THE WORLD IS A STAGE

2012-01-30T23:16:00.000-08:00

Joey

Three Cheers of JOY

Joey ( pronounced JOY) came home last night, or tonight as I write this. Specifically 1/30/2012

at 21:15. To those who know it is a great JOY, to those who don't .... JOY can always be celebrated for its own sake.

A long time coming, a long journey ended, a mission of great courage fulfilled. Now moving on to day one. Time has started running forward finally.

Welcome back.

2012-01-26T12:39:00.000-08:00

Costa Concordia

Has everyone said all they want to say about the Costa Concordia running aground in Italy? Oh, Yeah, I haven't talked about it in my blog. So if it is not a subject that you are interested in, here an archived blog that might be more fun for you to read. Laffs Vegas.

I have lost count of how may cruise ships I have been on in the last two decades. More than I care to recall, but the gig is easy, for the most part, and does pay the mortgage. I have never worked for the Costa line so all my knowledge is based on the policy of other Cruise Companies. But most rules are mandated by the Coast Guard and are the same.

The one thing that I know is that on the lines I work for a Captain will be overly cautious and err to the side of safety over tourism every time. On a recent trip to the Caribbean a wind storm was determined to be too strong for our ship to anchor and tender into Coco Cay. The Captain cancelled the day on the beach because of the danger to the passengers and the ship. There was much decent from some travelers mad because one of their destinations was not visited.

Because the Captain made that decision there was no chance to evaluate his conduct in an emergency. He was over cautious and avoided the emergency. Had he anchored in bad weather and a tender boat hit the rocks or swamped in the wind harming passengers would they still complain? Even more.

Here is my take on the Costa Concordia event. The minute the ship hit a rock hard enough to break off and stick in the hull of a ship twice the size of the Titanic, the Captain should have declared an emergency. (Not some hour and a half later like the Costa Captain). There is no doubt that they knew instantly it was not a generator problem as was announced to the passengers. Generators don't rock the ship and knock things off the shelves. Within minutes an inspection would have discovered the real problem. On modern ships with video everywhere, they probably had a nice VHS of the actual collision with the rock. As to the excuse that the rock was not carted on the Costa Captains maps, I say Bull shit. Those waters and that coastline have been sailed for thousands of years. Today with depth finders and radar even if the rock wasn't charted it would be visible to the sensors. The Captain should have declared a General emergency immediately.

Every crew member knows what to do in a General emergency.... Seven short and one long blast of the ships horn and ringing emergency alarms. Even if the passengers did not know where to go they would have been directed to the correct life boat station by crew assigned to that duty way in advance. The crew rehearses this procedure on every ship at least once a week.

If it was just a generator problem the life boats would not have been lowered and everyone would be instructed to go back to the bar and enjoy the evening. If it was anything more the life boats would have been filled and lowered into the water. Since the ship was still up right they could evacuate from both sides. Everyone would be sailing away from the sinking ship to safety. The Captain would have steered the ship onto a beach or shelf so it would not sink completely if he could. (This requires the Captain to be on board... by the way)

Even if the life boats are launched and it is determined that the ship is still safe, the Captain would call the boats back in, they would be hauled up and everyone would go to the bar and have a good time telling the story.

This captain, now stuck with the nickname, Chicken of the Seas, lied to the passengers, finished his dinner, and waited, until half-an-hour later when the starboard side lifeboats were useless, to abandon ship. Then fate stepped in. He "Slipped" and fell from the deck into a life boat with his lap top and radio in tack, as the boat was sailing away. He said it was dark and he couldn't get back on board. Interesting since there were rescue teams from the Italian Coast Guard that easily boarded the boat to help in the rescue.

Now it is learned that the Captain steered out of the known shipping lane and sailed a course 400 meters closer to the island. Rumor is that there was a party on the island and The Captain wanted to get his ship close enough to be see clearly by the partiers.

As for me, I want my pilots, my ship Captains and even my bus drivers to err on the side of caution, not grandstand for an audience. I want them to realize they have stewardship of a lot of lives and take that job seriously. For the most part they do. It is rare that we hear of such a human disaster like this that was directly caused by the carelessness of the person in charge.

Smooth sailing. Clear flying... responsible people in charge.

As you were,

Jay

2012-01-25T16:26:00.000-08:00

Thing that Almost Made it Big...
Coming up with a product that catches on is a crap shoot. It will never be fully understood why one thing makes it and another just misses. Sometimes you are just a number or a color off from making it.
Here are a few examples from the Jayson Art Files.

They just had one thing wrong.
As you were,
Jay

2012-01-24T12:42:00.000-08:00

Tweet

#Wondering: What do you think of all the politics going on right now?

#RiteJay: I think Rick Santorum looks like Jerry Seinfeld.

#Wondering: Only not so funny, right?

#RiteJay: No, He does make me laugh. He calls it his policy, sounds like a Saturday Night Live sketch to me. I think that sweater vest is actually bullet proof, just in case he happens to be walking down a street in West Hollywood.

#Wondering: LOL. What about Newt?

#RiteJay: He looks like the evil Stay-Puffed Marshmallow Man in the movie "Ghost Busters". In the old days weren't witches always turning people into Newts? That was a bad thing, right?

#Wondering: Yeah, what's a Newt anyway?

#RiteJay: A Newt is a cold blooded slimy water lizard. They will mate with any other lizard, and doesn't do anything but make it difficult on the other creatures in the scum pond. A Newt's best defense against predators is leaving a bad taste in their mouth.

#Wondering: So no on Newt?

#RiteJay: I think he should get out of politics. Corner the market on the stuff that holds his third wife's hair in place and sell it to shield Nuclear reactors. He could make a fortune.

#Wondering: And Mitt?

#RiteJay: A Mitt and a Newt? That's the choice? Somehow neither one sounds very presidential.

#Wondering: You can't judge a politician by his funny name.

#RiteJay: Really? Spiro Agnew? Now there is a funny name. Nixon's vice president, forced to resign on a Criminal conviction of extortion, tax fraud, bribery and conspiracy. He was convicted of accepting bribes totaling more than $100,000, while holding office as Baltimore County Executive, Governor of Maryland, and Vice President of the United States. But like you say... what's in a name.

#Wondering: Then how about Ron Paul. That's a good presidential name.

#RiteJay: He is the old man next door, running out of his house screaming at the kids to get off his lawn. If he becomes president he will install a new cabinet position. Secretary of Curmudgeon.

#Wondering: So in your opinion, what is the solution?

#RiteJay: Oh, I'm not opinionated... I am independent. I have an open mind.

#Wondering: Right, Jay.

Performing High

2012-01-22T07:43:00.001-08:00

I enjoy performing too much to let anything cloud that experience, knowingly. There are artists I know well who believe they are better connected to their art, whatever it might be, if they are chemically altered in some way. Although I can't imagine that would be so, they do seem to at least be able to work in that condition. Are they better because of it or do they convince themselves that it is better is the question? I am surely not the one that can answer that query.

But that is not the subject of this blog, "other people performing high" it is about me.... "performing high. " Here is how it all went down: It was just another corporate show for a very exclusive group on Friday night. I am not even sure what they did, but I knew based upon the venue and the speakers on the roster that this small group was important. The driver who took me to the venue said the day before a Brinks truck had arrived with a solid gold artifact from the Mel Fisher salvage of the Atochia wreck. I think the subject of the day was gold, so they decided to bring in the ultimate in valuable gold bling.

Things like this don't intimidate me. I decided it was just another version of the Bohemian Club, and I have no trouble entertaining those rich buggers, so how was this group different. Besides, I don't care what kind of business they are in.. or how much gold they can afford to buy, unless they perform ventriloquism, I can do something they can't so we are even at the starting line.

The booze was flowing freely to all. And based upon the sound check I knew that I would be working close to the audience in cramped conditions. That was a little concerning but not unique to my performing experience. As I did my usual warm up in the holding area I didn't think that my voice was responding very well. The producer kept plying me with water which I gulped down, but it was not helping my "chops". I just figured that Dr. Greasepaint would have to take over once I was introduced. It was finally time for me to go on. Even after a few sentences I knew something was different about this performance. My timing was off. It was an immediate struggle, one that I had never experienced before on stage. I forgot the opening joke that I had planned to do. It was like climbing a mountain. I just couldn't catch my breath and didn't seem to have enough air to even finish the next joke. I had to slow way down on stage but my mind was racing to find an answer to my current conditions. There was a side of my brain that was going through everything that I had done that day to help make sense of my situation. I had not done anything different than I had done for thousands of corporate shows in the past. I wasn't stressed I wasn't overwhelmed, I wasn't doing anything different than I have always done. Here I was in Vail, Colorado entertaining a small but receptive group and I was struggling. That is when it hit me.... VAIL, Colorado.... what is the altitude here? Much higher than I am used to and I have been here less than 24 hours.

It was the altitude that was intefering with my performance. I have always been extremely proud of the breath control I have worked on for all my career. I rely in that control for the timing of my act and the projection of my voices. I have even lectured on the importance of breath control in ventriloquism. If it is off then your entire act is off. That is when I figured it all out. It doesn't matter how good your breath control is, if you are not getting the amount of oxygen you are used to getting with each breath, you are screwed. My problem was... I was performing high... higher in altitude than my usual performances. There is nothing quite like the feeling when you thing you have 30 more seconds of air....and you don't .

I will remember this if they ever offer me the "ski resort" tour.

As you were,

Jay

Judy Houghton

2012-01-21T03:30:00.000-08:00

Judy was the first choreographer that I ever worked for. It was a challenge for a 15 year old ventriloquist who had never been in a show like the Campus Review at Six Flags Over Texas. It was probably a challenge for her as well. Not only was I not a dancer, I was holding a puppet the entire show. But we got through it together, because we had one big thing in common: It was Judy's first year to work for Charles R. Meeker, Jr. too. A man who would become very important in both our lives.

I continued to work for Mr. Meeker off and on for the next 10 years, which meant I was working with Judy as well. Judy was always there during the Meeker days. Mr. Meeker wrote, cast and produced the shows and Judy set the movement. She was the live show manager at Six Flags Over Georgia the summer I did 918 shows for the season. We never knew the arrangement between them other than business partners, I never heard her call him anything but Mr. Meeker. Ultimately it didn't matter and no one really cared. To those of us who worked for him Mr. Meeker was bigger than life and couldn't be defined by normal rules.

Judy was there when Mr. Meeker passed away. He did it his way... left a rehearsal, went to the hotel and died. Judy continued to produce shows and plan meetings in the tradition of Mr. Meeker. It wasn't always easy because of his bigger than life legacy and the fact that it was still "boys club" at the time. Judy and I stayed in touch but by this time I was in Los Angeles trying to ply the experience that Judy and Mr. Meeker had given me. Our time together became mainly reunions with casts members she had taught.

Years later Judy would influence my career again in a very direct way. We had occasion to talk about my one man show. She knew I was trying to complete the funding for a shot at Broadway. She decided that Dallas Summer Musicals should get involved and began to lobby our mutual friend Mike Jenkins. With the tenacity of Mr. Meeker she convinced Michael to come to the Colony Theatre to see the show. His participation was the tipping point and we were on our way to Broadway with the Two and Only. It was perfect to have Judy there at my Broadway opening, she had been so much a part of my journey.

A couple of weeks ago she called me to say that she had not answered my email because her computer was up stairs. She had been in the hospital and she was too weak to walk up the stairs. We talked, we reminisced, we said we would talk more. I looked forward to that. Last Monday my friend David Sinkler told me she was back in the hospital, Thursday our friend Judy passed away.

Her family is large, it includes kids from Six Flags, Cedar Point, Desert Fiesta, Charlie's Place, Incredible Charlie's, the Miss Universe Pageant, the Miss Teen Age America Pageant, Dr Pepper Bottlers Tours, and those are only the family members I know about. There are many more.

Judy crossed over too young, but I swear I can hear the voice of Charles R. Meeker, Jr. saying "Chop, Chop Judy.... we got work to do.".

Goodbye sweet friend,

Jay

2012-01-20T04:40:00.000-08:00

And..... Action...

I thought the neighbors across the street were moving out, but it didn't look like your standard movers that pulled up last week. Huge wooden crates filled the yard. They put every piece of furniture into the crates and with a fork lift placed them on logo-less trucks. The next day two other trucks pulled up and reversed the procedure with different furnishings. It was the opening salvo of a movie crew.

By then the curbs on either side of my street were blocked off with orange cones and temporary tow away no parking signs posted.

There is a sameness to every movie crew. Unshaven guys with baseball caps, shorts and hoodies, tools dangling from their belts, hauling lights and cables paraded in front of my house. My dog Boo did not find them attractive and barked constantly. Then there are the actors that sit in high folding chairs with tissues protecting their collars. Type A personality directors who seem to be under stress and over stimulated. There is a flurry of activity to set up a scene and then long periods of time when those same worker bees smoke cigarettes, and toss wrenches at each other in the street. Motor-cycle cops stand guard letting only the neighbors through. Unfortunately they don't know the neighbors so getting in and out of my driveway is like going through a border check.

Last night till midnight the front yard across the street was lit with huge lights on century stands and cherry pickers. That house looked like it was still high noon with the rest of the neighborhood in evening darkness.

My next door neighbor has rented his front yard to the crew for their lunch. Shade tents and long tables and chairs flank a food truck. It smells great, and I am wondering if I can show my SAG card and get a free meal.

There is no signage that would indicate what this production is. I am guessing by the number of days that they have been here that it is a film, rather than a television commercial or TV series. They are not shooting the exterior of the house, so I may never know if I actually see the scenes they are shooting in a film someday. It would be nice to say... "You know that scene where they kill the zombie in the living room... that is my next door neighbor's house."

LA is a company town and for the most part we put up with these minor inconveniences. They could have cast the entire film with actors living in a two block radius. I have done my share of tramping through someone's residence turned into a film set. There is one thing for sure, there is no amount of money that would lure me into offering my residence for such a project. In the contract to use the house is the clause that it will be put back to its original state perfectly so they treat it like a studio set. I have seen camera dollies scrape across maple wood floors and mud tracked across wall to wal carpeting. On one location, shooting Broken Badges in Canada, the owner had a very large fish tank full of exotic tropical fish. The sound man did not like the noise of the air pump and turned it off for the two days we shot. The fish died a slow death. It cost the production company more money to restock the tank than I got for a salary that week. It is not the glamorous part of the business that the PR people document.

I have never known a home owner who rented his house to a production crew more than once. I guess that is why you never know where the trucks will be next time. There is a sucker born every minute.

As you were,

Jay

2012-01-19T11:43:00.000-08:00

Hit the Rat

If you didn't know, "The Two and Only" has a singing rat as its mascot. It has been so since our first performance at the Atlantic Theatre in New York. The Rat was an opening night gift from my friend Chris Wallace on our maiden run in New York. A Sinatraesque rodent singing New York, New York was the perfect symbol of my burgeoning Broadway journey. Here is a former blog that I wrote on the subject. The Rat

At the Crest Theatre in Delray Beach, Florida, the booth was not easily accessible from back stage. This meant that John had to be in the booth for the 15 minute and 5 minute call to the "actors". Normally he will come into my dressing room to give me those calls and "hit the rat" who sings the appropriate phrase for the time.

His official name is Rando the Rat Bastard. It is a stuffed toy rat that has a voice chip inside. Cradling a cigarette in one hand and the other in his tuxedo pocket, he sings the song in three phrases on three separate "hits". At half hour to show time, with the first hit, the rat belts out "If I can make it there..."At 15 minutes before show time on the second hit he croons, "I'm gonna make it anywhere its up to you New York..." And finally with five minutes until the curtain goes up on the third hit he sings with great falsetto gusto, "NEW YORKKK," holding the note with great pride. That means to me.... show time.

This has been the routine with every show we have ever done at every theatre. Before John took over the show, from being the sound man, all my other stage managers performed the same routine. If the rat is punched inadvertently in transit he is reset to the top of the song so the tradition can be maintained. He even travels in his own small case inside the other cases. When we accidentally lost the rat a few years ago his identical "rat stand by" twin continued the tradition.

But now there is a break in tradition at the Crest. John can not "punch" the rat in conjunction with the show calls. I could have "squeezed the rat" myself, but that is not the way it has always been done. There is a rule in Show business that if it is working don't change it.

On the tour of "My Fair Lady" years ago a general manager discovered that they were transporting a large chandelier from theatre to theatre at great expense that was only used for a quick ball room scene. He told the producers that if they didn't travel with that chandelier they could save $100,000.00 during the span of the tour. The producer thought for a minute and said, "You know... we don't know why that scene works... it could be the chandelier... don't cut it."

So it is. I really could not activate the rat myself.

John asked the theatre stage manager who was working stage left to "hit the rat" when he gave me the calls for show time. Dave walked in the first night and said," Half-hour... and I am supposed to do something with your rat?" He seemed a little concerned about what this duty might entail. I pointed to the rat who was hung over one of the make up table lights. He looked back at me with a nervous glance. I said, "Squeeze his stomach",which he did. We were off to a great start.

As the run progressed Dave got into the routine, but always with a different phrase. "Five minutes, time to choke the rat.... 15 minutes time to express the rodent.... Half hour time to molest the mouse." He would laugh, I would laugh and the show was off to a good start.

They say if you find a job that you like to do you will never work a day in your life. How true.

As you were,

Jay

2012-01-17T16:02:00.000-08:00

The Yen and Yang of TTAO

The logistics of doing a theatrical show like "The Two and Only" (TTAO) are much more complicated than just doing my club act somewhere. There is the small set, the lighting cues, the sound, the props and all of it has to come together at the same time to make it happen. To hamper this feat is the fact that the production can only afford to hire John Ivy and me to do it, so we must use a local theatre crew that is as different as the theatres we perform in.

It is always a compromise since no two theatres have exactly the same equipment or experience level. The locals come into the whole thing clueless about our show, so there is a lot of time spent figuring out how to motivate them or in some cases how to deal with them. Usually, we know what we are getting into, but sometimes we don't.

The contract rider is supposed to alert the crew and theatre about what we need in the way of equipment to produce the show long before we arrive. That includes things like the right number and right kind of lights hung in the correct plot. It also included the number of channels and the minimum size lighting and sound boards to make it happen. If we know ahead of time that they do not have exactly what we need we can adjust pretty well. John Ivy is a master at making a silk purse out of a sows ear. He and I both come from "poor theatre" where you have to make magic with what you have. The alternative is to travel with a semi truck of all the stuff we need, and that is just not economically feasible with this show. Besides 90% of the time we would be duplicating what the theatre already has anyway.

Sometimes the person John speaks to in advance is not straight forward on what they have or don't and we get surprised when we arrive. That does not make for an easy set up and rehearsal. Although contractually they are supposed to have or rent exactly what we need, that is rarely the case when we arrive. It sometimes seems that tech directors don't want to be honest before hand figuring once we are there we will have to make it work with what they've got. On this last run one of the theaters did not have the correct microphone so I could hide it in my hair. Fortunately in my prop case I had a mic and cable that fit the transmitter and it worked. It is the first time I have had to use this backup and it is rare that it matches the transmitter.

We ship and FedEx as much as we can so we don't have to travel with a lot, but sometimes there is not enough time between theatres to ship the stuff and we have to haul it ourselves. That is when we rent a small truck and become a traveling circus, which was the case last week in Florida. It is the yen and yang of show business. Minutes after I am taking a bow in front of an audience standing and cheering, I am climbing into a rented UHaul truck with questionable comfort for a ride back to a motel.

At the end of this run the big stuff was scheduled to be shipped back. We drove the empty truck back to Miami to turn it in before our flights home. The UHaul return was a gas station in a shady part of Miami near the Airport. Even in the middle of the day I felt I had to keep one eye on my briefcase while we were settling up.

There was a bilingual discussion over two gallons of gas that we still owed once we filled it up at the station, and whether we got our deposit back. They finally applied the deposit to the rental and charged the difference to my credit card. This took more time than it should of because the customers wanting to pump gas came first. Although we had allowed plenty of time to make our flights we needed every moment to deal with the unexpected. We had been told that someone could take us from the rental place to the airport, that proved not to be the case. They were not even willing to call a cab, that was up to us. They had their truck and were done with us.

We sat on our luggage, breathing gasoline fumes to the side of a dirty drive way, waiting 30 minutes for a cab and wondering if it would actually show up in time to get us to the gate on time. We were close enough to hear the planes land but might as well have been in New Jersey. I turned to John and said, "Is this the way you pictured a Tony Award winning show touring the south?" We laughed because it was the only thing we could do.

I guess I had another version of this scene in mind when we opened on Broadway. I know it could be worse. We would still be hanging out at a gas station even if the audience had not cheered and stood up the night before. That might have made this moment a little more difficult to get through.

We are making plans to film the show for DVD release this fall. It will certainly make delivering the show to the out lands a lot easier. But even with the leveling factor of Uhaul rental places, I will miss the thrill of performing the show. That hour and 45 minutes on the stage is magical, and worth a lot more adversity than I have to endure to get it there.

As you were,

Jay

2012-01-13T14:06:00.000-08:00

The Road House

I posted this before I realized it is Friday the 13th. Now I will be looking for all the reasons they call it Friday the 13th. but just for you history buffs, it was a Friday 13th of October when the King of France ordered all the Knights Templar arrested. I suppose that unless you are a closet Tempelar this is just another Friday.
It was in the middle of the show as I am recreating a phone conversation with my mentor Art Seiving, that the sound began to squeal. At first I thought it was a hearing aide in the audience, but it was indeed my microphone that was feeding back a very high pitched sound. John was not running the sound, and the sound board and operator were up in the rafters booth with the lighting operator. I will never understand why you would put a sound board in a booth where you can not hear what is sounds like in the audience. It is like trying to thread a needle in the dark. But that was the case on this stop. I think if we had been there more than one night John, the perfectionist, would have tuned the sound and tweaked the room. It needed to be done. But we do what we can do with what we have and John is able to do some amazing things with smoke and mirrors.

By the time I realized it was my mic making the noise, John dashed for the board to fix it. I sensed that the audience was so aware of the sound that they were not listening to the words. At that point my Art Sieving character says... "Jay you must be calling long distance on AT&T." It got a bigger laugh than I thought it might and the laugh covered the time it took to correct the ringing. We were back on script and so was the audience.The writer in me was a little upset that the actor in me had ad-libbed a joke not in the script. But the performer in me agreed with the actor. Such is the schizophrenic nature of my solo performance.

Some times you have to put yourself in place of the audience and if they are so distracted that they are not getting the text, something must be done to acknowledge that distraction. In my opinion to do other wise creates a disconnect between the performer and the audience. Live theatre is not film. In a film the actors would never be aware of what is going on in the audience. Stage Actors must take that into account when performing live. Not to say that shooting from the hip and going with the flow is always the best idea. It takes developed instinct to know when to break that fourth wall and when you do not. I will say that it is much easier for a solo performer to do that than a bigger cast.

I guess that is what keeps it fresh for me on stage. It is always a matter of trying to connect with the audience. Since no two audiences are ever the same it is a unique and wonderful challenge each night to walk that tight rope. I feel completely blessed that I have been granted the opportunity to explore those mental acrobatics in my career.

Tonight we open in another town and another theatre. This one is a beautiful 1920's jewel box that seems like it will be perfect for my show. And we are here for a few days. I am really looking forward to it. In the past I would have stated the name of the theatre, but I have found that is not the best idea. I was once chastised by a promoter who didn't like the way I talked about his obnoxious sound man in my blog. On the one hand I think, freedom of expression, and the guy really was a jerk to us, but on the other hand.... who really cares. Turns out the only ones who would care are the promoter and the sound guy. As the blog becomes easier to google for specifics, it is just not worth my "freedom" to name names anymore.

As you were,

Jay

2012-01-10T11:18:00.000-08:00

Don't Forget the Party Hats

Most of the time I have a pen and paper at the ready to write down things I hear. After all no one can remember all the important things you hear or experience. I suppose with the abilities of modern technology one could record their conversations and play them back for recall. However, who wants to hear the 20 minutes of social intercourse for the 3 seconds of brilliance worth remembering.

The problem is, out of context I sometimes have no idea what my notes mean. At the transcription time I think what I have written will stimulate my memory, that is not always a safe bet.

This morning I came across a torn piece of a cocktail napkin scrawled on with a dry erase marker. Obviously I was not prepared for life changing messages where cocktails were being served, and did not have my usual pen and paper. The blurred writing said, "Party hats in the emergency bag."

I am trying to recall the context or the intent but since I am not sure how old this wisdom is, the actual meaning has been lost... not unlike the Easter Island statues.

However, I believe that the conversation had come out of a discussion about making earthquake preparations, specifically the emergency kit that all us Californians are supposed to have ready.

My friend Lynn said that she wanted to make sure that the emergency bag contained party hats. For my friend Lynn everything can be the reason to celebrate.

I remember years ago I was waiting to hear about a job I wanted. Lynn said "Let's celebrate." I reminded her that I had not gotten the job yet. She said, "If you get the job we can celebrate again... and if you don't get the job.... at least you got to celebrate before you heard."

You gotta love that philosophy.

As you were,

Jay

Never Never Nassau

2012-01-04T01:34:00.001-08:00

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the Nassau airport, more flies swarm the ointment. I wish that was a metaphor but there are flies buzzing about the Nassau terminal............

That is all that is left of a 1200 word blog I wrote to be published in this slot. It was the story of a very long day spent trying to get out of Nassau. The sea was so angry it caused the captain to miss his first approach to the Nassau dock. We had to circle and try again to slide the ship between two others against a vicious wind. The operation was frought with peril and at one point a question whether we would actually be able to make it in to Nassau. Although the captain finally treaded a 130,000 ton floating needle into a dock slip, it caused an hour and a half delay in the scheduled.

This event scuttled our plans for getting back to Los Angeles on our original itenerary, setting in motion a day of frustration and dissapointment. This shit storm was followed by moments of pure magic and miracles to make the last flight available to Los Angeles. It had all the elements of stories I love to tell. It had moments of sheer failure followed by impossible success in spite of all the odds against it.

It was a long essay born of six hours of down time at the Nassau airport and 6 hours flying home. I was proud of the work and it was purification of all negativity the day seemed to be full of. A confession, if you will, of my own lack of hope and my wife's insistence that things would work out. I thought it had the humor and the self effacing life lessons that were at the same time a cautionary tale and a comedy of errors. I was so proud of the piece I wanted Sandi to read it the moment I had corrected all the mistakes.

As she read it my iPad froze instead of scrolling to the last paragraph. Lack of response to my repeated finger jabs to the screen was followed by a complete black out. It was as if someone had poured black ink on the entire page or that moment when the film frame burns in the projector. It was gone.

After a reboot only the title and the first two sentences above remained.

It was the tragic end to a perfectly horrible day of travel. It was the final straw that broke my will to continue. Like the one that got away I will probably consider in hindsight that the essay was some of my best work. Sandi seemed to think that it was, at least until the last paragraph. In actuality it was just another blog. Perhaps if today had gone better I would not think twice about it... but for a moment in time I thought frustration and disappointment was the muse to something better. It was naught but the continuation of "one of those days".

As you were,

Jay

Gators and Airboats

2012-01-02T11:42:00.000-08:00

My wife is the original activities elf. If she is not traveling with me I turn into a recluse- hermit who never leaves the ship. In fact I rarely leave the cabin except for food and drink. Drink being the operative necessity during a boring voyage.
But my road elf is with me. This the second day of the New Year we are off on a shore excursion into the Everglades of Florida.
Last year when John and I traveled the "Florida Two and Only Tour" we saw plenty of Gators by the side of the road. Sandi missed that thrill and so we are off today to see some wild life.
Of the excursion choices we decided on the airboat gator tour. It seemed to be straight forward with manageable expectations. There was a tour that included watching Alligators and a lunch of Alligator meat; some how that seemed wrong in so many ways.
"Let's save the gators cause they are goood eatin'"
I have to say that the airboat ride was a real thrill. We didn't see that many gators in the wild, since it was somewhat overcast. We did come across a wild herd of free ranging cattle. Cattle in a swamp with cowboys on wave riders? Get along little dolphin!
And now it is time to say good bye to our New Years naval adventure and return tomorrow to LA, where they seem to be burning automobiles. What is that all about? They have not covered the story very much on the international channels of ship board TV... I haven't been home since last year.
As you were,
Jay

www.monkeyjoke.com

New Years Eve

2011-12-31T11:02:00.001-08:00

It does not feel like the end of the year,nor does it feel like the beginning of one. It doesn't even feel like Saturday. I guess I'm just not feeling myself today.
However, I find myself in Baltimore, MD. Not a city know for cruise ships but here we are loading passengers for seven day cruise. It is very odd to see passengers boarding a Caribbean cruise wearing heavy coats and ski jackets. I always remember that being on a cruise ship on New Years Eve was the setting for The Posiden Adventure, a famous disaster movie.
I would say that this year is already starting out much different from the past. I hope the new year is good to us all.
As you were,
Jay
www.monkeyjoke.com

2011-12-27T10:25:00.001-08:00

More Joys of Show Biz

Okay so it could be worse. Sandi and I are waiting at the dock side straw market in Nassau waiting for the ship to arrive. It was supposed to be in an hour ago and there is no way to really know when it will get here. We are in a temporal warp called Bahamian time, even the locals admit that it is Island subjective.

Most of the time I am a control freak over-checker who wants to know every detail before it happens. This trip I never got a hotel confirmation for the over night stay here in Nassau. I figured that the guy who picked us up would know, so it was not a big deal. However, it is a big deal if the guy who is supposed to pick you up is not at the airport. This frustration is always amplified by the fact that we started our day in Los Angeles at 4:00am, have been on three airplanes with two layovers and my attitude has been stretched by the airport routine. It must be the stress of the season, during the trip I was witness to three heated verbal fights. One between a lady and the bus driver who drove us to the American Eagle island hopper in Miami. It continued as the bus driver followed the lady to her seat on the plane still sharing a piece of her mind. We never really know what the issue was about.

There is a problem landing in a foreign country during holiday season, with spotty cell phone reception and without the numbers of anyone who knows your information. After several attempts to find the number of the shipping agent, a fact I usually obsess about, we reached a man who had no clue what I was talking about. He said that he would find someone who did and call me back in five minutes. The Bahamian time equivalent to five minutes is approximately one hour and twenty minutes. But this was a person that was at least aware that entertainers joined the ship off and on in Nassau. She said my name did not ring a bell. There was a hotel that RCCL used for overnights and she said I should head there. We did, and the hotel clerk was the first person that was expecting us, there was a reservation in our name and the room was nice.

The taxi driver called about 10:00 in the evening he was either drunk or I could not understand his accent either way I had to guess at what he was telling me. He said that the office had given him the wrong flight information and he was sorry but would pick us up at 12:00 to join the ship. He got us through town and dropped us off at the dock side straw market. We wrestled our luggage around people wanting to braid our hair and sell us pot pipes, to meet a security guard who said our ship was not in and would not be for at least an hour...that is of course Bahamian time.... so here we are. The good news it there is free Wifi, with several ships in port today the market is littered with various crew members sitting on the floor with their lap tops. At this time of year the weather is somewhat cooler and so we are not melting in the humidity.

It is always the case. Once I am on the ship it is a really easy gig.... but they pay me to go through the hassle of getting here.

I have said it before and I will say it again. A job is a job and show business is no different. There are aspects of every career that justify the salary. If people are going into performing for any other reason than the love of performing, they might want to think twice about that decision.

Thank for letting me vent here and pass some time till I am on board and can start to relax. Yesterday we boarded a plane before the sun came up on the west coast and landed after the sun had set in Nassau. It wasn't so much a physically demanding day, but mentally I feel like I was stuffed in a pressurized package and sent across country to be sold to cruel ship captain.

More later when I can find some more free wifi.... probably not on the ship.

As you were,

Jay

2011-12-25T10:48:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas
It is a beautiful day.
Santa was good to the Johnsons, and I trust he was to all of you as well.
More next year....
As you were,
Jay

Casa Vega

2011-12-24T16:50:00.000-08:00

One of the oldest and most notorious Mexican food restaurants in the Valley. This is part of their traditional Christmas decorations. Feliz Navidad
As you were,
Jay

2011-12-24T11:07:00.000-08:00

The Day before the Night before Christmas

It was the longest day of the year when I was a kid. By now I would have visualized every aspect of the gift that Santa was sure to bring, and imagined every possible joy it would immediately satisfy. After a month that seemed like a year it would finally be down to hours before the Man in the red suit would deliver on his mission.

Of course I knew the rules from the song: "He sees you when your sleeping, he knows if you're awake... he knows if you've been bad or good so be good for goodness sake...", but I would take a more pragmatic approach to these Santa rules.

1) He sees you when your sleeping. I figured since I fooled my parents several times into thinking that I was a sleep when I wasn't over my brief years, Santa could be just as easily fooled.

2) He knows if you're awake. See the above. If I could fool parents into thinking that I was asleep, then I have also fooled them that I am awake. Santa would not catch on either. I was that good at it.

3) He knows if you've been bad or good. A challenging problem to overcome, to say the least. My hope rested on the idea that Santa had a short memory. If I was good for the last few weeks before Christmas that would count for the entire year. Since it had worked in the past, I figured that it would work every time.

4) So be good for goodness sake. Easy. Even at an early age I realized that absent an accurate lie detector test, no one would know if I was good for "goodness sake" or good for the "gift's sake". I could claim to be good for goodness sake knowing the real reward would be delivered on Dec. 25th.

Taking all this into consideration. It was not unusual for me to cat nap for the whole of Christmas Eve listening for rustling of reindeer in the living room. We had no chimney so I knew I would hear the door open when he came. Occasionally I would wake up enough to sneak into the living room to see if Santa had arrived yet. With covert skills in the dark of night I would try and determine if Santa had visited already. If I decided he had been to my house already, it would be impossible to go back to sleep till sunrise knowing my gift was already there waiting for me.

If I determined that Santa had not been there already it would be impossible to go back to sleep listening for him. Either way sleep was out of the question.

When I was five years old I sneaked into the Living room and saw a large man in a red suit duck behind the Christmas tree so as not to be seen. I remember that moment to this day. It was dark and details were sketchy even then, but I knew who it was. I ran into my parents room and woke them up to tell them I had seen Santa Claus. It was a mixture of excitement and fear hoping that seeing him was not a deal breaker which would immediately put my name on the bad list.

I don't remember my brother nor sister being quite so nocturnal on Christmas Eve. They were secure in the knowledge that when they woke up Christmas morning the celebrating could begin and they did not have to encourage it along through out the night.

I have been told through the years that my folks were very glad when that phase of my childhood gave way to others so they could get some sleep the night before Christmas. Later in my life the Johnsons would celebrate Christmas Eve and open all presents the night before so that those who wanted to sleep in late on Christmas morning, my Dad, could do so with ease.

Whatever makes you happy tonight and tomorrow I hope you have a sleigh full of it. There is not doubt that Christmas has been co-opted by commercialism. Sure the religious aspects of the holiday have been merged with the pagan Solstice. However all that happened a long time ago so get over it. Just think of it as the ancients deciding to celebrate the birthday of Jesus at a time when everyone could attend. A time when they were going to party anyway. Besides it is not hard to open you heart once a year and count your blessings for whatever you give and receive. It's not like you have to be good for the rest of the year.

Merry Christmas.

As you were,

Jay

2011-12-20T10:57:00.000-08:00

Happy (Politically Correct Pronoun)

In California you know the season has turned not by the color of the leaves, but by the Valet parking in front of Fred and Mary Willard's house. It denotes their annual Christmas Party which is always a "to do", and for me the seasonal invitation I cherish receiving the most.

Sandi and I have the luxury of walking across the street to attend, and it is like walking into the Friars Club of the Valley. Not only is the house completely redecorated with more Christmas trimmings than the North Pole, the food is spectacular, drinks flowing and the guests are the most interesting people you would ever want to hang with. If you want to get a bead on what is happening in the world of comedy, on screen, on stage and on television, or if you just want to have a laugh, you have but to engage in conversation with a Willard's party guest.

Through the years I have crossed paths with the attendees and have worked with most of them in some way. If their names don't ring a bell their faces and voices do. In fact the party itself rings with laughter from every table and every cocktail grouping. It's not the usual frantic comedy feeding frenzy when everyone is trying to top everyone else. It is not an LA resumé recital when the question "How are you?" is always heard as, "What are you doing now?". At the Willard's Party it is just genuinely funny people who see the world from a humorous point of view. It is the perfect mix of comics, actors, writers, musicians, performers and one ventriloquist who have made a mark in their chosen career. I for one can not get enough of that kind of psychic stimulation.

Mary Willard is the catalysis. She writes and casts her parties like she would her scripts. There is always an impromptu performance hosted by the hostess. Mary is the modern day, west coast-version of Elsa Maxwell. Although I can't imagine a Maxwell party being as much fun.

There has always been a "feast and famine", "boom and bust" quality to show business. In this economy it is even more extreme. But the one perk that is not economically driven is joy and laughter. The artists Mary embraces make her parties a recess from reality where the world is lighter and no one takes it seriously. I for one am grateful I get to be a small part of that world. The rejection that every comedy artist must face vanishes with a glass of Mary's home made eggnog and her heart warming laugh.

Agness Repplier said, "We cannot really love anybody with whom we never laugh." In this season, when we celebrate the coming of Love, the Willard's Christmas Party provides enough laughter to love the world, even in the craziness of 2011.

Thanks Mary and Fred. You are adored.

As you were,

Jay

The Tattoo

2011-12-18T22:56:00.001-08:00

This is the tattoo of the dragon with the girl tattoo.

You knew someone had to do it...

2011-12-17T10:58:00.000-08:00

To the Bat Cave...

Yes Robin that is Sandi and me in front of the Batmobile. We look like two heads sticking out of the top of a tank.

This is due to the fact that we were dressed in our finest black cocktail attire to attend the Big Bang Theory's 100th show party. Sandi works on the hit show and neither of us been on a show that went 100 shows. Soap only went for 94.

100 is that magic show number meaning a full syndication package, the producers bring a brinks truck up to the actors door and deliver gold bullion.

And it was a great party. Not only great food and great drinks and great music provided by the "Bare Naked Ladies" who wrote and sing the theme show for the BBT, but the party was at the Science Museum of Los Angeles. All around the party were graduate students assisting with hands on science experiments.

I personally made some glow in the dark slime, a blinking light tie tack, a glowing ring, and played with floating beach balls that seemed to defy gravity. There were the "pat on the back" speeches and executives from the network who took all the credit for knowing the show would be a hit. Chuck Lorre, creator and show runner, even sat in with the band on guitar and surprised everyone with his guitar chops.

It was a very special party and ironically enough the 100th episode of the show happened just before Christmas.... so the producers were obligated to put a little extra in the stockings of the crew.

There is one thing about show business, they do know how to throw a party and celebrate. This show is a blessing to all who work on it. Wonderful cast, wonderful crew, great AD and a great director. When a TV show works like this it is truly the best job anyone can have.... but they are so rare.

Happy holidays,

As you were,

Jay

2011-12-15T11:13:00.000-08:00

Over Saturation

Perhaps we are over saturated with media now a days. It wasn't that long ago when network television actually went off the air for the night. One could watch the news followed by Johnny Carson, but then it was time to turn off the television and go to sleep. The next program to be seen was a cheesy black and white film showing planes and ships in action while the national anthem played and flags waved. That lasted about two minutes. Afterwards there was nothing but the snowy static of the screen. There have been many times when that hiss of empty broadcast static woke me up after I had fallen asleep watching Johnny. The only thing to do was to detach the virtual IV from my brain and turn the television off.

Now however the television never stops broadcasting and there is never a logical conclusion to your viewing evening. If you don't set the sleep timer you can find yourself awaken by an announcer yelling into the camera trying to sell you the only chopping device a kitchen will ever need... but wait there's more.

Not that the television is the major player anymore. Cell phones, iPads, computers, social networking never stop and they never sleep. Last night the iPad by my bed rang with an alert sound that woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me the Montebello freeway was closed. It was great to know that at 3:00 in the morning. However I was awake enough to see that my Blackberry was blinking with the arrival of an email. Like a trained monkey I found myself opening up my email at that hour to see what I might be missing. Here is what I almost missed while I slept. Zazzle has a 24 hour sale on Christmas mugs, Move On wants me to send money to fight the wrong ideas, Heifer International reminds me that last year we gave them Christmas money and Pajamagram had some wonderfully sexy sleep wear for me to purchase for my wife. To think these messages might have waited until the next day to be discovered.

Right now, for me, the biggest over saturation of media is delivered via my email. The junk mail outlined above is only a fraction of what I get every day. If you have ever bought anything on line from anyone, they have your email and they get to remind you of their current economic condition with the stroke of a send button. And for me that single message is delivered three times. Once to my computer, once to my Blackberry and one more time to my iPad. Although I have not done a study, I could spend more time erasing email on three different devices than actually reading the mail I want. Over saturation.

When do we say "break". When do we say for the next hour I will unplug the land line phone, turn off the television, the iPod, the iPhone, the xBox, the iPad, the computer, the satellite radio and just listen to my own internal sounds. It could be the most important message you will receive all week, but it is being drowned out by 24 hours of useless information.

So to enjoy this holiday season that is exactly what I plan to do just as soon as I finish writing this blog... and after I check out the voice mail and 5 texts I have on the phone, it also looks like I have 8 emails waiting for me. Wonder if there is something going on that I don't know about.... I better turn into CNN.

As you were,

Jay

2011-12-13T09:54:00.000-08:00

Breaking News.....

In my contemplation of the media, the phrase "Breaking News" is either over used or is incorrectly used. Why....in my day, Breaking News was something like a president being shot or planes flying into buildings. Not so much anymore. Every episode of the "Nancy Grace finger-wagging show" has the phrase "Breaking News" ticker-taping across the bottom of the screen. It doesn't matter if the story is weeks old... it is still breaking news to Nancy. But Nancy just sees the world very differently. Nancy wakes up every morning to a world full of people to be "holier than".

Breaking news is something that is so important and news worthy it requires a network to Break into a current broadcast to air it. I always assumed that is why it's called Breaking News... rather than just News.

Certainly the correct use is not with Miss Grace who uses the words like an advertising promo followed by the audible phrase "Bomb shell, this just in...". If it was only Nancy's misuse I could pass it off as just her case of "OMLS"(Old Maid Lawyer Syndrome) . But it is not just Nancy Naysayer... most media outlets misuse it.

For example, according to the info push on my Google page, this is breaking news... a bomb shell... a story so important that it needs front page space on the Internet. I am sure the civil defense network is on stand by ready to go into action because of this "Breaking News" story. Here it is ripped from the instant media....

Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt: Will They Have More Kids?

Details immediately on some of these same stations. Because the story contains the word kids, Nancy Grace will go live with her opinion.

Last week the question was, "Angelina Jolie & Brad Pit will they get married?" The question came up because one of their 6 children asked. When your own bastard children are begging to be legitimised, perhaps it is time to rethink your concept of commitment... but is that news?

It is my constant complaint about this instant media we now all carry around with us. We are capable of knowing things instantly. No matter where you are you can get a Breaking News alert... even while you are driving a car at 85mph. The possibility that an alert on an iPhone could cause a person driving a car to become distracted is real enough. We have traffic laws dealing with smart phones and driving. So what might be the Breaking News information that could send a car speeding out of control across several lanes of traffic causing massive damage? Brad and Angelia's family planning strategy. Now there is Breaking News to die for....

As you were,

Jay

Two weeks and counting.....

2011-12-11T23:23:00.001-08:00

2011-12-09T04:21:00.000-08:00

Romance of the Sea
I love the television commercials for cruises. Picture what is waiting for you aboard a cruise ship. We see a beautiful romantic young couple in evening wear, drinking champagne, personally served by a four star waiter from a silver tray. They dance to the music of a tuxedo clad string quartet all alone on the empty deck at the magic moment of sunset.

Right.... All the elements are there. They have a deck, couples, musicians to play for you, waiters to serve you and sunset happens every night, but that's where the similarity to the television version ends.

Here is the reality of a young couple trying to have a romantic sunset dance on the deck of the average cruise ship.

Just getting to the deck is an adventure. Three thousand other passengers are also trying to get there. They mass migrate in wheel chairs, walkers, motorized scooters, with canes and dragging reluctant children. Our romantic couple has to adopt the pace off a three legged turtle or risk stepping on the corrective foot wear of seniors moving at the pace of a glacial flow.

The optimum viewing position for sunset is a limited area of the deck, and filled with large men wearing ill fitting sleeveless tee shirts that say things like "It's not a beer belly... it is a love bundle" with saggy old Bermuda shorts and flip flops. These unshaven patriarchs are staring at digital camera screens trying to get their family positioned in a way that will not cover the view of sunset. Of course the flash picture over exposes the sunset so they have to take several more. Just when our romantic couple thinks it might be their turn in the sunset, the wife trades places with the beer-belly husband to get him in the picture.

Our young couple looks very much out of place as they try to find even a square foot of unoccupied deck they can dance on. There they are in beautiful evening dress standing next to a 60 year old guy in a speedo and his wife in a not so opaque thy length cover up of yellow daisies. Several intoxicated younger women show off biker tattoos and loudly brag about how loaded they were when they got nipple piercings. But nonetheless our beautiful couple embraces and waits for the music to set the mood.

A Jamaican steel drum band blasts out a reggae version of Stardust slightly out of tune. The couple can not find the beat.... the perfect sunset is gone... the ship lists a'starboard knocking the girl off her high heels and into the hairy arms of a lecherous waiter in a caribbean flowered shirt, spilling a tray of Cabo Wabos, the special rum drink of the day.

This may be somewhat of an exaggeration. However, my version of events is just as close to the reality as the television depiction. What they do not indicate in the ads is... the bigger the ship the more passengers, the more passengers the longer the lines, the longer the lines the less freedom and an increase in wasted time. A seven day cruise on a mega ship.... two of those days will be spent waiting in lines to experience the privacy and isolation you wanted. One day each way will be spent getting on and off the ship. (You know what it's like to board 150 people onto an airplane, try waiting on 3000 people to board with 9000 pieces of luggage)

It will take you one day to find your way around the mega ship to get your bearings on where to enjoy yourself. If you take an excursion off the ship for a day to see someplace other than the ship there is another day..... your seven day cruise actually lasts for 24 hours of actual enjoyment of the mega facilities.

But what do I know this is only my 175th cruise.

As you were,

Jay

2011-12-08T14:25:00.000-08:00

Cross Media Opportunity
If you have not seen this on my FaceBook Page.....

.....for every person who becomes a fan of
I'm No Dummy on FACEBOOK before December 3, 2011 a dollar will be donated to Vent Haven Museum.
Everyone should be a fan of the doucmentary"I'm No Dummy", and if you haven't expressed that fan-dom on the Facebook page it doesn't count in the social ether.

What's So Funny?

2011-12-08T07:49:00.001-08:00

I am a big fan of laughter. I love to laugh and so does Sandi. At the same time laughter baffles me. It is so personal it can't be quantified. I don't see the humor in things that others may find hysterical. We seem to surround ourselves with friends who have a similar sense of humor, and could be one of greatest connections to developing a friendship. In the rock and roll days of the 80's when Comedy Clubs were ubiquitous it was a great vehicle for dating. If two people laughed at the same things it was a good indication that there were legs to the relationship. I often wonder how services like Match.com and other dating sites manage to determine a humor quotient with a written profile.

So how can you determine a persons humor quotient besides observing the actual experience of laughter? There are certain social factors and lifestyles that might indicate a certain propensity for a certain kind of humor but only in a general sense. I am not a NASCAR fan and don't know anything about it. I would not be educated enough on the subtleties of the sport to understand the subtleties of jokes about it. It is like a different language. Humor is always the last comprehension one comes to when learning a new language.

When writing jokes for a corporate show if I can find out enough about their business I can find a joke that will only be funny to them. It is the relationship of timing, language and understanding. Every comic knows that the most important of the three is timing.

Telling a joke the right way is the same as telling a story. You don't start with the surprise ending of the story, and you don't start with the punch line of a joke. It is the biggest rookie mistake. Since most people remember the punch line of a joke because it evokes the laugh, they will identify the joke by the punchline. How many times has this happened to a comic, "Hey Sheckie, tell that joke where the Nun says 'same as downtown'."

There is no way to get a laugh if they know where you are going.

I guess because it is such a personal and diverse phenomena humor will never be 100% the same for everyone. You can't make everyone laugh every time. Comics "go for it" hoping that the majority will see the joke knowing that some will be not laugh and others may be offended. But to be a comic, comedian, clown or humorist you have to take the risk. The world is only changed by risk takers, you can't homogenize a joke so much that no one finds it funny. I am not advocating humor at any cost is a good thing. No one should use humor as a weapon or vehicle to bully. Getting a laugh by belittling some one or some group is wrong on a lot of levels, but if there are human qualities every one can laugh *with*, it is cathartic and enlightening. It helps us look at our failings in a gentle way. It lets us know that we have not yet reached perfection and shows us a path for improvement. If everyone is laughing and I'm not perhaps I am taking myself to seriously, at least it is worth a glance inward.

This process is important a mental level, but the very act of laughter is biologically curative. It clears out your lungs, oxygenates your blood, and exercises your core. It is the easiest form of exercise you can do for yourself. Laugh it up some how today.

As you were,

Jay

Beautiful

2011-12-06T11:15:00.000-08:00

Yes it is. But not as much the 175th time you see it. Ten or more of those 175 cruises were to Alaska, and I have yet to become jaded to that view.
This one , however, never changes, never varies nor surprises me. At some point calming and relaxing turns into tedium and boredom. I long for a force 12 storm just to see the ocean show me an angrier face with an attitude that resents a floating hotel cutting through its majesty.
Yet I am not complaining, and am grateful for the chance to work such a beautiful venue. I could be working a comedy club in a show storm right now.
It just proves that familiarity sometimes diminishes your observation. We often forget the blessings that are continually present and all around us.
I'm leaving tomorrow trading this to touch the face of my beautiful wife and receive the unconditionally wet welcome of my dog, Boo. I never grow tired of that experince.
As you were,
Jay

The View

2011-12-04T07:39:00.000-08:00

With no reference to the ladies televised gripe fest on network TV, this is the view from the second floor lobby of the hotel in Cozumel where I stayed the night. That is not my ship. My ship, The Freedom of the Seas had to dock about a mile away from this site because it is so much bigger than this small dingy. This would qualify as a life boat on my ship. Size seems to matter for sailing as well.
I contend that the ships have to be bigger because the passengers are. I know that Americans are getting fatter and the poster people for the girth generation take cruises. The cliche that old people take cruises has been over taken by the portly. Why do you think they call the loading zone a PORT.
Just as a note I heard the Filipino guitar trio cover of the Doors "Light My Fire" in sort of a swing standard tempo. And sounded more like "Rite my frier". It was as wrong as it seems. If Jim Morrison was still alive this would kill him.
As you were,
Jay

In Search of a Connection

2011-12-02T08:08:00.001-08:00

It's back on the road again... or should I say the water. As always it is all about getting there. This time it is a red eye connection, and layover to get to Cozumel. I know the port I know the Hotel and I know the drill. In fact they probably have not changed the sheets since I was last there. I will spend the rest of this week looking for cheap Internet or insecure wifi to up date my blogsphere. More later on that.

There were 15 cheerleaders all under 18 who were late for their flight here at LAX tonight. I am trying to think of what a group of cheerleaders would be called. If it is a "bargain" of Jews, a "slut" of hookers, it must be a "pom pom" of cheerleaders. At any rate I heard the teacher/sponsor of the group yelling behind me... "Cheerleaders... push your way through and get to the gate. The plane leaves in 10 minutes." It would be easy for a "pom pom" of cute girls to make their way to the head of the usual line... but this happens to be the security line of the TSA. One of the front runners says rather baffled, "We have to go through security?" as if a cheering squad would be exempt from Homeland Security search.

At first the all male TSA squad was drooling at the idea of so many cuties streaming through the body scan. Their hormone fed excitement began to fade the minute the group of girls began to over load the hand baggage Xray. They must have said it a hundred times in five minutes. '"No water, put your computer in a separate bin, take your shoes off, makeup outside your carry on in a see through bag." It was an explosion of pink accesssories jamming he conveyor belt. None of the squad seemed to have the slightist clue what the portocol for airport security is. It was not pretty.

My niece and nephew have a dog named Charlie. Any time a couple hugs each other in the dog's presence Charlie will hump one of the four legs. It never fails. The minute he sees an embrace he tries to make it a Menage-a-dog. We tested it and a hand shake would not do it nor being close to each other...but once we started to hug it was a canine assault from Charlie.

Now you know why the title in Search of a connection. You put these two stories together!

Just as a post script, I did find the Internet connection at the hotel here in Mexico. Free and easy. As I went to post the above entry, the blogger instructions were in Spanish. My three years of high school Spanish gave me more confidence than backed up by real ability. I opened what I thought was the proper menu item to post, it was I the same position as my English version. But a dialogue box kept coming up that was past my grade level to translate. Fortunately I did not click the button. I repeated that step several times before I found the button to display In English. It was only then that I realized the button I thought was the one to publish, was actually a button that said, " delete this entire blog site?" I was one button away from erasing every blog entry I have written since 2006. There are some who would say that is not a great loss. In the scheme of the world that might be true, but for a guy who can't remember where I was yesterday, it is occasionally nice to go back and realize not only that I am blessed but most of the time I was aware of it at the time and wrote about it.

If any one is keeping up on a daily basis I will try to publish when there is something to say and the great god Neptune allows a dock with free Internet. The great god of recreational cruising god Royal provides the opportunity but requires a great sacrifice.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-28T08:00:00.001-08:00

Ahes to Ashes
There is a common consensus about the rituals and customs of a traditional funeral. It stems from the fact that you had better get the body in the ground rather quickly before it starts to (how can I say it delicately) decay. And there are rules about where you can dig that hole in the ground so a lot of things are just organic in a traditional...body in a casket funeral. It is a western idea clouded in Judaic /Christian philosophy that the body needs to be somewhere it can be found in tact on the last day, because the soul will need that vehicle for eternity. I'm not here to debate that... save it for the one of the next GOP debates. I would love to hear Perry and Cain's thoughts on the matter. (Perry and Cain... one of the best interacial comedy teams of the current era)

Cremation is not so clearly defined as to where the ashes shall reside for eternity. My family has recently gone through those thoughts concerning my Dad's ashes.

There are many thoughts and ideas on that subject. I have been to the scattering of ashes at sea, at parks, at private property and public. The wife of one of my actor friends even took teaspoon portions of Richard's ashes and scattered them under her seat at every theatre performace she attended for years after his death. That may be the coolest idea since I think of my friend every time I walk into one of those annointed theatres. It makes me smile.

Perhaps the funniest depiction of ashes being spread is in the movie "The Big Lebowski". High on a hill near the Malibu coast, "Donny's ashes are tossed into the wind from a Folgers coffee can, only to blow back into the faces of the two friends in attendance of the ceremony. There is casual talk as Lebowski wipes the white ash from his sun glasses uncerimoniously.

Around the Thanksgiving dinner table all our ashes-options were discussed. My friend Bryan told me of certain glass blowers who would mix human ashe into the formula of their glass. It created unique colors and when fashioned into a vase, bottle or jewelery it became a unique heirloom. Being the smart ass that my family has come to accept, I said "That is exactly what I am going to do with Sandi. I will have her ashes crafted into a necklace or bracelett." My son Taylor immediately added, "Yes, it is Mom's greatest desire to return to this earth as BLING."

As you were,

Jay

Sunday

2011-11-27T09:08:00.001-08:00

Here it is a Sunday. I was thinking about my Dad on this the first holiday season without him. I remember growing up in a fundamental evangelical church that my grandparents founded in Abernathy, Texas. Althought you might think differently, a strict church in a small town is not the best way to find your true spiritual path.

I was sure that this religion would not be mine to embrace when I became the buttt of a family joke. It was a misinterpretation of one of the staple hymns of the church. The words to the chorus of the song that repeated many times were, "Give me oil in my lamp keep me burning." I was small enough that my Dad would lift me up and I could stand on the back of the pew in front of ours and see what was going on. At some point in my young life Dad heard me joining my voice with the congregation singing..... "Give me oil in my lamp Giggle Birdie". I logiically assumed that the stain glass representation of a dove assending on the newly baptised Jesus was the "holy giggle birdie". For this reason I did not lift my voice in musical praise for a long time after that.

A friend of my mine has a similar story when she was a small child. The words to her misinterpreted hymn were "gladly the cross I'd bear." Of course she thought that it was a Hanna-Barberra cartoon character voiced by Daws Butler named.... "Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear". Perhaps the Giggle Birdie and Gladly should team up for an inspriational cartoon on TBN. The plots just sort of write themselves don't they? Gladly and Birdie are on the road to Damascus... well you know the rest.

The things I remember about that little Abernathy church are sketchy. We left the fold soon after my giggle birdie moment and eventually moved away from the city when I was in high school. Certain things stick clearly in my mind. One is the Baptism ritual of dunking the saved in a glass tank of water that was at the top of the alter, and the preacher talking more about the devil and satan than he did about God and Jesus. I tended to comee away from those services not so much inspired but scared. That didn't seem right back then and doesn't seem so today. As I look back on my life, the worst decisions I ever made were made from a sense of fear. I think we should teach less fear and more happiness.

As you were,

Jay

Black Friday

2011-11-25T08:30:00.001-08:00

To the commercial providers who will attempt to bring you your hearts desire whatever that might be today. Happy capitalism
As you were,
Jay

2011-11-24T04:30:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving?

2011-11-23T07:58:00.000-08:00

Outage..
I had to sit at Starbucks ith my iPad to get on line yesterday. Time Warner intenet cable was down the enire day at my house. As of this morning it was still not working. TO think that we got along very well for years before email and the internet did not sway my frustaions trying to figure out what was wrong. In fact it was a feeling of isolation yesterday. I still had a phone but it felt like I was not in communication with the real world. I called thee company so many times I felt like the iconic "complaining cable customer".
I knew this Thanksgiving week would be a difficult week to write, but I did not think that the connection would be the problem.
More later.
As you were,
Jsy

2011-11-21T10:25:00.000-08:00

Jay Johnson's Blog

What would we do without a Google/type search? I used the term google/type advisedly. In the past companies have lost there trade name when it became synonymous with the generic name. Examples are Cellophane, Band Aid, Kleenex and others I learned about in college... but never thought the information would be important until now. At any rate there have been companies who pioneered a certain product or service only to see that name used as the generic name even by their competitors. Google is now a verb and it doesn't look like the company is any worse for such usage but just to be completely proper... google-type. But that has very little to do with what I have been thinking this morning, and yet everything to do with losing your brand name to a generic.

I wondered how people find my blog, and although Blooger has all kinds of diagnostic tools I decided to do the googling myself. I am aware that there is a young actor by the name of Jay Kenneth Johnson. IMDB and other data bases sometimes confuse us. Since my middle name begins also with a K, searching my AFTRA, SAG, and AEA name which is Jay K. Johnson is confusing. The whole reason I am Jay K. Johnson is because when I joined AFTRA years ago there was another Jay Johnson as a member. So.... as I google-like searched for my blog, I was cautious not to be googled into following the Ethernet thread of some actor named Jay K. Johnson.

After a google-esque search for the phrase "Jay Johnson's Blog", third on the list in the search (after the Jay Johnson boot camp and Jay Johnson coach) was Jay Johnson's Blog. I clicked on that link to find an article on Lady GaGa and an out of focus picture that did not look like me at all, and the date of the last post which was March 12, 2010.

Being the over active blog scribe that I am I was sure I had scribbled something since March of last year and more importantly I knew that I was not the guy in the picture.

Just to make sure that it was not me, I checked my blog and on 3/12/2010 and there was no mention of Lady GaGa as you can see for yourself.... The World is a Stage . It is not that I have anything against the other Jay Johnson... or any other Jay Johnsons.... It's just I am not them and they are not me. I don't want to get blamed for what they write about Lady GaGa, or the Grateful Dead. And you will not find a poster of Sarah Palin anywhere on MY blog.

And.... I am sure that the other Jay Johnson does not want to get the blame for the stupid things that I write about, nor would he want to incur the wrath of those I offend with my words semi regularly.

So don't be fooled by a generic Jay Johnson's Blog.... only settle for the original. "The World is a Stage" by Jay Johnson where you will find completely useless information and judgmental rants on anything that comes to mind. No Palin... No GaGa ....only Railin' and Do Do..

And..because the posts to this blog may be a little erratic this week due toThanksgiving... don't be fooled by posers. Only accept the original blog ... The World is a Stage by Jay Johnson where you will find 1,212 Posts written over the span of 6 years covering a wide variety of topics from the self indulgent to the absolute banal.

As you were, ®

Jay

®The name Jay and the phrase, "as you were" are protected under the "Oh no you didn't" Act of 2008. Any person assuming the identity of Jay Johnson by using these registered trade marks is subject to a very stern warning and vilification in these very posts. Not to mention, all less than flattering comments will to be sent directly to the imitator. To all potential Jay Johnson imitation bloggers...think before you use my name.... using the name Jeff Dunham's Blog will get you many more hits and readers.

2011-11-18T14:40:00.000-08:00

WEAK End - Addition

One of the great traditions of Los Angeles social life is chatting with people who are waiting for the valet to deliver the cars. This was the case last night as Sandi and I exited the Coronet Theatre. But, the valet set up was odd from the beginning.

As is the procedure, we pulled up in front of the theatre where a valet stood near an umbrella with a free standing box for car keys. We got out ready to trade a 40k dollar car for a paper ticket to the guy in the red vest. We LA types are very willing to make such a trade with a person who barely speaks english because parking a block away and walking that distance is unheard of. That is so New York.

The red vested valet told me to pull around the corner and another valet would take my car. I did so but there was no one there. I drove around the block and repeated my previous drill. I said there was no one around the corner, he said...."No, no. The valet is in the alley behind the theatre."

We drove to the back of the theatre to a darkened alley. There was a homeless man making a bed near a parked car, there seemed to be no one else around... and this was definitely the alley where we were instructed to proceed. Had the transient made a move toward the car we would have assumed he was the guy. He didn't but we saw a person making the paper ticket exchange with another man half way up the alley. Although he had no red vest, he did have a bluetooth cell phone head set and paper tickets. I made sure he was the guy as best I could, ask were we would get the car back, and completed the trade.

After the show it was back to the umbrella in the front to retrieve our ride. I was glad to see the same guy standing there and he said, "White car... right?" I gave him the ticket and he ran to get the car.

Several people were cued up waiting as well. There was a man with a long walking staff and hair pulled back in a disheveled pony tail who seemed to be in a heavy conversation with a couple of women also waiting. I really couldn't tell what he was saying, he was animated but not to extreme, and it was casual conversation not yelling.

The pony tailed man continued to talk, listen, and respond with perfect social grace as the ladies left him and got into their car and drove away. Without even realizing they were gone he continued to listen and respond to the space where they were standing. When everyone realized the space he was engaged in was empty we made sure it stayed that way.

He continued this mono conversation then turned and walked away a step or two. Evidently the empty space made some remark that called him back. He returned to say, "Yes, but if you can say that you must have known. How could you not know? Why, we all knew. How come you didn't know?"

He was not talking to the air, nor looking around at anyone. Even if you wanted to you could not block his gaze as he looked right through anything or anybody that stood between him and his unseen conversant.

I'm not sure but he could have been the same man who was making a bed in the alley before the show. However, I am certain that in HIS mind he was talking to some real, although unseen by the rest of us, person.

We got into our car leaving the pony tail and his invisible partner casually walking down the street still in conversation. He was making sure that his walking stick did not trip his companion. They seemed to be as happy together as Elwood P and Harvey.

It is great to know that even when a ventriloquist loses his puppet and is living on the street... he still has his friends to keep him company. There is great hope for my retirement happiness.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-17T14:43:00.000-08:00

My Sister-In-Lust

Sandi's bother Cleve was 12 years old when I married into the Asbury family. We sort of grew up together. Cleve was the little brother that I never really wanted, but you can't have a better brother in law.

I was best man at his wedding to Donna Marie Elio, at which time she became my Sister-in-lust. It has been my pet name for her since we met.

After their marriage they lived about 10 minutes from us. They helped us move into our Encino house. We shared box seats at the Hollywood Bowl, we celebrated every holiday and special moment together. Donna was out of town for the Northridge Earthquake, but Cleve huddled with my family at our house, the neighbors house and his house to ride out the frightening aftershocks for a week.

We took their daughter Jacqueline to see Cleve and Donna perform Lumiere and Belle together in the Los Angeles production of "Beauty and the Beast". We eventually adopted their dog Smooch... So you get the picture: Cleve, Donna and Jacq are close close family, but my evaluation of my sister-in-lust as a performer is not blinded by mere love.

Donna is one of the most talented people I know. She acts, dances, sings and compels you, all in a beautiful package to look at. I am delighted to be in her family and in her orbit. She was my tour guide when I was on Broadway. She knows everyone and everyone loves her. We got to meet between shows and talk theatre. In fact a poster for Chicago with Donna's picture prominently and sensually displayed graced the outside the artists entrance to my theatre. Her picture was the last thing I saw every night when I went to work on Broadway. It was a wonderful time.

Her career has spanned decades because she started on stage as a child. Her resumé of shows is staggering, and she has done Chicago on Broadway for 12 years after touring in the show for a couple of years before that. She has played every female lead in the show, the only actress to have ever done so, and she has raised a beautiful daughter with Cleve. To make a living on Broadway, be in a long running hit and have a normal family life with a great marriage and great kid is an unbelievable accomplishment.

And now she is "Broadway's Gypsy of the Month. Donna Marie Asbury: Gypsy of the Month. It is not a surprise to me but it is certainly time that rest of Broadway acknowledged her.

So.....Here is a toast to my sister-in-lust. Congrats on this honor, we could not be prouder, nor love you more. Have one of those Blood Orange Vodka drinks that Cleve makes so well and celebrate. We will do the same together soon.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-17T04:44:00.000-08:00

More Old School Pen and Ink

I enjoy keeping my pen moving across paper. This is a drawing of some of the words I heard one night while watching/listening to television with a pen and paper in hand. The size and appearance of the word drawn could indicate volume or emphasised visual attention. This was done before I got my iPad. My television stream of consciousness drawings now take place digitally on the iPad. It is better AND not as good.

There are times when I really do long for ink on paper even though it is a waste of resources in the green world. It is something that digital graphics and printers will never satisfy in an artist. It is the primordial thrill you get from taking black ink and staining paper. The pen is a controlled flood of blackness and the artist directs that chaos into imaginative forms. There are times when my iPad drawing app crashes. I am never sure why. There is no pattern to it that I can find. Unless I have saved the image in the last ten minutes the screen goes black and I lose all current work. The very drawing you have been working on is gone, the page is black for 10 seconds and then drops you back at the desk top screen. It is a perfect metaphor, in my opinion; the digital equivalent of spilling an ink bottle on the canvas. The controlled stain turns into a flood of blackness. The picture is ruined, and indeed in the digital world it vanishes. It is just as creatively painful, but the clean up is worth it.

Random Words Heard
8x10 Pen and Ink by Jay Johnson

2011-11-16T04:11:00.000-08:00

Words... Symbolic Art or Literature

The ART of Words
Pen and Ink by Jay Johnson

2011-11-15T08:14:00.000-08:00

About Michaelangelo Price

Mike Price is a long-time stand up comedian, newspaper columnist, talk show host, screenwriter, disk jockey, racehorse exercise rider, poker dealer, and Vegas pit supervisor. His book, "If You Can't Keep A Job, Become A Writer," should have been written by now. - Mike's autobiographical quote.

Mike Price
Photo by Wayne Williams

My friend Mike Price died yesterday at the young age of 80. To some that is a long life but Price was just getting started.

I remember the moment I met Mike Price. My friend Marsha Posner Williams introduced us during the late 70's in Las Vegas at the tennis court of the Hilton International hotel. I was the opening act for the Osmonds that summer, Marsha brought her friend Mike to see the show.

Marsha and Mike were already long time friends by then. Marsha was Mike's greatest supporter, friend, fan, and perhaps the only woman to remain so till the end of his life.

Mike was an orphan who grew up quick and tough. He knew all the street and carny cons but preferred to make his living with a joke and a laugh. I'm not sure how many times Mike was married, I lost count some where around the fourth wife. He never knew his real family, Marsha was his *only* family. Before getting the job on SOAP and working her way up to "Emmy Award winning producer", Marsha was the personal secretary for Price. She could type as fast as he could talk even correcting the jokes as he dictated them. Till his death Marsha continued to correct Mike's mistakes and was always there for him with laughter and support.

Mike helped me develop my Darwin the Monkey act. I remember making some moves backstage at Harrah's with Darwin, showing Mike this new puppet. Mike laughed with the high pitched whiskey cackle of a guy who has seen and heard it all and said, "That's it... that is it. That's funny." And he was right, Darwin was born at that moment attitude and all. Mike knew funny and would tell you if it was or wasn't with equal weight and observation.

Mike was a great writer and great student of comedy. He loved to teach it, analyse it, write it and glamorize the best of it. His life was a divine comedy itself. When people asked him what television shows he had written for he never got past his Rocky and Bulwinkle credit. For my generation and anyone who still knows that show, it was one of the hippest comedies of its day. To write for that show gave any writer an awesome pedigree.

Mike lived in a one bedroom apartment in the back of a bar called Chez Jay in Santa Monica before he moved to Reno. There was only one chair in the living room servicing a small desk with a typewriter. He said he didn't want meetings to go on for very long so there was no place for anyone else to sit down. Outside his front door, scrawled in the sidewalk when the concrete was wet... the phrase, "Life is like an unfinished......". It was Mike's handwriting and his credo.

Before computers and track fed paper printers, Price would type on telegraph paper fed through his IBM Selectric. This continuous roll of paper let him type and write without the need to replace a page. He said to me once that he should get paid by the inch.

His last show was at a Reno Comedy club around his birthday in July of this year. He was still working on his act in search of the perfect line with the perfect timing.

He joked to Marsha a few years ago that after he died he wanted to be cremated. Then he wanted his ashes made into a Snow Globe. A few days later I designed this "Memorial Snow Globe" for Mike. He liked it and laughed... that was Mike's greatest compliment.

Rest in Peace my friend.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-14T12:02:00.000-08:00

The Second Coming

There is a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf a couple of blocks from our church. I rarely pass it by without stopping and ordering an Ice Blended Mocha, after an uplifting Sunday service. In fact it is so much a Sunday ritual for me, I will expect an IB Mocha from St. Peter the moment of my arrival at the Pearly Gates. Otherwise it might be hell.

Yesterday started out as any other post sermon Sunday as I entered the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. The Bean managers moved some of the free standing shelving around so it created more of a defined pathway to the cash register. I felt like I was waiting to board a ride at Disneyland. As I rounded the corner of this new maze I saw him sitting alone at a small table with his back to the front glass window. It was Jesus.

Like everyone else in the place I was trying not to overtly stare at the Messiah. There was no doubt he was causing a silent frenzy. It was the 2000 year old Prophet in the room and the entire shop was trying to avoid eye contact with the good Shepard. In hindsight it was a fruitless attempt since as the son of God he would be omniscient, I'm sure he knew he was being oggled.

Jesus Texting

At first glance I thought it was perhaps just someone with long brownish hair and beard.... LIKE Jesus. A few blocks up the street you can find a person that is LIKE Spiderman posing for pictures at Manns Theatre. But, with a second and third glance I realized that indeed this was no tourist poser, it actually was Jesus of Nazareth. (I tried in vain to snap a covert picture of him, but got only the bottom of his garment, and his hands texting. This is the result here to the right. Wish I had a photo that included his face, but you can take my word for it.)

He wore an egg shell white, loose neck, coarse cloth robe like tunic tied with a leather strap and sandals. He was sipping an iced coffee and sending a text message on his smart phone. I assumed he had ordered only water and turned it into the beverage of his choice.

It would be easy to dismiss him as just another Hollywood patron still in his Halloween costume, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that Jesus would be here at this particular CBTL and on this very day.

Sunset and Fairfax is the edge of the Fairfax district which is predominately Jewish. He would feel comfortable here. It was Sunday... not the Jewish Sabbath but God's day of rest... so he would probably have the day off just relaxing and sipping a quite coffee. And it seems to me from the Biblical text Jesus liked to be around sinners and, well, Sunset Blvd is the gateway to any sin you would like to find. Again, he would feel comfortable here.

The only thing that didn't make sense is this: I thought that when Jesus came back it was a big event. You know lead story in all the papers, surely worth an alert on my iPad news app, you know, the rapture and all that apocalypse stuff. It is supposed to be a big deal. I hadn't heard about it and I am relatively informed.

That very thought began to bother me. Maybe I just wasn't on the Rapture list. Or what if the rapture is actually some sort of "flash mob" event. I don't follow Jesus on twitter; I don't even know his Twitter account name. JC@, TheOne@, Suffer4U@, NoSin@ I really couldn't be sure. So perhaps Jesus had set the rapture up with all the people who do follow him. Suddenly the word "follower" took on a whole new meaning in this digital age of theology. Through Twitter Jesus could have arranged with all his followers to meet him right here at the CBTL in Hollywood, after church. Then at the exact right time Jesus would stand up and yell, "Hallelujah", and the entire patronage would disappear, leaving behind only steaming cups of lattés.

I waited around for a while, and Jesus kept texting. I figured if it was the rapture I would grab onto someone when they started sparking and stowaway to heaven. But Jesus kept on texting, and Sandi was in the car waiting for me. I didn't really want to go without her. She will be one of the few people who might stick up for me if I make it to heaven. So... I got my Ice Blended Mocha and left. But fore-warned is fore-armed as they say.

I got out my Blackberry and I looked for Jesus on Twitter. He's there and this is what I found...

Jesus_Christ @daveyterry Do not be sorry my child. Urination is nothing compared to what Judas did to me.

It is obvious from this Tweet that Jesus is back logged with some bed wetting issues and has not been able to deal with the rapture yet. I think my chances are better hanging out at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in Hollywood than following him on Twitter. Perhaps St. Peter will let me in with my own Ice Blended Mocha in hand. I'll see all you true believers there.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-10T13:39:00.000-08:00

Speechless

It depends on when you start in trying to figure out how long you have done something. Since I have never held any other job except for performing it is hard to say when my career in the business began. I was performing as a kid, but $10 dollars for a show may not be considered a career. Any way you figure it, I have been doing what I do for a long time and it gets longer each year. If you start the clock during the summer I started working at Six Flags over Texas it is more than 45 years.

That said in those decades I have only had to cancel two shows because I didn't have the voice to perform because of illness. The first time was a decade ago and the second will be tomorrow. There have been times when I was not 100% in the chops department, and other times that I probably shouldn't have performed because of illness. I got through them but knew that I could have done better if healthier.

I have been nursing a cold since Halloween. It got better, moved from my nose to my chest and finally has settled in my throat. Although it is taking longer to go through those stages it is a familiar pattern for me. I thought I would be fine by tomorrow but knowing my chops as I do, it just isn't going to happen. I was scheduled to perform with Darwin and his voice is a real push for me on good days.

It is not a paid engagement. In fact the only other show I had to cancel was a freebie as well. Not to say it was not an obligation that I made and wanted to fulfill. If it was a paid engagement with money on the line I probably would have pushed through it, and paid the price. Fortunately the show tomorrow was scheduled to be as my part a quick bit in a large show. My absence won't drastically effect the performance.

Wednesday I had an on camera interview with Bob, but Bob was not able to make it. I coughed through the information without him and it was okay. The interviewer suggested that I have Bob with me anyway even though he wasn't going to participate. I told the interviewer he didn't know Bob. If Bob was there physically, there is very little I could do to keep him from trying to express himself. He wouldn't have sounded good. Again if it was a stage performance I might have pushed through, but certainly didn't want that experience filmed. In a world where bad performances get more YouTube exposure than good there was little I could do to keep it from happening except refuse to let Bob be photographed.

It is the new age problem, things get sent and uploaded and forwarded so fast the rule is, don't write it, photograph it or tape it if you don't want the world to see it. Last night there was a news report on a 14 year old girl who photographed semi nude pictures of herself for her boyfriend. She posted them on the internet. The pictures got hacked and went viral, four years later they are still being circulated. She was really upset and felt violated, as well she should. BUT she took the photos and put them on line. If you don't want those pictures to be seen, don't take them. We are in a time when the expectation of privacy is not the expectation of our grandparents.

The Supreme Court is hearing a case this week over that very issue of expectation of privacy. The FBI placed a GPS tracking device on the car of a suspected drug lord. The FBI did not get a warrant to "tap" the car in such a way and the case has gone to the highest in the country. The lawyers for the FBI argue that no one should expect privacy when they are driving on public roads. It is a constitutional issue and will be a bench mark case for future rights for warrant less surveillance. I believe if we allow this sort of spying with out some probably cause, we will become an Orwellian state of fear based living.

The argument is... well if you are not doing anything wrong then why would you care if you are being spied on? The problem is how do you define wrong, that is usually a power of the state. In the middle east it is against the law for a woman to drive a car.

I am a strick believer in absolute rights. The original philosophy of the constitution was that every American had the right to do anything to him/her self they wanted to do as long as no one else was being harmed. That has changed radically over the years and the government limits more and more the concept of telling you what you can do. Remember how well prohibition worked out?

Do what you want to do without harming anyone or any thing else, but by all means whatever you do... don't take pictures of yourself doing it and posting it on the internet.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-09T18:50:00.000-08:00

But wait there's more...

Why is it that everything you can buy through the mail from those television ads costs $19.95? Whether it is a battery powered stirring unit, organizer, an egg poacher, food chopper or miracle cleaner it costs $19.95. From my days as a marketing major at the University of North Texas I learned that odd lot pricing is used all the time. $19.95 is only a nickle less but sounds so much cheaper than $20 dollars. But, who decided that the top impulse budget for any television viewer is $20 dollars? I am thinking that there is a correlation between the minimum dispensing amount at ATMs ($20) and what we think of as cheap.

But the add goes on. You should not dial that phone till the end of the ad. If the price alone for such a useful item was not enough to motivate you... "if you call now you will receive an additional chopper/poacher/organizer for just an additional shipping charge.... a $300 dollar value for only $19.95."

If a company can sell two of the items for the same price, why can't you just buy one for half that?

It seems to me that we consumers have gotten along very well with out this gimmick; do we suddenly need two? And where do they get their starting prices.... "You would expect to pay $80 dollars for such a useful tool." Again, marketing. If you think that such an item really would sell for that much then a quarter of that would be a steal. I remember an artist told me that her painting was worth $30,000.00 if any one would buy it from her. Perhaps we need a crash course on the word worth.

But wait there's more.... the ad suggests that we can either keep the second item OR give it as a gift. Now there's a gift from the heart. Who wouldn't want to receive an egg poacher for that special retirement gift, or celebration of any kind. "Happy Birthday/Merry Christmas... here is a cheap item that you don't really need. The best news is... it didn't cost me a thing... it was free, I was going to buy one for myself any way so really it was a win win for both of us. That is how much thought I put into your special day."

Not that you would write that on the card, but the minute you see the same ad on television, the jig is up.

Act three is even more interesting. After they have sold all the current gimmick items they can at $19.95, a month later the very item will be thrown into the mix for FREE with the purchase of another revolutionary item. Once again they quote the value at $80 dollars, so just imagine the savings there. Eventually if you wait long enough you can get all the items for free which is my suggestion. "But wait if you call right now we will double your free offers and send two of everything you thought you ever wanted but could not afford." Just think about it.... fill your whole Christmas list with one purchase.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-08T10:20:00.000-08:00

Depression and Creativity

It is one of those Spaulding Gray moments: waiting for something to happen to me so that I can write about it. It was not so satisfying ranting about the current events of they day in yesterday's blog. As I re-read it I could not distinguish it from any other missive to be found on the Internet. It was just the same old stories recycled through this address. That was depressing to me. Sometimes out of my depression there comes great clarity.... sometimes great dispare.

I realize that I am about to be the same age as Spalding Gray was when he killed himself. It is both sobering and discouraging at the same time. First I didn't think I could ever become as old as Spalding Gray. Not old so much as mature. Not that Spalding was textbook mature, he just had the wisdom of age experience. I'm not sure that is really the truth either. Perhaps since Spalding talked about and documented so much of his life it seemed like he had lived more of it than he really had. I worry about myself when I look at my inspiring influences. Like seeing the neurotic Spalding Gray as mature and stable.

Second, I am freaked out that he was so young when he decided life was not worth continuing. As I approach that age it seems like there is still too much play left to call the game. I can't see myself contemplating suicide, yet. In my gothic youth I certainly toyed with suicide in a self-centered way. Perhaps we all do when feeling sorry for ourselves, "they would be sorry they did that if I was to die suddenly." Other than trying to write the perfect suicide note, I never really thought the process through in detail. Even then it was all about the writing. Evidently for Spalding it was genetic, since his mother went through the same sort of depression ending in her own suicide.

Depression is really a misunderstood demon. Like Nancy Reagan's admonition to the youth regarding drugs, "Just say no" to the depressed she would say, "Just get happy". If it was just that simple there would be no depression.

Although we give lip service to the idea that we are all individuals with our own unique facet of life, we also want these unique individuals to fit in the same slot. We should all like the same things and be happy from the same stimuli. If I am happy why isn't he or she happy.

"Why can't those depressives just see the bright side of life. Be happy for the things around them." We are surrounded by things that cause an equal amount of happiness and unhappiness from exactly the same event. Every Sunday this time of year one football team will win and one will lose. Those who root for the winner will be happy and those who root for the loser will be sad. If something so unimportant as a game can cause this much disparity in feelings, why shouldn't other more important events do the same thing on a greater level. They do and they are not so easy to analyze nor as simple as which team you root for of just saying "no to unhappiness".

So here I am just waiting for something to happen so I can write about it. Spalding Gray would measure the time between events with Vodka. It's too early and not satisfying for me.... besides alcohol can be a depressant and that is exactly what I do not need right now. I need a Raymond Chandler event. He used to say to writers.... "if you are stuck in the plot have two guys burst in the room with guns." Where are you Ray?

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-07T14:44:00.000-08:00

You Kids get off my Lawn!

What dedication from a football coach who continues to drill his players on the proper linesman's stance even when they are in the shower. No wonder Penn State has a great defensive football team, from an early age the players learned to cover their asses. (Rim shot.... thank you very much. Tip your waiters and waitresses, I'll be here all week)

All I know is what is being said in the news but, when you see a coach having ANY interaction with a ten year old boy in the shower, it is time to blow the whistle. If the bosses don't do something immediately, they are just as guilty. It is not a sin to see an injustice, but it is a crime not to do something about it if you can. Have we not learned enough from the Catholic Church that to cover up and conceal a crime like that is in some ways more of a crime?

Kim Kardashian... why? I thought it was ridiculous to follow Paris Hilton around and idealize her extravagant and disfunctional life style, but at least she had some cashé from being a hotel heiress. Hilton was a name that everyone knew before there was a spoiled child named Paris. Her Grandfather made headlines by marrying Zaa Zaa Gabor in his day. Even if it was a stretch the Hilton family is a legacy and wealthy heirs in this era of Capitalistic Fascism are to be admired.

But Kim Kardashian? Why do we care? Is it because we love the albums she has put out? Or maybe we love her in those movies? Or the way she dances, or plays the violin, or maybe it is because of the charity work she does? Maybe it is because she is just SO talented...at....uh...well she can.... well she has an unusually large butt. So does Aretha Franklin, and Aretha can sing.

In the mean time Conrad Murray was found guilty an hour ago. He will be sentenced in a couple of weeks. Perhaps he was more guilty of malpractice that involuntary murder, but that was the only charge that the jury had to consider. He certainly seemed guilty of something.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-04T12:15:00.000-07:00

Houdini Admits setting Fire to the Magic Castle

I have been close to home nursing a cold for the last week. And I'm having trouble sleeping as well. I thought the two problems might be related and have concluded that they are. The hot tea and honey toddy that I prescribed for myself turned out not to be an herbal tea, but a regular caffeinated black tea. The box looks like it would be an herbal tea and it is full of cinnamon and other favorings that make it good for the throat. But the amount I have been drinking and the nearly illegal caffeine level of the concoction was not a healthy balance. By the time I got to bed each night I was more wired than the animatronics at Disneyland.

That to say, last night I spent some of the early hours of the night browsing apps for my iPad. Sometimes I find some obscure tool that does something interesting; Sometimes the browsing just puts me to sleep. By the way, the number of clocks and calculators for sale as iPad/iPhone apps is staggering. I didn't realize so many programmers think it's important not just to know the time of day, but to be entertained by the information as well. What is time if it is not identified by flames burning through the display, or ice crystals forming on the inside of the screen? Some clocks even display the time in symbols that take a code book to decipher.

As I was wading through a group of such clocks, I stumbled on a Ghost Meter. It was in the utilities category rather than games or entertainment and was released on Oct. 31st of this year. It suckered me right in. It was too new to have any ratings or comments. It was only a buck so I couldn't resist.

The Haunted House at Corporate Beach, MS

It is themed out like an old style wooden radio. It reminded me of something you might find as a prop in the game Myst. There is a dial that calculates the strength of the "ghost" and lights that illuminate when it encounters what the meter determines is a ghost. I think I liked the retro look of the device as much as the supposed use which in the description and instructions is very vague. I am not sure what it is actually registering. I do know that it will display a dialogue box when there is magnetic interference, like the compass app does, and there is no particular pattern to what ever it is registering.

However, I down loaded it, and what is an app if you don't instantly find out how it works. So in the middle of the night, or early morning, in my wizard bath robe, I walked through the darkened house with a ghost meter, trying to determine exactly what I had just purchased. Fortunately Sandi was asleep and Taylor was gone for the evening. I looked like the very ghost I was tracking, with this long druidesque robe, my face lit only by the flickering light of an app driven iPad, wafted through the dark and silent house.

I suppose I should be encouraged by the fact that the house seemed relatively free of ghosts according to my new meter, until I got to the hallway. There is an occasional cold chill that will come down this hallway and the lights will occasionally flicker at night. I still believe I encountered the essence of my Father in Law in that Hallway a few months after he died. I guess if I thought my house was haunted this hallway would be grand central.

The ghost meter went crazy in the middle of the hall. It lit up like a Christmas tree, the dial pegged at the top and the display counted a ghost. It also sounded an alarm that scared me and I panicked trying to turn down the volume.

I walked out of the hallway and the meter went back to scanning, no other hits. There were occasional spikes in the meter but nothing like the hallway. I was mostly trying to figure out what this app was reacting to.... if anything. As I headed back to bed the meter lit up again when I walked the hallway.

Back in bed I put on the headphones and turned up the volume. It scans sounds too and sometimes through the static I would hear something I thought I recognized.

It registered nothing while I was lying in bed. Then I decided to try and contact Houdini. Why not? He has been on my mind recently with the Magic Castle fire and Halloween. There was nothing at first, but just as I was about to give up the dial spiked. I whispered...."Houdini" and it spiked again. I did nothing for a minute thinking it was a coincidence. It spiked again when I repeated the name. I assumed that it was Mr. Houdini and we were in communication. Finally I asked the spiking meter if the presence of Houdini had set the fire at the Magic Castle. The dial pegged, the alarm sounded, it lit up again and counted ghost number two on the counter. I jumped so much Boo the dog growled in her sleep.

I did not give the ghost meter a chance to display again. Nor do I really know what the meter senses, just as I was turning it off the dialogue box appeared again and said there was magnetic interference.

I think this is as close to a confession that we will get from the specter arsonist. As far as I am concerned Houdini confessed. I don't think that the ghost meter is allowed as evidence in court, but to me the case is now solved.

As you were,

Jay

2011-11-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

Happy Day of the Dead
For those who celebrate the festival of the Day of the Dead here is a graphic for you. Jaysons Art - the Hallmark of obscure holiday cards.

This is the Day of the Dead, Nov. 2, 2011 and the mystery into why Houdini set fire to the Magic Castle continues. So far no official cause of the fire has been determined. I do not rule out the occult, and the paranormal activity that is continually encouraged and practiced at the Magic Castle as the real cause of the fire. And for me the ghost of Harry Houdini would be the hands on favorite as the perpetrator. Although he was dead for many years before the property at Franklin in Hollywood became the Magic Castle, Houdini did live near the historic Magic Castle property while in Los Angeles.
So here is my accusation. I think the ghost of Houdini started the fire from beyond the grave for these reasons. 1) The timing of the day Halloween: Houdini's favorite holiday, and date of his death. 2) The numerologological associations with the number 11 surrounding the calendar date. Eleven was Houdini's lucky number and a superstition. 3)Houdini said he would try to communicate wth the living if he could after death. I doubt a stuborn control freak like Houdini would ever stop trying, even after 85 human years. 4) The symbolic implications of burning the Magic Castle on Inferno night.
If Houdini really wanted to communicate with the living world then what better place to do it than at the very clubhouse of conjourors, on their busiest night of the year. And do it in such a way that would make the evening news. The fire at the Magic Castle was a big story covered in somewhat the mystical and grand style of Houdini.
There is no doubt. The last few days research has born out the facts that Houdini has broken through and communicated to us from beyond the grave. The ghost of Houdini set fire to the Magic Castle.

As you were,
Jay

2011-11-01T13:40:00.000-07:00

We go now to.... Hugh Bodsillean...

Thank you Jay... Hugh Bodsillean reporting from Hollywood.

One of the busiest nights at the Magic Castle is Halloween, as you might imagine. Over the years they have planned for all kinds of themes and shows to promote the event. Last nights theme was.. "INFERNO...The Castle will be on fire for Halloween". The evening was cancelled because, you guessed it, the Magic Castle caught fire, an irony, which I am sure, is not lost on those of the Magical persuasion. As far as I know this is the first Halloween night the Magic Castle has been closed since it opened in 1963.

I still maintain that it was the ghost of Harry Houdini who did it in an attempt to communicate from the "other side". He said he would try to send a message to the living if he could. There were annual Houdini Seances on Halloween night for many years after his death, but even his wife gave up after ten years. The last Houdini Seance was broadcast live on the radio from the roof of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Bess Houdini was there along with 12 other guests including a noted medium of the time. After an uneventful seance, Bess Houdini rose from the circle and said, "Houdini did not come through. My last hope is gone. I do not believe that Houdini can come back to me, or to anyone...The Houdini Shrine has burned for ten years. I now, reverently... turn out the light. It is finished. Good night, Harry!"

Perhaps it took the 85 years since his death to come up with the best way to communicate. After all why would a legendary conjurer known for his spectacular and dangerous stunts be satisfied by ringing bells or rattling tambourines in a darkened seance when he could make headlines setting fire to the Magic Castle on the anniversary of his death? Also, with my basic knowledge of eternity it seems to me that ten years is not even a nano second to a ghost. Eighty-five seems to be time enough for him to come up with this trick.

But here is the most convincing evidence of Houdini's involvement in the fire. You will notice on the left that Houdini underlines his signature atop the number... 11. Houdini would have been 137 years old last night. If you take those numbers and add them up with numerology you get 11. He died at the age of 52 on Oct. 31. If you add 52 and 31 you come up with 83 which reduces to 11. Today is 11/01/11 and it was Halloween 2011 last night. Smoke was noticed by some employees at was 11:11 AM, the fire alarm was sounded at 12:35 PM. Again using numerology 12:35 adds to 11. Both of his professional names started with H which is made from two vertical lines that look like 11. If you add the number of the letters in Houdini's name they come to 12, take the number of those letters as they appear in the alphabet ( A is one, B is two etc.) and add them up you get the number 69 for Harry and the number 70 for Houdini. Subtract those numbers from each other you are left with 1, and one from twelve is... don't freak out... 11.

So there you have it... proof of life after death and all thanks to Harry Houdini setting fire to the Magic Castle. This is Hugh Bodsillean.... back to you Jay.

Thanks Hugh.... interesting and persuasive evidence.

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-31T19:23:00.001-07:00

HOUDINI Sets Fire to Magic Castle
Hollywood, CA
On the 85th anniversary of his death Eric Weiss, better known as the magician escape artist Harry Houdini, set fire to the historic Magic Castle in Hollywood. The Magic Castle, a private club for Magicians, was going through some repairs earlier this week in the attic above the Houdini Seance Room. In this courtroom sketch of the incident the ghost of Harry Houdini can clearly be seen in the upper story just after the fire was discovered. The greater alarm fire was reported at 11:11 am. Hollywood firemen were able to contain the fire to a small section of the attic. There was some water damage to the Houdini Seance room.

Houdini promised he would come back and give a sign from the after life if it was possible. For years, seances were held to allow him to communicate on the anniversary of his death which was Halloween evening in 1926.
The custom was discontinued in 1936 by his wife, on he roof of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, just a block from the Magic Castle, ten years after his death.
The ghost of Houdini was reportedly upset by the fact that current Houdini seances at the Magic Castle are conducted as a show and not an actual attempt to communicate. The fact that repairs and upgrades were being done to add several "effects" to the Houdini Seance show was said to enrage the Spector.
The magicians say that they will repair the damage and take another look at their policy to conduct seances at the Magic Castle to contact Harry Houdini. At the same time the event is being seen as proof that Houdini was able to communicate from the grave. It could be his greatest demonstration of a sign after death.
Reporting, in no way live, from the Magic Castle in Hollywood, California, back Jay Johnson's blog.
Thank you Buck Heddleswine... and now back to the end of our blog. Happy Halloween.
As you were,
Jay

2011-10-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

Halloween -

2011-10-30T07:11:00.000-07:00

Halloween Tomorrow----

Go tell your Mummy!

As you were,
Jay

2011-10-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

Halloween in one Day---

Face it!

As you were,
Jay

2011-10-28T14:54:00.000-07:00

Halloween in Two Days--

Bite me!

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-27T07:54:00.000-07:00

Teachers

Okay, Lisa and Keith left comments yesterday that made me start thinking about my teachers. First of all I love teachers. As far as I am concerned teachers should be paid like rock stars and professional athletes. There is nothing more important than education and teachers are the point at which knowledge plows the new ground of fertile minds. If this capitalistic society rewarded salary based on actual value then teachers would be at the top of the heap. My Dad was a teacher, and a good one. Had the job paid enough to support his family on that single income he might have retired a teacher.

I remember some great teachers in my life and then there were some that.... well, since there are teachers reading... let's just say... there was a disconnect between us. Nothing could exemplify either side of the spectrum more than my second and third grade teachers.

Mrs. McClure was my second grade teacher. She was a red haired Scottish Lady with mean eyes and a quick temper. Mrs. McClure believed that the way to motivate kids into doing better was to humiliate them when they didn't muster up to her learning curve. It was the Darwinian theory of learning; learn at the same level and speed as the rest of the pack or sacrifice your self esteem. She believed slow learners should not only be "stepped over" but "stepped on" in the process. She was an early believer in "no child left behind" except the stupid ones who couldn't keep up to her pace.

I lived in fear of wearing the "slow poke" sign pinned to the shirt on my back during recess if I did not keep up; or having to wear a hat in class called a "thinking cap" if I didn't read well. To the rest of my class mates the hat was nothing more than a dunce cap. These stellar ideas were some of the more subtle methods she employed. I missed almost 30 days of school that year because of her. It was only second grade but I already hated this entire process called school, and I got so good at faking an illness they should have given me the Tony Award right then and there. As I look back she was the one who turned me from neutral to an absolute hatred for school.

The next year we moved away. It was a different town, and a new start. In the third grade I had Mrs. Gordon as my teacher. Mrs Gordon was a saint and I am sure that now there is a cathedral somewhere in Texas dedicated to her goodness. She had a child who was 15 years older than me and experienced learning challenges in school. She dubbed his type of learner a "creative child". Billy learned to cope with his disabilities very well, went on to college and became a structural engineer, I think. I suspect he was dyslexic like me although they didn't know what that was back then. But Mrs. Gordon recognized that my comprehension was similar to her son Billy and treated me accordingly. I do remember that when I was having trouble with something she would tell me what Billy had done in a similar situation. I don't remember ever actually meeting Billy, but he sort of mentored me by proxy through that year. I missed very few days of school in third grade and only for legitimate sickness. I actually decided to give fourth grade a shot because of Mrs. Gordon and continued to attempt to cope like her son Billy. It worked out for me.

So here is a shout out to all the great teachers of the world. Thanks... You inspire us all.

And a scream out to those teachers that subscribe to the McClure method of leaning.... perhaps a career as prison guard would be more rewarding for you. Unfortunately, the worst prison guard makes more than the best teacher.

As you were,
Jay

2011-10-26T07:11:00.000-07:00

Dyslexics of the World Untie

This is for the 100 out of 17 people, like me, who are dyslexic. It took me several decades to even learn the correct spelling of that word and that I was actually one of their number. In fact the word dyslexia wasn't even given to this learning quirk until I was almost out of high school.

Thanks to Monty Wooley for sending this. I think it should hang on the wall of every grade school class room in the country. Only because my Dad was a educator and my Mom a creative genius did I make it through school not hampered by the "Stupid" label.

I wasn't good at reading or spelling so they told me that I couldn't write. I wasn't great at math but aced Plane Geometry with no effort. I could redraw most anything in front of me was good in acting class and I could make a puppet talk. All of this should have pointed any educator to the fact that I my abilities were not so easily quantified. I was a fish that was being tested on climbing.

Thanks to Mr. Einstein who also said, "Imagination is more important than knowledge" for putting it all in perspective.

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-25T09:35:00.000-07:00

You gotta laugh...

There is a notion that humor is what separates us humans from the rest of the animal population. Non-human animals react to something that seems "off" with either fear or aggression. Usually humans try to laugh about it first before running away or starting a fight. There are predictable exceptions to this idea when jokes or seemingly funny remarks themselves are taken the wrong way causing the very fear and aggression it should have defused.

The trick for a comic or humorist is to know how far to push that line to get the laugh and avoid the riot. I don't think anyone is 100%. A comic tends to go for the joke first and deal with the consequences later. If you have to stop and consider all the ramifications of a joke before you tell it, then your timing is going to suffer to the extent you waited. There is nothing "less" funny than a joke that misses its timing.

That is one of the exhausting things about being in a room full of comics. It becomes a feeding frenzy to be the first with the funniest remark on whatever happens. No one is giving a second thought to the advisability of making the joke, they just want to be the first. Being second with the same witty comment is last in the comedy race. The only exception is if one can top the first remark, taking that level and pushing it further.

It all sounds rather complicated when you think about it, but timing is comedy. It is a fast track and you have to be willing to go for it as fast as you think of it, knowing that perhaps 85% of the time you will be right, but that 15% error can be disastrous. If the percentage is reversed and 85% of the time is disastrous then you are not a comic and should go into accounting or work for the DMV.

With that in mind, when I visited the jail last week, it was the first time I had ever experienced that process. I really didn't know what to expect when I entered the visiting area of the jail. It was all fearful and somewhat intimidating just to be there. After we waited in line, filled out our paper work, went through a metal detector and had our ID checked against police records we sat in a "holding" area. If there is any problem with your ID check you are taken away in handcuffs. I saw that happen to a few of the visitors who had made it to the holding area. They detain people with outstanding traffic tickets to parol violations, you better be clean when you agree to a check because they don't even have to "take you downtown" to the jail... you are already there.

It is a long time before you actually get to see the person you came to visit. They call out three or four names every few minutes in no particular order. I asked someone who was a regular visitor what was going on. She said, "Once you have been cleared they have to locate the prisoner you are here to see, then they call you to the window." Because of where I was I did not burst out laughing, but my fear and intimidation had turned to humor. Outside I just smiled, but inside I was having a laugh fest as I thought, "They have to 'locate' the prisoner? Isn't this a frickin' Jail? If they don't know where the prisoners are they're doing it wrong."

As a tag to this story, I talked to gay couple who are mutual friends about my jailhouse visit. They said they couldn't get up the courage to go and see our buddy but they had tried to send a Halloween card. It had been returned to them that day. The deputies opened it, censored it and sent it back to the sender with this note. The card had been rejected because of "Excess glitter".

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

The Perfect Storm
To everyone who sent positive messages and comments about my Saturday blog, I appreciate it. It was a strange weekend and very odd to have it all play out so publicly, but then that is where it all began and the only place for it to finish. And it truly is finished. I am grateful to Jeff for accepting my apology out in the open as he did. I didn't expect that and it was above and beyond the best outcome I could have imagined.
Some have asked about the origin and timing of my Epiphany. Since I have no modesty left in this situation, a final statement of honesty seems to be the appropriate epilogue. There were three events that came together on Friday in a way that created the perfect storm of clarity for me.
The day began with a visit to the Los Angeles county jail. I was visiting a friend. Of all my friends he is the least likely person I would ever expect to see behind bars. His journey is a long and complicated saga, too long to go into here. However, it was a complete break down in the American system of Justice in my opinion. Some day the case will be reversed on appeal, but until then my friend is doing tough time.
The Los Angeles Mens Correctional Facility is not a place where even visitors find a lot of dignity or compassion. Just before they cut the phone line connection between us, I said, "Keep your chin up, pal." He replied, "Thanks but we have to look at the floor, it's a punishable offense if you make eye contact with a guard."
Since you can't take anything but your ID with you when you enter the jail, I left my cell phone in the car. I was drained from the experience, and glad there was an email waiting on the Blackberry to distract me. It was from a friend who once again brought up my conflict with Jeff. My gut reaction was predictable. His was a bias opinion from a high profile but completely star struck fan. It momentarily distracted me from the jail house experience but not in a way that made me feel better. In my mind I started composing a rather unflattering response to my misguided friend.
So the contemplation of these two completely different situations, the jail and email, began to merge in my mind on the drive back home. I thought of my friend, now in jail, who had never struck back at the people who lied in court, never gave up trying to do the right thing, and even now was holding his head high even as he was forced to stare at the floor. I began to realize the quality of strength my friend expressed was currently an unused asset in my character. This thought was beginning to temper my response to the email sent by the Dunham fanatic.
In the early afternoon a letter arrived in the mail from my friend and mentor, ventriloquist Jimmy Nelson. In his gracious way he was thanking me for the things I said during the celebration of his career last summer. It was as if a light went on in the room. The tone and style of Jimmy's letter cut through the bull shit. I suddenly saw myself as a total contradiction. I was praising one ventriloquists while attacking another. And at the same time I was remembering my friend, who is in jail because of what someone said about him.
It was the perfect storm.
The timing of these events could be just a random pattern. That Raven on the telephone pole crowing at me the day my Dad died could be just the migratory pattern of a bird. When I had to reschedule AA Flight 11 out of Boston the morning of Sept. 11, 2001 it could be nothing more than a change of plans. Or each one of these events could be abstract object lessons; sort of like sign posts leading to a better destination.
Anybody can miss a sign once in awhile and get lost for a time; or say there are no signs and where ever they end up, claim it is where they intended to be. Whether you believe in signs or not, occasionally things happen that you just can't ignore. If these observables cause you to alter your direction and feel better, then it is its own reward. For me I will always be looking around to make sure, if there is a sign, I don't miss it. It just seems logical.
As you were,
Jay

2011-10-22T04:37:00.000-07:00

Trying to set things Right

This is an open letter to any ventriloquist who has ever lived or ever will; and everyone else I have offended lately:

I have a friend who's aunt died in an old folks home knitting the ski mask she planned on wearing when she assassinated Bob Hope. No one knew what her beef was with Bob Hope or why she planned to kill him but it consumed every part of her senior years. Everyone just thought she was crazy.

Just the other day I flashed ahead in time to an old man sitting in an old folks home carving a puppet he would use to assassinate Jeff Dunham. I then realized that old guy could be me in a decade or so. I didn't like the picture.

I am a ventriloquist and perhaps for a while I forgot that I am also a human being. I would hate to end a lifetime as the best ventriloquist I could be without also being the best human I could be.

As a ventriloquist when I make a mistake I try my best to correct it to help make my performance better; now as a human being I have to correct a mistake I made to help make my life better.

I will cut to the chase.

If you read this blog regularly you will know that in the past I have written some things that were very hateful about Jeff Dunham. Don't bother looking, they have all been taken down now, but the fact that they were there at all is not something that makes me very proud of myself at this moment. Each one was childish, presumptuous, mean spirited and unsolicited. At this point I can't imagine why I would have wasted the Ethernet on such pompous crap. I have hypocritically railed against such infantile postings from other blog writers. I needed to turn that observation to my own page.

I have known Jeff Dunham for a very long time and our careers have even dovetailed in some esoteric way. We went to the same high school and our kids attended the same school in Los Angeles. We shared Ventriloquist week on the Letterman show, and played the same Comedy Clubs early on. We even sit on the board of Advisors for Vent Haven together. I have an 8x10 black and white glossy of Jeff accepting my "Vent of the Year" plaque when I was unable to accept it in person years ago. We even live on the same street in the same California suburb. I wouldn't say we were as close as Benny and Burns but I never questioned that we were friends.

Then several years ago I bummed a ride home on his plane from Louisville to LA after a conVENTion. After a long ride and a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, I thought our relationship had taken a huge step forward. I saw his arena show and finally "got" what he was doing out there. I had been so busy trying to make a Broadway show work that I hadn't noticed what was going on in his career. It was quite amazing.

I didn't get to enjoy that place very long. Within a week all hell broke loose and we found ourselves on opposite sides of a legal issue.

It is not important now and most everyone else involved moved on from that disaster, but I did not. In fact, it never went away for me. It is not a problem that consumed me 24/7 but it never really went away. When something would trigger the feelings I went immediately into a very dark place. Those feelings came out in my blog several times, and got progressively more odious and personal in the form of attacks on Jeff. If I could knit, I might have started a ski mask.

Don't know who I thought I was to call Jeff out on the Internet. To his credit he never responded in kind, can't say that I took the same high road. I really can't undo it... even though it doesn't exist on this blog anymore... it is still out there somewhere. If nowhere else, it still stinks up my own consciousness. Feels pretty stupid and small for a guy my age to have done... I should have known better than to break my own professional credo. "What would Jimmy Nelson do?"

I would love to blame it on Bipolar disorder, but it is actually a case of asshole-ism. It is my own fault and there is no one responsible for the noxious bile but me. But like I said, all I can do is correct it and try to make the act of my life better. Unfortunately to do that I have to own the damage I have done and accept total responsibility. There is no such thing as ignoramus insurance. I probably couldn't get it anyway because of pre-existing ignorance.

So... no more stupid personal rants about Jeff Dunham or anyone else. I have reached out to Jeff personally to apologise but doubt he will return my call. Who could blame him? He doesn't owe me a thing. And what I owe him now is just safe passage through my thoughts and my blog without the insulting gauntlet.

I was told as a writer you have to be honest. I've tried my best to do that here. However, I forgot for a couple of years that honesty is not the same as childish name calling.

Sorry Jeff... you didn't deserve it, from me....especially me.

Over and done,

Jay

2011-10-20T09:56:00.000-07:00

Back to Court

The world is a stage and at this point one of the acts is the Conrad Murray trial. The prosecution will probably rest today, Dr. Steve Shaffer is their last witness. Dr. Shaffer is an expert anesthesiologist who has worked with all kinds of drugs in the hospital. He is not charging a fee for his testimony, as is customary, because he feels like the bad publicity about propofal is dangerous to the care of patients. He is doing this to reassure the public that in the right setting and with the right care giver the drug is very safe. He mentioned in his testimony that since Michael Jacksons death he has been repeatedly asked by his patients if the was "giving them the drug that killed Michael Jackson. Dr. Shaffer has testified that Dr. Murray was grossly negligent in giving Michael Jackson propofal. Had he had the proper equipment and training in anesthesia he would have been able to resuscitate Jackson quickly and easily. He has debunked the defense theory that Michael Jackson drank the porpofal causing his own death while the doctor was out of the room for a few minutes. It seems orally ingesting the drug has no effect. Last week the defense announced that they were abandoning that line of reasoning.

I think that the prosecution is proving that Dr. Murray was responsible for Michael Jacksons death but not because of an overdose of porpofal, which is listed as the cause of death. It seems to me that Dr. Murray was not prepared with the proper monitoring devices nor did he have the knowledge to handle the drug. It seems to me that this is a case of malpractice which led to a death. I suppose that this is technically a case of involuntary manslaughter, but it seems that event the amount of propofal that Jackson had been taking daily was not the actual cause of his death. It appears to me that he died from not monitoring the patient properly to intervene when a negative side effect showed up. Basically it seems that Jackson got so relaxed that he stopped breathing. Dr. Shaffer said that happens almost daily when he administers anesthetics. If you have the right knowledge and equipment is it easily and quickly corrected with no damage to the patient.

I am so glad that I am not on this jury, if for no other reason than I am able to form opinions and talk about the case before it is presented in total. Most of the fun of a trial are the twists and turns it takes and how opinions change from the testimony.

The defense case will be short and this will probably go to the jury in a week or so. I doubt that Dr. Murray will actually go to jail because of the California over crowded prison system. He will, I am most certain have his license taken and will probably never practice medicine again. That is probably a good thing since he did not seem very capable in this situation.

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-18T05:25:00.000-07:00

Night and Death

I have always been interested in how we humans process time. Although we think of time as a constant, it is not. Einstein believed that time slows with distance and speed. Philosophers tell us that there is no such thing as time because it is so subjective. Echart Tolle would say that now is the only reality we have; the past is just a story and the future is just a fairy tale.

We can measure time with all kinds of clock devices. Computers can generate smaller and smaller units of time digitally; but even the smallest unit of time is only a measurement of what was. Mankind can not measure the occurance nor duration of now. Now does not exist long enough to register in any tangible way. It exists but it can't be measured.

Humans have a more visceral way to measure time. We use mental references as milestones to navigate our past memories of time.

I remember my folks would divide their lives into chapters of events that happened before or after certain vivid memories. Things were expressed in terms of, before or after the great depression; other things happened after the war. Every parent has a memory marker with the birth of their kids.

I still calculate past events by placing them in terms of what theme park I worked which summer.

Everyone has their own way of determining when something happened in time, and it is all unique and personal. Some how we store significant moments of now in our consciousness and fit the rest of our lives around these moments that can't be measured.

This brings me to now, and I just missed it because it is already another now, or is it the same now in a different time.

The reason I clutter my mind with the complexities of contemplating the consciousness of now is simple self-distraction from thinking about Night and Death. The phrase stuck in my head and I want to write about it but I am finding reasons to write around it.

This is my first night off since my Dad passed away. I had a night or two free in Rochester over the last month and a half, but it was not a night off. That was just a night I was not working while I was still in Rochester.

Unless you are in your house with your own stuff as the sun sets... it isn't a night off. This is real excitement for me, to be here and watch the shadows start to consume the back yard. Although one of many such nights I have spent at this house, this time it is different. It is my first night off after one of those time setting moments. All the rest of my nights from here on out will be without Dad's planetary presence.

I am already loosing count of the number of shows I 've done since the night he died. It is more than I want to think about on a night off. This evening feels too unique not to deal with. I avoid reality by casting this connection of night and death into a movie script. The story of an elegant classic night having nothing to do with death. Then an orchestra begins to play in the background as Fred Astaire sings.

"Night and Death, you are the one, only you beneath the moon or under the sun..." not strictly Cole Porter.

So, here we are, right back where we began, contemplating time and the complexities it brings. Still dealing with death, and a night off. Death and Night. Night and Death I guess I hope that in death whatever consciousness we have continues on after we leave this protein shell of a body. We might understand the timeless of now more abstractly without these physical restraints. Perhaps conscious memories remain, but not as a measurement of time. They are just to be enjoyed in an eternal state of now.

~~As you were,~~ ~~As we are,~~
As it is,
Jay

2011-10-17T14:55:00.000-07:00

Redd Foxx

I find that more and more of the things I think are common knowledge are lost to the generation that now dominates the social networks. This may be true of the Harlem comedian turned television actor Redd Foxx.

He was a very raunchy comedian who was known for his 50's "party records". That was the name given to comedy record albums with language and material unsuitable for broadcast. By todays standards they are pretty tame. However, he continued to push the envelope and kept pandering to looser mores and retained his XX rated act keeping up with the newest dirty material till his death.

In 1975 he was the star of a hit television show named "Sanford and Son". This let him charge big dollars for the dirtier material in clubs and Vegas. He was also heavy into drugs at the time and was somewhat of a loose cannon on board the network show. He was raunchy and unpredictable.

In his Vegas act the band would play him on and off with the theme from his show Sanford and Son, click on that link if you don't know it. It is a catchy tune.

One night in Vegas there was a very small crowd for a late show. The band played the theme song, Redd Foxx walked to the microphone, looked at the crowd and said, "I'm not doin' my mother fucking show for only this many fuckin' people," and walked off. The band immediately played the same song for his exit.

I told John Ivy my PSM the story one night and from then on when we had an audience that was small one of us would scat the Sanford theme to the other and share a laugh. It was all we had to do to communicate that it was going to be a small house.

Cut to the last night of the run at the Magic Castle. Our show was so successful that we did a third show for the Sunday night crowd, which is rare unless there is enough people to justify it. It was a compliment that we were that popular but this show was the lightest of the run. Back stage in the green room we performers were trying to get up the energy to tackle what would be a more challenging show.

Out of habit I started humming the Sanford and Son theme. John was not around and I suspected someone to ask me why I was humming that song. At that time I would get to tell the Redd Foxx Vegas walk off story again. Instead, magician Jack Goldfinger started to laugh out loud. He said, "Yes... exactly. Perfect." He not only knew the reference and the story, he was the opening act for Redd Foxx the night he walked off. He was actually there that night.

To be honest I was never sure the story was true. It is a great story and I love to tell it. Jack was able to fill me in on some more graphic details including the fact that he was even more insulting to the small audience than the way I tell it.

John Ivy was the first person I wrote to with that bit of "Kevin Bacon connecting". You have to love this business cause you never know how careers overlap and stories you have always heard about can come to you first hand. If you are looking for Magic, you find all kinds on and off stage at the Magic Castle.

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-16T14:05:00.000-07:00

End of a Great Magic Castle Week
It was great fun. The mind reading act using a ventriloquist as the secret fooled most of the people. We had to expose the gag at the end just so they would understand they were "HAD". Mike and Tina are great and it was a very special show.

As you were,
Jay

2011-10-15T12:56:00.000-07:00

The Magic Castle

I am having a great time at the Magic Castle. Two of my heros were in the audience last night. Mark Wilson, who produced and starred in "The Magic Land of Alacazam" on television when I was a kid, ; and Bill Link, who created an wrote such great television shows as, Columbo, Burkes Law, and countless others. Both are grand gentlemen and great talents in two different disciplines. I have a peripheral love of magic and writing, and admire them both for their talents. I am proud to be their friend.

I don't work at the Castle very often, and should visit more when I am not performing. However, I do have some great memories of great times there. Some that stand out: the memorial service for Di Vernan, and the pre-death wake of Billy McColmb to name only a couple. And one more that may shock some of my more critical detractors. (I am talking to you Anonymous "with disappointment... 7:11AM")

I am not sure of the date, but I know it would have to be the late 70's or very early 80's. Jeff Dunham was performing at the Palace of Mystery. Jeff Dunham hadn't moved to Los Angeles yet, he was unmarried, and one of the few vents to perform the Castle. To get the Magic Castle gig at all was a testimony to his ability. The Castle was at the the time a place to be seen by LA shakers and movers. Jeff was making all the right moves and getting people there to see his act.

At the time I was sort of an itinerate mentor to Jeff Dunham. We grew up in the same town and went to the same high school, and shared some of the same gigs locally, at different times. We discussed the art form in detail over the years. I remember we both sat in my dressing room at the Casa Manana Theatre in Ft. Worth, Texas for my entire break. I had to rush to get on stage for the second show. The differences that we had toward the art form always made for an interesting discussion.

So, I came to the Palace of Mystery just to see Jeff Dunham perform. I had not seen his act in a long time. He was using a McElroy figure back then. It was a good act. I remember distinctly that I had never seen anyone use the McElroy upper and lower lip movement with such dexterity. There was another level to the mouth animation that was and still is quite unique. He didn't use the upper lip just as a gesture or expression, he actually used the movement to accent the proper syllables. I suspect this is how the McElroy's intended it to be used.

After the show I went backstage. It was my turn to spend the break between shows in his dressing room. After a while Jeff wanted to show me something that he had been working on. On the table was a "rocks size" bar glass filled with water. He grabbed his figure and began a conversation and while continuing the conversation drank the glass of water. I had never really seen that done before and have not since. Usually it is done with a trick glass or gaffed props, but until that moment I didn't know that it was really possible to do. As I suspected Jeff Dunham had found the only solution I thought was possible to actually accomplish that trick. It was a matter of timing glottal strokes and swallowing within the context of specifically chosen words. I understood the mechanics but I'm not sure I could do it as effectively. It was really quite impressive. I never saw him do it again and I don't know if it ever made it into his act, but it should have.

I doubt it would have the same effect done today in one of his stadium shows, even with the Imag. And it could never be as impressive as it was to me three feet away in the Magic Castle dressing room.

I am impressed with the brotherhood of magicians apparent at the Magic Castle. They meet and share secrets and support one another. They say if you get two magicians together you have a convention. I have heard it said that if you get two vents together you have a fight. Perhaps I can be part of the solution and not the problem. Perhaps vents should talk together in dressings rooms and not through lawyers and managers. Perhaps...

As you were,

Jay

2011-10-12T12:18:00.000-07:00

Fooling them at the CASTLE

It has been a very long time since I have performed at the Magic Castle although I have been a member for a long time and go fairly often. I am having a blast with Mike Caveney and Tina Lenert, members of the infamous Left Handed League.

We decided to do a routine together that we thought would be a gag and it turns out it is fooling magicians. Often for only a few moments and sometimes for a much longer. I can't, of course, reveal the nature of the trick since it might tip the gaff by talking about it. All I can say is that it involves mind reading or sightless vision. And not to say that the idea we have come up with is so ingenious that the master manipulators can't see it. I think that most of them are looking in the wrong direction. But ultimately that is what stage magic is... miss direction. But what fun. A moment on stage we thought would be a gag has turned into the talk of the Castle for this week. It has become a must see moment.

In reality we were just trying to add a little more magic into the show and not have it look too much like a variety show.

It is frustrating to have a great story like, "Fooling them at the Magic Castle", and not be able to talk about it. Bummer, I usually find that I don't edit myself as much as I should in this blog, but this time it really would go counter to the magicians code of secrets. And I have probably said too much already. Don't know why I brought it up if I can't talk about it. More Later,

As you were,

Jay

Clarification

2011-10-09T03:33:00.001-07:00

I meant to say that the drawing I posted yesterday called "Dr. M" was my statement on the Conrad Murray manslaughter trial of Michael Jackson. As you know I am following that trial regularly. This is what I think of the testimony up till now. It works for me...
At the airport early morning, tight connection in Chicago. Sorry to leave Rochester but glad to be heading home.
As you were,
Jay

The Week End

2011-10-08T09:29:00.001-07:00

My last night in Rochester. Home tomorrow. Blog next week...until then my
Drawing entitled "Dr. M"
As you were,
Jay

Tough Day at Work

2011-10-07T01:11:00.000-07:00

I guess everyone has one of those days. You do your best and give it your all and it just doesn't seem to be enough. The crowd was a decent size for a Wednesday evening. In fact I thought they would be a really good audience. I have gotten great reactions from audiences half their size with this very show in this very theater, so I was not really concerned when I started. John tells me that I can't make a judgement on how the audience will react until after the first performance piece which is the Snake character. So, although I thought their reaction was a little stilted for the opening few minutes, I waited.
The snake routine came and went and there seemed to be no change in their attitude. I kept working them. At every turn of the story I thought I had figured them out. Their reactions proved me wrong, and it took me by surprise. I began to give up on ever finding them as the show rolled on. They were not restless nor distracting, they were just comatose. I could not get a reaction out of them if I delivered it in a Mac truck.
I have done this show for every possible type of audience. I didn't think there was a situation that I had not faced before. These people showed me that an audience is a crap shoot and you can never pigeon hole them. It was like they were in church. No one laughed no one reacted but they were watching and listening intently. Usually you can break through that "television attitude" and get them to respond in a live theatre, but I used every skill that I had ever learned and nothing was working.
The trick in this situation is to not let it get to you and not get vicious . In a club you can take out your frustrations on the audience and let them have it, and sometimes that works and they are brow beaten into submission. But you can't do that in a theatre setting when there is a thread to the story and it must follow a set of scripted cues. It was like trying to fight an opponent in the boxing ring with your feet nailed to the floor. I told John later I thought I was moving concrete blocks, everything took so much effort I wondered if I could go the distance.
Finally it was Darwin's turn. He is the least structured of all the bits and if I could ever go "club" on them this was the time. So I let him go. He bated and harassed the non-responsive as only a monkey can do and get away with it. Compared to the rest of the evening he did get them going, but just moving the bar from on the ground to up an inch was not the success I was hoping for. It was not a satisfying evening as it turned out. I was completely drained and weak. I had gone the distance but it had taken my all to do it.
Like I said, we have all had this experience and there is no insurance policy one can get to make certain it will never happen again. There will be another performance tomorrow night that has the potential of being a barn raiser.
John usually goes outside to have a smoke after the show and hears the comments of the audience as they leave. He said they were very impressed, happy and the comments on the evening were really good. You would think that they could have expressed those feelings to me in some way... a smile, a giggle, any sort of reaction a living body can make.
Oh well, I look at what I do as art and I guess the reaction to art is up to the observers. There is no standard response. They did their part, they observed without distraction. However, I wish I could let them know in some way that if they had participated just a little bit in the experience they might have enjoyed it exponentially, but that moment and that audience is gone and can never be repeated. And... I realize that this is what I love, the unknown response of a live audience. If it was always the same I would get very bored and find another venue for my talents that was not so predictable. I am a professional and sometimes you have a tough day at work.
As you were,
Jay

Memories of Note

2011-10-06T01:20:00.000-07:00

My Dad didn't smoke, didn't drink and never said a bad word stronger than Hell, and would apologize for that. It was not easy to maintain that constitution back in his day. Everyone of his friends smoked, I can't think of any grown up I knew when I was a kid who didn't smoke, except my Dad and Mom. It was always my job to go and get the ash tray for Dub, or Gid or Earl and Jo when they came to visit us. I would then have to disappear to my bedroom and go to bed, but I rarely ever went to sleep right away on those occasions. The smell of tobacco and coffee wafting down the hallway, and the conversation that I could almost make out was much too stimulating. I loved listening to my Dad tell stories and converse with his friends.
We lived in a dry county of Texas so liquor was not around, and if those friends drank they did it in secret. However when Dad changed businesses and became a Bond trader in Dallas, Texas the industry was fueled with two martini lunches and cocktail parties. You were just expected to keep up with the guys drink for drink to make a deal. Dad would go up to the bartender and order "a club soda... with none of your comments". He would get to know the bartenders and they would make the club soda look like a mixed drink and sometimes say, "The usual Mr. Johnson," and he would never have to reveal what he was drinking. The last few years of his life he discovered the joy of Baileys Irish Cream in his morning cup of coffee. The last time I was home we had to make a stop at the liquor store for more Balieys. It was the only time I can recall ever buying booze with my Dad. That male bonding experience was late in coming but highly memorable.
In high school I discovered a bottle of rum hidden in the back of the cupboard. It was dusty and old and probably used for "medicinal purposes" long ago. It stayed there for years until one night during my senior year in college.
My best friend Larry Imes enlisted in the Navy and was gone for two years. He came home from duty one evening and called me to pick him up at the airport. I was living at my parents house and commuting to North Texas at the time. We came back to the house and caught up before I took him home to his folks. In celebration of the sailor home from the sea seemed to be a good time to relocate that bottle of rum. It was still there where it always was untouched from my previous discovery. We had rum and Dr Pepper as the hours flew by. At one point the electricity went off and the house went totally dark. It only lasted a few minutes but it was odd. As it got very late my Mom woke up to us giggling in the kitchen. She was surprised to see Larry who was like one of her boys and greeted him appropriately. As Mom was going back to bed Larry said, "Mrs. Johnson, did you know the electricity went out a few minutes ago?" Without missing a beat she said, "It was probably the good Lord telling you to go to bed." Later the next day she asked me how much rum Larry and I drank. I tap danced a little and said, "Just a bit." She pulled the bottle out of the cup board and measured her fingers to display the exact amount we had consumed. She knew exactly how much had been in the bottle before my welcome home party.
As to bad language that is something my Dad never gave into. He thought "Gone with the Wind" was inappropriate with one Damn. This must have been a challenge for him when he was in the Navy. I think cussing like a sailor is the expression. He probably found a good use for the phrase, "I don't give a rats ass" in those days, because that is about all he would stoop to. In fact, when us kids were small he changed it to "Don't give a rats bottom... or simply the initialed explicative "RB". That we were allowed to say, RB in times of great personal trial. It was my favorite and only curse word for years until I found that the F word had more impact in most situations. My high school friend Larry even started repeating RB in times of frustration. I remember five years ago when Larry called me to tell me he had cancer of the liver, I didn't know what to say. He said it all by just saying, "RB"
I knew you didn't recommend a movie to Dad that had even a moderate amount of adult language. He just would not like it if there was any bad language. I am sure that is why my night club act was squeeky clean. I just didn't hear creative uses of certain words when I was growing up. In modern times it was impossible to see a movie that was not objectionable to him with regard to language. It could be the best story in the world, but more than a few bad words and it was not a good film. However, to his credit, when his Grand daughter started working on the producing side of movies he would sit through the worst of language just to see her name go by in the credits. I guess that was Dad. He would do anything for his family.
Larry passed away five years ago, I have had a chance to accept his departure. It has not been long enough since Dad's passing to have a good perspective yet. I guess what we are left with after all is said and done is just memories of what is was like to be with them. I have been blessed with great memories.
As you were,
Jay

Trial Watch...

2011-10-05T01:23:00.000-07:00

By now it is no secret that I enjoy a good true crime show or a juicy televised trial. I must remember to thank the Los Angeles Superior Court for timing the Conrad Murray trial during the weeks I would be out of town. With no television at the "star house" there is at least a streaming real life drama for me to watch before going to the theatre. And watch it I do. Because of the time change for the East coast I am able to sleep a little longer and still get up for the morning session. Except for the sessions held when I had to be on stage, I think I have seen the entire trial.
There are a few observations that I have made so far. I really don't have an opinion on Conrad Murray's guilt or innocence. I think ultimately Dr. Murray was hired at $150,000.00 a month to be a personal prescription drug dealer to Michael Jackson. If Michael Jackson needed Propafal to get through the tour, then it was just a cost of doing business for AEG Live. Besides I am sure if Dr. Murray would have refused the unorthodox treatment another Doctor ,ready to comply, would be only a phone call away. Most everyone around Michael Jackson wanted to get him on stage to sing and dance like a trained animal act, or more like a through bred race horse. Anything is fair game to get the horse to run. Perhaps there should be co defendants in this trial. Going all the way back to Joe Jackson and Barry Gordy.
It is sad to me that Michael Jackson was such a cash cow to those living off him. So much so, they would let him do anything to keep the dollars flowing. This was true his entire life, from his father to the record label to the body guards that were there to protect him. Everyone wanted him to keep doing tours and making hit records and anything was fair game to keep that well from running dry. Drugs, cosmetic surgery, kids, amusement park rides, oxygen chambers and a chimp named Bubbles.... it seemed like everyone around him turned a blind eye to anything that kept him happy. Since he was currently deep in debt the axe above his neck was an even greater incentive to keep the money stream flowing. It does seem odd to me that a man who was 400 million dollars in debt lived like a Prince of Bruni in Holmby Hills, California. For those who don't live in LA the people of Holmby Hills have so much money they look down on Beverly Hills as a ghetto.
The defense in the Murray trial will try to establish that Michael ingested and or injected the over dose of Larazapam and Propafal that killed him while Murray was out of the room. According to the defense the good Doctor was just trying to help the poor man sleep. We know that Michael was addicted to Dimeral and one of the side effects of that addiction is a sever interruption of the addict's sleep cycle. Propafal is not a sleeping aid, it just induces coma for surgery. The wear and tare on the body from being "out" on that drug is even worse than not sleeping. For many reasons a Doctor should have known what the drug's affects were and refused to assist in the ultimate destruction of a personal patient. He should have had the proper hospital equipment to administer the drug, and maybe he should not have left his high profile patient alone to call one of his three girl friends on his Iphone. If Jackson did administer the drugs himself the Doctor still seems to be culpable for leaving the room.
The main thing about the trial is Murray's face. He looks so guilty with a scowl that never leaves even for his close up. I wouldn't expect a man to be grinning ear to ear during such a serious situation, but don't scowl like LT. Warf from Star Trek. There is a middle ground between a grin and a look of doom. He should just look neutral. To me his own demeanor is playing right into the case of the prosecution. He looks like a guilty villian.
After the Casey Anthony not guilty verdict, I am done trying to second guess the 12 people who have the duty. I just think that however the trial goes, there was a major crime here. Not totally the Doctor's fault but a crime shared by every person that saw Michael Jackson as a commercial object instead of a man crying for help.
The defense will take over soon. Look for them to try to position Dr. Murray as the odd man out in a household of Islamic body guards and personal assistants. Each one was responsible in their own silence and guilty of not protecting the man they were hired to protect. It is easy to place blame on the person who was the last person there when the music stopped.
As you were,
Jay

Left Overs....

2011-10-04T01:01:00.000-07:00

I am going to leave out one fact in this story as I tell it. I think you will understand why once you hear it. However, at the end I will will tell you the missing ingredient and the story will take on a very different meaning.
My friend Harry says that political correctness is a modern obstacle to comedy. There are some jokes that involve an ethnic group that are not racist, just funny. In Texas you can hear an Aggie joke, go to Pensilvania and hear the same joke told as a Polock joke, and in Canada the same joke would be a Nuffee joke. Same joke, just as funny but requires the assignment of a localized group that everyone knows. Most of the time the ethnic group has nothing to do with the humor of the joke, but because of political awareness those jokes are avoided. But given that we live in a world when we need to laugh more than ever, we can not eliminate a joke just because it might contain an ethnic word. We need to find another way to tell them.
Harry suggests we *invent* a group to make fun of. A race that doesn't exist and won't be offended by being the butt of the joke. Then we will be able to tell all the jokes that are now off limits. The world needs a laugh. Harry said.... let's just call them Cleathens. There is no such thing as a Cheahen, so we can make them anything we want. So here is the joke he tells after that lengthy set up: These two Jewish Cleathens walk out of a Synagogue..... Okay that is not quite on point but, here is my story.
Tonight the producer of the show took me, John and some of the staff members of the theatre out for an evening dinner. It was an Indian Restaurant known for exotic dishes not normal to the Rochester bill of fare. It was "special Buffett" night and they featured dishes that are not normally on the menu. The food was very good.
One off the staff volunteers is a lady who takes her tiny dog with her everywhere. She has a purse that is big enough for the dog and she sneaks him into every place she goes. Most of the time the business don't know there is a dog in their store because the pooch stays hidden in the bag. There are ordinances against dogs in the restaurants of Rochester, but so far she seems to be able to circumvent the rules with the hidden dog. Predictably she brought the dog into the restaurant this evening, maybe she is a regular and they know and don't care. I don't know, but none of the waiters seemed to be concerned about the large purse that would occasionally wiggle in the chair next to her.
I forgot to mention that the restaurant is packed there are people waiting outside for any available table that becomes empty. I think in the food service business they would refer to that as being "slammed". The fact that a chair would go unoccupied by an actual eating customer was attention grabbing.
So we finish our meal and the dog lady decides she will take some of the food home with her. They provide a container and the ubiquitous white take out sack for her. She slings the dog purse over the same shoulder with the take out sack. And we exit.
The second we are out the door she opens the purse for the dog to stick its head out, finally. He is curious about the smells coming from the sack and sticks his head in to find out. There is a large group of people standing near the entrance waiting their turn to go in. The dog can't get to the food and gives up. Just then a member of a large party sees the head of a dog coming out of the white sack and says, "Look it's a doggie bag. She is taking the left overs home." They all laughed hysterically.
The part I left out is that the entire party laughing was Asian. I am unsure if they were laughing at the pun, or more about the idea of eating the dog later.
As you were,
Jay

Monday, Monday....

2011-10-03T02:38:00.000-07:00

I remember the first time I was away from home for an entire summer I was working at Six Flags over Georgia. I way over-packed and had a foot locker of things I sent back home before the summer was over. I remember that I wanted to have some sort of music at the apartment I would share with David Wylie. It is not that I didn't trust Wylie to have some tunes, but figured it would be opera which was not what I was into at the time. I also knew that we would not have a television to watch.
It wasn't like today when you just take your Ipod and have hours and hours of music. Nor could you just go to Pandora and have all the music you like on a computer. The best that you could do back then was travel with cassette tapes. They were less cumbersome than vinyl records, but took up a lot of space nonetheless. You also needed a player which took up more space.
Just before I left for the job I found something called a "sound machine". It was about the size of a toaster and had speakers and a playback system for mini eight track tapes. Not the eight track tapes that were all over at the time, but a special smaller version of insertable cartridges. It was more expensive than a portable radio cost, but you could listen to the music *you* wanted to hear, not the lame choice of some Atlanta disc jockey.
By the time I spent my money on the player, I didn't have a lot of spare cash left over to buy the special cartridges. Of course it was just a paper weight without the music tracks. I was able to buy two "albums" and thought that I would get more as the summer went on. One of the cartridges was an album by the "Mamas and the Papas" which contained the song "Monday Monday". I played that album hundreds of times a day. Of course you couldn't advance to a particular song, you had to wait till it came back around again, but it was the only music I had. I understand now why Mackinse Philips turned to drugs if she had to listen to that music for her entire childhood. Instead of relaxing me during my time off it was starting to irritate me. It was time to buy some more music to play on my state of art player.
Unfortunately by the time I was ready too start my "sound machine" collection, the machine and all the cartridges had been discontinued. The biggest objection to the buying public was the lack of music available on that format. I was perhaps the only one to actually purchase the device, and there were no special tapes to be had any where. The toaster sized player became my nemesis, a repetitive machine that played the same tunes over and over and over. I started listening to Wylie's opera just to keep my brain from going into atrophy. I should have bought a radio. It was a great lesson in impulse buying. It has stayed with me all these years.
So today is Monday...Monday... can't trust that day....Monday, Monday sometimes it just turns out that way.....( it still haunts me.) and we have a day off. The forecast says it will rain all day. In Rochester the rain this time of year is just a dress rehearsal for the snow that is soon to come. There are no guarantees but I think we will be gone before then. We are starting our last week here.
It will be great to get some rest. For some reason the shows have been sapping my energy more than normal. The venue is a little tough and it takes more effort to move the story up the mountain. However, the crowds have been very responsive even when we have a light house. But I am beat.
So today on a rainy Monday, I will open my Ipad to Pandora, or download some videos to watch, click on IHeartRadio, listen to the the hours and hours of my own mp3's, play some computer games, draw on an art app, surf the Internet, write and publish my next blog, email everyone in my contacts file, post some pictures on Facebook or stream the Conrad Murray trial for entertainment, all on a device that is the size of a thin spiral notebook. For sure I will not have to listen to the same tune over and over again. If I get bored it is my own fault and not the fault of technology. This digital age is either coming to the rescue of us bored road monkeys or it is creating a generation of attention deficit syndrome personalities. About the only thing that my iPad can't provide is rest, but who has time to rest with everything there is to do on a black screen.
As you were,
Jay

2011-10-01T07:11:00.000-07:00

The Theraputic Value of Humor

I think I can actually talk about it now. At the time I realized it was something important but could not see it in its true light until time has passed from the night my Dad died.
I wrote about how difficult it was to get through my show that night because of the many reference to my Father in the script. Each time I came to one of those references I found it hard to say without breaking down. They caught me by surprise every time.
I assume it is this way for every actor, but for me I have the script running in my head just a few sentences from actually saying the words The show is happening inside me and I am just repeating the lines with a mental time delay. It is like I am being directed in advance. I know that after the next line I will need to move over to a certain point of the stage and say the next phrase. The script is parsed out a line and a movement at a time and not as the entire performance. A good actor is trained not to play the ending of the scene before you get there. It is called "telegraphing" and it is especially true for comedy. You never want to play the set up for the laugh. The laugh has to be a turn and a surprise. If you tee it up like you are going to say something funny, the audience gets there before you do and it's not funny. So the show running in your head has to be only a sentence or two ahead or you play the punchline.
So it was the night of my Dad's death. I was especially trying not to get ahead of myself because I knew the ending of the show was going to be very difficult. The ending is all about the shock of finding out my mentor has died and it was much to real on this night.
Thirty minutes into the show I cross to a big trunk to sit and tell the story of Big Jon and Sparkie. Until this point the show is really the history of ventriloquism with very few personal references that matter. The Big Jon and Sparkie story begins what is basically the second act, my personal journey. The show in my mind stumbles as I sit there. I realize in the next few lines I will say, "On the trip home my Father says something that will change my life." The mental script stopped with the realization that my life with Dad had minutes ago been forever changed. I was off book now... the reality of saying those words derailed my continuing.
Internal show or not, on stage it was time for that very line. I had to look down at my lap to gain my composure to even utter it. I felt a burning in my eyes that signals tears. Then suddenly it was like a commercial interruption of a television show. Everything on stage stopped and I became aware of my pants. My eyes cleared as the burning stopped. I saw that my zipper was open. It had obviously been down for the entire show. It stopped not only my momentary grieving but the entire show. I looked up and said to the audience, "Are you kidding me?" and zipped up. There really is no subtle way to make that move on stage without calling complete attention to it. There was a nervous giggle from the audience. I said, "Has my zipper been down this entire time and no on said anything... Are you kidding me?" I yelled out at John in the booth, "Where is my stage manager when I need him? John?" John has a very infectious laugh and guffawed from the booth. It was enough to get a nice laugh from the audience. I think my ad-lib to a couple down front was, "No extra charge...." It was okay that the show stopped and we all recovered together. The laughter had taken the wind out of my emotions and I was able to say the difficult line and move on quickly.
There were other references that took me by surprise but that quick laugh let me get through the first one more easily. As tough as the others were the first one is always going to be the toughest simply because it is the first.
Part of my per-entrance ritual is to check my zipper before I go on stage. Some actors have a mantra or a superstition before walking on stage, mine is fundamental to wardrobe appropriateness. I guess the shock of Dad passing just moments before I went on stage distracted me from my process. In hindsight it was probably Dad way of helping me get through it. He would rather that performance be remembered not as the night he died but the night I did half the show with my zipper down.
I guess there really is nothing that laughter can't make a little easier. Since humans are the only species that can laugh it is a divine gift.
Here is to lots of laughs in your days to come... no matter what it is you have to face.
As you were,
Jay

Entertainment vs Reality

2011-09-30T13:16:00.001-07:00

As I re-read some of the things I posted, as in yesterday. I realize that sometimes my emotions get the better of my editorial sense. What is a momentary thought gets quickly translated into this document and then sits there for a very long time. That is the problem with this new instant media. It doesn't allow personal thought to be personal long enough to decide it is not worth the typing time.
One would think that I had learned that lesson, but it is not something that seems to be solved by only a few bad examples. What I really want to do is tell stories, funny ones hopefully. Unfortunately for the last week I don't see the humor as clearly. This will pass.
I have been following the Dr. Conrad Murray trial via the internet feed. With the time change making it a little later here in Rochester, it is perfect afternoon entertainment for me before the show. I don't know what fascinates me about a high profile trial, I got just as hung up on the Casey Anthony trial when it was happening. Which was coincidentally during the last Rochester run. The most fascinating thing to me is not just that it is a story told in a very plodding and some what random way, it is that these are not actors. We are so used to watching good actors pretend to have emotions or thoughts we forget what it is like when we see it for real. There is disingenuous quality to reality because we have seen only the depiction of reality so often in dramatic entertainment. We tend to disregard a persons feelings as untruthful if they are not showing the emotion that an actor would in a drama. How weird is that, art not just imitating life, but actually defining it.
When we hear a story of how someone reacted in time of tragedy, if it is not in the dramatic way that we think it should be is seems wrong. The truth is an actor is just portraying how they think a person would react. When an individual is really faced with the situation there is no specified way to react; they have never faced this before so how can they know how the will react? I suggest that the more bizarre, the more real because an emotional event short circuits every cell in your body. Chaos is chaos and is defined by its unique randomness.
Especially today we want a black and white differentiation for anything we comprehend. There is a good guy, a bad guy, a right way and a wrong way, a Republican way and a Democratic way. Life is not so easily parsed. As in art the grey areas give us the depth. The shadows which are neither dark nor light give us value. You can not take a pencil drawing with shades of light and expect that it will photocopy correctly. The camera decides the value. If it is darker than it really is the camera makes it black. That is not the reality... that is a mechanical decision.
We know that the pixel number on a digital camera will make the picture more clear and distinct. The greater the number of values the more beautiful the picture. Why isn't that metaphor more accessible to our every day living. The more information, the more elements, the more sides the more depth one can add to a situation the better perception we have of it. The more divergent sides to a problem the better the solution can be.
Media is still broadcasting in Black and White. To cover a new story you get two pundits touting their extreme sides and they yell their differences at one another, because it is entertainment. They are not broadcasting reality, the pundits are no more representative of a consensus of ideas than Little Red Riding hood is a study of wolves.
Gather it all in especially those you don't agree with. Try to see them as not all right nor all wrong or all left. The true picture is defined by the shades of subtle differences in the two while not really being all of either.
All this to say, the negative things I wrote yesterday have no shading... no reality... it was a dramatic story that I thought was reality...it is not.
As you were,
Jay

2011-09-28T09:01:00.000-07:00

The Business of Show

Everything relates to my Dad these last few days. He was a big believer in the fact that Show Business is an equal mix of Show and Business. The business part of the career is just as important as the show. I am so glad that I got some of his understanding of business. It has helped me in more ways than I can say in my career.
So tonight we are sold out for a theatre party. It is a very big deal on a week day. An investment company is giving the show to their customers to thank them for their loyalty. They are serving dinner in the lounge before the show with drinks and have dressed up the tables beautifully. The staff is all in black outfits and there are waiters with trays of goodies working the crowd. John and I arrive a couple of hours early to get into the theatre and set it all up so a sound check will not encroach on the festivities.
Then about 5:45, just before sunset, the power goes out. I thought it was the extra food warmers they had plugged into the theatre circuit, but that is not the case. It seems the grid for our entire area is blacked out.
The guys who promoted and planned the evening begin to panic immediately. People are arriving for the evening and there is only emergency lighting in the theatre and lobby. No one seems to know much about what was going on.
John powers up his smart phone and finds out that 2500 customers are currently without power and that they are estimating they will have the grid back up by 9:00. The show is suppose to go up at 7:15. It looks like that schedule will certainly not hold. I have to say that John is the best techie there ever could be. He can find out what is going on faster and more reliably than anyone I have ever seen. The Rochester locals are coming up to him to ask what the update is on the blackout.
Now there is a discussion about how we can do the show with out electricity. John and I are sitting in the theatre that is lit with only with two emergency lights. It's not a bad situation because he is surfing his smart phone and I am drawing on my Ipad. The enigma about drawing on an Ipad is that normally you look for the best light to draw, but with an Ipad you need the worst light to draw. The owner of the theater instructed the servers to bring us the finger food that is being served in the lobby. Suddenly a person would appear in the dark with skewered chicken or boiled shrimp and ask us if we wanted some. We are happy as clams, waiting for the electrical situation to change.
The stage is too dark to even know it is there. The promoter appears and asks if we can do the show if the lights come back on. I said I was there to do a show and when the lights come back on I would be ready. They are not sure everyone will stay if it gets too dark and the lobby is no longer lit by he outside light. John continues to surf and I continue to draw.
Then at 6:45 suddenly and without warning the lights come back on. It is half hour and John and I jump into performance mode. We were ready, and the show went on, on time and without a slip.
Here is the point. You never know what situation you will find yourself in. In business... especially Show Business you have to be a professional. A professional is ready to do his/her job whenever called upon to do it. The black out was a minor glitch, but a glitch nonetheless. Anybody can perform when everything is perfect... the professional can deliver even on a moments notice under conditions that seem impossible. I think that ethic came directly from my Dad. Thanks Dad.
As you were,
Jay

2011-09-27T04:11:00.000-07:00

Ventriloquism and Art

NOTE: This was written in the afternoon of my opening night. At the time I did not know that one phone call would change my night and all others from then on. I didn't even know that my Dad had been taken to the hospital. I wasn't sure I would leave it up and publish it, but in some way it is an attempt to get back some normalcy from the last few days. My Mom would always read my blog to my Dad, this is one he will be able to comprehend on a different level.

As I write this we are several hours away from my opening night at DCT. At that time I will pose a question to the audience, "What is ventriloquism, and why does it even exist?" Like all art it is up to the audience, the observer, to answer it and up to me, the artist, to pose it. Ultimately there is no other obligation between us. I love the question because the answer is as varied as the number of people who comprehend it. The audience will come to their own conclusions and take from it what they personally connect with. If the observer is looking for the answer outside of his own opinion, they will not find it. It is the very thing that makes art valuable, this internal analyzation that can't really be shared. And there is no wrong answer. It is only as you interpret it. The wrong answer is not to have an interpretation.
Of the two adverbs "what" is easier to quantify than "why?" There might be an objective consensus after seeing a demonstration of something on what it is, but the why is totally subjective. What happens when you put a match to gasoline is an easy explanation, why it explodes when water does not is difficult to explain. When asked "what is it that you do?", the best answer is to respond by doing it. There is no demonstrable answer to "Why do you do it?" It IS what I do and that is why I do it. More of a riddle than an actual answer.
In High School my friend Larry used to entertain me with his insightful silliness. He once posed the question, "Why is a duck?" the answer, "because the much you go the more." It was indeed the perfect answer to any question that begins with why.
I demonstrate that I am a ventriloquist in my show. I have tried for years to come up with why I am a ventriloquist. For convenience sake I have invented reasons to use in interviews when asked. I doubt any of them are true because I do not know the answer. All I know is: I do it because I get a thrill from doing it. To watch an audience even for a second believe that there are two of us on stage and not one, is better than drugs to me. That is when the observer becomes the observed and it is my turn to interpret and analyze what they are doing. A performing artist's loop of performer being audience as the audience performs back. In that way art unites us in a common un repeatable experience. There is a bond which only happens because we are both in the same moment, inseparable yet separate with the whole greater than the sum of the parts. It is theatre, it is art, it is valuable and it is nourishment for the human spirit; not taking more than it gives nor giving more than it gets. How can this not be as important to the survival of our human spirit as water is to the survival of our bodies? If this shared bond through art is allowed to die from lack of participation, humans will become a spiritless hive of worker bees with no sense of self or individualism. What I am is a ventriloquist. Why I am a ventriloquist? Because the much you go the more.
As you were,
Jay

2011-09-26T04:11:00.001-07:00

Symbols of Life

Although I did not know that my Dad was dying when I walked into the theatre on Thursday night, there was a Raven sitting alone on top of the theatre crowing at John and me as we entered. I am a student of theatrical traditions and love the legends associated with all aspects of the theatre. I said, "Isn't that a bad omen? A raven sitting on the theatre opening night?" In John's manner he said, "Right?" which is both a question and an affirmative in context. We both snickered and as we opened the door I said, "Quote the Raven Nevermore." It might have been the last time I thought of that bird but it was not to be.
Ten minutes before the show I got the call from my sister and Dad died while we were on the phone together.
I called John into the dressing room and said, "Let's go out back for a minute." We went outside the theatre which is empty except for loading docks. There is a tree line just on the other side of this alley way that I am told obscures a beautiful view of the Erie Canal. It is the perfect urban setting where nature tries its best to encroach on asphalt. As John and I are discussing the death of my father, and how we will handle it during and after the show, a raven landed on the telephone pole above us. I am not a raven expert, but it appeared to be the same lonely raven that had greeted us when we walked into the theatre. There were no other ravens or birds of any kind that could be seen or heard at that moment. A rational person would have assumed it was the same bird hanging around. He crowed and crowed very loudly as if not to go unseen. And it seemed to me that the raven was crowing directly at us again
I thought of my Dad. He had been robbed of his speech for a decade from a stroke but never stopped trying to communicate with all of us. He had a few phrases that came out clear, but always with a struggle. He would sometimes get frustrated by not being able to say what he wanted to say and "I... don't... know" would end his attempt. Dad was gone now, his struggle over, and here was this bird free and very vocal announcing its presence in a way that could not be ignored.
I stopped and looked at the raven and said to John, "That's Dad, he can finally talk again." It came out of my mouth before I even knew what I was saying. The raven stayed perched on the top of the pole alternately being loud and silent as John and I came to some decisions.
It was time to go back and do the show. There was no thought of canceling it, Dad would not have wanted that. He loved to see me perform. As we walked back into the theatre the raven gave one last call, took flight and soared over the Erie canal thicket.
I have a friend who says to a carpenter everything looks like a nail. To a person in mourning everything looks like a symbol of hope. The truth is really not as important as the feelings it generates. For me it was a contact from a consciousness that I do not understand. I did not need a bird to tell me that my Dad was finally free, nor do I think that Dad needed a bird to tell me he was okay. But whatever it meant it was a direct call to my heart and it touched me deeply. I may not see the bird again and it may not speak to me with the same symbolism if I do. It was for me, however, one more moment to remember sharing the company of my Dad.
As you are, Dad,
Jay

My Dad

2011-09-25T18:27:00.001-07:00

I was reminded that there are a couple of mistakes in the blog about my Dad on Thursday. Dad was a detail guy and would want it to be precise. Particularly when it comes to numbers. Dad rarely made a mistake with numbers and kept complicated bond maturity rates and schedules in his head. On a bond issue once which had been calculated by a computer Dad looked down a column of seven digit numbers on a spread sheet and said that they were incorrect. The young financier who had prepared the numbers was insistent they were right because they were computer generated. After Dad would not give up the numbers were recalculate and found to be wrong to the exact value Dad said they were. The young man had used a formula that was not correct in this case. Dad did not use a computer at all in his career. The only machine he would use was a floating decimal Frieden calculator. It was a mechanical machine that looked more like a typewriter or cash register than a calculator. It used to scare me as a kid; it made noise and numbers flipped by like a crank style movieola.
In my blog for Dad I said he was 89. That is not right... he was 88 on his last birthday in June. I also quoted his military rank as Lt. J.G. The J. G. stands for Junior Grade which is a step or two below the actual full Lt. rank that he actually attained in the Navy.
I think the JG stuck in my mind because of a trophy that occupied an honored spot on the family bookshelf. It is a silver loving cup engraved by the crew of the USS Montrose and given to "Lt. J. G. Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr. for service above and beyond the call of duty in the battle of BeNo Straights." In a story that is right out of Mr. Roberts, Dad took flack from a commanding officer to save his crew from his cruel abuse. The Captain was given to telling the men, "There will BE NO liberty, there will be no movie" until certain duties were performed to his satisfaction. In fact when the play and subsequent movie Mr. Roberts came out, several people contacted Dad to see if he had sold his story to the author. Except for the ending, and a different class of ship, it was the same story. The Captain would not let Dad transfer from the ship. Instead of the men holding a forgery contest to sign the Captains name on a transfer as was depicted in the movie, the actual event was a little more theatrical.
Dad and another officer were sure the Captain was not rational, but neither one could get officials to take a look. All communications to channels were censored by the Captain. No one could get word to the shore officers.
One evening when Dad was officer of the deck, his friend and fellow officer requested permission to go ashore. His name was not on the list to go ashore, but Dad gave him the salute and he boarded the launch dingy. The Captain saw the launch from the ship and ran to Dad to see the list. When he found out who it was going ashore and that the officer was not on the list he grabbed the radio and ordered the launch back to the ship immediately. The radio message was never received by the launch crew and Dad's friend was able to get ashore and report what was going on. Dad was soon transferred and it was discovered that the Captain had a brain tumor that was causing his abusive irrational behavior. He was eventually removed from command and died soon after from the tumor.
Years later when Dad and his officer friend reconnected recalling the event, the true story was told. The crew had heard the radio command by the Captain to return to the ship, but the officer drew his 45 cal. service weapon and told them to disregard the broadcast. They knew something was wrong with the Captain and never reported what really happened. They probably did not need the 45 as incentive, but the fleeing officer was taking no chances.
Dad loved to tell his Navy stories and I loved to listen to them over and over if I could. It was heartbreaking to know that the last couple of decades of his life he was unable to tell them to me again. He was a numbers guy not a writer and never wrote them down. But the family will continue to tell them to his Great Grandchild who is due in February.
Daddy I will never forget. You made me love stories and yours were the best.
As you were,
Jay

Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr.

2011-09-22T22:16:00.001-07:00

He was called Noel because his Dad was Arthur and he did not want to be called Junior. I remember as a child he called his Father, Arthur Noel Johnson, by the initials A.N. Noel had a special relationship with A.N. who was a strong smart man of great character with no more than a 3rd grade education. Noel went on to get his Masters degree from Texas Tech University. It made A.N. very proud. Of the four sons that A.N. had, Noel was present at the end as his Dad lost a bout with cancer. I believe of all his sons A.N. favored Noel the most, because he was after all his junior.
Noel was my Dad and the first manager I had in my career. He drove me to shows when I was too young to get a drivers license. On the way home we would analyze the show from the stand point of strengths and weaknesses. He loved to act in that capacity and told me that he was sad when I became old enough to get to shows by myself.
Dad booked the first show I ever did for the Abernathy Lions Club, because he was the president of the organization at the time. I remember at eleven I told him that I did not think I was good enough to perform for the Abernathy Lions Club with my fledgeling act and he said, "Jay you don't have to be that good to perform for the Lions Club."
In some ways I lost my Dad 17 years ago when he suffered a stroke that left him unable to communicate. For a man as eloquent and intelligent as him it was a great struggle to be robbed of his communication skills. He continued to communicate with us even though it was a struggle. He could say, "I love you" with great clarity while not being able to articulate much else.
Dad was a mathematical savant and taught Algebra in high school after a career in the Navy and a recall to the Korean war. He continued to climb the ladder of a teaching career to became the youngest Superintendent of Schools in Texas. He quit his job as Superintendent to form his own securities business and continue to work with schools as the financial advisor for countless school districts. He helped finance more schools for Texas students than companies hundreds of times the size of his own.
At 89 years old he had grown weary of the fight just to communicate and get around. The strong Navy officer had lost too much weight for his 6' 2" form and the struggle became too much. He did not like hospitals nor doctors and did not want to linger. But when the pain from fluid on his lungs became too much to bear he agreed to go to the emergency room.
Six years ago Dad made the trip to be there for my show off Broadway at the Atlantic Theatre and two years later for the opening night of my Broadway run at the Helen Hayes. He never tired of seeing me perform and it was obvious to me even though he could not tell me in so many words. It was in his eyes. He was there to see my show at the Eiseman Theatre in Richardson a short distance from his house in February of this year. I got to introduce him and my Mom from stage. He was truly beaming back stage.
Tonight at half hour before opening night of my Rochester run, I got a call from my sister. The fluid in my Dad's lungs was worse, his heart was racing out of control and they had transferred him to the ICU. Mom and my sister told the doctor that he did not want to be kept alive artificially and the decision was made to make him comfortable and not resuscitate. As I talked to my Mom from such a long distance away, my Dad opened his eyes, closed them again and passed away. It was a very surreal perspective to experience such an event. As the realization hit all of us my phone ran out of battery power and lasted only long enough for me to say I love you to my Mom. It was ten minutes before I was due on stage.
There was no doubt that this show would be done for my Dad watching from a vantage point that I could not comprehend. I wanted to do the best show I could knowing that he was there. In some way I was glad that I had to concentrate on the moment and not dwell on what had just happened. Dad has always admired my professionalism and my ability to do my job under any circumstance. He would call that a "true" professional.
I knew the final scene in my show talking about the death of my mentor Arthur Sieving ( Yes the name Arthur is very much ingrained in my family history) would be difficult to deliver on this night. What I had not realized is the number of times that I refer to my Dad in the context of the script. The references were like mental land mines that took me by surprise every time. For my Dad, I got through it but there were moments I know the audience did not understand. I did not understand the emotions that ambushed me myself.
The show ended and it was time to let go and I sobbed uncontrollably backstage. My stage manager John Ivy was the only one who knew. He allowed me the space to decompress and sent unknowing opening night well wishers away so that I did not have to pull up and be a professional off stage. The ride back to the house was longer than usual until I was able to plug my phone into a power source and call my wife.
I know that Daddy will never miss another one of my shows, but I will miss him forever and a day. Good night Lt. J.G. Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr. mission accomplished with honors.
Jay

2011-09-22T07:11:00.000-07:00

I did not know this was on YouTube. It has been many years since I have seen it.

It is the opening credits for a show called Broken Badges. It ran on CBS and was produced by Stephen J. Cannell.
We shot it in Vancouver, Canada and I had a ball. I got to do stunts, carry a badge and a gun and really act. We only did 6 episodes but I wanted it to last forever. They are all on YouTube in 15 minute sections. I just watched the pilot episode this afternoon. I guess if it had run for any length of time I would not have written "The Two and Only". Badges was written by my friend Randall Wallace who left the television business to write some movie called "Braveheart". I guess it worked out well for both of us.
As you were,
Jay

The Ghost of Irondequoit

2011-09-21T04:11:00.000-07:00

By now you know that I am a ghost hunter and evangelist on the subject. I grew up in a house that was haunted and no one believed that it was anything but my ventriloquist imagination until I moved out and others in the family saw the apparition I was telling them about.
So here I am at the "star house" for DCT in Rochester and there seems to be some sort of presence that occupies the premisses. Two days ago the thing we call Sammy made his presence known in a most startling way while I was trying to shower. I'm still trying to figure that one out and now... Well, he may have made himself known again last night.
John missed the bus and I was here alone for an additional evening. I was gone most of the time because of the promotional show I was doing at Geva. When I got back to this house I did not feel any sort of unaccounted for energy. There are always bumps and sounds to any place that is unfamiliar and I did not hear anything that could not be explained by the house settling or the climate control going on or off. I did think I heard the water running down stairs at one point, but don't know the house well enough to be sure.
Then there was the noise in the kitchen in the middle of the night. It woke me up enough to know that it came from the kitchen, but again... refrigerators make noise and an ice maker can sound like footsteps. It did not persist so I chalked it up to just that.
In the morning I was jolted awake by the door bell ringing. I stumbled through the living room and down the entrance stairs still mostly asleep. I didn't put on my glasses so everything was blurry. I yelled down the stairs, "Who's there," or "Just a minute" I can't remember which, but when I got to the door no one was there. I opened the door to look around and saw the blurry image of a utility truck in the street. It was the meter reader and he had assumed no one was home. I let him into the basement so he could read the meter.
As he left he casually said, "Sorry... there is usually no one here when I come...I should have waited a minute longer. By the way are you having heating trouble because the basement is really cold." The first morning I woke up a little cold so I had put the furnace on very low the day before. It should have been fine on the lower story as well.
I went into the kitchen to start the coffee and found myself in a pool of water. The door to the freezer was open and the ice had melted all over the kitchen floor.
I have not opened the freezer since I have been here. I noticed that there was nothing there but a bag of ice that had melted onto the floor. The other thing I noticed is that this refrigerator does not have an ice maker.
There are many ways that this can be explained which do not involve he concept of Sammy. Unfortunately, the Sammy explanation is the easiest and quickest conclusion.
John arrived this afternoon and got a kick out of the signs I taped on the bedroom doors. There is a sign that says Jay's room, one that says John's room and the extra bedroom up stairs says, "Sammy's room". I am hoping, however, that Sammy stays downstairs in the cold.
As you were,
Jay

Fly on the Wall

2011-09-20T04:11:00.000-07:00

As part off the promotion for my show here in Rochester, I participated in an event called Theatre Rocs. It is an event that is held at the regional theatre to promote and expose the general public to all the shows that are performing in the area. Rochester seems to have an abundance of theatrical choices. I would say more than Los Angeles on any given day.
Each theatre company gets four minutes to present a slice of the shows that are currently performing at their venue. This year there are 22 participants including DCT which is my org. I made some notes as I was sitting in the green room with all the actors getting ready to take the stage. Most of them know each other and I was the curiosity hanging back and observing.
Of course I am not used to shows that have this many cast members, at least non wooden ones. I have played this theatre before and the setting was familiar but not this backstage frenzy. There is a common thread that connects theatre people who ordinarily might never come together. The movie "Waiting for Guffman" is perhaps the paradigm for the types of people who populate community theatre. That was a movie and this is real life but you can recast it by just looking around.
There are 14 people all dressed in the same black outfits. Some wear the design well while others look as though they are on wide screen mode of an HD television. They will sing the finale to Company. One man near my age is walking around with a prosthetic bullet hole in his head dripping red blood. It is a good makeup job even by movie standards. He is running lines with a friend but I do not recognize the play.
Several people are in costumes that look like wizard Komonos. Just as the people in black, some wear it better than others. There is a cast of all ages that seem to be dressed as extras for a reshoot of Little House on the Prairie. In various other costumes and make up are the usual blond ingenues and festive boys and, of course, me in a suit holding what will become a talking tennis ball.
We are at this moment all linked in anticipation of performing for a large crowd that has assembled up stairs. Everyone expresses their excitement in different ways from over the top flamboyance to stark terror. I see both in there faces and mannerisms. Stage fright/excitement is not confined to age, some of the older actors are much more terrified than their younger cast mates. Other seasoned actors and actresses are quoting other shows and remembering other audiences with equal amounts of joy and resentment usually with the younger actors hanging on every word. These seasoned pros seem to seek me out more than the rest to see if my audience stories are similar. Of course they are, I perhaps have had more experiences with different types of audiences, but the memories are the same. There are good shows and bad shows and good audiences and bad audiences but you hope the two never come together on the same night.
Some of the performers seek me out to ask about the Tony. What was it like to get it, did I know, did I plan my speech, where do I keep the trophy at my house? I am delighted to be a minor representative of the American Theatre Wing and give them my best remembrances. The Tony Award is my validation into a closed community of theatre performers. It is my passport to be allowed to participate in their world. But when the chips are down we are all the same, we have to entertain the same people with what we do. All of us will face the same audience tonight. The playing field is level, there are no do overs, no retakes, no grading on a curve; it is just us and the audience. I am no sure if I have the advantage taking the stage alone or not. What ever happens, I am the only one to blame or praise. There are no other real actors to lift me up if I fall but none to steal the thunder if I don't. I am just as excited to get out there as anyone in the green room, only difference is I have had years to work on my poker face so as not to let my emotions show either way.
There is a trend in this economic time to disregard the contributions the arts give us as a society. It is the first budget item to be eliminated in favor of any other need, even sports. But the arts are the heart and soul of a people. With out this softer look at who we are we only have the harsh black and white editorials of the pundits who deal mostly in fear and sadness not hope and joy. If the bean counters could only see it through my eyes tonight. This is a community of thespians come together in a common goal. Tomorrow we will all be competing for the same audience but tonight we are united with the same desire to entertain. Each person participating, each audience member and each person who is responsible for producing and presenting this event came together; Setting aside all politics, races, ethnics, religion and experience, we united in one common goal and made it work. If that is not a lesson the world needs to see more of I don't know what is.
As you were,
Jay

The Ghost house

2011-09-19T15:09:00.001-07:00

I am here at the "star house" two nights before John arrives to do some publicity for the show. So I am alone in this split level four bedroom house. Or am I. The last time I was here John and I began to joke about a ghost that seemed to mess with our Internet, at the same time an account named Sammy would show up as a user. It was local to the WIFI so it would indicate that the user was in the house. It was more of a joke than a problem as we started to blame any mishap on Sammy. However, it happened with enough regularity and consistency that some "thing" was definitely around that we could not explain. John ran every diagnosis he could with his computer to find out what the cause would be and never found an acceptable answer.
As I was getting ready for an interview this afternoon I was taking a shower. There is no doubt that at one point the shower curtain wafted as a shadow passed by on the other side between the curtain and the light on the mirror. My first thought was that John had arrived early and was there to give me a start. It is out of character for John to do such a thing particularly invade the privacy of my shower, but we like to kid each other. I beat him to the punch and yelled, "Sammy.... cut that out." to John. There was no one there to respond. John is still in Brooklyn. Instead of going into a panic from viewing the movie Psycho too often, I tried to rationalize a reason for the event. The wind, I surmised, from the window had blown the curtain the same time it had moved a tree outside causing the apparition. I looked out the shower curtain and the window was closed, the bathroom shades were drawn and there was not enough sun on a cloudy day to create a shadow. I spent the next few minutes trying to recreate what I had seen by shifting to different positions in the water to cause the affect. I was not successful.
Imagination is the devil of ghost sitings and I was determined that it would not rule the moment. I doubt that it will be the last time I see something that can't be quickly explained in my life, but this is definitely one of them. There is the Murphy's law that states those who tend to see ghosts, seem to see them more often than those who don't. I have been one to see a few in my life and have come to a point where it is not scary, but entertaining. Still I would have been fine not to be entertained in the shower in such a way this afternoon.
I think it gets back to that lonely feeling I get on the road so often. Like a blind man who finds his other senses heightened by the loss of site, I seem to become sensitive to such machinations when I am by myself. There are those who think I am crazy just because of the career I have chosen. I have never been convinced that there is a correlation of the two. I do not fear that these apparitions will become so real I lose my perception like Russell Crow in a Beautiful mind. However, if I were writing the screen play this would be the first act.
Onward and upward and I plan to live with Sammy in full cooperation. There is something comforting to the fact that a familiar presence is here to share the loneliness until John comes. That said...I hope John arrives soon, this comfort nearly caused me to pee in the shower this morning.
As you were,
Jay

Air Travel Experiences

2011-09-18T22:53:00.001-07:00

I would bet that 600 times a day this very same story plays out with various unsuspecting fliers. Flying used to be an event, now it is just a punishment for leaving your home to work.
There is no direct route from LA to Rochester, NY. You have to connect somewhere. This time I connected through Charlotte, NC on US Air. Charlotte is their East Coast hub. I knew that I didn't have a lot of time to spare under the best of conditions and the day did not start out with great expectations.
I couldn't get a seat assignment on line when I tried, and when I checked in at the counter the boarding pass still diid not have a seat. I questioned the token human behind the counter. He was dismissive of the problem saying,
"Oh they just haven't released the seats yet you will have to get an assignment at the gate." My experience tells me that he longer you have to wait for a seat the less desirable the seat. I am sure that is some sort of Murphy Law. I hustled to the gate to get ahead of the curve. It was not encouraging. The lady told me they were over booked and she would try to get me on. I repeated the word "Try?" She quickly said, "I'll find you a seat don't worry." I smarted back, "Make it my favorite, the middle bulkhead between two very fat guys with no sense of personal space." Yeah, I really said it. It came out of my mouth before I had a chance to even think about it. Fortunately she smiled... and seemed to get it. Eventually I got to board with first class and she had given me an aisle seat on an exit row. It was just fine for my economy flight.
Then the stress began as we sat at the gate past take off time. A couple of mechanics came on board, and checked the very exit door that I was now responsible for several times. We sat for about 45 minutes which is exactly the time I had in-between connections. I was hoping they could make up some time in the air, but during the flight the captain said that we would have to change course to avoid a storm.... more stress.
We land ten minutes before my next plane is to take off. I doubt that I will make it and have even less faith that my checked luggage will make it. This gloomy scenario seems to deepen as it takes us 10 minutes of taxiing to get to the gate. Although the flight attendants have asked everyone who doesn't have a close connection to remain seated, I only notice two people who respect that request.
It is now departure time for my connection and I am two terminals away. I arrive at D and have to go to B. I head that way and soon notice a curtesy counter with actual humans working it. I decide I will just go ahead and book the next flight to Rochester, but the guy calls the gate and they are on a ten minute hold... they haven't left yet. He hands me back the ticket and says "go" like a racing official.
I walk briskly to the gate and indeed the plane is waiting on me.... I am the very last one to board. It is a middle bulkhead seat but my row mates are of average size with a fine sense of personal space and hygiene. As I board I asked what time the next flight is to Rochester saying I doubted that my bags made it. The guy told me this was the last flight of the day but was sure with the extra ten minutes my bags would make it. I have always heard from the airline people who know that a transfer needs at least 30 minutes to make it. I figure if they started unloading before I was able to get off the plane there was still only 15 minutes with the extra gate hold time.
No one was more surprised that me when my bags were the last ones down the Shute in Rochester. I cant figure out how that happened but they got them on....and they arrived with me.
All's well that ends with your luggage arriving with you. The frat house is just like we left it... My shampoo is still in the shower and envelopes I bought to send checks home have not been touched. I assume Sammy the ghost is here as well, although things have been very quiet since I arrived.
A couple of days to see if the lights at the theatre are still working and unpack the set and away we go again.
I am never happier than when I get to do "The Two and Only".
As you were,
Jay

2011-09-18T00:58:00.001-07:00

The Binewski's

2011-09-16T07:11:00.000-07:00

This is until now a never before seen photograph of the Binewski family on a rare summer vacation.

Father Aloysius "Al" Binewski is in the front left, and his wife "Crystal" Lil is sitting on the cabin steps with "flipper boy" Arturo ("Arty").

Electra ("Elly") and Iphigenia ("Iphy") conjoined twins are sitting with Olympia ("Oly") on the bench and "Chick", the baby, is sitting in Al's lap.

The family toured the country with a carnival Al inherited from his Father called the Binewski Fabulon. The feature of the carnival was the freak show which was comprised of the family members. Al was the barker/boss and "Crystal" Lil was known to occasionally perform in the Geek pit biting the heads off of chickens. Oly, a red headed albino and small for her age was mainly a roust about and up front performer, while Arty, Elly and Iphy had shows in their own tents.

Elly and Iphy sang and performed songs on the the piano. Arty performed in a glass sided water tank as the "flipper boy" a human/fish exhibit. Arty would recite home spun wisdoms from his tank and proved to be a great crowd manipulator. He acquired a cult like following of "Arturos" who traveled to see him from place to place revering him as a sort of a savior figure. Chick, the baby, was being groomed to take over the Fabulon and was taught from the time he was born all the scams and hustles of the carnival. The picture is unusual because they were rarely photographed out of their costumes and makeup which accented their oddities and deformities. Al is quoted as saying, "What better life can you give to your children than being able to earn a living by just being what they are."

The carnival caught fire and everyone except Oly and Lil died in the blaze. Oly settled in Portland, Oregon with Lil who quickly lost her mind to dementia. Although Oly looked after her until her death she never remembered anything about her former life nor even knew Oly was her daughter.

The entire account of this strange family is documented in a book by Katherine Dunn called, "Geek Love". My friend Harry Anderson adapted it for a screen play. Various people have tried to make the movie, but it may just be too weird. Harry has published the original screen play in his new book "Fast and Loose" which has just been printed. This is the first picture that I have ever seen of the clan. I doubt any others exist.

As you were,

Jay

The World is an Election?

2011-09-15T07:22:00.000-07:00

Not to get political here, but the world is a stage and sometimes the show is about politics. But there is a danger in confusing politics with decency. Although I watched the Tea Party debates with less than baited breath there were some very disturbing displays that played out. Several outburst from the crowd had nothing to do with politics and everything to do with dysfunctional morality. I am not sure who disgusted me more, the nasty personal attacks by the candidates themselves, or the hostile rhetoric from the crowd. At times it was like watching a mob rally.

Two cases on point: When Rick Perry mentioned the number of people executed in Texas during his eleven year reign there was a cheer from the crowd as they stamped their feet in approval. There are at least three investigations into the allegation that some of those executed in Texas during that time were actually innocent. Currently a request for a stay has been sent to Gov. Perry to re-sentence a man who is scheduled to be executed. It seems that during the penalty phase a prosecutor quoted a psychologist who said that black people are more likely to present a future danger to society than others. There are no facts to support this allegation and it was the opinion of a witness for the prosecution. It is believed that statement turned the jury from a decision of life in prison to execution. Keeping the community safe is an admirable quest, but to cheer the fact that a Governor or a State has killed more people than any other is despicable decorum.

Another incident occurred when medical care was being debated. When asked, what should happen in America if a young person has a catastrophic illness and can't afford treatment that might save him... the crowd audibly shouted "let him die". One of the candidates said we are all responsibility for ourselves and he should have planned his finances better in the hypothetical case. Insensitive hypocrisy coming from a congressman who enjoys the benefit of a top notch governmental health plan.

Ron Paul was booed when he suggested that the Muslim world was not out to destroy us. He cited the many Muslims living at peace with their neighbors stating that a radical fringe was reacting with political violence not religiousness. He is correct, political acts should not be confused with religion.

The Klu Klux Klan spouts Christian religion as the basis for their actions. I don't think we would link all Christians with the violence, hate and crime associated with this group.

I am fine with discussions in opinion of a government run as a Republic verses a Democracy. By straddling the two we come up with a better government. But the whole discourse has gone from intellectual differences to hatred. As a nation we can not cheer the sanctioned killing of those who may be innocent. We can not boo the idea that we are not all stereo types cast along racial differences. And we can not write off a person who is not rich enough to afford the medical treatment to save his life. Those very actions are counter to the American principles of freedom, liberty and justice for all.

The very legislators who allowed tax breaks and trade agreements to send all the manufacturing jobs out of this country are now complaining that we need to create more jobs in this country. Their solution is to eliminate over site and restrictions on the very companies that have shipped their jobs overseas.

How can the electorate make a good decision about the leaders of this country when they are so full of hate and misinformation? To vote for a candidate because you both hate the same people is very dangerous. Hitler was elected on that very ideology... sure worked out well for them.

As you were,

Jay

Today's Deadline

2011-09-14T07:11:00.000-07:00

I got nothin'. I have nothing to write about today. I refuse to write stream-of-consciousness details of my day. It would sound like some sort of Amish tweet. "I wast holy and gracious to the English this morn." So if I can't think of something interesting to write about.. I will just miss my deadline. Really can't even think of one sentence to write. I guess that is a sentence and I did write it, so you can probably disregard the first part as well.

The trick to writing is writing, the physical act of coordinating your fingers to touch the correct computer keys to form this code we call written English language. Most of the time a reader will assume you have something to say just because you made the effort to type it. A skillful writer can suck you in with the turn of the phrase and use of clever vocabulary. The juxtaposition of pondering and the integral nature of the alphabet can turn mere configuration of letters into an eloquent resonance of seemingly immense cerebral magnitude. It lets readers confuse talent and observation with the use of a good thesaurus. Another trick is to quote other people and piggy back on their intelligence by repeating it. Like the penultimate gambler Amarillo Slim used to say, "Never explain as intellect what can be dismissed as stupidity." It doesn't even matter if what the person said has any relevance to the thesis of your writing. It doesn't really matter if you even quote the source correctly. A good quote is worth a hour of trying to write something yourself. Or as Ben Franklin said, "A penny earned is minimum wage."

Another cunning device is the use of paragraphs. The paragraph to a reader is like a squirrel to a dog. It is a momentary distraction which hints that something exciting is about to happen when it is not. And the paragraph is easy. It is just space, a couple of taps on the return key and you have added a line to your document. Longer documents are better documents. Poets try to say it in the fewest words, to say it in the longest form is what people regard as writing. To a reader the number of words and the space they occupy on a page convey the notion that some thesis has been thoroughly worked out.

The Peanuts musical taught us that when an essay is graded by the word, repeating words is a good idea. This is still a good idea even if you are not graded on the number. The more words the better and repeating again and again is a great way to add words . Let me repeat that, repeating words is a good idea, a very, very, very, very good idea. Just try to space them up and not write the same thing over, and over, and over in the same sentence. The reader will catch on to that.. they will know that you are just trying to fill the space with repeats. There is nothing more important to a writer than to remember never, never, never and I mean never repeat your writing. That is so important I will say it again, There is nothing more important to a writer than to remember never, never, never and I mean never repeat your writing.

If everything works like it is supposed to, the reader becomes involved in the devices you have used to sucker them in. The reader keeps waiting for the words to actually form a complete thought, to develop a thesis, to state a case. But alas, by the time the reader realizes that they have been tricked into reading something with absolutely no meaning, it comes to you. The writer's "got nothin" just like he claimed in the beginning... but by then.... It is over.

As you were,

Jay

Fair Use Parody

2011-09-13T04:00:00.000-07:00

Or........Art and the useless Rant. Zazzle, the digital landlord of my online shopping boutique rejected this drawing for my tee shirt line. It is my original art but they claim it is a trademark infringement on the corporate brand Fruit of the Loom. I say duh..! Hello! Yes. It's a PARODY. It wouldn't be much of a parody if it didn't resemble the original, now would it? A joke is a twist on reality and a parody is a twist on familiarity. It was my express purpose to have this drawing reminiscent of the Corporate underwear maker. It was the very point. I'm not sure how you could not get this. If anything I would say it is too straight forward. I guess if you never set off a cherry bomb as a kid you might not get the cherry/cherry bomb reference. But bomb, loom boom... pretty straight forward. Parody. According to the Constitution of the United States of America we have a right to free parody. (Look it up, I'm sure it's there somewhere.) This drawing is my right to free parody and I should be allowed to publish it, particularly on a tee shirt to complete the art concept. What damage am I doing to a corporate icon? One has to know the original brand to get the joke, free marketing brand recall as I see it. It is an artist look at corporate branding. If anything can examine commercial icons, Art can.

Speaking of Art Can....Andy Warhol painted a Campbells Soup can and called it art. It was the actual trademark can, he didn't change it only, enlarged it. Zazzle would probably say no to that idea too. The things we artists have to endure to push the visual envelope is astounding.

So here it is in the square above.... gone soon and never to be published again.... my drawing of the Fruit of the Boom label.

It would look great on a plain white tee shirt. But nooooo.....

As I was,

Jay

Not Forgotten

2011-09-12T07:11:00.000-07:00

I got this wonderful comment on my blog yesterday.

Jay, I just wanted to say 'thank you'. On 9/11, and for many days after, you and I were both stranded at the Hartford Airport hotel. Evacuated by M-16 wielding National Guardsmen and taken by van to another hotel and then back again to Hartford. We saw each other each day, talked while we ate at the bar, walked around to try and ease the monotony, spoke to people about their circumstances and tried to figure out ways to get 'home'. Or, in your case, to a gig in Utah, if I remember correctly. It was comforting to have a 'familiar' face during those difficult days. You were so humble and friendly. It made the 3000 mile separation from my family a bit more bearable. I'm always proud to say 'I was stranded during 9/11 with Jay Johnson'.

This brought it all back to memory like a movie re-run - that 9/11 week at the Hartford Airport Hotel. The airport was closed and there were several flight crews for different airlines stranded with all of us. I remember this young lady very well. She had small kids at home. Her husband expected her to be gone only a day or two. She was even attending the same conference that I was performing for. Her husband was dealing with the kids. She and I were dealing with how the world had just changed. It is perhaps a bonding moment when armed National Guardsmen escorted us from the hotel. This was the closest airport to Boston Logan/departure point of the hijacked planes. There was a rumor on the news of the hijackers using Hartford as a staging area for other strikes. They evacuated us by van to a downtown hotel, searched all the rooms and moved all the parked cars away from the terminal before they would let us come back.

This lovely lady and I were stranded across the country from our families and air travel suddenly stopped. At one point we discussed renting a car and driving for three days. There were no rental cars....all of it came back to me.... except her name, and she didn't sign her comment.

While everyone concentrates on the actual day of 9/11, the horror and complete helplessness of that day extended through the week that followed. Until the air planes flew once more thousands of people like us were stranded away from home and loved ones. It was a week of fear and uncertainty.

While all of this was happening I didn't know: had I performed my show when it was originally contracted, I would have occupied seat 4F on American Airlines Flight 11. I had a first class seat on the plane that hit the first tower. That as my seat until a week before Sept.11. The insurance company moved my performance forward a day. Sept 11 was my performance day and not my travel day. It was so insignificant at the time. I never knew why they changed it last minute.

My Airport friend, thank YOU very much. You made a very unique experience less frightening. We really did get through it together. I'll never forget.... except your name damn it.

As it was,

Jay

9/11

2011-09-11T09:42:00.000-07:00

Ten Years is a very short time for so long ago.

Michael Sartor

2011-09-09T15:05:00.000-07:00

Michael Sartor passed away this morning. He will be missed on so many different levels.

We met when he played the piano at Charlie's Place. He was an easy friend and humble in his excessive talents.

We were just kids in every sense of the word. In times of pure tedium trying to entertain the Ft. Worth night club audiences, Mikie was there to make us laugh. It was always fun to be around Mikie. He could make you laugh with his wit or by playing a song on the piano that was perfect for the moment. He arranged the playback songs for my act. The next time I go on stage, it will be Mikie's performance that will orchestrate my own. To call him clever with his music is to say that Itzak Perlman plays a good fiddle there was just so much more to Mikie.

He was a talented teacher and coach as well. His staff position at AMDA put him in contact with many students who came to love him as we all did. With his coaching many have gone on to full careers in the performing world and to honors of their own. He was my sister-in-law Claudia's favorite collaborator. They produced countless showcases for the talented performers of AMDA giving just the right numbers to show off their strengths.

I remember one evening at Charlie's Place there were a series of signs dotting our path from the dressing room to the stage for all the performers to see. Like Burma shave road signs, every few feet there would be another. They all said basically the same thing, "Toll ahead... pay Toll". When we finally made it onto the stage there was a tip jar on Mikie's piano with one final sign... it read "I'm Toll". He would organize fashion shows made of the props and costumes back stage between shows. He wrote music with our friend David Sinkler and had a way to join two musical ideas with an inspired cleverness and joy that was Michael Sartor. Few musicians have the ability to put their humor into a sheet of music; Michael was the best at that.

If you were lucky enough to have known Michael you were blessed. There are few like him in the world and it is a rougher place without him.

Our mutual friend Kristopher Kyer was with him at the end. Kris told me that one of the last things he whispered to Michael before he made his transition was, "Claudia is waiting to greet you..." I have no doubt she was and I know the performances "on that side" are about to be so much better. I hope they save a spot for my act.

"No Wei, Michael.... you can't really be gone."

Jay

Grampa Geezer

2011-09-09T07:47:00.000-07:00

I have been going through some old family photos of distant relatives recently. Funny that this wooden relative would show up...on YouTube no less. Steve Axtell saw it first. Thanks Ax for the link.

I remember doing this special in Nashville many years ago. If I recall it was titled Country Comedy II. If I have a copy, it would be on an alien video tape format in the closet. I have only seen it once or twice.
I don't know who put this up on YouTube or if they have permission from the original producers. Mike Algers are you still in Hernando, Miss? Most of these are James Hampton jokes with some of mine thrown in, certainly not the work of the writers on the show. The producer took writers screen credit for the show. He did write the checks I suppose.

The puppet's original name was Farmer Frogurt. Just before I got the role on SOAP the Hood Dairy Company contracted me to create a trademark puppet and travel around the country promoting their new frozen yogurt product. Variety newspaper would proclaim: "Puppet product promoter pure profit".

I had done research for a PBS children's television show in Houston, as part of the writing staff. It was the job I got just after Sandi and I were married. I based the Farmer character on known marketing positives I learned at college and this show.When I pitched this concept I could tell you why the color scheme worked, why he favors the Quaker Oaks man, and why he is a white male rural grandfather type. He was created based upon my own sketches, plans and research. The material is still in the original case I took to the pitch.

A sculptress named Pat Neuman did the clay model and I had a mold and two copies made out of fiberglass. The Frankie Brothers did the movement and it is Rene hands and legs. The face painting was done by another female artist who's name escapes me. I was very pleased with the way he came together from the sketches.

I was set to become the wrangler for the Dough Boy of the Dairy business. They allowed me to post pone the tour until after my first season of SOAP. They didn't have to contractually, but thought it would only help the tour. I thought they would cash in on the fact that I had been on ABC television for a year and tour me like a bus. But, by the time hiatus came for the first year of SOAP, the frozen yogurt market had gone cold. Literally it was the phrase they used, gone cold. They decided not to promote the product with a guy and a puppet and I was paid to do nothing. But, they paid for the puppets and would keep them.

IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE ABOUT THIS PUPPET - SEE BELOW. OTHER WISE CLICK AND WATCH

For several years I didn't know what happened to the Farmer Frogurt puppets. They were pawns in the slimy frozen yogurt game. To get the settlement check I had to send the puppets to the home office in Boston, those Bastards. What was a lawyer going to do with a puppet. The puppets were identical in identical cases. I knew the one I preferred to operate, but it was a feel no one else would get. I numbered the inside of the cases so even a stranger could tell the difference. I suppose I thought I might see them again one day and from a distance I wanted to be able to tell them apart. SOAP continued on and I slowly forgot about the puppets. It was at least five years before I saw them again.

I was opening the show for Shields and Yarnell in vaudeville theatres around the country. Having one of the great times in my life. A theatre show with a full orchestra. Norman Mamie actually conducted Bob and I doing "The Great Figero Challenge" with the orchestra. Very exciting.

Robert Shields, in addition to being famous for his artistry in pantomime, was also famous for his unique toy collection at one time. I don't know if he still has it. At the time I think Robert and I were on a frequency that was compatible. Whatever planet he is on, I have visited at least once so we quickly became friends. One conversation led to another and I told him about this farmer puppet I had designed and lost in the cold market of frozen yogurt.

Over the next few weeks Robert persuaded me to call the Hood Dairy people and find out what happened to the puppet. He wanted to buy it for his collection. He seriously wanted to buy it for his collection. So I decided to see what I could find out. It was not easy at first to find anyone still at the company who knew anything about puppets. (Over dinner or cocktails there is much more I add to the story here) CUT:

Robert Sheilds owns one of these puppets and this one is mine. As far as I can tell they were never out of their cases the entire time they were in Boston. Other than jokes about the dummies becoming president and chairman of the company, I was told they were stored at a warehouse. I like the character and I finally got to use him on this TNN special. I had forgotten what a nice face his has... perhaps it is time for him to un-retire.

As I was,

As you were,

Jay

2011-09-08T07:11:00.000-07:00

Know Thyself
Because I have some time to just think I am doing just that. It seems to me that we humans are wasting a lot of energy, stress and time with the way we think. Computers don't have that short coming. Not that computers are superior thinkers, about all they have going for them is speed. A computer can calculate much faster than it takes a human, but they have no emotion or obviously humanity. However, they do have a process that is superior to a human when it comes to taking action for future events and dealing with the past.
The fact is that a computer really doesn't deal with the future or past at all, they are always in the now. They can predict future actions or analyze the past but always based upon the now. They never find themselves paralyzed by a future problem or past event. Humans tend to live in either the past or the future and avoid the now. It can cause stress and wastes time and energy.
A computer is never concerned with what it did in the past. If it makes a mistake it corrects it in the moment and continues on. It spends no time wondering what would have happened "if" the mistake had not occurred or suffer guilt because of it. It was just an error, not a defining moment in the computers life. It thinks no more about the error except to correct it so that it is not repeated.
Humans seem to dwell on the mistakes they have made in the past. They have a need to be guilty or remorseful while neither emotion in itself will correct the mistake nor keep them from repeating it. The pattern of an abuser is to abuse, feel bad, express sorrow to the one hurt and soon repeat the abuse only to be sorry again. Remorse in itself does not correct the behavior. If they could not have both, would the abused rather have the abuser say he was sorry and continue the abuse or say nothing and never do it again. I suggest it would be the latter. A computer never apologizes for a mistake it simply corrects it. But, once the erroneous line of code is corrected it never repeats it either.
Future events are handled very differently by a human and a computer as well. While the human tends to think in terms of "What if then else" the computer thinks in terms of "If then else". A basic line of code in computer language is the "If then else" loop. It is used extensively to get computers to make choices. It says in essence, If this is the condition or answer, "then" complete the next sequence. If it is not the condition or answer, "else", complete a different sequence. When confronted in the now with a condition it makes a choice and continues on. When it reaches the next "If then else" loop it makes the choice based on the information it has at that moment. Like a sail boat continually correcting its course based upon current conditions, it reaches its destiny. A computer has the speed so these billions of "if then else" decisions happen very quickly, but no more than quick decisions based upon its current status.
Humans usually deal with the "What if then else" loop. Instead of waiting until information or a situation has presented itself the human will try to anticipate future actions. It is a loop that goes like this, "What if I lose my job? What if my saving is wiped out?" Based upon these hypothetical situations the human mind comes up with a plan of action. If I lose my job THEN I will run out of money fast, lose the house and will be homeless." The next part of the human loop is "else" , What if something else happens then what do I do? Again a fantasy scenario is calculated for the next situation that has not happened.
The human mind is capable of coming up with all kinds "what if then" situations and feels it must prepare for every thing that MIGHT come its way. Since all the imagined what if's can't possible happen, there is a lot of wasted time, energy, and stress used in contemplating that which will not happen. It is much better for humans to wait, like the computer, and react to that which IS in the now and not rehearse that which will not be.
In the same manner the past is taken care of because if you make better choices in the now, there will be less regret and guilt over what happened in the past.
One might quote the Boy Scout credo, "Be prepared" as the proper way to conduct your life. By anticipating the what if then scenario are we humans not becoming prepared? Prepared for what? Is it smart to prepare for a category five hurricane in the desert? Or bring refrigeration to the arctic? It is wasted time to prepare for that which will not be. And the only thing that will be is that which is... that which is now. When faced with the reality of now, IF action is needed THEN you will react to the proper stimuli.
The way we can prepare is to know who we are and what we are. If you know you are an honest person, faced with a choice that is dishonest, THEN you will not make the dishonest decision. If you believe in the value of everyone, when faced with the idea of hurting another for your own gain, THEN you will not participate.
The only way to truly prepare for what might happen is to know your core values now. Instead of imagining an event in your life and trying to write a scenario based upon what you would do IF it happens, know the principles you stand for. If you know what you believe in THEN you do not have to think about what you might do IF something happens you will simply do it when the time comes.
Written above the entrance on the Temple of Delphi thousands of years ago are two words. It is perhaps the best advice for modern living ever written. It says, "Know Thyself". IF you know yourself, THEN you will find everything ELSE easy and you will never worry about WHAT will happen to you, ELSE it is a lot of wasted time worrying about that which never will be.
As you were,
Jay

Road Monkeys W.M.F.D.

2011-09-07T07:11:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about being on a ship is running into other road monkeys. I use the term road monkey advisedly and with great reverence. I am proud to be a road monkey myself and a member of the invited only Facebook page. It is a site where comics and novelty acts that primarily work the ships communicate. Last year when I was in Alaska I wondered how some of the entertainers on the ship knew where to find each other in Skagway and other ports and off different ships. It was the road monkey page and at the time I was not a member. Thanks to my friend Steve Smith I was asked to join recently.
Now I can post, "I'm going on the Serenade this week who is on already." If someone is on or com in aboard while I am there you can find out. You can also communicate with all the other monkeys that are hooked up on any other cruise line. There are codes to let you know what kind of Cruise director it is and what to expect from the production manager all hidden in what looks like regular communication. Then there will be the rendezvous set up when and where to meet on a port day. The communication crosses cruise lines and acts, and is mostly comics. It is a great way to have an inside track at sea.
On this ship I ran into Billy Prudume , George Kanter, Rick Starr and Joey Van coming and going. I have not seen any of them for a decade. Being sea locked is a great place to shoot the breeze and catch up. There are so many great people out here, except for crossing ships or ports we might never cross paths. None of the people I mentioned live in Los Angeles.
The inevitable road stories come up and the game is to top everyone with the best story. I started late on ships and mine are generally he least interesting tales, but I love hearing the others. Perhaps my only story that can compete is the time I had to leave a ship by rope ladder onto a pilot boat at 4:00 am while the ship was sailing full out to the Panama Canal. I literally felt like a drug smuggler, getting on a small boat from the mother ship with a crew that spoke no english and not knowing exactly where they were taking me. I sat in an office that functioned as sort of the traffic controller of the Canal for several hours before being driven to the airport. On a scale of one to ten and compared to the other Monkey tales my story would rank about a five to six. You can imagine the others. Most are not retell-able because they involve ship policy, or errant conquests of the opposite sex. Mine gets a couple extra points for being clean enough to tell in mixed company.
Joey Van is a comic impressionist and a double talker. He will do his show tomorrow night here on the Serenade. Everyone, including me, has stories about Joey. It usually involves his double speak in situations outside the ship. He will double talk any unsuspecting person and particularly likes to confuse the trinket traders at foreign ports. It is amazing that a store keeper will try to make a sale even if they have no clue what the guy is saying in any language. Most people will become irritated and frustrated when they keep trying to understand, but not a Jamaican souvenir seller. They will negotiate in this impossible language for hours if it might lead to a sale.
As far as port peddlers go I have my own negotiation technique, especially in Haiti at the straw market. They sell voodoo dolls there which are nothing more than sawdust stuffed muslin figures. The marketeers will start the price at 10 dollars. On most things you can negotiate down to about half the original price. For a couple of runs I was paying that much for one doll. I started giving them as gifts because there is much cache in an authentic voodoo doll actually purchased in Haiti. That is even more true for my friends.
However, I realized that I had an advantage in the negotiation process that I was not taking advantage of: I could make the voodoo doll talk. On subsequent trips I began asking the doll itself if that was a good price to pay and the doll would answer no. It would freak out the shop keeper and eventually they would be glad to get rid of the possessed doll. I get them for two bucks apiece now. If I had the time or the desire and wanted to continue to perform in the straw market I might be able to get the shop owner to pay me to take the doll away.
I finished my shows last night and am now cargo for two days. It would be nice if they would disembark me today in Barbados, but I have to wait till Antigua so that Joey and I can disembark together. It is easier for the ship and although you would think an extra couple of free days on a vacation cruise would be a perk.... I am always ready to go home once I don't have any shows to look forward to.
As you were,
Jay

We're not in Kansas anymore...Toto

2011-09-06T07:11:00.000-07:00

I knew it is going to be one of *those* days when at 6:00 in the morning I was awaken by what I thought was a big bug landing on my cheek. Still mostly asleep I flicked the intruder quickly off my face only to see a small lizard scurry across the sheets. Welcome to the glamor of showbiz. Once again I am wondering why Ernest Hemingway did not shoot himself sooner.
The driver said he would pick me up at 8:00am so there was no going back to sleep before my pickup. I scoured the bedding for the invader and never found him. I am sure he is hiding in the mattress somewhere waiting for his next wake up call. Although creeped out a little I was not surprised. There seemed to be lots of reptiles crawling up the walls of the Ocean Terrace. I was hoping they preferred to stay outside, but in the intense heat you can't blame them.
I thought the pickup call was early. 8:00 is usually when the ship docks and it takes an hour or so to clear. I usually board around 11:00 so the pickup is never before 10:00 and I could see the dock from my hotel room no more than a five minute drive. The driver called the room at 7:45 saying he was ready, but as I looked out the patio the ship was not yet docked, it had just arrived. I asked him if this early boarding had been okayed by the ship, he said they were aware. I should have know that was not a definitive answer. But in my eagerness to get to my job, and thinking that I would have time for a nap on board getting there so early, I didn't much care at the time. I figured I would let the lizard have the room with out me bothering him.
The driver dropped me at the dock house which is nothing more that an open breeze way with a roof. The guard let me stay in the shade but said I would have to go through immigration before I could go to the ship which was about 200 yards away. He acted like he was giving me a perk by letting me stand out of the sun. And stand I did.
The immigration officer did not even show up before 9:45. There was nothing to do but wait it out. It was oppressively hot even at that time of day and I had to fan myself with tour fliers to keep from bursting into flames. I emailed the Production manager at 8:30. Fortunately I had his email address and my smart phone was getting a signal. He did not check his email before 9:30 because I was not due until 10 or later. They had no clue of my early arrival. Finally they sent a couple of production guys out for my luggage and soon the immigration officer showed up.
The story seems to be that my driver, who's name is Winston Johnson, we made a big deal about being related. is also a tour guide. He had decided to be there to catch the rush of passengers looking for a tour the minute the ship arrived. Since there was a Carnival ship arriving at the same time there was money to be made. Of course none of this was communicated to the ship and they were really angry at the port agent who arranged this transfer from the hotel. I'm not sure it was even his fault, this driver just decided to kill two birds with one stone and collect for taking me and be there for the windfall of business. Because he was dropping me off, he was able to be the first car in line for the tours. It was a perfect deal for him, and I wouldn't have a clue until he was already taking a load of tourist to see the reptiles of the island.
I guess it was self fulfilling prophesy when I had blogged about the difficulty getting onto a ship from a small Island. It is always new and different and this was not the worst, but close. It was mainly the heat... how do people live in that kind of oppressive heat?
I am on the ship but don't have wifi in my cabin so I am still not able to post yet. My shows are tonight so there is no time to go seeing the hot spots. However, the hottest spot I have ever found is the dock at the port of St Kitts. Tomorrow St Thomas, one of my favorite places, and one that I have been to what seems like hundreds of times. I have a ritual walk around Havensight that I do and might even get into town since I will be cargo for the rest of this segment of my week. I am hoping that the heat is not Caribbean wide and St.Thomas is a little more civil.
I am assuming that this is a lizard free cabin and I will get to sleep in tomorrow morning. It was an exhaustive red eye set of flights to get here yesterday. I'm beat.
As you were,
Jay

Editor's Note

2011-09-05T08:56:00.001-07:00

For the next week I will be publishing the posts I wrote while I was on the Serenade of the Seas. Those posts will follow this note.
Currently I'm at the McCarren Airport waiting to return to Burbank. The telethon was just as I remember it from every time before, except there was no Jerry Lewis. A lot of waiting followed by a flurry of activity to get you on and off camera. What is so distracting is the noise in the studio. It is a constant shuffle and low level talk while you are doing your spot. For comedy it really is deadly to be sidetracked by the other sounds and not hear the audience clearly. Because of the delay I was in my room relaxing by the time my segment actually aired. I hate watching myself on television. It is a nightmare for a control freak, there is nothing you can do to change it yet there it is slapping you in the face. I get to be home today for a week and then gone again. The family is used to it by now, but the new dog is not sure if I am ever coming back.
As you were,
Jay

St Kitts

2011-09-05T05:07:00.000-07:00

I am writing this on the patio of the lovely Ocean Terrace Hotel on the island of St Kitts. (Look it up... I have no idea where I am geographically) The hotel looks over the island and I will be able see my ship from my patio when it docks tomorrow. This will be a post-posting since I can not get on the Internet even after my offer to pay the $13.00 a day. That would be over 35.00 in local coin. Probably operator error, but it is an expensive learning curve. Nonetheless I will publish this missive when I get the opportunity.
Between the last sentence and this one I have moved my operational base. This is off season for St Kitts and the hotel is empty. I wouldn't even be here if hurricane Irene had not pillaged some of my ships ports of call this week.
As far as I can tell I am the only guest. When I checked in the clerk told me that when the electricity went out on Tuesday the hotel back up generator broke. He said if there is suddenly no electricity in the hotel, it was because this section of the Island was blacked out and there was nothing the hotel could do about it. Just what you want to hear after an all night flight. The hotel bar and restaurant is closed and I have been directed to Fisherman's Warf eating establishment right on the water. In fact it sits right in the water on a pier into the surf. I was struck by the sign out front... it says "Fisherman's Wharf Sea Side dining"... then in smaller letters under the sign it says, "No fishing". Perhaps they should just call it the Wharf.
No one is here either but they are open. There is a couple in the restaurant part and a table of locals in the bar. I feel like I am living some strange Caribbean version of "The Shining". "Good evening Mr. Torrence."
"Hello Lloyd... wonderful weather we are having here at the Overlook...."
It was a long wait to get through Immigration this afternoon. Not that many people but the line was moving at a pace even slower than the usual Island pace. The officer controlling my line seemed to be taking a very long time with each person. I could see them signing things and shuffling paper back and forth, and taking much longer than I am used to. I have done his drill on almost all of the Islands and this was excessive. I expected a long line of questions when I got to the window, about what I was doing here and a discussion on the reality of making a living as a ventriloquist. But when I finally got there the guy was great. He asked me if I had ever been to St Kitts before, I said, "I can't remember." He said something to the effect that I must have had a great time before if I couldn't remember it. We laughed and established my island experience was eschew because I worked ships. I was stamped and admitted in less than a minute. It seems the others before me had not filled in the landing form correctly and he had to have them correct it. If a plane load of Americans can not fill out a simple form correctly... no wonder Rick Perry is ahead in the polls right now.
There was almost a fist fight over which skycap would help me with my luggage. Evidently two guys had seen me at the same time, each claiming territorial rights over hauling my stuff to the taxi. The little guy won. But back to now.
The sound track to this reality ride is quite busy. Between the surf pounding the shore, the tree frogs squeaking like a broken baby carriage, bad reggae musak, and the television at the bar blaring with reruns of Seinfeld, one would think you were at a carnival. One only has to look around to see the truth.
It would be easy to see my adventure here through the eyes of Ernest Hemmingway. With a little tweak I could play up the romance of such an adventure. It is tempting, and would be a good read perhaps. But it is the loneliness that takes center attention. There is no one here to share it with, no one to laugh with over the "no fishing" sign. At every point I am reminded that I occupy a table for one no matter where that table is located. And ultimately Ernest offed himself. Was his an exciting life well led, or a cautionary tale. All we really have is his writings and his legend. I question that either was a truthful representation of the events of his life.
But before I go looking for a shot gun.... I have a TSA complaint. Yes, me and the TSA are still not friends. At LAX today I was instructed to go through the scanner and not just the metal detector. Now two days ago I had several skin spots burned off my left arm. By this morning it looked like I had been burned several times by a lit cigarette while being tortured to reveal the secret of ventriloquism. Rather than go through a plane ride looking like an abused elder, I wrapped an ace bandage around my forearm to cover the spots. So, back to the f****** TSA. I got to the scanner and the TSAsshole looked at my wrapped forearm and said, "Woa, what have we got going on here." I said the bandage was covering a couple of open burn wounds on my arm. He actually made me take the bandage off and show him my arm, then step into the scanner holding the bandage above my head. Really? I thought that was the whole point of the cancer causing scanner... it can see through cloth. It is supposed to show anything that a person is hiding under his clothes. If I was stupid enough to hide explosives under the ace bandage on my left arm, wouldn't that have shown up on the scanner? If I give them the benefit of the doubt and say that it was an extra security screening for the protection of the flying public it might sell to some. However, I am not one to explain the incident with brilliance when I can dismiss it as stupidity.
Ernest might have offed himself earlier if he had been required to go through TSA security to seek his adventurous life.
As you were,
Jay

Laffs Vegas

2011-09-04T05:04:00.000-07:00

Not so much.
The lady behind the desk at the hotel is way too serious. She is not rude, but on the border line of civility. I don't know why I feel compelled to try and intervene in a social crisis like this, but it is like a flame to the moth. I really can't help it... call it comedy Turrets syndrome. I watch her as she is helping those in line ahead of me. I analyze this prospective audience so to speak. I change the metaphor, it is not a moth to the fame, it is more like the wolf watching sheep. My show biz instincts are straining at the lead. The frowning clerk seems to reward efficiency and speed. Don't make her ask for a credit card imprint... you'll just make her growl. But no problem...I've had tougher audiences than her... I just got off a ship for crap sake.

It is my turn at the desk. I am pumped ready and on my game. There is, however, a speed bump to my plan. I arrive early to Vegas. What usually happens is they have your reservation but your room is not ready until 3:00pm. It is a ploy that makes you wait either in the bar, restaurant or casino for a couple of hours where you will spend money out of boredom. Even though the telethon set up the flight and the hotel reservations the very efficient lady behind the desk says, "Let me see if we have a room available..this early". She stresses the word *early* like I have broken the "Inn Keepers golden rule" by not checking in at the proper time.
With that serious hang dog face she types furiously on her key board. I still want to brighten her day but want her to get me a room first. Finally she says, "The only room we have right now has two queens in it.... Is that okay?"
I said, "As long as they have checked out before I go to bed."

Okay.... now that may not be the most original line, but it was organic, to the point and funny, or at least witty enough to garner a smile. No so from the Mount Rushmore of the hotel clerks. Neither a smile, twinkle, wink, blush nor noticeable change to her countenance could be found. I smiled at her as if to say, "Trust me, I am a professional and yes that is a funny line." but nothing. It was like staring at a photograph of the worst teacher you ever had in grade school. In my case that would be Mrs. McClure...good ole redheaded Mrs. McClure. That tight assed scottish personality with a hair trigger temper to boot. Today she would be fired for psychological child abuse, back then they just called those kinds of teachers.... stern. Nurse Ratchet had more love in her heart than Mrs. McClure...not even sure she had a heart. (Wow... I wasn't expecting that to come up.... but just in case Mrs. McClure who taught second grade at Abernathy Elementary school - happens to be reading this--- she is probably in her 80's by now and as Dick Chaney can attest to... people with no heart live longer than those who do have hearts.... If you are reading this Mrs. McClure.... BITE ME you old BAG PIPE)

Scooby Doo wiggle fade, BACK TO THE HOTEL STORY------

"Here are your keys Mr. Johnson...... Next", she yells at the line. As I am leaving in defeat the next person has not come to her desk with proper haste and very loudly and ironically she says again, "Next Person...Next in Line..." I sincerely hope that the next guy has better luck than I did. There was no time to warn him of the seriousness of the encounter he was about to have. Unfortunate Bastard, he was just moments away from getting the hot chick that just came on duty.
Life is too short. You gotta laugh when you get the chance.
As you were,
Jay

My kind of humor

2011-09-03T07:36:00.000-07:00

As you were,
Jay