I got to see Man Man last night and it was a hundred times better than I expected. And, I got to see them in the perfect venue from the perfect vantage point. They performed in a small, stripped-down club that caters to the indie crowd. We were lucky enough to snag a couple of the folding chairs lining the wall. I realized I wouldn’t be able to see a thing if I tried to stand anywhere on the floor, but, I could stand on the chair and not be in anybody’s way. I’m never that lucky.
I must admit I stressed quite a bit over even going. I knew I would be out of my element agewise and was afraid of being perceived as one of those pitiful old bags desperate to hold onto relevance -- trying to be cool. When we arrived, a guy walked up asking for the admission and to see our ID’s, if we were going to drink. My husband had his but I failed to bring mine. The guy says, “I really need to see everybody’s ID.” I said, “Dude, it’s not that dark in here.” He responded with, “Okay, you’re obviously … uh … I mean … over 21.” I said, “Nice save.” We went outside, carrying our drinks with us. One of the managers came out and told us this wasn’t Louisiana and we couldn’t take our drinks outside. So, basically, I got in trouble twice within the first 30 minutes. Then I got over myself. Sure, we were the oldest people there but the many people we talked to seemed genuinely pleased to see somebody, outside of their cohort, that got Man Man.
I didn’t, however, get the opening act. It’s not so much that every song sounded the same. Or that the musical range of the group seemed to consist of three chords. But that the lead vocalist was a whiny bitch about the sound. They fixed the sound. It didn’t help. They seemed to have a devoted core of a half dozen fans that for me, served their purpose. When they cleared out I snagged my primo location from which to view Man Man.
Now, standing on a folding chair is not conducive to much movement. I contented myself to perfecting my head pump (Note to self - next time don’t use hairspray. Kinda ruins the effect.), banging my shoulder blades rhythmically against the wall, and watching the group in front of the stage as they gleefully undulated forward and back -- my son among them.
My perception of the show? Primal rhythms created with an assortment of musical instruments and unexpected objects and vocals that pushed the limits of physicality. All presented in a manner that would put Ringling Bros. to shame. These guys were there to put on a show, to entertain. There was no ego. There was fun. They looked like they were having the time of their lives. And, why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t we all.
“I know you need to find
What you thought
you left behind
in a past life.”
Feathers - Man Man
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Oh no he di-n't!
I am currently enrolled in a writing course at the local Minnie Me university and I’ve made it a point to never mention any of my classmates or their writing in this blog. Mainly because they all seem to be computer literate and they are all bigger than I am. I don’t think any of them would have a problem with kicking my scrawny ass. Aside from that, they are all decent folk that, like me, only want to learn to write better. We get along well, at least no one’s stormed out in tears -- yet.
It is required that we read our classmates’ work and critique it. This can be extremely nerve wracking for both the reviewer and the writer. Ultimately, the exercise is tremendously useful for both.
We have one student that likes to write Vietnam war stories. Not a genre I would choose to read on my own but hey, if it’s well written, I’m a happy camper (“The Things They Carried” comes to mind). This writer took exception to one classmate after another saying they got bogged down by all the military acronyms contained in his previous story. Some abbreviations were obvious while others defied our attempts at research. We were actually wimping out because the story itself was a rambling, disconnected, pile of suck. We left it to the professor to point that out.
In the current story submitted by this writer, Iwo Jima is mentioned and marked by an asterisk, sort of. This was the mark: @ (that's not the actual mark but the closest I could come given my choices in this format). Hmm, puzzling. Was it a printer turd? I glanced down the page and noticed the same mark next to a footnote. Ah, here’s a first. No one had included a footnote yet. Here, dear reader, is the content of said note:
“If an explanation is needed for Iwo Jima, I would suggest that you stop reading this paper. In fact, I insist you stop reading this paper now, asshole.”
My initial reaction was What the … did he just call me an asshole? Here I am, minding my own business, spending my valuable lunch hour slogging through this fucking 32 page story and this is what I get in return? Insults? I tried to rationalize. Was it his pathetic attempt at humor? Was is rabid patriotism? Because, he couldn’t possibly believe that anyone in that class had never heard of Iwo Jima. Jesus Christ, even if we slept through junior high and high school and Western Civ., there were two major motion pictures released just last year about Iwo Jima. Then I thought about the author, who is the most irksome of assholes. You know, the guy that prefaces his opinions with patronizing, self demeaning bullshit. “I don’t know, I’m just a dumb ol’ boy that prolly doesn’t know half as much as you,” said in a tone that means the exact opposite.
So, I did as the author suggested and I quit reading. Why the heck should I waste my time on work done by someone that holds his audience in such disdain? I’m not sure what I’m going to say when it comes my turn to critique the story. I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one that was offended, so my bet is that another classmate will unload on him before they get to me. If the guy has any brains at all, he’ll apologize to us at the beginning of the class.
It is required that we read our classmates’ work and critique it. This can be extremely nerve wracking for both the reviewer and the writer. Ultimately, the exercise is tremendously useful for both.
We have one student that likes to write Vietnam war stories. Not a genre I would choose to read on my own but hey, if it’s well written, I’m a happy camper (“The Things They Carried” comes to mind). This writer took exception to one classmate after another saying they got bogged down by all the military acronyms contained in his previous story. Some abbreviations were obvious while others defied our attempts at research. We were actually wimping out because the story itself was a rambling, disconnected, pile of suck. We left it to the professor to point that out.
In the current story submitted by this writer, Iwo Jima is mentioned and marked by an asterisk, sort of. This was the mark: @ (that's not the actual mark but the closest I could come given my choices in this format). Hmm, puzzling. Was it a printer turd? I glanced down the page and noticed the same mark next to a footnote. Ah, here’s a first. No one had included a footnote yet. Here, dear reader, is the content of said note:
“If an explanation is needed for Iwo Jima, I would suggest that you stop reading this paper. In fact, I insist you stop reading this paper now, asshole.”
My initial reaction was What the … did he just call me an asshole? Here I am, minding my own business, spending my valuable lunch hour slogging through this fucking 32 page story and this is what I get in return? Insults? I tried to rationalize. Was it his pathetic attempt at humor? Was is rabid patriotism? Because, he couldn’t possibly believe that anyone in that class had never heard of Iwo Jima. Jesus Christ, even if we slept through junior high and high school and Western Civ., there were two major motion pictures released just last year about Iwo Jima. Then I thought about the author, who is the most irksome of assholes. You know, the guy that prefaces his opinions with patronizing, self demeaning bullshit. “I don’t know, I’m just a dumb ol’ boy that prolly doesn’t know half as much as you,” said in a tone that means the exact opposite.
So, I did as the author suggested and I quit reading. Why the heck should I waste my time on work done by someone that holds his audience in such disdain? I’m not sure what I’m going to say when it comes my turn to critique the story. I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one that was offended, so my bet is that another classmate will unload on him before they get to me. If the guy has any brains at all, he’ll apologize to us at the beginning of the class.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Fear has ruined Halloween
The Halloweens of my childhood were so much better than my kids’. We were turned loose to trick or treat all over town. I think I went to only one Halloween carnival my entire childhood and I thought it was really lame. I wanted to get out of there with my friends and go trick or treating.
I remember Buck and Beth sneaking eggs out of the house.
I remember me and Bill sorting our loot when Buck and Beth would come home, howling, covered with broken eggs and putting us in stitches telling us what happened.I remember how cold it always was and not wanting to put a coat over my costume.
I remember Buck as a teenager putting together elaborate schemes to scare the shit out of trick or treaters.
I remember the times he played “Spooky” over and over again by the door.
I remember the rivalry between me and Bill on who could collect the most candy.
I remember that my friend Gail’s mom always gave out homemade popcorn balls. Some house in every neighborhood gave out caramel apples and word spread like wildfire. Some asshole would give out coffee candy. Rumors of needles and razor blades abounded. My feet would be soaking wet. My skinny arms sticking out of my coat sleeves (because I would be wearing last year’s coat) would be freezing.
And I was free, after dark, with a bunch of other kids, knocking on strangers doors and receiving candy.
A few of my favorite Halloween quotes:
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world.~William Shakespeare
One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.~Emily Dickinson
Where there is no imagination there is no horror. ~Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr.
There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~George Carlin
Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen,
Voices whisper in the trees,
"Tonight is Halloween!"~Dexter Kozen
Backward, turn backward,
O Time, in your flight
make me a child again
just for to-night!~Elizabeth Akers Allen
Clothes make a statement. Costumes tell a story. ~Mason Cooley
Just like a ghost, you've been a-hauntin' my dreams,
So I'll propose on Halloween.
Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.~Classics IV
Acting is like a Halloween mask that you put on. ~River Phoenix
The dream reveals the reality which conception lags behind. That is the horror of life—the terror of art.~One of the best quotes by Franz Kafka
I know'd it, know'd it,
Indeed I know'd it brother
I know'd it - Weeee!
Dem bones gonna rise again.- Anonymous Early American Ballad
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
THE HORROR ... the horror ...
Dear God in heaven. This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I had my TV on and tuned to a local morning program. The station has been running ads for haunted houses, and Halloween supplies. This morning I actually had chills run down my spine when I heard the music accompanying a local commercial. It was heart-stopping …
it was nausea inducing …
it was …
it was …
gasp …
“Deck the Halls.”
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Incoming!
You know, every now and then circumstances converge to create incidents that are comic theatre at its very best. If you’re really lucky you get to witness one of these sidewalk improvisations. I was that fortunate person yesterday.
After another stimulating day of cataslacking at the medical center library, I clocked out and walked outside toward the parking deck. My path takes me along a sidewalk bordered on the right by a shoulder height brick wall and on the left by perfectly spaced, sickly Willow oaks. I noticed a squirrel on the wall and was amazed at how close he let me get before doing a lazy squirrel hop along the flat crest of the wall. He stayed about 3 feet in front of me.
I was mildly interested because we don’t see squirrels around here often. The last time we had a family of the critters in our corner of the campus, it was wiped out in one day by a hawk -- so much for animals killing only for food. Like an avian serial killer, that raptor picked them off one-by-one, sadistically displaying his victims, splayed out on tree branches outside numerous windows of our building.
So, as I was walking along with the squirrel on point, a doctor passed me on the left. Everything was cool until the squirrel ran out of wall. Now this squirrel had several options when it came to the end of the wall:
1. Stop.
2. Run down the other side of the wall into the chancellor’s garden.
3. Run down the sidewalk side of the wall and do the squirrel equivalent of dodge ball like they do in the middle of the street when confronted by a car.
4. Leap from the wall to a tree on the other side of the walkway.
If you picked number 4, you’ve read my blogs before.
The squirrel leaps, grabbing desperately for any branch. It manages to grip the end of a spindly low-hanging branch and swings toward the trunk. Freeze frame. Remember the doc that passed me? Well, he’s now dead even with tarzan squirrel. Resume action. The doctor is walking along, lost in thought, oblivious to his surroundings. I’m more interested because the squirrel’s now committed and I’m wondering how he’s gonna get out of the situation. In a split second I discovered squirrel reflexes are fast but they have their limits. The doc didn’t have a chance. One second he’s walking along, minding his own business. The next he’s smacked upside the head with a branchful of squirrel. I swear the rodent had hold of one of the poor guy’s nostrils as the branch swung back. It took me about .000001 seconds to process what I’d just witnessed and react. Another pedestrian was next to me and in unison we said, “Whoa. Dude!” The guy next to me said, “Did you see that?” I responded with, “Did that guy just get bitch slapped by a squirrel?” We then proceeded to laugh our asses off all the way to the parking deck while the doc kept looking over his shoulder at us. He was not amused. I keep replaying the event in my head -- in slow motion, complete with a high pitched tarzan yell.
The urban jungle … sinister … unpredictable … inhabited by kamikaze rodents.
After another stimulating day of cataslacking at the medical center library, I clocked out and walked outside toward the parking deck. My path takes me along a sidewalk bordered on the right by a shoulder height brick wall and on the left by perfectly spaced, sickly Willow oaks. I noticed a squirrel on the wall and was amazed at how close he let me get before doing a lazy squirrel hop along the flat crest of the wall. He stayed about 3 feet in front of me.
I was mildly interested because we don’t see squirrels around here often. The last time we had a family of the critters in our corner of the campus, it was wiped out in one day by a hawk -- so much for animals killing only for food. Like an avian serial killer, that raptor picked them off one-by-one, sadistically displaying his victims, splayed out on tree branches outside numerous windows of our building.
So, as I was walking along with the squirrel on point, a doctor passed me on the left. Everything was cool until the squirrel ran out of wall. Now this squirrel had several options when it came to the end of the wall:
1. Stop.
2. Run down the other side of the wall into the chancellor’s garden.
3. Run down the sidewalk side of the wall and do the squirrel equivalent of dodge ball like they do in the middle of the street when confronted by a car.
4. Leap from the wall to a tree on the other side of the walkway.
If you picked number 4, you’ve read my blogs before.
The squirrel leaps, grabbing desperately for any branch. It manages to grip the end of a spindly low-hanging branch and swings toward the trunk. Freeze frame. Remember the doc that passed me? Well, he’s now dead even with tarzan squirrel. Resume action. The doctor is walking along, lost in thought, oblivious to his surroundings. I’m more interested because the squirrel’s now committed and I’m wondering how he’s gonna get out of the situation. In a split second I discovered squirrel reflexes are fast but they have their limits. The doc didn’t have a chance. One second he’s walking along, minding his own business. The next he’s smacked upside the head with a branchful of squirrel. I swear the rodent had hold of one of the poor guy’s nostrils as the branch swung back. It took me about .000001 seconds to process what I’d just witnessed and react. Another pedestrian was next to me and in unison we said, “Whoa. Dude!” The guy next to me said, “Did you see that?” I responded with, “Did that guy just get bitch slapped by a squirrel?” We then proceeded to laugh our asses off all the way to the parking deck while the doc kept looking over his shoulder at us. He was not amused. I keep replaying the event in my head -- in slow motion, complete with a high pitched tarzan yell.
The urban jungle … sinister … unpredictable … inhabited by kamikaze rodents.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The New Shows are Here! The New Shows are Here!
Out of desperation (work avoidance), I tuned in NBC Monday night and watched two of their new Fall shows. The first was “Chuck,” which, although based on a ridiculous premise, was fun. It’s about a computer geek that’s part of the “Nerd Herd” that works at a thinly disguised Best Buy. (Those ad people at Best Buy are ingenious – all the exposure, none of the advertising dollars.) Chuck is a lovable, socially awkward goof played by doe-eyed Zachary Levi. The producers think that by giving the adorable Mr. Levi a bad haircut and dorky wardrobe, people will think he’s just an average-looking guy. It doesn’t take much imagination to see that Zachary Levi is a hunk. I really wish network primetime would sack up and cast normal-looking people in leads. The side kick, Morgan (Joshua Gomez), is the character I find most entertaining mainly because he’s funny as shit. He’s got some great lines and delivers them believably. It’s not so much the line, line, line, punchline formula. The writers here have come up with good, funny dialogue between Chuck and Morgan.
Back to the stupid premise, Chuck has this old college buddy that became a CIA agent. He also becomes dead in the first scene. His final act, as he lies bleeding on a rooftop staring down the barrel of one of the evildoers, is to send his old computer game playmate, Chuck, an email. The email contains images encrypted with all the secrets of all the terrorists everywhere. We don’t know who they are or where they’re from, but by God they’re terrorists and NBC figures that’s enough explanation for most Americans. When Chuck opens it, all the images flash, and voila, Chuck now has the secrets in his head. Dead guy’s lover/fellow spy, tracks down Chuck, and manages to destroy instead of steal his computer (while dressed like a ninja) leaving our hero as the only known source of every dastardly plan the terrorists have ever thought up and a hard-on for sizzling hot spygirl. Just in case you’re blind, NBC makes sure there are plenty of underwear clad spygirl scenes. No explanation about how the hell Chuck’s biological memory is now encrypted with this artificial intelligence. The fact that Chuck’s magic memory would have a short shelf life is totally ignored. I mean, terrorists are always coming up with new plots. It’s what they do, right? Spygirl develops a soft spot for Chuck and prevents a rival NSA agent from blowing him away after she realizes Chuck has all the diabolical schemes of the suspiciously swarthy terrorists stowed in his noggin. Unintentional hilarity ensues as Chuck seems to upload the appropriate plot for the given situation and using good old nerd gumption defuses a bomb intended for a general that is in the middle of delivering a speech in a packed hotel ballroom. That nobody in the ballroom notices the three people gathered around a food trolley located in the exact center of the room that contains a bright red bomb complete with wires, digital timer and flashing lights, is not addressed.
So, it appears that in the world of “Chuck” we could all be dead or assimilated if it weren’t for loveable computer nerds with flash drive memories and ridiculously good looking CIA agents (in stiletto boots).
The second premiere I watched was “Journeyman.” Think “Quantum Leap” meets The Time Traveler’s Wife. First episode was disappointing but I will watch again hoping that Kevin McKidd’s talent will be able to sell the premise as well as Scott Bakula’s did for “Quantum Leap.” Something I found annoying is that they made Kevin McKidd American. The actor is British and I found his voice disturbingly flat as he spoke with an American accent. Overall, my reaction to the show was “meh.”
“Dirty Sexy Money”
I liked this one mainly because I like the lead actor – Peter Krause. Of course Donald Sutherland and Jill Clayburgh add legitimacy to the program. My biggest gripe is that the characters of the Darling children were too cliche. Hopefully this was because the writers were trying to introduce these characters to the audience as quickly as possible and they will add nuance to the personalities as the series progresses.
Back to the stupid premise, Chuck has this old college buddy that became a CIA agent. He also becomes dead in the first scene. His final act, as he lies bleeding on a rooftop staring down the barrel of one of the evildoers, is to send his old computer game playmate, Chuck, an email. The email contains images encrypted with all the secrets of all the terrorists everywhere. We don’t know who they are or where they’re from, but by God they’re terrorists and NBC figures that’s enough explanation for most Americans. When Chuck opens it, all the images flash, and voila, Chuck now has the secrets in his head. Dead guy’s lover/fellow spy, tracks down Chuck, and manages to destroy instead of steal his computer (while dressed like a ninja) leaving our hero as the only known source of every dastardly plan the terrorists have ever thought up and a hard-on for sizzling hot spygirl. Just in case you’re blind, NBC makes sure there are plenty of underwear clad spygirl scenes. No explanation about how the hell Chuck’s biological memory is now encrypted with this artificial intelligence. The fact that Chuck’s magic memory would have a short shelf life is totally ignored. I mean, terrorists are always coming up with new plots. It’s what they do, right? Spygirl develops a soft spot for Chuck and prevents a rival NSA agent from blowing him away after she realizes Chuck has all the diabolical schemes of the suspiciously swarthy terrorists stowed in his noggin. Unintentional hilarity ensues as Chuck seems to upload the appropriate plot for the given situation and using good old nerd gumption defuses a bomb intended for a general that is in the middle of delivering a speech in a packed hotel ballroom. That nobody in the ballroom notices the three people gathered around a food trolley located in the exact center of the room that contains a bright red bomb complete with wires, digital timer and flashing lights, is not addressed.
So, it appears that in the world of “Chuck” we could all be dead or assimilated if it weren’t for loveable computer nerds with flash drive memories and ridiculously good looking CIA agents (in stiletto boots).
The second premiere I watched was “Journeyman.” Think “Quantum Leap” meets The Time Traveler’s Wife. First episode was disappointing but I will watch again hoping that Kevin McKidd’s talent will be able to sell the premise as well as Scott Bakula’s did for “Quantum Leap.” Something I found annoying is that they made Kevin McKidd American. The actor is British and I found his voice disturbingly flat as he spoke with an American accent. Overall, my reaction to the show was “meh.”
“Dirty Sexy Money”
I liked this one mainly because I like the lead actor – Peter Krause. Of course Donald Sutherland and Jill Clayburgh add legitimacy to the program. My biggest gripe is that the characters of the Darling children were too cliche. Hopefully this was because the writers were trying to introduce these characters to the audience as quickly as possible and they will add nuance to the personalities as the series progresses.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Long beautiful "Hair!"
Labor Day has never been a big deal for me. Just a long summer weekend – not a real holiday. This year was the exception. My husband and I went to New York to see our daughter in an off off Broadway production of “Hair!” When Hair made its debut in 1967, I was 11 years old. I heard the songs on the radio and, of course, the nude scene was big news back then. I knew it was about hippies and pictured it as one protest scene after another. I saw the movie probably no more than 5 years ago.
Since my daughter’s involvement with this production, I’ve been educated. I learned the history, looked up the lyrics, listened to the soundtrack. Heck, we even sent our daughter a box of clothes and stuff for the cast. (Laura is the costume designer as well as playing Chrissy.) We didn’t arrive in NY until too late to see the Saturday show but met up with Laura and many of the cast, after, for drinks. I already knew most of the cast because they were also students at Neighborhood Playhouse when my daughter attended. The new cast members were every bit as friendly, and well, just as sweet as they could be. I was struck by the energy emanating from the group. These people had just finished a long, physically demanding performance and they didn’t seem exhausted, quite the opposite. They were stoked.
The show we attended was 7:00, Sunday. We met up with friends who’d seen the original production about 4 times. I was the only one that hadn’t seen it on stage. I was amazed. How the hell did these kids manage to capture the spirit of a culture that existed at least 15 years before they were born? As a member of the audience that was alive during that era, I was reminded of the naiveté my friends and I shared during the late 60’s and early 70’s. We all wanted to go to Haight-Asbury (even though I wasn’t exactly sure where it was) thinking we could just show up and be adopted into this benign community and be free. When upset about how our parents were smothering us and demanding that we conform to their ideals, the common retort (sometimes even spoken aloud) was, “Up the ol’ hole, I’m off to Frisco.” All those memories and, more amazingly, feelings returned as I watched these talented actors. I was really impressed with the staging and choreography, especially “Going Down,” and a short Kama Sutra scene between “Air” and “I Got Life.” Of course the highlight for me was my daughter’s song, “Frank Mills.” I forget to breathe sometimes when I watch her perform and this was one of those times. Her father cried. Poor Laura, it’s pretty bad when the quality of your performance is based on how wet your father’s face is or how blue your mother has turned. I think she’s shooting for making me pass out.
I didn’t know it, but, Nathan Lane sat behind me. I wonder what he thought of the show. Was he there scoping out new talent or does he just like “Hair”?
Okay, okay, the nude scene. All my friends and family asked me, “Are they gonna do the nude scene? How do you feel about that?” Well, truthfully, it bothered me when I first realized my daughter would be naked on stage. Then I just put it out of my mind. I told my friends I would look at the other side of the stage. What really happened was that as soon as the nude cast emerged from beneath the parachute silk, I located Laura and was momentarily spellbound. I then looked to the other side of the stage. But you know what? The memory I will always have of this scene is the image of my breathtakingly beautiful, fearless daughter.
Since my daughter’s involvement with this production, I’ve been educated. I learned the history, looked up the lyrics, listened to the soundtrack. Heck, we even sent our daughter a box of clothes and stuff for the cast. (Laura is the costume designer as well as playing Chrissy.) We didn’t arrive in NY until too late to see the Saturday show but met up with Laura and many of the cast, after, for drinks. I already knew most of the cast because they were also students at Neighborhood Playhouse when my daughter attended. The new cast members were every bit as friendly, and well, just as sweet as they could be. I was struck by the energy emanating from the group. These people had just finished a long, physically demanding performance and they didn’t seem exhausted, quite the opposite. They were stoked.
The show we attended was 7:00, Sunday. We met up with friends who’d seen the original production about 4 times. I was the only one that hadn’t seen it on stage. I was amazed. How the hell did these kids manage to capture the spirit of a culture that existed at least 15 years before they were born? As a member of the audience that was alive during that era, I was reminded of the naiveté my friends and I shared during the late 60’s and early 70’s. We all wanted to go to Haight-Asbury (even though I wasn’t exactly sure where it was) thinking we could just show up and be adopted into this benign community and be free. When upset about how our parents were smothering us and demanding that we conform to their ideals, the common retort (sometimes even spoken aloud) was, “Up the ol’ hole, I’m off to Frisco.” All those memories and, more amazingly, feelings returned as I watched these talented actors. I was really impressed with the staging and choreography, especially “Going Down,” and a short Kama Sutra scene between “Air” and “I Got Life.” Of course the highlight for me was my daughter’s song, “Frank Mills.” I forget to breathe sometimes when I watch her perform and this was one of those times. Her father cried. Poor Laura, it’s pretty bad when the quality of your performance is based on how wet your father’s face is or how blue your mother has turned. I think she’s shooting for making me pass out.
I didn’t know it, but, Nathan Lane sat behind me. I wonder what he thought of the show. Was he there scoping out new talent or does he just like “Hair”?
Okay, okay, the nude scene. All my friends and family asked me, “Are they gonna do the nude scene? How do you feel about that?” Well, truthfully, it bothered me when I first realized my daughter would be naked on stage. Then I just put it out of my mind. I told my friends I would look at the other side of the stage. What really happened was that as soon as the nude cast emerged from beneath the parachute silk, I located Laura and was momentarily spellbound. I then looked to the other side of the stage. But you know what? The memory I will always have of this scene is the image of my breathtakingly beautiful, fearless daughter.
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