Left Overs and Yet to Haves

I could be wrong. I have been before, I've been told. But I think... I think (in fact, I'm pretty sure) that this was my first Thanksgiving away from home -- "home" being where my mother bastes a turkey, mashes potatoes, and bakes fantastic homemade rolls. Because I am in San Diego, I was unable to pop over to the homestead for a munch on the well-familiar goodies that have marked each year of my life thus far. And it's just as well. It turns out that this year my mother didn't host Thanksgiving dinner at all. She visited my brother's home, which became the holiday hub for the families of my brother and his wife. It was one-stop shopping for the kids, I guess, and a little break (or, at least, a lot of help) for the grandmothers. Good for everyone. But if this is the beginning of a new tradition, with my brother deep-frying a turkey in his driveway, then I've seen the last of the only family tradition that had thus far survived his marriages and procreation. Change is good, I hear; but as life keeps moving on without me, I suppose it's time to start initiating some changes of my own. As soon as I figure out what they need to be.

In the meantime...

This year, I spent the holiday with Orrick's family, who warmly and kindly welcomed me in. The food was as good and as familiar as if it had come from my own mother's kitchen and I was very thankful not to find an awkward difference. Orrick's mother even made a special (delicious) dessert just for me after overhearing me cry "I love all things pumpkin!" over a CostCo sample days earlier -- a pumpkin sheet cake with cream cheese icing. Though I have since uncovered the recipe, Orrick insists that, after a large chunk of it came home with us, we've had enough cake for a while.

What we did not have, however, were our own holiday leftovers. On Friday, our refrigerator looked like this:

There was no day-after turkey from which to make sandwiches, no stuffing to reheat, no cranberry to crumble, no olives to catch Elwood-style from my brother Jake's pitch....

HOLD ON A MINUTE! Now that I think of it, there were no food-throwing antics at all! EIN MINUTEN BITTE! Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up! Methinks I've missed a vital holiday move.

Bah.

All in all, it was a nice holiday (made even better with the arrival of puppies!), but I hope that when Dad comes back to California, he's not all turkeyed-out. Because I've got an 11 pound fella in the freezer just waiting for him.

Bwah-hah-hah!

Awwww. I'm Pink, Even

I was going to leave these test things alone for a little while... but I just couldn't resist posting THIS little result.

Your Monster Profile

Wicked Strangler You Feast On: Armadillos You Lurk Around In: The Hearts of Men You Especially Like to Torment: Priests

What's Your Monster Name?

Munching on armadillos and tormenting priests? I'm in! And look... ain't I cute?

Only MOSTLY Nice?

You Were Mostly Nice This Year!

Sure, you had your naughty moments... but guess what? Santa was probably sleeping when you were living it up. As far as he's concerned, you've been on your best behavior. So cross your fingers, and you might score good presents.

Were You Naughty or Nice This Year?

You know what you do when she's only MOSTLY nice?

You go through her pockets and look for loose... coal.

Good Lord... Noooooooooo!

Your Christmas is Most Like: A Very Brady Christmas

For you, it's all about sharing times with family.Even if you all get a bit cheesy at times.

What Movie Is Your Christmas Most Like?

But Mom's Was Worth Nearly Twice That!

Your Life Is Worth...

$478,000

How Much Is Your Life Worth?

That Says It All

God knows I'm not political.

But I couldn't help laughing when I saw this.

Proof that the political system is working EXACTLY the way it was meant to.

And now about that bridge....

Happy Thanksgiving.

Pardon Me, CV

Working on a little archiving project (of which, if I may say, I am very proud), I was compiling my list of works and realized once again that a life in theatre is a truly schizophrenic one.

While living the quiet life of Kelly – an unmarried daughter/sister/friend who earns her modest living behind a mic/on a stage/through a pen – I’ve also lived a host of entirely different lives on stage.

I've been a mother, a mother-in-law, a sister, a wife, a dead wife, a mistress, and a murderess. I’ve been a good witch and a bad aunt. I’ve been a peasant, a lady, and a queen. I’ve been a corporate leader, a news reporter, a sports writer, and a waitress.

I’ve been a lesbian, a transvestite, and even a man. Under these guises, I’ve taken the names of Glinda, Vanessa, Peg, Howard, Samantha, Margo, and Hattie; Ethel, Barbara, Mavis, Clara, Betty, Chris, and Miranda; Jenny, Hazel, Doris, Elvira, Olive, and Linda; Mariella, Theresa, Ruth, Augusta, and a host of others long forgotten.

And I’ve met some interesting characters along the way.

Oliver asked for more. Kate was kissed. Joseph wore a colorful coat. Marsha thought she’d be murdered. Ellie led the pack. Sam played it again. Alice had a name which started with "A." Anne wrote a diary. Agnes gave birth. Clarence went to court. Rita was educated. Santa lost a Christmas. Mrs. Markham moved over. Ernest learned a vital importance. And John Garfield… well, he doesn’t exist.

A Fair Lady, two Sleeping Beauties, and a Wiz have met Sergeants, various Odd Couples, and many Blithe Spirits. Ten little Indians, a Boy who gets the Girl, a Gentleman & a Scoundrel have met wives to be Run For and wives who Begin at 40.

And I’ve heard Rumors that these characters have come – from moony Buffalo, Graceland, and Greater Tuna – to familiar stages (perhaps thinking I Ought to Be in Pictures) carrying only Love Letters, and Laundry & Bourbon (for the weather may prove a Bone Chiller that pains the Extremities) as each seeks his Super Gift from Heaven. Lowering their guards only at meals, they often forget they’ve been told “Don’t Drink the Water,” and find that The Dining Room becomes The Murder Room at jealous hands. Alas, not all characters stand the test of time.

Unless, of course, they are anally archived by me.

Bah! Hum...

Weather for San Diego, CA
75°F Clear



That, my Tennessee (45°F Overcast) friends, is the reading at the very coastal Lindberg Field today. It's a good ten degrees warmer inland. I discovered this after making the very wrong decision that, as it is mid-November, I should grab a jacket on my way out the door to the market this morning. Ooh baby: wrong decision! It's hot in these thar hills!

Due to the recent balmy weather, I had been blissfully ignorant of the fact (or at least of the ramifications of the fact) that it was mid-November at all until THIS little wake-me-up arrived in my e-mail inbox Tuesday, heralding the opening of the Barn's Christmas show.

CHRISTMAS SHOW??? CHRISTMAS? REALLY? CHRISTMAS SHOW? ALREADY? YOU MEAN IT'S... MID-NOVEMBER?!? Omigod.

Check's in the mail. Love ya. Mean it. Merry Christmas. Gotta run.

When in the world did this happen? It was bad enough that Halloween came and went without the requisite orange lights, kids in costume, and pumpkin guts... but Halloween has never really registered on my mental calendar anyway. Whether as a vocation or an avocation, I see people playing dress-up almost every day. On Halloween, they're just a shorter cast of characters.

And now they tell me that Thanksgiving is just a week away. WHAT? No, no, no. See, I should be wearing scarves and mittens by the time Thanks-giving rolls around. It is not, I repeat, NOT supposed to look like this!

This, dear California friends, is JUNE to the rest of the country.

Christmas, schmistmas. No friggin' way.

Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!

La Apartment is at it again. Beep. Beep. Beep. The fire alarms are screaming. Beep. Beep. Beep. Have been all morning. Beep. Beep. Beep. Constantly. Beep. Beep. Beep.

There is no fire. Beep. Beep. Beep. There has never been a fire when these things scream. In fact (beep beep beep) today we are actually seeing a light sprinkle. Beep. Beep. Beep. Perhaps the alarm is confused by the wet.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kill. Me. Now.

The beep-beep-a-bulation as it yells, yells, yells, yells, yells, yells, yells!!!!

Anyone have a match?

Birthday, N'Awlins Style

Last week, Orrick's father celebrated his 80th birthday. On Saturday, the entire family met for a birthday feast. Orrick Senior hails originally from Louisiana and his birthday fare reflected that: Orrick's sister Susan carted over the red beans and rice; Orrick and I carried in the jambalaya; and his brother Scott brought forth a couple of dogs. Two out of three ain't bad.

Now, although I also "hail" from the south, I have to say that I'd only tried jambalaya once (in a Monteagle Mountain restaurant) and at the time I didn't like it; so what inspired me to offer to make a pot of it for this occasion is quite beyond me. However, as I was tossing various sausages and chicken parts in one pot and sauteeing a Trinity of onion, pepper, and celery in another pot with shrimp and spices, I was struck with a wonderful aroma and a great hunger. When the dish was served the following day, it was a hit. Even I liked it.

Lately, when I've finished serving a successful original dish, I've e-mailed the "recipe" to my mother. I've heard rumors that she's forwarded these recipes once or twice, but I've yet to hear that she's actually tried one herself. So this time, instead of sending my recipe off to die in her inbox, I've decided to post it here. May you try it and enjoy.

The first thing you need to know is that I don't measure anything; I do everything "to taste." I'll try to supply a few approximations, but if you need accurate measurements, then stop reading right now.

What you'll need:
2 chicken breasts
1 ring of kielbasa
2 or 3 Hot Italian sausages (casing removed)
1 pound fresh (skinned, deveined) shrimp
1 TBSP Olive Oil
1 TBSP Flour
1 can tomatoes
2 tsp. Worcestershire
1 medium onion
2 cloves garlic
1 green pepper
2 celery stalks
1 c. rice/2 c. water
8 drops Tabasco/Hot Sauce (or to taste)
Spices to taste: oregano, basil, chili powder

If you're familiar with jambalaya, you may notice that I substituted Polish and Italian sausages for the more traditional andouille. It's what I had on hand, and was preferred.

How I Did It (Your Experience May Vary):
In one pot, cook the chicken and sausages (cut to bite-size pieces) in the oil on high heat. Saute the onion, garlic, pepper, and celery in a second pot with more oil and a bit of flour for thickening. (Because I'm not experienced with cooking shrimp, I opted to add them to this pan, on the lower heat). When the meats are thoroughly cooked and the veggies soft, spice both pots with oregano, basil, and lots of chili powder. Then mingle the pots, adding about 8 drops of Louisiana Hot Sauce, a can of tomato, and the Worcestershire. Let simmer on low for about 45 minutes.

Traditionally, one would add the rice and water before simmering, to let the rice take on the flavor of the stew and mingle into the dish. However, as I was cooking a day earlier than the dish would be eaten, I opted to make the rice later so that it would not become soggy overnight. To mingle the flavors on Saturday, then, I reheated the stew and replaced a portion of the plain water needed for cooking the rice with an equal portion of broth from the stew (the portion would depend on how much rice you're making, say about a third of the overall liquid). The result was a sticky, flavorful rice, perfect for ladling the stew over.

Because I was cooking for a crowd of unknown palates, I kept the spice to a minimum, but the Italian sausage and Hot Sauce provided nice heat. More sauce, pepper, or chili powder could, of course, be added to taste.

And there you have it: my jambalaya recipe. I hope you enjoy it. Or, at least, that you'll think about it on your next trip to Taco Bell.

; )

Deja Vu All Over Again

The show was cast. The cast met for a first reading of the script. The reading went well and the cast mingled. The rehearsal schedule was formed around conflicts, and first rehearsal was slated for November 6th. On the date of the first rehearsal, the cast was informed we'd lost an actor. The girl cast to play Cecily had jumped ship for a role at another theatre. If those of you playing the home game think this sounds a bit familiar, you are right. In my last show, an actress was cast and arrived at first-read as Elvira, and then jumped ship for another role. It was, in fact, the same actress. So, once again, the first days of rehearsal will be spent in auditions to replace her.

This cast is well ahead of schedule, arriving off-book to rehearsal, so the disruption is only a minor hiccup. In fact, during last night's readings I came to the amusing realization that one scene in this show could easily be subtitled "The Importance of Being Izzard." (Never mind that Wilde came many, many years before.)

In "Dress to Kill," Eddie Izzard tells us that everyone lies:

When we're kids, we lie our heads off! "I didn't do it! I
didn't do it! I was dead at the time! I was on the moon...with Steve."

And your dad's going, "I haven't even accused you of anything yet!"

"Well then what is it? What is it? What? What?"

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"No! Yes! What's the correct answer? I was dead at the time!"

Then Eddie goes on to say that when we're more mature, we "do start telling the truth, in odd situations."

"I'm sorry, I've broken a glass. I've broken this...is that expensive? I broke it...I'll pay for that."

And you do that so that people in the room might go, "What a strong personality that person has. I like to have sex with people who have strong personalities."

And this reminds me rather of our lord Jesus....

No, I'm sorry. Not Jesus. The show. Earnest. That's it. Wilde used a similar device:

You... are my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.

Oh! I am not really wicked at all.... You mustn't think that I am wicked.

If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in a very inexcusable manner. I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.

Oh! Of course I have been rather reckless.

I am glad to hear it.

In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in my own small way.

... And I've broken other things! I've smashed that... and that's gone... and I've just thrown the cat out the window!

Good. I'm glad you're coming with me on that. Yes, so, um, uh, this is all true. And, um, so, yes.

Where was I?

With more than ample time (and two holidays) before our January opening and no less than four new girls vying for the now-available role of Cecily, the show will not be harmed by the loss.

The question remaining, then, is how you'll feel about Jack/John/Ernest having a "town" home in New York and a "country" house which seems to be in Florida, where his young ward is left (now several thousand miles away) to study the "thoroughly respectable" language of Germany so soon after the second world war. And never mind that he was given the last name of Worthing in honor of the seaside resort in Sussex to which the man who found him in a handbag had a rail ticket. Obviously, for our 1950's American purposes, Sussex is a county in New Jersey which is not landlocked.

The shift from Victorian England to America on stage was made to avoid bad accents. Interestingly, though, new accents have evolved. Our "reverend" (not Doctor) Chasuble has a thick Southern Baptist drawl. Our Miss Prism is pulling hard from the Latino culture. And my "Mrs." (not Lady) Bracknell is well... a bit of a Yenta. Lord help us when all those accents meet on stage in collision worthy of Reeses' peanut butter cups! "You got your drawl in my Jewish!" "You got your Jewish on my drawl!"

In the meantime, though, it seems like it's going to be great fun.

I'll keep you posted.