2014 was a very mixed bag for Uncle P. Plenty of great stuff happened: I met someone amazing; I was in an exceptional show (Bluebird); I completely redecorated my living room and kitchen; I got a new washing machine; I got a new vacuum; I got to visit San Francisco again and went to Vegas for the first time.
Conversely, plenty of other stuff sucked: I lost two very sweet and talented friends; my washing machine, chest freezer and vacuum all went the way of all things; I found out that my father's second wife's children might have a claim to my house* and there's a ton of taxes owed on the property I inherited and I have no idea how I'm going to pay it; I found out my mother fell victim to the mortgage frauds perpetrated by Fannie Mae and Bank of America in the first decade of the 21st Century and taking on a an unwanted (but needed) boarder has proven difficult (he's a bit of an irresponsible slob - though he's working on it) and not as financially beneficial as I'd hoped.
This year, I already have two potential shows (plus a special tribute show to one of those lost friends) lined up and I am determined to find a way out of the financial mess Mom left me (I loved her dearly, but am angry at how much she kept from me). I am hoping to continue to repaint and redecorate the rest of my house while continuing to write plays, screenplays and this blog.
I am thankful for the loving and supportive people in my life (both online and IRL) and the steady paycheck from the Day Job (no matter how much I may complain about our clients, it's still a great place to work).
My wish for all of you in 2015 is prosperity; good health; solid relationships and the kind of astonishingly loving and supportive network of friends I am lucky enough to have.
HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here's to 2015 being better than 2014!
More, anon.
Prosper
*They've since all agreed to sign off on their claims. It would have cost them more in legal fees than they might possibly have gained, anyway.
So today was National Coming Out Day. I hope lots of folks did and are the happier for it, as am I. And while it's all well and good that we have an official "Coming Out Day," for many of us, coming out isn't or wasn't a one day deal.
For Uncle P, the process started with a few High School Theatre girl friends, claiming then (and through much of college) that I was Bisexual, knowing full well that wasn't true in the least. Of course, Uncle P came of age at the beginning of the AIDS crisis, adding additional stigma to being a young gay man. And while all through my 20's and early 30's I had my fun, it wasn't until I went into therapy that I was able to not just come out to myself, but to to my immediate family. I was going to tell my mother on "Come Out with Ellen" day, but chose to do so a week before, steeling myself with a drink or three, first. She cried, not because I was gay, but because I had been afraid to tell her. Eventually, I started expressing to her which men I found attractive on the TV shows we both watched and we would have small conversations about why and whether or not we found the same guys attractive. She loved my long ago ex, Ric and encouraged me to find someone right up until she went into the hospital for the last time.
I told my sister that same year, on the last night of my once-annual October trip to Florida. She was neither shocked nor upset, though embarrassed at having used the "F" word, earlier in the day (something that almost stopped me from telling her). To this day, she continues to not only be my BFF (I love you K & Q, but you know...) and a staunch supporter of LGBT rights, including Marriage Equality. I feel so lucky to have her on my side, especially given the stories we all know about families abandoning their LGBT members. And while there are still a few elderly family members (my Aunt and Mom's Aunt and Uncle, among them) who don't know - and as far as I am concerned, don't need to know - most of my cousins and few aunts and uncles know. And that's fine. They are all mostly liberal and accepting. And if not, the hell with them. I have reached the age where I truly don't give a rat's ass what you think about me.
For me, coming out was a long, drawn-out process which took many years. As I am sure it was and will continue to be for many gay people. But as more and more of us make ourselves visible, it will be easier and easier for those who come after us. Eventually (hopefully), 'coming out' won't be something anyone needs to worry about. Am I too optimistic about a Roddenberryesque Utopia where the whole word gets it? How I would love a peek into the future a hundred or so years from now. I can only hope the smart folks win.
In celebration of Coming Out, here's the trailer for my favorite gay rom-com and sweet coming out story, Big Eden:
And here's a very affirming music video about Coming Out:
Own yourself. Love yourself. Be yourself!
Sending you love and support! Come out, come out, whoever you are! Know that there are many people who love and support you! I'm here if you need an ear.
Yes, You Are Seeing Double. The 'Fares' of Langhorne Players' Production of "Bluebird"
Next month will mark the first anniversary of my mother's passing. Uncle P's life has changed so drastically in such a short time that it seems both much longer and hardly a minute later at the same time. Of course, this probably only proves that time is an illusion. There can only ever be now. ("Whoa! Dude, too heavy..." "Shut up, ya bloody wanker!"*)
Most of the inside of my house looks almost nothing like it did 11 months ago. It is very much starting to finally feel like my own place with my own distinct sense of style. That's helped a lot. I've also recently taken on a boarder (something I didn't want to do - I'd grown accustomed to being alone), but not something I regret. He is a friendly acquaintance I first met while performing as Cassius in Julius Caesar in 1997. He needed the place, I had the room and I certainly like the extra money. Our schedules are different enough that we aren't often home at the same time and even when we are, we seem to get along quite well. He likes to boast that he is sharing a house with a gay man. I like to complain that he leaves the lid (not the seat) of the toilet up (toilet seats have lids for a reason - I don't want to have to fish anything out of mine, thank you) and he claims an inefficient freezer in a former home has left him with a habit of only filling ice cube trays half-way. But I will break him. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! No, seriously. It's working out well... so far. And yes, being a 12 year-old bartender means I must have a full ice bin at all times. Thanks again. Dad!
To tie all of this in with this post's title and the sprawling publicity photo above, despite the crazy crap that's been going on since she passed, I know Mom would be very upset to know that I'd put the thing about which I am most passionate on hold for so long. I was contacted by a director I knew by name only, at the suggestion of my very own Q (who knows me well enough to know it was time, as well). I was asked to come in and read for one or possibly two small roles in a play I'd never heard of, Bluebird by British playwright Simon Stephens. I got both parts and joined a show already two weeks into rehearsals with a bit of trepidation. Yes, they weren't huge rolls, but they were obviously important to the story and both have some hefty monologs. Thank His Great Noodly Appendages for my "Line Nazi" K, who always gets the job done! (LOVE you, Honey!). We officially opened last night (Friday) and while it was good, I still had a flub that almost threw me.
Tonight, however, I was feeling particularly 'on,' as we say. I was calm and collected; focused and and firing on all cylinders. The performers among you will totally understand the feeling. Even better, two performances in and I am still finding new things about these two characters, both of whom are as different as can be, yet have so much in common. Bluebird is mostly set in a London Bluebird Mini-Cab and revolves around it's driver and a single night of fares who both inform and reflect his own story. I play Robert (a middle-class father returning to the scene of a crime on the day the perpetrator is being released from prison) and Andy (a tough-guy bouncer with a heart of gold, on his way home to his family after a rough night). Stephens' spare dialog is delicious to work with and immediately made me decide Andy was Cockney, which really gives him some delicious linguistic energy that's so very fun to play (and his very dirty mouth doesn't hurt - I love swearing on stage - it's very liberating)! Robert is much darker and sadder (and very drunk) - still a good exercise in character and mood, which is not as 'fun' to play, but equally satisfying. *And while I don't actually say it, "Shut up, ya bloody wanker!" seemed the obvious response in a post that has somehow turned out to be about dichotomy; death; life; theatre; acting; change and growth.
"Dude! What'd I say?" Yeah, I know, but I'm not going to stop, because if there is one thing I have had reaffirmed these past few weeks (and especially tonight), it's that theatre can and should be transformative, for both performers and audiences. I can't speak for the audiences of any work in which I am involved, but as stressful and wonderful (I've not only made many new friends, but reconnected with one I hadn't seen in 30 years) as Bluebird has been, it reminded of why I do what I do. It is my 'religion' and it feeds my 'soul,' however you decide to define either. And I am so very glad to be feeding so satisfyingly. Of course, I used to have to add silver to my hair to age me. Now I have
to spray it darker to 'youthen' me. And don't get me started about
mascara in my goatee!
Depending on when you are reading this, there are still 9 performances left. Be forewarned, this will not be everyone's cup of tea, you should pardon the metaphor. It's dark and spare and doesn't have a lot of action (almost the entire show is set inside the cab - cleverly designed and executed by the director and a fellow cast-mate, so it's never static for too long) but every 'episode' - no matter how brief - informs, echoes and/or foreshadows the bigger picture that is ultimately Andy's path to a sense of closure and self-redemption. Chewy, yummy actory stuff and exactly (as Q knew) what I needed, when I needed it most. For info and tickets, visit www.langhorneplayers.org.
Well, there's a ramble for you, eh? One of Andy's admonitions is "Enjoy the sunshine!" This is my sunshine. It is warm. It is friendly. It is good. Thank you to Mr Ken Junkins, who saw something he liked and trusted me to do what needed to be done. And forever and forever thank you to Q for knowing this was the right project to ease myself back into and K for the line drills. Small enough to not have the line-load of 'Prospero,' but still artistically challenging and rewarding, I am so happy I agreed to do it.
Things are really starting to look at least a little bit better. At least, I hope so. Change is both inevitable and good. While embracing change isn't always easy, stagnant water both looks icky and stinks!
Here's a bit more about Bluebird and the London company that developed the original production:
I'm not saying it's all roses and lollipops. Hardly. There's all sorts of nonsense still going on that you would think I was making it all up if I told you. But the newest sense of normalcy seems to be a thousand times better than the worst possible scenario.
While my mother's heritage was German, Scottish and Welsh, as kids my sister and spent much more time with Dad's decidedly Hungarian side of the family and primarily identify our cultural heritage as Hungarian. And therein lies the title of tonight's post which translates into English as "My family."
My concept of family and the dynamics within my a family have changed a lot in the past seven months. A húgom (my sister) and the BIL have been here all this weekend, primarily to help me with work on my house. They spent all day Thursday working on installing my new washer; installing new locks on the downstairs doors; repairing my toilet and cleaning out tons of our mother's hoarded junk (Barb found 5 separate gallon jugs of windshield washer fluid in my shed and on my porch, which we assume Mom must have smuggled home from the car dealer where she worked). I came home from work Thursday night to be overwhelmed by what they had accomplished.
Today, the three of us went visit our decidedly Hungarian Auntie, who took us to lunch. Auntie, who will be 78 this September, is wracked by severe arthritis in her hips, knees and ankles, reducing her to basically a shut-in, so it was good to see her getting out of her condo, though I don't imagine she'll be with us much longer, either. Yes, that makes me sad. But it also again reminds me that we need to make the most of the time we have with the people we love.
I think a lot of my friends and family thought I was going to really fall apart when Mom passed away. I knew I wouldn't. Yes, I'm still in mourning, but I'm happy to prove to them that I am much stronger than they thought. I also am happy to acknowledge that most of the credit for my current strength goes to their love and support as part of my chosen family over many years.
Of course, having a sibling who is also a best friend (and who understands you like no one ever can - we had a moment in Home Depot today that no one else would ever get) who is married to an awesome human being I am proud to call Brother, helps. And while I am not fond of the religious connotations such a phrase might invoke, I can only hope that all of you are as 'blessed' to have such an amazing natural and chosen family as Uncle P does, however dysfunctional it may be.
The first year's worth of holidays after losing a loved one is not fun. Mom's passing last October was so close to the winter holidays, they seemed very surreal (especially spending Christmas in Florida). I'll be staying home this Christmas, mostly because I'm going to Las Vegas for Thanksgiving. Just the three of us going: Me, myself and I. No schedule while there (except the ticketed shows I'll be seeing); no agenda. Just some insane people-watching and the sights and food of Sin City. I can't wait.
Still, today has been the most difficult holiday, so far. Most of my friends spent the day with their Moms. I can't begrudge them that. I would have done the same, if I could. Picking out just an "Aunt" card for my father's dear sister was certainly tough, given the lack of them at the store. And not looking for several new books for Mom to read was even tougher. She was midway through the last book I bought her (for her birthday) when she passed.
I think I've mentioned before that all my mother wanted to be was a mother. She wanted seven children, but ended up with just two. When my parents split up after 27 years, she picked herself up and reinvented herself as a savvy working woman, dating but never re-marrying. She even briefly entertained a hot Russian who was five years younger than I was. She settled down when her health started to fail in her late 50's, but she was kept active by her job and the few friends she had. But once she was forced to retire (the Cadillac dealer she worked for went out of business), she sort of gave up and I watched her steady decline with a very sad heart. When she went into the hospital for the last time, I still had hope she would pull through. I thought we'd have a few more years with her, at least. But it was not to be.
Mom loved kids and animals. She's feeding a lorakeet at the Lowry Park Zoo in Tampa in that picture, the last time we went to visit my sister together (I'm guessing 2009). A voracious reader, she often went through two or three novels a week; mostly thrillers and mysteries. The last book she finished was "Under the Dome" because she like the series. She loved "The Walking Dead;" "Falling Skies;" "Grey's Anatomy;" "Scandal;" "Mike and Molly" (a show I find terribly unfunny); "Rizzoli and Isles;" "The Closer"/"Major Crimes;" and "Castle" and she'd be really pissed if she knew she was missing the "24" mini-series. She couldn't spell if you held a gun to her head; she mangled pronunciations and was the Queen of Spoonerisms. She was quick to laugh at herself about it, too. She often got celebrity names confused (Morgan Freeman was always Morgan Fairchild) and while she said she never had a favorite movie, if forced to pick one, it would have been Doctor Zhivago.
She taught my sister and I to cook and do laundry when we were young so we would never have to depend on her. Her cooking when we were kids was awesome, though she often admitted my marinara (based on hers), was better than hers (even though she didn't really like either version). She raised us to be kind to everyone and to not have prejudices. When I finally came out to her, she cried - not because I was gay (she already knew that) but because she thought I was afraid to tell her. She came to almost every show I was in or directed until it became physically too difficult for her to do so and was always supportive of my artistic endeavors. She could out-swear most truckers and occasionally let her own mother's prejudices sneak out, but never with real malice and never without an admonition from me.
It's only been seven months since she left us and I know it will be a long time before I'm really used to the fact that she's gone, but today was just a little bit harder. I miss her - a lot - and am not ashamed to admit it.
If your Mom is still with you, I hope you at least called her today. If you and your Mom are estranged or if your Mom is also gone, I hope you got through today as painlessly as possible.
Happy Mothers' Day, Mom. And Happy Mothers' Day to you and your mother, as well.
Comedian John Roberts (of the terrible "Bob's Burgers") nails the suburban mom on the head with his video "Mother's Day."* And while Mom wasn't nearly as whiny as Roberts, I can hear her voice in plenty of the things he says.
*The placement of the apostrophe in Mothers' Day causes tons of anxiety. I must insist that since it is a day for all mothers, it should come after the final 'S,' while there are those who insist on making it singular by placing the apostrophe before the 'S.' IMHO, punctuating it the latter way makes it about one mother only. Bad form, indeed.
Officially, Uncle P has one more work day before I'm on my 'Holiday Break.' To be honest, Monday should be fairly slow at the Day Job, though there are always those panicky clients who MUST get documents processed before the break (despite the fact that their documents aren't going anywhere until after we return).
In my mind, I'm already in warmer climes, even though I don't leave for Florida until Tuesday morning. And yes, I have a bird/house sitter lined up, so I'm not worried about announcing I'll be away. My dear K will stopping in every day to give Skye fresh water; bring in my mail; watch TV and leave lights on.
This year, K. Michael and I are starting a new tradition: Christmas Eve Eve. Let me explain: For the past ten years or so, K would come over to my house on Christmas Eve to have dinner and take part in the orgy of presents Mom and I would share (long story - see previous posts). Since I'll be in Largo for Christmas Eve, I decided to push our celebration up a day and include a sweet and dear friend who has lent me loads of support in the past few months. We'll have our traditional shrimp cocktail and 'broasted' chicken dinner from Chicken Holiday, complete with their amazing fried creamed-corn nuggets; a small gift exchange and (hopefully) a viewing of A Christmas Story. K will be spending the night and taking me to the airport in the morning (though I have no idea who'll be picking me up when I get home, yet).
I hope to get together with my college friend Marousa (among other activities) while in the Tampa/Clearwater/St.Pete area. Of course, Sis has several activities already planned but I really hope this one happens. I'm very much looking forward to a meal at the African restaurant at Disney's Animal Kingdom's hotel (Sis and the BIL are Vacation Club Members) and honestly can't wait to visit the new Salvador Dali museum where I hope to spend some time gazing at my all-time favorite painting (I have no idea why it's so - it just... 'speaks' to me). I also hope to finish what little holiday shopping I have to do for folks with whom I won't exchange gifts until after the New Year. And among all that excitement, I hope to read at least one play and one novel. Great Expectations, indeed.
This will be the first Christmas spent with my sister in over 18 years. It's also the first Christmas Sis and I will spend without Mom. Ugh. So many feels. I'll be home in time to spend New Year's Eve with my BFFs, K.Q and Dale. So it's all good (or so I keep telling myself).
It is my fervent hope that you are able to spend time with those you love (and who love you) during the Winter Holiday season, no matter what you believe. Merry Christmas; Happy Solstice; Joyous Kwanzaa and Happy New Year!
With the exception of at least one pre-scheduled post, this is probably (though not decidedly) my last real-time post for 2013. I will not rue this year's passing. Goodbye and Good Riddance to 2013!
Hoping all of you (and I) have a better year coming!
So, If you've been keeping up, you can probably imagine that this was not the happiest of Octobers for Uncle P.
Still, I'm plugging away and trying to regain a sense of 'normalcy.' Today was my first day back at the Day Job, where I was asked to judge both a departmental cupcake contest (in a department other than my own) and the company-wide costume contest. I'd like to believe I was asked because people there actually respect my opinion, though I wouldn't be surprised if people were just trying to cheer me up. Of course every one said it was the former, though the latter was very helpful.
Last year I had just over 40. The year before that, 8. I live on a side street in my development, which serves no real purpose other than to provide housing. You can't really get anywhere significant by driving on my street (unless of course, you count my house). The number of children living on the street varies from year-to-year, depending on who is living here at any given time (some houses here seem to have revolving doors) and growing fears about asking strangers for candy have further reduced the number of kids willing to brave the darkness, especially on a weeknight. Still, I had a few princesses; Batman and Robin and a very clever Popcorn Machine with real popcorn and a light in the dome. But it wasn't quite the same without Mom fawning over the cuteness of the little ones and the cleverness of the older kids. The last knock on my door came at 8:17. I turned off my giant spider and Dracula's Pub lights at 9:00.
Of course, when my sister and I were kids, everyone went door-to-door for hours on end. We'd fill a pillowcase, come home to dump it and head out again. Those days are gone, I'm afraid. And that just makes me all the much sadder about the current state of my favorite holiday.
Still... I watched last night's episode of "American Horror Story: Coven;" had some delicious (if I say so myself) Hungarian stuffed cabbage for dinner; spoke with my sister about our mutual lack of candy-beggars and did my best to enjoy the evening.
There are major and minor changes happening in my home (both physical and emotional). The number of programs I DVR has been slashed in half and I no longer feel quite so compelled to watch what I've recorded (with a few exceptions), though I catch myself being angry and/or sad that Mom will no longer be able to enjoy some of the shows she loved. I have made some progress in obtaining the necessary paperwork which accompanies someone's death, though find myself frustrated by the operating hours of certain government agencies (Damn you, SSI!).
It's a process, I suppose. It will take time and be aggravating and even downright blood-boiling at times. I continue to take my anti-hypertension medication and try to take on each issue as it arises... But the wound is still so fresh and painful...
Hallowe'en has evolved over the centuries from a day of keeping evil spirits at bay to a day of celebration. And it's that spirit I tried to maintain, today. I think Mom wouldn't have wanted me to do anything less. I may be sad that she's no longer here to share the celebration, but oh so very glad for all the times she was.
I hope you had a great Halloween and that you and/or your children got all the goodies you can stomach for the next month or so. If you got a Reeses' Peanut Butter Cup, think of Mom when you eat it. She loved them and loved giving them out. I'll be taking a few dozen or so to share at the Day Job, tomorrow.
And honestly, for folks like Uncle P and several of my friends and family, every day is Halloween:
Turkey Month starts tomorrow and I hope to be back to posting more regularly...
Mom feeding a lorakeet at the Lowry Park Zoo in Tampa, a few years ago.
It's almost 2 weeks since Mom passed away and the logistics have been a bit of a nightmare.
Several years ago, Mom made arrangements to donate her remains to science. Noble, yes? Undoubtedly. Successful? Eventually.
The company Mom used is located in Omaha, Nebraska. They promised quick pick up and the eventual return of cremains once she'd given all she could. The problem? Bodies are very difficult to transport across state lines. Of course, my sister and I didn't discover this until today, when we went to get death certificates for her.
The ICU staff at the hospital where she passed assured me they would take care of everything. Needless to say, they didn't. Rather than contacting the company Mom had used, they contacted their local donor network, which doesn't accept full body donations. The hospital never bothered to let me know this.
Today, my sister and I tried to get death certificates so we could close out her various credit cards; transfer her car to me and collect on her life insurance, only to find out that the certificate hadn't been filed by the hospital because her body had yet to be released. She was still in their morgue. After a trip to the Trenton City Hall, we made our way to the hospital where three lovely ladies came to our aid, descending on us en masse in the cafeteria. They clucked and made phone calls and did everything they could to help. Bizarrely, in all of their collective years in the health care industry, they'd never come across a case where the decedent wanted to donate his or her body to science. Both my sister and I were astonished, but they all agreed this was a learning moment for all of us. After an hour at the hospital and many phone calls, they were finally able to arrange donation to the Mercer County Community College's Mortuary Sciences program, where Mom will (hopefully) be treated with the respect and dignity we all deserve upon passing.
When all was said and done, I was able to procure 2 copies of my own birth certificate (ironically needed to request the death certificate), get Mom to a place where her last wishes could be fulfilled and gain some insight to the problems associated when one eschews the rip-off that is the Funereal Industry. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the required documents before I return to the Day Job on Wednesday.
Add this to cleaning out 40+ years of clothing; shoes; accessories; makeup and doo-dads and we have had quite a few days. We donated 13 large trash bags of clothing; three large boxes of shoes and her left-over medical supplies (including her walker; shower seat; leg-lifts and more) to Goodwill. We were able to sell her jewelry (a rather extensive collection) to cover additional costs associated with her passing and start to prepare for a Spring yard sale for the rest. I still have a full 12 foot closet and two armoires full of clothes to get through, as well as lots of paperwork; insurance claims; document shredding and assorted other things to get through, but we're well on our way. I don't imagine everything will be settled before next summer.
My house already looks very different and will continue to change over the next several months. My family, friends and co-workers continue to be amazing and I can't imagine getting through all of this without them.
But I want to give all of you out there a bit of advice.
First: Make sure your last wishes are well-known and well-documented. And don't let anyone tell you "We'll take of it."
Second: Keep accurate, up-to-date and easily accessible records. Nothing Mom had was labeled or organized. I still have mountains of paperwork to go through.
Third: Destroy all financial documents after 5 years. I have stuff to shred dating back to 1989!
Fourth and finally: Document EVERYTHING! Keep well-labeled, organized multiple copies of everything your family and/or loved ones will need. I had copies of my grandmother's birth-certificate, but not my own.
Plan ahead. We all die. Make sure you don't leave a mess for those left behind.
Well, this was not a happy post, was it? I just hope I've helped a few readers who may be faced with some of the same problems, down the line.
Tomorrow night is the Family and Friends gathering to celebrate Mom's life at one of her favorite places to eat. And while it may very well give closure to less immediate family members, my sister and I still have a ton to do. Ugh!
Anyone interested in buying several hundred flocked clothes-hangers? I could put Joy Mangano out of business....
This last week or so has been a rather emotional one for Uncle P, as you can probably imagine. While I'd been mentally preparing (without telling her, of course) for Mom's passing ever since the diabetic shock episode a few years ago, I really thought she'd be coming home again this time. I'm glad she's not in pain, anymore. The last few years, she was in increasingly miserable pain from arthritis, a botched knee replacement and all the other issues plaguing her. Just reaching for something would elicit a groan, grunt or yelp and I felt so bad for her.
Long-time readers and friends know how I feel about religion and an afterlife... And of course, the obvious explanation for what happened tonight is coincidence (or what Jung termed 'Synchronicity'). I suppose some exposition is needed here, so:
Needless to say, I haven't really been following my usual eating patterns for a while now and in the past week find myself eating less and less. Part of that is not wanting to bother making the effort to cook for myself. In the past month I've cooked chicken soup (which didn't turn out quite right) & hamburgers and reheated frozen meatballs marinara. Mostly, I have eaten out or had deli sandwiches, most of which have lasted for two or more meals.
Tonight, once again uninterested in cooking, I ordered Chinese from my favorite take-out place, Wing Wah. We've been going and getting take-out from them for years. The food is consistently excellent, even if the atmosphere (why I prefer take-out) is less so. I had my favorite, Sesame Chicken. It was delicious as always but like most things I've been eating lately, half went into the fridge (which needs cleaning out - there's stuff in there from before Mom went into the hospital on September 8th).
"You will be graced by the presence of a loved one soon."
My sister is scheduled to arrive at the Atlantic City airport tomorrow at about 11:00 AM, Eastern.
Intellectually, I know this is purely coincidence, despite the fact that this probably the first actual "fortune" I've gotten in a fortune cookie in a very long time. The last fortune I got was from a lunchtime cookie at work, 5 or 6 years ago. It read: "You will enjoy a nice piece of cake." Pretty non-committal, but likely, because who doesn't like and/or get a nice piece of cake now and then? Most of the slips of paper I and my friends have gotten on cookies have been statements, i.e. "Time is the healer of wounds, but love is the healer of hearts" Really? Ugh.
Emotionally? Well, that was a whole other story. Talk about dead-on! I took a picture with my phone (see above), posted it to Facebook and then called my sister. We both laughed at the coincidence, but there was that lizard-brain part of me that wanted to believe there was some meaning in a random piece of paper in a random fortune cookie that just may have well been given to some one who wasn't expecting a visit from a loved one. And I've just now decided that of course there was meaning to it. It had immediate meaning to me and my sister, it's coincidental nature notwithstanding.
Still, I imagine it's probably the first and only 100% accurate fortune cookie fortune anyone has ever received. In fact, I'm going to have it custom framed with an engraved brass plaque which says just that. And I'll take joy in watching the people who get up close enough to read a tiny piece of paper I thought worthy of framing, and then sharing the story which goes along with it.
Ever had a fortune cookie fortune come true? Let me know in the comments. I so love hearing from you.
Mom loved Chinese food and was saddened a few months ago when her cardiologist told her she couldn't have it any more, because of the sodium. The old story of Buddha visiting Heaven and Hell comes to mind. It's nice to imagine Mom feeding and being fed with giant chopsticks. Maybe I should play the lottery numbers on the other side. I know Mom would say I should.
"Uma... Oprah. Oprah... Uma." - David Letterman, hosting the 67th Academy Awards in 1995.
As reported in several media outlets, while interviewing endurance swimmer Diana Nyad, Oprah Winfrey has supposedly said that atheists don't believe in awe and wonder. And while I and every other Humanist I know would disagree 1000% with that concept, further review of the clip may well belie that claim.
What the 'lifestyle guru' actually says is that she doesn't believe that an appreciation of and belief in awe and wonder constitute atheism. OK. Big deal I don't really see the reason for Humanist/Atheist outrage here. In fact, Nyad's logical and well-spoken response is pretty dead-on.
Can I not believe in a "Creator" and still be 'spiritual?' Odd as it may seem to some, yes. Of course I can. As I often told Mom, one of the laws of physics is that energy and matter can neither be created or destroyed; only transformed. Our 'spirits' (or minds) are the result of the electrical impulses in our brains, which evolved over eons to become modern Homo-Sapiens. Of all of this I am more than certain. Beyond that... there is likely little more. It would be nice to believe in an afterlife, I suppose. I'm sure it gives many people comfort and a way to deal with knowledge of our own mortality. Mom always thought of religion as a 'crutch' for the weak and frightened. And while I would never deny anyone's right to think otherwise, you all know by now that I think so, as well. Among Mom's last wishes was for her body to be donated for research and/or teaching. Her wishes have been honored. A private dinner for family and friends will be held in Mom's memory at a date and place to be determined.
The Cult of Winfrey is no more or less ridiculous than any other, be it religious or momentarily culturally relevant. She didn't actually say what she's been misquoted as saying. And she, like every other human being has the right to do so, is simply expressing her own beliefs. And whether you agree or not, it's no reason to (you should forgive the expression) demonize the woman. Yes, she's promoted her fair share of charlatans; liars and fakirs. She's in the Business of Show, my friends. She doesn't care if you really buy what she's selling. I assure you, she's far more interested in you buying what her advertisers are selling.
Watch the 'controversial' clip below (via) and decide for yourselves. I'm not afraid to tell you what I do and don't believe. Don't be afraid to disagree. I won't think too much less of you...;)
Here's the thing: What matters is now. Life live on your own terms but do nothing to harm others. Tell the people you love that you love them as often as you can. Treat everyone... EVERYONE... the same: with compassion, respect and empathy. Laugh often; laugh hardily; laugh loudly! Tasteeverything you eat or drink. Savor every damned bite of every delicious thing! Don't waste your time or energy on negativity. Take risks. Travel. Meet new people and make new friends. Don't deny yourself, but take care yourself, as well. Move. Dance. Have sex. Act. Write. Create. Make love. Do what brings you you joy. Get everything you can out of every moment you can. It' all we've got, folks. It's all we've got.
After four weeks in and out of hospitals and rehab, Mom passed away peacefully at 10:02 PM Eastern Time. I was by her side, accompanied by my three dearest friends in the world.
Mom's favorite flowers were carnations and I am posting this one in her memory.
If you would like, you can make a donation to the American Heart Association or the American Diabetes Association in her name.
Loved and missed so much. She always said the best thing she ever did was raise two great children. My sister and I would like to extend our thanks to everyone who has been so supportive in the last few weeks. We couldn't have gotten through this without you.
The past few weeks have been rather difficult for your old Uncle P. My mother (aka Malaprop Mom) suffered a heart attack last month which left her with kidney damage, requiring regular dialysis. It also left her very weak and debilitated. After two and a half weeks in a local hospital where she ranged from ornery to recalcitrant, Mom was moved yesterday to a rehab center in an attempt to regain her strength so she might come home. But I fear she has given up and may never come home.
To understand how distressing this is, you have to know a bit about my amazing Mom. Both strong-willed and emotionally vulnerable, as kids, my sister and I were always asking her to slow down so we could catch up with her. She taught both of us to read before we ever stepped foot in a school (and got yelled at by both of our First Grade teachers because we were already ahead of the others). Mom never wanted to be anything else than a Mom. She wanted 5 children and ended up with 2, the second of whom was born prematurely but fought and grew into one of the strongest people I know (and one of the best friends I could imagine). Nothing was too good for us, growing up. When I was in High School, I had the opportunity to travel to Europe and Mom went out and got her first job since she was a teenager to help pay for it. When my father left her, she soldiered on, dancing her way through my sister's wedding, just a few weeks after her own father passed away.
A self-confessed "shopaholic," Mom was always smartly dressed with a killer manicure and the perfect heel for every outfit. And after arthritis required a knee replacement, she switched to smart and stylish flats. Mom loved the sun and maintained a year-round tan, naturally. And an avid reader herself, it wasn't unusual for her to go through three or four novels a week. She read mostly thrillers and mysteries, but was not above the occasional romance or even a Stephen King novel (she just finished "Under the Dome" a few days before she went into the hospital). Her current favorite TV shows include "Castle;" "Parenthood" and "The Good Wife," along with "The Walking Dead" and "Falling Skies." Since my first High School role in Bye Bye, Birdie, she has been a staunch supporter of my theatrical and artistic endeavors.
After my a-hole father left her, she actually 'found' herself. She dated several guys (including an old High School flame and one hot Russian who was actually two years younger than me!), but gave up on romance when she realized most men are a-holes (something which seems to apply to both straight and gay men). When I finally came out to her, she said she already knew and cried because I thought she'd be upset.
Of course, ever since being forced to retire when the auto-dealer for she which she'd worked for almost 18 years went out of business, her health has declined significantly. In the past four years, I've lost count of how many times I've had to call 911. This past February, she spent a week and a half in the hospital for congestive heart failure. She seemed fine after coming home and I never imagined she'd be back in the ER so soon.
My father passed away in 1999 from brain cancer. He was living in Las Vegas with his second wife (a whole other post could be devoted to that wedding, alone) and I hadn't seen or spoken to him in at least three years. I was in Provincetown, spending 4th of July weekend with my then boyfriend, Ric, whom Mom adored. We got home late that Monday afternoon and Mom informed me that Dad had passed. And I felt... well, to be honest... nothing.
Today, watching Mom get dialysis while drifting in and out of awareness, I felt... everything. Anger. Remorse. Pity. Fear. Anger. Frustration. Worry. Love. Anger.
Of course I know we are all human, and being human means we die. We all will die. But that doesn't make it any easier to watch someone you love; someone who was always there for you; someone who loves you unconditionally, come closer to that final milestone.
It is my fervent hope that rehab will help her gain her strength so she can return home and spend at least a few more years with me. But seeing her tonight, covered in bruises and scabs; weak and drifting in and out of coherence; hooked up to a machine which does a job her own organs can't... well... that's just not right. Not for the Mom we had to tell "Slow down" when we went to the mall to shop for Back-to-School clothes. Not for the Mom who fought when I was unjustly accused of misconduct my freshman year of High School. Not for the Mom who taught me to love to read and write. Not for the Mom who made me crazy so many times. Or the Mom who made me laugh so many times. Or the Mom who, after I made her watch the premiere episode of "The Walking Dead," knowing she'd appreciate the show's humanity, loved it.
Not my Mom.
Not yet.
More, anon.
Prospero
Update: Not long after I finished this post, Mom was rushed to St. Francis Medical Center ICU with internal bleeding. I saw her briefly today. She is very pale and hallucinating, but recognized me and held my hand. I'm hanging on by a thread, myself. I can't stand to see her like this. I know we all go through it, but I thought I'd have a few more years...
I hate that I missed posting on October 1st. Of course, Uncle P is dealing with a bit of real life turmoil. My mother has been hospitalized for a week and a half now, with no indication of when (or if) she might come home. The staff at the hospital is terrific; her doctors have been wonderful and I have never felt kept in the dark about what's going on. I just wish none of it was going on. Uncle P, for the first time in his life, is feeling rather helpless and ineffectual right now. But I must say that I have a rather amazing support team among my friends who are (and will undoubtedly continue to be) helping me through.
Of course, that does nothing to diminish my love of all things October, including the onslaught of cable channel Horror movies. Marathons of Friday the 13th and Halloween movies abound, no matter how good or bad they are.
As part of this year's decidedly different Shocktober, I've decided to just make some suggestions of movies you might enjoy as part of the season. And I've decided to start with one the season's best holiday-themed movies, Trick 'r Treat. An anthology of related stories, writer/director Michael Dougherty managed to create an Internet sensation with his long-delayed movie filled with terrific performances from the likes of Dylan Baker, Anna Paquin and Brian Cox (the original screen Hannibal Lecter) while providing some of the best scares and hilariously ironic moments in Horror Movie history. If you've never seen it, you owe it to yourself to do so.
A sequel has been bandied about, but I won't be holding my breath.
How's that for a post title? To be perfectly honest, all of those do apply to this post overall, just not necessarily all at the same time.
It's been a fairly stressful weekend culminating with my mother having what her Dr. described to me as a "small heart-attack." She will be fine and is scheduled for a cath procedure on Tuesday. I am also in the midst of rehearsals for a reading of a play with some dark and very close-to-home subject matter and have really been trying to avoid anything which didn't make me smile and/or laugh when I'm not forced to go dark places.
And while I do so love the Fall season and Halloween (which is a fun kind of darkness), it also means dread Winter is close at hand. Like plants, I don't exactly thrive in the Winter, though extra Vitamin D supplements and the rich, fattening foods of the Winter holidays help.
Attitude plays a large part of it, too. It's my choice to wallow in the dark or shine my own light through it. I realize that's kind of cheesy and self-helpy or whatever, but it is 100% true. To do that, one should concentrate on the things in life that make it worth living: Beauty, Family, Friendship, Art, Laughter, Joy... These all counterbalance the truly dark stuff. And speaking of Beauty, that's Clint Eastwood's 27 year old son Scott (via) in a photo shoot for 'Town and Country,' Undeniably his father's son, Eastwood the younger has appeared in several unremarkable films, but is suddenly all over the web (especially on the LGBT blogs). I swear, the boy gives me the vapors!
So that's the Hot. On to the Gay. "Queer Lisboa," Portugal's only LGBTQ International Film Festival, has a history of amusing and provocative advertising. This year's is no different, though I imagine it has a certain anti-Semitic, homophobic has-been crying bitter tears of righteous rage:
J'adore, j'adore, j'adore... Yes, that's the Gay. What about the Shakespearean Sci-Fi? Well, hang onto your gay geek hats. The Husky Jackal Theatre Company presents: "William Shakespeare's Terminator the Second," a fully staged production of T2:Judgement Day using only dialog actually written by The Bard. The trailer embedded below is just an amazing bit of hilarious genius:
Which leaves us with Food, but which also ties back to Hot (you know what that is). Here's an adorable shirtless guy (via) teaching you how to correctly pronounce the names of European and Asian foods which many Americans mispronounce. Don't know if it's his mischievous grin, deliberately messy hair, his infectious enthusiasm or the fact that it's actually educational that makes me love it so much.
Oh, I remember now. It's his Treasure Trail. Wow! I just went there, didn't I?
I'm wishing all of you the better week I'm wishing for myself. Of course, one of my maternal grandmother's ('Grandmom Cookie') many colorful sayings was "Wish in one hand and sh*t in the other one and see which one fills up first." Never let the dark keep you from appreciating the light, the joy and the nonsense that is our time here. Instead, embrace the dark with the light, joy and nonsense. We need the dark to appreciate the light, joy and nonsense. Learning that is never easy.
I know, I know. Anyone who cares has probably already seen this. In fact, I'm not even sure where I foumd it - probably via Facebook on the 'I Love The Walking Dead' page. It doesn't matter, really, anymore.
What matters is how amped up Season 4 seems to be, at least from the ComicCon trailer embedded below. To this I say: "HELL YES!!"
If you know me at all, you know I love horror movies and especially zombie movies. And I cannot wait until AMC's "The Walking Dead" regains the top spot on my Top Ten TV Dramas list this year (if I end up doing one... who the heck knows, anymore?). TWD's astonishing 6-episode Season One was truly ground-breaking television and deserved every accolade afforded it. Season Two was... slow, I suppose (hey - even "Lost" had Nicki and Paolo), but built to a very intense second half. Season Three was better than Two, but not up to Season One's quality, which I ascribe to the firing of series creator (and the single best film interpreter of the works of Stephen King), Frank Darabont.
Now under the direction of chief make-up designer Greg Nicotero, the folks at AMC certainly seem to have listened to the fans and considerably raised the stakes for Season Four. Why do I doubt the trailer's final message? See for yourselves (and watch Full Screen):
Damn! I don't know who is more upset about waiting until October: Uncle P; My Sister;My Mother; My Coworker; My Other Coworker; My College Friend or My College Friend's Daughter. It doesn't matter because even after 3 seasons, I am stupefied by the fact that TWD (along with several other Horror/Fantasy/Sci-Fi shows) is Mom's favorite TV drama. She may not always understand the supernatural/Sci-Fi elements in many of these shows, but she sure appreciates compelling characters and exciting story-telling. The apple doesn't fall far... though it seems I've actually turned her opinion about genre entertainment, even if I have to explain it to her at length. But that's not a bad thing at all.
I may be insane, but I'm trying to do yet another blog, inspired by my very inspirational and very funny mother.
I won't be posting there nearly as much as here, but I'll be sure to let you know when I do. Like just now, for instance. You should go visit MalapropMom now, if you know what's good for you! Go on, click the link. You know you want to.
If you met my father or worked with him, you would have thought he was a pretty great guy. Often funny; fairly intelligent; somewhat handy and occasionally a good cook, my dad presented himself as a perfectly decent human being.
Those of us who lived with him, knew better. A racist, anti-Semitic homophobe who was fascinated by Alexander the Great; Napoleon and Hitler, my father was actually quite a jerk. He cheated on my mother (who foolishly took him back after the first time he left her for the woman who gave birth to my half-brother) at least twice that I can confirm. His vacations were spent painting the house or doing other things that excluded the rest of the family and never took us anywhere for more than a day (and even then, only when he had free passes to wherever it was we went). Of course, I didn't realize what a jerk was when I was younger.
Truth be told, as a child, I idolized my dad. As most kids do. I have tons of happy memories spent with my father at the movies; at family cook-outs; on day trips to the Jersey Shore; learning to cook my grandmother's recipes... He instilled in me a love of classical music and certainly informed my sense of humor. He taught me about classic movies and introduced me to the Universal Monsters. He showed me how to build a perfect wood grill fire and attempted to teach me how to drive. He told lots of jokes and taught me accents which I use to this day.
As I got older and reached adolescence, it became clear that my father resented my mother, my sister and I. And although I never officially came out to him, once he realized I was gay, he shut me out completely. He often quoted Thoreau to me: "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." He complained, "There are men exploring uncharted regions of the world while I am stuck here, paying bills and painting walls." And whose fault was that? As a young adolescent, he repeatedly reminded me that I had an acne problem (his face was heavily scarred from his own, much worse bought with it) and complained because I didn't participate in sports. He absolutely HATED the fact that I discovered Theatre and constantly berated me for not wanting to become a doctor, lawyer or some sort of executive at a boring, soul-crushing corporation.
Don't get me wrong. I loved my Dad. I loved him right up until the day he died from a neuroblastoma at the age of 59 in 1998, less than ten years after he left my mother for the second time and married a trashy, wealthy widow who dragged him to Las Vegas for the last five years of his life. That wedding was one of the unintentionally funniest events I have ever attended, though it's a story for another time. I loved him, but didn't like him very much at all.
Dad died alone, with no one from his real family nearby. Six months before he passed, we had a phone conversation in which he said "I love you" to me for the first time in my memory.
I was camping with my then boyfriend in Provincetown when he passed-away on July 5th, just three weeks shy of his 60th birthday. When Ric and I got home that afternoon, Mom told me he had passed and honestly, I felt nothing. Just like the gal in that number from A Chorus Line. And for the longest time, I felt guilty for feeling nothing. I mean, this was huge. My father had died. I should feel something, shouldn't I?
After several weeks of legal wrangling (impeded by the meddlings of the aforementioned second wife), Dad's ashes were finally sent back East and we buried them along with his father mother in St. Stephan's Cemetery in Trenton, NJ. The ceremony was attended by myself, his sister and exactly five other people (one of whom was the funeral director). It was then that I finally realized that everyone else who had known my father knew what a jerk he was and that they had stayed away in droves. And while I have long ago forgiven him for being such a creep, every Fathers' Day I resent the fact that I don't get to share with everyone else who has or had a really great Dad. And then I realize that given the chance, I would have made a pretty great Dad, having learned so much from having such a jerk for a father.
I know I'm not alone in this. Plenty of folks have absolute monsters for fathers. He never beat us, or stole money to support a drug habit or killed anyone. He worked hard to support, feed and clothe his family. He just wasn't all that into it, I guess.
I hope you have or had a better Dad, than mine. I'd like to imagine that given the opportunity, I would have been a better father than mine was. And I do have to thank my mother, whose kindness, compassion and love of Rock 'N Roll counterbalanced all of his negativity. I have no idea how or why she put up with him as long as she did. Without him, my sister and I wouldn't exist, so I have to give him credit for that, too. Still... I wish I had a Dad I would want to wish a Happy Fathers' Day.
To all of the fathers reading this, please know how much you mean to your children. Love them no matter what. Don't give them reasons to hate or resent you. Make them want to be at your side on your deathbed and give them reasons to mourn your passing. They'll be all the better for it.
"I Could Ride That Lip All the Way to Trenton!" ~ Uncle P's Mother
Once again, some links in this post may be NSFW.
So, last night... Uncle P spent 90+ minutes writing, researching and linking hilarious and informative links in a post which I failed to revert to draft, forcing me to re-log into Blogger and lose everything I had painstakingly worked on to give you, what few faithful readers I have, a few moments of weird entertainment. I wasn't happy, but it certainly wasn't the end of the world, nor the first time my own neglectfulness had led to such an issue.
Today, my sweet, thoughtful mother (who is nothing like the Gerald Scarfe illustration linked in the Pouty Picture's caption) presented me with an "Anti-Fathers' Day" present. And before all you Grammar Nazis question it, the apostrophe is used the way it should be used in this case, meaning all fathers, rather than just yours, which would be written as 'Father's.' (Can you tell I'm in a mood? Thought you might.) Anyway... In the wake of my previously mentioned BIL's greatly appreciated semi-decimation of my long-neglected backyard's overgrowth, the task of disposing over-sized nuisance flora left behind by his Herculean effort seemed nothing short of over-whelming to yours truly. Mom, in her infinite thoughtfulness, saw this set of ratcheting pruning shears on my sister's competition and ordered them (in blue), thinking they might save me time and effort
And boy, was she right. I tried them out almost right away and found that they cut through some rather tough branches with little effort and thinner ones with almost none at all. Like 'buttah.' The hand shears took on weeds, smaller shrubs, saplings and rose branches just as easily, once I figured out how to open the damned things (no instructions led to some consternation when it came to figuring out the safety lock). I honestly haven't been so pleased by a practical gift in a very long time. If you're looking for a gift for Dad; Mom; Dads; Moms or even if you're just a homeowner with an overgrown yard, I highly recommend them. They were purchased from the major home-shopping channel that is not located in the F state. And if that doesn't help, it starts with the same letter as one of my dearest friend's name.
Sadly, my joy over the amazing pruners was soon negated, once again by own stupidity. Plans had been made for Q, Dale, K and I to see Man of Steel at our central (i.e. default) AMC multiplex. In an effort to control my credit card spending, Uncle P chose not to buy tickets online, instead picking up K in time (or so I thought) to buy tickets once at the theater. For the first time in all my of memory, Uncle P was shut out of a sold-out movie. Of course, Q and Dale (like sane people) had pre-purchased their tickets on-line. After much texting and an actual phone call; malfunctioning automated ticket machines and an aborted attempt to buy tickets to another movie at the same time (thanks to the aforementioned MTMs) K and I went for a drink and then went home. I will have other chances to see Man of Steel this week, though there's nothing like seeing a movie with one's best friends.
While I'm still hoping that Dear D, Mike and I will see This Is the End this week as well, I came home to find a friend had sent me a link the very Bromantic video embedded below, which actually made me feel a little better. What can I say, but 'Kiss Me, Guido?'
Yes, I know there are people who can barely feed their families, let alone afford to go to a movie. Yes, there are far worse things in the world than lost blog posts and sold-out movies. I'd like to think of myself as someone who not only has compassion and empathy for others (i.e. 'Not a Jerk'). I volunteer and do charity work. I smile at everyone (even those who refuse to smile back), though I don't suffer fools, easily.
None of that means that I don't get to pout now and then, does it? I mean, I know plenty of folks who pout regularly (in fact, almost incessantly) on various forms of social media. Am I being a 'drama queen' tonight? Maybe. Churlish? Possibly. A 'White Whiner?" Perhaps. But who isn't, at least once a while? Damn! I really wanted to see some Cavill, tonight!
