Pen and Ink

Definitely not dead.

My colleague Jose called the other day to talk about what show we would go see on Thursday. He suggested a comedy, Is He Dead?

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm more of a musical kind of guy, but I went along for the ride. 

Is He Dead? is a farce by Mark Twain, written in 1898 as a celebration of his emergency from bankruptcy. However it was never published or produced and subsequently languished in obscurity for more than a century. A Twain scholar uncovered the manuscript in 2002.

I was hesitant about going to see this show, expecting some stuffy old thing. Mark Twain? Comedy?  Groan.

But wow, was I ever wrong.

Marylouise Burke, John McMartin, Patricia Conolly, Bridget Regan, Michael McGrath, Norbert Leo Butz, Jenn Gambatese, David Pitu

It was a delightful, hysterical evening in the theater. Norbert Leo Butz steals the show as Jean-Francois Millet, a struggling artist. I've never had the chance to see Butz live, having missed him in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and Wicked.

When you can experience a master comedic actor in a live performance...that's Broadway magic at its best.

On Wednesday night I took in Xanadu. I had the same trepidations about this show as I did Is He Dead?: Am I making a mistake here.

Thankfully, my hesitations were for naught. It's not high theater, to be sure, but just a hysterical time poking fun at a terribly bad, but nonetheless lovable, movie.

Kerry Butler as Kira and the yummy Cheyenne Jackson as Sonny were terrific. But Kira's evil sisters Caliope and Melpomene were the highlights for me.  Jackie Hoffman (Caliope) and Mary Testa (Melpomene) were over the top hysterical.

Here they are with veteran actor Tony Roberts (in the Gene Kelley role). He was terrific as Toddie in the Broadway version of Victor, Victoria.

Mary Testa, Tony Roberts, Jackie Hoffman

So, after two shows in two nights, I return to Florida satisfied.  For now.

Car curse.

The plan was all worked out. Despite the busy holiday week, Claude and I were determined to find time to visit during my trip to New Jersey.  Much to my parents' delight, he offered to pick me up at Newark Airport and drive me to south Jersey. We would have some lunch along the way, with the meal and our drive time being our chance to catch up.

Everything worked like clockwork. The flight arrived a few minutes early and he pulled up to the arrivals area just minutes after I got to the curb with my bag. He stopped the car, turned it off, and got out to open the truck. Bags stowed, we joined his dog Tommy in the car, ready for the drive south. Except nothing happened when he turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.

Shit. We're at Newark Airport with a dead battery. The Port Authority cop and another staff person were very helpful and called a tow truck that would jump start the car without charge. (The cop was a really nice guy and very easy on the eyes. But his suggestions that "rain got into the carburetor" or that "rain sucks the energy out of car batteries" gave us an cautious feeling about the security of our airports.)

Luckily the tow truck came in about 10 minutes, jumped the car, and we were on our way north to Claude's mom's to pick up her car, and then to the Ford dealership to drop off Claude's vehicle.  The upside was that we got more time to visit, which is good, because Claude and I always find interesting things to talk about.

Later that night my parents and I took a little jaunt to Staples and Target to pick up a few things. Since it was raining pretty steadily, my father left the store to get the car as I finished paying. Mom and I got out to the curb to find my father walking toward us.

"Where's the car?"

"Dead." 

Not twice in one day!?

Sure enough, the battery shit the bed, as they say. Another tow truck was called (thank heaven for AAA). The dispatcher said it would be there in 45 minutes (uughh!), but he arrived in 15 and was very nice and helpful. The $10 tip was worth it.

Did I bring a car curse with me? Maybe. 

I was sharing this story to Cary the next morning and he reminded me that his car battery died just the week before. I can't be blamed for that, as I was nowhere near his car when it happened.

But still...

Magic.

Ah, Christmas in New York. There's nothing like it.

New York is precisely what's on my agenda today. I'm taking my sisters to the city as their Christmas present.

The Big Apple at Chrismas is pure magic. The department store windows on Fifth Avenue. The smells of the roasted chestnuts and pretzels emanating from the corner carts. The skaters in Rockefeller Center. The giant Christmas tree (rumor has it they used to damned LED lights this year).

Just magic.

After roaming around in the cold, we're off to the warmth of the Helen Hayes Theater and the magic of Xanadu. The musical adaptation of what is widely considered to be the worst movie ever made, is actually supposed to be good. My colleague George saw it last weekend and said if you know the movie, you'll really get into the show.

Tomorrow I'll head back into New York for another show (yet to be determined). My colleague Jose is going to be in town, so we're going to go see something together (I'm actually writing this days before you're reading it (my parents don't have internet, so now ability to post), so we don't yet know what we will be seeing).

I'm so ready for a New York fix.

What's your reason?

The birth of a baby, some two thousand years ago, changed the world.

His arrival lead to bloody wars, massive real estate holding by some old guy wearing a mumu (so irreverent, ain't I?), the sexual molestation of teen-age boys, rejection of thousands and thousands of people who don't conform to the beliefs of those who interpret the writings of men who interpreted what the baby may or may not have said during his brief time on this planet.

But for millions of people, that birth brought peace, joy and love to their lives. He brought meaning and hope for the future.

Growing up and into my early 20s, I was very involved in church. I taught and led youth groups. I even enrolled in seminary with the intention of pursuing a master's degree in Christian education. But after two weeks, I realized it was not something I wanted to do.

At age 24, I moved to Boston, and left that church life behind. While I've attended a church service here and there, it was more a desire for fellowship than a need for worship.

Today, I consider myself agnostic.

Like so many, though, I get caught up in the hustle and bustle of Christmas. I decorated the outside of the house, but didn't put up my tree. I spent a weekend baking cookies and did my shopping. The iPod is filled with Christmas music that I've been listening to since Thanksgiving.

Yet I've been feeling a little funny about it. The "reason for the season" -- as the bumper stickers say -- isn't there for me.  As I decorated my parents Christmas tree the other night I thought to myself, "what's the point of all this? They're only going to take it all down in a week or so."

Why do we go through all this madness? Decorating, shopping, running around from party to party. For what?

For millions, it's the celebration of the birth of Christ, the savior.

For the others of us, maybe it's just a time to enjoy life, to be a little nicer, to celebrate friends, family, and life.

Whatever your reason for the season, may it be merry and bright.

Traditions taking hold.

As much as I like to think that I'm open to new ideas, experiences, and people, I'm very much into traditions.

This Christmas is the third since Mike and I split. By the time you read this, I will be visiting with my family in New Jersey.

During our 17 years together, Mike and I always spent Christmas Eve with his family in Massachusetts (where we lived). It was our routine. The same people were there and we had the same menu. It was very comforting.

After stuffing ourselves with his mother's wonderful cooking, we'd wake up early Christmas morning and drive to New Jersey. (Well, I would drive and he would sleep -- pretty much from the moment we got on the highway in Massachusetts to when we got off the highway in Pompton Plains, NJ.)  We'd have a couple of days there, hit NYC one evening, and then go home.

The first year after our breakup, I obviously skipped the Boston part, heading directly to NJ on the 23rd for my sister's birthday.

It was weird not being with Mike's family on Christmas eve. In fact, sitting in church with my parents that night, I whispered to my mother, "I'm not supposed to be here."

She touched my hand and simply said, "I know."

I spent much of the service imaging what the Boston family was doing. Who was sitting in what chair  in the dining room, what disk was in the CD player, how yummy the lasagne and chicken parm were.

Come Christmas morning, things felt a little normal, but I missed Mike's presence.

Last year was a little easier. Still I thought about what I had given up, but the feelings were not as poignant.

This year, as I prepared to go north, I found myself looking forward to new traditions that have started to take hold. This year I'm decorating the tree. Dad and I will run a couple of errands on the 23rd and 24th. I'm even looking forward to going to Christmas Eve service at their church (even though their choir -- all seven of them -- is pathetic. It will be nice to see their minister, a woman who's brother is a minister in a evil, right-wing church here in Fort Lauderdale. She's cool though.

They say time heals everything, and of course, it's true. I'm glad I have a great family -- my parents, my sisters, their husbands, and the nieces and nephew -- to go and visit.

Get the LED out.

As I drive around, I'm seeing a lot of these new LED Christmas lights out there. They're supposed to be energy efficient and last for 20 years. That's all well and good, but to me, they don't look like Christmas.

I'm pretty much a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas decorating. None of these inflatable Homer Simpsons or wire and white light reindeer. Christmas lights are not supposed to blink and I find all white lights boring (unless it's a magnificent New England colonial-style house).

Despite the red, purple and white lights I have adorning my house right now, I prefer multi-colored lights. Especially on my Christmas tree. No white lights for me, thank you very much.

John, who always manages to find really cool things at thrift shops, gave me an early Christmas present last weekend: Noel-Lite 25 String O' Lights. I don't know how old they are, but there's no barcode or SKU on the box, so that should tell you something. I'm guessing they're 1960s vintage.

I'd love to find more of these.

Earlier this week, I was sitting in the reception area of a corporate office, waiting for a meeting. Sitting next to a live Christmas tree (badly in need of water), I could take in the wonderful aroma of the pine.

I have a nice artificial tree that I bought the year I moved to Florida. But it doesn't beat a live tree. Next year, if I'm actually living in the long-coveted loft, I think I will do a live tree.

The vintage Christmas lights would be the perfect addition to a traditional tree.

Vacation's all I ever wanted.

I can hear the classic GoGo's song "Vacation" in my head now. "Vacation's all I ever wanted."

And how.

As of 4:30 yesterday, I'm officially on vacation for two weeks. And not a moment too soon.

I started this job on January 2nd, and with the exception of a day here and there to make some long weekends, I have not a vacation in a year. I had a week off last Christmas, but it was mostly spent with family, not the most relaxing of respites.

After Christmas I'll post a reflective essay on 2007, but for now, let's just say its been one wild ride at work, culminating with moving our offices Thursday and Friday.  I'm so over it for right now.

Sunday, I leave for NJ/NY, returning to the warmth next Friday. After that, I'm pretty much parking my ass for nine days.  But I won't be idle.

I'm going to Miami to hang out with my friend Debbie one afternoon, followed by taking in Sweeny Todd (the musical) at the Carnival Center. Cary's also moving into his new townhouse, so there's stuff to move and stuff to buy at Bed, Bath & Beyond and Costco (I love shopping with other people's money).

Then there's the list of things I want to accomplish:

Clean out my clothes closet
Organize the photos on my MacBook
Go through and toss stuff in my "work" library
Check out the new Ikea that opened
Produce some cool pictures of NYC street people for my new office
Design a new look for the blog
Post lots of things in the blog
Get naked on the beach, at least one day

I'll be busy, but it won't be boring.

"Vacation's all I ever wanted..."

A sober day for Drowsy.

So sad. Drowsy Chaperone has posted closing notices for December 30. I'm not sure why, but wouldn't be surprised if the stage hands strike last month had something to do with it.

If you're in New York City between now and the end of the year, so see this delightful, funny show. Bob Saget is now sitting in the big chair, and the show includes many of the original company, including Tony Award-winner Beth Leavel.

Go. See. Now.

The unfair audience.

South Florida is a weird place.

Don't get me wrong. I like living here, but this place is whacked sometimes. Or, more to the point, the people are whacked.

John and I were at the Carnival Center in Miami tonight for the opening of My Fair Lady. As the curtain fell after the final number (but before the bows), a whole bunch of people got up to leave. I mean, a whole bunch.

"Why are they all getting up now?" I whispered to John.

"It's the rude South Florida audiences," he replied.

I have a great deal of respect for performers, musicians, choreographers, directors, and everyone else who's involved in putting on a musical.  All of those people -- on stage and off -- coming together in harmony -- each person playing his or her part -- is just astounding to me.  For me, it's something to which I assign a high value.

So to leave the theater before the performers and musicians have taken their bows and received whatever applause is due to them is just the ultimate insult. It's rude.

I was trying to understand why people would do it. The only reason could possibly be to avoid the long line to retrieve their cars from the valet. But if they bothered to walk the half-block to the self-parking lot, they'd be out of there in no-time at all. The streets around the Carnival Center are not crowded, so it's easy to maneuver around.

These people should be ashamed.

* * * * *

By the way, the show was really good. I wasn't supposed to go tonight, as I have Thursday night season tickets to the Broadway Across America series. But John had press tickets and no one to go with him, so I went. It certainly won't be the first time I've seen a Broadway show twice.

What we lose.

The conversation started with a simple question.

"Where should I take my mom for dinner on Christmas Day," asked my colleague N.

After selecting the appropriate place, we started to talk about her mother.

"I wish you were going to be in town to meet my Mom," said N. Apparently the woman, from what I gather is in her mid/late 50s, and is a 4'11" spitfire. Fiercely liberal, she's led a wildly eclectic life, trying out different religions, and bouncing from idea to idea. She's been a union organizer for years, and N told me funny stories about how even at age 9, her views differed from her mothers, tacking a bit more conservative.

The conversation meandered to her grandmother and her great aunt. N comes from a close-knit black family, so she always has great stories about her family.

Her grandmother, with whom she was extremely close, passed away two years ago. The woman's sister (N's great aunt) suffered from a stroke this past weekend.

We started talking about the passing of a generation and how much is lost. The stories, the dreams, the history. You can't replace that stuff.

It got me to thinking about my own family. I know little-to-nothing about my great grandparents, and have only the vaguest of memories of great grandmothers, one on each side of the family.

I have precious few memories of my paternal grandparents, Jacob and Genevieve (beautiful names, both). Pop-Pop, as we called him, owned a gas station for many years. Nana didn't work. They passed away in 1968 and 1970, respectively. I really have no memories of him, but do vividly remember dancing with her at my aunt's wedding in 1970. It must have been just six months or so before she died (she battled cancer for awhile, so I do remember her being sick quite a bit).

I remember more about my maternal grandparents, as they both died within the past 10 to 12 years. He was an alcoholic, with all of the nasty shit that goes along with the disease. She wasn't the warmest person on the earth, but I loved her nonetheless.

One story I shared with N was my last visit with my grandmother while in the nursing home. Dementia had pretty much taken over, but for some reason, she knew who I was when I visited. We talked a bit and then she started talking about Charlie.  On and on about Charlie.  My mother and I would give each other glances of amusement as if to say, "Let her go on. She's enjoying it."

When Mom and I left the room, we looked at each other and said, "Who the hell is Charlie?"  Hmmm...granny's got a secret. My feeling was, "With the shit she had to endure because of my grandfather, good for her for having Charlie."

There are, of course, more memories than that. But it really got me to thinking about what is lost when a generation passes.  Two of my dear friends, Drew and Martin, are both genealogists, so I really need to engage them to do some family history for me. We know very little.

But genealogy only reveals so much. It's history and it tells us something of the people, but it doesn't uncover their stories. What I really need to do is record oral histories of my both my parents and their siblings, five people in all.

A concerted effort, sustained over years and generations, would be an amazing thing.