MEN IN SKIRTS!

Down below, pre cat, I revealed my real last name. Once is enough obviously, but the subject came up again because I have been doing some research on its origin. This research resulted from a discussion I had with a dear friend who has the good fortune to have Armstrong as his family moniker. Cool, huh? Very superhero. Anyway, for a reason herein concealed, the subject of kilts came up. You know, that pleated skirt Scotsmen wear on ceremonial occasions and, for all I know, casually when at home. Since both of our names are Scottish, at my friend’s behest I decided to find out what my family tartan is, just in case I ever decide to buy a skirt.

The name Armstrong is prominent in Scottish history and has not one, but two tartans, both colorfully bold and manly. I am totally jealous because my clan (or sub-group in this case) doesn’t seem to have a tartan. There are something like 2,700 clans in Scotland, all with tartans, coats of arms and family crests. My family name doesn’t have a crest either and I’m beginning to think my ancestors were probably peasants of some sort and no doubt mere cannon fodder for the more important clans during their internecine wars. I’m making this supposition solely on the fact that we do seem to have a coat of arms, shown above. It is described as follows: “Blue with a black chevron between three red popinjays.”

Yeah, right, what the heck is a popinjay anyway? Modern dictionaries describe a popinjay as a “supercilious person” which doesn’t quite fit in with the colorfully bold and manly façade I was hoping for. The best information I could find connected with Scottish history is that a popinjay is a mythological bird, but what this avian symbol accomplishes in our heraldry is a mystery. So that’s how I come to my cannon fodder theory. We’re those guys that go flying off the ramparts with an arrow through the eye in those Braveheart-type movies. The honchos in the Armstrong clan needed to recognize us for the grace of our flight, thus a popinjay seemed appropriate for our coat of arms. (Is that a Monty Python skit, a coat made of real arms, or did I just make that up?)

Interestingly, whilst Googling this subject, I discovered there is a Scottish Tartan Museum in Franklin, NC and rather than torture myself any further I sent them $10 (plus $2 shipping) to do the research for me. Now I’m torturing myself as to the reason there is a museum like that in a place like that. Come to think of it though, I have heard that those mid-south states are a veritable hotbed of Scottish genealogy and my father was originally born in Kentucky…so maybe I shouldn’t be too surprised. Purportedly there are more Scots in No. Carolina than there are in Scotland (don’t quote me).

Oh, before you get too impressed by my coat of arms, you should know it really only consists of that shield in the middle; all that fancy stuff around the edges is just so they can sell the coffee cups.

cAT iN a bOX

Fiddling around with computer art:

cAT iN a bOX bY pEECASSO

...dedicated to Cleo and all the other kATZ.

THE GORILLA MY DREAMS!

This is an uh-oh alert. Just today, April 24, 2006, I learned about a new live-action movie based on the television cartoon series Magilla Gorilla which aired originally in 1964. Magilla is a big ape that lives in the window of Peebles Pet Shop who was constantly being sold and then returned because he is, mainly, an idiot. The only customer who really loves Magilla is a little girl who can’t afford to buy him. Although MG originally aired in the mid-60’s, it has a scary half-life on the Cartoon Network, so generation after generation of our impressionable youth has been exposed to this particular Hanna Barbara creation.

You need to know, now, that my real last name is Peebles. It really is…honest.

In the 60’s I suffered through a barrage of insults and derision because Mr. Peebles, admittedly, is a bit sadistic. Well, think about it for a second, wouldn’t you be taking your frustrations out on your merchandise if that particular example is the reason for your ruination? Well, forget psychological motive for the moment, it’s just a toon after all, and consider the years of my name being screeched in my ear, and sometimes from great distances, often accompanied by childish (of all ages) maniacal laughter. Luckily, by the end of the 60’s this phenomenon went the way of all shows eventually, and was canceled. Despite the occasional aberration of somebody’s too-keen memory, Mr. Peebles, pet shop owner, retreated into obscurity, unlamented by me and my family.

This is a warning: never Google your own name, you’ll end up regretting the decision.

In this case, here’s why: M. Night Shyamalan’s Magilla Gorilla! “From the Academy Award-nominated writer and director of The Sixth Sense and The Village comes “Magilla Gorilla,” a live-action version of the children’s cartoon show. A family goes to Peebles Pet Shop looking for an animal to take home. Soon, it becomes obvious that the shopkeeper has sold them a brutal killer in the form of a family pet. The movie stars Matthew McConaughey and Sarah Michelle Gellar as the unwitting couple who take the gorilla into their home. Anthony Hopkins plays the sadistic Mr. Peebles.”

So there’s the source of this uh-oh. When this movie hits the multiplex, benign parody or not, am I doomed to relive the agony of the schoolyard derision I suffered during my formative years? I think not! If you are tempted, just keep in mind that I’m an adult now and more than capable of responding in kind, being well armed with a vast vocabulary (some say half-vast) derived from decades of successfully completing the NY Times crossword puzzles, even on Saturday. Glib retaliatory force is in my arsenal and it will sting a lot more than a simple Yo Momma!

Also, you should keep in mind that Anthony Hopkins gets top billing and probably (not verified by me) Magilla is computer-generated, thereby changing the focus of the whole project. You should also know that no matter how much attention the ape gets, behind every star is a great pet shop owner!

ADAM & EVE...a very short play

Cast of Characters

Eve
Adam's Penis

Lights up to reveal The Garden of Eden. Eve is sitting, nude, under a tree stage center. Her long hair covers her breasts. Adam’s Penis is slumped against an outcropping of rocks downstage right. Adam’s Penis is staring at the woman.

After a pause the woman notices him and smiles. Adam’s Penis sits up. She gets flirty and tosses her hair a little bit, revealing one breast. Adam’s Penis immediately stands erect and strolls over to her.

Adam’s Penis: Hello, you are very pretty.

Eve: (looking Adam’s Penis up and down) Thank you, you look pretty good yourself.

Adam’s Penis: What’s your name?

Eve: I don’t know. (she looks down demurely and opens her hand, revealing a round, green fruit in her open palm.)

Adam’s Penis (pointing): What’s that?

Eve: I think it’s a fig. Would you like some? (Eve offers the fig to Adam’s Penis)

Adam’s Penis: No thank you. (Adam’s Penis immediately starts to go soft and he ambles back to his original position and slumps down, looking bored.)

CURTAIN

(This play is dedicated to Ronnie Larsen; inspiration; mentor; cutie pie.)

Nostalgia Ain't What It Used To Be!

Recently I heard from a woman with whom I’ve had no contact for 25 years. She told me she had been thinking about me almost every day recently and felt that was a sign that she should try to look me up. Her computer-geek niece went on-line and came up with a list of every person with my name in New York City (there were 33) which included, by the way, addresses and phone numbers, and my old friend sat down one evening and started her quest. She hit pay dirt on her second call. The dirt, in this case, being me.

It’s yet another example of how amazing the power of the Internet really is; but also pretty amazing how the power of nostalgia for a better time can come back to haunt you. Nostalgia is an odd beast. The very word connotes a memory that is probably a lot rosier than the reality. The ever-thickening mists of time (zero contact doesn’t help) can create a Roshamon of any past event; even the most picayune, if not a totally false memory. To quote yet another movie, somehow nostalgia can insert a photo of someone into a memory, Selig-like, when that someone was actually elsewhere, vacationing in Morocco at the time.

We chatted for over two hours and I realized early on that the years that I was close with her and her husband (now deceased) must have meant a lot more to her than they did to me and again and again she fondly brought up stuff that, frankly, I don’t think had anything at all to do with me. Admittedly I am a man approaching the gates of Geezerville but I think my memory-lobe is at least (or, at best) as good as hers. I listened kindly (big of me, huh?) as she reveled in her rosy memories and I set her free to insert my photo anywhere she wanted in her collage of nostalgia. If she wants me there it can only do harm to dispute it.

The beast called Nostalgia is a dog to be petted and fed but not necessarily believed. Memories can bend and twist and be crunched into shape to fit in with whatever mood is ruling your brain at any given moment. I have always believed in a philosophy I stumbled onto in a cold, snowy foxhole in Germany, and that is to live for the moment, and forget the bad parts if you can. If, along the way, you forget some of the good parts too, well what the heck, you can always make up stuff. Like that foxhole.

A View About Reviewing

Upfront, to explain this entry you need to know I really like going to the theater. Yes, I spell it theater, not theatre, just because I can and it works for me and my spell-check doesn’t seem to give a damn. Anyway, since I’m an opinionated dude anyway (oh, really), a bud or two suggested I should write reviews of the plays I see.

Here’s the prob: the cost of theater tickets in NYC is outrageous, even off-Broadway, and although I am not exactly a poor man I have pretty much been priced-out of buying tickets at the box office and especially on-line where they add other extremities to the arm and leg you are already forking over. (You should know I wanted to use the word “gouge” in here but couldn’t figure out where to put it.) Anyway, except for special occasions, theater is not in the budget of any low-to-middle-income individual or family. I have responded in several ways. 1) I’ve gotten much pickier in my selections and I don’t go as often as I used to, or would like. 2) I go to the TKTS booth in Times Square for discounts. 3) I go to previews, which can sometimes be cheaper (not always—which is yet another irritation). 4) I utilize the coupons I get in the mail. These coupons are a result of buying tickets on-line and, of course, the purveyors sell your name and address to practically anybody who is after your limited entertainment dollar. But, I digress (yet again)…and, 5) I stay home (or go to the movies) and ostentatiously make rude middle-finger gestures at the entire theater industry.

But (sigh), in spite of all of the above caveats, I do attend theatrical events of various stripes on an average of about once a month and almost always enjoy the experience, even though I don’t always like the play. Does that make sense to you? I still adhere to the philosophy that there is nothing like live theater to thrill the senses.

Here’s the prob about writing reviews: I wouldn’t want my opinion to influence anybody’s decision whether or not to lay out the bucks to see something. Then too, when I like something it’s purely visceral and I can’t bring that thrill down by thinking too much about it and putting it into words. When I dislike something I can’t bring that disgust onto the page either, at least in the detail that seems to be required. Opinions that are limited to “I liked it,” or “ptooey” don’t leave much room for discussion. Also, and here’s the true rub I think, unless I’ve already read some reviews, especially the NY Times (those dudes truly have the handle), I don’t know what to think! It seems I need to be told, in advance, that I should or should not like something. Is that sick or what? It would be good if you could go to the theater and let it wash over you, good and bad, and not try to parse it down to the whys and wherefores of why you are pleased, or not.

But I guess it’s human nature to put it into words. Here are mine over the last couple of months: Grey Gardens, off-Broadway; slick and sometimes entertaining; I was not overly pleased with it. The 25th Annual Putnam Counting Spelling Bee, Broadway, excellent and very funny, I enjoyed myself. So there you go, short and sweet; read ‘em and weep.

The Three Penny Opera, in preview, Broadway, April 22. Uh oh, I’m feeling the pressure already.

R.I.P. Leonard Bernstein

This might seem a macabre subject but it’s been on my mind for awhile and, what the heck, what’s a blog for anyway?

The Green Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, NY is a very large, historical plot of land smack dab in the middle of the borough. Up until about eight years ago it was full-up and strictly a resource for curiosity and research (lots of famous people are buried there) and the expense of maintenance and just generally keeping up appearances motivated the powers-that-be to reopen the cemetery to additional burials. This was done by removing existing roads and pathways, thereby creating new open areas. Hundreds of plots went on the market in the mid- to late 1990’s and, to put it rather oddly, revived the cemetery, not only for the dead but for the living.

For personal reasons I visit Green Wood often, in all seasons, and it is almost always a peaceful, calming and life-sustaining experience. Since I live only about half a mile from a side entrance (open on weekends) it’s an easy commute. Just walking (or driving) around is like walking (or driving) through history. It was established in 1838 and was, at the time of course, way out in the boonies from most settled communities and almost a lifetime from Manhattan if you’ll pardon the metaphor.

There are, of course, many examples of monuments and headstones illustrating the grief felt by the living; but there are an equal number of monuments that are wonderful works of art, both mournful and, yes, sometimes whimsical. Unfortunately, all of the new plots are regimented and the headstones are all of a size and shape…which is really too bad; but it was necessary because of the shape of the recycled areas, that is, the re-use of long narrow strips of land created by sacrificing the roads and paths. I understand, by the way, that all of these plots were snapped up within the first few months they went on the market-- but I have also noticed in the last six months that more roads are being ripped up and graded over so another garage sale must be in the works.

The point of this blog is not to convince you to visit Green Wood, although that’s not a bad idea on a nice day. The point is that, overall, cemeteries in general have been given a bad rap because of a misguided fear of the dead which is, of course, nutso. All Souls Day has a lot to answer for. With ghosts and rattling skeletons and jump-out-at-you creatures of the night, Halloween has instilled a very misguided and fearful attitude in children at a very young age; even carrying over into adulthood (you know who you are). This is undignified, disrespectful and, if you think about it, sacrilegious. We should be thinking of our dead as being at peace, not flitting about scaring the pants off our young.