I Think I'll Go To Heaven

I have returned from Paradise and it was a wondrous place.

You can go to Paradise, too. It isn't hard to get to, isn't hard to find, isn't hard to get back and it, definately, isn't hard to remember it, once you have returned. In fact, if you are lucky and have the right frame of mind and the right artistic temperment, you will remember it for the rest of your life. Here are the directions:

1) Go online or to your telephone

2) Contact the right agengies to get however many tickets you want

3) Get on the 1 Subway

4) Get off at the 68th/Lincoln Center Stop

5) Go to SOUTH PACIFIC.

Not the place, dear heart, the play.

Much ado has been made about the fact that the Rodgers and Hammerstein classic has not been revived on Broadway in fifty four years. I guess that is worth a ballyhoo or two, since almost every other classic musical of the last century has been revived at some point or another - in some cases more times than one really wants to think about (um....GYPSY... again? Well, that's another story, never mind, anyway...). We've seen OKLAHOMA, CAROUSEL, THE KING AND I, THE SOUND OF MUSIC, even FLOWER DRUM SONG revived on the Great White Way; to say nothing of reviews and the screen to stage version of STATE FAIR that ended up using songs from another R&H show, PIPE DREAM. We've seen revivals of the musicals of just about every other composer(s) of the Golden Age of Broadway. But never SOUTH PACIFIC. Regional theaters do the play but, consider it honestly, most of them would rather do THE BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE IN TEXAS or HELLO DOLLY than SOUTH PACIFIC. And why not, why not? WHOREHOUSE and DOLLY have glitz and glamour and women in red dresses. The masses want that kind of entertainment, don't they? Sure, people recognize the merit and beauty of SHOW BOAT and SOUTH PACIFIC; but they also recognize that they are not musical comedies and people love musical comedies. SOUTH PACIFIC is about a dirty beach, a war and racism. Mmmm Mmmm Good. Right?

You bet your Uncle Myron's player piano, mmm mmm good.

I have the answer to the question of why SOUTH PACIFIC has never been revived on Broadway. I have it and I'm going to share it. Is everybody ready?

SOUTH PACIFIC has never been revived on Broadway because the Universe, the heavens, the Gods, the ghosts of Rodgers and Hammerstein and the fates would not have a revival of SOUTH PACIFIC until it could be perfect.

We have been waiting for this cast, this creative team and this production, so that we could have a Broadway revival of SOUTH freakin PACIFIC.

And thank God they have arrived.

I will not, I repeat, I will not review the storyline of this play. I will not, I repeat, I will not review this production. I need not go into any of the details except to say: if you want to know who or what is responsible for the Utopian happening (and, dudes, this is a HAPPENING) taking place at Lincoln Center Theater right now, you have two options.

1) Go see the play.

2) Go to http://www.ibdb.com/ and look at the credits. There are the names of the people responsible.

I will, though, talk about our experience at SOUTH PACIFIC.

The lights dim on the theater and Pat and I are prepared to hear one of the greatest overtures of all time (and I am an overture afficionado), followed up by songs that are so much a part of our country's musical make up that they live inside of our skin and blood (that is, those of us lucky enough to enjoy musical theater). The stage is set and the play begins and we spend three hours gasping, wiping away tears and grabbing each other's hands in an emotional tidal wave that is based (not only on the artistry of the creative artists bringing this ride to us but also) on a feeling that we are involved in something historic. Not only is it historic, this revival 54 years in the making; but it FELT like we were in 1953, watching a new play in a theater that we go to all the time. The themes are still relevant, the songs are still new, the structure of the play and the dialogue is still modern. The staging is uncomplicated and yet intricate, to allow the words and music their opportunities to speak. The performances are honest and non grandstand-y, to allow the characters to come to life (instead of the actors' star values *ahem*). The director and choreographer have taken us back in time to show us how real theater is done.

I'm going to say something now that I didn't want to say but have to, to make a point: there are people who say that musical theater is in trouble. They have been saying it for years and I don't know if it is true. I only know that when I compare this classily put together production of this classical piece of theater, in the classic traditions of classic theater; when I compare the structure of the script and the relevance of the music and lyrics; when I compare the inteligence of the dialogue and the depth of the themes -- when I compare all these things to some of the new productions I have seen on Broadway in the last decade... I see why people say that musical theater is in trouble.

(I will also say that I find wonderful serendipity in the fact that Mr Rodger's grandson, Adam Guettel, wrote a piece that is as (unapologetically) intellectual and lush and relevant, decades after SOUTH PACIFIC and that Mr. Guettel's piece played the same stage with some of the same stars -- and the same director. It has extreme unity for me.)

And speaking of the stars of SOUTH PACIFIC.

Should I, at any time, encounter any of these people in public (including my friend, the extraordinary Matthew Morrison), I may get down on my knees and salam them. They are the living end. When Paolo Szot finishes his Act Two anthem, which directly follows Matthew Morrison's anthem, the audience cannot help but burst into screams of applause, having the emotion from those two songs and two performances build to what can only be described as theatrically orgasmic. Danny Burstein is one of the great treasures of this era of Broadway. Gasp! Did I mention that there is an Asian Bloody Mary?! Loretta Ables Sayre, as an Asian American I am so grateful to you - not to take anything away from the (I have been told - please correct me if I am wrong) African American Juanita Hall but THIS is MY Bloody Mary! And I am completely undone by how in love I am with Kelli O'Hara. I heard that (at one time) Scarlett Johanssen was a choice for this part and all I can say is Thank God that didn't happen. Nothing against Miss Johanssen -- I just think Kelli O'Hara and the universe had this musical theater wedding band on their fingers long before she was born.

When Kelli O'Hara stands onstage (and this is the one and only spoiler and plot point I will discuss here), doing the monologue about wanting Emile to come home, it is just she on that big stage, filled with colour and light from the designers' palates. Just one little blonde girl and some ethereal qualities that fill the air. It fills the theater. SHE fills the theater. It felt like I was back in time, watching the first, and only, Nellie Forbush on opening night.

Paradise.

Did I mention that I have been to Paradise this week? I have been. My body is back.

But my heart and mind are still there.

Applauding.

Dear Ms DeGeneres

I talk, in my blogs, about my heroes. Most of them are fictional characters like Jason Bourne and Brian Kinney. I don't talk about how much my parents are my heroes or any of the personal relationships I have with people that I would call my heroes, like my spouse or my agent; or even people like David E. Kelly, whose artistry inspires me, or Jamie Lee Curtis, whose humanity moves me.

One of my heroes is Miss Ellen DeGeneres. I actually saw her once while hiking in Runyon Canyon in LA. I couldn't say anything because I didn't want to invade her privacy. However, it should be said that her talent, her personality, her inteligence, her humour, her physical beauty, her love of dance... all of these things make her one of my heroes.

The YouTube clip I have included in this entry says it all...

Ellen. You are a light in all our lives.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBzTWcTwJJM

Confession

On my MySpace blog I often participate in the survey game; you know, those questionairres that people send out to either get to know their friends, get to know themselves or help others get to know them. Often the questions on these quizzes are the same as the ones on the last quiz. Sometimes the questions are new and interesting and spark interesting discussion and emails). One of the frequently repeated questions is regarding the "last time you cried". Since November 2007 my answers have always been the same: "I do not cry anymore." Back in November something bad happened to me and I stopped crying. I made the choice to no longer be a person who cries.

I have been crying. I have been crying on Thursday nights. I cannot help it. It is uncontrollable. Every Thursday night at ten pm, Eastern time, I am prepared to cry. I know it is coming and I accept it. It is because I have a new hero; and he makes me cry.

Eli Stone had my interest from those first commercials that were aired, showing the man who was hallucinating George Michael in his living room. The entire premise and notion of the show had me intrigued, not to mention the sexy Johnny Lee Miller, the gorgeous and gifted Natasha Henstridge ( of whose work I have always been a fan and who, by the way, may be one of the most exquisitely beautiful women alive), the one and only Victor Garber (Good Golly Gussie, is that man sexy - and what a talent; in fact, I think his talent is a big part of what makes him sexy--his looks and that voice do the rest and, ps, he is damned nice man, too) and one of my favourite actresses, a great American actress, a delightful person and another raving beauty, Miss Loretta Devine. Yes. I was destined to be an Eli Stone watcher. Did I mention that I am a die hard George Michael fan?

As much as I love these actors and the characters they have created for us all, it is Eli Stone that makes me cry. He makes me cry because my personal heroes (of fiction) are people who are cold and strong and tough and fierce - the kind of people that one admires when one is a person who has been, repeatedly, hurt by others. I talk openly about my heroes Brian Kinney, Jason Bourne...some others. So how did Eli Stone become one of my fictitious heroes?

I have always loved Don Quixote.

I may aspire to be 007 but I cannot hide the fact (or hide FROM the fact) that inside of me lives an idealist, a dreamer, an optimist, someone who wants to change the world - or at least change the world for at least one person or two people who happen along and can be changed by something, anything, he has done. I may act tough, I may train tough, I may dress tough. The truth is that at the core of this being is hope.

Eli Stone provides hope for the characters in his stories.

And he provides hope (and guidance for how to find and give hope) to me.

That (and he) makes me cry.

Tale of Two Girlfriends

This week my girlfriend had a birthday. I don't know which one it was because it isn't polite to ask a lady her age. To me, she is ageless... an ageless beauty, an ageless talent (or one should say a talent for the ages!), and an ageless friend. She can be as young and goofy as her young daughter or she can be as mature and serious as the consumate professional she is. She is many things and everything - most of all, to me, she is just my girlfriend, Donna... the genius who is a real person. She has enriched my life by being my friend but also by inspiring me to great artwork (which I won't actually print here because it is usually photos with her family). She is a great gal and a great friend and, good golly Gussie, am I glad she was born.. And speaking of girlfriends...

I have a few close ones and one of the ones that I am most often on the phone with was on the phone with me today. We were talking about her wedding in three months and the big reception afterward. Her name is Annalisa and she is marrying a man named Matthew. I know Matthew and I have deep affection for him -- he will be a great husband, as she will be a great wife. We've been getting ready for this wedding for awhile and it is coming to a head with great excitement!

Nothing, for me (til the present time) has been more exciting than today, when (after months of being aware of the upcoming nuptials) I realized what her married name is going to be and started screaming into the phone.


"YOU'LL BE MRS GARRETT!!!!!! YOU'LL BE MRS GARRETT!!!!!! "

We Are A Family

I really missed my family.


I miss all of my family most of the time. Not Pat and Rachel, of course; after all I live with them. I miss my parents, though. Brothers, sister, neices, nephew... I miss the family of friends that I have around this country and in other countries. I love them. During my adult life I haven't always been the best at staying in touch - it doesn't diminish the love I have for them; I'm just bad at staying in touch. I did resolve, though, to stay in better contact with them; and I believe that I am succeeding - even on the smallest level.
These friends, though, I can be in touch with whenever I like. They are there for me when I need them; there for me when I need the comfort of someone I love, the companionship of someone I enjoy - and they never, ever, make me work for their friendship. SuWEET. Rieeght?

A few years ago the gay community and the world fell in love. Not everyone in either group was in love and those who were may have been split. Some loved the girls, some loved the boys, some loved both. It could not be denied, though: the television shows SEX AND THE CITY and QUEER AS FOLK had changed, not only tv, not only the the history of tv, not only pop culture, but (indeed) the world. They were a phenomenon. They were not the first tv shows to bring people together, oh no. I remember being in college and that the boyz would often have DYNASTY parties, gathering to watch the show and cheer the bitchiness. There have, long, been GOLDEN GIRLS and DESIGNING WOMEN groups; when the shows were being first run, people would gather to watch and howl - when they were being re run, people would gather to say their favourite lines with their favourite women. These groups and gatherings, parties and people have been a part of societal behaviour for awhile and they aren't going anywhere, any time soon.

Every group of girls and every group of GURLS talked about the boyz and the girls and which one are YOU? But then, that happened with GOLDEN GIRLS and DESIGNING WOMEN, too. There are online quizzes, magazine tests and cocktail conversation in which people played the game: the boyz all wanted to be Blanche, Suzanne, Samantha or Brian and the girls all wanted to be Carrie. Let's admit it - the females of the species were never as interested in GOLDEN GIRLS, DESIGNING WOMEN or QUEER AS FOLK as the males. BUT they were indelibly bonded by SEX AND THE CITY. Even my sixty plus year old mother tuned in to see the new episodes of the girls. She called them that, too: the girls. These four women became everyone's best friends and favourite companions. They represented something - a unity, a beacon of hope, a little solidarity.

I had very close relationships to both of these tv shows - it's so easy, after all. Like I said, they never made me work and they were always there. For one show it was half an hour, for the other it was forty five minutes. I tuned in, saw my friends, turned off the set and got back to the reality of my life. It can still be that way any time I like because I own the box sets of both series. The only problem is that the begin to set the bar for your life. It became a problem then and it is an even bigger problem now.

The thing about SEX AND THE CITY is (at least for me) that it is set in MY city. I would watch the show and see these women living these amazing (even with all the problems and speed bumps) lives and doing these exciting things, all of which were offset by the scenery of New York City. I wanted to live like that and so did every other gay man and woman under sixty in NYC. Not all of us are as affluent, though, as those girls. These characters are extremely successful. Few of my friends have mastered that success. Most of us are still struggling and even those of us who don't struggle financially have other woes. Sure, I recognize it is just a tv show - but don't we all watch our stories or the picture shows we go to and dream of having lives like that? I mean, what reasonable girl or boy doesn't want to be as physically fit as Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattral? What girl or boy doesn't want to wear the clothing as stylish as these women? More to the (very important) point: what girl or boy doesn't want to have a group of friends so close that they are actually in each others' lives?

The girls from SEX AND THE CITY had breakfast every day in the same restaurant. It was such a religious ritual that in the final moments of the series Carrie Bradshaw knew exactly what time and where she could find her girls and she surprised them by showing up, all the way from Paris, to let them know she was home. The gang from QUEER AS FOLK had almost all of their meals at the Liberty Diner. Any time of day you would see one, two or all nine of them having breakfast, lunch, dinner, late night dinner, midnight snack, four am breakfast. The people in these shows have keys to each others' homes, they call on each other in the middle of the night when there is an emergency, they know the details...they WITNESS each others' lives. That's what I miss.

I feel that void, almost daily.

I recently began a marathon of QUEER AS FOLK. I do this a couple of times a year. I get out my dvds and, while doing my housework or the monotonous paper work and old photography work (filing negatives seems to be a lifelong chore for me that will never end), I watch an episode or two. It's always like old home week. I know they are just characters in a tv show - but they are my friends and I love them. Also, they are a lot like friends I have had and do have. After all, stereotypes exist for a reason (I intend to get into the finer points of QUEER AS FOLK in a more detailed story in the future...). There are people in my life who remind me of Melanie Marcus, Ted Schmidt, Emmett Honeycut...and vice versa. There are slivers and bits of the other characters that smack (badly!) of qualities in some of my closest family of friends. I watch the show and it is like being with my family; my living family, not the characters in the show! And I am reminded of happier times...

There were a couple of years, there; there were some summers when life seemed to imitate art, rather than the more usual pattern in which art followed life's lead. I talked on the phone with AJ almost every day. Jennifer and I were in each other's world constantly because she was styling my shoots and I was baking PMS Kookies. Tim was living in the guest room and Tom was sleeping over. Mark, across the street, and I were still friends; the other Mark lived on the corner. Natasha lived down the street and Heather lived right next door. Every Saturday night we were all out dancing, on Sundays we met here for Patcakes and breakfast drinks like tea, coffee, juice or even mimosas. There were game nights, birthday kidnappings, rooftop parties and spontaneous hanging out in the afternoons. There was Sunday brunches at Rennaisance diner followed by a gang of gay men hanging out in our living room watching The Queens of Comedy and reciting, along with Mo'Nique "Skinny women are EVIL and they NEED to be DESTROYED!!!!"

I know that people grow up and grow old. I don't see why they have to, though. Grow old. We grow up. Sure. My build our own families. Yes. Does that mean that we should dismiss the families we already have?

I noticed, a decade or more in the past, that my parents didn't have very many friends. I remembered being a kid in Portugal (ages 10 through 14) and how many parties my folks threw. They invited friends from the Embassies, the Marine House, other dignitaries and businessmen and their wives to our big house in Portugal on sunny Saturday afternoons to drink sangria and eat sardines and to lay by the pool, use the sauna and swim. In Switzerland (I was 15 through 18) the crowd had aged a little, so the parties were cocktails and snacks and racous games of charades. My parents were party givers and, frankly, so were my sister and I. We threw parties for the kids at school where there was dancing and laughter and people wore outfits instead of showing up in jeans and t shirts. It was a gas, gas, gas, kids.

In the early 80s, all of the Moshers returned to America to start life over and, while the children went to college and attempted to make friends and make lives, the elder Moshers became a couple ... a couple with grown children. Then they became a couple with grandchildren. And though they had a few friends, they didn't seem to see them. Mom and Dad became each other's company. And I thought to myself "my parents have no friends... especially my mommy." It was years before I was old enough to realize that, when you get older, your family becomes your friends. My parents made their children (and, then, their grandchildren) their lives, their friends, their main focus. My dad had (and has) some buds with whom he golfs on the weekends. My mom had (and has) some ladies with whom she crafts one night a week and during the holidays. At the end of the day, though, they are each other's best friends and their children and grandchildren are their (I'll say it again) focus.

I think that's beautiful. I realize the importance of that even more, now, because Pat and I have grown closer and closer over these last few years until we have become the couple we always should have been (but were working toward being): we are a perfect match, absolutely devoted to each other. We always enjoy each other's company and we always have fun.

There is a wistful nostalgia, though...

We miss our friends.

They've all gone off to do their own thing. Many of them have married, had children; many have moved to other places. Some have moved on, spiritually, and decided that they don't really want to be friends with us; and some, we have had to remove from our lives, if only to self protect from negative energy. The rest are still there... maybe not every day... maybe not directly underneath the surface but more side by side. They are still with us.

I awoke one night this week, two am, thinking of Jennifer. I remembered a time when she lived some ten blocks away and we would hang out in her room and gossip and, sometimes, complain and cry. I remembered all the times in the kitchen baking cookies... when we were all so broke. I got her to hire that horrible drug addict I was dating and he didn't last a week in the kitchen. She cried on my shoulder about her frigid boyfriend. These thoughts led to one of those movie montages in your mind, where you see all of the people you have loved and all of the good and bad times... and you want to cry because the past gets further past, every day, and you know you can never get it back. The best you can do is try to rebuild something similar, for the family you still have, and may get back, once more.

So now I call my loved ones (and people who read me know I hate telephones) in an attempt to bridge the gap. I phone my parents more often, my brother, my sister (shocked, was she, when this trend started). I phone Marci every other day, Annalisa, Tom, Jen, Laurelle, regularly, just to say "I'm checking in!" I call or email Michael, The Harper Hallings, Happy and Brad, to just see what's new. I invite Tim or Mitchell or Jarrod to hang out when I have the time. And I will go out into the fucking early morning cold on Saturdays to walk the dog with AJ. I do these things because it is the right and important thing to do.

That is the great lesson I learned (or, more precisely, was reminded of) by my QUEER AS FOLK marathon and by my recent visits into SEX AND THE CITY land. Oh, yeah. The movie is coming out and I already acquired the movie posters for myself and for Kristen; I gave Pat the box set for Christmas - the girls are at my fingertips. Why, just this week I did a little refresher of some of my favourite episodes: I watched Carrie fall on the runway, I laughed when Samantha threw the pan of water on the trannies, I blushed for Miranda when she flashed the gay guy across the street and I cheered for Charlotte when she got out of bed and made herself look like Elizabeth Taylor in BUTTERFIELD 8 so she could attend Brady's birthday party. I haven't gotten around to watching my favourite, "I'M BOZO THE BUSH!" but I have watched the rooftop party over and over and danced around to Amber singing ABOVE THE CLOUDS. I have also watched, repeatedly, the series finale... just those last eight minutes, though, when Carrie returns to New York, when Samantha tells Smith "You have meant more to me than any man I have ever known", when Charlotte sees her baby for the first time and when Magda kisses Miranda on the forehead. I have listened, intently, to the voiceover while Carrie wraps up the journey for the audience and opens the door to the future for the ficitional characters that become our family. When the movie SEX AND THE CITY opens, I will be ready, having done another marathon. That marathon is then. The one these days is QUEER AS FOLK.

Each day, I watch a little bit of the Liberty Avenue gang... My hero, Brian Kinney, (and his creator, Gale Harold, doing some of the most under rater, subliminally perfect, contained and honest acting I have ever seen) and his wonderful family (I love the lesbians more and more with every viewing) are my almost constant companions these days. My own family of friends is busy - each and every one of them - so my fictional family will stand in for them until we can all be together again.

Family is everywhere, kids. We have only to reach out and touch the people who are in those families. In person, on the phone, by email, via snail mail.

Or with the simple touch of the PLAY button...