Tuesday, October 22, 2013

For My Cousins: We're Sort of French

ORIGINS OF THE NAME OF CUMMINGS

From the book Cummings Genealogy, Isaac Cummings 1601-1677 of Ipswich 1638 and Some of his Descendants, compiled and published by Albert Oren Cummins, Montpelier, Vermont, 1904.

TRADITIONS


Isaac Comings, according to tradition, was of Scottish ancestry, claiming descent from the "Red Cumin", of Badenoch, in the southeastern district of Inverness-shire, a wild mountainous country, presenting wide stretches of bleak moorland.  Here the clan flourished from 1080 to 1330, and then began to decline.  Some deduce their origin from Normandy and others from
Northumberland.

According to the Chronicle of Melrose, the first of the name  who figured prominently, was slain with Malcom III at Alnwick in 1093, leaving two sons, John and William.  From John, all the Cumins in Scotland are said to be descended.  Sir John, the Red Cumin or Comyn, was the first Lord of Badenoch, and in 1240 was an ambassador from Alexander II to Louis IX, of France.

His son John, called the Black Lord of Badenoch, was inferior to no subject in Scotland for wealth and power, and was one of those who vowed to support Queen Margaret, daughter of Alexander III in her title to the crown.  At her death he became a competitor for the crown of Scotland, "as the son and heir of John, who was son and heir of Donald, King of Scotland".  The son of the Lord, called, in turn, the Red Cumin, as the last Lord of Badenoch of the surname of Cumin.

In 1335 a number of the Cumin clan was slain in the feudal battle of Culbleau, in Glenwick, where a stone now marks the spot.

The badge of the clan, in Gaelic, was "Lus Mhic Cuiminn", in English, The Cummin Plant.

Another TRADITION runs:  Comines - Comynges - Comyns - Comings - Cumyn -Cumings - Cummings;  "a family which rose to great power and eminence in Scotland and England.  The name was taken from the town of Comines near Lille, on the frontier between France and Belguim.

In 1445 one branch of the family gave birth, in the old chateau, to the historian, Phillipe di Comines.  Another branch followed William of Normandy to the conquest of England.

In the year 1069, Robert of Comines, or Comyn, with 700 horse from William the Conqueror, seized Durham and held it 48 hours, but the people rose up against him and he perished in the flames at the burning of the Bishop's Palace.

His nephew, William, became Chancellor of Scotland in 1133.  The Chancellor's nephew, Richard, inherited the English possessions of the family and married the Countess of Athol, grand-daughter of Donald Bane, King of Scots, and his son, William, in 1210, became Earl of Buchan by marrying the Celtic heiress of North Eardom.

By this marriage he became the father of Elexander, Earl of Buchan, who married the daughter of Roger-de quenci, Earl of Winchester.

By other marriages the family obtained the Earldom of Angus and Athol, so that by the middle of the 13th century there were in Scotland on Lord, four Earls, and thirty-two belted Knights by the name of Comyns.

Within 70 years this great house was entirely overthrown, there were none left of them, save those who took refuge in the "Monks of Deer", a monastery founded in 1219 by William Cumyns, Earl of Buchan.

John Cumyns, son of the Earl of Badenoch, who was in 1291 an unsuccessful competitor for the crown, was a descendant of Donald Bane, king of the old Celtic dynasty.  John Cumyns, Earl of Buchan, was defeated by Bruce in a pitched battle in 1306.

Such of the Cumyns as escaped the sword found refuge with their wives and children in England, where, although they were so poor as to be dependent upon the bounty of the English Court, they married into the best families, so that their blood circulated through the nobles in other kingdoms and descendants of Henry IV.

The Earl of Shrewsbury was the representative of the Lord of Badenoch, who was at the head of the race."

Another TRADITION from an educated American who spent much time in Rome, "The Cummings family is a very old family; as far as can be gathered, the family lived in Lombardy, northern Italy during, and prior to the fourth century, it then came over the Alps, and settled in Provence, and then went to the Gironde country in the southern part of France, and thence to the north of France, on the borders of Belgium, where was founded the town of Commines, where lived Phillip of Commines, whom Hallan called the father of Ancient History, thence they went to Scotland and England and Ireland.

An educated native of Rome insists that the original family of Commines was a family once well known in Lombardy, that he had traced them to France, and it is a fact established by ancient history that they were a strong family during the great’ Hearth' war, which lasted for many years, and that Earl do Cumminges was perhaps the principal factor in bringing on and continuing the war.  History tells us they went to England about the time of the invasion by William the Conqueror," etc.

Although these traditions are given as such, it will be noticed that they carry many indications of having been compiled by fertile brains from the many historical books extant.

I too well recollect of my grandfather, who was born in 1768, caressing me, in my childhood and calling me "a little Scotchman," and a large majority of the traditions, and circumstantial evidence, strongly indicate that we are of Scotch descent.  From what I have learned in the six years of my researches of the Cummings records, I have formed the opinion that Isaac came to America from England, but that he was of Scotch origin, though all my efforts to make a connection with his ancestors have been futile.

In the second tradition given is a mention of the historian "Phillipe de Comins", and there was published in Paris in 1552 a French work on a man of that name, at the close, or end, of which are many genealogical Comines trees, and I have made considerable effort to obtain a coy of the book, but it being out of print, have not been able to secure one.  Also, some 150 or more years ago there was published in England a Commins genealogy, but that is also out of print.

From the book Genealogical and Family History of the State of New Hampshire,  by Ezra S. Stearns, assisted by William F. Whitcher and Edward E. Parker, published by the Lewis Publishing Company of New York & Chicago in 1908.

"The origin of the Cummings family is uncertain;  the name was taken from the town of Comines, near Lille, on the frontier between France and Belgium. Various traditions account for earlier origin of the family, but all of them are entitled to no more credit than mere traditions.  The name has been variously spelled Comines, Comynges, Comyns, Comings, Comyn, Cumings and Cummings.  Tradition states that the emigrant ancestor of this family descended from "Red Cumin" of Badenoch in the southeastern district of Iverness-shire, a wild mountainous country presenting wide stretches of bleak moorland.  Here the clan flourished from 1080 to 1330, and then began to decline.  According to the Chronicle of Melrose, the first of the name who immigrated permanently, was slain with Malcom III, at Alnwick, in 1093, leaving two sons, John and William.  From John, all the Cumins in Scotland are said to be descended.  Sir John, the Red Cumin of Comyn, was the first Lord of Badenoch, and in 1240 was an ambassador from Alexander II to Louis IX of France.  His son John, called the Black Lord of Badenoch, was not inferior to any subject in Scotland for wealth and power, and was one of those who vowed to support Queen Margaret, daughter of Alexander III in her title to the crown.  At her death he became a competitor for the crown of Scotland.  "As a son and heir of John who was son and heir of Donald, King of Scotland."  The son of this Lord, called, in turn, the Red Cumin, was the last Lord of Badenoch of the surname of Cumin.

In 1335 a number of the Cumin clan were slain in the feudal battle of Calbleau, in Glenwick, where a stone now marks the spot.  The badge of the clan, in Gaelic, was "Lus Nhic Cuiminn," in English, the Cummin plant.

SPELLING OF THE CUMMINGS NAME by Barry C. Moravek


Various spellings of Isaac Cumming's name in the records include: CUMMINGS, COMINGS, CUMMENS, CUMMINS or with a single 'm', with, or without the 's', and COMYNS.  Both of the above books talk about the spelling of the name having taken on various forms over time.  The Mooar book mentions that SOME OF THE FAMILIES HAVE RETAINED THE SPELLING OF COMINGS, as if this is the original spelling in this country.

For record keeping purposes, I have used the spelling of CUMMINGS, since it seems to correspond with published works, and most of the descendants have used this spelling.  There are several exceptions that I have made for the spelling - These are the same lines that have different spellings in the Mooar book or some other book:

1.  The first is for Samuel COMINGS (Samuel, John III, John II, John I, Isaac) and his descendants.  The Mooar book uses this spelling for his descendants.  The History of Cornish New Hampshire refers to him with the spelling of COMINGS, and his children are also listed with this spelling.  It seems to be at this point that this spelling was adapted by most of his descendants.  Since this is our own family line, I want to try to determine at which point in time this spelling became the accepted spelling.  -- NOTE that per the History of Cornish, NH, Daniel Morris Comings, his grandson the son of Warren, changed the spelling of his name to CUMMINGS.

2.  The second is for Daniel CUMMINS (Jacob, Joseph, John, Isaac, Isaac) and his descendants.  The Mooar book uses this spelling for his descendants.  --  It should be noted that this is the line of A. O. CUMMINS, who arbitrarily used the 'Cummings' spelling in his own book, even for his own line!  NOTE that A.O. Cummins used the 'Cummings' spelling so consistently throughout that even when a daughter would give a first or middle name of 'Comings' or 'Cummins' to a child, A.O. Cummins would print this first or middle name as 'Cummings', while Mooar would use the actual spelling!

3.  The third is for Free COMINGS (Jacob, Joseph, John, Isaac, Isaac) and his descendants.  The Mooar book also uses this spelling for all of his descendants.

4.  The fourth is for David COMINGS (David, Ephraim, Thomas, John, Isaac) and his descendants.  According the History of Cornish, NH, this line also spelled their name 'Comings'.


Monday, October 21, 2013

Thievery Head Plonk

It has been remarkable to me that so many intelligent people use their brains for thievery, in business or even informally during soul snatching interactions...seems an odd and sad choice, this cool gift for a mostly selfish action. But yesterday, I thought perhaps it was the specie's impulse for thievery that gave rise to intelligence. 


Thursday, October 17, 2013

Go to Brooklyn, See Great Art, Maybe Buy Some

The amazing Megan K. is opening her studio at Screwball Spaces this Weekend. Saturday and Sunday.

Here is all the information you need.

Go.

https://www.facebook.com/events/658249224207749/

(We live with her art and it is a great thing to experience.)

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Greed, Man, Bummer

The Tea Party pretends to care about freedom and strange thoughts small and mean. But really, they do not understand the simplest workings of government and have such a silly view of how math works, that they should and most likely will happily disappear during the next election cycle.

So few of these people understand math. If your tax dollars are paying for uninsured people, inefficiently, to visit emergency rooms for asthma attacks and the flu, doesn't it make more sense to trim the money back for that? Why does this simple change make these right wing people fume so? The old system surely did not work and uninsured people live miserable lives and die, on average, five years earlier than insured people. It is heartless lunacy to be against helping these people.

Whenever I have a meal with a turgid Right Wing person, be they a Constitutional Conservative or a Libertarian, I calmly hold my place and agree with certain aspects of their argument. I don't like victim status for anyone and I would like to believe, too, like my tighty Righties, that people are better off taking care of themselves--however, some people simply don't have the means, the personality or even, the luck. So, I sit there and say, "This is the math. Some people don't have the means or ability. And why is it so important to you, anyway, this withholding? Why so punitive?" Eventually, the Rightist, if I play it right, will say something, half sheepishly, like, "Maybe I'm just a selfish asshole. I don't know."  And they chuckle. And then if I ask, "Well, should we let these people die?"--A wave comes over their faces--and it looks like they would be okay with these people dying.

It's a war for these Rightist people. The disadvantaged, to them, should pretty much fuck off and die.

I don't like to be taxed. Who does? But it's the VIG you have to pay in order to live in civilization. Freedom is not freedom from this. Whoever thought, realistically, using real math, that a nation could survive if greed and selfishness were the true roads to freedom?

Tax me, build me a bullet train from here to eternity, help out a helpless soul (or 30,000,000) and let these Tea Party lunatics suffer greatly at any and all upcoming polls. Their understanding of fiscal operations is uninformed. Their reductionist thoughts, which convert into ransoming behavior, are moronic and dangerous. Silly tantrum people. I believe the tantrum existed before the political situation. Some people just want cookies cookies cookies. If people have to die so they can gorge themselves, well, so be it. Is this really their pleasure? It seems so.

Do not vote screaming, bottomless children into office. They are rapacious, unseemly, uncouth, repellent and pathetic. They can't enjoy their banana cream pie unless they have a thousand more stashed away somewhere for a rainy day. Terrified beasts. And they want to spread their terror. Be gone, monstrous vermin.

Have I made myself clear?

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Harsh

My blog began eight years ago but it seems like just a few. I do not understand time, exactly. It has always been about "finishing" something for me. If I have to paint a room, then the time it takes to paint a room is the time it takes. And if a blog is a blog, then it just carries on and really has no end, so it feels always young to me.

In the meantime, of  course, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, etc. have grown up all around the blog world rendering most blogs, especially ones of general interest (like Open Trench) into bloated twitter entries.

However, I think carrying on is not a bad idea.

Trying to squeeze bigger ideas into Twitter is impossible. And so many Twitter entries are linked up to large articles. Facebook has become about a cat meowing, "Hang in there Baby, Friday's Coming," and other things cat-like

So the blog--with its awful name and its old time format--is the only thing that really can do what it does. For now.

It was more fun when no one else was public. It felt like you were daring, to put yourself out there to be heard. It also felt more personal. Plus, the written word still was the written word then. Blogs felt like shortish articles/opinion pieces/personal essays.

I blog on. I usually do not like articles that focus on the state and ways of any sort of journalism. However, I have been feeling odd about  my blog and sometimes it is best to clear the air.

To blog is human. To forgive a blogger, divine.

Friday, October 04, 2013

At Ye Ol' Alma Mater Today...Go Jumbos

The reward for having judged the Literary Death Match last night was to take a walk through early autumn Cambridge and Somerville today. Things are looking better than ever in these parts. Fancier than when I went to school there, the neighborhood surrounding the campus and Tufts itself is quite sprucey.

I went to this school, in addition to having a solid rep, because it was in Boston and it was pretty.

Today confirmed my younger decent taste. It warms me, because so many other places I lived in my youth have turned to hell from over development or singular decay. It was enjoyable to be someplace that has actually improved.

It was a good four years. Someone asked me if I was in town for Parents' weekend. I explained that I had no children. The kind woman asked, "No little Jumbos?" And I had to say no. (P.T. Barnum gave Tufts the dead stuffed elephant, Jumbo...our mascot. The whole dead elephant burned in a fire in the old Barnum Hall. Literally obviating any need to talk about The Elephant in the Room. I spent much time in the new Barnum Hall where I majored in Biology. Jumbo was represented by a cast iron elephant the size of three bowling balls.)

Go Jumbos, anyway. Here's to a warm New England Autumn Day.























Sunday, September 29, 2013

Literary Death Match: October 2, Boston, Come Awn

October 2, 2013

O, Boston, our Boston! After a summer away, Literary Death Match has been plotting a can't-miss October fun-tacular atClub OBERON, rife with wild-minded judges, a fierce foursome of readers, and a finale that will rewrite the planet's DNA. Get on board!
The night will feature four writers reading their own wonderful tales for seven minutes or less, judged by three all-star judges. Two finalists will be chosen to compete in the Literary Death Match finale, a vaguely-literary game that will steal your affection and make your heart pound.  
JUDGES: Literary Merit: Don Cummings, playwright of more than fifteen plays, a screenwriter, fiction writer & essayist
Performance: Barry Tattle (a.k.a. Chris Coxen), man of many characters
Intangibles: Sam Johnson, stand-up comic
READERS:
Brian McFadden, writer/artist of the New York Times Sunday Review “The Strip”
Marian Fontana, writer/performer, author of A Widows Walk (nominated for a Books for A Better Life Award)
Jenn De Leon, fiction writer and Grub Street teacher
Steven Brykman, writer, humorist, mastermind
Music by DJ John Paul Jimenez, childrens book writer, artist, scientist
Hosted by LDM creator Adrian Todd Zuniga. Produced by LDM East Coast Executive Producer Kirsten Sims.
Where: Club OBERON, 2 Arrow St, Cambridge (map)
When: Doors at 7:15pm; show at 8:05 sharp; afterdrinks at 9:50pm
Cost: $10 preorder; $15 at the door
This event is 21+.
Follow LDM on Twitter and/or Facebook now! 

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

China Gets Fast

Reading The New York Times tonight about China's high speed rail system (which is already carrying more people than our domestic flights) I turned green (and yellow? and red?) with envy.

Why not us?

Why not a country where I can get in a train in New York at noon and be in LA by 2AM?  Please!

Who the hell likes to fly? No one.
Who loves a train?  Everyone.

Why aren't we investing in what we love?

Insane.

Call me a hater of being five miles in the air, bumping along in gassy displeasure. Whatever. Where's my modern Iron Horse?

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Just a Little Politics Before Bed

I hate politics.

John McCain is nuts.

I am a Socialist for health care and education. Everything else---let people fucking Rollerball it out. Seems to be what they want to do. At least for now…later on, we’ll work on the aggression. See below.

I do not believe in persuasive arguments about anything. If you do not have data that reflects a very controlled experiment, then you are talking out your self serving ass.

I don’t know why I am in a political yack mood tonight. It may have something to do with getting older and cranky-er.

Religion better be morphing. I will be interested in it much more kindly once the world unites all their religions, jettisons the hocus-pocus and understands rituals for what they are: anti-anxiety medication.

Children are not political, though they are naturally grabby and territorial. If there was a world polity that dealt with grabbiness and territorialism, and it was agreed upon by all, war would end, surely.

A two state solution to Israel/Palestine?  Sure. Look at that hooved mammal with wings hovering outside my window.

If Germany can’t get this renewable energy thing down---then how can anyone else do it? I don’t understand why fat people can’t just peddle bicycles hooked up to generators and get paid for it. Solves three problems at once. Suet, air, cash.


This new pope is daring. Let’s hear it for the new world.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Doesn't Autumn make you think of California?

I'm walking in the park, getting up toward Belvedere Castle on the hill, and I look down and there are small crunchy leaves carpeting everything.

The only other place that looks like that is under the live oaks in Central California. They drop leaves all year long.

And so I thought of California more than anything else...a place assumed to experience endless summer, but really, there's a much more subtle grade to the whole thing...

Pumpkins are everywhere. Coats are on. It's a swell season.

Interesting, last week, when the weather went from very hot and humid to rain, to humid, rain, cool, wet, dry to autumn. Clunky transition.

And now, the days get shorter until late December. Sparkly birds and Santas clipped onto evergreens will be here soon.

The small leaves.

Oh, California.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Time, Quiet, Please, Unending

I have always hated the passage of time. Many writers feel that way. Shakespeare:
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date.  If I allow myself, at the late hours of the day, to consider the passage of time, I get sad. But I cheer myself by saying, "And then there's Maudlin." Bea Arthur would approve. I've felt this way since I was six years old. I remember asking my brother, me sitting in a pile of grass clippings and him sitting on a pile of dumped dirt and stone on the edge of a stream, "Remember the good ol' days?"

This just in from The New York Times.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/09/16/to-help-a-shy-child-listen/?ref=todayspaper
I was a shy child. This may sound uncanny, that is to say, without cans...but it is true. I come from a large clan of shy Irish people who come out of their shells later in life. It's just genetic. Or has something to do with marrying out of the lineage, bolstering up the fortitude in the next generation. I believe shyness makes sense. We are most ourselves when we are alone. Being with others requires adjustments. These adjustments can and do remove us from who we are, really. Isn't it not a strange thing to not be oneself? Shyness may be a higher calling, a need to be true to one's original being.

Sweetness is the best part of life. Better than triumph. Better than all ambition. There has been a destruction of sweetness, lately. It's so silly. Everyone, rich and poor, feels best when butterflies fly freely, land on a bush, easily, and then continue on their way. It's effortless. I am not being sappy as much as I am being simple.

Goats have seven sets of teeth. After the seventh set falls out, they die.


Monday, September 16, 2013

Full Moons and Full Inboxes

When I was a kid I was quiet, well behaved, studious and not at all impulsive.

My fantasy was to become a werewolf...that something would take me over and turn me into a wild beast. Tonight's full moon made me think of it.

My inbox is full again. I did such a great job of getting it emptied out. But now it's back and busting its seams more than ever. Drat.  Delete, delete, delete.


Thursday, September 12, 2013

Great Day of News

California is pushing the minimum wage to $10. Go Socialists Go!
(in a world where this is the best we can do...to give a shit)

Putin Puts out.
(Syria-slee)

Michelle Obama pushes water.
(Drink it. Lots of it. See Jesus.)


Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Some Day Thoughts: 9-11

Could it be that all prejudice stems from a deep desire to only have sex with people who look like you?

Syria:  Finally, Russia has one good idea.

Russia: You homophobic loons, what the hell is wrong with you?

The NYC mayoral primary: Sorry, Quinster. (Never assume your shoo-in-ness).

9-11:  It still stings. Will always sting. We lost our innocence. And loved ones. All that. Sucks.  (I was in Ojai that day. And when the store clerk told me what had happened, I just assumed he was a madman making shit up. I used my clunky cell phone to call my Dad who confirmed this crazy thing. He was incredulous. Naturally.)

My husband heads off to the Emmys tomorrow. Good luck, babboo! Showtime: Homeland: Second Screen Experience.

Trees. More trees. Always more trees. We keep talking about global warming---the truth is, it is SO EASY to grow TREES. And then, you know, use their leave waste as fuel. Come on. How hard can it be?

Lettuce. As much lettuce as possible. And nothing more. Until you get hungry. Then, maybe more lettuce. And turkey and ham and bread.

What if you just took all your disappointments, then declared your inner Atheism, dropped all the old ideas at the curb, and bravely took on a new project?

Thai food makes so much sense. As does Japanese.

I never write about food. Why am I writing about food?

I once met Richard Nixon. He is the only president of the U.S. that I have ever met. It was in an office building in midtown Manhattan. He had just finished a taping for a talk show. I was in the office to pick up a super hero costume. We bumped into each other. He introduced himself to everyone in the area. He looked more like a puppet/effigy than a person.  But I was surprised by how much of a politician he was. Glad handing. Smiling. Long after the end of Watergate.

I wake up every day wanting a dog. I will not name it Checkers.

Toronto is Cleveland in a good mood.

Who is going to invent the app that reads an external hard drive connected to a smart phone so you can simply attach and send docs willy nilly?

I have a lot of cousins.


Hader ast Stefon. Come on! BFF.

Monday, September 09, 2013

Toronto Tinsel Town

I saw five features up in Toronto this weekend. All of them, I liked. The first two on the list were at The Toronto Indy where my short was screened. In Return was one of those rare movies that is funny and sweet. And you actually buy it. First time filmmaker Chris Dymond does a great job as does the cast.

Kristen Wiig does an amazing Chloe Sevigny in Hateship Loveship. Guy Pearson is sort of my boyfriend now. Again. He forgot for a while.

I loved Le Weekend. Homage, kinda, to Goddard. Smart and funny.  A few false notes...or at least, unclear notes.

Ah, movies. Those cheesy things became THE things in the 20th century. And now, there are so many.

Enjoy all your future viewing.


In Return

http://www.inreturnthemovie.com/

Roaming

http://www.roamingfilm.com/

Hateship Loveship

http://variety.com/2013/film/reviews/hateship-loveship-review-toronto-1200604118/

Hotell

http://tiff.net/filmsandschedules/festival/2013/hotell

Le Weekend

http://variety.com/2013/film/reviews/le-week-end-review-toronto-1200603513/


Thursday, August 29, 2013

Damn, How We Lose Our Teeth

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labor_Day

Wasn't Labor interesting? Back when it meant something?

You know, I'm all nostalgic about the workers.  But, like, who are they, really?  Retail people now, burger flippers, corporate slaves. I was a worker once.

What is left of the unions?

Look, I'm a lucky bitch who doesn't have to work. But shit, for all those workers, I want to do something. Something. Give those slaves some serious cash. I personally don't care if my hamburger doubles in price. Double the entrance fee for that poison and pay these fucking people.

Pay these fucking people.

Give them as much money as we can. Give it to them. What's wrong with you? Give it!


Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Need a Web Designer?

My Designer is the 3 F's and a C.

Fast, Fun, Fair and Creative.

And for a bonus---Sleek.

http://www.jeffstacy.com

My website, par example:

http://www.doncummings.net/

I recommend him highly. And when he has to update your site he doesn't hem and haw. He just does it.

Sure, there are all these do-it-yourself website apps.  But let someone who does it better than you do it.
Frees you up for other things. And you'll get to have fun with Jeff.

Al Gore's Interwebs: They really did take off.




Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Certain Things About Today, With Some Questions

The big news: The New York Times site is DOWN. A Syrian group claims responsibility. I think it may have been a jealous cat from one of the You Tube cat videos. All in all, if people can hack into big media sites and take their asses down, I think it may be time to wonder...exactly...how...the...media...company...did...not...protect...itself.

Very humid in New York. It is starting to sting the nervous system. Autumn, we're ready.

Nissan is coming out with driverless cars. I can't wait. And if this becomes common, then one of the greatest side benefits could be much smaller cars or large cars that pick up many people.

I saw hawks hovering over Northern Manhattan yesterday. Animals. More animals. Please.

Half a Benadryl can do the job of getting you to sleep before midnight.

Though no one died when Clinton lied, a little part of me died from watching and learning how nasty the torch and pitchfork people can be.

I am going to Toronto. I visited once when I was a kid. All I remember is orange carpet type upholstery on trolley car seats.

Quinn will most likely win...but there are others worth noting. Keep an eye out.

I still maintain that I would love, entirely, a single payer healthcare system. I do not have the exact math to say it would be more efficient. I don't believe the U.S. has great health care as it stands now. I do believe a single payer system would cause some problems while alleviating others. What's up, Canada?

When is the next season of Orange is the New Black? And why is it so good?

My husband was nominated for an Emmy. For Second Screen Experience for Homeland for Showtime. I keep calling him Emmy Lou Harris. Bad puns make strong partners.




Thursday, August 22, 2013

Goddamn Sexual Orientation Advantages!

It’s so unfair to be gay.

You have all these choices. You don’t have to have children. Your partner understands you, generally, because you are the same sex.

You have extra cash lying around because you aren’t worrying about kids in college (if you, easily, didn’t have any) and you can eat things.

You don’t really have to behave in any tight way because people expect you to be a little off.

And if you are a gay male, well, you know, no one’s going to divorce you because you got a blow job in Vegas.

The legal screaming about marriage was important.  D.O.M.A.---eat my pussy.

But now that we are totally sidling up to parity, isn’t it rather unfair that we get all the perks of marriage while retaining all the quirks of old timey gaydom?


Lucky bitches.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

I'm Blogging This and We All Have to Get Over It

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOZjaqHioro#t=154

Christie in a Side Car

Every time I look at Christie, I see a large unintelligent slob.

Of course, he is not unintelligent.

But this is the problem with each side of the political debate. It seems so easy to think that the other people, the ones in the other group, are stupid. When really, of course, intelligence is not the variable here. It's world view.

But worse than my prejudice against Republican thinking is how easy it is to quickly dismiss someone, using some sort of nasty put down.

I don't care how much someone weighs, unless they're on top of me. I don't care what someone looks like, in general.  So why, when I get riled, do I go right to, "That fat fuck!"

It really is a low character trait. Yet--that's what I want to do. I want to dismiss with an insult.

It's good to notice this. From now on, I will ignore his corpulence. I will only listen to what he says.

After all, he is a mushy Catholic underneath the extra flesh---he even admits that sexual orientation alteration programs don't work. He softens. People soften.

(Which makes me question...why all the fighting to begin with, since over time you end up softening?)

I do hope Christie runs. I do believe, though, that people aren't going to vote for the fat guy.

Shit, I slipped.

Okay, the backward guy.

Or a loud mouth from Jersey.

Plus...as Right as he is, I cannot imagine he is Right enough for the base.

They could try to push him over there---but that would take so many, right?

Oh, man, I did it again.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Two Questions

1. Is it possible to achieve a state of non-aggression without using aggression?

2. Is all communication nothing but projection?

Monday, August 12, 2013

Fruitvale Station (This year's Sundance Grand Jury and Audience Award Winner)

After watching this movie, I thought two things.

1) It was a bit slow and foreboding but balanced and kind.

2) I must give up my life to the welfare, amelioration, well being, dignity and love for the place African-American Men (Black Ones) hold in this society.

Bonus Point:

Movies, I have always maintained, do NOT have the ability to inspire or change people. At the end of this movie, I felt inspired to change. I was greatly moved. I was horrified. Furthermore, you get to know anyone, closely, and then watch them get gunned down for no reason, you just feel awful.  And so at that moment of feeling awful, I was transformed.  But after I ate, read the paper, switched my attention, I did not feel the great need to make my life about helping anyone.

Conclusions:

You should see this movie. In fact, everyone could benefit from this movie. It is very effective, though, it is a piece of fiction (closely sticking to fact), one that has some tonal up-sweep mixed with a plodding march toward death.

Big emotions for an audience member don't hold. One wants to homeostate back to normal.

But if everyone was just a tiny bit changed by seeing this film, the world would change, true.

So, perhaps movies do have the ability to alter points of view. But it depends who is watching and how many of them there are.

Friday, August 09, 2013

Near-Glam Chondrichthyes for Five Thousand, Please

Royal Young’s ‘Fame Shark’
Published by Heliotrope Books

As the subject and possibly the propellant, chasing the adulation of others is the goal of Royal Young’s sharp and sad memoir, Fame Shark.

Shamelessly bold, this young writer has enough insight into his own character to find its most treacherous flaws and then flays them out for everyone to gawk and sniff, though not in full daylight. Sexual and drunk, sometimes in white mink, mostly desiring women but angling for the attention from anyone with genitalia, young Hazak grows up wanting to become some sort of movie star/rock star/ artist/ dancer/ actor/ writer/kitchen sink. His lust for fame heartily nudges him into a little bit of footwork, but mostly into the arms of people who may be able to help him get ahead. Without discipline for craft or any workaday understanding of what it takes to learn how to do a few things or even one thing well, this rough and tumble Jewish kid from the Lower East Side stumbles out from the shadow of his judgmental, narcissistic penis-sculpting father and his warm but ineffective mother to murk his way through the canyons, slums, opening parties and the occasional low end performance gig in New York City. MySpace figures in greatly as a so-recent flame-out of lost hopes. 

As an indictment of the unbalanced appetite for self aggrandizement in the individual and then society, Royal Young, ne Hazak Brozgold (the moniker one begs he reinstates),  smashes his face into ours, with those pale blue-gray eyes of sadness over having his dick worshipped, often in the most incorrect mouths. A guy without a grounded purpose, who found Bennington so boring he never saw a second year, Hazak wastes his youth chasing the star fuckers of star fuckers, sliding his way down the social pole to the lowest crowd of drug dealers in Bushwick, before Bushwick was Bushwick, until he wakes up one day and agrees—Okay, I’ll go to Illinois on that train and hang with my solid, White Jewish  homeys since nothing else has really worked out. Pretty eyes and generational bitterness does not a life make. Hazak was smart to board that Amtrak.

Intended or not, this highly readable, energized rocket shot through louche terror has the great chance of striking any reader cold and dead. But even better, furious. Who does not want to jump on their treadmill time machine to run back to this youngin’ swilling booze and chaining Marlboro Reds to yell, supportively, “You’re drinking too much! You are toying with people who are then toying with you, all dishonestly! Your parents only sort of care about you, it seems, but really, they just can’t believe how the hell you are choosing to live! You really might be garden variety addicted, sexually compulsive, without an ability to focus and you just haven’t figured that out yet! Meditate! Or learn a trade!”

Hazak is infuriating. But thankfully for us, he infuriates himself. He was raised better than this and deep down he knows it. It is no surprise he finds strength in his family, the last option, to pull himself out of what appears to be the Daddy addiction of them all in our lonely, atomized, self sucking society of angry, traumatized souls: the search for spirit crushing fame.

The book is best when things get very rough. When all is going hunky dory as a kid, landing extras jobs in movies, and when the story rolls out in the end with a warm fuzzy family feeling, you wish the middle story would have had big and brave enough shoulders to shrug off the extra pads around it.

Empty, empty, empty. Self loathing for a reason never fully revealed. A family that produces addiction and hustling. A perplexing downfall that never felt fully down. Writing at times just flatly listing events (in the best way), other times, approaching lyricism through numb sadness. All this and more. And it will not be found in any dazzling aquarium gift shop. Indie, available, pulsing and fetid, Fame Shark, will make you jones for the popping of old fashioned flash bulbs, a guilt-free blow job (ladies, too), a shit load of money or maybe a nice bowl of soup.

Buy this book. Future pods of literary achievements will swim toward you from the always moving Royal Young. Keep your eye out for his sharp eyed fin above the zeitgeist water line. What a perfect chordate Royal chose to emulate. The shark is a non-boney fish. All cartilage and teeth. Soft and powerful, a jumble of predation. As with any enlivening memoir, and even more so with this partially revealing salty tale, you will want to know what will become of this person, this bottom feeding Chondrichthyes called Hazak/Royal/but not late for the star studded awards dinner. We wait for Fame Shark II. The You Tube Series?

http://www.amazon.com/Fame-Shark-ebook/dp/B00D1ECDO8/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1369712016&sr=8-2&keywords=fame+shark


Wednesday, August 07, 2013

Completely Support the Idea, but Man...this Vid

Violence against gays is up in New York. This is no surprise. Millions of people crammed onto a few islands that were really meant to be beaver swamps...things get tense.

I am glad, of course, that The New York Times is reporting this. However, this reenactment video reminds me of a show I appeared on in the '90s called Citizen's Arrest where I played a mugger in a San Fernando Valley supermarket (Directed by Anson Williams, Happy Days' Potsie). The style was cheesy then, and today, because that sort of food ages sharply, it's even cheesier.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/07/opinion/an-attack-on-equality.html?nl=opinion&emc=edit_ty_20130807&_r=0

These two victimized men were curated. Time would be better spent finding the dudes in the Knicks* duds.
Ford Foundation Grant? Lovely. How about a grant to fight crime, you know, better?

Lastly, and call me a Right wing lunatic (though most people on the Right call me a Left wing lunatic) I think having everyone's face photographed once every two years and put into a database...would do a lot to slow down crime. Along with a snatch of DNA recorded at birth. Yeah, everyone. Privacy? There's no privacy.
And freedom isn't freedom if people can't hold hands in the streets.

But of course, I was the only guy in my Socialist Country Club set who dared to say, "Just drop a few nukes in those Taliban mountains. I'm busy."
--of course, I know I was being idiotic. But sometimes, I get sick of the non-solution solutions.

Thank goodness no one checks in with me for procedural advice.

Let's just squirt our Jesus love all over the young attackers in their Knicks* shirts. Sure. That'll do it.
Or arm every homosexual with a big ol' gun.

Less video, more action.

*The whole bit about sports dudes beating up designer guys is a forever story. I remember the cast party after a play in high school my senior year---and these cast parties were where the freaks and fags and other drama/music hobos could let their hair down---was crashed by a bunch of guys in their football jerseys. All sorts of jokes about fags and the jocks romped around like they were fags, etc., making squealing noises--though, none of us in the play ever publicly squealed or behaved that way. They were doing it for each other. I guess the thing about sports is...someone has to lose. Hard. They harshed the party and it broke up soon after. The worst part about it was the feeling of being violated. No one was hit. No one bled. No one had anything torn or broken. I was always surprised by the hatred. Some of these guys, alone, were fine. I was sort of friends with them. But as a group, there was gay anxiety. And they were ruthless with doling out the punishment in retaliation for their own discomfort. I am so surprised, years later, that not even one has ever apologized. Strangely, I don't think people remember much. Their egos, certainly, make huge attempts to erase shameful memories.  Moving on. I should have had a gun.


Tuesday, August 06, 2013

Two Gay Minds

I had to spend a little time reading about Russian history to understand all this gay hatred. With Al Gore's Interweb in hand and the Wikipedia it provided, I have come to understand that I have no understanding why these people hate gay people so much.

Of course, there was the huge Mongol invasion in the 13th century, something that makes Russians hate outsiders, in general. They never got over it. They never got over being Tsarist. In fact, they seem to collect their endless traumas into a stew of discontent and misery that adds up to a culture of, well, I-simply-don't-know-and-clearly-I'm-just-typing-shit.

With all that being said, we must accept that there is a gay-hating-baiting hysteria going on in Russia right now and for the sake of safety, if I were a gay Olympiad or even an occasional bottom, I would highly recommend staying far away from that hateful empire.

On the other hand, it would be a brave thing to sally forth, same sex genitalia in hand, to the winter sports. Though, I do believe there is going to be a whole frigging load of hell going on. It's not like Russia is the only homophobic nation displaying gay hatred on the planet. Been to Uganda lately?  Me neither. The gorillas aren't worth it.

My support to all the gay athletes who are quaking right now. "Gay is the new Hebe," or something like that.

When I was a child, I was non-aggressive. Entirely. (Things changed as I got older.)  But as a kid, with no aggression, I used to watch all the aggression around me in fear and in complete disbelief.

This disbelief still lives in me. Why would you want to torture people for being different than you? I believe that many people enjoy the chemicals in their brain when they fully hate. It's a form of rapture for them. This gay hating, on balance, is a form of pleasure for the perpetrators. And who are we to stop people from their pleasure?

It makes you have to stop to think about what you are doing for your own pleasure that is killing other people. Wearing a diamond? Using an iPhone or anything made in an Asian factory? Listening to Limbaugh, thus keeping him employed?

People love to dominate, cause pain, and kill.  I saw it clearly as a child. I read it clearly as an adult. And the only fix I can come up with for this problem? All those kind of people should be killed.

There's no answer.

Or maybe there is. Isolate them. Final answer.


Monday, August 05, 2013

Orange is the New Black is the New T.V.

I, like so many people who think lesbians are hot, love Orange is the New Black.

I do hope this show brings down the entire cable industry.

Why the hell should I be paying all this monthly money for all the sports that I don’t watch?

Cable T.V. is a tax on all of us so people can watch people manipulate a moving ball.

No interest.

Die, cable, die. It’s a wretched regional monopoly.

I look forward to the fun start-ups that become curators of content that is available online. So I start a company called, “My T.V.”  and you subscribe for, say, 9.99/month. I have you fill out a huge questionnaire or have you do a Pandora-like thumbs up or down and lo’ and behold, your channels are built.

Most everyone will end up having Showtime and HBO. And many of us will not have one single sports channel. Some people will have all those nature shows and some people will be full-blown Kardashian-channel watchers.

Give me my “My T.V.” now. Please.


I wish I could start this company—but my experience has been by the time I think of something, someone has already pulled together the venture capital and is working 150 hours a week to make it happen.  Pass me the remote…

Sunday, August 04, 2013

A Rare Night

Walking through Central Park for a quick stroll at 7:00, one of the nicest nights of 2013, temperature in the mid-70’s and dry, we came upon a couple. The man in distress. He’s on the ground in terrible pain. The wife, calm, standing next to a wheely bag piece of luggage, is talking to her husband—about getting an ambulance.

So, we call 911 and the ambulance came. It was tricky to get them down to the path we were on, below the road. It took a few random strangers. Question: Why don’t they use my cell phone, once I call in, as a homing device?

It all worked out. Interesting how many people were willing to stop and offer aid.

The man was on his way to detox. The wife admitted he was intoxicated and was taking blood pressure medication which can also be a problem. She told her husband how they were just getting to the place, sooner. The man, barely able to talk, said only one thing. “We can’t afford an ambulance.”  I asked if they had insurance. She said he didn’t.

And I am thinking—sure, let people shop around for health care. What better time to go shopping for one of life’s essentials than when you are detoxing, publicly.

It was enlivening to be involved with a net of people that cared about a man, down on the pavement. He was surely saved. It felt like he would live.

People want to help other people live. Good for us. It was this very thing that formed so much that is good for us.

So what I am really trying to say is: Socialism. For the downed man. Be Libertarian everywhere else if that’s what it costs to be a Socialist here.


Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Weiner Outrage

Men are simply writing this guy off as an official loser.

Women, too, are writing him off. But not without first screaming their fury.

Sexed up Weiner, sure, is a disaster. But why get so angry about it?

I believe women still are furious that men are, basically, pigs.

Can you be furious at a certain kind of animal because they are born with a flat nose, cloven hooves and a curly tail?  I guess so.

Ladies, Weiner is a disaster. Mostly because of his extremely poor judgment. But as far as his philandering in this no-flesh kind of way? I have a feeling you are barking up a tree that reminds you of some other trees. Sorry he hurt you.

I cannot apologize for the piggishness of men. It's just biology. Sure, a mind can oppress biological impulses. (Just ask the British how it's done.)  But that's actually not a favored state of mind.

My suggestion, and it has already been taken by a whole bunch of women: become pigs, too. Then, you won't even notice. Piggishness is bliss.


Tuesday, July 30, 2013

CBS/TimeWarner

Every Fight on Earth is about Two People Wanting More.

Snore.


Monday, July 29, 2013

Love on Earth

One of the best things about New York (and one of the worst) is that there are people absolutely everywhere. (Hey you, get out from under my desk.)

But the good thing about seeing all these people all the time is the regularization of love. First of all, old timey bigots, there are so  many interracial couples walking around that I don't even think you can call them interracial any longer. I think what you have to say when you see a couple with differing melanin content is, "Hey, there goes a couple of people."

At dinner tonight, at a plain old restaurant, gay couples were sitting around. One guy leaned across the table to another guy, kissed him on the mouth to assert warmth and what looked like long-time comfort, and then they embarked on the plain old task of looking at their menu.

At a wedding recently (in someone's apartment) a verbose straight banker man, expat from Britain, effusively talked about his amazing wife (originally from Finland) who was, as it turns out, an Amazon of a transsexual. She was warm and fabulous. At one point, the banker did turn to us, drunk and said, "Yes, she's one of those..." as if it needed explaining. He was so in love with  his wife, one wonders how he could ever have lived without her in some oppressive regime such as, I don't know, 1990's Mississippi?

And there it all is---in addition to all the other people we are used to seeing all loving and hooked up. And funny, all you feel when you see all this love is good.

I have often felt annoyed when people have referred to gay relationships in a positive way saying, "Love is Love," because the truth is, at least for me, my sexual attraction was well in place before I felt any romantic love. I always wanted to say, "Get real, friends...it is about the sex, not so much about the love."  But I'm kind of immature.

But lately, during these warm summer nights...with everyone's flesh on display in every color, gender, and who-knows-what-else, all I see is love. And it's, well, it's just sweet. There's a simplicity and sweetness to it. It feels normal. And right. And lovely.

How did anyone ever think that any of any of that was ever a problem?

Be gone, all negative hexes and spells from before 2013.  Ah, lucky, lucky 13.

Love is all there is. Right? Sure. It's so easy.








Thursday, July 25, 2013

Clearing the Baffle: Weiner's Wife

Oh the chattering class--

And no one understands why Weiner's Wife is so loyal.

Let me tell you what's going on.

1) He has a decent (though public) dick.

2) She's not getting any younger.

3) And she has her own problems. To wit:  If she sends me one more text of her tits, I'm not going to vote for her for longest-long-suffering-wife.


Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Summer is Over

Every year, it's the same. Fourth of July comes and the next thing you know---Labor Day is barreling down at you.

HOWEVER, is this not even more reason to remain present, in the moment, not worrying too much about how the time is passing?

I have always been a bit time-passing obsessed.

I remember being a kid, maybe 5 or 6, and talking to my brother about "The Good Old Days."
Understandable, I guess, since we moved when I was 5 and I probably missed the old homestead.
But still, "The Good Old Days?"

I was terrified in my twenties, when my hair started to recede some, that I was going to be completely bald by 29. Wrong. I'm just a bit haggard all around, now.

And I, like others, do worry about getting old and dying. But WTF can you do about that, really? Except eat right, exercise, work well, have fun and love as best you can...  Face things as they come.

I will never read everything I want to read. I will never do everything I want to do.

Fact.

I now have exactly one minute to get over it.


Monday, July 22, 2013

Best Stereotypical Gay Line Yet

Talking to my good straight friend, J, today...I asked him if he still had my aerobed in his house since a visit is upcoming. He said yes and also that he recently used it for a guest.  But there was terrible trouble. It wouldn't hold the wind. He finally realized he had to close the large cap at the bottom (which you simply undo to let all the air out).

And he said, "I realized that if something was broken it was my fault, because whenever a gay man gives you something, you know if anything is wrong, it's you."

;)


Sunday, July 21, 2013

Here Lies Love

Strongly enjoyed Here Lies Love at the Public...David Byrne wrote it, Alex Timbers directed it, Annie-B Parson choreographed, starring Ruthie Ann Miles as Imelda Marcos.

It is, of course, an Eva Peron kind of story. But what they did here was you were in the crowd, like at a disco (and eventually as part of the final peaceful revolution) moving as orange jumpsuit clad helpers twirled the platforms into different formations. (I say this for those who aren't in New York and haven't already read about this play 100 times.)

There were very beautiful songs with lovely harmonies.

The acting and singing by the all-Asian cast was full-blown spectacular.

There were graphics and very intricate movements.

We were all mostly on the dance floor, watching the play on platforms above our heads. It was a great way to experience a show. It felt very much like how it feels when you are a kid and you just turn your room into the play area.

The story revealed nothing new.

Side note: My mother, for many years, worked for a Filipino couple who were friends with Aquino. It was a grim day when he was killed. He was warned not to return. I remember being a kid and mistakenly thinking that he was shot in Boston, where he took off from.

And what about Imelda's shoes?  Well, in real life, they moldered and were tossed.

But back to the play.

It was the music, really, that wins. The staging was fun. The story was what it was. But the music, well, it was a great combination of disco, Byrne, musical theater and very surprising harmonies.

My question about a musical is always---How is the music? Because the form presses wrongly against subtle smart storytelling, so in my view, music is the thing.

And this music is great.

The shenanigans with all the platforms being so intricately changeable was a bit over wrought. And the ending was a bit of a folk guitar letdown. But the color, the love, the joy of these people all coming to life, then being oppressed and then getting themselves to rise up peacefully and winning...it's pretty triumphant.

Cool idea. It will probably open at a bigger venue.

Imelda did it all for love. I really think she probably believes it. She just didn't know that she, as a poor girl getting all that money would end up misbehaving so cravenly and selfishly. She learned it from America. And then she went past many points of even our low edge of decency.

But the play manages to show her in a fun light.

Well done.

(I hate being forced to dance in public...)


Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Ten Mid-July Questions

Why are the Chinese still smoking so much?

A fisherman once told me that all the guts of a fish are in its head...I know he's wrong, but why did he say that?

What is ink made out of these days?

If I am ugly and there is no one around to see it, am I beautiful?

Why do people accuse others of not seeing a situation intelligently for holding onto their cemented views while they are doing the exact same thing?

Is it really okay to accept the growth model?

I would love to bet against population growth and become rich on the short side, possible?

If life isn't fair, and it isn't, what is behind this need of Lefty people to even try to even things out?

As people recognize less facial cues as a result of time spent staring at screens, will they eventually become completely poker faced?

When we find life on other planets, would the best moral thing to do be to leave them alone?





Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Guns

How it is, how it could be…

Rightly, I hear that even if we outlawed handguns, there are so many on the streets that it would be impossible to gather them all up.

So what?

So what if it would be impossible? Maybe not all of them would be collected. However, if it were illegal to carry a gun except for during hunting season, and you had to borrow that gun (sign it out), that could work. So there would be far fewer guns. And thus, fewer deaths by guns.

The second amendment is brutal and old.

In fact, it may be time for a new Constitution. Most new countries model their Constitution on Canada’s, not ours. Ours is old and hard to amend and does not guarantee enough rights from the get-go.


Wipe it clean. Make a new one. And get the guns out of it. That’s my vote.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Racial Profiling

I have to say, I wasn’t there that night when Z. killed our current poster child for race trouble.

Nor was I there when O.J. was flying around in his car, running away from the police.

Or when Rodney King…

Or when--

Or when--

Or when--

Or when—

Based on simple math, African American men are profiled more than any other kind of person in this country.  This appears to be a fact. Unless, of course, the liberal media is skewing the numbers.  ;)

I just wish there were cameras set up at every single point on earth so we could all be watched every second so there would never be any doubt about who did what. Then, we wouldn’t have to rely on what is, frankly, a ridiculous judicial system. I mean, really.

I hate the idea of being constantly recorded and monitored…or do I?

Scorched earth policy please. The old ways don’t work. Let pragmatism reign. Film it all. Discuss.




Optional Topic: When is it okay to kill someone?

Sunday, July 07, 2013

After the Chairs July 10, 13 Evening, July 14 Afternoon

Hello Friends, Blog Readers, Random Searchers, Gay friendly fiends and those who like things inspired by Ionesco.

David Koteles, who had a cult smash with his Bald Diva (Based on...you guessed it The Bald Soprano) has returned with AFTER THE CHAIRS, inspired by Ionesco's The Chairs, of course, but rather gay and wild and a few other things.

I am in this play. It's a two hander. Part of the Fresh Fruit Festival. This Wednesday evening is opening. Saturday evening it runs. And Sunday afternoon is closing...Three performances that may collide with an open slot in your calendar.

It has been completely enjoyable to work on. It's a wild, fun and challenging play and I am glad to take a crack at this kind of thing. It's up my tree.

Historical note: I acted in Paris for a while, was the King in Exit the King and had a long lunch with Eugene Ionesco and his wife. Interesting days. The absurdists were a despairing bunch. Thank goodness they were funny.

So come on down to the Lower East Side...and check it out...if your beachy summer permits. At the Wild Project as part of the Fresh Fruit Festival. 195 East Third Street. July 10 @ 7PM, July 13 @ 7PM, July 14 @ 4:30 PM

Info here:

Buy Tix for July 10, 13 or 14:

OvationTix for After the Chairs

After the Chairs Invite on Facebook

Related Articles:

Off Off Broadway on Broadway World (Playwright and Director)

Broadway World Actors

Off-Off Blogway. Five Shows to See this Summer

Playwright: Bald Diva




Monday, July 01, 2013

Them Millennials Won't Hunt

It warms my heart that the young adults of today do not like to drive, want to live in dense locations and pretty much are happy with a laptop/pad/phone.

If the lure of ownership dies a timely death…what will we have but people who are doing every single thing they can to live in a non-ownership world…The cycle will take off. It is the new economy.

And then, well, then it only gets better. Less fossil fuels. Less nature destroyed. Of course, electricity consumption will continue to increase. But these kids will be so busy figuring out how to make extremely efficient machines---that run on wind, water, air and sun---that it won’t be a problem.

It’s coming.

People who hold people back all have one thing in common: They are noncreative. Committed to the past and silly old habits of consumption, they drag the world down.


See you later, dogs. I’m going with the kids.