Uncle P and the Mystery of the Creepy Peeps

Among my friends there are two distinct camps when it comes to this story: those who, like myself, find it hilarious and fun and those, like my BIL, who think Uncle P is being stalked by a serial killer. I'll let you decide.

Last November, just about a month after my mother passed away, I came home to find an Apple box stuffed in my mailbox. When I pulled out the tissue paper and ribbons, I found the nightlight you see to your right. And yes, the bulb inside is red. There was no card or note. Nothing on the box but the Apple logo. When I posted it to Facebook, the two camps immediately made themselves apparent. Of course, my friends and regular readers know my taste for the odd (indeed, the macabre) and unusual. And they also know I tend to have a rather dark sense of humor. I thought it was hilarious and plugged it into a kitchen outlet (it gets too hot for practical use, but is fun to switch on when I have guests). In the months that followed, people would occasionally ask me if I ever found out who sent it, but I almost forgot about. Until...

Just around my birthday this year, I came home and opened my screen door and a box tumbled out onto the mat.  Inside was not only the green planter below, but a note!

"Dear Brian,

"The psychic creepy doll network has determined you and your red eyed nightlight needed a friend.

"Therefore please welcome this new addition to your home. We trust you will admire and enjoy it.

"With much love, a shared sense of humor and best wishes,

"Your mystery/anonymous creepy peeps."

The box was a sturdy gift box from the Frenchtown Metalworks, an art jeweler in New Jersey. 

How exciting! Contact had been made! But how much was to be believed? Is this the work of more than one person? Do they live in or near Frenchtown? He, she or they obviously know where I live and when they can deliver packages when I'm not home. More friends freak out. I laugh and hope that all will be revealed, eventually. Speculation continues.  

Next - right before Halloween, I came home to find a bag on my kitchen table. My boarder had brought it in (whew!) after finding it hanging on the doorknob, outside. In the bag was a square box, also from Frenchtown Metalworks. It had a black ribbon and written on it in orange and black markers was "Happy Halloween!" And in the box was the delightfully odd electric tealight holder you see below.

Cozy, isn't she? The yellow flickering eyes in the very pink head are far more effective than the red bulb in the nightlight, don;t you think? No note this time but I didn't need one.

Most recently, I came home from picking up my Christmas Eve dinner from Wing Wah, to find a USPS Priority Mail package sitting in my carport. My sister's package had already arrived, as well as a package from friends who couldn't wait to see me to give me my gift. I looked for the sender only to see "Santa" with no return address. I knew immediately who it was from.

I ate my dinner, opened the rest of my mail and then set to the package. Inside was a letter and the most elaborate dolly of all. Wrapped in a blankie and painted yellow all over; her hair cut off and phrases, slogans and bits of poetry written all over her, she is quite magnificent! 

The letter reads: 

"ho ho ho Brian!

   "I fear you've not been naughty enough this year so was tempted to not deliver this wee child to you for the holidays.

   "Alas your creepy peeps network has informed me that exists (sic) in you a certain scorn for the Christmas merriment... the stories behind the story as it were.

"That has set you in my good graces and so I bestow upon you your very own baby - one of poetry for your reading pleasure as you sit by the fire.

   "So master yourself an icy cold martini, sit back and enjoy the season.

"All my best,

" Santa, the creepy one

"PS... my supply of treats for you has run low... but I have my sources and so perhaps we shall continue this adventure into yet another year"

The font colors are theirs. So they also know that I am an atheist and enjoy an icy cold Sapphire martini now and again. The plot thickens. Or does it? Loads of folks know that. The doll itself, is fascinating. She reminds me of something out of a Clive Barker movie.

On her face is: LETS DO EMPTY OUR POCKETS AND DISAPPEAR * MISSING ALL OUR APPOINTMENTS AND TURN ING UP YEARS LATER UNSHAVEN OLD CIGARETTE PAPERS STUCK TO OUR PANTS LEAVES IN *** OUR HAIR Her torso reads: LET US NOT WORRY ABOUT THE PAYMENTS ANYMORE LET THEM COME ND TAKE IT AWAY WHATEVER IT WAS WE WERE PAYING AND US WITH IT  On her left arm and side: I AM A SOCIAL CLIMBER CLIMBING DOWNWARD AND THE DESCENT IS DIFFICULT  On her right arm: THE UPPER MIDDLE CLASS IDEAL IS FOR THE BIRDS AND THE BIRDS HAVE NO USE FOR IT

On her left leg: LETS CUT IT OUT LETS GO TO THE REAL INTERIOR OF THE COUNTRY WHERE HOCKSHOPS REIGN MERE UNBLIND ANARCHY UPON US THE END IS NEAR BUT GOLF GOES ON. On her right leg: LET US ARISE AND GO NOW TO WHERE DOGS DO IT OVER THE HILL * WHERE THEY KEEP THE EARTHQUAKES BEHIND CITY DUMPS LOST AMONG GAS MAINS AND GARBAGE. On top of her head: JUNKMAN'S OBBLIGATO On the back of her head: LAWRENCE FERLING HETTI (the artist, perhaps?) MY BODY IS HUNG UP TOO LONG IN THE STRANGE SUSPENDERS GET ME A BRIGHT BANDANA FOR A OCKSTRAP (sic) On her back: LET US NOW YOU AND I LEAVING OUR NECKTIES BEHIND ON LAMPOSTS (sic) TAKE UP THE FULL BEARD OF WALKING ANARCHY LOOKING LIKE WALT WHITMAN A HOME MADE BOMB IN THE POCKET I WISH TO OESCEN (?) IN THE SOCIA (?) IS LOW On the back of her right arm: LOSE THE WAR WITHOUT KILLING ANYONE

So, Uncle P's question for you... Would you be freaked out, or just as amazed and amused as I am? That a friend or friends would go this far and long without cracking is just awesome. I know there will be a grand reveal, eventually and I will be face-palming myself for not figuring it out. Until them, I very much love this game!

More, anon.
Uncle P

Traditions, Both New and Old

Days Gone By (Not Our Real House)

It is still Christmas Eve in the U.S. as I write this and while Uncle P celebrates Christmas as a secular holiday in which we acknowledge, spend time and share gifts with those we love, for many it remains a deeply religious holiday celebrating the birth of their 'savior.' And since this isn't a post about religion, I'll leave that alone and get to the point.

While venturing out late in the afternoon to get a bottle of wine for tomorrow's dinner, I was struck by how the Holidays (like most of life) has changed over the years. Early Christmas memories evoke the many toys and gifts my mother's mother gave us each year, much to our father's consternation. The schadenfreude she derived from his jealously must have been some powerful juju! After she'd had a particularly good year in tips (she was a barmaid), our house was literally filled with presents and I'm surprised Dad didn't have a apoplectic stroke on the spot! At some point "Grandmom Cookie" (so-called because of her always full cookie jar) started spending Christmas Eve with us and we would open her presents then and Santa's and Mom and Dad's presents on Christmas morning. After she passed, we started opening all of our gifts on Christmas Eve. By then I was in college and working part time and Christmas Eve soon evolved into an open-house event where friends and co-workers came and went all night long, I still wonder how we fit so many people into that tiny house. I moved in and out of the house over the years following, but always managed to spend Christmas Eve there. New traditions for the evening continued to evolve after my parents divorced and other folks came into and/or left our lives. For a solid 10 years, Christmas Eve meant broasted* chicken from Chicken Holiday; Southern Comfort Manhattans; two embarrassing piles of presents; shrimp cocktail  and my rock, K. 

That changed again when Mom passed away last October and I spent Christmas Eve with my sister and BIL in Florida. The night before, K and M came over for chicken and such. And while we had a good time, the food wasn't up to their usual standards (I blame a different staff). So this year, even though I'm staying in PA, I decided to cook. On Sunday I made a lasagna and a Caramel Pumpkin Cream Cheese cake. Monday night I steamed and peeled a pound of shrimp and Tuesday night reheated the lasagna; glazed the cake and made cocktail sauce while frying up some battered green beans. Thank goodness M got here early, as I quickly dispatched him on a candle lighting mission. K arrived soon after and then lots of food and drink were consumed, presents were opened and much laughter was shared. 

While it was the first of several similar holiday experiences to come over the next few weeks, last night's Christmas Eve Eve has become what I hope will continue to be a new holiday tradition. For a while, at least. Until things change again, which is inevitable. Cultural traditions may seem steadfast and unchanging, but they are simply slower and less fluid than personal traditions.

I continue to be in awe of the family who have chosen me to a part of theirs, as much as I have chosen them.  K, Q, Dale, M, D and so many others never let me forget that I am not alone and never will be. And there's my astonishing sister. Strong, smart and always supportive, I can only hope you have a sibling who is half as amazing as she is (and yes, it's Christmas! I'm allowed to get gushy!). If you have even half the love in your life as I am blessed to, you know what I mean.

I have received (and will continue to do so) some very cool gifts (Mia's incredible "Zombie Batman" figurine got some stiff competition from Mary & Phil's Nightmare Before Christmas fleece and my sister's standing plush Mickey Skellington - all three of which are rendered in B&W).

None of that stuff, as cool as it may be, really matters.  Like all of us, these things will be dust in a thousand years. What matters is the love we share here and now. I guess what I'm saying is I am grateful for everyone who cares about me and bothers to read my nonsense. Be kind to one another. Know the difference between what does and doesn't matter. Give money or time to a charity that speaks to you, when and if you can. Smile at strangers. Say "Please" and "Thank You." Hold the door for the person behind you. Open the door for the person coming out ahead of you. Acknowledge those who do the same. Share the belief that most people are as good, but no better than, you. Never assume anyone is evil. Help people. Tell those you love that you love them as often as you can. Enjoy the things you have, but take nothing for granted. Enjoy your life. It's the only one you have!

Merry Christmas, my friends and readers! 

More, anon.

Uncle P.

*Pressure fried with no coating

Zombie Batman from Mia

Mickey Skellington from Barbara 

Sony's Own Sally Starr's Dilemma?

As I am sure you are all aware by now, Sony Pictures has decided not to release The Interview after threats from punk-ass hackers in North Korea. While I happen to whole-heartedly agree with our POTUS that Sony made the wrong choice, they were also faced with their own version of Sally Starr's Dilemma.

In case you've been living under a rock for the past month or so, let me quickly recap. The Interview is a movie starring Seth Rogen and James Franco, involving a talk-show host and his producer who are recruited by the CIA to assassinate North Korean leader Kim Jong Un while interviewing him for his first Western TV interview. And while North Korea apparently had no problem with a puppet version of Kim's father being killed in Trey Parker's and Matt Stone's Team America: World Police, a live-action satire about his son was just too much. Beloved Leader's crack team of cyber-bullies hacked Sony's internal files, revealing awkward emails from execs; personal information and SSI numbers of employees and threatening to bring about 9/11 style retribution against theaters that would dare show the film. After several theater chains decided not to exhibit the movie, Sony capitulated to the hackers' demands and pulled it's release, completely.

Personally, I am appalled that Sony gave in to these ridiculous demands, letting a tinpot dictator  quash Free Speech and Artistic Expression in a country whose First Constitutional Amendment expressly allows both. And it makes no difference whether the movie is good or bad (personally, I find most of the comedies Rogen and Franco have made together to be pretty hilarious - with the exception of Your Highness - even though they can hardly be considered "High Art"). 

At the same time, I understand Sony Picture's reluctance to be held accountable for any deaths and/or destruction which might have occurred during any screenings of the movie. It is literally a 'Damned If You Do/Damned If You Don't' situation.

Still...

Sony has paved the way for fear-mongering asshats to stop the release of any film that might be considered offensive or politically incorrect. If the Westboro Baptist Church had threatened violence against theaters showing Brokeback Mountain or Milk, would those films' studios have backed down? Unlikely. In fact, if detractors and haters had been given their way, AMC's list of the 100 Most Controversial Movies of All Time would undoubtedly not exist and we would never have seen classics like The Exorcist; A Clockwork Orange; Citizen Kane or Lolita, to name a very few.

So, where do we draw the line? Do we give into the fear of retaliation from a despotic regime of a very Third World country or do we continue to be the leaders of Free Speech and Artistic Expression? Do we let the Catholic League tell us something is obscene or do we decide for ourselves what we will or won't watch? As far as Uncle P is concerned, by giving in to these asshats, Sony has added another chip in the wall of Democracy that our forefathers fought so hard to secure. And that makes me very sad.

F*ck you, Kim Jong Un! F*ck you and anyone who tries to take away the freedoms so many Americans have fought for and died to protect. And F*ck you Sony Pictures for letting them do it!

More, anon.

Prospero

Time to Say "Goodbye?"

Is it time to pack it in, kids? It's been almost an entire month since I've posted anything. I've gotten so poor, I don't go to the movies even half as much as I used to. The last show I did seems like forever ago, already and I'm battling an early-onset bout of S.A.D. Vegas, while interesting and another city off my Bucket List, wasn't nearly as exciting as I'd hoped (being poor is no fun in Sin City). And Thanksgiving dinner alone in an Italian restaurant -- even if it is one of the best Italian restaurants in town -- is hardly a Holiday meal. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my trip but I have no need to go back any time soon and I certainly wouldn't go alone, again. Still, it was better than my last Thanksgiving (shh... don't tell Auntie).

Uncle P's life has changed so drastically over the last 14 months... And while the promise of a fulfilling creative venture looms, nothing is set is stone. Everyday seems like a struggle... Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not going anywhere. There's depressed and then there's depressed. I've been depressed and have no intention of going back there. This is most definitely NOT a suicide post. 

It is, however, about the possibility of ending Caliban's Revenge. That doesn't mean I'll stop using social media. Hardly. I seem to reach way more people on Facebook and Twitter (even though I hardly use Twitter) than I do here. And who's to say I wouldn't start a new blog about something different. Food, maybe. Cooking is one of my other great passions. "Prospero Cooks" That could work. 

Anyway, this is just an end-of-year ramble which may or may not signal the end of The Revenge. We'll see how well I survive the holidays before making any rash decisions. Just know that I am thrilled if you still read me. I'd be more thrilled if you let me know you still read me.

More, anon (at least once more),

Prospero

PS - The trailer for Mad Max: Fury Road is one of the many things that makes me want to live:

BOOM!!!

Ciao.

P

The Disgustings, or The Gayest D-Bags You'll See This Week

Drew Droege and Jordan Firstman

Writer/Director/Star Jordan Firstman's short The Disgustings spends time with the kind of gay men we all know... and hopefully avoid: Elitist haters who pretend to be above everyone else and who can take no real joy in life. 

Co-starring and co-written by Drew Droege (best known for his hilarious YouTube videos where he parodies Indie actress Chloe Sevigny), The Disgustings is a dead-on look at the kind of narcissistic, self-hating gay men we've all encountered (and wanted to smash in their faces with a trendy cocktail). Judgmental, crass and completely unaware, Jordan and Drew hit every note about what is wrong with modern gay culture in this biting satire.

The Disgustings from jordan firstman on Vimeo.

Hilarious and sad at the same time, yes? Uncle P (as have many of you, I'm sure) has met his fair share of guys like this. It's no wonder they're taking selfies alone. I hope I never wind up as one of these sad queens who hate everyone and everything, just because I hate myself (which I don't). Thankfully, some exceptionally good friends, my amazing sister and some very affirming recent experiences (does Uncle P have a new Beau? Stay tuned to find out...) have convinced me that no matter how cynical and jaded I may become, I will never be as awful as these two. If you see yourself in this movie, don't bother to look me up. And get some help, bitch.You need it.

More, anon.
Uncle P

Back In the Saddle, Again.

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. 

Shameless Self-Promotion/Nonsense/Philosophizing over.

More, anon.
Prospero

Kaiju New and Old, Among Other Nonsense

One of the many things I do love 

about the Day Job is that we follow an academic schedule. If schools are closed for a holiday, we usually are, as well. This Labor Day weekend will mark the start of Hell Week for Uncle P's return to the stage for the first time since my mother passed away, "Bluebird" which also marks my debut with the Langhorne Players. I am appearing as two very different characters in Simon Stephens' fascinating 1998 play about a night in the life of a London mini-cab driver and how his various fares relate to and inform his own story. I love both characters and love that I get to do two different accents in the same show. K came over tonight to help with lines (she is half--jokingly referred to among our circle of friends as the "Line Nazi"). I came in two weeks late and while I find both characters so compelling, memorization and short rehearsal periods only work well with shows I've done before or know really well. Thank goodness she came and helped. I feel so much better about opening in less than 6 days!

But that's not really what this post is about and I apologize for rambling (sort of).

Because I really want to talk about finally seeing Guillermo del Toro's Kaiju V. Giant Robots movie, Pacific Rim. I must say, I think del Toro was given short-shrift hen it came to reviews of yet another visually stunning movie from the genius who has given us Pan's Labyrinth The Devil's Backbone  and the Hellboy movies. And while del Toro always tries to make his films be about more than amazing visuals, when it comes to the Kaiju genre, there really isn't a lot of room for compelling characters, though co-writers del Toro and Travis Beacham (Clash of the Titans) do their best. The very fine Charlie Hunnam ("The Sons of Anarchy") leads a cast which includes Idris Elba (using his own accent, which only makes him sexier); Charlie Day ("It's Always Sunny in Philadephia"); "Torchwood" alum Burn Gorman and del Toro (and genre) favorite Ron Perlman in a very funny cameo as a dealer of exotic Kaiju parts. Amongst the explosions and destruction, there are plenty of moments that illicit the requisite relief laughter and moments of heroic sacrifice. You really can't ask for more from a Kaiju movie, and those who love the genre will totally get it.. *** (Three out of Four Stars)

Growing up in the 60's and 70's, there was plenty of Kaiju (though I didn't learn that word until much later) on TV. Toho Studio's "Godzilla" movies and their many spin-offs were regular Saturday afternoon fare on UHF channels (if you know what UHF was, you're probably as ancient as Uncle P) and after-school programming always included Tsuburaya Productions' TV show, "Ultraman." A benevolent alien pursues a monster to Earth, accidentally colliding with Science Patrol Officer Hiyata. Fusing with Hiyata, Ultraman is evoked using the Beta Capsule (which resembled a red, glowing vibrator, if memory serves) and Hiyata is transformed into a gigantic, Kaiju-killing machine:

For del Toro, Kaiju is obviously an extension of his desire to adapt H.P. Lovecraft's "At the Mountains of Madness." I do hope a studio finally realizes that it would have to be a hard R, and would still make tons of money. Have they forgotten The Exorcist and The Silence of the Lambs? Both iconic films and iconic Horror,

More, anon.
Prospero

My Summer Guilty Pleasure

Howard Stern, Heidi Klum, Nick Cannon, Howie Mandel & Mel B

Wow. All month, I had noting to say? Well, I did, but said most of it on Facebook. Still, I missed posting here and am glad to do so again.

You all know by know how much I love AGT. And it's mostly because, unlike "American Idol" or "The Voice," anyone can audition with any sort of talent. It's a throw-back variety show with singers; dancers; musicians; acrobats; magicians and and any other number of performance artists. I love it. 

Last night saw the first 6 of the 12 finalists for this season and I was very pleased by the winners. In no particular order, they are:

SONS OF SERENDIP:



DAVID AND LEEMAN:



(BTW - Leeman is a friend of a friend)

MIGUEL DAKOTA:



(A cutie who MUST lose the knit cap)

MIKE SUPER:



MARA JUSTINE:



(A Broadway Belter in the making)

And last,but hardly least, my current favorite, EMILY WEST:

Next week's shows will determine the last six of the final 12. While there are several acts I hope go through, I'm really hoping to see the adorable and hot CHRISTIAN STOINEV and his equally adorable Chihuahua Scooby, move onto the finals:

Of course, as usual, I am torn. There so many great acts this season. Next week's Semi-Finalists include magician MAT FRANCO; singer JAYCOB CURLEE; dancers BLUE JOURNEY and cellists EMIL & DARIEL (who stole their act from by beloved Serbs, 2CELLOS) and all of them have their merits. But if it was up to me, the winner would probably be chosen from among this week's 6. Only one of my personal favorite acts have won (last season's Konichi Ebina), so I'm keeping my fingers crossed this year. I'll let you know who I would have picked after it's all over.

And while my all-time favorite AGT contestant dd not win, I do hope that the gorgeous, funny and very talented Prince Poppycock is doing well.

If you've never seen him, it's well worth the 15 minutes.

More, anon.
Prospero

Got My Tickets

While not quite the insane San Diego ComicCon, the Philly burbs have hosted a more genre-specific Fan Con called Monster-Mania Con for nearly 30 years, at a convention center in the South Jersey Upper-Middle-Class Philly burb known as Cherry Hill, NJ.

When Uncle P was a kid, the Cherry Hill Mall* was the largest and first of its kind. A trip there with Auntie and Grandmom meant coin-operated and ticketed kiddie rides; endless exploration of the late-60's and early-70's version of Pier One Imports; a new pair of something and maybe a toy (if we were exceptionally well-behaved). After the NJ State Fairgrounds in Trenton closed down, the NJ State Fair was moved to the Cherry Hill Race Track, though these days it is held in North Jersey at The Meadowlands and the old Fairgrounds are now the rather amazing Grounds for Sculpture, which I highly recommend visiting once every few years. But, I digress.

It has been nearly 30 years since Uncle P attended a fan convention. It was 1985 and my sister and I went up to Manhattan (can't remember f I drove or we took the train) to attend Fangoria Magazine's first ever Weekend of Horrors. It was... well, you can imagine. This was early on in Fan Cons and most of the space was taken up by vendors. We made sure we attended George Romero's Day of the Dead panel, where we caught a sneak preview that wasn't immediately shared on an internet which didn't quite exist, yet. And it was amazing. We met and spoke with Horror Icons Tom Savini and Michael Berryman (both of whom were lovely and appreciative of their fans); I bought books and a t-shirt. We got lots of free buttons (including a Back to the Future button I probably should have hung onto) and generally had a good time. Though we found ourselves to be... well... the least nerdy duo in attendance, that day. And while there were maybe a dozen or so cosplayers there, the term had yet to be coined and they stuck out like sore thumbs. 

On Saturday, August 16th, I will be attending Monster-Mania Con with two co-workers: My sweetly and identically insane Mia (creator of Teddy-Z) and the newest addition to our department, Chris B. Chris is a sports guy (go Phillies!); a far less-obsessive movie fan than Uncle P (honestly - his lack of the Essentials is appalling - but I'm going to take care of that) and a fellow performer. I think the three of us will have ourselves a grand time and cannot wait to attend my first modern Fan Con! I'll make sure my phone is charged and will take lots of pics!

If you haven't figured it out by now, yes, I am a HUGE Horror geek and can't wait until we go! I'll also be asking my compatriots to restrain myself when it comes to shopping...

More, anon.
Prospero

*Uncle P started my 20 years of purgatorial retail life at Bamberger's, in my local Oxford Valley Mall.

Feeling Old & Young at the Same Time

Uncle P?

In about two and a half hours, I will officially be ** years old. Regular readers have undoubtedly taken the time to figure out Uncle P's real age, though truth-be-told, I sometimes have to look at my drivers' license to know for sure. 

I don't feel or look my age (at least that's what some people tell me). A recent escapade with a a much younger partner had me feeling good, despite the pain in my thighs and glutes the next day (he told me he thought I was only about 5 years older than he was). 

All of my life, I have been genetically blessed. I was first served at a bar at 15 (yes, I know - shameful!) and since then have been confused for much older or much younger than I am. It's the combination of German, Hungarian, Scottish and Welsh genes that keep people guessing. Until my late 20's people have thought I was older than I actually was. In my 30's, people started guessing I was much younger than I was. I always win a prize at the "Guess Your Age" carnival booths. If I am anything like  like my late mother and grandfather, I won't start showing my true age for another 20 years or more. 

Of course, my premature gray hair (which started to develop in my early 30's) is a dead give-away. And I'm not sharing this as a boast. It's simply fact. Only my (shrinking) family and closest friends (and the smartest of my regular readers) know exactly how old I am. And that's okay with me. The old adage "Age is just a number" is true. In my mind, I am perpetually 25. Though in my joints and muscles, I often feel that I am 117. 

Here's the thing: One is only as old as one allows oneself to be. I can laugh at the most immature joke or pun while dismissing the right-wing attitudes of many of my contemporaries. I still love a good rollercoaster ride while decrying the mostly terrible state of modern pop music. I may be yelling at the the neighborhood kids to get the hell off my lawn, though I can still bust a move to a truly great dance song or get it on with a hottie 15 or more years my junior (TMI?). Personally, I have no intentions of giving in to my age, no matter what it may be. I'm just glad to wake up on the right side of the dirt each day! I just know that I'm not ready to retire from work or my favorite activities any time soon and I hope that will be the case for many years to come.

Happy Birthday to Me!

More, anon.
Prospero

Vienna Waits for You

Vienna Waits for You

No, I'm not talking about the Billy Joel song, as much as I love it and everything on 'The Stranger.' I'm talking about the award-winning horror short from director Dominik Hartl for Glaciar Films. Spitzendeckchen (Vienna Waits for You) is a take on a trope that's been around a long, long time. Living Places/Buildings show up all throughout literary history. 20th Century versions include Tom Tryon's Harvest Home, Robert Marasco's Burnt Offerings and Stephen King's The Shining, all three of which were turned into films of varying financial and critical success. While none of the three examples I've sited end happily (and what true horror story does?), Vienna Waits for You at least ends appropriately. It's well worth the 27 or so minutes:

Vienna waits for you from Glaciar Films on Vimeo.

And here I thought CGI had killed stop-motion for good.

Here a a few trailers for films which feature similar themes:







Honestly, Kubrick's film, while brilliant, falls far from King's terrifying novel.

Even animators have visited the trope:



And in case you don't already have an earworm:



Fun!

More, anon.
Prospero

The Five Season Rule

Joanne Kelly and Eddie McClintock

This week marked the start of the fifth and final season of my favorite goofy Steampunk/Occult/Sci-Fi TV show  "Warehouse 13." The SyFy channel (I still hate that stupid name - what is it with me and names, lately? - again, I digress) seems to have a pattern of dumping some it's best shows after 5 seasons. "Eureka" was another sweet and goofy Sci-Fi show, while "Battlestar Galactica" spent a scant four seasons over 6 years. 

A fan since the very first episode, Uncle P is truly going to miss "Warehouse 13," though from what I'm guessing so far, it should have a satisfying ending. Yes, it's full of Steampunk gadgets (something they finally acknowledged in last night's season premiere) and a pseudo-science/occult vibe that makes total sense, given the confines of the universe established by the writers (Yes, K - "Within the parameters of it's own reality." Doesn't sound so crazy now, does it? -- Oops. Digressing again). Cool toys, one-liners and obscure but often hilarious historical and or literature references (and self-references) aside, it's the rather extraordinary cast and their chemistry that make "Warehouse 13" such a delight to watch. Brilliant veteran character actors Saul Rubinek and CCH Pounder are joined by Joanne Kelly; Eddie McClintock (who some call 'the poor man's David Boreanaz, though truth be told, I'll take Eddie over David any day...); Allison Scagliotti ("One Tree Hill") and Aaron Ashmore ("Veronica Mars") in a group that has become an oddly functional family is a very dysfunctional universe. 

More than anything, it's rather amazing chemistry between McClintock and Kelly that make the show so very watchable, as evidenced by the episode in which an 'artifact' (if you watch, you know) causes the unlikely partners to switch bodies in an episode which managed to skewer several genre tropes in one fell swoop:

Kelly's 'sexy, smart gal' is the perfect compliment to McClintock's 'sexy doofus.' Together, they provide the show with the perfect combination of romantic/sexual tension and buddy-cop camaraderie. Add Scagliotti's father/daughter relationship with Rubinek to her GBFF relationship with Ashmore and you have quite an interesting group of characters exploring all kinds of relationships amidst the quirky premise. TV doesn't get much more fun than this, kids.

The season premiere picked up right where last season's cliff-hanger left off with a time-travel, continuum-altering plot that was hardly original but very amusingly pulled off, saving the Warehouse once again from someone who wanted to use it's secrets for nefarious means. While there is never any doubt that our intrepid heroes will find a way to save the day, the fun is in watching how they do it. I must imagine it's lots of fun on the set of "Warehouse 13." I will be sad to see it go, but will never deny the pleasure it;s brought me. This is hardly Asimov or Heinlein. But it's always entertaining.

Only 6 episodes? Dang. Way to disappoint, SyFy. Hope we get at least another full 13 episode season of "Haven." Genre Geek rant over (for now).

More, anon.
Prospero

Steam Punk'd

Can You Say 'Disappointment?'

It's no secret that I live in the Philly suburbs of Southeastern PA. It's also no secret that I am enamored of the Steampunk movement. Hell, this blog started with me posting about my Steampunk-inspired production of "The Skin of Our Teeth." I've always wanted to attend one of the big Steampunk events, most of which were held in cities far away and/or at times inconvenient for Uncle P to travel. So imagine my excitement when I discovered that Bucks County's very own arts community of New Hope was holding their first ever 'Steampunk Fantasy Faire.'

My college friend Deb, her husband Jon and their daughter Caitlin immediately jumped aboard; equally excited to attend our first real Steampunk event. We bought our tickets and were very psyched for the vendors, performing artists and events promised. We even arrived about an hour early to make sure we were able to both park and get in, spending about half an hour at a nearby McDonald's, nursing coffees and soft drinks. 

Finally, it was time. We made our way back up the hill to where the main events were being held. According to the brochures and the website, there were going be vendors; circus acts; comedy troupes; musicians and much more. Well, there were vendors (about 2 dozen or so) and a 'comedy' troupe that was funny by default. I bought a small picture frame (while coveting some other amazing items) and we watched a short, unoriginal and completely predictable film. Among the costumed participants was a rather imposingly large man dressed as Jason Vorhees. While his costume was spot-on, I had no idea what he had to do with Steampunk. The band we saw was quite good, though technical problems and noise from the vendors' area right behind made them hard to hear at times (I didn't understand a single lyric). The jugglers who accompanied them were in obvious need of more practice. They were followed by a 'comedy improv' group who were meant to be Steampunk Pirates of some sort, though it was quite obvious that none of them had spent enough time working with one another to present any sort of coherent act (much to the ironic amusement of my companions).

After a few hours we made our way into town proper, where we had an excellent lunch at Triumph Brewery and I ate what may well be the most delicious Turkey Melt I've ever had. After lunch, we headed down to the shops along Main Street, many of which were empty. I was actually saddened to see New Hope's halcyon days gone, with many of my favorite stores shuttered and/or replaced by inferior retailers.

Truth be told, this is the kind of entertainment we were hoping to find (as promised in the event's brochures):

Sadly, this was not the case. It seems that New Hope, once a cutting-edge, gay-friendly arts town has gone the way of Philadelphia's South Street. The once exciting and intriguing shops are gone (or on their way out), replaced by corporate retailers, Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts. Ugh! Hopefully, the Steampunk World's Fair in Piscataway, NJ (also within driving distance of Uncle P) this May will prove to be a more satisfying event. Who wants to join me?

To be fair, this was the first time New Hope hosted such an event. And despite being rather disorganized and small, we all managed to have a good time. Let's see what they come up with next year...

More, anon.

Prospero

How Squee Is Your Deathmetal?

BabyMetal's "Hungarian Style." What the...?!

My college freshman godson Josh has apparently developed a rather Punk style sense of late, much to the delight of his mother and myself, 80's New Wavers who spent many a 90 Cents Thursday night at City Gardens, being served Kamikazes by the future Jon Stewart and dancing the night away to Thompson Twins; early Sinead O'Connor; Oingo Boingo; Billy Idol; The Plasmatics; The Ramones; The B-52s and so many more. 

Today, Josh's mom shared a link with him on Facebook about the latest Japanese musical sensation, BabyMetal. We all know how insane Japanese pop culture is. We acknowledge and even embrace it, shaking our heads the whole time. BabyMetal somehow struck a nonsensical chord with your Uncle P, and I just loved it not only for its outrageous bizzaro-ness, but also for the earnest performances of its very entertaining trio of 14 -16 year old singers/dancers known as Su-Metal; Moametal and Yuimetal. I haven't found a video for "Hungarian Style" (though I am dying to know how a Japanese Pop/Metal trio might interpret a good old Csardas) but the trio's first big single is below. Love 'em or hate 'em, here's BabyMetal with "Gimme Chocolate!":

How adorable was that? Of course, one hilarious commenter on Jezebel said: "Somewhere in Norway there is a metalhead in corpse paint standing in a forest crying tears of blood.” Yes. And somewhere in southeastern PA, a weird, middle-aged gay man is taking (and hopefully sharing) great joy in the absurdity that is BabyMetal. Of course, this is hardly the first time we've witnessed adorable gals shrieking to the strains of electric guitars gone mad. Remember last season's "AGT" contestant Aaralynn and her lovely little ditty "Zombie Skin?" I sure do:

They're so sweet at that age...

More, anon.
Prospero

A Day Late and a Dollar Short: An Oscars Post-Mortem

Nipple with a Z

I didn't get to the movies last year nearly as much as I wanted and usually do. A lot of that had to do with Mom's declining health and passing. Much of it had to do with the fact that there was very little to get excited about, this year. The only Best Picture nominee I saw was Gravity, and while it was the best movie Uncle P saw all year, that's not saying much. And honestly, I had little interest in seeing the other nominees. That's not saying they weren't excellent films, but I don't always want a life-lesson when I see a movie. I just want to be transported from reality for 90 to 120 minutes, forgetting about the problems of the real world for just a little while. Of course, the really great movies, IMHO, are the ones that can do both. Pan's Labyrinth springs to mind. I'm sure that 12 Years a Slave is a very good film. I just don't want to spend two hours watching another person suffer.

Of course, most people watching the Oscars feel the same way. It isn't about who or what wins or why. It's about the accompanying sideshow. Who wore or said or did what? What outrageous thing happened that's trending on Twitter. Travolta said what? Did Ellen just call Liza a tranny? Are Liza's nips really that huge? Did you see Kim Novak's face? Ellen ordered pizza? How wacky! 

And in what is both the funniest and saddest moment of this year's Overblown Ego-fest, Scientologist and alleged masseur molester John Travolta forever cemented his 'Oscars Fail' when he introduced Broadway star Idina Menzel as "Adele Dazeem." 

Is it any wonder poor Ms Menzel botched her performance of a song every little girl (and some big girls and boys) knows by heart after listening to the Frozen soundtrack for the 12,367th time? No pressure there, eh? Pink, however, managed to not only show up in a gorgeous red-sequined gown that was deliberately reminiscent of Dorothy's ruby slippers, but then fearlessly took on an iconic song which she managed to own! Brava!

Then there's the obsession with the celebrities' fashions. First, why didn't Lorna Luft tell her sister to wear a bra? Everyone else looked nice, I suppose. I wondered if Cate Blanchet's dress was designed by Tesla, though I thought Idina Menzel, Lupita Nyong'o and Camila Alves looked particularly stunning. Jared Leto's hair bothered some folks I know. I was just pleased that he finally acknowledged all the people living with and who have died from AIDS, unlike co-star Matthew McConaughey, who rambled on like the weirdo he appears to be. No one was surprised by Gravity grabbing all the technical awards, or by Frozen winning both awards for which it was nominated (I must admit. "Let It Go" has become a personal anthem, of late). 

Mostly, as for the past too many years, there wasn't a single surprise or upset. I didn't do a predictions post this year, but I should have. We all would have won our office pools had I done so. When the Oscars are that predictable, it's time to stop watching. 

Though there were a few things I liked:

Maybe I'm just too old and jaded to care anymore. As a life-long movie lover, that makes me kind of sad...

More, anon.

Prospero

Missing My Real Life 'Big Chill' Reunion

Last February, I learned of the passing of a friend and college classmate with whom I and a group of other Theatre friends had shared some rather ridiculous, outrageous and very fun adventures in the 1980's. Of course, as many college friends do, we drifted apart after graduation. Some of us stayed in touch through an annual Christmas card or the occasional meeting. Then along came Facebook and we started finding each other again. And then Chris passed and we vowed to get together in Florida over this holiday weekend. 

Then a whole bunch of other crappy stuff happened and my mother passed, causing a major shift in my personal paradigm. I didn't want to be home alone for the holidays, so I opted to spend Christmas in Florida with my sister, making a second trip so soon after financially infeasible, much to my disappointment. These 12 or so folks and I spent a whole lot of time together doing theatre, camping and traveling and just hanging out. There was a particular rental house nearby where we tended to gather and inevitably, we'd end up around the piano, belting out show tunes, out-of-season Christmas carols and always, this song:

Of course the other song I so closely associate with this particular Band of Brothers and Sisters wasn't in our repertoire at 'The House,' but was often the last song of the night at special events:

Cheery, eh? But we were a cheery group of misfits and artists trying to figure crap out and having a hell of a time doing it! I have several very close friends from the same era, whom I see regularly. These folks I don't get to see nearly enough. These are the people with whom I shared 'escapades.' I was lucky enough to visit with the weekend's hostess at her farm while down in December. We tried Skyping earlier tonight, but I can't seem to make it work, also much to my disappointment. I shall try again, tomorrow. Honestly, I'm lucky I figured how to post this blog...

So this post is dedicated to my (mostly, slightly younger) TSC 80's Theatre Friends! I miss you guys and wish I was there with you. And while it's really apropos of nothing other than the 80's, here's a silly video that made me laugh. I hope they see it and laugh, too.

Love you guys! Missing you all so very much!

More, anon.
Prospero

Love and Death

Saint Valentine?

It's been a very long time since Uncle P has had a Valentine. In fact, I think I've mentioned before that the last Valentine's Day I celebrated, my date dumped me (the night after we saw Shakespeare in Love).

The photo to your right is of a supposed 'Holy Relic' of what may have been any number of Christian martyrs by the Roman name of Valentinus. Having directed what should have been a wonderful production of Michael Hollinger's play Incorruptible (a theatre story for another post), I doubt the veracity of any and all such 'relics.'

Nonetheless, Hallmark; Hershey's; Nestle's; Godiva; American Greetings; Zales; Jarrod's and the SAF (among any other number of retailers) have all managed to turn the legend of a Christian martyr who either died because he professed his love to a Roman woman or performed Christian marriages despite prohibitive Roman law (sound familiar?) into a money-making opportunity. There's no definitive story for this particular 'saint' and much like St. Christopher, Valentine's actual existence is often called into question. Like most modern Western holidays, I regard Valentine's Day as a shameless grab at consumers' money. If you are lucky enough to have a special person in your life, it shouldn't take a special day for you to do or buy something to show how much you love them. And the possibly horrific murder of a 3rd Century priest really shouldn't make one bit of difference.

If we're talking murder and mayhem, this is more my style:



More, anon.
Prospero

Somebody Stop This Beyotch!

I have not seen the latest Disney musical Frozen. I have heard the songs and the parodies of the songs and I think I have a basic understanding of it's plot. And while I love Idina Menzel and the fact that Disney is still able to produce quality films in the digital age... enough, already!

If like Uncle P,  you live along the PA/NJ/NY portion of the infamous I-95 Corridor, then you know exactly what I am talking about. For the past hour, snow has been falling as part of the fourth major snow storm here in as many weeks. Some models project as much as 20 or more inches for the region. Snow here has passed beyond 'magical' and 'beautiful' and long moved on to "I F*CKING HATE WINTER!!"  Of course, it was weather like this which prompted my Sister and the BIL to move to Florida (a state mostly populated by retirees, lunatics, meth-heads and cannibal face-eaters). 

The days are slowly but surely getting longer and I go off of middle shift at the end of this month, which means I'll be going home during daylight once again. Both of these things give me hope, though I still remember the blizzard of March, 1996 and the multiple ice storms of 1998. I was then, as now, convinced winter would never end. I did then and still do, know better. This too, shall pass. Spring will arrive and summer in the Delaware Valley will be excruciatingly humid and we'll all be bitching about that, come mid-July. Still... Taos looks better and better with each passing storm...

If you are trapped in your house today, take some time to enjoy these hilariously (if only slightly) related videos:

This was just last week:

And just to make you feel a little better about this seemingly endless winter, the boys from MST3K have it covered:

Feeling a little warmer already...

More, anon.
Prospero

UPDATE: Uncle P has just learned that the Day Job is closed today! Woo-hoo! Sleeping in!