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 

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

Review: "Godzilla"

I saw a picture of one of those digital signs above a multiplex auditorium door that announces the title and show time: "GODZILLA - In IMAX" and under that, a very funny sign programmer added "Now with 100% Less Matthew Broderick." And thank goodness!

Fellow Kaiju fans, wipe the stench of Roland Emmerich's 1998 fiasco of a remake from your noses forever. Dry the disappointed tears of Guillermo del Toro's Pacific Rim from your eyes. Director Gareth Edwards (2010's indie fave, Monsters) and his team have crafted the modern Godzilla movie true Godzilla fans have been waiting for.

Writers Max Borenstein and David Callahan (The Expendables films) wisely don't try to give us an origin story and assume the events of 1954's Gojira did take place. 15 years after a catastrophic accident at a Japanese nuclear plant kills his wife n 1999 (not really a spoiler as that's part of the prologue), the plant's engineer Joe Brody (Bryan Cranston) is arrested for trespassing in the contaminated area, still looking for answers. When son Ford (Kick-Ass star Aaron Taylor-Johnson) arrives to bail him out, Joe convinces him the site is experiencing the same type of disturbances that preceded the last accident. Of course, his warnings come too late for Dr. Ichiro Serizowa (Ken Watanabe) to prevent the birth of an insectoid behemoth they soon dub a M.U.T.O. (Massive Unidentified Target Organism). Think of a cross between a praying mantis, a bat and steam shovel. When the MUTO's mate hatches in Nevada (it makes sense, trust me) their meeting place is apparently San Francisco, where Ford has just left his wife (Elizabeth Olsen) and young son. 

When the King of Monsters does show up, the Army drafts a plan to draw all three radiation-hungry monsters out to sea and blow them up, despite Serizowa's insistence that Godzilla has come to kill the MUTOs and restore nature's balance. There is, as in every great Kaiju movie, massive destruction (though this time it's Honolulu, Las Vegas and San Francisco that take the beatings) and an intense battle between three super-gigantic (Big G is at least 10 times his original size) monsters, two of whom should have known better. What little plot there is, mostly revolves around Ford trying to both save the world and get home to his family. Everyone seems to be having a grand time, despite the hyperbolic circumstances of the story. Cranston is as wonderful as always, while Juliette Binoche is wasted in a what amounts to a cameo as Joe's wife. But this is Taylor-Johnson's movie, and his beautiful green eyes (the same shade as my mother's) don't make up for the fact that he never takes his shirt off. Seriously though, it's nice to see an action hero outside of a Marvel movie who can actually act, despite not being given much more than genre tropes with which to work (not that those tropes don't serve the film - they are actually de rigeur.

The CGI is just terrific and the astonishing score by the prolific Alexandre Desplat really works to help Edwards paint moments of nearly silent terror in what could have been an ear-splittingly loud movie from start to finish (far from it). Expect Oscar noms for Sound, Sound Editing and Sound Effects on top of those for Special Visual Effects and Cinematography. My companion specifically requested that we not see it in 3D (his eyes are worse than mine) and I didn't miss it, per se, though I think I really need to see it again in 3D for the fullest effect.

For my first big Tent-Pole of the season, Godzilla  really had the potential to go either way. Thankfully it totally went the right way! Do yourselves a favor and see Godzilla on the big screen in a theater with a good sound system. **** (Four Out of Four Stars). Godzilla is rated PG-13 for "intense sequences of destruction, mayhem and creature violence."

I must admit, Godzilla was a very happy cap to Uncle P's most excellent weekend. It started with a completely painless purchase of a new washing machine (finally and thank His Noodly Appendages) at h.h.gregg. If you don't have them where you live, write them and ask them to open a store near you (that is a rare and completely unsolicited endorsement -- I have found that major appliance purchases are often painful, drawn-out affairs, but they were terrific). I then celebrated the last trip to the laundromat I ever want to take. That same evening, my dear K, who has been in a show for what seemed like forever, came over for cheese-steaks; "Will and Grace;" "Grimm;" "Face-Off" and Yahtzee! (I kicked her butt!) Today, after a thorough dusting, I made a very successful and yummy batch of mozzarella-stuffed meatballs and sauce for dinner and then met M for a terrifically fun movie! It's the little things... life finally seems to be getting back to (or gaining a new version of) some semblance of 'normal' in my life. That's a very good thing.

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

Netflix Revew: "Hansel & Gretel Get Baked"

I suppose a preface of sort is required here. For the past 10 years or so, my rock, K has spent Christmas Eve with Mom and myself. In a beautiful post on Facebook, K expressed how she was going to miss those weird and wonderful nights now that Mom was gone. And since I'll be at my sister's for Christmas Eve this year (something already passed by the time this post is published - how freaky is that?), I proposed that we have a Christmas Eve Eve with many of the traditions we've shared for so long. We were joined by our sweet, funny, weird, wonderful and adorable friend Michael for a lovely candle-lit night of good food, good drink and very good company. Honestly, everyone should be so lucky to have friends like mine - I love and thank them so much. 

Anyway... after dinner we decided to search Netflix for something to entertain us. K and Micheal searched through my personal list, which includes lots of movies only I (and a few of you... Pax...) would appreciate. And after an unabashedly intoxicated K had issues with the WiiMote, I took over, asking what they wanted to see. "Something funny!" they both said. So I went to the list of movies suggested because I'd watched Tucker and Dale vs Evil. I skipped along the menu until I hit upon a title that made me laugh and chose it, saying "If it sucks, we'll change it!" That title was Hansel & Gretel Get Baked. Starring "Castle" regular Molly Quinn as Gretel; the Twilight movies' Michael Welch as Hansel and a frighteningly over-surgeried and an almost unrecognizable Lara Flynn Boyle as a the immortal Bavarian-Nazi-Cannibal-Witch, Agnes who grows and sells enchanted dope to unsuspecting teens. Not surprisingly, the ingestion of those teens' flesh help both restore and maintain Agnes' youth.

Writer/Actor David Tillman's script is just clever enough to keep our interest, amusingly referencing  the story we all know and aided by costume designer Elizabeth Jett's very decidedly Tyrolean-inspired outfits for Ms Quinn. Add plenty of gross-out moments and hilarious puns (Agnes starts out as literally a 'Little Old Lady from Pasadena'), and Hansel & Gretel Get Baked ends up being a very funny modern take on the story via Cheech and Chong, where Skittles serve as breadcrumbs and hot young guys get slathered in herbed butter while strapped to a mortician's gurney. Cary Elwes makes a cameo as the Meter Man while a slew of other character actors you will recognize from every procedural TV show from the last 20 years crop up in other supporting roles.

Not everything works perfectly (Boyle's age makeups aren't quite convincing, though I suspect that may have more to do with her tragic cosmetic surgeries, than anything else). And some of the CGI FX (especially in the denouement) are a bit forced. But if you're looking for a funny, gory and gruesome distraction from all the Holiday nonsense you've been forced to endure in the past month or so, you could do certainly do worse than Hansel & Gretel Get Baked. I would definitely recommend it over the Big Studio crapfest that was Hansel &Gretel: Witch Hunters.

Screened at this year's Tribecca Film Festival, Hansel & Gretel Get Baked is currently available on Netflix and DVD. **1/2 (Two and a Half Out of Four Stars). Rated 'R' for Violence, Gore, Drug Use and Language, it was exactly what the three of us needed, even if K covered her eyes during the gory bits.

More, anon..
Prospero

NOT My Favorite Year

Florida is Weird...
.

Officially, Uncle P has one more work day before I'm on my 'Holiday Break.' To be honest, Monday should be fairly slow at the Day Job, though there are always those panicky clients who MUST get documents processed before the break (despite the fact that their documents aren't going anywhere until after we return). 

In my mind, I'm already in warmer climes, even though I don't leave for Florida until Tuesday morning. And yes, I have a bird/house sitter lined up, so I'm not worried about announcing I'll be away. My dear K will stopping in every day to give Skye fresh water; bring in my mail; watch TV and leave lights on.

This year, K. Michael and I are starting a new tradition: Christmas Eve Eve. Let me explain: For the past ten years or so, K would come over to my house on Christmas Eve to have dinner and take part in the orgy of presents Mom and I would share (long story - see previous posts). Since I'll be in Largo for Christmas Eve, I decided to push our celebration up a day and include a sweet and dear friend who has lent me loads of support in the past few months. We'll have our traditional shrimp cocktail and 'broasted' chicken dinner from Chicken Holiday, complete with their amazing fried creamed-corn nuggets; a small gift exchange and (hopefully) a viewing of A Christmas Story. K will be spending the night and taking me to the airport in the morning (though I have no idea who'll be picking me up when I get home, yet).

I hope to get together with my college friend Marousa (among other activities) while in the Tampa/Clearwater/St.Pete area. Of course, Sis has several activities already planned but I really hope this one happens. I'm very much looking forward to a meal at the African restaurant at Disney's Animal Kingdom's hotel (Sis and the BIL are Vacation Club Members) and honestly can't wait to visit the new Salvador Dali museum where I hope to spend some time gazing at my all-time favorite painting (I have no idea why it's so - it just... 'speaks' to me). I also hope to finish what little holiday shopping I have to do for folks with whom I won't exchange gifts until after the New Year. And among all that excitement, I hope to read at least one play and one novel. Great Expectations, indeed.

This will be the first Christmas spent with my sister in over 18 years. It's also the first Christmas Sis and I will spend without Mom. Ugh. So many feels. I'll be home in time to spend New Year's Eve with my BFFs, K.Q and Dale. So it's all good (or so I keep telling myself). 

It is my fervent hope that you are able to spend time with those you love (and who love you) during the Winter Holiday season, no matter what you believe. Merry Christmas; Happy Solstice; Joyous Kwanzaa and Happy New Year!

With the exception of at least one pre-scheduled post, this is probably (though not decidedly)  my last real-time post for 2013. I will not rue this year's passing. Goodbye and Good Riddance to 2013!

Hoping all of you (and I) have a better year coming!

More, anon.
Prospero