radiopeter

From this:

To this:

To this:

And FINALLY to these!!!

1 year, 5 months, and 23 days

A lunchtime trip to Merz. I’m gonna smell good tonight!

Is twitter.com/AndersonCooper the real Anderson Cooper?

Hrm. I hope so.

A much deserved nod to the costumes. And a set mention *giggle*.

The Sun Times loves the performers, but not the script…

Time Out dishes on Die Mommie Die.

It ain’t great, but it ain’t bad either.

I’m in the habit of trolling WTTW Digital for HDTV content for my new-ish television. I’m amazed as ever that TV can look so beautiful. Not that I necessarily need to learn about the mating habits of ostriches, but hey, the glow of HDTV still hasn’t worn off on me.

While sifting through the online guide, I came across a series on PBS called Carrier, which is a jaw-dropping intimate look inside the lives of the men and women aboard the USS Nimitz, an Naval aircraft carrier. The ten hour film follows the crew of over 5,000 on a six month tour. The honesty and candor of the people who interact with the camera is amazing, including one young man who does nearly everything short of coming right out of the closet during a segment on “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”.

Admittedly, I’ve considered joining the Navy about a half-dozen times in my life. Even today I think about it. I might be a bit long in the tooth, but I have a heavy information technology background and I know technologists are welcome in nearly every sector of the military. Plus I’m a polyglot which has to count for something.

Are you surprised? Don’t be. I honestly think serving in the military is one of the most honorably American things a person can do. Maybe someday I’ll work for the government, and maybe someday I’ll even be a part of the American military. The only problem I see is getting it started. How would it all come together?

I’ve often thought that when I dropped out of college I could have enlisted and made a career out of it. Of course, hindsight is always 20-20, but the thought is there in the back of my mind. Where exactly would I be today if I’d joined?

I’m looking forward to the rest of Carrier, mostly because the voices of the people aboard that ship, the voices of people who chose to enlist, should be heard more often. Everyone is all wrapped up in what The White House is doing without really listening to the actual people involved.

We all have stories to tell, but we all need to make time to listen.

Our first full-swing week of performances went exceedingly well from my vantage point. The cast is settling into their performances, the run time is getting tighter, and the pacing is evening out. 99% of that is getting accustomed to an audience and their reactions. The other 1% is relaxing enough to enjoy the work.

My personal routine is falling into place as well. The pre-show work is methodical and steady, and there is sort of a zen thing when I’m in the theater before everyone arrives. I still love the set every time I look at it, and sort of foolishly beam with pride. It wasn’t my invention, but as part of a team we made that happen. Damn good feeling.

While the performances were great, outside of the theater my life isn’t used to doing four shows a week yet. It’ll take another week or so to fit everything together to where I don’t even notice the time flying by. The only problem is the to-do list in my house is exceedingly long and approaching the danger zone.

My unpainted bedroom is laughing at me every time I lie down to sleep. There is still a mess in the living room that I have to deal with, and my kitchen has seen better days. Not to mention the gigantic television box still on my balcony and I have yet to plan the garden for my back deck.

So tonight, if I don’t collapse, I’ll be playing catch-up.

It’s Easter time. Get out your red eggs. Oh wait, you ξένοι have already celebrated the rising of the Lord with marshmallow peeps, chocolate, and pastel colored eggs. Well I got news, mah peeps sez teh Lord rizes dis Sunday! Srsly. Why? Well let me tell you.

Greek Easter, a primer for the ξένοι.

In the Orthodox faith, the holiest of the holies is the Resurrection of Christ. Bigger than the Birth of Jesus, the Resurrection represents the largest and most involved holiday of the Orthodox calendar. I’ll quote Wikipedia here because they do a brilliant job of distilling the significance of the day.

Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was crucified and died, descended into Hell (Hades in Greek), rescued all the souls held there through sin; and then, because Hell could not restrain the infinite God, rose from the dead, thus saving all mankind. Through these events, he released mankind from the bonds of Hell and then came back to the living as man and God. That each individual human may partake of this immortality, which would have been impossible without the Resurrection, is the main promise held out by God in his New Testament with mankind, according to Orthodox Christian tradition.

That’s a pretty big deal if you ask me.

Whether or not you believe in God, the moral of my tale today is to understand WHY we Greeks make a big deal out of Easter, and not to explain the belief system of the Orthodoxy. I don’t think I could ever do that.

There are three basic criteria for determining the date Orthodox Easter. First, it must be based on the Julian Calendar, not the Gregorian. I’m not going to explain the difference between the two, but that’s how it is. Julian, not Gregorian.

Second, Orthodox Easter must follow Passover. There is a complex explanation behind this fact that has to do with the vernal equinox, the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D., the dispersal of the Jews, and a lot of other complex history which I haven’t studied in years. Needless to say, Orthodox Easter follows Passover.

Third and final rule is that Orthodox Easter must fall on the Sunday of the first full moon after the spring equinox. A little contentious that rule is, given Gregorian vs. Julian, but it’s a rule nonetheless, despite how you determine the equinox. It’s *usually* dated around March 20something.

Got all that?

Given how the calendars converge and diverge (Julian = Orthodox, Gregorian = Christianity) at times we share the same Easter Sunday. And some years, like this one, we are over a month away from each other. Bad news for all the little Greek kids in the US because there is no Easter candy left by this time, unless their Moms decided to horde candy during the 50% off sale the day after Easter.

Anyway.

Today is Holy Friday, when mourning happens all over the Orthodoxy. We are mourning the death of Jesus on the cross. Nearly every Greek community will parade around their parish, raising an effigy of Christ that represents his dead body. That’s a traffic tip for all of you who live near an Orthodox church. I’m not sure if the other flavors of the Orthodoxy do the parade, but the Greeks definitely do.

By tomorrow, Holy Saturday, the mood has lifted and people are preparing for the biggest church service of them all. Tomorrow night, me included, Greeks will flock to church for the service that begins at 11:00pm. The ritual chanting, the incense, the ceremony of it all is beyond beautiful, and at midnight we celebrate the rising of the Lord with a candle ceremony where all the lights are extinguished in the church. Then, as the flame of resurrection blazes to life, it is passed from parishioner to parishioner (who all hold candles) until everyone has shared the flame. We sing together, and celebrate the rising of the Lord.

Holy Sunday is party time. More church, more celebration, more feasting. Good times.

There are a couple key words you can share with your Greek friends. Right now, before the midnight mass on Saturday, we say “Kali Anastaci” which means “Good Resurrection”. But after He is risen, we greet each other with “Christos Anesti!” and respond with “Alithos Anesti!” “Christ is risen!” and “Indeed, He is Risen!” That sort of talk goes on for a week or so, maybe longer depending on who you see.

I have many more tales to tell about Orthodox Easter, but for now, I’ll wish you Kali Anastaci.

I am, dear readers, a foodie. Without the snobbish connotations associated with that word, of course. Food is what brings us together and what makes us human. No other animals on the planet cultivate food the way we do. If they did, you can be sure I’d be clamoring to sit at their dinner table and taste what they have to offer.

Somehow growing up in Chicago gave me an adventurous palette. Could have been the fact that I took my first steps in my Dad’s restaurant. Could have been the eating adventures Mom and I would go on when I was the only child left at home. Or it could just be my Aqueerian nature. Whatever the case, Chicago provided the backdrop for the adventures.

I learned to eat with chopsticks at a very young age. I was never afraid of fish being served head-on. Entrails, liver, offal, and generally any animal or vegetable were passed before me and I partook. The only taboo to this day that has held up is shrimp. I used to have a mortal fear of mushrooms until I tasted something other that the canned dark-taupe limp variety. I wouldn’t eat raw onion. And I disliked raw tomato. But today I eat everything, and I mean everything, except shrimp.

Exotica was the shiznit for a while in my book. Snake (delish!), alligator (watery but good, amphibian tasting like frog), snails (eh, the sauce is the highlight), guinea pig (it’s divine!), raccoon (not bad, not good, meaty), ostrich (Raw Bar has the best), buffalo (Heartland’s buffalo chili is beyond), and the list goes on and on. Blood cake stew with intestines (smoky and deliciously chewy), steamed pork-fat (my new obsession), virtually anything Japanese, raw and cooked, and basically anything spicy on the Korean table is ok by me. Just not live baby octopi because when I ate one, it stuck to the inside of my cheek and squirmed too much.

Vegetables of every kind amaze me. Burdock, the newest thing I’ve been playing with, is flawless when done right as a flavoring agent. You can even eat it, but the prep is a bit much for me. Squashes and tubers, greens and beans, fruits and nuts, I’m all about it. Everything is an adventure in the kitchen these days.

I likes to eat. I does.

Food is also history, culture, religion, language, relationships, and ultimately in my world food = love. There is nothing more comforting or more satisfying than sharing a meal with my family or the people I care for. Dinner with friends is what I enjoy most in life, and cooking fills me up like nothing else.

I also find that men who enjoy eating are incredible in bed.

I’ve said this to many people, but the way you eat is the way you act between the sheets. This theory has consistently held true for the men in my life, past and present. If you want to know about how a potential lover will act, share a meal. Watch how he eats. It’s a 1:1 sign of how he behaves in bed.

But back to my point.

I’m right on the edge of releasing something massive onto the internets, and I’m close folks. Real close to making it happen. But, the foodie on the inside of my brain learned about Community Supported Agriculture last year, and I planned to make it happen this Summer.

A CSA is basically a farm, or group of farms, that allow you to purchase a ’share’ in their crops. Depending on the way the CSA works, you usually get regular deliveries of fresh produce. As you can imagine, there are quite a few out there, but after doing my internets research and checking around, I settled on Home Grown Wisconsin.

They offer a pick-up just a block from my house, and the price is right. Every other week for 20 weeks, I’ll get a box of veggies, a dozen farm fresh eggs, a pound of cheddar and a half pound of specialty cheese. All made by a cooperative of farms in Wisconsin, all for $515.

There is a full-share option, but I’m single and don’t think I can manage a box of veggies every week on my own, so I went with the half-share option, plus the eggs (I’m totally a baker) and the cheese because really, who doesn’t like cheese?

Thus far, I think this will be one of the more challenging food tasks I’ve set myself on. Random veggies showing up every other week, deciding what to do with them, learning to cook new things, dealing with a cheese overload, and baking up a storm with farm fresh eggs are all the tasks at hand.

June 11th, it begins.

Yes, yes, I watch the pithy madness known as America’s Next Top Model. Seriously, it’s because I like the fashion shoots. Something magical in the whole process that I’ve adored since I was a little kid. Hair, makeup, set, lighting, the theatrics.

Playing dress up was always fun for me.

So last night I pop on the television after a fabulous dinner at Ethiopian Diamond with my friend Jen, and settled in to a new episode of ANTM. Six girls down to five, the rocker-chick (Lauren), the ditz (Anya), the Slavic goddess (Katarzyna), the drag queen (Dominique), pseudo-Iman (Fatima), and the plus sized pageant queen (Whitney) were all still standing a the top of the show.

I honestly love Katarzyna. She has such a femme fatale look, I can instantly picture her in BeBe ads and the haute couture catwalks all at the same time. Very Thierry Mugler she is. A corset and a beret would put her over the top I think.

Anyway, as the show is opening the girls are off to Italy for their final few challenges. Whitney, who has actually been one of my favorites since the beginning because a) she’s beautiful and reminds me of Emme, and b) she seems to know enough about the world to make it, is on camera first. Then she drops this high-larious pearl of wisdom:

Because I am a plus sized model, it’s a huge deal I’m here. No pun intended.

Thank heavens for DVR’s because I had to pause the show I was laughing so hard. Oh Whitney, able to make fun of yourself and be comical at the same time? I loves you. I loves Katarzyna more, but you’re my new #2.

The episode was, in a word, meh. But Lauren got her ass booted off because when she speaks (or walks) she isn’t what the Tyrant wants in a top model. Hella good pictures, just not the ANTM mold. Which, if you ask me, needs reworking…

Over the weekend I managed to squeeze in a midnight show at The Music Box with my friend Jane. I’d been to her shop Barberella for a haircut and she told me about this movie called Teeth.

vagina dentata is the latin term for toothed vagina.

It’s a myth that has persisted across many global cultures and years of human history. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s origins are either men afraid of castration or powerful women.

Either way, Teeth is a movie about one such girl.

The film, a B-movie horror flick directed by Mitchell Lichtenstein, is rather genius. The plot devices are as obvious as can be, and the gory effects are there mostly to shock you, but what worked so well in the film was the style of the whole thing from start to finish.

I don’t want to give up too much of the movie because I can’t recommend seeing it enough. Cinematographer Wolfgang Held paired nicely with the director, and the look and feel of the film was so tight that even when you were looking at a sight gag (and there are many) it fit. Despite it’s B-movieness, this one is so on my wishlist when it drops on DVD I can’t wait.

I look forward to more work by Mitchell Lichtenstein.

* that’s the film’s tagline

After what can only be described as a week of personal hell with tons of house drama (broken windows, drywall repairs that took forever, construction crews in my living space freaking out my cats) and a week of incredible joy working on the previews for Die! Mommie, Die!, we opened last night.

And we opened pretty flawlessly I must say. The show ran eerily smooth from start to finish. Even the acid trip sequence, the heaviest tech scene we have, went well. And a good thing at that because there were tons of press in the audience along with the Jeff committee.

Sadly I couldn’t make it to the opening night soirée at Joey’s because I had a very early start at work this morning, but I’m sure everyone was thinking what I was thinking:

We frickin’ rocked the house.

So this morning when my iPhone began to ring with the sounds of e-mails filling my inbox, it was no surprise when David sent the cast & crew and note saying we’d been Jeff Recommended. We’re not on their website yet, but the recommendation is in.

I’m proud to be a part of the production. But above all, I’m happy that my friends are being recognized for their true talents. It’s a major win for Handbag and honestly, accolades aren’t everything, but when the community says “Hey, good job!” it really does feel good.

Congrats everyone!

Have I really been off for three days? Nope, not really. Despite taking some vacation days at work I’ve been at the bailiwick more than anywhere else. Cheryl (our director for Die Mommie), Brian (our stage manager) and I have been working closely to make the stage and the production look just-so. Of course the actors and the other ensemble kids have certainly had their hand in it (duh, they’re the ones on stage) but the six eyes between the three of us have been looking, seeing, feeling, and changing everything. This photo is just about the last incarnation of the set. It’s slightly different, and I’ll get a better pic of the new one soon.

It’s been fun to work on the show but I’m drained at the moment. Our previews went really well and the odds and ends that inevitably appear during previews came out in the wash, but I have a great feeling about getting this run polished during this next week.

Seriously tho, I need a vacation from my vacation. And there is no such thing in my future, so it’s back to the grind for me tomorrow.

I found out last night that another one of my friends is positive. It wasn’t a sit-down conversation about it, but it came to light while we were talking. He thought I knew, and I hadn’t a clue.

It’s still sinking in today, and I don’t know how I feel, if I should feel, or what I should feel. The thing that boggles my mind is that he thought I knew. Given another situation where I found out about a former close friend’s status (who’s friendship ended poorly for a million reasons) this marks the second time I’m the last to know.

I’m not hurt, just puzzled. I wanted to ask why and how and when, but neither the time nor the place was apropos of the subject. It was, for me, a stark reminder of how secrets become truths with just a few words.