Graduate Level Sykesology

A tall tale of Wisconsin Dells

2011-04-06T21:54:00.007-05:00

The gentlemen to the left there is the great American mythical figure Paul Bunyan. This gigantic likeness of the legendary logger appears outside his namesake restaurant, Paul Bunyan's Cook Shanty, in Wisconsin Dells, Wisc. I was in The Dells last weekend to witness the joyous nuptials of my nephew and his bride.

I should let you know at this point that I had never been to Wisconsin Dells before. I found myself simultaneously enthralled and horrified at the homespun, yet epic tackiness. I would have for all the world guessed that The Dells was a product of an all night bender at the end of which Branson, Mo., and Niagara Falls found themselves in bed together.

From the not-quite-canonical mythology on display at the Mt. Olympus Resort and Water Park to the Ho-Chunk family of casinos, Wisconsin Dells is a loud, splashy, explosion of kitsch for the whole family.

And at the center of it all is the aforementioned Paul Bunyan Cook Shanty, a restaurant cum gift shop with a lumberjack camp theme. And I do mean camp.

Upon pulling into Paul Bunyan's parking lot, visitors are greeted by the larger-tha

n-life logger. The awning leading up to the front door proclaims "Welcome to my cook shanty." But Paul himself remains silent. That's because he leaves the talking to his pal, Babe the blue ox.

For those of you not up on the fable, Paul's constant companion was an equally giant domesticated, blue ox. He resides in the foyer of the cook shanty, and for 25 cents, you can hear him talk and watch him move. This would be cool if Babe looked like you're picturing him, which is something like this:

Unfortunately, what greets visitors ready to plunk down their sawbuck for a hearty meal is this:

And yes, for a quarter, you hear a speaker within this ox head drone on about Paul and Babe's adventures, like when Babe blew an oppressive fog clean out of the valley, or Paul used a redwood as a toothpick, or that time Paul and Babe discovered forbidden love in the mountains of Calgary.

If you can get over this trauma, you will be treated to a true breakfast bacchanalia. I could describe it to you, but why don't I just show you the commercial.

As Mrs. Z. and I waddled away from our second Paul Bunyan breakfast in as many days, I remarked that it was a good thing a joint like just wouldn't play the same way in Springfield, Ill. I mean, the capital doesn't scream "lumberjack hangout," and there are no ... famous ... loggers ... in our ... history ...

"Wait a minute," I said. "Can't you just picture it? The Abraham Lincoln Presidential Cook Shanty."

Of course, to truly carry it off, you'd need the disembodied animatronic head of Mary Todd Lincoln chirping away at visitors in the gift shop:

"Hello, dears, and welcome to Abe Lincoln's Cook Shanty! I'm Mary Todd, and I'm batshit crazy! You know, my husband may have been known for his Emancipation Proclamation, but I proclaim my flapjacks to be the best in all the land!"

On second thought ... maybe not.

On cripple rage and euthanasia

2011-03-30T19:46:00.005-05:00

I am blessed. I am loved. I am happy.

But there are times in my mostly charmed life when a succession of events brought on by my paraplegia annoy me, then frustrate me, then anger me, then send me to the brink of despair. Maybe it's my feet swelling to the point I can barely tie my shoes. Maybe it's throwing myself from my bed to my wheelchair ... and missing. Maybe it's sending my chair to the shop for repairs for the third time in a year and wondering what in the world I'm doing wrong.

Whatever the causes, I'm lowered into something I've come to call "cripple rage." I despise it, because it involves my alternating between feeling sorry for myself and lashing out at those I love most and who love me unconditionally. Fortunately, these episodes never last long, and those who know me best understand if I tell them it's just cripple rage, that it wasn't me -- at least not the real me. And then, I'll have a moment like this, and I'll remember how blessed I truly am.

Here's the thing: as I grow older, I find my cripple rage striking a bit more frequently. I can sense that, even though it's happening at a glacial pace, I'm losing my fiercely held independence. It slips no more than a nanometer every day, to be sure. And not every day, at that. But it's happening. And every once in a while, I fear the time when my disability and my age combine to truly debilitate me. Will I still have the happy-go-lucky glint in my eyes that has forever defined me? Will I be a burden on those who have loved me and stood by me?

And then, abruptly, I am brought to face to face with my feelings on euthanasia. I have always been strongly opposed to it. As someone who has fought all my life to suck every bit of the marrow out of life , I could not fathom voluntarily ending it. I have viewed "death with dignity" as a cop-out. I have felt that if one had the right to end one's life because of physical suffering, why not have the freedom to end it because of emotional pain? In short, I thought suicide was suicide and tantamount to throwing the gift of life back into the face of the Creator.

("Oh crap," you're thinking. "Why doesn't he say something funny? This is awkward.")

So now, maybe you see where I'm going with this. Maybe my own encroaching mortality and the unique difficulties it could eventually pose have caused me to "review the situation," as Fagin sang. At the very least, I am admonished anew to have compassion toward those who feel differently than I on touchstones such as this.

Above all, my dear, dear ones, I want you not to worry. Even if it does happen a little more often than it once did, my cripple rage still only represents a tiny fraction of what is a beautiful life. And being able to talk about it openly, knowing my friends who read this will smile and nod sympathetically, only makes my blessed life even richer.

I had a dream. I had an awesome dream.

2011-03-29T19:03:00.002-05:00

It is perhaps fitting that the night I renewed my commitment to writing, I had a fabulously detailed dream. In it, Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman, TV’s “Mythbusters,” approached with the news they had developed a part-hovercraft, part-airboat specially designed to be wheelchair accessible. They added they wanted to film me and a group of my friends taking a water caravan of sorts down a river.

I assembled a group comprised of a great many “dream friends” – plus two actual friends (Ralph Shank and Emilie Pearl) to make the journey with me. I couldn’t tell you what the river was, but I know it was muddy and contained several stretches of rapids.

Though my craft was wheelchair accessible, my next memory is of sitting in it without my wheelchair … feeling an extraordinary sense of freedom as I drifted, then surged, down the river – always with my friends, and Adam and Jamie, beaming nearby. Then, it started to rain.

By this time, I was a drenched, muddy mess already, so the onset of showers didn’t dampen my mood. Quite the contrary: I opened my mouth and started to belt out Phil Collins’s “I Wish It Would Rain Down.” And my sailing companions sang the choral parts alongside me. And in that instant, I knew that, as the entire trip was being filmed, a video of my performance placed over the original instrumental track would soon appear on YouTube.

As I mentioned, the prevailing emotion I felt through the course of the dream was liberation. It was the perfect antidote for the funk I had been feeling for the day or so before (which I’ll write about soon). And is the case with all good dreams, it takes on an even more epic quality when remembered and shared.

Whatever happened to blogging?

2011-03-28T19:40:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time, there was this thing called a blog.

Although still practiced by some of the more dedicated and better paid citizen journalists, blogging is, for many, a discarded literary form that could be spoken of in the same breath as the Smith Corona. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the medium, but at just about the time the popularity of the blog peaked, a new form of expression came along which even more perfectly captured the zeitgeist of self-expression.

The microblog.

With the emergence of Twitter and Facebook, millions learned that they could say everything they wanted to say in 140 characters or less, In fact, fashioning a pithy turn of phrase that was so much cyber snack food became an art form in itself. And it is still skillfully practiced by many today (and not so skillfully by millions more).

I, too, fell under the spell of the hipness that was Twitter and Facebook. And so it was that, about three years ago, my blogstream dried up into a trickle, and then silence. That is a piteous fate which, thankfully, I can reverse. So I’m taking my blog, Graduate Level Sykesology, out of mothballs and putting it back on the road (to horribly mash up two dusty metaphors). Why?

I miss long-form writing. Or at least longer than 140 characters. I have found that, even though I enjoy writing immensely, I am less and less inclined to do it when I’m off the clock. But a blog can be of some assistance here, by installing a layer of accountability. There is a sense that “I owe it to my readers to write faithfully!”

Now, I’m not kidding myself. There are a handful of human beings who have ever read Graduate Level Sykesology. The only person I have currently listed as a follower passed away six months ago, God rest her soul. There is not exactly a clamor for the continued essays of Stephen Sykes.

However, the chance that rebooting this blog brings with it the possibility of renewed and greater readership carries with it a responsibility, and a darn good reason to write again with regularity. And if I satisfy myself alone by filling a screen with more than insurance-speak, well that is one more person satisfied than if I left well enough alone.

I hope you, whoever you may be, enjoy this blog. I will post links to it on Twitter and Facebook. And if you crave more bite-sized musings, you may also follow me at twitter.com/drastrozoom.

Thanks for reading.

What I didn't do this summer

2008-03-19T20:31:00.003-05:00

Gather ‘round, children, and I will share with you a cautionary tale of the dangers of pride, unbounded optimism and an overdeveloped sense of ethics.

As those of you who have stuck with the blog from the beginning know, March is the traditional time I and other Springfield theater types typically engage in the ritual of The Muni Audition. Earlier this year, I had pretty much made up my mind to audition for a season of shows which included plenty of good, wheelchair-accessible roles.

As March approached, however, I felt an odd complacency creeping in. I couldn’t get excited about a Muni audition; in fact, I couldn’t get excited about auditioning at all. I mention this because the other audition opportunity that had appeared on the horizon was a cattle call in Chicago for “America’s Got Talent.”

Ever since this reality show debuted two summers ago, Mrs. Z has urged me to audition. And it did seem to offer a unique opportunity to someone like me who has a decent amount of singing talent but some marketability challenges (to wit, my age and my disability). But, as I have mentioned, I really wasn’t feeling like auditioning at all when the calendar flipped. Nevertheless, I took the first step toward an “America’s Got Talent” audition by filling out an online form.

Fast forward to two weekends ago, when I received an e-mail invitation to the 3-6 p.m. March 17 audition session. For some reason, getting this invite brought back a measure of audition excitement. But now, I had (I thought) a dilemma. In order to make the A.G.T. audition, I would have to leave Springfield for Chicago on March 16, thus missing Muni’s callback day. Furthermore, there was the possibility that if I were cast in a Muni show and chosen for A.G.T., I might have to drop the Muni show – something I really didn’t want to do, as I try to avoid dropping show at all costs.

For those of you slapping your heads and saying, “Man, did you outthink yourself,” you are most definitely right. And for those saying, “My don’t we have a high opinion of ourself,” you are correct as well. For me to assume both the Muni and A.G.T. would be clamoring for my services was, at best, ridiculously optimistic and, at worst, laughably egotistical. Nevertheless, I had convinced myself I had to make a choice, and I did.

So it was with wide eyes and an eager heart I loaded into the car with Mrs. Z and Mama Z bound for the A.G.T. cattle call at Navy Pier in Chicago.

First, the cool stuff. We stayed at the fabulous Hard Rock Hotel Chicago. This is a shot of its lobby.

This is the view getting out of the elevator on our floor.

This is one side of a hallway in our room.

And this is the other.

These cell phone pictures do it no justice, but it was the most spectacular hotel room in which I have ever stayed. And the bed … my, my, my … such luxurious comfort.

Between the hotel, a couple of wonderful meals and the enjoyable company (!) of my mother, the trip was already a success. And it’s a good thing, because the audition was not to be.

We arrived at Navy Pier at approximately 1 p.m. After running all through the audition site and being redirected several times by some not-so-helpful audition staff, we finally found the initial registration line, in which we waited for about a half hour before I was photographed and processed. Then, it was into a giant holding area (the Lakeview Terrace, for anyone who’s ever been to Navy Pier) with what I reckon were about 200 other auditioners. Keep in mind this was for one three-hour block, and the auditions ran from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. for two days.

Audition numbers (I was #731999) were called in groups of 10 for an initial screening. Once my group was called, I were led into a hallway that housed about six audition rooms, which all had auditions running in concurrent 15-minute blocks. Once auditioners entered the room, they introduced themselves one at a time, sang 90 seconds of a song a capella and fell back into line.

Considering we were surrounded by noisy auditions on either side, grabbing a pitch was a challenge, but when my turn came, I belted out the highlights of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” in what I thought was a decent fashion. Once our group was finished, the two twentysomething staff members had us wait outside, where we would presently find out whether we had made it to the next step – an actual videotaped audition for the senior production staff. (Those who passed this step would advance to a recording of the actual first televised round of auditions.)

Within about 30 seconds, the audition herder came out and told the first auditioner (who had driven to Chicago from Arkansas to perform a serviceable rendition of Travis Tritt’s “I Smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E” ) to go back inside. She informed the rest of us that the two twentysomethings were passing on the rest of us. We barely had time to absorb this news before the Travis Tritt wannabe emerged – also a reject.

We subsequently found out that the rate of people making it past this initial screening was roughly 12 in 800. Long odds, indeed.

Immediately, Mrs. And Mama Z went into damage control, but truthfully, I wasn’t close to crushed. I had survived my first (and last?) true cattle call audition, and it had been a fascinating experience. If anything, I was ruing my folly at throwing all my proverbial eggs in one proverbial basket. There would have been absolutely nothing wrong with my auditioning for both the Muni and A.G.T., and who knows what the results may have been.

That said, it was a wonderful trip. I’ve found a new favorite hotel, and we enjoyed some fantastic food (including this charming little Midwestern chain we’d never been to before).

Perhaps nicest of all, I’ve ensured a spring and summer of free nights. And with Mrs. Z having been on the road so much this winter and with two more heavy months of toil on the road in store, that time together will be priceless.

Gratitude is my anti-drug

2008-02-28T21:55:00.006-06:00

I had a sweetheart of a “railing against society” post ready to roll — and I still will be rolling it out in the next few days. But a funny thing happened on the way to the righteous indignation entry.

I had the occasion to thank two people today. Each deserved special thanks: my boss, who was instrumental in my getting promoted to a new position in which she will, sadly, no longer be my boss; and a co-worker who helped me pack my desk as our entire division moved back into the main building across the street. Verbal kudos didn’t seem to cut it, so I bought each a thank-you card on my lunch hour.

As I headed back to the office, I had a curious rush. I was incredibly excited at the prospect of brightening both ladies’ days. It occurred to me that I needed to find more reasons to thank people.

There is a totally unique feel-good vibe to sincerely thanking someone. More often than not, it catches people by surprise, and there’s something deliriously gratifying about ambushing someone with unexpected appreciation. It causes a smile in them that can’t be elicited any other way.

Beyond the selfish motivation of the gratitude rush, there’s another reason thanking people is more important now than ever. We live in a troubled world filled with troubled people. So many around us have psyches on the brink of shattering. At the risk of being overly dramatic, feeding someone’s soul with a well-timed thank-you could literally save lives. Of course, you’ll never know.

But you’ll still get That Smile.

Skipping past work on a snowy evening

2008-01-31T20:06:00.000-06:00

My deepest apologies to Robert Frost.

We're expected to get 5 to 8 inches of snow tonight, so I decided to beat the worst of the accumulation by taking off work early. That plus my flex day off tomorrow will allow me to hide from the white stuff until Sunday.

It is my purest intention to do some quality blogging in the next few days. But tonight, the world must cease its revolutions until the shock waves from the fourth season premiere of Lost have subsided.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Nothing to see here ... not for a while, anyway

2008-01-11T13:50:00.000-06:00

So I'm reading MSNBC.com's Cosmic Log today when I come across this bit of news:

A colossal cloud of gas is racing toward a collision with our galaxy, and when it hits, the crash could trigger an intense burst of star formation.

Now, this is really cool. Obviously, it's not going to happen anytime soon, or else the world would be in chaos. But I am interested to hear when exactly the galactic shit is due to hit the fan, so I read on:

The collision and stellar light show will occur in 20 million to 40 million years, an astronomer announced today at a meeting of the American Astronomical Society.

What?!? 20 to 40 million years? That's just too much to wrap my brain around. Why are astronomers even telling us this stuff? I have trouble getting worked up over climate change that could doom us by 2050, much less devastation that isn't due for 20 to 40 million years!

Turns out there's not even going to be any devastation then.

See that? The gas clous is headed for the other side of our galaxy! So the most that's going to happen is a little bit of a fireworks show. But don't get excited, humanity, because it's not even happening for another 20 to 40 million years!

Talk about a slow news day.

Well, hello there. My, it's been a long, long time.

2008-01-10T17:33:00.000-06:00

The obvious question – particularly to those who only know me through this blog, and I imagine that may be one or two of you – is where the hell have I been?

Just to give you a recap, since the date of my last post, I've been in the hospital, gotten out of the hospital, quit smoking, been diagnosed with diabetes, started a diet, added three medicines to my daily routine, gotten a new computer, started an additional blog, stepped up my freelance writing, shaved my goatee and grown a full beard.

Now that that's out of the way, let's get back to the business of the blog: stream-of-consciousness ramblings presented in what I hope is a palatable style.

As the presidential campaign starts to ramp up in earnest, I must ask why the news networks seem so anxious for it to be over. In the days leading up to the start of primary season, the theme of Hillary Clinton's candidacy throughout the media was inevitability. Then came Iowa, and the Clinton bandwagon was hastily papered over with the beaming junior senator from Illinois who was presented breathlessly to America as the second coming of RFK and MLK all rolled up in one. Suddenly, Hillary was one loss away from being eliminated from the race altogether.

Then came New Hampshire.

Now, the networks are grudgingly admitting nothing is decided, though one almost gets the sense they're desperate to paint this as a tipping point for a return to dominance for the Clinton campaign. I just don't understand why there's such a reluctance to embrace a wide-open free-for-all. And for those who counter the media is happy to tout the unpredictability of the Republican race: that doesn't count, seeing as how the GOP is the National Football Conference of the political world right now. (No one knows who'll win, but it doesn't matter, as they seemingly don't have a chance in November.)

One more thing on political coverage, and then I'll let us all catch our collective breath. I know it would eliminate half the TV news content, but could we please ban interviews with campaign representatives and party officials? We know what they're going to say! These intersnooze ... err ... interviews just ends up being boring, free commercials.

Broadening my blogizons

2007-10-31T10:48:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I decided not to change the format of this blog, but to open up another one instead. It's called "The Perfect Headline," and I already have a healthy number of posts. So check it out!

The premise: some headlines are so great, you don't want to read the story because it will wreck the image that has formed in your head.

I'll get back to regular bloggy goodness here soon.

Hello! Where have I been?

2007-10-11T10:42:00.000-05:00

I thought my blogging output would increase when I finally had a PC at home. Unfortunately, the opposite has been the case. I have several legitimate excuses: longer work hours, busier after-work schedule, spending my after-work wiritng time on actual paying gigs, etc. But that's not fair to you, my loyal reader(s).

So here's what we're going to do. At least for the immediate feature, we're undergoing a format change here at GLS. Details to follow.

I am sick of this namby-pamby world

2007-08-01T17:40:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's been three months since I posted. I haven't been particularly inspired to foist my opinions on the world -- mainly because I haven't had any really strong ones. But boy, am I coming back swinging.

It seems a newspaper reporter has been chastened and compelled to apologize for comments he made on a sports talk show regarding Michael Vick. Here's a snippet of the Associated Press article on it.

PITTSBURGH (AP) -- A newspaper reporter who said Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick would have been "better off raping a woman" than being charged with dogfighting has apologized and will no longer appear on the local sports panel TV show where he made the remark. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reporter Paul Zeise made the comments Sunday night on the Sports Showdown show on KDKA-TV, a CBS affiliate. He was disagreeing with another panelist who said NFL commissioner Roger Goodell should suspend Vick for the rest of the season because he was indicted on federal dogfighting charges July 17. "It's really a sad day in this country when somehow ... Michael Vick would have been better off raping a woman if you look at the outcry of what happened," Zeise said. "Had he done that, he probably would have been suspended for four games and he'd be back on the field. But because this has become a political issue, all of a sudden the commissioner has lost his stomach for it."

***

"I regret the poor choice of analogies I used to characterize a professional athlete's legal situation," Zeise said. KDKA apologized on its Monday newscasts and said Zeise, one of a group of rotating panelists on the show, will not be invited back. Zeise's "insensitive and offensive" remarks "do not represent the view of the Post-Gazette," the newspaper said in a statement Monday.

Insensitive? Offensive? How, exactly? I mean, is there anyone out there so monumentally thick-headed he or she actually thinks Zeise was saying raping a woman is a good thing? Is that whose sensibilities we are looking to protect? I'm not even convinced that's the angle, but I'll be damned if I can figure out exactly what else it could be.

I want to live in a world where analogies and hyperbole are permitted. I want to live in a world where an unpopular opinion can be voiced without its originator fearing for his or her job.

I know freedom of speech doesn't apply in this situation. How about the freedom to have an adult discussion? Maybe it's worse for me because I'm a writer, but I'm almost physically ill right now.

'Concentrate on the moment'

2007-04-30T13:57:00.000-05:00

Hmmmm ... it's been a while, hasn't it? Let's eas back into this blogging thing.

Mueller’s 'slash and burn' could make Dolphins more productive

2007-03-05T17:32:00.000-06:00

If you're not a Dolphin fan, you may want to stop reading. But I am, and today was a rather significant day for the franchise. (Please note: the following essay assumes the reported release of Randy McMichael is a done deal.

***

First it was Jeno James, Kevin Carter, Seth McKinney and Kevin Vickerson. Then it was Damian McIntosh and Sammy Morris. Now, the list of ex-Dolphins has expanded to include tight end Randy McMichael, wide receiver Wes Welker and quarterback Joey Harrington.

“The woods are burning,” as Willy Loman said so famously, and many Dolphin fans are smelling the smoke and pulling the nearest alarm. My first thought was to envision General Manager Randy Mueller as a reincarnated William Tecumseh Sherman, the Civil War general who burned everything in sight as he marched to the ocean. But the more research I’ve done, the more Mueller’s approach reminds me of the agricultural technique known as “slash and burn.” More on that in a moment.

First of all, let me say how good it feels to write about a general manager calling the shots for the Dolphins — and not a hybrid general manager/coach so desperate to prove he does one job well that he completely screws up the other. That’s not to say first-year Head Coach Cam Cameron won’t have some input in personnel, but his main job is to design an offense that will score points, and it is Mueller’s job to get him the components that fit that design.

Now, back to this business of slashing and burning. The idea (and this is grossly oversimplifying things) is to take old crops, bind them together, let them dry out, then burn them — thereby enriching the soil for more productive future crops. In fact, the very chemical nature of the solid changes as a result.

And this is what the Dolphins front office is trying to do: change the very chemistry of the team. Goodness knows the current team composition has only resulted in disappointment. And so, the offseason started with the somewhat expected and (mostly uncontroversial) releases of James, McKinney, Carter and Vickerson. Then, McIntosh and Morris got their walking papers, and a few sets of eyebrows went up. This is principally because there are no apparent replacements for these players in the wings ready to take over.

Then today, all hell broke loose. After searching unsuccessfully for a trade partner, the Dolphins released McMichael. Then the team traded fan favorite and poster boy for overachievement Wes Welker go to the hated Patriots for a second and a seventh round pick in the same draft. Harrington's release, though expected, was no less significant in terms of financial savings.

That clicking sound you’re hearing is a sizable chunk of the Dolphin fan base repeatedly mashing the panic button. As is the case with McIntosh and Morris, it doesn’t help that there are no immediate replacements coming in the revolving door as McMichael and Welker head out. Well, you could count oft-injured Green Bay tight end David Martin and former Tennessee Volunteer standout Kelley Washington. (Martin has actually been signed; Washington has not, as of press time.) Or not.

Assuming both transactions occur, fans would have some right to cry foul. After all, even though the offense was stagnant last year, McMichael and Welker were two of the bright spots, right? Why get rid of two of the few players who actually produced?

Resurrection vs. recreation

The answer lies in what one has to assume is Mueller’s goal for the offense, if not the whole team. It is apparent the unit has gone from merely needing a few holes plugged to requiring a total overhaul. To make an analogy with just as many holes: a rusted-out Lamborghini that happens to have some perfectly fine performance tires is still no good. Even if you resurrected the current incarnation of the Dolphins offense to perfect health, it would not get the job done.

That’s because ever since Dan Marino’s retirement, the Dolphins offense has been constructed with the goal of holding on to the ball long enough to keep the defense fresh enough to eventually win games. That’s why Jay Fiedler at his best managed a game rather than leading the offense. Even the wildly popular Wes Welker is known for picking up key first downs, not scoring touchdowns.

But the times, they are a-changin’. As Cam Cameron said during his introductory press conference, “You got to score. That's the oldest principle in this game … That's the way it works.” Randy Mueller seems committed to building a new Dolphins offense in Cam Cameron’s image, and that involves a complete overhaul. That’s why players like McMichael and Welker may be more valuable to the Dolphins for the resources they can yield, not the developed weapons they are.

But that’s also where the slash-and-burn technique is problematic. In the agricultural world, it takes several seasons to evaluate how successful a slash-and-burn approach has been. Mueller and Cameron may not have several seasons. In today’s NFL, especially last year’s ridiculously atypical turnaround of the New Orleans Saints, building Rome in a day seems completely reasonable. And while such a quick turnaround is possible for the Dolphins, it seems unlikely. Thus, the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth that goes up from South Florida as the woods burn.

I’m withholding judgment on the front office purge to see how the offseason plays out. I’ll admit once word broke as I wrote this column that McMichael would be released rather than traded, my optimism waned a bit. That said, it is still encouraging to see an aggressive course being charted. That the destination is obscured at the moment is troubling, but having offense as a priority is a refreshing change. Now, it’s just time to see what fresh crops are grown.

Don't you "sweetheart" me!

2007-02-21T17:13:00.000-06:00

Sorry for my autobiographical constipation, dear readers. I'm about to let my vowels loose to try and make up for it.

First-up, as a public service, I present my "American Idol" Bottom-Line Recap for Feb. 20, 2007. It was the first Guys' Night Out, and it proceeded thusly:

Rudy Cardenas — Suck.
Brandon Rogers — Suck.
Sundance Head — Suck.
Paul Kim — Suckie suckie.
Chris Richardson — Suck.
Nick Pedro — Suck.
Blake Lewis — Cool.
Sanjaya Malakar — Suck.
Chris Sligh — Cool.
Jared Cotter — Suck.
AJ Tabaldo — Suck.
Phil Stacey — Cool.

What? Not meaty enough for you? I'm just keeping it real, dog. If you want more details on the singers, check out the deliciously snarky Average Jane or the "Wait Until I see a Whole Episode and THEN I'll Really Get Started" Sassy.

Actually, the most entertaining/uncomfortable moments of the night were provided by host Ryan Seacrest and embittered Brit Simon Cowell. After an evening in which Cowell was crankier than usual, Seacrest took him to task for his general grumpiness, to which Cowell responded, "I'm just trying to be honest, sweetheart."

“Don’t call me sweetheart. ... We don’t have that kind of relationship,” Seacrest said. “I don’t want that kind of relationship.”

“I don’t want that kind of relationship,” repeated Cowell, to which Seacrest replied: “Exactly. We’ll just work together, that’s fine with me.”

Eegads. If I didn't know better, I'd say Seacrest was auditioning for a murderous redneck in "The Laramie Project." But "Idol" noob that I am, I was informed the dueling duo are actually good friends in "real life." So it seems more likely this was just a good-natured queen-fight.

It's a good thing, too. I was halfway expecting one or the other to call in these guys for reinforcements.

***

In other news

I was able to roll through our alley without assistance today for the first time since the Great Snow of '07, which has been quickly followed by the Great Melt of '07. In fact, I was able to roll around with only a long-sleeved shirt this afternoon*, further evidence that when you mix Illinois's already-volatile weather with climatic change (nee "global warming) and shake well, you get Corn Belt End Times.

*In the spirit of full disclosure, I was in fact wearing pants along with my long-sleeved shirt.

Speaking of slush, I've discovered that my least productive window at work is from 1:30 to 3 p.m. It's like I'm stuck in cold gray stuff, and I have to rock my mind back and forth for about 90 minutes before rolling free of it.

A sure sign I'm getting old is that I've been spending more time on line playing Scrabble than surfing for porn. It's not just the gray creeping into my goatee that gives it away now.

Mrs. Z is on the road a lot these days selling class rings as a soldier in the Josten's army. She seems quite happy, and that makes The Good Doctor happy.

It also allows for White Castle (last night) and Jack in the Box (tonight) runs. Literally and figuratively.

It seems strange not to be banging our heads against a wall preparing a Muni audition. While it's a season that should sell well, there's absolutely nothing there for the missus or me, which gives us time to focus on our burgeoning TV watching:

Grease: You're the One That I Want
The Amazing Race: All-Star Edition
Heroes
24
Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
American Idol
Jericho
Lost
Survivor: Fiji
CSI

I'm not saying I'm turning into a couch potato, but that's only because I rarely sit on the couch.

Why is this man not smiling

2007-01-31T15:42:00.000-06:00

I love watching politicians making fools of themselves.

Senator Joe Biden today showed why he is more renown for stealing others’ words than for the quality of his own because of comments he made to the New York Observer, in which he said Barack Obama: "I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that's a storybook, man."

And this, on the day he announces his candidacy for president! Brilliant!

His spin jockey isn’t much smarter. "Clean is a synonym for fresh and new," Biden campaign spokesman said. "And if you look at the context of the quote it's obvious that's what he meant. And certainly anybody who knows Sen. Biden wouldn't question that."

Uh, no, Rasky. “Clean” doesn’t mean “new” or “fresh.” It would have been far easier to say "Obama is clean in the sense that he is -- to this point -- unbesmirched by scandal."

I’m not saying Joe Biden is racist. I’m saying he’s a stupid politician. Which is to say -- he’s a politician.

Hee hee.

The Good Son

2007-01-26T10:54:00.000-06:00

Tonight, I am going to see this person in concert.

The reason for this is that my mother, whose birthday is in 13 days, is a huge fan of the aforementioned comic (in fact, I believe he is her favorite comedian), and I wanted to give her something nice for her birthday. So we will be dining and seeing the show together.

When you consider that my favorite comedian is this gentleman, my level of personal sacrifice becomes a bit clearer.

Of course, now that I’ve become a regular watcher of American Idol, I no longer have any justification in taking the cultural high ground. So tonight, we GIT-R-DONE.

*sigh*

My new crush

2007-01-23T10:40:00.000-06:00

It's been awhile since I was this excited over a musical discovery. Ladies and gentlemen, Imogen Heap.

She's nominated for Best New Artist this year (though she hasn't a chance at winning, sadly). And she brings to the table a lot of my favorite musical elements (vocal harmony, synthesizer, thoughtful, lyrics, etc.)

I highly recommend checking out some of her work.

Who's a fat panda?

2007-01-17T13:14:00.000-06:00

Ok, I promise you, dear readers that this is not turning into an all-pandas, all-the-time blog. But I had to chuckle at and share this item from MSNBC.com bemoaning the fate of poor Chuang Chuang.

It seems this male resident of Chiang Mai Zoo in northern Thailand has become, well, too fat to, well ... you know. Amusing alliteration aside, this has to be a demoralizing wake-up call to male pandas everywhere. No longer can you skate merely by being adorable; there comes a point at which your obesity kills your sex life, no matter how damn cute you are.

Chuang Chuang is going on a diet to remedy the problem. Let's hope other would-be panda playas out there take the hint. I'd hate to see this condition turn into a ... wait for it ... pandemic.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!

2007-01-16T09:41:00.000-06:00

Oh. My. God.

'24.'

Oh. My. God.

See link at right, fans. All others ... you can cope.

Panda-ering to my readers

2007-01-10T15:46:00.000-06:00

This literally got me through the day. Enjoy.

… as in olden days

2006-12-20T09:52:00.000-06:00

Mrs. Z and I (well, Mrs. Z mostly) put up our Christmas tree Sunday night. I’ll give those of you who know us fairly well a moment to recover.

You see, we haven’t always been the most festive observers of the Yuletide season. It probably started 12 years ago, when my father passed away suddenly a month before Christmas. The next two years, I was saddled with major illnesses around the holidays. After that … well, we were out of practice.

Now don’t get me wrong, we always celebrate Christmas and are happy to do so. It’s just that we don’t generally have a month-long run-up of THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT. Last year, that started to change when Mrs. Z and I started a new Christmas Eve tradition, the Downtown Dash. (You can read all about that here.)

But this year, we both got a full dose of THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT – and early. A large amount of the credit has to go to this lovely lady, who not only shared with us her exuberance for the holidays, but was a real inspiration for our renovating "The Pit." With a clean and organized apartment, we were able to purchase a new Christmas tree and give it a wonderful home where the coffee table normally sits.

By the time it was set up – with its white lights, silver-bell garland, red ribbons, silver ball ornaments, candy canes and a few-sizes-too-large, tree-topping star, I could only stare at it slack-jawed and murmur “It’s beautiful” repeatedly. It really is. And it was in that moment that I realized THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT had just swept over me like a wave in which I didn’t mind drowning.

While this glorious tree has had a lot to do with it, my joy this Christmastime has as much to do with being surrounded by and closer to those I love — perhaps more than ever before. This year has brought a lot of turmoil, but overcoming such strife has left me with a feeling of gratitude I could never have had if the 2006 had gone smoothly.

As I sit bathed in the surprisingly bright glow of the Christmas tree, I can feel its white light pouring into my heart. And it seems to be offering itself as a candle I can hold out before me to light the way in the coming year. I reach out to take the hands of those who love me and invite them to walk with me.

This glow, this light, this SPIRIT … I offer it to you, dear readers. Take some of it to light your way. Let’s walk together, if only for a little while.

Merry Christmas.

I dare you not to smile

2006-12-15T08:57:00.000-06:00

Just when you think it can't get any better, the counter hits 1:09.

A bit of music fanboyishness

2006-12-08T10:48:00.000-06:00

I just sent this off to Lindsey Buckingham.

Lindsey:

I hardly ever write fan mail, but I just wanted to drop you a note and thank you for your music. I had been aware of your music (and that of Fleetwood Mac) for many, many years, but I only really started to listen to it in the last five years. During that time, my admiration for your songwriting, instrumental craftsmanship and passionate singing has grown exponentially.

Then, last night, I watched your CMT "Crossroads" special with Little Big Town and was reminded anew how you pour yourself into your music more than any other artist I know. And I thought about one of my biggest regrets: how I wish I could have become a devoted fan of yours while my father was still alive (he passed away in 1994). Dad was a great guitarist and soaked up the work of other fantastic guitar players, and I am convinced he would have been as big a Lindsey Buckingham fanatic as I have become. Indeed, I think of my father often when I listen to your music. And that's just another reason to love your work.

So that's why I'm writing: to tell you how much your music has touched me and to thank you for it. I'm glad your latest work is getting good recognition, and I wish you the best as your career continues.

Stephen Sykes
Springfield, IL

If you want some prime examples of why I'm gushing, check out "Under the Skin" or "Out of the Cradle."

Extra crispy legislation: government moves to save us from ourselves

2006-12-05T16:30:00.000-06:00

It was barely more than a “News of the Weird” item when word began circulating that New York City was considering outlawing the use of trans fats in its restaurants. How would the archetypical NYC cop survive without donuts, one of the most egregious trans-fat transgressors? And we chuckled.

Today, the trans-fat ruling is the lead item on many online news services.

‘The Board of Health voted Tuesday to make New York the nation’s first city to ban artery-clogging artificial trans fats at restaurants — from the corner pizzeria to high-end bakeries,” states MSNBC.com. “Restaurants will be barred from using most frying oils containing artificial trans fats by July and will have to eliminate the artificial trans fats from all of their foods by July 2008.”

The ban is not New York’s first foray into aggressive health promotion. The city was one of the first to enact a comprehensive public smoking ban — a legislative trend which only recently reached my hometown of “Springpatch,” Ill. So within three years, NYC has moved to clear its residents’ lungs and its arteries.

Here’s the $64,000 question. Many of us are, at best, offended, and at worst, frightened, when a government tries to tell us what is immoral or obscene (see gay marriage or Nipplegate). But what will the volume of the outcry be as government begins to legislate health more and more? Readers?

Slingin' and swingin'

2006-12-04T10:30:00.000-06:00

You Are Spider-Man

Quick and agile, you have killer instincts (literally).
And that kind of makes up for the whole creepy spider thing.

What Superhero Are You?

Eat your heart out, Jack London

2006-11-30T14:42:00.000-06:00

Mrs. Z is home. My office is closing at 3 p.m. because of the encroaching wintry mess. Life is good.

In praise of Douglas

2006-11-28T16:36:00.000-06:00

"Asking people about their opinions is a very good way of making friends. Telling them about your own opinions can also work, but not always quite as well."

The preceding quote is from my favorite writer of all time, England's Douglas Adams. He is one of the most brilliant humorists and least obnoxious activists ever to walk this Earth. Adams is best known for having written “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and its four sequels.

A note, here. If you find me funny personally, or if you like my writing, please, please, PLEASE find and read a copy of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” It was the single most influential work as far as both my sense of humor and my writing style are concerned. And don’t try to watch the movie first. It will most likely leave you feeling lost and disillusioned. (Now there are many Adams fans who have read the book many time, yet still claim to have felt lost and disillusioned after watching the movie. That is entirely their problem.)

The reason I bring Douglas Adams up is that one of the things I’ve done to pass the time while Mrs. Z’s been away this week is read a wonderful compilation of Adams’s writings called “The Salmon of Doubt.” The book contains the highlights of what was on his Macintosh at the time of his tragically early death – including an unfinished novel. I have particularly enjoyed the essays included in the book, which cover everything from The Beatles to climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro in a rhino suit. And scattered amongst these writings are nuggets of wisdom like the one I opened this post with – which, incidentally, is from an essay entitled “For Children Only.”

Brilliant stuff, and it got me thinking. If you had access to the personal writings of anyone you chose, who would it be and why? Write a blog entry about it if you like, or merely use this blog’s comment space.

And for goodness’s sake, please read some Douglas Adams. It will make you smile.

What's been going on ...

2006-11-27T16:21:00.000-06:00

Well, kids, as you can surmise from the time gap between my previous entry and this one, plenty has been going on in Zoomland – only a fraction of which shall be discussed in this post. That restrictive disclaimer aside, there is still quite a bit to get to, so let’s get to it.

I should first mention Mrs. Z. is, due to a series of extraordinary kindnesses, in the midst of a week’s sabbatical visiting a dear friend in Minnesota. She’s having a great trip, which is not to say she needed some time away from me; rather, she needed some time to and for herself. And that is something she’s had precious little of in the nearly 15 years we’ve been married. It already seems to be agreeing with her, based on this photo I received from her.

Part of the upshot of all this is my spending more time with my mother, or “Z-Mom,“ as I have just now decided to refer to her. While it has been at times maddening spending so much time with someone who admits to still seeing me as 10 years old half the time, it has been, for the most part, a pleasant if somewhat poignant experience. You see, as much as she still sees me as 10, I still see her as 50ish. And to see her age – particularly during the weekend together – has been difficult.

On the plus side, we’ve seen some pretty awesome movies.

First and foremost, I must add my voice to the universal choir singing the praises of “Casino Royale.” Daniel Craig is the best Bond since Sean Connery, and the movie does a great job of recapturing the original essence of 007. This isn’t to say the rest of the Bond films are crap, but they’d become such self-caricatures that they were in danger of becoming irrelevant. Not anymore!

We also saw the latest Denzel Washington/Tony Scott film, “Déjà Vu.” I do recommend it for its sheer entertainment value, but I have a hard time giving it an unqualified “thumbs up.” Because I don’t want to give away any of the movie (and discovery is a big draw to this film), I will just say that “Déjà Vu” deftly switches genres about a third of the way through, then causes fans of that genre to roll their eyes with what I consider a copout ending. That said, it’s very much worth seeing, and in the theater at that.

Then there’s “The Fountain.”

Z-Mom and I saw the Hugh Jackman-Rachel Weisz film on Saturday. No less than six people walked out during the movie, and one young lady who managed to stick through it was heard to mutter, “I have no idea what that was fucking about.” We tended to agree, though Z-Mom would be loath to use such language in public. I know for a fact, however, that she was thinking “What the fuck?” throughout. And I’m sure she still is.

However, the more that I think about it, the more this initially incomprehensible opus is growing on me in precisely the way “Magnolia” didn’t. Its visuals are breathtaking, its acting sincere and its score singularly beautiful. I’m still saying “What the fuck?” but I think I actually like it now. And if I see it again, I’m pretty sure I’ll love it.

Coming soon: more on my week of bachelorhood, including how I quit smoking. (GASP! Literally!)

17 days (cough, cough)

2006-10-09T09:25:00.000-05:00

So many cool things happening in my life. So little time to talk about them. So instead, I'll just draw your attention to the fact my Amazon wish list is back up and running, because October really is the coolest month. Just type in "Steve Sykes" to see what I wants.

Ciaaaoooo ...

Tickle me emo

2006-09-29T14:17:00.000-05:00

Within the past week, I found out that I had inadvertently hurt the feelings of a couple of very dear friends. I’m happy to report those fences have been mended; otherwise, I’d still be in the pasture swinging a hammer rather than putzing around Blogger. But while I was still in damage control mode, I searched for a cute little animated smiley that would allow me to apologize with irresistible charm and cuteness. So I did some trolling through Photobucket using the keyword, “Sorry.”

The search results confirmed what I had long suspected: the Internet has been overrun by intelligent-yet-pretentious, angst-ridden emoteens.

For those who want a full refresher course in this pop culture phenomenon, check Wikipedia’s entry on Emo. Here’s the Reader’s Digest version: think Goth without the cool fashion sense or the good music.

My “Sorry” search started out innocently enough: there was this little message that was merely a little pouty.

Then the angst began to truly flow.

I found several different variations on this little ditty, which stopped me dead (pardon my pun) in my tracks.

The combination of this item’s morbidity and its ubiquity kind of lends it a unintended humor. I mean, the Photobucket search results suggest it’s downright trndy to express your regret through stylishly suicidal art. Yikes!

Well, once I started chuckling at the artistic angst of others, I couldn’t stop.

And I’m sorry I keep forgetting to turn off the hall light. But know that it’s ripping my soul out!

The lyrics are just about incomprehensible, but it’s the photo that’s genius here. The poor gent seems to be saying “How did I let my girlfriend convince me to buy this couch instead of the futon I wanted. My friends are going to think I am totally whipped!”

And then, there was the image that needed no additional commentary.

Indeed.

Conclusions? It’s no longer hard to say you’re sorry – especially if you’re willing to tear out your spleen for the one you love.

Banksy shots

2006-09-21T14:09:00.000-05:00

This is going to be one of those copout posts. You've been warned. Sorry, but for someone not doing much, I've had a lot going on.

Nevertheless, this is a value-added entry. I'd like to show you some of the most provocative modern art I've ever seen. It gives me a bit of an idea why Andy Warhol was apparently so important.

The artist's name is Banksy, and those of you who follow pop culture may know him as the artist-prankster who secretly replaced hundreds of Paris Hilton CD's with his own bootlegs, complete with scandalously titilating Photoshopped variations on the original jacket art.

But there's a serious mind buried within this jester. And some incredible talent as well. Here's one of my favorite pieces from his latest exhibition:

For more, follow the link in this post's title.

Remembering

2006-09-11T16:11:00.000-05:00

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, the first thing I noticed was that WMAY, our principal AM news station, was hosting a live remote from the Mel-O-Cream doughnut shop at the Sixth Street end of our alley. (It’s now a Jimmy John’s.) I grabbed a free doughnut and headed to work. It was about 7:50 a.m. When I got to work, several things happened simultaneously: I heard some sort of accident had happened at the World Trade Center, I got a call from my wife saying a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers, and I noticed I couldn’t reach any of the news Web sites I had bookmarked on my computer.

We didn’t have a TV in the building, but my wife had one in her office, so she fed me regular updates. The second plane hit the WTC at about the same time we were able to set up a radio to hear the news from New York. My wife, who had had a bad feeling with the first plane strike, now was convinced we were under attack.

Of course, it was hard for me to form any opinions, as I couldn’t see what was going on. The Web was still log-jammed from billions of hits from people like me, who were wondering what the hell was going on. Then, I got the call from my wife saying the Pentagon had been hit. That’s when I really started to panic.

But there was no time for panic, as one of my work colleagues who had planned to get married in the county courthouse two blocks away had decided that she was going through with the wedding. I joined the procession of work friends who made the quiet walk to the courthouse. I remember looking out the window of the fifth floor wondering if a county courthouse in a capital city was a viable target. As it turned out, the wedding went off without a hitch. In retrospect, it was a bold statement that life could go on in the midst of such barbarism.

But life would never be the same. And I guess that’s what I carry with me five years later: an anger that 19 fanatics could rob a country of its innocence and joy – a robbery from which I would argue we still haven’t recovered. Nor may we ever. That there has to be a post-9/11 world still fills me with bitterness if I think about it too long. But today is a day for remembering. And despite the bitterness remembrance brings, I owe it to those who died that day to remember.

As do we all.

Whither Pluto?

2006-08-24T10:22:00.000-05:00

It’s not every day your solar system gets remapped. And yet, today, a group of Really Important Men in Really Impressive White Coats have decided that Pluto shall no longer be named a planet. Instead, it will be henceforth named a “dwarf.”

Why don’t they just call it “Billy Barty”?

Trying to make Pluto supporters feel better, Irish astronomer Jocelyn Bell Burnell said, ”It could be argued that we are creating an umbrella called ‘planet’ under which the dwarf planets exist.”

Sure, Jocelyn … why don’t you just tell Pluto you still wanna be friends?

Did I mention ole Joss was waving a stuffed Pluto doll under an umbrella when she tried to make us all feel better? Oh, that makes all the planetary pain go away. Bitch.

***

In happier news, my blood sugar seems to be stabilizing in the high 90s, which takes me out of the diabetes danger zone. (Cue the Kenny Loggins music.) And my dietician has taken me off the Atkinsy-type diet I was on and put me on a more tradition, 1800-calorie, 300 carb-a-day diet. And, at the cost of stabbing my finger most every day for a week, I have learned how much I can “get away with” and maintain a healthy blood sugar level.

All in all, life is settling way down, which means you may see more of these witty slices of life, dear readers. “About time,” you say? I agree.

How I learned to stop missing muffins

2006-08-14T16:06:00.000-05:00

In the past three weeks:

I have served a half-day of jury duty.
I have lost my Uncle Fred.
I have completed work on one of the most emotionally taxing work projects ever.
I have started seven more.
I have had one cheat night out of two-and-a-hald weeks on a low-carb diet.
I have lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 pounds. (Weighing someone in a wheelchair is an imprecise science, unless you happen to have easy access to a loading dock cargo scale.)
I have endured 12 hours of thinking I had lost one of my best friends (though not in the way I lost my Uncle Fred, thank God).
I have started exercising.
I have purchased three really cheap video games.

And those are just the highlights. Until I have time to dwell on one or more of these subjects, I give you a silly and, at times, disturbing video that has curbed my craving for blueberry muffins.

Alas, biscuits! Alas, gravy!

2006-07-25T15:41:00.000-05:00

The Good Doctor is in for a lifestyle change.

No, not that kind of lifestyle change, silly ... although there is a rather interesting blog post there which will wait for a day down the line.

I have been diagnosed as pre-diabetic.

Here are some numbers for those of you with a frame of reference: my A1C was 6.2 (depending on your scale, "normal" is below either 6 or 7) and my fasting blood sugar was 105 ("normal" is between 60 and 110). Because those numbers are borderlinish, and because my mom and dad both had adult-onset diabetes, he went ahead and diagnosed me.He wants me to see a diabetes dietician (which I will be doing) and start taking metformin (which I am not going to do -- not yet, anyway.) Regardless, my diet is going to have to change, and in researching the dietician's likely suggestions, I was thrown for a nasty loop.

Donuts? Gone. (Actually, all sweets are, for that matter, but the loss of donuts is the only devastating one for me.) Gravy? Gone. White rice? Gone. Pasta? Gone.

And here's a biggie. Alcohol? Gone.

Now, I'm not what I would consider close to being an alcoholic. But every week or two, I want to get shit-faced. So this part of the diabetic diet really, really, REALLY sucks. I sit here wondering how I will fill my own party prescriptions now? And what of biscuits and gravy?

Shaker songs

2006-07-19T08:13:00.000-05:00

Well, folks, I apologize for my blogoreticence as of late, but as Steve Miller sang, “There’s lots of funky shit going down in the city.” Work has been extremely pressurized (though still rewarding) as of late. Meanwhile, our home life, while as sweet as ever, has been in flux due to a number of factors, including Mrs. Z’s need to bow out of her summer show due to work conflicts.

The practical upshot of all this has been a dearth of blog posts. And it’s you, the reader, who has suffered. I apologize and hope this entry will help make up for it.

I want to talk about music. More to the point, I want to talk about music that isn’t necessarily your favorite or the staple of your iPod track list. I don’t want to spend time discussing music that’s danceable or hummable. I want to talk about five songs that, for one reason or another, have a profound emotional effect on me. And on you. But I’ll go first.

Vangelis
“First Approach”

Most listeners know Vangelis for one song and one song only: the theme to “Chariots of Fire.” While this song is memorable, it represents but a fraction of the Greek composer’s music. A lot of it has either a “spacey” theme or sound – or both. Such is the case with the CD “Direct,” released in 1990. But while “spacey” might suggest tacky, synthesized, mechanical music, the next-to-the-last track on “Direct” is anything but. Marked by a beautiful melody and a heartfelt cello solo, “First Approach” evokes a breathtaking mental image of an astronaut preparing to dock at a station after years in the isolation of space. And if you close your eyes, you can feel the ache of loneliness melting away into the relief of finally being at rest.

Bobby McFerrin
“Common Threads”

I’m not sure what it was about 1990, but it also produced this gorgeous song by Bobby McFerrin. Part of the gut-punching quality of this song comes from knowing the story behind its composition: McFerrin was commissioned to write it to accompany a documentary on the AIDS quilt. But one need not know the back-story to feel the weight of this wordless lullaby. Its gorgeous harmonies convey a sense of premature sorrow mingled with hope against all odds — a mixture that somehow reminds me of “Seasons of Love,” which would be recorded six years later.

John Rutter
“Gloria: Second Movement (Andante)”

Anyone who has ever sung any amount of choral music has made friends with Mr. Rutter. All of his music is beautiful, and particularly his three-movement standard for high school all-state choirs: “Gloria.” But while the first and third movements have joy and energy to spare, it is the second movement that really packs an emotional wallop. Led by a quietly exotic organ solo and layered male vocals, the music builds until a full brass ensemble and the entire choir burst forth in majestic sound. Then, suddenly, the sound becomes to a single note, which falls away into once-again quiet, but rich, harmonies. If heaven has a soundtrack, it is this song.

The Manhattan Transfer
“Foreign Affair”

Closing out the jazz quartet’s breakthrough album “Extensions,” which included much better known songs like “Birdland” and “Twilight Tone,” is this a capella number. It defines cool because it combines incredibly sophisticated lyrics (so awesomely verbose I had to copy them down into a spiral notebook as a kid — there was not lyric sheet with the cassette) with absolutely gorgeous jazz harmony. But it’s the out-of-nowhere last chord that puts it on this list for me. I get goose bumps every time I hear it.

Barry Manilow
“Once Voice”

I probably shouldn’t admit it, but there’s still one Barry Manilow song that absolutely does it for me. It’s just as schmaltzy as the rest of the Manilow canon, but “One Voice” is perhaps the purest match between music and lyrics ever. Plus, it has some whiz-bang a capella studio overdubbing to the nth degree, which I'm a sucker for anyway. But the clincher is the soaring, everybody-join-hands final chorus. I dare you to not be smiling at the end of it.

So, what five songs shake you to your emotional core? Respond on your own blog, or your MySpace bulletin, or in these comments.

R.I.P., Nathan Cooke

2006-06-28T14:57:00.000-05:00

A local performer and artist, Nathan was only 2/3 my age when he passed away last night, but did three times the living. His star burned briefly, but brilliantly. He will be greatly missed.

Now playing: The official song of summer 2006?

2006-06-14T14:05:00.000-05:00

Not only is it a cool song, but the band is dressed up as Star Wars characters. What better way is there to make sure The Force is with you?

Now normally, I'd just attempt to get away with letting the multimedia presentation carrying this post. But not this time, dear readers. You deserve more.

So, on to a recap of the last two weeks or so.

"Annie Warbucks" opened to crowds of 1,072 on Friday and 729 on Sunday. We were rained out Saturday.

Our parade was also rained upon by a surprisingly harsh review. I'd link you to it, but a subscription is required, and Zoomie don't play that. Suffice it to say that the review started with four paragraphs of criticism of the material as a pale copy of the original "Annie." Unfortunately, the going only got rougher as the director and many of the principals got roughed up. Yours truly actually got a positive individual review, but it seems rather a Pyrrhic victory.

I have never been one to take reviews to heart for long, and I definitely don't hold with the conventional wisdom that community theater should be given a wide berth simply because it is community theater. Either you want your show reviewed or you don't. There really is no such thing as bad publicity.

However, the Springfield masses aren't with me on this one, and as a result, a flood of letters to the editor in our support crashed through the State Journal-Register editorial pages (along with one brave soul who actually agreed with the review, a rarity to be sure). And yet, the most interesting part of this story is a bit of controversy as to whether the reviewer actually stayed for the whole thing. There are, apparently, witnesses who either saw here leaving or standing at the back gate to the site during Act II. The paper has issued a denial, and I will leave the matter there. That said, it has been interesting to see a dash of scandal mixed in with the more traditional outrage sauce.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Z has started rehearsals for "Aida," which, by all accounts, should rock. I'm looking forward to taking it in, as I've never seen the show.

Also, we're in the process of cobbling together an audition for the Springfield Theatre Centre's production of "Assassins." Auditions are a week and a half away. I wouldn't say we're panicked, but ... NYEAAGHHH!!!!

Finally, assuming we survive that experience, we're looking forward toward a truly utopian vacation cum anniversary celebration the weekend after. Quality time with the Mrs. ... adventure ... relaxation ... they're all in the cards, and I'm all in!

So there you have it, dear readers. Overall, life is good, and I have to admit it's getting better all the time.

Not to harp on the hair, but ...

2006-06-01T14:12:00.000-05:00

It has apparently taken over my personality ...

You Are Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

You take the title "mad scientist" to the extreme -with very scary things coming out of your lab.And you've invented some pretty cool things, from a banana sharpener to a robot politician.But while you're busy turning gold into cottage cheese, you need to watch out for poor little Beaker!

"Oh, that's very naughty, Beaker! Now you eat these paper clips this minute."

The Muppet Personality Test

The things I do for my art

2006-05-30T11:02:00.000-05:00

In order to play this guy …

I’ve had to shave my goatee and drastically cut my hair, which has left me looking like this guy …

Unfortunately, once I put my show toupee on, I look like this guy …

which actually makes me miss looking like this guy …

Have a slice of me

2006-05-22T08:23:00.000-05:00

Everything Pizza

Diverse and adaptable, you enjoy the full buffet of life. It's hard to you play favorites with friends ... or flavors. There's very little that you dislike!

What's Your Pizza Personality?

Get up. Go to work. Go to rehearsal. Go to bed. Rinse. Repeat.

That's going to be my life for about the next two-and-a-half weeks, so bear with me if I'm not quite as jocular as usual. I'm jolly on the inside!

Welcome to my nightmare(s)

2006-05-18T14:53:00.000-05:00

(Note to readers: This is the first official DrAstroZoom Myspace blog simulcast.)

Last weekend, I had two remarkably similar dreams in one night. They still have me somewhat baffled.

In the first dream, I was to play a leading role in a musical version of “Hamlet.” (It may have even been Hamlet himself, but I’m not sure.) The production had a rock-opera feel to it along the lines of what Andrew Lloyd Webber might have generated had he set his sights on the Prince of Denmark rather than the Prince of Peace. And it was in a far more ornate theater than I’ve ever performed in.

On the first day of tech week, however, I was attacked by birds that pecked at my legs. I was left with unsightly sores that threatened infection. Regardless, I attempted to soldier on, but my performance that night was horrible.

Later that night, a similar dream came. This time, I was the Emcee in Cabaret, and again, the venue had a professional (if antiquated) feel about it. As I left the dressing area to go on, I realized the ramps to the stage had been removed. I somehow made it on stage, only to discover the stage was drenched, causing me to slip and slide, even at one point flying from a raised portion of the stage to a lower level down center. Again, my performance was wild, sloppy and generally pathetic.

And that’s all I remember.

I immediately dismissed the idea that these dreams were related to my current show. Actually, “Annie Warbucks” is going quite well and is a far cry from what devoted readers will lovingly remember as “Theater Armageddon.” My next audition is for “Assassins,” but that audition date had not been announced when I had these dreams, and I hadn’t even begun pre-obsession over it.

All I know is this pair of dreams were as vivid as any I’ve had for months. I also found it curious that not only was I clearly in a wheelchair in both dreams, but it played a part in the “plot” of both. This, too, is relatively rare for me.

In other news, Mrs. Z is headed to southern Illinois tomorrow for her sister’s 25th wedding anniversary. She has mercifully allowed me to stay home, seeing as I’m moving into the most grueling part of my AW rehearsal schedule. Still, even one night away from her is cause for sadness. I’ll have my mom to take me to dinner and a movie, but that doesn’t hold a candle to Mrs. Z. (Sorry, Mom.)

All that said, I’m not remotely in the state of melancholy this post would seem to indicate. Quite the obvious: life is good right now, and as Howard Jones sang, “Things can only get better.”

Who oh ohhh oh who ohhh oh, indeed.

That sinking feeling

2006-05-08T11:49:00.000-05:00

Take the "Which Poseidon character are you?" test at Hell in a Handbag Productions

So, I'm an Ernest Borgnine character. Exciting!

So, too, is the movie translation of "Aeon Flux." If you're a sci-fi fan, don't believe the inexplicably preponderant negative critical reviews of this movie. Instead, enjoy a fairly thoughtful plot, exquisitely crafted visuals and action sequences and ... oh yes ... Charlize Theron. Grr, baby. Very grr.

I'll try to build on my tentatively progressing blogging momentum this week, dear readers. Keep the faith.

How to see in the dark

2006-05-04T15:10:00.000-05:00

I apologize for my radio silence, dear readers. Life has been imposing itself, and I take consecutive moments I have to breath without an agenda as blessed.

To make up for my absence, I point you to a page that does, in fact, explain how you can see in the dark. Just click the link above!

A musical interlude

2006-04-18T16:30:00.000-05:00

If you don't recognize this tune, marvel at the guitar ambidexterity. If you do, enjoy the warm fuzzy.

Hate the sin. Love the spinners.

2006-04-13T16:05:00.000-05:00

Let me start by saying I was appalled and offended by the ending of this week’s conclusion of the two-part “South Park” episode “Cartoon Wars.” The depiction of Jesus, President Bush and the American flag was, by turns, rude and sacrilegious. That said … I totally see where the show’s evil geniuses, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, were coming from and can’t help but applaud their ingenuity in making a valid point.

To catch up, click the link in this post’s headline.

What started as a skewering of Scientology has blossomed into an animated debate on censorship and hypocrisy. When Comedy Central refused to show Mohammed as part of thew climax of “Cartoon Wars,” Stone and Parker decided to end the show by cramming in all the offensive material the network would allow, couched within a fictional retaliatory film by Al Qaeda.

The decision on the Mohammed image was apparently “made over concerns for public safety.” Or as the network itself said in a statement: "In light of recent world events, we feel we made the right decision."

Seeing Comedy Central would allow blasphemous images of Christ where it wouldn’t air an image of Mohammed, the network was essentially saying: “We trust Christians not to go all crazy and stuff. Muslims, on the other hand …”

And how offensive is that?

Image Essays, Part 2: The Subconscious

2006-04-11T15:43:00.000-05:00

Right from the moment I awoke this morning, there was something amiss. I should have been up at 6:30 a.m.; I ended up snoozing it until 7:15. And when I did get up, I commented to Mrs. Z. that I didn’t feel like I slept well.

But even as I said that, it didn’t ring true. I didn’t remember any extended periods of sleeplessness through the night. Worse still, my vague unsettledness had turned into a vague depression, for which I had even less justification.

Then, I had a flash of a dream I realized I had had just before waking. It’s a recurring nightmare in which my father, who passed away 12 years ago of a sudden heart attack, has not died, but instead lives on in a greatly weakened state with only a matter of time remaining before his death. And as an added bonus, my mom was in a similar condition in this particular dream.

A funny thing, the subconscious. As far as I am concerned, I have long since grieved for my father to the point of closure, and yet these dreams resurface. Do I still have subconscious issues concerning my father to accompany the quite conscious fears I have of seeing my mom grow old?
The most ironic thing is that this dream and the subsequent nervous introspection follow what I would consider four of the happier consecutive days I’ve had in a while. What to do when one’s mind’s eye develops a twitch?

Orbits: Part 1 of an Open-Ended Image Essay Series

2006-04-10T16:22:00.000-05:00

I have a tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt -- perhaps to a fault. One example is my forgiving nature when it comes to friends who fall out of contact with me. My explanation for this is that people are like celestial bodies -- all with their own orbits. They rotate around the things that are most important in their lives, and it's not my place to judge the center of someone's universe.

Rather, I enjoy the time my oribt takes me into the paths of friends whom I don't see often. And I trust the fact that once our orbits have completed, we'll enjoy fellowship again.

True friends, on the other hand are gravitationally attracted to one another to the point where the orbits seem to coalesce. And those are special friends indeed.

(One editorial note: I apologize for my infrequency of posting, but health and other issues have kept me away. Hopefully this bit of metaphysical meat is enough for you to chew on for a while.)

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2006-03-17T12:04:00.000-06:00

THE CELTS (Enya)

Video Code provided by VideoCodeZone.Com

In honor of the Emerald Isle, enjoy a little Enya. And thanks to CatPants for letting me know about VideoCodeZone.

We are supposed to make much revelry tonight and tomorrow, but Mrs. Z was feeling puny this morning, so we're not certain what the future holds. I've been informed I may need to take over as, in her words, "Party Master."

I'll brief you Monday.

After the storm

2006-03-15T11:57:00.000-06:00

Photo by T.J. Salsman

So very much to write about.

First of all, thanks to all of my readers who expressed concern for our safety after the storm. This was a time it was very good to be living in an English basement downtown. Our apartment proper was undamaged, though the complex’s courtyard showed the signs of the storm. (The patio furniture was smashed and twisted together.)

Furthermore, because we live so close to St. John’s Hospital, we were two of about 2,000 residents who has their power restored within an hour of the storm’s passing. It was surreal to, at 10 p.m., circle our block, which looked relatively normal, but look just a block away into a pitch-black void. It was much like the moment of realization for the lead character in “Dark City” in which he almost falls into space. Though the experience was unsettling, at least we were able to return to the comfort of our well-lit home. Others weren’t so lucky.

photo by T.J. Salsman

It was only when daylight broke and pictures started hitting our local media that I was able to grasp the scope of what had happened. You could tell it took our local media by surprise, too. It’s one thing to report on a twister in a rural central Illinois town. It’s quite another when it’s your city that looks like a war zone.

photo by Shannon Kirshner

Still today, three days after the storm flattened sections of both the west and east side, about 20 percent of Illinois’s capital city has no power. Mrs. Z and I are truly blessed, and we’re grateful. Meanwhile, life goes on.

And Muni casting went on. I will be playing FDR in “Annie Warbucks” (the fourth time I have played Roosevelt on stage), while Mrs. Z will be in the chorus of “Aida.” Unfortunately, it means me and the missus will be two ships passing in the night for most of the summer. This means we have to celebrate while we can.

And celebrate we will, starting tonight at the Hickory River Smokehouse, home to Springfield’s finest barbecue. And the celebration will continue this weekend, as we embrace our alcoholic heritage and revel in honor of St. Paddy.

Once more, with feeling

2006-03-10T13:44:00.000-06:00

Yes, it's that time again. Muni auditions have arrived. This is me reading for Daddy Warbucks, moments after having read for Amos in Chicago. There have been no word on callbacks yet, but it's only 72 hours until the longest night of the year. More on that Monday.

Right now, however, life has a melancholy vibe. My mother has had pneumonia for two weeks and is entering her second round of antibiotics and her first round of Predazone.

I did get some good news this morning. Mrs. Z received the February Employee of the Month Award at her workplace. Way to go, baby!

Core despondence school

2006-03-02T11:56:00.000-06:00

While I’m not at the “Suck, suck, suck, suck, SUCK!” stage, I have felt myself slipping into a melancholy state the last day and a half. Perhaps it’s a convergence of several nagging items:

Concern over my mom’s health. She has what I guess would be called “walking pneumonia,” in that she’s not in the hospital. But it’s never fun to hear someone you love suffering on the other end of the phone. She cancelled lunch with me today, so I know she’s really not feeling well.

Resignation over upcoming auditions for The Muni. There just aren’t a lot of meaty roles for me this year. I’ve had a great last 12 months as far as that goes, so I’m not as desperate to be cast as I normally would be under the same circumstances. But by the same token, I’m finding it hard to work up any enthusiasm for a fortnight that is usually the source of breathless anticipation and intrigue.

NFL labor strife. Admittedly, this doesn’t have much of a direct bearing on me personally, but one of the many reasons football is my favorite sport is it’s historical labor stability. Now, the landscape is just about to change forever, and it makes me sad for the immediate future of my favorite team and the long-term future of the sport in general.

It could just be my latent genetic tendency toward bipolarity manifesting. And that itself would be cause for a whole new level of joy.

***

Thankfully, as Mrs. Hammen says in “Airplane,” “At least I have a husband.” Err … a wife. And it was the inimitable Mrs. Z who this morning coined a brand new catch phrase. I’d like to share it with all my dear readers in hope it will spread faster than the Numa Numa Phenomenon. The phrase: "It's roller derby now."

DEFINITION: Entertainment that, having started out innovative and unique, has degenerated into appealing to the lowest common denominator.

ORIGIN: Mrs. Z and I are watching VH-1 as we get ready this morning when Madonna's new video for "Sorry" comes on. Mrs. Z, never having seen it before is inclined to dismiss it at the beginning.

"Oh, it's another boom box disco video."

But it holds her interest, which peaks during the dance break.

"So what ... is she keeping the rappers from rapping by doing yoga? Who knew that would work? This is great!"

But then, Madonna and all her posse start roller skating for the balance of the video.

"Oh," Mrs. Z comments. She sighs deeply. "Well, it's roller derby now," and starts to leave the room.

"I think you've invented a new catch phrase," I say.

We chuckle in agreement.

Ulysses lists

2006-03-01T16:22:00.000-06:00

I have been racked by guilt over posting not a thing worth clipping and saving in past weeks that I have put off procrastination and decided to let my words flow in what some may identify as an homage to James Joyce. Others may just say "What the ...?"

The Chicago trip is fading into a burnt sienna memory even as plans take shape for a longer voyage in summer. We hope to revisit the sporty theatricalness of The Exchequer Pub, the spicy homestyle goodness of Harold's Chicken Shack, and the 24-hour-a-day instant gratification of Dunkin Donuts. Fie on thee, Mel-O-Cream, thou sad impostor!

But now, thoughts turn to the longest night of the year, in which my theatrical destiny shall be decided. Four shows beckon -- Annie Warbucks, Chicago, Aida and The King and I. And none may well bid me enter.

And now ... respite.

Have you heard the one about the lost camera?

2006-02-22T14:32:00.000-06:00

A bit of a break from "all about me" posts here. A story is making its way through the blogosphere that is at one compelling, discouraging, maddening and fascinating. Follow the link above to find out what happens when someone loses their camera, finds out who found it and learns the finder has no intention of returning it.

Then read the 400+ comments. This event has officially become a phenomenon.

Just a dog-gone minute

2006-02-16T11:46:00.000-06:00

I'm still trying to find time to do a legitimately meaty post about my fabulous weekend in Chicago. Here are the headlines: great trip, great food, great hotel and the most entertaining show I've ever seen.

But for now, just to give my dear readers some value-added content, I present a clip of the dog I am in another life:

gone2thedogs.com

A slice of things to come

2006-02-06T11:23:00.000-06:00

As you might guess, this week's entries are going to be pretty-well dominated by the upcoming wonder-trip to Chicago. And since I do such a hit-and-miss job of blogging about big events after the fact, I figured I'd take a more pro-active approach with this trip and give you, dear reader, a preview of our itinerary.

We leave for Chicago Friday night. Once we're settled in at the Hilton, we're planning on getting what is areguable the best pizza in America: Giordano's. Up for debate: whether we walk (it's a little over half a mile from the hotel) or have it delivered. It will probably depend on the weather and how tired we are from the day.

In other news, Super Bowl weekend was a bit of a super dud, eh? I was hoping to win a little extra trip money playing Texas Hold 'Em, but it was not to be. And as for the game itself ... zzzz ...

What a difference four days make

2006-02-03T10:57:00.000-06:00

For those who read my rant on Monday, I sincerely apologize. I realize being a continuous inspiration is a serious respnsibility, and I was less than inspiring (and inspired) Monday.

That all changed last night, when I learned the lovely and talented Mrs. Z had won a sales contest at work. The prize? Two tickets to a Chcago performance of this little musical you may have heard of. (Hint: Look up.) And these tickets are in The Loge. Row B. Just off-center. Ho. Lee. Crap.

And if that isn't enough, the prizse package also included a two-night stay here. Oh, and all this is happening next weekend.

So if you care to find me, look to ... the ceiling, off of which I shall be continuously bouncing today.

2006-01-30T14:43:00.000-06:00

I'm a Honda S2000!

You live on the edge, and you live for the adrenaline rush. You don't need luxuries, snob appeal, or superfluous gadgets. You put your top down, get your motor revving, and take all the curves that life throws at you at full speed. So what if you spin out occasionally?

And speaking of cars ...

This day has been a total wreck. Almost everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. And my frustrations, disappointments and aggravations have run the gamut from the trivial (one of my favorite Springfield restaurants closing down with no notice) to the merely annoying (a class full of new agents tromping by my cubicle all morning) to the genuinely sad (learning Mrs. Z and I can no longer communicate via e-mail during the day) to the disgustingly self-pitying (having one of those rare instances when I allow myself to dwell on how much it bites to be in a wheelchair).

Oh, and I was going to share a video clip to make good on my promise to explain what I was doing in a tux on New Year's Eve. Of course, that didn't work either. So here's why: I was singing at this event. Whoo-hoo. Just try to imagine the excitement.

In conclusion, I'd like to say, "Suck, suck, suck, suck, SUCK!"

Exit the petulant man-child.

Sunset epiphany

2006-01-19T14:07:00.000-06:00

Yes, yes ... I know I promised the New Year's Eve story, and that will come. But first, I wanted to share one of those special moments that become a lasting snapshot in your memory.

The building pictured above is the Springfield Hilton, and it towers about a block away from my apartment. Most of the time, the structure is a monolith of gray stone and glass. But as I was rolling down the alley which leads to my apartment gate, I looked up at the Hilton and had my breath taken away.

You see, we've reached that point in the winter when night slowly gives back light to the day. While for most of December and January, nine-to-fivers are greeted with depressing darkness as they leave work, this is the time when sunset greets them instead.

Such was the case last night, and as I looked up in the alley, the Hilton was bathed in a golden light which gave the entire structure a warm, amber glow. And just as my mouth gaped open, a flock of birds swooped down into the alley and in front of the Hilton, completing the picture.

So remarkable was this split-second image that, at that moment, the birds could have turned my way and defecated on me en masse, and I wouldn't have cared.

Such is the momentary beauty that can make your day, if only you keep your eyes open.

Girls, girls ... you're both pretty

2006-01-17T15:45:00.000-06:00

I’m about to post an entry that could result in not one, but two people never speaking to me again. Now that I have your attention …

The two people in question are both bloggers, and although I’ve never met either one of them personally, I have corresponded with both enough to call them friends. I follow their blogs closely, and for the most part, their writings are interesting and, quite frequently, compelling. I have no doubt that, given some proximity, I could become fairly close with both of them.

That said, these two bloggers have each devalued their blogs by ranting about each other within them. This has been going on intermittently for several months, by my count. And it appears to me to have roughly the maturity level of arguing over whose Hello Kitty screensaver is more awesome.

I have not attempted to do any detective work to determine who started it. I have no idea whose offenses are more egregious. Frankly, I don’t care. Don’t. Give. A. Shit. All I know is it’s tiresome, petty and a waste of bandwidth.

And so, at the risk of totally alienating the parties involved, I say: I’d love for you to be able to settle this like adults, but if you can’t, for all of our sakes, get over yourselves. Get over each other. Get on with life. Get back to the business of blogging.

Of course, you can write about whatever you want. But ask yourself … does anyone else want to read it?

End of sermon. Next up: why I wore a tux on New Year’s Eve.

The Downtown Dash

2006-01-11T16:31:00.000-06:00

True to my word, herein starts the catch-up on my life in the period I fell off the blogging wagon.

Mrs. Z and I instituted a new tradition for Christmas this year.

The week before Christmas, we each made up a list of items we wanted or needed which could be obtained in downtown Springfield. We each made the list with the understanding that the other would not be able to get every item on the list, and if an item not appearing on the list struck the other’s fancy, he or she was free to add that to the haul.

On Christmas Eve, we started off with coffee here. For the record, the place does a wonderful quiche as well, but that’s not important right now. After coffee, we each took a pre-determined, modest amount of cash and set off in search of downtown treasures.

It was an exhilarating day of bargain hunting, and after we had ditched our individual loads in hiding places at home, we met here for lunch and to watch football. Unfortunately, the place was packed and even noisier than usual, so we headed home.

That night, we met Mom for dinner at Gallina’s Pizza. It was a nice, warm time marred only by the Case of the Missing Cat (I’ll blog on that another day). Soon, the missus and I headed home to listen to Christmas music, wrap our presents and drink hot chocolate with peppermint Schnapps.

We started out saying we would only unwrap a few presents that evening and save the rest for Christmas. But that fell by the wayside, and we ended up unwrapping all of our presents to each other as Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Morn. We marveled at how our choices showed how well we knew and loved each other.

As for the loot, here are a few highlights of what I got the missus:

Three necklace charms by a local artist;
A 1944 “Servicemen’s Family Album” printed by WLS-Chicago;
A Duran Duran greatest hits collection;
“Dante’s Peak” on DVD (she’s a sucker for disaster movies); and
Chardonnay from the winery we visited during our magical Seattle vacation

And now, a few highlights of the treasure trove I received:

A gorgeous (and lucky – more on that later) horseshoe ring;
A Genesis greatest hits collection;
The Sept. 18, 1972 issue of Sports Illustrated (notable both because it includes an NFL preview of the season which would turn out to be magical for the undefeated Miami Dolphins and three articles on the Munich Olympic tragedy);
Some sweet cologne; and
Volumes 1 and 2 of “Girls Gone Wild” on DVD.

We’ve got a groovy kind of love.

I haven't been eliminated

2006-01-09T08:46:00.000-06:00

You're Vic Romano! You're almost always calm and
cool, but sometimes you'll get a little angry.

Which MXC Character are you?

Thanks to Mz. Ouiser for the link to this silly little quiz that gave me a great way to let you all know I haven't fled for Canada. Thanks to Maribou Sue and any other Web worry warts that had me lying in the proverbial ditch.

I had an incredibly busy and rich holiday season, and 2006 has been berry berry good to me so far. I'll try to catch you up, dear readers, in the next few days. Among topics to be covered:

1) A new tradition: the Christmas Downtown Dash
2) Why I wore a tux for New Year's Eve
3) My professional poker debut
4) How I was nearly kicked out of Hooter's

Chew on that for awhile, and I'll have an update soon.

O Canada!

2005-12-22T11:18:00.000-06:00

I don't think the blogosphere is ready for my literal participation in Half Nekkid Thursdays (go here to see someone doing it right), so I offer this instead.

Canadian Supreme Court: Swinger's clubs and group sex are ok, eh!

Me thinks it's time for a road trip. Who's with me?!?

Four on the floor

2005-12-21T11:02:00.000-06:00

It's the new hip thing! And you know how I like new hip things.

The 4's

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. Senior Communications Consultant
2. Retention Specialist
3. Customer Service Representative
4. Library clerk

FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD (AND DO!) WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. Close Encounters of the Third Kind
2. Clue
3. Team America: World Police
4. Bound

FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:
1. Springfield, IL
2. Kankakee, IL
3. Westminster, CA (Orange County before it was “The O.C.”)
4. Homestead, FL

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1. Lost
2. 24
3. Amazing Race
4. Survivor

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Seattle
2. NYC
3. Chicago
4. St. Thomas

FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
1. Finheaven & Co.
2. MSNBC
3. ESPN
4. The Internet Movie Database

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1. BBQ
2. Donuts
3. Mom’s fried chicken
4. Rebexican

FOUR PLACES YOU'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. At The Underground in Seattle
2. At Scores with an unlimited expense account
3. At the Golden Gate Bridge
4. In an arcade

Stuff my stocking or I'll steal your soul!

2005-12-19T10:26:00.000-06:00

Greetings from Theater Armageddon!

The show closed yeaterday, and I am so relieved. With the exception of three First Night performances and two perfomances (more on these later), I'm done with theater for a while. Got some me time and it feels so good ...

By the way, if you do happen to want to stuff my stocking, my Amazon Wish List is still in effect.

Speaking of new looks

2005-12-15T16:18:00.000-06:00

It was time to give the old blog a facelift. So, stand in wonder!

Actually, my main motivation was to give myself something to do so that I wouldn't keep going for the mug o' chocolates I received this morning. Unfortunately, I learned I can screw around with my blog template and snarf chocolates at the same time. Damn my multitasking genius!

***

Tonight is the pickup rehearsal for GWB 2000. The director promised we'd be in and out in 90 minutes. "We'll see," I scoff. I'll certainly do my part. I'll be thinking less Prince of Darkness and more Mr. Spleen.

And then, it's three more shows. Ahhhhhh ...

Bald is beautiful

2005-12-14T15:07:00.000-06:00

Here's my first head shot since going bald for George W. Bush 2000 (nee Theater Armageddon). The question now is: do I keep it like this after this weekend? Polls are open.

It’s the Belated Blog Birthday Bash

2005-12-13T11:48:00.000-06:00

I realized earlier this week that it’s been a year and a week since I launched this blog. I just wanted to say thanks to old friends and new friends alike who have faithfully read and commented on my meanderings. And if one of my lovely readers wants to leap out of the cake, I certainly won't stop you!

And now, a Murray update. The good folks at Wheelchairs ‘R’ Us (not their real name, in case I want to bitch about their service later) did, in fact, have the right bearings. Murray just got out of surgery, and I’ll have my wheels back tonight.

‘Sinister with a comic touch’

2005-12-12T15:31:00.000-06:00

So read the newspaper’s review of my performance in Theater Armageddon, which hereafter will be referred to as “George W. Bush 2000.” Where did I get such a whimsical name, you ask? Despite all odds, we triumphed, and I’m still not sure how — or even if we really did.

Perhaps most interestingly, the review featured this nugget: “The musical highlight of the evening, under the direction of Schmuckety Schmuck (name changed because I’m actually a nice guy), was an intricate a cappella section in "Songedy Song" (title also changed).”

Mr. Schmuck, faithful readers will remember, was the staff member who, after recruiting Mrs. Z and I to help round out the cast, dropped the show with three weeks to go before opening. The trio who sang the song lauded by the reviewer learned it on Tuesday of tech week.
This is what can happen when programs are printed far in advance.

So, GWB 2000 has wrapped up its opening weekend, and I’m in a state of contented bliss. This is in spite of the wheelchair trauma that I’m currently experiencing.

The trouble with Murray (yes, that’s his name) is this: on Saturday, as I was rolling to the sports bar across the street, I heard a disconcerting crunch, crunch emanating from my starboard fore. I looked down, and saw my front right tire wobbling in a similarly disconcerting manner. The problem is that I need some new ball bearings for the wheel (and probably for the left one as well, though it hasn’t started crunching yet).

I do have a backup chair to use, but whenever I have a wheelchair out of commission, I have a sense of vulnerability and anxiety I can’t adequately communicate to my able-bodied brethren. I hope to have it all sorted by this weekend, though getting the right bearings is proving to be a bit more of an ordeal than I had hoped.

And yet, it’s a dark Monday, and I have six hours of science fiction (the Sci-Fi Channel's

Santa, santa Kimita

2005-12-07T16:20:00.000-06:00

Days until the Opening of Theater Armageddon: 3
Show Status: UPGRADED to “Barely Tolerable”

It wasn’t quite a Christmas miracle, but the show made a sizeable stride last night. First of all, we now have sound and light board operators. Admittedly, the sound board operator is the director, but just having those holes filled stabilized things.

Now, the really big news: we somehow managed to trim 30 minutes off the show’s running time. I can’t recall ever tightening a show that much from one rehearsal to the next. The cast finally took the director’s urging on pace to heart, and it paid dividends.

Tonight is our last rehearsal before opening on Friday. It amounts to a soft opening, as we’ll have several disabled guests in the house. I am particularly anxious to see what effect a real, live audience has on the cast’s energy, pace and offstage behavior (the kids have been a load).

The best thing that happened, last night, was this wonderful woman showing up after rehearsal like some Florence Nightingale of the boards. Knowing the hell we have been experiencing, she came with an right-pack of Icehouse, bottles of vodka and root beer (for Russian Beagles), pizza rolls, french-fried onions, Tostitos, Montery Jack queso and Dove chocolate chunk cookies. We laughed, drank and listened to show tunes until 1:30 in the morning.

After about the third time we had profusely thanked her, she said simply, “Y’all would do the same for me.” And that’s when the blessing folded in on itself, doubling in thickness. The fact we could have engendered such faith in our willingness to give at a moment’s notice gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling – a feeling that lasted through much of today. The exclamation point came in the form of a clear, cold, blindingly blue sky braced by bare trees whose branches twinkled when the sun hit the strings of Christmas lights they held.

It's confirmed: I'm a webhead

2005-12-06T13:30:00.000-06:00

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man		90%
Iron Man		60%
The Flash		55%
Superman		50%
Supergirl		50%
Wonder Woman		50%
Green Lantern		50%
Robin		35%
Catwoman		35%
Batman		25%
Hulk		25%

You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

At least my cave is impressive

2005-12-05T13:45:00.000-06:00

Days until the Opening of Theater Armageddon: 7
Show Status: UPGRADED to “Bad”

Well thankfully, last night marked our last rehearsal singing along with the crappy CD during the musicals numbers because of not having an accompanist. The sets look nice, but they're difficult to move (and in fact, we had two set malfunctions last night). The props are coming together well.

We also finally had our lights set. Unfortunately, we still are without anyone to actually run the light board. Ditto the soundboard, which may be even more crucial, because the plan is to body mic several performers. That will require some finesse on the part of the sound operator. (The light board, by contrast, is programmable and could be run by a trained monkey.)

People are doing somewhat better on lines, and have started to show the ability to plow on even when there are problems. There's still some work to do here as well, however.

All in all, I'm entering tech week proper with a feeling of "eh."

Old hat

2005-12-02T13:46:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the blog hiccup that appeared briefly in the last 24 hours. That's what happens when I try to do two entries in one day. Now, on to business.

Days until the Opening of Theater Armageddon: 7
Show Status: “Really Bad” and holding

Here's good news. Mrs. Z went rummaging through the car last night and found not the $1.39 stocking cap, but a groovy fleece hat I lost two winters ago. This baby warmes my Ming the Merciless 'do better than a stocking cap ever good. What a woman.

The Great Hilton Fire of '05 turned out to be nothing more than a lot of smoke caused by dryer lint. The party is on! That deserves an "Ooby Dooby Dooby!"

And speaking of drinking, Mrs. Z and I were greatly disappointed to learn we had not, as we suspected the other evening, concocted a new cocktail. Our root beer and vodka creation, which we dubbed the "Root Beer Barrel," alread has a name: a "Russian Beagle." There is nothing new under the bar.

Finally, a fascinating (if really dense) bit of reading that's making its way around the blogosphere. Seems there's a viable scientific theory explaining déjà vu. It makes perfect sense, but it's sad to demystify what had always been one of my favorite metaphysical phenomena.

Hello, December!

2005-12-01T15:45:00.000-06:00

Days until the Opening of Theater Armageddon: 8
Show Status: UPGRADED from “Total Train Wreck” to “Really Bad”

7:50 a.m. — I’m on my way to work, and our first real snow of the winter has arrived. It’s falling slowly in big, downy, soft flakes. They’re the kind stage hands would start tossing from the catwalk at the end of “Wonderful Life: The Musical.”

This is the only snow I appreciate. It looks beautiful on cars and lawns, yet doesn’t make the sidewalks an impassable mess. What a nice way to start December.

Noon — I’m heading home for lunch. The snow is gone, and in its place is a ruthless, bitterly cold wind. And of course, I lost my priceless $1.39 stocking cap at the theater last night. And I’m bald. Shit.

1 p.m. — The wind has died down to almost nothing, so my ears don’t feel like they’re going to fall off. The day is back on track.

3:10 p.m. — Word comes that the basement of the downtown Hilton is on fire. I’m concerned for the possible loss of life and property, but really, I’m worried about how this will affect the office Christmas party.

3:30 p.m. — No casualties reported, but there was smoke damage. In the basement. Where the party was scheduled. Shit.

Oh well, at least my show’s on the fast track to mediocre, and we have our Friday free. Good times.

A postcard from Hell

2005-11-30T13:30:00.000-06:00

Mrs. Z and I were recruited during the run of Jekyll & Hyde to be in the theater's Christmas show. The vocal director, begged us to be in it. We agreed.

Then, we found out the show didn't have a rehearsal pianist. Or a costumer. Or a props person. Or a light designer.

What it did have was a cast full of ... spirited ... children and a handful of veteran actors.

Then, three weeks ago, the schmuck who dragged us into the show quit. So, we've been trying to learn music without a vocal director or a pianist. We have, on the bright side, found a costumer and a props person, and we have a bead on a possible draftee for light design. But we don't have a light or sound board operator, several cast members are struggling mightily with lines and music, and the show is running about three hours.

Oh, and did I mention we open a week from Friday?

Almost makes me long for the days of my UTI.

Disquiet on the Midwestern front

2005-11-22T16:14:00.000-06:00

In one month, I went from planning what might have been the best family trip ever over Thanksgiving to teetering on the brink of a Thanksgiving dinner apart from family altogether.

First, this disclaimer: Mrs. Z and my mother generally have quite a good relationship for a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. However, on the rare occasions when conflict occurs, fireworks follow. This is made even more difficult by my mother’s emotional fragility.

So it was incredibly bad timing when Mrs. Z. made a joke that Mom took in a completely wrong way over the weekend. An awkward silence ensued, and by the next day, Mom was suggesting maybe we should celebrate Thanksgiving separately to avoid any chance of further conflict.

On go the kid gloves …

Between some warm words of encouragement from me and some trademark grace under pressure from Mrs. Z, we were able to establish a truce that should last through the holiday weekend.

Add to that the fact that I’m mired in a show that is my equivalent of a theatrical good deed, and it’s been looking like I was going to have to go deep on my “What I’m Thankful For” list … all the way down to #347: that I don’t have a shunt valve sticking out of my head. Or that my days of riding the little yellow bus are far behind me.

Oh yes, dear readers, I was a prisoner of the short bus in my childhood. And since tales from that time have always been popular with friends, I have decided I may have to commit them to cyberspace. Stay tuneded.

Thoughts set to ‘shuffle’

2005-11-16T16:18:00.000-06:00

Well, fall has officially come to central Illinois. And by fall, I mean winter. That’s the typical way of things ‘round here, where autumn generally lasts from 10 a.m. on Oct. 30 until sometime later that week. This morning, I was greeted with a flurry or two and this icy wind that ripped my breath from my chest.

***

And then there’s the issue of my newly-shorn head. I keep meaning to get a picture up on the blog, but I haven’t had a picture taken since I went bald. It looks cool as hell, but it feels much, much colder. I had to break down and buy a stocking cap on lunch to replace the one that’s lost in my winter clothes black hole.

***

Speaking of “Lost,” there’s a fascinating episode on tonight that traces the first 48 days on the island for those who were in the tail section of the plane. Truly, must-see TV.

***

Of course, I have to tape it because I’m in rehearsal for “Santa Claus: The Musical.” I wish I could say I’m having a better time with it, and that what started out as a favor has turned into a labor of love. Unfortunately, I can’t say that. The book and lyrics are cute enough, but the music annoys the crap out of me, the show runs too long and, all in all, I’d rather be preparing for the holidays at home.

But there’s this “commitment” thing that I have to honor. And honor it, I will.

***

I read that 73% of babies born with spina bifida (the condition that rendered me a “wheelchair user”) end up with an allergy to latex. As far as I know, I’m part of the 27% that aren’t, but I’ve never been to a fetish club, so I guess I can’t say for certain.

***

It’s interesting that folks like her and her are pondering why people blog. I’m three weeks away from hitting the one-year anniversary of “Graduate Level Sykesology,” and I’m still figuring it out. More introspection along those lines in … say about three weeks.

***

As the film opening of “Rent” nears, I must confess: I've never seen the show. Moreover, I never had really had any desire to see it. I know. I'm an infidel.

This was mostly due to the "Everyone says it's an awesome must-see, so crew the herd" mentality. I rebelled. That, and "Seasons of Love" always sounded kind of show choirish to me.

However, the trailer for "Rent" has kind of sucked me in, and now I'm looking forward to seeing it. And don’t underestimate the Rosario Dawson Factor.

***

Speaking of Rosario Dawson, do yourself a favor and rent the “Josie and the Pussycats” movie sometime. It’s not nearly as bad as critics indicated, and in some cases is actually howlingly funny. There are particularly solid performances from the aforementioned Dawson, Alan Cummings and Tara Reid (before we realized she wasn’t really performing at all).

Rachel Leigh Cook also perfects the hot-looking-in-a-sweet-way thing here, and I’m not sure why her career never really went anywhere. Oh well: “DuJour means seatbelts!”

***

One more thing: get ready for White Trash Thanksgiving!

Urethra Laurifer

2005-11-14T14:40:00.000-06:00

No need to break out the Latin dictionary, Sykesology fans. You probably recognize the first word, and the second translates “Triumphant.” Yes indeed, dearly beloved: Mr. Firehose is back in business. It’s amazing what some horse-choking Cipro will do for you. Mostly, it’s allowed me to leave a restroom without crying.

One more quick thought, while we’re on the subject of restrooms: do you or have you ever worked in a multi-floor facility where the restrooms on each floor have identical designs? Have you ever had to use such a restroom on a floor other than your own? Isn’t it a little like visiting a parallel universe?

Yes, I’m better … as better as it gets for me.

Peace out.

Owie! Owie! Owie!

2005-11-10T10:54:00.000-06:00

Let’s just get the TMI disclaimer out of the way right now.

I’m going to the doctor tonight for what I am 99% sure is a Urinary Tract Infection (UTI). As if making an acronym out of it makes it any more pleasant. I’m about to split from work to crash until then.

I say that to say this: you’re probably reading my last entry for a while. Instead, I’ll be spending much of the next few days looking down and yelling: “C’mon Mr. Firehose, you can do it. You’ve never given up on anything before, so live, damn you, LIVE!!!!!”

That is when the fever doesn’t compel me to sing the guitar part of “Kashmir.”

Think good thoughts, kiddies.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul

2005-11-08T14:42:00.000-06:00

Long before there was a Graduate Level Psychology, I had (and still have) a regular cyberwriting gig at Finheaven & Co., the pre-eminent Miami Dolphins fan site. For the first couple of years, I diligently wrote columns weekly or, at the very least, every other week.

Then came last year’s disastrous 4-12 season. It’s tough writing about a team that can pretty much be counted on to lose week after week. But still, I was relatively faithful.

Now, the team is, despite its losing record, a lot more fun to watch than it was last season. The Dolphins are only a game out of first place in their division. The new coaching staff has fans really excited. And yet, it’s been an eternity since I wrote a column.

Meanwhile, I’ve averaged a little more than a post a week on my blog. Hmmmm …

It feels like I’m cheating on my girlfriend.

This just in! Two more for "The List"

2005-11-07T09:54:00.000-06:00

Sometimes one urge trumps another.

My To-Do List

2005-11-04T15:24:00.000-06:00

I'll have some chewy political stuff next week, but it's freaking Friday, people! So, because everyone else is doing it, why not me? Here are the celebrities on my current agenda, provided I ever get enough time off work to properly pursue them.

Evangeline Lilly

Amazingly, the grungier this Lost star gets, the hotter she gets. Which isn’t to say the occasional scene depicting her cleaning up isn’t hot as well. Either way … grr, baby. Grr.

Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon

At the same time. In an empty room. On a mattress in the middle of the floor.

Liz Phair

She sings about playing X-Box and ... well ... you know. Awesome.

Bjork

I know this pick probably will rob me of all credibility with many of you, but I can’t help it. As a singer, I am entranced by her wholly unique vocal instrument. And her kewpie-doll face, when combined with her borderline-wacko persona, seal the deal for me.

Pauley Perrette

I’ve never watched a full episode of Navy NCIS. In truth, the only exposure I’ve had to it is the five minutes I usually see of it right before The Amazing Race. But I’ve decided I really need to get into it, if only for the delightful punk princess Abby Sciutto, as portrayed by Ms. Perrette. She’s a punk. She wears schoolgirl clothes. She solves crimes. ‘Nuff said.

Devon Aoki

If you saw her kick ass and take names in Sin City, you’ll know why Devon has captured my … ummm … heart. She fits nicely into the genre of hot women who could kill me and leave me a happy corpse.

Madonna

The older she gets, the more attractive. Have you seen her latest video? Of course, she’s as annoyingly self-important as ever, but damn …

Today, I am Surly Duck

2005-11-02T10:22:00.000-06:00

And now, some good reading that my many left-leaning friends may not appreciate. But it is apparent that Iraq intelligence was flawed long before George W. Bush took power and that the support/criticism tide for the war has ebbed and flowed with its political advantageousness.

I'll shut up now.

Glenn Reynolds and Harry Reid's Exploding Head

Birthday wrap-up, Halloween and impersonating turkeys

2005-10-31T16:14:00.000-06:00

Let's work backward, shall we?

As much as I bitch about how boring it can be to write insurance advertising, there some days I get to say things like, "I spent some time recording a turkey gobble for a Flash e-mail."

Not exactly Mel Blanc material, but it was a helluva lot more fun than writing about the benefits of a fixed annuity.

Tonight, Mrs. Z and I are going to celebrate a fairly low-key Halloween. We're going to watch a couple episodes of the Discovery Channel's A Haunting and perhaps an episode of Xena before getting some rest (and perhaps some recreation).

We're in need of both, as my birthday/Halloween festival provided three straight nights of activity:

I did, in fact, hit five bars on my birthday night. What a blast. And how blasted I was. While the evening was short on bar sluts, it was long on her dependable friendship, the unexpected but most welcome appearance of The Former Mr. Midnight Shift and, of course, the companionship of Mrs. Z. I really don't remember that much about the last bar, except that I was in the bathroom when the band gave me a shout-out.
Thursday night, the missus and I were treated to dinner at Damon's by my mom. Good food, good times.
Friday night was my birthday party with friends. While it didn't turn out to be the deabauched, depraved affair it sometimes can, I was nonetheless a happy drunk by midnight.
Saturday, I went to "Ghouls Gone Wild"at the Hilton, having scored tickets earlier in the week. This costume party was considerably more entertaining than many radio-sponsored events I've attaneded. Part of that was due to the band, The Brat Pack, who delivered some totally awesome 80s tunage. (Ummm ... sorry about that.) It also didn't hurt that I scored a free night's accommodations.
By Sunday, we were ready to settle down to a Xena marathon crowned by Lucy Lawless in Vampire Bats on CBS. Heterosexual lesbian couple heaven.

So tonight, I'll be dodging the raindrops in the dark just to get a little mellow time at home. Happy Halloween.

Love. That. Ouiser.

2005-10-26T10:09:00.000-05:00

Just when my birthday was threatening to get down and dumpy, to the rescue came that fiery-headed Mistress of Mercy, MzOuiser.

Not that it was a complete surprise (she was the one who urged me to set up an Amazon Wish List in the first place), but I was nonetheless pleased as punch to find the new Liz Phair CD in my mailbox last night, compliments of Mz O. Read all about the O here.

It is at once a great joy and a great sadness that I only became close with Ouiser as she was moving away. Nevertheless, she’s been a great friend and a blogging inspiration.

So tonight, when I’m boogeying down to celebrate my birthday, my only regret will be that she’s not in attendance to demonstrate #50.

***

Birthday algebra

If Dr. Zoom gets a free birthday drink at five bars, and the free drinks at two of the bars are as big as three normal size drinks, and Dr. Zoom can con two friends into buying him a drink each, how shit-faced will Dr. Zoom be by the time he sings karaoke at the fifth bar?

Shit-faced enough to earn the Native American name Dances With Barsluts? You betcha.

My last post as a 35-year-old

2005-10-25T16:31:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

As of 1:56 a.m., I will have lived on this planet 36 years. And I haven’t even gotten the stupid T-shirt.

Tonight, I celebrate with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Screw you, PETA.

Tomorrow, on the magical day itself, I will celebrate with a meeting with management at which they will tell us that, yes, they are listening to all our concerns. And then, I will drink. Heavily.

One of the charming aspects of downtown Springfield is that there are several fine establishments willing to give residents a free alcoholic beverage on their birthday. Some of these are quite large. More on that tomorrow.

Thursday night, a birthday dinner with Mom at Damon’s: The Place for Ribs.
And Friday night, all hell breaks loose. In other words, it’s a party at The Sykes Pit.

This ... means ... something

2005-10-20T09:44:00.000-05:00

Your Personality Profile

You are dependable, popular, and observant.
Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness.
In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do.

You are unique, creative, and expressive.
You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while.
And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming!

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Oh yeah ... there will be some freak-flagwaving next week.

Many thanks to those who felt my pain yesterday. I zoomed through the grief stages in no time at all. This was owing to several things. More than anything else, knowing that cancelling the trip now would allow us to get on with our lives and have a good Christmas made the loss easy to take. Also, there is the fact that staying in town sets up a bitchin' moviefest on the day after Thanksgiving.

Finally, staying home means the grand, glorious tradition of White Trash Thanksgiving can continue. More on that as the day approaches.

***

I have a really brief pickup rehearsal tonight. Then, the J&H train rolls into its final weekend. Let me take this opportunity to give a shout out to my fellow thespians to the south who open Seussical this weekend. Break legs, kids.

***

Finally, it's less than a week until you-know-when. Have finished your shopping yet?

Bad paraplegic. Bad!

Gloom ... despair ... agony

2005-10-19T07:58:00.000-05:00

We have just encountered a major, unexpected expense which will have the immediate upshot of forcing us to cancel our Thanksgiving trip to Minnesota.

I had damn well better clip through Kübler-Ross's stages of grief in the next week, or my birthday will be as happy as a horse shooting.

Gettin’ Wiki wit it

2005-10-18T11:44:00.000-05:00

And now, I’d like to pimp out a site that probably doesn’t need my help at all. Nonetheless, it has become my go-to online source for information about, I don’t know, EVERYTHING.

I speak of Wikipedia, a free online encyclopedia of breathtaking scope, laudable thoroughness and a scholarly level of accuracy. Want to know about the Order of Knight of the British Empire? Check. The political structure of Poland? Check. A compendium of all things “Lost”? Check. A biography of Xena, The Warrior Princess? Check.

Do yourself a favor and bookmark Wikipedia now.

End commercial message.

A glutton for punishment

2005-10-17T13:45:00.000-05:00

Jekyll & Hyde opened this weekend with a bang. We had a near-sellout Friday, a sellout Saturday and a more-than-respectable house for our Saturday matinee.

Friday night was particularly electric. While the opening show of a run always features a special energy, the J&H opener had a rock concert dynamic. We attributed this to our observation that, in addition to the normal complement of regular “theatre types,” the audience included about 200 people who had been in a production with at least one member of the J&H cast. There was wild cheering after every musical number, and the curtain call ovation was almost deafening.

Our joy was compounded by a radiant review from the local newspaper. And yet, there was something of a cloud in the Saturday morning afterglow.

(This is where your truly reveals a negative personality trait. If you don’t want to be disillusioned, you may want to click away now.)

I didn’t appear in the review. Each of the four other principals — Jekyll/Hyde, Lucy, Emma and Utterson — received positive mentions (and more than deservedly so). But that’s where the specific shout-outs ended. There was no print love for Sir Danvers. And it bugged me.

Understand this: I generally do a good job of keeping my attention-whoring tendencies at bay. And I generally despise it when local actors are put out by what appears (or doesn’t) in a show’s review. But as Ted Striker so eloquently puts it in Airplane, “I guess the foot’s on the other hand now!”

So, what’s a recovering attention whore to do? Well, in my case, it’s signing on to do a Christmas show: Santa Claus: The Musical. In this holiday show primarily aimed at children, I play an over-the-top villain named Scourge. No … not this one.

Now, appearing in this show breaks three more-or-less solid theater rules I’ve instituted for myself.
1. Never appear in a “kids show” (although I broke this rule last summer by appearing in Honk!).
2. Never appear in a show that runs into Christmas.
3. Never do two shows in a row.

But having read the script, I can tell you playing Scourge will allow me to go completely berserk on stage — a prospect that should strike fear into the hearts of the Springfield theater community but which fills mine with evil glee.

So yes … I’m an evil, horrible person for letting pride mar the J&H experience at even the most trivial level. But instead of exorcising my demon, I will become one onstage.

Wait’ll they get a load of me.

The many faces of Mister Hyde

2005-10-13T11:57:00.000-05:00

Meet Joshua Ratz. Josh is the star of the production of Jekyll & Hyde which I’m in starting tomorrow. Josh is a great singer, a phenomenal actor and possesses a great personal attractiveness. But get this … he can walk, too.

Therefore, he must die.

Josh is the latest in a long string of actors to play the literary world’s most famous split personality, and J&H is the latest in an equally long string of incarnations of the Robert Louis Stevenson classic. I’ve slapdashed together a Top Five list of the most unusual film versions of J&H … just because I’m a listy kind of guy.

#5. Abbott and Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1953)
This was the fourth of six “Abbott and Costello Meet …” movies, and the second to match the comic team with horror legend Boris Karloff. Look for a funny bit at the end with Lou Costello providing a literal answer to the question, “Are You a Man or a Mouse?”

#4 The Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde Rock 'n Roll Musical (2003)
An extremely low-profile vanity project by writer and star Alan Bernhoft, it is definitely NOT to be confused with the aforementioned J&H. This has been described as part Rocky Horror Picture Show and two parts The Who’s Tommy. Released in 2003, the movie has an interesting official site, but good luck trying to find a copy of the movie itself. And speaking of things that are hard to find ...

#3 Docteur Jekyll et les femmes (1981)
Wow. Where to start? This production was directed by Walerian Borowczyk, director of several “Emmanuelle” movies. The Prurient Pole also helmed a series of really weird art house horror-erotica films, of which this is one. Hyde’s sexual nature is front-and-center here, with a disturbing amount of attention given to his monstrous, 35-centimeter “organ.” Go ahead … Google a metric conversion page. I’ll wait.

#2 Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971)
The sensually macabre is also on display in this import. The twist here is that a mild, near-asexual Jekyll is transformed into a feral, libidinous woman (played by Bond Girl Martine Bestwick, of From Russia With Love). Its sexuality was pretty blatant for the time, as was its female-empowerment(?) storyline.

#1 Jekyll and Hyde... Together Again (1982)
Ah, the early 80s. A time when casual sex and rampant drug use was not only common, but fashionable. What better way to celebrate the two than with a horror twist on another 80s staple: the sex comedy. Here, Dr. Jekyll’s secret formula takes the form of a white powder (hmm hmm hmm HMMM!) that unleashes a wacky party animal. Hilarity ensues.

Must-see TV

2005-10-11T15:41:00.000-05:00

Click the link above to see an advertisement for the "must-see musical rollercoaster of passion and murder."

Welcome to Hell Week

2005-10-10T11:35:00.000-05:00

This week’s entries are bound to be a bit dominated by things theatrical, as the production of Jekyll & Hyde I’m in opens Friday. If you don’t like it, you might want to visit his site for a week or so. Nothing artsy-fartsy there, I assure you.

Now, back to J&H. There are some weird bits of personal trivia happening here.

1. First of all, even though I have a substantial amount of stage time in the show, I don’t have one prop. Not one. This is a relief when you consider …
2. I have never had the number of insane costume changes I have in this show. And they all involve going from one formal outfit to another. Let’s just say that when the dorector starts his notes after a rehearsal saying, “There are only a few people with really quick changes,” and the first person he names is a paraplegic, you’d better be praying hard to sweet St. Genesius. Thankfully, I have her as a dresser.
3. I have my first onstage duet in this show, which is a little weird, considering I have played a musical lead before. However, Julian Marsh and Peggy Sawyer never sing together in 42nd Street.
4. This marks the second time I’m playing someone’s father in a show. This time, sadly, I’m not being aged to play the role, which is just ridiculous. I’m not 50, I don’t feel 50, and I sure as hell don’t look 50. Midlife crisis, here I come. Thankfully, I have a drinking holiday built in about two weeks from now. Unfortunately, the holiday is another statement on my getting older. (Have you finished your shopping yet?)
5. This isn’t so much trivia as an observation: there’s something profoundly visceral and unnerving about seeing a death on stage. We’ve all more or less become desensitized to watching murder on screen, but put a murder in a theatre roughly 15 feet from the first row (and J&H has seven, count ‘em, seven!), and you have a different experience entirely. I can’t wait to see the audience’s faces.

More from tech week, otherwise known as Hell Week, as it progresses …

St. Genesius be praised

2005-10-06T16:02:00.000-05:00

According to the original Jekyll & Hyde rehearsal schedule, Starting yesterday, we were to have had nine straight scheduled run-throughs before it opened next Friday. That would have had us running the show 12 times in 12 days. Madness.

Miraculously, our Friday and Saturday rehearsals have been canceled. We’ll be able to breathe after tonight.

And now for something completely different.

Ten Things I Think

1. I think for all the jokes about his intelligence, George W. made two extremely shrewd Supreme Court nominations. However, given their obscurity, I halfway expected my phone to ring Sunday night.
2. I think I’m looking forward to the family’s Thanksgiving trip to Minneapolis more than any trip I’ve taken in many years.
3. I think Lindsey Lohan should just take the bus.
4. I think that tuxedos with tails are a bad idea for men in wheelchairs.
5. think I may have to get Fiona Apple’s new CD before I get the latest Liz Phair offering, even though Liz is one of my celebrity crushes.
6. I think a White Sox/Cardinals World Series would actually get me interested. (Sorry, Frecklehead.)
7. I think we’re alone now.
8. I think this is one of the deepest and most unsettling things I’ve read in a while.
9. I think nothing beats the satisfaction derived from drinking the perfectly crafted Bloody Mary.
10. I think I love you. So what am I so afraid of?

Still more shamless self-serving self-promotion

2005-10-05T10:50:00.000-05:00

A dear friend e-mailed me today: "Excuse me, but why isn't your Amazon Wish List not linked from your blog???"

Well, first of all, I didn't have an Amazon Wish List. I just couldn't picture enough people in my circle of friends who would have the inclination to shop for me online.

But I've fixed that, and just in time for my BIRTHDAAAAAAAAY! People of Earth, you have exactly three shopping weeks left. You can click on the link above, or just click here.

Shameless self-promotion

2005-09-30T11:24:00.000-05:00

If you happen to be in the Springfield, Ill., area in two weeks, you might want to stop by and see this show -- and not just because I'm in it. You'll love Jekyll & Hyde if even one of the following is true:

You love musicals.

You love horror movies.

You love catchy songs.

You're horny.

Oops. Did I say that out loud?

How I deal

2005-09-27T16:34:00.000-05:00

I had a friend disappoint me today. I had a choice: become dejected and despondent or defiant and surly.

I chose the latter and surfed over to uberprints.com to design a T-shirt:

Who needs therapy when I have the Internet?

San Francisco Stories: Part I

2005-09-23T16:11:00.000-05:00

One of the many highlights of my recent trip to San Francisco was my frequent brushes with fame. The first one happened before I’d even left the state of Illinois.

My co-worker and traveling companion, Ron, and I were at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport waiting for our connecting flight to San Francisco. Our flight was delayed to allow passengers on an incoming flight from San Diego to disembark. Among the rabble waiting for loved ones to arrive was an older woman, nicely if not spectacularly dressed. She was holding up a spiral-bound notebook with “B.WHITE” printed on it in marker.

Ron and I looked at each other with a smile. Seconds later, Ron verbalized what I had been thinking.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if that were Betty White?”

Sure enough, when the passengers from San Diego emerged moments later, among them was the Golden Girl herself, looking a bit older than I had remembered, but with the same trademark sparkle in her eye. She winked at the few of us who showed signs of recognizing her, joined her friend in one of those airport people-movers for the mobility impaired and whisked away.

Fast forward to that evening. I had checked into my hotel. Remembering San Francisco’s reputation as a non-smoking city, I had asked the concierge if there was anywhere on the property I could smoke. He said no, but as I started to roll away, he said, “Wait a minute. There’s the Roof Garden.”

The Roof Garden, as it turns out, is this gorgeous little enclave on top of the second story. Here’s a crappy picture I took of it the night I found it.

There are beautiful shrubs, palm trees and a gorgeous fountain. There’s a beautiful view of the skyline, including the Transamerica obelisk-shaped headquarters. And there are plentiful.

Now because smoking is a egregious offense in California, the doors leading outside to the garden (one from the lobby, one from a banquet hall), are emblazoned with a warning that beyond lies an area that contains dangerous chemicals. Then … all is peace and tranquility.

It’s sort of like the Betty Ford Clinic, except they let you keep the drugs. And it was here, on the next morning, that I had my second brush with fame.

I was showing Ron The Roof Garden, when we saw a throng spilling out of the banquet room into the garden. There were several cameras. Children in scouting uniforms and Eurpean-looking costumes were nestled toward the center of the mob. Meanwhile, at the crowd’s perimeter, several buff-looking men spoke into their cufflinks at regular intervals.

Secret Service, I instantly thought.

Ron and I looked at each other quizzically. Finally, Ron got up from the stone bench on which he had been sitting and strode over to one of the photogs. They exchanged words, and Ron came back over to where we had been sitting.

“It’s the Polish president,” he said.

At this point, the throng moved in our direction. And at the center of the crowd, surrounded by European journalist speaking in a cacophony of Salvic tongues, was The Man, whom I have since learned is named Aleksander Kwaśniewski. It turns out he’s been The Man since defeating populist hero Lech Walesa ten years ago. And his second and final five-year term ends this year.

“He looks like John Roberts,” Ron remarked.

After the crowd had dispersed, I asked Ron the $64,000 question.

“On the celebrity scale, who wins out: Betty White or the President of Poland?”

“It’s got to be Betty White,” he said. And for emphasis, he proclaimed. “Without. A. Doubt.”

I had to agree with him.

A cushy pushover

2005-09-20T14:40:00.000-05:00

You scored as Pillow. You are a PILLOW.
Soft and cuddly, you are a great and loyal friend, but a bit of a push-over.
People love the fact that you are reliable, but you should also learn to stick up for yourself, jeeze
Which Random Object Do You Represent?
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