Ashes To Dust

"At Rest"

 

I can’t recall if it was in his hospital room at Scripps or the hospice in La Costa where I asked my father what he’d like us to do with his remains.  I do remember that it was an awkward and surreal moment to get information that I believed was important to him and to me.  The fact that the conversation sticks clearly in my mind but the specifics of the location do not is a tell-tale sign that time has passed.  February 15th will mark the two-year anniversary of my father’s death and this last weekend, my mother, my sister and I- coincidentally on the morning of Super Bowl Sunday- finally set my father free.

Even before he told me, I knew the kind of setting he would choose as his final resting place.  My dad loved being outdoors.  So the three of us took a relatively short drive to a place that we used to go to annually when my sister and I were kids.  I hadn’t visited this place in probably close to thirty years but the drive with my family gave it all a more recent sense of familiarity.  Given the big game day, there was very little traffic except for a couple dozen Sunday morning motorcyclists zipping up and down the country roads.  At our destination,  there was only one other car parked in the lot and a heavenly quietness that lent itself perfectly to the reason for being there.

The air was clean and crisp but not cold.  We walked along our chosen path looking for the right place to say our goodbyes.  When we decided on a place, we just stood there for a bit.  I was hoping for a magical, swift moving breeze to take his remains and scatter them delicately over as much territory as possible but I guess that really only happens in movies(with a big fan machine at work).  And although it felt as though no more tears would be shed, the act of honoring my father’s wishes and the beautiful words spoken in my sister’s prayer brought on a surge of emotion and one more release.

I don’t think my father minded that it took us two years to honor his wishes.  I see that my mom needed to have him close and I see that we all needed time to adjust to him not being physically present in our daily lives.  There is a constant and mild ache that persists and truth be told, I hope that never subsides.  But time has moved on- just as everybody said it would- and we have an obligation- to ourselves and to each other- to continue living and remembering my father for who he was and how much he meant to us all.

Tinkering With The Brain

"Maximizing Functionality"

 

 I have talked to a lot of people lately, hearing many similar comments coming from each person with regards to where they feel that they are in their individual lives.  And I’ve got to say it right off the bat, “There is no one perfect life achieved at any given moment in time.”  Some of my friends have had pretty extraordinary life experiences and some have been far more subdued but in each instance, they are all asking- ”What’s next?”- almost with a sense of bewilderment that there may not be anything new.  And I was no different.  I think that there is a time in our lives where the velocity by which we move seems so fast and exhilarating and never-ending that we take it all for granted.   But it does inevitably slow down or stall out at times and for so many reasons.  The question then becomes, “How do we get things moving again and regain a momentum that satisfies us?”  And is it just about moving forward on the same path or is it about creating some new path entirely?

I suspect that we’ve all taken stock in our lives from time to time and if it’s been an honest observation- we can see where some of our decisions or choices have been far more beneficial than others in helping lead us to whatever bliss we were hoping to achieve.  Still,  in the end- with all our cumulative life choices- we may have wound up somewhere else altogether.  But in the dialogues that I’ve had, most people have made reasonable choices in their lives with the hopes of ending up somewhere specific and yet they are still left feeling as though they are nowhere.  Of course, that’s simply not true.  In each person’s case, you can cite successes and failures as milestones but as the conversations continued I came to realize that it’s less about not having arrived somewhere and more about wondering where they’re headed. 

So I have tinkered around in my own brain to create new settings for “What’s next?”  And I am finding that you really need to approach everyday(even if you’re on your 14,840th day) with kid-like wonder to discover all the possibilities.  We have an exceptional piece of equipment that does not become obsolete in a year’s time like most Apple technology.  Some of us tend to use one side of our brain more than the other- leaving so much untapped.  Get in there and play with all the features you’ve never yet explored.  I can guarantee that once you do,  new paths will open up- leading you to what’s next- whatever that may be.

Christmas Over The Years

 

"Test Flight"

Christmas used to be matching jammies, stuffed stockings, heavily flocked trees, big bulbed colored lights,  fondue, port wine cheese balls, electric race car tracks, first bikes, Johnny Mathis, family and friends.  Then it became all that plus, Seven and Seven, shag carpet, second-hand smoke, advent calendars, grandma and grandpa, canned hams, cookies for Santa, mangers, Midnight Mass, Hickory Farms and It’s a Wonderful Life.  Later it graduated to holiday shopping encounters in the Castro, seasonal trips to New York, traditions passed down and newly created with a family of my own, the understanding that it really is better to give than to receive and the Vienna Boy’s Choir.  It’s a holiday steeped in tradition but ever-changing as we move through the different stages of our lives.

 As I exited the movie theater at the Grove the other day, I looked up into the clear blue Southern California sky to see Santa’s sleigh suspended high above the dancing fountain that was rockin’ out to the tune of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”  I began to think about that jolly guy in the red suit that we tend to associate more with Christmas than Christ himself.  Of course, I’m coming from a Catholic/Christian point of view.  Then I started to wonder if they weren’t the same person, you know- like people often believed of  Michael Jackson and Diana Ross.  Speaking of which, I haven’t seen Ms. Ross since Michael’s passing but that takes me off point.  I mean both guys live way up north.  They are both Ambassadors of Goodwill if you will.  Naughty and nice- good and evil…see where I’m going with this?  Ultimately, I figured that was ridiculous.  It’s far more likely that the North Pole is just Heaven adjacent, that they are neighbors on some Wisteria Lane cul-de-sac in the Arctic.   Either way, they’re both good guys that give us cause to celebrate a season and remind us to be good to one another.

I still like the trees, the lights, a little shopping- not as much though- the baking and getting together with family and friends.  But I particularly enjoy the sending and receiving of holiday cards to and from those that I may only touch base with once a year- during this season.  It’s comforting.  It’s mostly about taking a moment to be appreciative for all the blessings in my life, and not just for the current year.  I am grateful for all the memories of all the moments that helped to define my experience.  There is no question that I have moved further away from the commercial component of the holiday and closer to the spiritual one- in that I crave the peace and joy, not the chaos and the stress of being merry.  With the rain coming down, the dogs sleeping on the couch and a little holiday music playlist echoing throughout the house- it really is a wonderful life.

Bristol, Bullying and New Beginnings

"Laurel Canyon"

I’ve been back in California for the last two weeks- home sweet home, one might say.  As I crossed over the Los Angeles County line, I kept chanting, ” Breathe, it’s all good, breathe.”  Having just spent four glorious months in a rejuvenating place that I refer to as paradise, re-entry into mediocrity seemed mildly depressing.  But part of my experience was to come back with a whole carload of rose-colored glasses, intent on looking at L.A., and my life, as I once did or certainly with a fresh, new, excited pair of eyes.  Because in truth, I am an upbeat kind of guy.  But that is not to say that I am unaware of some of the absurdities that still go on around me.  Here are two examples:  one is just silly and the other far more serious.

Why is Bristol Palin a star?  Even the title of ABC’s hit show has broadened its definition of “star” by extending it to “teen activist”- as in her case.  What makes her a teen activist?  Well, having been a knocked up teen whose mother miraculously found herself on the presidential ticket, enter star maker- John McCain, and was forced to spin her own daughter’s circumstances to fit her base constituent’s message.  But does that really make a star out of this teenage mom, even if she truly speaks out on her own volition?  And this is no direct slam against Bristol.  She may be a delightful young woman.  But by definition, and maybe mine is antiquated, she is not a star.  So maybe ABC should change the name of their show to Dancing With Sensationalized People(DWSP).  It just seems more fitting.

Now as I segueway into the topic of bullying, don’t even think about calling me a hippopotamus.  My question about Bristol’s star status is a legitimate one and there is no malicious intent on my part, just genuine confusion.  And I sincerely hope, now that she’s actually on the show, that she is having the time of her life.  But bullying, committing hateful repeated acts that involve a real or perceived imbalance of power- giving power to the abuser or bully- is absolutely horrible.  Torturing another soul because of sexual orientation, race, physical limitations, popularity or lack thereof, or any other kinds of differences or prejudices is inexcusable.  And children need to be taught that.  So for the parents that don’t take a positive active role in raising their children to be decent people- don’t procreate.   And for the teachers, other adults or older kids standing by- witnessing any type of bullying, stand up for those individuals and be a leader.  Make a change in those kids’ experiences because nobody should feel that suicide is the only way out.  And to our political leaders who still use gay rights issues like they do religion and abortion as pure political theater- shame on you for your repeated acts of abuse.   And if you are a man of God, act like one.  I can’t recall a story where Jesus says it’s okay to emotionally or physically beat the crap out of any other person, especially the weak.  In the wake of all these recent tragedies, I’ve heard those once bullied saying, “It gets better.”  And that was certainly true in my case.  I applaud those kids out there today, who support one another and accept one another at an earlier age because I have witnessed that reality too by watching my stepson come out in high school- supported by his two dads, his sister, his peers and his teachers.  He has been fortunate in that respect.  Every kid and/or adult should feel that safe in being confident and proud of who they are.

So I am walking around this city- okay, driving… because nobody walks in L.A.- wearing a big fat pair of rose-colored glasses.  I take the time to see things as they are and I look for the best in every situation.  I see my partner, our dogs, our home, the dreamers, artists and sun seekers that inhabit this sprawling metropolis, the Hollywood Hills and the sunsets that absolutely do rival those in the east- when the smog isn’t concealing them.  I see potential and that’s inspiring.  I see a new beginning.

Blue Curtains…Season Finale

"West End Boys"

 

At the beginning of summer, there was a wall of posters at Mussel Beach gym advertising all the summer events and attractions.  Today, there are about three posters left hanging.  Equally, the stacks and stacks of postcards at nearly every store, restaurant and inn have dwindled to a mismatched smattering of expired shows.  The summer season has officially ended in Provincetown.  And with that, an entire season of Blue Curtains has been filmed.  Not wanting to be a total spoiler, I’ll give what we in the biz call a “teaser”- highlighting the storyline of each main character.  Oh, and HBO did pick it up so it’s totally a show about homos- which is a good thing because otherwise the whole P-town setting would just be silly.  

ROss was initially characterized as the playful spirit of the house and he is definitely that guy.  He’s quick-witted and often the Piper leading us all to the party but his story is far more involved than that.  Like my character, ROss came to P-town to reflect and to get some perspective on his life.  Much to his surprise, perspective came in the form of a new loving relationship with MarceIlo.  Initially he thought that he could dance around all that “Guatemalaness” from a safe distance but with each turn around the A-House dance floor they became an inseparable couple (insert montage of kite-flying, sweet kisses and the right amount of groping deemed appropriate for HBO).  And MareIlo started off shooting flowers, birds and hot guys- living the bohemian lifestyle of an artistic dancing dentist but by the summer’s end, he was the Ricky to ROss’ Lucy.  And they were not the only ones.  Big, beefy and finally donning leather, Perry Giddy was muskrat lovin’ with Sam.  Walks on the beach, dinner dates in Boston and concerts in the Catholic church strongly suggest being smitten.  It will be interesting to see how each relationship unfolds season after season.  Love comes in all forms- enter TOm.  TOm loves a lot and a lot love TOm.  A spotlight episode for TOm is when our two characters grab a drink at Shipwrecked and watch back-to-back highlights of Sex and the City.  As the dvd plays and we hit our second cosmo, the hot guys walk in- including one particularly fine west coast specimen.  As we move from the upright bar to the more laid back sofas, I, you, we all get to witness TOm’s smooth moves.  With eye contact established earlier in the day it is a complete deadlock now- trying to read the interest level of the other party.  There is a smile and burst of laughter- a male hair toss if you will- that takes place and then comes the hand on the knee- the other guy’s knee.  This is what I refer to as both the final confirmation and pissing moment.  If the hand is rejected, then no match.  If the hand stays, then his territory has been marked.  God bless TOm and his remarkable ability to seize the moment.  There is nothing wrong with routine- as long as it’s working.  And it is working- flash forward to the Swim for Life(but that’s another episode).  But the runaway character that blossoms most of all and may be the first to have his own spin-off is RicHy.  In the initial show’s synopsis, there was a hint of where his character might go but the writers really went to town on this one.  Six weeks into the season, our resident den mother trades in her apron for  men’s wear from M.G. Leather and nothing is ever the same.  RicHY bounces from bears to cephalopods with unusual grace and finds that Grindr is for kids.  With facial hair and a whole new attitude, our Scruffy boy makes an indelible impression on us all.  The gang is supported by a terrifc slate of special guest stars including Alyssa Milano as JAY R., Chris O’Donnell as SHAWn and David Hasselhoff as MUtt.  As for my character, he finds his center again and rediscovers genuine happiness.  And he is forever thankful to his new group of friends for helping usher that back into his life. 

The role of RicHy is now being played by….  

Olympia Dukakis passed on the chance to play RicHY, claiming it was too similar to her role as Anna Madrigal.  Glenn Close also turned down the part due to her Damages schedule but was confident that she could give a real masculinity to the character.  So after a passionate appeal to the powers that be, Zac Ephron shaved his head and was given the part of RicHY.  It seems like the right choice since it was overheard in Provincetown that RicHy has the body of a 29-year-old.  Zac hopes to shed his squeaky clean High School Musical image by playing such a complex guy.  Of course this means that I ended up playing myself.  Afterall, I was the star of my own movie and it’s time to solidify my place in Hollywood.  

Top videos of the summer:  

http://www.imdb.com/video/wab/vi3575120921/  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTvJdpkdLiw

Oh P-Town

"Saying Goodbye"

 

The town has thinned out a lot.  Some stores and restaurants have already closed and won’t re-open until next season.  Some of the people who came to spend their summers here- like me- have already headed back home.  There is a quiet sense of loss- loss of summer- that has me feeling it’s time to go.  But let me tell you why I chose  Provincetown as  my summer destination in the first place and what this town has given me these last four months.   

I had a series of events culminate in my life, over a four-year period, that left me feeling emotionally spent.  At the tail end of an exhausting seven-year home remodel(think The Money Pit minus the humor), we were hit with mind-blowing financial problems.  Just as we began to stabilize those issues, the market crashed- sending everybody reeling and us right back into a very precarious situation.  Our kids moved in with us full-time and became 100% our responsibility.  There were academic and emotional needs that required a lot of time and patience and there wasn’t much patience left.  Then, just as Kathryn made her way to San Francisco State University and Cole really seemed to be doing all the right things, my father’s battle with cancer became far more serious than I had expected.  I lost my father six months later, my grandmother(his mother) a year after that and one of my dog’s a month after that.  Too much heartache; too much change.  I was disconnected from my pursuit of acting and not sure where I stood on much of anything anymore.  I desperately needed to renew my spirit and my passion for everything in life.  I needed a healthier perspective on the future.  Instinctively, I knew that P-town would provide the right setting and surroundings to say my goodbyes, release the negativity that filled me and let the light back into my life.  And I was right.   

There is a metaphysical energy about this place that provides healing power and a better understanding of oneself.  Yeah, I’m going there.  I can’t explain it exactly but I am not the only one that feels that way about this place.  It’s in the light, the landscape, the surrounding water and the wind.  You don’t even have to be all that still to feel it but it helps if you are.  My best days were spent walking through town or to the beach or across the breakwater-  just stopping to be present in the magic of the moment.  I took the time to heal.  But I did not just take from this place- I gave back.  I worked all summer long and made real connections with the people who live here.  I became apart of their community and they became a part of my life.  I opened myself up to the complete experience of living here and it recharged my soul.  I intend to come back.  I intend to act at the Provincetown Theater.  I intend to maintain long lasting friendships with the boys at Blue Curtains and all the other great people who I’ve met.  I intend to buy a John Dowd painting one day to hang in my home and a copy of Rick McEachern’s photo book- documenting this amazing summer.  I plan to Swim for Life again and shave ten minutes off my time.  I plan to live my life fully, as I always have, as my father did.  I’m happy again.   

Thank you Russ, Rick and Marcelo.  Thank you Provincetown.

Family Matters

"Fruit From The Same Tree"

 

The other week was “Family Week” here in Provincetown and for the first time since arriving mid-May, I left the Cape to go visit family.  It was strange being back in my car, heading away from this place that I have called home for the last three months, but I was excited to see Tim and to celebrate with the Coopers.  I left early morning, when it was still dark, like one slips out after a shameful but fun-filled one-night stand.  I didn’t want the town to know that I was leaving, out of fear that such a betrayal would mean no re-entry.  So I sped down Route 6A, eyes peeled for cops, and made my way to Logan International.  I navigated the interstate effortlessly, made all the correct exits and dropped my car off in long-term parking.  I was about to take flight, leaving my own personal pilgrimage behind, to re-unite with family.  Was I nuts?!      

My flight was on-time and in no time I was landing in Pellston, MI.  DJ met me at the airport- sporting a similarly handsome summer buzz cut- and had a few errands for us to run before heading back to their place.  The air was clean and cool as we raced down the quiet country roads in his old Chrysler LeBaron convertible.  We stopped to get toilet  paper for the guest cottages and watermelon for dessert.  Then we travelled around to the other side of the lake to pick up green t-shirts with white Old English lettering.  With his spreadsheet in hand, DJ had the weekend mapped out perfectly for the some 40 guests making their way to Topinabee and Mackinaw Island.  The t-shirts read, “Cheryl Patterson Cooper Est. August 5th 1960″- the reason for this family coming together.      

After laying claim to our room at the time-warped 1970′s mouse house*, I threw on my trunks(much like I do everyday in P-town) and headed down to the Patterson’s dock to get my first real glimpse at Mullet Lake and to catch up with Cheryl, Clay, Grace and the whole band of gypsies that they all brought to party.  Duncan, Erik, Rachel and Meghan rounded out Grace’s posse and Clay and Mia played Danny and Sandy all weekend long- ”Summer Lovin’.”  I met Dan and Tiffany and their four kids who were already having a blast boating, tubing and swimming.  The lake was just as I remembered- blue, pristine and surprisingly warm- never feeling crowded and breathtakingly beautiful.  Okay, it didn’t actually take my breath away(that’s a little over-the-top) but it did fill me with a great sense of peace-illustrated by the very content and permanent smile on my face.  And although it seemed as I had just left paradise behind, I was quickly reminded that this too was paradise.  Watching everybody appreciate the moment- laughing and conversing- resonated with me.  And my connection with the Coopers and Mullet Lake is something that I enjoy very much.      

When I made my way back over to The Pine Knot**, Vlad and Randy were outside having a glass of wine with Cheryl.  Everybody was meeting at the cottage for a casual and cozy pizza/pasta supper- with a few still en route.  It might have been wise for Cheryl to hold off a bit on bringing out the trays of chips, dips, salsa and crostinis intended for everybody because three hungry gay travelers- even in a remote rustic happy hour setting- can mow through plates of appetizers and bottles of wine quickly…and we did.  As the sun started to set, family members climbed the hill and car loads of guests began to fill the gravel driveway.  Brothers, sisters, in-laws, parents and neighbors sat,stood, talking, eating and drinking.  After stuffing our stomachs, DJ took off in one direction to go pick up Anne and Jeff and Clay, Mia and I went to get Tim.  As I suspected, Tim shied away from public displays of affection in front of his nephew and his girlfriend- who I am sure were more interested in one another than actually paying attention to us- so I waited patiently for what any partner would expect after nearly three months apart.  I sincerely hope that Jeff and Anne were sound asleep in their bedroom down the hall.      

On the day of the big bash, the four of us were up early and decided to walk the mile down the road to the café for breakfast.  Everything about Topinabee is simple.  I like that.  Being the only eight table place in town meant sitting at the counter for the four of us.  While potatoes boiled in a pot and eggs and bacon sizzled on the grill, we sat there talking about each other’s kids, jobs and the immediate future.  It was nice to spend time chatting with both Jeff and Anne as we don’t see them all that often.  By noon, most everybody was on or traveling to Mackinaw Island for the party at the Pink Pony.  Some made the short flight on DJ’s plane and others ferried it.  Small planes-  more times than not- make me sick, so I opted for the high-speed ferry.  Mackinaw City is at the northern tip of the Lower Peninsula, where the Mackinaw Bridge connects the Lower and Upper Peninsulas.  I learned that during the winter months, when the lake becomes ice, snowmobiles are used to cross over to the island.  Surveyors make holes in the ice to determine the thickness and then Christmas trees fill the holes and mark the path for when the weather is particularly bad.  I’d love to see that sometime.  By 2:30, we checked into our room at the Chippewa Hotel- giving us just enough time for one more reunion type moment before needing to shower and dress for the party.      

In khakis, shorts and jeans, we all showed up wearing our sea green t’s on the back deck of the Pony where the 70′s singer/songwriter guitar stylings of Dan(that’s what I’m calling him because it sounds like that could have been his name) were underway.  Covering Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, the Beatles, and James Taylor set the right happy mellow mood for the day.  Grace’s posse was recovering from their frat like motel party the previous night and ordering birthday Jager shots for Cheryl that she wisely declined.  Not being so wise myself, I accepted an apple pie shot from them that was surprisingly good tasting.  Intermittently, the kids and Tim got up to read the nice things that people had written about Cheryl. And Cheryl’s father made mention that it was actually nine months earlier that she was established.  Then the open mic segment began and some brave souls, including DJ, got up to sing.  One of my favorite moments of the day was in watching how Cheryl looked at DJ during his serenade.  I’m a hopeful romantic who loves witnessing love.  After finishing our ride at the Pony, a few of us walked up to the stately Grand Hotel where we sat and enjoyed a few more cocktails and conversation.      

The Coopers gathered family and friends not only to celebrate Cheryl’s birthday on Mackinaw but to come enjoy a part of the world that they love very much.  We water skied or in some cases, tried.  We tubed, slamming heads and other body parts together.  We killed the motor and jumped in the lake.  Fifteen of us sat around the fire sharing our thoughts with one another and becoming a little closer.  Each moment significant.  And so when it comes to family, we will put up with such family matters as manipulative and deceitful exes, irrational parents, judgmental siblings, even psychotic spouses because in the end- family matters.      

Perhaps it was the guilt that I felt for having such a great time that caused me to get a little lost on my way back to the Cape.  That or I simply forgot to write down the return directions.  Regardless, I did get a little lost and I was feeling stressed because I had committed to covering somebody’s shift that night at the restaurant.  As I calculated the miles remaining and the flow of traffic, I looked down and realized that I was running on fumes.  Considering myself smarter than the car, I pushed it to nearly zero- bordering on being seriously fucked.  Then as I pulled into a gas station in Truro, I discovered that they only took cash.  Really?  2010 and they only take CASH!  So, I handed over the four dollars that I had in my pocket- accepted the attendant’s raised eyebrow reaction- and got the fuel that I needed to make the last ten miles to my place, do a Superman change of costume and pedal my ass to Edwige.      

*  There were two rented cottages for guests.  One had bats and the other had mice.  We were in the mouse house.  And in both places- each form of varmint made an appearance.      

** The name on the Cooper’s cottage.

Fantasy Woman

"Classy Varla"

 

I’ve always been fascinated by the art of drag- long before I even knew what drag was.  As a latchkey kid, I often had a couple of hours of solitude between getting home from school and hearing my mother’s car pull into the garage.  Having already admitted to being a television junkie as a child, I’ll now tell you how pretty I looked watching it.  My mother’s closet was my toy box.  And in that box, I had a few favorite treasures.  Some days I’d come home and slip into my mother’s white flapper dress adorned with rhinestones.  You may be thinking, “What the hell were you doing putting on women’s clothes?”  My question is, “Why the hell did my mother have a rather couture looking flapper’s dress?”  The only conflict that I had in exercising this form of expression was in finding the right shoe for the outfit.  Although my mother thankfully has big feet- sorry mom- mine had surpassed hers at an early age.  But where there’s a will, there’s a way- right?  So, I’d set my foot on the frame of her slingbacks and fasten the ankle strap.  Then I’d take(and this is pure genius if you ask me) a shoe lace and fasten my toes to the point of the shoes that I couldn’t quite stuff myself into(creating a sort of open toed sandal) .  Not long after that, I was a pro at walking on shag carpet in heels.  I wasn’t interested in make-up or anything like that but I did like the feel of the clothes.  There were a couple of multi-colored halter top dresses(it was the ’70s after all) and jumpsuits that I could squeeze into as well.  And although I loved both her prom and wedding dresses, I thought that might be a little sacrilege- so I stayed more flirty and less formal.  I’d then just sit there on the couch watching an episode of Bionic Woman and eating out of the half-gallon Neapolitan ice cream carton, until either the show ended or I heard the unexpected early opening of the electric garage door.  On those days, skill in high heels was necessary.  Not only did I have to return the ice cream to the freezer, I had to book down the hallway, strip out of and hang up her clothes and then haul ass back to the front room or to my bedroom.  It wasn’t until years later, when I saw our own son race to put on his sister’s Belle costume after school or the red ruby slippers that he loved- that I admitted it was perfectly normal.  So when I see successful drag queens miles ahead of where I stopped, I pause to think, “What if?”  But it wasn’t my calling, and like Cole- I grew out of my cross dressing phase.  Many years later, I did really good drag(one night only) and I felt pretty all over again.  Today, I leave the art of it to the professionals and this summer I spent an evening with one of my favorites-  Ms. Varla Jean Merman.   

It was here in Provincetown, either back in the summer of ’01 or ’02, that I first discovered Varla Jean.  I believe that the show was called I’m Not Paying For This.  What I remember most was her vivid presence out on sun filled Commerical Street- promoting her show.  With her Ann Margaret red fall and classic demure southern-styled fashions, she was a pleasing and notable sight there on the street.  Her 6′+ frame may have also had something to do with it.  A few years later, back in Los Angeles, I caught her next show Girl With A Pearl Necklace; An Act Of Love.  And where I am certain that both shows were very good, it was her overall persona that drew me in and kept me captivated.  Varla and her alter ego, Jeffery Roberson, attended the School of Music at Louisiana State University and that training comes through in her act.  Self proclaimed the daughter of Ernest Borgnine and Ethel Merman, Varla is both theatrical and operatic onstage.  She sings covers- sometimes creating terrific mash-ups- but it’s always Varla performing and Varla’s interpretation.  I love a good impersonator but I truly appreciate a completely original  character.  So last Tuesday night, after those in my house had gone back to Boston for the week and the streets quieted a bit, I rode over to The Art House theater to see this summer’s show called The Loose Chanteuse.    

Standing outside the theater, finishing my chocolate gelato cone- still eating and loving ice cream to this day, Varla rode up on her bike and paused to take a few photos with fans.  At that  moment, I remembered that I had forgotten my camera.  Rule of thumb in P-town, never leave home without your camera.  I watched the interaction and wondered- does she ever tire of this?  Let’s hope not because I still need a photo for this post.  While I stood there watching her, three handsome guys who had been at Edwige the night before came over to say hello.  They were also going to see Varla’s show( Varla virgins).  I enjoy meeting and talking to new people- friendly people…cute guys.  Turns out that two of the guys were from San Francisco, where I had lived for nearly ten years, and the other was from Philadelphia, I think.  Two were a couple- hot Vinnie and direct Peter.  Peter had designs to set me up with Philadelphia man.  We talked about San Francisco, Provincetown, my partner and our kids- to help diffuse the intensity of his objective, their trip and my stay.  Per their invitation, I ended up sitting with them through the show and relished in the laughter that we all shared.   

The Art House is a great venue for Varla.  It’s intimate and well, artsy.  The small narrow theater seats about 120-150 people and the tiny stage, flanked by theater drapes, was simply dressed with a striped changing screen, a microphone and a big pink piano.  Her show began with a series of over-the-top video taped commercials crediting her sponsors, Manhunt(brilliant), Fleet Naturals(priceless) and Roots Home and Garden(where you’ll soon be able to shop online) followed by her music video, a cover of  Tracy Chapman’s ”Fast Car.”  In the video, Varla flexes her acting muscle by portraying a lesbian turned on by the promise of a fast ride- any Toyota model.  By the end of the video, the faulty accelerator of the Toyota “fast ride” sends the two love birds over a cliff like Thelma and Louise.  Then the lights dimmed, hunky Tom Judson sat at the piano and began to play and the broad broad rose out of the piano in a gorgeous green getup.  Like most drag acts, Varla straddles the fence of glamorous femininity and trashy vulgarity.  It’s her quick wit and well-rehearsed banter that keeps the show engaging even during multiple onstage costume changes.  And each outfit was a dazzling masterpiece.  For just over an hour, I sat there gleeful at the spectacle before me.  Of the three that I have seen, this was her best show yet.   

I don’t know Jeffery, although I have seen him at Mussel Beach working out.  He’s as attractive a man as he is a woman and I’d certainly welcome the opportunity to get to know the other side of Varla.  I’m curious about how both personalities exist in one physical body and how they compliment each other’s lives.  Not in a Sybil kind of way but the feminine and masculine, the performer and the “straight man.” When everybody left the theater that night, they had big smiles on their faces.  After saying goodbye to my party of three, I once again rode home- under a beautiful starlit night- feeling really happy about my choice to spend the summer here.   

Below are a few of my favorite Varla clips.  The Lady Gaga, Beyonce, Magic Flute mash-up was from this summer’s show and the fantastic duet is from a previous year’s Classical Varla.   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1PM3TWC1s4   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0w1venpMqo   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EeD3-d-p-A   

Post Script:   

To get this post’s photo, I ended up attending another one of Varla’s performances- Classical Varla.  And it would be remiss of me not to share some of the details with you about this very beautiful evening. 

I didn’t know what to expect from this event.  It was a cool- almost fall like- evening and as I roamed the crowded street, waiting for the doors to open, I ran into Dan Gates and Eric Martin.  They were also attending the show, so we all grabbed a seat on the benches outside of Town Hall and talked a bit about life in P-town this summer and the upcoming festivities this Thursday in honor of the Pilgrim Monument’s 100th year anniversary. With Dan a new home owner, Eric a longtime resident of the Cape and me, a seasonal visitor, we shared our opinions about the town and the state of the world- all in 25 minutes.   Having only met Dan earlier this summer at one of the performances of Our Town, it’s remarkable what a familiar rapport we’ve developed with one another.  And it was nice to meet Eric, who along with my friend RJ is part of the committee orchestrating  Thursday’s celebration.  As we walked back to the Unitarian Universalist Meeting House, the big ol’ white church building that looks like a New Orléans southern property, a line had formed and the doors were now open.  Once inside, the three of us were separated as I held an inferior ticket.  Look, I’m on a budget and this was after all my second Varla show.  The interior of the building was all cream and gold-colored walls and ceiling, with painted and natural finished pews topped with dark red cushions.  It felt part church, part ornate town hall and part opera house.  And for this evening, it was more opera house. 

In its fifth year, Classical Varla is a charity event benefitting the AIDS Support Group of Cape Cod.  It’s my understanding that given severe budget cuts, this event generates just enough proceeds to keep the support group funded for another year.  And seeing this community pull together to save such a program is exactly what I love about Provincetown.  As I watched the room fill up, I recognized a lot of  faces from town: the owner of Perry’s, some of the staff from Relish, the manager of Cap’t Jacks and others from the street or the gym.  There was a casual but respectful vibe of anticipation in the room.  When the globes of the chandelier finally dimmed, John Thomas was the first to walk down the aisle to take his seat at the piano.  Then Varla, with diva stacked hair and an equally worthy pink gown made her way to the front of the room.  And just as I thought The Art House was an ideal venue for Varla, this too suited her well.  She opened the show with “Music for A While” from Oedipus and it was really quite something to see the true beauty in her performance.  Her humor came through periodically, especially when the Former Soprano(her words) had a particularly challenging note but those were few and handled with incredible finesse.  Varla was additionally joined by Mark Cortale, Nell Snaidas and Seth Rudetsky.  I was completely moved by the performances and the appreciation extended by each audience member.  If not by music, the room was constantly filled with the sound of applause.  We sat there listening to Verdi, Bernstein, Strauss, Puccini, Weber, Gershwin and Mozart and it sparked the memories of the very first live performances that I had ever seen of some of that material and the wanting to be apart of that magic that  inspired me to become an actor.  In short, it fed my creative soul.  I was lulled into a peaceful and nostalgic state by the classical buffet being served. Like with so many things in life, it was the unexpected that made the evening  memorable.  I guess it was a good thing that I forgot my camera the previous week, otherwise I may have never captured this moment. 

Happy To Serve You

"Tea-tinis and Bloody Marys"

 

Aside from Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, the two days a week where I am off everybody’s schedule but my own, I love my Thursday and Friday mornings at The red Inn.  It feels like the start of my week and its a good way to roll into the weekend.  My days start at 9:00 a.m., which is outstanding because I am an early riser- not that getting up and going by 9:00 is all that early, and they end at around 3:30 in the afternoon.  They are not the most lucrative shifts but they do make up the difference that I need to sustain myself while I’m here and it will help aid in my journey home come mid-September.  It offers an entirely different perspective from my nighttime bartending gig at Edwige and I appreciate the contrast.  Also, where Edwige is totally old school(i.e. bottles of pop, soda and tonic water and no sink system right at hand)*, The red Inn is more modern in that I’ve got a three sink washing station, an all-powerful gun from which I can shoot sodas, tea and juice and well, an actual bar…with stools.  But its really the overall setting and the people who I work with that make it so enjoyable.       

When I used to come here with Tim, for week-long vacations, we’d dine at The red Inn.  The setting is absolutely charming and the food, especially the seafood, is so fresh and delicious.  I like that word: delicious.  So, I contacted David Silva, one of the three owners, back in January to see if he had any bartending positions available for the summer.  David was very kind and suggested that I get back in touch in April- closer to the beginning of the season- which I did.  There was talk about building out a new raw and cocktail bar during the off-season but it did not come to pass.  Phillip, one of the other owners, lost his mother during the winter months and I understand that she was a big presence at The Inn.  Like my father a year earlier, cancer came on quickly and decidedly.  Having not known Phillip’s mother, I was still very sorry to hear the news.   So like the plans left on the architect’s drafting table, so was my job.  Still, I decided to go introduce myself to David, upon my arrival,  just in case anything had changed.  And to my good fortune, it had.       

Away from the noise of the town’s center, The red Inn is located far down on the west end- right on the beach.  The first visitors to the site of The red Inn were the Mayflower Pilgrims, back on November 11, 1620.  Later, Captain Freeman Atkins(not the Mayflower’s captain) built the property for his wife Emily Gross in 1805.  Then  in 1915, owner Mary Wilkinson opened her home as The red Inn.  And just about 100 years ago, President and Mrs. Roosevelt stayed at The Inn while here in Provincetown to lay the cornerstone for the Pilgrim Monument.  There is a lot of history to this property and you feel it each time that you pass through the doors of The Inn.       

Set back from the road, just behind the beautiful and colorful garden, is the red and white building perched at the water’s edge.  To the left of the property are a series of white Adirondack chairs facing the bay, where morning coffee or late afternoon cocktails can be enjoyed.  Inside, the creamy yellow walls with white trim and heavily varnished, natural, wide planked wood floors create a warm and inviting atmosphere.  The beautiful paintings and twisted brick fireplace offer more elegance and charm.  But it is ultimately the spectacular views of the bay and of long point(the very tip of Cape Cod) that sweep you away.        

When I arrive in the morning, I grab the keys to the cage in the bar and make my way to the dining room.   From my bar, as is the case from most any table in the dining room, a wall of opened windows and french doors are the only things separating me from the outside.  The entire bay is my daily view and like looking through the windshield of my 1973 VW Super Beetle parked at the Carlsbad State Beach when I was a teenager, it somehow renews my energy to see that “waterscape.”  Whether watching people walk out at low tide or seeing the young kids from the West End Racing Club, sailing by and/or getting tangled up near anchored boats, it’s ever-changing and constant scenery that never gets old.       

Sean, is the third partner of this well run establishment.  He seems to possess the most happy-go-lucky disposition and it’s magnified by the presence of Oliver, his black lab.  Typically, I see Oliver before I see Sean.  Should Sean make his way through the front of the house, Oliver comes racing around the corner of the back porch- positioned and ready for his frisbee to be tossed into the bay. Whether Phillip is scrutinizing the landscaping or adjusting things on the interior, I’d say he’s more about overall presentation and David clearly denotes efficiency.  The three of them seem to make a pretty good team and all of them are very likable guys and easy to work for and with.  They have great confidence in their staff and none of them micromanage- which I like.      

The entire kitchen and wait staff are incredibly friendly to one another- which isn’t always the case between front and back of house.  It’s nice to work in an environment where everybody is generally happy to be there and where they are all equally kind to one another.  In fact, there is a wall hanging visible to both guests and employees that reads, “Be Nice or Leave.”  Michelle, one of the housecleaning ladies, slowed her little red Toyota Corolla as she saw me walking to work one morning and offered me a ride.  It was such a sweet gesture that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I really liked my daily walks- or that I only lived about 500 yards from The Inn.  So I hopped in for the short distance left to travel and listened along to her gospel reggae.  Listening to her and Amoi trade stories about their other jobs, while they clean the dining room, cracks me up.  Mainly because I can’t decide what language they’re speaking.   Just when I get one word, clear as day, three other sentences get blurted out and I’m lost.   You can always count on Al, the morning chef, to accommodate your needs.  He is a big Jamaican teddy bear of a man who always appears in good spirits.  John waits tables on Thursday and Lisa, who strangely enough was born in the same California hospital that I was, is my Friday sidekick.  Seasoned P-towners, they know how things flow over the course of the sometimes intense ten-week period.  And from my observation, they handle it all very smoothly.  I enjoy working with each of them because of their competence, their kindness and their humor.     

Maybe it’s because it was for so long or it’s due to the multi-cultural family that runs the place but it feels like a home.  And having talked to many guests at my bar, I suspect that they sense that as well.  So if you are in town this summer, please stop by for brunch, lunch or cocktails and I would be happy to serve you.     

* After thirteen seasons of amazing food but sometimes unbearable heat, Edwige is now…ready for it…AIR CONDITIONED!   

- For photos and more information about The red Inn, go to www.theredinn.com

Casting “Blue Curtains”

"Blue Curtains"

 

If you grew up watching as much television as I did, you’d understand why I view life as an epic movie- or at the very least, a terrific Spelling* primetime serial.  This summer is no exception and with the cast of characters that I’ve met living at 65 Commercial Street, there is a show in the making.  Within this house, there are five separate apartments and each dwelling has its own unique personality(or personalities, depending on the number of occupants).  Bring each of them together weekly, add a little Planters Punch**, and you’ve got a bona-fide hit on your hands.  But like any great show, either an original concept or some adaptation, casting is crucial.  Thankfully, my Hollywood history gives me the credentials to cast this pilot***.      

First step in casting is to define the show.  What is the concept or the feel of the story that is being told- what’s it like?  In this case, it’s a cross between Melrose Place, the orignal ’90′s television series, and Maupin’s Tales of the City.  So with that in mind, let’s tentatively cast the characters against those two backdrops.  If the story were told through the eyes of one character, my character, then I’d probably be Mary Ann Singleton.  Like Mary Ann, I am the fresh(well, at least not spoiled), young(young enough), doe-eyed(okay, hazel…you have to allow for the suspension of disbelief with any good story)  character that enters the tenants lives at 28 Barbary Lane.  Then again, if it were Melrose Place, I’d be Amanda Woodward.  There really isn’t any specific reason for this casting other than it being the starring role and since I am writing, producing and casting this show- call it a form of nepotism and let it go, the role is mine.  Now, let’s dig into the ensemble casting.  I will change the names of the actual individuals that the show is inspired by to protect their already thin reputations.  ROss is a complex personality.  It would be easy enough to just call him the house’s cheap drunk,  whore or comedic relief but it’s only when you roll all those precious qualities into one handsome rugby built guy with piercing blue eyes that you get a fully realized, three-dimensional character.  So if we were talking Melrose Place, I’d say that he would be an Allison/Billy hybrid.  At Barbary Lane, that would make him Mona.  Then there’s RicHy.  RicHy is the caretaker of the group with an edgy side.  He’s artistic and gourmet and slightly raunchy.  He’ll slave all night long to prepare a delicious and nutritious supper for the group then put on his leather vest and meet a slave at The Vault.  So for all his eccentric and wonderful attributes, I’ll cast him in the spirit of Anna Madrigal, from Tales, and make him Jo, the photographer, on Melrose Place.  The resident stud of the building would go to TOm.  Like Jake, shirtless and working on his motorcycle out in front of Melrose Place or Brian sunbathing at Barbary Lane, TOm sits shirtless on our steps working on his tan and his Grindr app.  TOm’s roommate, EriCH, mid-week replacement- being young and audibly wild, would be cast as Sydney on Melrose Place or as Connie(Parker Posey’s brilliant cameo role) in Tales of the City.  I’ll give Michael Mancini’s role, the adulterous young doctor at the Los Angeles apartment complex, to HOliver, our resident ER nurse- even though nobody on either show had an Australian accent.  If cast as Michael, I must additionally give him the coveted role of Dr. Jon Fielding from Tales.   Having not really met the rooftop guys yet, we’ll make them gaffers at this point.  Somebody has to light the show after all.  Good lighting is very important.  Now there are a couple of regular guest stars to cast as well.  MarceIlo(pronounced, Mar- chello) has more less become a recurring character on the show but he’s still only given guest star billing for whatever reason.  With his childlike enthusiasm and overall “Guatemalaness,” we’ll make him Mouse from Tales and I don’t know, didn’t Antonio Sabato Jr. show up on Melrose Place?  Lastly, we have Perry GiDDy who has a kind of Jekyll and Hyde personality which can go from quiet and shy to outrageously extroverted.  We’ll cast him as the serious but psychotic Kimberly from Melrose Place and perhaps DeDe Halcyon(debutante to lesbian) in Tales.      

The overall premise of the show is this:  a handful of guys(possibly homosexuals, if HBO or Showtime- keep your fingers crossed- picks it up) share a rental building looking for love, inspiration and themselves during a summer in Provincetown.  The title of the show is Blue Curtains.  It’s a curious title because there are no curtains at all at Blue Curtains and the outside shutters are actually green.  Even more curious, the phrase is a reference to a vaginal abnormality which I suppose in some tongue-in-cheek nod makes sense.  But when you say it with a certain affectation, the same way that Little Edie and Big Edie spoke of Grey Gardens**** out in East Hampton, New York, it makes for a very alluring title.      

The following offers have gone out:      

Jake Brady(aka Mary Ann and Amanda)- Himself or Zac Ephron      

ROss(aka Allison/Billy and Mona)- Ewan McGregor      

RicHy(aka Mrs. Madrigal and Jo)- Olympia Dukakis      

TOm(aka Jake or Brian)- Patrick Dempsey      

EriCH(aka Sydney and Connie)- Joseph Gordon Levitt      

HOliver(aka Michael and Jon)- Jake Sully      

MarceIlo(aka Mouse and any latin stud ever appearing on any show)- Wilmer Valderrama as “Fez” from That ’70s Show.      

Perry GiDDY(aka Kimberly and DeDe)- Eric Dane      

* Aaron Spelling.  He produced such hits as Charlie’s Angels, Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Matt Houston, Vegas, 90210 and Charmed, along with many made for television movies.      

** Planters Punch is a delicious and highly charged rum cocktail often drunk at Tea time here in Provincetown.      

*** A pilot is the first episode of a new television show.      

**** Grey Gardens refers to both the house and the story of Little Edie and Big Edie(Edith Ewing Bouvier Beale).  The 1970′s documentary is fantastic(see both discs).