Otter, if you're reading, this, I have to say, I'm still managing to have fun in Las Vegas.  And Last night I saw a Cirque du Soliel show, but not a "normal" one.  I saw Zumanity.

It's now my favorite.

There's lots of reasons.  It played to my weaknesses, which most certainly include acrobatics and the amazing things the human body is capable of.  It also includes good-spirited humor based on kitsch: there is a "clown" couple, GiGi and Ginger, who look like they walked out of a prom circa 1958 who are also sex therapists.  There is a drag queen Mistress of Ceremonies who is about 6' 7" and wears heels, making her about 7' tall.  There is a midget who does tissue work.  There is an amazing scene where a lithe woman dances on top of a T.V. with football playing, and essentially tries to woo the six men watching it in lieu of her.  There is an intense "cage match" between two men that is alternately violent and sensual.  There are beautiful bodies on display.  There are tits.  There is ass.

But what I love most about it is the fact that I sat next to some people I'd never met before who were old enough to be my parents, in a theater filled with people who'd I'd just assume were "square" and would disdain my relationship with Zman -- and indeed, there was a young guy behind me who objected to a guy -- a married guy in one of the sofa seats -- biting off a piece of banana held rather suggestively by one of the "clowns" after his wife did, but from whom I heard nothing else the rest of the night -- a theater, in short, of everybody.  And they loved it.

It gave me hope.

It also made me sad, because I miss Zman, and I wish he'd been on a love seat with me.

I'm in Las Vegas right now, at a training course for ASP.NET programming.  It was supposed to be held in San Francisco, but there weren't enough people.  So the company offering the course said they'd pick up my airfare and hotel.  So, um, yeah, okay! Happily, boss man agreed to let me go.  So . . .

 . . . that's where I'm staying.  It's not on the strip.  It's not actually really far from the strip, but amazingly, it's a $15 cab ride to the Strip.  Heh.  So, could a Mardi Gras themed casino be that bad? Yes, yes, it can.  In fact, it can be downright terrifying.  Alligators? Check.  Crawfish? Check.  Terrifying, garish masks? Oh, check, please!

What's scarier? I'm glad you asked.  How about a Cameron Diaz wax sculpture at Madame Tussaud's.  Okay!

Madame Tussaud might get cozy with Cameron, but I think she'd eat me after frying me with her lazer eyes.

Oh, for no reason, here's me in front of an artichoke.

I look slightly stunned, you say? Well, it was nothing compared to my first night here.  I don't gamble.  In fact, I hate it utterly.  Not in a "...Then you should too" sort of way.  Too many -- far too many -- of my personal hobbies are disdained for me to tell what other people should do with their time.  Mazel tov, gamblers.

But the other side of Vegas has always been the shows.  I've got tickets to Blue Man Group, Cirque du Soleil, and, tonight, I just saw Wayne Brady.

I don't idolize many performers, but given that I'm trying to succeed at improvisational theater, I can't help but be a little awed by Brady's skills.  If you've ever seen him on Whose Line Is It Anyway?, you know he's damn good, and does some really excellent singing improv, which, to me, is an absolute apex of improvisational ability.

Well, I got tickets for his show last night, and, for whatever reason, I was moved up in the theater.  To. Front. Row. Center.  Not only front row center.  But Apparently, I was in a VIP seat that included a meet-and-greet with. Wayne.  Brady!! AFTERWARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love and hate this picture.  I hate it, because it is not a flattering shot of me.  I'm starting to look my age, and that's kinda sad/annoying/wonderful.  I love it, of course, because that's Wayne Freaking Brady.  

 Wow, this is really sad.  Another Mel Brooks staple actor has passed away.  I can't think of a single thing Harvey Korman was in that didn't make me laugh. 

On the Carol Burnett Show, I remember his Erich von Stroheim bulter persona ("Max!") to Carol Burnett's Norma Desmond.  There was also a funny sketch where Tim Conway played a Royal Palace Guard to Queen Elizabeth II (Burnett) and Korman played her escort.  Conway was subbornly refusing to let the queen into her own palace, but the Queen urged Korman to go easy on the man, as he'd swallowed a live grenade and saved her life.  "Get out of town," Korman dryly replied to that in a simply hilarious and unreproduceable accent.  (The Queen proved it by opening Conway's mouth and shouting "Hellooo!" into it and hearing the canyon-esque echo return to them from his apparently hollow interior.

And of course, the Mel Brooks movies.  His unfortunately named villain of Blazing Saddles, Hedley Lamarr ("Headley! HEADley!") was camp evil personified.  His "cattle call" style auditions for other malefactors to attack the town was hilarious.  IMDB thoughtfully included the quote I remember:

[Bart, disguised as a Klansman, describes his qualifications as a villain]
Bart: Stampeding cattle.
Hedley Lamarr: That's not much of a crime.
Bart: Through the Vatican?
Hedley Lamarr: [smiling] Kinkyyyy. Sign here.

Also, his effete Count de Monet in History of the World, Part I. 

Count de Monet: My Lord, you look just like the piss-boy!
King Louis XVI: And you look like a bucket of shit!

And, lastly, for those that remembered, he was also the voice of the Great Gazoo from the Flintstones.

His list of credits are unsurprsingly huge. I'm thankful so much of his best stuff is still widely available.  Funny, funny man.  He'll be missed.

Back in the good old 1970s, I was a rabid young fanboy of a show called the Shazam! / Isis Power Hour. It was a Saturday morning, live-action super-hero show, that was actually on a bit later. I remember when it aired that it was like the last thing on the telly before either boring sports programs, or, way back, Space 1999. I knew after I’d watched it that it was about time to go outside and play or something.

I believe both shows' seasons are now on DVD.  I am sorely tempted.

Same-sex marriage ban in California deemed unconstitutional.

Here is the PDF of the Court's decision.

I'm still way behind on posting and photo-uploading.  My schedule is slowly reasserting itself.  But I had to post a recognition of this passing.

Mildred Loving was one half of the spousal couple whose married name is now part of Supreme Court history.  She was a black woman married to a white man, which in 1967 Virginia was still against the law.  Her own words on the 40th anniversary of Loving v.Virginia:

"The older generation’s fears and prejudices have given way, and today’s young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry. Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights. I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard’s and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That’s what Loving, and loving, are all about."

Most people today in 2008 can look back on this and ask "WTF?"  But, heck, I remember when seeing mixed racial couples on television was "groundbreaking."  The mixed race couple, Tom and Helen Willis, on The Jeffersons was considered edgy in its day:  they were the first mixed race couple portrayed in television.  (Trivia point:  the actress, Roxie Roker, who played Helen is Lenny Kravitz's mother).  That was 1975, only eight years after Loving.

I can only imagine what else might look funny to us in forty years.

I'm still way behind on posting and photo-uploading.  My schedule is slowly reasserting itself.  But I had to post a recognition of this passing.

Mildred Loving was one half of the spousal couple whose married name is now part of Supreme Court history.  She was a black woman married to a white man, which in 1967 Virginia was still against the law.  Her own words on the 40th anniversary of Loving v.Virginia:

"The older generation’s fears and prejudices have given way, and today’s young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry. Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights. I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard’s and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That’s what Loving, and loving, are all about."

Most people today in 2008 can look back on this and ask "WTF?"  But, heck, I remember when seeing mixed racial couples on television was "groundbreaking."  The mixed race couple, Tom and Helen Willis, on The Jeffersons was considered edgy in its day:  they were the first mixed race couple portrayed in television.  (Trivia point:  the actress, Roxie Roker, who played Helen, is Lenny Kravitz's mother).  That was 1975, only eight years after Loving.

I can only imagine what else might look funny to us in forty years.

Hi, checking in with you.  How are you? My sister and nephew visited last week, so you didn't see me much.  I have pictures.  They will be posted here "soon."

The relatives are gone and my other visitor is here.  Tworavens, Xanga Gadfly and old college friend of mine, is visiting San Francisco.  He's kindly giving me a couple of recovery days, but we're a-heading out to wine country this weekend.

To amuse you, here is a website that confirms my deepest suspicions:  Satanists for Republicans! Hee hee!

Quick post:  on Sunday, Jennconspiracy and I went to the Millennium Spring cooking class '08.  I won't go too much into it here, save to post a link to Albion Cooks, a blog written by a fellow student in the class who had her camera and took copious notes.

Note to self:  if I go again in May, I will need to sleep more the previous night.  It was seriously tiring.  It was a great experience and we did a whole heckuvua lot of cooking, were given lots of information, and had tons of practical, hands-on experience in the kitchen of the restaurant itself.

To quote from Albion Cooks:

The great thing about the Millennium classes is that the focus is not on following a specific recipe, but rather on learning how to cook, adjust, fix, embellish on the fly using creativity, knowledge, and technique. You learn better ways to prep and cut vegetables and are introduced to new ingredients and methodologies that really work.

There have been a few notable deaths the last few weeks, but there's one I wanted to write about here.  Someone totally unfamous.

My co-worker, Trish Flannery, passed away 14 March 2008.  When I first met her in my consulting days, she was a short, rather plump, red-haired woman with an English accent.  She was actually Irish, but had lived so long in the South, that she had no trace of a brogue.  She was very sweet and upbeat and bawdy.  A few years back, she'd had her stomach stapled to lose weight, and it worked remarkably well.  The plump woman I knew had positively shrunk down to a slender, modern-yet-femme-d'une-certaine-age* lady.

Not long thereafter, she was diagnosed with cancer and took an extended leave of absence while she underwent chemotherapy.  It was unexpected and she was unprepared for it.  I donated some of my leave time to her account, so she had an income while she recovered from this ordeal.

She managed to recover from cancer, and it went into remission.  But there were more battles in store:  she came into conflict with her landlord and was to be evicted from her basement apartment south of Market.  Her pets also died around this time.  It was a bad year and a half for her, and I remember her going through it, marvelling how someone could remain determined and positive and still crack jokes about it after having gone through an immensely draining healing.  She swatted away all of this adversity and landed a splendid place in the East Bay. Soon enough, she even had some feline companionship show up on her doorstep.

For a couple of years, I'd helped her with her taxes.  Nothing much.  We'd go over her forms and I'd use TaxCut on my laptop, and enter her data, and file the record with the IRS.  As a thank you, she'd take me out to Basil Thai restaurant on Folsom Street, near to our workplace and a couple of streets away from where she used to live.

Less than a year ago, she went to the doctor to see about some abdominal pain she was having.  It wasn't from her previous surgery.  Her cancer had come out of remission.

She was more prepared this time and began chemo again, but a few weeks ago, she retired from UCSF and moved back to England to be close to her family.  Without anyone actually saying so, it was pretty clear to me she was going back to die. 

We had a retirement party for her, which I distinctly remember as being awkward.  It was awkward not because of the unspoken diagnosis we all had reached privately -- she was very thin and the drugs had left her slow and groggy, but they did seem to minimize her pain.  It was awkward because I remember how distant people seemed to stay from her.  There were hugs of greeting and such, and we'd given her a crown and scepter of plastic to acknowledge the royal place she held in our hearts.  But people stood so far back from her.  I supposed they wanted to remember her sitting on her "throne," with some fake ermine, but I parked myself right next to her.  The Trish I knew liked proximity and hubbub.  It sort of helped break the bubble, and some others drifted more closely, but the discomfort of the tableau stands out in my mind.  When I bade goodbye, I hugged her, gently, and rubbed her back through the sweater that hung off of her wasted frame.  "Ooo, some more of that, please!" she said, and her sister, who was at the party and in San Francisco to help her move, laughed and called her incorrigble, which she most certianly was.  I knew I was right to keep close to her.

She passed away in a hospice, but had been closely looked after by relatives, whom she'd used to visit at least once a year.  We never went out for that last taxes dinner.

Trish: you owe me a dinner. 

I hope I can get Thai and Gewurtztraminer in heaven.

Requiescant in pace.

* Unrelated note:  I love this phrase and wanted to cite it for those who hadn't heard it.  Funny enough, the first citation was in the NYT, but the women it mentions, Sidney Wade and Deborah Greger, are UF writing teachers, the latter of which instructed my final year's 4000 level poetry writing class.