Theatrically Speaking...

On MySpace, I am sent these questionairres by friends. I always do them and then post them in my blog. I usually don't consider them the right material for this blog. But my friend, Lisa, is a BlogSpot blogger, not a MySpacer. And I want to post the latest questionaire here, because I am hoping she will do it, too. I am interested in her answers. And it has to be said: in a world where people ask 'how are you?' and then don't listen when you answer, having someone say they are interested in what you have to say is important.

Are you listening, Lisa?

I also want to say two things on different topics before posting the survey:

1--Dreamgirls the movie knocked me out

2--Steve On Broadway. Thanks for the honour of mentioning me in your column and even linking people to this site. You make me feel good about myself; something that is difficult, at times. I am deeply humbled.

Ok. Here's the survey:

1. What director gave you your first lead?
I don't know if I ever played any leads. I seem to have always been the wisecracking sidekick. In college, my own Pat Dwyer asked me to do a one act he was doing in his directing class. The play was called HOME FREE and there were two characters. I don't remember the name of the other actor. Once out of college, I think I only played two leads--one was Willy Wonka and one was Harold in Harold and Maude. Harold came first and the director's name was Larry Stillings, a wonderful man.

2. What was your quickest costume change?
In THIEVE'S CARNIVAL I had to change from one disguise to another and quickness was, very much, a part of the joke. I was a flapper and then I was a Priest. It took ten seconds and that meant getting out of wig, hat, dress, pumps and lipstick and into a Priest's robe. Under the robe, I was wearing fishnet stockings and nothing else. I put real clothing on for my next scene.

3. Do you have any REAL theatre superstitions?
I always avoided saying good luck and I sort of observed the MacBeth thing. I don't know how to whistle, so whistling in the dressing room was never an option.

4. Biggest screw up?
I was doing LIGHT UP THE SKY and I realized that I didn't have enough prop cigarettes in my cigarette case. I was backstage breaking off tips of cigs so that they would be the right length for the era and I left Kacie Ahmanson onstage, waiting for me, for several minutes.

5. Most annoying theater pet peeve?
Actors who goof while onstage. If you aren't in character, you aren't in the scene.

6. Who have you never worked with that you've always wanted to?
I no longer remember what it is like to deisre to act with a certain person. I know what it is like to want to photograph someone I admire but to act with someone.. No. I don't remember. I can say that I would like to do CLOSER with Pat and Jennifer Houston. And I would go to an acting class just to get to play a scene with Vince Gatton.

7. Do you/have you ever had/have a theater crush?
Of course I have had theater crushes. But I get crushes all the time. It's just a crush. As far as theater crushes go, it's part of the game. If you are onstage acting with someone and they are really talented, it's impossible to not get swept up in their charisma. Then, there are the base crushes: that requires a really good lookin co worker. I can get the talent crush on just about anyone..assuming they have talent.

8. What actors/actresses do you admire most?
Do I name famous people? Or people whose artistry I have witnessed up close? I always loved watching Pat act, truthfully. I acted with him once or twice and it was heavenly. I think Pat and I both feel the same way about the same person, with regards to our favourite actor, though: it's Vince Gatton, the most honest actor I have ever watched, up close and personal. He has the kind of talent that makes me admire my favourite famous folk. He has Judi Dench's honesty, Judith Ivey's depth, Donna Murphy's comic timing and Denis O'Hare's individuality.

9. Who is your favorite director to work with?
I don't remember this sensation.

10. Choreographer?
I never worked with a choreographer that I enjoyed.

11. Musical Director?
Ricky Pope.

12. What was your most uncomfortable costume?I don't think I ever wore a costume that was wildly uncomfortable. It's not like I was ever put in burlap underpants or anything. Even when I played Mr Beaver in THE LION THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE, I wasn't uncomfortable. I was almost naked in ONDINE, I had the high heels in THIEVE'S CARNIVAL, I was almost naked in JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR, I looked like a showgirl in THE MOUSETRAP (the Kyle MacLaran version)....there were always interesting costumes. But no uncomfortable ones. I will say this: I MADE one of my costumes uncomfortable. I was doing TWELFTH NIGHT and I hated one of the many outfits I had to wear. I was playing a soldier/officer and the costumer had me in combat boots, shorts that went down to the knee, a turtleneck, a marine shirt, a beret, sunglasses and a waist sash that was ten feet long--the sash wrapped around me and tied to hang down one side. All that material made me look like Humpty Dumpty. So I rolled the waist of the shorts up to expose my legs from mid-thigh to ankle, and I pulled the sash real tight to cinch in my waistline, then tied it. I couldn't breathe. But I looked like a stripper; and the part wasn't big enough for any depth--looking good was paramount.

13. If you could dance like anyone, who?
Ben D. Wright.

14. Have you ever been cast in a role you thought was wrong for you?
God, yes. I never should have played Harold in HAROLD AND MAUDE. I also should not have played Schupanzig in BLACK COMEDY. Otherwise, I was pretty much on target with most of the parts I played when I was acting. I was once sent in to read for a stage version of CARNAL KNOWLEDGE. I had never seen the film. I was given scene to study for the audition; I read one page of dialogue and told the auditors that I was sorry for wasting their time, that there was no need for me to audition and I left.

15. What was your strangest audition?
I went to this ridiculous audition for a production of WEST SIDE STORY where Dani Livingston made us all do this dynamic group improv (after giving us a five minute lecture on the fact that this is not a musical comedy and telling us what it was really about). We were all assigned groups (Jet or Shark) and told to interact. I was off in the corner of the stage with Todd Hart (he being a Jet and I, a Shark) talking about real life and Natasha Harper walked up to us and said "Are you guys improving or gossiping?" and we said we were gossiping. She said "good, I hate improv. What are we talking about?" A few days later I was offered a part and the job of dance captain. I said absolutely not. I said that for three days because Livingston kept calling. I did NOT do that show. Natasha ended up playing Maria.

16. What is your favorite audition song?
I always sang SIMPLE. It is my favourite song, period.

17. Have you ever dated anyone you met at the theater? Did it work?
I met Pat Dwyer in the green room of the drama department at NTSU. I've been looking at his face every morning for over 20 years..

18. Is there any role youve played that you think you could play better now?
Most of them. Even though I no longer act, I am a much better actor now than I was in my youth. I understand so much more. Most of the time, I did pretty alright. I don't think there is a lot more that I could bring to the Priest in JEFFREY, or Dr Barry in AND THE STARS WERE SHINING--definately not to Christopher Wren in THE MOUSETRAP. But, given another shot at Larry in BURN THIS or Willy Wonka or Larry in THE BOYS IN THE BAND, oh, yeah. I would never even consider being in APPLAUSE again, so that's not an issue.

19. What is your dream role?
My ethnicity and age aside: I always wanted to play Mozart in AMADEUS or George in SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE (you would have to also put aside my lack of musical ability) because I understand the characters' quests as artists. I understand the obsessive nature of their work and the sense of loss based on the perception of failure. I would love to play Contini in NINE because (again) of the nature of the artist's quest but also because of the character's situation of being in love with three people at the same time. There is also that glorious complex score. I'd love to play either of the men in CLOSER because they are parts that no one would ever see me doing and because I would love to wrap my tongue around those words. I would leave behind my work as a photographer and be an actor again to play Reverend Shannon in NIGHT OF THE IGUANA.

20. Have you ever worked backstage?
Not really. I would be a danger in a backstage position, except for dresser, which is the only backstage work I HAVE done. I was good at that but only because it involved clothing.

21. If you could have any job on Broadway, what would it be?
I think I could pull my weight as an actor on Broadway. An actor in a play. I could, no longer, perform in a musical.

22. What is the WORST CT production youve seen (you can give the show without the theater if you want).
I saw a play at the Pocket Sandwich Theater called GOLDEN CITY that almost put me in my grave. My friend was the choreographer and I appreciated her work in a production that the community called GOLDEN SHITTY. Of course, it was as bad as the production of HAROLD AND MAUDE that I did in the same theater.

23. Most painful theater experience?
As an audience member? Probably THE GREEN BIRD on Broadway. As an actor? Literally painful? Dancing in a production of MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. My costume was skimpy and the set was covered in burlap.

24. Have you ever had sex in a theater? I have not.

25. What is the favorite role you've played?Larry in BURN THIS.

26. Every actor in CT has a "junk food" weakness whats yours?
Cheetos. I try not to eat them but I have to say, if they are in the room, I am in a danger zone.

27. Do you have a favorite rehearsal outfit?
I don't think I did.

28. What show have you never seen/done that you wish someone would do?
I would love to see ON THE TWENTIETH CENTURY.

29. What is your favorite venue to perform in?
I don't perform now.

30. What is your favorite venue to SEE a show?
I'm with my friend Matty, who sent me this quiz: I love me The Shubert on 44th street.

31. What is your proudest theater accomplishment?
I, honestly, think it was the one night only performance in JEFFREY. We had four days rehearsal for a staged reading that was a benefit. Everyone onstage had to hold scripts but I could not do what I needed to do with that character, with a script in my hand. I made myself learn that text and I went out for that one performance and I hit one out of the park. It was the one time in my life that I wished I had had a single curtain call because I knew I would be ovated. It was a company call. I continue to not know what it is like to applauded, singly.

32. What is your biggest mistake?
My biggest mistake was allowing my emotions to be controlled by what other people thought. I wish I had been the kind of actor who showed up and ran roughshod over everyone and then had to be forgiven because I gave a performance that knocked everyone out. I think I could be that person today.

33. What show could you never see again and not miss?
FORUM. I have seen tooooo many FORUMS. Also, BEYOND THERAPY. Too many.

34. Whose singing voice do you enjoy listening to? Theatrically?
Mister Brian d'Arcy James. It is pure gold.

35. What is your fondest theater memory?
Every time I ever worked with Laura Wells. THE LION IN WINTER. HAROLD AND MAUDE. CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE. If we were acting together or just doing a production together in other capacities, it was sheer joy. It was like coming home. And there was this time in college when Pat and I were asked to do a scene from my favourite play, THE LION IN WINTER: he was Henry and I was Philip and it was the most complete acting experience of my life.

36. What do you enjoy most about being in CT?
I am not in community theater or any other kind of theater, as a worker. I do miss the commaraderie.

37. Are there any theater companies you wont work with ever?
I don't think so. I'm so far out of the loop. I will say this: in the old days, it would have taken a lot to get me to work with the Dallas Alliance Theater. And after my experience with Janet Farrow and The Classic Theater Company, I wouldn't go back to them.

38. Ever been left hanging onstage?
I don't think so. If so, only for a moment.

39. Any regrets?
I wish I had taken it more seriously. When I was young I had a rather haphazzard approach to my career because I was busy trying to get my personal life in order.. Had I been more focused, I might have done a better job at it.

40. Have you ever taken a role as a "favor"?
I did the play APPLAUSE as a favour to Shirley Conley. I did not enjoy doing the play, though there were pleasant moments. The cast was unpleasant and the production was a train wreck. I did the play AND THE STARS WERE SHINING because Bobby McGuire asked me to replace an actor they lost. It was fun (at times) and trying (at times) but I did meet Steve Spraragen, Howard, Niceto, Caleb, Malan and Guy Smith and that is one big-ass pay off for one little favour. Totally worth it.

41. What is the biggest sacrifice you've made for a show?
I sacrificed a great deal of sanity to do the play MARRIAGE with the Classic Theater Company. I would come home from rehearsals and weep.

42. If you could direct your dream show, what would it be?
I'm not really much of a director. I don't think I have what it takes to helm a production. Too many people to deal with.

43. When was the last time you were on stage?
Four or five years ago for AND THE STARS WERE SHINING.

44. Have you ever won an award?
In college I won an award for directing a bang up production of THE MOUSETRAP. It had style.

45. Is there anyone with whom you will refuse to work?
IF I were an actor and IF the circumstance presented it, I would not work with a man named Ed DeLatte. He is evil incarnate.

46. If you were to walk away from theater tomorrow, which friends have you made that you really believe you would take with you and would remain your friends even if they were still involved and you werent?
Well, this question doesn't really apply to me.

47. Of all the phone numbers stored in your cell phone, how many are theater people?
Most of my friends are involved in the arts.

48. What is your most random prop story?
I don't think I have one.

49. What is your most random set story?
I had to hide in a water barrel for 20 minutes in summer heat, just to make an effective entrance as Huck Finn in TOM SAWYER. I almost passed out.

50. What would make you stop doing the theater?
Over the years, when people ask me why I stopped acting, I have always said the same thing: "I found something better". I meant my life as a photographer. I will tell the absolute truth, now:

I stopped acting because I was uncastable. I was too efete and too ethnic to play any leads in the theater community of the 80's in Dallas, Texas--the buckle of the bible belt. I couldn't get the parts I wanted. I couldn't sing well enough to get into musicals and I wasn't focused enough on dance to get the gigs that required me to dance. I will not lie: I was a great actor. But only one who could play Christopher Wren or Larry or Willy Wonka: fags and characters. I wanted to play leads and I couldn't get them. So, finally, tired of the struggle and the rejection, I was considering retiring. My photography was doing alright -- I would still have an artistic outlet. Then, a close friend of mine who had a theater company did something that closed the deal for me.

For almost a year, my friend had been telling me to come audition for a Moliere play. I always insisted that I couldn't do Moliere, that I was better with modern plays. After much persuasion, I did go to the audtion and I gave a bang up performance, reading for a secondary character. I was called back for the lead. I was put through many hoops and I got through them, with ease. I did not get the part. This didn't bother me. I had gotten used to this routine. However, my friend cancelled our weekly breakfast date on me. Then she cancelled another social engagement with me. She did so for three weeks. She stopped calling me--I assumed because she couldn't face me. I never got the call saying "thanks for auditioning but we aren't hiring you". I did get the call to set up the photo shoot for the play, though.

When faced with the question of whether or not I wanted to act or wanted to retain friendships without conflict, I decided that friendship was more important. If auditioning for friends meant they were going to avoid me when they couldn't hire me, then I needed to stop auditioning. So I did. I quit acting because of that friend's behaviour and I never looked back.

These days, when I think about my past life as an actor, when I think about my part time life as a photographer, when I think about my full time life as an executive's housespouse, I can say, with full conviction:

I found something better.

please note that the photo above was a publicity still from AND THE STARS WERE SHINING, the last play I performed in. the cast seen is Steve Spraragen, Niceto Festin, Malan Breton, Diana Brown and myself. Caleb Lane Wray was featured but not available for this photo. I do not know the photographer's name.

I Am In LOVE

THAT'S IT. I am NEVER eating again.

And you can find me at the gym 24/7.

And PS. WHERE did he find the swimsuit that I have been looking for for the past decade?!

We Have To Believe We Are Magic Part Two

This is a continuation of a story I started on my MySpace blog. For part one, please see the link to the MySpace blog in my profile. Thanks. SM

I was reading a book about magic. It wasn't a book about magic tricks; it was a book about black magic. The books about magic tricks had already been observed and now I was onto the real thing. I was going to teach myself to be a witch--a warlock, I had read, was what a boy witch was called. There was much knowledge to be absorbed with regards to the world of magic and I needed to learn it all, in order to fullfill my wish; and I believed that I could learn it, that I could accomplish this minor task and become a practioner of the dark art of magic, though I would have to find a way to make it not be a dark art, to be, what I would soon read, was called a white witch.

I was eight years old.

Literature, film and television were the only friends this little boy could claim throughout most of his existence, up til that point and, indeed, for years beyond that. The fantasy world created for him and by him made for some extremely exciting times. THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE, CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTOR, THE LITTLE WHITE HORSE and THE TALKING PARCEL were repeated reads, while the films that were seen on screens big and small during his formative years were DOCTOR DOLITTLE, CHITTY CHITTY BANG BANG, THE WIZARD OF OZ and BEDKNOBS AND BROOMSTICKS. If these works of art on paper and celluloid were to be believed, then magic was everywhere and could turn up in the most unlikely of places. Who knew when a car driving over a body of water might, suddenly, fly off of the bridge and sprout wings? At any moment a big wind could lift enormous house off of the property in Ohio and catapult us into technicolor? And if the words to the spell could be learned and incanted correctly, the Christmas tree might just sprout feet and begin to walk. There was world of magical possibilites, if only one believed strong enough.

That was me for much of my childhood. Even as I grew into my teens and learned that I would never be able to practice what I had read in those books I had checked out from the library, there was a room in my heart where the little boy lived, watching those mystical movies and reading those supernatural stories, still thinking that anything was possible. Into adulthood, when people asked me to do something for them that seemed impossible, my reply would be "of course I can...didn't you know that I am magic?" And then I would follow mortal avenues to satisfy their request and the people in my life began to believe that I actually WAS magical. I had not learned how to perform true black or white magic--but I HAD learned to do magic tricks. I was able to make the impossible come true by using smoke and mirrors and let the people who witnessed it think that it was theurgical.

I stopped believing, though. Life got me down and I found myself bitter and jaded and unable to believe in magic anymore. I stopped seeing the whimsical side of life, of day to day life. In my heart, there was a crystal box, like the coffin in which Snow White was laid, where the little boy had placed all his belief in magic and that box was opened only when Rachel came out or something truly special was happening on the tv screen--something where the good guys won and the bad people got what they had coming to them. The little crystal box was rarely opened up in the world outside of two-A.

Until recently.

The theater is a magical place where astounding things happen. These days very little magic is happening in the theaters of New York City. I have stopped going to the theater because it is too expensive to go see shows that make me wish I was back in Dallas at the Dallas Children's Theater, where more art is created than on the stages of Broadway. Even with a half price ticket, money is a commodity too precious to waste on the likes of LENNON, RING OF FIRE and GOOD VIBRATIONS. Even shows that aren't just jukebox musicals have left the world (and myself) disillusioned with the level of quality that the Broadway community is presenting. As a grown up with a big, a really big, child living inside of him, I long for the magic and the majesty of the theater that I used to see. Like the magic inside of me that I have lost, I want it back--the magic of the theater. I want it back, badly.

There is nothing majestic about the production of THE TWO AND ONLY. It is a tiny show in a tiny theater with one man and a cast made up of his friends--all ventriloquist's puppets. The majesty, every bit of it, comes in the MAGIC that Jay Johnson creates with his talent and his whimsy. And magic, it is. Sitting in that theater, watching him bring to life all those characters, I felt the lid on the crystal box come open and the little boy, long inside crying "I'm still in here..", poke his head out and begin to laugh...

There is, though, much majesty at the New Amsterdam Theater on 42nd Street. Walking into that glorious edifice, the architecture and the interior design, the reminiscences of theatrical times gone by, a person cannot help but be transported into the past, into an era when theater was an art to be revered...not like it is now, one that people dismiss by talking during the play and answering their cellphones. The decor of that entire arena makes it a whimsical experience before the curtain even rises on MARY POPPINS.

Sitting in my seat in the fourth row, beside my dearest friend, Ken Bloom (who was treating me to the performance of POPPINS), I felt like a child being taken to the theater for the first time. The din of the crowd became a steady flatline in my head, where nothing was discernible, as I gazed up into the mural on the ceiling, high above, losing myself in the muted colours illuminated by the intricate light fixtures of the pile. The safety curtain was a drawing of the home in which the action would take place: a home all children know and love--and, indeed, under the drawing were the words 17 Cherry Tree Lane.

The lid was off the crystal box. Proof of magic was soon to begin.

And magic, it was.

We have, all of us, seen the legendary Disney film MARY POPPINS. We have, most of us, fallen in love with it. We have, all of us, loved Julie Andrews in one film or another. Bringing MARY POPPINS to the stage was a tricky, a risky venture. The producers kept songs from the film (by the Sherman Brothers--not complex like Mr Sondheim but sophisticated in their own way and more human than many a composer of songs for the musical theater/movie) but added new songs by composers George Stiles and Anthony Drewe. In their smartest move, the producers went back to the original source material, the novels by P.L. Travers. The suffragette storyline from the film has been dismissed, as well as greater focus being placed on the parents and their personal problems. Mrs. Banks (played by one of my very favourites, the glorious and gorgeous Rebecca Luker) has some depth and a backstory that might surprise audiences, as does Mr Banks (the delightful Daniel Jenkins), who is shown to have a vulnerability and crippling fears unseen in the character before. There are characters missing from the movie (like Uncle Albert) and new (and welcome) characters introduced by beautiful actors who are staples of the Broadway community, like Ruth Gottschall and Mark Price. And of course there are the characters we remember and love like the birdwoman and Mrs Brill, played by beloved actors Cass Morgan and Jane Carr. It is a lovely cast of talented actors who bring to life a world of watercolour and whimsy, of music and magic, yes, magic.

In order to make the production a success, they HAD to divorce themselves from the movie as much as possible. It would have been difficult for audiences to buy into an exact replica of either the film or of Poppins, herself. By stepping away from the entity that we have all known and loved, they gave themselves a sporting chance at having their audiences see this as a new venture, a new work of art. For example.. Mary Poppins does not slide up the bannister when she first arrives. Neither does she fly in for her first appearance. Oh, I'm not saying that she doesn't fly; I'm not saying that there isn't magic; I'm not even saying that she doesn't slide up the bannister. I'm just saying: when you go to see MARY POPPINS, don't let your mind wander. The magic turns up as unexpectedly as Poppins, herself, does and if you aren't paying you attention, you might miss some magical moment that, catching the last second of, will make you kick yourself for looking down at your Playbill. When Poppins enters the nursery for the first time she doesn't sing SPOONFUL OF SUGAR, she sings a wonderful new song called PRACTICALLY PERFECT. Don't get upset. The song appears in a later scene. The JOLLY HOLIDAY number is still in the story but gone are the cartoon characters, the carousel and the horse race. In its place are other colourful characters and unexpected adventures.

And this is (maybe) what I love most about MARY POPPINS. The creators did not turn the New Amsterdam Theater into an amusement park. There is no chandelier. There is no staircase, no helicopter, no electronic pyrotechnic to bring to life the magic. It is all done with good, old fashioned theatrical technique. The watercolour painting comes to life through sets, costumes, colourful bolts of fabric used in imaginative ways, lighting changes and character development created by actors. There is trickery on the stage but no trickery that I can see isn't completely and absolutely something that could have been created with a little imagination 100 years ago. One hundred years ago Maude Adams played Peter Pan. Peter Pan flew. It would be ridiculous to say that Mary Poppins doesn't fly in the play. Everyone knows she is going to fly--it wouldn't be MARY POPPINS if she didn't. But the magic that makes her fly is not much different, now, than the magic that made PETER PAN fly in 1906. THAT is what I love about MARY POPPINS.

Art, real art, requires limitation. If you are making a movie and the studio gives you 40 million dollars, you can do anything you want. That's when people become lazy. If you are making a movie and the studio gives you 1 million dollars, you have really think about what you are going to do, how to do it within your budget, how to make magic with limited resources. I'm not saying that the producers of MARY POPPINS scrimped on their budget. Indeed, you can see, on the stage, where every penny has gone. The Bob Crowley sets and costumes are beyond extraordinary--in both their simplicities and the complexities. The lighting, the makeup, the choreography (Matthew Bourne!), all of it, every marvelous moment, all led by Richard Eyre in the director's seat, is no more than theatrical artistry. It is knowledgable and reverent craftsmanship at work, rather than an amusement park ride. And THAT is proof that magic still exists.

When you can make a jaded and cynical 42 year old man cry seven times during the course of an evening at the theater, you are an artisan of the highest order.

And cry, they made me do. Every single one of them; but I have to say it--especially did Mary Poppins and Bert make me cry. I didn't know if I would like Ashley Brown. There was much said around the theatrical community about the fact the London's Poppins, Laura Michelle Kelly, would not be doing the show on Broadway, even though the original Bert, Gavin Lee, would. I had seen clips of Kelly on the internet and I had listened to tracks from the cd for a long time. I admit it: I was disappointed that I would not be seeing the original stage Poppins. Well. Shame on me. I am in love with Ashley Brown. She is gorgeous. She is the right combination of stern, humourous, cheeky, playful, strong, feminine and sexy. Ooooh, yeah. Mary Poppins is sexy. There are a couple of moments when she and Bert are alone together that you think he is going to grab her, whisk her up into his arms and carry her up a staircase the way Rhett Butler did to Scarlett O'Hara. Whew! They ARE McSteamy! Oh, and by the way, the girl can sing. I suspect Julie Andrews would be giving Miss Brown three snaps in a Zorro formation, if she were at a performance of MARY POPPINS. And as for Gavin Lee... OF COURSE he had to come to Broadway with this show. Nobody else should play this part. I just don't think anyone could be quite as charming and quite as ruggedly welcoming to an audience. Nobody could dance the way he does, in the places he does, quite so magically. Not for this eight year old.

Oh. I was an eight year old. I sat next to Ken Bloom, bouncing in my seat and clapping, like the little girl in the famous clip from Sandy Duncan's flight as Peter Pan. I wept over simple theatrical trickery that proved to me that there is still magic in the world. Magic exists in two theaters on Broadway right now.. a small one and a big one. And if there can be magic in two places, in one city, three blocks away from each other, every night at eight.... then there could be magic anywhere, at any time. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I grew up and let the cold harsh light of reality take away from me something that was an integral part of who I am. If I let the real world relieve me of my belief in magic, then maybe I also let the real world remove from me the part of me that is magic. THE TWO AND ONLY and MARY POPPINS opened my eyes to the existence of magic. Perhaps there is a chance that I might, myself, be magic, once more.

Please note that the last three photos above, from MARY POPPINS were taken off of the internet and that the photo credit given online is for Walter McBride. Bravo! Mr McBride! They are beautiful! The photos that appear before Mr McBride's photos were also taken off the internet but no photo credit was shown. With apologies to those photographers--also beautiful work!

Metamorphoses

It has been said, and by many, that the lesson is in the journey. It is not the destination that is important so much as the path that is taken to get to the destination. It has taken me a long time to realize the validity of that statement, the truth that lies therein, but the fact has crept into my mind, into my being and I have surrendered to the journey. Whatever it is that happens, every day, I try to accept it and to learn what there is in each moment that I am meant to absorb into this crazy quilt that is me. The lessons have shocked me, have surprised me, have disappointed me; I cannot, though, ignore them.

How do I allow myself to be absolutely honest about the vistas I am seeing each time that my eyes are opened for me, lately? To be honest would be misconstrued by many. To be secretive would be untrue to the integrity of my being. I know not where to start…

I have been criticized, recently, online and by a stranger for being egomaniacal and thinking that the people around me have nothing better to do than sit around thinking up ways to sabotage me. I promise that I have thought nothing of the kind. There is greatness in the way perception works and everyone’s perception is different. I don’t perceive that my thinking worked that way; indeed, I have perceived that the real problem is only in that people don’t care. Indifference is more painful than hatred. The indifference of people that I have encountered in my life has left more scars on me than any wounds earned in outright battle. That is my suitcase. It belongs to no one else and I ask nobody to carry it for me or attempt to unpack it. If I write about my damages in a journal—whether it be the leather bound ones on my desk or the public ones on the internet—it is simply my desire, my need to work out some issues, some thoughts in my head, through writing. The writings are, after all, in my journal. I make them public because I can learn from comments people make, advice they may leave and because I continue to need some kind of attention for (what I, even now, maintain is) my artwork. I’m not shooting that many pictures these days—the writing I do is the only artwork I am creating. As with all art, there will be people who don’t like it. I suppose I should welcome their comments but I don’t. I feel like; if someone doesn’t like what I write, they should stop visiting my blogs. So there. I have said what I feel, what I think, and I will also say that because of the criticisms, I am afraid to write honestly.

Courage is being afraid of something and doing it anyway. That’s what Pat says. So, in spite of being afraid to write what is in my heart (and worse, what is in my head), I cannot help but put pen to paper, fingertips to keyboard and let the language flow…

There is much change in the air in Two-A. It is part of the journey. I have never tried to stop change; I’ve embraced it and championed it. As a matter of fact, I have leapt into the unknown, into danger—Pat has always said I rush in where angels fear to tread. That’s how we ended up living in New York City…

In the early 90’s Pat was still working as an actor. I had long since retired from the career that I had wanted since the age of six. I say he was working as an actor, even though the work was drying up. In one year we watched eight Equity theaters close. He was dying a slow death, artistically, unable to find work and unable to survive the increasing loss of morale. I knew that we had to make a change. So in November I began telling people that we were moving to New York City. It wasn’t until January that the story got around to Pat. One evening, a calm and peaceful one, he came home from work and we were doing that routine that every couple has-it’s different for each couple but the same in its intent. How was your day, dear. I ran into someone we haven’t seen in awhile. Did you remember to mail that birthday present to Aunt Suzy?

I heard the strangest rumour today…

“Really? What rumour was that?”

It’s the first time someone has ever told me a rumour about myself. Someone told me that they heard we were moving to New York.

“Oh. I’m sure they did.”

Why would someone hear a rumour like that?

“Because I have been telling everyone that we are moving to New York.”

Why would you do that?

“Because I knew you wouldn’t want to if I asked you. Now you have to because if we don’t, everyone will think we’re big fat liars.”

We were living on 49th Street by October 1st.

It was a time of great change. There has been an ongoing stream of change for us, these last twenty years; but there have been a handful of times when the change could be considered great. The move from Denton to Dallas; the move from Dallas to New York. Pat’s retirement from the acting profession, my becoming sober. The systematic loss of more than fifty percent of our circle of friends. These are the events that I would call times of great change, for when the time has run its course, we have been changed as people; and like I said before—I am in favour of change. I enjoy the journey, the evolution, the adventure.

When I met Pat, he was a slightly shy man who hid behind the characters he played onstage and the jokes he told offstage. He left Denton because I wanted to. He became an employee at the General Cinema North Park 1 & 2 and worked his way up from ticket taker to management. We saw a lot of free movies and added some great one-sheets to my movie poster collection. He worked on the Dallas Forth Worth stages for one glorious year solid and then, for awhile, worked from time to time when the right gig came along. The acting work became less frequent and, finally, just dried up. He left Dallas and came to New York because I wanted to. Within the first eight months he gave up his acting for two reasons: 1) to find out who he was and what in life made him happy—other than acting 2) to support me while I created The Sweater Book because he believed in me and in that project. He was a bathroom attendant at Planet Hollywood for an amount of time long enough to addle the brain of man, woman or idiot savant. When he left that post, he became a temp agent, moving from company to company, as a good temp does—and that wasn’t easy for him because he has hated change since he was a boy and his family moved in the middle of a school year, causing him great distress. Through his work as a temp, he developed computer skills one must get in an institution of higher learning and a knowledge of office work and politics that one reads about in books; and in a few short years he was working for one of the biggest advertising agencies in the world. He learned about advertising and about INTERACTIVE advertising. He was good at his job and well liked. A few years had passed before that agency’s biggest account cut back on their advertising and one hundred fifty people were laid off. He was number one hundred forty eight. There was a period of time when he collected unemployment and was with me at home, which I sort of enjoyed but which also made me sort of crazy. Within the year he was working as a project manager for a dot com business. There he was and there he stayed.

Until nine days ago.

Comparatively, my story has more turns but less distance traveled. I was a brat as a child, who decided that he was fabulous enough to be a movie star. By the age of 20 I realized I could not be a movie star---I was too effete and I was too ethnic; so I would be an actor, instead. By 24 I had given up. I had given up on dancing because I wasn’t good enough; I had given up on acting because I couldn’t get cast as anything but Christopher Wren in THE MOUSETRAP or Larry in BURN THIS. I tried to run a catering business but I couldn’t balance the books and I couldn’t make a cheese soufflé; so I gave it up. I tried to run a photography studio but I kept doing free photo shoots for my friends and I didn’t have a good enough darkroom technique to satisfy my paying clients. I sold books for a year and quit to work in a box office at a theater. I left that job to work box office in another theater. I left that job to work box office/front of house (and do free photography) for another theater. I left that job to stay at home and drink. Several months later I found myself sober and working as assistant house manager at the biggest theater in Dallas. A year later I was made house manager. It was the first time I was comfortable at a job and the first time I was good at a job. The pressure of responsibility got to me, though, and seven months later I stepped down: my assistant became house manager and I became assistant house manager and began planning our move to New York. By October I was living in Two-A. I had managed to work, unsuccessfully, in the arts for my entire adult life. Now I was in New York, arguably the most (or at least one of the most) artistic cities in the world. Where would I go next? I worked at Planet Hollywood as a bathroom attendant for a few months; then I was a chiropractor’s receptionist for a few months. After that, though, it became clear that I should focus on The Sweater Book and that is what I did and after over a decade of work, I saw that project come to a close with the publication of the book, which nobody bought. I don’t know where the copies went but they did not go into the hands of the public. My friends and family bought copies and I have 200 copies (well, now it is about 170—I have given many away to charities wanting to auction off a signed copy), and there have been a few strangers who bought copies. I was (considered by some) an artistic success. I was not, according to my bank book, a financial one. During the years I was living in New York, I attempted to run a photography studio but the business ebbed and flowed—one, clearly, more than the other. No one would hire me. I couldn’t get a shoot and I couldn’t make my advertising work; and the clients I did have either couldn’t be made happy or made me crazy. I had tried to retire from photography on more than one occasion but I always went back to it. I missed it. I needed to work. I needed to create art. I needed to pay my bills and didn’t know how to do anything else.

Two years ago, under the crippling feeling of failure caused by the experience of releasing a book without fanfare, a book no one seemed to be able to publicize, a book no one (outside of my circle of friends) seemed to want to buy or even seemed to like, a book that cost my household seventy thousand dollars to make and which netted less than ¼ that sum for the charities promised funds from the book, I began to question my existence. I looked at my career as a photographer for money, which was even less satisfying than the artistic venture called THE SWEATER BOOK because, at least with the book, I was given a chance to work with the celebrated artists whom I admired so. It became very clear that what I needed to do was find a new career path. So I retired. I began a renovation of our home which, two years later, I still have not finished. I began studying to be a personal trainer but I could not memorize the ACE personal trainer’s manual. I wrote and I took care of my loved ones and I went to the gym and got in shape. But mostly I just took care of Pat and tried to be the best spouse I could. When the fact that we were a one income household in New York city began to be a problem, I sold my personal belongings on Ebay. It was difficult but it was necessary and, after all, they were just things. Finally, I found an inner strength and came to grips with my failure and decided to be a man and go back to work. I began working on new books, hopefully ones that people would pose for and ones that publishers would publish and that the public would buy. I re opened my studio and began doing headshots again. During the two years I was gone, headshots changed. They were colour now. They were digital now. They were more portrait-like and more interesting. I had to learn to take the new brand of headshots and I had to shoot a bunch to put in a three thousand dollar ad I was going to run and in the portfolios I was going to need. I did it. Did it all and had a marvelous time doing it. I found out that I could grow as an artist and change with the times.

Then it happened.

At forty four, Pat Dwyer was woo’d away from his comfortable job of five years, away from project management for the dot com where he had friends and complacency. He was courted by a company that wanted him so badly that they have told him that during the four interviews they had with him, they were trying to think of ways to impress him so that he would come to work with them. He was trying to think of ways to impress them, not knowing how much they wanted to impress him. He was nervous about being considered too old. He was worried about not having a college degree. He was scared that he was going to get his hopes up and not get the offer.

He got the offer.

My Pat..my spouse..my partner in crime and life has left his job in favour of a career. He has been offered an important position with one of the largest advertising agencies in the world. The salary they offered him took our collective breath away. They gave him an office (which he shares with a woman he likes a lot) and they gave both of us insurance benefits. There is potential for advancement and the next step up for him would be vice president. He is stunned but he has handled the transition with grace and aplomb. It is only late at night, in the blue green glow of the midnight moon, or early in the day, in the cool grey of the dawn, that he says things like “I don’t even have a college degree” or “At times it is hard for me to believe..” The rest of the time he puts on his game face and goes to the races. This is his time. It is his adventure. This is his Sweater Book.

I remember, every day, and have been remembering (since the day he told me, just weeks before the release of The Sweater Book) that he gave up his dream of being an actor to support me while I pursued my artistic dream. He gave up his dream so that I be an artist, so that I could create that book. There is a scale and it is tipped in one direction. It is now my time to make a sacrifice for the person I love and who loves me, both more than anyone or anything else in the world. The truth of the matter is, I can’t get a celebrity to pose for me. I have been sending out invitations to people to pose for one of my new books and a few have said yes but an even fewer number have actually MADE it in front of my camera. They know my first book flopped. Being in one of my new books is a nice IDEA but not an important one. I’m the photographer who failed and everyone knows it. I did get to work with Judi Dench and her family for one of my books. And I have gotten to work with wonderful young Broadway talents like Matthew Morrison, Ann Harada, Jennifer Gambatese, Deidre Goodwin, Shoshanna Bean, Eden Espinosa, Ramona Keller, Stephanie D’Abruzzo, Max Von Essen, Stephanie Block and Romelda Benjamin. I’ve done some shoots with stars like Alan Cumming, Anita Gillette, Kristine W, Deborah Cox, Brian d’arcy James and Cady Huffman. I have shoots coming up with Joanna Gleason and (my beloved and favourite) Jill Clayburgh. And of course I am always doing photos for my sweet and treasured Donna Murphy. There ARE things happening; but they are happening very slowly. And the beautiful three thousand dollar ad came out and since that happened I have had one call from a potential client. One. The only difference between two years ago when I couldn’t get a job and now is that it doesn’t matter. If the work comes, it comes. If the celebrities call, they call. I will be here. I will be ready to do their photos, for pay or for play, when people call me. I ain’t goin anywhere. BUT. I have a bigger job, now. I have a more important job. I can be an artist on my own time, on my own turf, on my own terms. I can do that during my off-hours from the job that I am SUPPOSED to do, the thing that I have learned I am BEST at, that which no one does as well as I do.

I am content to fill my position as the Executive’s Spouse.

It is my turn to support him. I will be at every company function, I will know the names of his team and his supervisors. That man will have a freshly cooked provision of hot food to take with him every day, for the four meals he must consume at work. If he works late, I will be at the gym when he is finished at work, ready to be a good work out partner. His clothing will be clean and pressed when he needs a sharp outfit, his house will be spotless when he comes home from that office and the bitch is on time when he says he is ready to leave the house. I am already involved in the decoration of his office at work and every Wednesday he will have freshly baked brownies, muffins, cookies or anything else that he wants to take in to his team to say thank you for your hard work. If he needs an extra pair of hands to carry things to that office, my hands are his hands. If he leaves his cellphone at home, there is door to door deliver of that sucker, within the half hour. You’ve never SEEEEN a better HouseSpouse than the one you are about to see rise up off of the half shell that is Two-A. And when this Executive’s Spouse is seen in public or at the office, you can bet he is going to be well turned out. I, now, have the opportunity of living out my (and Pat’s!) lifelong dream of being a trophy boy. I will be on a diet 365 days a year and my ass will be on that treadmill an hour every day. When they see him with me, people will think we are the gay Donald and Marla—with better hair and no divorce. My career will be my part time hobby, designed to bring in extra income (which is always nice but, now, not necessary) and designed to give us a chance to work with those lovely people who actually WANT to work with me, be they celebrities or humbles, rather than the ones I have to work with because we need the money. I have beautiful and marvelous young people who come to me, fresh out of school, needing a good headshot and unable to pay the extreme fees photographers charge for headshots. Now, I don’t have to worry about sending them out there to get substandard headshots that they can afford. I can say “what would YOU like to pay for a headshot?” I can work on a sliding scale, helping the future of the business get started, rather than focusing on overcharging kids for pictures just so I can pay my bills. I have my future vice president covering the bottom line while I create affordable headshot art for the people who need it. It’s a perfect arrangement, I think. Everyone wins.

I like when everyone wins. That’s why I love movies like WORKING GIRL and DREAMER and CINDERELLA MAN, where the credits roll over the swell of triumphant music and the hero laughs or cries or both.

I am not the one laughing and crying today. That is Pat. Because he is the hero of this story. He is my hero. He has saved me. He saves me every day and he has done so for twenty years. He has saved me in every way that a person can be saved. And even though he doesn’t (actively) need saving right now—I am here. I am here to support, to save, to be. To be any and everything that he needs me to be. I am so proud of my little Irishman who doesn’t have a college degree, who pulled a Tess McGill and got out. He was a temp and he will be a VP. THAT is journey. THAT is change.

Now.

Let the River Run….

Shiner

The following is a piece I wrote for my MySpace blog but since I can post photos here, I HAD to show it, and the picture we shot, on BlogSpot.


I have a black eye.

I'm forty two years old and I have my very first black eye. No. I didn't get into a fight. No..I have not been the victim of spousal abuse. Neither did I bump into an open kitchen cupboard in the middle of the night or drop something on my face at the gym.

I got a black eye because of skim milk.

Friday night I wanted to have milk with dinner. It was a late dinner--after ten pm--and I just had to have skim milk to go with it. So I was making a run to the corner store to get some skim milk and as my foot landed on the sidewalk in front of my building, I looked across the street and I thought I saw Christopher Gatelli and Stephen Bienskie. These are dear and beloved friends whom I haven't seen in awhile. I wasn't sure it was them, though. It was dark and they were walking on a part of our street where no streetlamp shines. I walked in tandem with them on opposite sidewalks, wondering if I should call out to them or if I was imagining that it was really them. Would I be one of those people who waves at a stranger, thinking it was someone I knew? Or should I just

WHAM!!!!!!

I heard a noise, like in the cartoons, that went

KA KLAAAYAAAYAAAYAAAYAAAAAAAAAANGGGG!!!!!!

and I collapsed on the ground.

I had walked into a street sign.

I didn't just walk into a street sign; I walked into the hard, pointed edge of a street sign with such force that the contusion on my head was immediate. I reached up and felt swelling that was at least a quarter inch big. I could not get my eyes open but I was sure that if I could, I would see stars. When I did get them open I saw a man walking toward me and I wondered why he was still walking. Had I been traveling a sidewalk and seen a man walk into a street sign, I would have sat right down where I stood, laughed and pointed. I am sure that, somewhere on this street, someone was holding up a sign that said 9.9--taking off one mark because I was NOT knocked out cold. It was, truly, idiotic and I deserve to have been laughed at, pointed at and judged. It is not every day someone walks into something on the street; and they don't know what I was looking at. Anyone who saw it, must have thought I was cruising someone. THAT is worthy of walking into a street sign and falling down.

Yesterday I had a headache and some swelling and a little gash and I got through the day.

Today, though, after sleeping ten hours, I awoke with a blue/purple/red/pink swollen eye.

I have to go, now, though. CINDERELLA MAN is on cable and I simply must watch...

THIS Is Living!

This morning I sat down at my computer and on the aol welcome site I saw a blurb about Kirstie Alley appearing on the Oprah show in a bikini. Naturally, I was curious. Pat and I are devoted Alley fans and have been for an extremely long time. It was difficult for us, as health and fitness fanatics and as people who love her, to see her let herself get so out of shape. It went much deeper than the fact that she has always been gorgeous--we were deeply bothered by the fact that her health was at risk and also by the indication of unhappiness that is shown by so massive a weight gain. However, we cheered her decision to make the most out of her predicament by creating the show FAT ACTRESS and then by becoming a Jenny Craig spokesperson. We have thrilled each time that she has been shown in a magazine, thinner and more beautiful than the last photo. We have been with Kirstie Alley, spiritually, the whole way.

Now, this morning, I see this report online. I missed the show. Fortunately, TMX.com has a clip. I watch the clip and I see Kirstie strutting out on the Oprah show in a bikini, to the tune BRICK HOUSE, because a year ago she told Oprah that when she reached a certain weight goal, this is what she would do. She has a wrap around her waist and she, very clearly, will not lower it because she, very clearly, does not want to show her backside. BUT. She made a promise to Oprah and she lived up to it. Now...this is where readers who are faint of heart may want to stop reading because there is profanity on the way.

FUCK A DOODLE DOOOOOOO!!!!

Kirstie Alley is a goddess. I don't care if you don't like her acting. I don't care if you have read that she is difficult. I don't care if her truculent personality turns you off. It is demanded that you respect this woman. She got really fat--morbidly obese--in the public eye and she took the slings and arrows hurled at her. She said she would lose the weight and she did. She said she would walk in the bikini and she did. She made the most out of a bad situation and she is back on top. Even if you don't like her, you're going to have to respect her, that much is clear.

Do you KNOW how hard it is to lose weight? Imagine doing it in front of the world! Hell, I weighed 205 on a 5'8" frame. I went from 205 to 165 through diet and excercise. When I couldn't get to 145 (which was my goal for my 40th birthday--to weigh what I did when I was 18), I did the rest through starvation. Once it was out that I was anorexic, I had to find a healthier way to manage my weight--or deal with the wrath of overbearing and overly dramatic friends; so Pat hired us a trainer/nutritionist. On the last Sunday in June 2006 I weighed a healthy 155. One month later I weighed in at 170. I had gone on a binge but not a purge and I gained weight. Now I am down to 160. The point I am trying to make is that we are all human and our weight fluxuates (unless we are in the health and fitness FIELD - or the beauty business like models, actors and porn stars) and people will notice it. Pat and I are a part of a small community called The New York Gays and many of them go to the even smaller community The 19th Street Gym. We ALL notice when someone in the club has changed their body type. We can tell when someone has started a cycle of steroids, when someone has gained five, ten, fifteen pounds and whether it is fat or muscle. I am self conscious at the gym if I am not in perfect shape--they have all seen me on the stage at ROXY or on a parade float for Pride, half or almost completely naked. I don't want them watching me get fat and judging me.

Now, imagine being famous and feeling that way. There are people who see surgeons to fix their faces and bodies. There are people who pay expensive professionals to keep them fit. I recently read that Jamie Presley is never happy with her body and often says to herself "get back on that treadmill, bitch!" You go, Jamie. And you go, Kirstie. It's one thing to go and have your freakin stomach removed (WHAT?!!! Who cuts out a major and important organ, to lose weight?! What about putting down the pizza and going to an excercise class?!) in the public eye and have everyone say 'she'll never keep it off...'. It's another thing to be one of the great beauties, gain all that weight and then lose it in a healthy and natural way. Kirstie Alley has done it, proving to women all over that it CAN be done. Rock on, sister.

Well. Under the TMZ clip of the Oprah show, you can post a comment. The comments regarding Kirstie in a bikini range from really supportive to so offensive. People used phrases like 'thunder thighs' and 'HUGE ass' and 'heffers'...and more. I can't be bothered to get up on my soapbox and wonder why people have to be so mean. I know why people are mean. People are mean because they AREN'T really good at heart like Anne Frank said. People like being mean. They love making fun and taking the pot shot and pointing their fingers. They do it because it is easier than showing respect or compassion. They do it because they are afraid to turn the mirror around and look at themselves. They do it because insecurity leads the way. I know. I have done it. I have made verbal fun of people in my life--for bad fashion sense, bad hairdos, and more. I even went on my MySpace blog and described what gymwear turns a man into a twat. In an odd bit of synchronicity; Sunday Pat and I saw the film PEACEFUL WARRIOR again (fourth time) and I have been thinking a lot about the moment when Socrates tells Dan that he will never be better than anyone else--just like he will never be less than anyone else. Then, last night at the gym, I saw a man wearing an outfit that made me mutter the word 'twat' under my breath. Then I looked at my own outfit. I was wearing hiking boots, jeans with so many holes in them that you can see most of my legs and most of my underwear, a wife beater and a torn sleevelss shirt. I looked like a construction worker. I looked like a twat. I realized that if I am going to think someone is a twat for the way they dress at the gym, I must accept that I am one, too. AH. Soul growth. So it is not for me to point fingers and say 'you chatterati are being mean spirited!' No. It is for me to point my finger and say this:

--Kirstie! You look beautiful!! No, you do not look like what this country thinks is a perfect woman! You look like a real woman!

--Kirstie! You look mwahvelous!! You are a work in progress and in a year you will feel comfortable throwing that wrap off the stage and showing your beautiful backside!

--Kirstie! You are an inspiration to all of us who want to lose weight, who lost weight and kept it off! Lead the way, sister!

--Kirstie! You are showing the world that ALL women are beautiful! The ones who are rail thin are (well...some of them are a little scary--all those bones!) but the women with hips and a bust are, too! The women over forty, hell, over fifty are! You are FIFTY SIX and gorgeous!!

--Kirstie! You said you would do something and you did it! You didn't shirk your responsibility and take back your promise to Oprah! You are a woman of your word! Brava!

and finally..

--Kirstie! You have acting awards on your shelves at home! You have led the way and you have paid your bills through your commercials for Jenny Craig! Keep up the good work but don't forget to go back to work as the great actress you are and win more awards!

I don't really care why Kirstie did it. I don't care if she could no longer handle the barbs of the public and the reporters... I don't care if she did it for vanity. I don't care if she did it cause she couldn't get an acting job. I don't care if she did it to have a longer life. The fact is: she did it. She is a survivor. She is a warrior. She has changed her life and made her health better and her friends, her family and her fans will have her around a lot longer, now. Brava!

I know why I did it. I am not ashamed to admit that I decided to change my life because I am vain. I was pretty as a child, as a teenager, as a young man. I am not conceited--I say it because it was true. I look like my mother and she is pretty; so it's a foregone conclusion. Then I got fat and I wasn't pretty anymore. In the famous episode of DESIGNING WOMEN entitled They Shoot Fat Women, Don't They?, Suzanne Sugarbaker tells Julia that in this country it doesn't matter what your affliction is--alcohol, cancer, AIDS, whatever--people are sympathetic. UNLESS you are fat. Because if you're not thin, you're not neat. Julia's response is to tell Suzanne that "that face speaks for itself". I agree. There are beautiful women and handsome men who remain beautiful, even when they are overweight. Delta Burke is one of them. But Delta had to lose weight, too, when it became a matter of health concerns. So did Dame Elizabeth Taylor. It should ALWAYS go back to your health. I wanted to be pretty again, so I exchanged fat for muscle. But the bonus is that I can breathe again. I can walk down the streets of New York in August heat without wheezing. My arthritic spine bothers me less. I am more active, more healthy, happier. I stay fit because I am vain; I like being looked at, I like being cruised by men on the street and the opportunity to get laid is a lot greater now! But at the end of the day, when I am talking to my body and thanking it for all the hard work and all the gifts, it thanks me back for making this life easier and better and healthier. It's an Edward Albee and each day I work hard to maintain the balance. I am sure that Kirstie does the same.

I feel badly for the people who don't see the beauty in what Kirstie Alley has shown us, the people who only see the flaws and the distance she has left to go. I see the the distance she has traveled, the journey she is taking and the example it sets for all the people--men and women alike--who wish to take the same journey. And I have news for them:

You can do it. I believe in you.

Hey Mister Dj Put A Record On

In my ongoing fascination with and study of the I'm-an-aging-pop/rock-star-and-now-that-I'm-over-fifty-and-too-old-to-rock-out-so-I'm-going-to-sing-old-standards phenomenon I picked up copies of some new cds this last week. These are cds I have been aware of but simply have not had the time or money to invest in; but which I got a chance to pick up at a discounted price and so, finally (and happily), have added them to my collection.
I remember the first record that I bought in this genre--and, yes, it was a RECORD ALBUM. It was in 1981 and it was a Carly Simon album called TORCH on which the great pop/folk singer songwriter tackled extraordinary works of musical art like I'LL BE AROUND, I GOT IT BAD AND THAT AIN'T GOOD, BODY AND SOUL, HURT, the Broadway tune NOT A DAY GOES BY and my personal favourite from the album I GET ALONG WITHOUT YOU VERY WELL (I am a die hard Hoagy Carmichael fan and a die hard Carly Simon fan--to say nothing of Mr. Sondheim, so this album was a must have for me). The record TORCH remains one of my favourite purchases in my music collection, even as Miss Simon's subsequent albums of standards MY ROMANCE and FILM NOIR do not quite live up to the standard set by the first one. Don't...DON'T get me wrong. I love the other two albums--MY ROMANCE is extremely lush and FILM NOIR is (dare I say it?) wonderfully dark. When I listen to them, though, I program the cd player to skip certain tracks. When I turn on TORCH, I listen to it from start to finish. In recent years, The Great Carly released MOONLIGHT SERENADE, which I have played (from start to finish) over and over and over. The point I am trying to make is that Carly Simon made the transition well, with ease and with great success.

Over the years I have picked up records and cds by stars stepping out of their comfort zone. It has always been the way with Hollywood. Once you are famous, cut a record album and see if you can become a hit in another arena of the business. Who among us can forget that Bruce Willis recorded THE RETURN OF BRUNO to disastrous effect? Richard Harris, on the other hand, had quite a recording career--one that gave the world the original MACARTHUR PARK. As a teenager I spotted the Lynda Carter album PORTRAIT in the record store and, foolishly, did not buy it. I still search for it..anywhere I can. I did, though, buy BOTH of the albums recorded by Cheryl Ladd--THINK IT OVER and DANCE FOREVER and I still listen to them. I love them, as I love her. I own a WONDERFUL cd by Linda Purl, aJoey Lawrence cd and a Jennifer Love Hewitt cd. I also own, and listen to, several Cybill Shepherd cds--but not the album CYBILL DOES IT....TO COLE PORTER, which is a travesty. Cybill Shepherd is, in fact, a singer and a damn fine one. I saw her club act and absolutely enjoyed her. I listen to her on the MOONLIGHTING soundtrack, on VANILLA, TALK MEMPHIS TO ME and SOMEWHERE DOWN THE ROAD and love her vocals. I don't like CYBILL DOES IT... except for her ANYTHING GOES. Among the albums I have by actors, you will find mistakes by Scott Baio, Jeff Conaway, Don Johnson, John Travolta .. and a terrible album of standards and showtunes by my personal diva, Cher. Boo Hoo. There are a couple of nice albums by Keith Carradine and Sissy Spacek and a wonderfully bad disco album by Ann-Margret called LOVE RUSH and I STILL listen to it! Out of respect for one of the greatest actors of all time, I won't criticize ALBERT FINNEY'S ALBUM and I don't own any of Leonard Nimoy's recordings, though Pat and I are IN LOVE with William Shatner's new cd HAS BEEN--it is extraordinary. The search and seizure of recordings by people stepping out of their comfort zone has been one of the great joys of my life.

What I am talking about here, though, are musicians..people who sing for a living, changing their paths. Carly singing torch songs, Helen Reddy singing show tunes, Rod Stewart singing the American songbook. And all with success ranging from don't-do-that-again to Bravo!! And by the way, I know that The Beatles sang TIL THERE WAS YOU and The Mamas and The Papas sang GLAD TO BE UNHAPPY but I am delighted to say this: among the first to re-invent their careers by recording standards were Pia Zadora (PIA AND PHIL--actually a very good record--and I AM WHAT I AM--less good but fun) and one of my personal favourites, Toni Tennille, whose first album of standards, MORE THAN YOU KNOW, is really wonderful and was such a success it caused her to record ALL OF ME, THINGS ARE SWINGIN, INCURRABLY ROMANTIC and some other great records. I think Tennille is one of the great voices. She has some freakin instrument. And speaking of freakin instruments, that pop balladeer, that troubadour, that feminist leader, Helen Reddy, transitioned from Delta Dawn and Angie Baby to a cd of showtunes in which she proves her fifty-ish year old voice is as strong and powerful and as interpretive and expression laden as it was when she sang I AM WOMAN. CENTERSTAGE is one of the albums that proves that a singer CAN go out and change what they do.

The queen of change, though, is the one and only Linda Ronstadt, who sang rock, pop, country, opera, standard, cantatas...the woman, the ARTIST, can sing anything, has sung everything and will continue to amaze me and the rest of the world until she has sung her last note.

This week, though, I picked up Rita Coolidge's AND SO IS LOVE. Now. Rita Coolidge was one of those lovely, lilting, poetic voices of the seventies that just seemed to get lost in the screaming and belting that was the eighties. I seemed to lose track of Rita in the eighties; and I missed her. I always listened to her records. Sometimes they were covers of other people's songs but now and then she had a hit that was all her own. Now, still beautiful on the cover of the cd, she has this cd where she croons (speaking of crooning, Ann Murray has a gorgeous album called CROONIN..it's this type of music and her voice is so well suited to it--though I find an odd lack of emotional content; something that I didn't find when I listened to her country music in the 70s and 80s) smoky renditions of CRY ME A RIVER, DON'T SMOKE IN BED, I DON'T KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT YOU, THE MASQUERADE IS OVER and my favourite of her old hits, the Boz Scaggs song WE'RE ALL ALONE. Very happy by this acquisition was I. I found it to be a satisfying listen.

Now... I cannot say that I like, entirely, Barry Manilow's recordings of old hits and it is what he has been doing a lot, lately. His album of big band music is good but I don't like the Sinatra recordings. Melissa Manchester did a lovely job on TRIBUTE, in which she pays homage to the women who inspired her as a child (including Piaf, Garland and Streisand)--I like this album. Bette Midler has done bang up recordings that salute Rosemary Clooney and Peggy Lee; but even when The Divine Miss M was screaching her way through FIRE DOWN BELOW and STAY WITH ME BABY, she would move concert goers with AM I BLUE? and THE BOOGIE WOOGIE BUGLE BOY. This music is not new to the lady with a voice like French Silk chocolate icing on a Hazlenut butter cake. This is second nature for her.

Singing her tributes to Lena Horne, Dinah Washington, Ella Fitzgerald, Mahalia Jackson and Lady Day, Gladys Knight hits a home run, though not out of the park. You see, for me, Gladys Knight is one of the greatest voices of all time and that voice is completely undiminished by the passage of time (much like the one and only Shirley Bassey who sounds exactly the same today as she did when she started). And Miss Knight's cd BEFORE ME is a work of purest art. I love it, love it, love it. But. And this is a big but... there are times that I was listening to the cd and found myself thinking 'I wish she hadn't ad libbed those additional lyrics' or 'I wish she hadn't gone for the vocalizing acrobatics and opted for pure, simple, honest emotion.' Now....this is me being EXTREMELY nitpicky because, at the end of the day, I love this woman so much and I could listen to her sing songs I don't like. So I am very happy to have this cd in my collection -- but I wouldn't be true to my nature if I didn't say all that I felt.

And saying all that I feel is going to get me in trouble, now....

Speaking of great vocalists, great musicians, one of a kind voices... I'd like to say a few words about Linda Eder's cd BY MYSELF; her tribute to Judy Garland. I know that I am straying from the topic, which is aging rock stars singing standards and show tunes; but I picked up the Eder cd this week and played it on the same day I played the others and my immediate reaction was "alRIGHT!!" She opens the cd with the song BY MYSELF--which Judy Garland recorded more than once. One of her recordings is bright and peppy; but the one I love is from the film I COULD GO ON SINGING and in the moments that she is singing it, she is angry and bitter. Eder has done the RIGHT thing by taking the arrangement RIGHT OUT of the film and singing the song exactly the way Judy did it. It is the more dramatic choice and it shows off her extraordinary voice and her interpretive skills in the best possible way. I am thrilled by the cut, through and through. It starts the cd off perfectly. Then she follows it up with the famous ALMOST LIKE BEING IN LOVE/THIS CAN'T BE LOVE medley from the Carnegie Hall concert. Note for note, exactly the same. Pretty. Nice. But... Hmmm.... Is every cut going to be just like Judy's version? Cause I can just go put on a Judy Garland cd.

What follows is a series of lovely songs like ME AND MY SHADOW and I'D LIKE TO HATE MYSELF IN THE MORNING, medleys of ZING WENT THE STRINGS OF MY HEART/THE TROLLEY SONG and THE BOY NEXT DOOR/YOU MADE ME LOVE YOU (an odd combination, I felt)--all of which seem to have no real emotional content. Amazing technique, no emotion. Uh oh. Judy Garland was THE most emotional singer this side of Billie Holiday--in fact, I think she may have carried more emotion than Lady Day because Judy could do happy, too. Delighted by a tribute song called THE RAINBOW'S END and by ROCK A BYE YOUR BABY in which the great Eder hits it out of the park but totall bummed by a lackluster and stone cold IT NEVER WAS YOU, I was finding the album to be a roller coaster ride of peaks and valleys. Then I got to the final track. It started with the orchestra playing strains of OVER THE RAINBOW but then Eder sang (cleverly, I thought) I'M ALWAYS CHASING RAINBOWS. Brava! Oops. Not over. The song sequed into OVER THE RAINBOW.

This is where I turned the cd off. I love Linda Eder. I respect Linda Eder. I think she is one of our great artists and great stars. I appreciate wanting to pay a tribute to an artist who has affected your life. In spite of shortcomings that I find in this cd, I will listen to it and enjoy it, just as I have every single cd she has ever recorded (GOLD is my favourite). I do want to say this, though, to every singer out there who wants to sing OVER THE RAINBOW.

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Am I being quite clear here? This song has been sung. It has been sung to death. It has been sung, definitively. There is nothing..NOTHING..that anyone can bring to this song that we, the audience, cannot get by picking up our copy of the cd THE WIZARD OF OZ and listening to Judy Garland. I regret having to be so harsh about this and it is, after all, just my opinion. But...

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Don't sing OVER THE RAINBOW. Please. Everyone. Just. Stop.

I am into music and I cherish the singers that bring the music to us. I listen to everyone from Lady Day to Madonna and, always, with joy and respect. It was fun getting to listen to new music and I love these artists who are on a path to grow artistically, to explore the classics and to honour their idols. I am looking forward to the next day that I can spend a little money, a little time and some energy exploring their work and their emotional commitment to the music that moves them. I've recently been made aware of a new Olivia Newton John cd called INDIGO, the opening cut of which is LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME and the final cut, the fabulous ALFIE.

I can't wait!

The Time Is Now

The following is a story I posted on my MySpace blog but, being aware that LGG and one or two other people do not visit that blog, I am posting it here, as well...


LOVE, ACTUALLY is on my television set right now. It is one of my happy movies. Whenever I am in a mood that doesn't fit with the Pollyanna optimism that is (inherently) me, I put in this film or UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN or any one of four or five other films and it lifts my spirits. It is almost foolproof. Tonight I have put it in because I have been out of sorts for about a week--emotionally, mentally and physically. It's just one of those weeks. I think it may be Pouty Male Syndrome. I know I get this way and people who know me know I get this way. Fact of life. So what.

As I type, I can hear the film and I can (in my mind) see the picture on the screen. When there is something I really MUST see, I will run in and actually look at the screen.

I just heard the opening monologue by Hugh Grant and it prompted me to sit down and begin writing. He said (which I have heard a hundred times before) "when the planes hit the twin towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate and revenge--they were all messages of love."

There it is again. Love. I spend a lot of time writing about love and the way it drives us. But today I am not thinking about love, per say, as much as I am thinking about how badly we abuse that most sacred and treasured quality of life. I mean, if (as I have noted so many times in the past) love is the driving force of the lives of men (please, argue with me, prove me wrong--it's all about love, sex, power and money, right?), why do we treat love with so cavalier an attitude? Why do we take love for granted?

"When the planes hit the twin towers......"

Imagine being one of the survivors of passengers on those planes--for that matter, any plane that crashes, any car, any train, any bus or subway... A vehicle crashes and people are killed. A bomb explodes and people are killed. A gun is fired, a knife is slashed, a drunk driver skids... A person trips and falls down the stairs... And someone is dead. And someone else is grief stricken.

I remember when Sergei Grinkov died: his wife, Ekatarina Gordeeva, was doing an interview on television and at the end of the interview, in her beautiful Slavic accent, when asked what message she would like to send out to the fans, she said if you have a loved one, say I love you, one more time. Call them back as they are leaving the house and say I love you, once more. She wished that she had done that with Sergei, wished that she had one more chance to say I love you.

I know that the people in our lives know we love them. But people need to be told. People need to hear the words. It can be a given that your parent(s) love you. You may assume that your spouse loves you. You could remember a time when your best friend said he or she loved you. Do you just take that knowledge and tuck it away to remember, one day, after their plane has crashed or they have slipped on the ice or the doctor has walked in the room with that look on his face? Or do you wish to hear the words again? I love you. Do you say the words to hear the words? Or do you say them because you mean them and you want to let that person know that you have this extraordinary feeling for them? And it is an extraordinary feeling. We who feel love are so lucky to be given the chance to feel it. There are those who do not. There are those who can not express it, even if they feel it. Love is complicated and tricky but it shouldn't be. It should be simple. You feel love, you express love. Isn't that simple? Should it not be that simple?

My self-appointed adopted son once said he wanted to ask me a favour. Of course, I said; whatever you like, I said; how can I help you, I said. He told me "When I say 'I love you', you always say 'I love you back'. It would make me feel better if you said 'I love you' from time to time, on your own. It would make me feel better if you replied with a plain 'I love you' instead 'I love you back'...that feels reciprocal." I understood what he was saying and I changed my habit. Years ago I had switched "I love you, too" to "I love you back" for much the same reasons; but I suppose a plain 'I love you' should do the trick. It should Git R Done. It should be that simple. That was a lesson that he taught me and I will never forget it, until the day I die.

And what about the people left to mourn the ones who die? How many people live, every day, remembering that they didn't get to say goodbye to someone, didn't get to say that final I love you? Pat, for instance, got to be with his mother before she succumbed to cancer and he got to see his father one last time before he, too was recalled. I was not there when my Grandmother died but a few weeks earlier we said our last goodbyes. That kind of closure is, actually, very necessary in this life. My best friend's mother was taken away from him when he was a quite young man and he has talked to me, often, about the pain he lives with because of the loss. I cannot begin to count the number of times I have heard people I know say that they wish they could have one more chance to say I love you to a loved one. I suppose that is why there are so many psychics and mediums in business out there. We all just want that one last chance to say I love you. One more thank you. One last goodbye.

So if we are all aware of this phenomenon, if we all know that there is always a chance that a loved one might have an aneurysm, an embolism, a run in with a renegade New York City tourbus or a psychopath in a bell tower, then WHY do we ignore, neglect and, generally, mistreat the people that we love, the people who tell us that they love us? Our parents age and they die and, yet, we don't spend time with them, we don't phone them, we don't email them, we don't sit down over coffee in the morning and say "hey. mom. are you happy? did you get to do everything you wanted to do in this life?" and "pop, did you get to have your dreams come true or did my siblings and i cause you to have to put them aside?" Why don't we talk? Why don't we want to know each other, know ABOUT each other? Why are friendships casually placed on hold and left to die, only to haunt us in two or three years, leading us into feeble and unsuccesful (not to mention painful) attempts at rekindling something that didn't die but that we killed? First we kill the relationship and then we kill the person. In his book THE FILM OF MEMORY, Maurice Druon writes that 'people die because we let them'. It's true; I believe it. There is such a thing as dying of a broken heart. It is caused by a loss of morale, a loss of will of life, that a person feels when they look up at three o'clock, one day, and realize that no one has called, no one has come for a visit, no one has noticed that they are still here, crying silently "hey...remember me?...i'm still here..." We ignore our loved ones, focusing inward on ourselves, and when their roots have withered and died and the nutrients can no longer reach the heart the beats the blood into their lives, their souls, they shrivel and they cease to be. The death notice in the paper reads natural causes but, in the aftermath of their passing, in the cool grey of the dawn, when we think of the people who we loved and who we lost, we know that we killed them.

THAT is a moment for which there is no closure, no absolution.

It's November. Thanksgiving will be here soon. What are you thankful for? After that it will be December, the season of Peace. There are miracles in this time. Chanukah celebrates miracles. Christmas celebrates a miracle. But we don't get miracles anymore. Those great, old biblical miracles don't happen for us, anymore. Daily, we observe pain and hatred and crimes against nature and humanity. The miracle is that we are given a chance, each time that we open our eyes; we are given another day to fall in love and to tell someone, perhaps someone who will be hearing it for the first time and perhaps someone who will be hearing it for the hundredth time--perhaps someone who will be hearing it for the last time: I love you.

It's a powerful drug--I love you. Shirley Valentine says they should bottle it. I think it is already bottled. We all bottle it within us and we hold it close to our hearts, protecting it and fearing that someone might get in there and steal it and break it and hurt it. We keep it bottled inside and it HAS to get out. That's why our hearts get broken. They are too full of love that we won't let out and the only way that love can get out of us and out into the world is for our hearts to break themselves. That's why I cherish every heartbreak, every wound, every scar. Whether my heart was broken by the movie TITANIC or by the closing of Mike's Bar and Grill, whether it has been broken because I had to tell someone I loved that I disapproved of them or because someone I loved told me they didn't love me, whether it is breaking because I don't believe in heroes anymore or because my friend doesn't believe in me anymore, at least my heart has broken and, maybe, tomorrow, love for my fellow man will come pouring out, once more. Maybe then I will be able to call someone back as they are leaving and say 'I love you', once more, knowing that if they die, suddenly, on their last day on this planet they will have had those magical words wash over them. They are magical words, too; they can restore the sick, the wounded, the dying and give them strength, if even for a moment.

As the great Richard Curtis wrote and the lovely Mr Grant said: Love, actually, is all around...
Now, if we could just respect it.. just a little more.

Just a little more.

please note that I did not do the photo of my in-laws, Buddy & Sue Dwyer but I did do the photo of my parents. These two couples have been examples of true love I have been priveledged to witness in my life.

La Maison De Vil

Deliberate cruelty is not forgiveable.

That's what Blanche Dubois says to Stanley Kowalski just before he rapes her. She speaks not of the heinous act which is about to befall her, for she is not aware of what is coming. Instead she is commenting on the behaviour inflicted upon her by a man who has purported to love her but who, for complicated reasons mapped out in the play, has changed his mind, his point of view; changed his heart.

How do we change our hearts? I understand changing your mind. You think, either reasonably or unreasonably, about an issue and you make the choice to alter your viewpoint, your opinion, your reaction. If you think one way, it is possible to to think another. So changing your mind seems a perfectly natural act in our day to day lives. How, though, do we changed our hearts? How is it possible to stop loving someone, that fast? How is it possible to stop liking someone, in a moment's notice? The heart is only an organ inside our bodies, yet it seems the most powerful force within these bodies, able to override rational thinking and lead us in ways that no other person, no other force, can.

"I don't love you anymore. Goodbye." So says Plain Jane Jones in CLOSER. Moments earlier, she loved Dan. He did something that snuffed out the light within her and in the time it takes to walk out the door, change his mind about going for cigarettes, and walk back in, she has changed her heart.

"I don't love you anymore. Goodbye."

Is it an act of cruelty to say, with such bluntness, that you have changed your heart? Was it an act of cruelty for Mitch to turn the mirror around on Blanche and point out, to her, her fatal character flaws? What is cruelty? According to The American Heritage College Dictionary, cruelty is the quality or condition of being cruel and cruel is defined as 'disposed to inflict pain or suffering'. Suffering is not the same, from one man to the next. Every person's pain is different. If someone's pain is being told by their loved one that they are no longer loved, is that honesty or cruelty? What if the way to inflict pain upon a person is to, simply, criticize the way they look in their favourite outfit? Would a best friend be considered cruel if they told someone 'that outfit is very unflattering on you'? Or are they being a good friend by not letting you go out of the house in a humiliating state of dress? How about this? A man collects first edition novels. He searches desperately for a novel by his favourite author and the novel is hard to come by. A friend who also collects books of this nature has one and acquires a second one. He opts out of giving the second book to his friend. What adjective would you attach to this behaviour? Would the adjective change if he kept the volume to himself, quietly; or if he bragged to the friend about having two? Would the adjective change, again, if you knew that the man who wanted the novel rarely exhibited any acts of generosity toward his friend, the man who had the two books? See? The circumstance changes so quickly, according to the facts of the situation.

When I think of cruelty, I think of people who kick dogs. I think of people who commit acts of violence against women, especially against children, against humanity. There are all different types of cruelty, though. We, as people, say mean things to each other. At times, they are in the name of self defense. We must protect our fragile egos and if we are engaged in a verbal battle with someone, it may become necessary to hurl insults, criticizisms and other painfully constructed sentences. What of the man or woman who threw the first punch? At what point does a fight--and it is human nature to fight; it is how we process our negativity and deal with issues within relationships--become cruelty?

Is it cruel to laugh at another human being? If someone walking down the street, on the other side of the street, trips (and we have all seen it happen) and we laugh at it, is it cruel even though that person didn't hear us laugh? People tell jokes that involve prejudice of many sorts. Bigotry against blacks, whites, asians, latinos; bigotry against Jews, Catholics, Baptists, Moslems; bigotry against people from different countries, people of different physical types, people who cannot see or hear, people of certain ages, people of certain incomes, people.. just people. We tell jokes and we laugh, whether we are (truly) racists or not. A joke is a joke and if we follow the philosophies laid down by Lenny Bruce, they are just jokes. So if the joke is at the expense of a homosexual and there are not faggots in the room to hear the joke, is the joke cruel?

Why are we so cruel? Why do we feel the need to hurt other people? Is it insecurity? Is it power? Does it make us feel better about ourselves? And do people who are, inherently, good have moments when they become just like the rest of us and do something cruel?

I have been cruel. I am sickened by it. I cannot change the fact of it--it's a part of my history. I don't pretend to make excuses and I don't pretend that I didn't know what I was doing. During the days when I drank (and for anyone who didn't know me when I drank, let me just give you a mental image by telling you that Brady Schwind once told me I reminded him of Martha in WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?), I became angry and bitter and I hated the world. My poor, sweet, good Pat Dwyer was inflicted with this horrible person who (sometimes unsolicitedly, sometimes during drunken brawls) said mean and hateful things to him. I remember what it was like saying cruel things to him. I felt like one of those characters in a play or a tv show who can kill with one barb. I would be drunk and think I could banter the way they do in THE LION IN WINTER or think I had the power the great divas like Margo Channing or Alexis Colby had, able to kill with a single sentence. I'd say things I didn't mean, trying to be powerful, impenetrable, impervious but all I did was hurt the one person who has always done nothing but love and protect me.

The examples of divas on film, onstage and on tv were not the only gauntlet thrown at my feet, challenging me to attempt my own brand of cruelty. In the days of my young adulthood, I loved to gossip about people and when rumours in college drama departments start to spread, people get hurt; and freshmen in college are still too young to know how to handle that kind of cruelty--I know because while I was hurting them, they were hurting me. Children in grade school exhibit a different kind of cruelty but I was the butt of that cruelty in those days; perhaps it was there that I learned the cruelty that, later in life, I practiced. My grandfather was cruel. He had a violent temper and he took it out on everyone from my grandmother to his children to his grandchildren. As an adult, I have watched as members of the society within which I (personally) walk exhibit random acts of cruelty. I have seen men in gay bars make fun of strangers, to their face, for their choice of costume. I have watched actors at auditions belittle their fellow performers (usually in the name of psyching them out). I have listened as women have derided their men in front of their circle of friends and I have observed the public humiliation of people by their friends, family, spouses or peers. I have done the same to Pat. He drew it to my attention years ago and I have never, fully, recovered from the knowledge that I coule and would hurt him, humiliate him, so.

I have witnessed the physical abuse of children in public.

The one thing I have never seen, though, is the kicking of a dog.

I had a real interesting experience, recently. A story that I wrote on one of my other blogs sparked a reaction in someone who read it and they sent me hate email. One was a public comment on the blog, haranguing me for what I had written and criticizing my character. The other was a private email in which the stranger (with a profile that disguised their true identity) found (on the internet) and cut & pasted a scathing review that THE SWEATER BOOK got when it came out in 2003. My immediate response was to stop breathing after reading a sentence or two. My second response was to hit delete. And my third response was to laugh at it and forget it. I had read that review when it was written. I have read it, since. It makes me laugh. I'm glad there is someone out there who didn't like my book. It shows me a wide variety of points of view. I let go of the hate emails but, since that day, I have found myself wondering why someone would want to be so cruel? Was it someone I know? Was it a stranger? I'm not losing sleep over it; but it has made me think. If someone is happy to go out of their way to be cruel to me, what about other peoples' perceptions about my having been cruel to them? Oh, no.

During a recent visit Marci was telling me what a good friend I am to her. She wanted to pay me a compliment with a story. She said "when people ask me how can you still be friends with Stephen and Pat? I tell them that you are the best friends I have ever had and my oldest friends." I heard the compliment and I appreciated it and I always will. What I am left with, though, is wondering what we did to make someone ask Marci how she can still be friends with us. Did we do something cruel to someone? God, I hope not. I do not know, though. I know I have alienated people in recent years. That's my suitcase. I know about that. There are people in my life who became toxic and who had to be exorcised. Are those the people who said that to Marci? If I am to be considered cruel because I did something to self protect, then so be it. I remember getting in the middle of a fight between my best friend and his roommate several years ago--shame on me--but the roommate and I have, since, found a peaceful forgiveness and healthy respect for one another. There are people I cut from The Sweater Book before publication but I went to many of them and told them why and made closure. I could make myself sick trying to think of all the people who don't like me--and I know they are out there. In fact, I recently said something rude about someone online. I deserve to be disliked by this person. I edited my statement and apologized--but I still worry about having been cruel, in the first place. Shame on me. I don't want to be that.

A few years ago one of my closest friends (who was a new friend at the time) was sitting with me in my home. He looked at a photo on the wall and said "who is that in that picture?" I told him "that is my best friend, (name omitted for discretionary reasons), and you may not sleep with him." You see, my new friend had (in a very brief amount of time) managed to engage in sexual congress with an extremely large number of people within my circle. I went on to say "I have had a horrible crush on him for many years and for extremely private reasons have never acted upon it. But just because I have not, does not mean that you can. Please do not sleep with him." My newer friend went out, sought out my older friend, seduced him and then called me and told me about it. It destroyed me; but I did what I do and I forgave him and we continued to be friends. Upon hearing the whole story, my best friend shunned the newcomer to our circle, claiming him to be cruel. The cruelty, he said, was not in the seduction but in the confession. It seemed, he said, to be calculated. Deliberate. It's an important word, here. Cruelty can be reflexive. Deliberate cruelty is calculated.

Cruelty. The act of being cruel. It is an art. It is practiced every day by people all over the world. They say that practice makes perfect. Is this the kind of perfection we, as a race, want to showcase? Is this the legacy we wish to leave our children? There are muggers, robbers, rapists and murderers. There are terrorists and politicians who benefit from war. Cruelty is everywhere, it is around every corner, and we all witness it and suffer from its effects. What I don't understand is why we bring it into our personal, day to day lives? Is it something we are taught, something we are bred to observe? And how can we, as a race or as individuals, affect a change in our persons, our existences, and become better people? It's no secret that I am on a path to, a quest for, enlightenment; it is my deepest desire to be a good person. I know I am far from that. I am just a man, a human being, fallible and flawed; but I can work, I can try, I strive for a life in which I am not the perpetrator of cruelty. It will become a new focus in my life, a life that has too much upon which I must focus; this, though, is of utmost importance. I must. not. be. cruel.

I once heard it said that there is no happiness without peace; and no peace without forgiveness.

And deliberate cruelty is not forgiveable.

please note: the photo of Glenn Close as the cruel Isabelle de Merteuil was taken off the internet. photographer unknown.