Blog

  • The First Time I Met Diane (Unedited)

    (This is a follow up on my post from yesterday, which dealt with the passing of my dear friend and mentor, Diane Simons.)

    I want to say that this all happened over the Summer of 1996. I was nineteen years old, and a professional slacker, as that was the term then. I was in between universities, and when I wasn’t smoking cigarettes and thinking about how great I am having accomplished nothing, I spent all my time hanging out with my old high school friends in our home town.

    One night, two of my friends thought it would be a good idea for us to go way the hell out, to the sticks of west Fort Worth, and see a play in the woods. I’m pretty sure this is how the idea was sold to me. The reason to see this play was that one of my friends had promised their theatre teacher at the community college they were attending that they would go see this play, which was “Lysistrata.”

    When I say it was way the hell out there, I mean we must have drove for over an hour, and the took the wrong exit off of 820. And this was so far away from the city that there were no street lights, nor any other people on the road. It was just darkness and trees. My friends had written down directions, but they didn’t make sense. Only when we tried the next exit off the highway, did we finally see the hand painted sign for Hip Pocket Theatre.

    There was a long drive way that lead to the parking lot in the back of the property, but along that drive you had to pass the outdoor theatre, and we could see that the play had started and we were late. We debated whether we should attempt to go in, as we were late, and concluded that we would at least try.

    Crossing the lawn to the weathered gray wood shanty of a box-office, a woman popped out of that building and waved us over. She looked like an old hippie; salt and pepper hair in a bun on the top of her head, large glasses, and lots of colorful flowing clothes. “Show’s started, but I can get you in,” she said to us.

    We forked over our money, and she lead us to a steep staircase that was next to the sound and lighting booth. “Climb that and there will be seats in the last row,” she told us. Cresting the top of the stairs, we fully took in this theatre whose stage was encircled by branches of oak trees creating a natural amphitheater. It all had a rustic natural feel, and was one of the most unique and original spaces I have ever been in.

    And the show was great. Bawdy, hilarious, offensive, sincere, playful, and sweet.

  • One of My Mentors

    I received some very sad news, which was that one of my mentors, a dear friend in fact, has passed away. Won’t lie, I had some emotional flashbacks to my mother’s passing, and I haven’t felt on solid ground since.

    There was a brief online write up today in a local Fort Worth arts weekly.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Couch or Sofa, Tottenham Fans, and “Hundreds of Beavers”

    (‘Cuz you woke up in the mornin’ with initiative to move…)

    Do you use the term couch or sofa? Do you use them interchangeable? In fact, a couch is an informal – less structured piece of furniture, while a sofa is more formal in function and design. I say all of this because I am going couch/sofa shopping this weekend. Yeah, our livingroom couch is on its last leg being that it’s kind’a broken just enough to let us know it needs to be replaced, but not broken so much as to be unusable. The wife and I are about the spend a morning, and possible an afternoon, asking ourselves the “Fight Club” question; “What kind of couch defines me as a person?” I’m going with gray, or a navy blue; That defines me quite well as a person.

    I have written before about my odd interactions with other Tottenham fans in New York. Most of the time, I see someone with Tottenham gear on, and I’ll say something to them about the team, or say “Come on you, Spurs!” They react by saying, “What?” or “This isn’t mine, I’m borrowing it.” But the other day, as I had my Tottenham scarf on, a woman yelled at me, “How about that Liverpool match!?!” She was talking about the Carabao Cup match on Wednesday where the most confusing team in all of football, Tottenham Hotspur, managed to beat one of the best teams in the world – Liverpool. But… I wasn’t able to watch the match or see the highlights, yet I knew that they had won… All I could say to the woman was, “I didn’t watch it, but I know they won!” Not the stirring response she was looking for, I know.

    And I want to end with a movie I just watched, and I might review later. It is one of the most original comedies I have seen in a very a very long time. It’s called “Hundreds of Beavers.” Just… just watch the trailer, is all I ask.

  • I Like Coats, Scarves, and Gloves

    It’s cold in New York City, and I love it.

    For years now, winter around here hasn’t felt like winter. More like a “Perpetual End of Autumn” that carried on till the start of April. At least one Nor’easter would blow through every year, and dump four to six inches of snow on us, but within a week it would all be gone, and the reign of light coats would return. This was such a reliable pattern that the wife and I started to wonder if the winters of our first years in the City were a thing of memory.

    But starting Christmas week, the winters of the past returned; Snow fell and stayed on the ground, the temperature hung around freezing, and a feeling needing to be wrapped up on the couch was ever present.

    Perhaps I am a bit romantical when it comes to winter. I did grow up in Texas, where it rarely got below forty degrees in the deepest part of winter, and just the hint of snow was enough to close down the schools and services. I think it is true that most people are drawn to the thing they are most denied, and for me that was cold weather.

    For you see, my whole family was born and raised in Illinois. All, except me. I mean, I was born there, but we moved south when I was six months old, so my experience was the opposite of everyone else. My family would talk about snowball fights, building snowmen and snow-forts. There were foreign chores of shoveling out driveways and sidewalks. Keeping blankets, kitty litter, and chocolate bars in the car just in case. I remember seeing a pair of my father’s old snow boots, black rubber, that were up on a self in the garage, where they only thing they did was gather dust and become a relic of his other life.

    When I moved to New York back in 2006, it briefly snowed on my first Thanksgiving here, and it was close to the most magical thing that ever happened to me. That first snowstorm the following January was a moment of excitement, but also hammered home how unprepared I was for winter. I only had a Texas winter coat, which wasn’t a winter coat. No snow boots, but I did have a huge scarf that a good friend had given to me before I moved. I soon got a peacoat from an Army/Navy store on 16th and 6th, and still own it to this day. I have gone through several different pairs of snow shoes, and I am proud to tell you that I also still have that original scarf I was given – As it is rather long and thick, I pull it out to wrap my face on exceptionally cold days.

    The last time I talked to my dad, about a week ago, he was telling me of the coming winter storm headed his way in Texas. He dreaded it, and honestly, I think it annoyed him highly that it will get so very cold. “I moved down here to get away from all of that,” he told me, “I had enough cold to last me several lifetimes.” When he got the opportunity in his life, he ran to where it was hot, and took all of along with him.

  • Music Video Wednesday

    I got this album as a birthday gift way back when. I loved the hell outta it.