Everybody's working for the weekend

Sometimes, I have to admit, I think my life looks a lot better on paper than it actually is.

Yesterday we had three shows of MOTOR CITY, the first of which was low energy all around and a horrible refresher course for me. The second two were much better and more solid. Three shows is unusual but for the holiday crowds, since MOTOR CITY is in a venue with less seating, we're obliged to do three. Anyway... going back...

The new cast, "my" cast, finally arrived to begin their handover process on Saturday in LA. The other guest ents and I went out for drinks and dinner Saturday night, winding up with most of the cast in a crew bar until late late late. A good night, and I think it will be a good contract.

Because of that night, Saturday, I had to really work to rouse myself and be ready for the shows. "No drinking tonight," says I. Considering that tonight's New Year's Eve and the obvious carousing to be done, a night off is advisable.

Then I ran into a couple of people, including Joe, the other male guest entertainer, and Andy, the production manager from the Vista. Joe has been working with this company for 12 years. Andy - get this - was the bass player for Loverboy. No, really. Last night we hit the officer's wardroom and... it was another long, great night. Tonight, several of us are going for dinner at six, and I think the night will continue from there. This is exhausting.

Let me go back for a moment... yes, I drank Jack & cokes til two thirty in the morning last night with the ex-bassist from Loverboy. He is now a sound engineer yet is still friends with people you'd be amazed to hear about.

It's funny, I've been having a number of bad dreams all week and today I woke up feeling like someone had punched me in the gut, spiritually. Writing about this, though, has reminded me that at least in the retelling of certain specific events, my life at least SOUNDS good right now.

For a brief ridiculous moment, I used an emoticon on my blog just after that last sentence. I am trying to limit my overall use of the :) and its friends because I'm starting to see them too much. In fact, I was part of a conversation two or three days ago where someone actually used one while speaking. It went:

"somethingsomethingsomething smiley face"
"What was that?"
"What?"
"Smiley face?"
"You know, like in an email when you want someone to know you're happy or kidding or something."
"Yes, in an email. Not when you're actually sitting here talking to me. Angry face with tongue out."

Happy New Year, one and all, to some in particular. For the Don team, 2006 was a disaster. 2007 was a rebuilding year for the franchise. There are high hopes for a pennant in 2008.

(I have nothing to base that on, but at least it's optimistic.)

Where is that damned kid with the turkey?

I woke this morning after having been visited by three ghosts in the night. They didn't try to affect change in me, they just sat and dumped on me about how horrible it is to be dead and haunt the living and stuff. One of them drank my entire bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

I tried to throw open the window like everyone always does on Christmas morning, in so many stories, but I hurt my hand on the screws before I realized it was probably unwise to sacrifice the seaworthiness of a vessel responsible for the lives of several thousand people for the sake of a Dickensian Christmas gesture.

There was no boy outside to shout to anyway, no one to head down to the butcher shop to deliver the prize turkey there to the Cratchit family. Just a few vendors from Diamonds International and some people who were paid to dress as a Mariachi band to take pictures with hung over tourists.

I dressed and stepped off the ship and out into the snow, except there was no snow, so I just stepped into the nothing.

Then I strolled down the street doffing my top hat at passersby, gleefully shouting "A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, SIR!" (or MA'AM, depending)... mainly gaining strange looks and "Que?" from people on the street.

A small boy gazed up at me and said "Dad, look, it's the singer!"

I tossed him a farthing, which in stories sounds like a pleasant gesture but in reality farthings weighed in excess of seventy pounds. It knocked him flat and paramedics were called. Luckily, I was off into the crowd before I could be identified.

I strolled off toward the local pub to wish the regulars a very happy season indeed, and eventually arrived st Starbucks where I unsheathed my Inspiron (not a euphemism for anything else) and sat down here for my Christmas breakfast of Panna con Xioccolatta e venti mocha latte and began to post forth here, blog blog blog.

God bless us, everyone.

Ho ho ho.

Tonight, two shows.

I have no considered opinon about Oprah Winfrey

"Christmas a humbug, uncle? You don't mean that, I'm sure!"

I have never been more the reluctant Scrooge than I am this year. If things continue as they have the last long while, I will be the picture of that old miser by the time I'm 60. What sucks is, I LOVE Christmas. I am just not in a merry vein this year, as many of you will understand. (If you don't understand, well, it's all a bit dull and personal and bleah.) I wasn't too full of yuletide cheer last year, either.

On top of everything, most of the gifts I ordered didn't ship in time because I bought a coffee in Mexico and that somehow flagged my bank account at exactly the wrong time. I have bought expensive items from questionable vendors in countries you've never heard of and never had my account shut off for security reasons... but one Mexican Starbucks frappuccino and slam go the doors...

I am in all the shows now! I have officially been crowbarred into all three shows, though I still feel I don't really know what I'm doing. The other night several of us went out to a couple of places onboard to celebrate, starting in a quiet bar and moving to the "Skywalker" disco which has nothing to do with Star Wars whatsoever. At around 3a.m. some of us adjourned to my cabin to order room service, of which somehow I got none. It was around four when I realized I was sitting on in my room with a Canadian, a South African, and (oddly enough) a fellow expatriate Kansan and listening to a heated debate about Oprah Winfrey. The Canadian videographer (fiancee to the other Kansan, who is another guest entertainer) was staunchly against Oprah's power, whilst the South African cruise staff guy actually went so far as to say that he thinks Oprah is more worthy of sainthood than Mother Theresa. "By far."

I had not had NEARLY enough to drink to contribute to this conversation, though I did treat myself to a VERY expensive glass of Scotch to salute my mad placement into the shows. Next week my "actual" cast will arrive and begin their install process.

The current group on here right now is really just the single most positive group I've ever dealt with. So positive in fact that it makes you suspicious... ;)

When the night is over, like a bat of hell I'll be gone, gone, gone

I have been in LA only hours short of a full week. My headbrain is full. (headbrain=new word, copyright 2007 DW, Inc., LLC.)

I arrived after a horrible Sunday of travel last week. Beginning last Monday they opened up my head and began to stuff shows into it. Learning them on my own and so quickly - in order to leave at a ridiculously early hour on Wednesday - is a bit mad.

I've been spending worthwhile time getting to know what seems like a very nice cast as well. It's been a full week, and a full weekend off. The shows are fermenting in my head. Besides the new cast, this weekend I have been seeing a number of friends I haven't seen in ...TEN YEARS or more. Surreal. It's amazing that while we've kept in close touch lo these many years I have seen neither Adriana nor Jon for so long. The great thing about them is that we're able to talk like no time has passed about matters of weight and... not really any weight at all. That means something.

I am listening to music as I write this, and I wrote other things... right now it's my whole library of twelve billion songs on shuffle... and three Meat Loaf songs have come on in a row. It's a bit ballad heavy in here.

For those of you who've ordered CDs this week they may be a little slow getting out but I WILL mail them ASAP. Thanks so much for your support!

A random video for your viewing pleasure.

Wii are the world

Saturday night, Dusty stood in line to buy a Nintendo Wii. Yesterday, I helped him inaugurate it and I have to admit... it's really amazing. I'll go out on a limb and say everyone should have one, even people who haven't played games or enjoyed them before would like it. In fact, I am going to join the crowd and make it an issue in the upcoming presidential race.

Things a candidate must support:
Universal health care
Mending international relations
Nintendo Wii in every home
Not being George Bush
etc.

For the none of you who care

I updated the earlier entry for THE BALLAD OF WINSOR AND CLEMO with the rest of that story. It's probably only funny to us... and well, not really even that funny to us. Just an exercise. However, if you were left breathless in anticipation for the finale, scroll down and read on. I didn't think it deserved another lengthy post of its own.

I'm curious how many people actually read that thing.

Apparently, it WOULD be in autumn.

I have just been handed this important bulletin... Well, not actually handed the bulletin, but wouldn't that be wonderful? Every time there was something you should know, someone runs up to you and hands you a piece of paper with the news? I digress... constantly...

Robert Goulet is dead, at age 73.

Goulet is dead, long live Goulet. Both Vanessa and I have Robert Goulet ringers on our cell phones, which will now serve as tragic reminders of a lost legend. Or at least of Will Ferrell's mockery of a legend.

If ever I would leave you, it wouldn't be in summer
It would be... now.

Rest in Peace, America's favorite Canadian baritone.

I come from good stock

In case there's any doubt that most of us lead meaningless lives of selfish pursuit, here are some things to note. Even for those who think that their yearly contributions to Shakespeare Festivals, walks for various diseases, or volunteering for that group that tries to promote equal opportunity for women who make pottery really make a difference... I can point to my parents. The following is copied from some Kansas government publication detailing why my parents were honored at a dinner about a week ago, presented with a nice trophy-ish thing, and... well... I can't find this article online so I'm going to copy it here:

"Earl & Arlene Winsor have been resource parents since 1996, providing foster care for approximately 60 children, including long term placement of children with extremely hard-to-manage behaviors. All of the children in the Winsor home call Earl & Arlene "grandpa" and "grandma," and they are always ready to go out of their way to support the children after they've moved from the Winsor home. They've provided respite without reimbursement, given advice and encouragement to the children's new resource or adoptive parents, and have taken care of the three pre-school-aged children of a teenager who had been in their care when the teenager was grown and in a difficult relationship. The Winsor's were presented with an "Open Arms Award" at the 2005 Resource Parent Appreciation Dinner for "being ready and waiting when children who have left their home need a place to come back to." One boy with very challenging behaviors left their home-and, although the Winsor's had a lot going on the last time he needed a home, Arlene told their worker that Earl responded without hesitation, saying that they needed to "bring him back home" and help him through this.

At an age when most people are only grand-parenting, the Winsor's are continuing to do foster care, and they have adopted a sibling group of four. Having the experience that she does gives Arlene the insight into the needs behind the behaviors demonstrated by the children in her care and helps her not to overreact. Her matter-of-fact manner has been a positive influence on elementary-aged children in her home who have control issues or episodic explosive behaviors. The Winsors have a practical way of demonstrating the love that they have for children, and it's impossible to determine the widespread effect of the work they have done."


Yup. That's what my parents do, and that's why most of us suck compared to them. They give of themselves, their lives, their home, their limited resources, their everything so kids that no one else has place or patience for can feel security, stability, and love. Let me be sure to say that this has nothing to do with me and I am not basking in their reflected glory... In fact, more times than not I have found the effects of what they do to be troublesome and annoying when I go home to visit. This makes me feel like a selfish bastard, which annoys me further. Sometimes I go home, especially after a long time away, and I want my parents to myself. I want time with my mom and dad. I'm jealous of others whose families come to visit them to "see the show;" I want my parents to be able to travel and see me in shows, too. (I did MUSIC MAN in Wichita in 2004 almost exclusively so that I'd be near enough that they could see me in something.) I want them to be like other parents whose homes are immaculate, under control, and aren't sometimes filled with the effects of some various stray animals (or group of animals) that a child has "secretly" decided to adopt, or just let in. I want to sit and have a drink and discuss currents events around the table late at night with them. I want, I want, I want. That's all selfish, and when I take a step back, I realize how lucky I am to have come from these two people. They are exhausted, they sometimes...often... neglect themselves, but they keep at it because it is what my mother feels they are called to do. Eventually, probably soon, they'll no longer take in any new children or placements. They give so much, I just hope they have enough at the end to care for themselves as much as they do for others. If you were to look at it proportionally, my parents do more with what little they have than you will ever see anyone give, anywhere.

And Mom & Dad, if you read this, one day soon I'm bringing you out... somewhere to vacation and see me in... something.

I should be learning music right now, but learning music is boring. I fear I may have adult onset ADD. Well, I might think that, if I actually believed in that disorder.

Reincarnation in a nutshell

Observed brilliance:

(Person #1 swatting of butterfly/moth of shoulder, butterfly/moth falls to ground.)

Person #1: Creepy things.

Person #2: Hey, that could've been somebody's spirit!

Person #1: All the more reason I'd want to get it the hell off me.

Blatant commercialism

I did a commercial for WSU recently. Here it is.

...with the fury or my re-ci-tations.

A ridiculous conflict of emotion, being saddened by the physical absence of that which makes you happiest.

So you know, I'm having a LOT of trouble with the supposedly labor-saving" third-party utility I used for my photo slide shows, so if you're only seeing two, or ten pics on those... it's temporary and will be fixed. Maybe these two old shows on a former "under construction" page will work.
Or this one.

Today I woke up, put on my robe because it was chilly, and sat in front of the giant 57 inch TV as I spoke on the phone to Vanessa in The Land of Faraway. Things are all set and I'm doing some of our paperwork for the big next gig. The rejuvenating effect a nice phone call with her has right now can't be overstated. Honestly, out here in the hinterland, I've been getting a little stir crazy and lonely without her. I would likely feel that way no matter where I was.
It's a bittersweet feeling, missing someone you love. It's a tug at the heart that reminds you that you are tied to another person, and that their happiness and well-being are at least as important to you as your own. The pull causes you both some degree of discomfort, even pain at times, and in response you want to throw your arms around the other... but you can't reach them, not until they come home. Unless you have freakishly long arms which can somehow reach hundreds or thousands of miles... but if you do, I doubt you're probably in a relationship. More likely, you are locked away in some government research facility. But I digress...

Right now I'm sitting in Wichita, Kansas at Dusty's. I'm in Wichita because I have to pick him up at the airport tomorrow, and my good buddy Nick is coming into town with his girlfriend tonight. Very excited to see him and meet the lucky lady. I forgot my razor, and I didn't shave today...or yesterday. I may be arrested for vagrancy.

I mean no offense to anyone at all by saying this, but while I have enjoyed spending a good deal of time with my family in the last few weeks, I will be very excited to leave Kansas jump back into my LIFE.

My dog got an emergency bath yesterday. It is actually the first time I ever bathed a dog, and it was a lot easier than I'd expected. We were taking our morning walk yesterday when he found some patch of grass he decided to fall in lust with. He would sniff at it, then roll and rub himself around in it. This was fascinating, and it went on for maybe ten minutes. I could not decipher the appeal of this random spot he'd chosen. We got back to the house, where the furnace was being worked on. Once in a confined space, well, I don't know what he found I know it caused him to smell like concentrated ass. Thus, emergency bath.

I had a really pleasant experience yesterday giving a little workshop for some high school kids in Hillsboro, Kansas. My music teacher from high school teaches there now, and she's better off for it. For many years I have said that I would've had a real leg up if I had grown up in larger school system that afforded more opportunity. I figured that it was because of the size and location of my high school that there was so little focus and opportunity for students there compared to most. So, when I visited with these very fortunate kids, my eyes were opened. This school is no bigger than mine was, 30 miles away. The facilities, programs, and... everything... are much, much better than what we had in Peabody. Sadly, proportionally speaking they have comparatively LESS now, there. I never really knew, I guess, where my high school fit or what its reputation was among other similar or "rival" area schools. Now I know... and sadly, they're right. As a side note, the kids I saw today have a lot going for them. Everyone who sang for me was excellent, with three or four really exceptional kids. The "worst" of the singers today would've been by far the best at PHS when I was in school. We weren't talent rich, we had to grade on the curve. I'm proud of Mrs. Just (my former teacher) for what she's managed to accomplish in a district where she's doesn't have to fight for everything she gets. Lucky kids!

Matt, you need to update your blog. Oh wait, you did.

To everyone - some of you, according to my trackers, are getting to the site/blog via OLD links. Please update your links and access via www.donwinsor.com as opposed to old convoluted AOL referrers. Those may stop working at some point.

I will close as I summarize today's mood using a haiku.

Each day as I wake
I try to remind myself
Do not be a tool

The Ballad of Winsor and Clemo (vol.1)

John Clemo and I have set out to write an ongoing story between our facebook walls. This is complicated by the fact that only people who are friends with us both can read the the whole story. Also, you are limited to 1000 characters per post. Most of the awkward mid-sentence line breaks you will see are places where one of us ended an entry for the other to continue. For no other reason than to collect it and amuse (hopefully some of) you, here is collected Volume One of the ongoing ...

THE BALLAD OF CLEMO (no relation) AND WINSOR (no relation)
(dedication added: For Vanessa and Patti, whether they'd want it or not.)

There were too many trees, and something had to be done. Winsor sighed a heavy sigh and wondered what had gone wrong. It was an idle sigh, and while history had shown him unlikely to affect any change, his disquiet with the changes of the past five years was building in him like the pressure in a particularly reclusive teenager's pimple. There was a knock at the door...
The kind of knock that betrayed the knocker.....while it did satisfy it's obligation to alert those inside to a presence outside, the knock itself lacked a kind of commitment; so much so that Winsor mistook the knock for a ring, and immediately answered his phone. It took a moment to clear the confusion.
Once Winsor was satisfied that the phone was not the culprit of the mysterious rapping (a musical artform heretofore sadly unexplored), he realized that he was expecting a pizza. "Be still and await my response, courier of Italianized flatbreads," he exclaimed, to no response. Winsor warily began to negotiate the distance between couch and entry portal.
It cannot be described, the look on Winsor's face upon opening the door and finding not which is heart desired (the above mentioned "itailianized flatbread") but in fact a slightly mussed and most hunger-sated Clemo, who acknowledged the aforementioned indescribable look with a hearty, tomato scented, "Have you ever had their pizza? I just tried it, and I've got to tell you, it's quite possibly the best pizza I've ever tasted. I mean, I've been around this great big world of ours, and I've tasted many things, but that pizza was just ambrosian." Clemo seemed a bit stumped at Winsor's apparent impression of a Gorgon victim, but..
Clemo seemed a bit stumped at Winsor's apparent impression of a Gorgon victim, but...
was less than surprised when the tall gentleman produced a Laser(tm) gun capable of producing a beam of pure anti-matter and casually pointed it in his direction. You see, it was this very device which Winsor and Clemo had inadvertently developed together whilst attempting to start a theatrical production company together. Clemo laughed a tired laugh, and...
lamented casually, "Ah, yes, the Laser (tm) cannon we developed while trying to devise the perfect staging of THE MERRY WIVES OF TUMBRIDGE WELLS, that little known Shakesperian piece written, I believe, by Francis Bacon, pretending to be Christopher Marlowe. I thought it was a toaster." Winsor smiled at the memory, and quickly lasered two slices of bread to toasty perfection. "Jam or Marmalade?" He queried.
Clemo stammered a quiet response.
"How dare you, Winsor? You well know of my strong views on the evils of spreadables."
Clemo then soundly rebuffed his offender with a gentlemanly slap.
"Just making sure it was you, J.C., and the best way to do that was to tempt an impostor with things wiped on bread."
"Touche, my friend. Now, to the business at hand!"
Clemo pulled out a large manila envelope. He dramatically opened the top, and pulled out the contents. "Surely, you are aware of what these are?" He queried. Winsor looked on in a kind of stunned admiration. Of all the things to keep, after all these years......it was a sign of respect, certainly, and a kind of affection, to put so much emphasis on what seemed a trifle at the time of it's creation, but to see it here, now, after so much time....
"I cannot believe that you kept this!" He cried.....
"My 3rd-grade Crayola sketches of every Beatles album cover,including 'Live in Las Vegas,' which never actually existed! How did you get these in the first place?"
Clemo scoffed,indicating these are not what he wished to be noted.He reached deep into the envelope.Deeper,it seemed, than should be possible.He groped as a man who is sure something was in that pocket gropes,in the hopes that a sudden movement of the hand will reveal something hidden in the altogether limited space.His eyes widened and he
turned a strange, whitish kind of pale. Finally, he spoke the words that would chill a man's soul.
"Don. As strange as this may sound, something has.....got me."
At that moment, there was a strange kind of sucking noise; the kind of noise you would hear at the annual "Drink a Very Thick Shake Through a Very Thin Straw" contest, held every year in Zanesville, Ohio. Clemo's entire arm jerked, and began to disappear into the envelope.
"Grab my hand!" yelled Clemo......
"That's fairly intimate for two gentlemen to become, Clemo."
"Curse you, Winsor, and your fear of intimacy! It shall be my undoing!"
With a dismissive sigh and a look that said "oh, very well,"Winsor grabbed Clemo's remaining hand and tried to help free him from the mysterious pull of the envelope.What could he have brought in the envelope?
Clemo shouted, "By Achille's mittens, you shall not have my phlanges!"
With a mighty final tug,the two gents pulled free of the manila prison.They fell to opposite corners and
after the release of tension that sounded like something underwater yelling, NI NI NI!, they rose from their corners, and stared across the room at each other.
"If I may be so bold as to ask," stated Winsor, politely, "What in all the green glades of Gilson's Creek was THAT?"
"I'm not sure, my alliterative friend, but trust me when I tell you that I will not be opening that manila envelope again. It seems to be possessed." And with that, Clemo absent-mindedly opened the envelope.
A small piece of paper, about the size of a smaller version of an 3 x 5 card tumbled out from between manila sheets, and floated to the floor as if being drawn to it by a very forgiving magnet.
Clemo drew his trusty Webley revolver from somewhere within his voluminous cloak, and prepared to fire, but was interrupted by his compatriot who, in his charming and yet self deprecating manner, said....
"Ekerty wip boble neffle tiptop bang, hycvwa."
For a moment the gentlemen locked eyes upon this utterance, neither of them seeming to have any idea what it meant. Winsor held the confused gaze whilst slowly kneeling and retrieving the card. When he returned to full height and looked at the card, his brow furrowed. One word shown clear in black sharpie on the white face of the card. He turned the card so Clemo could see the card fairly shouting "EULALIE!"
Clemo put away his gun. "There is only one thing this could mean which does not involve Meredith Wilson, or perhaps does, but it ......
certainly is a puzzle. First of all, we must ask, EULALIE who?"
"Please, practice your yodeling at another time." Sneered Winsor.
"Quite right. There will be another time to fine tune my Alpian singing style. Perhaps your little black book will hold some answers."
Winsor nodded solemnly. There were few things he hated more than bringing out that part of his past. But, if it could possibly help the situation, he would put on the mask of stoicism, and attend to the matter. He walked across the room, pausing only to pick up a lamp which had fallen in the recent "manila envelope" adventure, and placed it on the table; which was in itself difficult, for the table had been mangled in the aforementioned adventure.
Winsor opened his book, a stark reminder of the strange time when, for many years, he would only date older women. More specifically, older women who had once been panelists on THE MATCH GAME television program. Even more precisely, older women who had been panelists on THE MATCH GAME between 1973 and 1979. He flipped through the listings
"Joanne Worley? No... Vicki Lawrence? Possssib...nooo... Betty White, no... Mary Wickes... definitely not. Avery Schreiber... no... Leslie Nielsen... no..."
"Wait," said Clemo. "Aren't those last two... aren't they men?"
"Yes... terrible mistake, that. Their names are rather girly, though. An easy mistake... two, rather. And two very awkward dinners."

to be continued

UPDATE 11/01/07
The rest of it, as it desperately meanders then withers to a conclusion...

Clemo was supportive. "Yes, I can see how you could make that mistake. Both of those....gentlemen.....are

very.....well...."
"I do so hate to interrupt you," injected Winsor, and Clemo was grateful for the exit, "But I do believe I have stumbled upon a clue."
He opened the book wide, and there, in all it's glory, was the name Eulalie Page.
"Eulalie Page...."mused Clemo.
"Eulalie Page....." muttered Winsor.
"Any bells ringing?" Asked Clemo.
"No a one" Replied Winsor.
"So, it's a long forgotten Page then?" Said Clemo
Winsor sighed, for it seemed that Clemo was falling back upon the Pun, which was, in his opinion, the lowest form of verbal humor. Winsor considered hitting him with a Good Humor bar, which he had just been musing upon, feeling a bit peckish after this trip down memory lane.
Then, Winsor noticed that the card was not only inscribed on one side, but fully covered with pencil marks on the opposite.
"I fear, J.C., that we may have overestimated the importance of the prominent Eulaliness of the forward side. It seems the back may be where our answers lie."
"Or," countered Clemo,"it may be that this is simply a piece of random paper that fell into my envelope."
"Clemo, if you in fact filled this envelope, why all the guesswork as to the contents or message?"
Clemo's eyes widened, his eyebrows raised and furrowed, and his mouth opened with a sharp, prespeech intake of air; an expression that indicated that he desperately WANTED to retort but was faced with unconsidered truth.
After a moment, he managed a response of
"BURMA!"
Winsor was puzzled.
Clemo raised his left eyebrow apolgetically. "Sorry about that. I panicked. Let's have a look at the BACK of the Eulalie message."
Clemo took the piece of paper and stared at it like a starving man would stare at the Mona Lisa. He turned it clockwise; counterclockwise; he flipped it in the air; he wore it like a hat. Finally he said, "well, that's interesting."
"Yes," said Winsor, "I especially liked it as a hat."
"Well, you always had an eye for style, but that's not what I meant. Apparently, these chicken scratchings are exactly that....the scratchings of a chicken. But, much like twenty monkeys will evetually write HAMLET, this mystery foul has given us the beginnings of a quest..."
"Let me see that. Hmm... chicken scratches, indeed. But this list... bread, milk, eggs, chicken... Why would a chicken make a list which includes eggs and chicken, which are surely in ready supply in their immediate vicinity?"
"Perhaps it is a lonely chicken, and that is a personal ad," posited Clemo.
"No, Clemo, I propose that it is neither a personal ad, nor a code. We are dealing here with a fiendish list composed by a forgetful, serial killing chicken. Of course he has to put chicken and eggs on his list..."
"She," interrupted Clemo. "It would have to be she, for it to be a 'chicken.'"
"What? Fine. She, or he, would most certainly be caught if they were to murder chickens in their own coop, or to steal eggs from nearby hens. Wait, HENS are female chickens, you dolt! I think. Anyway, of course they'd have to go OUTSIDE the coop to satisfy their bloodlust, else risk capture!"
"They are already captured. They are chickens, in a coop."
When faced with that kind of logic, both men simply stared at each other, wondering what the other was thinking.
"I wonder what Clemo is thinking?" Thought Winsor.
"Hot Fudge Sundae." Thought Clemo.
Then it came to them, simultaneously:
"Round up the usual suspects!" they exclaimed, in perfect four part harmony.
"Find the nearest coop!" cried Winsor.
"I've got a map!" cried Clemo.
"Where to begin?" said Winsor.
"Kentucky?" queried Clemo
"Too obvious." countered Winsor.
"California?" Clemo queried. Again.
"Hot chicks, but not the ones were looking for." Winsor replied.
"Well, then, I'm out of ideas." muttered a devastated Clemo.
"And you've completely destroyed the vaudevillean concept of the Triple." said Winsor, Triumphantly.
"Curse you and you attachment to ancient comedic technique!" roared Clemo, churlishly.
And there they sat, like protagonists in a Beckett play.
"Shall we go?" said Clemo.

Hours passed.

Still, more time passed. One of them sat down, and turned away. The other yawned.

Finally, at just the right moment, Winsor answered.
"I think it's time. Let's go apprehend the serial-killing chicken that apparently sneaks out of its coop to murder other chickens, to steal and destroy eggs."
Clemo furrowed his brow. "Why did you just restate everything like that?"
"For people who lost track of us while we waited for the commercial break to be over."
"Of course," acknowledged Clemo. "Now, why exactly is this our responsibility. Truth be told, I was coming over here in hopes of maybe getting a bite to eat, or having a game of
Six Degrees From Kevin Bacon, and perhaps some stimulting conversation about the sorry state of morals in the American Cinema. Instead, I'm on a chicken quest."
Winsor looked outraged. "Are you suggesting we simply ignore our responsibilities to the rule of law, and in a smaller sense the fowl community in letting this alleged crime go unpunished?"
Clemo thought of a moment.
"Yes. That is, in a nutshell, what I'm suggesting."
Winsor was caught off-guard by this thunderbolt of honesty, as well as the complete negation of a sub-plot.
"Well. Then. I guess we'll just..."
At that very moment, there was a terrible ghastly silence, much like the sound of a set of bagpipes being put through a food processor.
"BAH GAWWWWWK!"
The Evil Chicken had landed.
Winsor turned to look at the chicken which had just landed upon his open terrace with surprise, disbelief, and an a shrug of apathy."Well, I guess this tears it.We stick with the chicken."
"CAWWWWWWW brrrrrAAWWWWWWHK CWAWW,"threatened the chicken.
Clemo responded quickly."You don't frighten us, you paltry poultry!"
"Clemo, we are not comicbook superheroes.We do not need to resort to calling him out in such a manner.Perhaps the evi... Perhaps the chicken would like to have some tea with us. Etgay the ungay."
"Bkawww?"The chicken was perplexed.
"Ikcenschay antkay eakspay igpay atinlay,"observed Winsor as he set the table for tea.
True,thought Clemo,as he went to the bookshelf to remove the hollowed out volume of Kelsey Grammer's autobiography "So Far"which held Winsor's pistol.He remembered the day they'd hollowed the book-"It is now as empty physically as it is in every other way," he'd observed.
As he stood gun-getting and remembering, Winsor and the chicken finished having tea.
A brief side note on the effects of tea upon chickens, or in fact any of the domesticated fowl. The inherent caffiene within the various varieties of tea can affect the chicken in many a varied ways; for example, Earl Grey tea tends to make your average chicken somewhat lethargic, and in those periods of lethargy, it becomes quite easy to lull the chicken into a coma (and, with the proper hand gestures, into a casserole) with the music of Mannheim Steamroller or, in a pinch, The Alan Parsons Project. However, Lemon Zinger tends to make the chicken cranky.
"Winsor," asked Clemo, "Whatever tea have you served our guest and OH MY GOD how could you do such a thing to Kelsey Grammer's heartfelt autobiography?"
Winsor's doubts upon the intelligence of his friend surfaced like an Orca in the Artic Circle, but being unaware of the effects of tea upon the average chicken, he let it pass.....
"I have, of course, served the chicken a hot cup of Celestial Seasoning's Salmonella Suicide tea," and with those words, as if on cue, the chicken did a spit take, its eyes bulged in surprise, and it collapsed forward onto the table. " I keep this tea on hand for guests I hate but want to be civilized toward."

Hours later, as they sat enjoying the last of the fried chicken they'd just made, both men realized something important.

"Winsor," said Clemo, "we have been entirely sidetracked from our true purpose here this evening."
"Have we?"
"We had dates. A double date. I just remembered... the envelope had the tickets to MAME starring Jude Law; we were to escort our respective redheads to the show tonight."
"Egad," exclaimed Winsor in a way not heard often enough these days.
"Egad indeed," Clemo screamed, for no reason. "What time is it?"
Pocketwatches were produced from pockets. "Smurfette's little hand is between then seven and the eight! There is still time!"
Clemo looked incredulous. "Where is Smurfette's big hand?" he asked.
Winsor gave Clemo the look a slot machine might give the man who pulled the lever....so many options, so many combinations, none that would be appropriate, and only one that would be realllly funny.
"We must fly!" Cried Winsor.
"Yes, to pick up our loved ones, and off to an evening of maiming!" cried Clemo, trying on the veneer of excitement for size.
"Mame-ing" corrected Winsor, looking for his car keys, his wallet, his autographed photo of Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, and his Little Orphan Annie Secret Decoder Ring. He found everything but the tickets to the musical nightmare they had promised the ladies that they would be attending.
"Have you seen the..." he began.
"...rain? Have you EVER seen the rain? I want to know."
Clemo had,in fact,but was more curious about the tickets to MAME. Then he remembered he had stuck them to the soles of his shoes with bubblegum, because they were important and should not be lost. They were still there, and not too much the worse for wear.Clemo was examining the tickets, when he stopped suddenly and asked...
"Why are we going to this horribly miscast horrible musical?"
"Because of the women.They deserve a date night."
"But they are smart women.We all enjoy theatre.Why would we want to see MAME?Why would we want to see Jude Law playing Mame?"
"This town is a cultural wasteland,"explained Winsor."Our only other options are low-budget horrible semi-professional or community efforts.At least this will be ridiculously high-budgeted and horrible.We will be able to laugh about it afterward over drinks."
Clemo nodded in agreement.Tonight they would forgo mystery-solving,crime-fighting,and hyphen-misuse, all for Love.

That's about it. The end of the road; the end of the story. It could be said that after the musical, they went to dinner at a nice place; they talked of many things; the past, the future......and all was well.
"I say, Winsor" said Clemo. "I hate to interrupt our reverie, but isn't that Jude Law?"
And surely it WAS Jude Law, looking every bit like a dollar bill caught in a change machine, trying to put cream in his coffee while negotiating his Moons Over My Hammy.
"What's that in his lapel?" asked Winsor, but the tremor in his voice gave away his fore knowledge.
It was a chicken feather. A perfect chicken tail feather.
The game was afoot.
But THAT is a story for another time.....

The Conclusion.

A tender offering

I have to get this down while I remember it.

So I'm walking Charlie. He's bounding at the end of the leash. He stops to sniff something by an electric pole. I am thinking of what I am going to say in a letter reply to Vanessa's brother. Mind wandering. My canine companion and I continue our trip, and a little boy comes around the corner of the house to our right.

"Hey! Can I give your dog this dead squirrel?"

I wish I had this on video or someone else had been here to see it, because I don't know if this will translate, but for some reason it's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time.

The three-footer exclaimed this while in fact holding up said squirrel, apparently in some stage of rigor mortis, by the tail with one hand. This was a perfectly normal, healthy looking boy with a nice haircut and a nondescript bright pastel blue button up shirt. No future serial killer thing, I am confident he did not kill the squirrel, he simply found it as young boys do. I nicely explained that I tried to limit my dog's handling of possibly long-dead mammals as we continued on our way.

For some reason as I walked on this made me realize more than ever that though it will always be a very dear place to me, my inner self has long since left Smallville for Metropolis.

UPDATE: The unanimous vote on which movie to watch first: Star Wars. That's nine votes so far, with one text that said "Jurassic Park if you have surround sound, maybe Indy..." so... I guess it's Star Wars unless there's a grass roots movement for Steel Magnolias or My Dinner With Andre.

You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Writing.

Learning music.

Working on house, still. A little.

All while distracted by the arrival of my dish network DVR and a 57 inch TV.

Ahem.

Sitting at a coffeeshop in El Dorado to pay some bills on a more reliable connection, and while driving I like to listen to talk radio. It quickens the blood, and I think it's good to know your enemy. The hate and invective used one a lot of those soapboz jockeys would be entertaining, comical even, if you didn't know that there are people that take what these people say as gospel. It's a sad commentary... literally. I bring that up because one particularly ignorant caller was calling for someone to be "censored" on the floor of the house. He meant "censured" but was never corrected.

Those are two different words. One of them is distinctly un-American. I think it's funny, but vaguely related to an overall pet peeve of mine, totally unpolitical in nature.

I know I'm not alone in this. I am tired of having to decipher what people mean on signs, in letters, whereever, because if you read if flat out it makes no sense. So, a handy guide for the record:

When referring to something that belongs to someone, such as a hat, it is "your hat."
When referring to their state of being, as in being an idiot, "you're an idiot."
Never again should that be mixed up. Offenders will be shot.

When you get a letter and you take it, you ACCEPT the letter. You do not EXCEPT the letter. Maybe you take everything in your mail but don't take that letter, then you take everything except the letter. I never again want to see a handwritten sign on a cash register that says "Sorry We Do Not Except Checks."

I always want to put in a comma after "not" and change the spelling of "checks" to "Czachs" and turn it into a vague ethnic slur. Then people would wonder... they do not WHAT except to/for Czechs?

Anyway. You get my point.

As a closer, I think it would be awfully convenient if I could subscribe to the views of rabid right wing talk radio. I would like to be able to blame my ills on a convenient, large, always visible subgroup, like they do with the vaugely defined "liberals." I'll have to think who I will blame. I think it might be "whitey."

This relates to a theory I had some time ago. I believe that the world would be simpler if we all, every one of us, had an arch-enemy. This would of course mean we were all someone's arch-enemy, in turn. That way, you would always have someone to blame when random bad things happened because it may well be someone's fault. I shared this with an old roommate of mine, Doug Rosenheim, and we tried it for a summer. We would purposefully do little irritating things to one another, and when anything bad would happen I would shake my fist at the sky and cry "ROSENHEIM!"

Hit every red light? Could be Rosenheim. Flat tire with no trace of a hole? Rosenheim! Someone ate my leftover pizza? DEFINITELY Rosenheim. Arch-enemies might eliminate the need for war, because everyone would be too worried about their own, personal arch-enemy.

This relates to an upcoming entry, one that I'll put up around Christmas, wherein I reveal my strategy for personal amusement when participating in Secret Santa at your workplace or school.

My train of thought runs on a jagged track when I'm supervised, heaven help you all when I am not. I miss V!

One question before I go, and seriously, email me this answer: I have yet to watch a movie on my gigantic screen. I am trying to decide which movie deserves the treatment, would benefit most from it. Send suggestions!

Intolerable Cruelty

For the last week or so, I have been working on my late uncle's old house in Burns. I'm trying to get it in better shape as it has fallen into disrepair since he passed, at some points being actively coaxed toward disrepair. As it stand how, it's fully functional and the yard is well on its way. The next gig doesn't start for a bit yet, and V is off on a short project, so what else do I have to do?

There is no TV, really, signals are apparently weak nowadays - Burns used to get several broadcast channels yet over the years and now few have the strength to be picked up without a large antenna. There is only dialup internet. No cellphone signal in Burns to speak of. I am not, as anyone who knows me will attest, any kind of Luddite. Okay, well, anyone who knows me and knows what a Luddite is would attest to that.

Have you used dialup lately?

If you haven't, keep in mind that however slow it used to seem, even the most basic content on the internet now is considerably larger than it used to be.

Take what you remember of its slowness and imagine that about four times slower.

Intolerable cruelty.

Anyway, amongst the many questionable decisions in my life, I recently saved a dog from going to the pound. He's staying here with me right now, and he'll go to the farm when I leave for the next job. He's a 9 month old shar-pei / Australian shepherd mix, and his name is Charlie. I didn't name him, he was already named and is well accustomed to it. He's very smart and house-broken and no work at all besides his puppyish need for attention and approval. His primary talent is catching insects, which is frankly amazing to watch.

The goal in deciding to do this house thing was to give myself time and room to breathe in order to begin undistracted a writing project I've talked about for years. Thus far I have done everything except that. I am TOO undistracted. I guess I need stimulation, and unlike Charlie I am unable to find it in the scent of urine on trees or the sounds of a distant bark. Would it were so easy. If I wrote right now it would be a rehash of "Marley and Me."

Last week I did a commercial, had a line or two that should be (apparently) very funny. It was a fun shoot, I'm not sure when it will air. It's in the style of THE OFFICE and I'm a big jerk. Those are unconnected statements.

I do have one announcement: Partially as a function of my next job, I am (finally) going to release a CD. It will be done by December and I will offer it for sale through the website here. I may offer pre-sales to help defray production costs, because I'm doing most of that myself. Let me know if anyone's interested. Presold CDs will come with an action figure version of me, an autographed 8x10, and a lifelong sense of fulfillment.*

Last night I hardly got any sleep for no good reason. No bad reason, either... right now I'm writing this entry because I'm trying to keep myself awake until it makes sense to go to sleep. I'm almost there. Okay. Sleepy.

*Supplies limited on 8x10s, nonexistent on action figures.  No guarantee on sense of fulfillment.

Colt 45

Two posts in one day? (insert huffy elderly English Gentleman hupf-hupf-hupf here) Preposterous.

To paraphrase Lando Calrissian, I'm about to make a deal that will keep the Empire out of here for a long time. In honor of that fact I present you all with this treasure trove of goodness.

Target of opportunity

Yo. Not much to report.

Awaiting confirmation of a possible job that came up, one I've wanted for some time. I could use some good energy/prayers/whatever it is that you do in this direction for that.

Playing Halo 3 a lot this week after the midnight launch parties late Monday/early Tuesday. I have been playing online with some of you, and if anyone else out there is playing, let me know.

Questioning my value as a human being because of finding this video as funny as I do. Actually, I wish it were trimmed down to the specific moment of... well, you'll see. I'm not proud I laugh so hard at this, and it isn't funny on many levels like that Bush video from a few entries ago, and sure, I probably wouldn't laugh if it were MY kid. Okay, yes I would.


Little Girl vs Big Yellow Dodge Ball - Watch more free videos

I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad

This one is a fan-made remix of a beautiful tour of the museum diorama and the Gary Jules MAD WORLD cover used last year for the amazing GEARS OF WAR trailer.

If only

I would vote for someone who'd honestly say things like this in today's world. Will we ever again have a president like this? Someone who would, at the very least, challenge the corporate ownership of our government? I found these via digg and on this site. The situations are eerily familiar, in some cases, but he addresses them and deals with them rather than engaging in silent (or overt) collaboration. These hit home, to me. Take a look at a documentary called Evidence of Revision for some other interesting, bet-you-didn't-know pieces of U.S. history.

but this administration has failed to recognize, has failed to recognize that in these changing times, with a revolution of rising expectation sweeping the globe, the United States has lost its image as a new, strong, vital, revolutionary society.

University of Illinois Campus, October 24th, 1960

I believe in an America... where no public official either requests or accepts instructions on public policy from the Pope, the National Council of Churches or any other ecclesiastical source

Address to the Greater Houston Ministerial Association, September 12, 1960

If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich

Inaugural Address of John F. Kennedy FRIDAY, JANUARY 20, 1961

In this serious hour in our Nation's history when we are confronted with grave crises in Berlin and Southeast Asia, when we are devoting our energies to economic recovery and stability, when we are asking reservists to leave their homes and their families for months on end and servicemen to risk their lives--and four were killed in the last two days in Viet Nam and asking union members to hold down their wage requests at a time when restraint and sacrifice are being asked of every citizen, the American people will find it hard, as I do, to accept a situation in which a tiny handful of steel executives whose pursuit of private power and profit exceeds their sense of public responsibility can show such utter contempt for the interests of 185 million Americans.

News Conference April 11, 1962

In short, at a time when they could be exploring how more efficiency and better prices could be obtained... a few gigantic corporations have decided to increase prices in ruthless disregard of their public responsibilities.

April 11, 1962

Harry Truman once said there are 14 or 15 million Americans who have the resources to have representatives in Washington to protect their interests, and that the interests of the great mass of other people, the hundred and fifty or sixty million, is the responsibility of the President of the United States. And I propose to fulfill it.

Atlantic City at the Convention of the United Auto Workers. May 8th, 1962

I realize that there are some businessmen who feel only they want to be left alone, that Government and politics are none of their affairs, that the balance sheet and profit rate of their own corporation are of more importance than the worldwide balance of power or the Nationwide rate of unemployment. But I hope it is not rushing the season to recall to you the passage from Dickens' "Christmas Carol" in which Ebenezer Scrooge is terrified by the ghosts of his former partner, Jacob Marley, and Scrooge, appalled by Marley's story of ceaseless wandering, cries out, "But you were always a good man of business, Jacob." And the ghost of Marley, his legs bound by a chain of ledger books and cash boxes, replied, "Business? Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"

Members and guests of the Florida State Chamber of Commerce, whether we work in the White House or the State House or in a house of industry or commerce, mankind is our business. And if we work in harmony, if we understand the problems of each other and the responsibilities that each of us bears, then surely the business of mankind will prosper. And your children and mine will move ahead in a securer world, and one in which there is opportunity for them all.



Florida Chamber of Commerce, November 18th, 1963

You could argue that he just talked a good game, and to that I say, well, at least he did that.

blue purple yellow red

Yesterday I drove all day up from Texas. I was a little bummed.

The sun was out in brilliant fall-meets-summer form here in Kansas today.

Family Guy's STAR WARS homage was on tonight, as was the SIMPSONS premiere. HEROES tomorrow. HALO 3 midnight launches in 10,000 (literally) places around the US tomorrow night.

Have been completely drawn into the first book of Philip Pullman's HIS DARK MATERIALS after having it recommended to me time and again for years.

Enjoying a cold Samuel Adams Octoberfest as I am getting ready to sleep.

Just the facts, ma'am.

The Humbling

Kneel before the power of my ridiculously difficult movie quiz. The quizzes I kept getting sent on Flixster were mostly very easy, i.e. "name two movies with the word 'STAR' in the title," so I made one of my own. If anyone gets a 100 without using outside help, I'll eat my hat. My delicious chocolate hat.

Click here for the Ridiculously Difficult Quiz.

Fool me once

It's time we recognized the real threat to our security.

Nostalgia is a seductive liar

Pointlessly nostalgic.

I find myself regretful that due to a hard drive crash in April of 05 and another in June of 06 I am left with very few photos before those dates. Far too few. Most photos that I do have are of shows and such, little that is real. I stopped carrying hard copies of photos a long time ago, and those I had are disappeared into the depths of things stored with my family. I have misplaced or lost a good many things over the years as a traveling whatchamcalit. Because of that, my nostalgia trips when I'm feeling this way become fairly limited. The song "Where is the Life That Late I Led" becomes for me "Where is the Life I Led Lately."

The photos below may've been posted here before, but maybe not. Just random recent nostalgia. Is that an oxymoron? "Recent nostalgia?"

Just some amazing things and places I have seen, photos I'm glad I took. I did notice at least one thing as I was going through photos going back to April of 05 - I'm a better photographer than I used to be.

Shanghai, the Temple of the Jade Buddha. I'm already to the point where the idea of having been to these places seems a bit far-fetched, as though it didn't happen to me.

Bangkok - Oriental setting. City don't know what the city is getting... other than some probable long-term illness. This picture from my hotel room window at near sunset has nothing on the horrific scent of the local open market I wandered through with Mallorie and Corinne.

Muscat. Feeling a little low, I decided to wander out into the night on my own. What I found there at night was perhaps the most beautiful city, or at least waterfront, I've seen. It's something out of a latter-day 1001 Nights.

My camel. Actually, this was taken from my camel, and I have to admit I photoshopped a German tourist family out of this photo, in the distance, just to the right of the camel's head. Who needs 'em?

There was a photo contest on board, and they told us we could use photoshop. They made no mention of how extensive that use of photoshop could be.

The Great Injury of '06, recovering while staying with Dusty, looking a little like Doctor Who, and going... somewhere. Me in Egypt, which is pretty much the topper for all my travels on the "I've been there" scale.

For a while during my second Voyager contract, the theme parties were amazing. There was one thrown maybe once every two weeks (or more), different departments tried to outdo one another. Then, in my third contract, our HR people changed, the parties became much rarer, and they returned to just being another loud night in the crew bar with some stuff on the walls and free alcohol. That's nice but it doesn't say much when it's all only $1.50 anyway. Here's a shot from the India Party (bleah) with Mal and Corinne from contract three and a shot from The Greatest Party In The History of Everything (that which Jamie and I threw) from contract 2.

Places, people, and things. Yup. Nouns. Nouns are important. Also adverbs, but not as much.

In the last three photos above, I'm with the primary people who helped me through my second and third ship contracts. I hope I returned the favor, because they're all good friends.

Today I found something I had forgotten that I wrote. The file is dated a little over a year ago, Sept 06. Late one night a little over one year ago I blathered into MS Word:

"Yawn.

My bed.

Lovely.

I remember first getting to this ship. As soon as I boarded I was excited to see the cabins and was surprised that they were somewhat bigger than I expected. That says nothing, though, because I expected a closet.

Tonight someone asked Jamie and I why we were still dressed - wearing suits. They were telling us to change into crew bar clothes -clothes that you don't care will reek of pungent, concentrated smoke in your cabin. We said we both felt we needed to stay upstairs tonight, we were feeling a bit suffocated by the crew area. Life below deck is the worst part of ship life, and we should've been more aware the people we were speaking to are not so lucky as us. We have the choice to live in both worlds here, they do not. They have to get special permission to go above decks, it is not part of their routine. They don't get to venture into port most every day at their leisure. They don't have the choice to dine where they choose. At lunch we are wondering if it's to be La Veranda, pool grill, ashore, maybe even crew mess; they get crew mess and... crew mess.

For them, everyday: white rice, salad, dressing, some horrid olives, some awful onion and bell pepper concoction that no one touches. There are the strange main courses, which seem to include all the cuts of meat from whatever they're butchering that aren't deemed six-star enough for the chi-chi guests. They dump it in a warming pan on the line, cover it in some random greasy sauce, it's all yours. To be honest, the Filipinos usually go bonkers over it, or at least they never openly complain. I can't get excited about fish heads and pork neck. I don't actually know if they have actually served something called "pork neck" but when we can't identify the meat they're serving, someone will ask "what's in the mess?" and the response will be "pork neck" in what I'll call to be polite a "shipboard accent." They have also served minnows, for breakfast. Yeah, maybe if I wanted to bait a hook and CATCH my breakfast. Mmm, minnows and pancakes, what a meal! To be fair, food is improving thanks to my second favorite hobbit on the ship, Irish. His name is Aiden Toal, a really nice guy who was recently put in charge of the crew messes. It's funny to me that people call him "Irish" because he's not the only Irish guy around, I guess he's just been chosen to represent them. He is my second favorite hobbit; Jamie earned the honor of first because of his tendency to walk around barefoot in inappropriate areas with his hairy hobbit feet.

There are so many things I should document while the ideas are fresh, things normal people don't know about. I should write like this more often. Slop chest! At slop chest, about once a week for two one-hour segments, they open up a little desk deep into the provisions area by the beverage storage. This is your chance to stock up on soda, water, alcohol, chocolate, or cigarettes VERY cheaply. I remember getting off the ship for the first time and being appalled that I had to pay more that $11 for a big bottle of Jack Daniel's. THAT cheap. When drinks in the crew bar are only $1.50 (or free when your friends are bartenders upstairs)... that leads to problems for many. In our position, though, you often get given a lot of alcohol, even if you're not a huge drinker. You can only "legally" have one bottle per person in your cabin, plus a case of beer. I have no beer, but we have probably seven bottles in here. We don't drink it that much, and we've only bought probably three of them. Passengers give them to us, other crew who are leaving give them to us, hell, the staff captain gave me a case of beer a few weeks ago. Jamie drank most of it. We wind up having so much around, hidden in the closets in case of inspection, because we don't drink it all as fast as we get it. We can't!

What else should I remember here? Boat drill. Twice a week on average, once with guests on embark day and once without for crew drill. It's always at the worst time, but we're all trained and "certified" in our specific duties. You kind of have to take it seriously or you'll be stuck in drills and trainings during days you'd rather be in port. The drill begins, pax are guided to their muster stations, and people like me help explain to them what goes on. Some of you who know me think this could be a dangerous (for the passengers) idea, but I actually, perhaps stupidly, take a little pride in doing my job well at drills. It's one of the only ways in which we really work with the rest of the non-entertainment crew and this is our only real opportunity to show them we aren't all lazy sacks of alcohol-soaked flesh. I'll say this vis a vis boat drill: There is a life jacket demonstration during the pax drill. A monkey could pick up a life jacket and put it on correctly on the first attempt. We have a lot of very, very wealthy people on this line, and I'll echo a sentiment I've heard before: I never want to get so rich that I lose the ability to do simple things like put on a life jacket. A few times I have seen guests so befuddled by this elementary piece of foam and fabric it's as though you've just handed a caveman a cellphone.

The rest of the crew. Yes, some people hate us. For no reason. It's a prejudice based on the fact that many entertainers before us have been some combination of lazy, stupid, drunk, promiscuous, and generally treated other crew with condescending snottery. Many don't, but... well, stereotypes exist because people behave stereotypically. This cast is much more liked than most,generally. In fact, I hear many people say it's the best they've worked with on a colleague level. We do have some good people. Everyone who works on board, bar none, has an emergency duty, and it's the best time to get to know some of the rest of the crew other than the cancer room... er, smokeshack... er, crew bar. The crew bar is proof that a half-assed corporate attempt at offering a "non-smoking incentive" means nothing when they also subsidize the cigarettes so they're almost cheaper than eating Snickers. Actually, if you weigh the cost of a carton of cigarettes at slop chest vs. a Snickers at slopchest, Snickers loses. It's cheaper to smoke than to enjoy a satisfying Snickers. I don't smoke, disgusting habit, no worries, aside from a very occasional celebratory Cuban cigar.

Recently I was asked by someone at home what the crew was like, and if we did anything for the fourth of July. This was my second 4th in a row in Russia. There aren't that many Americans on the crew. 16 to 20 right now, and that's a lot. More Canadians than Americans. . Mostly Filipino... then Indian... After that, in no particular order: French, Hungarian, Swedish, Romanian, Portuguese, whatever you want we've probably got it. I heard there was an Egyptian guy once but he made a lot of our more edgy guests uncomfortable so he hasn't returned. It's a real melting pot, but not nearly so much as you'd probably think. That's another whole train of thought unto itself. Alas, tiredness is finally beating restless in the battle in my brain. I am contemplating the world cruise, it's just been presented a possibility. I see advantages an disadvantages. I shouldn't have done this contract again. Russia was better a year ago, they're trying too hard to Westernize now. One year, so much difference."

...then one more year later, and so much more. I wish I'd kept that up. Tiredness is finally beating restless here, too.

You were on the Indianapolis?

Napoleon Bonaparte said "There are two levers for moving men - interest and fear."

This entry is about fear.

There are abstract fears that I have faced in my life, like making a living as an actor or travelling the ABC's wide world of sports. These are fears which you don't face all at once and are, after all, abstract, and so I never REALLY feared them or had a moment of confrontation that caused me to doubt my resolve. Also, they weren't my fears, I never feared such things, they're societal fears.

The fears I wish to discuss are real, they are the kind that make you want to scream like a Girl(TM), or hide behind a tree, or wet yourself in a most undignified fashion. That sentence seems to imply that there is a dignified way to wet yourself. I am not sure that is true, but I digress...

Yoda said "Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering."

In my recent experience, fear leads to panic, panic leads to helplessness, helplessness leads to... I don't know because it all sort of becomes blurry at that point.

I was very excited, with maybe a little increasing trepidation, about my first ocean dive. My training had been a few weeks in pools and "scuba park" lakes; the ocean is where the real action is. The life. The colors. The... sharks...

See, I knew I had a fear of sharks. Of course! Who doesn't have a healthy respect for this predator, this beautiful machine? Thing is, I had forgotten how deep this fear goes. More on that later. Suffice to say I went into this knowing and ready to confront and defeat my fear of this genus carcharhinus, and maybe even to appreciate the beauty of swimming near one. Not too near. And not a great white. Or a hammerhead. But... Well... anyway... I had forgotten an early childhood fear, here. Something deep and old within me. I'm going to lay out an ugly truth about myself here, a sad, silly, and irrational vulnerability, because... well, I'm going to conquer it. I am not afraid to admit that I was a great white pansy about a week ago right now.

Let's set up the story. As we begin, my Cumulative Fear Level (CFL) out of a possible 100: 10, thinking about sharks.

We got to the dive shop with our gear early on Thursday morning. Soon the American couple, both in their 50s (I think) who owned and ran the dive shop arrived. They unlocked the place and we all sat around talking as we grabbed what additional equipment we needed for the dive. They were great, their manner put us at ease, and I was sure we'd be in good hands. Fear -6, CFL now 4.

We didn't know it, but we were also waiting for the crew to arrive. The owners were neither one going out with us. We'd reserved this and had only spoken with him. Fear +4.

The crew arrived. Three young(ish) local Cancun guys, nice enough, and we boarded the small boat. It was not as big as I'd expected. It was bigger than your basic speedboat you'd use for say water skiing on a lake, but smaller than any dive boats I could find online to provide examples here. Anyway, we got our gear on the boat with our divemaster, the videographer (we didn't buy the video) and the "captain" to head out. We began our trip out of the inlet, and we sat down to make our dive plan. All was according to plan. We would head to Punta Negra for a 60ft dive for 47 minutes or more, then would plan from there. CFL hanging steady at 8.

I have made my living at sea for over two years now, and have ridden on tender boats and ferries, all kinds of craft... however, nothing prepared me for the kind of rough seas in this small open boat. I had not considered that THIS would freak me out. . We had been playing in the storm surge on the beach the day before, it was amazingly rough - fun for a bit but exhausting to be in for long. People we talked to said it's always a bit rough during hurricane season. Since Hurricane Felix had just been nearby, it was much more than usual. I had prepared myself for being underwater, I did not anticipate being airborne in the boat. I white-knuckled the bench, even after we'd stopped, and had trouble putting on my gear. We moved to a shallower area, deciding to begin with a 35ft dive, and while we began to feel a little seasick... all I wanted to do was get the hell out of the boat and under these horrible swells. If I'd had my gear on before we got out there, I may've bailed out early!

Fear (gradually) +60, CFL 68.

I feel a little rushed getting into the water. My heartrate is still up, I do my backroll entry once I'm geared up. I'm out of the boat. Fear -10. Being a newbie and already shaken up, I have failed to properly orient myself before entering the water as I was taught. I come up and suddenly feel very alone in the sea for a moment. Fear +15.

CFL 83. I look around an see Vanessa and our divemaster at the nearby buoy where the boat is tied. Things seem a lot farther away when you are in the middle of the ocean. I swim to them, all the while trying to slow my heartrate and ease my breathing. I am a little panicked at this point, but not bad. Fear level -10. Having been trained in lakes, I was not prepared for the severity of the waves and the current. The sickness I felt on the boat is now rearing its ugly head with everyone - even the divemaster says so. He insists we get under very quickly. Trying to hold it together for everyone's sake, it all seems very frantic and I can't get my BCD deflate in my hand right and I'm trying... not... to...

quiet. water surrounds me. the tumult is gone, replaced by quiet. Fear -15. We reach a certain depth, equalizing all the way and doing thingsas they should be done.

In my head, I snap to my senses as my CFL goes below 60. My mind is racing faster than my heart now. I am thankful I have such a patient dive buddy and I feel so helpless but I really want to do this....

The divemaster is near the bottom now, and we are adjusting our buoyancy to meet him. We begin to realize the current is VERY strong. Hurricane season, again. He's trying to get us to come to him, and pretty well can't. For a good two minutes we kick our fins and do what we can and cannot do anything but stay in place. Comical, if it weren't real. Fear +8. finally we manage to get to him, and as we are doing so I see my first stingray magically appear, shaking the sand from himself and fluttering away like the unearthly creature he is. Amazing. Fear -10. CFL 56.

I was told after the fact that in many ways this was a worst case scenario for a first ocean dive. It wasn't too bright. It's as dark at 30 as I'm told it usually is at 60 due to weather and current stirring things up.

We swim across/against the current for a bit. I get a slight handle on my buoyancy but begin to realize I need more weight. Still, I'm gliding along between Vanessa and the divemaster as we approach a reef... and whammy, first shark. I see it before the DM... the videographer (whom I see for the first time underwater at this point - where did he come from?) and and DM snap their straps against their tanks to get Vanessa's attention. She is clearing her mask and drifting toward the shark. She doesn't see it, it doesn't seem to see her. We don't want either one of them to surprise each other. No fear change - this is actually awesome. It's not huge, 4 maybe 5 feet long. I remember thinking it's the perfect first shark to see. Vanessa sees it. It's fine. It's docile and swims along on its way. I kinda even follow it, at a distance, for a bit. My buoyancy is still an issue, I keep having to correct with my BCD. Salt water buoyancy is very different that fresh water, and this is my first experience in salt water.

"Awesome," I'm thinking. I just saw a shark, and I'm okay. Fear -10, but still a healthy 46. This is Vanessa's picture of our first sharky friend. Cue music.
So we get to the end of the reef and the DM motions for us to swim ahead down the side of the rock ledge on the other side of the reef. The current is rushing down this side of the rocks much faster, and as we come around the end I am having much more trouble with my buoyancy in addition to having to fight to stay with the group - or even in place. Over the next 8 minutes or so, CFL +20.

We get to what I'll call a little clearing where the rocks fall back and the sea floor is a little lower. There's a big ledge under the rocks extending for a long way. I'm having some trouble with buoyancy and it's concerning me, Vanessa is working to help. The DM comes over and gives me more weight. We're okay for a bit, looking at coral and such. Then I notice to DM and the video guy are suddenly fascinated by something. (music louder)

What on earth could it be, says me...

We get near them and the DM turns back and makes the underwater hand signals for "look over there" and then for "shark"(which he'd used earlier)... and then the universal hand signal for "gigantic."

Vanessa swims a little closer, I hang back. I have already seen a nice sized shark, he was a friend and I'm sure we'll correspond later. I did not see the need to make another such friend on this trip. Somehow, though, I push myself forward. I swim up further and...

Bloody hell! That thing is huge! All kinds of alarms go off in my head... Fear +14 (CFL 80)

I backpedal a bit. I keep my eyes on the shark. It is gigantic. 10-12 feet long. It appears to have found a nice spot under the rock ledge to take a nice sharknap. More power to her, says I. Let her sleep, I try to communicate to Vanessa by tugging on her fin. Vanessa is not entirely unphased by the shark, she is trying to hold herself away by using a couple of fingers on a bare area of rockledge. The current is trying to push her closer. I am ruining this strategy with my tugging. She soon turns back and moves back toward me. The DM and videographer are flanking the shark at a slight distance, staying just to the right and left of the rock ledge opening.

Then, one of them goads the other into POKING THE SLEEPING SHARK. This is not what you are supposed to do.

Yes, let's poke the sleeping predator so that when it wake up it's surprised, frightened, and feels cornered. Good idea.

The shark wakes up and shoots out toward the videographer, slipping just past him as it turns outward, in fact slapping him in the face with its tail. He got that on video.

Between the shark and its path to safety? Me and Vanessa. It darts directly at us. It is coming straight for us like every bad dream I have ever had. Then, suddenly, it veers slightly left and heads out and away.

Fear to 100.

Check, please!

At this point, the dive is over for me. I'm done. In retrospect, it's one of the most awesome things that has ever happened to me, but at the time I admit I was as afraid as I have ever been. If it hadn't been for the boat ride, the rough seas, the hurricane season current... the shark alone wouldn't have done it. Maybe. I probably would've been okay to continue, but my blood was already up and this docile shark was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

We consult for a minute with the DM, and I can't decide what to do... finally I call the dive. We ascend and get out of the water. I get on the boat and feel more than a little sheepish about having been so cowardly. I still do, but having been through this extraordinary first dive, I've already dealt with a number of issues some people never do. Dealt with them BADLY, but... shut up.

Later that day, I call ed my parents to check in. I am reminded how early this fear of sharks goes, and how deep it was. After I saw JAWS on the ABC movie of the week at age 6 or so, living on a farm in Kansas, I had to be coerced into any body of water which I could not see entirely into. I'm sure there's a term for this, but that point when looking down you cannot see into the water, the surface becomes reflective - that bothered me, because I didn't know what was in it. Sharks could be anywhere in my 6 year old mind, even in the 4 foot deep, chlorinated, above ground swimming pool in our backyard in Kansas. This fear lessened with age, but mainly because living in Kansas a fear of sharks can be like a fear of ghosts - the concept can be frightening, but the idea of ever being actually confronted with one is highly unlikely. I took up body-boarding in California and loved it, and thought I had this fear nailed shut. Mom had been surprised I was scuba diving to begin with, she says but... hey, I've spent a good deal of time on a ship with Jean Michel Costeau and his cohorts. Learned to love the ocean, learned a lot about sharks, and known many who've swum near much more aggressive species than those I encountered. My dive instructor had commended me for being a great student. My dive buddy is a certified rescue diver. I was ready.

Or so I thought.

The day was not ruined. One of the tenets of diving is that any diver can call off any dive at any time for any reason, no questions asked. I talked through my fears honestly and thoroughly to try to get a handle on exactly what happened. This will not be the end of Aquaman.

Again, thank goodness for the patience of my dive buddy.

Who is playing Hamlet?

Excitement for me, headed for probable future disappointment and mild regret.

I would most certainly book a trip to England to see the upcoming, just announced RSC production of HAMLET which will star David Tennant in the title role and Patrick Stewart as Claudius. There has not been a casting so interesting to me since... um... well, as far as I can remember.

Sad thing is, I will probably not get to see it. If there is any possibility to see it, if I could get there, I would plan a trip around it. If I don't, disappointment and mild regret.

Today is September 11, which is such an odd date to us now. It has been hammered into our heads so deeply that just seeing the date on incoming email sends a bit of a distant chill up your spine. It's hard to believe it happened so long ago.

Sand Tigers, Drag Queens, and Corn Lobbys

Tuesday morning at 8:55am we took off from DFW airport toward our Cancun getaway.

I'll begin by saying that I did not have high expectations for this little excursion, except some relaxation and some diving. I didn't expect much from our hotel. It was one of those all inclusive deals with airfare, an off-season special to fill rooms and keep the tourist economy going. I was expecting something on par with a bulk vacation house like Sandals Jamaica or such from what we paid, and we got much better. It was am amazing little vacation.

The Grand Oasis Cancun, where treehugging is apparently taken too literally.
The main lobby. Every room is located off of this massive, vine-covered space. Flanking the Grand Oasis on either side are the two buildings of the slightly more basic Oasis Cancun (not "Grand"), but as soon as you walk into the Grand you see the difference without ever entering the other phases. Every room of the Grand is off of this huge and humid greenhouse atrium space, every room also has a great balcony with an amazing view of the ocean.
This was the view from our balcony at sunset Tuesday. That's a distant arm of a remnant of Hurricane Felix in the distance, probably Tropical Depression Felix by the time this was taken. Perhaps even Tropical Mild Annoyance Felix.
When we arrived early Tuesday afternoon, we relaxed for a short while in the room. We ordered some of the included room service which was comically incorrect but managable. After a quick change, we grabbed our books and towels and headed down to the beach. Vanessa has finally given in to the Harry Potter magic, and I'm beginning the His Dark Materials books by Phillip Pullman that have come so highly recommended for so long. We didn't make much progress on these books during our trip. The pools were huge, winding around everywhere between the many buildings, but why swim in a pool when the ocean is calling? The waters were ROUGH from the hurricane storm surge, which is my favorite time to play in the ocean. By the time I flopped back onto my beach chair every time we went to the water this trip, I felt I had actually been physically beaten by the sea. Tuesday night we ate at the Brazilian churrascaria. After several experiences with these in different countries around the world (including, of course, Brazil) I can now officially state that this is my favorite type of restaurant. Since it's usually a fairly pricey event we decided to do this the first night... that way, if we liked it, we could do it again... and again... It was GREAT. We already had reservations for another restaurant the following night, though. After dinner, we found one of the "VIP" lounges that only allowed those with our exclusive black wristbands to enter. Keeps out the riff-raff, don't you know. Can't have the simple Oasis clients polluting the atmosphere for our Grand guests. We shared some drinks and a good cigar... okay, I know, but they're CUBANS. Seriously, it's not smoking, it's like drinking a fine scotch. Which I also did. Wednesday involved traveling downtown to indulge in another favorite sport: haggling. In the local flea markets for gifts for folks at home, we found some nice stuff and added only a few pounds to our luggage. It's amazing how easy it is to haggle there, as well, compared to some places. Then some time at the beach, followed by drinks at one of the swim up bars and more reading in the sun. 6:30pm, reservations at the Mexican gourmet restaurant. It was not actually very Mexican at all. Strangely, of the thirteen restaurants at our disposal, there was little to no "Mexican food" to be found. Still, a good fillet and a nice bottle of wine (too nice to be included, but worth it) and another Cuban procured in town that day (shush, I'm not hurting my voice, I promise) before the weirdest show ever....

I don't even know how to begin to try to describe the spectacle we witnessed in the "Grand Oasis Salon" show lounge / theatre. It was a "Circus" show - Cirque rip-off - called DREAMS; it opened and closed with a seven-foot high African-American... er, Mexican... African-Mexican...most likely African-American-Mexican, I think... anyway, he was a big tall drag queen who lip-synched to Madonna (in the opener) and Cher (in the closer) whilst flanked by some of the worst female dancers I have ever seen. Then we had most thrill-free displays of random acrobatics you've ever seen, a cute but 15 minutes too long silent movie audience participation bit, a random hiphop number done by some fairly talented guys, and a Michael Jackson number done by three guys to a mix of DANGEROUS and SMOOTH CRIMINAL, it was good, but it was set between two horribly pointless aerial / acro numbers. Two of them were in blacklight and the idiots in the reasonably full audience kept ruining what little effect or illusion there was by taking flash photos during the blacklight numbers. I felt for the performers, but the audience ignorance was not the worst problem in the room. I called it CIRQUE DE BORE'. You can sort of see the drag queen in the back of this group of dancers from the closer. Then Thursday, and diving, which ended with me being more frightened than I have ever been in my whole life. Giant shark, hurricane season currents, etc... there will be a separate entry for this humbling story. Still, awesome.
The rest of that day was... the beach, the pool, body surfing, hammocks, etc. All in all , it was an unexpectedly great time which I would highly recomend. I was not as excited as I might've been going into this, as I mentioned before. What with all the travelling and exotic spots we've both been to, this seemed like it might be a simple, typically touristy little trip. We were not interested in the Senor Frogs / Carlos n Charlies scene, and I wondered if there was more to this place. I was afraid this would be a little too... well... Vanessa assured me the area had a lot more to offer than guided 7 hour bar crawl tours during which someone in your group would vomit in your cap (a story I overheard while down there). She was right. Honestly, even had we never left the resort property, we still would've had an amazing time. When I was a little kid, my older sister had a sombrero. I always wanted one like it, and I would often take it from her room, run off and play with it. Now I have my own, and while you might say it reinforces stereotypes and there are far more sophisticated mementos I could have purchased, I would counter by saying you are jealous because I have a THREE AMIGOS hat. We had to finish our nice bottle of wine before we left, so we sat in a lounge waiting for our airport pickup finishing it off,...
There is much more to tell. I will come back and edit this, add some stuff, and maybe talk about the surprising job prospect that might be on the horizon. I just wanted to get these pictures up. There will be some underwater photos on that entry, but not many. In the meantime, while thinking of Mexico, discuss the merits of authentic sugar in your soda versus high-fructose corn syrup. Damn you, corn lobby!