O Canada!

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

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!

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

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

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

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’

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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’

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

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!

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

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"

Sometimes one urge trumps another.

My To-Do List

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome to Hell Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?
created with QuizFarm.com

I left my heart ...

I'm baaack ....

And except for an upper respiratory infection (bad recycled plane air, says my doctor) and a pile o' work, I'm not too much worse for the wear. I'll be posting more words and pictures later this week, but this will have to keep you interested for now.

More on Katrina: How politics, not incompetence, delayed assistance

This is fascinating reading, and the clearest, most concise explanation we'll probably see as to why federal involvement in Katrina's wake was delayed. It shows a situation, in my view, made worse not by political incompetence, but politics in general.

There are no valid excuses here per se, but there is definitely more than a shrug and a blank look. And it cetainly elevates the issue above partisan finger-pointing.

You may have to register with the NY Times to read the article, but it's free. And it's worth it.

A tale of two cities

If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you’re going to San Francisco
You`re gonna meet some gentle people there

Well, I can only hope the people are gentle, because my hair won’t support the use of flowers.

That’s right. To quote another 60s classic, I’m leaving on a jet plane. The powers that be have determined it would be a good thing for me to mix and mingle with other people who write about the insurance industry. Based on my experience, it will either be an extremely boring bunch or quite the rowdy one. And the shindig happens starting this weekend at the San Francisco Fairmont

All things considered, I’d rather be staying home.

Take one part general travel jitters, add about a million parts separation anxiety (this is the first time I’ve left Mrs. Z at home in more than seven years) and stir in a dash of domesticity, and you’re left with a recipe for travel ambivalence. That said, San Francisco is one of the few cities I have an active desire to see, and I have an agreeable colleague as a travel companion, so I’m sure I’ll survive — perhaps even thrive.

Meanwhile, my thoughts are still dominated by another city: New Orleans. Nearly two weeks after Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, my thoughts on the tragedy are only now starting to resolve to the point where I feel I can write about it. Here are some of those thoughts, in no particular order.

I find myself nodding in agreement with this guy, who comments that: “I fully expected that watching the events of 9/11 on TV (only a couple weeks after I'd been in both NY and Washington for job interviews) would be the most horrifying experience of my lifetime. I was wrong.”

Indeed, I would imagine that if you played word association and said “national tragedy” to a random sampling three weeks ago or more, a solid majority would say 9/11. And yet, here we are, facing an event that will probably end up having ten times the death toll and as deep (or maybe even deeper) an impact on our national culture. Call me a pessimist (it would be a first), but I can’t imagine New Orleans ever being the same – at least in my lifetime.

I’ve been pretty emotionally erratic in Katrina’s wake. I spent two days in sadness, but I’ve been given more recently to fits of anger over the disgusting politicization of the talk surrounding the storm. I can safely say that 9/11 never made me as angry as I have been over this. For God’s sake, people, there is no enemy here … only our countrymen and brethren in the family of man. Can we please postpone the self-righteous indignation and finger-pointing until we have resuced the living and buried the dead?

All in all, it maybe best that I’m getting away. Though leaving Mrs. Z at home breaks my heart each night my departure gets closer, I long for a fresh perspective. Maybe it will wash over me when I pass through the Golden Gate. Maybe I’ll see it in the face of an impassioned Giants fan. Maybe I’ll find it in the industry babble that is my reason for leaving.

Maybe I won’t find it until I’m home again.

Knowing Meme, Knowing You

Two posts in one day! And you have her to thank. Feel free to make your own list.


7 things I plan to do before I die:
1) Finish a novel
2) Get back to New York
3) See the great Wall of China
4) Quit smoking
5) Play George to Becky’s Martha in “Who’s Afraid of Viriginia Woolf?”
6) Get a tattoo
7) Play Richard III

7 things I can do:
1) Do a 360 while holding a wheelie
2) Eat and enjoy food so spicy it makes me sweat
3) Make cashiers swoon with an inpromptu snippet from a love song
4) Shoot a three-pointer
5) Make killer sauces
6) Write zippy headlines
7) Make people laugh

7 things I cannot do
1) Walk
2) Run
3) Jump
4) Grapevine
5) Tie a tie
6) Sing one song while another one’s playing
7) Stay mad

7 things that attract me to the sex of my preference:
1) Shortness
2) A wicked smile
3) A sense of humor
4) A bouncy butt (hey … honesty frees the soul)
5) the ability to simultaneously display devotion and independence
6) Self-confidence
7) Open-mindedness

7 things that I say most often:
1) I Love YOU!
2) Give me a smokie treat.
3) Now that I have your attention …
4) That's Hot!
5) Oh dear God!
6) I'm not drunk!
7) Where are my keys?


7 celebrity crushes:
1) Gwen Stefani
2) Liz Phair
3) Angelina Jolie
4) “Mythbuster” Kari Byron
5) Xena & Gabrielle (you can’t have one without the … other!)
6) Drew Barrymore
7) Anna Paquin

Let's go debunking

1.Money isn't made out of paper. It's made out of cotton.
Well, yes and no. Paper money is made from paper made of rags. Cotton or linen fabric is beaten to create cotton or linen fibers. You have probably heard of "rag paper" or "fine linen writing paper." This is where it comes from.

2. The Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper.
True, but not shocking. Much of the paper of the day was made of hemp.

3. The dot over the letter i is called a “tittle."
True. The term refers to any raised dot in writing, however.

4. A raisin dropped in a glass of fresh champagne will bounce up and down continuously from the bottom of the glass to the top.
Sometimes, depending on the raisin and the champagne. After a while it becomes soaked and sinks to the bottom

5. Susan Lucci is the daughter of Phyllis Diller.
False. Although their ages don't preclude their being mother and daughter, Phyllis Diller and Susan Lucci are not related. Phyllis Driver was born in Ohio in 1917 and married Sherwood Diller in 1939; they had five children together before divorcing in 1965, none of whom was Susan Lucci (who was born in New York in 1946).

6. 40% of McDonald's profits come from the sales of Happy Meals.
Not true, although when they were first introduced, 40% of McDonald’s sales might have been attributable to Happy Meals.

7. 315 entries in Webster's 1996 Dictionary were misspelled.
Which Webster’s? There are many dictionaries that carry the Webster name.

8. The 'spot' on 7UP comes from its inventor, who had red eyes. He was albino.
Uh-uh. 7Up’s creator, Charles Leiper Grigg, wasn't an albino. In photographs (albeit black and white ones), he appears normally pigmented, and we've yet to encounter a biography of him that makes any mention of his displaying traits of albinism. (By the way, though it is possible for an albino to have reddish or violet eyes, most people with that condition have blue eyes, and some have hazel or brown eyes.)

9. On average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents, daily.
Impossible to verify, making it likely this number was pulled out of someone's ass.

10. Warren Beatty and Shirley MacLaine are brother and sister.
True dat.

11. Chocolate affects a dog's heart and nervous system; a few ounces will kill a small sized dog.
Sadly this is true. According to the SPCA, cocoa beans contain the stimulants caffeine and theobromine. Dogs are highly sensitive to these chemicals, called methylxanthines. In dogs, low doses of methylxanthine can cause mild gastrointestinal upset (vomiting, diarrhea, and/or abdominal pain); higher doses can cause rapid heart rate, muscle tremors, seizures, and death

12. Orcas (killer whales) kill sharks by torpedoing up into the shark's stomach from underneath, causing the shark to explode.
No one has ever witnessed this behavior in nature. Moreover, the two aren’t natural enemies.

13. Most lipstick contains fish scales.
Sort of. A fish scale extract is one ingredient.

14. Donald Duck comics were banned from Finland because he doesn't wear pants.
False. In late 1977, the city of Helsinki found itself in a bit of a financial crunch. With monetary resources limited, Mr. Markku Holopainen, a local Liberal Party representative, proposed at a meeting of the board of youth affairs that the city economize by discontinuing its purchase of Donald Duck comics for youth centers in favor of hobby and sport publications. His suggestion was heartily approved — and was later incorrectly lambasted by international tabloids as being morally, rather than financially, based.

15. Ketchup was sold in the 1830s as medicine.
True (Dr. Miles Compound Extract of Tomato)

16. Upper and lower case letters are named 'upper' and 'lower' because in the time when all original print had to be set in individual letters, the 'upper case' letters were stored in the case on top of the case that stored the smaller, 'lower case' letters.
True.

17. Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time.
There is no evidence of da Vinci being ambidextrous. (He was left-handed.) On the other hand (d’oh), he was proficient in the practice of mirror writing, or writing that could only be read if held up to a mirror.

18. Because metal was scarce, the Oscars given out during World War II were made of wood.
Not true. During World War II, award winners were given statuettes made of plaster, which they were later able to exchange for gold. The only wooden Oscar was an honorary one given to ventriloquist Edgar Bergen.

19. There are no clocks in Las Vegas gambling casinos.
This is true, as a rule. There is also a scarcity of windows. Both practices have the same effect: masking the passage of time.

20. The name Wendy was made up for the book Peter Pan; there was never a recorded Wendy before!
Not true. The name Wendy appears twice in the 1881 census of England, one born 1840, and one born in 1880. The magazine Family History also states that Wendy, along with the names Marian and Shirley were once boys’ names, and that in 1797 a boy named Wendy was apprenticed to some one in Glos.

But the name may have even older origins. History makes reference to two different emperors in China who have the name "Wendi" (sometimes also referred to as Wen-Ti).

However, J.M. Barrie’s 1904 novel certainly popularized the name.

21. There are no words in the dictionary that rhyme with: orange, purple, and silver!
True. Well, “quicksilver” rhymes with “silver,” but that’s cheating.

22. Leonardo Da Vinci invented scissors. Also, it took him 10 years to paint Mona Lisa's lips.
Wrong and wrong. Although commonly ascribed to Leonardo da Vinci, scissors were likely invented in 1500 BC in ancient Egypt. These were likely shears with the joint at the far end. Modern cross-bladed scissors were invented by Romans around AD 100.

The entire painting that would later become known as the Mona Lisa was painted in less than four years (1503-1506).


23. A tiny amount of liquor on a scorpion will make it instantly go mad and sting itself to death.
Untrue, since the scorpion’s venom has no effect on the scorpion itself, nor on any member of the same species. So definitely do NOT try this one at home.

24. The mask used by Michael Myers in the original "Halloween" was a Captain Kirk mask painted white.
True, per the Internet Movie Database.

25. If you have three quarters, four dimes, and four pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar (good to know.)
True.

26. By raising your legs slowly and lying on your back, you can't sink in quicksand (and you thought this list was completely useless.)
True. Simply laying down and swimming is all that is needed to allow escape. The sand's higher density will gradually push a human body upward, eventually allowing the individual to easily paddle toward more solid footing.

27. The phrase "rule of thumb" is derived from an old English law, which stated that you couldn't beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb.
This is a long-standing myth. While we are not certain of its origin, the term "rule of thumb" or similar exists in many languages and cultures. Its likely origin is that the thumb is often used for rough measurement by carpenters, seamstresses, and many others. In fact, the measurement of an inch is believed to have been derived from the distance between the tip of the thumb and the first joint.

The wife-beating claim has been debunked, for instance by Christina Hoff Sommers in her book Who Stole Feminism?. In particular Sommers notes that there is no mention of this in the legal commentaries of William Blackstone.

28. The first product Motorola started to develop was a record player for automobiles. At that time, the most known player on the market was the Victrola, so they called themselves Motorola.
Not quite. Motorola started business manufacturing radios for cars, not record players. A number of early companies manufacturing audio and film equipment in the early 20th century used the suffix "-ola".

29. Celery has negative calories! It takes more calories to eat a piece of celery than the celery has in it to begin with. It's the same with apples!
True of celery. Not as true with apples. There are 15 calories in 110 grams of celery. There are 57 calories in the same amount of apple.

30. Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying!
No, but putting a piece of bread between your lips and gums may help, as will cutting onions under cold running water.

31. The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher.
True. However, American stamps are kosher, as well, since their glue is also composed of vegetable oil. But they’re not necessarily certified.

32. Guinness Book of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from public libraries.
False. A recent American Library Association survey indicated the most stolen books are about dreams, witchcraft, astrology and the occult.

33. Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go into space because passing wind in a space suit damages it.
False. Three days before a flight, astronauts are put on a "low residue diet" so their diaper-style undies won't fill up so fast. If farts could damage a space suit there'd be a lot more astronaut fatalities.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

I hate it when she makes me feel guilty. She doesn't do it on purpose, of course. But she's a much more regular blogger than I, and her writing is fucking awesome. And she's training to be a MASSAGE THERAPIST! Meanwhile, here I am, the professional writer, and I'm not producing jack!

I'm ugly.

I need chocolate.

Hold me.

On faith

I had a friend ask me today, “Why do you believe what you believe?” It's a tricky question.

The way I see it, you might as well ask someone why he or she loves someone else. Obviously, there are some facts that go into that decision: common interests, shared opinions, physical chemistry and the like. But when it comes time to make the commitment to loving someone, there's no "reason" to it. It's a gut-level instinct that says, "This is right."

The same can be said of faith. There are a number of facts that inform someone's choice of religion. For Christians, there is the logical principle that you cannot have creation without a creator. And there are the historical documents, both biblical and secular, supporting the existence of Jesus. But when it comes to choosing a faith, it is made based on that same type of gut instinct.

Look at it this way ... if you are certain of something, there's no belief to it. It's knowledge.

This and that on a rain-drenched Tuesday

In the Obscure Observance Department, today is the Irish celebration of the “Battle of the Boyne.” In the sake of unity, however, I would urge my Protestant brethren to avoid razzing their Catholic friends with a Nelsonian “HAH hah!”

***

Today's top Springfield State Journal-Register headline: Two accused of flipping
Today's top Chicago Tribune headline: Shrub poisoned zoo monkeys
The two headlines combined: Two accused of flipping shrub-poisoned zoo monkeys.

***

Mrs. Z and I watched our new DVD of the Cameron Crowe classic "Say Anything" last night. Twice. In a row. The second time, we watched the commentary from Crowe, John Cusack and Ione Skye.

"Say Anything" pretty much summed up our high school experience. Crowe's writing, which goes from honest and conversational to poetic without missing a beat, is only topped by Cusack's unforgettable character work as Lloyd Dobler. Of his character's mindset, Cusack said: "Optimism is a revolutionary act."

Indeed.

Company comin’!

I found out over the weekend that the lovely Mz. Ouiser is coming to Illinois this week for a visit. I was amused to hear that she really has a yen for some Karaoke.

The fact that Mrs. Z and I are Karaoke junkies is not a great secret, although we have been inactive for more than a month. It is curious to me, however, that the woman I hold up as Metropolitan Culture Girl — whom I’ve long regarded as a poster child for escaping the Midwest and Getting a Life — yearns for the relatively rustic pleasures of a Karaoke bar.

I won’t analyze it any further, however. It’s always a treat to see Ms. O, and Mrs. Z and I wouldn’t mind terribly if we were dynamite fishing off Lake Springfield, so long as we had a chance to socialize again.

Not that I'm cynical

... but what are we to make of this? Live 8 performers' record sales are booming. Maybe fans are rewarding these artists for their generous donation of face time for a worthy cause.

The one appeasing fact from this article: their was some actual fund-raising going on. The recording of the McCartney/U2 duet "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" is selling like hotcakes on the Internet, with proceeds going toward the poverty-stricken. So it's not like the epic concert's only purpose was to tweak the G8's leaders -- a goal which seemed decidedly unambitious to me.

Ok, so I am cynical.

By the way ... thanks for your patience in between posts. Mrs. Z are done with one show (Ragtime) and are a month away from starting another (Jekyll & Hyde).

Yes ... the audition which was causing me some anxiety went well.

Mortality

I just made my first funeral song choice. It's "Lux aeterna" from the John Rutter Requiem. Its music speaks so beautifully of the mystery and peace of death.

Either I am getting old or I'm finding new and bizarre ways of dealing with audition stress (more on that next week).

Five questions

The beloved Mz. Ouiser threw down the bloggauntlet to me, so to speak, by posing five questions for me to answer in this space. (This is emerging as the blogosphere equivalent of a chain letter. You can see her interview here.) When I agreed to this, I suspected her questions would be hard — but not this hard.

What are the 5 most important things you feel you should do before you die?

Well, I’m going to cheat right off the bat and divide my answers into things I should do and things I want to do.

a) I should help conservatism change its popular perception as a judgmental, narrow-minded, bullying sect.
b) I want to play George to Becky’s Martha in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
c) I should stop smoking.
d) I want to see the Great Wall of China.
e) I should get off my *** and write a novel, already.

If we had to roll in your shoes for a while, what are the five most vital things you'd like us bipeds to learn?

a) Paraplegics can get their groove on. One of the perceptions I had to fight when I was younger and still fight to a certain extent is that a lot of people are incapable of thinking of the disabled as sensual beings. I may be wrong, and it may be some latent self-esteem issues buried in my nooks and crannies. But I don’t think so.
b) There’s a time for independence, and there’s a time to let someone to open the freaking door. The older I get, the less prideful I am when it comes to accepting help.
c) If you can learn to pop a wheelie, you can rule the world.
d) Snow sucks. “You have tire chains for that thing?” jokes suck worse.
e) It’s amazing how good sitting in a “normal” chair feels every once in a while.

You and Becky are such a fun, fabulous couple; you get my vote for Springfield's sweethearts. What do you feel is the secret to your successful marriage?

I could spend a whole blog entry on that. Careful selection is a must. I’d even go so far as to propose this maxim: never marry someone you haven’t broken up with at least once.

This may sound radical, but here’s my theory. We’ve all heard that if a thing seems too good to be true, it probably is. On the other hand, if a thing is good enough to return to after you’ve walked away from it, it bears close consideration.

Also, at the risk of re-stating an old cliché: never go to bed angry at your partner. First, it makes for a rotten night of sleep. Second, it belies the idea that your relationship with your spouse is the most important thing in your life. Third, it gives resentment a chance to burrow its way into your soul.

Do you advocate the Hal Prince style of directing or the Stanislavski? Why?

I lean much closer to Stanislavski than to Prince. Prince one said “The worse thing that can happen is to get back from artists exactly what you asked of them.” He may have been saying that he prefers actors have ownership of their work, but what he means is that he really doesn’t care what the actors do, as long as they look pretty. That’s just wrong. A director must provide his vision for the show to the actors and collaborate with them to find the best path toward realizing that vision.

By the same token, I think one can go too far with The Method. I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary for an actor to be able to completely empathize with a character. In fact, a total surrender to the role can be dangerous.

One of the greatest challenges a director can have is knowing his actors well enough to make a suggestion that will resonate with them. My high school drama mentor told me to play Max Detweiler in “The Sound of Music” as if he were secretly a Jew. It worked. In my first directing gig, I was having trouble with my young lead getting the gist of Winnie the Pooh. I told him to try playing Pooh as if he were … well … slow. His eyes lit up, and from that point on, the young man grasped the essence of Pooh.

What 20th century musicians/composers do you feel made the greatest contribution to American culture, and why? (Other than the Beatles. Yes I am evil.)
a) Irving Berlin — the Father of the Pop Song, as far as I’m concerned.
b) Elvis Presley — A fantastic entertainer, he essentially created the crossover hit.
c) John Williams — He has provided the music for almost half of the top 10 grossing movies of all time. Penning the “Star Wars” theme alone makes him a fixture in pop culture.
d) Frank Sinatra — One of the first artists to fully realize the potential of turning talent into power. He also set the precedent for musicians who decided popularity in one field was not enough.
e) The Rolling Stones — Sure their music is good, but their influence has been establishing a blueprint for long-term success.

Whew! Would you like to assume the hotseat, dear reader? Let me know by posting a comment. I'll come up with five questions for you, but you must answer them honestly and completely, and you must post them on your blog. If you don't have a blog, you can post them here.

I wore a black derby today

Seriously.

Just before I left, I saw a black derby on top of the couch.
And I thought, "I'm going to wear that this Friday morning."
"I'm going to make people look at me."
It worked.
At every turn, passersby were riveted to me and my hat.
And I flashed each of them a smile
As if to say, "Made you look."
And my smile stayed with me.
Because, in some small way,
I was living life on my terms.

Find your black derby today.

Karaoke God

Behold ... the new and improved profile picture.

This is only a test

Hmmm ... there I am!  And with that, this blog is officially a multimedia presentation.

Hoodie hoo!

Watch out, Britain. You’re supposed to be the relaxed-and-groovy country.

If Orwellian measures like this were taken in America, the government would be lambasted for telling its citizens how to dress “for their own protection.” And I shudder to think what would happen if George W. established the cabinet position “Secretary of Antisocial Behavior.”

On guilt

As I looked over my blog to see how regularly I’ve posted as of late, I made a disturbing discovery. I haven’t had an original thought in more than a month. Sure, I’ve posted regularly, but for the past thirtysomething days, it’s been link upon link. I dress them up with witty titles and lines, but it’s nothing that required any great creative investment on my part.

This led to a pang of guilt. I was going to label it “self-imposed guilt,” but then I started thinking.

****WARNING: Philosophical babbling ahead****

Isn’t all guilt self-imposed? What is guilt but the soul’s alert system warning us we’ve done something incompatible with our internal code of ethics?

So is there such a distinction as deserved and undeserved guilt? No – at least not according to the definition we’ve just established. It becomes a matter of examining the internal ethical code that resulted in the “guilt alarm.”

Of course, that leads into dark territory. If you you’re given to punishing yourself with guilt excessively, should you re-examine your morals every time you feel guilty? And will that erode your morals?

It’s about this time that my head explodes.

Penguins are sluts

I'd never get away with this if it were any other day but Friday.

A 'miracle' awakening

Watch as the Terri Schiavo allusions begin in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

Uh oh …. Putie’s flipping out

Today’s news finds Russian president lamenting the fall of the Soviet Union. I kind of miss the old U.S.S.R. myself, but only because the James Bond series hasn’t been the same since the Cold War ended.

I’m sure this address will have prominent place on the agenda at the next State Department meeting.

But can he cover an Otis Redding tune?

Democrats opposing John Bolton’s confirmation as U.N. ambassador are criticizing him for being someone who, while willing to work with other nations, will take the hard line if he feels it’s in the United States’ best interests. I’m not sure why they’re so surprised: look at the philosophy of the guy who nominated him.

Besides, just because someone has been critical of an organization doesn’t mean he can’t work with it. And while we’re at it, imagine what a loss it would be to lose out on someone who could actually make a very important world organization better. But no … we’ll probably end up with a candidate who believes that if the majority of the U.N. Security Council supports something, it must be right.

I have no strong opinion on Bolton, himself, except it’s a bit disconcerting to keep reading “Bolton this” and “Bolton that” in news stories about the flap. I keep getting images of Michael Bolton as our ambassador to the U.N.

“How am I supposed to vote for this resolution …?”

Can't we all just get along?

Apparently, when you're a world leader at a beloved pope's funeral and the seating is alphabetical, you have to.

Beep … beep … beep ...

Here’s an interesting study: how many times have you set your alarm wrong (or forgotten to set it at all) and slept late as a result? How many times have you woken up on time anyway?

I bring this up because this morning, I rolled over and looked at the clock – only to discover I’d forgotten to turn the alarm on. I normally get up at 6:30 a.m. It was 6:38 a.m.

Be thankful for the little things until the big ones come around.

...like a box of chocolates

For my friend who feels the fun in life is passing her by, for loved ones who scream that life isn't fair, for myself who thinks he can't do anything quite good enough this week, I offer the centuries-old wisdom of the poem below. (It is brought to wonderful musical life by Dead Can Dance on the CD I've provided a link to above.)

Fortune presents gifts not according to the book
Fortune presents gifts not according to the book
When you expect whistles it's flutes
When you expect flutes it's whistles

What various paths are followed in distributing honours and possessions
She gives awards to some and penitent's cloaks to others

When you expect whistles it's flutes
When you expect flutes it's whistles

Sometimes she robs the chief goatherd of his cottage and and goatpen
And to whomever she fancies the lamest goat has born two kids

When you expect whistles it's flutes
When you expect flutes it's whistles

Because in a village a poor lad has stolen one egg
He swings in the sun and another gets away with a thousand crimes

When you expect whistles it's flutes
When you expect flutes it's whistles

The Democratic Party: Alienating America one voter at a time

I don't know whether to swear or laugh. Maybe I'll do both.

Earlier today, a friend of mine sent me a link to a petition on the Democratic Web site regarding the filibuster-removal initiative now being considered by the U.S. Senate.

Now, regular readers of my blog probably have me correctly pegged as a political conservative. However, this whole idea of changing the filibuster procedure to suit one party really bugs me. So, I decided to go ahead and sign the petition.

I included this comment:

I've never liked the filibuster as a matter of procedure, but I stop short of thinking it should be abolished -- particularly when the procedural change would target just one type of deliberation.

I also think detractors of this measure are doing the debate a disservice by referring to it as "the nuclear option." That type of rhetoric benefits no one.

That said, I will add my name to this petition.

I immediately received the following automatically generated e-mail message:

Steve:

Thank you for taking action on Democrats.org. It's Democrats like you
who help us make a difference.

An account has been created for you on Democrats.org. To log into your
account, please click on the link below. If you did not create this
account, do not be concerned -- this information has been sent to this
email address only.

https://www.democrats.org/login/confirm_login.html?u=06138695&c=590b16a9

Here are a few more things you can do on Democrats.org:

Build Your Online Team: Help us build strength in numbers: create your
personal online team of friends, family, neighbors -- anyone you think
would be interested in the Democratic message. We'll send you inside
information from the Democratic Party, which you can pass on to your
team.

http://www.democrats.org/ecaptains/

Create Your Personal Democrats.org Webpage: Sign up to become a
grassroots fundraiser today. First, you'll create your own personal webpage on
Democrats.org. Then, tell your friends, send emails with a link to your
page, and urge people to visit and contribute. You can even see how
much you've raised.

http://www.democrats.org/epatriots/

Make a Contribution: We can't win without your support. Your dollars
allow us to fund our field programs, spread our positive message, and
fight back against Republican attacks.
https://www.democrats.org/support/index.html?dsc=NETA254

-- The DNC Internet Team

Well, as you can imagine, I was not thrilled. I sent this message to the Webmaster:

I am NOT a Democrat and resent VERY HIGHLY being labeled as one in your automatic response simply because I agree with you on the filibuster issue.

I really hope someone gets this, because it has crystallized my distrust of your party . That's sad, as this is the one time I decided to reach across party lines to voice my opinion.

--Steve Sykes

I wonder if I'll get a response.

"Oh, no! Don't delete me!" or "Whatever..."

I was checking my In-Box on my e-mail just now (not my Bulk Mail box, mind you, but my In-Box), was greeted by the following dire subject line:

"Your Tickle account will soon be deleted."

Now, this was news to me -- primarily because I didn't know I had a Tickle account. I began to think this was just a bit of spam, but I went ahead and opened the message and learned that I, in fact, did have an account with Tickle.com's predecessor, e-mode.com. However, I haven't logged into Tickle for a little over a year.

What can we learn from this? Well, somebody at Tickle dropped the ball at least a couple of times:

1. I apparently wasn't told in memorable enough terms why e-mode was changing to Tickle, nor why it would benefit me to stay active with the new site.
2. I also apparently wasn't engaged by Tickle in the past year -- at least not to any real, personal degree.
3. When Tickle finally did realize I had fallen off the face of the earth, the best they could do was tell me I was about to be deleted. Look at the subject line again. Why on earth would anybody OPEN that?

And that, boys and girls, is your e-marketing thought for the day.

Now who's grandstanding?

After seeing how badly conservatives have bungled the Terri Schiavo situation, it was encouraging to see "the other side" make a questionable PR move of its own. Michael Schiavo has announced, before his wife is even dead, that he wants Terri to have an autopsy to prove once and for all her condition was irreversible.

So much for dying with dignity. I wonder if Jonathan Frakes is available to narrate this one.

Somebody's home

This post may ruin my reputation as a happy-go-lucky master of sarcasm and wit, but I don't care. It's been a pretty deep weekend.

Below is the text of an e-mail I sent to the pastor of the church Mrs. Z and I attended on Easter Sunday.

***

I grew up in a loving and extremely close-knit family. My father was an ordained music minister and associate pastor in the Nazarene church. My mother was his pianist, duet partner and colleague in ministry. Once I could sing, I filled out the Sykes Trio, and we spent many years ministering. When I was married, my wife took her place at my side, and our areas of church involvement increased exponentially.

But somewhere along the way, I began to realize that everything I was doing for the church — singing, working with the youth, having a hand in puppets, directing the drama group — all of these were becoming more work than worship and more obligation than celebration. Couple that with all the cumulative experience I had firsthand with the inner political workings of the church, and you had a blueprint for a Christian life that looked secure, but whose structural integrity was in question.

Then, in 1994, my dad — my hero, my pal and my role model — passed away suddenly of a heart attack. The shock wave of his death ripped my belief system apart. I still believed in God, but I found myself with so many conflicted and grief-saturated impressions of church that I did not want to go back. My mother, who loved and depended on her husband like few wives, fell into a sea of sorrow that would sweep her along for many years (and still pulls her under from time to time). Though we had many good memories of church, they were all inextricably tied to Dad, making them too painful to be cherished.

And so, we fell away from church attendance. Though we went to church a handful of times in the 10 years after my father’s death, we weren’t anything close to regular attendees. And though we all still held onto our faith in God and our salvation, more often than not, we were stumbling blindly along as best we could.

Then, this past Sunday, my wife and I came to First Christian Church to celebrate Easter. As we took our place in the second row, I looked around at the beautiful sanctuary and I looked within myself. I didn’t feel the overwhelming guilt of a prodigal son slinking back into the fold. Nor did I feel an electric charge knocking my socks off and proving to me unequivocally that this was The Church For Me. What I did feel was … home. I felt welcomed by the friendly congregation, but not overwhelmed by well-meaning church enthusiasts leaping over pews to be the first to recruit The Visitor into the flock.

The hymns were recognizable. The spirit was familiar. And when you started your Easter sermon marveling at The University of Illinois’ “Miracle Comeback” in the NCAA tournament, I found myself chuckling and breathing deeply the air of fellowship. It felt good. Really good.

Another thing that felt really good was knowing, after looking through the “About the Christian Church” booklet I picked up on the way into the sanctuary, that this was a congregation not weighed down by a dogma or an oppressive political structure.

I just wanted to write you and thank you for being there, five blocks away from our home, when we were ready. Thank you for your warmth. We’re coming back next Sunday, and my mom is coming with us this time. I’ve not been magically transformed into a super Christian by any stretch, but I’m happy to say the lights are on, and somebody’s home.

See you next Sunday.

Coming soon

I have a lot to write about ... er ... about which to write. Time is the enemy. However, in the proud tradition of Mz. Ouiser, I present a list of items on the blog docket:

• Biscuits and bacon and booze: A St. Patrick's Day tale
• The Schiavo case: Many questions, few answers
• My wife, the historical anarchist
• Beauty pageants for the disabled

Pinch me

I am deeply ashamed. It's St. Patrick's Day, and I'm not wearing green (or even orange for that matter). I feel I've betrayed my Irish ancestry.

I'll have to make up for it tonight by drinking and picking a fight with a relative.

The longest night of the year

For those readers outside central Illinois, you’ll have to forgive me for this provincial entry. While the first Monday following the second weekend in March may sound like a Nicean formula, it is actually the night on which the Springfield Muni Opera makes its casting calls for the coming season. This year, 315 auditionees (yours truly and Mrs. Z among them) will await news of their fate into the wee hours. This is a nightlong ordeal, as the first calls generally don’t go out until after 9 p.m. And when you consider that the staffs for four shows must make between 30 and 50 calls each, the most steadfast can hold out hope until two or three in the morning.

Of course, merely sitting and waiting by the phone for five hours can be a little nerve-racking. With that in mind, I’ve brainstormed a list of alternate activities auditionees can pursue to make the longest night more bearable.

Drink. Lots. This isn’t a terribly innovative idea; in fact, it’s somewhat of a tradition for certain veteran auditionees. This tip comes with a caveat, however: it’s important not to drink SO much that you can’t carry on a lucid conversation when the call comes (if it does). Take, for example, this hypothetical call Joe Thespian receives from an equally hypothetical director (let’s call her Laurie Ann O’Hootsmithen) of a similarly hypothetical show (say, Annie, Get Your Ragtime Music Beast).

LAO’H: Hello, this is the director of …

JOE: So’s yer old man!

LAO’H: I’m sorry, but the Muni isn’t doing The Music Man this year. Actually, I’m calling to offer you the role of …

JOE: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …

Watch a musical. Now this is sneaky. What better way to take your mind off getting cast in one of four musicals than to watch an entirely different musical? Mrs. Z and I have Brigadoon cued up and ready to go. I’m just waiting for the phone to ring at the very instant Harry utters the line, “The miracle is over!”

Take the kids to Chuck E. Cheese. Forget your troubles. Play games. Laugh at life. And if you’re childless, canned vegetables are a great substitute.

Watch 24. Then, imagine an episode in which Jack Bauer has to go undercover as a Muni auditionee as a matter of national security.

JACK: Dammit, Tony, I need you to upload the grapevine-hitch kick combo to my palm pilot NOW!

Think how free your summer will be if you don’t get cast. There will ever be a better time to jump on the Frisbee golf bandwagon. Sorry, I meant disc golf.

Did I mention drinking?

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ...

The penitent blogger

Bad blogger. Bad, bad blogger.

So go my self-recriminations when I consider blogging colleagues like her and him, both of whom are dealing with as much as I, have somehow have found time to post more regularly.

With that in mind, I present the following quick takes on my life and the world in general:

• Mrs. Zoom is in a period of mourning, as she will probably never be able to color her hair again. After a five-year hiatus since her last coloring incident (which ended in an allergic reaction), she again tried to color her hair black —this time with a “foolproof” ammonia-free dye. Just over 24 hour hours later, she was in the emergency room, her scalp and neck covered in welts and the pain in her back making breathing next to impossible. It really sucks when the suffering of loved ones causes you tangible pain. But it’s worth the trade-off to know there is another human being to whom you’re that close.

• This whole democracy in the Middle East thing is starting to gain legs — first in Lebanon, then in Egypt. Bushies should not feel at liberty to back-slap yet by any means, but the president’s idealism is looking a little less fanciful by the day. Read more here.

• Auditions for Springfield’s largest community theater venue, the Springfield Muni Opera, started last weekend and continue this weekend. Mrs. Z and I both auditioned. Look here in the next week or two for updates.

• I’m really looking forward to St. Patrick’s Day this year. Not that I don’t always celebrate it with gusto, but I am fascinated to see the subpoena-enforced appearances of many of the central players in baseball’s steroid scandal. That hissing sound you’ll hear is the last of the air escaping from the doomed dirigible of steroid naiveté.

More later …

Best. Grammys. Ever?

Ok, that may be a bit of an overstatement, but I can’t remember a Grammys show in recent memory that held me at such attention. Some random thoughts from the night:

A live mash-up opened the show. Not much of note here, except that Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas dressed uncharacteristically conservatively, while Gwen Stefani did not. And I still can’t get over a riff from “Fiddler on the Roof” going top 40.

I can’t believe Prince beat Usher for a Grammy. Thank goodness the Grammys voted for substance over style, because Prince’s “Musicology” had plenty of substance. Too bad His Purpleness couldn’t make it. Heck, he probably thought he had no shot of winning.

Green Day is peaking. I’m going to have to break down and buy “American Idiot.” They brought the house down.

What the heck was up with Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony? I was watching the Grammys, and a Telemundo soap opera broke out!

Ok, so maybe Usher has substance after all. Wow, what a performance! Be careful, Ush. James Brown just named you the Godson of Soul. That is one heavy gig.

“Across the Universe.” Nice collaboration, boring song. Sorry, it had to be said.

You go, Melissa Etheridge.

U2 is great, but their performance of “sometimes You Can’t Make It On You Own” seemed a tad distant.

I still can’t tell whether I like Kanye West or I can’t stand him.

Lance Armstrong is one lucky guy. He beats cancer. He wins cycling championships. And every night, he gets to do the Tour de Sheryl.

I actually like Maroon 5, so I was a bit concerned when they won Best New Artist. We’ll see if they can dodge the jinx.

Loretta Lynn and Jack White. Two musical geniuses being themselves. Best acceptance speech of the night.

Uh oh. Now, we have to hear “Daughters” another 10,000 times.

Ray Charles deserved one more night, and he got it.

Yes, we get it, Mr. Academy President. Music piracy, is bad, m’kay? Shut up!

Many critics saw a boring show, but I get the feeling the music world is getting more and more closely knit. I saw a lot of professional respect last night with very little pretense. That can’t be bad, can it?