Our first rehearsal is tonight. Read through of the script, some music excerpts, meet & greet etcetera. I will document all that later tonight. For now, I thought I would mention some of what I have been doing to prepare for the role since auditions three weeks ago. So, Bobby is a  huge role, and although I don’t yet know how this will get staged in this production (which is set in the 1970’s so I don’t expect any John Doyle-esque detachment) but there is a fairly physical love scene and of course one wants to look good for such things—or at least not embarrass oneself. So, I immediately secured the cooperation of my good friend and golfball Alex Kang to bootcamp me. 10 weeks is not a lot of time and I am not expecting miracles or anything, but as I explained to him anything is better than nothing and I was willing to be aggressive about it. He is incredibly fit and has been working out forever (and it shows) but he has expressed to me frustration with helping folks out in the past, mainly because they aren’t willing to commit. We came to a meeting of the minds, I joined the Gym at campus and committed to getting fit. We did some pretty intense workout sessions before the Holiday break (omg the PAIN!) and then the gym closed for the break –dammit! We have kept up our routine of daily pushups in the a.m. (one more every day – I started at 20 cause I am a weakling and he at 25 cause he had pity on me, we are now at 39 and 43 respectively). I have added another 20 at night.  We text each other when we complete them to keep each other on task. He’s a good guy. My other good friend, Edson Gonzales, participated in one workout and had some really good advice and we were supposed to go to his gym over the break, but a tragic event with his roommate’s family derailed that. He and I will get on track with the alternate workouts when that gets a little distance on it.

Golfball Akang and I  are also committed to doing P90x which is intense, I ordered a chin-up bar and the resistance which are supposed to arrive any day now and then we are both off to the races with that – I have already begun following the P90x nutrition plan which is challenging for me because the first 30 days are very low carbs very high protein which is exactly the opposite of how I eat (I really really like rice and bread-sigh). I also don’t normally eat more than once a day and this thing requires grazing all day long which is actually really hard. I am committed. I have already created a really good egg white omelet recipe (hey! I will take pics of the prep for that tomorrow morning and share – it is actually really good!). I am surprised to find that in an omelet you don’t really notice the missing yolks, who knew? So I have stocked up on all these low fat high protein no carbs foods and am eating more greens and fruits. This has also necessitated that I prepare foods and take them to work – hence the picture above. Chicken salad, Spicy bellpepper/roma tomato relish [made by me], spinach and red-leaf lettuce. fat-free honey mustard dressing. Super low-fat, good greens/veggies, actually very tasty. I suspect I may die.

The gym is finally open again today, but only until 7pm so I am going to go over there, by MYSELF, to do an hour or so of workout before rehearsal. We shall see how that goes.  I am absolutely committed to giving Bobby the respect he is due, part of that is being disciplined about being healthy and fit and presentable for this show. Also I want to one day be buff. heh.

Yes, that’s it. The script for Company. I have not posted here in a while, because I suck. But you knew that already. Anyway. So, longish story shorter – I was cast as Bobby in the Playhouse Merced Production of Company. I KNOW!!! Right? The show opens Feb 12 and runs through the 28th right here in Merced in 2010. I should have been posting about the auditions, the intrigue, the tension, the drama, the…well…shoulda woulda coulda. I didn’t. But, I plan on trying to capture the process, the path, the way forward as we begin the Company production. I missed posting about the auditions, casting, etc. and I may go back and try to fill in some of that…but I probably won’t. I used “Not a Day Goes By” as my audition song, which is the first time I have sung that song as an audition piece, even though I love it dearly. I thought it was a good choice, capturing some of the conflicting emotions and pathos that seems to underlie Bobby and well, without overanalyzing stuff too much, I think I rocked it. I made one of the auditioners cry, which you know, you can’t really complain about.  But I digress.

So…the scripts became available today and I wasted no time getting my hot little hands on mine. #3. Corey Strauss (Paul) and Dianne Kocher (Amy) were #1 and #2. Did I mention I was Bobby? I did? oh. Well I am Bobby! so suck it.

I cannot believe I get to sing “Being Alive” on stage in an actual production. This is somewhat like when I got to be Daniel in “Once on this Island” but better. Sondheim Mother F*ckers! Unbelievably awesome and scary as all get out. Bobby in Company is one of those “before-I-die-I-want-to-play-this-part” roles for me and I am so unbelievably excited that I get to actually do it. I am also really intimidated by the part, and mixed with my excitement is a numbing fear and really really high level of “what the hell, there is no way I can pull this off, what in the effin hell was I and every other person thinking” kind of thing going on. Too late. I am it and I am determined to just wallow in the awesomeness that is this incredibly challenging, incredibly beautiful, incredibly incredible role.

Monday. Monday. Monday. First rehearsal, read-through. Monday. Two days. AIEEEEE. I cannot, I am just, I don’t know what to, I….I get to be this person! Pinch me. Sock the sh*t out of me. ‘Cause it just ain’t real. With all the other random bullsh*t going on, and with all the second-guessing, and mid-life crisis-ey, what the hell has my life come to stuff going on, there is this thing – this amazing, unbelievable, exciting, scary, soaring beautiful thing I get to do. I am, also,  going to rock the hell out of it.

I cracked open the script, read through it, marked it up, highlighted it (in erasable colored pencil, don’t freak out) checked the vocal range, tabbed it, labeled it. Pondered it. Sh*t. I can’t wait, and I am ready, and I am so not ready. Heh. Initial thoughts, I am looking forward to everything, but I am not fool – this is some really challenging acting and some really challenging music and some really challenging thinking. I will post further about all of the different things, the rehearsals, the concepts, the motivation, the tribulations, the triumphs, the whatever. Bobby, you rudderless, connection-phobic, living through other peoples connections, random-ass playboy manchild, 70’s archetype person – I love you. Now I need to be you, to inhabit you and decode you. I am ready, and I am so not ready at the same time – hey! I already getting into the Bobby frame. More to come.

21 years ago I went to my first non-school related audition (!). I had always loved theatre, I had done some shows in high school – but only one musical. I loved musical theatre but had been told at an early age by my parents that I couldn’t sing. I had worked up a song for an elementary school talent show – I think it was sixth grade. I excitedly performed it for my parents. I will never forget my dad telling me that it was really bad and I shouldn’t embarrass myself. Nice. I didn’t do it. Although I really wanted to sing and I really wanted to perform I didn’t try anything else for years, and when I did I was severely undermined by the voice of my parents in my head. But I so loved theatre, I wanted to go to New York and try for it – I sang in my room with my headphones on, I sang to the records I had. I went to shows that others did and envied their talent and their opportunity to perform. I was a cast album fanatic. Ever since the Sound of Music became the ultimate repeat album during free-listening time in second grade – I devoured them. In high school – Little Shop of Horrors was my obsession. I wanted to be Seymour so badly I could taste it. In my room with that album playing I could sing – I belted those songs and carried on like a maniac. Anyway.

Then it was 1988. There it was. The local semi-professional community theatre group was going to do “Little Shop of Horrors” and destiny called me. Here it was the beginning of the beginning – finally Seymour would be mine. I found the sheet music to a song that I thought would show off my voice well. Plus I knew it cold from singing along with it a billion times while listening to the cast album of Pippin. Corner of the Sky was going to catapult me to Seymour-dom. I went down to the theatre on the Saturday of auditions – nervous as hell and there were the people I so often saw on stage. I am sitting in the darkened room, filling out the audition info sheet, watching, and waiting. Then it’s my turn. Oh my. What a total disaster. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t realize how differently a song sounds with only a piano to accompany it. I was not good. At all. Cringeworthy. They did that thing, where they have you vocalize to scales, that they do when your audition song sucks so bad they can’t tell if you can sing or not so they have to figure it out that way. I read for various parts, did better at that, but not much. I did the dance audition. Ahem. I didn’t get the part and never went back to audition there again.

I eventually went back to college, and fell into theatre again. I had great teachers and great peers and great opportunities and I got to know what I was doing. I grew confident in my skill. Bit by bit I learned how to audition, I learned how to have confidence in what I was doing. I learned that I was really good at it and I learned how to ignore the negative voices from the past or present and do what you do. In the middle of all that ‘Little Shop” came my way again. Seymour was precast, but I auditioned my ass off and got the part of Mushnik, my first solo musical part since Arvide Abernathy in high school. It was a very mixed experience. We had some great times and some heinously awful times. The cast was huge and the director was vindictive and out of control. Racial tensions boiled over. It was a train-wreck and fantastic and a cherished memory of good and bad. I think it was 1996 maybe 97. These things run together.

And here it is – the now: 2009. 21 years after my first audition, and Little Shop is before me again. Only this time, this time I am at the top of my game artistically. I love auditioning, I am good at it. I love acting, I am good at it. I love singing, I am good at it. The theatre that is doing the show is one I know well, I respect the folks there, and they respect me. In the 21 intervening years I feel like the actor and artist within me has really grown up and become an adult.

I had told myself I was too old now to do Seymour – but then I reconsidered that stance. I could do it, I could pull it off – the guy who did it on Broadway just a few years ago is only two years younger than me. I can do this! There are a couple of guys who can do it as well, I know my competition and they are real competition. It isn’t a given that I will get it, but I plan to fight. The intricate casting calculus begins – who else is out there, who would be this part and who will be that part – if so-and-so is Audrey what does that mean for me? Combinations, possibilities, shifting and twitching and sorting and planning. But in every one of those calculations it’ll work! The day of auditions comes and we’re off to the races. First audition is fairly straightforward. Sing a song, make it through to callbacks. Callbacks. Callbacks. Callbacks are where it counts. Callbacks, where we will sing from the show, read from the show, pair up with the other potentials and see how the arrangements works, who clicks together, who will and won’t work. Callbacks are where the claws come out and the serious work happens. I am ready for this callback.

So, we go for it. Right away I see a huge problem for me – there aren’t any Mushniks. Where are the older guys who can do it? They didn’t show. The few that are there aren’t going to cut it. I am very clearly the only guy who can do it. I audition for Mushnik and nail the song and nail the scene. I kill it. Dammit. Then I sit and cringe as the other Mushnik’s go forward and do the opposite. Sigh. One young man goes up and does a great job, but there is no way he will be able to play the age. But then the Seymour’s start auditioning – I get to sing and read for that as well. The folks I thought were my competition do not perform to their abilities. They aren’t connecting and aren’t finding it. I am firing on all cylinders. I act and sing the hell out of the songs and the scenes. I am IMHO by FAR the best Seymour. This could really happen! They sing the Dentists. I read and sing for that as well. Great – there are a couple of guys who do really well with this. They sing the Audreys. We do it again. We read it some more. We sing some more. Three hours goes by. At the end of Callback One I know they have an interesting and worthwhile dilemma. I think they can cast it three times – almost. They only have one Mushnik. I killed as Mushnik and I killed as Seymour. There were a couple of guys who could do Seymour, but my pre-callback competition aren’t among them. Some of us retire to a bar and ponder. We are joined by the Director and Musical director. They share that they are pondering. We share that we recognize the challenge. There are a couple of other folks who haven’t yet auditioned, who couldn’t make this callback who they still have to read. They decide to do another round of callbacks. Whittle it down to their favorites for each part and throw it around again – plus pull in a couple more Mushniks to expand their options.

Callback Round 2 comes on. I am excited cause someone is supposed to show who I KNOW can do Mushnik. Someone else is there who has talent but hasn’t really put it on display, isn’t a superstrong singer but might could be very interesting as Mushnik. The time arrives. Take two, much smaller group. The person I thought was my main competition for Seymour isn’t there – his callback was not good work. There is one other Seymour from the audition list and although not originally part of the Callback Round 2 list they added in the three guys who are up for the Dentist. The major Mushnik doesn’t show – he isn’t auditioning! Curses! But there is still one other guy who could do it, and one other guy who is there to audition for it. Three of us sing the Mushnik song. I kill it. Scenes are read. I kill the Mushnik scene. My competition for Mushnik? Not so much. Could they do it? Probably. Maybe. Yes they could. Not as well as I but they could do it. I get to read and sing the Dentist and I think I sing it the best. The scene goes really well, I don’t really expect to be seriously considered for the Dentist but I give it my all and get laughs so that’s cool. I am the only guy who reads for all three parts. We read the Seymour’s – the other guy who is being considered doesn’t do very well. He is perfectly competent but is pretty much the same as he is in everything else I have seen him do. He would be fine for Seymour but he isn’t exciting or interesting in his audition. He doesn’t click with the Audrey’s. I get a little more intrigued. We read the scenes, I think I do really well. I don’t get to read with who I think will be Audrey so that bodes not well. But the Audrey I do read with knocks the scene out of the park and we work very well together. This could happen. One of the probable Dentists does well as Seymour. He could do it. For me to get Seymour they have to be willing to go with a much less strong Mushnik. Of course I think that would be worth it.

We gather after again. The director joins the small circle and declares it very interesting. He is still faced with figuring out combinations and could probably still cast it three ways. Well two ways for Mushnik. If he wants me as Seymour that is. We go home and the waiting begins. I know I can do this part. I think I did the best at it. There were two other guys who I think could also do it with some trade-offs. One other guy who I will be very very unhappy if he gets it. The interminable wait begins.

I get a voicemail.

Mushnik.

I die a little bit.

I know why it turned out the way it did. I probably would have cast it very similarly. I understand it. I am so disappointed nonetheless. It is not a major injustice or a travesty or anything. I call the director back to let him know that yes, I will do it. I let him know I am disappointed but I will do it. He wants me to assure him that it is okay. I tell him “it is what it is.” Like if it wasn’t okay it would change anything? I discover the cast list was already posted on Facebook prior to my accepting the role. The young kid who was on my short list of Seymours has already posted that he got the role he had been “thinking about for two months” in his status update.

I realize that I have been thinking about this role longer than he has been alive. I realize that realistically this was my last chance to play this role. It realize it is much harder to take than I thought it would be. I realize that I am actually devastated. I twitter that I feel broken a little bit, and I realize that it is true.

In my mind I knew that one day I would play Seymour. It was just one of those things that I knew would happen. Seymour was one of those iconic parts that I would just get to do one day. Through all of these years, through all of the learning and changing and growing I guess it was always in the back of my head, part of my understanding of the world and the way things unfold that I would play this part one day. And this time, this time I really should have.

And this time I realize I won’t. And I also realize that I never will.

Folks are telling me “but you will kick ass as Mushnik!” “You’ll be great” – I even get told I will steal the show. I know the show will itself be good. The cast makes sense. I am not being egotistical here but I know I will do a great Mushnik. I will nail it.

But it isn’t about that. I know. I. KNOW. I would have done a great Seymour. But it isn’t about that.

It is about letting go of a dream, coming to grips with age and mortality, expectations and hopes. Where I am and where I wanted to be and where I see myself. Who knew that this audition, this show, this thing, would cause such tremors and vibrations. Would knock things off shelves and shatter fragile stuff I thought I had put away. I face myself and this casting decision forces me to see things differently. It isn’t the negative voices of the past or present it is the reality that every actor must one day face as they transition through those stages of life. A whole series, a whole segment of opportunities close. Others may open to be sure, and there are still many parts on my list of “gotta play that before I die” but now I get to cross them off not only when I play them, but when I age out of the possibility of playing them. I feel a little bit broken.

I got drunk alone last night.

I have been infusing vodkas as many of you know. I have made Ginger vodka, Vanilla vodka, Pomegranate vodka, Pomelo vodka, Cucumber vodka, Lemongrass Vodka, Buddha’s Hand Vodka (this is still infusing) – but the most daring, strangest, and potentially most awesome vodka infusion? Bacon!

Of course all of this infusing isn’t just because I like vodka, and certainly not because I am a loopy drunkard as my eldest boy tells anyone who will listen. [Honestly, I don’t even really like the taste of alcohol, and my kid is just exaggerating, he hasn’t really ever seen an actual live drunk person in his life so he doesn’t have the slightest idea what that really is but it is always swell to have him pronounce me so in front of different random folks *sigh*]. Anyway – I am preparing all these various infusions for a martini tasting party I am throwing sometime this quarter – definitely before May –so there is a method to my alcohol infused madness. Sort of. So. Where was I? Oh yes, Bacon!

I love Bacon. Love it. i had purchased a bacon-salt deluxe pack (6 flavors of bacon salt and some bacon lip balm) and I thought – HEY! I could rim a martini glass with this and make some kind of awesome dirty martini. Then I read about this nutball making Bacon infused vodka, and well I knew I HAD to try it. So I did, and what follows is the entire month-long process, illustrated, from a platter of bacon to a glass of BLT martini. I admit the middle stages kind of creeped me out a bit, but the end result, well, read/view on.

Step one. Bacon. Vodka. Awesome Funnel. Container.

All of the ingredients
laid out on the kitchen table.

I used these great 360 Vodka Bottles they have this wonderful stopper enclosure lid and a nice look to them.

The greatest funnel set known to man. KitchenAid funnels with flexible silicon nozzles – they are super-awesome!

Now the cooked Bacon goes into the bottle, piece by piece, until the whole pound of bacon is inside.

Now the funnel, and then the vodka, topping the bacon-filled bottle off

The vodka and bacon filled bottle is all ready to go into a dark and cool place for at least three weeks to infuse.

And there is sits. And sits. And sits. I would take it and shake it about every couple of days or so. And get a bit grossed out, the bacon fat separated out and congealed at the top of the bottle, and clouded up the vodka in the bottle pretty good. It didn’t look appetizing. At all.

Ick right? I was afraid to open it. The picture at left is the bacon infusion at two weeks. I was sure that it would just reek of rancid bacon and I would be most unhappy. Everything I had read on the interwebs said leave it to infuse for at least three weeks. So I did. And then I got busy and left it in for another week. I started the infusion on 2/21 so I thought it would be good to decant the vodka after 30 days which coincided with my one day off for several weeks (because of rehearsals for two shows and work and other such things). So, Saturday 3/21 arrived. I got my courage up and brought out the Vodka, and planned out my next steps. I realized that putting the vodka to infuse into a small-mouthed bottle wasn’t the wisest thing I had ever done. I was going to have to decant it. Then somehow remove the bacon in the bottle, then clean the bottle cause of all the congealed fat. My plan – take the bacony vodka concoction and pop it in the freezer to get the bacon fat and solids to congeal. Then I would filter it out through coffee-filters and a ricer-sieve.

The bottle after 30 days didn’t look all that different from the grossness that was it after 14 days. Cloudier maybe but the same congealed fat, and pale icky looking bacon. But would it be rancid? Only one way to find out: Pop the cap and remove the bacon fat plug in the neck. Eeesh.

I was pleasantly surprised (and relieved) to open the bottle and not be hit by revolting odors – it smelled of bacon. I scooped out the plug of bacon fat and set it aside. [yes I took a picture of that too].

Gross. I then decanted the vodka into another 360 bottle, leaving the vodka-soaked bacon behind.

The liquid still had a lot of solids in it as you can see. It was a cloudy amber color (it actually looks quite a lot like West African Palmwine). It had a really nice bacon smell. I fished the bacon out of the first bottle and set it aside. I tried  a small piece of it – yuk! It was spicy but not at all salty and was just strange. I ended up putting the bacon out on the back porch for the various animals that come and forage (we have a family of raccoons and a family of possums that eat up all the catfood in the night). I actually didn’t think anyone would touch the stuff but in the morning it was all gone. I imagine there are some hungover critters sleeping it off today. Anyway, here is what all that looked like.

The vodka went into the freezer overnight. I really needed the fats to separate out. The night in the freezer did the trick and the next day after music rehearsal I went to work with my coffee filter/ricer sieve filtration system. I found that a double layer of cheap coffee filters worked the best – more than that and the liquid drained far too slowly, less and the fats still got through.

The top view of the coffee filter in the ricer, filled with ice cold vodka and bacon fat.  This was actually the bottom third of the container and there was a lot of bacon fat all congealed at that part. The first two thirds of the container was pretty clear of fats and only needed two passes through the filter. This bottom sludge took two more passes.

Drip, Drip, Drip. This took a bit longer than I expected – but the results of the filtration were well worth it. I ended up with a beautiful clear golden liquid.

Gorgeous isn’t it? It has a lovely bouquet of freshly cooked bacon no acridity at all. The taste? Full of bacon flavor with a spicy kick. It was actually really really good. I was shocked and thrilled!

Now – to the cocktail itself. I found an interesting recipe for a BLT martini on the interwebs which included romaine lettuce juice – that was the one for me. I am not a Bloody Mary or tomato juice fan – but for this meaty vodka I thought this would be just the thing. I juiced some Romaine Lettuce hearts (pulsed ‘em in the food processor with a tablespoon of plain vodka) and then ran the resulting pulp through cheesecloth. Voila! Green Lettuce Juice!

Romaine Lettuce Juice

For drink (1 oz)

Now to assemble the rest of the ingredients:

Bacon Infused Vodka (2 oz)

    Tomato Juice! (6 oz)

Tabasco Sauce (1 dash)

Salt and Pepper (To taste)

I used Sicilian Sea Salt and freshly ground peppercorns because I am pretentious like that. I am sure Morton’s and McCormick’s would work just fine.

Original Flavor Bacon Salt
(to rim the glasses)

After all of the filtering of the vodka, I was left with about two tablespoons or so of silky vodka infused bacon fat in the filter. What to do with that? Why, use it as the base to adhere the bacon salt to the the rim of the glass of course! Duh!

I just used a small smidge of fat around the mouth of the glass. Then I dipped the glass in the BaconSalt and put the glasses in the freezer to chill.

It made a really nice coating around the glass!

While I was waiting for everything to chill, I decided to throw together a caprese salad to have with the cocktails. I used some marinated mozzarella balls, fresh tomatoes, and fresh Thai basil I picked up at the local Asian Market (Kia Lee) to make curry later in the week. I prefer Thai basil to Italian -  I think the flavor is more subtle and the leaves are more attractive. So there. Anyway. I made some toasted pita rounds to go with the salad and act as the “bread” for the BLT cocktail. I also sliced up some Romaine Lettuce heart spears to act as a garnish for the drink. I suppose you could also use celery for that –but the lettuce seemed more in keeping with the BLT theme. Here’s the salad:

Pretty, right?

Now for the drink!

It turned out looking so cool. I used these great glasses I got about 25 years ago from Japan. They are these cool thin oval glasses and they were just perfect for this.

And here’s the drink and the salad all together.

The cocktail was awesome – the initial taste was of tomato and a splash of the lettuce flavor – and then the bacon flavor kicked in and left a spicy wallop at the end. It was really great. The salad complemented the drink really well, although I probably would have been fine with just a bunch of the pita rounds. I am not a big fan of tomato juice so I am going to be thinking of what other drinks I can make with the Bacon Vodka since it is so good. Maybe something with maple syrup flavors? Hmm…ponder ponder. Share any ideas you may have!

It was brought to my attention that having the photoshop file instead of just the GIF of the WITWisAkang do-it-yourself iage would be ever so much more helpful for the home user. So, as always, your wish is my command when I feel like it. Below is a link to the PSD file. Be creative! Be evil! Be good henchpeople! Go – create – multiply – post em. Happiness will ensue.

witwisakang

This is just because I like torturing Akang so much and he reacts so strongly and everything it just makes doing things like this soooo much fun. Anyway, there was this awesome picture of Akang that I did not take myself but he was making this very strange face off in the corner of this shot on someone’s facebook photo albums and it made me laugh. It also reminded me of some of those photo memes where the random person is inserted into various shots and much hilarity ensues. At any rate, I decided to cutout the Akang and insert him in random places and create my own little game of it. For those of you want to play along at home, or on facebook or whatever I have included at the end a version for you to take and create your own WITWis AKang shots of your own.  I won’t post all of the ones I made (so I admit it I was bored and it was fun) all at once. But here are some suggestions for your own creations.

Akang at World Monuments!        

Akang in History!

Akang Action Shots!

Akang sees A Kong!

Akang in Space!

Make your own!

One of my favorite people is Alex Kang. You may know him as the extra sleepy boy from my Facebook photo galleries. He has also been the podcasting voice of UC Merced; bartender par excellence for many a boozy college kid party; UC Merced alumnus;  webmaster extraordinaire; graphics designer of some renown; and a generally over-confident, frustrating, cocky, humble, charming, over-enthusiastic, hard-working, dedicated, inspiring, mockable, loveable, smackable young man. He is awesome, and at the same time completely jacked up in ways that only authentically good people can be. Anywho-I am enamored. He is one of those UC Merced student denizens, like mrngoitall, wizputer, ihsu, azncowcompactor, acauroroa, brydeezy, efferman, dsantiago, crispy, yaasha, lulu, and kimmy, who make what we do at UC Merced seem worthwhile. When I get down about what a mess UC Merced is and what a colossal life draining pit of deepest darkest hell it can be I draw strength and hope and cheer from these wonderful students and alumni who are why we do what we do and why we continue to work to be what we can be.  ANYWAY.

I had the great pleasure of having dinner and a movie over at the golfball pad the other night. Akang lives in one of those overbuilt under-occupied housing developments that litter Merced. Sad, incomplete developments of mini-mcmansions crunched up tightly to each other full of opportunistic carpetbagging absent landlords and overreaching hopeful economic victims. 3600 sq feet of now student housing next to empty lots with frayed copper cables and haphazardly capped plumbing pipes overgrown with shaggy weeds and not recently roto-tilled soil. If there is a ground zero of the economic morass of 2008 it is Merced. Greed and opportunity mixed together with the most atavistic new frontier american dream impulses – put it in the oven and you get these bridgeview, belleview ranch, fairstone, breachweather, hideous grasping ambitious soulsucking enclaves of mortgage hell. But that isn’t really the point here. We had Korean barbecue (really marinated slices of beef shortribs)—the recipe itself a rich  story of first generation Korean Immigrants seeking the American dream in a central valley restaurant experience that became a painful lesson in ambition unfulfilled. Eating that tender, flavorful beef prepared by this wonderful young man, so stricken with internalized oppression, such a product of what America is and so rightly proud of his family and accomplishments yet at the same time so deeply embarrassed by his origins and so unconsciously shaped by what he is, what he is expected to be, what he thinks he is versus what he really he is versus what he wishes people to see him as versus the culture/history/society that shapes him – well, it was a seminal meal. These slices of beef, prepared by this wonderful young man, from flesh soaked in a marinade created by his hardworking mother from a secret recipe much loved, so respected that it was the foundation for a restaurant that embodied the upwardly mobile hopes of this Korean immigrant, well educated, hard working, stiff-necked, proud, prideful, over-confident, wonderfully accomplished family – it was like taking in life and hope and desire and dreams.  It was taking in the hopes unfulfilled, the dreams deferred, the anger distilled. These slightly cold plates of sauteed beef, accompanied with white rice and steamed carrots and celery, an ascetic meal that was a history and a culture and family and an individual and a promise and a frustration and a failure on a smoked glass table haphazardly positioned next to an oversized over-pillowed sectional broken apart for comfort not function. We sat and ate, I brought  a bourgeoisie loaf of tiny wheat bread paired with creamy brie and an herbed sundried tomato goatcheese log. Pomegranate juice and water, Ketel one vodka and cointreau left untouched although chilled in the civilized manner deep in the freezer. We sat on stiff backed chairs in front of the overly large oldschool tube tv, left for the rental occupants by the absentee landlord. We sat and shared a meal of who we are and chose from a selection of DVD’s – a blockbuster, indie art house films, a bold thriller, foreign cinema –Hong Kong, Japan, Korea – brought by the pretentious cinephile to enlighten and entertain and impress and maybe even shame this wonderful young man. Of course it was the blockbuster the young man selected, a movie that in the not-seeing was a story of a burgeoning friendship and a test and a challenge and an obstacle overcome. A movie that was finally seen and enjoyed…some men just want to see the world burn and sometimes we say one thing and mean another, feel one thing and hide it, tamp it down, suppress it, and then let it burn. Ah well. The meal was one of hope and anger and family and love and hope and hurt and yearning and life. It was all this and more and all this and less. Awkwardly comfortable and suspiciously familiar. I had a wonderful time.

Also, Golfball pulled a package of eggs from this fridge, in this house he occupied late in the game, joined midstream, a house occupied by acquaintances, now left empty but for the wonderful young man. This package of eggs – with an expiry date of impossibility. The year imprinted on the edge of the styrofoam carton – October 25 1951. These farmfresh! double AA eggs, expired in 1951 – the same year Seoul was lost in Korea, the beginning of the stalemate that led to the the end of the conflict. the year of the Chinese  entry and major offensives, it was Heartbreak Ridge and Bloody Ridge and the October testing of nuclear weapons in Operation Hudson Harbor, the beginning of the end. 1951. The conflict that led to the immigrants, the conflict that led to this wonderful young man being here in this place at this time. The eggs nestled in their styrofoam carton, the eggs with the impossible expiration date of 1951, the remaining eggs, the wonderful young man tossed the carton into the stainless steel trash can. 1951? Surely they were beyond their useful life. What was cracked open in 1951 echoing now – even if the echo was unnoticed at the time. I had a wonderful time.

Edson picked up an armload of Starbucks gift boxes (containing assorted chocolate truffles and a bag of Starbuck’s Christmas blend coffee) regularly $8.00 he got them for .75 each – on top of which we used my Starbucks’s Gold Card for an additional 10% off. He ended up with 7 boxes so he got $60 worth of starbuck’s coffee and chocolate for $5.00. My gingerbread Latte cost more than that. Thumb’s up indeed.

Among the many things to ponder on this, the first day of 2009, is the 50th anniversary of the Cuban revolution. 50 years ago today Fidel Castro and his band of freedom fighters entered Santiago de Cuba as the dictator Batista fled the country. An extraordinary victory, regardless of your political leanings, that toppled a corrupt and decadent regime and ushered in a hopeful people-centered movement. Although the revolutionary government of Cuba is certainly not above reproach or criticism, it is also not the evil totalitarian regime some posit. Cuba is an extraordinarily complex place, and I won’t even pretend to attempt to deal with those complexities in  a brief blog post. I can say that I have traveled in Cuba on multiple occasions and met, performed with, studied with, learned from, partied with, and worked alongside her people. I saw a country of contradictions, freedoms, hopes, beauty, health, and knowledge. I experienced a country that is nothing like what you may picture in your head – or what you may have been led to believe by media portrayals.

I am not a media conspiracist but  I was once in Havana at the same time as some reporters from Time magazine. I spent time in the same neighborhoods, restaurants, hotels, tourist attractions, streets, and museums as they did. I enjoyed myself immensely. I met and talked freely with Cubans of all stripes. I danced with, drank with, and spent considerable time with Cuban citizens. I spoke with police and fisherman, students and professors, tour guides and shopkeepers. The Cubans were open, honest, forthcoming—and extraordinarily hospitable. No on in Cuba ever made the mistake of confusing an American with the policies of the American government. We engaged in frank and open dialogue and also had great fun (Cuban Rum is an entirely different creature than what passes as rum in the US, just sayin). Imagine my surprise when upon my return to the US, I read the ominous account of the Time reporters as they spoke of citizens afraid to speak openly, shadowy government handlers and oppressed citizens disheartened,  dispossessed, and disenfranchised. It was shocking. It was the complete opposite of the Cuba I experienced firsthand at exactly the same time as these reporters. Perhaps you see what you want to see—but I can say I have never been able to look at anything Time magazine writes since then without being extremely skeptical. I have experienced their lies firsthand. Anyway.

On a separate trip, I spent time in Santiago de Cuba, the home of the revolution and the site of the anniversary that is celebrated today. I was part of the first theatre production by a US university since the blockade, and we performed “Death and the Maiden”  in an international arts and music festival. The tale of that theatre production is a tragi-comedy for another post – but as part of that event we toured the historical sites of the revolution. I touched the bullet holes on the Granma, and I have chicken feathers from the Siboney farm tucked away amongst my keepsakes. I feel connected, however distantly, to the hopes and dreams for a better future that those young revolutionaries fought and died to achieve. We need not agree with all that happened afterwards, just as we need not agree with everything that the US government has done in the past 50 years. The post revolutionary society is a discussion for another time. I do agree, however, with the foundation of the revolution and the passion of those who fought for it– the desire for a more equal and just society.

The Plaza de la Revolucion is an impressive public square marked out by street signs  (and yes you can get coffee as well!). On one side is a large impressive ziggurat/tower monument bristling with antennae and listening devices,  on the other a massive sculpture of the iconic Che Guevara image outlined in steel on the side of a building.

One cannot ponder the Cuban revolution and not also ponder the constant efforts of the US to destroy it. It is long past time to end the ridiculous economic blockade of Cuba. Justice demands it.