Sorry - Monsters Are Still Real, Kids.

Faneuil Hall - Boston, Massachusetts.

So... Yesterday, another insane person (or persons) perpetrated another horrific crime against innocent people, this time against those who were attending and/or participating in the Boston Marathon.  I needed a day to process yet another horrific event before I could comment on it. And here's what I think.

The first time I ever went to Boston, I was working for a facility which housed mentally and physically disabled people. It was what I thought I wanted to do with my life right out of school. The 'school' really turned out to be a place where rich people dumped off the children of whom they were ashamed, but that's another story for another time. 

Anyway, a client was going home for the Holidays and I and another 'Houseparent' were asked to accompany him on the short flight to Boston. We flew in in the early morning morning, dropped the client off with his family and had nine hours to explore and play before flying home again. We shopped at Faneuil Hall; we walked all around downtown and ended up in a seafood place because the young lady I was with (i have no memory of her name) wanted chowder. I hate clam chowder and I have no idea what I ate - probably a fried platter. But I liked the city's vibe and wanted to go back.

In college, my friends Terry and Marly and I drove up to visit our friend Brian at his grandparents' once state-of-the-art mid-century home in Amherst. The next day we went into Boston and I am proud to say that my 20-something self did pretty good navigating the insanity that is Boston traffic. There was also an infamous 'research' trip to Salem (we were doing The Crucible and we left on Thursday, the 12th, after Mary called my new job, weeping and saying she was my sister and that Grandmom had died, so I could leave early*) which is very close to Boston. Of course, my dear K has family ties to the area, and I've been there on more than one occasion with her. It's a good town, filled with college students; teachers and professors and businesses of every kind, just like any major city. There are good neighborhoods and bad ones; fun things to do and lame things to do; history, art, theatre; shopping; great bars - Boston has always meant a very good time, every time I've been there.

So please bear with me when I say that I can't imagine the horror, the pain and the suffering inflicted on people who were, up until that moment, also experiencing Boston as a very good time. The fear and confusion must have been so intense. And so much pain (both physical and emotional). Horrible!

And for what? As of this writing, we still don't know who or why. Of course, the why almost doesn't matter. Did 'God' tell someone to do this to advance a political agenda? Or did a dog claiming to be God tell someone to do this so someone will finally acknowledge his pathetic existence? Was a spurned lover out to kill an ex who was running in the marathon or in the crowd? Maybe an angry, disqualified runner from the past wanted to exact his revenge. It doesn't matter.

What matters are the people killed and maimed; people whose lives have been irrevocably and horribly changed. And whether this was the act of an organized group of religious fanatics or of a loner writing a manifesto in a woodshed, it was ultimately an act of madness. When we were children, our parents did their best to convince us that there are no monsters under the bed or in the closet or hiding behind the coats on the coat-rack. "Monsters aren't real," they told us. But they lied. While there may be no green-skinned bogey-men with fangs and claws waiting to rend us to pieces, there are other monsters who never fail to prove their existence. In schools, malls, movie theaters and major sporting events; on trains and in office buildings; in the air and on the the ground; the monsters keep shouting "I am here! I am to be feared! I am a Monster!" 

Here's the thing: Don't fear the monster. He doesn't deserve your fear. Find the monster and punish him, so other monsters may think twice. I know there are far more good people in the world than bad, just as there are more beautiful things than ugly things. There's great art and literature and philanthropists and scientists who are working to sure disease and end suffering. There are dew-covered spiderwebs spilling prismatic rainbows in the morning sun and exotically plumed birds wading in warm swamps; romantic sunsets; sparkling beaches; fields of wildflowers... you get the idea. And we all should be able to take time to revel in the good things about life, without worrying if a bomb is sitting in that trashcan on the corner or if the guy sitting next to me at the AMC24 has gun under his unseasonal coat. 

I'm offering no solutions - that's for smarter folks than I to sort out. Of course, without bad things; without pain and suffering; we wouldn't be able to appreciate joy and pleasure, would we? Be glad for every day you wake up. Stop taking things so seriously. Smile.  Let the monsters know we're on to them and that we have no intention of letting them win.

Call me "Pollyana." Call me a cock-eyed optimist. Call me (gasp!) a Liberal. I really think Lennon and McCartney had it right:

Oh - I also think we really need to overhaul the mental heath care system in this country, ASAP. After Reagan dismantled it in the 80's, it's about time we overhauled and reinstituted comprehensive mental health care for those who may pose a danger to society.

More, anon.
Prospero

*Another trip worthy of it's own post.

Extended Winter Blahs

No Sh*t, Sherlock!

Normally, I despise Winter. And while this winter seems to want to hang on well past its welcome (an Ohio prosecutor has actually - though  satirically - indicted Punxatawny Phil, demanding the death penalty for Phil's 'deliberate misrepresentation of early spring'); there are a few things that made it more bearable than most (and one or two that made it a little worse). 

Let's start with what extra-sucked about this winter, so I can end on a high note, yes? First, though I deliberately chose to take most of this season off, I have done nothing theatrical since last June and have nothing lined up until October. Yes, I could use a break to concentrate on other artistic endeavors (and two dormant projects are well on their ways to revival and possible full fruition) but I still find myself jealous of my many of my friends who are (or have been) in some terrific shows, lately. And I worry that I'll get lazy and forget everything I've spent most of my life learning about acting and directing. I know it sounds silly, but the theatre folk among you know exactly what I mean. Of course, my mother's recent health issues and my increased involvement in her care have taken their toll. And I miss the Sun. We've had more gray days here in the East these past few months than I can remember. And as much as I hated spending 5 days without power and heat following Sandy, I know there are folks who had (and still have) it much worse than I.

Still, there were several things that kept this winter from being a complete disaster. First, I doubled up on my vitamin D supplement starting in late September and I can honestly say that it's made a difference. And as for those revived projects; I am very excited to see them in the hands of new collaborators, both of whom are very talented young men I am pleased to call 'Friend.'

Of course, the best thing that happened to Uncle P in a very long time was meeting T.  Being found both interesting and attractive does wonders for one's self-esteem. Last summer, I was telling friends I had given up on romance and had resigned myself to living a life of solitude. I don't know if it was the extra vitamin D or something else, but after Christmas I decided I wasn't going to settle for that and joined a few online dating sites. And along came T. And hope. T and I are still very new (and live an hour apart from one another) and I have no idea where it might lead (if anywhere), but it's nice to know I'm not done with romance, even if I'm older than dirt.

Now if it would only get warm and sunny already.

How does a movie so bad have such a great soundtrack? At least Peter Frampton was still adorable, though Aerosmith has the best number:

More, anon.
Prospero

Yoko Is Out of Her Mind (Plus Bonus Hilarity)

Looking Fierce to Hide His Embarrassment

Well, we've always known Yoko was a little mad. Now she's proving it with a men's fashion line for Opening Ceremony (via). Featuring decidedly unmasculine colors, patterns and fabrics; tube tops; exposed shoulders and open-toed, thigh-high boots with pockets, I can't imagine any man (gay or straight) not being laughed out of a room when wearing any of these clothes. Hell, I can't even imagine any drag queen I know wearing this over-priced, nonsensical crap.

Yes, I get it. Haute Couture is never really meant to be worn anywhere but on a runway. Thierry Mugler, Jean-Claude Gautier and other designers create these things primarily to show how clever they are. But their pret a portier (ready-to-wear) lines are never quite as outrageous and usually more acceptably mainstream. But Opening Ceremony is actually offering Yoko's designs for sale. I can't wait to see what Joan Rivers and company have to say about these togs on her snarky (and occasionally hilarious) show "Fashion Police." If you have a couple of thousand dollars you don't know what to do with and no dignity, you can own a Yoko Ono original. But I'd bet you wouldn't be willing to admit that you do.

Just look at that boot. I don't think that even the Marquis de Sade would wear those boots, unless he wanted to inspire pain from looking at his gnarly, yellow toenails. And just what would one keep in the pocket? A pack of smokes? A couple of tabs of X? Oh, maybe the remaining shreds of one's dignity. 

This line has led to me three distinct conclusions about Ms. Ono:

1. She's seen Cirque du Soliel's The Beatles: Love one too many times.

2. She dropped a lot of acid in the '70's.

3. She's always been insane and is now going out of her way to prove it.

You can draw whatever conclusions, you like. I'm sticking with these.
 

On a completely different and totally unrelated note, I stumbled upon this little gem earlier today (though I completely forget where) and had to share. Zombies are everywhere these days, and this banned commercial from XXL Sports takes full advantage of their popularity:

Nonsense, fashion, insanity and zombies. What more can one ask from a single post?

More, anon.
Prospero

Imagine

I was driving to an 8 AM class in my ancient Chevy Malibu, listening to AM radio (the only thing my mid-70's radio could get) when I learned that John Lennon had been shot and killed. The DJ played "Imagine" and I started to cry, knowing that one of the world's great artists and peace activists was no more. When I got to campus, I found I wasn't the only one in mourning. It was surreal, at least.

My fascination with The Beatles began with their absurdist 1965 film Help! Ridiculous, hilarious and full of the kind of existential nonsense the group was exploring at the time, I just thought it was funny. 45 years later, the film still holds up as a madcap comedy. Honestly, with characters named "Clang," "Foot," and "Lawnmower," how could it not? Three years later saw Yellow Submarine, an even more surreal animated film about the group's adventures in Pepperland*, where they must defeat the evil Blue Meanies and restore Pepperland to its former glory.

It wasn't until I actually got to college that I really learned to appreciate the genius of the Beatles, and particularly the combination of Lennon and McCartney. They wrote songs that will played, sung and reinterpreted until the end of days, and influenced literally countless song writers and musicians who came after.

Knowing that it has been 30 years since Lennon's assassination is making me feel particularly old and sad, today. I think I need a pick-me-up. Maybe this will help:

There... That's better. Two obsessions with one stone, as it were.

*The less said about the film Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, the better.

More, anon.
Prospero