The Music Man

Yesterday I saw the closing performance of the Stepping Stone Player’s The Music Man. Now, this show is so nostalgic for me since it was the first musical I watched that inspired me to audition for plays at my High School. Sadly, I was not cast until my junior year, but it did begin a 10 year love affair with all audio, be it sound reinforcement in live theater or dialog editing for television. Both of which I enjoyed for a time, but left behind to pursue a more traditional (as well as dependable) desk job.



This production of The Music Man started out a bit slow, but gained moment with each amazing song and dance number. The joy and vibrancy of the elementy school aged and high school aged performers were incredibley humbling to watch. Their execution of complicated dance moves and layered singing was a delight to watch. A friend of mine has been participating in community theater for 6 years and he was the reason that I attended the show that day. This friend, we’ll call him Blondie, because he is blonde, has been in productions ranging from joyously fun to monstrously unwatchable (sorry my friend). However, Blondie has always shined with his commitment to each roll he has been cast in.



Especially memorable to me during Sunday afternoon’s show was seeing Blondie go from being onstage as a concerned towns person in the song “Trouble” to being the Well’s Fargo Coachman complete with full length duster and burned down cigar, flipping his blond locks for the little girls to mimic. Also, his stint as a fez wearing Mason in a previous mucial (I think it was Bye, Bye Birdie) was hysterical. Blondie is a good looking, guy and here he was nerding it up as with a fez and thick glasses, very funny. I am simpley thankful that he continues performing so that all his friends can enjoy the many fantastic musicals out there.



In my distant past I worked for a professional musical theater company in the Bay Area. Musicals have always spoken to me in a way that I cannot define with mere words. The huge dance numbers amaze me and the singing is stupendous with songs that range from nonsense to broad comedy, to touching ballads. My parents spoiled me by taking me to musicals, concerts, and ballets from a young age (although they did wait until I was able to sit still and appreciate what I was seeing). Jedi also enjoys musicals and concerts, I’m not sure about ballet, but he seemed to enjoy Moving Out (that was my big gift last year from my best friend and it was AWESOME). I’m planning to try and get tickets to see City of Angels (I saw it years ago and remember the staging being extremely creative). When I took tap during the summer while in High School we danced to two songs from this show, they had witty lyrics.

Remembering Part 2

I know my Grandma lived a full and amazing life and is now with my Grandpa, but I still find it difficult to believe she is gone. Until last year, she was my last surviving grandparent, my Father's Mother. She was the woman that I looked up to and admired so much. It really reminds me to appreciate people around me and each day that I have. Never know how long that may be. Growing up my mother and father told me how very much I resembled my Grandma when she was in her youth, I hope that is true, because if I am anything like her, it means I will be strong, beautiful, and stubborn for the rest of my life.

My Grandmother outlived my Grandfather, but he was the one that she spoke of most. They had spent over 5 decades together as husband and wife. Their devotion to eachother is something that has always warmed me and filled me with a sense of pride and nostalgia. Their lives were not easy, but they choose the best path they could despite suffering through WWII.

Grandma was a beautiful woman who immigrated to the United States from Germanyto settle in New Jersey. Her mother, brother, and sister also came here. In Germany she had worked as an au pair, in New Jersey she continued that work. Her love of children was evident to me along with her strong sense of devotion to family. Grandpa called her mousel, meaning little mouse, it was a term of endearment and she had a small collection of mice made of crystals, ceramic, and even plastic in their china cabinet. I always wanted to know the origin of that nickname, at one time I may have, but now I do not.

Grandma’s cooking was amazing. While I was never a fan of the rare roast beef that was bloody in the middle, my Papa (my mother’s father) enjoyed with horseradish, I adored the many pickled items that appeared as a staple on lazy susan at the center of the table of my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Pickled cucumbers, vinegar coleslaw (a recipe handed down to my father that is delicious with a yellow hue from the turmeric…I still have never mimicked it well enough to do it justice), homemade dill pickles, and my favorite pickled beets. A holdover from that time that delights me still is to buy seedless rye from Solley’s, real mayonaise, and small tins of anchovies wrapped around capers. This simple sandwich can take me back to my childhood.

My sister-in-law’s family is from Russia (just like my Mother’s) and they are also extremely fond of pickled items, including fish. My brother and sister-in-laws wedding was catered by a traditional Russian chef and began with a tremendous array of smoked fish and an incredible assortment of pickled items, I was in hog heaven! LOL, I digress, as usual!

There were many summers that my family visited Grandma and Grandpa in their small, neat home in Northern New Jersey. What was so wonderful about their place was the enormous plot of land it was situated on. There was room for a large garden to plant a variety of vegetables and herbs. Fruit trees and even grape vines grew there alongside lush berry bushes and vibrant flowers.

During the spring and summer months there would be several bird feeders strategically placed throughout the property. They would attract a myriad of aviary life to watch with delight. There were vibrant hummingbirds and impossibley loud, belligerant blue jays. One year there was an especially inventive squirrel that would not leave the bird seed alone no matter how ingeniusly my Grandpa tried to squirrel-proof it. I remember watching the squirrel take a flying leap off the roof once just to land in the middle of the feeder spraying seed and squaking bird everywhere. The feeder weighted down with squirrel perched precariously inside weighted down the thin tree limb from hung swaying back and forth hypnotically as it sunk lower and lower towards the ground. By this time Grandma was shouting at it from the window to "get down" and "scram", but that foolhardy squirrel would do no such thing, he was finally exactly where he wanted to be and was making the most of it.

"FWAP", birdfeeder and squirrel where swatted from the tree. My Grandpa had come up behind them and knocked that rampaging squirrel from it's roost. I was flabbergasted, having never seen my Grandparents carry out such violence. Working as a team they refilled and rehung the birdfeeder with an alacrity that belied their ages. They would be ready when the squirrel returned.

Katrina Benefit hosted by Tenacious D 9/22/05

Last night my boyfriend and I attended the Tenacious D Benefit to help victims of Katrina. This was a fantastic show and I felt humbled by the outpouring of love, money, and energy that was swirling around inside that venue. Jack and Kyle who makeup the band Tenacious D were wonderfully informal with their guest performers and audience. The event didn’t feel too polished or rehearsed which made for a vivacious spontaneity that translated to the audience. Jack Black was a total maniac, handling most of the hosting duties since Kyle was sick that night. He tumbled, rolled, flew, pirouetted across and around the stage in a manic frenzy that put me in the mind of a whirling dervish. Honestly, I wanted to go onstage with him, what a fantastic opportunity he has to unleash this great capacity to captivate an audience with music, comedy, and spirit.

If you ever have the opportunity to see the D live, take it! You'll be in for a treat.

The death of a hero: Simon Wiesenthal

For those of you who are young or not of Jewish decent, the name Simon Wiesenthal may not mean much. To people like me, a second generation American on my father’s side and a third on my mother’s side, both of European Jewish descent, he was a hero. He was a survivor of the Holocaust and spent the years after it hunting Nazi war Criminals with great success. What I find so fascinating about Wiesenthal was his reinvention of himself after the war. He had been subjected to the atrocities of 12 concentration camps (5 were actual death camps), he had attempted suicide twice without success while imprisoned by the Nazis, he and his wife lost 89 relatives through the actions of the Third Reich, yet after being liberated by American Forces Wiesenthal reinvented himself.

After the war, he reunited with his wife (who had been hidden in Poland, using her blonde hair to pose as an Aryan), had a family (which was such a significant act of hope after the pain and horror of the Holocaust), and began seeking justice for the many people who lost their lives at the hands of the Nazi regime. There is great controversy over his involvement in the capture of Adolf Eichman, but I feel that regardless of the truth (which can never be known), the fact that Eichman was found is a feat worthy of accolades to whoever negotiated his capture.

The dedication that Wiesenthal showed spending 50 years of his life pursuing the men and women who perpetrated the madness of genocide is startling to me. I don’t ask myself why he did it; I ask myself why more people didn’t. Retribution is not what was sought, but justice for crimes against humanity. The Nuremberg trials were incomplete with the escape of many top ranking Nazis. If given the same circumstance would I handle my life with such focus and purpose? This is a question I never want to be forced answer.

I leave you with this quote from the Council of Europe chairman Terry Davis,"Without Simon Wiesenthal's relentless effort to find Nazi criminals and bring them to justice, and to fight anti-Semitism and prejudice, Europe would never have succeeded in healing its wounds and reconciling itself... He was a soldier of justice, which is indispensable to our freedom, stability and peace."

Wiesenthal passed away on Tuesday, September 20th, 2005. He was 96.

A Sidenote:

I am looking into getting the HBO film in which Ben Kingsley plays Wiesenthal, called Murderers Among Us: the Simon Wiesenthal Story. If I can’t find it, I’m certain I can get my hands on the book from which it is based. Imagine being Ben Kingsley who has not only played Gandhi with such grace, complexity, and character, but to also have such a rich roll as Wiesenthal to flesh out. Kingsley is indeed talent, if you doubt my love of his acting abilities, please see Sexy Beast or House of Sand and Fog.

Lunch with a Friend

I have a standing lunch date on Fridays with a friend of mine who is a college speech professor (we’ll call him GBD). We often go to a restaurant conveniently located close by my work; since I am now required to punch in and out with a time clock mechanism. GBD is a cousin of The Brown One who lives with my boyfriend. We began hanging out due to our mutual love of books. In fact during one of our first lunches together he leant me a copy of Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach while I loaned to him a copy of Robert Ketchum’s book, Red.

GDB and I share a sense of the morbid along with an appreciation of good wine. He does not find it horrible if I discuss my fascination with dead bodies or true crime while shoveling food in my mouth (I mentioned previously about the whole time clock thing). Nor does he dismiss my assertions that women are crazy and therefore I would never become a lesbian. There is no irony when he asks my advice about dating., which I find rare since many of my friends know that I will hijack their social lives in the blink of an eye and spend my time regaling them with my list of single friends of the opposite sex with varying attributes to recommend them by.

In the class that GBD teaches he gives this one fascinating assignment called Scar or Star. Since the students are required to talk about themselves, they are given a choice of whether they want to share with the class a scar they have on their body and how they got it or a celebrity they met and how this meeting changed their opinion about said celebrity., I love this idea. In fact, I am thinking of asking my friends to do something similar for my birthday coming up in a week and half.

In the past I have requested more personal items from people, a recipe they loved from childhood, a mix tape that contained songs that reminded them of me, or a book that was that held a special memory. This year I thought about requesting my friends to join me in a volunteer activity, but the timing of events wasn’t working out for me so I am scraping those plans. Now I am thinking of requesting people to share a story about me from their personal experiences on my blog. Hmmm…perhaps with my friends that would not be such a good idea I might end up finding out things about myself I’d rather not know…LOL!

Lobsterfest San Pedro 9/18/05

The boyfriend and I just came home after spending the better part of the day at the Lobster Fest in San Pedro. Having never been to this event before I can most definitely surmise that it will be a yearly occurrence now on my calendar because it is so delicious and conveniently located, not to mention the outta this world price! Admission was $6 each since we used tickets that we printed out from the Lobster Fest Website. If you were interested in getting lobster, there was a deal for one lobster with melted imitation butter, coleslaw and bread for $17 or two with the same fixin’s for $29. These were fairly good sized lobsters too with meaty tails and huge well developed claws full of sweet meat.

I got only one, but a friend, who I’ll call Blinky gave me the upper half of his second crustacean because he was already full. HA, as if I would let any of that amazing meat go to waste. Now the lobsters served were a bit more watery then I would like, but they lacked that saltiness that often mars the more delicate flavor. I could not believe Blinky was passing up the most amazing parts of a lobster that he paid his hard earned cash for, but as a good friend I made short work of lobster #2. Suffice it to say, we made short work of the giant cockroaches smothering them in butter and sucking out the meat from their swimmerets.

Being the gourmands that we are this was not nearly enough food to celebrate this unique event. Next on the menu was Holy Guacamole voted best by Food Network and the California Avocado Association and who am I to argue with two such lauded organizations? Assisted by another pint of beer I indulged in a chewy, salty, buttery delight of roasted corn that had just the perfect amount of butter and salt to really enhance the sweet and crisp corn flavor. While I was washing my hands to dive back into the flurry of food, Jedi was getting a sausage with a friend of his who is to be married in October.

Still not satisfied with this culinary picnic we next ordered fried catfish, cod, shrimp, oysters, hush puppies, and fries complete with ketchup, tartar sauce, and hot sauce (for Jedi since I cannot partake). The crust on these fried items was incredible; not too thickly coated, crunchy and a tad bit sweet like cornmeal can be. Not a bit greasy, but still moist. For dessert I had an amazing ooey goey sweet potato pie that had a jelly-like consistency that resembled the inside of a pecan pie. You know that one, that caramel flan like layer that’s achingly sugary and reminds you of Thanksgiving with the folks.

Scarecrow by Matthew Reilly

I have read an incredible amount of action novels in the years that I was growing up. Considering that I was raised with an army of male friends and relatives around, it’s a miracle that I still want to read the likes of Mack Bolan, James Bond, or Dirk Pitt, and yet I find myself returning to these novels again and again as touchstones of my pulp filled literary past. That’s is why I was delighted to discover and new and exciting action hero created by a 26 year old author from Australian named Matthew Reilly.

It was in 2000 that Reilly published his book Ice Station which introduced readers to marine hero, Shane Scofield. In Scarecrow we are reunited for the third time with Scofield to accompany him as he is targeted for assassination by a man who wants to begin World War III. Scarecrow, the codename given to Scofield due to the vertical scars running over each eye is a terrific name for this book since it gives more insight into the hero then any of the previous installments of this unbelievable action series.

If I were to compare Reilly’s writing style, I would be forced to say that he is the John Woo of writers. He is guilty of forcing his character up against unbelievable odds to do inhumane feats of strength, skill, cunning, and courage. This is a non-stop heart thumping ride of a book that has jets racing across the world, tanker ships sinking, man-eating sharks, and even a guillotine.

With the returning characters of Book II, Mother, and Libby Gant joined by the mysterious bounty hunter, The Black Knight and his sidekick Rufus this headlong plunge into saving the world is more rapid fire then Ice Station or Area 7. What I appreciated the most about Scarecrow was the obvious growth of the author as a writer. Reilly is no longer reticent to let his emotions show in more complex ways including the very risky soft side of his main character. Scofield is allowed to draw the reader out with his growing familiarity with his Delta Force Squad, it is a charming plot twist.

If you never like putting a book down unless it is finished then Scarecrow is the book for you my friend. Non-stop action oriented sequences featuring a parade of guns, rockets, jets, and missiles that no army buff should miss out on. Yet even with all the technical information the humanity and storyline remain strong and focused even if they are so over-the-top as to be almost silly. This book is worth a look in my humble opinion.

The Human Stain by Phillip Roth

Now I began this book already knowing the “big secret” that is revealed about halfway through. I should note that although aware of the existence of a movie version, I had not seen it, nor did I know anyone who had. The reason I picked this book up was because it was 99 cents at my local Good Will Store (thrift stores, the underutilized place for funky clothes, cheap books, and weird knickknacks, I suggest you check out yours other then just around Halloween), for that price, it has to be a book worth reading. Apparently, I was wrong.

Roth is a writer of dense, detailed prose that contain multi-layered information for the reader. Being that this was my first experience with this world reknown author I felt it was only fair that I give credit where credit is due. The story is about a Dean of Faculty, Coleman Silk, who is dismissed under a shadow of disgrace for making a comment that is purposely seen to be racist in nature. That the protagonist should been misunderstood to make such a remark when it is precisely against his own nature is the irony of this story. It is also very much the tragedy of it. To see that a man would rather live with dishonor then expose himself as a liar due to the shame in his lie is a tricky situation to write with all of the transitory emotions that are involved. Roth is masterful with his creation of men and women who are very much not what they seem on the outside.

Despite the masterful storytelling, I still found this book to be too difficult for the audience to find someone to identify with. The accessibility factor was low with so many different moralities at play and yet Roth tried to use his alter ego, Nathan Zuckerman, from I Married a Communist and American Pastoral. Having not read those books, I cannot comment on whether this would’ve been an easier read if I was already familiar with one of the main characters. Regardless of my feelings about this book, I am currently halfway through The Plot Against America, also by Roth, and admit that I am incredibly thrilled by the poetic and heartfelt writing. Once I finish look for my review of that novel here.

Labor Day Crab Boil

For Labor Day this year a friend of ours wanted to fly in blue crabs from Maryland. Since my boyfriend, Jedi (a fake name to protect the innocent, although why I am using it for him, I haven’t a clue), is from Maryland he was more then happy to join in and make this idea a reality. For this adventure, more equipment then then usual was necessary which called for a visit to the local Smart and Final for a large pot and outdoor propane burner. Next was a trip to William Sonoma for crab mallets (surprising difficult to find here in Los Angeles) and finally Surfas for the perfect clarified butter to accompany the sweet little crustaceans and make our purchases complete. A bushel of medium blue crabs arrived on the doorstep of Jedi’s house on Saturday morning and he was aglow with the excitement to come. Out of 6 dozen crabs, there were surprising few that gave up the ghost during their 6 hour flight from the East Coast. Although not lively when we first opened the box due to the cold (they were packed in dry ice), as we cooked more and the remaining in the box got warmer they began to wake up and show their feisty side. The crabs were ordered live from Harbour House in Maryland , they also specialize in soft-shell blue crabs and sending already steamed hard shell ones. Jedi was in his element with 3 lbs of Old Bay and gloves to protect his fingers from the crab’s pinchers he got down to the serious business of steaming.

First he made an intoxicating brew of heated beer on the outside propane burner which was gently brought up to boil. When the steam started filling the pot, a dozen blue critters were added alternating with heaping portions of Old Bay. Once the crabs were steamed to perfection, they were lifted from the pot and spread out on the brown paper covered tables for their last orange coat of Old Bay. Jedi even provided me with my very own portion of steamed crabs sans Old Bay due to my lichen planus (a condition on my lips and mouth that makes it painful to eat spicy or hot food…sad, I know!). Let the cracking, slurping, digging, and dipping BEGIN!!!

Throughout the daylong crab boil, there was so much food to be had that we felt slightly ashamed of our overindulgence. Jedi’s friends and neighbors and mine too stopped by from 2pm until 10 to pull up a seat at the paper covered feast table in the duplex’s backyard to talk, pick crabs, and eat a variety of delectable dishes. One friend, who’s originally from Georgia, to everyone’s delight made hush puppies. Later in the evening he created even more incredible fried food by spoiling us with beignets from a Café du Monde mix. They were scandalously good even though he though some were half cooked. I opted on the un-fried side and made traditional cornbread and honey butter to accompany the crabs. I used the recipe on the side of the cornmeal box which resulted in moist delectable bread. Jedi’s roommate (or as we call her, The Brown One-it’s not what you think) created a scrumptious caprese salad using the tomatoes and basil from their garden.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Maryland Blue Crab (and I was pretty much a Blue Crab virgin until dating my wonderful, gourmet beau, Jedi) this kind of crab is more delicate tasting and sweeter then it’s cousins the Dungeness and Alaskan King Crabs. It’s also a challenge to shell the smaller ones. Luckily we received mediums that were on the higher side of that size category (51/2-6 inches). You see blue crabs come in 5 different sizes for the males, which are the preferred type to eat, they are in descending order; Heavyweights, Jumbos, Large, Medium, and Small and then there are the females (usually not eaten due to the fact that they can produce up to eight million eggs in one mating season, so their capture and consumption is limited). It’s my inner desire to someday go out with crabbers in Maryland to catch my very own blue crabs. Imagine the freshness!

I find it very amusing that my boyfriend should love crabs so much given the fact that his star sign is Cancer, The Crab. People of this star sign are considered to be gentle and nurturing despite the irony that Crab is used to describe someone who is a grouch. I am very skeptical about astrology, but in this instance I find it amusingly fitting.

A Cooks Tour by Anthony Bourdain (Of Kitchen Confidential Fame)

What a wise-cracking, hilarious look at both foreign travel and delicious, yet sometimes frightening foods around the world. If you have ever seen chef Anthony Bourdain in his Food TV series A Cook’s Tour or more recently on Travel Channel series Anthony Bourdain :No Reservations then you know that this New Jersey boy speaks like a native often being bleeped out by Broadcast Standards people for his penchant for using 4 letter words. He brings this irreverent quality to his writing as well, often citing his excessive drinking, excessive smoking, and hippie pot-smoking youth.

Yet, what differentiates this book from many travel books is the eccentric characters Bourdain visits around the world. He is both willing and able to eat and experience other cultures with sensitivity, humor, and infinite joie de vive. This is more then a travelogue or a foodie tome, it is a celebration of the differences that make everyone so similar. I know that my assessment may strike people as trite, but I was captivated by Bourdain’s boyish delight at eating a roasted pig in Portugal. His wonder and admiration at seeing every piece of the animal used made me think about the animals I take for granted everyday.

Describing firing an automatic weapon during his visit to Cambodia Boardain has this to say:

Firing bursts from heavy weapons at paper targets of charging Russians is fun. I did surprisingly well with the AK-47 and the .45, hitting centre body mass almost every time. At one point, his hands over his ears to protect them from the racket of my discharging weapon, my waiter tugged my sleeve, “So ... whey you from?”
“New York,” I said.
“What you do?” he inquired.
“I’m a chef.”
My waiter looked at my target, which I’d pretty much shredded from neck to crotch, smiled encouragingly, and said, “You could be a killer!” That’s what passes for a compliment in Phnom Penh, I guess.

Sea Glass by Anita Shreve (Audiobook)

I have read two prior books written by this author and am delighted to say that this third book that I have indulged in was even better then the predecessors. Taking place again in a small town on the beach of New Hampshire this book shares the same house used in Fortune’s Rock and The Pilot’s Wife (coincidentally the exact novels of Shreve’s that I have read). However, this time the year is 1929 and the beach houses residents are newlyweds Sexton and Honora (pronounce with a silent “H”). Shreve is an artist with the English language. She has a talent for weaving together complex characters with secretive motives that entice the audience into reading more to discover the truth behind the actions.

Sea Glass is an intricate tale told by five very diverse narrators. First in Honora, who starts out naïve, yet hopeful in a marriage to a man she has only met 8 times over the course of a courtship that could be called superficial at best, shallow at worst. Then there is Sexton, her ambitious salesman husband, with questionable scruples and an identity tied closely to his ability to sell. Vivian, the socialite from down the beach who is looking for excitement and purpose to fulfill her empty life or at the very least fill the hours of her long days. McDermott, a twenty year old who has become almost completely deaf working in the garment mill in Ely Falls, he helps the striking workers organize and stay motivated. Alphonse, a young boy on the verge of manhood, who has been taken in as a sort of mascot by McDermott and the other workers at the mill to help them with the various menial tasks to keep the strike going.

Shreve's talent is getting inside her character's heads. She reveals their hopes, dreams, motivations, fears, and rationalizations with clarity and precision. The aspect I relish the most in her writing is the complex, very human thoughts and feelings that we, the reader, are privy to using this form of narrative. These diverse perspectives give us the chance to experience the beginning of the depression, the crumbling of a marriage, the unionization of workers, and the budding of love with the people as they each are impacted by these event.

Sea Glass is a vivid book; full of mundane lives lived in not so quiet desperation. The hunger and desperation of laborers prior to Unions and livable wages was truly miserable. Food looms large as the basic needs of everyone in the book are hardly ever met until the strike takes place. The climax of the book is sadly unsurprising and keenly realistic for the era. Consider listening to this one on tape since it captures the speech patterns and dialect of the earth 20th Century in a way that I certainly could not duplicate in my head.