A Christmas Bob and Ted and Alice

(If you truly get the reference in the title, you're old!)

Well, my buddy Lecram stole my idea without knowing it, and he's doing a series of blogs on his favorite holiday movies. Really, I was only going to talk about one, but still, as usual, he goes and makes me look bad. Damn curry-eating Malaysians. That's okay, nobody will ever mistake my arcane, wordy blogs for the charming, creative, sexy, popular musings of Mr. Lecram. I just like to talk about the details, dammit!

This weekend, I completed my yearly viewing of the 1951 British version of A Christmas Carol, featuring Alastair Sim as Scrooge. For some reason, despite the several billion times it's been done, I still never tire of this old chestnut of a story, and the Sim film is widely considered the definitive screen version.

It struck me how pervasive this story has become. In our modern Christmas culture, Scrooge is probably the third most important character along with Christ and Santa (not necessarily in that order). It's actually a bit strange that this, of all stories, is the definitive Christmas tale- it's so incredibly dark, for one thing. I've heard people say that even "It's a Wonderful Life" is too sad and depressing as a Christmas story, but come on! The very first words of "Carol" are, "Marley was dead," and it goes on from there: bitterness, cruelty, poverty, disease, more death, and the message that if you're not generous with your fellow man then you're going to suffer for eternity. Now THAT'S Christmas, baby! But perhaps everything it seems to have going against it is exactly what it has going for it- it's not just a frothy marshmallow-covered candy cane of a story; it's got some meat to it. It's not even really about Christmas when you look at it- it's about 1.The Victorian class system and 2.Dickens feeling guilty about getting rich. Even so, Dickens is sometimes credited with having revived the widespread observance of a holiday that had become mostly a rural tradition. Whether or not that's true, it's a bit amazing that to this day, nothing seems to say "Christmas" like a touch of Victorian/Dickensian ambience.

As for the movie, why is it the definitive version? Well, it's just so damn good. Alastair Sim, while truly being a bit too young for the role, delivers the performance of his career. His Scrooge is cruel but human, sour but funny, and ultimately likable. Most of the other performances (aside from a few melodramatic or syrupy moments that still don't go too over-the-top) are also pitch-perfect, down to the smallest supporting roles. Even the impossibly perfect Cratchit family- the Bradys of the 19th century- are sugary but still believable. It's remarkable how much of this film has stood the test of time, with very few details seeming dated (the very 40s/50s style "wailing spirits" choir arrangement is definitely one of them). The liberties taken with the original story by screenwriter Noel Langley work to enhance the characters nicely, and it all seems genuine- Dickens himself is said to have changed this story around in different retellings, so it's fair. I love certain touches, like we get to see some history of Scrooge and Marley's business association, including them buying out Fezziwig's company. And hey, it's got Patrick Macnee in it, from the original "Avengers", as young Marley! You can't go wrong! (Extra points if you can tell me the seventies sci-fi series Macnee was a voice in, and what character- no fair looking at IMDB) Oh, and this movie MUST be viewed in the original black-and-white. None of that colorized version crap.

Perhaps the only unfortunate thing about the story- and we're not just talking about the movie here- is the lame title. At the time Dickens wrote it, it was probably a perfectly descriptive and enticing title for an unknown story and an audience that wasn't constantly bombarded with things like "The American Chopper Kick-Ass Christmas Special", but now the title is so generic that many people don't know what it is. I can attest to this, because one of my many jobs and tasks in the "real" world is to work part-time in the box office of a theater company where we are currently showing "A Christmas Carol" and next year will be showing the equally-lamely-titled "A Christmas Story". Believe me, our job would be easier if they were called "Scrooge" and "BB Gun". Interestingly enough (okay, I know I'm the only one who finds this stuff interesting), the British title of the 1951 film was "Scrooge", while it was released in the U.S. as "A Christmas Carol". Usually, it's Hollywood that screws with the title.

Anyway, that's enough about that. I have to go take advantage of this day off to go do some shopping- yes, I haven't even started my Christmas shopping yet. Luckily, I don't have that many friends, and the ones I do have are as poor as me, so they understand when I give them a single sock and a handful of unmatched buttons from the Dollar Tree.

Sweet German Angel

Following up to the previous Fritz post- my brilliant friend Badger put this together for me.... *sniff*....

Goodbye, Fritz

Fritz was always a good guy- we had our ups and downs, but I loved him and I like to think he loved me, though he didn't always show it. He could be cantankerous at times, to say the least. Sometimes I'd politely ask him to do something and he wouldn't even acknowledge me. Or everything would be going along perfectly in our relationship, and suddenly some stupid little thing would get in the cogs and the machinery would come to a screeching halt. But for the most part, he was a great pal, always ready to help. That was a long time ago, though. As Fritz got older,he grew weaker and more distant, and it put a lot of strain on our friendship. Ultimately, I was forced to move on to other, younger friends, but the transition was an emotional one. It wasn't easy to forget Fritz and all he'd done for me.

So, my first new friend was a younger, feistier member of Fritz's family. The resemblance was remarkable. Except for a lighter complexion, this new friend- Udo by name- was the spitting image of Fritz. Udo and I frolicked together aplenty, but Fritz never left. He just kept waiting for me. He wouldn't- or couldn't- leave, and I didn't have the heart to send him away. Even as I brazenly would take bits of clothing and accessories literally off Fritz's back to give to Udo- they were the same size, after all- Fritz would just sit there and take it. Sometimes it almost felt as if I was actually taking pieces of Fritz's body and soul, and inserting them into Udo, but Fritz still never said a word about it. He just sat and sat, getting worn around the edges, as I continued to degrade him.

Eventually my fling with Udo came to an end, and I succumbed to the beguiling Asian charms of my current companion, Sosumi. Udo didn't take well to the new state of things, and pointedly left to live with another family. I heard they didn't treat him well, which saddens me greatly. But through it all, Fritz never left, becoming a forlorn, neglected hulk of a creature, but still by my side, waiting, waiting..... It's been almost ten years now that he's been sitting there, first being stripped for Udo's enhancement, then losing even that contact. Out of sight, out of mind- but when I would see him, it forcefully reminded me that his glory days were long gone and I would have to turn him over to someone else who could care for him in the way that he needed. I'd stopped visiting him entirely, and I'd put off the inevitable for years- finally, this week, I decided it was time to do something. I made some inquiries and found a home for Fritz to live out his days.

It was bittersweet to see them take Fritz away, but I knew it was for the best. I couldn't take care of him, and nobody else wanted to, so it was something that needed to be done. As he disappeared down my street, my thoughts went to all the good times- the awkward first dates when he went along to help, the daily tasks, the holiday shopping, the many road trips in the U.S. and beyond.

Goodbye, Fritz. I hope they treat you well in the Home. And nevermind those awful stories of vital organs being harvested and sold- I'm sure they're not true.

The Burning of Atlanta

Really, this post isn't about Atlanta. It's about getting to Atlanta. Yessirree my friends, it's another of Zonthar's "ADVENTURES IN AIR TRAVEL!!!" But to break up the monotony, I will throw in the occasional photo from Atlanta.

Here's a view from our hotel room.



Wow! Now if THAT doesn't intrigue you, then you're just not... um... intriguable! So, here we go:

Once again, Chef Eric DeGroot and I are sitting in the Fresno airport early in the AM, waiting for our flight. We're flying to San Francisco and then direct to Atlanta. With memories still fresh from the last time we flew- and we're taking United again (check my previous blogs if you want a reminder of our journey to Chicago)- we're hoping for a smooth day of travel this time. I also believe in the Tooth Fairy and I plan to get rich through a pyramid scheme.

Suddenly, breaking the calm of the terminal, a voice: "Passenger DeGroot, please report to the customer service counter." We look at each other with an unspoken but definite communication of, "You gotta be shittin' me. What now?" Well, I don't know if they picked Eric's name at random or what, but we're told that one of our flights is overbooked, and would we be willing to be rerouted through L.A., get to Atlanta a mere one hour later than planned, and get free round-trip vouchers for our trouble? Okay, I've been offered the voucher thing before, but never a whole free round trip (good only in the 48 contiguous states, but still, that's pretty damn good). Eric was a little wary, but my reaction was, "Wow! Free ticket!" So, I talk Eric into it, we say, "Sure!"- and with that, Eric and I proceeded to bend over and allow United Airlines to have its way with our respective anuses. But I digress.

It turns out we had to do this transaction immediately, because our flight to L.A. was already boarding. She booked us on a flight- a Delta flight- that was leaving L.A. at 12:30 and arriving in Atlanta at 7:30. She printed our trip vouchers, new flight info, rerouted our baggage, we were good to go.

Flew to L.A. with no problem. We look at our new flight cards- all they had was flight number and times, no gate number, no seat number- and it obviously wasn't a boarding pass. So, we figured we should go find a Delta service counter and find out what the deal was. We find one, ask the guy about it, he looks at our flight info quizzically for a moment, and tells us, "This says A.M."

Blink....blink....what? Yup. Following in the grand tradition of United Airlines desk agents, specifically the ones in Fresno (see previous post), she wasn't paying close enough attention to the flight times. But since the date was correct... yes, do the math.... we are booked on LAST NIGHT'S FLIGHT. In fact, according to our itinerary, we are already in Atlanta!!!


Here's a view from our hotel room at night. Or during a total eclipse. Or in the sunless world of "The Matrix". Naaah, I think it's just at night.

This is the point where my brain does a 180 degree turn and tap dances inside my skull. We're booked on a flight that no longer exists. At the time she reserved us for it, our flight had already landed 2 1/2 hours earlier. HOW THE HELL did it even come up in the system as being an available flight? I suppose I can understand- if not entirely forgive- that she just didn't notice the "A" as she was rushing to rebook us, but again, WHY DOES THE FLIGHT COME UP AT ALL?

Well, now we're in the proverbial pickle. Not only do we have to travel backward in time to catch our flight- which admittedly would be way cool- but Delta Man also tells us that our names are not in their system AT ALL. Apparently our bags are- but as Rod would say, they've been rerouted... to The Twilight Zone. He apologizes and says, rightly so, that it's United's mistake so we're going to have to talk to them. So, we trudge over to the United counter, wait and watch as they reduce some poor woman to tears because they have to send her to Baltimore instead of her reserved flight to Washington, and then we get to plead our case. The girl- and I use that term literally- found us an 11:00 flight, a Delta one again since United wasn't available. I decided to take a chance- it couldn't hurt, I figured: I asked, since we were already given free trip vouchers for the relatively small inconvenience of being an hour late, and since booking us on a non-existent flight is a much more egregious error, could we possibly get additional vouchers so we can take a friend on this theoretical trip somewhere? She said, "Well no, I can't give you that- but I can give you meal vouchers." Meal vouchers. Again with the meal vouchers. Only $7.50 this time, and only good inside that specific terminal. Hmph. Well, we took them. And Eric pleasantly declares that since we have two hours at this point, we can go find our gate, then come back and eat. The girl says, "Um... I don't think you'll have time." "Why not?" say we. "This is a Delta flight." "Yeah....?" "You have to go to another terminal." "Okay....." "You have to go through security again." Blink....blink.... WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

This derelict building has a swastika painted on the top, along with the words "White Power". Lovely. I think it's just graffiti, but I guess it could be the old "White Power" main headquarters building. In which case, I'm glad it's derelict.

Fucking LAX. Every other modern airport is designed so you can somehow move between the terminals without leaving the "secure" zone. Not LAX. It grew so haphazardly and is designed so poorly that you can't get to the whole airport from wherever you are. And now we're getting royally screwed because of it. I can't believe we're being sent through security. Plus, we STILL have to talk to Delta to get boarding passes. Holy crap.

So, off we go, past the big yellow line into the unsecured world that's crawling with terrorists, find the Delta checkin counter- at least we don't have bags to check- and discover that, surprise!!!!!- we are STILL not in the system. At all. But, the nice Delta lady says she can get us on that flight- good thing, since we were just booked on it- and assures us that our bags will be fine. Hmmmm. Well, at least we now have actual boarding passes, and our gate is.... back in the terminal we JUST CAME FROM. As a matter of fact, it's exactly where we talked to the Delta guy the first time. We probably could have taken care of it with him, and would never have had to leave and face security, but we took the word of United Girl. Fuck. Well at least we'll be able to use the terminal-specific meal vouchers that United so generously coughed up (which we wouldn't even have been offered if I hadn't asked).

This is the view down through the "world's largest atrium" from the balcony right outside our room door.

Security line. Not that long, really. But they end up treating us a little differently, and I didn't realize why until later- we are now in the category of Same-Day Reservations, which thanks to 9/11 means Security Threat. Somehow, there's an indication on our boarding passes which they're supposed to see, especially since you now have to hold your pass for them to see as you go through the metal detector. To give you some confidence about the current state of airport security, the guy didn't even catch Eric's and almost didn't catch mine- he waved me through, then said "Wait a sec-" called me back, looked again, and said, "Oh, you have to stand over here," motioning me to a little fenced-off area that might as well have been marked, "Please laugh at my pain." A very serious-looking gentleman came over and politely but firmly gave me the full treatment- including a pat-down and yes, The Wand. After being satisfied that I wasn't a danger to National Security, he sent me on my way. I joined Eric and the meal vouchers almost paid for our breakfast burritos.

This is the kind of thing you see when your hotel is full of conventioneers. Did the wine not make it onto the elevator, or just barely make it off? Hmmmm.


So, boarding time eventually arrives, and we're standing in line to finally get on this damn plane. Eric hands the woman his boarding pass. She pauses and speaks apologetically.

"Oh...um.... this isn't your fault....."

You have got to be FUCKING KIDDING.... NOW WHAT???

"It's security's fault...."

Oh. My. God......

"This pass needs to be stamped by them."

Have you ever seen "Brazil"? That's what I'm living at this point.

"You're going to have to go back there and get a stamp before we can let you on the plane."

FUCK!!!

And of course this is true of both of us, because we are both Security Threats. They didn't even search Eric the first time, but although I did get searched, they forgot to stamp mine as well. So, the gate agent, who really was very helpful, escorted us to security, which luckily was only about 100 feet away, and we didn't have to stand in line. They took us aside, searched us, and after almost forgetting to stamp it again- that's what we came over here for, dammit!- they sent us on our way, they let us on the plane, and all was good.

Here's a view from the Centennial Olympic Park, which is where the bombing happened during the 1996 Olympics, but it's still a nice park. If you were to turn 90 degrees to the right of this view, you'd be looking at CNN headquarters and the enormous convention hall where our show was.

The flight to Atlanta was fine. I had good airline movies on this trip for a change- "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" going there, and "Batman Begins" coming back. They also showed "Bewitched" coming back, but we won't really talk about that one. We landed at ATL and went to face the dragon- would we have any baggage? If you've never been to the airport in Atlanta- or even if you have- it's one of the world's largest. It's huge, and the baggage claim alone goes on forever with many baggage carousels. We track down the carousel with our flight flashing on it, and wait...... you guessed it. Nothing, and the board is flashing "LAST BAG" next to our flight number. Well, shit. Off we trudge to the baggage service counter.

This is Eric's reaction when I won't stop asking for snuggle time.


They find Eric's bag in the system, and it's coming in on flight so-and-so from L.A. in about an hour. They can't find mine at all, but it's probably on the same flight. "Probably?" They can deliver them to our hotel when they arrive- would we like that? No, we decide that we'd much rather have baggage in hand when we leave, so we'll wait. At least we have an actual flight number for Eric's bag.

So, we have a couple beers at the airport "piano" bar, where there's a guy with a Yamaha keyboard playing a very bizarre collection of songs, including Eminem's "8 Mile"- which, if you're wondering, does not translate well to a solo Yamaha keyboard. When the time comes, we head off down the row of baggage carousels toward the appointed one for Eric's bag's flight- and then I see something out of the corner of my eye..... can it be?.... it is!! It's MY bag, on some other carousel, and I just so happened to spot it! I have no idea how long it's been there, going around, making friends, hitting on the cute little pink daypack from Germany- it came in on some other flight, and I may never have seen it again if I hadn't been looking at just the right spot at the right time! On the tag, there was a hand-written flight number. I looked it up later out of curiosity- it was a flight from Cincinnati!! How did it get routed through Cincinnati? I've never even been there- but my suitcase has!! How many other cities did it go to? Anyway, one down, one to go.... We make it to the right spot for Eric's bag, and.... and.... "LAST BAG". Nothing. Well, shit. Back to the counter. After searching the computer for a bit, the girl actually sighed and said, "This is the third time today I've had to go look for a bag," and left. She didn't even go to the "lost bag" room or whatever- she went off toward the carousels. I think she literally had to do the same thing I did by accident- go look at all the carousels until she found the right bag. Eventually she did, and we left for the hotel. In the final count, we landed about 6:00, but left the airport about 9:00. And ultimately, it was because people in Fresno can't tell time.

The rest of the Atlanta experiences really weren't that interesting, so I won't bore you any further. You got some pictures anyway. But here's a postscript: I figured our experience was worth a mention to United Customer Service to see- again- if they would be willing to give us a couple more vouchers. I sent a polite but firm email, and just the other day I finally got a friendly response- they still couldn't give us free tix, but we now each have a $50 credit toward another seat. Not all that bad, considering we already have a free one.

And that's all I have to say about that.

I'm a lousy friend

No really, I am. I suck as a friend. I love my friends and am blessed to have them, but I've never been very good at showing it. Oh, I hug them and say affectionate things, and I mean it when I say it- but that's only when I actually see them, and that's the thing. I'm really a loner at heart. I'm rather shy and unsociable (one of the reasons I identify with the platypus), and going out and being social can be an intimidating effort for me. It doesn't mean I won't enjoy it, but it does take work on my part, and I usually choose to sit on my ass at home instead of going out and having to attempt being interesting. It also all depends on the situation. Some people probably think I'm Mr. Gregarious Laugh-It-Up Boy, while others have rarely heard me speak. It's all about the specific setting, the people, and my comfort level. But in any case, my natural tendency has always been to crawl into my platypussary, where the only one I have to impress is myself, and that's a long-lost cause anyway. I've also always been known to get cranky over unexpected calls or visits, because it requires a mental shift from whatever solitary activity I had planned. I allow very few to get to know me well, and those who do will attest to the truth of everything I'm saying here. I think it comes from a combination of low self-esteem, growing up essentially as an only child, and being my father's son (compared to my dad, I'm Paris Hilton- take that however you like). I always find it amusing that many people- who aren't actors- think that actors must be very outgoing, while my experience is the opposite- most of us are shy, although I dare say few are as anti-social as I am. I like to think that it has something to do with the acting world (as opposed to the "real" world) being scripted and you always know what's going to happen and what you're supposed to do about it- unless you're one of those mentally-questionable improv types... ;) Love you, Badger!!!

Anyway, enough about me- all that blathering about myself simply proves my thesis. Yes, I am a lousy friend. I'm prompted to say this by the fact that an old friend just moved two states away this week, I knew it was happening, and I didn't even seek him out or drop an email until after the fact. For those in the know, I am talking of course about, oh, let's call him ScarySquirrelMan. I did impulsively walk the entire one block to his house the other afternoon to see if he was there- he wasn't- and as it turned out, the next day, he was gone for good. Granted, we've never been the closest of buddies who see each other every day; in fact I haven't set eyes on him in months, but I still feel kinda shitty for not seeing him off. I don't know why I didn't- I only knew he was leaving because of various blogs, wasn't sure when he would be gone, and I never went out much or thought about it when I did, but I should have, dammit. Maybe I was avoiding him because he's only a month younger than me and makes it look SO much better than I do.....

I was thinking the other day that, for someone who has moved in and out of the edges of my world over the years, SSM has been involved in quite a few of the defining experiences of my life. I first met him when we did Foreplay together. (I never get tired of that line!) Yes, it was the so-called "comedy" show that I, SSM, another huge life influence that let's refer to as, say, Lecram, and others created back in our college days at the Fresno State radio station, the mighty KFSR FM. That was the fateful experience that, for better or worse, changed my life and led me to become an actor. A couple years later, I found myself dating the girl he'd recently dumped. I thought she was the love of my life at the time- it burned hot and fast and I haven't seen her in years- but still, SSM was there to influence the course of my life. At some point in the 90s, SSM took off for Seattle, lucky bastard- don't know why, don't really care, I just know he did it. A couple years later, he suddenly, impulsively flew down here and appeared at some gig that our mutual friend Fingers B was doing. It was there, standing in front of Club Fred, that he gave me the wisest and most useful advice I have ever received: Buy Relaxed-Fit Jeans. That way, you can wear a waist size smaller, and remain in denial about your true belly dimensions! To this day, I bless his name whenever I put on pants.

A couple years after that, when Fingers B was getting married, a familiar form walked on the stage to officiate, and an audible gasp went through the room. Could it be? Naaahh, he's in Seattle... holy shit, it is! It seemed that few people knew he was doing the ceremony, or even that he had actually moved back and had apparently been here for QUITE SOME TIME. At this point, I like to think I can take some credit for influencing his life in some small way: I berated him that night, insisting that he needed to get back on the stage and talk to Lecram about doing Theatre J'Nerique stuff. He acted uninterested, so I gave him more shit. I love watching this man on stage- even more, I love being on stage with him. He is enormously talented and damn funny. I hate him for that, of course.

So anyway, I like to think I played some tiny part in pushing SSM toward Lecram, which 1.Created everyone's favorite dysfunctional couple, and 2.Eventually caused the remnants of SSM's soul to be sucked dry by the spiritual maelstrom called Rogue. Along the way, he continued to show up in the middle of some of my most important experiences- or at least most memorable and fun. And now he's gone back to Seattle again. Fucker.

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to post this- I guess I was feeling like I don't show enough appreciation for the people in my life, as well as just feeling stupid for not buying SSM a drink and sending him off with an affectionate, slightly lingering pat on the ass for old times' sake. Besides, even I was surprised when I considered how long I've known him and how often he's kept popping up in my world.

So here's to you, SSM- give the Pacific Northwest what's what. I'll leave with a photo of us in "A Christmas Carol"- I'm the one who looks like Tommy Chong at an S&M club. I'm supposed to look fierce and he's supposed to look terrified, but the brilliant minds at the Fresno Bee chose the shot where we're laughing at some stupid dick joke.