The trip to Naples took us through the Everglades.  There was the occasional road sign that said, "Panther Crossing" and I assume they did not mean the NFL team. The tech staff at the ORC said that we might see alligators, we thought they were trying to scare us into taking the toll road. Not true John and I lost count of the number of alligators we saw in the three hour drive. The first siting was so special had we not been driving the truck we would have turned around to gawk. After a while seeing gators became as common place as seeing BMW's in Beverly Hills.  It was a beautiful day and I assume that the gators were out soaking up the local color.  I wish I had my camera ready for the picture, but about 20 yards from a Panther crossing sign and several large alligators sunbathing was a sign that said, "Camp grounds". In a Gary Larson world it would have been the gators that put the sign there for an easy dinner. 
We arrived at the hotel, or more like a motel that the theatre has provided.  It is okay but certainly not the luxury that we were in last night.... but the good news is we can wear jeans with out worry.
We went by the theatre to get our bearings. This has the potential to be the most difficult place we have been so far.  The show times are weird... 5:30 and 7:30?  I will have to keep the first show to an hour and a half just to have a breather in-between.  We thought they would have all the lights hung and gelled.  The dimmer board is smaller than what we are used to and John will have to rewrite some cues to accommodate, that was to have taken place tonight.  But no lights were hung and they said they were taking tonight to "build the stage....???"  It is a black box theatre and they had not defined the stage with portable risers yet. So we are a day behind before we even start.  And  with a show time so early and so much work to do it will be a very long day tomorrow. 
Mainly I just didn't get a good feeling from the theatre tech guy at the Phil, who shall remain nameless. There was no pretense that he was glad to have us opening tomorrow, or that it was anything but an inconvenience on him that we showed up.  I know they don't hire these guys for there personality and I am not expecting Dale Carnagie (there is a dated reference). But hey... we are all here to do a job and compared to picking strawberries on our knees in a hot field at one hundredth the pay we should at least do it with a happy attitude.
I especially want this two day, four show run to go well because it is the venue that my hero and ventriloquist friend Jimmy Nelson is coming to. He of all people would know what it is like to be on the road at the mercy of weird facilities.  Still you want the show for your idol to be as perfect as can be.  
My sister in law is also coming to see the show here at the Phil. She was there for my opening on Broadway so she has seen the way it should be done,  but she's bringing friends who have no concept of the show. More reason and more pressure on this run to be the best it can be. 
So it could be that I have a wrong impression of the tech guy, and they may be able to focus lights in half the time it takes everyone else.  By tomorrow night I may be saying that this is the best place we have ever done the show, but right now, that seems like an impossible dream.
Stay tuned for more details from this internet address.
As you were,
Jay

On to the Phil in Naples

The theatre is next to the private airport on the grounds of the Ocean Reef Club. We kept hearing the planes take off and land during rehearsal, but never heard a sound during the show. I would like to believe they said, "To show respect for Mr.Johnson, no planes will take off or land during tonight's performance," but I think the real reason is: anyone who wanted to arrive or leave during Presidents day had already done so by 8:00 in the evening.
It went well tonight but it was odd. Reactions were different than any other time we have performed this show. John remarked that I kept changing tactics to try and find their energy. I would get it for a while then it would change and I had to go a different direction. It made for an interesting show and they gave me a very gracious standing ovation at the end. I appreciated it because John and I worked very hard to pull it off.
I think this venue is used to mounting concert type performances, basic lighting and rock and roll sound. The lighting tech said they were stretching their comfort zone with this production. He enjoyed the opportunity to use his artistry. Others were not so willing to work harder for us than they had for Neil Sadaka two nights before. Once again John Ivy proved that he is the master of the theatre and was able to pull it all together, sometimes on the fly. He was able to spoon feed some of the techs and still have their respect and admiration afterwards.
Early in the show I realized that this was more like a corporate show audience than a theatre audience. Ocean Reef Club is a small exclusive community and everyone knows everyone else. It was basically a private show. Like a corporate audience they were not so much enjoying if for themselves, but always aware of how the people next to them were reacting. I do a lot of corporate entertaining and deal with that dynamic in my club act, but it was weird to do The To and Only for that type of crowd.
It was a success and everyone seemed to be happy and enjoy it. I am sure that this show was not what they expected and from my perspective it took them a while to "get with the program".
That is live theatre.... you never know. The reaction of an audience is so subjective and has everything to do with so many things out the performers control. I will never tire of trying to figure an audience out. It is never the same, always a challenge and a dance on a razor edge. I wonder sometimes if I am drawn to it for the joy or the sheer terror of the unpredictability.
Now it is on to Naples. My hero Jimmy Nelson is coming to see the show there. I really want it to be a good venue for him if no one else. We have a weird schedule of two shows an evening. We will barely finish one before we have to reset and do the next. Not like a matinee day, more like a comedy club evening. Again I wonder if they are expecting more of a concert than a "real" show. We will play the cards that are dealt and it will be yet another experience in the saga of the TAO Truck Tour.
As you were,
Jay

Second Round

I left Dallas and flew to Miami. John flew in from NYC and we met at the airport. The truck rental is five minutes from the Miami airport. We booked our ten footer to continue the journey.
It was an hour drive to Key Largo by way of the Garmin. Rarely did the mechanical voice nag us for going the wrong way even when we stopped for a quick bite to eat.
We arrived at the Ocean Reef Club in the rental truck which stuck out like a Mensa candidate at a Sarah Palin rally.
ORC is a private community/city of condos, apartments and high end shops surrounding a Yacht club and golf course. The mode of transportation is golf carts and electric GEM vehicles. Some of the carts are customized to look like everything from a Corvette to a Hummer. At one point I thought we could have been diving on a large scale version of Disneyland's Autopia ride. There was even a golf cart that is customized to look like a 50's hot rod complete with pin striping and decal flames on the side.
Rather than taking us to the hotel registration, the Garmin lead us to the Ocean Reef Cultural Center, the very place we will be performing tomorrow night. Being Sunday it was closed but John and I got out to look around. It is an institutional looking building containing a library, museum, dining room and performance space. We looked through a curtain drawn window and saw a basic banquet room with a lecture stage, no wings, no curtain and residential can type track lighting pointed to the stage. Our smiles turned to mush. We began to wonder how we would get the show mounted on what was basically a riser. Neither of us panicked but later admitted that we were only holding it together for the other persons sake.
We checked into the hotel which is several blocks away, by golf cart, dumped our stuff and found the producer on site had given us a golf cart to use during our stay. I was hoping for one that looked like a miniature BMW, but it is just a standard cart.
We jumped into the cart and began to explore. Now that we were not in a truck we could blend in with greater ease. It is a huge property that looks more like a community designed by a theme park artist than urban planner. They even have their own hospital, and private airport with some very large private planes on the tarmac. We found the only restaurant that has a relaxed dress code and allows jeans at their own private fishing village wharf. Everything seemed to be a dream except the performance space.
After finding all the other restaurants where residents were entering with coat and tie, we stumbled upon the Cultural Center again. This time we noticed a lady with a name tag walking around. We thought that she might be able to open the door to the banquet hall and let us see the space.
Like Alice following the white rabbit we tracked her from a far to a door that seemed to be open. It was, and the lights to the Vestibule were on. We continued down the rabbit hole and were suddenly in the banquet room. There was no mistake, it is a lecture stage like might be in a high school cafeteria. Another lady with a name tag was at the reception desk seating people for an evening meal. Our wardrobe caught her attention at once and she quickly cut us off. "May I help you?" .... read "May I help you find the exit quickly?" she said.
"Well, we just wanted to see the room because I am doing a show here tomorrow night,"
She immediately softened and lit up, "You are Jay Johnson..... Oh my god we are so excited to have you here... I am a huge SOAP fan and we are really looking to the show. How is Bob?
"I'll show you around the stage.." she said, and led us toward the back of the dinning room. I thought I detected a tear in John's eye as he looked toward the baron sterile riser. There was really nothing to see that we could not see from where we were.
We walked toward our fate but she suddenly took a left turn through a hallway filled with enlargements of playbills hung on the walls. I even recognized some of the faces on the covers. She opens a door and we are in a theatre. A raked audience with comfortable seats that could accommodate a crowd of 400. Real theatrical lights were hung, there was more wing space than the Eisemann. There were several dressing rooms. It was a real theatre. John lit up and said, "This will work." Again like Alice in Wonderland I suddenly felt ten feet tall.
Now there is a lot of work to do tomorrow and John will be kept on suicide watch for awhile. Our show is more complicated than the Neil Sadaka concert that was here two nights ago, but at least we have a space that can work. Both John and I come from poor theatre and we can turn a sows ear into at least a cotton purse. Now at least we have a chance to make it work.
I will rest much easier tonight and even feel good enough to write a blog. More Later.
As you were,
Jay

Round One
We closed at the Eisemann Center in Richardson tonight. I doubt that we will be able to beat this experience on the current "truck tour." What a great theatre and great people.
Spaulding decided to grab some attention while we were here. It was the Saturday matinee... after we had done the show a couple of times with no problems. However, when I gave the cue this time he did not roll on stage as he is supposed to. Knowing that he is a prima donna I have a stand in hiding behind the Big Jon trunk so I immediately grabbed Spaulding number 2 and prepared to do the routine. Just as I was getting set to start, Spaulding one rolled on stage. Not having the dexterity to do a double routine I tossed number two and continued with Spaulding one.
At the end of the routine the blocking of the play calls for me to toss him off stage right. Spaulding still did not want to participate in the usual blocking and bounced off a lighting stand and flew back on stage. I have heard of actor milking their part, but I did not think we had that problem in my show.
My blackberry decided to die this evening. I realize how much of my life is controlled by that little device. I didn't have any of the phone numbers I needed nor the information for sending my road trunk to our next destination. I used to remember phone numbers but now all I know is that my sister's phone number is "speed dial 4". The more we know only the things that we can look up, the more we are slave to this world of ones and zeros.
I have a week off to spend with my family here in Dallas. I am looking forward to it especially since the weather had become more accommodating. More later.
As you were,
Jay

Friends
There was a green room full of people to see me after the show tonight. My cousin Geanie was there and a friend from the Horn days, Paul White, but I knew they were coming. I didn't know that Linda of the Desert Fiesta Texas Tech mafia would be there with her daughter and fiancé. Nor did I know that one of the McMaster boys from Abernathy would be there. His Dad used to cut my hair at the only Barber shop in Abernathy. A man named Grady introduced himself like I should know him and in an instant I realized it was the Picalo player from the "Campus Revue" show at Six Flags when I was in High school. It all came back to me. What a hoot.
This is like a time warp... so many people that I have known over the years.
The OG made itself known again tonight. I can't make it happen when I want it to happen but when I am thinking esoteric-spooky thoughts it will manifest. The house manager told me that several people had been startled by it over the last few weeks. His theory was that an errant RF radio frequency was responsible. That could be. It still seems to be more than just random. It happens when my thoughts are on the theatre and the great time I am having.
It is all going too fast as I knew it would. Four more shows and two more days. Why can't this run go on forever?
More friends tomorrow and the show is tighter than it has ever been. I seem to learn how to do it better each time I get to do it. What a blessing.
As you were,
Jay

Opening at the Eisemann
The Eisemann Center is really a wonderful complex. I am very proud of my old home town for building such a great space to perform in. It was a wonderful opening attended by Chuck Eisemann the patron namesake of the Theatre as well as my first manager, first puppet maker and first captive audience. The latter being my Dad my Mom and my Sister. What a thrill to be able to introduce them from the stage in my curtain speech. I love doing this show and with an audience that was into it and with me the entire way is a high that can not be described.
There was an incident. As most of you know I am a person who has a healthy respect for the paranormal and supernatural. I had some encounters with the ghosts of the Helen Hayes theatre, the Geva Theatre and the Cape Playhouse and am always on the look out for others. Usually a theatre that is as new as the Eisemann Center has yet to acquire ghosts so I was not really looking tonight. That is sometimes when you find them.
There is no one to verify my encounters since I was alone in the dressing rooms above the stage when it happened, but the hair on my arms stood straight up when it happened, a sure sign that I have had a visitation. Even thinking about it gives me the chills now.
To set the scene, I have chosen to occupy a single private dressing room that opens into a larger chours dressing room. It is cute and cozy and just right for me. On the wall of the chours dressing room, which is the back wall of my room, is an automatic paper towel dispenser. It is the new kind of "holder/dispenser" that advances a section of towel when you wave your hand near a sensor. I used it earlier in the day and found that unless you were almost touching the sensor it did not work. When it did work it made a distinctive "whirring" noise.
I am not sure the exact thought I was thinking at the time but as I was putting on my makeup in the ritual I have done so often before this show, I was contemplaing "theatre" in general. How great it is to perform in theatres and how great it is to be in my old home town performing. At just that moment, the dispenser on the wall behind me turned on. It startled me. No one was there, no one had walked by and there was no reason for the towel machine to go off. Particularly since I had a difficult time working it before. It startled me and an extrasensorly chill went up and down my body. I walked into the bigger room to see if there was some reason for it to activate. I walked by, waved my hands turned the light on and off and nothing caused it to activate. Something unseen by humans had gotten close enough to it to activate the device.
Of course I took it as a sign that the theatre itself was trying to welcome me home. It made me feel better and a smile came over my face. I kept thinking about it during the show and really felt a part of this space.
There were meet and greets after the show and I was delayed getting out of my costume and eventually found myself alone again in the dressing area. Although I wanted another confirmantion nothing out of the ordinary happened. I put my dressing table in order, shut the door to my small dressing area and turned out the lights to the bigger dressing room before locking up. As I do for every theatre I said good night to the presence of the theatre I am performing in and thanked it for letting me visit and perform. I usually refer to the theatre as OG... or Opera Ghost. Just before shuttiing the door I said, "Thanks and goodnight OG...."
The towel dispenser immediately activated with its "whirring" noise and spit forth a section of towel. Chills went up my spine again and there was no doubt in my mind that OG had answered back. It was the confirmation that I was hoping for. I guess good theatres get haunted quicker than I thought.
There may be plenty of ways to explain these two events, but the timing and the delivery of each was specific and for me greater than random chance. I am excited to go back tomorrow knowing that I am not alone up there. A haunted theatre in my old home town...how great is that.
As you were,
Jay

Tomorrow
I arrived in Richardson tonight with more stress than was necessary. Growing up in Texas they used to say if you don't like the weather wait for 24 hours and it will change. It seems that the cold weather and snow experienced recently in the Metroplex has proven this old yard to be false. I woke up with the sun shining in LA but my thoughts on the snow that was falling in Dallas. Immediately my flight from Burbank was delayed and the flight before mine to Dallas was cancelled. John Ivy's flight from New York was cancelled. Suddenly all plans were changed and the game plan became ad-lib. It was no longer a matter of just doing the show it was a matter of actually making it half way across the country in bad weather to do the show.
John Ivy has been with my show since the Atanlatic Theatre off Broadway. He is the one who has the sound cues, lighting plot and the stage set up. All I do is perform the show. For the entire flight to DFW I considered what kind of show it would be if John became stranded in New York. It would not be the show that I would want to perform as a home coming to my roots.
But when I landed I found out that John had grabbed another flight and beat me here by an hour. We connected at the airport and made our way to the hotel, which is 20 yards from the entrance to the Eisemann Center. All my anxt was defused and the stress of not being prepared to do a show was immediately replaced by the stress of actually doing the show.
Tomorrow will be a full day of settiing up, prepping and performing in a new space, followed by meet and greets with the sponsors and VIPs who will be at the first performance. At this point it seems impossible that it could happen in 24 hours. That is the magic and the illusion of the theatre and no one can really explain how it happens but it does. This living on the edge is the drug that keeps us all addicted.
All I know is, I am excited to be on the stage opening tomorrow. I love to do this show more than any other performance that I get to do. I know that it will go too fast and there won't be time to relish the details and savor the moment. I guess that is why we artists keep looking for more moments to relish. More Later.
As you were,
Jay

COMMING SOON TO THIS BLOG
This will be the address for reading the daily struggles of the east coast tour of Jay Johnson: The Two and Only. There will be daily posts with one clarification; Depending on access to the Internet and temporary wifi connections encountered on the road, posts will be written daily but posted when possible. Although it will be written with new toys, the process will be more like my older blogs from Broadway and London. I hope the substance will at least equal those. I will write after each show and not dash off a thumb-typed status update.

I plan not to sugar coat the experience. Not that I think I sugar coated those older posts but the venues were definitely more exciting to write about. This is a bread and butter tour that is perhaps the polar opposite of a Broadway experience.


John and I will be traveling by truck doing basic one-nighter hi and runs after Richardson. It is not a bus and truck tour...it is just a truck tour. This will be Theatre in its most primitive and basic form, a kick back to the days of the traveling vaudeviille or medicine show.
Join me when we open in Richardson and close in Wisconson. Follow along as I discribe the world of a real theatre tour with all the warts and wrinkles showing.

First installment..... Feb.9th counting down the days until then
As you were,
Jay

Measuring Time

Long hand blog

Paying Respects

Thanks to Bryan Simon for snapping this photo in Hollywood last week.  After dining at Musso and Franks and taking the mandatory tour of the Chinese Theatre, I paused with Jimmy Nelson at the star of Edgar Bergen.  Mr. Bergen has a really good "Star" position on the Blvd.  He is right in front of the Kodak Theatre.  I would guess that the stars who show up for the Academy Awards this year will have to either walk on the star or right by it for this year's award ceremony.  As it is for real estate it is for fame, Location, Location, Location.
Bryan and Marge gave me a disk full of pictures they had taken. It didn't dawn on me that all the ones that I took did not have me in the frame. Nice to be included in the wonderful company.
There is an artistic shot that Bryan took that is clearly my favorite.  I will publish it soon when I have a chance to write about it.
What a great day with a really great man.
As you were,
Jay

Picture of MY Wall
• 
  ob·fus·cate Verb   /ˈäbfəˌskāt/
  Synonyms:

  • verb: darken, obscure, confuse, cloud, dim, becloud
  • obfuscating present participle;   obfuscated past tense;   obfuscated past participle;   obfuscates 3rd person singular present
  • Render obscure, unclear, or unintelligible
    • the spelling changes will deform some familiar words and obfuscate their etymological origins
  • Bewilder (someone)
    • it is more likely to obfuscate people than enlighten them
      
      
      As you were,
      Jay

Doesn't Get Better

It is not a secret that show business is an illusion.  Nothing is really the way it seems in the movies or on television programs.  Even reality shows are not reality but unscripted soap operas.  The mere presence of a recording device combined with human action changes the perception and reality.  As Heisenburg said, "By observing an experiment you have substantially changed the outcome of that experiment."

Admired actors and celebrities can be completely different in "real" life than any of the characters they play. One can love the projected image of a performer and ultimately dislike the person they are.

That is why it is so rare to find a person in show business that is not only the same as their projected image, but even greater.  

Such is the case for ventriloquist hero Jimmy Nelson.

When I was a kid I wanted to grow up to be Jimmy Nelson.  At the time he was my favorite ventriloquist on television. Along with his partner Danny O'Day and droopy dog Farfel,  Jimmy made me jones  for Nestlés Quick and long for the next installment of his famous, "Chaaaacolate" commercials.

Later,  while trying to pursue a career in ventriloquism myself, I had an occasion to meet Jimmy. He was instantly lovable and gracious to a young ventriloquist who admired his talents.  But he was that way to everyone.  I later made friends with his son Larry who was an actor in town.  Being a relatively small world community of ventriloquist, I got to interact with Jimmy on several occasions and each time found him to be exactly like you would hope your idol would be.

Over the years I was able to ask him questions that only a successful ventriloquist could answer for a fellow performer. He remained as gracious and humble as the first time I met him and  we became friends. It is not hard to be friends with such a man as Jimmy Nelson.

For the last two days I have been on the set of a video shoot documenting the career of my good friend.  His humility precluded him talking about his career unless asked and this was an in depth interview.  I found out  things I never knew about his life .  The more I listened the more I realized that I was right in wanting to be like him.

The producer/director of the film Bryan Simon is also an admirer of Jimmy Nelson.  Bryan says when he is  trying to make a critical decision his mantra is:  WWJD, Which in this case stands for "What would Jimmy Do?"

Great talent is rare in humans.  Graciousness and humility is rarer, and the number of talented people who deserve our admiration is the rarest quality of all.  That is why my friend Jimmy Nelson is so special. I have never heard him say an unkind word about anyone, even other ventriloquists who blatantly lifted his material for their own use.  I was correct in my early desire to be like Jimmy Nelson.  He is a true treasure to the art form and humanity itself.

Thanks for making it all happen Bryan and Marge. You are both treasures as well.

Pictures to come.

As you were,

Jay

Re-Claiming Space and Re-wiring Lamps

Since moving into this house, Sandi has continually expressed a dislike for the lighting fixture above the breakfast table. It did not bother me but I was willing to change it for something better.  It has taken this long to find the fixture she wanted. She bought it some time in the fall. The box with fixture inside sat on a breakfast chair for a long time and I saw it as I was in and out of town.  Eventually, in my absence, the box was taken to my office, which becomes a household warehouse when I am gone. My first duty when returning from the road is to reclaim my office space, and deal with the stuff that has been hidden away there.

To even enter the clutter of the office this time,  I have to step over the new boxed up lighting fixture. It has to be dealt with first. Sandi wanted to at least get it out of the box and see it above the table to make sure it is what she wants before *we* go to the trouble of installing it. I was eager to get it out of my office.... 

This is the definition of a perfect storm.

I deal with electrical repairs only when Sandi is not home for one reason. Years ago, I replaced the transformer for the kitchen light. I had not bothered to turn the circuit off at the outside electrical box, just the switch on the wall was off.  I knew even at the time that is not proper procedure, but I was using extreme caution.  At a critical point with the two junction box electrical wires in each hand, Sandra walked into the kitchen and saw me carefully working atop a ladder.  My focus was on the wires, but I remember vaguely her saying, "don't you need some light up there," and out of the corner of my eye see her move to the wall switch.  Before I can say anything Sandi turned on the very light that is being repaired.  Fortunately I  let go of the wires as I yell to her.  Sparks fly through the air like the laboratory of Frankensteins castle. I am off the ladder grabbing for the switch, as blue lightening arches at the electrical box.  That is why I prefer to do electrical work alone, but I am not sure I will even have to wire this new lamp up before Sandi gets home... she just wants to see what it looks like. 

I should have known that it was not a matter of taking something out of its box and holding it up. The box was flat and the fixture round and long. Some *assembly*, as it says on the box, is required. To be honest, it was in 20 different pieces, and not so much a light fixture as the "kit" to build a light fixture. I wrongly figured the tricky part of this lamp was connecting it to the electrical box....as I looked at this mechanical jigsaw puzzle, electricity was the farthest thing from my mind.

However, I was now committed. It was the first step to get back into the office. If you have ever dealt with a lamp or light fixture you know, it is all about the wiring. The wires have to thread through various other parts like tubes and face plates sockets, mountings and in this case a five foot length of chain. And these parts have to face the right direction since they interact with screw threads.  My mechanical sense, if I have one, said to me...get the wiring all done right the first time and the rest will be smooth. A truer statement there can not be, but the devil is in the definition of "right the first time."  My first "right" time took me a about an hour.

Cutting to the chase. After a couple of days we have a new light fixture with the right size bulb, hung to the right height, working from the correct switch with all the covers and trim pieces turned in the right direction and in their place. During the two days, I completely rewired, re-strung and threaded three wires through all the parts of the lamp from the ceiling junction box to the bulb socket, 8 different times.  One re-wire was necessary to remove a single link of chain. Although I cut my time to 45 minutes it was still,  EIGHT separate, complicated, starting from scratch, page one do-overs, and at the same time avoiding accidental electrocution by thoughtful family members.  It became a force 12 storm. 

Only my wife, my sister and my brother will understand the way I normally deal with this sort of life episode. Simply put, I deal with such problems in a dramatically over the top burst of hopeless anger and  depression. Sometimes resulting in physical violence directed toward the innocent tool.  I seem to think that desperate and complete admission of failure is the first step to completing any physical project.   

But... After the third do-over instead of rage I burst into laughter. It became a real life, slap-stick three-stooges adventure. Suddenly I was seeing my life as a game show. I was both contestant and audience. To win the prize I needed to assemble a working lamp from multiple enigmatic parts before Sandi gets home. But of course to make it funny it has to be as difficult as possible.

Between discoveries that the smallest piece of the lamp is turned the wrong direction and the entire wiring must be done again,  I keep hitting my head on the new light because I am not used to it being there.  This running joke takes five blows to the noggin before I can remember the new lamp is there and avoid it. But for some reason every bump and every acknowledgment that the job had to be redone struck me funny. It was a very new experience.  

I don't know if my attitude toward every project will be changed to laughter, or if this was an isolated event.  I vote for a revelation rebellion for change and to always see the humor in such laborious tasks. 

As you were,

Jay

Personal life window...

Of course the iPad is all about the apps. I remember when I bought it the apple guy said, "you're are all set, now you just have to keep filling it with apps." Although I mostly blog and draw on it, I do cruise the apps store on a regular basis. There are so many apps that do everything from useful to useless it is hard to know what to down load and what not to bother with; but for ninety-nine cents it is hard not to exercise a bargain curiosity. Some of apps I've bought have been used exactly twice. Once when I first downloaded it, and a second time when I showed Sandi how cool it was. After receiving her agreement, I usually have no use for it's functions.

So when my friend Marsha showed up for coffee with her iPad it became a seminar of "what are your cool apps?" She turned me on to some really great ones. One of the most interesting is a speedometer. It is just that. Using the gps chip in the iPad it reads and looks just like the speedometer in you car and registers distance and speed, I put it in the car and leaned it against Radio. It was just as accurate as the BMW dashboard. I could easily have used it instead of the one installed.

Here is what I am thinking with Bluetooth tech, we could hook all kinds of information to the ipad which could essentially become our personal instrument panel. Like the screens in Star Trek sick bay, our personal read out could include our heart rate, blood pressure, temp, blood sugar, UV levels, distance traveled, altitude, and a million other checks on what our body is doing at every moment. You could bring your personal control panel to a doctor's appointment, and the doctor could access the stored results to see how you have been during the times between appointments. Perhaps figure out that certain places or heights are not healthy for you.

I told Marsha it is like the Dick Tracey wrist radio/ television communicator has now become a reality but even more amazing. (Probably only to those of use who actually remember Dick Tracey form the Sunday paper color funny pages.) I'm glad to be around watching, analyzing and app- ing my way into a brave new world. I just wish our politics and national dialogue would advance so easily and beneficially. We still seem to be practicing 18th century government. With all this 21st century abilities.
As you were,
Jay

Inspiration

Although I got back before the weekend I feel like it is my first day back home. I've tried to construct an equation explaining how long it takes me to feel like I am home. For a while I thought it was proportional to the time spent away. I never could come up with the numbers that worked. Like most of my attempts at scientific evaluations of my life the rules don't seem to be universal. Perhaps that is the difference between art and science. Scientific experiments can be recreated with the same results every time, while art seems to be accidental at best. Hardly any moment is artistically the same every time.

When I was working at the Amphitheater at Six Flags in high school I would record the humidity and the temperature at every show and compare that to the reaction and enthusiasm of the audience. I told my producer/mentor Mr.Meeker what I was doing, and even showed him the beginning of the chart. He said, "If you can come up with that formula you will make a fortune." Just when I thought I had an algorithm and a chart with a perfect bell curve, the next audience would ruin the results. Needless to say it was not my path to fortune.

So, on my first day back I am looking for inspiration and have come to the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on the corner, assuming the muse might be hiding in an ice blended mocha. Although I am critical of the writers I see here writing in public; with my iPad in tow I have joined their "wifi" ranks. However, I immediately wonder what is so inspiring here? Between the sound of the coffee steamer hissing, the blender grinding, the musak blaring and the snippets of random conversations from everyone talking on a cell phone, it is like trying to swim in a sandbox. I now realize my mistake, you "go somewhere" for inspiration or you "go somewhere" to write,they are not the same trip.

I need to put down the iPad look around, observer, remember and analyze. Then after I have come to some sort conclusion based on this inspiration, I go to a quiet, boring uninteresting place to write.

This of course bolsters my opinion that everyone trying to write in here is indeed just a poser. That or it is my ADD and I can not concentrate long enough to filter out the distractions like the real writers can do. Or perhaps real writers think of the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf as a boring place and not inspirational at all.

Well, that does it, this is certainly not the place for me and I don't belong to is group. "My god Jim I'm an artist not a scientist". (are references to Star Trek - the first generation even relative in 2011?) See what this environment is doing to me.

I'm out of here.

But what will I write about today?

As you were,

Jay

The Bird That Stayed Behind

The Bluetooth Affect

Self Portrait

José how could you

Yesterday I talked about my experiences with the "straw Jesus". Today I began thinking about the guy in that show who played Coronado, José Alverez. I met José a couple of years before we ended up performing at Charlies Place. We were doing another show for the same producer in Carlsbad, New Mexico. Many stories there but none to be told in the blog today.
José was a very large guy from El Paso. He was 5' 6" and maybe 300 pounds. His mother owned a Mexican Food restaurant in the Texas Border town and he grew up being the official taco tester. You would say that he was a jolly fat man, very enthusiastic on stage with a smile that never quit. There was a laugh in his voice even when he sang. The producer I mentioned loved to give him comedy characters to play on stage.
José was a tad naïve and would fall for the same practical joke over and over, so he was a target, a large easy target, for me and the rest of the members of the cast.
There was a running joke that we all perpetrated on him nearly once a week and he never ever saw it coming. That was the fun of the of it, he was just too jolly to believe we would continue to conspire against him.
I think the joke started when one of the guys legitimately misplaced his wallet. He was asking everyone if they had seen it and the entire company was looking for it. Toward the end of the evening it was found. Rather than just tell everyone it had been found the guy decided to hide it in José's locker and shared that information with everyone but José. We all made a point to be near that locker after the show. José opened the locker and one of us (maybe me) said "Hey, Dave, isn't that your wallet?". In a well rehearsed motion everyone turned to see the "stolen" wallet. We all looked at Jose with contempt. "Jose, how could you?I thought we were friends. If you needed some money for extra food you know I would have loaned it to you, " was all Dave said as he retrieved his wallet. As we all shook our heads and headed out the door José was baffled and pleaded his innocence to the condemning cast. Even by the next day he didn't realize he had been hoodwinked.
A week later one of the guys asked the cast if anyone had seen his watch. In a repeat performance we were all there when the watch was found in José's locker.
Another week or so went by and one of the waiters mentioned they were running low on silverware in the kitchen. The opportunity was too perfect. At the end of the evening silverware cascaded from José's locker. "José how could you" became the mantra. After a few more discoveries we cooled it for a while. José finally began to catch on when there was a crowd gathering at his locker at the end of the evening.
The final ploy was the best. One night the Chef was not there at the start of the evening. It was the talk of the theater. Would there be dinners tonight if Jimmy the Chef was not in the kitchen? Sure enough when we all finished the show Jimmy the Chef was bound and gagged below José's locker. All at once we said, "José how could you."
No doubt his weight was a problem no matter how jolly and happy José seemed. However, I don't recall him ever complaining about anything in his life. Less than ten years after the demise of Charlies Place José Alverez died of a heart attack. I remember his good nature and on stage he never gave less than a hundred percent. We miss you José and if you are reading this now some how, "Have you seen my money clip?"
As you were,
Jay
www.monkeyjoke.com

Parade Rest

First day of a new set of passengers on the Navigator and I am stuck in the pub unable to escape due to the welcome aboard parade that has taken over the Royal Promenade. As I watch the parade staff trying their best to look like they are having a good time strutting in garish costumes, I am glad that it is not a requirement for a guest entertainer. However, it reminds me of the days when I *was* required to parade in costume for a paycheck. Not on a ship but dry land. Not that it made a difference to my self-esteem at the time. I feel the angst of those who I watch now paying their dues.

It was a dinner theater called Charlies Place in FT Worth, Texas. We did a variety show for an audience that dined on gourmet spaghetti. It kept Sandi and I employed for a couple of years as bizarre as it seems now. And it did lead to meeting my first personal manager who brought me to LA and the rest is history as they say. The manager assured me my parading days were over. It is the only thing he came through on.

We changed shows every few months at Charlies Place and eventually did a show themed on all six countries that owned Texas in it's past. The cursed parade was part of the Mexico theme. In context of the show a procession of Mexican peasants proceeded the arrival of Coronado, the conquering hero. It became a musical number because we were so happy to be conquered, I suppose.

We were all dressed in muslin drag with sombrero's carrying various gifts for Sr Coronado. In reality the gifts were cheap border town souvenirs from Juarez. We paraded through the night club carrying the "gifts" trying to look and sound as Mexican as a waspy cast could. Only the guy who played Coronado was actually Hispanic. He translated a song for us to sing in Spanish at the conclusion of the parade.

My peasant was chosen to carry an awful interpretation of Christ on the Cross depicted in straw. I came to call it the "damn straw Jesus". I was at the time humiliated as a performer and offended as a card carrying Methodist to have to carry such a gift. It was pure sacrilege as I saw it, and hated every second I had to handle it. I will probably have to answer on judgment day for the way I treated the icon. I was as abusive as possible toward the prop hoping it would become so shabby looking they would have to give me something else to carry. It didn't work. All I accomplished was to make an already awful looking savior look more terrible.

They did have the good sense to put me in the back for the musical number. Consequently I never had to learn the Spanish lyrics. After the first phrase "Coronado hombre amado ..." I faked it with words like enchilada, taco, con queso and occasionally Desi Arnaz. In FT Worth, Texas no one was going to notice.

The show ended finally but ran longer than Mexico occupied Texas. There were other humiliations in performances to follow but none as defeating to my ego as bearer of the "damn straw Jesus".

So parade on my Royal Caribbean brothers and sisters. I can tell you that this too shall pass and some day if you are lucky, like me, they will give you a Tony in exchange for your goofy prop.
As you were,
Jay
www.monkeyjoke.com

What is happiness

This is a study in human nature with me as the bad example. (I bow to my friend Zan on this subject. Consult her Blog "Zan on Happiness" for real solutions to the question)
I finally get on the Navigator. I've been here many times and know the accommodations well. It is a suite and not a crew cabin. I am happy.
When I settle in I discover that the television is not working. Since Bob doesn't talk to me except on stage I usually have the TV on and tuned to CNN for company. That and the off chance there might be some universal catastrophe that might cancel my show.
But the television is broken and won't turn on. "Damn TV" I say to myself. I am not happy.
For a few minutes I wonder what will keep me occupied during my down time. I soon discover I can bide my time drawing and reading and playing with my IPAD. I begin to fill the day with those activities. I think how much calmer it is spending time creatively with out the drone of impending disaster and drug ads polluting the atmosphere. I fall asleep that night not to the TV but beautiful music coming from my favorite itunes. I think this will be a great advantage not having a TV. The TV is such a distraction. I say, "Damn TV". I am happy.
I wake up refreshed. I greet my steward with a smile in the hallway. He is happy. He asks if everything is alright. I say the TV doesn't work but all is good. The steward says, "Damn TV." He is not happy.
He leads me back to the suite. After a few unhappy minutes trying to fix it he finally discovers a glitch in the remote. He says the TV is prone to this problem. Frustrated that it he has to fix it again, he says, "Damn TV". He is happy.
He leaves the suite with the Television on and ironically tuned to CNN. Cliff hanger promos fill my world once again and I am caught up in the need to see the incredible video coming up next. I wonder, on the ship who would I call if I suddenly did have an erection that lasted four hours. The production manager? I think I am happy. But then realize I am caught up in the world of "coming up next". I am not drawing and I am not reading. I am not listening to my music. I come to my senses and break the hypnotic CNN spell. I try to turn it off but can't. Short of contacting the steward and ruining his happiness again, I can not get the TV to turn off. I think to myself .... "Damn TV" and I am not happy.
I leave the television on and leave the suite for the deck looking over Montego Bay. Soaking in the beauty I decide to write a blog on my BlackBerry about not being happy. But now... I am happy........ "Damn TV."
As you were,
Jay
www.monkeyjoke.com

Final Chapter
I talked to my son yesterday. He told me about a scary experience at the house earlier that day. Living in Encino with a security system and an electric gate on the driveway entrance we have always felt very safe, but criminals are always a step ahead of any technology.

My son had just returned from class and driven into the garage. The gate stays open for 45 seconds before it closes automatically, and had not yet closed as he was getting a backpack out of his trunk. At that moment an old car sped through the gate and screeched to a stop in the middle of the driveway, blocking any exit. A Ukrainian man jumped from the car and started toward him. It was the typical scenario for a home invasion robbery.

My son is a big guy and grabbed for anything he could use as a weapon. By then the intruder was almost in his face. Taking an offensive stance with a makeshift weapon in hand, he said, "What the f*** do you think you are doing?"
The guy jumped back and nervously said, "Bags, Bags I deliver the bags."
It was the long lost luggage from Germany being delivered by an English-challenged Ukrainian delivery man who was in much too much of a hurry.

No call, no notice, just a rush up the driveway when the gate opened. He quickly got our bags out of his car, with the motor still running, spewing exhaust. He tossed them on the porch and left as frantically as he arrived. It all took less than 45 seconds since the gate was still open as he sped away. My son took a moment to let his blood pressure drop and now sees the humor in the whole thing.

This event happens on the same day I receive an email saying KLM has no new information on our bags. I thought the email was funny because it said the bags were not lost, but they didn't know where they were. I wondered at the time what the KLM definition of "lost" actually is.
So there you have it, the final chapter in the saga of the lost luggage. The two bags have been out of our possession since December 17th just short of three weeks.

American Express is due a letter of praise from me. As a long time member and Platinum Card holder, the global services division has called, questioned and badgered KLM every day on my behalf since the bags were lost in Amsterdam. Sandi and I were able to get on with our lives, work and travel without having to sit on the phone ourselves. I will continue to be a fan of AMEX. I'm not sure I will choose to fly KLM again....although they did eventually return the bags to our home, albeit in a somewhat dysfunctional way.

Real life is so much more interesting than fiction, except in the case of reality television shows.
As you were,
Jay

Random access
My friend Jeannine Brenier has a line in her act that has stayed with me for decades. Talking about her career, She said,"You know how they say it's lonely at the top, well it's jammed right up here in the middle." I'm not sure what my show biz ranking is nor who decides but I am sure that loneliness is not exclusive to any rank. Even if you travel with an entourage you find yourself watching CNN alone in some hotel room trying to fall asleep.

That is where I find myself tonight, in a Crown Plaza hotel room near the Miami airport waiting to join a ship in 48 hours. I can't count the number of hotel rooms I have occupied in my career. After I filled a large cardboard box with the plastic card keys from places I stayed I stopped counting. I had an idea that some day I would cover the walls of my office with a hotel key mosaic. That is less appealing now than when I started keeping them. All hotels look alike to me now and even the best with the most beautiful decor feels cold and Spartan. It is a space you occupy but never claim as your own space. Home is where your heart is and I have never found my "heart" in a hotel room.

They have me on the Executive floor. Other than a small private lounge featuring morning coffee with continental breakfast and the necessity of a card key to access the floor, I don't notice the Executive additions.

Signage in both English and Spanish proclaims the entire floor a "quiet zone", information that should be shared with the planes landing at Miami International near by. The sign suggests ways to keep the "zone" quiet. It says, "Between the hours of 9:30pm and 9:30am please keep your television volume to a minimum, do not slam your door, keep conversations down especially in the hallway and NO LOUD SINGING IN THE SHOWER."
In my years of staying in hotels I can't remember a single time when my solitude was disturbed by "loud singing in the shower" nor did I know this was a big problem for Inn keepers.

CNN has started to repeat its programing so it must be time to go to sleep. In the morning I will try to remember where I am until I totally wake up and look around. The first thing I will comprehend fully is the fact that I am not home, I am living the glamorous life of show business.
As you were,
Jay

The Villain of Eden

So glad to have an iPad on the road. Down time is so much more interesting.
As you were,
Jay

Down Time

When I have no where to go and nothing to do and I am not at home, I think of odd things. Some of my friends and family would argue that I think of odd things most of the time. Odd is in the eyes of the beholder I suppose, however even I know that my brain was probably constructed by temp workers. Perhaps it was an assembly line joke for that day.
At any rate I see things differently and mostly think of that as an advantage.
As my mind wonders off today in contemplation of where our lost Christmas luggage might be, I recall some of my encounters with the KLM representatives in Holland. What comes to mind is the Dutch greeting that starts any conversation in Amsterdam. Every person behind a counter greets you with "Hallo". It sounds enough like "hello" that I would immediately start explaining my problem in English. Although most people speak English in Amsterdam it is not their first language and I speak faster than the average human.
I would realize my mistake about three sentences in. Their expression would go blank and their eyes would glaze over with that thousand yard stare. Of course I would start to compensate by speaking louder and slower. It is the equivalent of a Japanese speaker trying to help me understand by loudly saying "Bo... Choy. mich.... Ting ...Seri.... Owtaw. " volume is not the solution.
For all I know I was telling KLM to keep my luggage and send it to the Swiss Army.
Sandi believes our luggage will be found and arrive soon. She is an optimist, she thought marrying me was a good idea and still thinks my oddness is cute until it can be cured. All my friends regard her as a saint for staying with me for almost four decades. Being on the road was much more fun last week when she was here.
As you were,
Jay
www.monkeyjoke.com

Lost in transit
Back on dry land for a day or so. The hotel has a free wifi and I feel like I am in control of my iPad again. I will catch a ship at Grand Cayman in a day or so and continue my Naval life. It means a couple of days in a hotel, but it keeps me from having to fly coast to coast twice in 48 hours. Sandi flew home today from St Thomas, through Phidelphia. It is an odd way to get back to LA and it will be a long day for her, but she is due back on the set of "The Big Bang Theory" this week.
It is not the flying so much as the connections that have been difficult in the last couple of months. Flying to Ft Laudrdale last week I had to divert to Chicago instead of going through Dallas because the connections were not happening on my original flight. It delayed me by six hours but at least I made it wit all my luggage.
The Oasis of the seas was a real experience. I made the joke on stage that they could design a ship with a carousel on board but I still couldn't turn around in my cabin bathroom. Six thousand people, and it is crowded, but big enough that there is always a place you can be that is not packed with people. They have an outdoor aqua stage at the back of the ship where they do a water show. They do there best to make it like Cirque du Sole's "O" in Las Vegas.
My favorite feature on the ship is a bar called "Rising Tide". It is a small lounge that is in the middle of the Royal Promanade that seats twenty people or so. At fifteen minute intervals the entire bar lifts and rises three decks to come to rest in the Central Park section of the ship. Central Park is my favorite part of the ship. A park like setting that is open to the sky with plants and restaurants. It is calm and beautiful and takes you totally away from what you think of as a ship environment.
Happy New Year to all. Thanks for all the well wishes.
As you were,
Jay

P.S.
As we left the ship the electronic marquee had been changed to advertise the next act coming to the theatre. It was the picture of a band called Abba-cadabra, an Abba cover group. The text said.... Comedy Ventiloquist. They had not changed it from description of my show the day before. You can build the biggest ship in the world but it still has to be maintained by humans.

New Years at Sea

When my agent told me that I was going to perform a New Years Eve show on the largest cruise ship in the world, the Oasis, I was very excited. That is until it dawned on me that's the very same plot as the disaster movie The Posiden Adventure.
But the only disaster encountered was the reality that the ship is full of more than three thousand non English speaking passengers. They only know one phrase of English, "You ....not funny".
But I must say this ship is more impressive than you can imagine. I have worked on every class of ship in the RCCL fleet and the Oasis truly is a destination unto itself. In fact there may be too much to do since every venue is in competition with every other. There was a comedy show at the comedy club at the same time as my show. About half the club audience was at the wrong place. I felt bad for the comedians; when they announced the comics names for their show fifty people got up and left for my theatre.
Sandi is going back home tomorrow, but I am hanging around Miami to catch the Navigator for another week at sea. I have not been home for more than four days at a time for four months. In the words of Hyman Roth from the Godfather, "I didn't say anything because it is The Business we have chosen."
Oh and if you are keeping score is now going on week three of the hunt for our luggage. They now say there is no record of the attempt to delivery the bags in Berlin.
As you were,
Jay
www.monkeyjoke.com

Twas the Day after Christmas.....

As we left Europe I handed the Dutch officer my passport for inspection. He looked at it and with a Dutch accent said, "How Yea'll doink?" He looked through the pages to find a blank space to stamp, which is not easy given the number of times I have traveled out of the country in the last five years.  After stamping the page he said, "Howdy"which came out more like *Whoody* and he said it like it was the expression for goodbye. It took me a minute to realize that the passport correctly lists Texas as my birth place.  The immigration officer was doing his best Cowboy for me, and I almost missed it.

This is a picture I took of the Brandenburg Gate from what used to be the East side of Berlin. It was very pretty lit up with the Christmas tree in front and snow all around.  It looks like the picture was taken in the early evening, but it was actually about 3:00pm.  The sun doesn't come up in Berlin until 9:30am and starts setting about 4:00pm and by 5:30 it is full blown darkness.  It makes all the Christmas lights of the city more enjoyable.

As for our luggage, no word since the German delivery man called my son to tell him the bags were on the way to his apartment, while we were on the way to the airport. The fact that the bags made it to Berlin and had been found is not in the record that the magic tracking number was supposed to log.  In fact we are getting forms emailed from the Airline to fill out so we can file a claim.  According to the records the bags are still missing and have been since Dec 16th. I suppose on Monday I will have to make my rounds calling to see what news there is.  Sandi and I leave for a New Years Eve Cruise on Wednesday and I doubt we will know anything definitive about the bags before then.  

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. I know the New Year will be full of surprises and opportunities.

As you were,

Jay

Lessons

Life has a sense of humor that can not be denied. Most of the time we are too close to see that what happens to us is a cosmic joke, a prank to make us smile, or to show us that the events of our lives are not so serious or tragic as we think, or maybe just to help us evaluate what is really important.
After seven days without our luggage Sandi and I have gotten used to the idea of never seeing those "things" it contained again. We were most upset that the Christmas gifts we brought to our son did not arrive. One of his German friends suggested, in broken English, that the "Christmas Man" - his translation of Santa Claus- had stolen the luggage to keep us from usurping his duty to deliver the presents on Christmas Eve.
But, the lack of personal effects did not keep us from experiencing the sites of Berlin or impede the joy of seeing our son. His grasp of the language, culture and mythology, that is Berlin, becomes infectious and, for his father and mother, lovingly overwhelming at times. In fact the lack of personal property was freeing in some ways. We had everything we needed. We had what we came for, time with our son in his adopted city.
So there was sadness when the time came this morning for us to go to the airport for our third and last time. The snow was melting a little causing the walk to the bus to become more slick and treacherous than usual. Even the streets of Berlin were trying to keep us from going away. Our son's cell phone rang and he answered it with his German hello. After a brief conversation he ended the call. I am accustomed to waiting his German conversation is over to get the English translation. The call was from Tegel Airport calling to say that our bags had been found and they were ready to be delivered. If they had kept them at the airport we could have picked them up when we arrived a few minutes later, but the bags were on a truck headed for the apartment we had just left. Our Son told them to deliver the bags to our home in California. The man said it would take a couple of days.
There won't be an end to this story until our bags arrive in LA and the belated gifts arrive in Berlin, but the moral is clear: important things can not be lost in travel nor delayed by weather and certainly can not be contained in a suitcase.
Merry night before the night before Christmas,
Jay

Day six of trying to cope with the coldest winter in German on record and doing it without any luggage. My advice to any traveler is avoid KLM Dutch Airlines if at all possible, especially traveling through Amsterdam. Now suddenly everyone seems to know that KLM is notorious for being hard to contact, and Amsterdam is a notorious for canceling flights and losing luggage, especially in the winter. Where was this information in the weeks before when we were booking this trip. While KLM's in flight service was very nice, once on the ground they become invisible. As flights were cancelled and we became separated from our luggage, we were told to "simply" call Customer Service and they would deliver our bags anywhere we needed them. Unfortunately, the phone numbers do not ring through, or are constantly busy, and not open 24 hours, nor weekends. When we finally did get through, on day five, the automated system instructed us to consult the website and disconnected. The website crashed and then we were told to contact the airlines through Facebook or Twitter. I am not joking, Twitter.
I finally resorted to calling American Express Global services to get some help. They could not get through to KLM either, but did find out that we needed to go to the Berlin Airport in person to file a report. We traveled the hour to the airport. After an hour wait and with our son there to translate we were given a form to fill out and told to fax it. Then we would be given a tracking number for our case. How would we get the number? We would have to call.
After several days of the same phone treatment we decided to go back out to the airport and actually find a human.
Another hour trip and we were directed to the Global Berlin Baggage service down stairs in the airport, where there was a line with a two hour wait to see a human. After an hour we discover that the line we were instructed to wait in was for Luftansa not KML. We switched lines to start the two hour wait clock all over again.
Hours of waiting time later we were allowed to meet with a human who substituted the Z sound for an S when she spoke. She said they had never received the fax and we needed to start all over. We finally got a tracking number, no luggage and no idea on when we would get it but we got the magic number. The only thing that was determined was that when we leave Berlin in two days, they would stop trying to get the luggage to our address here and send it to California.
Here is the bottom line. The inconvenience of not having our luggage is nothing compared to the stress, inconvenience and anxiety of trying to get KLM to look for our luggage. My wife and I both wanted a holiday we would never forget, well, be careful what you wish for.... We will certainly never forget this one. The saga continues.
As you were,
Jay

Winter in Europe
We are here in Berlin with my son. We do not have our luggage and were were two days late after being stuck in the Amsterdam airport for about a day and a half due to a snow storm. I'm glad I like the shirt I am wearing I've had it on for four days now. The airlines were not good at giving out information in any language. The forms to fill out were in Dutch, and the Information lines were jammed. No flights, we finally had to take a train to Berlin and were lucky to get it. More later as the saga continues.

On a totally different subject. Here is a comment that I got from my last post. The one with the vent movie poster painting:

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "As you were, Jay":

there is a signature and Copyright mark so jay please post the info about where this came from... illustrators work very hard - hopefully no future bookings will use part of this for posters/press/website etc.

Posted by Anonymous to THE WORLD IS A STAGE at 2:01 PM

I don't know who anonymous is but they are not up to the usual intelligence of my average blog readers, and the fact that they would snipe with invisibility is not appreciated. Two things:
If "they" had actually seen the copyright they would have known that the signature is mine as is then copyright. The illustration is mine, I drew it, it is from my own art files and I will use it in whatever way I want to. What hurts the most is that whomever "they" are assumes that I would not credit another artist's work or would not be capable of creating that art myself. Next time Anonymous, get your facts straight, and be brave enough to leave your name.

As you were,
Jay

Traffic Event

There are several routes to get through the mountains from the Valley to the West Side in LA.  One is the 405 Freeway which needs to be avoided for short trips.  The other routes are canyon roads, two lane paths that wind through the hills to the other side.  The roads twist and turn and with the right car it is a very exciting drive at just a little over the 35 mph speed limit, say 50. It is better than a roller coaster ride at Magic Mountain.

Today I found the need to make that trip over Coldwater Canyon to Beverly Hills. Tis the season after all. I am in a BMW so I have the right car, and the morning drive traffic is gone.  Just me and the road, for a moment, I feel like an Indy driver on Memorial day. That is until I come upon an old model Volvo creeping along at 20 mph.   The ancient driver is driving way under the speed limit, breaking for every turn and wiggle in the road and yielding to imaginary wild life crossings.  To let him know that I am behind him, as is the custom in LA, I crowd him a little.  It is the signal we all agree on that says, share the road and at least drive the speed limit.  This driver obviously does not speak auto.  He continues to coast and break and yield to the frustration of anyone behind him.

Soon I am not the only driver who is frustrated.  There are six cars behind me that are thinking the same thing I am... why is this guy driving like he is from Florida?  Once again I crowd his back bumper.  (Honking is a NYC tradition that is rarely use on this coast).  The rule is once five cars are being blocked by a very slow driver, that slow driver should pull over and let the traffic by.  Again, this driver, "no speaka" nor "knowa the rules".

The parade slows to a funeral march. Lined up behind me is another BMW, a Lamborghini, a Porche, and three cars I can't put a make on.  The Lamborghini is having trouble going 20 mph, it idles faster than that.  The driver guns the engine just to keep it running.  It is a loud sound but the Volvo is unfazed.

 I give the driver the benefit of the doubt, one more time, thinking that he is just unaware of the commuter crises he is causing us.  I politely ride his back bumper again,  he shoots me the finger and hits his breaks.  I am able to stop in plenty of time as are all the others in the long line.  That is when I realize that this guy knows that he is leading a long line of pissed off drivers through the Canyon and doesn't care.  As he creeps ahead of me his personalized licence plates read,  "STA BAC"

As you were,

Jay

As you were,
Jay

Building a stone henge are we?

Eddie Izzard does a routine on stone henge that is very funny to me. As some ancient Druids are carving on stone a couple of neighbors pass by. Looking up at the activity they say, "Building a stone henge are we?...It's very nice."
Eddie Izzard would be one of my favorite performers even if he wasn't the one who gave me a Tony on stage at Radio City Music Hall. Thanks Eddie.
I was thinking of you when I painted this.
As you were,
Jay

Very different from what I usually paint... not a drop of blood in the entire piece.

As you were,

Jay

More Mind Fertilizer

I think that it represents more an example of obsessive compulsive disorder than actual talent, here is my new submission into the world of: "What did you do last week?"

There is one interesting thing involving my trip back from Acapulco. There are two things that are "given" in this story. As the lawyers would say we stipulate to these pertinent facts.

First, I don't like the TSA in general. I think they are the lowest level of Rent-a-Cop and now with the new groping procedures they are allowed to administer I feel more invaded and like the TSA even less. And... I don't feel safer because of the intrusion.

Second, I don't like to fly in Mexico. Since there is less Xray equipment and technology in most of the airports they rely on manual inspections. It is not always Manuel sometimes Manuellita. The point is, airport inspections are much more personally invasive in Mexico it is up close and personal: "Meester, cwould jew stan like thees with jour harms hup." On the street it is a robbery, at the airport it is security.

With those two facts in mind here is my saga.

I was searched at the dock by the Manuel at customs. My luggage was searched at the ticket counter when I arrived at the airport. I had to go through the metal detector and xray before getting to the gate. At the gate three more Manuels looked in my carry on bags and did a pat down.

Changing plans in Mexico City meant I had to go back through security, and was frisked by two different sets of TSAitos before boarding my final flight home to LA. Just part of the job, and the excitement of going home got me through it.

After 6 hours we landed at LAX Airport, and as I step into the jet way there is a Homeland security agent watching people get off the plane. He stops my egress and culls me out of the herd, "Could you step over here for just one second sir.... just put you bag down."

I can't tell you what I was thinking because the vocabulary of curses in my head is not a language that any one understands but me. Just know I was thinking words so derogatory they couldn't even be vocalized. But in my truly dysfunctional passive aggressive way what came out was, "Certainly officer."

The man looked me in the eye and said, "Just around the corner we have a drug dog." (My Inner dialogue: "Okay jack wad, what has that got to do with me.") He continues,

"And I wonder if you would mind giving us a hand." (Inner dialogue: "Why don't you go cavity search a baboon, Dick Tracy." ---- Outer dialogue: "Why, certainly officer."

He continues, "I would like to hide some drugs on you and see if the dog can find them? He is new and being trained to work crowds." How many times do they tell you not to take things from strangers at the airport. Here is a guy actually asking me to mule drugs and instead of yelling for the cops, he is a government cop. I said, "As long as the next officer knows that the drugs are yours not mine... okay." He really didn't answer that statement directly, but by that time several witnesses have seen me talking to the guy, he has a uniform...and I am so tired from flying I'm stupid.

He takes what looks like a chamois pouch out of a baggie and stuffs it in my sock. He takes my carry on saying, "I don't want this to get in the dogs way." and then the blow-off, "Don't stop until an officer tells you to stop." Those last words are the ones that hang in my rational brain as I continue on what is now not a normal journey for me.

At the terminal before immigration there is an officer with a black lab on a chain. I am figuring the dog will bark like crazy when I approach. But he doesn't. In fact he doesn't move. I go right past. Thinking that the dog has perhaps flunked his final, I am 30 or 40 yards away when I hear an officer say, "Will you stop right there sir. And do not turn around." I stop. I hear the officer say, "Good boy," and I assume it is praise for the dog, not me. I am thinking like a game show contestant now and expect to hear, "Thank you for playing, drug mule madness, here are a couple of parting gifts... Don Pardo what do we have for this gullible contestant?" But alas that is not the drill. I stand there for another five minutes waiting for the officer who planted the drugs on me to show up. It could have been less than five minutes, but it seemed like a couple of hours, because until the officer arrives, with my carry on, I am a drug suspect.

They retrieve the stash from my sock, thank me for my participation saying the dog needed the live drill and I was helping the cause. Of course for the next hour...the entire time I am at immigration and customs I feel like a drug smuggler. People who saw me being pulled out of line by the officer are avoiding my direct look. I am paranoid that the smell will stay with me and before I get out of the airport a more experienced dog will really bust me.

So I have now been the subject of a TSA "Gun Test" and a Homeland Security "drug test" during my airline commuting career. Feel safer when you fly this holiday, kids, Jay the security crash dummy is here to help.

As you were,
Jay