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 

Two New Obsessions or The Most Terrifying Thing You'll See This Week

Verruckt - German for "Insanity"

A quickie, tonight, because one obsession has led me to another and if you know me at all, I must obsessively share my obsessions. Carnivals, State Fairs, Amusement and Theme Parks are places where Uncle P has had some of the best times of his life. I've ridden coasters and water slides up and down the East Coast. I've always wanted to visit Schlitterbahn Water Park in Texas, where they had the first water-coaster which pushed riders up a hill with water and had no idea they had a sister park in St Louis until the first reports that they were building the world's tallest, fastest water slide. My Dear D has suggested a long-weekend road trip, just to ride Verruckt. M is on board, but the sled requires four riders. Anyone care to join us? 

Honestly, it's not the ride that bothers me. I think it would be amazing! It's the friggin' climb up 260+ stairs. They couldn't put in an elevator? (I'm old, damn it!) Plagued by rumors of test-dummies flying off the slide amid several delays in opening, the park has released the amazing video below, of the first human test-ride, featuring the slide's designer in the front seat! 

Wow! That looks amazing! I truly do want to ride this. How about you?

I know I promised two obsessions and the second is a direct result of the first. I had heard part of AWOLNATION's "Sail" at least once before and liked it, but had no idea who they were. Thanks to the Verruckt video, I looked the song up and found the artists. I have yet to listen to any of their other stuff, but I love it. It harkens back to the 90's Hungarian duo,. Enigma with a harder edge. I dig it.

Should I have known about AWOLNATION a long time ago? Had you heard the before? I'm going to check out other tracks and see if the rest are as good "Sail."

More, anon.
Prospero

Review: "A Million Ways to Die in the West"

Seth MacFarlane, Charlize Theron & Liam Neeson

Director Seth MacFarlane's sophomore feature (following the hilarious and heartfelt Ted) is the deliberately anachronistic Comedy Western, A Million Ways to Die in the West. To be perfectly honest, while it's not as good as Ted (it's missing much of that movie's good-naturedness) it does have much more than a few very, VERY funny moments and visuals. Peppered with the kind of trademark non-sequiturs and throwaway jokes MacFarlane uses on his animated series "Family Guy," A Million Ways... never wastes any opportunity to gross us out, make us squeal in discomfort or belly-laugh at something outrageous. 

MacFarlane is Albert, a dirt poor, bad sheep farmer (his sheep have a tendency to wander any and everywhere) whose girlfriend Louise (Amanda Seyfried) dumps him after he talks his way out of a gun fight with a neighbor by offering a cash settlement. His best friend Edward (Giovanni Ribisi) is in love with foul-mouthed prostitute Ruth (Sarah Silverman) but they can offer no consolation when Louise takes up with wealthy owner of the Moustachery,  Foy (Neil Patrick Harris). Meanwhile, outlaw Clinch (Liam Neeson) sends his wife Anna (Charlize Theron) with one of his boys to pose as brother and sister in the Arizona town where Albert lives, while he hides out after murdering a prospector. A ridiculous barfight (started by Anna's 'brother') eventually leads to friendship and romance between Albert and Anna. 

There isn't much new, plot-wise in A Million Ways... We all know how it's going to end as soon as Anna and Albert meet. And while the modern dialogue (complete with 21st Century teen slang) is a bit jarring at first and the cartoon violence always ends in horrific deaths and/or mutilations, they somehow manage to work together, despite every indication that they shouldn't. There are plenty of racist jokes (the shooting gallery at the county fair is called "Shoot the Runaway Slave" and a scene involving Cochise is loaded with 'Indian' gibberish)  and nonsense (ingredients in a 'health tonic' include mercury and red flannel, while the sight of a dollar bill has the townsfolk 'oohing' in reverence) and a ton of very funny, quick and mostly uncredited cameos (think Jane Weidlin in Clue), the funniest of which involves a beloved character actor recreating his most iconic movie role for yet another anachronistic gag. My three companions (M, Dear D and Stephanie) all laughed a lot (often missing bits of dialog because of it), though D was a bit put off by Silverman's very explicit descriptions of her work day. The performances are all fine and MacFarlane uses his adorableness to it's fullest extent. D also thought Theron wasn't interested or interesting for the first half of her performance, but I think that was a deliberate choice. Oh - and there's a big musical number about... mustaches! And an obviously Salvador Dali-inspired hallucination scene that is pure genius!

Interestingly, while I was undoubtedly the oldest among my companions, we were collectively among the youngest members of the matinee audience. And surprisingly, the older folks seemed to enjoy it almost as much as we did. I expected at least two or three couples to walk out, but none of them did so, though I heard an older man behind us make two funny remarks. The first was "This is the craziest movie I ever saw!" and the second was "Whose idea was it to see this, again?" I'm guessing he's never seen The Forbidden Zone. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention that all of the nonsense is made so much funnier by Joel McNeely's dead-on, sweeping Western score.

If you are a fan of MacFarlane's other works (I definitely am), you will most certainly enjoy A Million Ways to Die in the West. If outrageous, gross-out, nonsense comedy isn't your thing, you probably won't. *** (Three Out of Four Stars). Rated 'R for "strong crude and sexual content, language throughout, some violence and drug material." The Red-Band trailer below is definitely NSFW and features several clips that do not actually appear in the movie (I HATE that!).

More, anon. 

Prospero

Proximity

Started my new film year with a short film from 2013 called Proximity, an 11 minute thriller from director Ryan Connolly and co-writer Seth Worley that is well worth the watching. My last stage boyfriend, Chino Cougar Devine (yes, he spells it that way), a hot little Latino with an adorable fiancee, shared it on Facebook and after watching it, I knew I had to share it with you.

Intriguing from the outset, Proximity starts as two men unload a truckload of bound and hooded men in a remote area. They cut their bonds, remove their hoods and wait to see what happens. What follows is a smart, intense Sci-Fi take on The Defiant Ones that's loaded with action and surprises. If this is what Connolly and company can do in 11 minutes (and reportedly shot in only 10 days), just imagine the feature they could make, given the budget. You can watch the film below, along with the trailer for 1958's The Defiant Ones, starring Tony Curtis and Sydney Poitier. 

Now that I have Netflix, I plan on seeing and reviewing more films than I had last year. I still haven't gotten to the movies since Gravity, I think, and that makes me sad, especially with holiday gift cards in my wallet. Dear D owes me at least two... Anyway, enjoy Proximity and look for more from Connolly on his YouTube channel.

Here's to seeing more movies in 2014!

More, anon.
Prospero

Retro Review: "The Innkeepers"

Thanks again to Netflix, I was able to enjoy yet another movie I've been reading about for several years: director Ti West's 2011 haunted hotel movie, The Innkeepers. I recently saw West's debut House of the Devil and found it a bit tedious, but the he has upped his game here, creating compelling characters we actually care about (it may have helped that the young lead reminded me of a very talented young actress I've had the pleasure of directing twice - Yes, Sarah, I mean you!). 

It is the last weekend for the soon-to-be-closed Yankee Pedlar Inn leaving Claire (Sarah Paxton) and Luke (Pat Healy) in charge. Luke is a wannabe paranormal investigator who swears he's encountered the hotel's ghost, a woman who supposedly committed suicide after being left at the alter. The only guests are a single woman with her young son and a former TV star turned psychic (Kelly McGillis). As Claire investigates the story of Madeline O'Malley and McGillis warns about going to the basement, the tension rises toward a truly scary ending. Taking cues from The Shining and even The Sentinel, West manages to create a modern ghost story with a kick, using a single location with a likeable and talented cast (which includes an hilarious turn from "Girls" creator, Lena Dunham). I can imagine Dear D squirming in his seat through this one. It certainly got my blood pumping, especially in the third act! *** (Three Out of Four Stars).

Fans of smart, tension-building horror should be quite pleased by The Innkeepers. Rated "R" by the MPAA for bloody images and language.

More, anon.
Prospero

A November Cornucopia

Turn Off the Show

I'm still recovering from and dealing with the aftermath of Mom's passing (ugh - who knew there was so much to do after someone passes?), so I've been rather absent. But there is so much I want to talk about today that I had to post. So let's get started, shall we?

First, news from Broadway: In a scenario right out of a Mel Brooks movie, Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark (a show I've railed against since it was announced) will close on January 4th after having lost $60 million dollars. Playbill.com reports that the problem-plagued show (which cost $75M to mount and nearly ruined the career of director Julie Taymor) will leave many investors without seeing a dime in revenues. Taymor directed Disney's still-running biggest Broadway hit, The Lion King, but on-set injuries and a disjointed second act led producers to fire her (Taymor sued but the case was settled out of court). It got to the point where people were going to see the show in hopes of witnessing one of its many epic fails. Apparently, no one was going just to hear the rather lame score by Bono and The Edge. The show is so infamous, it even inspired and episode of "Law and Order: Criminal Intent." Still, it will live on in future Las Vegas and German productions, as well as a touring stadium show where some investors may recoup some of their losses. Good riddance to bad theatre, I say.

Next up, a story my sister, Dear D and sweet Mia will hate (sorry kids). Thanks to a video link on Towelroad, I have discovered one of the most interesting performers I've seen in quite some time. Puddles is a 7' tall sad clown with a rather amazing voice and range of styles. The video from revisionist cover band Postmodern Jukebox features Puddles as lead vocalist in a haunting cover of Lorde's "Royals:"

Intrigued. I looked up Puddles Pity Party, which led me to additional YouTube videos and this rather hilariously disturbing death-metal cover of Celine Dion's insipid Titanic theme, "My Heart Will Go On:"

Puddles has several other rather fascinating videos on YouTube, which I highly recommend to those among you who are decidedly not coulrophobic. While I truly admire his work, I can't help but feel a slight pang of jealousy at not being clever enough to come up with a character like that of my own. 

And finally, though hardly last, the still amazing gay icon Cher has given us what may well be the gayest music video ever, outside of an Adam Lambert song. The video for her latest single "Take It Like a Man," features some very hot guys in teeny-tiny Speedos, washing cars; diving off of sailboats and generally acting like they're in a soft-core gay porno. Muscles; tatts; twerking and bulges abound (not that I'm complaining):

Whew! I'm spent.

More, anon.
Prospero

Remember, Remember: Don't Shave in MOvember.

"Eets just so ree-dic-u-lous!"

November isn't just about Thanksgiving and Turkeys. Just as October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month (pink ribbons everywhere you look), November has been dubbed "Movember" for Men's Health Awareness Month (the Mo comes from Mustache, which men aren't supposed to shave instead of wearing a pink ribbon). 

Uncle P is a traditionalist and wears the goatee he's worn for twenty years because a) I look ridiculous without it and b) it helps define my face. The only time I shave it is if I have to for a show. The last time it came off was last for three weeks in April 2012 to play Edna is Hairspray. And that was the first time in a very long time. 

Unlike my Dear D and a few other hirsute gentlemen like myself, I don't have a magically regenerating beard (D get's an 11:30 AM shadow), nor nearly the thickness of facial hair to engage in anything fancy, like the Batstaches below:

Of course, some men have made their mustaches their trademarks:

And while some guys can really rock facial hair:

Other guys fail really well at it:

This Guy is the Real Dracula?

If Theodore Geisel had Been a Barber

Prince Justin D'Bague of Douchylvania

Of course, if you're really good at it, you might end up as a contestant in a beard and mustache competition like these weirdos:

Whether or not you shave this month is really irrelevant to me. What's not is our health. Yes, I said ours. Without you, I have no one to write for. Without me... well, who am I kidding? You'll find another blogger... or whatever is going to replace the format, eventually. Anyway...

Gentlemen, check yourselves for testicular, prostate and breast cancer (yes, men get breast cancer) regularly. If you are over 40 get a regular prostate exam and regular colonoscopies should start at 50. You get one body, guys. You should know it well enough to know when something's wrong. For more information, visit Movember United States. You can also donate money there towards men's health initiatives, including mental health groups. I'm not one to talk, but eat right (I really try and am getting better at it); sleep well (always an issue for me); move - if you can't outright exercise, just get up and walk around; stretch; wiggle; chair-dance; whatever - move!; stay in touch with friends and family and make time for them more often than you think you can. 

Just promise you won't try to grow a 'stache if it's going to look like the douche canoe in that last photo.

More, anon.
Prospero

Pasta Fongool!

Tortellini All Come From the Same Dough

Pasta, now? Really? So Guido Barilla (yes, Guido) blathered on about not wanting gay people to eat his pasta. And now we're all supposed to boycott Barilla pasta. 

I keep wavering back and forth on boycotts, simply because they don't usually work. However, as a statement of protest and displeasure, a boycott can draw attention to a cause. I don't remember that last time I had delicious Chick Fil-A sandwich. I have managed to find delicious frozen waffle fries and a home-recipe for the sandwich that's very close. 

Growing up, Mom was a San Giorgio user, if memory serves. Dad and I both preferred their rigatoni, because they "held the sauce." Dad also liked linguini. Unfortunately, he liked both of them cooked to death. The first time I had properly cooked pasta was revelatory. Mom's meatballs were the size of softballs, and while her sauce was delicious (she was taught by our Sicilian landlady when I was toddler), after Mom taught it to me, I tinkered with it and made it my own, finally learning realistic meatball sizes; spice and herb proportions; the best tomatoes and cheeses to use and make me proud to serve them. And while both my Dear D and the mysterious Italian superhero Pax Romano (both of whom I love, dearly) insist on mistakenly calling their tomato pasta sauce 'gravy,' my sauce kicks some serious ass and deserves a pasta which is worthy of its unabashed superiority. Yes, I am that proud of my meatballs marinara, bitches!

I have used both many dried and fresh pastas over the years. Of course, fresh is better. My Hungarian grandmother's homemade soup noodles were amazing! In my 20's, I would get fresh pasta from the product demonstrators when I worked in The Cellar. Those were pretty good, too. 

I don't actually remember when I first tried Barilla pasta. I'm sure it was because I had coupon. But I liked it and continued to like their whole wheat and Plus lines, which actually tasted a lot better than similar products from other companies (outside the more expensive imports and specialty brands). I have several boxes of Barilla pasta in my cupboards and my pantry. I'm not going to throw them out - that would be wasteful and stupid. The money spent on them is long their coffers and I don't know about you, but I can't afford to throw away perfectly good food.

Competitor Bertolli wasted no time in pointing out their inclusive advertising, As did "Fresh" (i.e. refrigerated) pasta-maker Buitoni. Bertolli has previously sponsored programming on the LGBT network LOGO: 

And then there was this Bertolli olive oil campaign with a mostly naked chef:

I initially balked at yet another boycott, but I can hear One Million Morons firing their tiny brain engines to organize both a boycott of all other pastas and a push to buy Barilla. I probably won't be buying any more Barilla. The search for a new whole grain pasta is on. Any and all suggestions are welcome. Medium Shells, Rigatoni, Penne, Elbows and Angel Hair preferred. Gay Foodie White Whine over.

More, anon.

Prospero

Review: "The Conjuring"

"See what you made me do... "

My Birthday Celebration 2013 continues and Dear D treated me to the 7:45 screening of director James Wan's 'Based on the True Story' much-touted (currently at 84% Fresh on RottenTomatoes -- almost unheard of for a horror movie) The Conjuring at our favorite (and mutually local) multiplex.

After a brief prologue involving a rather terrifying doll and the introduction of so-called 'Demonologists,'  Ed (Patrick Wilson) and Lorraine (Vera Farmiga) Warren, we meet Roger (Ron Livingston) and Carolyn (Lily Taylor) Perron as they move themselves and their five daughters from NJ to a secluded house in rural Rhode Island in 1971. The family is excited to explore their new digs but their dog refuses to enter (D turned to me and whispered "Leave. Leave now.") and the horrible things start to happen almost immediately. By the time Carolyn convinces the Warrens to help them, the family is sleeping together in the living room; doors are tied shut to prevent them from rattling and banging; Carolyn is covered in mysterious bruises and the girls are terrified. The Warrens determine that this not a haunting, but an attempt at demonic possession and vow to get a priest to exorcise the demonic entity. Sadly, the script is by brothers Chad and Carey Hayes (House of Wax; The Reaping) and it never reaches the height of creepy as Wan's last movie (written with Wan's Saw and Dead Silence partner Leigh Whannel), Insidious. 

A caveat - as a non-believer, possession movies (nope, not even The Exorcist) just aren't scary to me (not that any horror movie is ever really 'scary' to a jaded horror fan like Uncle P). But while D and most of the very packed audience jumped and screamed a whole lot more than I did (I'll admit to jumping once -- the maid!!), but the creepy finesse of Insidious just wasn't quite there. What saves the movie are the earnest performances of the very talented cast who sell some pretty absurd dialog with earnest conviction. Wilson is fine as usual and Livingston (whose character is a trucker, leaving him away from home for work) isn't given enough to do. Taylor, an Indie darling whose last horror movie was the deplorable remake of The Haunting, gives one of her best performances to date as a loving, terrified mom desperate to keep her equally terrified family safe. But this is far and away Farmiga's movie. Having just spent the past spring watching her astonishing performance as Norma Bates on AMC's "Bates Motel" and seeing her create and totally lose herself in diametrically opposed character in a very different genre piece, it's obvious she she should make more scary stuff. Another Indie darling, Farmiga seems so at home in genre work and you can't take your eyes off of her whenever she's onscreen. Lorraine comes across as both strong in faith and character and I almost believed she could see the evil she claimed to see.

Joseph Bishara's (Insidious) score works well and allows plenty of room for nostalgic period music while all of the design and art direction gets the 70's pretty right (at least as well as I can remember, I was actually quite young in 1971... sigh... ). Don't get me wrong, The Conjuring is hardly a bad movie and not even a bad horror movie. It just wasn't quite creepy enough for me to make it a great horror movie. It's fun and has lots of shocks and weirdness and appropriate, tension-relieving humor as any good horror movie should and Wan does know how to build suspense, even if the payoffs weren't always what I hoped they could have been. Of course, a few of the payoffs are visually striking and startling at the same time. The movie works best at those moments, but they're to few and far between to make up for things like a non-religious family immediately buying into the religious aspects that the Warrens extoll to them without question.

D loved it, saying it was one of the scariest movies he'd ever seen. I must admit to enjoying his reactions and jumps and yelps even more than the movie (you know I love you, D!!). I can understand why this movie (just like The Exorcist) works for so many people. It just missed for Uncle P. **1.2 (Two and a Half Stars). The Conjuring  is rated R for "Terror." And for the first time in a long time, I saw no inappropriately young people in the audience! Thanks for being responsible, Hamilton, NJ movie-goers!

The Warrens are real people, though Ed passed away in 2006. There is already talk of a franchise surrounding the couple's exploits as 'paranormal investigators' and there is an amusing Easter Egg in the end referencing their most famous (and highly-debated) case in one Amityville, NY.

More, anon.
Prospero

D'Oh! or: Uncle P's "First World Problems" Weekend

"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!

More, anon.
Prospero

The Gayest Month You'll Start This Week

The Gayest Breakfast You'll See This Week (4 Bears Only)

Notice: Some links in this post may be NSFW, depending on where you work. I hope by now, no one really needs the link to that acronym. 

Anyway...

I actually did make pancakes and sausage this morning for brunch, though not nearly as many  of the Pride Cakes (Flip Jacks?) as you see in the image on your left. Mine were actually much smaller, rather misshapen* and regular pancake colored, even though they were whole-wheat. And I used local honey in place of syrup. I do try, though I simply refuse to give up butter. I don't go nuts, but I'm not about to eat something even poop-eating flies supposedly won't touch. Butter's flavor and texture are so necessary for so many recipes. While most, if not all of them, can be made using less butter combined with olive oil, they simply cannot be made with hydrogenated vegetable oils, which are far, far worse for you than honest-to-goodness cow's milk butter. 

Wow. That escalated quickly. 

Sorry for the tangent... because this post isn't about food or cooking or diets or anything other than the fact that June 1st marks the start of Pride Month here in the U.S. Usually at this time of year, Uncle P is either directing or in a JTMF benefit show (our only event this year isn't until October, but more on that, anon). This year, I have the leisure of being able to attend multiple Pride events, should I so desire, without having to man a booth or table at any of them. I've never been to NYC Pride or even Philly Pride. I've only ever been to NJ Pride which is held in Springsteen Central, Asbury Park at the Jersey Shore, which is being held tomorrow. I've been three times, but have never gotten to see the parade, because I was always manning the JTMF table, in hopes of drawing audience members and/or donors. I have a very funny NJ Pride story about D & Siah; a Velcro fly; a very drunken, horny twink named Noel and an Evil You-Know-What for another time. While I have always had time to wander the grounds and visit the other booths, I was never able to see the parade or really mingle with the multitude of gay Guidos on hand.

Here's the thing: I'm not sure I really want to go to any of them. But I actually kind of do. I may decide to brave the traffic and the crowds and go to Philly Pride next Sunday. I've always had a great time checking out the different booths and vendors at NJ Pride (yes, and the hotties), and expect I'd like Philly's version just as much, if not more. I just need to convince someone to join me. Any takers?

Although, if this is the best promo they can come up with, maybe we're all better off staying home:

Really, Philadelphia? Find a new agency, quick, before the Copyranter craps all over that crap. As well he should.

This June, celebrate yourselves, no matter what you sexuality! Celebrate your loved ones who support you and love you for who you are!. Celebrate your partner, if you are lucky enough to have one. Celebrate love, because that's all any of us want and everything all of us deserves. Don't ever stop fighting the haters and the liars.

We've seen more wins than defeats, this past year. Hopefully, SCOTUS will rule in favor of Marriage Equality and the U.S. will join the 21st Century along with the 14 other countries who have embraced marriage rights for all their citizens.

More, anon.
Prospero

*Don't even say what you're thinking, perv!

Awards Season Nonsense

Golden Globe Hosts Tina Fey and Amy Pohler

I don't know if it's age-induced cynicism, bitterness or just an increasing awareness about what's really important in life, but I have come to loathe the entertainment Awards Season and the shows which present said awards.

It honestly seems ridiculous to me to offer up awards for any art form, especially since art is so very subjective. I may love a film; TV show; play; musical; painting; song; album; composition;  sculpture or installation that you absolutely detest. Or vice-versa. You might find something uproariously funny while I find it repulsively disgusting. I may be moved to tears by a poem or novel, while you simply shrug your shoulders and say "Huh?" No one else I know is as fascinated by Dali's "The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus" as I am. And that's as it should be. Art (and one's response to it) may be one of the few truly individual things we have.

Here's a very personal example: Dear D's favorite actor is Sylvester Stallone and his favorite movie of all-time is Rocky. I have no favorite actor (really, how can one?) and my favorite film of all-time is Bringing Up Baby. If I did have a 'favorite actor,' I can assure you it wouldn't be Stallone. That doesn't mean Stallone hasn't been in some highly entertaining films. It also doesn't mean that every film he's been in, has been bad. Or even that the bad film's in which he's appeared weren't entertaining. Demolition Man is by no means be 'high art,' but I was amused and entertained by it (though, unlike D, I don't have 3 seashells in my bathroom - no matter how hilarious I may find it). 

Awarding folks for their achievements is hardly new. And while I wouldn't be opposed to winning an award of any kind, I imagine that winning a Nobel or Pulitzer or even an Olympic medal would mean much more to me than a Golden Globe, Critics' Choice or Academy Award. While awards shows may be just as entertaining to some folks as great art is to others, to me they are just ego-inflating parties thrown by and for rich people who have nothing better to do than pat one another on the back.

Oh, and for famous LGBT people to publicly come out (via):

Sorry for the bad audio. It's what they had.

More. anon.
Prospero

Review: "Skyfall"

As a Bond fan since I was kid (damn, Connery was sexy), I have had my share of yeahs and nays among Bond portrayals. George Lazenby - no. Roger Moore - meh. Timothy Dalton - lame. Pierce Brosnan - maybe. Brosnan was by far the best choice since Connery, as far as I am concerned. 

Then they announced the newest Bond - Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. Like many Bond fans, I was initially up in arms about Craig's casting. How could this lemon-sucking, squinty-eyed, bulb-nosed blond play the sexiest spy in screen in history? I joined the haters and vowed not to see the 2006 movie. But then the pictures of Craig in that blue bathing suit came out. And then the mostly excellent movie came out and almost all was forgiven. Of course, it helped that the movie was the best Bond film since the Connery era. Then came 2008's Quantum of Solace. The plot made as much sense as the title (granted, it was developed during the 2007-2008 Writers' Strike) and I lost faith in both Craig and the franchise. What a mess of a movie. Worse than even the worst of the Moore Bond movies, Quantum had me ready to give up on filmdom's longest-running franchise altogether.

Today, D and I finally got together for the holidays and saw a matinee of the latest in the 50-year old series, Skyfall, before exchanging our holiday gifts (more on those in a moment). And I am happy to report that director Sam Mendes (American Beauty; Revolutionary Road) has finally managed to create an exciting, entertaining and narratively sensical Bond movie.

Presumed dead after falling from a train in Turkey, Bond returns to MI6 after a terrorist attack kills six agents and destroys M's (Dame Judi Dench) office. Following a trail of murder, money and babes, Bond is eventually captured by the villain Silva (Javier Bardem). Thanks to the new Q (Cloud Atlas cutie Ben Wishaw), Silva is captured (after a rather homoerotically charged encounter with Bond) and it is revealed that Silva is actually a former MI6 agent intent on taking revenge on M because... well, see it for yourselves. When Silva escapes (via a rather contrived plot device), Bond takes M to his childhood home for safe-keeping and a final confrontation with Silva and his henchmen. Along the way, bad guys are eaten by Komodo dragons; exotic weapons are employed and beautiful women are used and abused by both good and bad guys. 

Craig, as a very stoic and far-less wise-cracking Bond, spends much of the first half of the movie half-naked, satisfying a good 2/3 of the audience while still managing to create the rather tortured Bond of Ian Fleming's novels. Bardem (his hair and eyebrows bleached, adding an extra-creepiness to his bug-eyed, lop-sided nose visage) is perfect and the always wonderful Dench gets lots more screen time than usual. Add Ralph Fiennes as the less-uptight-prig-than-he-seems MI6 administrator; the gorgeous Naomie Harris as Moneypenny and the (surprisingly still-alive) Albert Finney as an aging Bond family ally, and you end up with what is probably the best Bond film of the last 20 years.

As with every Bond film, the plot devises; action and sex scenes are ridiculous on the surface. But they are all redeemed by some terrific performances and a plot which actually makes sense for a change. D and I both enjoyed this latest entry entry in the franchise, though we differed on whether it was better than the last two films. I said it was, while he he thought it wasn't as good as Casino Royale. *** (Three Out of Four Stars).

As for our Holiday get-together, D gave me one of my favorite gifts this year:

I so love that those I love and those who love me, know me so well!

I am torn between displaying this gem at home or the Day Job. The folks at the Day Job already think I'm insane, while those who know me best know so.

More, anon.
Prospero

Dinner, Gifts and Time with Dear Friends.

(Not Uncle P's Meatballs)

So... last Saturday's snow/rain/sleet storm prevented Uncle P from having a holiday dinner and gift exchange with some of my oldest and dearest friends, with whom I get together every few months for a culinary experiment. This time we weren't taking any chances, but planned a simple and traditional Italian meal of lasagna and meatballs. Luckily, both freeze well and we were able to reschedule for tonight.

Mary's lasagna was just delicious and 17 of Uncle P's 18 rustic meatballs marinara were consumed by the seven of us. Of course, Q's delightful salad with thick, sweet Black Walnut Balsamic and Deb's amazing red velvet cupcakes made it a rather amazing meal. 

After dinner, those of us who hadn't already done so, finally got to exchange our Holiday gifts (I loved everything I got). Of course, as always with this particular group of friends (most of whom I've known for well-over 30 years), the meal and gifts are a far distant second to spending time together. Spending time with these six very dear friends (and a few others) helps make the mendacity of everyday life less so. I hope you have some equally amazing people in your life who make it better just by being a part of it.

Tomorrow I will be having my last gift exchange of the season, when Dear D and I meet for a matinee showing of Skyfall (which I'll be reviewing tomorrow night), followed immediately by drinks and yet more gifts.

I hope your weekend is as good as mine has been (and promises to continue to be). I'll try and recreate my aborted "American Horror Story" post from last night on Monday, unless something else catches my attention between now and then.

More, anon.
Prospero

It Knows What Scares You

Sorry, D

I know that I've written about Tobe Hooper's Poltergeist several times. And there's a very good reason for that: it's a true modern genre classic. And I'll get to the why's and wherefores in just a minute.

First, I would like to note that Poltergeist serves as one of four movies with which I can always win a bar bet. I've seen this film so many times, you can play any scene without dialogue and I can tell you exactly what's happening on screen just by listening to the score. The other movies I can do this with are Raiders of the Lost Ark; Psycho and the original version of King Kong. I know my sister can also do this with Poltergeist; probably with Raiders... and maybe with Kong. But that's beside the point...

The Freelings are a typical suburban family of the early 1980's. Father Steven (Craig T. Nelson) is a successful realtor in Cuesta Verde, the planned California community in which they reside. Mom Diane (Jobeth Williams) is young and hip, while rebellious teenaged daughter Dana (Dominique Dunne) and her younger siblings Robbie (Oliver Robins) and Carol Anne (Heather O'Roarke) are typical kids. They all live typically messy suburban lives. A construction team installing their in-ground pool has the backyard in a tizzy, while the death of the family canary Tweety has Carol Anne wanting a canary funeral and Robby wanting to dig Tweety up after it rots.* One night, while Steven and Diane fall asleep in front of the TV, Carol Anne comes in to watch the post Anthem buzz (this was before the days of 24 hour cable) and begins talking to the "TV people." Soon, furniture in the kitchen begins to rearrange itself and Carol Anne can slide across the kitchen floor without being pushed. These seemingly harmless events soon escalate and Carol Anne is eventually captured by the "TV People" during a thunderstorm, her voice crying out from the TV for help. 

At their wits' end, the Freelings call in a team of parapsychologists, led by Dr. Lesh (Beatrice Straight) who brings her assistants Ryan (Richard Lawson) and Marty (Martin Casella). After a particularly awful night in the house in which Marty sees himself tearing off his own face, Dr. Lesh calls in diminutive psychic Tangina (Zelda Rubenstein), who sends Steven on a journey through the Other Side to rescue Carol Anne from the 'Beast' which holds her captive. Tangina declares the house 'clean,' though the horror isn't over. It is eventually discovered (after Diane spends some horrifying moments among the corpses in her unfinished pool) that Steven's boss, developer Teague (James Karen) has built Cuesta Verde on an old cemetery where he moved the headstones, but left the bodies. The Freeling's house is eventually consumed by a psychic black hole.

Tobe Hooper, best known as the writer and director of the original The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, had his undisputed best success with Poltergeist, though there are those who would argue that producer Steven Spielberg actually directed the movie. There are 'Speilbergian' touches all over the place, including his trademark close-ups and reaction shots. Of course, the performances of the (mostly) then unknown cast that make Poltergeist so good. Nelson and Williams are just terrific as the suburbanites who find themselves up against forces beyond their comprehension, while the accomplished Straight (Network) lends gravitas to the role of the bewildered parapsychologist (and I must admit to using part of her performance to inform my own performance in a college production of Equus). Add loads of foreshadowing in the brilliant script from Spielberg, Michael Grais and Mark Victor; a creepy clown doll; a terrifying tree; a ceiling crawl and amazing effects from Jeff Jarvis, Jose Abel and company, and you have the iconic ghost movie of all time. Oh, and then there's Jerry Goldsmith's aforementioned score. Genius doesn't even begin to cover how brilliantly Goldsmith was able to musically convey what's happening on screen. Can you say "Perfect Movie?"

Sadly, increasingly inferior sequels and the unfortunate deaths of several actors involved in the film and it's sequels (including young Heather O'Roarke's untimely death from an intestinal blockage and the murder of Dominique Dunne at the hands of an unstable ex) have led to a bizarre, cultish following to what should be considered one of the 80's best horror films.

Unfortunately, a completely unnecessary remake has been announced, though I (for one) am hoping the project never comes to fruition. Poltergeist remains one of the few ghost movies that scares, entertains and fascinates all at the same time. Any remake would have to prove exceptionally extraordinary to be worth seeing. Personally, I don't see that happening.

More, anon.

Prospero