Monday, July 31, 2017

Exotic Plummage

My mother taught me early on that there is nothing better than tits and rhinestone except perhaps for Tits, Rhinestones and Feathers.

I guess in her heyday she had been a fan of Follies type shows, Errol Carroll's, Ziegfeld...the big production shows.

I grew up on scratched, commercial ridden MGM musicals like Ziegfeld Girl and I loved every sequin, rhinestone and slithering train-as they descended forever those white, classic stairways...glancing sideways from under their mascaraed lashes, softly parting their perfect pouty lips, skipping coquettishly in high heels...a glimpse of creamy white thighs-barely covered but yet so covered up.

In the Ozzie and Harriet 1950's amongst the Orange Tree's and shopping malls there was little grand entertainment...no great musical theater....it all happened twelve miles away in downtown L A or further North in Hollywood and Beverly Hills.

In my teens my Godmother took me to see Liz Taylor in the gigantic Hollywood make believe Egypt of CLEOPATRA,,,still an epic today but even more so in its original road show cut that ran almost 5 hours and had some pretty frisky costumes especially in the Entance into Rome which was originall nearly 30 minutes long.

My Grandmother and Mother and Godmother would get together and tell me stories of Las Vegas that impossible oasis in the desert-sparkeling for all of it's life and for some strange reason patterned in one way on Arabia, Sand Dunes and Tropical Nights and in another so very FRENCH.

They imported naught shows like te Lido De Paris and The Follies Beregeres and even made up some of their own-The Casino De Paris, Bal De Moulin Rouge, Vive Les Girls-at one point there were at least 30 french production style shows ranging from intimate cabaret to grand spectacle running on the strip alone.

You could have cocktails in the lounge for Vive Les Girls, walk a few yards into the big showroom and catch the dinner show at Casino De Paree a Frederic Apcar pair then taxi down to the Stardust for the most recent Lido show from Paris with imported breasts and have a late drink at yet another lounge show...Donn Arden hit the strip with Hallelujah Hollywood at the MGM grand, when the theatre burned he came back with Jubilee (possibly one of the most beautiful shows ever stage and the last of the old fashioned production shows in Vegas and in Reno up the state HELLO HOLLYWOOD HELLO the BIGGEST show ever staged on what was the largest stage in the world.

Every night they "landed" a 727 jet liner on stage, battled alien invaders, held a circus parade and more with a huge cast, more feathers and sparkle than anyone could take in and always bigger and louder and better than anyone else in the world.

I would find any and every excuse to visit Las Vegas to binge on tits and feathers...in those days the shows were from maybe 5 dollar to 20.00 cover charge which included too much liquor and the drinks were not skimpy on the booze.

The funniest show ever was SPICE on ICE at the Hacienda hotel-they tried to do a topless ice show on a slab of frozen water the size of a small swinning pool-the only things I remember about the show was the absolutly crude comic who wasn't funny and the big Louisiana Riverboat finales which had two chubby showgirls dressed as Tacos and two dressed as Watermelons...I spent most of the night throwing up Singapore Slings and vowed I would never see another "erotic" ice show....ever!

At the MGM GRAND Samson was fighting it out with Delilah and they sank the Titanic every night, The Lido had a flood which destroyed a french village, pagan Idols and Aztec Princesses being sacrificed, at the Dunes 1930's gangsters molls taking bubble baths in see thru bathtubs and a great Rainbow staircase at the Tropicana full of tired girls in tacky costumes

Sensory overload at every turn and all with those perfect,bare breasts, long eyelashes, opulant jewels and ostrich plumes, lady Amherst pheasant tails-one costume alone cost over 100 thousand for the 6 foot log spray of Chinese pheasant feathers, the finale costume of the lead showgirl at Balley's cost more than a house in most cities...and don't forget you could also see MEN...well, male dancers by the 1970's they had found the gym and muscled up and their costumes got skimpier-bare butt's bulging with muscles, tanned skin, newly chisled jawlines and cheekbones pantomimg passionate love with the lead female dancer as the jungle burst into flames, the sky opened and poured rain and she was tortured and sacrificed to the God of Love on a gold painted alter to a full orchestra and a choros of 20.

There were two things in Vegas that were breathtaking ---well three....Felicia's 46 dd Breasts draped in rhinestones as she came down from the ceiling at the opening of the old Follies Bergere (she came down at the start and then again in the finale twice a night for a decade or so-I hear she made $2500.00 a week-she was the symbol of Las Vegas and showgirls for many years). The other thing was Nicky Navarro in patent leather skintight pants, boots and a motorcycle jacket doing big jumps, leaps and toe spins-Nick Navarro was what every male show dancer hoped to be. Nick Navarro's leather encased ass was every bit as inspiring as Felicia's boobs.

I managed years later when I was still singing to get 6 weeks at The Lido in Paris-a very different experience from Vegas....much more elegant and surrounded on three sides by Japanese tourists and Germans in for the weekend....bad champagne for some and overpriced for the movie stars.

I was a featured singer so I was on in the opening number is a blue tail suit with rhinestone lapels and a matching top hat that didn't fit-no hat on earth would fit my giant head-even my patent leather shoes were the same blue-the colour of the sky over Paris.

I had a huge golden leopard cape and some sort of vaguely Indian rajah garb for a production number patterned on an Indiana Jones like character (I was the villein) I got to rip the clothes off a lovely french girl with breathtaking violet eyes and perfect breasts-with a giant sapphire in her navel and not much else on...I was a Hollywood style movie f=director in boots and a cap with a megaphone-puhing around the dancers a la Busby Berkley I sang a wonderful solo near the end of the show called LA CHANSON DE VIEUX AMANTS on a softly lit stage witbsome showgirls posed in lavish gowns and head gear and then a silver copy of my blue tails for the Finale.

Seeing the show up close and being a part of the running up and down stairs, trying not to fall into the well in the center of the sage-trying to stay on the narrow catwalk around the edge with spotlights in your eyes....all of it was amazing and at the same time terribly disappointing.

LAVISH is not meant to be studied or viewed front too close a place-the rows of sequins show patching and tarnish, the rhinestones need cleaning-the feathers are molting and the opulent fabrics are all for show, all for their effect on the stage....a lot of the beauty is painted on, skillfull makeup, year of practice at sculpting perfect cheekbones and blushing the clenage, accentuating the abs.

There was a wonderful little cake of makeup that could take 10 years or more off your age-it was a peachy pearl powder that came in several shades and when dusted over a finished face ready fr the stage made all the flaws recede, skin became velvety and perfect cheeks filled out and noses narrowed foreheads lost their worry lines...it was an expensive miracle-they had to stop making it I understand because it floated in the air when it was applied and the ingredients would cut up your eyes and lungs....I used the last of my magic pearl fountain of youth making a 50 year old Italian Diva look like a 15 year old Japanese Geisha in a production of Madame Butterfly here in California many years later.

Jubilee closed about a year or so ago-the last great production show in Vegas, The Follies Bergeres closed quite awhile ago in Paris-there is still random Cabret and as long as we have drag queens showgirls and rhinestones and feathers will live on.

They had tried many times to recreate the great shows like the Ziegfeld Follies on Broadway but today its just too expensive and too risky for the corporations that production theatricals.

Ostriches all over the world can sleep better since their plummage is less in demand, at least until the next fashion trend that goes in that direction.

In marveling at how many things have ended, gone out of existence in my lifetime or at least in the last century the most horrifying is the number one consumer of stardust and spangles and dreams-Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey's Circus where even the Elephants wore rhinestones and Feathers....this is the last year after over 100 years as an integral part of American entertainment.

I probably won't tell my great nephews how much I loved tits and feathers or about my days coining down those perfect white staircases in pink spotlights with rinestone lapels on my jacket.

It's just too sad and there are a sorry few visual aids.

Bien sûr, nous eûmes des orages
Vingt ans d'amour, c'est l'amour fol
Mille fois tu pris ton bagage
Mille fois je pris mon envol
Et chaque meuble se souvient
Dans cette chambre sans berceau
Des éclats des vieilles tempêtes
Plus rien ne ressemblait à rien
Tu avais perdu le goût de l'eau
Et moi celui de la conquête
Mais, mon amour
Mon doux, mon tendre, mon merveilleux amour
De l'aube claire jusqu'à la fin du jour
Je t'aime encore, tu sais, je t'aime


Jaques Brel

Sunday, July 30, 2017

When I was a lad...

At some point early on I learned a story which I have told to students and others, often.

There was a man who always walked in the sunlight.

He lived on a street like a narrow canyon with tall buildings on both sides but the sun rise was in the EAST beyond the building across the street from his front door.

In the mornings the bright sun was blinding and warm and made the far side of his street dark with black pools of shadows, mysterious and a little frightening.

The man loved the feeling of being safe and warm in the bright sun so he always turned to the left and walked to work on the sunny, bright side of the street.

For many years he walked only in the sunshine-even on cloudy days he walked the same path and never crossed the street.

He fell in love, raised a family and grew old, always in the place he knew and trusted, he even taught his children and their children to walk in the light.

One day when he was a very old man for some reason he thought to himself "I am old and have nothing left to fear, I have had a good life, known love and held my head high-I think I will see how it feels to walk a new, strange even scary path."

Coming out of his door he stood for a moment letting the sun warm him and then drew himself together and walked across the street and into the shadows.

He had to stand a moment and let his eyes adjust to the gloomy dusky place and when he finally could see he realized that by a stairway there was a riot of the most beautiful flowers in a lush garden of ferns and mosses, delicate flowers, iridescent beetles, jewel like humming birds and butterflies, all in a cool moist protected place.

For all these years this garden had been just out of sight, hidden and so avoided and by being avoided had been an unknown stranger a lost treasure.

The man thought to himself that maybe he had been foolish and should have found this place long ago and then he drew himself together and walked back into the sunlight where he was warm and safe for so many years and in the light he walked away into eternity...weeping.

When we always walk in the light we can be blinded by the light, we can imagine monsters where there are none and we can go lacking the joys of discovery into eternity.

It's not a sad story, nor a happy story-its a story about fear, indecision and being trapped.

Would it be better if the man had never crossed the street and not known what ge had missed? What if instead of beauty there had been death, decay and ugliness in the darkness? What if monsters had lurked there?

We are taught early on to fear monsters that often we build for ourselves or are taught to know-we are given the impression that all the scary things are in the dark and the light is full of beauty and good things YET we know this isn't true.

Monsters are all around us some in very clever disguises and sometimes the dark is a safe place to be, to hide in away from the monsters.

At the same time living in the dark doesn't often encourage things to flourish. In the story there is a magical garden but it is hidden and protected in a small area-the man doesn't take time to see what else is living there-he just sees the pretty things. Then he runs away and doesn't look back.

My feeling is we need to be honest with ourselves, investigate our monster building (and destroying) skills and find a way to achieve balance.

For awhile I was really crippled by Agoraphobia-I simply couldn't go out it was too scary-it was so much easier to be inside where the darkness and quiet would hide me from so many things I didn't want to deal with.

I thought about all the things I was missing and weighed the pros and cons and finally decided I would get someone to go with me from my safe inside place to a more scary out side place-when that became comfortable I went further and eventually I was able to go alone where I wanted to go and do most of what I wanted to do.

My anxiety is a monster and not only does it stay close to me but it changes and fools me, lulls me into feeling safe (and sane) and then without warning it rears up in a new disguise-I have pretty much learned what I need to do to make it calm down and go away, allowing myself the knowledge that it isn't gone forever but also knowing that a panic attach won't kill me even if I am on the freeway going 70 MPH.

I have a tool chest: figuratively; my ART is a tool, my words are a tool there are other things in there and some I have never had to use-what isn't in there is a sunny, safe place to hide in...I don't need that nor do I want that-I want balance.

Some days I have to put on my armor, my alternate selves that know how to face the world and challenges-some of them like RESOLVE I find exhausting...its hard for me to be steadfast and strong and decisive for long periods I just don't like it PASSIVE is almost impossible for me as is DISINTERESTED.

Only you know if anything is keeping you trapped-but TRAPPED is not a good place to be.

Trapped is victimized, impotent, manipulated...you have the power to untrap yourself you just need a little help and encouragement and lots of courage.

COURAGE is hard-so often we hear people say I didn't think I could do that or I didn't think I would make it-but they did and will continue to surprise themselves by facing many challenges that they thought were beyond their abilities to cope.

We are all heroes we just need to allow ourselves to accept it-reward yourself when you do well but don't punish yourself even if you feel you've failed.

A very human mechanism is setting a goal which we know is virtually impossible and then just as we are about to reach the goal punishing ourselves by sabotaging the process.

We want to lose 10 pounds so we give ourselves two weeks-even a month is hard-we lose 8 of the ten pounds and we have three says to go so we starve for a day and when we have only lost a small amount (or, horrors, possibly gained a bit) we punish ourselves by eating a cake (or the equivelant-so we prove we could not do it by making it impossible instead of rejoicing at how close we came and setting a new goal that is reasonable and starting on that one.

You can see people give up-they suddenly turn gray or beige or even shadowy black-they hide out in their self induced shadow and try to pass unnoticed...it doesn't work, people will notice.

There are even some who turn bright pink, or RED or green and think that covers up the dark place they are in...people notice that as well----what we need is balance , the ability to not fail but also to reward ourselves for coming close to winning or actually reaching our goals.

More importantly we need to NOT allow others to assist us in self loathing-that old saw MISERY LOVES COMPANY is all too tue and often it's the person we think we get the most support fro who is slyly pulling us into the tar.

I have no miracle answer here-sorry...it's a journey and a process traveled in small steps and little victories but one needs to hold on to one word HOPE...one of my favorite words.

There is always HOPE until the moment comes when we can no longer find a way to hope but one thing-NEVER hope you can apologize to someone-just go apologize-don't HOPE yo can get back into being creative someday-someday is here go DO IT and then Hope you will see the day when you reach your personal goals...and above all NEVER say "I HOPE YOU KNOW how much I acre-show them that yo care in every way you can....and also never put BUT into a sentance where it negates everything that came before it.

My Mother was fond of saying "I love you BUT...." I never heard the first part only what came after it which was something like "you need to forget this art stuff and find a job that makes money">

"I support you in what you're doing BUT this DIET stuff just doesn't work for you", How many times have I heard that one?

You will find that this sentance structure is very hard to break and I love you DESPITE is the same thing (however, if only, instead etc etc).

I love you....I like you....I admire you....I need you (that one is iffy)...simple declarations without limits and parameters-so powerful.

I hope we all find balance and can walk in the middle of the street BUT don't take my word for it find out for yourself....I care about you and I hope YOU care about you.

May all your monsters be benign....

 .


Saturday, July 29, 2017

I begin my education (double entendre intended)

The whole vibe of the 1950's was Father Knows Best but MOM runs the show a la Donna Reed, Harriet Nelson and so many others....really was LUCY a lovable clown or a shrewd operator?

Rivera (the towns had yet to merge) was a sleepy little orchard community that became a bedroon community for Los Angeles-when we moved there in 1952 the main streets of "downtown" Rivera near Burke and Serapis were yet to be paved-there was still a feed and grain store and the picturesque white Baptist church with the cattail filled reflecting pond and the weeping willows.

The old Rivera school house would be moved to Knott's Berry Farm in Buena Park-one could feel the influence of Rivera at Knott's in their church and ghost town.

Rivera sits souteast of the whittoer narrows-the Rio Hondo River is south of the town and the San Gabriel River is north a house earthern damn runs across the San Gabriel Valley just above the town and the (brand new in those days) Santa Ana Freeway is the eastern border with Downey.

Its about 12 miles from downtown Los Angeles.

In the 1930s there was a huge flood in California which affected the entire San Gabriel Valley and led to the Army Corps of Engineers flood control project which now includes controlling the two rivers and the use of flood control basins all down the long stret from the San Gabriel foothills to the ocean.

That huge dam was a part of that project and below it was a small amusement park, a trout fishing farm and an exotic bird farm for many years.

Route 66 included parts of Whittier Blvd as an alternate route-that street is in the PICO portion of town which would merge in 1958 it is famous for low riders and cruisers and was also a part of the "Zoot Suit" riots in the middle of the 1900s.

El Rancho high school, an impressive and sprawling institution set on a picturesque site dotted with old growth Avocado trees was finished in 1952 and brought higher education to the area (previouslt it was served by Whittier High School (see Richard Nixon).

As I remember there were 6 elementary schools and 3 junior high schools when the towns became one-all my schools were mere yards away from the high school almost in the center of the town.

I went to pre-school at El Rancho and then to Kindergarten at Valencia Elementary (named for the famous variety of Oranges grown in the area.

I have fairly vivid memories of those days although my classmates have faded away a lot-the town was about 50% Latino and 50% other, mostly Caucasians very few Asians and maybe one African American during my entire school career.

Los Angeles like many western cities was a constantly changing kaleidoscope of communities and ethnic ghettos.

Starting from the Pueblo back in the 16 and 17 hundreds and even further back to the native American communities in the area various parts of the town were in and out of favor but farms and dairy land quickly took over not far out of downtown L A.

Some industry came in during and after the 2nd world war and Rivera was no exception since it was home to the assembly plant for Ford Motors at the corner of Washington and Rosemead Blvds.

When we moved to Rivera my dad worked at THOR power Tool with his father and uncle making $29.00 a week.

On that salary he managed to support a family of 4 and in 1954 when my Mother was expecting my sister his step-father insisted on him getting a better job and he started in the film industry making an astronomical $150.00 a week.

My Mother would have preferred to have worked-she wasn't great at house keeping and domestic chores but my Father was against it-off an on over the years she did manage to have some part time jobs in a doughnut shoppe, a leather tooling store and for a conservative newspaper as a reporter.

Doughnuts were such an iconic part of my growing up.

Every Sunday we went at some point to have doughnuts at one of the various shoppes around us.

We almost never had any in our house but it seemed like my dad needed doughnuts at least once a week in order to function properly.

In those day he worked Tuesday through Saturdays so we kids only saw him on Sundays and at dinner time.

We also went out to dinner at one of three or four diner type places on Wednesday nights.

Wednesday was pay day.

Some times it was Vina Hiveley's Cafe on Whittier Blvd nex to the florist shoppe-she was a good mid-western type cook, made a decent vegetable plate and could chicken fry a mean steak....also it was quite cheap.

I love WARD'S on Rosemead-it was basically a tar paper shack that served HUGE (like 9 inches wide) burgers out of colorful plastic baskets.

The man who owned the place had gold teeth in the front and always wore one of those "wife beater" T-shirts-my Dad said he was an OKIE....I didn't know what any of that meant I just liked the burgers and he looked like many of the guys that worked the traveling Carnivals that came through town which fascinated me.

We had that little amusement park as I mentioned, STREAMLAND PARK but I always looked forward to the traveling carnivals that sat up a few times a year in local parking lots and on vacant strips of land seemingly like magic.

There was something alluring, vaguely dangerous and decidedly sexy about those ragtag shows with their peep show machines from the 1930s and their fixed carnival games....rickety rides...we had one that had a dime wax museum in a big striped tent....Famous people and Hollywood stars.

In the hot dusty gloom of a late afternoon you could give over a dime and gawk at wax busts of people that you mostly had no idea who they were but they were immortalized in wax...that made them almost godlike.

Theda Bara, Ramon Navarro, Rudolph Valentino-names that wouldn't mean anything to me for a few years right alongside George Washington and Albert Einstein...the proximity alone of sharing a tent with Abraham Lincoln made Norma Talmadge important.

Who knows where those wax busts started and where are they now?

One of those carnival tent shows that started on the east coast and go sold west as the circuits dried up in many places during the dust bowl.

We never had a girlie show at any of our carnivals, not with that big white Baptist church and TWO catholic churches to make sure that such lascivious entertainment didn't get a foothold in this virgin familial storybook land.

A couple of the bigger shows did try to add some spice to our lives-a high dive act with a buxom lady in pink toghts and spangles, some french postcards sold from under the counter at the Ballon Pop concession and the occasional "chippie" as my dad called them who would offer a hand job for a couple bucks more for a fiver and the whole shooting match for a ten spot.

They came and went those carnivals and I loved every one...I have always loved that sort of barely legal spangles and feathers peep show kind of entertainment...that and amusement parks.

In later years I got a look at a REAL old fashioned traveling show with all the bells and whistles-a cootch show, a two headed calf and blow off pickled punk and a he-she medical show...oniony grease burgers on the griddle and sex in the shadows...the fortune teller would give you a look at her ample breasts in a spangled net bra-lit by the pink 10 watt bulb in her tent-it just cost you an extra quarter...

And there were those carnival men that looked like the cook at Wards, sweaty and a lot dirty drinking from pint bottles and lurking in the shadows...I knew there was something going on there but it was too far past dangerous for a sheltered youth such as I...

We also lived a short drive from Long Beach which had been a huge Navy town during the war and still had many ships coming in and businesses which catered to the sailors...all sorts of sailors from all over the world.

A jaw rattling roller coaster, creepy fun houses (they actually found a real dead body encased in paper mache in the LAUGH IN THE DARK ride) a tilt a whirl and a terrifying double ferris wheel along with many other rides of dubious maintenance and operational dependability....gambling games, rubber dog poop....cheap souvenirs and naughty novelties.

Up into town were a couple strip theaters...real old fashioned strippers and baggy pants comics and floors so sticky they would pull at your shoes...it was there I was offered my first sex for pay froma genuine hooker of about 40 something (the light was very dim she could have been older) and I also saw my first drag queen although I found him/her very confusing and a friend had to explain-I just thought she was really Butch like one of our girl's gym teachers and just happened to have a marine corps tattoo on her forearm.

I live only a few miles from that Babylon of forbidden delights now-but it has been sanitized and painted up-the lights aren't so dim anymore but nor are they colorful and exciting-the amusement park is gone as are most of the sailors and all the strippers-you can hardly find a girly magazine or an adult book store-its all on the internet so who needs a shoppe to clumsily barge into and hope no one sees you?

Maybe it was the right thing to make the streets safer and cleaner and more sanitary and family friendly but even Las Vegas isn't much fun anymore-where do we go for our cheap thrills and lascivious tastes?

I haven't seen a real travelling carnival show in years-they are mostly corporate money machines run by self proclaimed druggies and mentally tilted folks that don't mesh well with the rest of scoiety-if you don't believe me check out their VLOGS on YouTube-they are scary but not in a good way.

What I want is an Okie in a wife beater with gold teeth in front, a rusty Tilt a Whirl and maybe a 9 inch burger... just for fun...

Double Entendre: first known use 1673


It's hard to make me laugh-out loud

Since forever I have found few things funny enough to merit actual laughter-tears running laughter is almost unknown to me and I will say-if I think its that funny it's unlikely anyone else will share my glee.

The proof that I am at some level British rests on the fact that I can watch Grahan Norton and laugh out loud often-not at him actually-I think he's a very good host and wonderful at getting others to be funny but as a comedian I find him too working class and obvious.

He knnws how to ask the questions that get celebs to tell their best stories and thankfully British telly isn't as repressed as it is in the USA so the juicy stories get told without nonsensical editing as they are here.

I saw an episode tonight with Michael Buble (who I sometimes find tedious in interviews) here's a bit of his conversation:

"I was signing CDs in London and a very young, well built woman came up to the table smiling to have her album signed and after some flirty talk she leaned over and whispered to me "Does your penis give lessons?"...I was so taken aback that I turned to my publicist and said 'This lady just asked me if my penis gives lessons", looking back at the young woman I sasw that she was red in the face an a bit chuffed-she quickly snapped at me " I didn't say PENIS I said PIANIST"

It's obviously a made up story that some publicity agent or comedy writer prepared for him so he would appear witty on TV but it is funny and it did make me laugh-his delivery was good BIT also on the show was SARAH McMILLAN who I had never heard of and she is HYSTERICAL.

She has her own talk show/comedy show and she makes me laugh a lot.

I watched a couple of her specials on You Tube and a few episodes of season three of her talk show-I noticed that when she does American TV she tends to do more scatological humor and in the UK it's more slyly sexual and less crude than say Kathy Griffen or Lisa Lampinelli.

There are times that I just need to laugh...growing up I occasionally would be sitting quietly and I would heave great, cleansing sighs which bothered my Mother-she never seemed to understand they make one feel better (you may know that I have pretty well controlled anxiety disorder).

My "go to" remedy for the need to laugh has long been STEEL MAGNOLIAS - the original movie is still hysterically funny but also allows one to have a good cry tempered by a good laugh right after.

Luckily I have discovered YOU TUBE and it is a wealth of so many things to watch (even including full length Broadway Musicals) and especially a great deal of uncensored British television.

Its really hysterical to watch Sarah interview a guest with the repartee peppered with her asides.

Her accent may give some problems and she has a distinctive voice that could be abrasive-luckily she uses a wide range of inflections-its worth it to give her a go if you (like me) need to laugh...

I have never found my sense of humor particularly funny-I am somewhat like David Letterman-my references are too obscure and I often drop one line zingers into conversations and move on so by the time anyone would laugh it's too late.

I do think I tell a good story and my friends say I need to tell my repertory of stored up anecdotes while I still remember them (thus the request for me to write my memoirs).

Interestingly I often come off badly in stories about myself and I admit that as a young man I was in many significant ways, insufferable.

The self awareness I was gifted with made me acutely attuned to when I was being boorish and help me learn social skills above my decidedly lower middle class upbringing.

That acerbic wit combined with good manners and some degree of talent also attracted friends and social contacts above what otherwise would have.

Still, I never understood why people found Jerry Lewis funny or Benny Hill for that matter-I "got" Monty Python immediately...I love Fawlty Towers (if I owned a hotel I would BE Basil Fawlty) and I enjoy the coy banter of "Are You Being Served" and "Keeping Up Appearances"-

Of course AB FAB is one of my favorites and I even liked the feature film released recently despite the pans from the critics.

We all need to laugh and reading social media tells me that people need laughter and humor in their lives- Way too much anger, depression and poor health going around-we have become much too serious about the state of the White House-yes something needs to be done but no one seems to be doing it and removing the current twit in charge will get us a religious extremest whose best friend is also powerful in government (unless we can prove that the election was tampered with in which case the whole administration will be removed...what a mess that would be.

For this reason and so many others find something that is funny, shut the rest out for an hour or so and laugh...it will give you the strength to go on until things get better.


Friday, July 28, 2017

WHO are YOU?

Before I was born my Mother was married to a man in Carlsbad who was killed in a collision between a bus and his car.

That would be my biological father-I wouldn't know about him or anything about his family until many years later.

Just one of MANY lies my Mother told me and perpetrated.

I don't know what demons pursued her-where she had been or what had happened because the stories changed and wound about each other like a nest of snakes.

Sad really...to be so trapped in duplicity...but as I say, who knows why?

She and my BF owned a cute little cottage in Lynwood-at that time a desireable suburb for young couples a bit south of Los Angeles.

Its unclear what happened from there-she at some point was in Carlsbad, pregnant with me and her good friends Don and Mildred Primo (Mildred was my God-Mother) insisited she pack up and come back to Lynwood.

Somehow the story is that she was pouring concrete while pregnant-I'm sure it's probably true but it was indentured servitude as it was later presented to me.

I think we all have friends at some point in our life that are so devoted that they will skew a story so we become the tragic victim or the shining hero or the exceptionally witty one in the tale.

My Mother seemed to have more of those sorts of friends than most people-mt Mother also didn't know how to say NO to people-a thing she passed along to me.

Saying NO would make people NOT like you....she believed this deeply-so she would attempt to be a;l; things to all people.

Behind the scenes she would have lots to say about those same people and how they took advantage of her, or how two faced they were or even bits she would make up to suit the occasion-there might be a thread of truth in the story but it was a thin thread at best.

Betty Gayhart, the lady across the street from us in Pico Rivera DID indeed wear Mother's hat to a PTA convention-she didn't ask to borrow it Mother almost insisted she wear it.

My Mom had hand done the hat frame and the trims and it was a quiet but stylish little hat most suitable for the 1950's , Doona Reed and the PTA (especially a convention).

So Betty wore it, brought it back (without a plate of cookies or anything) in good shape , thanked my Mother and made a point that she had recieved many compliments on it and DID have the nerve to ask if she could borrow my Mothers PINK picture hat the next month for a lunceon.

When you can't say no the only answer is yes so hat number one was exchanged for hat #2 and off she went.

No stay with me here: Betty wors the first hat because my Mother insisted, the 2nd hat she ASKED to borrow and Mother handed it over-Betty did, indeed, wear the hat to the luncheon mentioned BUT she also wore it EASTER SUNDAY to church with a new pink suit she had bought from J C Penny's as was the custome in those days-everyone bought new clothes for EASTER.

How new clothese reflects the resurrection escapes me - I was often decked out in Sornet colours with bow ties and my poor sister would be buried in ruffles and gloves and a hat and a purse and frilly socks with lace.

We didn't want to go to the big white Baptist Church by the reflecting pond with the picturesque willow trees in the first place (we were Lutherans but Mother didn't like the minister so the Baprtists got us).

Actually, mostly got ME-my Grandmother (Mother's Mother) lived with us in a front bedroom (one of 3-it would later be my SISTER'S ROOM but in name only for many years-poor Donna).

So I was shuttled off to vacation Bible school, I was a dutiful Jet Cadet for Jesus (REALLY! I still have the hat somewhere) I guess it was harmless and my Mother could glowingly report that I know all the books of the new testament and was in Jet Cadets etc. etc-It wasn't until I was an adult that I figured out she had read TOM SAWYER about that time.

You may or may not remember that Tom's Aunt Polly was very proud of his cousin SID for memorizing Bible verses-if one memorized enough one recieved a Bible of their very own-do I need to write more?

This pattern will be repeated many times over the years between 1952 when we moved from the little house in Lynwood to the 3 bedroom, one bath new house with carefully chosen orange trees on the big lot in Pico Rivera.

We had a new home, it was 1952, Mother had a new husband and I had a new Dad and Grandma came from Cleveland to live with us (supposedly to take care of me).

We lived at 9340 Balfour just off Passons Road, it was one block to the Elementary Scool, one block to the Junior High and the High School was just behind us (my Mothers was very irritated when they wouldn't let her put a gate in their chain link fence so I didn't have to round the corner.

There were lots of kids in the neighborhood, Betty (the hat lady who committed the great sin of borrowing a hat for one occasion and wearing it twice) had three boys-the oldest just my age-Peggy down the block had 2 and Sue next door had 2 teenage boys (one from a previous marriage)-across the street were the Findlings who had two boys and a girl also older than me-they all seemed to play the accordian (you know what THAT means right?).

It was the start of the magical but nervous years that followed WW2.

Mother had jungle vine wall paper (chartreuse, grey and maroon) black panthers and blonde moderne furntiure and flamingo lamps to go with the mirror framed cockatoo pictures over the sofa.

ALL from J C Penny's.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

OK, you asked for it....

a number of my friends (2) keep saying they miss my "personal" blog-me too sorta...

I have so many things to say and I don't say them because I get myself in trouble on that pit of seething filth called FACEBOOK.

I come from a background of critique-for instance when I was in ART SCHOOL an instructor would have everyone put their work on a wall and then that instructor and everyone else would sit around and tear it apart.

(BTW this is the way it works in the real world as well)

The trend on FACEBOOK is to compliment everything....STUNNING, JAW DROPPING (to me jaw dropping is being in a certain place and seeing a building collapse or a person hit by a runaway buffalo, a volcanic eruption....all those are JAW DROPPING) and the one I hate the most AWESOME.....GOD is awesome, the expanse of space is AWESOME, the Grand Canyon at sunset-maybe awesome is a tourist is dropping to their death over the edge also JAW DROPPING).

My artwork is not any of the above-its just what I do-IF you happen to like it or LOVE it thats great-I love it when people are complimentary but you don't have to be.

If someone say-"you know, that's another good drawing but really not up to your usual stuff" thats HONEST and SUPPORTIVE-is you add the pose seems stiff or the face is too somber or her boobs are not symmetrical that's Honest and Supportive and Informative (even better).

I promise I won't unfriend you.

The whole unfriending thing....wow...it's so passive/aggressive.

I have unfriended people but they deserved it....rabid Trump supporters, rabid religious zealots and people who regularly post FAKE NEWS without checking SNOPES first (GOD I hate that-and BTW thanks for being awesome but cockroaches? really?).

I love to teach and I love to learn-I have taught a lot-mostly ART and THEATRE,,,a bit of psychology.

You might not know that I was almost a psychologist...almost....changed my mind and decided to use the knowledge to teach but at the same time I didn't want a career as a teacher....

I hva e written critiques and judged contests since I was in my teens-literally-I had a newspaper column in my hometown paper-The Pico Rivera Times Post when I was barely out of high school.

Restaurant and Movie reviews are a wonderful way to teach and also get those opinions out there.
I've done that as well and recently-I have a local paper here that ran my restaurant and theatre reviews for a few years-but I got tired of having to edit them down-I want room to ramble-thats why blogging is probably best for me-so here I am back to it.

Being as how it's my personal blog and not the realms of my art career or my colouring books I reserve the right to be as obnoxious as I chose and you can tell me I am being same and I won't unfriend you here either.

My friends Ted and Paul-they of the spectacular view from their terrace high above Laguna Beach-would like me to write my memoirs-I'm pushing 70 hard so I guess if I were going to do it now might be the time.

I doubt I have the patience but maybe an anecdote here and there-someone else can compile and publish the whole thing after I am gone-maybe with snappy commentary on the side-I would love that-bitchy comments about my bitchy self....it's hysterical.

I refuse to credential present anymore-I am tired of it-I have had an interesting life-I am educated and have an advanced degree, I have traveled, I have seen many things, I have known interesting people, celebs even.

I spent an afternoon with Jean Genet and an interpreter on a private tour of  Universal Studios (yes I was a VIP tour guide at Universal - to me that sort of liaison is more interesting than bumping into Liz Taylor at the hairdresser (that happened too-I was about 5-she got down on the floor and coloured with me).

LOTS of interesting stories from HOLLYWOOD-My grandpa was in the business from the late 1930s I believe and DAD went in around 1954 when my sister was born-behind the scenes but still....many stories....

Dad worked at the corner of Santa Monica and Lillian way near Vine I think---I occasionally went in to work eith him on Saturdays-I was a careful, quiet inquisitive child and I could be trusted to wander around , not touch anything and not open any door where there was a red warning light burning.

Dad went in very early-5 am often and had to do some things first and then he would take me to breakfast-usually at the "CHINAMAN"S" it has another name but forgive me, it was the 1950's I dont remember -its long since been torn down and calling some little cafe owned by a man from China-the Chinaman's was quite acceptable in those times.

They had great food, an asian waitress named SOO who was very crusty and often random celebs having coffee at 6am - Ricky Nelson was one I remember.

Other times he would have arranged to meet his "pals" over at a deki a few blocks away-a group of funny old men with odd accents who told jokes I mostly didn't understand and for at least a year or two I didn't notice who they were.

Harry Mann had something to do with cameras, once in awhile CRIS would come he was a psychic and had a local TV show, JR. had a famous father and he had made a few films himself, there was a british fellow that came once in awhile and an eastern european man that smelled like mothballs....a couple others-all swapping stories over coffee and cheese blintzes and prune danish (lox and eggs yuck).

None of my friends would believe that I had breakfast with the Wolfman, Dracula, The Monster and a mad scientist or Ricky Nelsone for that matter.

Occasionally we would stop on the wat into his work at a place on Santa Monica where we would run into IDA LUPINO on her way home after a party night-she always had her huge dogs with her who she loved to kiss on the lips-but then she was a kisser-she kissed pretty much everyone on the lips.

I liked her-she wore JUNGLE GARDENIA perfume and when I told he I liked it she put a little on me from her purse bottle so I would "REMEMBER" her.

Dad';s shop did Titles for films, special effects, dissolves and process shots.

Over the years Dad was involved in filming the arm with the hammer that was the symbol of Mark 7 (or was it 5) productions for Jack Webb, The opening of the Music Man with all those little wooden marching soldiers-the opening for BRINGING UP BUDDY with Frank Aletter (a TV show) and many more.

I watched Russ Roberts paint glass background paintings for HOW THE WEST WAS WON and someone in the art department did beautiful hand done gold leafed letters for CLEOPATRA with Elizabeth Taylor.

Back in those days the art departments in Hollywood buzzed with names that are still around in Hollywood today like WAYNE FITZGERALD who worked where my dad did until he moved to his own title business which I believe his son runs still today.

You actually SAW TV people on the streets and in local businesses, even drive in restaurants like Stan's on Sunset Blvd and several others-we had lunch in the car one day next to Lucille Ball (she wasn't very friendly) and I had a long talk with Kim Novak in from of the AKRON store on Sunset.

We lived in Rivera (later PICO RIVERA) which was a suburban bedroom community next to Whittier, Montebello and Downey.

Like many post-war bugs it was carved out of old Orange and Avocado groves.

We had a custom built home on a 75 by 150 foot lot-my folks got to pick the orange trees to save-and the lot backed up to the new high school they were building.

The war was over, prosperity was back and it was the magical 50s in sunny California....


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