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Recent Entertainment

We haven’t been out much so it was a pleasant change to have a musical and a concert to attend. We went to Funny Girl at the Ahmanson last Tuesday. It was opening night, I think, and the crowd was enthusiastic. I was a little hesitant about the whole thing. I remember reading that the show got so-so reviews when it came out in the 60s. Streisand saved it, I think, and it made her a star. And I’ve seen the movie a hundred times so I had Streisand’s interpretation firmly fixed in my mind. I felt sorry for any actress trying to make the part her own. Well, I was surprised. The book must have been re-written because it made more sense than the movie did. Nicky Arnstein became a fleshed-out character with motivation instead of just a handsome man in a ruffled shirt. Katerina McCrimmon played Fanny Brice and made the part her own. I could hear echoes of Streisand when she sang the famous songs (People, for instance) but she gave it her own spin. And I think she’s probably a better actress than Streisand. She played it broadly–well, Fanny was a broad, after all–but she was human and funny. She really brought the audience in. Melissa Manchester played Mrs. Brice. I hadn’t seen her since we attended a concert at the Greek Theater years ago. I didn’t know she could act. Well, she can. And she can sing too. The audience loved her. Actually, the whole cast was great. The tap dancers brought the house down. People still like tap dancers. The staging was interesting and the lighting was great. Lots of fun. And there were no politics! I didn’t get pissed off about anything! Wow. Glad to see it. I got so tired of being scolded and shamed and ridiculed I quit the Taper Theater. Who needs to pay for that crap? I’m reading that theaters are closing all over. Maybe if they provided entertainment instead of agi-prop…Okay, rant’s over. But go see it. It’s a good show.

Last Thursday we went to Disney Hall. Simone Young conducted Arvo Part’s Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten, an Elgar cello concerto, and Vaughan Williams’ Symphony No. 8. I didn’t know any of the pieces, so it was an evening of discovery for me. Gautier Capucon was the cellist for the Elgar piece. I thought he started out a little pitchy. Maybe he was nervous. Or maybe it was me; I always think cellos…celli…whatever, are a little pitchy. Anyway, he finished big. The audience went nuts so he did an encore which I thought was better than the Elgar. It was a pleasant evening. Nobody talked during the music, nobody flashed their phone in my face; I had nothing to be mad about. And that’s a good night in Los Angeles. Oh, I forgot to say anything about Young. She seemed competent enough. Can’t really compare the pieces because they were new to me. I found her gauze tunic and pants a little informal but really, what’s she supposed to wear? Maybe a designer should come up with something specific to women that doesn’t look like it came out of a bazaar. Just a thought.

Both pleasant evenings. Good night to be in Los Angeles.

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Nyad

Gordon and I drove over to the WGA Theater in Beverly Hills last night for a screening of Nyad, a biopic about Diana Nyad who swam from Cuba to Florida when she was 64 years old. I thought it’d probably be a lesbian love story with Annette Benning and Jody Foster swapping tonsils–that seems to be what Hollywood likes–but it was a story of struggle and victory. Annette Benning plays Diana and Jody Foster plays Bonnie, Diana’s good friend and coach. The fact that they’re lesbians is addressed but it’s not a big deal. It’s just who they are. The story is about Diana’s attempts to swim the 110 mile stretch between Cuba and the Florida Keys after a 30-year sabbatical from swimming. And it’s quite a story. Diana made 4 attempts before they finally got lucky with winds and currents. In her 60s. She must have a heart of stainless steel to be take that much punishment. I won’t go into detail, but Annette Benning as Diana is wonderful. Jody Foster is great as Bonnie. There was a Q & A with Annette, Diana, and Bonnie after the film (which got a standing ovation–from actors!). The women were just delightful–very funny.

It’s a wonderful life-affirming film. I recommend it. It’s playing on Netflix. See it.

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Christmas 2023

Okay, here’s the official Christmas letter.

DECEMBER 19th, 2023
GORDON: I’m starting to have Xmas overload, and things are just getting started – let me explain. We had a pretty quiet year, but somehow everything we HAD to do kinda got crammed into late November/early December. We had booked a tour of European Christmas Markets way last year, thinking it would be a nice way to kick off the season. Of course we didn’t get around to being serious about planning it until right around Thanksgiving, which came just before Barb’s birthday (always a stressful time for her, plus I’m not allowed to celebrate it until I catch up four days later, but God help me if I don’t give her a card). So we stuffed Turkey for the four days between Thanksgiving and BDay, then had our combined birthday steak dinner, which got us to a day before departure (My birthday present was 12 hours in the air). After usual lost luggage issues in Amsterdam, we got to the ship and did our first forced-march tour of the city. And for the next seven days we saw the wonders of Rhine Cities (It was wonderful, but exhausting, Barb started calling each day the new Death March). We got back in time to buy tree, hang lights, see two concerts, sing in a third one, and get Barb’s Miata in for major service. We now have two days to write letters and get them mailed so forgive us if this hits your mailbox a little late.
Actually we did have a little fun earlier in the year. Barb was still recovering from last year’s Baltic cruise and didn’t want to do another long flight until much later in the year, so we did a See the USA tour. This one focused on the Utah parks we hadn’t already seen, after a day spent with an old band buddy of mine, whose wife and Barb get along famously – they’re both fascinated by magicians, and have several other interests in common, so Billy and I could just hang back and watch the fun, much like we did as the “sober” band members 50+ years ago. After that we, headed for Moab, via the headwaters of the Colorado River – a magical drive, and great precursor to for Arches National Park. Of course, Arches was overbooked by the time we got around to making reservations, so we had a day to run around Moab. Turns out there’s lots of scenery outside the park that can be accessed by All Terrain Vehicles, so we had to try that. ATVs are sorta like rollercoaster cars that you steer, and the route we took provided the track. I was having a party driving almost vertically up – and down – following the leader. He told us “trust the machine” and it didn’t fail us, but he did forget to mention that occasionally he’d drop over a cliff and not completely get out of the way at the bottom, and of course we couldn’t see him until we were already dropping. Much screeching from Barb the Backseat Driver, but we never actually hit anyone, and the machine proved trustworthy. Barb was VERY happy to spend the next day on paved roads in our rental SUV (they didn’t have my requested small sedan at the rent-a-car place, so we did all our driving in a Suburban). Got lots of shots of cool arches and other formations. On our way to Salt Lake City to fly back we saw Canyonlands and Capital Reef, and sneaked in an organ concert at the Mormon Tabernacle. Altogether fun, and it didn’t require a 12-hour flight to access it.
Aside from our trips, it’s been a pretty quiet year. I’m still doing some consulting work for old clients, and docenting for the Los Angeles Conservancy, along with celebrating 25 years of Board Membership at Partners in Care Foundation (www.PICF.org) as we’ve pioneered ways to keep people with chronic illnesses out of hospitals. I’ll let Barb do the honors about the Rhine Cruise.


BARB: Our next big trip was a Christmas Rhine cruise because we wanted to experience snow for the holiday. Just not too much snow. We splurged and flew Premium Economy. Cost more but you get more room and better treats. Our flight (via KLM) was uneventful, except for the glares we got from the poor bastards in economy. because we had to use the same bathroom. I didn’t care. I peed when I had to, and we got to Amsterdam in good shape. We took a walking tour of the city that afternoon. I loved the canals and the houses that leaned forward. They were designed that way so water couldn’t pool on the roof and rot the wood. I don’t know if I’d trust the leaning walls considering they’re anchored on marshy ground but they’ve stood for 200 years so I guess they’re solid. We went back to the boat for necessary drills, had dinner, and went to bed early. We toured another Dutch small town, Dordrecht (or something like that) the next day. Learned that the town survived because the Nazis bombed Rotterdam instead of them. History in that part of the world is pre-WWII and after WWII. I enjoyed the Netherlands but after that things sort of ran together. I particularly remember Cologne (Koln). The guide was the son of a German man and a Moroccan woman. His name was Mohammed and he editorialized about non-whites feeling sorry for themselves. He said his mother told him not to act like a jerk and he’d be all right. He said she was right; he’d never experienced discrimination. He also declared that the Green policies Germany had adopted were killing people. He said Americans were too polite and should start telling people off when Europeans criticized them for not being Socialist. I imagine he’s been fired by now but I admired his courage in speaking out. And he knew his history. We went off on our own to view the cathedral, which was spectacular. Large wet flakes of snow fell as we wandered through the Christmas market so we got our white Christmas. We bought hats and a Christmas ornament then went to a restaurant the guide had recommended. He said everybody spoke English and all took credit cards. He was wrong. We managed to find the only waiter who didn’t speak English and he indicated they didn’t take credit cards after we ordered. Gordon had packed all our leftover money from past European trips to pay for the ‘toilet frau’ but we used most of it up to pay the bill. Which meant we had to be careful about fluid consumption. We didn’t want to water a bush and cause an international incident because we ran out of 50 cent pieces for the bathroom. And, of course, we left our debit cards at home so we couldn’t go to a bank and withdraw cash. So unprepared. But we made do.


We saw more little towns and Christmas markets but only Mannheim and Strasbourg stick out. Mannheim is a university town specializing in music and their buildings miraculously missed being bombed. A fellow ex-military tourist explained it simply: “They missed.” So the town square is still lovely. We snuck a free bathroom break in an art museum then bought amber and scarves at the market.

We toured Strasbourg and admired the architecture and swinging bridges. We attended an organ concert at the cathedral. Everybody oohed and aahed at the organist, but I get to hear people that good when we sit in with Lutherans. We’re spoiled. Great cathedral though. We shopped but we were getting a little tired of Christmas markets. Charming but we’d already bought what we wanted.


We’d recovered enough strength that we went caroling on the boat after dinner. They kept giving us booze—champagne reception, wine with dinner, schnapps just to warm up—so we were well-oiled enough to bellow along. One drunken passenger announced that we were obviously professional singers and we should sing for everyone. We weren’t that drunk so we begged off, saying the pianist wasn’t playing in our key. The woman must have been really drunk to make the request, we weren’t that good, but Gordon says “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.” Maybe she was deaf.


We changed seats at dinner every night so we met a woman who’d worked at South Dakota State University, and a woman who used to go to the Lutheran church we sing at. She said she remembered Foghorn. Apparently, Foghorn’s been putting people off for decades. But we enjoyed meeting our fellow passengers.


On the trip home Gordon got an offer from Air France to upgrade to Business Class for half-price so he took it. I loved it. I got to stretch out in comfort for eleven hours. And we got our own bathroom! No glares from the sardines in Economy! The only annoyance was the butler (that’s what he seemed like); he kept waking me up to offer me stuff. He said I could have all the wine I wanted. I just wanted water. But it’s going to be hard to go back to Premium Economy after traveling in comfort. Maybe if we have a windfall…


Out of space so have a Happy and a Merry and a ho ho ho.

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Christmas Letter Draft

I started our annual letter with a story about traveling to the national parks in Utah. I compared notes with Gordon and he’d written about the same stuff–except his was cuter. So we used his version. But I hate to toss anything so here’s my version. The full Christmas letter will follow in a few days.

Christmas 2023

The Christmas letter is late this year but we have a good excuse—we’ve been on the road.  We’ve been wandering around all year; down to the San Diego area to see various visiting relatives. It’s funny that everybody comes to SoCal to spend time and I’m trying to talk Gordon into leaving before Los Angeles turns into Detroit. He asks me where I want to go and I don’t have a good answer. So, I guess leaving isn’t in the immediate future. But it gives me something to bitch about and that always takes the pressure off Gordon.

We decided we should see American national parks while we can still walk so we booked a trip to Utah. We flew to Denver first to have dinner with Billy and Dawn Williams. Billy is an old band mate of Gordon’s and Dawn is a hoot. We had a great dinner after an eventful flight through thunderstorms. We spent the night at the Boulderado, an historic hotel in Boulder (duh). Boulder was a rich mining town so the facilities were built to impress the rich folks. Our room was decorated with antiques. The whole place was really cool. We enjoyed historic downtown Boulder and surrounding mansions then hit the road in our rented Suburban. We could have invaded a small country in that thing but all the small cars were out. It was take the Suburban or wait three hours. The Suburban was a gashog but it was comfortable and our luggage fit. Actually, we all rattled around like a BB in a boxcar but it got us around. Next day we drove straight through to Moab. It took six hours but the drive was interesting. We drove from Alpine settings to prairie to desert. It was gorgeous. We got to the Hampton Inn in Moab and were ungraded to a suite. I felt like royalty. We went to a local restaurant for Italian. I was surprised that I could order wine, you just can’t watch them pour it. That’s done in the kitchen. They call the booze policy the Zion Curtain. I didn’t care. I could have beer with pizza in Utah! We went to bed early.

We had choices as to outdoor activities. We looked at the river rafting options but there didn’t appear to be any white water; it was just drifting down the Colorado. Boring. I’d just get a sunburn. So we decided to go boulder surfing—at least that’s what I called it. We rented an off-road ATV, The guide told us to leave it in ‘high’ until we got to the hills. The engine screamed as we followed; I thought we were burning up the engine but the guide said it was normal. When we got to the hills we were told to drop into first gear and leave it there. We took off. The first twenty minutes were sheer terror. We were told to keep our hands and feet inside the cage and trust the machine. We roared straight up and plunged straight down. We almost tipped over a few times and I’m convinced that my butt clenching the seat saved us. Gordon, of course, had a ball. We surfed rocks for two hours. We watched another guy almost dump his truck so it can be done. Our guide said it happened all the time. He asked me why I didn’t scream. I told him Gordon (and my butt) was the only thing keeping us alive and I didn’t want to distract him. He laughed. We survived. I told a cousin this story and she asked how many years ago this happened. I said, “Last May.” We may be old be we refuse to grow up. Anyway, Gordon has life insurance. Of course, it’s not worth much…

We drove through Arches and Canyonlands the next day. An Australian mother-and-son unit commented at dinner that night that the landscape looked lunar to them. The mother said they’d traveled from Maine and were on their way to San Francisco. They loved the USA. I think they wanted to emigrate. I hope they don’t change their minds when they see what a mess San Francisco has become. I supposed we should have warned them.

We left our lovely suite and drove through Capitol Reef Park next day. We saw the petroglyphs of a lost native civilization. The story is: they were abducted by aliens. Really. Hey, maybe it’s true, I don’t know. The Mormons tried a settlement but gave up. They left all the fruit trees so the area is truly lovely. We took a few pictures and started the drive to Salt Lake City. We stopped half-way at a small-town Motel 6 or 8 or whatever it is these days. It was Sunday so the only things open were at a truck stop. We ate at Arby’s with the truckers. It reminded me of my childhood. Our room at the Motel whatever smelled of some anti-bacterial, anti-bug product. It almost killed me. I really missed our Hampton Inn suite but you take what you can get. We got to Salt Lake City and stayed at an historic hotel (forgot the name of it). We went across the street for a beer and chili and watched the Lakers get swept by the Nuggets. The locals were all Nuggets fans but they were nice. I think they felt sorry for us.

Next day we toured downtown and attended an organ concert before driving out to look at the Lake. It’s really low. The locals say agriculture takes so much of the winter runoff the lake is drying up. They’re working on fixing it. It was a nice trip but it was time to fly home. I was worried that Maggie, our cat, would be lonesome since her brother disappeared. She was fine. She’s a survivor. I wish I could have said the same about her brother.

Our next big trip was a Christmas Rhine cruise. I’m in Gordon’s space already so I’ll let him talk about it. I just want to say that we were unprepared. We found the only restaurant in Cologne (Koln) that didn’t take credit cards and the waiter didn’t speak English. We used up all our ‘toilet frau’ money paying the bill. Which meant we had to be careful about fluid consumption. We didn’t want to use a bush and cause an international incident because we ran out of 50 cent pieces for the bathroom. We’re ridiculous. Have a Happy and a Merry etc.

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Horror Story

A writers’ group I belong to instructed us to write a 250-word horror story for Halloween. I don’t write horror I thought I’d give it a try. It’s a good exercise in editing because 250 words are (is?) not a lot to work with. Anyway, here’s what I came up with. Happy Halloween 10 days late!

Damn Beans

“You go down cellar and git some beans,” screamed Maggie’s stepmother.

Maggie didn’t argue. Her stepmother was quick with the belt. Her father had married the woman when he lost the farm. “She’ll be a ma to you,“ he’d assured Maggie when they moved into the isolated cottage built over a root cellar. The cottage was primitive, and the cellar was dark and damp and smelled funny. Maggie was afraid of it. “Nothin’s down there but vegetables,” her father scoffed. Then he disappeared. Maggie didn’t blame him. She was desperate to leave, too. But she had nowhere to go.

Maggie crept down the stairs and peered into the dark. She muttered, “There’s nothing down here but jars.” Then she groped her way until one gingerly flailing hand connected with the naked lightbulb hanging in the middle of the room. She turned it on. Shelves of canned vegetables wavered into view. She grabbed the closest jar, took a deep breath and repeated, “Nobody here but me.”. She turned off the bulb and ran for light of the stairwell. One step, two, she was almost in the light. I made it, she exulted then felt a clawed hand dig into her neck and pull her back. A slithery tongue slid up her cheek and a raspy voice whispered in her ear, “Your pa thought he was alone, too. Joke’s on you. Ma’s handy at gittin’ pairs. And I bet you’re more tender than your pa was. Oh, and don’t drop the beans.”

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The Saga of OB

Last May, we lost our cat, Bucky. I say “lost” because we don’t know what happened to him. He refused to come in one night; even treats couldn’t convince him to come inside so we left the cat door open, sure he’d come in when he got bored. We never saw him again. Coyotes probably got him, but he could have been catnapped. It had happened before. Maggie, his sister, disappeared one night. I reported her as lost (she’s micro-chipped) and combed the neighborhood. No luck so I gave up; I was sure coyotes got her. She ran into the house 24 hours later. And now she won’t go near people. So I hope that’s what happened to Bucky. I put up fliers all over the neighborhood and someone ripped them down immediately. It’s like they didn’t want him found. So, if he was catnapped, I hope whoever took him is treating him right. He was special and I still miss him.

But we didn’t like leaving Maggie all alone when we left town. We didn’t want another kitten because Maggie is mean; we weren’t sure she wouldn’t harm a kitten. So we went to the shelter and rescued a fuzzy, orange tomcat. He was over 2 (they think) and twice the size of Maggie. But he was shy so we hoped he wouldn’t pick on her and he was big enough that she couldn’t bully him. He spent his first two days with us in the bathroom, locked away from Maggie. He endured us petting him but he preferred to be alone. After two days, we let him out and anxiously watched his introduction to Maggie. She hissed at him and ran. Well, at least they didn’t fight. He needed a name but nothing seemed to fit. I finally adopted OB for Orange Boy. We’re all used to it now and he responds to it–although officially he’s Obi-Whine Catnobe. Gordon hates boring names. We worried that he’d dominate Maggie because he’s older and bigger. Not to worry; she’s queen of this castle. She gets the food first and he waits his turn. When he annoys her, she gives a whack on the head and he puts up with it. He’s a good-natured little fella and has learned that if he rolls on his back and presents tummy he gets more food. We croon, “Aaww, how cute!” and open the refrigerator. He has us trained.

We didn’t think he’d be interested in going outside but he dashed out one morning when Gordon went out to get the paper (yes, we still get the paper). I didn’t worry much. I figured he’d be back in an hour for more food so we left the door open but there was no OB. I was so discouraged I gave up after ten hours. I figured he’d gone the way of Bucky. Fourteen hours later he limped in and hid under the dining room table. We hauled him to the vet (the x-rays cost a fortune) and found out he had a broken leg. They couldn’t recommend an orthopedic surgeon. The only thing the doc on call could do was some sort of muscle bind thing–for $3,000. He wasn’t sure it would work so we decided to take OB home and watch him. We got some pain killer which we stuffed down his throat and hoped for the best. Well, the best happened. He walked on the leg. All the time. We finally took him off the pain killer; we thought it was masking difficulties and hoped he’d stay off the leg and let it heal. That didn’t stop him. It’s been a month now and he’s chasing Maggie which she doesn’t appreciate. He’s scurrying after bugs in the windows and jumping on the furniture. He still limps a bit but it’s getting better week by week. So I guess he doesn’t need surgery, thank God. We’re still puzzled as to what could have caused the break. Another pet owner at the vet’s office had the best suggestion. He said it sounded like OB got hit by a car. That makes the most sense and I hope OB learned from the experience. He’s lucky he wasn’t killed. He still sneaks out so I hope his learning curve picks up.

Now we hope he has sense enough to avoid coyotes. Bucky used to attack them. I hope OB’s a coward. We’ll see.

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Yawp!

I’m feeling very sorry for myself today, so I’d thought I’d bitch a bit about writing. Well, not writing so much as publishing. I got screwed over by an agent when I wrote my first book. There was much excitement; her head writer was reportedly “over the moon” and CAA wanted to represent the movie rights. Then it got rejected by the Big Six (at the time; or maybe it was down to five. Can’t remember). I was told I had lawsuit material, but I had no idea how badly being ‘shopped’ could hurt you. So, being disgusted with the whole agent process, I self-published my second novel. And now I’m trying to sell it on Amazon. Which leads me to my biggest bitch. Scammers. They’ve got my email (and phone number!) and are after me. Someone wanted to buy the rights to First Year for $10k. No thanks. I think it’s worth more than that. LOTS of people want to sell my books in foreign countries. They also want to “publish” it for me–for a fee. But the one that really pissed me off was a supposed agent. She told me Harper Collins was interested in my book. Sound familiar? So, I looked her up on the scam lists. She wasn’t there but the minute I asked a question, she disappeared. I feel like I have “shmuck” tattooed on my forehead. I don’t know why I bother writing. Yes, I do. It amuses me. I just wish I wasn’t being punished for it So, I’ll keep writing for myself and not answering the phone and responding to emails. I’ve been bitten once and that’s enough. But I had to yell my giant YAWP of frustration to the universe. There, I feel better.

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Peter Pan Goes Wrong

I just read a review in the L.A. Times that I completely disagree with, so I had to write something. The reviewer objected because it wasn’t “serious” theater. I guess you only have “serious theater” when the audience being lectured and scolded and proselytized about Far Left politics. Apparently, you can’t laugh or enjoy yourself in “serious theater”. Bull****. I enjoyed Peter Pan Goes Wrong tremendously–as did most of the audience. We all laughed and booed Captain Hook which the reviewer thought was terrible because they didn’t share in the humor. IMO, we need more plays like this instead of the crap previously produced at the Music Center theaters–which probably is the reason the Taper is dark for the foreseeable future. I cancelled our subscription because I couldn’t stand the name-calling and abuse of anyone who didn’t share the Left’s extreme worldview. I wasn’t the only one. You want to kill a regional theater? Turn it into a political hobbyhorse. The Left apparently doesn’t buy tickets. And the result is a dark theater. Good job, political extremists.

Anyway, back to Peter Pan Goes Wrong. It’s about an amateur theater group trying to produce Peter Pan. Anyone who’s ever been involved in amateur theatrics can identify with everything that goes wrong. I remember being in The Effect of Gamma Rays in Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds when I was in college. Someone went over my props after I’d checked and moved everything (God knows why). My opening scene started with a phone call and the phone fell off the ledge. Things went downhill from there. The head tech guy didn’t show up. He claimed that he informed everyone that he’d miss the show but nobody remembered him telling anyone. So all the light and sound cues were wrong. Car horns blared in strange places; none of the special spotlights worked, the actors wandered around the stage, hoping for the best. The final miscue was at the end; an atom was supposed to be super-imposed on the actress’s face. There was a corn stalk instead. The director spent the show in the lobby, pulling his hair out. We did our best and the audience was kind. I remember one friend afterward asking me the significance of the cornstalk. I had no good answer. We stayed until one in the morning to train the tech crew on the cues and went on to triumph. I also remember when the girl playing Frumasera in Fiddler on the Roof panicked when one of the lines broke as she flew around ten feet off the stage. She kept waiting for the other line to break but she didn’t lose a beat. Amateur actors are tough. I guess they have to be. But I identified completely with the shenanigans the Peter Pan actors were dealing with. This is an industry town so I know wasn’t alone. It was FUN! I hope the new Director of the Music Center focusses on entertainment instead of pushing his political views. He’ll probably be out of a job if he doesn’t. All the good shows go to the Pantages these days. And the audience pays to see them.

Well, I’ve had my rant. I feel much better.