Local Earth News

*My car passed inspection today. I brought the ancient beast to a place that fixed my catalytic converter and I passed. Of course, I have no idea if the catalytic converter was actually fixed. My car was put up on a lift. Two mechanics poked around and there was some action with an acetylene torch. I did not notice if something was replaced. I almost never drive.

*Tonight was our book club. The look on the face of each member as they regarded Louise was more telling than my intuition about how much my dog has declined. Everyone sees the life force has mightily left her. I still see my loving, fabulous pooch. Denial takes a while.

*An ordinance was finally passed in Los Angeles, so now houses cannot be built that are more than half the square footage of a piece of property plus an extra four hundred square feet for a garage. So, in my case, I could build a 2500 square foot home with a 400 square foot car area. Too bad this law did not come into effect sooner. A house the size of Tucson is replacing the cute bungalow directly across the street. It is three stories high with a roof that slopes in one direction. It has the design feel of an asymmetrical eighties haircut. Behind it is a three story garage with a ridiculous rooftop deck covered with orange umbrellas. It’s an architectural horror movie. Do they really need to raise their two children in two huge buildings with a total of six floors? On a lot that was originally meant for a two bedroom bungalow? I shudder. More than outraged, I am disgusted and sad.

Failing Smog

I sat there while my car was undergoing its bi-yearly smog test. I could tell I was in trouble.

First of all, the last time I had a smog test I barely passed.

I had a feeling this was going to turn into an opera.

The smogtician took his job very seriously. He tested and retested. I sat in a hard outdoor chair next to a forest green Cutlass, with the motor running (because the guy at the wheel wanted his air conditioning on, his radio?)—so while the smogtician revved up my wheels and the Cutlass bellowed its exhaust, I had a smog test of my own. In my lungs. I could stand it. But I hated it.

When the smogtician finished, he called me over. He was very neutral, professional. He said, “You failed.”

Me. Failed.

It’s the NO (Nitrous Oxide) that is the problem. This is unusual. He told me I need to go get it fixed and to come back. I then asked him if I should just junk the car. He gave me a form. Apparently, California will give you $1,000 if you hand over your smog failed car.

But that won’t buy me a new car.

So I decided I should just get it fixed for now. I went to the shop right next to my house (I do live behind a garage. Many people in LA do. It’s so romantic.) Pat, with her huge dog (that is always dumping on my lawn) saw me coming and immediately said, “Oh no. Did she go on your lawn again?” I said, “No. I failed my smog test. What do I do?”
She said, “You should have come to us first. We know everybody.”

So, tomorrow, my car will be fixed and passed.

In its way.

And someday soon, I will drive the beast to Alaska and leave it there.

People, At Last

This conflict between science and religion, this desire to fuse science and religion, both are ludicrous.

They have nothing to do with each other. Why the fight? Or the need to find the “ultimate universal”?

Science merely measures things, applies the measurements and then makes our lives better (air conditioning) or worse (the H-Bomb).

Religion is mash up of ethics (don’t kill your neighbor) and fairy tales (the immaculate conception), designed to give people some useful answers and some silly anti-anxiety medication.

Really, there are just people all around you. Can’t you just be in the moment and deal with that?

Gloria Steinem Quote

I have been running into people who are not doing what they want to do.

Also, I am reading On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. I just finished a section, so sad, about Jack (Sal) in Michigan who met a woman who did nothing but hang out on her porch, eating popcorn. She had no idea what she wanted.

It is so important to know what you want to do and to do it.

As Gloria Steinem said at a Tufts University commencement speech:

Whatever you want to do, do it now. For life is time, and time is all there is.

Corn Free

Call me a heartless sadist…but I think the prices of gas and food are perfectly pitched. Americans are huge cows who drive too much. Shouldn’t they be on bicycles? Eating as little as possible?

And, maybe then consider not having another baby since it costs so much to feed it?

Look, in the eleventh grade they taught us rudimentary economics: supply and demand. The demand for basic resources is increasing because of population-gone-wild. Naturally, the costs for food and energy are going to rise. IT’S A CORRECTIVE MEASURE. BE GRATEFUL.

And put down that fork. And go for a walk.

Calculus

When you add it up, and you include Michigan and Florida, and you subtract this black church crisis that Obama is having, Hillary wins.

Hillary wins.

The Seventies are Here

 

Tonight at 8.

Celebrate the 70's

Celebrate the 70's

 

Music from a looser time. 16 great hits.

Wednesday Night, April 30 @ 8PM

2538 Hyperion Avenue
Silverlake 90027

20 bucks

To benefit the West Coast Ensemble

It's going to be foxy fabulous. So come to it.

View Larger Map

Until then:

The Beatles Medley

Cher, Tina Turner & Kate Smith? Doing the worst medley in the history of music?
Sure.

April 25, 1974

I figured out now that I want a girl. You know what I mean? I sort of like Nancy Haggerty. Her brother’s name is Kevin and Sally likes him. I still love Sherrie. Mommy is going to a wedding so Nanny is babysitting.

We moved to Suffern July 10, 1973 and Sherrie Thompson, one year older than me, lived in Spring Valley, where we lived before the move. I had this endless crush on her, for almost a year, even though it was all fantasy and we never talked too much. It was that exciting time of life when you are heading into sixth grade and you just think, “Well, I’m a man now and life is so pulsing and exciting and I want a hot girl with a lot of personality to add to this cool and happening time. Look how great the evening sky is. Orange and purple. It’s all coming!” We did write letters back and forth. It was five miles away. She was lively, leggy, Jewish and smart. I saw her a few years later and she had become a bit bedraggled. I think people try to smooth out, they try to come back to center. She was full of excitement when she was about twelve years old. Maybe that was too much for her so she found a way to bring herself down.

Nancy Haggerty ended up dating my best friend, Chris Poole. I followed them around like a beagle. Sally, my sister, never did date Nancy’s older brother, Kevin.

I have no idea what wedding my mother was going to and I can only assume my father went, too, since my grandmother stayed with us overnight.

Slice It

No matter how you slice it—Hillary is actually the leader in this race, if you go by how people voted.

Look, of the big, important states she has California, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan and Florida. Sure, that’s right, the last two don’t count. But in the presidential election, they will.

I think super delegates are going to take Michigan and Florida into account. And…they’ll have to side with Hillary.

I might be old fashioned (pre-2000) and like my election results to reflect the actual election. So pre-Gore.

Or, as many predict, they could team up. But if they do, he should be chivalrous and let the lady go first. Besides, he’s younger. He could be the V.P. for eight years and then do eight years as the President.

Escape from New York

 

Park Avenue, around 68th Street. Look, it's amazing that New York has so many trees. But they all exploded about a month earlier than I ever remember. Sure, you have the flowers and the flowering trees, but to have all the other trees spark so fully so early? Lots of rain. Lots of mighty tree pollen.

It was quite something to have such an attack of irritants. But what is pretty cool about the human animal is, even though you may feel like you are being killed, you just keep living. We really are the cockroaches of the mammal world.
I mean that in the good way.

Joy

I searched for joy today in New York.

I saw it in my friends’ faces at dinner at The Jackson Diner.

If you want to eat, try Queens. There is a ton of food here.

Jackson Diner

Serious City

 


What is constantly remarkable to me is the lack of joy in New York. Something about the weather? I don't know. I feel remarkably happy when I am here, running around.

It's a curious city, has so much to offer and you wonder if anyone is really enjoying it.

They are happier in Paris.

I think I have to pay closer attention. People in LA can certainly be blamed for trite happiness connected to nothing more than a recently acquired expensive haircut...

Is that so Rawng?

The next three days that I am here, I am going to keep my eyes peeled for light hearted people.

Curtains

It closes soon. So go see it. Pure joy. Nothing else. Well, smart, too.

And well acted. And charming. With hilarious show numbers.

I guess the musical theatre format doesn't go away because when done well, it is so pleasing.

Go on. See it. See David Hyde Pierce. See it before it closes. You want to.

Here He Comes Just a Walking Down the Street

The pope arrives tomorrow. Will he come on a rope?

I was out in New Jersey tonight having dinner with my sister and her family and the local news was all about the pope coming to town.

Children were being interviewed. They exhibited the behavior of kids awaiting Santa Claus. Of course, their parents did this to them.

Earlier today, I was walking down the street in Queens to the subway station and in the last block, coming down the steps from one of the many dentist and doctor offices of brick row houses, was an older man with a cane and he started to fall off the steps onto the sidewalk. My stride was such that I was placed right next to him as he was falling. I caught him, easily (he was a little man) and he was so appreciative. He had lost his balance, terribly, his cane not placed correctly on the step beneath him, in the opposite direction of my approach, so he didn’t see me coming. He was very surprised and relieved and so happy to be captured before he landed on the sidewalk. He lovingly said, “Gracias amigo.” And I squeezed his shoulder and he squeezed my arm. It was human warmth as it needs to be.

And I thought, with my sinus infection, “We are all falling off stairs all the time. And it just seems so normal to catch people as they are going down.”

And so tonight, I was thinking, while I was driving back to Queens from New Jersey in Megan’s car Stan (Thanks Megan), why the hell do we need a pope? Or anyone like that?
Sure, people need to be reminded. But why? Why aren’t people just naturally caring? It seems absurd that there needs to be a leader for this kind of thing.

We are animals, sure. And we will do anything to insure our own survival, and even more, our own pleasure, which, in practice, does include enslaving and mistreating others, wittingly or unknowingly. So, consciousness had to be raised. And religion of yore did some of that. But still? Now? After Voltaire?

Sulfur Poison

After watching American Idol (for the first time) at Vlada, listed as a “Gorgeous gay lounge designed to look like a railroad car w/ 15 special infused vodkas and the only ice bar in the city, plus a full menu”, (I had club soda), I felt like how someone must feel after watching their first snuff film.

Look, I’m all for talented singers from the heartland getting their chance to shine. It’s fabulous. But it’s the lack of originality that makes me want to put an ice pick through someone’s something.

And that panel with the commentary? A nice happy black man, a nurturing middle aged woman and that snarky Brit? Really? That’s the shtick? Give me Lawrence Welk.

Anyway, the bar was kind of cool and I left about 9:00 and got on the subway back to Queens. Lying on a seat was a homeless guy, ass to the aisle. But not the smelliest homeless person. So, everyone is sitting on the train when suddenly there is a smell of sulfur that was so strong it reminded me of Seacaucus in 1971. I thought it just couldn’t be the homeless guy, could it? The entire car was loaded with the stench. Passengers from end to end pulled their shirts over their noses. It was so strong, I figured it had to be some sort of chemical fire somewhere that wafted in, or even, and this is when my heart started fluttering with some panic, some sort of Sarin or something even worse that someone let loose to kill us all. Shit. Death was near.

A lovely looking woman across from me, looking a bit like my ex-Sister-in-law, who looks a bit like Cher, walked over to the slider door to get out to go to the next car. She waited until we pulled into a station (the first one in Queens, so it was a bit of a haul under the East River) and she bolted to safety. I followed into the car wanting, of course, to live. She looked relieved. I felt the same way. I asked her, “What was that?” And she said, “The homeless guy was farting.” “Really? Really?” I was incredulous. She said, “He was farting.”

He filled up the car with his colon’s effluvial. And I did think, for just a few moments, that we were all dead people.

Queens Explodes-- So Everything is Possible

 

You walk around in April in New York, especially in the parks or along the tree lined streets of the outer boroughs, and there are flowering trees everywhere, daffodils, tulips on the rise, the forsythia crop half over, and you just feel joyous.
Of course.
Simple.
Nothing new here.
But you get older and these occasions are even more joyous. It never ceases. Year after year, it comes around. The eternal redo. The ready when you are. The simple truth that nature is bigger than you are, bigger than a big city. No amount of garbage or dried urine stench wafting off a homeless man's trousers can stop it. No ego driven, fearful little bald man or angry lady with a purpose can do anything about it.

Welcome. Everything.

Starbucks is Here! Um...

 

Jackson Heights is the new Jackson Heights. Starbucks is all moved in on 37th, the main village road. It's great. Oh wait, it's awful. Oh wait---it increases my property value. Oh wait, it's another corporation taking over a mom-and-pop-coulda-been. Oh wait, it's great, because maybe next we'll get a book store. Oh wait, it's awful, because Queens is like something out of 1979 and that's being infringed upon. Oh wait, it's great because I can get some ass kicking tea and hang out with the locals. Oh wait, it's awful--just turning Jackson Heights into another mall-location. Oh wait. Wait. Wait. I don't know!

Okay, I like it. Does that make me a pig?

Figs

 


As Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, and I were walking down the street to go to our friend Jeff's house to play Carcassonne, we ran into a fig tree. It was planted in the strip of grass, often called the parkway, which I think is inferior to simply calling it what it is, a strip of grass, between the sidewalk and the street.

Beautiful night. So I snapped with the camera phone. Adam and I yacked along as we walked down the street. He had lunch with someone today who left Los Angeles years ago but has returned, temporarily. She said, "When I left Los Angeles, I never gave it a thought. In fact, there was really nothing about it that I liked. But when I came back here in January, I fell right back into the reason why it's great, and it's really the only reason--the weather."

Of course, the weather is not the only thing that is good about L.A. But it is the best thing about it.

Figs, lemons, oranges and avocados grow all over the city. There are flowers all year around. The Pacific Ocean keeps a steady, moist current in the air most of the year. During the day, it averages all year long about 72 degrees. It's ridiculous.

I have a friend in New York who has lived there most of her adult life. She does not like Los Angeles. I tell her how much I love the weather. She responds, "You can't live somewhere for the weather." But you can.

Short Time Father

During dinner with friends, the twenty-two year old turned to me and said, “Don, I wish you were my father.”

Concerning.

But immediately, it felt exactly right. I never thought that would sound like a compliment. The young person added that it was because his own father was cool and all but that it would have been better for him to have someone like me.

I was being gruff and I was turning ideas over, for fun. No sacred cows. Everything worth skewering. This kid would have loved to have had that growing up.

At the end of the bit he closed with, “You would have made a good father.”

I was father enough. In his mind. During a short section of dinner. I felt proud. Fathers are prone to pride.

Deck Show: The Stills

 

That's, from left to right, Tecia, Bradford, Don, Adam and Karen. This was our opening and closing formation. You know, it was cold out, but we did it. Mary, Anne, and Danny joined us. Hosted by Luke. There was quite a bubble machine at the end. It was actually a blast. The crowd was with us the whole time. And, you know, it was on the deck.

Our original closing number: The Deck Show Song


Bradford had a big idea, He bought a new Guitar

Guess what Karen, Out in Burbank, She jumped in her car

Adam baked a tasty cake and Tecia dropped her Broom

Don sat his ass in butter, cackling, this taint come too soon

It’s the deck show
What the Heck show
Here we are


Now don’t be impolite and throw your garbage on the floor

Cause cleaning up tomorrow, is gonna be a chore

You’re always welcome back to this old half a party house

And if you leave behind your buds, we might scrape up an ounce

It’s the deck show
What the Heck show
Here we are



We just knew there was no way we'd ever see this night,
But the unemployed got nothing else to do but get it right, Right now



Well we just rocked the house like Fleetwood Mac in 83

And you just stood there loving it and drinkin Pabst for free

We’ve had our fun, now you have yours, and don’t be feelin blue

Cause soon enough we’ll be announcing deck show number Two

It’s the deck show
What the Heck show
Here we are
3X

Deck Show 2008

That's a Potato Chip

 

Dig It

I keep reading about this silly wall they are building at the border between The United States and Mexico. I imagine someone will invent fascinating tunneling machines. Perhaps they will be portable and will run on solar energy. As long as you build it, they will come. It doesn’t matter what you build, people come to it.

And in this case, they will dig right under it.

I imagine this will choose for, perhaps, even heartier, smarter immigrants dying to work for the minimum wage (not that I don’t think our current millions of immigrants aren’t all bright, hard working, amazing human beings, I do, I do!)…but I need something more than a reliable house cleaner and an enterprising man to mow the lawn. I need someone to answer all this fucking email.

The Pecking Order Interests Me

The pain is real. The pecking order.

What if there was no pecking order? Would pain be worse?

It is normal to try to push toward the front of the chicken line. We all do it. If not at work, then at home. If not at home, then in the world of leisure.

The greatest pecking order people of all: The English. They brought pain and pleasure to all corners of the globe. The pain of subjugation. The pleasure of organized society.

One fantasizes, while dining in a Thai restaurant, there are places on earth where people approach each other with great respect and an instant positive regard for others. Because of the gentle nature of Thai restaurant workers?

I enjoy an orderly community. I would perish as a meter maid.

What does the meter maid think? Does anyone care? I usually just want her dead.

Maybe less pecking and more order?

Deck Show is Nigh

Deck Show

Saturday, April 5.

It’s free.

It’s on a deck.

Send a message for directions.

High Desert

Push back, away from that wretched computer screen, and GET OUT, far, INTO NATURE. Please carpool.

 

Travelogue

Went to the Desert.

The End, The Ice, The Sun

A GOOD SMOKE: Final two performances are this weekend. If you haven’t seen it. See it. If not now…then you might have to go to NY one day to see it. And that just adds carbon to the planet.

A GOOD SMOKE

*********************************************************************


And now, a word about the collapsed ice shelf: Shit.

My good friend, Dan, works for The Power Company. Frankly, they are doing fabulous work. Read!

Southern California Edison

If Men Can Get Pregnant, Why Can't I Just Marry One?

If men can get pregnant, why can’t I just marry one?

Labor of Love

A Haircut is Often the Answer

Today, Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, took our cancer ridden pooch, Louise, in for a very short summer cut.

She came home completely frisky and behaves at least three years younger today than she did yesterday. Let this be a lesson to us all. When you are old and filled with disease, keep up your grooming. Also helpful: have something to look forward to. For Louise, it’s her blood pressure medicine wrapped in a bite size piece of country paté.

Having ancient pets helps us all with great life lessons, the simplest, of course, being mortality. I suggest buying your five year old a gold fish this week just so you can teach her about death.

One of the best things about growing up quasi-Catholic was seeing all those dead bodies laid out in coffins. (My particular favorite wake was when my Great Aunt Rose, recently deceased, threw herself onto the corpse of my great grandmother, yelling, “Mama, take me with you!”)

Death, death, sad, funny, endless, timeless death.

Death is a serious visitor in our house. But this haircut, this jaunty do, has lifted the spirits of our dog and ourselves. Petco, we thank you for the respite.

Youth in Asia

You know, it was really nasty watching our cat die. I don’t have a problem with her being dead, it was truly time for the ol’ gal…but I actually hated watching her take the lethal injection. I feel like I have witnessed a snuff film.

I feel less inclined toward allowing it for human beings.

However, I did think of something today that could be helpful to the human race.

Before the cat was given the lethal injection, she was given an injection of anesthesia. There she lay, fully out. Why can’t we just do that for people? Just anesthetize them during the final days. You’re not killing them, but you are taking away conscious pain.

I’m all for it.

Circus Economics

Did you get your IRS notice recently? What a comedy!

My stimulus payment? What will it stimulate me to do? 600 dollars? What’s that, like 20 Euros? I think I’ll buy some eggs.

My favorite line of the notice:
“For taxpayers with adjusted gross income (AGI) of more than $75,000 (or more than $150,000 if married filing jointly), the payment will be reduced or phased out completely.”

Is that vague or what? “Or phased out completely?” As if this has been a long term thing and now they are putting an end to it?

I cannot believe George W. went to Yale. I could not even imagine him getting through clown college.

Deck Show: April 5 Clear the Decks

www.myspace.com/deckshow2008

Barak Yack

Look, he has some good points. And how smart he is. He distanced himself from the angry preacher but he understands black anger. Pretty clear headed.

Will Preachergate come back to bite him on his half black ass? I don’t know. Very interesting times.

Sow America

The Feds bailed out Wall Street a bit but the fundamental setup is still the same. So when the next investment bank crumbles, do they try to prop that one up, too?

And so on?

Bush has been on a shopping spree since the day he entered office. He fooled himself. He thought he was buying everything he and his friends needed with complete faith that an imperial class is what this country needs. The result: He devalued everything. Our stand in the international community, our dollar, our health, our air, our stability, our economy, our sense of worth, our personal freedom, our sense of well being.

Bush is a dumb pig. Through his eye slits, he can only recognize other pigs.

Pigs feeding other pigs in a hallway of swine mirrors is beyond piggish. It is how farms are lost. Nothing left but cloven hoof prints and mountains of pig slop. One hopes it makes good fertilizer.

Why Them?

I do not understand why this country loathes helping common people who are trying to get along but will happily bail out Bear Stearns.

Is it because we all think we are Bear Stearns people? We aren’t. The waste of the Pluto class is complete. The military has been fattened for our “War on Terror” and now industry is being fattened with this bailout. The industrial-military complex, which has been our guarantor of expansion is now our biggest liability (or, as I see it, has always been).

Maybe this nation’s money should be used to build greatly needed housing in New Orleans, to replace the collapsed bridge in Minneapolis, to provide healthcare to forty-five million uninsured Americans, and at the top of my list: to build a usable subway system in Los Angeles (A monorail would be fine, too).

Instead, we give money to old modes, harmful institutions.

Our government does not have our backs.

Your Brain

This clip is twenty minutes long. I believe it is worth taking the twenty minutes to sit down and watch the whole thing.


Link in NY Times:

Jill Bolte Taylor

If the NY Times link doesn’t work for you, hit this You Tube. Same thing.

Hillary Still

I’m still a Hillary fan. I think she has the best health care proposal. She has a hard on for change in a doable way. Come on.

Cat Exhaustion

Something about killing your pet is not only sad, it is also extremely exhausting.

The emotional drain. There you are sitting at the Vet---they take the cat into a back room, put a catheter in her leg and then bring her back to you.

Then, one shot in the port knocks her unconscious, the second shot stops her from living.

Then, her pupils completely dilate and her tongue hangs out of her mouth and she is, you know, dead.

I have seen this cat scampering around for fourteen years and then I saw her lying there, just like any other dead animal on the highway.

This transition from living to inanimate fur object is shocking to behold.

Adam and I were talking about crying. It seems like grief helps you make the disconnection. It’s how your brain breaks the bond. It’s essential. It wears on you, though.

Juanita Was a Wild Cat

We had to put Juanita down today. She died peacefully in Adam's arms at 11:30 AM. We'll miss her but she was suffering and it was time. She had a good long life and she leaves us with 16 years of wonderful memories. Especially the time she tore across the living room and flew right up the chimney. Goodbye, little one...



 

Married With Children With Borscht

Adam, My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, is about to start working on Married With Children...brand new episodes for Russian television.

He is telecommuting.

Downward Dog

Death Update.

Juanita, our cat, is being put to sleep on Tuesday.
She is sixteen. Adam has had her for sixteen years. I’ve known her for fourteen and a half years. This is sad.

But nothing as sad as Louise.

Louise, our pooch, the girl of my life, has terminal cancer. A huge plum sized tumor sits on the top of her heart, sourrounding her aorta. I spent the day at the Vet cardiac specialist on Sepuleveda. The Vet’s last name was Barrett. I took comfort. My neighbor next door growing up, her last name was also Barrett and they had lots of animals and I am pretty sure Susie Barrett became a veternarian herself. This Barrett was so kind. After the ultarsound, she sat with me and explained exactly how it was all going to go down: the coughing from the tumor rubbing up against the trachea, the enlarged heart, the fluid that was going to fill her chest cavity, which is difficult to drain, the fluid that will fill up her abdominal cavity because of her weak heart, and how that could actually be drained with no difficulty, the end being near, no need to ever get her teeth cleaned again, handed me blood pressure pills to reduce stress on the heart and diuretics to remove fluid, the end, the end, the end, the end of our gorgoues, loved doggie.

Adam and I have been crying all weekend. It’s ridiculous to even try to explain the indescribable wailing that takes over.

Pet Scan

We brought our cat, Juanita, to the vet today. It was almost time to give her her final shot. She has quite a mouth full of cancer, can barely eat or drink, weighs just four pounds, it’s over. We got up this morning and fed her a dish of tuna. She ate it all followed by a long slurping in the toilet. After that, she was so happy. She sat in the sun. We just couldn’t kill her. Not today. Maybe next Tuesday.

But we had to go to the Vet for her follow up anyway. We brought Louise along, our amazing pooch, because she has had a cough for three weeks and antibiotics are not stopping it. We left her behind for X-rays and bloodwork. Turns out, she has a very enlarged heart and tomorrow I get to drop hundreds of dollars at an animal cardioligist’s office who is going to give a second opinion and probably some pills, mostly diuretics, to remove fluid. At the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Sepulveda. On a Friday.
The good news is enlarged hearts are treatable. Sure, she’ll die from it one day…but there’s still time to give her the love. It’s better than cancer.

So the cat is almost gone. The dog, well, I hope the heart doctor gives her a year or two.

I love my pooch more than anything on earth. It feels like that to me.

Old pets. You just have to be ready.

It's Time You've Been Tubed

I was sitting up late last night and I thought, “I think it’s time I YouTubed my home town." (I used YouTubed in the same way one uses Googled). I had a sneaking suspicion the results would yield sports, sports and more sports. I was correct. But little did I know the clips would have background music. I give you a 2007 Suffern High School Wrestling match set to Thriller, why they chose that song I do not know.



Then I thought, “Don, have you ever YouTubed yourself?” So, I YouTubed. And here it is…the trailer to the award winning early 1990’s indie feature, “The Appointment.” The guy without the shirt on with the big gun is Sylvester Stallone's brother-in-law. The woman with him is Sly's sister. We shot in their house in Brentwood. Our last day of shooting. The guy who looks like me, about fifteen years ago, is me. The clothes I am wearing truly are mine. The 1992 White Geo Prizm Trunk that I hit with my angry fists is my car. I still drive it.

The Hillary Wedge?

This is a contest that does not need to happen any longer.

This is when someone strikes a great deal.

Six more weeks until Pennsylvania? And? Really?

What?

Hillary, we love(d) you. We love you. I don’t know.

A Good Smoke: LA Weekly & Grigware Talks Theatre

Happily, LA WEEKLY gave a very positive review for A GOOD SMOKE and the great label GO. Don Grigware put out a rave. This marriage of art and press is interesting.

GO A GOOD SMOKE Writer-director Don Cummings adeptly captures the chaos enveloping a collapsing family, in his dark one-act comedy. Eldest son Dave (Henry Gummer) has returned to his family's home in the hope of straightening out the latest mess. Coinciding with the birth of her first grandchild, Mom (Barbara Gruen) goes off her meds and lands in a psychiatric ward. She's now back at home, but Dave's attempts to get her to rehab are thwarted by his younger brother, Joe (Blake Anthony), who's become Mom's enabler. Mom may — or may not — have pancreatitis, or possibly fibromyalgia; what she does have is an endless supply of prescription pain pills, which Joe hides, doling them out one by one when she begs. Dad (Dennis Delsing) copes by drinking himself into a stupor. Despite pleas from both sons, Mom refuses to go to the hospital to see her daughter, Susan (Madelynn Fattibene), and the baby, nor will she visit Susan and her granddaughter at home. Cummings has a gift for the pointed barb, and some of the dialogue is hilarious, despite the situation's gravity. His direction is as fast-paced as the dialogue, and Gruen delivers a tremendous performance as a deceptive, manipulative drug addict. Chandler Studio Theatre Center, 12443 Chandler Blvd., N. Hlywd.; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m.; thru March 29. (800) 838-3006. The Production Company. --Sandra Ross, LA Weekly

LA WEEKLY GO


CRITIC’S PICK
A Good Smoke
written and directed by Don Cummings
Chandler Studio Theatre Center, NoHo
through March 30

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained”. Parental authority often throws that timeworn adage in children’s faces. They are doing their damndest to motivate, but their unflinching control may cause catastrophic results. If one manages to break away from the rest of the family, and relocate, say, to the West coast from the East, total independence is tenuous at best. Such is the case with Dave, an environmentalist (Henry Gummer) who revisits his monstrous mother Joyce (Barbara Gruen) during one of her recurring bouts of illness in Don Cummings’ staggeringly real dramedy A Good Smoke.


The minute Joyce’s problem rears its ugly head, most of the family rallies to her - such is the power of her apron strings. No one can escape her. Like Martha in Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Joyce brays and complains tirelessly. Unlike Martha, it’s not about a sexless husband, but instead about her aches and pains. They’re caused from either fibromyalgia or pancreatitis. Doctors seem baffled by her symptoms and have put her on prescriptive drugs including morphine that make her as much an emotional as a physical wreck. Joyce blames it all on her mother’s incessant abuse; she was hit repeatedly as a child, and that trauma has damaged her. What is so sad is that without realizing the full extent of her actions, she continues the vicious cycle. Son Joey (Blake Anthony) caters to her every whim, but cannot seem to find himself. Without love or a plan of his own making, he is trapped, as is the father (Dennis Delsing), who drinks to bear his sorrow. There is also a daughter, Susan (Madelynn Fattibene) who has just given birth and is fretting over her newborn child’s slowness to nurse. Joyce is too caught up in her own world to visit and help Susan, to the disgust of Dave, who is at continuing odds with his mother’s negativity. Mother’s presence is still felt strongly, though, as Susan wrestles with naming her child Joyce.

To quote Eleanor of Aquitane in William Goldman’s The Lion in Winter, “every family has its ups and downs”. This family’s entrapment is tragic, but not without many comic undertones, as dysfunction and dark humor go hand in hand. Everyone can relate to at least one problem, and the familial plight is so pathetic at times, especially Joyce’s, that laughter seems a better medicine than tears. Cummings does well to cut away from the mother’s agonizing abuse and intersperses scenes that serve as comic relief, such as at a local bar where the 3 men get drunk and then stoned in the parking lot behind. It is here that Dave poetically describes the beauty of an old crabapple tree on the property. This beauty does not preclude the destructive quality of nature and intelligently opposes the human element of control over it, once more control, which remains at the thematic core of the play.

The ensemble is solid. Gruen is outstanding in her brutally honest portrayal. Her lonely conversation on a cell phone to a voice machine as she cleans the house at 5am is monumentally engrossing. Her ferocious attack on lines like “Pull it together, Susan!” is drop dead hilarious. Gummer lends the complicated Dave, who is the spokesman for the playwright, a dynamic focus and compassionate sensitivity. Anthony adds the right touch of bewilderment, and Fattibene is gutwrenching in her deep need to mother her newborn. Delsing creates an appropriate wimp of an alcoholic husband, and Mary McBride adds color as the caring, yet “all business” mother-in-law.

Cummings stages the piece on the small Chandler stage with the utmost dexterity. The title A Good Smoke refers to the family’s addiction to cigarettes, and at play’s end, the bleak, silent freeze-frame portrait of the typical American dysfunctional family lighting up makes us simultaneously laugh and cry.

5 out of 5 stars
--Don Grigware, Grigware Talks Theatre

GRIGWARE TALKS THEATRE CRITIC'S PICK

A Good Smoke: LA Times Review

Funny thing about addiction

We're all addicts, admits Don Cummings' cheerfully rude comedy, "A Good Smoke," now staged by the Production Company at Chandler Studio Theatre Center. Whether it's momma, nicotine or self-righteousness, there's no limping through life without a crutch.

That's bad news for do-gooder Dave (Henry Gummer), who flies in from California after his domineering, hypochondriac mother (Barbara Gruen) conveniently has a breakdown the same day her daughter, Susan (Madelynn Fattibene), gives birth. Dave prides himself on being way past the tactics of his bloodsucking family, but it's a crime scene, all right: Younger brother Joe (Blake Anthony) enables Mom's pill popping, while passive Dad (Dennis Delsing) tunes out with beer and football. Susan's newborn won't nurse, the crisis is shredding everyone's nerves, and Dave foolishly gave up smoking years ago.

It's tough to mine much that's new in the dysfunctional family genre, but Cummings has a feel for desperation, and he gives each of the play's women her own awful, nakedly human monologue. As the mother from hell, Gruen admirably holds her ground, refusing to give into sitcom cuteness or ask for our sympathy.

Cummings, who also directed, has trouble moving the cast around August Viverito's cramped set of appropriately exhausted furniture. You wish he'd cleared the whole thing out and done it black-box style. After all, what says home more than recriminations and a clean ashtray?

--Charlotte Stoudt

"A Good Smoke" The Chandler Studio Theatre Center, 12443 Chandler Blvd., North Hollywood. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 3 p.m. Sundays. Ends March 29. $22. (800) 838-3006. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes.

Physics Corner: Eyes on Newton

Newton's Three Laws of Motion

Let us begin our explanation of how Newton changed our understanding of the
Universe by enumerating his Three Laws of Motion.

Newton's First Law of Motion:

I. Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state
of motion unless an external force is applied to it.

This we recognize as essentially Galileo's concept of inertia, and this is often
termed simply the "Law of Inertia".

Newton's Second Law of Motion:

II. The relationship between an object's mass m, its acceleration a, and
the applied force F is F = ma. Acceleration and force are vectors (as
indicated by their symbols being displayed in slant bold font); in this
law the direction of the force vector is the same as the direction of the
acceleration vector.

This is the most powerful of Newton's three Laws, because it allows quantitative
calculations of dynamics: how do velocities change when forces are applied.
Notice the fundamental difference between Newton's 2nd Law and the dynamics of
Aristotle: according to Newton, a force causes only a change in velocity (an
acceleration); it does not maintain the velocity as Aristotle held.
This is sometimes summarized by saying that under Newton, F = ma, but under
Aristotle F = mv, where v is the velocity. Thus, according to Aristotle there is
only a velocity if there is a force, but according to Newton an object with a
certain velocity maintains that velocity unless a force acts on it to cause an
acceleration (that is, a change in the velocity). As we have noted earlier in
conjunction with the discussion of Galileo, Aristotle's view seems to be more in
accord with common sense, but that is because of a failure to appreciate the
role played by frictional forces. Once account is taken of all forces acting in
a given situation it is the dynamics of Galileo and Newton, not of Aristotle,
that are found to be in accord with the observations.


Newton's Third Law of Motion:

III. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

This law is exemplified by what happens if we step off a boat onto the bank of a
lake: as we move in the direction of the shore, the boat tends to move in the
opposite direction (leaving us facedown in the water, if we aren't careful!).

New World, Old World

In Los Angeles, in California, on the West Coast, there is a sense of the new, always the new. Because people are generally creative here, coming up with movies, software, turbine designs, what have you, it tends toward an opening of the spirit, a relaxed attitude toward differences.

On the west coast, one feels that anything is possible. This permeates the personalities of its citizens. It brings out cheeriness. At rest, the expression of so many people is, “What a curious new event.”

A thrill, really.

But when we get together with our friends, our closest friends, all of that goes away. Or at least, it is not primary to the interaction. Especially with the friends who live here who are from Europe or the East, or even the Midwest. When we are together, we look for what is classically good in life. We look for the care of the old world. We love what is new, but we need a strong sense that relationships are the sustaining factor of life. We hold to what is decent and loving and what we know is mellowing, what can be poured from a bottle. We turn away from invention.

What Could Have Been and A Cleaning

Imagine if a consumer level internet existed during the 1980’s. There would have been websites dedicated to The Porky’s Trilogy. Or even worse, Zapped.

How about a Facebook Group called The Go-Go’s? Or a Boy George Chat Room?

But wait, I bet all this crap exists.

Seriously.

I mean, I’m being all judgmental. I should take a break here. We all know there is a Joni Mitchell Web Site and it’s doing very well. Right?

And The Monkees certainly have an online presence. How long before everything is finally posted? The Book of Kells? All of Rumi? Recipes in Cuneiform?

I already have a hard time sifting through all the web pages that are obsolete. Who is going to clean up these pages? The tax rules for 2003? The outdated Bobby Sherman schedules? The unverified images of Nancy Regan’s shoes?

Rumors, lies, data, raw data, refined data, porn and the weather all mixed together. It is disorganized and becoming harder to use.

A Greatest Hits of the Web with serious personal filters is what we need now. With a unique editor deciding what is just right for you. It has to be cleaned up.

A Good Smoke: The First Review

LASTAGESCENE.COM by Steven Stanley

The Cycle of Mourning

We will pull out of Iraq. And then there’s the atonement. It’s time. We will contract. We will be less aggressive. We will learn how to take care of ourselves, within our own borders.

It Was Hers To Lose

I Loved Hillary So Much.

Bye Bye Baby.

A Good Smoke Saturday

Opening night is sold out. Saturday evening has seats available. Do Come.


A Good Smoke, Now Playing

Powder Kegs and You

I am no fan of Albania, Serbia, or Kosovo. Though I would love to see the Adriatic.

As a citizens of North America, it is hard to imagine this ridiculous tribalism of the old world. But people are strange. I could not root for “Buffalo” or “St. Louis” in a sporting event. Those, too, have their own scary tribal auras.

I cannot imagine World War III. But I can imagine another silly war. Even without the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.

All this angst about who gets the land. Or more tragically, who gets to rule the land and then enslave the others who are not in the ruling class.

I have no solutions. If I were to visit Kosovo, I would surely become even more perplexed.

Oh Powder Keg, take a cold bath.

For What It's Worth

I keep listening to Buffalo Springfield’s For What It’s Worth.

The cycle keeps going and the need for this kind of song returns, like swallows. The uprising in The United States is not completely from young people like in For What It’s Worth. The uprising is coming from people of all ages who need things to be extremely different. Sure, some are behind one Democratic candidate or the other—but it isn’t that much different.

Things will change in 2009. Sadly, another war can boomerang back at any moment.

Not to be cynical.

In my short life there have already been so many wars. I do hope, if nothing else, that we have some time off.

I love those years between wars. The times when people can go about their own journeys and they don’t have to spend any psychological energy being for or against “The War.”

The war can be any war. On drugs. For Oil. Against Gay Marriage. All that war.

If we turn away from the wars, the combatants can lay down their weapons. The protestors can lay down their keyboards. Citizens can individuate. Then, without the pressure of un-winnable, useless conflict, humans all around can become so much more interesting.

February 18, 1974

I went to Kenneth’s house. We went skating. We played some games. He gave me 5 guppies. Well Goodnight.

We All Learn to Crawl: Dan

It's interesting this crawling. I've observed a couple things. You can tell from the video that his arm movements are already programmed into the part of the brain where he does it automatically, where his legs aren't there yet. He needs to do it a few dozen more times before he can do it without thinking about it. The other thing is his desire to crawl comes from his instinct to explore the world around him. He sees something and wants to know all about it by touching it and tasting it. Without that desire he would basically be a house plant. Says something about human nature I think. It's like the space program, which came out of a desire to go to the moon for no other reason than touch it really.

The Slap

Sitting at dinner yesterday, Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, and I were eating some ground turkey with peppers, feta and olives when I spotted the mail. I went to it, saw a thin envelope from The Eugene O’Neill Theater Center, the most important theater development institution in the country, and I thought, “Oh great, another rejection letter.”

But it was not. It was a letter stating that they were “thrilled’ to include me in the semifinalists for my latest play, A GOOD SMOKE. Wild. I cried, naturally. Now I know what it’s like to be Miss America.

Back at rehearsals: There are so many moments to take care of, so many actors to support and cajole. And it is very fulfilling. What is fun about theater is, at the end of the day, I have to get one actor to slap another actor hard enough so that it doesn’t hurt while still making a lot of cheek noise. I love that, in the end, it’s all about the slap.

The Past, The Future

The Past:




The Future:

A GOOD SMOKE

A GOOD SMOKE
By Don Cummings

 

Semifinalist for the 2008 Playwrights Conference at The Euguene O'Neill Theater Center.

Reviews:

LA WEEKLY GO by Sandra Ross

LASTAGESCENE.COM by Steven Stanley

LOS ANGELES TIMES REVIEW by Charlotte Stoudt

GRIGWARE TALKS THEATRE by Don Grigware

Los Angeles Times CALENDAR LIVE READER REVIEWS

Grigware Talks Theatre Interview

February 22 - March 29
Fridays & Saturdays @ 8 PM
Sundays @ 3 PM (No Shows on 2/24 & 3/23)
The Chandler Studio Theatre
12443 Chandler Boulevard, North Hollywood CA 91607
Five Blocks West of Laurel Canyon, just East of Whitsett. Free Plentiful Parking

Reservations:

1-800-838-3006

The Production Company at The Chandler Studio Theatre

A Good Smoke: My Space

GO Writer-director Don Cummings adeptly captures the chaos enveloping a collapsing family, in his dark one-act comedy. Cummings has a gift for the pointed barb, and some of the dialogue is hilarious, despite the situation's gravity. His direction is as fast-paced as the dialogue, and Gruen delivers a tremendous performance as a deceptive, manipulative drug addict. --Sandra Ross, LA Weekly

We're all addicts, admits Don Cummings' cheerfully rude comedy, "A Good Smoke," whether it's momma, nicotine or self righteousness, there's no limping through life without a crutch. It's tough to mine much that's new in the dysfunctional family genre, but Cummings has a feel for desperation, and he gives each of the play's women her own awful, nakedly human monologue. As the mother from hell, Gruen admirably holds her ground, refusing to give into sitcom cuteness or ask for our sympathy.-- Charlotte Stoudt, Los Angeles Times

Don Cummings’ darkly funny A Good Smoke could just as easily be titled Life
With The Mother From Hell, but that might just be the teensiest bit off-putting.
After all, how many of us would choose to spend an hour and a half with one
of the most unrelentingly angry women ever put on a stage? But rest assured,
on opening night the Chandler Theatre was filled with uproarious laughter,
and I was among those who laughed the loudest. Black as the comedy in as
A Good Smoke is, this is a very funny comedy indeed.

Much of the humor is in the performance of lines that, in and of themselves, seem to be unlikely laugh-getters. Cummings’ script is so devilishly clever that it doesn't
need “jokes,” though lines like “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice,” are
indeed funny.

Under Cummings’ skillful direction, Barbara Gruen (Mom) gives one of the most
furious, fearless, and physically fatiguing performances I’ve ever witnessed.
Seething with constant anger, Gruen never once gives in to the temptation
to soften Mom, making her all the funnier, in a perversely satisfying way.
Gruen’s is a must-be-seen performance, never more so than in the 10-minute
phone rant she delivers full force, her words getting steadily louder and faster
and crazier. You sit there listening, mouth agape, and laughing as you cringe,
half of you wanting for her to just shut up, and the other half waiting to see
what will pop out of her mouth next.

Henry Gummer’s likeable persona works to make Dave the most sympathetic character, and once again those “sad but sparkling eyes” speak volumes. Blake Anthony does deliciously deadpan work as Joe, and Dennis Delsing is a hoot as Dad (and plays “funny drunk” just about as well as I’ve ever seen it done). Madelynn Fattibene, is outstanding at showing the unremittingly hangdog Susan’s real pain and suffering. Finally, Mary McBride appears all too briefly as Susan’s mother-in-law Betty, as relentlessly cheerful as Susan is morose.

Cummings, who also penned the very funny The Fat Of The Land, clearly understands the fine line between comedy and tragedy, and A Good Smoke walks that line to often side-splitting results. This is a play worth seeing, and one which will certainly provoke much post-curtain discussion.

August Viverito’s set and lighting design make excellent use of The Chandler
Theatre’s long, narrow space, with lighting and sound (designed by Bob
Blackburn) allowing for quick set changes, from living room, to hospital room, to
bar. Zoe Buck’s costumes are also very good.

A Good Smoke is “smoking-good” fun. Who would have thought that spending an hour and a half with “the mother from hell” would prove so entertaining?
--Steven Stanley, LA StageScene.com

This family’s entrapment is tragic, but not without many comic undertones, as dysfunction and dark humor go hand in hand. Everyone can relate to at least one problem, and the familial plight is so pathetic at times, especially Joyce’s, that laughter seems a better medicine than tears. Cummings does well to cut away from the mother’s agonizing abuse and intersperses scenes that serve as comic relief. The ensemble is solid. Gruen is outstanding in her brutally honest portrayal. Her lonely conversation on a cell phone to a voice machine as she cleans the house at 5am is monumentally engrossing. Her ferocious attack on lines like “Pull it together, Susan!” is drop dead hilarious. Gummer lends the complicated Dave, who is the spokesman for the playwright, a dynamic focus and compassionate sensitivity. Anthony adds the right touch of bewilderment, and Fattibene is gutwrenching in her deep need to mother her newborn. Delsing creates an appropriate wimp of an alcoholic husband, and Mary McBride adds color as the caring, yet “all business” mother-in-law.
Cummings stages the piece on the small Chandler stage with the utmost dexterity. The title A Good Smoke refers to the family’s addiction to cigarettes, and at play’s end, the bleak, silent freeze-frame portrait of the typical American dysfunctional family lighting up makes us simultaneously laugh and cry.
5 out of 5 stars – GRIGWARE TALKS THEATRE by Don Grigware


Reservations:

1-800-838-3006

The Production Company at The Chandler Studio Theatre

A Good Smoke: My Space

A GOOD SMOKE

Written and Directed by Don Cummings

Featuring: Henry Gummer, Barbara Gruen, Madelynn Fattibene, Blake Anthony, Dennis Delsing & Mary McBride

Assistant Director: Carla Barnett
Set and Lighting Design: August Viverito
Costumes: Zoe Buck
Sound Design: Bob Blackburn
Produced by August Viverito & T L Kolman

I'm So Excited About this Alternative Fuel Idea

I hate to waste. I love the planet, in the same way that I love my old car. Why junk it or try to get a new one when it still works?

I don’t think corn is the answer. I think the corn lobby is excited. (And maybe the corn, itself, is a little smug). All that water, all those pesticides? And breaking down ethanol in an engine creates plenty of Carbon Dioxide. Look, if you’re going to burn something, I’m kind of for oil. It’s already made. You don’t have to grow something and then process it. The dinosaurs are all dead and hanging around underground in liquid form.

Which brings me to my excitement. I want to create an oil silo about a mile high off the ground with a spigot at the bottom. As people die, you just drop them in. As the corpses add up, the pressure will squeeze oil out the bottom.

I’m happy to be the first one.

Strike Three and More

More than three months have passed since the writers have gone on strike. It looks like it is coming to an end. It should be resolved by Monday.

Answer me this: Why are producers such dirty, greedy slobs? What did they gain from their stubborn posturing?

Sally On: Aunt Rose

From my sister:

Greg and I went to the cemetery today for Aunt Rose's burial. Thanks Earl and Colleen for organizing this from afar. We were glad it could be worked out so that we could be there. Nick from Colonial did a nice job. He read some ritualistic funeral prayers (It has a name but I forget what he called it). It was very lovely. We also said an Our Father! Amazing what the mind retains after all these years! It felt good to be there to say good-bye.
We looked at the headstone with Uncle Gus, Aunt Jean and Aunt Rose's names.
I can't believe Uncle Gus died in 1967! I was 7 and am surprised I have such clear memories of him. Then Greg and I went on the search for Section 46, row G, tier I, grave #2! It took us about 5 minutes to figure out that the unmarked cemetery was actually marked! You just need to look at the side of the stones to see the engraved numbers on them. Alas! After 10 or so minutes more we found Nettie and Sam! I told Greg that Nettie was probably saying "It's about time you bastards came to see me!" Greg rightfully corrected me and said that she would have said "someofabitches!" Now that I know how close Holy Cross is I plan to go back and visit. It's a nice enough cemetery as those things go. They really crowd them in there! It was kind of weird saying goodbye to the last of the DeFranzas and seeing so many of them there.

After that I was grateful that I had my brother with me and we had the opportunity to spend a little while together, reminisce about the past and talk about the present. I am thankful each day for the many blessings that are often taken for granted!

Rock On!

Sally




Family Tree:

Michelina Boriello DeFranza and Augustus DeFranza gave birth to:

Nettie Jean Rose Gus Helen & Earl
(originally named Antoinette, Angelica, Rosa, Augustus, Helena and Earlando)

Nettie married Sam Porcello and gave birth to Janet and Joeseph

Janet married Donald Cummings and gave birth to Me, Sally and Greg

Helen married Charles Lynch and gave birth to Earl who married Colleen (now in Santa Barbara)

And now, so many of them are dead. And more will die. I along with them.

So, It Wasn't So Super

Can Hillary and Obama just keep splitting, splitting, splitting, with no end in sight?

Interesting.

I would be happy with either one. I think many other Democrats feel the same way. Please, oh Lord, please, just make it a Democrat for president.

Interestingly, I have heard and I kind of agree with the idea, that perhaps Obama against McCain assures a Democratic win…since Obama is so young and ready and McCain is such a geezer. Hillary won’t provide this ageist contrast.

On the other hand, Obama, while sparkly and charismatic, could end up alienating the middle. At least that’s what I fear. Obama fever could well take over the country, OR, it could backfire and he could lose miserably against McCain.

No crystal balls here. I do hope we get the exact president we deserve. These days, we deserve a real good one. We’ve endured the absolute worst.

Full disclosure: I voted for Hillary…because I think we need a pragmatic Wart Hog. I think Hillary’s the Wart Hog that can get the job done. Though I do hope it’s with Barak by her side. Together, they can fix this wretched hole of a country. And if it’s Barak as President with Hillary as Cheney, well, I’d be thrilled with that, too.

Nostalgic for Better Times

We do own this on DVD...It's The Carpenters from their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1970.

Bet you can't watch it just once.





Happy Super Tuesday.

Moonachie Madness

I must admit, the odd way the Giants won in the Super Bowl is quite interesting—in terms of probability, random dramatic effect, what else…

The clips of New York fans screaming and celebrating have a Nuremburg Parade Ground tone to them that unsettles and saddens. When the cameras capture a young adult male yelling, ‘Boston sucks, Boston sucks,” you just wish you were a different species.

We are beasts, true. Pass the meat.

Two Great Tastes that Taste Great Together

It’s peanut butter and chocolate, together at last.

Will Obama and Hillary run together?

Why not??? I’ve always thought so.

I am so happy for ANYONE.

You know, I am so thrilled that Bozo the fucking moron is finally going to leave the White House, I’d even be happy to have McCain. Anyone. One of the termites that’s chewing down my garage would be fine.

These are exciting times. The debate was right up the street. California is excited to have an actual human being sit in the oval office. This is so great. The pall is lifting.

January 31. 1979

Today was very mediocre. School was school. French was fun. I’m in a pretty just overall frustrated sick of people taking advantage of me mood. I did loads and loads of homework. I can’t believe how much I did. Goodnight.

Why Doesn't Anyone Believe Me?

Giuiliani was running for Vice President all along.

He saw Cheney’s unchecked power and has been, “Gimme some of that good shit,” from the get-go.

He never tried, really. He wants the #2 position.

The fascist really did decrease crime in New York City. And he made it safe for The Lion King and Banana Republic. He is awful. But, I think he has a better sense of humor than Cheney. Plus, he’ll do drag when called upon.

No matter. It is impossible to believe that a Republican ticket could take the white house. Even if the Los Angeles Times prints the ugliest, most unflattering pictures of Hillary Clinton since the beginning of papyrus.

I hate The LA Times. I must cancel, ASAP.

Gratefully Clean

The strange thing about being a playwright is by the time a play gets into production, your life has moved forward---often by many years.

My play, A Good Smoke, opens on February 22. It is based on events that happened more than eight years ago. It also deals with addiction, mostly cigarettes, but also pills, pot and booze.

While directing this play, I found myself getting sucked in. I started to smoke things. Cigarettes even. And then very quickly, like Bugs Bunny with the huge hammer who stops himself just before he takes a wack at the nose of a bomb, I screamed, “What Am I Doing?” And quickly, I put the hammer down.

All is forgiven, of course. I can’t beat myself up for any of this. And I am grateful that my backslide to eight years ago only lasted a few days. However, I must be cautious and I must stay in present life even if past life is playing out right in front of me. A story, a play, a painting, an etching, is formed at the time it is formed. Then, it needs to be there on its own. It doesn’t need you any longer.

Birds and Books

Congratulations Megan Karlen for your first book cover.

Forms of Intercession

Theatre Tribe Diatribe

So much of my blogging energy today has been involved with this guy who, in the greatest sense, wants actors to become like organic vegetables: Grown locally, consumed within a five mile radius.

There is so much going on here. What’s his agenda? Why such narrow focus? A blog that pushes just one point is a bit odd to me. It’s like Republicans---if you stay forever on message, you will perish. Things are huge and changing. Of course. Look at Seventeenth Century France and Twentieth Century Paramus. So be the reed.

Today’s Theatre

Lack of Newspaper

I have not had the time to read the newspaper for almost two months. Finally, yesterday and today, I did have a chance to glance.

Heath Ledger is DEAD?

The Stock Market has FALLEN APART?

And that awful weasel, GWB, is still the, GASP, leader of the Free World?
(Free World? Free to whom?)

It is interesting what one can fill one’s head with. I’ve had an enormous TO DO list since October—I am not complaining. I wanted my list to get large. I am grateful. But the list has trumped the reading.

However, I do miss the world discussion since I’ve been out of the loop. (And for the record, I think I just have to get the New York Times to replace my current fish wrap. The LA Times gets sillier by the second.)

However, being out of the loop can give one the space to trust gut feelings on various subjects. By just feeling the hive vibe of America and catching the snippets as they occasionally catch your eye, you can come to conclusions that are not so analytical. Sometimes, those are the best conclusions you can draw.

Now Playing

READING, at the Famously Enjoyable

SIT 'N SPIN

I will be reading It Must Be So Hard for You
From my Memoir Open Trench

Also reading on the same night--
Domestic Violins
written by My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner
Adam Waring

Thursday, January 24 @ 8PM
Comedy Central Stage @ The Hudson Theatre
6539 Santa Monica Boulevard
Call For Reservations
323-960-5519

Sit ‘N Spin

One Night Only Free Reservations are very necessary

Bye Bye

 

Goodybe Aunt Rose

My Great Aunt Rose Died today.
She was 91 or 92, depending on which birth certificate you decided was the right one.

She had a mob boyfriend. His name was Frank Amore. He never left his wife. He died when he was sixty. Back in the 1950's.

Aunt Rose was feisty and loved to watch television. She was fancy, sported a mock Park Avenue accent even though she lived in subsidized housing. She has amazing pictures of herself wearing furs and gloves that Frank bought for her.

She went into the hospital a week before Christmas. A bit cancer ridden.

She had no children. My cousins put her in a nursing home a few days ago. She was so pissed off. She said she never wanted to be in a nursing home. When my cousins called her to say that they would set up her cataract surgery, she said, "Don't bother. I'm done. Bye Bye."

A few hours later, she died.

Illegal in Four States

He can lay his gay body down on four corners of four states and what is the only thing he can count on? That he can't marry his partner of fourteen years in any of them. There should really be a monument.

 

In It: A Good Smoke

What goes on goes on.

I am rehearsing a play that opens February 22. It takes every minute of my free time. This is exciting and it is worth it. I have a cast: Barbara Gruen, Mary McBride, Madelynn Fattibene, Henry Gummer, Blake Anthony and Dennis Delsing…they really are a smart and talented bunch. I am grateful. They work hard. They have ideas. They are enjoyable people.

The play is called A GOOD SMOKE. I wrote a one act version of it years ago. It was commissioned a few years later to become a full length play. The commission fell through. Then, it was shopped around and now it is being produced in a sweet little theatre in the valley. And I am very lucky.

Do come see it. One and all.

The Production Company

Now Playing

READING, at the Famously Enjoyable

SIT 'N SPIN

I will be reading It Must Be So Hard for You
From my Memoir Open Trench

Also reading on the same night--
Domestic Violins
written by My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner
Adam Waring

Thursday, January 24 @ 8PM
Comedy Central Stage @ The Hudson Theatre
6539 Santa Monica Boulevard
Call For Reservations
323-960-5519

Sit ‘N Spin

One Night Only Free Reservations are very necessary

My People

There’s something about my people---sitting around Naples while the garbage piles up.
A strike. A load of filth.

Being an American mutt, I have at times dipped into a section of my being and have felt very connected to the people of Naples (even though my people are from a small hill town that is at least an hour away)…but at times like this, I feel repelled by their mess. But then I boomerang around and accept my DNA.

What I have always liked about having Italian blood is the deep understanding of the eternal source of happiness: to celebrate how beautiful life is because it is so damn awful.

It's a Vagina, Madam, Not a Clown Car

Even though I am in nonstop play rehearsals, design meetings and who-knows-what-else for A Good Smoke and have little time to spare---and even though my computer died and I had to rebuild it---and even though we had a Tufts undergrad living with us this week in the backyard so he could attend his Hollywood “Winternship”—one would think I would have just turned my back on my Blog and let it lie fallow. However, my compulsive nature does not allow it!

Today’s Blog is brought to you courtesy of Anne Etue. It’s an entry from List of the day.
My favorite caption, of course, is It’s a vagina, madam, not a clown car. Click and Scroll .

Future Blog entry ideas are welcome!

Welcome to 2008

Have you begun to date things correctly yet? I am getting close.

Pills

The hushed goal of medicine these days is not really to heal but to prop patients up on drugs until every last per-capita dollar has been squeezed out of the system and our pickled remains are hauled off to a final resting place.

--Printer Bowler, New Yorker 10/22/07

Thank You and God Bless You

The beauty of You Tube is I can decide when to watch Hillary Clinton’s victory speech in New Hampshire. 2:30AM.

I also watched Obama’s Iowa victory speech.

Hillary does seem more grounded and much more ready to be president. I don’t think she has anything too new…she’s a Clintonian Clinton. What gives me peace is she seems so very smart and sane. Her smile is a bit cartoonish. But after all that campaigning, I would not only be cartoonish, I’d be asleep.

Obama, I don’t know. I feel like he’s acting the part. He’s young enough to be able to still do such a thing. Hillary is old enough to not be able to get away with that. I never know what the hell Obama is talking about. Change? To what? I mean, sure, we all want change. But what specifically does he have in mind? I just don’t know. Besides, he sounded too much like a preacher during his big speech. Forgive me, but I think he was showboating.

Hillary began and ended her victory speech with much humility. With a final signing off, she invoked the Lord, “Thank you and God bless you.” And you know what? She means it. And you know what? 95% of Americans believe in God and I think most of them believe in God the way she does. And isn’t this election all about God? Even for Democrats?

God help us.

www.myspace.com/doncummings

Today’s blog entry is brought to you by our friendly host, Don Cummings, AKA Uncle Donald, at www.myspace.com/doncummings.

Geek Squad: Merci

My computer was acting strange. It all began about five weeks ago. I kept it together by not doing too much. I even brought the thing to New York for two weeks and got by. I came back to Los Angeles, tried to get an expired Norton off my hard drive. It became more and more impossible. Corruption. Freezing. A non-moving cursor. Restore points would not restore. In effect, my machine was toasty fried.

Usually, I soldier on and figure it out, but it was clear, this was impossible to fix. I zipped over to Best Buy and dropped the thing in the far back corner of The Geek Squad. I think they might even be a franchise within Best Buy. Whatever the structure, I was perfectly taken care of. For $59, they diagnosed my machine in twenty-four hours: Dead Hard Drive. (They do die, you know), and within another twenty-six hours and $270, I had a completely restored computer with a new hard drive inside (more than three times the size of my old one) with XP, Office and QuickBooks installed and updated and by the end of today, I am up and running as if almost nothing happened. And my computer is super zippy.

This is a positive end to a sad tale. However, it was only positive because I had everything backed up, almost to the day. Friends, back up your boxes. I had an iMac that actually melted four years ago, and now this. About every four years, with heavy computer use, something will happen. Back up, back up, back up. You must.

Computers are like cell phones. Completely disposable. Keep your data safe. That’s all I’m saying.

Cat-Tastrophy

Sometimes your cat gets run over by a car. It happens.

Today, Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, looked at me squarely in the eye and with an adult tone said, “It’s supposed to rain for four days, I’m going up on the roof to clean out the gutters.”

I did not argue. Each year, Adam does this job. It’s really more about checking them than cleaning them, but no matter what, you have to get up that ladder. When Adam opened the side gate in order to move the green can (that’s the garbage can for plant material only) our ancient cat, Oliver, ran out. This happens. Frequently. But usually, he just runs toward the house next door or down the sidewalk a bit, playing a game of “Catch me if you can,” and he is always caught.

However, on occasion, when he’s either been cooped up too long (which he has been lately) or if he feels just plain old crazy, he’ll dart across the street to an imagined freedom. Today, he darted and a car ran right over him. A Toyota.

Adam started screaming and crying. He called me outside. He said he saw the car run right over him and he was certain that Oliver was dead. Of course, the cat sprinted and was nowhere to be found. Our neighbor, Mike, helped us to look for him. The neighborhood pastor asked us what was going on and we told him and he said, “He ran away, that’s good. It means he’s still alive.”

A stranger stopped his car and asked what was going on, too, and we told him and he said the same thing. I became optimistic.

Adam, Mike and I searched people’s yards. We assumed he’d be in one of them across the street. Mike found him and called to us. His booming voice scared the cat and he zipped under the house through a bungalow vent hole. I heard him under there, meowing, quite upset. Adam ran for tuna and came back and coaxed him out. We all agreed, it looked like one of his back legs was broken but that he looked kind of okay. We jumped in my 1992 Geo Prizm ambulance (147,000 miles) and we rushed to the Vet. Emergency style.

Our regular Vet has been spending time with her father since he is dying, so there has been a parade of temp-Vets in the office. Today’s was a lovely woman with one arm. She was also missing, it appeared, most of her shoulder. She was a cool headed woman with a fine face and warm, dark hair. And pretty. I have a feeling her arm situation was a birth problem. Or was it bitten off by a tiger?

Apparently, when a cat gets hit by a car, the Vet worries about three things: Lung lesions, a ruptured bladder and of course, broken bones. You would also worry about internal bleeding, however, our cat showed no signs of that and also, no signs of shock. She took him to the back to run tests. Adam and I went to the Bob’s Big Boy on Wilshire (very retro, I ate a waffle, quite tasty) and then returned. Besides being a little shaken and perhaps a little bruised, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the cat, at all.

She gave him a shot of fluid to help stabilize his blood pressure so there would be no chance he would go into shock. She gave him pain medication. She gave us more for later. She told us the X-rays all looked good. He appeared to be fine. Complete relief.

An amazing pussykins!


 

New York: The Short Reviews

The Plays:

Our entertainment began with Is He Dead?, a long lost Mark Twain play. It starts off kind of pokey and eventually tilts into an elaborate French farce. Completely enjoyable. Beautiful sets. Not that well developed. Acting is truly phenomenal. In fact, there is so much good acting on the stage these days, one should just avoid filmed matter at every turn.

Conor McPherson’s The Seafarer has a silly plot that centers on a man playing cards against the devil for his soul. Why anyone would write this at this point in our cultural evolution is beyond me. However, the cast is so strong, so completely realized, I am glad I saw it. And you know how the Irish can be, so lyrical and funny and sad all at once. Worth it at half the price.

August: Osage County was a slog. Again, fantastic acting. But the incest and the pedophilia and the suicide and the drug withdrawal all in one play? Really? Whatever for? Steppenwolf can sure put on a show.

The Movies:

Tim Burton’s idea of Sweeney Todd was ghastly. It was kabuki. It was poorly sung. It made me long for a time machine so I could travel back twenty-seven years to watch the original.

Charlie Wilson’s War was smart, fun, extremely well acted, even if Julia Robert’s accent did not hold up, and quite a piece of propaganda for the “Can Do Spirit of a Democrat from Texas” who fought this war to save the children, even though it was funded by those who simply wanted the downfall of communism. I think this movie was made in order to show the voting American public that Democrats are not afraid to fight a just war. It ends portentously, with a wagging finger toward a job unfinished. And our good friend, Michael Spellman, is in it. Worth seeing, for sure.

The City:

New York City is quite enjoyable. There is much to eat and drink and at the end of the day a subway or a cab will whisk you home. What a set up!