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.

Ulysses lists

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

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

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

And now ... respite.

Have you heard the one about the lost camera?

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

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

Just a dog-gone minute

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

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

A slice of things to come

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

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

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

More on the trip agenda tomorrow!

What a difference four days make

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

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

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

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

I'm a Honda S2000!

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

And speaking of cars ...

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

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

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

Exit the petulant man-child.

Sunset epiphany

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

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

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

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

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

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

Girls, girls ... you're both pretty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Downtown Dash

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’ve got a groovy kind of love.

I haven't been eliminated

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

Which MXC Character are you?


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

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

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

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

O Canada!

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