radiopeter

Tonight is our final performance of L’imitation of Life. As always, the end of a run is a mixed bag of emotions. On one hand I’ll be happy to get my life back. On the other, despite the fact that there were only six performances, I’m going to miss being in-show.

There’s something about going through the motions as a group that is delightful. Each performance changes a bit, and each adjustment helps you find something new. For me, that’s the challenge. Not to mention putting on a face and wigs and dresses and heels. I like the drags, and I think I like the drags on stage even more. But I hate shaving my face. Go figure.

Richard Bluestein videotaped our performance last night, so hopefully I get to watch myself acting and giving face on stage. I hope my makeup was good for the lighting we had…

My head is still a little foggy from the weekend. Between spending hours in my kitchen preparing a feast and rushing to clean my apartment, I feel like I worked harder this weekend than I have in a very long time. The payoff, of course, was hosting a party of grand proportions that I’m exceedingly proud of. Nearly sixty people stopped in and a good time was had by all.

However, it didn’t happen all on my own. My Mom, my sister Elaine, and her fiancee John all pitched in to help me prepare the house, serve the food, and keep the plates full and the dishes clean for nearly the entire party. I’m so lucky to have them all in my life, and I’m glad we could share the day together.

The crowning achievement was the food, which I didn’t take ANY photographs of. Seeing a house full of folks eating my food was simply divine, and I hope that I have the chance to do it more often. I walked into my living room at one point and it was eerily silent as everyone, plates balanced on their knees, were stuffing their faces like mad.

I like feeding people.

The sangria fountain was a hit, but if I ever do it again I’ll buy three times the amount of wine. I borrowed my friend Ken’s beverage fountain and it was both charming and efficient. Load it up, top it off, and keep them drinking. Andra, a gal I know from the theatre, saved the day when she made a wine run to the CVS. Bless her and her husband James!

There were a couple firsts this Pride. It was the first time I met podcasters Justin and Matt, Tom and Joe, Brad. Brad has a great pic of us on his site.

This was the first Pride for my Mom. I was a bit worried she wasn’t going to come, but my sister picked her up and brought her over.

It was also the first Pride parade that was rained on. I’ve been to almost all of them since the early 90’s, and it has never rained. It has rained before the parade, and after, but Mother Nature usually spares us. Not this year. It POURED and I was glad I was inside.

Ever since I returned home the other day with a three pound block of imported feta I’ve been cooking. I made Revani, Pastitsio, Moussaka, and a vat of Tzatziki yesterday. Today I have to assemble Souvlakia, Soutzoukakia, make a feta dip, and a few other things which I can’t remember because they’re on a list stuck to my ‘fridge.

I work better with lists.

So just popped onto my blog to chime in and remind all the gay folks celebrating Pride month that it isn’t about the thongs or the parades or the sun kissed men and women of the world. It’s about remembering who you are, who WE are, and where we come from.

Do some internets research today about Queer history. That’s what Pride is for. To remember.

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I’m through with playing by the rules
Of someone else’s game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It’s time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap

It’s time to try
Defying gravity

I don’t know when it happened. Maybe last week, maybe the week before. I’m not really sure. I was outside and I looked up to the sky. And all of the sudden, I wanted to be up there.

Literally.

I’ve read a lot of pilots blogs recently. They say they’d always dreamed of flying. Ever since they were a child… When they were growing up… Collecting airplanes… You name it, I’ve read it. But I don’t know how it started for me. Something just snapped. The above lyrics from Wicked are eerily apropos.

I want to be a pilot.

The moment I began to think about it I began to realize that I really can do it. There is nothing physically holding me back from taking flying lessons. So why not learn how to soar through the sky?

I just set up http://flying.radiopeter.com. I don’t think I’ll begin until August, but this is the time for research.

Irving Berlin, be a dear and help me out…

Blue skies
Smiling at me
Nothing but blue skies
Do I see

Sunday night I had a slightly earth-shattering evening. I hung out with a guy I’d met before but hadn’t spent much time with. We come from similar backgrounds, and maybe that was the key, but there was a natural ease between us. The evening was wonderful, and if I could call it a date (I’m not sure I can) it would have been the best one I’ve had in quite a while.

And today he’s still on my mind. In a big way.

The other thing on my mind is our opening of L’imitation of Life tonight. I’m freaking out about our lack of rehearsal time in the space, but it is a stage reading, and flawlessness is not required. My intention is to keep myself as organized as possible and set my awareness dial to hypersensitive.

Last night as I lay in bed rolling tonight’s performance over and over in my mind, all I had to do was think of him and I fell asleep.

I think I even woke up with a smile.

Twisted Americana.

That has, for a while now, been the perfect description of most everything mounted by the Steppenwolf Theatre Company. They are, in my mind, a creative nexus beyond compare. I’d be doing a disservice by describing them further than twisted Americana, which I use in the most positive sense.

Even when it comes to a story about a donut shop in Uptown.

Tracy Letts, author of the Tony Award Winning (yay Chicago!) August: Osage County, has penned another magnificent glimpse into the lives of a handful of characters that live in my very own hometown.

FULL DISCLOSURE: I absolutely adore anything Chicago flavored. I’ve lived here all my life and take great pride in my city. I gravitate to books, plays, movies, documentaries, and just about anything else with Chicago as the main subject. I’ve called myself a Chicagoholic before, so my bias in loving Superior Donuts may have something to do with that. END FULL DISCLOSURE

***SPOILER ALERT*** ***YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED***
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You could arguably say that ever since mankind looked up to the heavens, they must have wondered who else was out there. All those dots in the sky signified more than constellations, more than gods, more than just snow against a blanket of black.

When I was younger I remember standing outside and gazing at the full moon somewhere in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The sky was alive with points of light drenching nearly every inch of what I thought was inky blackness. My childhood in Chicago was full of good things, but looking up in the night sky, the haze of city lights obscured most of the stars.

No so in the Black Hills.

There were so many dots of light. My young mind was just beginning to understand that each point meant there was a star somewhere out there that could be another rock. And if there was lots of other rocks out there, why couldn’t there be other kids on them, staring up at their own night sky and wondering if anyone else was looking up?

—

The Phoenix lander on Mars found ice yesterday. I don’t think there is a child standing on Mars and looking up, but where there is water, there is the potential for life. Finding organics on another planet is something I’d like to see in my lifetime.

Here’s hoping.

Now it’s time for a musical interlude:

Life takes you up, and it can take you down
Like a hurricane it blows your feelings all around
But here we are, back on solid ground
Ain’t it funny how one day you’re lost and then you’re found

And now we’re together, with someone to catch us when we fall
Now we’re together, and nothing else matters at all

When you go from

Rags to riches, all your wishes
Suddenly come true
And it’s a new begining, a chance at winning
This time we can’t lose
…Changin’ these rags to
Rags to riches
This time we can’t lose
Rags to riches!

My god I loved that theme song. Tisha Campbell on the lower 3rd and the holler. Yay 1988! ANYWAY…

Photo by Rick Aguilar

By now you’ve looked at the picture in this post and asked yourself “Self, who is that vision in the cream dress with the platinum flip and the tasteful single strand of pearls?” Milliseconds later you realize that it is Peter Mavrik, painted and powdered for the back row.

Ain’t no shame in my game.

I’m not new to the drags. Many years ago (I think in the early 1630’s) I used to paint my face, slither into my denim coochie cutters, slip on my fishnets, pumps, wig, and head out to the clubs. And coochie cutters, for those who don’t know, are those indecent short-shorts that tend to display a little more of the candy shop than most mothers would prefer. You know the ones.

Back in the wayback, drag was my way to get in bars before I was 21. A fiercely painted face and my 36 C’s tended to get me into most gay bars without the need to show my ID. It was dumb, illegal, exciting, and one of the biggest rushes I’ve ever experienced.

I can’t forget the first time I was in Fusion on the walkway above the dance floor. I think it was the summer of 1634. I looked down and saw a throbbing sea of shirtless men. Martha Wash was, from the speakers, commanding everybody to dance now. I lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and got the spins so bad I nearly passed out. As I faltered, a handsome slab of beefcake caught me in his big guns and cooed in my ear “Careful gurl. You’ve got to maintain honey chile.”

It didn’t help that I weighed 104 pounds and had four drinks in under an hour.

Once I righted myself and got a glass of water with a straw (mind the lipstick), I stood leaning on the railing for what seemed like hours. Below me were hundreds of men who liked men and knew all the words to every CeCe Penniston, EnVogue, Toni Braxton, Deborah Cox, AND Ace of Base song. Just like me. Except there I was, in heels, giving them fem realness.

As time passed and I began to develop friendships with the door folks, I started wearing less makeup and dressing more masculine. In time, I was able to into most places as a guy. Drag was my ticket into the gay nightlife world, but I never wanted to be a woman. I know plenty of folks from that time that are either in the process of becoming women, or already are.

And so a new chapter begins in my life.

The stage reading of L’imitation of Life marks my first acting gig in drag as an adult. I used to lip-sync and go-go in face in the late 1800’s, but I’ve never acted as a 8 year old girl, much less a 16 year old ingenue with a penchant for knives.

In truth, it ain’t easy. I have to keep much more control in my voice than I ever thought. My cats must think I’m bonkers because I keep babbling to myself out loud at home in my young Suzie Turner voice and my teenage Sandra Dee pitch. I was reading Chapterhouse: Dune out loud last night, trying to find where the characters live in my throat. It’s challenging, but also fun as hell, and I’m blessed to be working with a team of actors who are the bee’s knees.

Ed Jones cracks me up with a glance, Mike Miller, the man of a million voices, is so over-the-top funny, and Chad McLaughlin is delicious to work with. Aaron Holland as Annie is ebonically brilliant and Laura Korn is a ham from Hamville and plays a crazy girl with ease.

Our director/costumer/producer David Cerda, who also has a role in the show (!), has a wickedly sharp sense of comedy. I don’t know how he does it, but he’ll give a note that turns a flat line into pure comedy. It’s so very Handbag.

Do you live in Chicago? Can you make it to the show? I’d love to see you there…

The funny thing about the blogosphere, unlike old media, is that the content can pretty much dry up at any given time. A prolific blogger can suddenly goes postless. A photo blog, pictureless. A podcaster (myself included) stops producing podcasts.

There is nothing wrong with a lapse in content. Life gets in the way at times. And in my book, blogging shouldn’t ever feel like work. It should be a joyful thing that enhances the world around you. Sadly, so many blogs I formerly read have lost that spark.

I spent an hour before the sun rose today cleaning out my Google Reader. My eye wasn’t on the posters that stopped producing, but instead on those that lacked smart content. I’ve discussed this many times, both on my own podcast and elsewhere, and it’s a concept I stick to.

Out with the old, tired, I-blog-therefore-I’m-cool sites. I was surprised how many of them I actually subscribed to. No, I don’t need to see an excess of flesh-laden pictures. No, I don’t need to read about what you ate at McDonalds. No, I don’t care about your morning coffee thoughts anymore. No, your lesbian perspective on the world is neither lesbian, nor a perspective. And who are you kidding by thinking your podcast is anything more than a PR machine trying to make money? Seriously, it’s reality check time.

I’d still read those blogs (or listen to the podcasts) if the writers actually had anything to say. But where there is no smart content, there is no interest from Peter Mavrik. Sad, because filling the internets for the sake of filling the internets is rather Sisyphean.

I do love to tell my blog about my problems, thoughts, and the world around me, trying to keep enough smart content embedded in the posts to make them worthwhile. And if nothing else, I’ll toss you a picture or two that’ll make you think.

But think about it. What do you read on the internets regularly, and why? What exactly keeps you coming back for more? If you do like those pictures, or reading what someone ate at McDonalds, or someone else’s morning coffe thoughts, there isn’t anything wrong with that. But what is it doing for you?

I leave you with a quote from the character of Mame Dennis played beautifully by Rosalind Russell in Auntie Mame:

Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!

Amen Mame. Amen.

Mom & Dad on Father’s Day

Aretha performs at around 1:36 in. I can’t really say much, because the song says it all.

Today is one of those days where I could feel overwhelmed with everything that is on my plate and all that is swirling around in life right now. I say I could feel overwhelmed, but really, I don’t. I like being this busy. However, o blog of mine, o theraputic beast that you are, I need to profess to you my to-do list in the hopes that saying it aloud (or rather, saying it to the internets) will in some way inspire me to tackle this list head on.

The nominees in the category of things Peter Mavrik needs to get done are:

• Create a costume plot for L’imitation of Life with David
• Learn my lines for the scenes where I have exactly five lines. It IS a stage reading with scripts, but there is really no excuse
• Figure out my face for a press photo shoot on Monday
• Figure out if and what I’m bringing as a gift to a birthday party tomorrow
• Try and make a stop at Midsommarfest this weekend
• Meet up with the delicious T-Bags for some much needed social drinking. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her and I’m jonesin’ for a Smith injection.
• Cook something with the rhubarb that is teasing me every time I open the refrigerator door
• Finalize the shopping lists for my party menu. Looks like I might be feedin’ 45 or so
• Determine the whereabouts of a wayward friend
• Attempt to stop listening to Bridge Over Troubled Water on repeat. Another friend lost his father and I can’t seem to tolerate any other music at the moment.
• Put my bedroom back in order after the painting my Dad did. My clothes are still living in the living room.
• Sort out the ambient music for my friend Borris’ fashion show

That, believe it or not, is the short list.

I got my first box of veggies this week. Included were two kinds of cheese (I bought a cheese share), a dozen eggs (not shown), lettuce, asparagus, radishes, green garlic, rhubarb, chives, mint, a jar of pear butter, spinach, and a carton of white mushrooms.

So, after washing most of it I decided some veggie dinner was in order. A couple slices of pesto cheddar with wheat wafer bread, some steamed asparagus with coarse salt and butter, and a bowl of sliced raw radishes and steamed spinach topped with chives, salt, olive oil, and red wine vinegar.

For dessert, I tried the pear butter on some wheat crackers. Mmmm. Delish!

We had our first read through of the L’imitation of Life script last night, minus two characters. There was some sort of scheduling / location kerfluffle and we read without them. It went well, but we read right before we watched the film and I realized I had some stuff spot on…the bits where my character is 16. But for the little girl, I gotta get this nasally thing she has in the film down.

I’d rehearse right now, but my Dad is painting my bedroom. Who doesn’t love a parent who is a professional painter?

Tonight we’re actually in a rehearsal space, so it’ll be interesting to read with the new folks and their parts in the mix.

Nasal. I need to make ‘her’ nasal.

I’m incredibly excited to be a part of Handbag’s Summer Camp 2 series. Instead of behind-the-scenes I’m on stage for this one, playing the character of Suzie Turner in L’imitation of Life, a parody of Imitation of Life. But you knew this already.

The hardest part for me right now is getting her look right. I’ve been playing with my eyebrows and I think I’ve got them, but I’ve decided to add something interesting into the mix. After much research and lots and lots of hemming and hawing, I went ahead and purchased an airbrush makeup kit.

No, it isn’t a top-of-the line kit. I can’t justify spending that much money just yet until I practice. I decided to purchase a moderately priced Dinair kit. Now, it’s not as if I need to airbrush my makeup on to turn into Sandra Dee. And funny enough, I may end up not using it at all for the part. But it’s given me a hell of an excuse to drop some cash on a new and interesting area of research.

I wanted an airbrush kit when I was 14. Of course, I didn’t want it because I thought I’d use it for makeup, but then again, who doesn’t remember watching Pris in Blade Runner spray the purple makeup across her eyes? Very raccoon she was. It left an impression on me.

For the last couple weeks I’ve been sifting around on the internets, scouring youtube and a million other video sites looking for example videos of airbrush makeup kits. Most, if not all folks recommend buying a professional Iwata airbrush and compressor. But, for the same cost as that hardware, I’m getting a smaller compressor, the airbrush, and a complete set of makeup from Dinair.

So with any luck, I’ll get the kit in a week or two and start playing with it. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help me flesh out those gamine eyebrows I’ve been longing to have since I was a child since I found out I was cast in the show.

The Apple WWDC Keynote 2008 told us on July 11th, we’ll get and iPhone with:

3G
GPS built-in
A shiny black back
Exchange e-mail

So yes, I’ll be taking the day off on the 11th to wait outside of a store to buy the next iPhone.

For realz.

Yes, I’m a super computer geek. And yes, I’ll be following the Apple WWDC 2008 coverage like a hawk because…well, you know why.

Here are some of the sites I’ll be following:

TUAW
Wired
CNET
MacRumors
Gizmodo
MacWorld
Engadget

If you are a Firefox user, Reload Every is one of my fave plugins for this kinda thing because you can tell the browser to reload a page every 30 seconds or so. Some of the links above are not auto-refresh. Some are.

I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I’ll make you so sure about it

God only knows what I’d be without you

If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me

God only knows what I’d be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I’d be without you

I’ll be at home, in front of the television, on Sunday night, glass of wine in hand, watching the premiere of Season 3 of Big Love.

On the train to work the other morning I was, as usual, standing the entire ride. There was a woman reading some sort of style/fashion magazine, but it was completely celebrity focused. Pictures of Rachel Weisz, Angelina, Natalie Portman etc. adorned the pages. I mindlessly followed along as she flipped pages until she happened on a feature of Cameron Diaz.

Natch, Miss Diaz looked stunning in every sun-kissed photograph. Her fair eyes and platinum locks simply screamed “look at me, I’m a star” in every way possible. But while flipping through the spread, the reader stopped on one of the pages where a giant pull-quote from Miss Diaz caught my eye. (Pardon my paraphrasing)

A lot of people think you are incomplete without a relationship. No. I don’t want to be in a relationship and feel incomplete.

I don’t think I’ve ever read anything so true in the pages of one of a celeb rag. Yet the truth of the statement wasn’t what made me pause. It was, for once, a statement of the way I feel about relationships that pretty much says it all.

From Cameron Diaz. In a fashion rag. How very.

My life is pretty frickin’ complete right now. I have a good job (rocky as the market may be), my work in the theatre is energizing beyond compare, I have a circle of friends who I can laugh and cry with, and the relationship with my family is better and more satisfying than ever.

Where in all that does a relationship fit? I honestly don’t know. And there isn’t really an answer to that question because, like most things, you don’t know you’re missing something until you find it.

Uncanny though. On a crowded train, reading over a strangers shoulder, Cameron Diaz made me think about the great life I’m living.

Miss Diaz, I agree. I agree completely.

Some iPhone and v2.0 predictions for next Monday’s Apple WWDC Keynote.

• 3G (duh, everyone is saying that, but it’s good mojo to list it)
• GPS built in
• A Twitter client as part of v2.0
• Still no cut/paste
• More carriers outside of AT&T in the United States
• A 32GB iPhone
• Some sort of shiny or colored case
• Options to turn 3G/EDGE/Wi-Fi on/off independent of each other
• E-mail enhancements a-la Exchange and Corporate networks
• A better camera and possibly video calling (with 3G that should be possible)
• Accessories, accessories, accessories

Will I buy a new one with 3G? Hell yeah.
Will I buy it if it’s available on Monday? Hell yeah.

I think I’ll end up giving my old one to my sister…

Well well. Obama takes the lead fro the dems. Neither happy nor sad really. I liked them both enough to accept their merits and deal with the consequences.

If he does make it to the White House, there will surely be a ton of very difficult work ahead of him. Let’s hope all his internet-savvy folks help him stay connected to the people.

I’d hate to think his internet campaign was purely to get him elected. If it was, suckers, it worked.

Electing a leader is one thing. Holding them to their tasks is another.

November should be interesting.

I know I’m getting older because it takes more than an instant to recall everything I did this past weekend. Earlier in life I could give you the rundown in less than ten seconds of everyone I saw, everywhere I went, and everything I’d done in the last 72 hours.

Alas, I am now thirty-something.

I’m not knockin’ it. I love how much more I know about people and the world we all live in. It just takes a moment to rewind the DVR in my head. Well, sometimes more than a moment. Sometimes it takes a cuppa green tea or a good poo (yep, I said it) to jog my memory. Often times one follows another.

Aging. Yep. I’m talking about my bowel habits on my blog. Lervely.

SO, the weekend was filled with Die Mommie!, street festivals, friends, drinks, movies, and a gorgeous successful-yet-tasteless Anginetti recipe. Let’s go chronologically, shall we?

Friday night I was a very good boy and decided despite my thirst, I was not going to head out for a cocktail after DMD ended at midnight. Instead I got home, stripped and showered, climbed right into bed with my cats and slept until 6am, when my body decided to wake me up.

Originally I had my alarm set for 8, at which time I was going to rise, feed myself, put my street festival gear on (Spin shirt, steel toe boots, cargo shorts), and head down to meet Ken to open the Spin booth at the Belmont-Sheffield Music Fest. But for whatever reason, my internal clock woke me up at 6am. Despite the snoring Oberon to my right and the sleepy-eyed Meo on my left, I got outta the bed and got my day started.

The weather was perfect. Ken and I, along with David and some other peeps got the booth in order and set everything in motion. I had to jet at 3p because I had another round of Die Mommie! that evening, so I missed the major-moneymaking times. But no matter, I had fun with my Spin folk.

After the show I headed out with Corey, a friend I met through Rudolph this past season. We hit the street fest, oogling the hot fratboiz, and hopped here and there up and down Halsted until a bit of his own personal drama crept up, and he headed home. For a second I considered heading back out after he left, but instead I got caught up in watching Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

It’s like my mother always used to say
Two tears in a bucket
Motherfuck it.
-The Lady Chablis

Love that damn movie. Thank you Roku!

Sunday I woke up with visions of creating a delicious sweet treat for the cast. Yesterday should have been our final performance of the run, but we’ve extended by two shows this week. In either case, I was planning to bake something magnificent. I’d been shuffling around with recipes for Anginetti, those iced Italian lemon cookies, for a long time. Looking at my counter, I spied four lemons that were screaming to be used, so I decided Anginetti it would be.

The recipe was written proportionally ok, but I noticed there was only a small bit of sugar. Instead of trusting my gut and adding more, I followed the ingredient list exactly. Three heaping teaspoons of baking powder did their work, and the dough came out cakey and full of bubbles, light as a feather (thank you shortening) and yellow because of the four eggs.

The problem is that I should have followed my gut and added more sugar. Beautiful and cakey as they were, they tasted plain. I knew they wouldn’t be sweet, but I could detect NO sweetness at all. Baking is science, and I’m accomplished enough to know my genoise from my dacquoise, but because it was a new recipe for me I didn’t want to alter it.

And it bit me in the butt. Actually, the tongue.

I frosted them anyway with homemade lemon glaze, hoping the super-sweet-tartness of the creamy white coating would cut the plainness of the cookies. But it didn’t. Their bland taste just lay there on my tongue, like a scone with no jam, a linzer with no filling, choux with no cream.

Moral of the story: I’m a good enough baker to know when to add more sugar. And I shoulda. I’ll make the recipe again, but for now I’m resolved to eating them with a cuppa Earl Grey with extra milk and sugar.

Check it out…

Last night I had a chance to play with my new Roku. It was a breeze to set up and having previously loaded up my NetFlix queue, I was happily watching movies lickety split. I loved the experience, the ease of use, the remote (although I hate having another remote) and the immense queue of movies available.

Here, now, for your enjoyment, are some unboxing photos. The full set is on my SmugMug.

The Full Contents

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Dyson, the company known for making those crazy-insane vacuum cleaners, needs to come up with a gizmo to suck the gooey stuff out of my lungs. I’d gladly lay down five easy payments of $39.95 for such an As-Seen-On-TV gadget such as that.

I’ve spent the last three days exuding more secretions than I care to dive into detail about. What the hell I have is anyones guess, but it seems to be a crappy flu-like demon that is hiding in my chest. Very Alien like. Well, Alien meets The Blob.

The worst part is the wheezing. Today is better, and I can breathe normally without the cacophony of noises in my chest. I also have no fever today, which means the infectious nature of whatever it is I have has departed. But two days ago every breath I took reminded me of the windswept forest at the beginning of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Whoosh I says. Whoosh.

Today I’m bringing up gobs of gunk. When I cough I sound a bit like Juno (Sylvia Sidney) in Beetlejuice. Attractive right? At least I’m back at work.

P.S. My Roku is here. Unboxing pics to come!

Mom and I went to see the new Indiana Jones movie yesterday for the bargain price of $5 per ticket at the Norridge theaters. Not only was it pretty dead when we arrived, but we managed to get the sweet-spot seating I love so much, smack-dab in the middle of the theater, perfectly aligned for the surround sound.

I. Loved. The. Movie.

With so many critics trashing the film, I’ll admit I was a bit apprehensive. Of course I KNEW I’d go see it anyway, but I really didn’t want to be let down by what I thought was going to be a flat movie.

In reality, the only flat part of the film was Karen Allen. She really seemed out of place and awkward in a cast that was varied and wonderful. I wanted so much to love her return to Indy, but alas, it was not to be. She basically showed up, said her lines, and looked at other people a lot.

I won’t spoil the plot lines of the movie except for a few comments:

• The crystal skulls looked fake because they appeared to be fairly lightweight. If they were heavier, I think I would have believed they were real. The actors were in the habit of moving them around a bit more than I liked. A crystal skull, hell, even a glass one, would be pretty damn heavy. But I can forgive this oversight because the gold idol in Raiders was tossed about like a piece of candy. A gold idol would weigh a hell of a lot…
• Cate Blanchette is divine. The camera always loves her. She is, I think, at the top of my favorite female list.
• The visuals are as breathtaking as ever. Yay Spielberg and Kaminski. The music, not so much. The credits say John Williams, but it didn’t feel like his score. He may redeem himself in the upcoming Jurassic Park movie. The original Jurassic score is my favorite Williams work.
• There is a nuclear test-site scene that is surreal and wonderfully done, and Harrison Ford says “nu-ku-lar” instead of nuclear. I think.
• Shia LaBeouf does favor Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones. Super hot.
• Fuck the critics. Go see the movie and enjoy. It really is a wonderful two hours.

This morning we had an ensemble meeting full of donuts, coffee, and much laughter. We’ve received a very handsome grant that will enable us to get serious about writing more grants for the company, a move that is the key to surviving in the current climate.

During the meeting I realized that some of the finest people I know were seated around the table. Talented performers dedicated to their craft, but not the kind of stuck-up actor types I’ve so often met. Everyone at that table has a life outside the stage, but in many ways, their lives are dedicated to getting on the stage whenever they can.

They are there because they love it. Me too.

Whenever I’m feeling restless and less-than-happy with my life, I think about the ensemble.

en·sem·ble \än-ˈsäm-bəl, äⁿ-\ noun
from the old French ensemble together, from Latin insimul at the same time
: a group producing a single effect: as a: concerted music of two or more parts b: a complete costume of harmonizing or complementary clothing and accessories c (1): the musicians engaged in the performance of a musical ensemble (2): a group of supporting players, singers, or dancers; especially : corps de ballet

“A group producing a single effect” is my favorite definition, but I’d change it slightly to read “a group producing an effect”. These folks are part of a world I thought I left behind. It’s funny how life can turn on a dime if you want it to. I suppose the biggest challenge is recognizing which way the wind is blowing. Thankfully I figured it out in late 2006.

In any case, the meeting was enjoyable and left me with visions of all that will be coming for the next year. And let me tell you, it’ll be a busy year indeed. Now if I can only figure out when I’ll get myself out of the country for a vacation…

So I finally received a shipping e-mail from the Roku folks. I should have my new toy after the holiday (wah-wah) on Tuesday.

Needless to say, I’m excited.

Tech toys are the second best thing* about being an adult. Well, tech toys and a job that affords the luxury of buying the occasional gizmo on a whim. And what happened to strike my fancy yesterday morning?

The Roku Netflix player.

Yes, I have an AppleTV. Do I love it? Of course! But since I’m a hard-core Apple user, I *sad-face* can’t play streaming Netflix movies. Their DRM is bound up in the Windowz world and that made me very sad. Until I saw all the press coverage about the Roku player yesterday morning. A tiny black box that will stream Netflix movies via HDMI (and just about every other connector) to my television?

How could I live without such a gadget?

Whipping out a trusty sliver of plastic, I deftly entered my vital bits and pieces on the Roku site and, with a few billion electrons and the internets at my command, I ordered said box for my entertainment center. I waited for my confirmation e-mail. And waited. And waited some more. At midnight I randomly checked my trusty iPhone, but still no confirmation e-mail.

Having just spoke with the tech support folks at Roku, as I suspected, they’ve received tons of orders and their system is backed up a bit. They did get my order, there aren’t any left in stock to ship, they will get me one when they come in, and my confirmation e-mail should arrive today.

In the mean, I’ve loaded my Netflix queue with streamable (is that a word?) content. With Auntie Mame on demand, who wouldn’t want one of these boxes?

* The best thing about being an adult has to do with life in the bedroom. And that’s all I’ll say.

Time to Master Cleanse yet again. Spring is springing and I need to wash out my gut, so with a cuppa Smooth Move tea this evening, I’m beginning another round. My CSA begins around June 11th I think so the timing is just right.

It means no popcorn for the upcoming Indiana Jones movie, but hey, I’ll deal.

a pic of me at Spin a long time ago

I gigged the other day with a DJ acquaintance at a private party. I wasn’t nearly as rusty as I thought I’d be, but I’d almost forgotten how energizing it is to be in the mix. House music is and has been one of my passions for years and years, and plugging into a huge system once again made me feel anxious as hell and right at home at the same time.

Some of you don’t know how it works. This post is for you.

There are two basic schools of DJs out there. There are those folks who slam one record into another, i.e. one song is playing, and then all of the sudden another takes its place. I generally convulse when I hear that happen in a club, and if you watch the dance floor closely (if there is a dance floor) you can see the crowd seize, take a few beats, then find the new groove. This is done commonly by newer DJs, during most hip-hop sets, and a few other genres depending on the style. Part of the reason you might have to slam a record in has to do with the beat structure, but more on that later. Slamming records just isn’t my cuppa tea.

I hate it. Ugh.

And now, for my conceited POV. I am cut from the far superior cloth of the beat-matching or mixing DJ. House music was designed to be beat-matched for many reasons, but the biggest reason in my book is so that the groove never stops. Ever. From the first record to the last, there is a steady stream of music, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, often dramatic, and undoubtedly House.

Beat-matching isn’t something that is easy to explain in words, but essentially a good House track will have a four or eight-beat structure in 4/4; 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. If you want to match two records, you line up the beats. The 1-beat is the downbeat, so you start playing your second records’ 1-beat at the same time. But increasing or decreasing the speed of the record (the turntables/CD players are pitch-controlled) you can line up the beats so they are the same speed. Then, all you need to do is start the second record exactly where you want it, and fade it in so both records are playing at once.

There’s lots of tricks you can do with twiddling the hi-mid-low eq’s, or cutting in and out on one of the records, but in a nutshell, you end up playing two records at once for as long as possible so that the songs seamlessly blend from one to another. When it’s done right, with the right two songs, you can create a third track that never existed.

I LOVED tracks with vocal stabs in the outro or intro. A popular example would be that C+C Music Factory track “Pride, A Deeper Love”. One remix ends with the diva hollering “Pride! A deeper love! Pride! A deeper love! Pride! A deeper love! Woah-ooh-ooh-ooh!” in a sixteen-beat loop. I’d laid Mousse T’s “Horny” over that a few times and the crowd loved it. The Mousse T hook is an eight-beat “I’m horny all night long! I’m horny all night long!”

You get the picture.

A beat-matching DJ has the power to create a new sound. The superstars of the beat-matching world lay multiple records over each other. I’d seen Todd Terry throw five records at once and it nearly blew my mind. He was making custom music on the fly. This was before the sampling CD players and effects boxes that can be found in most clubs ever came on the scene.

I do have to tip my hat at the hip-hop kids tho. Much as I dislike hippity-hop, the culture of scratching and laying track samples down owes a lot to the early DJ battles those folks imagined. I can’t scratch, and occasionally I’ve only managed to do a reverse pull (grab the live record and pull it back for a beat, then let it go) but not always successfully.

THE signature part of my entire DJ set was always the last record: Gospel music. I’d play non-dance tracks at times, and one of my favorites was the song from The Color Purple (film) where Shug Avery returns to the church. It’s called “Maybe God Is Tryin’ To Tell You Somethin’” and it would always get some folks hollerin’ on the ‘floor.

Why not have a ‘lil Jesus at the end of the night?

But the ultimate floor filler, a record from 1998 that I seldom brought out, is my all time hottest piece of wax. Kelly G. featuring Sharon Pass on the Silk Entertainment label with a track called “Go Down Moses”. It remains one of the records in my collection that I’m almost scared to play because I don’t want to damage it. Full of gospel piano and five-part harmonies fo’ yo’ azz, I remember hearing the track on the radio and furiously trying to find it. I couldn’t find a copy anywhere until a German friend phoned a store in Berlin. They actually had a copy and I bought it for some insane amount of money. But the first time I played it for a crowd it worked like magic.

Heard a cry from the people
Send a leader just as fast as you can
Told him don’t take to long, but you gotta make him strong
‘Cause Pharaoh is an evil man

Woah yeah, now

Go down, Moses
Way down in Egypt land
Tell him, tell that Pharaoh
To let my people go…

I don’t miss DJing. I miss the rush of the music. I think I need to work a few sets into my life from time to time at home. Just to make those mixes once again.

Meo, sitting pretty this morning in the sun, like the Great Sphinx at Giza.

backstage at the bailiwick

Last night we started our weekly four-in-a-row run of Die, Mommie! Die! again and it played to a great crowd. I DO hope you have ordered your tickets to the show. It really is a great production, and I’m super proud to be a part of it.

There was something strange in the air last night as I left the Bailiwick. I can’t put my finger on it, but something was amiss. The full moon is Monday night and I suspect this weekend is going to be crazy-as-hell as a result. I don’t have any major plans to speak of for the weekend (well, lots of R&R) but I think the craziness will somehow carry me somewhere exotic.

We shall see.

Vive La Foie Gras!
(this is an old photo I did for Chicagoist)

The foie gras ban has finally been repealed. Big thank you’s go out to my out and proud Alderman Tom Tunney who helped raise the repeal along with support from Alderman Stone and