Vacationed in New Orleans the first week of June ’14. Loved it. Want to move there some day.
In the meantime, I took copious pix which have been uploaded into two galleries (right-hand nav). Pix are typical vaca pix; things that I thought were interesting; tattoo process shots; cats of NOLA; and lots of food porn. Skip what’s uninteresting; enjoy that which is.
k.
The man, not the toothpaste.
This story on my Yahoo page reminded me of a funny story.
Years ago, I was the box office manager at The Village Gate. The 25th anniversary production of “Jacques Brel…” was playing in the downstairs theatre. “Brel” was directed by Elly Stone, an original cast member and produced by Eric Blau, the original run’s producer.
The box office phone rings. I answer. And the following conversation ensues:
Me: Thanks for calling The Village Gate, may I help you.
Man with very strong Israeli accent: Hello. This is Topol. I would like. To make a reservation. For my wife. And my son.
Me: Certainly, sir. (Gathering of address and payment data.)
Me: And what name should we hold this reservation under?
Topol: Mrs. Topol.
Reading back over this, it doesn’t seem as funny as it did then. Perhaps it’s more about the oral tradition vs. the written tradition; it just sounds better than it reads.
Anyway, it’s still funny to me.
k.
Some pix from the rehearsals and promo shoot of Sweeney Todd at Genesius Theatre have been added to the gallery. Look down on the right-hand side.
k.
And that.
Since it’s been so damned long since I last wrote, as Nath constantly reminds me, some random thoughts that have been running through my mind. In no particular order, with no particular relevance, rhyme or reason.
It was a great evening. A number of folks who I worked with, oh, 30ish years ago, were in the cast, some reviving their old roles (Genesius did the show in 1977; found these slides in my collection. Yeah, slides, kinda like visual 8 tracks) and some doing the show for the first time. Joining the “old hands” were a good number of new Genesians who were equally fun to watch. Quibbles with the production, of course, it’s me, the king of curmudgeons, but still, wonderful to see.
So scanned I was (I seem to have momentarily channelled Yoda), duly pricked, hooked up to machines, drained of blood, and what was discovered? I have a great heart, great lungs and seemingly, no lurking clots. In other words, no answer to what was causing the original symptoms, but the fear of my heart exploding is no longer hanging over my head. So, I guess, in the end, it is a virus, still a bit with me, as I’m still having occasional dizzy spells, but they are abating with each passing day.
Damn, the Sunday morning talking heads are on and I’m being distracted. More later, after the heads and a trip to the grocery store. Whoo Hoo! Do we know how to do holiday weekend, or what?! LOL
k.
Sphere: Related ContentThat’s what I’ve been working on.
This weekend, if anyone is in or around Reading, PA, I’ll be in a benefit for the theatre that is responsible, in a large part, for who I am, and really, my very existance.
Genesius Theatre. It’s good to be home.
Click on the link above for info about my beloved theatre.
The show is Fri. 2/29 & Sat. 3/1 at 8PM. Sun. 3/2 at 3PM.
Click here, for tix, should you wish to come on down. It would be lovely to see you.
Back to learning the lyrics.
k.
To Jamie and I.
8 years. Who would have thought it possible; I certainly never thought it would happen.
Funny what happens in your life when you stop looking for something to happen.
Tonight, dinner at Rene Pujol. It will be wonderful. And then, who knows.
Revisit the start of it all on Jamie’s site.
Happy day! I love my husband.
There are those in the gay community who poo-poo the whole idea, saying that we should not mirror the straight community. I say, “Fuck ’em.” I’ve never been too keen on the whole “community identification superceding my own humanity” thing. And I’d write more on that, but I’m at work and need to get back to it. So I’ll just say again, as the late, great Bob B. did, “That’s what makes the phone book.”
And now, back to work,
k.
Happy New Year!
I’ve previously mentioned the Christmas Eve bayberry mojo.
And now, here is the New Year’s Eve mojo tradition. A quick internet check shows nothing about my family’s traditional NY Eve mojo. My guess is that it is a mix of PA Dutch and Scottish tradition, or just something that got started long ago by no specific ethnicity and just got handed down until its precise origins were lost.
At any rate, my family’s tradition: in a small bag – I use a sandwich bag because that’s what my parents used, probably something nicer like a cloth bag would be looked on kindly by the gods, or maybe the humble nature of the sandwich bag is some kind of positive statement in and of itself – one per each member of the household – no “one bag is good enough for all” stuff here, everyone must have their own – place:
Why is the flour wrapped in paper? So it doesn’t get all messy in the bag, silly. My family’s traditional flour wrap has been a piece of paper towel, again, not particularly pretty, but humble and certainly serviceable.
Once these items are gathered in the bag, it is hung on the front door of your house (or apartment) to welcome in the New Year’s s(S)pirit. This is to be done on New Year’s Eve and must hang there until the morning of New Year’s Day.
And, like the bayberry candle that burns though Christmas Eve into Christmas Day, I understand that this is superstition. But neither the candle nor the NYE bag has let me down thus far and so, I’ll repeat, I’m not messin’ with the mojo.
And they pile on, I have acquiesced, adopted and even grown used to, Jamie’s family’s, “the Christmas tree must be taken down before New Year’s Day”, and he’s happy to have our ratty New Year’s bags hanging on the doorknob for the neighbors to wonder about.
I guess life is so dramatically random that even in this “advanced” modern age, sometimes it feels good and necessary to fall back on a little tradition, a little “magic”.
Have a safe and happy New Year!
k.
Apparently does matter. At least to Nath.
“Your new theme is so hard to read. The text is too small. Make it bigger,” says she.
Now personally, I like the text the size it is and I can’t believe that her eyes (ses yeux, fatigué, blasé…) are any worse than my 45 year old bifocal-ed orbs. But we all view the world through different lenses, so be it. Ok. Done.
I’ve searched for, found, and ta da!, added the “change font size” widget by Ferran Rodenas.
Thank you, Mr. Rodenas, you have made a lovely French girl – not me silly; Nath – very happy. Now she can pump the pixel size from its delightful 13px to a very frightening 22px if she so wishes.
And they say I’m a cranky curmudgeon. The things I do for you kids. 😉
Nite,
k.
Are tedious. I learned this last night. Last night, as I was peeling them for the stuffing that is at this very moment in the oven inside our turkey.
Jamie has written about our Thanksgiving dinner. Although somewhat smugly. Ahem…
Indeed, I have been loathe to go against the food experts and cook my stuffing inside my turkey. The recipe we’re using, however, makes it easy to cook it inside the turkey, to maximize the flavor, and yet easily remove said stuffing for continued cooking to temperature after the bird is removed. Indeed, compromise.
I don’t know about the green bean casserole happening today. I’ve been doing all the cooking this year, as Jamie has come down with one whopper of a cold and has been laid out since yesterday. I’m hoping against hope that I’m not visited by the same bug. Fingers crossed.
But yes, the chestnuts. I’ve never peeled chestnuts. Everything I read, pre-peeling, seemed to indicate that it was indeed a laborious, hit-or-miss kind of thing with, very often, crumbled, rather than nice, whole, nut meats.
I decided to try the 1896 recipe that I found on About.com. It worked beautifully. No crumbled nuts.
It’s still not easy though, prying the shells off the suckers; imagine hot splinters shoved under your fingernails over and over and over again and you’ll get the gist. My thumbs are achin’.
I’m sure the chestnuts will be delicious in the stuffing. I’ll enjoy it immensely and keep it as a fond memory as I’ve no intention of ever peeling chestnuts again.
The cranberry salad. This is an anticipated treat in my family usually prepared by my Aunt Marcia, and since she’s not here to prepare it for us… While I’m not at liberty to share the recipe, I can assure you, and Jamie, that there are no oysters or chives to be found. It’s delicious. It better be ’cause I did make a hell of a lot of it, although not the 18 pounds Jamie has indicated. By the time we finish it up though, it might just seem that way.
So last night, after I finished mutilating my thumbs, I took a needed break from the kitchen and headed outside.
Oh it was lovely. It was about 11PM. It was misty, very misty, with the light of the street lamps diffused in a beautifully cinematic way. I headed down our block to a little garden area notable only as it offers a break between buildings and an unobstructed view out over the park.
And there I stood looking out into the night sky. Alone with my thoughts. And it was one of those beautiful nights, so quiet, full of anticipation, “holiday nights”; everyone is inside preparing or sleeping, dreaming of tomorrow.
And then it rained. But not rain. I was standing under a wonderful old tree whose leaves had all gone yellow. A lifetime ago, I’d have been able to tell you what kind of tree it is, but it’s one of the many things that I’ve forgotten over the years; funny how that goes. At any rate, there I was, in that gauzy mist-light in an amazing drizzle of yellow leaves. I must have stood there a good 10 minutes marveling at it all, the leaves gently falling all around me.
I love magical moments like that. That’s what is brilliant about life; you never know when those kind of things will happen. You just have to stop and be amazed when they do.
And then I went back inside and continued cooking… until about 2AM. Whatever, I’m a late-night person. Always have been. I’ve been totally acting against my nature with my current job that requires me to get up at 6AM; I can do it, but really I’m not meant to, and by the end of the week, I’m worn out from it. But I digress…
So today, I’ve been taking it slow; Jamie’s still feeling like crap, though less so than yesterday. We were going to put off Thanksgiving until tomorrow but I didn’t want the turkey to sit in the brine that long. So I’ve meandered in the kitchen today, really all that was left to cook was the pumpkin cheesecake – had batter left over, made cupcakes, yummy! – and finishing off the stuffing for the turkey. Everything else was done last night.
Except for the imported, organic green bean casserole (see Jamie’s piece for that one). We’ll make that tomorrow.
For now, the comforting aroma of roasted turkey wafts enticingly ’round the house. It’s almost time to pop the sucker out of the oven to rest while its companion dishes fill the oven void to warm up to dinner temperature.
And on that note, it’s time to baste!
Happy Thanksgiving!
k.
