the ocean

 In my non-internet life, I occasionally perform. Here's a clip from the show I wrote last April:

Obviously I am the king of all media.

Yesterday we went to Medieval Times with my sister and her kids. Incredibly, I had never been. I did attend a similar equestrian-themed attraction in the Dixie Stampede when I was in high school, but that was somewhat different in that it involved relitigating the Civil War. (The North did win the night we were there, which was a great relief to a good 85% of us.) 

This was a well-oiled machine from beginning to end. They had three shows back-to-back, such that people were leaving the show before us as we arrived and arriving for the show after us as we were leaving. They got us seated in a quick and orderly fashion and missed no opportunity to try to sell us something. Honestly, the frozen head of Walt Disney would admire their enterprise.

For those keeping score, we were seated in the Green section, which (spoiler alert) ended up winning the afternoon's contests. The Red knight did a bit of a heel turn but was ultimately defeated, unlike in real life. The King and Queen were not married to one another but parts of different factions that had entered into an alliance of some kind, insofar as I understood it. There were some Sid Meier's Civilization vibes to it all, to be honest.

The food was better than expected, though eating a chicken with my bare hands (lack of silverware is part of their shtick) did not sit especially well. This was not bougieness, though -- I was just fine with drinking the "dragon's blood soup" directly from the bowl. I was slightly scandalized to be allocated only two Diet Pepsis for the duration of the performance, however.

Most importantly, the kids had a great time. I don't think they're going to change their career goals to include vassaldom, but I'm a firm believer that Olden Times are a key component of any grade school curriculum.

-- Face down, ass up.

Ian has been traveling this past week, which has left me with sole custody of the dog. This has caused me to realize that I am perhaps not the best and naturally thinking of the needs of others, although I do wish to stress that the dog is alive and fine. But I was late on doggie dinnertime more than once and did not have the most supportive reaction to the bathroom surprise I found on the dining room rug. (Luckily, it is a washable rug, so we can throw it in the washer and never speak of it again.) Also, I had to give her the bi-monthly shot that Ian usually handles and nearly gave myself an aneurism instead. Plus she keeps looking at me like I'm an idiot, which I am. Nothing like the judgment of an 11-year-old rescue.

I also hosted my niece overnight on Friday. I think my performance there was better. I gamely ordered Domino's pizza for her despite my views of their politics and similarities to cardboard, and agreed to watch Moana 2 for the second time even though the songs don't slap nearly as hard as in the first movie. I also laid awake half the night worrying that she was going to get scared and need me, which did not actually accomplish anything, but certainly felt like some sort of contribution. Oh, and I helped her make a shoebox diorama for St. Patrick's Day, which I take as vindication of my many shoe purchases as socially useful.

So yeah, I'm exhausted from all of my vital and selfless labors. I should probably buy myself something nice.

As a middle class adult male with no children, I tend to have more free time than a lot of people. As regular reader(s?) of this blog will know, a lot of that time I waste on stupid shit like performing deep dives on Top Model cycles or writing and performing cabaret shows that will be seen once by roughly twelve people. But I also occasionally get on reading jags, where I will take down classics that I feel weird about not having read in high school or college. (In some cases, despite those classics being explicitly assigned to me for reading.) 

A few years ago, it was Ulysses. I can't remember if I wrote about that here at the time and I'm too lazy to check, but suffice it to say that I had attempted that particular classic several times in the past but never got farther than the first twenty pages or so, in large part because it was just too damn heavy to carry with me on a train or airplane. But I decided to buck up and thin out my carry-on to make room, and I finished the damn thing. And it was okay. The last chapter in particular I thought was quite lovely. Other parts I found a bit dense. But I think I understood what all of the fuss was about, at least sort of.

This fall I read The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann. It was a bit tainted for me because I started it during the period where we were stuck on a train in Canada for an entire day, but eventually I got over that particular trauma (without even the aid of a trigger warning) and made it through. It was interesting. It was episodic in a way I'm not used to in novels, with tone and subject matter varying widely from chapter to chapter. Kind of like a picaresque but without actually going anywhere. And lots of philosophical content, which fortunately I can kind of skim right through.

Then, just yesterday, I finished The Divine Comedy. I mean, of course I had read excerpts before, but no one assigned the entire thing, and now I kind of know why. Of course the Inferno slaps, and the Purgatorio was way weirder and more torture-y than anyone had a right to expect, but lord is the Paradisio boring. So many discourses on some many different precepts of faith! If I wanted that, I wouldn't have located the only mass in the city of Chicago that only lasts half an hour. (St. Michael's 5 PM Saturdays; it's worth a look.) But the language is beautiful, even in translation, and the sheer scope of what Dante has constructed is kind of insane. So ultimately a thumbs up. But next I'm thinking maybe that Jessica Simpson autobiography... 

The Oscars are tonight, which has many people asking, "Wait, the Oscars are tonight? Didn't we just do that? Or maybe that was the Grammys. Is Taylor Swift nominated for anything?" I can't claim to have the answers to all of these questions, but I have seen eight of the ten best picture nominees, which was as good as I could do this year, given that The Brutalist is only in theaters and three and a half hours long and A Complete Unknown only moved to streaming like three days ago. (We talked about watching it today, but decided our lifestyles are too active to spend a Sunday afternoon like that.) Anyway, here are some Oscar Thoughts (TM):

Apparently best picture is down to Anora or Conclave since Emilia Perez dramatically committed marketing suicide. I don't have big issues with either, but Conclave kind of strikes me as a pretty basic thriller dressed up with Very Serious Actors and Anora as hooker with a heart of gold tale made Gritty and Realistic through cinematography. Neither would be my pick, since we finally saw Nickel Boys this week and thought it was really interesting and impactful. After 30+ years of caring at least mildly about the Oscars, though, I've kind of stopped investing too much in what wins. Isn't it all really a matter of taste? Except for Sandra Bullock winning for The Blind Side; that was a crime against humanity.

For best actor, I guess Adrien Brody is probably going to win but I'd kind of prefer that he not? As a general matter, I don't think people who are not Meryl Streep should have more than one Oscar. But I also don't really think Timothee Chalamet needs any more encouragement, and I despise the spelling of his name. So I don't know, whatever.

Meanwhile, I have no issue with Demi Moore, even though I found The Substance way too disgusting for no reason. She's been around and while and could probably use the positive reinforcement. I'd say the same thing if, like, Brooke Shields were nommed. (Prayers.)

Supporting actor it seems like Kieran Culkin is a lock, and that's fine. I feel a little bad for Macaulay, but he made his choices. 

I'm probably most interested in seeing a Zoe Saldana win for supporting actress. I did think she was good in the movie, but mostly I see this as long-delayed recognition for her work in Center Stage. I'm conveniently excising from my memory the fact that she once tried to play Nina Simone. 

There are a bunch of other categories, obviously, but I've run out of interest. As I will likely do this evening! Looking forward to watching with fitful interest at whatever time the broadcast starts wherever they're showing it. Maybe Quibi?

I don't think it's a secret that Chicago winters tend to be a bit brutal. Why, acclaimed actress cum queer woman Sophia Bush even cited the deleterious effects of the season as one of her reasons for leaving her classic role as Erin Lindsay on the hit NBC TV series Chicago P.D. But each year as the fine, warm days of June linger on, it's easy to forget the horrors that will definitely await one sooner than one thinks. And then, in the bitter, sunless days of January, one notices that one is, in fact, building a cocoon out of one's bedsheets and spending three straight days half watching, half hallucinating old episodes of Criminal Minds. In short, madness that way lies, with a certainty and severity that cannot be overstated.

All in all, this year's case has been relatively mild, thanks to the intervention of some low-grade pharmaceuticals and a new season of The Traitors. But I have found myself a little lower than usual on motivation and enthusiasm, even for things I normally love like Murder, She Wrote and vacuuming up dog hair. So I've been trying to give myself a little bit of grace, as people on social media seem to be saying, by not chastising myself to severely for my failures to, say, turn out the Great American Novel or develop my Khloe Kardashian revenge body. Also my failure to say much of anything of interest on here, I might add. If you want entertainment, watch people dance in thirty second bursts on TikTok as the Chinese expect of you, please.

Anyway, I'm here and frankly have little reason to really complain. Which is not to say that I won't do so. This is still America, after all. 

As there is literally no escaping knowing in the U.S., it was Super Bowl Sunday last weekend. There was a time when that would have meant me awkwardly staring at a giant TV at someone's house, pretending to understand the basic premise of football and hoping to find someone who would prefer to go into the other room and talk about The Real Housewives. (Also me eating my weight in dips, naturally.) But in recent years, Ian and I have abandoned the pretense of wanting to be part of this particular social custom, and our friends seem to be able to live without our glazed-over expressions and frequent trips to refresh our booze. So instead we spend Super Bowl Sunday as just another Sunday, doing whatever we need to do or feel like doing. It turns out it is a fine day to stock up on light bulbs at the Home Depot or place your extra complicated order at the Mariano's deli. It is also a great day to go to the movies, if like us you hate crowds and can't silence the voice in your head that says someone might shoot you during Madame Web.

As though I needed another reminder that I am an adult man who makes snarky remarks about pop culture on a website that no one reads, I turned 47 this week. It was a gala affair that consisted, as per usual, of overpriced takeout and games devised by my niece and nephew to allow themselves to win. The former took the form of tacos and the latter of a forty-year-old Dizzy Dizzy Dinosaur that now lacks the energy to do much damage to any enterprising cavemen. The upshot that I formally became another year older and yet no less childish. Such is life, one supposes.

So I'm going to be performing another show this April. This time it will be stories and songs about my experiences in the 1980s, everyone's favorite decade of legwarmers and an AIDS crisis the president refused to even acknowledge for many years. I was a child for all of this decade, so obviously my insights will be significant. Oh, and I'm keeping it honest by ensuring that every single song I'm parodying came out in the 1980s, even though frankly a lot of the music from that era is the hottest of trash. Should be exciting!

The return to reality after our week at Disney has been a bit jarring. The flight back did not help. We were delayed, and the Orlando airport has some serious third world vibes to it. There were fracases galore as they boarded our giant, international-sized flight full of people desperate to get the hell out of Florida. And I swear to God someone in the row ahead of us was watching and rewatching Maid in Manhattan. Well played, Satan.

When we got back, it was like 17 degrees out. I worry that you're going to read this and think I just mean that it was very cold, but in Chicago 17 degrees is an actual thing we experience. Or even -17 degrees, thanks to the Polar Vortex. That's where your face starts stinging just because you've stepped outside. And not because of the Botox, for once.

I also had to dive right into a week of rehearsals and shows for my amateur theatrical for lawyers. If I didn't put on wigs and deliver pun-based humor, who would? It was, of course, a fine time with friends, but also a terrifying hellscape of sleep deprivation. Plus I caught some kind of something, so I was sucking down Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu like my life depended on it, which perhaps it did.

And then there's the little thing we call work. I'm lucky to have a great job where I work with intelligent, non-toxic people, but it does still require the doing of some things. I'll admit I copped out and worked from home on a few of the painful face days, but otherwise I've been diligently getting sneezed on on the el and heading to the land of double monitors and copy machines. I even assembled some binders, so you know I'm serious.

Anyway, it's January. It's supposed to be awful. I have high hopes for late March, though.

 Continuing with the Disney adventures. I've managed to limit myself to two installments, I believe.

The Skyliner linked our resort to Epcot and Hollywood Studios. And I loved the many visual warnings it gave us. If I were ever planning to wear a lariat necklace on the Skliner, I now know better. (Yes, that is obviously "no smoking," but it took me several tries to see that.)

Here we all are at Epcot, which still presents a stunning 1980s-based vision of the future. There has been some updating to reflect the fact that America has steadily increased its hatred of being educated in any way since then, but some entertaining shreds of optimism remain.

Spaceship Earth created this nifty simulation of me and Ian in the future, riding in our space car with our praying-mantis-like bodies. I can get behind this.

There's a spot in Epcot where you can taste different flavors of Coke from around the world, and they are all pretty gross.

Ian's head is sort of blocking the castle, but take my word for it that we are on Main Street U.S.A. in the Magic Kingdom espousing traditional American values, like hot dogs and classism. 

For some reason, the kids both wanted me to take their photo with this sign at Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. I mean, sure, it's a great sign, but I've seen better.

Splash Mountain has been rethemed to be less racist, but it still gets you quite wet if you are in the front of the boat. Luckily I have no vanity about me.

As you walk into It's a Small World, you cross a bridge where you can see the happy faces of the people who are just finishing their journey on this classic ride. In no way have they been touched by madness.

I had assumed that Enchanted Tales with Belle would involve Belle telling the children a story. But no, it turns out they want the children to act out a story for Belle, which seems kind of rude. Like, you invite people to your castle and make them perform for you? And while the children are all volunteers, they press two unwilling and unlucky adults into service as the suits of armor. I had become separated from the herd and was selected for this honor, which is commemorated in this non-consensual photo. 

We only managed to stay long enough to catch the fireworks on one night. But they were very nice. The Phil Collins jam from "Tarzan" figured more prominently than one would have expected, but different strokes for different folks/animated characters.

Maybe I'll become one of those Disney travel tips people. Tip number one: you are not actually obligated to go to Disney at all, though it may feel like it.

At Animal Kingdom, there was a dinosaur ride that included a film starring Phylicia Rashad for some reason. She did not get eaten by a dinosaur. Nor did anyone, actually.

Even with all of the high-tech, expensive rides, it turns out that the kids still wanted to spend half an hour digging in what was essentially a dinosaur-themed sandbox.

We went on a fake safari and saw giraffes. And a lot of other animals, too, but giraffes are undeniably baller.

There was a river ride where people got very wet. Fortunately, we had purchased some obviously very high end ponchos to help protect ourselves.

There was a Finding Nemo stage show where they strapped puppets and heavy machinery onto the actors before they had to sing and dance about. I hear this is how Glenn Close started out.

Moving to Hollywood Studios, they have a fake version of L.A.'s "Chinese Theater." I have seen the actual version and can attest that this version is superior for the lack of traffic and people trying to spit in your mouth.

Lots of Star Wars stuff. I have not even seen all of the Star Wars movies, but I think I got the gist of it. Frodo has to use The Force to beat Voldemort, right?

As a teen, I wanted desperately to ride the Hollywood Tower of Terror but did not get to. This wrong was righted on this trip, and all I had to do was stand in line for ninety minutes with a variety of ill mannered children and Disney Adults.

After years of ominous rumblings, my extended family finally made the pilgrimage to Disneyworld this past week. It was overall a very nice experience and the kids had the time of their lives, which was in fact all that mattered. At the same time, and as one might expect, I have a lot of thoughts.