A Gentleman's C-

A rare example of my artwork.  Rare because most of it has been long since tossed.

 

Sometimes Junior High takes you down some bad roads.  Places you'll know you'll never go again.

Yes, Junior High is a place where many's personalities are set.  Will you be a good person?  A bad person?  Study or party? Athlete or scholar? Bully or nerd?

This is not about that.

This is about THE TOUR.  I don't know if schools do this anymore, but I sure had to go through it.  THE TOUR was a whirlwind exposition, where you spent several weeks in one class and then were put into another.  And these were not academic classes, strictly speaking. No, they were designed to introduce you to activities you may eventually want to take up, ones that could lead to satisfying hobbies, even careers.

THE TOUR I most remember involved three classes - Art, Shop & Home Economics.

I shined at none of these.  

In Shop, everything I tried to make turned into a messy glob.  The shop teacher would look at my mess and say, "Well, let's just call it an ashtray."  I told him no one in my family smoked.  "Candy dish, then."  We had a lot of candy dishes that year, none of which stood the test of time.  I also built a bookshelf that I had to put in my closet - it had to be supported by the back and side walls, or it would collapse.

In Home Economics, I sewed together a stuffed alligator.  It dribbled stuffing from its hindquarters, no matter what I did to stem its outward flow.  It looked ghastly, and I kept it for years as a reminder that even ugly things had a kind of beauty.

But the one that broke my heart was Art.  In my fantasy world, I dreamed that maybe someday I could be an artist - draw pictures of anthropomorphic fruit or draw for comic books.

That illusion was quickly shattered.

The first major project was a plaster of paris pig.  I want you to know that I did the assignment.  I turned something in.  But I got an F.  The same grade as if I hadn't done it all.

Discouraged and humiliated, I was determined not to give up.  The next assignment was to produce a cartoon panel.  Wow!  Now, this was up my alley!

I worked as hard as I've ever worked on anything in my life.  I combined two comic strips popular at the time, Eek & Meek, two mice, and Frank & Ernest, two down on their luck men.

I pictured one of the mice throwing a brick at the Frank & Ernest characters, which actually traced back to an earlier comic strip called Krazy Kat.

I didn't draw these examples - they are original Art, but you get what I'm going for.

I can't remember the captions, but I thought the whole thing was clever, and I drew my little heart out.

I turned it in, brimming with pride.

She gave ma a C-.

I was stunned! I asked, "Why do you give me a C-? I worked really hard!"

She looked at me.  "I know you did.  And that's why I gave you a C-."

Teachers can have much influence, both good and bad.  I never did much Art after that.  Never took another class.  Didn't really draw much even for me anymore. 

If I worked hard and made it my life's mission, could I have developed the skills to be an artist?  Hard to say.  I'm guessing...not.  It may be just the way my mind is wired.

After a brief break, while COVID raged, I've returned to my first love - community theatre.  I'm playing Thurston Howell in Gilligan's Island: The Musical.  In it, I'm challenging my theatre motto - I can act with the best of them, I can sing with the rest of them, and I can dance if everyone closes their eyes and pretends.

I have two dance numbers with Mrs. Howell, and I am doing a credible job.  I'm not outstanding, but it fits the character and the circumstances.

There was another dance number that involved a lot of group choreography, where I would need to do steps and movements simultaneously as everyone else.  For me, that was a real challenge.  I don't know my right from my left, my reactions were slow, and I cannot count in my head.

If it was what the Director wanted, I was determined to do everything I could to do my best.

But the reality was that I was not going to come up to snuff in the time that we had.

The Director rightfully understood this, and I was switched to be on the sidelines to observe the dance rather than perform it.

It hurt.  It stung.  But it was the right call.

Oh, I would have given it my all.  I would watch the videos and practice, practice, practice.

And I'm sure I would have improved.

And I'm also sure that by the time of the performance, the best grade I would get was a Gentleman's C-.  And that wasn't going to cut it.  Not for this show.  It's a great number, and I don't need to be a distraction in it.

Interestingly, as I was dancing more, rather than hurt my feet and knees, it actually made things better.  It was exactly the right kind of exercise I needed!

So, who knows?  Maybe I'll take up dancing as a hobby.  Find a ballroom class or something. Get one of those dancing exercise tapes.  And since it's not on stage, who cares how good I am, as long as I'm getting exercise and having fun?

Speaking of which, maybe it's time to end my exile from drawing.  As  I get more time in retirement, it might be kinda fun.  Yeah, you won't be seeing my stuff in the Louvre, but it might be fun nonetheless.

When you're doing it for yourself, a Gentleman's C- is a lovely grade.

Who knows?  Maybe with effort and practice, I can pull it up to a C+!

In the Dark

 I don't like being here.  In the dark.  No one to talk to.  Nothing to do.

How long have I been here?  I don't know.  My Fitbit ran out of juice hours ago. Or has it been hours?  Maybe it's just been a few minutes.  Maybe it's been days.  All sense of time has fled me.

Why am I here?  I don't know.  My grips on my memory of the 'before time' are starting to slip.  I'm married.  I have children.  I'm old enough to be a Grandfather, but I don't have grandchildren, at least not yet. I work...somewhere.  Something done mostly on computers.  Spreadsheets?  Some program where I enter data?

How did I get down here?  Did someone put me here?  Or did I trap myself? I don't know.

What have I been eating?  What have I been drinking?  I don't know.  I can't recall eating or drinking anything?  And yet, I'm not hungry or thirsty.  If that's true, I couldn't possibly have been down here for too long.  

More time passes.  I don't know how much.  My stomach does not growl.  I do not feel parched.  As best as I can tell, I am not dehydrated.

And then a door opens wide, a doot I did not know was even there. 

Light floods in, so bright I shield my eyes.

I hear the sounds of many people. Children laughing.  Adults in spirited conversation.  Music playing.  It's KISS.  They're playing KISS, the song Rock 'n' Roll All Nite (and Party Every Day).  Is it the band, or a cover band, or a recording? I can't tell.

I gingerly step outside.  As my eyes adjust, I see many people milling about in a backyard.  Children appear to have laser guns and are chasing each other.  Groups of adults, a dozen or more in bunches of three to five, are talking with each other.  They are animated, most with drinks in their hand - wine glasses, cocktails, bottles of beer. Two men are cooking at a grill, a multitude of hot dogs and hamburgers.

This is nice.  But I don't recognize a soul.

A woman comes up to me - short, heavyset, pretty face.  She smiles at me.  She seems to know me.  I don't know her.

"Tony!  Good to see you!" She hands me a beer, a brand I've never heard of...Pirate's Cove Lager?  "Glad you could make it!"  Out of nowhere, my thirst was coming back.  I greedily slugged back about half the bottle.

I could barely speak; my voice had fallen to disuse.  "What/" I had to pause.  Took another swig of beer, hoping it would help.  "What is this?"

"It's a celebration!"

"A celebration of what?"

She looked surprised, as if I should know.  "It's over!  You mean you don't know?"

"What's over?"

"My goodness, you really have been out of it!"

"Yes.  Yes, I think I have."

"Well, it's over, Tony!  Really over! Everybody got vaccinated, and the last variant has played out!  It's been weeks since the last case!"

I remembered.  A global pandemic that had killed millions, including many here in the States.  Was that why I was hidden away?  And why would I just be by myself?  Would I not want to protect my family as well? Wait!  My family!

"My family!  Where is my family?"

She stared at him in disbelief.  "Tony.  You know what happened, don't you?  They died, Tony.  They all died.  From the pandemic.  It was after the funerals that you disappeared.  Don't you remember?"

Flashes came back to me.  Debbie being sick, having to go to ICU, and then his son and daughter.  And he couldn't get in to see any of them - they were in strict quarantine.

Tears rolling down my cheek, I turned around, heading back to the doors to my self-imposed prison.

"Where are you going, Tony?" she pleaded.

"I'm not ready yet."  I entered the doors and said as I was closing them, "Maybe later."

The darkness enveloped me.

Though Winds May Blow

 Meet the cast of our upcoming production of "Gilligan's Island The Musical"! Micah Smith (Gilligan), David Butler (Skipper), Tom Strait (Mr. Howell), Niki Spivey (Mrs. Howell), Michelle Lagoueyte (Ginger), Trey Carter (Professor), Megan Hendley (Mary Ann), Danny Godwin (Alien). Directed by Pam Fields and assisted by Cole Hendley.

I've been in a lot of shows.  A hundred or more.  And let me tell you, believe it or not, with just over two weeks to go before opening night, this show is about as far along at this point as any show I've ever been in.  

There have been a good number of plays/musicals that have adapted popular television shows or movies to the stage. Unfortunately, many of them fail to capture the true spirit of the original material.  This one does not fail.  It succeeds remarkably in highlighting the very best of the popular TV show.  The music is spirited and charming, the dialogue is snappy and funny, and you know, as with any production directed by Pam Fields, the dancing will be first-rate and entertaining*.

The cast is stellar.  Just like WACT's The Addams Family, this musical has been cast to perfection.  Each cast member is doing a superlative job in portraying the essence of what makes each character unique and memorable.  Anyone familiar with the 60's tv show will not be disappointed,

It is true that these have been difficult times for this area.  The Delta Variant has been particularly virulent and dangerous here.  The Director has encouraged our small cast to be as safe as we can.  I have worn a mask throughout practices.  I am fully vaccinated, but I am concerned about protecting others - just in case I get an asymptomatic case that I hardly know I have, and inadvertently pass it on to someone who is not vaccinated. I did remove my mask for the picture above, but I had it on both before and after the picture.

It will probably be best to see this play if you are vaccinated.  I encourage you to wear a mask at the performance.  If there is a way to socially distance, please do the best you can.  I don't believe that WACT will place any requirements on attendance, so please note this is just advice from me to you.

THe COVID cases numbers in our area have peaked and are starting to go down a bit. We're not out of the woods by any means.  But there is hope that we'll be in a less dangerous place by the time of the performances, the first of which is Thursday, October 7th.

So, I hope you will be able to come out, to sit back and hear our tale, a tale of a fateful trip, of five passengers and two crew who set sail that day into weather that started getting rough, and gets stranded on an uncharted desert isle - FOREVER!

* it's true.  I am the left shark of the production.  But if anyone can get the best out of my feeble dancing skills, it's Pam Fields.  You can be sure I will do my very best to be my very best.

Mistakes Will Be Made: Saturday Political Soap Box 276

 When I voted for Biden to become President and the reign of Trump, I did not expect perfection.  I believed that Biden was a good man who would work hard for the American people.  I did not expect a flawless administration.  I did not expect everything to be puppy dogs and ponytails.  I did not expect him to fart rainbows and wave a magic wand that evaporates all our problems.

I did expect us to move away from the vile and contemptible Trump years, where every morning, I dreaded looking at the news for fear of what horrible thing had happened.  Day after day, his words and actions ate at the base of democracy and decency that is supposed to identify us as the greatest nation on Earth.  And no matter what he said or did, no matter how much his actions hurt them, I was surrounded by people who would not wake up to his madness.

I was hoping for a return to normalcy.  I prayed for the reestablishment of democratic norms and civil disagreements.  And that I believe Biden has delivered on.

Biden ended our 20-year fiasco in Afghanistan.  No one was ever going to "win" that conflict.  It was unwinnable.  The country is unconquerable, as others throughout history have found out. Even Trump wanted us out, even though he didn't have the stones or planning skills to actually do it.

President Biden held firm and completed the withdrawal.  Parts of it were not pretty.  Parts of it went wrong.  But overall, we evacuated more people out in as short of time as had ever been done before, well over 100,000. Yes, the Taliban took over more quickly than some anticipated, and there were some terrible visuals.  But we did get out.  We did end our military involvement.

Drone strikes have always been more inaccurate than portrayed in the media.  This has been true of whichever administration is using them.  Sometimes they work as they should.  Sometimes they go awry.  I don't like that.  You don't like that. 

Domestically, Biden has surprised me by being a bit more progressive than I thought he was.  The legislation that has passed, and what he has proposed are significant and needed changes and investments.  But he has also waffled on eliminating the filibuster, and whether reality or perception, he has let Joe Manchin take too much control of things.

I wish he would do more to reduce student loan debt.  I wish he would endorse Medicare For All. I would have hoped that Vice President Harris was given a more prominent role (although that may just be the usual ignoring that the media does of any Vice President).

The Delta Variant has caused havoc and death in America. But I am hard-pressed to blame the President for the immature and selfish actions of the unvaccinated (primarily led and cheered on by media and politicians of the far right).

Speaking of the far-right, it is deeply saddening that Trump may be out, but Trumpism is still alive, a disease still eating away at this country's soul.

Overall, though, I am grateful that we can argue over issues now instead of whether or not we will continue democracy or persecute those who we perceive as "the other."  

Yes, mistakes have been made.  And more mistakes will be made.  But at least now, they are the common flaws we see in all men of goodwill.

May we continue in that direction.

 

Friday Writing Randomizer 2

 Once again, my creative writing has dried to zero.

Once again, I'm turning to the randomizer to try to kick start my discipline.

The Inspire Me app picks three words at random, and from that, I try to construct a concise story using those three words.

Wish me luck.

Claws, very, here

I'm not very happy with what we have here. Ever since seeing Barbra Streisand in On A Clear Day You Can See Forever, I have been repulsed by long, sharp fingernails.  They are no longer loving hands; they are terrifying claws ready to rip your soul to shreds.  I wish I wasn't that way, but you don't always get to pick your phobias.

And now I am in love with a woman who insists on keeping her talons long.  How can this be when just looking at her hands makes me shaky and nauseous?  I could tell her to cut them, but what would that make me?  Don't I believe that people should be what they are?  How would that kickstart a relationship to be dictating how a person presents themselves?

What if she wanted me to shave myself bald?  Would I do that just to please her?  Ok, I probably would, but that's not the point.

I can do this.  Sometimes when phobias are faced head-on, they fade.

Love will triumph.

In theory.

race, driver, spite

Go! Go! Go!

Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!

What in the world?  Is everything a race to my driver?  Can't we just go to the Piggly Wiggly at a leisurely pace?

Did Hoke resent me?  Was he driving like a speeding lunatic simply out of spite?  Was he upset with me for some reason?

I need to have a talk with him as soon as he's not racing. But, unfortunately, I'm rather too frightened to interrupt him right now.

But rest assured, I, Miss Werthan, will get this straightened out. 

No one drives Miss Daisy like this.

process, eaten, hurry

There is a decided process to lunchtime.  It has to be eaten in precise order.  And it must not be done in a hurry.

One must set the courses out carefully.  The napkin must be folded precisely and placed just above the right knee.

The soup is first.  It looks like cauliflower in a deep red sauce.  Of course, that may be what it looks like, but we know that it is not.

After the soup is finished, we proceed to the main entree, flank and balls.

Dessert is a burgandy mousse.

One ends with a prayer of gratitude for those who help sustain us.

Anen.

Stay tuned to this blog for more creative writing!

(I hope.)

Not Just Doing My Own Thang

 Oh, hippies!

Time has aged us all.

But, you know, some of that hippie thang still lives on with us.

Unfortunately, for the most part, not the good stuff.  Not the environmental concern (that does exist, but I wouldn't attribute it to the hippie culture).  Certainly not the so-called liberal politics.

Am I of the generation where I could have been a hippy?  Close enough, I guess.  I was a teenager in the late sixties and early seventies.  But I never was.  I was always straight-laced (!) and fairly conservative, from a personal appearance and conduct level perspective.  Most of the hippies I knew in high school weren't peaceniks and protestors.  For the most part, they were hoodlums and roughnecks, more concerned with getting high than with treating other people well.

And that is what has survived of the hippie culture to this day.  Not an effort to reach a helping hand and strive to make a better planet for all, but just a general impulse to do your own thang.  Want to smoke dope?  DO YOUR OWN THANG!  Want a looser definition of marriage and sexual responsibility?  DO YOUR OWN THANG!  Want to party? DO YOUR OWN THANG!  Want to make money and buy the things you want?  DO YOUR OWN THANG! Want to worship Jesus by rocking out and speaking in tongues*?  DO YOUR OWN THANG!

The hippie movement flowed naturally into Reagan and the age of greed.  Some of the hippies became yippies - young professionals consumed with doing their own thang.

And some of those aging hippies are Trump supporters.  Why?  Because he is the poster child for selfishly DOING YOUR OWN THANG. As long as you blindly worship Trump, or at least let him DO HIS OWN THANG, enriching himself by grafting YOU.

I am not dismissing hippies altogether.  I know a few who are decidedly progressive, who care a great deal about the environment and social/economic equity.  But, I'm sorry to say, they are outnumbered by those who DOING THEIR OWN THANG means first and foremost prioritizing themselves and their own enrichment,

So, let me make it clear.  Me wearing a mask in public is not me DOING MY OWN THANG.  It has nothing to do with personal preference, or "you do you, Tom," or prioritizing myself.

I wear a mask in public because of YOU.  I care about YOU.  I care about doing what I can to halt this awful pandemic, this horrible virus that has infected AT LEAST 1 in 5 of the people of Ware and Pierce Counties, that has killed almost 300 people in our rural landscape. So I take it very seriously.  

Yes, I am vaccinated.  No, I have not gotten COVID (to date).  Yes, I am careful, or as careful as I can be given the behavior of others.  But I know about the potential of breakthrough cases.  And I know, despite my caution, I could get one of those breakthrough cases.  And I am very afraid that when I contract it, it will be too mild for me to catch the symptoms, and I, therefore, run the risks of infecting others.  And with the super high rate of unvaccinated around here, I run the risk of infecting one of them.  I could be responsible for someone else getting it, and their case might not be so mild.  And I cannot handle being responsible for that.

I am not DOING MY OWN THANG.  I am not simply choosing pepperoni on my pizza over peppers.  I am not trying to follow the drumbeat of my own drummer.

I am trying to do the RESPONSIBLE thing, the CARING thing, the thing that HAS TO BE DONE if we are going to get out of this terrible pandemic.

Get vaccinated.  Wear a mask.

This isn't MY THANG.  If we're going to make it out of this, it absolutely has to be OUR THANG.

*This is not meant as a negative reflection of Pentecostals or the long tradition of the speaking of tongues in Acts.  I recently read a book where some hippies were forming churches that did this.  Maybe I could have thought of a better example.  Maybe I'll edit it later.  I don't know.  Just don't obsess over the wrong thing.

The Longest Gap

 

It's been a while.  No posts in August, and this is my first one in September, 11 days in.  Yes, that is 9/11, and although I do solemnly remember those events and the terror we all felt, this post is not about that.

Why have I been gone so long?

First, let me assure you that I am on the planet and well.  Outside of the usual arthritis-related foot pains, my health has been pretty good for a 66-year-old Fatman.

I just lost my passion for writing.  I got tired of tilting at windmills, exhausted trying to find new ways to say the same themes.  The major way I try to get people to connect to the blog, FaceBook, shows my postings to fewer and fewer people, and I'm not going to advertise a blog where I'm not allowed to earn money.

FaceBook itself has become a cesspool of right-wing extremism and misinformation.  My desire to go on FaceBook has become less and less.  COVID-19 hurts; watching the parade of pictures from people who are oblivious to the pandemic, including pictures of unmasked students and teachers, is too depressing for me to handle.  Watching people I know and care about continuing to irrationally embrace Trump and Trumpism wears me to the bone.  It fills me with the sense that we are not going to get out of this.

Global warming, voter suppression, refusal to accept election results, income disparity, religious fanaticism - I needed to take a break from commentary.

I also was trying to see what my days were like without feeling like I had to write something every day. Overall, it wasn't too bad.  I didn't miss writing per see, but it did affect my sense of self-worth.  If I'm not a writer, what am I?

I'm proud to be a father and husband.  I receive great joy from my family (including our fleet of pets).  I don't eat horribly, and I exercise some (although I need to make improvements in both regards).

I'm back in community theatre again, singing and dancing (!!!!!!) as Mr. Howell in Gilligan's Island: The Musical.  It seems like an act of insanity, considering the spectacular rise in COVID numbers in our area.  But it's a small cast, and I'm extra cautious, so I have high hopes to make it through without endangering myself or others.  We don't start performing until October 7th, so maybe the numbers will be 

I now have one son in New York, one in California, and one in Milledgeville at Georgia College State University.  Well, at least Alison and I know where to plan vacations.

I have other plans and dreams, but I'll share those later. 

Which implies I will continue my blog, at least at some level.

Sincerely,

T. M. Strait