I'm reading Easter Rising: A Memoir of Roots and Rebellion by Michael Patrick MacDonald and got to this passage on page 22 which may be the most surreal thing I've ever read in a memoir.

My first afternoon there I was just about to leave the store when one of the clerks took down a Patti Smith record that was propped on a fireplace mantel that was left over from the days when the shop had been an apartment. I had seen Patti Smith a couple of  years earlier on the Saturday morning TV show Kids Are People Too.  She wore an oversized man's blazer and her gaunt face made her look something like Jesus on the cross.  She sang Debby Boone's "You Light Up My Life" surrounded by an audience of entranced eight-year-olds.  The show host* had announced her a "punk poet" and "the female Mick Jagger."  As a kid I hadn't been into rock 'n' roll.  All we ever listened to in Southie was soul or disco even though the neighborhood wasn't safe for black people - or anyone else different from us - after the busing riots.  Still everyone knew who Mick Jagger was - especially after the Rolling Stones' "Miss You" became a disco hit.  If Patti Smith was his female counterpart I was surprised I'd never heard of her.  Seeing her on TV on that Saturday morning gave me the willies, and I couldn't get her blank stare out of my head all day.  I was probably eleven and couldn't believe she was on a show for kids younger than me, singing the worst soft-rock ever but turning it into an intense dirge with her deep and onimous voice.  The show's host asked her "Are you punk rock?"  She simply answer, "No," her blank stare unmoved by the host's enthusiasm.  "Well, we think you're punk rock, right, kids?" the apple-cheeked host shouted, to the cheers of dozens of eight-year-olds screaming, "Yeah!"  I had no idea what was going on. Punk rock?  And the Debby Boone song?  And that frightening gaze?

Oh, look, here it is:

Be sure to listen to the question portion where she says that she wanted to be a missionary.

And if you want to read a more light-hearted description of the whole thing, try this article on Open Culture.

And the rest of the book?  Definitely recommended.



* Michael Young

Scheduling

Whenever Mary Ann would ask me to direct for the children's theater, I'd always ask for the June slot because that's when my theater year is usually least active.  Looks like I'm not the only person who thinks that way.  From a New York Times ArtsBeat piece on Linda Lavin agreeing to be in Nicky Silver's new play Too Much Sun:

Whether Ms. Lavin would like the play was only one potential hitch. There was also the question of whether she would be busy filming episodes of the sitcom “Sean Saves the World.” Mr. Silver took a gamble on that. 

“When I was talking with Vineyard about doing the play,” Mr. Silver said, “I asked for the last slot in the season, because that would be hiatus time. It’s hard to cast plays in New York with TV going on, but that last slot is always your friend.”

Chocolate?

It is possible that one of our staffers didn't use this as his model, but as he gives me a Hershey bar whenever I do a favor for him, I have my suspicions ...

Chocolate?

Like Sarah Chalke. Or Dick Sergeant. Or Brian Forster

Andy: You look different. Why do you look different?
Me: I dunno. Maybe because I'm being played by another actress?
Andy: That's very meta of you, but no.

It's my fault and I'm sorry

I like Pushing Daisies and was foolish enough to say so out loud where the television gods could hear me.

And then, as if that weren't risky enough, I joined the Facebook group "Save Pushing Daisies 2008-2009." Sure there are at least 4,900 other peope in the group, but that wasn't enough to hide me and my horrible tv karma.

So now it looks like it's going to go away.

Stupid ABC.

This is a number to call at ABC (818-460-7477 -- not toll free, of course) that other people could use to lobby for the show. I'm afraid that if I call, it would be pretty much the same as attaching my Elizabeth R to the death warrant.

I'm sorry. Feel free to blame me.


Everything we do is a choice.
Oatmeal or cereal, highway or side streets, kiss her or keep her.
We make choices and we live with the consequences.
If someone gets hurt along the way, we ask for forgiveness.
It’s the best anyone can do.
-Ned ep.3

That’s the most tragic story I’ve ever heard. Not withstanding the big ticket items like genocide and famine, but tragic nonetheless.
-Olive ep.6

So, everyone wants stuff. We wake up everyday with a list of wishes a mile long and maybe we spend our lives trying to make those wishes come true, but…just because we want them, doesn’t mean we need them to be happy.
-Ned ep.6

Just because I miss it so

And because some days the thought of "shipwrecked and comatose" doesn't sound so bad.

The Red Dwarf Theme Song



It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere,
I'm all alone, more or less,
Let me fly, far away from here,
Fun, fun, fun in the sun, sun, sun.

I want to lie shipwrecked and comotose,
Drinking fresh mango juice,
Goldfish shoals nibbling at my toes,
Fun, fun, fun in the sun, sun, sun
Fun, fun, fun in the sun, sun, sun.

I’ll pack my bags, and head into hyperspace,
Velocity at time-warp speed.
Spend my days in ultraviolet rays,
Fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun.

We’ll lock on course, straight through the universe,
You and me, and the galaxy.
Reach the stage, hyperdrive’s engaged,
Fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun,
Fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun.


Maybe I should just get the DVDs....

Well, here's the problem

According to Chris Rock in a performance of his that I ran across on the hotel cable:

Women need food, water, and compliments. And the occasional pair of shoes.

Men want food, sex, and silence.

Motivation

I wasn't too excited about the new Doctor Who series. More of a "oh, that's nice." I saw one episode because I happened to be home and didn't worry about the ones I was missing otherwise.

But now I am motivated to watch. Felicity Kendal will be guesting. And, you know, - along with her talent and my nostalgia for long-gone television shows - the thinking man's crumpet is still pretty dishy.


"...last month, we came across a moon shaped like Felicity Kendal's bottom. We flew around that one a couple of times". Holly on Red Dwarf

For Noah

I have to watch tv on Sunday evening.



Especially as I think I recognized someone in the trailer.

So unless you're Johnny Depp, I'm not taking your call during the show.*

With thanks to Silver Spring, Singular


*Some exceptions possible, but I wouldn't count on it.

Perked up *my* day

I loved both the Partridge Family and the Brady Bunch, so why it's taken my so long to find this, I couldn't say. But I think I'm going to have to play it whenever I feel down. Or even non-plused.

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present The Mundelein High School Partridge Family / Brady Bunch Throwdown:



And you just know that when the concept was first outlined to them, the Mundelein choir kids* were all "huh?"

Perhaps their teacher showed them this:



* most of whom were born in 1989, 15 years after the big Mondrian bus was permanently parked in the garage

Musical Theater

My friend Chris is totally hooked on Slings and Arrows, a Canadian show about a theater (or "theatre") company in Canada. He loves it so much that he carries it around on DVDs on his laptop and shows bits of it to unsuspecting castmates and the like, the same way that I ambush-read people bits of books and plays. He convinced me, so I bought the DVD for season 1.

Here's a clip that Chris found on YouTube for me:

Can she bake a pretty pie, charming Billy?

This year for Thanksgiving at Dad & Audrey's I am tasked with making a couple of pies, a task I am happy to take on. Building a pie, especially an apple pie, involves three things that make me happy: cooking, puttering, and watching tv.

I think that I was tasked with pies because when left to my own choice, it seems that I bring the sorts of vegetables that only I like: parsnips, turnips, chestnuts, brussels sprouts. Pies contain none of those things.

The single longest step in a building an apple pie is coring, peeling, and slicing the apples, which frees up the mind admirably to watch silly over-the-top procedurals. Criminal Minds, tragically isn't nearly as over-the-top as CSI: Any Damn Place, but then they only have Thomas Gibson acting as though he were employed by Jack Webb. And let's face it, if you don't have a meglomaniacal leprechaun as as your first-billed, you're working at a disadvantage, humor-wise. But --- I digress.

Last night I made the pumpkin pie - my first. I don't eat pumpkin pie very often, so I'd never bothered to learn how to make them. Turns out that it's veee-rrr-yyy easy:

Measure the dry ingredients;
Beat the eggs;
Add the pumpkin and the dry ingredients to the eggs;
Slow beat in the evaporated milk;
Pour into unbaked pie shell
Put in a very hot oven;
After 15 minutes reduce the heat on the oven and bake another 45 minutes.

Ta da!

It looks right but I won't really know how it turned out until tomorrow. Could be fabulous, could suck. Wish me luck!

Tonight I built the apple pie. So seeemple.

Take several apples and wash them, peel about half of them, core and slice them;
Toss them in a bowl with enough cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar to make you smile;
Add other ingredients that catch your eye, like, oh, candied ginger, dried cranberries or cherries that you've rehydrated with boiling water, stuff like that;
Pile into a pie shell and top with chopped pecans;
Bake in a 350-degree oven until done.

I've only ever messed up two apple pies and one didn't count. The one that counted was a couple of Thanksgivings ago when I tried to make a gluten-free crust. Here's a piece of advice for free: buckwheat flour may contain no gluten but it turns pie crust grey. Grey is not an appetizing color for pie crust. Ever. Fortunately for me, Whole Foods now makes gluten-free pie shells. I didn't even look to see how much they cost because, well, we all know that I was gonna pay it. So this year's pies are rejoicing in properly colored crusts. All together now: Whew.

The messed up apple pie that doesn't count was some years ago when I forgot how much liquid an apple can give up while baking, especially when rubbing elbows with brown sugar. Your average pie needs about a teaspoon of liquid. That time I added about a tablespoon and what should have been a yummy pie was a yummy ice cream topping. It was, however, it should be noted, still yummy.

So David and I are off to Dad and Audrey's tomorrow and I'm visiting Mom on Sunday. Mom asked what I would like and I voted for her cranberry relish, my favorite. So we'll have brunch downstairs and then go up to her place for cranberry relish and stuff. Mom's cranberry relish, by the way, is excellent on gluten-free toaster waffles.

A very Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. I, once again, have more blessings than I can count and am grateful for all of them and hope you are the same.

Yeah. Me, too.

"And she only eats gluten-free food! I don't even know what gluten is, but I know I love it!"

Jenn, freaking out about her mother-in-law-elect on Rules of Engagement

Bad segue. Bad, bad.

A promo I just heard for Entertainment Tonight:

Announcer Voice: What happened when the dog that Ellen gave away visited the ET set?

ET Host Voice: Hello, Everyone, I'm Mary Hart.

Poor Mary.

The Plan

Everyone
Everyone
Read about it
Read about it
Read it in the books in the crannies
And the nooks there are books to read

Tears for Fears, Sowing the Seeds of Love

There is a stack of books on my bedside table (surprised? Didn't think so.) and as I don't have rehearsal or social plans for this evening I intend to make myself a dinner that has nothing to do with a drive-through and spend the evening drinking real tea, reading books, and watching stupid television. Sit-coms and books. Real books - not scripts. I think I'll lean in the direction of the frivolous books first.

Of course, last week was supposed to filled with dinner dates, two of which got rain checked.* But I'm long over due for some spend-an-evening-at-home-with-the-cat" time so no rescheduling for me.


* Oddly enough - or not so oddly, I guess it is the obvious witticism - both people phrased their re-schedule request the same way: "Can I get a raincheck? It is raining."

Where is she now?

At home with her family, it seems.

So, you were probably wondering the other day "whatever became of Quinn Cummings?" Me, too! Well, okay, not really.* No, I just chanced to learn that she shares David's birthday and then I learned that she writes a blog, so I wandered over to check it out.

I'm glad that I did. Hosted right here on Blogger, The QC Report is smart and funny and I've been reading it big, greedy gulps since I found it.

This day had become something like performance art, and like every performance art piece I have ever seen, I had no idea what in the hell I was looking at, or why they were doing a single thing they were doing. The only thing I could hope to do was admire the elements. The Fates had decided to toy with me today, and all I could do was marvel at their prop choices[.] (From her post "More Locusts," 14 Dec 06)

Add to favorites - check.

* I liked her and all, don't get me wrong, but as far as former child actors go, I mostly just wish them well, and hope that they are clean, sober, and not incarcerated. **

**Well, except for Afred Lutter probably. I spend a lot of time wondering why that particular version of Linus-come-to-life hasn't called me. Or written.

Guilty Pleasure

David Lee Roth is back with Van Halen!* Even though the 1983 Rolling Stone Record Guide called ol' Diamond Dave “the most obnoxious singer in human history, an achievement notable in the face of long tradition and heavy competition,” I still like him.** He was fun. And I really like his voice. Like Billy Idol, underneath the screaming and howling, DLR has a damn fine instrument.

And, of course, it's also fun to watch him jump around. Mind you, at 52, he may not have quite the built-for-sin bod or the make-the-women-notice physicality, but it doesn't matter. Dave's back. It's time to party.

*"Michael Anthony is being shunned for sitting at Sammy Hagar's lunch table." Schelby on 94.7

**Although I can see where this will lead to one of those "all your taste is in your mouth" exchanges that David and I like to have over music.

AB would be proud of me

Thanks to the Celiac Disease, I probably consume rice* in some form every day. David, having heard one of my favorite Alice quotes** a few times, asked me if I would like a rice cooker.

And without even thinking about it, I said "I dunno..... What else does it do?"



*Lundberg makes my current favorite. Yummmmmmmm.

** "How would I know how long rice takes to cook? I'm Japanese. I throw it in the rice cooker and when the button pops up, it's done."

Red Wind

Today is Raymond Chandler's birthday, so I thought I'd post the only bit of his writing that I've known since I was child. (Thank you, Mr. Grant.)

Those hot dry winds that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen.

From Red Wind, which I really must read in its entirety some day.

Why it's time to go back to rehearsing

David and I were on the phone last night and I had just told him something (deeply personal and very meaningful, but no matter) and there was silence at his end of the line because he was distracted by a tv ad for a freakin' big box store. He started to describe it to me.

"Oh, is that the one with the woman who wants to be her daughters' hero because she can put up shelves now?"

"No, but there's a lot of soft focus and people wandering around outside. There is a woman."

"Oh! Does she have lots of red hair?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. That's Sue. She moved into the building a few years ago and the garden was sad and desolate so she went to the store and got lots of gardening advice and bought lots of gardening stuff. The garden has turned their apartment complex into a home."

Dialogue reconstructed from my rather poor memory for that sort of thing because who the hell takes notes when she's on the phone chatting with her Man?