Sorrow and Thanks

Why does it seem that everyone I know has had their father pass away recently? It really is uncanny. My heart goes out to you all, Becky, Dennis, Rich and Dwight, Windy, A.J., et al. The whole experience has just seemed to top off what has been a rather somber holiday season for me.

I do want to thank two people in particular, Andrea and Karen, for making x-mas the best it can be. You two are awesome and I don’t know what I would do without you around.

It feels like a good time for letting go. I am not sure of what. I know I just want to “let go.”

Merry Christmas and Fuck You, Too

I feel so sick today. I am not sure what is wrong with me; it could be authentic illness from the cold weather or it could be my body recovering from the weekend. Either way, I am just not myself. Also, I have cried three times for no reason. I fear that this is the way I will feel the rest of my life. I’m also angry and jealous of people who have great families. Fuck you. Really.

I’m taking Amos to the vet tomorrow for some long over due shots and some basic TLC. Can the vet confiscate your pet if he thinks you haven’t been taking good care of it? Just curious. I bought his a flashy new collar today and he has an appointment at the beauty parlor this Friday. Furthermore, I am finally getting him some dental work in the hopes that will clear up some, if not all, of the HORRIBLE dog breath. Of course with my luck, I will spend all this money on him and he will kill over dead or get hit by a car next week.

X-mas is Sunday. I am ignoring it. This is no small feat considering where I am working every night this week, the annals of A Christmas Carol at the Alley Theatre (I tried spelling annals as anals but it, but spell check wouldn’t let me even though I knew I wanted it to be anals). I fucking dare someone to come up to the desk tonight and ask me a question. Bring it, BITCHES!

Eat my blog.

So I am at the Alley, again. Tonight there was no choir. Tonight we had a middle school all string orchestra. Now, I hate to make fun of children (that’s not exactly true, I kind of love it), BUT, the whole thing sounded like one long cat fight. Or maybe not a fight, maybe it was that sound cats make when they are getting busy, you know what I’m talking about. Basically, when cats have sex they sound like “Away in a Manger” as performed by the tone deaf middle school student I just suffered through.

Tomorrow, I make my return to Blanco. Those of you who have been keeping up with my blog for the past year may remember the events around last New Year’s Eve. I can’t wait, it should be lots of fun and I will try to keep you all posted on the merriment.

Seriously, I am really ready for this year to be over with. This one has been tough for me. The holiday season is always tough for me. I seem to turn into this other person in December. I start have manic episodes and most things usually end horribly for me in December. I feel very detached from everyone. I feel very alone.

Enough of that. January can’t come soon enough.

God Bless Us, One and All!!

Tis the season, at the Alley Theatre, where they roll out Christmas Carol to the delight of many uneducated, rude, suburban, boring, easily-amused theatre-goers. For the rest of us, it is hell.

I had forgotten how many people I hate see Christmas Carol. I don’t know them personally but they know who they are.

First, there are the choirs that come from surrounding schools to fancy us with their incredible singing abilities and spread Christmas joy like a jackhammer to my skull. Actually, in all fairness, the fist time is nice. The second night is mildly pleasant. From there, my experiences with the death choirs slide off in scale until eventually, on December 26, the final choir comes in some vain attempt to sing carols the day after X-mas and you watch weary eyed people, people who have by this time had enough of the holidays as I have, stare at them with the same kind of Marilyn Manson hate that I have had, well, by tonight.

Next, come the families. You know who I am talking about: hordes of snot-rubbing children, grannys is wheelchairs, overly dressed mom in their green and red sweaters. The kind of people that X-mas has vomited on and someone forgot to clean up the mess. Every once in a while, I catch the eye of some college age person home for the holidays and obviously dragged here by said family. We look at each other for that moment; each with the same amount of pity. As by ESP, I can hear a faint, “Please kill me.”

I can’t forget about the company x-mas parties. What crazy fuck comes up with the idea to have their company x-mas party at the Alley and see Christmas Carol? I don’t want to discourage the Alley from any revenue, but ECK! People who come here for these parties seem to think that they own the place; they own the night. Woo Hoo, PARTY!! Really? You’re at the Alley, drunkboy. How great can your life be?

I must really have my Scrooge hat on tonight! Damn! I just referenced the damn show. Bah Humbug!

Much of my life, too much, was lived to please others. I forced myself into molds fashioned for me by society. I lost touch with what and who I really was. I lived a life of self-destruction, sometimes resulting in the destruction of other lives I touched. I paid a great price for having this illness. A person with a college education certainly should have some kind of confidence and credibility, but I earned nothing to talk about, and was part of the poor and disrespected. It was a difficult and painful place to be, one that was certainly not my intention, or because of any carelessness on my part; just a lot of unpleasant circumstances; a very humbling experience. But because of this, I discovered something very exciting about life. I realize that the object of living is not to live forever. We all eventually die. And also, that we can’t take it with us. We don’t take our money, clothes, labels, and prestige with us. But I’ve discovered something we do take with us. I believe that when we get beyond this life, we will be clothed in who we are in our hearts and our minds. I plan to be fully dressed; not nude, stripped, and foolish like those who focus on material things. The most important things in life are not things.

-Marcia Kyle Townsend (7/27/54-12/01/94)

Dear Dennis

A few people wanted to be sure to say Happy Birthday to you today:


HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

What the....?!!!!

So I had this dream last night that I was trying to get this blonde woman to go out on a date with me. (I know, right!). Her hobbies included eating sticks of butter, making grass skirts, and watching animlals fuck. I am pretty sure it was Katie Couric.

Hmmm...

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

What Does Your Birthdate Mean?

Your Birthdate: March 19

You are resilient, and no doubt your resilience has already been tested. You've had some difficult experiences in your life, but you are wise from them. Having had to grow up quickly, you tend to discount the advice of others. You tend to be a loner, having learned that the only person you can depend on is yourself. Your strength: Well developed stability and confidence Your weakness: Suspicion of others Your power color: Eggplant Your power symbol: Spade Your power month: October

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

STUPID CHEAP THEATRE TICKETS!!!

Opening November 17...

In 1993, IBP presented Jason Nodler's In the Under Thunderloo, an epic anti-play full of big ideas, rock-and-roll songs and sly pop-cultural commentary that revolutionized underground theater in Houston. In '94, IBP took aim at Bertolt Brecht's In the Jungle of Cities, a notorious, beautiful puzzle of a play, which examined capitalism in a harsh, yet wickedly funny, light. Over a decade later, IBP has discovered a unique playwright who manages to combine elements of both those early IBP successes, inspiring IBP to revisit, in a sense, those seminal years. True to its generation, IBP kicks off the new season with a burlesque meditation on the Cold War, Epic Theater, utopia and the rock band Journey.

The Village Voice called playwright Charles Mee “fearlessly unoriginal … a Napster of contemporary theater.” Both compliments, actually, according to Mee. He himself has said, “There’s no such thing as an original play,” and Full Circle is a perfect example. Set in East Germany in 1989, Full Circle is a political farce inspired by Brecht's Caucasian Chalk Circle (and the Chinese opera that inspired Brecht's version).The brutally funny comedy pillages theater history and popular culture, depicting real-life personalities in desperate, twisted situations. Mee fully embraces postmodernism as an endless, overflowing fountain of material--primordial liquors for an intense, intoxicating theatrical cocktail. (Now, that’s a philosophy IBP can get behind!)

During a bizarre performance by the Berliner Ensemble, American socialite Pamela Dalrymple finds herself at ground zero for the collapse of European communism. Having "inherited" the baby of East German leader Erich Honecker during a riot, she and revolutionary Dulle Griet embark on a journey across capitalism-drunk East Germany, hotly pursued by the authorities, who will stop at nothing to obtain Honecker's child. Throughout, Mee injects the espionage-laced story with wickedly funny sideplots involving the caustic Berliner Ensemble director Heiner Muller and a Coke-swilling American capitalist based on Warren Buffett. And of course, what would a meditation on the end of the Cold War be without a Journey song? course, what would a meditation on the end of the Cold War be without a Journey song? Ultimately, Mee's tale arrives back at Brecht's famous "circle" for the final showdown, though the lines between winners and losers may seem as smeared as chalk on asphalt. In fact, Mee has accomplished something rarely seen in the adaptation game: A seemingly familiar story reaches its dramatic destination in a foreign country whose poetic language is wholly untranslatable. With his brilliant and hilarious sense of theatricality, Mee's ideas are viscerally decoded and communicated fluently and beautifully.
IBP artistic director Anthony Barilla will give Houston its long-overdue introduction to Mee’s work with Full Circle, which opens Thursday, November 17 and runs Fridays and Saturdays, 8pm, through December 17 at the Axiom, 2524 McKinney. Preview party Wednesday, November 16 ($35 admission includes beer, wine and food), party starts at 6:30pm; performance at 8pm.

For reservations, call 713-522-8443.

ABOUT CHARLES MEE
Chuck Mee has written bobrauschenbergamerica, Wintertime, Belle Epoque, Vienna: Lusthaus, Snow in June, A Perfect Wedding, Limonade tous les Jours, and a number of other plays in addition to his work inspired by Greek plays: Big Love (Obie winner, Best Play 2001), True Love, Orestes 2.0, Trojan Women A Love Story and others. His plays have been performed at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, American Repertory Theatre, New York Theatre Workshop, the Public Theatre, Lincoln Center, the Humana Festival, Steppenwolf, and other places in the United States as well as in Berlin, Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels, Vienna, Istanbul and elsewhere.
His complete works are available on the internet at www.charlesmee.org.

His work is made possible by the support of Jeanne Donovan Fisher and Richard B. Fisher.

Is anyone else having problems with text on their blogs?

Whenever I make a post lately, the TITLE will disappear and you have to scroll down and then back up to get the text to show up. How weird.

Sometimes, it is just not worth getting out of the bed in the mornings.

A GREAT BIG "FUCK YOU" to TEXAS THIS MORNING. THANKS!!

Here's a little something to make me feel better.

Don't forget to vote AGAINST prop 2 on Tuesday!!

Bookworm

So, I came across this article in Time Magazine that lists their top 100 novels from 1923-present. It is honesty time; I have read one book of this list. That's right, count it up, one book (and if you can guess which one, you win the big prize).

So, basically, I really am this big, stupid thing from Arkansas as I have always suspected. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I expected to have read more books on the list. I know that I do not read books. I have read no books since 1998. In 1998, I had a spurt where I read Living in the Light, The Celestine Prophecy, and Oprah Winfrey's Make the Connection, but that had more to do with my life changing optimism back then. When it comes really down to it, I have turned into my father, and if it isn't on TV, then I don't know about it.

That is why I have decided that I am going to read every book on this list. I don't care if it takes me the rest of my life, I am going to do it. I wouldn't mind getting some input though, I mean if there is a book on the list that you really think is awful, please let me know. More importantly, if there is something not on the list that you think should be, again, please let me know.

Now, I think I will make my friend Ryan (and many others of you I am sure) really happy and make the first book I read off the list Naked Lunch. Progress reports are forthcoming.

Old People . . . That's Funny

So, tonight is my last night at the Alley for a few weeks; until Christmas Carol starts. Then, all the real fun starts.

The most beautiful man in the world came to the Alley tonight. His name is Alejandro. He has a slight accent. He asked me if I would mind keeping him backpack with me at the desk while he watched the show. I mumbled “yes” in some high squeaky, girlie voice. It is taking all the will power in the world for me not to go through it.

So, those senior citizens were able to meet Hal and Dixie after the show the other night. The only thing was that they didn’t have anywhere for these people to sit. They all had to line up, cross the alley way, be escorted backstage, and hang on each other until Hal and Dixie decided to show up. I am telling you, some of them were willing to throw in the towel and say fuck it. We are talking about people who haven’t stayed up past 8:00 p.m. since Carson left The Tonight Show. Luckily, a few of them had their own walkers that also turned into a folding chair upon emergency situations. The others suffered through and were finally able to meet Hal and Dixie.

In my mind, Dixie Carter is still the vibrant, outspoken woman that she was on Designing Women. Of course, that was 15 years ago. When she and Hal arrived, I couldn’t tell them apart from the others. It looked like a scene from Cocoon. Except, the only thing that arrived to take these people away was their old-folks shuttle; at least I hope so. After they left backstage and were escorted back into the alley way, the bus drive/chaperone left to go get the shuttle from wherever she parked it. The Astros had just won the NLCS game to go to the World Series about 10 minutes earlier and the huge crowd downtown was making for their cars, so I knew they had a wait in store. I left anyway. They didn’t make it to this age without being resilient, right?

Random Thoughts

If the Astros don’t win, it might send me into the deepest state of depression and despair not seen in quite some time. Okay, no pressure.

Do you have any idea how much of my day (my life) is spent centered on having too much weight and not enough money? At least 95%, I swear.

Being a bill collector must be the worst job in the world. Except now I have notice most of my bill collectors are automated and that makes me fill cheated somehow.

I left work last night and raced to the Jack in the Box to get the ultimate cheeseburger meal and went home and ate it while watching The Biggest Loser (the reality show about losing a lot of weight) on television. This is probably not a good thing.

While surfing the web at work tonight, I came across the most horrible, racist website with a long page of the most disturbing jokes I have ever read. But then I started laughing and I had to read them all. Now I am feeling very guilty about it.

I can’t believe I haven’t tried to sneak backstage yet and try to steal something belonging to Dixie Carter. E-Bay, E-Bay!

Someone told me recently that they felt most people are actually a little intimidated of me. I told them that it really odd because I walk around feeling intimidated by almost everyone I am around.

A woman bringing a group of 20+ senior citizens to the show tonight just called me to ask if the could meet Hal Holbrook and Dixie Carter after the show. Just in jest, I called the stage manager to find out, and the agreed to do it. I feel really happy about it but I think it says something about my cynicism and what else in life I might be missing out on just because I think it is a silly idea and never just simply ask for it.

Peanut

Opooogf, shejkdeoef, smooshoy, wooshy, oooogaa, gogodk, smush, mushy, mushy, mushy.

I want to bite it.

Spent evening looking at reunion picturse from the Smith family. These pictures make me miss my Smith family very much.

My roomate and I are still waiting for that imaginary, long lost Smith brother to show up at our doorstep.

This is her peanut. And the pictures are courtesy of him.

My Night at the Alley

People, I’m sorry, the Public is really weird.

I had forgotten how working the reception desk at the Alley theatre can be a crash course in human behavior-stupid human behavior. I have discovered how selfish and spoiled the American consumer has become.

Just a few instances from tonight:

A woman calls at 6:47 p.m. to let me know that she can’t make it to the 7:30 p.m. show. I tell her the box office phone line closed at 6:00 p.m. and they only take window service. Besides, in order to exchange a ticket, you must be a season subscriber and you must give us 24 hours notice. I wanted to go on to say, you can’t call up 45 minutes before the show starts and try to exchange tickets you spoiled, pretentious, piece of shit. I did think these thoughts as she went on for 5 minutes about her life, who she is, all the trouble that she was going through, blah, blah, blah, blah. I wish she could be here in person to see my face. There is just no way to convey through the phone that you are an unsympathetic, underpaid, gay man in a very bad mood. If she was in person, a can assure you, she would be able to tell.

I had another woman ask me where TUTS was located. I bite my tongue ever so slightly on with the side of my teeth. I point out the front glass door to the Bayou Place and tell her that the Hobby Center for the Performing Arts is right behind bayou place, it is about a block and a half away from us. At this point, she turns to me and says, “You mean I have to walk all the way over there?” My tongue escapes from its painful prison. “I don’t know how you plan to get over there, but that’s where it is.”

Another great aspect of my job here is the nightly onslaught of senior seniors desperate for the assistive hearing devices. For some reason, the Alley doesn’t trust the old birds any longer and have required them to leave their drivers license with me. Do you know the average amount of time it takes a person over the age of 65 with their arthritic boney hands and failing eyesight to retrieve their license from their oversized, overstuffed purses and 4 inch thick, plastic galore, wallets with an impressive collage of plastic cards? It takes a long time.

Someone from the PR office just informed me that there is going to be a talk back tonight, which usually means an extra 45 minutes of waiting around before I get to go home.

I wonder why we even have a reception desk. Do any of you know of any other major arts organization that has some hapless fool sitting out here in the middle of these wolves, these heartless vultures? Don’t most places just have the box office and that is it? I feel like have the people here ask me stupid questions out of some weird obligation of seeing me here in the wide open. I feel like a human kiosk.

I have decided tonight to charge anyone wanting to know the status of the Astros game $1. Then I will use my winnings to get completely drunk and try to forget this place exists. Until I have to return tomorrow, that is.

SPAM

Has anyone else notice SPAM in the comments to their posts? It goes a little like this: "Hey, I really like your blog, I will visit again, By the way, check out my SHIT."

UG, they are everywhere.

Sordid Lives

I really hope my roommate doesn’t mind me sharing a few stories from this week.

He is in good spirits considering everything. It is bad enough to have to go through the loss of a parent, but then to have to put up with that weird, country, white-trash “thing” that you spent your entire life getting away from, makes it all that much harder.

He calls me today in a panic, because, in his haste, he forgot to pack any cologne and is now faced with the unavoidable truth that he might have to wear Brut. I pleaded with him; don’t do it. It will only make things worse. I told him that there has to be some old bottle of Charlie or something lying around. I mean, rub some all temperature Cheer behind your ear before going the Brut route. You might as well be wearing Stetson (the cologne and the hat).

He finally convinced them that they were not going to be able to play Ricky Skaggs at the service. Instead, they are going to play a CD of hymns and possibly play Ricky a little later.

I won’t even go into how the father’s shirt wasn’t ironed and the shirt had to come off and then get ironed. I am sure it wasn’t as dramatic as I make it sound but a recent episode of Desperate Housewives comes to mind.

They all decided no trinkets in the casket, which is a good thing. Otherwise, he may have been buried in a white t-shirt with a pocket in the front for his cigarettes, and a bottle of Mountain Dew.

There is one other story that, not even I, can share over the Internet, but if asked in person I may be willing to share.

I hope he really does find these stories as humorous as I do. I know he is in a lot of pain and anxiety but, like me, deals with these things in humor. Otherwise, we would go totally insane.

Rainy Days and Mondays...

I am feeling discombobulated. Something is not right in the universe.

My weird headaches and dizzy spells have returned. They are very mild but noticeable. I wonder what it means. I feel very disconnected from everything and everyone.

My roommate’s father passed away yesterday. For anyone who has lost a parent, you know these types of experiences always rehash old feelings and it is as if your memories become the present all over again. There is never anything to say and nothing you can do and even the effort of trying to think positive thoughts becomes too much.

Surely I don’t have cold weather blues already, do I?

Today is one of those days where melancholy thoughts soak me like cheap perfume. I am stuck and can’t see where to go even if I wasn’t stuck. I heard someone say the other day that it is important not to get “lost in the forest.” It really struck a chord in me, even though the nature of the advice is hokey. I feel lost in the forest, a lot. I have no compass. Sometimes, I think I will just waste away the rest of my life doing and saying the same things I do and say and my life would have meant nothing.

Oooof. That was a tad dark. Like I said, one of those days. I am sure by tomorrow I will be all smiles and going on and on about the social relevance of Suzanne Sugarbaker.

Wow, I miss Summer.

Just kidding.

Why is it that cooler weather makes me want to eat everything I see? Don’t get me wrong, my appetite is usually on the strong side of the radar as it is, but it seems to me that every time fall/winter arrives I turn into a one man eating machine that cannot be stopped. Is it the nice homey feeling that cooler weather brings? (By homey I mean ‘the comforts of home” and not my ghetto friends). Is it part of the human biology to want to stack up on calories for winter? Do I want to look like Lulu Roman and John Candy’s love child by Christmas? I don’t know.

Today was outstanding on the happy meter. I actually stood outside this morning and felt chilled. (Chilled as in my skin felt a little cold not as in smoking dope with my homeys). When I was smoking, my lungs felt refreshed. I did see this one woman in a sweater-I mean, c’mon, let’s not go overboard yet.

I stood outside thinking how much I was ready to say goodbye to 2005. This has not been a good year for me.

I hope everyone got outside and took deep breaths today.

Subscription

I know I am not the best person at updating my blog on a regular basis. So, I re-added the "notify me" feature at the bottom of this page. Add yourself to the list and I will send you an e-mail when something new is added.

The 100th person added gets a free toaster.

A Return to the Masses

I am so hot and cold on this blogging thing. I didn't expect to miss it. At the same time, I enjoyed not having the anxiety of thinking about coming up with something to post. Oh well. I have decided to give this another go.

Just a few quick thoughts:

This weekend brings the beginning of some cooler weather here in Houston. I always used to be a Summer fan, but now I am aching for Fall. Is this another sign of getting older?

I have my head so far up the Houston Astros' ass, it's not even funny. Hopefully, I will not see daylight again until the World Series.

I have decided that I want to participate in a 5K run sometime next year. I am hoping this will help to jolt my fat ass out of bed in the mornings to workout.

Also, I started a part-time job this week and will no longer have free time. You may never see me again.

Peace out.