip to Budapest late last year, which I realize I never posted.

Click for the full image, of course. These were taken in and around the city's lovely Castle District, right on the Danube (crossed by the Chain Bridge). Oh, and doesn't the Hungarian parliament look a lot like that Thames Productions logo?

If only there were a Lyman cameo

2008-01-18T14:10:00.000-05:00

I've been told my sense of humor is a little...off...but even I'm starting to believe that now, because I've just spent the last 10 minutes laughing my ass off at this site.

Basically, it's a bunch of videos of Garfield strips--including some from as far back as the strip's early days in the late 1970s, which I used to read constantly in those anthologies when I was about 8 or 9--acted out in the most divinely cheesiest way possible followed by an even more purposefully cheesy video. The first one, which inexplicably turns Garfield and the cast into Final Fantasy VI characters...well, that just won these guys a fan for life.

I think it's the last time I've laughed at Garfield since I grew pubic hair.

Self-abuse made easy

2008-01-15T22:08:00.000-05:00

I have, on several occasions, written about the off-the-wall columnists on display at WorldNetDaily. Honestly, I could do an entire blog on nothing but that if I had a stronger stomach. Here's a nice little sampling of the wisdom set forth in the past several days:

RingmasterJoseph Farah asserts that one of the presidential candidates is mentally ill, namely suffering from narcissistic personality disorder. It's an exclusive! (for anyone who hasn't already read the Mayo Clinic page on the disorder). Now, he doesn't want to say which one she is...I mean he or she is. Her...I mean, his or her rhymes with Billary Hinton, but he's not going to be so classless as to name who he's talking about. Farah then proves his point by listing the symptoms of the disorder, which applies to pretty much anyone who has ever sought public office higher than state railroad commissioner. Oh, and he ends the column with a record 16 questions in a row. That's called nagging personality disorder.
Political science mastermind Chuck Norris implores everyone to vote for Mike Huckabee because preventing gay marriage is one of the most important issues facing our country. I assume that because it's mentioned four times in the column. It turns out he's trying to push the gay rights movement back to the 70s because that was the last time his moustache was in style. Chuck Norris doesn't write bland columns. He opens the dictionary and the words assemble into them out of fear.
The beyond adjectives Ann Coulter mourns her father as anyone would: by bashing liberals. Because, you know, politicizing a death is tacky only if the guy's last name was Wellstone.
The homo-obsessed dotard Les Kinsolving regurgitates a Wikipedia entry on the Episcopal Church in Colonial times to complain about sodomy.

And so on. And this is the top tier. Some other guy challenged Huckabee to a fist fight, but I can't even remember his name now. It's pretty scary when the most coherent columnist on a site is Pat Buchanan.

Weekend review roundup

2008-01-13T22:33:00.000-05:00

Come Back, Little Sheba
The Biltmore Theatre is hosting two long overdue homecomings to Broadway. First is William Inge's ahead-of-its-time drama itself, more than half a century absent from the Broadway stage. The second is S. Epatha Merkerson, taking a break from what seems like nearly the same amount of time on "Law & Order" to play against type as Inge's frumpy, isolated housewife, Lola. Gone is any of Merkerson's trademark strength as Merkerson putters around the claustrophobic set, starving for whatever human interaction she can find: a buff milkman, a nosy neighbor, even a wrong number. As her recovering, resentful alcoholic husband Doc, Kevin Anderson is wound so tight that when he finally snaps, one almost feels like rushing the stage to protect poor Lola. It's a tense, terrifying moment, all adding up to the most affecting show I've seen since last season's "Journey's End," even though director Michael Pressman's work overall is nowhere near the master level of David Grindley's production of the World War I drama. Much of the ensemble work comes nowhere near the realm of the two leads, grinding some crucial scenes, such as Doc's dramatic second act exit, to a halt. Worse, some, particularly Zoe Kazan as boarder Marie, were having projection problems the night I saw it. Still, said ensemble also gets bonus points for surprise eye candy of the season: Brian Smith as hunky track star Turk.

Grease
Yes, I finally got around to seeing this. Thank heavens for $30 standing room seats. Let's just say that, considering this show was cast from a reality show, Laura Osnes was a pleasant find as everyone's favorite prude, Sandy. And Kirsten Wyatt is head and shoulders above all as drippy beauty school dropout Frenchy. And, uh, let's just leave it at that.

A case for vandalism

2008-01-09T23:35:00.000-05:00

Today was one of those mornings when the alarm clock seemed to be speaking a different language. You see, I had a nice two- or three-hour break in sleep thanks to an extremely courteous neighbor letting his car alarm go off all night.

First of all: Did you know that if you call the non-emergency hotline to report an annoying car alarm, they'll automatically transfer you to 911? Not that it makes the police come any faster, but it's an interesting point. It probably has something to do with reports of a terrorist plot involving car alarms.

I had no earplugs, just my noise-canceling headphones, which I can't sleep in because of my inability to sleep on my back or my stomach for any extended period of time. If the police ever came, I had finally dozed off to dreams of revenge. After a few hours, I actually get used to the noise.

But at least I'm not suffering alone. I had no idea how much bandwidth has been dedicated to these nuisances.
Like here.
Or here.
Or here.
And here.
And the best one.

My favorite part of those is the stories of people retaliating against the offending car. The thought crossed my mind last night. In fact, I even stood at the window for a moment with an old jar of satay sauce from the refrigerator, contemplating hurling it down six stories through the windshield. I thought better of it, mostly because I didn't trust my aim at 4 a.m., but also because I didn't particularly want something with my fingerprints on it in the car should my aim have actually worked and should the police have ever arrived.

I'll be ready next time, though. I'm still trying to decide which would be best. Dumping a jar of molasses on the hood and windshield? A dozen or so eggs? Or just an old-fashioned keying? Ooh, I smell a future blog poll question!

Review roundup -- absurd and absurder

2008-01-08T22:21:00.000-05:00

November
Pardon this turkey. David Mamet’s latest, a surreal tale of a desperate and unpopular president in the final days of his bankrupt campaign, is fast-paced, witty and funny, but it wears out its welcome before grinding to its hackneyed ending. Kind of like one of those Saturday Night Live sketches that would have been great if they didn’t go on for a few minutes too long. As the Nixon-Bush-Harding lovechild that never was Charles Smith, Nathan Lane is giving one of his career-best performances, handily dispatching the ranting Mametisms. And it’s delightful to have Laurie Metcalf onstage as Smith’s speechwriter. Word has it that rewrites are still going on in previews, so here’s hoping they get it right by opening. Mamet almost seems apologetic in explaining some of the contrived moments, such as blaming a missing Secret Service on how some questionable characters have such unfettered access to the Oval Office. Maybe by opening, he’ll have done the same for some of my burning questions. Like why are we still talking about the bird flu? How does a turkey-raising association have such easy access to the same amount as the cost of the Iraq War? And why would such a moron have been elected president in the first…uh, scratch that last part.

The Homecoming
It’s taken a while for the Harold Pinter time bomb to go off inside of me, but I’ve come to the conclusion: this revival of the playwright’s 40-year-old work, directed by Daniel Sullivan, is a damn fine production. Yet when I walked out of the Cort Theatre on Sunday, I was somewhat ambivalent toward it. Pinter is never an easy meal, with his usual stock of nasty characters reacting to nasty situations as no human ever would. Like a freshly made soup, though, I guess it took a few days for the fine flavors of Pinter’s motley, bipolar family—papa Max (Ian McShane); eldest son Teddy (James Frain); his wife, who the family never knew existed for nine years, Ruth (Eve Best); the dim boxer Joey (Gareth Saxe); the vicious pimp, Lenny (Raul Esparza); and pathetic chauffeur Uncle Sam (Michael McKean)—to settle in my mind. Esparza’s a bit uneven at first but delivers when it counts, as Lenny turns more sinister, in the second act, and McShane is winningly horrid. Still, it’s the more subtle performers who really make the show worthwhile. Best and McKean can say more sitting silently in a chair than some actors can express in a soliloquy. Those purposeful silences are wonderfully uncomfortable, the best feeling to have when watching the cancerous but not so unreal family gathering.

And my theme for 2008 is...

2008-01-06T22:35:00.000-05:00

..."Beautiful," by Jessica Molaskey. Not bad, considering it took me--well, my iPod, actually--until March to make up its mind last year. At any rate, I'm happy enough, because I adore Molaskey and can't wait to see her in "Sunday in the Park with George" in a few months. I actually downloaded the whole Pentimento album by accident, meaning to get only one song but hitting the "buy album" button by accident. Serendipity, actually, though.

So I'll be waiting for those sounds of the rude world to lull away with the moonlight, thank you very much.

Farewell, independence

2008-01-03T22:58:00.000-05:00

I forgot to mention yesterday that I'm now officially a New Yorker. And also officially a Democrat.

Yes, just before leaving for the holidays, I finally got around to getting my New York driver's license, simultaneously registering to vote. Apparently, to vote in the primaries here, you have to be registered in a particular party. And there's no way I'm going to allow an R by my name.

I haven't made up my mind yet about my choice, though. I'm watching Barack Obama give his victory speech in Iowa as I type this, and he's still probably my top choice. Yeah, there was that whole ex-gay Gospel singer thing, but--as I apparently never blogged on my thoughts about that--my end feeling about the situation is that it was the singer who was compromising, not Obama. John Edwards just creeps me out sometimes with that Joel Osteen vibe. Hillary Clinton could still change my mind again, and I'd love to see those Clinton-hating veins pop out of the Limbaugh et al foreheads over the next four to eight years. The rest would just be a wasted vote. This is coming from someone who voted for Bill Bradley in the 2000 Democratic primary in Texas.

As for Mike Huckabee? Well, he turns my stomach a lot less than Mitt Romney. I'll give him that. Considering he once called for the quarantine of AIDS patients, this says a lot more about Romney than it does about Huckabee. Plus, Limbaugh and Ann Coulter hate him, so there's a plus.

I guess there could be one silver lining to a Huckabee presidency. It's a lining about the width of a cell wall, but a lining, still. Finally there would have been a U.S. president who shared my name. You know, since that homophobic, doltish dwarf from Massachusetts blew his chance back in 1988.

Happy new year!

2008-01-02T22:42:00.000-05:00

Things are finally back to normal. No more long trips, no more leaving the country, no more business conferences -- nada. At least not for a few months. So consider my new year's resolution to get this blog up and running again.

That and the gym. I realized today that, with all that's going on, I hadn't had a good workout in about a month. Fortunately, this is the best time of year to go to the gym. For once, it's not all the toned people who make me feel bad. All those other resolution people are there, too, and their weight-lifting choices are just as puny as mine. Keep at it, guys. Pretty soon, we'll be the ones who control the assisted chin-up machine. Until about mid-February, at least.

A whole mess of reviews

2007-12-18T23:22:00.000-05:00

Yikes! I've gotten behind on the reviews something fierce. Fortunately, this collection should reiterate what so many others have already said: This is a darn good season for plays on Broadway.

A Bronx Tale
The first rule of writing a one-man show, of course, is to have a damn good story to tell. Chazz Palminteri's Bronx childhood has that from the start. His autobiographical romp takes us through a witnessed murder, an unlikely bond with a dangerous mobster and a perilous interracial romance. It also gives us the now well-known date test that, thanks to the advance of automatic car door locks, is no longer relevant, but I digress. While I wouldn’t call Palminteri’s characterizations one-note, there’s just not enough differentiation there to propel the basic underlying conflict between the two centers of the show: Palminteri’s working-class hero father and the smooth gangster Sonny. At times, it’s a bit like listening to a book-on-tape, albeit a darn interesting one.

Is He Dead?
Playgoers, be warned. The dusty relic now on display at the Lyceum Theatre is full of stock characters from the ethnic stereotype warehouse, contrived plot devices and groaners that even Fozzie Bear wouldn’t incorporate into his act. Case in point: German Stereotype Character, after causing his companions to recoil in disgust at his hunk of limburger cheese, pulls a sausage out of his trousers, noting “The wurst is yet to come.” So why is this show so darn entertaining? Credit the fine cast, led by Norbert Leo Butz as Jean-Francois Millet (based on the real Millet about as much as the real Sam Walton was represented in "Walmartopia"), a down-on-his-luck artist who, at the urging of his aforementioned stereotype-laden cadre of pals, decides to fake his own death to jack up the value of his paintings and reappear as his own sister to collect on the estate. “Is He Dead?” is slow to get rolling, but in the hands of Butz and a talented ensemble that includes John McMartin, the chameleonic David Pittu and Marylouise Burke—so delightful as a dotty old spinster that I’m finally ready to forgive her for that bizarre performance in the revival of “Into the Woods” a few years ago—you’ll find yourself sheepishly laughing with, not at, this show. Like a fine team of paleontologists, adapter David Ives, director Michael Blakemore and the cast have taken a few ancient bones and given us a clear picture of the original, charming beast.

Cymbeline
Had the Internet existed in Shakespeare’s time, I can only imagine the legion of angry Internet nerds pounding out scathing reviews following the premiere of “Cymbeline,” a twisted, confusing show that requires a flowchart even to get through the prologue. And then Jupiter comes down and fixes everything, helped by a step-by-step deathbed confession by one of the chief villains. In other words, a copout akin to “a wizard did it.” Still, like the first time I saw a production of the, to put it mildly, much less optimistic “Titus Andronicus,” I couldn’t help feel a little camp appreciation of this wacky work, particularly in the form of the lush production helmed by Mark Lamos at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theatre. The costumes, by Jess Goldstein, are gorgeous and are especially dazzling amongst the minimalist set—rows of gold columns to indicate a forest, for example. A lot of the acting is over-the-top, as it should be, but there’s also some very human performances to be found. Michael Cerveris anchors the show as the exiled groom Posthumus, John Pankow brings a quiet dignity to the proceedings as Posthumus' servant and David Furr and Gergory Wooddell. Martha Plimpton also continues her ascension as a go-to stage darling as the royal Imogen, whose verboten romance with Posthumus drives the action. And Phylicia Rashad and Adam Dannheisser are so much pompously hissing fun as the wicked mother-and-daughter team set out to usurp the kingdom that you’ll almost feel bad for laughing as Dannheisser’s disembodied head is dangled around the stage like a prop lantern.

The Seafarer
It’s hardly a spoiler, I suppose, to reveal in the first sentence of this review that the mysterious Mr. Lockhart, played by Ciaran Hinds in the production of Conor McPherson’s latest now playing at the Booth Theatre, is the devil himself. Even Sharky (Robert Morse), the very man whose soul he’s come to claim in a game of cards, doesn’t seem that surprised by it. Such is McPherson’s brilliance, though. He can so delicately weave in the Irish supernatural with his tragically pathetic characters that I’d probably be willing to overlook it if Jupiter popped in to help out with matters. Set appropriately enough on Christmas Eve, however, this devil has come to earth in a wholly human form and melds in with McPherson’s equally florid and conversational dialogue.. His description of hell is one of the finest original speeches to be seen on Broadway in some time. The rest of the cast is superb, too. Morse gurgles with reserved frustration that makes one fearful of the eventual explosive climax. Conleth Hill is tragicomic gold as a hard-luck oaf, and I’ll also prematurely make the call that Jim Norton, as Sharky's carefree yet ailing brother Richard, will be the man to beat in the supporting actor in a play Tony race this year. Do these characters sound familiar? Yes, “The Seafarer” is typical McPherson. Replace the devil character with a young woman, in fact, and one could pretty much perform the show in perfect repertory with “The Weir.” But it’s definitely on the higher plane of typical McPherson, which is not a bad thing in the least.

Cyrano de Bergerac
This isn't so much a review as a cautionary tale. Never forget about 7 p.m. Tuesday curtains! I had just gotten back from Washington and was relaxing at my apartment, thinking I had time for a little rest and a quick bite before the show tonight. At just a little after 6:40, I glanced at my ticket and realized my error. Somehow, I managed to get from Washington Heights to the Richard Rodgers Theatre in about 20 minutes and missed only about a minute of the action. But I hate latecomers -- even when they're me! Oh, OK. Here's a quick, one-sentence review: Kevin Kline is his usual excellence, Jennifer Garner exceeds expectations and finally seeing Daniel Sunjata made me realize just how much I regret not seeing "Take Me Out" when I had the chance.

Gay dating in the styx, or lack thereof

2007-12-17T22:55:00.000-05:00

In recent months, I’ve been playing around with one of the online matchmaking services. No, I’m not talking about Gay.com or Manhunt. Let’s just call it one of the less fickle dating services, one of those sites that makes you juggle toggle meters and write essays just to gain the right to even correspond with someone. I’ve met some interesting people through it, one even pretty close to what I’m looking for in an LTR, although just not quite enough to get me to give up my confirmed bachelorhood just yet.

My schedule as of late, however, has made me put it all on the back burner. Just last night, someone whom I had been chatting with and who seemed like he might have a little potential suddenly bumped me to the reject pile largely because, I presume, I’m so hard to nail down nowadays. Dropped before the first date even had a chance to happen! As I alluded to in an earlier post, if Mr. Right had come along at any point in mid-November, I would have had a window of maybe two or three days to fit in a single date with him by the end of the year.

As evidence, I’m putting up this very blog post from a hotel in Bethesda, Md., where I just arrived tonight and will be leaving tomorrow following a brief business meeting.

All this made me realize: Do you know when the last time was that I had an actual date? Try around Halloween.

So I’m wondering – is my not dating right now a neglectful act? If it were all work causing this, it would be a no-brainer, but a lot of this hectic schedule is stuff I truly enjoy doing: traveling, seeing shows, visiting family and, of course, the chorus. And those two or three days I had in that dating window I really needed to fuel the introverted side of my personality. It's not as if I feel like I'm missing anything -- until people tell me that I am, that is.

Honestly, I’d rather not try to date if I don’t have the time to properly cultivate a good relationship should it come along. Self-centered? Perhaps. But I never jump into relationships quickly, and I’d rather not waste time spinning my wheels if it means cutting time out of things I enjoy doing. My usual philosophy on dating has been to give anyone a shot or two, even if they don’t seem my type, just to see what happens. But now, consider my bar officially raised. Or at least mounted. I just can’t decide if this is a mature or immature decision at this point.

And besides, that one guy who just sent me his “relationship essentials” is kind of cute.

My peace pipes are getting hoarse!

2007-12-12T21:06:00.000-05:00

Things have been so hectic lately that I failed to give my usual shameless plug for the New York City Gay Men Chorus' concert! Alas, this time I missed out the off chance that I might help sell one extra ticket to a lost googler trying to figure out Tyler Hanes' sexuality of find the script to "A Coupla White Chicks Sitting Around Talking" (seriously -- that's been the most frequent search leading people here as of late). So, I'm left to praise the morning after.

Really, I always hate the day after a performance, especially one for which I truly enjoyed preparing. Such a crash! Our new director, Charles Beale, did a really great job putting this one -- our annual holiday concert at Carnegie Hall -- together. Admittedly, some of the song choices had a lot of us saying "Huh?" at the beginning of the rehearsal process --"You're the Voice"? That Heart song? Really? -- but it really blended into a lovely, coherent program, if I do say so myself. Angels and peace were the motif throughout, and it really spoke to some personal stuff with which I'm dealing right now, not to mention the crap that's going on in the political landscape right now. (I'm ready for my quarantine, Mr. Huckabee!)

I'll especially cherish the memory of working with Kelli O'Hara. She was a real workhorse for this concert, doing four numbers in a row in the first act as well as a surprise appearance in the second. She told us it was a special occasion for her as well, as a friend of hers who has since died had been in the chorus a few years back. She and bari/bass Robert Osborne were stunning on the Gerald Finzi cantata "In Terra Pax." I wish I'd slipped in my voice recorder for a bootleg, but those Carnegie folk are pretty scary about that, and I didn't want to risk getting caught and getting the chorus stuck with a heavy fine. Even if I had, the organ would have been overpowering from where I was standing, anyway.

Beyond that, I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to review my own performance! I will say, however, that there's no feeling like walking out to an applauding, packed house at Carnegie. Last year, my first concert with the chorus, I was really too overwhelmed to appreciate the experience. This year, I savored every moment.

So, since I can't plug the concert, buy our recordings! Even though I only participated in one of those recordings.

OK, enough of that. I'm falling behind, so I have a lot of reviews to get through this week as well as photos from Budapest. And a silly little detail called "work."

Les Kinsolving: The muttering dotard of the White House Press Corps

2007-12-07T10:54:00.000-05:00

As fascinating as the World Net Daily rogues gallery of writers is -- Grandpappy Joseph "Uses More Questions Marks Than Periods" Farah, Star "Quarantine All Sodomites" Parker, Ted "'Bee Movie' Promotes Satanism" Baehr, Hal "I Know I Said It Thirty Years Ago, But We're In The Last Days, Really" Lindsey, Pat "Nothing In Quotation Marks Could Come Close To The Real Horror" Buchanan -- nothing compares with the piece of work known as Les Kinsolving.

The name probably doesn't ring a bell, but anyone who's ever watched a White House press briefing in the last several decades has seen him. Or any regular watcher of "The Daily Show," for that matter. He's the old goat who always rattles off some tinfoil hat question that whomever is handling the conference quickly bats away.

For anyone who's ever attended a City Council meeting, think of him as the zany lady who always sits in the front row, reeking of McCormick Gin and cat litter, and has a 15-minute diatribe prepared on the city's coyote problem or some other matter that's conflated to a crisis in her head only. The one to whom the mayor always nods politely to after the speech but would run like hell if he ever saw her on the street.

At any rate, World Net Daily is up in arms because White House spokeswoman Dana Perino brushed off the "questions" about AIDS that Kinsolving had prepared in honor of World AIDS Day. Here's the exchange:

KINSOLVING: "Two domestic questions. The Media Research Center – with the Centers for Disease Control's statistics that HIV/AIDS in the U.S. is still a great deal higher among men who have sex with men �"

PERINO:: "Let's move on to the next question. I'm not even going to dignify�"

KINSOLVING: "No�"

PERINO: "I'm not, Les, unless you want to just move on altogether. What's your next question?"

KINSOLVING: "All right. In major cities like Washington, Chicago and San Francisco, there are reports that gay bathhouses facilitate�"

PERINO: "Okay, Keith, go ahead. Les, it's inappropriate�"

KINSOLVING: "Inappropriate?"

KINSOLVING: "AIDS isn't that�"

PERINO: "Just stop it, stop it."

This is actually interesting for what it says about both the actors involved. Kinsolving absolutely hates homos to the point that he'd like to see them in ovens. Meanwhile, Perino is stuck with that White House policy to talk about AIDS without ever, ever mentioning the gays. And World Net Daily spins the whole thing to say that the White House has banned questions about AIDS altogether. No, they just don't want to listen to a senile nut rattle off Brent Bozell's doctored statistics about it. And they don't mention the gays EVER, except in cloaked language about marriage amendments.

Synchronize your bigotry, guys. It's embarrassing when you show up to a party in clashing outfits.

No touchbacks

2007-12-04T22:48:00.000-05:00

Rats. Tagged again. As indicated in the comments in a previous post, I've once again been hit with the "seven weird facts" meme. Thanks a lot, Angela! Now, I'm not going to repost the rules or tag anyone else, even if it means seven years bad luck or that Ronald McDonald won't run across my screen and drop-kick the Taco Bell dog. But, since I've been blog negligent, I'll do it again as penance. Here were my last seven facts, in cast you missed them.

1. When I was four, my sister made me learn her twirling routine as she tried out for the drill team. The music was...gosh, I can't remember the name of the song. It was used in an 80s movie--I can't remember which one--and it had no lyrics. That song used in the SNL sketch about the male synchronized swimmers. Long story short, sis didn't make the team, thus ending my twirling career.

2. I learned to eat beans only a few years ago. For most of the rest of my life, I wouldn't touch them. This included almost every type of bean outside of soy.

3. Although I've been a pretty consistent blond in recent years, I used to dye my hair all sorts of colors. My favorite was red, which I did when I was in "Dancing at Lughnasa."

4. I mentioned this in a blog comment before, but presidential hopeful Ron Paul was my mother's obstetrician and was supposed to deliver me. I was several weeks early, however, so he was out of town when I was born. Paul was also my sister's obstetrician several years later and actually was on hand to deliver my nephew. When I was in the Cub Scouts, I also got to swim in Paul's swimming pool.

5. I can name all the books of the Bible to this day, thanks to an annoying summer church camp ditty from years ago. I have to hum the tune in my head as I do it, though. And I can't name the apocrypha. Not in order, at least.

6. I was supposed to have been a featured extra in the film "Powder," but an unpleasant high school principal blocked me from doing so with nasty threats.

7. My first major writing project was a book I wrote in the second grade about the digestive tract. It was from the point of view of a roast beef sandwich. You should've seen my illustrations, particularly the chyme with the smiley face on it.

Didn't Malcolm McDowell kill some lady with this in 'A Clockwork Orange'?

2007-12-03T22:30:00.000-05:00

I'm back! More on the travels and such later, but I'd rather get this poor, neglected blog started again with something lewd. What else? I go visit my parents at Thanksgiving to discover this in my mother's kitchen:

Apparently she found it stored away during a cleaning kick and decided to add it to the home decor. OK. So I'm told it's some sort of good luck charm to have a witch in your kitchen. But look at that thing REALLY closely. See if you notice anything unsettling about it.

Good luck indeed. And no, that Special K behind the witch isn't for a rave.

One of those heinous 'why I'm not posting' posts

2007-11-25T00:31:00.000-05:00

My blogging record has been pretty bad the last few weeks -- even for me! Let me explain: I'm never home. And that won't be changing anytime soon.

Between business trips, a choral retreat and holiday visits with family members, I've figured out that I will be actually sleeping in my apartment a grand total of 15 nights for the rest of this year. I'm sitting in Texas right now, in fact, about to go to bed so that I can wake up and fly to Budapest tomorrow. If I can get out, that is. The weather in Houston really bites this weekend.

So expect my blogging to be more sporadic than usual the next few weeks. But at least know that when I do write something, it's because I really have something to say.

My holiday sanity guide

2007-11-18T20:37:00.000-05:00

At this point, I've already had all the Starbucks holiday drinks -- even the fat, fat fatty eggnog latte -- the wreaths are up at Penn Station, and, thanks to preparations for the NYC Gay Men's Chorus holiday show, I've been singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" since September. But that's OK with me. I'm a pretty damn cynical person, but I still get caught up in the whole holiday thing.

It's largely because of the music. Yeah, I'm one of those annoying people who doesn't mind mixing in a little holiday music on his iPod shuffle year-round. But I'm convinced the people who hate holiday music are those who don't listen to it right. They either get stuck on on of those all-holiday radio stations that play the same flat versions of the standards over and over again -- Just what IS so funny to Bruce Springsteen at the end of his "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"? And don't get me started on the cruddy Christmas shoes song, or the one where Dan Fogelberg drinks beer with an old flame in a supermarket parking lot -- or, even worse, they just judge by department store holiday muzak.

Nay, I say! Here's 10 holiday songs that I can't live without, in no particular order:

"That's What I Want for Christmas," as sung by Nancy Wilson
The radio leans toward the Dixie-Chicks-lite group sheDAISY's version of this song, but there's no holiday song around that's better suited to the sultry Miss Nancy.

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," as sung by Doris Day
The Judy Garland version is just too obvious, so Day's is a nice alternative. And, unlike most non-Garland versions, this one sticks to the original, depressing lyrics. Oh, crap. I'm going to get that "speaking of Judy Garland..." message in my comments now.

"Jingle Bells?," as sung by Barbra Streisand
This one gets a little radio play, but not much. Absolutely hilarious and a wonderful reminder that Barbra doesn't ALWAYS take herself so seriously.

Ding Dong Merrily on High," as sung by Julie Andrews
The recording is kind of hard to find now, Dame Andrews' Christmas album -- given away at Hallmark more than a decade ago -- is one of the best. This is probably the most showy piece for her on the album.

"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," as performed by Linda McKechnie
McKechnie isn't well-known outside of the church musician circle, but she's really quite a fun arranger. Her usual gimmick is to take a classical work and wrap a hymn tune around it. It's stunning how well they intertwine sometimes. This is one of those cases, in which the old carol is mingled with "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies."

"Gloria," as performed by the Boston Pops
I didn't know this Randol Bass composition until last year, when I performed it with the chorus. Quite a fascinating piece, using a lot of irregular meter, actually. Of course, it's also available on the chorus' "Holiday Homecoming" album. Plug!

"Do You Hear What I Hear?" as performed by The Carpenters
I'm hard-pressed to pick just one song of The Carpenters' holiday canon, as those are THE holiday albums for me. While everyone might gravitate toward "Merry Christmas, Darling," I prefer this standard in all its Carpenter cheesiness.

"I'll Be Home for Christmas," as performed by Connie Francis
She sings it just like she sang "Where the Boys Are." And, uh, pretty much everything else. 'Nuff said.

"Please Come Home for Christmas," as performed by Anita Cochran
Again, the song itself its in fairly regular rotation on the radio. But they play only the dull-as-Dishwalla version by The Eagles or the version by love-him-or-hate-him Aaron Neville. Listen to a country-fried version, though, and you'll never want to hear it any other way.

"What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" as performed by the O'Jays
It's probably blasphemy to pick their version when both Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald have versions. But this is shrieky doo-wop at its best, folks.

There you have it. Most of these are on iTunes, except for Julie Andrews, I think. Still not convinced? Perhaps as December gets closer, I'll put together the 10 absolute worst holiday recordings I know.

What wine should I serve with roach crap?

2007-11-15T23:43:00.000-05:00

Here's a tasty bit of irony. Last week, Upper East Side tourist magnet Serendipity 3 unveiled its latest in opulance: a $25,000 chocolate sundae, using numerous exotic chocolates, served in a gold goblet wrapped in a diamond bracelet with edible gold -- does that even digest, or is it like the morning after drinking Goldschlager? -- and accompanied by an exotic truffle. The owner bragged to the media how he knew that wealthy Saudi princes would be flooding the dessert eatery picking up a couple to impress their wives.

This week? The place is shut down by the health inspector. Sewage problems, live mice, tons of cockroaches -- you name it, they found it. Nummers.

Honestly, even if I were a Saudi prince, I can't imagine myself eating these overpriced publicity gimmicks. Remember the famed $1,000 pizza from earlier this year? The one with six kinds of caviar, fresh lobster, chives and creme fraiche on it? Way, way too busy. Your tongue wouldn't even be able to distinguish the different caviars. The common cook's rule of limiting your pizzas to about three ingredients is there for a reason.

Weekend review roundup

2007-11-12T22:52:00.000-05:00

Well, actually, uh...I was going to see either "August: Osage County," "The Seafarer" or "A Bronx Tale" this weekend, but obviously, that didn't happen. And I'll spare you guys another Duran Duran post. Instead, I'll try to respond some common things I've been reading and hearing regarding the strike. I might not have intimate knowledge of the parties involved, but I have covered my share of labor negotiations in the past.

Lazy union people. I wish I could just not show up for work when things don't go my way.

Guess what? You can! Not in a union? Try to organize a wildcat strike. Or better yet, why not just use one of those wonderful sick days, personal days or vacation days you've no doubt been accumulating? You know, one of those things you probably wouldn't even have had unions never existed? You'll even still get paid!

If people don't like their job, they should just go find a new one instead of whining about it all the time.

Yeah. That's really easy to do. Everyone who makes this argument hereby loses the right to ever complain about any aspect of his/her work again. And that would make them one of those people who just prattle on about how wonderful his/her job is. And nobody likes those people.

It's pretty selfish for them to go on strike considering how some people have planned trips in advance to see shows.

Yeah, um, if there wasn't any hardship, it wouldn't be a very effective strike, would it? Sad to say, but all travel planning entails some risk. Whether it's Hurricane Bertha canceling your Caribbean cruise or Grandpa Gus having a massive stroke the day before your flight to Tripoli (I just learned Americans can go there again. Cool!), crap happens. Hell, when I went to Yellowstone, it rained the whole time, and I didn't get to ride a horse for the first time. I cried. Of course, I also was 9 years old. At least in this case, you get almost a full refund.

And on the other side:

The media spends far too much time talking to tourists with canceled tickets and not nearly enough time talking to the people this strike is really affecting.

Yes, because those angry tourists are easy to find and usually more than willing to talk. I once covered a strike in which a certain party complained that their side wasn't making it into the stories -- and then would provide me a one- or two-sentence canned statement to state its position. Simple entropy, folks. The loudest and most accessible people will always get the best coverage.

In New York, $150,000 a year barely qualifies as middle class.

Then I am beyond poverty stricken.

You insensitive jerk. I really do have a Grandpa Gus, and he just died last week.

Oops. My condolences.

One more Duran Duran video

2007-11-09T22:11:00.001-05:00

I can't resist, so here's one more. I actually shot one more, but the video quality is so bad, I'm too embarrassed to post it. Yes, it's possible to shoot with worse video quality than what you're seeing here!

At any rate, this was during the electronica set of the concert, a performance of "Skin Trade." Sorry the camera moves around so much, but I was dancing at this point. You also get a fab view of the video camera the girl in front of me was using.

Breaking the law!

2007-11-08T10:57:00.001-05:00

Ushers were oddly complacent during Duran Duran's performance at the Barrymore Theatre. They made sure nobody brought beer back to their seats, but in regards to photography, it was a free-for-all. The girl in front of me had an actual video camera out for the entire second act.

Well, when in Rome...

I'll have more on the show later, but here's a little video I shot from the rear mezzanine. Enjoy it until YouTube inevitably takes it down.

A vision of the Claymates in the year 2050

2007-11-06T23:50:00.000-05:00

As was alluded to in the comments, it was a rather fun people-watching experience at the Steve & Eydie concert the other ~~night~~ 4 p.m. in the afternoon. Let's just say it made us feel quite young! But nothing compared with the crew behind us.

It was a crew of typical er, mature Long Island ladies. I couldn't really describe their appearance because I didn't look behind me too often. But I could pick any one of them out of a lineup if they opened their mouths.

Even before the dazzling duo appeared onstage, the opening clip montage was enough to provoke squeals of delight. It was kind of like the dead people reel during the Oscars. Who could get the biggest gasp? Steve Allen? Judy Garland? Bob Hope?

Nay, but that nothing compared to the nonstop chatter once Steve and Eydie started the show. I swear, it was like Hannah Montana herself was up there and I was a Brownie den mother. Or whatever they're called. Each song was followed by shrieks of "I LOVE YOU STEVE! YOU'RE FANTASTIC EYDIE!" And so on. Meanwhile, the songs themselves provoked orgasmic ohs of delight. I was expecting a pair of support hose or a bladder pad to fly past my head toward the stage at any minute. This was their Woodstock, dammit. And as seemingly annoying as it got, my companion and I agreed that it was just too funny to be truly annoying. Hell, I hope I keep passion for something...anything...going that long into my life.

Speaking of which, I just realized I've been quite neglectful in adding said companion to my link list. I've rectified that now.

Weekend review roundup

2007-11-04T21:31:00.000-05:00

Rock 'n' Roll
How current is this? I'm actually writing about a show on the day it opens, just like a real reviewer! Yeah, and my ego needs the boost, because once again, Tom Stoppard has made me feel woefully inadequate. But here goes anyway. Rufus Sewell is absolutely stunning in his journey as Jan, a Czech native who returns from his studies in England with a love for the rock music the increasingly oppressive Communist regime finds dangerous and subversive. Brian Cox also is a powerhouse as Jan's mentor Max, who clings to the Communist party in England even as he sees the worldwide execution of the political philosophies' ideals betrayed by those who are spreading it. Both master Stoppard's usual delicious language. Yet, the stories that surround them just left me a little cold. Like "The Coast of Utopia" trilogy, Stoppard runs through the vignettes in Max's and Jan's lives at breakneck pace. This worked in "Utopia," in which we were dealing with historical figures. Here, however, these characters are all the invention of Stoppard, while the actual historical figures--Syd Barrett and Vaclav Havel the most prominent--largely remain offstage as catalysts to their development. The play too often feels like bullet points painting the life of two fictional characters. Beautifully written and acted bullet points, but bullet points nonetheless. Still, there are worse things to sit through than a Tom Stoppard Power Point presentation. And this one comes with really cool musical breaks in between scenes.

Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas
I missed this little spectacle last year, but--in my quixotic quest to see everything that opens on Broadway this year--I decided to give it a visit. And, to no fault of its own, it had two strikes against it before I even planted myself in the seat: I've been out of the target demographic for this show since Ronald Reagan left the presidency, and it's a bit difficult to get into the holiday spirit one day after wading my way through the Halloween parade crowds in the village. Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, the show didn't give me quite the toothache I was expecting. Sure, adults will be checking their watches from about the first time sweet Cindy Lou Who ballads the first crack in the Grinch's crusty facade. But as the title character (that's the Grinch, not Dr. Seuss), the grumbling, growling Patrick Page is just about enough savory to counteract the gooey sweet that was inevitable in fleshing out the Whos enough to make a 30-minute TV special stretch to and hour and a half worth of material. In fact, it might even be enough for you not to complain too much about getting the foamy snow stuff blown into your hair at the end.

Steve & Eydie at the North Fork Theatre
"You're not old enough to remember Steve and Eydie," one patron remarked to me as I walked into the snappy duo's concert this afternoon in Westport. Well, yes, madame, I'm also not old enough to have known Giuseppe Verdi personally, but that doesn't stop me from going to the opera. What's more, I lived in Atlantic City for more than a year, so I saw my share of casino billings that had me asking, "They're still alive?!" And I've seen my share of faded acts that just made me sad. Listening to Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme, however...well, if I closed my eyes, I could have sworn I was listening to one of their old recordings. Gorme's knee problems made it a little more difficult for her to get around, but she can still perform "If He Walked Into My Life" with the best of them. And Lawrence, good heavens, looks and sounds no different than he did on the variety show clips from decades ago that they showed prior to the performance. Add in an incredibly lush orchestra to put in that extra pizazz, and you have more than enough reason to justify having to trek out to Long Island. Yes, my name is Mike, I am an old soul and I had a fantastic time this afternoon.

A special note to my new friend

2007-10-31T23:45:00.000-04:00

Yes, you, dear. The lovable old scamp-of-a-thousand-facelifts outside of the Jacobs Theatre tonight. You know, the one who thought it would be proper to, as I stood in line to pick up my ticket from the box office, whack me with your cane so you could better read the posted review on the wall. The one who apparently thought that was the appropriate gesture rather than a simple "excuse me." The one who also apparently thought the absolute best time to read up on a show was within 30 minutes of an actual performance, a time when dozens of other people are gathered around the theatre, particularly those trying to get in the aforementioned line that happens to go right through your choice reading spot. The one who proved that, without a doubt, the sense of entitlement is the absolutely last thing to go, long after looks, health, grace and tact.

Yes, dear. I have a message for you. What was it? Ah, yes! Go to hell.

That is all.

Oh, and happy Halloween everyone! Hope your costumes were great. I apparently dressed up as an American vandal in Singapore.

Weekend review roundup

2007-10-28T21:57:00.000-04:00

Young Frankenstein
Mel Brooks and the creative dream team behind the record-setting musical version of "The Producers" is back on Broadway, and along with their own impressive Tony total, they've put together a cast with -- a what I think is an unprecedented -- four Tony winners, not to mention a multiple Emmy winner, in their musical version of Brooks' "Young Frankenstein." Still, despite all the special effects lightning onstage, there's just never the right electricity to give life to this primeval soup of fine ingredients. Granted, Roger Bart, who plays the title role, is currently sidelined with a rather serious injury, which no doubt throws off the balance of the show greatly, even though understudy Matthew LaBanca is giving a solid performance in his stead. Even with that in mind, however, the biggest problem with "Young Frankenstein" is that it's just more of the same. Really, how many times can the Jerome Robbins "Fiddler on the Roof" choreography be parodied? There are plenty of fun moments, many involving the always wonderful Andrea Martin as Frau Blucher. And Brooks' music is still appealing even in its repetitive simplicity. But unlike "The Producers," which strung these gags along to several "wow" moments, there's no such point in this show. Perhaps the famous scene in which the Monster (Shuler Hensley) performs "Puttin' on the Ritz" was meant to be that moment. But unlike "Springtime for Hitler," which was wonderfully reimagined to fit in with the musical, the moment here isn't that radically different than what is in the film. While it might be fun to see a favorite moment like that recreated in person, it's pretty hard to justify the bloated ticket prices they've set for this show.

Xanadu
Yeah, I've already reviewed this show. I'm revisiting it only to admit that I was wrong, wrong, wrong. A friend of mine got me onstage seating for the show this weekend, and it was a blast. Back when I reviewed it, I assumed "Xanadu" would already be halfway across the River Styx by now. But it's doing respectable business, and I say bravo to it. Not only was I wrong about the show's prospects, I was also dead wrong when I attempted to correct its mythology (and I'm surprised no one called me out on this in the comments). Paris did indeed kill Achilles, not Hector, as I tried to say. Jeez. I was a grump when I wrote that review, so consider this a slap to June Mike!

Also another fun fact: With "Young Frankenstein" in my Playbill collection, I now have one beginning with every letter of the alphabet, except for Z. Time to bring back "Zanna, Don't!" or "Zorba," folks. Or perhaps someone can write a one-person show about Zero Mostel or Zsa Zsa Gabor. I don't know whatever happened to my Playbill of "Zorro: The Musical," though.

Oh, and speaking of pointless miscellany, yet one more song is gone from the theme song candidates: Krisanthi Pappas' "Pure Imagination" medley. Gosh, I'm rooting for Jessica Molaskey now.

Presence makes the heart grow harder

2007-10-24T22:15:00.000-04:00

Prior to living in New York, I was, for the most part, ambivalent to Rudy Giuliani. With the exception of his appearance in that one Rage Against The Machine music video, he seemed like an affable enough guy. Being a Texan, I thought any Republican who didn't hate the homos was kind of a cool novelty.

Then, I moved here and noticed the deep-seated contempt so many long-time New Yorkers had for the man. That made me take notice. After all, I disliked George W. Bush long before he had the chance to show his true colors in the White House.

Now that ambivalence is gone. He's crossed the line into the unforgivable. Most egregious was his decision to kiss the butt of Family Research Council executive director Tony Perkins -- who, by the way, has some ties to white supremacist groups in the not-so-distant past -- by coming up with some bizarre circumstance under which he'd support a federal marriage amendment. The other was his equally bizarre decision to root for the Red Sox. He explained that one away by saying he'd always support the American League team in the World Series, unless, perhaps, the Mets were involved. You hear that Houston, St. Louis, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, Washington, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Phoenix, Denver, Miami and the sad half of Chicago? He automatically hates your teams.

Seriously, though, do you know how much of a spit-in-the-face it is to Yankee fans for him to come out for the Red Sox? Giuliani had better hope his next appearance at a Yankees game isn't on Bat Day. And I wonder what that gay couple -- you know, that one who took him in after one of his many marriages failed -- thinks of his sudden support, albeit tepid support, for a marriage amendment? Politicians pander. I know. But these turncoat moments are so egregious that I'll bet even Mitt Romney's embarrassed for him.

Weekend review roundup (a few days early)

2007-10-19T13:37:00.000-04:00

The Farnsworth Invention
Tired of seeing films adapted for the stage? Well, how about seeing a film that never even got made adapted for the stage? Honestly, I had no idea that "The Farnsworth Invention," Aaron Sorkin's new play about the race to invent television, now in previews for its Broadway debut at The Music Box, was adapted from an unproduced screenplay until I read up a bit on its later, but the production is so cinematic, I'd already made that guess. The Andrew Lippa-composed relentless underscoring, the huge number of characters and the vignette-style scenes are some of the obvious signs that this is a medium-out-of-water experience. Still, as a former broadcast major in college, it's a compelling story, although I imagine it might be rather tedious for some. The two leads in the cast--the heretofore criminally underused Jimmi Simpson as brainiac inventor Philo Farnsworth and Hank Azaria ruthless businessman and NBC founder David Sarnoff--are more than up to the task here. The big problem comes from the rest of the cast. No one is particularly bad; some, in fact, are quite good. However, most of the 18 or so supporting members play multiple roles to flesh out the more than 100 characters in this show. And some of these characters appear so briefly, it's a bit confusing to see one of the guys funding Farnsworth's research suddenly working for Sarnoff in another scene, or to see Sarnoff barking orders at the young actor who was only recently playing his childhood self. What's more, the script relies entirely too much on narration, and the fact that our two narrators establish themselves as not-too-trustworthy from the get-go makes it even more problematic. Even so, this "Rashomon" of television history is worth checking out for anyone who isn't put off by quite a bit of technical babble. Also, in technical and pacing terms, it was in great shape, particularly considering it was the third preview.

Die Mommie Die!
Housed appropriately enough in the same theatre that brought us "Evil Dead: The Musical: last year, Charles Busch's 1999 play is finally here for New York viewers. With melodramatic mugging, intentionally cheesy effects and suggested incest-o-plenty, fans of Busch, and "Evil Dead" for that matter, won't be disappointed. While it's always fun to see Busch bring one of his anti-heroines to life--in this case, faded chanteuse Angela Arden--the real discovery here is "As The World Turns" star Van Hansis as Arden's dopey, psychopathic, nymphomaniac son Lance. No, I'm not just saying that because he's cute. Hansis does the best job here of keeping up with the show's over-the-nature, without which, the "in a good way" that follows "bad" would disappear.

Success!

2007-10-18T22:51:00.000-04:00

It worked! One day after I hatch a scheme to boost international readership, I've made a breakthrough. I've been translated into German! At first I thought it was a death threat -- die Lunar Gemini -- but no, it's a German translation of my reviews from the other day. And from what I can tell, it's a travel site looking for information on the actual island of Mauritius, so my post is not at all relevant. But, it's a step. And I learned how to say matricide in German (muttermord).

Oh, and I also must give special credit to the Californian who found this spot with the Google search: "Would Tom Cruise love to get a hangover in Iraq if a car bomb went off while he was on marijuana." I can only assume you read the same news story that I did. Or you're really, really disturbed. Either way, bravo.

Building an international readership

2007-10-17T23:10:00.000-04:00

In an effort to get this blog on the world map, I'm going to utilize the latest search result news from Google and try to appeal to Web-searchers across the globe. Let's see if this works!

To Mexico (favorite key words: David Beckham, Britney Spears, Hitler, gay)
Actually, I'm not sure which gay sign hit first for me: the love of Beckham, or the love of Britney. But I'm pretty sure Hitler wasn't a catalyst in that awakening.

To Colombia (favorite key word: gay)
I'm single, boys!

To Chile (favorite key words: gay, homosexual, Nazi)
I'm really, really single, boys! And I watch "The Sound of Music" every year.

To Italy (favorite key word: Viagra)
Sono singolo, uomini. And very patient.

To Germany (favorite key words: Hitler, Viagra)
Um, guys? You might want to broaden your horizons. And that might help with the other problem, too. Just sayin'.

To the Czech Republic (favorite key word: dolly buster)
What the hell's a dolly buster?!

To Slovakia (favorite key word: dolly buster)
Well, whatever it is, could it be the key to once again creating a reunified Czechoslovakia?

To Iran (favorite key word: IAEA)
Um, guys? See my above advice for Germany? That applies here, too. Just sayin'.

To the Philippines (favorite key words: terrorism, homosexual, love)
Oh, I'm, uh, not single anymore. No, it wasn't the terrorism thing. It was that last word.

To Pakistan (favorite key words: jihad, terrorism, IAEA, Taliban)
Uhhhhh............

To the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (favorite key words: like they're gonna tell)
I'll soon be posting photos from my visit to Islamabad!

To Ireland (favorite key words: Kate Moss, hangover)
Actually, guys, I'm not sure that's the right word for cocaine after effects.

To my fellow Americans (favorite key words: hangover, burrito, Iraq, Tom Cruise, love, Botox, Car Bomb, Marijuana)
See, any one of these things -- except Iraq -- could probably be found at a Taco Bell at 2 a.m. God bless the U.S.A.

And finally, to our neighbors to the north (favorite key words: burrito, Iraq, Taliban, Tom Cruise, Britney Spears, Car Bomb, Marijuana)
Wow. Pretty much the same fun as the U.S., but without the hangover. Damn your superior health care system!

Time to move?

2007-10-16T21:08:00.000-04:00

First, my landlord goes bankrupt. Now it seems the people who have taken temporary control of the building aren't much better.

I had what my mother would call a panic moment today, when I had a lovely letter waiting for me from conEdison. It seems the temporary owners have not paid an almost $900 security deposit on the bill. Brava! What frightened me was the warning the they would be cutting off power in November should this not be rectified. I was actually on the line waiting for a conEdison customer service rep, ready to demand to know how they could cut off my power when I've been paying my bills on time, when I read the letter closer. They were just talking about power in the common areas of the building. So, our security system might not be working anymore, and I might be climbing six flights of the stairs in the dark, but at least I'll have power when I get home.

This, however, does not bode well. Combined with the impossibility of getting anyone to come out for repairs, I'm thinking the end of my lease might be time to cut and run. Anybody got any good apartment leads?

I shouldn't have laughed at the old man in that commercial

2007-10-15T23:35:00.000-04:00

I found out last night that Michael Baker had a heart attack. No, not me. My cousin, who is also named Michael Baker. That's right. Not only was I blessed with very common first and last names, I wasn't even the first person in my family to bear my name. And this Michael Baker is a dentist in Austin, so I'll never catch up to that.

He's doing fine, thank goodness. But just the mention of heart attacks--even when it's not a family member or someone who share my name--gives me chest pains. For some reason, I fear that worse than any other disease you can name.

There was a time, in my early 20s, when I was just convinced I had heart problems. I used to get frequent heartburn, and I heard some news anchor talking about his own heart problems, and how it had initially felt like indigestion. That summer, I made several unnecessary trips to the doctor, when I learned that with some doctors, all you have to do is point, and they'll write you a prescription. He put me on heartburn medicine, which made me absolutely miserable and unable to eat right. I'd get so anxious before appointments that my blood pressure would read artificially high, something I inherited for my mother. Of course, this was also what inspired me to start working out regularly at a gym for the first time, which, of course, was the one good thing out of all this.

I later figured out, through my own trial and error, that the heartburn was caused by me eating and drinking way, way too much dairy. I cut back on that, and everything was fine after that. Why could I figure that out, and my pill-happy doctor couldn't?

At any rate, I managed to get over all this--without therapy, no less. I even inadvertently got myself confirmed with an EKG and a heart scan a few years ago when doctors wanted to check for heart bruising after my last car wreck, and everything checked out fine. Even better, my cholesterol at my latest check was only 160. Of course, that's 10 points higher than what my cousin's was.

Damn.

Weekend review roundup -- philately, philosphy and matricide

2007-10-14T22:54:00.000-04:00

Mauritius
As a fan of Theresa Rebeck's work, I'm a bit confused as to why her Broadway debut ended up being this show, a watered-down version of, or perhaps ode to, David Mamet's "American Buffalo" now playing at the Biltmore. Fortunately, a stupendous cast makes it worth the trip. All five are excellent: plucky Alison Pill as the desperate girl who inherits the rare ~~nickel~~ stamps, Katie Finneran as her haughty sister who has her own familial claim to the stamp, F. Murray Abraham as the shady character who wants it at any cost, Bobby Cannavale as his eloquent compatriot and particularly Dylan Baker as the obnoxiously snobbish philatelist. Rebeck purposely leaves a lot of these characters' backgrounds as a blank slate. Bad things have happened in the past, but we never find out what they are. From a high altitude, this makes a lovely picture -- these unknown "mistakes" in the past are what make us, like rare stamps with improper lettering or upside down pictures, valuable. But from the orchestra row of a theatre, it just makes for an ultimately frustrating evening.

Will Durst: The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing
Reviewing this show is rather pointless, as it closed today. And that's a shame. Like the boxing imagery that surrounds his show--he appears on the Playbill wearing boxing gloves, and a pair also appear on the bizarrely decorated set, the centerpiece of which is a chair made of old newspapers--Durst uses, er, used a great rope-a-dope strategy in his political comedy act that played at New World Stages. He starts with a series of soft jabs at our president, even those famous Bush-isms that we've all heard hundreds of times before. But the punches get harder and harder, until the final power uppercut -- a rapid-fire barrage of adjectives describing all the horrors we the people have been subjected to during the past seven years. Even though there were a few equal time jabs at obvious targets like Hillary Clinton and PETA, I just hope some Bush fans weren't fooled by the title and unknowingly wandered into... What am I saying? I hope they WERE.

Electra
Not being anywhere near fluent in Greek, it's rather difficult for me to offer an intelligent review of the National Theatre of Greece's production of Sophocles' "Electra," now playing a limited run at New York City Center. "It was pretty to look at and listen to, and I enjoyed it" is about all I can say. I can say, however, that the audience gets an F. Good grief. These were the most distracting group of folks with whom I've ever had to share a theatre. There were a lot of empty seats in the center, so as the show began, there was a mass exodus from the sides toward those seats. As a result, for the first 20 minutes of the show, I was subjected to--outside of the usual latecomers, candy unwrappers and dolts who can't turn off cell phones--way, way too many people wandering to different seats. Some of these were old folks who can barely get around in the light, so it was a long trip for them. And not a one of them seemed to be able to get out of their seat with letting it slam loudly as it sprung back into place. Awful, awful people. Thanks for giving Europe yet another reason to hate us.

Impotent insults

2007-10-11T22:52:00.000-04:00

Dealing with idiocy turns me into a nit-picky bitch. Just for fun, let's take a look at a voice from my hometown:

There are reasons people support Republicans

Glenn Kamprota writes of the GOP, “With its mismanagement of Iraq, Katrina relief, the budget and Social Security ‘reform,’ as well as its demonizing of gays and immigrants and hypocritical hysteria over family values, the GOP might very well have deserved what it’s getting.”

Demonizing gays? You mean the same gay agenda (read hysteria) that is trying to ram their lifestyle down everyone’s throat no matter our beliefs. Or the (illegal) immigrants who take the jobs (many which Americans would take), don’t pay taxes, send billions to Mexico and clog up the health system. I used to be a Democrat before they turned to the far left. I never loved the big busines GOP, but at least most of them are against abortion, gay militants and trying to keep some family values.

The GOP will get my vote unless a good third party should arise.

Paul Pousson, Angleton

You know, I could mention that in three mere paragraphs, Mr. Pousson -- who it seems used to love Democrats until they started to get to chummy with the fags, Mex'cans (and not said here, but presumably, the uppity blacks) -- managed to misspell both the name of Glenn Krampota (great guy, by the way) and the easily-fixed-by-spellcheck word "business." Or that Mr. Pousson -- a red-blooded, non-immigrant name if I ever heard one -- uses "gay agenda," a singular noun that doesn't fit with the later plural possessive pronoun "their." Or the absolute idiocy of basing a vote on the things that the GOP, when you look at it, haven't really done a great job of making progress on, anyway.

But I won't mention those things. What I will mention is the unintentional hilarity of the last sentence in the middle paragraph. There are two ways to interpret it as written. Either the Republicans are all gay militants who are trying to preserve family values while fighting abortion, or the Republicans are against three things: abortion, gays and the preservation of family values. Keep your compound constructions parallel, kiddies. Grammar lesson for the day.

Perhaps I'm being too mean here. After all, Mr. Pousson isn't a professional writer. So let's look at someone who is. Ann Coulter -- whom we recently learned is a perfected Jew, or Jewess, as she would probably say -- doesn't care much for Fred Thompson and Mike Huckabee. In fact, Huckabee and Thompson both had the audacity not to hate Bill Clinton so much they smell the stench of his cologne while they sleep at night. Says she:

Huckabee teamed up with that guy to talk to children about healthy eating habits. Ironically, the obesity campaign kicked off almost exactly nine years from the very Palm Sunday on which President Clinton used a cigar as a sexual aid on Monica Lewinsky in the Oval Office.

Ann, how, pray tell, is that ironic? A coincidence, perhaps, but where is the irony? Did C. Everett Koop recently publish a paper indicating that cunnicigarus causes weight gain? 'Cause otherwise, I'm not getting it. I know the word has been diluted of all meaning by pre-teens blogging on MySpace -- "I went to see 'Bratz,' and my BFF Lindsey was there that day, too! Isn't that ironic?????" -- but William Safire would totally kick your ass if he ever stooped to reading WorldNetDaily or the handful of podunk papers that still carry your column. Healthy eating habits, by the way, means actually eating something every once in a while. Try it sometime!

OK, now I have to go scour this post for errors. That's the one danger in writing something criticizing others' grammar and language. If you made a mistake while doing so, that would be, like, ironic.

Oh, and one more song down on the theme song situation. No Liszt's "Liebestraume." Darn it.

At last, my right arm is complete again!

2007-10-10T22:35:00.000-04:00

Within an hour of my post last night, my poor little cell phone was returned safely home. The battery even still appeared to be fully charged. For this, I am forever indebted to the driver, whose name I don't even know.

When I reported the phone missing, the dispatcher told me I had two options: Wait until the phone was returned to headquarters so they could messenger it to me, or I could have the driver return it to me, paying for the ride as if the cell phone were a passenger. Once the driver was contacted, however, he returned it to me, at my apartment, directly, and didn't charge me a dime.

I knew I had to give him something. Unfortunately, I wasn't carrying much cash last night. I gave him $10, which is about the same amount as the tip would have been. I also tried to give him a nice bottle of wine I picked up in San Francisco, but he said he didn't drink. I also shot off a nice letter to his company commending him for what he had done. I wish I could do more, but I'm at a loss as to what.

But as his lasting legacy -- I've finally added a counter to my "dumb people" blog post label.

Broken-down cyborg

2007-10-09T20:23:00.000-04:00

So, San Francisco was fantastic, but more on that later. I came home incomplete! No, I didn't leave my heart in San Francisco, but I did leave my cell phone in my chauffeured car on the way home. And it's disturbing. And the most disturbing aspect is that the biggest drawback to losing my cell phone is NOT that I no longer have the ability to make calls on the fly. In fact, that's ranked pretty near the bottom.

First, I've discovered I have no memory for phone numbers anymore. None. I know three numbers by memory that are stored in that phone: my parents, my sister Cheryl and my friend from Houston *and San Francisco travel companion) Kristina. Not included on that list are some close friends, two other sisters and my own home phone number. That's right. I've never even committed my home phone number to memory. When I called the car service to see if I could get my phone back, they asked me at what number they could reach me. I blanked and had to give them my work number.

What's more, if I had to get a new phone, I would also lose a long list of phone numbers of people whom I never want to talk to again -- see any of my date stories on here for an example. The chance of those people popping out of the woodwork again to call me is pretty slim, but it's not as slim as the chance of me actually recognizing the phone number should that happen. That's why I never erase a phone number.

That's not all that's stored on that phone, either. There are tons of photos I've never backed up. Most of them are garbage, anyway, but there are a few of a, let's just say, delicate nature.

My subway ride seemed a lot longer this morning. The Yahtzee game I have on it is mindless and not very challenging even on the hardest setting. Yet, that mindless activity keeps me distracted and prevents me from making eye contact with the crazies on the A train.

I also no longer have any judgment of time. Ever since I was a kid, probably because my wrists were so small, I never wore a watch. My cell phone became my watch. I almost had to ask a stranger for the time this morning.

Fortunately, the driver has found my phone, and I should be getting it back soon. Perhaps even tonight. But how terrifying how much I rely on that little device. And if had been my iPod that I had left behind, I'd have called in sick today.

It better be worth a six-hour flight!

2007-10-04T22:56:00.000-04:00

So, I'm off to San Francisco in, like, six hours. It's a business trip, but I have lots of free time while there. And, it's Fleet Week, so here's hoping I come back with at least something interesting to say. It's one of the last major U.S. cities I've never been in, so I have high expectations. Also, this is one of those nice business trips where they let me take a friend with me.

Too bad I missed the Folsom Street Fair festivities. Actually, not really. This same friend and I took a trip to Provincetown a few years ago, and unbeknownst to us, we went during Bear Week. At the same time, the Rosie O'Donnell cruise was in town. So, the crowd was mostly men in leather and lesbian couples with strollers. Fun times! But bears don't find me particularly attractive, and coupled lesbians were equally uninterested in my friend, so, that was a bust.

Back with all the news on Tuesday!

knock knock knock Housekeeping!

2007-10-03T23:16:00.000-04:00

The truly observant might notice I just made a few long overdue adjustments to my links. Mostly, I needed to add some fabulous folks who visit here regularly and actually talk back to me -- and if I forgot anyone, slap me now.

Unfortunately, I also had to delete one. I won't even say which one. This was a rather large blog that didn't even know I existed, so me even mentioning it is about like somebody saying "I'm going to boycott McDonalds. That'll show 'em!" But this is my podium, so I'll bitch anyway.

The reason for the deletion was not even for anything the blogger him/herself particularly had done. However, posts about the whole Folsom Street Fair/Miller ads situation, which I don't even feel like addressing myself, gave way to some of the nastiest, most homophobic comments I've seen since, well, Ja Rule, I guess. One commenter went so far as to suggest that there was no need to worry about the people in the ad in question, because they'd all be dead of AIDS next year, or something like that. Strangely enough, this blog was one that went on and on about DailyKos commenters being over the top and was calling on freaking Democratic politicians who have nothing directly to do with Kos to revoke them. Yet the AIDS comment and several like it sat untouched for days. And there was no recourse to flag such nasty comments. So, bye, babe.

Seriously, if anyone REALLY wants to figure out which one, it's not that hard. I did a post long ago about all my links. Mazes on TGI Friday's placemats are tougher to crack.

You guys talked me into it

2007-10-02T23:45:00.000-04:00

Call it my first decision ever based on the input of blog comments. I got the damn DVR box. Welcome me to, like, three years ago, everybody!

Just tell me: Is it enormously cruel that I bought and stuck it straight in my bedroom? I pretty much yield the living room television to my roommates. If I put the box on that TV, then we could all share it -- but I would rarely get to use it myself. And I do kinda pay the cable bill myself. So it's mine, mine, mine.

They don't even know I have it. I brought it in after rehearsal last night, about 11:30, when they were both in bed and quietly installed it. I just hope they don't notice it. Or read this blog post.

And don't get me started on that time the Smurf village was destroyed

2007-10-01T16:28:00.001-04:00

Having sisters at least 10 years my senior, and even more permissive brothers-in-law, I started watching horror movies at quite a young age. I think I was 7 when I saw "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" for the first time. Those really didn't affect me.

Why is it, then, that some otherwise harmless things used to scare the crap out of me? Take this Disney interpretation of an 1890s slideshow presentation. It absolutely terrified me every time it came on, especially that blue/green dead dude near the end. I was equally afraid of the animated version of the musical "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown," because of one scene in which Charlie Brown is late in feeding Snoopy, and Snoopy imagines himself turning into a dog skeleton.

My sisters used to have a lot of fun with that one. They'd cue up the tape of it right to where that scene was and turn it on when I was in the room. They used the threat of "Snoopy bones" to get me to do, basically, whatever they wanted.

I remember my nephew, who is now 15 and would probably love to have this story published, used to be equally afraid of his Barney and Friends tape that had some sort of king character in it. Do all children have these irrational fears? I guess mine both tied in to death, but still...

A fun fact, by the way. The bass singer in this Disney short is none other than Thurl Ravenscroft, better known as the voice of Tony the Tiger and the guy who sang the Grinch song. Really, whenever you see an old Disney cartoon with a basso profundo part, it's probably Thurl.

Oh, and looking at the YouTube comments on that short, is there some sort of fetish attached to seeing cartoon characters cry? That would be a new one on me, but nothing would surprise me anymore.

Blue and yellow make, um, Green Day?

2007-09-27T22:59:00.000-04:00

It's always nice when friends from my Houston days come to visit me here. Especially when it's these guys:

Yes, Blue October, my favorite Houston-based band--OK, the ONLY Houston-based band I really like--was in the city Wednesday night, performing at the Nokia with Yellowcard. This was my third time seeing them. My college roommates introduced me to their music at a concert at Fitzgeralds in about 1998 or so. Yikes, almost 10 years ago! I saw them several years later at, I think, Numbers, about the time History for Sale was coming out. And this was my first time seeing them outside of Houston.

I really had lost track of them in recent years and was much more familiar with their older stuff, but no matter. I've always wondered why they haven't caught on to more widespread appeal when many less-deserving bands have, but even so, I was quite pleasantly surprised with their fan base here -- particularly since the crowd who were there for Yellowcard was making me feel damn old.

Although I was really familiar only with two Yellowcard songs, I gotta admit they put on a good show, too. The worst thing about Blue October concerts in Houston is that you had to sit through some awful bands to get to hear them. The first time, it was some angsty, pre-emo girl whose band featured an alto flute that suddenly launched into "The Hustle" mid-song. She was sweet enough to dedicate one song to her dad, who had showed up to support her, although the song was mostly about how horrible he was. At Numbers, it was some band of chunky frat boys who tried to turn "...Baby One More Time" into trance rock. Think Me First and the Gimme Gimmes on barbiturates.

Oh, and speaking of Yellowcard, tell me if this is gross. At the end, per usual, they tossed every expendable item onstage out to the audience: towels, guitar picks, water bottles, et al. I caught one of the lead singer's, Ryan Key, water bottle. It was half-full. I'd pushed my way up to a good spot, and I was thirsty. Leaving that spot would mean it would be filled with drunk Jersey girls. Do the math. Hey, he's cute, and I've swapped spit with worse.

Honestly, I need to get to more concerts, or at least, more concerts that don't feature a 60-something-year-old woman singing "Evergreen" in Madison Square Garden.

ENDA scare tactics

2007-09-25T11:03:00.001-04:00

Here's yet another ignoramus discovered in the sewer of World Net Daily: the neck-less Mychal Massie, perhaps the recipient of Jerry Falwell's donated jowls upon his death.

Today, he's terrified of the potential ramifications of passing the Employee Non-Discrimination Act:

In layman's terms, said lawyer-speak means, if ENDA becomes law (and I am in no way attempting to inject humor here), (Mike's note: Good, because if you were, you failed miserably) the branch manager of your local bank could, without fear of penalty, come to work looking like "Boy George in Liza Minnelli 1980s drag makeup, complete in his working girl commuter-friendly disco sneakers." And there wouldn't be a thing the bank could do or say about it – no matter how offended its customers might be or how uncomfortable it would make the other employees.

Passage of ENDA means that the surgeon scheduled to perform your operation could decide to do same in his blond wig with full mascara and his Playtex plus-size bra, and there wouldn't be a thing the hospital could say or do.

It means that your child's second-grade teacher could decide she was going to dress like a man, complete with makeup to simulate facial hair, and the school would have no recourse. And it goes without saying that the owner of a local Bible bookstore would be powerless to prevent a homosexual employee from holding hands with his or her homosexual lover within the workplace. Any attempt to prevent said behavior would result in immediate litigation.

Now that he's sufficiently frightened Bertha Sue from Peoria into think that Varla Jean Merman is going to dropkick Mr. McFeely out of the way and start showing up every day with her special deliveries, allow me to inject a little rationality here. ENDA means NONE of those things.

You see, Mr. Massey, corporate America, school districts and hospitals have these crazy things called dress codes. Just like the bank branch manager isn't showing up to work now in orange crocs, tattered sweatpants and a "No Fat Chicks" T-shirt and the surgeon isn't performing vasectomies in a top hat and tails. People are expected to dress a certain way for certain jobs, and ENDA wouldn't change that.

Massey is purposely melding campy drag acts with transgendered people when, in reality, or at least in my experience, those are two circles of a Venn diagram that have very little overlap. Most transgendered people I have known have dressed rather conservatively, in fact.

Nor would ENDA give Steve and Andrew the right to start groping in front of a shelf full of Joel Osteen's latest self-help advice book to the horror of Christian bookstore patrons. Workplaces are allowed to have rules against public displays of affection, and ENDA wouldn't change that.

I can't decide whether Massie is just a moron, or he assumes anyone who reads his column is a moron. Or both. Whatever. I'm done now, anyway. I'm at work, and it's really hard to type with these Lee's Press-On Nails on my fingers.

Weekend review round(about)up

2007-09-23T22:13:00.000-04:00

The Ritz
I'll have to give this to Joe Mantello-helmed revival of this Terrence McNally bathhouse farce, now in previews at Studio 54. I've never had as big of a chuckle reading Playbill bios as when I came across one for an actor playing one of the many nicely sculpted denizens of "The Ritz." The bio proudly boasted of "movie-star good looks" and a few print ad modeling jobs -- and not a single theatre credit. Fortunately for him, the ensemble's purpose here is little more than looking good in a towel, and he did fine with that. But, of course, we'd expect a bit more than that when we were paying to see a Broadway production when we could get the same in, say, an issue of Men's Health, yes? Well, there are a few other things to appreciate about "The Ritz," but sadly, the play just hasn't aged well. The story centers around a rather amorphous feud between a man and his mobster Italian in-laws, when a deathbed wish from Papa puts Gaetano Proclo (Kevin Chamberlain) on the run and hiding in a gay bathhouse in New York. A fish out of water. Let the laughs begin! The broad stereotypes have a little bit to offend everyone. Gays? Every one possible, including a mincing sex fiend (Brooks Ashmanskas, who would be a natural if they ever do a one-man show about Paul Lynde) and bizarre fetishists. Italians? Those groups who protested "The Sopranos" for defaming Italians would be begging for another season by comparison. And Puerto Ricans? Um, Rosie Perez is playing a role based on a character Rita Moreno -- the role's originator -- used to do at cocktail parties for laughs. Enough said. Actually, Perez, though hard to understand at times, has one of the better and more inspired moments in the show, in a purposefully bad musical medley at the end of Act I. Whipping herself to the opening riff of "Jesus Christ Superstar" while singing "Sabbath Prayer" from "Fiddler on the Roof"? Brilliant. Chamberlain also makes an amiable straight man, in every sense of the word. But, for a farce, there just isn't enough manic energy onstage to keep some of the rusty groaners in the script afloat. Perhaps the pacing will improve before opening. But if not, hey. It's a chance to see porn star Ryan Idol onstage. He even has a line. Something about Crisco.

Pygmalion
Here's a bit of irony. The Roundabout's other production now in previews, "Pygmalion," is about three times as old as "The Ritz" and already ingrained into any self-respecting theatre queen's mind, if for no other reason than repeat viewings of "My Fair Lady" on Turner Classic Movies. Yet, even on the first preview, the production, under the direction of David Grindley, seems as fresh as "The Ritz" seems stale. A lot of the credit goes to the star, Jefferson Mays, whom Grindley also directed in the stellar revival of "Journey's End" last season. I think Mays performance is going to produce some fairly divergent opinions, but I rather liked his Henry Higgins: a youthful, petulant brat who seems just a few steps from sucking his thumb when things don't go his way. Yes, we all love the Rex Harrison interpretation of the character, and Mays is still the same pompous jerk but adds an utter void of social grace that I've never seen in the character before. Another "Journey's End" alum, Boyd Gaines, is a nice foil in the better behaved but still child-like Pickering. And Claire Danes, making her Broadway debut as Eliza Doolittle, is already in pretty good shape in regards to accent and characterization. The show's also buoyed by a great design. Jonathan Fensom's sets and costumes are gorgeous, particularly the opening rainstorm tableau. That's not the rain in Spain, by the way. That scene's not even in the show.

Sunshine, lollipops and...so on

2007-09-21T16:03:00.000-04:00

For the first time in a while, I'm actually going to have theatre to write about this weekend! It's not that I didn't see anything during the summer. It's just the things I had seen I had either seen before ("The Drowsy Chaperone," "Rent"), they'd been around so long I saw no point in writing anything about them ("Legally Blonde," "Three Mo' Tenors") or they were just so plain awful I didn't have the heart to write anything ("Ido..." -- no, wait, I'll hold to that promise).

Before that, however, I do have throw out a quick few words of praise for the Public's outdoor concert series. Or, the first concert in that series, at least. Yup. Lesley Gore's still around. Out and proud, in fact. And you wouldn't believe the number of people who responded, when I told them I was seeing her: "Isn't that Al Gore's daughter? She sings? Is she going to talk about global warming?"

Philistines. Lesley Gore was Britney when Madonna was still in kindergarten. Probably one of the last people to still sing hit songs about class rings and such. And the bubble gum might have been sitting underneath a chair for a while, but it's still just as chewy and flavorful as ever. OK, that was a little gross.

Anyway, the Public helped Gore put out her first album in decades a few years ago. You can still hear traces of the old Lesley's voice, but it's really involved into something remarkable to hear: much deeper, rather husky but still able to sustain quite well. Her newer stuff is smoky jazz that juxtaposed remarkably well with her peppy, innocuous hits of the 60s, which she didn't shy away from at all. She even sang "Judy's Turn To Cry," the sequel to "It's My Party" and a song she said she didn't even care for when she first released it.

Also fun was Jill Sobule. Yeah, another name that usually got me blank stares. Remember "I Kissed A Girl"? "Supermodel" from "Clueless"? Yeah, her. Well, aside from those -- and she didn't even perform the latter, while Gore joined her on the former -- she has a repertoire of some really lovely songs with some brilliant lyrics, particularly "Mexican Wrestler."

Anyway, it gave me some downloading ideas. Speaking of which, I've already lost two more songs from the theme list: Rufus Wainwright's "Crumb by Crumb" and the Willie Nelson/Kimmie Rhodes duet "Love Me Like A Song." Pity. I liked those.

To the moon, Juanita

2007-09-20T13:55:00.000-04:00

The obscure World Net Daily columnists have done the unthinkable. They've made me defend a TBN personality.

In his latest bleatings, homobigot pastor Jesse Lee Peterson comes down hard on the self-proclaimed "prophetess" Juanita Bynum. In a story that slipped under my radar, Bynum apparently was badly beaten by her fellow minister husband, Rev. Thomas W. Weeks III, in an Atlanta hotel parking lot.

In his misogynistic dissection of the story, Peterson gives one sentence to condemn Weeks. The rest of it is devoted to attacking Bynum for daring to use this incident to raise public awareness of domestic violence. Says he:

And if Juanita were truly a woman of God, she would not use her marital problems for personal gain – or use the media to destroy her husband.

At her press conference, Bynum stated, "My focus is not the marriage. My focus is to accomplish a new purpose [domestic violence cause] that God has given me."

Bynum then attended a fundraising event for Barack Obama where she planned to discuss her domestic abuse concerns with the candidate. Oprah Winfrey hosted the event at her estate in California.

And why would a woman of God go to the government, especially to a liberal Democrat like Obama, to address a spiritual sickness?

I'm sure it won't be long before we see Bynum on "Oprah" dressed in pink and with just the right lighting to make her appear soft, vulnerable and innocent.

I suppose Peterson thinks it would have been marginally better if she had gone to, say, Fred Thompson or Rudy Giuliani, because there's two guys who know how to treat a woman right. But, I digress. Peterson then goes on to belittle the problem of domestic violence, which he ultimately concludes is just because dames are getting too damn pushy. You know, not being submissive and all.

Now, in my limited exposure to her, I am NO fan of Bynum. Her wedding was typical TBN excess--a network that's purpose seems largely to snatch grocery money from gullible poor folk--and her shrieking sermons usually had their own elements of homophobia in them. But trying to call attention to domestic violence is one thing for which she should be applauded, and if her husband followed the woman-shut-your-mouth attitude of Peterson, it's not really that surprising he thought so little of her as to beat the crap out of her.

Next up: I explain how Benny Hinn really did get those people out of the wheelchairs!

Not so proud to be a luddite anymore

2007-09-17T23:58:00.000-04:00

So, I didn't buckle. I bought a new VCR. No DVR for now. But, I'm starting to have some second thoughts about my strategy. I didn't realize how tough it is for us dinosaurs.

I mean, I thought it was easy. I made my first ever trip to Target in the Bronx -- quiet an interesting little mini-suburbia they have there, consequently -- and found a decent VCR/DVD combo for about $70. Not bad, I thought. It had all the features I wanted, which isn't much. Or, so I thought.

As I got home to set it up, I realized there was no place to plug the cable into it. What's worse, my television in my bedroom, which I got for about $30 off of Craigslist, is so old that it has no place to plug the A/V lines into it. In other words, I had a useless $75 piece of metal sitting on my bed.

Thanks to the local Radio Shack, I found a little modulator thingie that let me plug the cable from the television and the a/v cables from the VCR/DVD player into it, so it works now, at least. Add about $25 for the modulator, plus $10 for a new cable to connect my cable box to the VCR, and the $70 VCR is now closer to $110. And -- and take note, hack comedians who still make jokes about how hard it is to program a VCR (Jay Leno, looking in your direction) -- there is absolutely no programming feature on it. So, I can watch tapes, but that's about it!

I'm still not sold on getting the DVR service, though. I'm finding out that I can live without taping things when I'm not home. All it ultimately does is encourage me to watch TV. Fight the power!

Oh, and I'm one song closer to a theme song, as thankfully, "I Wanna Be A Producer" came up and is subsequently off my list (and my iPod).

Pain is Hate

2007-09-12T22:53:00.000-04:00

Not reaching people with those Pat Boone records? Worried that nobody knows who the hell Dean Jones is anymore? Thinking Anita Bryant is never going to get out of Branson? Don't fret, Concerned Women for America. You've found your new musical spokesperson: Jeffrey Atkins, er, Ja Rule. Said he to Complex:

We need to go step to MTV and Viacom, and lets talk about all these fucking shows that they have on MTV that is promoting homosexuality, that my kids can’t watch this shit. Dating shows that’s showing two guys or two girls in mid-afternoon. Let’s talk about shit like that! If that’s not fucking up America, I don’t know what is.”

Yeah, Ja. Those dating shows are pretty insipid. But, as far as I know, those contestants haven't been arrested for beating up a DJ in Nigeria, played a part in shooting a rival rapper, gotten arrested for gun possession nor called their fellow collaborators a bitch. Well, maybe they did do that last part. But, whatever. Go on back to spreading the Gospel of Jesus, peppered with the word fuck every few minutes, and working for Murder, Inc., and your liquor and online gambling enterprises. You're a moral beacon to us all!

Up to this point, Ja Rule was best known for feuding with a bunch of people, grumbling a few things under Jennifer Lopez's vocals and putting out a bunch of songs no one has thought about in several years. He's also rumored to be starring in the family-friendly flick "Saw IV."

Enjoy your new friend, Sandy Rios! Perhaps he can rechristen the group Concerned Women For Not Fucking Up America.

In other news, the homophobic 50 Cent--the aforementioned rival rapper, in fact--was outsold by Kanye West, who has made it a point to speak out against homophobia in hip-hop. Let's hope fiddy keeps good on his promise to retire.

Maybe the Madonna impersonator video wouldn't have gotten one star if...

2007-09-11T22:50:00.001-04:00

Another sign of my technology idiocy: I didn't realize until this weekend that my camera has video capabilities. And here I've been shooting grainy cell phone videos all this time!

Here's my virgin video from the camera: a gorilla at the Bronx Zoo from this past Saturday. He's tired! Or she's tired. I didn't zoom in close enough to find out.

Proud to be a luddite

2007-09-07T14:10:00.000-04:00

I can only laugh at the doofuses who are griping now because -- shock! -- the iPhone just dropped in price. The horror! Who would have thought that the insane $500-plus initial price would quickly drop once the gotta-be-first twerps had finished their storefront camp-outs?

I am the quintessential late adopter. You know how much I paid for my DVD player? Nothing. I got it for free from a friend who had bought a new one. You know how much I paid for the decidedly non-flat television in my bedroom? Forty dollars. I got it off craigslist from some dude in the Upper West Side. I even tricked my former roommate into carrying it up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. My iPod mini still works just fine, and I'm not getting rid of it until somebody either gives me a better one or until it drops dead.

But, see, now I'm in a bit of a quandary. Alas, last weekend, my very ancient VCR finally broke. So, what do I do? Finally call Time Warner and agree to get their DVR service? Or shell out the $100 for a VCR/DVD combo? I do still have a lot of old tapes of stuff I've recorded over the years, but honestly, they take up a lot more space than their value in the number of times I actually watch them. Then again, some people pay ridiculous amounts for old recorded shows, particularly if they still have the commercials.

Either way, I'd better figure it out quickly. I have no idea what's happening on "Days Of Our Lives" right now!

The smutty professor

2007-09-05T21:12:00.000-04:00

In a blink-and-you-missed scandal, Jerry Lewis used the word "fag" in an aborted joke in a late-hour segment of his annual telethon (specifically, he called either an invisible person or a camera an "illiterate fag," but the clip was rather baffling). He subsequently issued an apology, and that seemed to be the end of it. And honestly, that's fine with me.

So why was I not as forgiving with Ann Coulter and Isaiah Washington when they used the word to a much broader outcry? It's not because I'm particularly a fan of Lewis. He was fine but not outstanding in a production of "Damn Yankees" I saw years ago, but his movies have always annoyed the hell out of me. But every once in a while, I let the "leave the poor old man alone" defense stand.

Perhaps this is because of my grandmother. Gaga, as we called her (thanks to my oldest sister), died more than 11 years ago, but she was the only grandparent I ever really knew. She was already in her 60s and somewhat feeble by the time I was born, but I always knew she was a powerful woman. Her husband, my mother's father, was a rather rough man by the limited accounts I've heard, and he died when my mother was only 12, leaving my grandmother to raise her daughter alone. She didn't run to another man. She worked and raised my mother on her own, which was pretty darn good for rural Texas in the early 1950s.

Gaga, however, was a product of her time and place, and in matters of race, would often say some jaw-droppingly awful things in that regard. Loudly. In public. Sometimes it was unintentionally funny. She used to call her cleaning lady her "colored girl." Near the end of her life, when she had to move in with my parents, she also referred to our cleaning lady as my mother's "colored girl." And my mother's maid was white.

Even the worst things she said, however, were not hateful at the core. Just ignorant. I never saw her treat anyone badly. In fact -- and I hope this doesn't sound like one of those "some of my best friends" comments, because that's not what I'm intending -- her physical therapist near the end of her life was black, and they became close enough to the point that she wept when she heard my grandmother had died.

Maybe that's why I'm fairly forgiving of Lewis. He's a goofy old man raised on Friar's Club roasts and smoky backrooms. He's said stupid things before, like saying that no female comedienne -- is that redundant? -- has ever been funny. But I don't think he's hateful.

Coulter had a long line of horrible comments behind her -- things like saying she had gay friends, but she knew they were going to hell and such -- when she said faggot, and she was proud of her remark. Washington hemmed, hawed, apologized, backtracked and went all over the map afterward. Lewis quickly admitted he was wrong and apologized. Good for him.

But I'm still turning off the TV any time "Cinderfella" comes on.

Reverse reverse psychology

2007-09-04T21:49:00.000-04:00

I made it through today without buying cigarettes, and seeing as I should be on the upswing of my biorhythm by this point, I think my nonsmoker status is secure for now. But even considering it made me realize on of those little ironies: It was actually the anti-smoking zealotry of the school systems that led me to ever becoming a semi-regular smoker in the first place.

Follow me here. When I was in high school, I somehow got roped into going to some sort of student leadership conference that focused on the drug wars. This led to the creation of a somewhat pointless anti-drug school club, of which I was a charter member. A quick side irony: I know at least two other charter members turned out to be full-time smokers. But I digress. The sole tangible accomplishment of this organization, to my recollection at least, was to push the city in which the school was located to pass an ordinance making it illegal for people under the age of 18 to possess tobacco products. That made us quite popular amongst our peers, as you might guess.

Anyway, being directly involved in the media coverage surrounding that -- and for our town, any media attention was exciting -- was part of what led me to start exploring journalism as a career, rather than my choice at the time, veterinary medicine. And most journalists are smokers or smoker enablers. Therefore, I can place the blame for me ever taking a puff on a cigarette squarely on the blame of the people who most vehemently wanted me to never touch one at all. The moral: Tell your kids to smoke, and they won't.

This twisted logic brings me to my 200th post! Oh, and one more song choice gone today: Patsy Cline's "Tra Le La Le La Triangle." Thank goodness I don't have to type that anymore.

My body's smarter than I am

2007-09-03T22:30:00.000-04:00

I was a semi-regular smoker back in college, and every once in a while, I get the urge to start up again. Times like this past month, for example. Nasty things tend to happen in clusters, and that's not good for addictive personalities like mine. So, when confronted with a bunch of things -- an increasing uneasiness amongst rampant cost-cutting measures at the office, two roommates at home who have begun to hate one another and insist on re-enacting a passive aggressive war of the roses, having to watch the rapidly declining health of a close family member, getting way too damn close to 30 and dealing with my own usually lethal combo of high pride and fragile ego -- well, the pack of Marlboro Reds seem like the right way to go. That's right. I smoked Marlboro Reds. I'm hard-core like that. None of those wussy lights for me, unless that's the only thing available to bum.

How about a bargain? I mean, I had already intended to turn pescetarian at the end of the year (making an exception only for the delicious turkey-based gravy served every year with the stuffing at Thanksgiving). So, if I'm cutting red meat out of my diet -- not that I eat that much of it in the first place, but whatever -- doesn't that allot me a poor health choice in its place? Kind of the same thought behind carbon offsets.

Anyway, to make a long story even longer, I had my first cigarette in quite a while on Saturday night. I don't even know what kind it was. I just know it felt freaking fantastic.

And now today, I have a shallow cough and a scratchy throat. One probably has nothing to do with the other, but OK. Point taken. I won't start smoking again. Not tobacco, at least.

Oh, by the way, one song down already for the 2008 theme, as the Bach Toccata/Fugue came up the other day. Which would have been a terrific song to smoke to, of course.

No, you da ho!

2007-08-30T20:58:00.000-04:00

I simply cannot get my dander up about Larry Craig. I mean, if I had to nail down my feelings about the situation and ensuing coverage, I guess it would be similar to my thoughts on Mark Foley last year. But while the Foley situation made me angry, the Craig situation, well, is just damn hilarious.

I mean, to hear Sean Hannity and the like having to talk about foot-tapping in restrooms is reward enough. Pages of editorial cartoons featuring toilet-bound elephant Savion Glovers is icing. Any speech that can juxtapose "Thank you for coming out" with "I am not gay, I never have been gay" easily beats "I am a gay American." And all this took place in a state in which you can't spell the capital without "boi."

Really, what do I care whether the dude resigns? It's not like the governor is going to appoint anyone better...oh, the governor. That's the best part. I didn't realize until today that the governor of Idaho was named Butch Otter. Wow. Two gay slangs for one! Here's a picture of him with either a potato or a very optimistic condom:

Funny thing about Butch Otter is that he appears to be neither.

Idaho. So much more than Ruby Ridge. Who knew?

The end of the eclipse

2007-08-29T20:22:00.000-04:00

Holding on to stupid traditions is a habit of mine, but something can't be a tradition unless one does it at least twice. Even so, against my better judgment, I'm once again going to let fate decide my theme song for 2008. For this year, I wound up with a remix of "Total Eclipse of the Heart," so things can only improve from there.

The candidate list is pretty short, as the only time I listened to my iPod on my actual birthday was during a brief morning workout. So, here they are:

"Beautiful" Jessica Molaskey
Well, it's really her version of "Beautiful Dreamer." A bit corny, perhaps, but not a bad choice.

~~"Crumb by Crumb," Rufus Wainwright~~
The "Want Two" album is slowly growing on me, and this is a rather lovely song. And I guess New York is a sort of big black forest.

~~"I Wanna Be a Producer," Matthew Broderick~~
Well, not really. Actually, I'm not sure why that is still on my iPod. But there are worse choices. I do like to drink champagne until I puke.

~~"Liebestraume Nocturne No. 3," Franz Lizst~~
I used to play this on the piano, or try, at least. Another lovely choice.

~~"Love Me Like a Song," Kimmie Rhodes and Willie Nelson~~
OK, don't laugh. You have to love Willie.

"Pilate's Dream," David Burt
How did I ever even make it through this workout with all these slooooooooow songs? I've never, consequently, dreamed I've met a Galilean. A most amazing man, perhaps, but I don't think he was a Galilean.

~~"Toccata and Fugue in D minor," Bach~~
A little overly dramatic and dark, of course. This would have been a good theme for 2002!

~~"Tra Le La Le La Triangle," Patsy Cline~~
Oddly enough, I think this is the most upbeat song on the list. And two lovers? At least it's not zero.

"Pure Imaginations Medley," Krisanthi Pappas
You have lived until you've heard a jazz version of the Oompa Loompa songs. But I'm more interested in getting a golden ticket and/or a golden twinkle in my eye.

All in all, not the most stimulating choices, but overall positive and optimistic messages. If nothing else, I'm taking that as the ruling out of a Duncan Hunter presidential victory!

Teetering over the edge

2007-08-24T11:53:00.000-04:00

So, tomorrow is my 29th birthday -- or, as my father would quickly point out, the beginning of my 30th year. Whatever. I mean, I might as well be 30, anyway, because no one ever believes you when you say you're 29.

Still, even though no one really looks forward to birthdays past the age of 21, I at least have a little more reason to appreciate it in adulthood than I did as a kid. The Aug. 25 date meant that although presents were coming, so was school (or, as Texas kept pushing the school start date further and further up in the early 90s, that school had already started). In fact, I had the distinction of being born on the first day of school, giving my youngest sister, who wasn't too thrilled with the aspect of losing her baby-of-the-family status, another reason to hate the day.

Now, however, summer is more of a nuisance than anything else. Sure, it's nice to get out to the beach or a pool for a few days. But mostly, it just means more sweat, more bugs and nightly block parties. Fall and winter bring better fashion choices, more holidays, lower electric bills and marginally fewer tourists.

So, at least now I can be comforted with my birthday by knowing I can box up the fan for another year. Except next year. I plan on being far, far out of the country for that birthday.

My lucky roommate

2007-08-22T20:58:00.001-04:00

OK, this is one celebrity sighting that I just can't ignore. The other day, my roommate called me in quite a state. While at a video store on 5th Avenue, he saw none other than TBN's Paul Crouch and an attendant shopping! His wife Jan, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight.

My roommate shot this brief video, and we agreed that without a doubt, it had to be him. The Crouches were always an endless sort of fascination to me. Their "Praise the Lord" show is a nonpareil in jaw-dropping gaudiness, money-grubbing audacity and a gathering place for charlatan preachers of every genus. Seeing Crouch is landing quite the Marlin in evangelist-spotting.

I'm also quite looking forward to Christiane Amanpour's piece tomorrow in which she has an interview with Jerry Falwell just days before his death as well as another source of fascination for me: the corpulent, bombastic John Hagee. What a month!

By the way, who the heck gave my Madonna video a one-star rating? It was SUPPOSED to be of terrible quality. Go back to watching videos about shoes and anime sequences set to Chumbawumba music, you crumbum,

Hurricane hysteria

2007-08-20T21:33:00.000-04:00

I certainly wrote my share of "watching the hurricane" stories while working on the Texas Gulf Coast, most of which were on storms that never hit anywhere near our coverage area. So, I can only muster half an eyeroll for the overzealous reporting and reacting that comes during hurricane season. I sympathize with the weather forecasters, actually. It's one of their few chances to have the top story for several days in a row.

My mother is another story. She gets so furious with the Houston forecasters, always saying that she suspects they hope the big storm makes a direct hit on the city. So I had to chuckle when she related to me the coverage that accompanied the minimal Tropical Storm Erin when it made landfall last week.

They had plans to go visit my oldest sister in Rockport for my brother-in-law's birthday and to go catch a minor league baseball game. The weather forecasters, predicting the dire rains with Erin, almost made them cancel their trip, but they decided to go, anyway. My youngest sister, seeing the same sort of news reports from her home in New Orleans, called my oldest sister worriedly to make sure my parents made it in all right.

As it turned out, Erin, which quite near Rockport, dropped a whopping 0.09 inches of rain on the city. The minor league baseball game wasn't even delayed by a minute. My oldest sister left a sarcastic message on my youngest sister's answering machine, starting with, "Well, we're all in the hurricane shelter now, but we're doing all right..."

Yes, I know even that minimal storm turned into a major flood event for some other spots. Still, it's no wonder to me that so many people don't evacuate when there really is a dangerous situation occurring. One can only be made frightened by drizzle so many times.

Oh, and here's a nasty bit of inside information. Mom was right. There are indeed a bunch of reporters out there who, in a twisted way, do hope for the big one to hit. It's called building a great clip file. Sounds callous, but it's true. Where do you think Dan Rather would be if he didn't tie himself to a pole during Hurricane Carla?

Cold as hell? I'm there.

2007-08-19T23:12:00.000-04:00

It's been a while since I've done any theatre writing because, frankly, it's been a pretty slow period, even for the summer. There is, however, one quiet little show I caught Saturday night that merits a brief mention.

"Tom Crean: Antarctic Explorer," now playing at the Irish Repertory Theatre isn't a master class in acting like "The Year of Magical Thinking," nor does it provoke any sort of self-examination like "The Fever." So why is it thoroughly more entertaining than either of those shows, both of which I ultimately liked? Why is it that even though Crean was a good 30 minutes longer (with one well-placed intermission) than either of those shows, my mind didn't wander once, liked it admittedly did during the two others?

Because, although solo star and scribe Aidan Dooley doesn't wield the acting prowess of a Vanessa Redgrave or the writing prowess of a Wallace Shawn, he has found darn good story to tell and does a darn good job of telling it. What Crean went through during his three Antarctic explorations is nothing short of superhuman survival. Sure, the writing feels a little lecture hall at times, but Dooley's convivial delivery style overcomes it.

What really won me over, however, is it proves that a good-for-the-whole-family show doesn't have to be insipid (hear that, Disney?). A kid of about 10 or 11 sat next to me and didn't say one word or squirm during the entire show. He did give me material for my first ever submission for "Overheard in New York" before the show, but that's another story.

Even more answers to reader questions

2007-08-16T21:48:00.000-04:00

Thanks to the magic of StatCounter, I'll once again try to answer the queries that have led people to this site:

Did they take their clothes off in 'columbinus'?

Yes. Yes, they did. Actually, they started out in their skivvies and put their clothes on. Missed it? Too bad for you. It was a darn good show, to boot.

The emergency brake on the subway in New York?

My advice: DON'T TOUCH IT. Ever. Period.

Patricia Heaton? Patricia Heaton? Patricia Heaton? Patricia Heaton? Patricia Heaton?

Someone call Ms. Heaton. It appears her macaw has escaped its cage.

Is Dave Ward in Houston gay?

For you non-Houstonians, Dave Ward is the newscaster who has been there since Philo T. Farnsworth's day. And to whomever asked this question, I hope, for your sake, you give your gaydar a serious tune-up. No, no, a thousand times, no.

The ultimate 11 Mames?

Let's see. There was Angela Lansbury. Rosalind Russell. Lucille Ball. Christine Baranski recently. Umm, the real one. Sorry, I can't name any more. Just this many has already charmed the husks off of all my corn. Not Carol Channing, speaking of which.

Raul Esparza hair images?

You mean on his head, I presume. At least you'd better, because that's all there is. So I hear.

Cooper Lowenthal nude?

OK, what's this? People find my blog by looking for other bloggers nude? And not me? I'm insulted! Don't make me pull out more gratuitous...never mind. As for the question, maybe he did a production of "Hair" once. Ohhhh, THAT'S what the last question meant!

Jonathan Groff's mole?

Don't worry. He checked. It's benign. Aaron Neville should really follow his lead, though.

Behead me?

Uh, OK.

Can a Texan live in New York City?

Oh, come now, my friend. Not only is that an emphatic yes, but I'd daresay without Texans, New York City's population would rank somewhere between Virginia Beach and Omaha. This is the new Colorado.

'Weakest Link' drag queen torrent?

I see someone watches the Game Show Network! But you've made a very common mistake. That wasn't a drag queen torrent. That was the special "Celebrities From TBN" edition.

Rhys Meyers fag?

He smokes now? Tsk tsk.

Well, that's it. I'm also proud to say I'm the number one search for "gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now." Number four without quote marks. Hooray for incontinence! Still, no one asks me about Tyler Hanes anymore.

I am officially an old man

2007-08-15T21:34:00.000-04:00

No, I'm not talking about a certain birthday coming up soon.

Last night, I did something I had never done before. I called in a noise complaint. And it was these guys, the stars of one of my very early posts on this blog.

Last year, Iglesia Cristiana had only one obnoxious outdoor service. This time, it's been one or two a week for the last three or four weeks. The congregation sets out rows of chairs on the street, the preacher sets up a loudspeaker and the show is on for at least an hour: a screaming preacher and horrid, repetitive songs sung flatly to a shrill keyboard. And it takes over my entire apartment.

Sorry, guys. I'm sure there's a special place in hell for people who report churches to the police. But at least it will be quiet there.

Just...wow.

2007-08-14T21:20:00.000-04:00

Here's some more fun with letters to the editor. Now, usually, the person who stoops to calling their opponent a Nazi is the one losing the argument. But how else do you respond to this (emphasis mine)?

Illegal immigrants should be treated like criminals

Response to Sen. Arlen Specter’s article in the Aug. 8 edition of The Facts:I believe the only new laws needed are those which would punish both employers and landlords who deal with the invaders — spin-doctored to “illegal immigrants” — who are criminals and should be treated as such.

Probably the best deterrent to these criminals would be to have the military pick them up and place them in concentration camps for a sentence of at least a year. There is a sheriff in New Mexico who houses the county prisoners in tents and feeds them on $1.30 a day. If there was a good chance that these invaders would not be able to send money home, they would stay home.

Those who provide lodging and jobs for these criminals should be sent to prison for at least a year and fined to the extent that the business would fold. If there is a need for the product or service they provided, someone would step up and start a new business to fill it.Those prosecuted also should include executive officers, such as the president and CEO.As to the wives and children of these invaders, send them home to Mexico or wherever their spouse comes from as I do not feel that the taxpayer should provide for the families of criminals.

Jerry McKeand, Sweeny

Calling for concentration camps. This is post-Guantanamo America, folks.

Politician thinks inside the belt way

2007-08-13T23:40:00.000-04:00

Even non-Brazoria Countians might be familiar with Brazoria Mayor Ken Corley by now, as he made national news earlier this year when he sought a ban on the N-word, followed up by a demand to bring prayer back to school in hopes of converting a few infidels. Well, he's back, and this time, he's after your pants.

Apparently gangs of boxer-flashing youths are terrorizing the city, and throngs of people (which I read as maybe one or two) are begging the town leaders to do something about it. Rather than actually have to confront a child and say "Pull up your pants, please," I guess the natural progression of things is to pass a law.

And leave it to Louisiana to have done it first. Here's their law, which will serve as a model to the tiny burgh of Brazoria:

The two Louisiana cities’ ordinances state. “It shall be unlawful for any person in any public place or in view of the public to be found in a state of nudity, or partial nudity, or in dress not becoming to his or her sex, or in any indecent exposure of his or her person or undergarments, or be guilty of any indecent or lewd behavior.”

Now, I'm no lawyer, but it seems to me that "partial nudity" could even cover Joe Bob when he strips down to his too-tight undershirt while using the push mower on one of those 105 heat index days that aren't too uncommon in Brazoria. And "dress not becoming to his or her sex" could cover a whole checkout line at a Wal-Mart on any given day.

At any rate, my nephew gets his drivers license next year -- God, I'm getting old -- and I've seen the way he likes to dress. He'd better hope they get that bypass loop around Brazoria built before then.

Is Gloria Allred available?

2007-08-10T21:02:00.000-04:00

I had a lovely surprise waiting for me in my mailbox today. As it turns out, the owner of my building has gone bankrupt! I particularly loved how the letter started "...as you probably already know." Yeah, sure. I read it on Drudge.

At any rate, the letter told me little more than to be sure to send my rent checks to the Chapter 11 trustee rather than the property owner. Very well, but that leaves a lot of unanswered questions. What happens to my lease? What about my security deposit -- no small sum, I might add -- and the interest it's accruing? Who takes care of maintenance?

Also funny was the offer that I had the option of hand delivering my rent to the new location rather than mailing it. This new location is on the 57th floor of the Chrysler building. Right. I'll get right on that.

There is tons of info out there for landlords who have tenants declaring bankruptcy, but not much out there for this situation. Whatever it is, I'm sure they're going to find a way to screw my neighbors and me.

Presidential forum a wash

2007-08-09T22:39:00.000-04:00

The Human Rights Campaign/Logo presidential candidate forum on gay issues isn't quite over yet -- Hillary Clinton just took the stage -- but even with the worsening streaming video from Logo's Web site, the nut of this event is already pretty clear. Gay rights issues will not be a deciding factor for me in the upcoming Democratic primary.

Every candidate has the same song and dance: No to marriage, yes to civil unions, yes to employment discrimination laws and yes to repealing "don't ask, don't tell." True, Mike Gravel and Dennis Kucinich are to be applauded on being the only ones to supporting full marriage equality, but being realistic is a bitch, isn't it?

Were I grading the individual candidates, John Edwards seemed the most uncomfortable and Clinton as of now seems most at ease, followed closely by Barack Obama. Of course, Clinton's on the friendliest of territories, with the HRC obviously in her corner.

As for the forum itself, I knew it would be -- pardon my French -- a circle jerk, and it didn't disappoint in that regard. Bill Richardson got the toughest questions for his support of DOMA and his use of the word "maricon" on a Don Imus appearance, and he handled them poorly. So why did Edwards and Clinton, both of whom have had some equally dubious moments in this regard, get a free pass? And why the heck was Melissa Etheridge asking Richardson about bark beetles?

Pity the Republican candidates all declined an offer for a similar forum. Now that would have been entertaining.

Happy anniversary to me!

2007-08-02T23:21:00.000-04:00

Just under the wire, let me pop the decidedly non-pomegranate virtual champagne, as this little blog is one year old today! Here's my virgin post for proof.

It's kind of fun to read the scatter-brained progression of my first 10 posts: the obligatory introduction, bats in a Brazoria County apartment complex, something stupid Ann Coulter said, my very first theatre review here ("Spring Awakening," when it was still Off-Broadway), another review of a silly musical, griping about press release language, griping even more about not being able to carry liquids on airplanes, getting excited about "Mama's Family" reruns, something about presidential humor and lamenting Constantine's Broadway debut. I'd like to think I've more settled into a niche here now, with mostly personal stuff peppered by an occasional theatre review. I don't do much politics anymore, except when something particularly burns me up. There's plenty of other bloggers out there doing that much better than I could ever do.

At just over 180 posts, I guess that's an average of one every other day, which isn't bad, considering I've never mastered the short form. I've also built something of a respectable readership in that time, somewhere between 50 and 100 on a given day, at least when I'm actually posting (weekends don't count, of course). So thanks to all who stop by semi-regularly and particularly those who comment. And as always, if I don't link to you and you think I should, let me know, as I have a pretty liberal blogrolling policy.

And no more gratuitious shirtless pics. I promise.

Decitification complete

2007-08-01T21:42:00.000-04:00

So, I suppose I should throw in a few photos from the Vermont trip, as I leave again this Sunday for yet ANOTHER out-of-town trip. This one will be pure business, but it should be fun. Hint: I'm hoping to be a true tequila expert upon my return. Anyway, here are a few shots from our great green north (click for full size, if you're so inclined):

This very cold waterfall that I can't remember the name of was quite refreshing to wade in, but the rocks were quite pointy and slippery. A sign at the front had the list of everyone who had died while climbing on the waterfall. The most recent one was a few months before I was born. My goal was to not trip, crack my head open on a rock, drown and break an almost 30-year safety record.

Seriously, why don't more towns have pedestrian-only main drags? This is Burlington. Lovely little town, save one pushy girl in the mall. (We were only in there to buy a quick pair of board shorts. Honest.)

I don't know why, but these cover bridges fascinate me. I'm sure Freud could come up with something on that. I never got to drive through one, unfortunately. This shot was particularly hard to get, because cars kept trying to get through.

I didn't shoot much during our day trip to Montreal, but this was the bar -- Le Drugstore -- where we caught happy hour. Very laid back and fun, but one quibble: The drinks came in large glasses, but they still only used one shot with the full glass of mixer! Somewhere among my gallon of cranberry juice, there were a few molecules of vodka, I guess. Oh, this would be, from right to left, Eric from Southern Boy, his boyfriend Brett and my dear friend Kristina from Houston. Kris had hell getting home on Sunday, what with all the canceled flights out of Boston.

But this is why we were really here, right? Notice everyone had abandoned me except for my beloved pomegranate champagne.

Fact #1: My reflexes are slow

2007-07-31T22:18:00.000-04:00

So, apparently, while I was away on business, I totally missed being tagged of doing the "eight random facts about me" meme. I think I'm about the last blogger alive to actually get this, but since I haven't done it, and since I just tagged my tagger with something else, I'll go ahead and do it. I shan't tag anyone else on this, though. Unless Southern Boy wants to do it a third time.

1) For most of my childhood and high school years, my career of choice was to be a veterinarian. In fact, I was a member of the local veterinary explorer group. I lost interest when I realized how repetitive the job would be. You see one cat hysterectomy, you've seen them all.

2) I once owned an embarrassingly large collection of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures. The April O'Neill was the hardest to find. Someone also gave me ninja turtle pencils for my birthday once, but I was too ashamed to use them in class.

3) My mother's house has two freezers, and one is used almost solely for Bluebell Ice Cream. Seriously. To this day, she keeps about a dozen gallons of the stuff in there so they can have their flavor of choice on the designated "ice cream night" (Sunday).

4) Growing up in the Philadelphia area, my father and his family would often take summer trips to nearby Ocean City, N.J. One summer, he played on the beach with a lovely young girl who grew up to be none other than Grace Kelly. OK, those last two were really more about my parents than me, but still...

5) Being the only boy after four older sisters, I was assumed to be a girl until the day I was born, and my name was supposed to have been either Laura or Amanda. My boy name should have been David, but my sister was dating a David at the time who wasn't well liked, so that was out. I was on this earth for quite awhile before I officially had a name!

6) My church growing up was not one of those ones that were afraid of Halloween. In fact, we did a haunted house every year. They let me play Norman Bates' mother.

7) Despite gay tendencies from even the youngest age, I did have quite the crush on Lisa Bonet back in the day.

8) I once voted in a Republican primary. In 2004. That's where the local races are decided in Brazoria County, so if you want to have any say-so in local politics, that was the only way to do it. I refused to let them stamp my voter registration, however, and I left all the national posts -- including president, of course -- blank.

(insert lame variation of Descartes quote here)

2007-07-30T23:00:00.000-04:00

So my vast knowledge of the career of Edie McClurg as well as my ability to pick out guest stars from "The Golden Girls" (actually, Edie McClurg was one of those, too, come to think of it), I seem to have snagged a Thinking Blogger Award from my dear southern neighbor. This, however, means I need to single out five others who are equally deserving. In no particular order, they would be:

Kevin Barnett: My fellow Brazoria County cum New Yorker. Not only does he have the best pulse on the local film and music scene, but he also has the design cred to back it up.

Theatre Snobbery At Its Finest: Cameron can boil down any show into a succinct few sentences of perfect praise or evisceration. Even when my reaction to the show was different, I can never disagree with his larger points.

Human Nature: One of the few people who actually knows how to make a purely personal blog entertaining to read. I think it's the superior health care system.

Rusty's Balcony: Another fellow Texan, and a fellow fan of the long-form posts. And I actually read them from beginning to end! That says a lot, coming from an ADD type like me. Ooh, someone's shouting outside my window...

David Benzion of The Lone Star Times: Considering we are usually on the opposite side of the political aisle, it says something that I keep reading. And under Benzion's guidance, the discussions generally avoid falling into that nasty trap that prevent me from reading the comment sections of most major political blogs. Take a look at how swiftly he put the kibbosh a discussion of Marvin Zindler's death from becoming a tacky questioning of whether Marvin's gathering a camera crew to check on the kitchen in heaven or hell.

Well, that's five. There are several others I'd love to pick, but I either assumed they've already won one or they lost a coin toss.

Lainie Kazan's muumuu of choice today, by the way?

Rats, roaches to run rampant over Houston restaurants

2007-07-29T22:32:00.000-04:00

I'm back! Quite a lovely trip, but I'm not quite ready to put that post together yet.

So, instead, I'll just send fond wishes out to the family of Marvin Zindler.

He's not a familiar face to those who have never lived in the Houston area, but musical theatre buffs might know him better as the inspiration for Melvin P. Thorpe in "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas."

When I attended the University of Houston, I always enjoyed watching the Texas newcomers see Zindler for the first time. Their response was usually, "Is this guy for real?" Yes, indeed, Marvin was always Marvin. Only he could turn the fungus that grows on poorly tended icemakers into a catchphrase and eventual funk song. Truly. Watch this.

I actually had the opportunity to meet Zindler briefly not too many years ago. It was in my first days of working as a reporter for The Facts in Brazoria County, and I was assigned to do the "Seen and Heard" piece (basically, a short story with a bunch of posed shots of all the local muckity-mucks who attended) on a fundraiser -- a roast of longtime KTRK anchor Dave Ward -- for the local women's center. Zindler, along with former Houston Oilers coach and Blue Ribbon bacon and sausage hawker Bum Phillips, were among the roasters. I'd link to the story, but thank goodness, it's long gone from the publicly accessible Facts archives.

We actually chatted only a few minutes, so I won't pretend to have any inside knowledge of what a wonderful man I'm sure he was. But he did at least have enough of a sense of humor to auction off one of his wigs and a pair of blue glasses as part of the fundraiser. If I remember correctly, they fetched about $25.

At any rate, I knew it was grim when I heard about Zindler's pancreatic cancer a few weeks ago. Coincidentally, that same disease claimed another Houston icon -- furniture entrepreneur Robert "At your fingers" Finger -- not too long ago. Perhaps they're now somewhere enjoying a good game of golf. Or tennis. Or whatever makes them happy.

Time for a break!

2007-07-21T23:12:00.000-04:00

I'm off to Boston tomorrow for a few days on business, followed by a few days of R&R in Vermont and possibly Montreal. I might be checking in occasionally, but no promises!

Meanwhile, to give this post a little substance, I stole a page from Rusty's Balcony and created a Simpsonized version of myself.

Rather than make it myself, I used the tool where the avatar is generated from a face photo you submit. Granted, the tool is VERY fickle. I won't say how many photos and tries it took me to get it to work. But, other than a quick adjustment to the hair color and style, not too bad! Although I think it makes me look like one of those environmental activists who convinced Lisa to live in a tree, I do own that shirt.

I also visited the Kwik-E-Mart replica near Times Square not too long ago. No photos, as it felt too touristy, but I'm certainly going back to buy some Buzz Cola sometime! Not to actually drink, mind you. There's ebaying to be done.

The Lunar Gemini

My Tonys score

Final Tony predictions

One month later -- I'm back

My Tony wish list

Do to me what Annie Leibowitz did to Hannah Montana

Weekday review roundup

Review roundup

State of the blog

Review roundup

Closing the book and sticking it on the top shelf

The new facebook

Spontaneity and Diligent Pre-Planning

Solidarity forever: MY gayest face

March madness

Weekend review roundup

Artist's remorse

This is shameful

Bellagio fountain

Paparazzo extraordinaire

An about face about faces

New standards in journalism

Faint memories of childhood

If only there were a Rogaine ad next to the page's title

Some excellent news

If you're going to be late, why bother coming at all?

What would the founding fathers do? Keep quiet.

Is this supposed to be sexy?

Happy Super (um, Duper) Tuesday!

Review roundup

A brighter week

Photo distraction

If only there were a Lyman cameo

Self-abuse made easy

Weekend review roundup

A case for vandalism

Review roundup -- absurd and absurder

And my theme for 2008 is...

Farewell, independence

Happy new year!

A whole mess of reviews

Gay dating in the styx, or lack thereof

My peace pipes are getting hoarse!

Les Kinsolving: The muttering dotard of the White House Press Corps

No touchbacks

Didn't Malcolm McDowell kill some lady with this in 'A Clockwork Orange'?

One of those heinous 'why I'm not posting' posts

My holiday sanity guide

What wine should I serve with roach crap?

Weekend review roundup

One more Duran Duran video

Breaking the law!

A vision of the Claymates in the year 2050

Weekend review roundup

A special note to my new friend

Weekend review roundup

Presence makes the heart grow harder

Weekend review roundup (a few days early)

Success!

Building an international readership

Time to move?

I shouldn't have laughed at the old man in that commercial

Weekend review roundup -- philately, philosphy and matricide

Impotent insults

At last, my right arm is complete again!

Broken-down cyborg

It better be worth a six-hour flight!

*knock knock knock* Housekeeping!

You guys talked me into it

And don't get me started on that time the Smurf village was destroyed

Blue and yellow make, um, Green Day?

ENDA scare tactics

Weekend review round(about)up

Sunshine, lollipops and...so on

To the moon, Juanita

Not so proud to be a luddite anymore

Pain is Hate

Maybe the Madonna impersonator video wouldn't have gotten one star if...

Proud to be a luddite

The smutty professor

knock knock knock Housekeeping!