The News from Provincetown

I've been here since Saturday -- Chris arrived Sunday afternoon, having attended his father's memorial service in Maine -- and it wasn't until sometime around yesterday afternoon that I began to feel as though I were really on vacation. Away. Time off is one thing, extended time off is yet another... but time off in a peaceful location by the sea, hundreds of miles from home is something entirely different.

Yet I must continue to remind myself that I don't have to do anything, I don't have to be anywhere or report to anyone about some terribly urgent matter that cannot wait lest it negatively impact the future of someone I've never met...forever. This morning I had a donut first, then breakfast -- scrambled eggs, toast and linguica, Portuguese sausage made in New Bedford and not generally available anywhere but this part of New England. A pot of good coffee. And when I've finished this post, maybe, an iced cinnamon roll.

Provincetown hardly changes, year to year. Stores open and close, of course, while others have been in business for decades. Restaurants come and go, depending on the trends, while others are mainstays that serve consistently good food no matter the season. In season, Commercial Street is packed with day-trippers and vacationers, window-shopping and having their pictures taken with the seven foot drag queens handing out cards for their shows. (Observation: there are always a number of posters around town advertising appearances by lesbian comedians -- comediennes? -- who seem content to go onstage as themselves to do their thing; while I don't think I've ever, in all the years I've been coming here, seen a poster for a male entertainer who wasn't wearing a dress and a wig the color of Kool Aid. I'm just saying...)

Off-season, the streets are quieter and the sales have started -"50% Off Entire Store!"- meaning that, at least in the case some of the men's shops, there's a lot of inventory that's now only rather expensive, as opposed to "are you fucking kidding me with these prices?!" expensive.

The beach, of course, does change, the shoreline constantly eroding and being built back up. The marsh one traverses to get out to the far reaches of Herring Cove is never the same year to year, yet always seems the same: the tidal pools, the grasses and scrub pine and beach plums. The smell of the sea. The tidal pools full of minnows and the crabs with the black shells, decorated with gold calligraphic patterns, burrowing in the sand at your toes.

I've been coming to Cape Cod since I was a kid. My mother was born and raised here. I've certainly been to other seaside resorts, other beaches in other parts of the world. But there is nowhere like Provincetown, tucked into a crook at the far end of the Cape, surrounded by water, its air and light unlike those of anywhere else I've ever been. It isn't home, it may never be, but it always feels like it.

Strange Days

I don't know why, but it seems the last few weeks have been...strange. Have you ever gone through a brief period -- a few days, a week or two -- where the air seemed different, the "vibe" seemed off, somehow; and you were never quite sure what the next step should be?

I suppose it's partly the weather: it's been tempestuous, for sure, although where we've been spared much of Nature's real wrath, so far. The storms and tornadoes seem to have done their damage all around us, while sparing our neck of the woods. And of course, it all started with that earthquake, which was disconcerting (as earthquakes generally are, no matter where); the moreso because it happened in Virginia, and we felt it in Philadelphia! Strange.

I've been settling into my job a little more each day and developing a real relationship with my boss. In addition to filling in in another department, juggling two jobs, essentially, and cementing my reputation as someone indispensable to all and sundry. I was told over and over, by several people, that it would be a good year or more before I began to feel comfortable and they were right. In October I should be up for a review and I hope the good outweighs the bad; that the things I did that worked will overshadow the missteps. Still, I can't help feeling from time to time that I really don't know quite what I'm doing. (So I'm reading a book, "Get Out of Your Mind and Into Your Life" which is, in its way, teaching me that what I think about a given situation, what I project about tomorrow and what I feel about myself are just thoughts... not facts.)

And on top of it all, I'm involved in two productions for the Philadelphia Fringe Theater Festival: with my improv group, Tongue & Groove and the Hear Again Radio Project, which performs old time radio scripts live, complete with live music and Foley sound effects.

And then Bell's Palsy!

About ten days ago I began to feel feverish and had a scratchy throat... but only on the right side. I thought I was coming down with one of my sinus infections and so had my doctor phone in a prescription for a Z-pack and started the antibiotic. Then last Saturday I was on my way home from a performance, driving, and trying to whistle. But I couldn't. My lower lip, the right side, wouldn't cooperate. It felt numb, as though I'd had novocaine. And when I tried to squeeze my eyes shut tight, only the left one really shut! The right one closed, but... wouldn't cooperate.

By Sunday morning people were telling me to get to the ER, so Chris accompanied me to Cooper Medical Center in Camden where, after a lot of intake and interviewing and paperwork, I was variously diagnosed with Bell's Palsy -- which is caused by a virus and can make one side of your face droooop hideously; a trigeminal neuralgia, which is very like Bell's Palsy but with the addition of sharp, shooting pain; or Lyme disease, although that's a remote possibility.

I'm on Prednisone, now, a steroid; and Valtrex for the viral part of it (the same virus that causes herpes), but the palsy goes on. It is the weirdest feeling in the world to look at yourself in the mirror, grinning widely, and seeing your face NOT doing what you think it should be doing. The right side of my mouth just sits there, droopy. My right eye is a little lazy too, but not terribly. At least I'm not frightening small children in the street. No Phantom of the Opera mask needed. Thus far.

But strange... this is one of the strangest things I've been through yet. It upends your whole life -- you're not really sick enough to stay in bed, but something is... off. Like the slanted floors in an old amusement park funhouse. You're moving forward, but slowly, off-kilter, slightly in the wrong direction.

Strange.

Another Terrific Movie...You've Probably Never Seen

Northridge quake aftermath

Well, the earthquake wasn't enough so Irene had to barrel through! We made it through pretty much unscathed: power stayed on, no leaks, no downed trees. I think we lost cable service for five minutes and I was just furious! Situations like this give one perspective, eh? Anyway, having lived through the Northridge earthquake in L.A. (left: now that was an earthquake!) ...

...and a horrendous mudslide that destroyed the house we were living in at the time, this was the proverbial piece of cake.

We also took the opportunity to watch some movies and I was reminded of another of those terrific little movies that a lot of people may never have seen, "Going in Style", starring Art Carney, George Burns and method acting guru Lee Strasberg. It's about three men, widowers, living together in Astoria, Queens: Joe (Burns), Al (Carney) and Willie (Strasberg) are tired and bored and living on Social Security, which barely gets them by. Then one day one of them comes up with the idea of robbing a bank, just to put a little zing into their lives. And if they get away with it, so much the better.

Get away with it they do, but this isn't just a caper movie about three cuddly old codgers. While it's often very funny, it's also very sweet and poignant. It goes without saying that Art Carney gives a wonderful performance, and Lee Strasberg is good-- a little muted but very good. But George Burns gives the performance of his lifetime here. He was best know for those "Oh, God!" movies, but he really hit his stride with "The Sunshine Boys" and "Going in Style". Director Martin Brest takes the viewer on a real journey with three very real, human characters living real lives.

You'll likely cheer at several points and get a little misty and smile and applaud... infinitely worth it!

PR Shame: Associated Press and the Dictator

Consider this from the Huffington Post, by Thor Halvorssen and Pedro Pizano of the Human Rights Foundation:

"Fidel Castro just celebrated his 85th Birthday. One would think that after 52 years of running a police state in Cuba, the media would accept that Castro is a brutal oppressor and tyrant. Comparable, no doubt, to any of the totalitarian despots still alive today. For example, Bashar al-Assad in Syria (41 years of dynastic tyranny) or Teodoro Mbasogo Obiang in Equatorial Guinea (31 years of bloody oppression). Yet, surprisingly, when it comes to North Korea and Cuba, one of the most trusted wire services in the world, the Associated Press (AP), cares more about business than about journalistic ethics and the truth.


"Now consider this recent press release from the Associated Press commemorating Fidel Castro's birthday:

"Castro is proclaimed by the AP as an "iconic" leader and a "source of inspiration for many people throughout the world." Ché Guevara is lauded as a "revolutionary hero" in the picture captions. Castro is no more "iconic" than Hitler, Mussolini, Mao, or Pinochet in historical context. However, it is highly unlikely that the AP would try to sell pictures and collections of Hitler as an "enigmatic" historical figure who is "still a source of inspiration." Castro and Ché may, indeed, be a source of inspiration for ignoramuses, washed-up ideologues, tendentious institutions, or people who still believe that he accomplished some "good things," (much as Hitler "created jobs" or Mussolini "made the trains run on time" or Pinochet "saved Chile from communism") but it is shocking that the AP would sink this low to make a buck."


You can read the whole article here. It's unbelievable to me that so-called "journalists" can be so ignorant of historical fact... willfully or otherwise.

Working Too Hard on Broadway

Last week I received an e-mail message from Playbill.com with a special offer for discounted tickets to see Daniel Radcliffe in "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying". I scrolled down and clicked on the link for the preview video, and was treated to a montage of choreographed scenes from the show to the tune of "Brotherhood of Man", one of the "big numbers" from the show. Intrigued I found the whole number on YouTube as presented at the Tony Awards.

It's very athletic, gymnastic, aerobic, intricate and involved... there's so much going on every moment that you can become short of breath just watching it. I have no idea what incredible shape those dancer/singers must be in to do that night after night. And after the first couple of viewings I told myself that this was a must-see; I mean if one number was that amazing...

But there was a nagging little voice in the back of my mind that was telling me that, as impressive as the number was, it wasn't quite... right, somehow.

But I posted on Facebook and linked to the video extolling the surprising performance of Daniel Radcliffe who really can sing and dance. Shortly thereafter a friend posted a comment, wondering if musical numbers have become more aerobic. He included a link from the film version (1967) featuring Robert Morse (whose casting as a shrewd and canny business man in the series "Mad Men" is a stroke of genius). The difference between the two numbers was striking.

In the film Morse's character, J. Pierpont Finch, is trying to convince the head of a large corporation not to fire his top staff. It begins slowly and builds and builds and has the added benefit of Morse's dimpled, gap-toothed appeal. I then checked out the same number from the Matthew Broderick B'way revival and noticed that, there too, the number starts out a bit slower. The chorus doesn't immediately start jumping and whirling and doing all the odd steps and moves it does in the current revival (push-ups, knee-walking, really?). The choreography is simpler and focuses on the characters! There's no conflict in the Radcliffe version. The number starts out way up at number 10 and has nowhere to go except out of control. It's like a very impressive, six-foot tall wedding cake that looks fabulous but tastes like...nothing much.

Onstage there must always be conflict. There must be something at stake, even in a classic piece of musical comedy fluff. If every character in a show agreed with each other right away, there would be no "Hamlet", no "Importance of Being Earnest", no "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?", no "Oklahoma!" or "Sweeney Todd". The show would be over before it began.

And a show like "How to Succeed..." has stood the test of time. The story and music are still appealing to audiences 40 years after its debut. It doesn't need what I'd call "all that foolishness".

Check out the current version here -- then take a look at the 1995 revival. See if you don' get what I mean. (The movie version is also available on YouTube, probably closer to the original staging.

I just thought it was kind of interesting. More isn't necessarily always better.

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

  A recent article I received via email gave me something to think about, and I thought I'd share. It's from a website which used to be called spiritualwealth.com but which I think has changed names... 
   Summed up here, though, it basically talked about the rationalizations we live by (from the title of a recent book about same) and how we use them to justify ourselves to the rest of the world. The authors of the book suggest that an excuse is a lie we tell to others; a rationalization is a lie we tell ourselves. To wit:

• Everybody does it.
• I'll save even more if I buy nine of these.
• After a crummy day like this I deserve these shoes.
• You only live once.
• He'll only spend it on liquor.
• Einstein had a messy office.
• If God didn't want us to eat baby sheep, He wouldn't have given us mint jelly.

   (There are many more. Unfortunately you have to join a website (a pay site) to read whole articles, but I think you can get regular email messages if you contact customerservice@spiritualwealthinfo.com.)
   Basically, it's what psychologists call "self-justification bias", which refers to the decisions or beliefs we arrive at for emotional reasons and which we support or defend by cherry picking data that supports what we're saying.
   "As Socrates declared, 'the shortest and surest way to live with honor in the world is to be in reality what you would appear to be.'"
   I do it all the time. But, like those new shoes (or whatever I've used to try and make myself feel better) the comfort of the justification only lasts so long. 


Darn that Socrates!

"Ridiculous!" Across Party Lines

I knew I wasn't alone: everybody's had it with these nitwits in Washington and the games they're playing. The majority of them really are behaving like children -- blaming, pointing fingers and having little jumping-up-and-down tantrums. The few who seem to have concrete ideas of any kind are, of course, portrayed as terrorists and extremists and blah, blah, blah...

According to the Washington Post, referring to a WashPost/Pew Research Center poll, "Asked for single-word charactertizations of the budget negotiations, the top words in the poll -- conducted in the days before an apparent deal was struck -- were 'ridiculous', 'disgusting' and 'stupid'. Overall, nearly three-quarters of Americans offered a negative word; just 2 percent had anything nice to say."

Two percent! Which alternate-universe version of planet Earth are they living on? These are the people who think Washington can solve all our problems. Somehow. Someday. *sigh*

You can read the full article here.

I also saw somewhere else today that, in another poll, a lot of Americans seem to think the best days of the country are over, that we're slowly sliding toward oblivion or, worse, Europe.

I have nothing to add...