Whither Pluto?

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

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!

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

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

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?

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 ...

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

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

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)

(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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.