Books and Food

Tonight I was involved in a fundraising event benefitting my theatre company and the theatre company my wife runs. We were to invite people to a local book store, give them some refreshments and they would shop for books. The bookstore in turn would then cut us in on a precentage of sales from the evening's take. When we arrived at the store (a very nice store by the way) there was a man sitting in the back of the store near our event set up reading a new book and eating a bag of Cheetos. He continued to sit and read and gobble his Cheetos while we sat up. He also continued to talk (well, more of a mumble actually) to himself at an indecipherable volume. He at those Cheetos like it was his last meal and then started to help himself to our cookies, pretzels and cheese. The eating wasn't the problem, there was plenty of food. It was the book. I watched as he continued to leaf through the pages of this new book with greasy Cheeto hands. He never bought the book and put it back on the shelf where it had originally come from. Imagine the feeling of opening your brand new book, eager for a read and discovering Cheeto stains on Page 14. I hate that man for ruining someone's page turning thrills.

On growing old

For the sake of my daughter and my child to come, I've decided that if I grow old enough for people to be concerned for my personal safety and am predeceased by my loving spouse, I will find some nice living arrangement with people my age somewhere where my children can get to me easily. Either that, or I'll find an incredibly willing young lover who will take pity on an old man and care for my every need. Happy Thanksgiving, a few days late.

Some thoughts on shoes

This is an article that I wrote for a weekly publication in my neighborhood. I thought today I would post something that I had done in the past. Also, I've had enough of McDonald's for a couple of days. Hope you enjoy:

On a street near my house there is a pair of red and white tennis shoes hanging off a phone line.

I can hear everyone reading that statement thinking, “End of story right. So what? Big deal?”

For the past 11 days these shoes have meant a lot to me.

I am a little obsessed with some of life’s small details.

Concern over finding a spot for everything to comfortably fit into its place is how I view my minor obsession.

Freakish and annoying is how my friends and family like to define my need to put things in appointed places. My garage has specified hooks for every tool and yard toy, and pots and pans hang from strategic positions in my kitchen.

So, you might imagine that the discovery of a pair of tennis shoes dangling from a wire high in the air could send a person like me into a tail-spin.

I first saw the shoes when a group of 3-year-olds I was helping to chaperone at my daughter’s preschool giggled over them dancing in the air. The kids all thought it was so funny, walking through their neighborhood, looking at trees, houses and other local landmarks only to be surprised by a pair of floating shoes. To me the tangle of shoes and telephone wire meant something different. Their placement was absolute anarchy in my mind.

Shoes are meant for feet. And when they are not on feet, they are meant to be placed on a mat, porch, in a shoe box, or neatly under the foot of a bed. But hanging off a telephone wire in my neighborhood is definitely an off-limits spot for a pair of shoes.

The kids, their teachers, other parent chaperones and I walked past the shoes to our destination. As soon as we passed, I could tell the rest of the gang had basically forgotten the shoes. Not me. “How did they get up there?” I kept thinking. Though a fascinating tale of how the shoes were launched and hooked upon the wire may exist, I wasn’t willing to waste energy of pursuing an explanation. My concern was how to get those shoes down and into their rightful place in the world.

The day of our field trip I passed the shoes six times. I recall the exact number of drive or walk-bys because each time I passed, I paused taking several moments out of my day to ponder how to get them down. My first day with the shoes was significant. This would be a labor of love between me and those crazy shoes. I decided that day that I would not really be content until those shoes were relocated to a more fitting place.

But the big question I’ve yet to answer is, “How do I get the shoes off that wire?” I’ve thought of all the things any normal person might think of—a ladder, a call to the phone company, a motorized cherry picker. I’ve also considered the absurd—a human totem pole on my shoulders meant to reach the shoes, a rescue from above with a helicopter drop or finally growing wings and learning to fly. But truth be told, when I think I have the guts to act on my rescue attempt I get a little embarrassed and become inert.

I’m the worst kind of guy with an obsession. I’m stopped in my tracks by moments of clarity and realize that I need to give it a break.

For that reason, the shoes still hang. And I still pass them every day. On day eleven of The Great Shoe Watch I’m almost past caring about the fate of the floating tennis shoes. In fact, my spins down "shoe street" have given me a host of new things to obsess about. There’s that huge and interesting bush in someone’s yard, a neat looking house that I’m hoping will display a “For Sale” sign someday, and a street corner that I think may be in need of a traffic stop.

Those shoes may not be on the right feet, but for now, for a nut like me, they might just be in the right place.

(On a side note, two days after this article was published the shoes disappeared. I'm a little sad about that, I have to admit.)

McRib - The Farwell Tour (This is for real)

So I needed to know for myself, and the internet is a powerful friend. I doubted my brother's veracity, as I often do, but it seems that the McRib Farwell Tour even has its own website. With an interesting photo of the McRib. Smothered with pickles. Not so pretty. This informative website is located at http://www.mcrib.com/. Lord help us all. I'm going to read a book now and cook something organic that has actual bones to help me remember that reality doesn't mean a big soda and ketchup in a plastic sleeve.

McRib - The Farwell Tour

My brother, a wise an industrious young lawyer, informs me that the McRib is in fact making a farwell tour. So it's back, but for only a moment it seems. However, I suspect that this farwell tour is like so many others. Teary, wistful, but kind of phony. One of my personal idols, Frank Sinatra, announced farwell tours for some thirty odd years. I suspect the same type of hype is up with this McRib deal. The announced farwell tour only lends immediacy to the need to experience the "final" showing of whatever or whoever is bidding the world a fond farwell. Truth be told, I've never really fully bought into the farwell tour idea. The true meaning of a farwell tour should, in my opinion, mean the complete extinction of a pratice of presentation. So, if it were true that Sinatra really stuck to his guns and did a very final farwell tour at some point in his life, it would (if you work under my guidelines) follow that he would never sing again. How can an artist simply cease that which his given him life and energy to work through difficult periods of people not believing in his talents? Similarly, I'm sure there are some people out there who would stand up as tremendous advocates of the McRib sandwich. Having never eaten one myself, I have no opinion other than to say I don't generally choose to eat something claiming rib meat that mysteriously lacks bones. Part of the rib experience for me is sucking every last morsel of meat and grisel off a bone until it is clean and ready to be tossed in a pile. McRib will be back--trust me. There are fast food eaters out there who could not imagine a world without McRib.

So, McRib, farwell for now. I'm certain we will meet again.

McRib is Back

I drove past a McDonald's a couple of days ago and saw McRIB IS BACK proudly displayed on the gigantic golden arches sign. It struck me as funny. I then told friends about it and we started to muse on other funny ...IS BACK signs. HITLER IS BACK is almost too obvious. My favorite thus far is JIM CROW IS BACK. I like this one because I am certain that there are actually people out there who would walk into a McDonald's and order one.

Ladies Night at The Theatre

Tonight I performed a play. And there were lots of ladies in the audience. Backstage we talked, and talked about how it was "ladies night." We talked about how at the next ladies night at the theatre one of the actors could wear a suit made of beer and walk among the ladies. How does one make a suit made of beer? It was rather a strange night so I thought I would start a blog.