A View from the Parking Lot

So it's that time of year when I'm in and out of my car constantly, to one sister's house for Christmas Eve, to my brother's in-laws' house for Christmas Day, to my other sister's house for family gift day tomorrow...and every time I get out of my car, which I leave in the parking lot across the street from my house, I see the Sacred Heart Church.

Abandoned. Empty. Decrepit. Cold. Lifeless. Dead.

And I wonder why nobody ever told me this might happen.

And I wonder if I should be angry.

Or sad.

Or understanding.

Or all of the above.

I think all of the above is what I am, although understanding sits very low on that particular list of reactions. I understand, because it's very clear to me why the church building is no longer viable. There are all kinds of variations and tangents of explanation that can be applied to this issue. I'm going with "mismanagement."

Not of this building in particular. I think it was managed quite well over the years by a number of different men who took their responsibility seriously. Middle-managers who were probably, in a lot of cases, much smarter than their superiors, but because one of the principal functions of their position was to obey, and because they were responsible individuals who took their job seriously, they obeyed.

And look what happened.

So when I step out of my car in the parking lot, and when I look at the church building and the convent to its right and the rectory to its left--all Abandoned. Empty. Decrepit. Cold. Lifeless. Dead.--my initial, immediate, visceral reaction is that I have been let down hard. Were I to voice that reaction to those in charge now, I would be reminded that another, newer building has assimilated the congregation of the now empty Sacred Heart Church, and I will say, not really.

Because there was a promise made in, and by, that building, and the aura that surrounded it, that has gone unfulfilled, and a new building, in another part of town, is not going to remedy that. With that broken promise, hordes of parishioners have abandoned not only the building, but also the institution. And those of us who have not abandoned the institution are still waiting, I believe, for an explanation that makes sense.

Of course, it is time that has dealt the most powerful sledge hammer to the church and the Church. I recognize that.

But, sad to say, it is some of the people who called and who still call the shots who have inflicted the most severe damage.

So when I step out of my car in the parking lot, I am, for a split second, angry at the building I see. But then I remember what it meant to me as I was growing up, how vital it was, how friendly its people were, how much energy it engendered, how much future it promised, and sincerely promised, and I am no longer angry at the building. Because what it was made me who I am, and that's not the worst thing in the world.

The worst thing in the world is that it's not doing that for this or future generations.

And whose fault is that?

Christmas Questions

Just some things I'm wondering about...

When you're a couple in your sixties, and the wife says to the husband, "Here, wear this Santa cap. I'm going to wear mine and we'll go to the mall and we'll both be wearing these Santa caps." When the wife says that, why doesn't the husband lose the car keys or fake diarrhea or just do anything to stay home and not wear the Santa cap to the mall? Why doesn't the husband do that?

When you set up your cell phone ring tone, what's wrong with "ring?" Why does it have to be the 1812 Overture or Sonny and Cher singing "I Got You, Babe" or if you're a kid a recording of all your friends yelling at you to answer your cell phone? "Ring!" Remember how it used to be? "Ring..." So sweet. (Not a Christmas Question, but important nonetheless.)

Why did Barbra Streisand make a Christmas album?

Who invented those effin' blowup Santas and Snowmen and why do they depress me instead of putting me into the holiday spirit? Is it me? Or is it the blowup Santas and Snowmen? (Clue: It's the blowup Santas and Snowmen.)

Why didn't at least one person who sings NOT make a recording of "The Christmas Song?"

Who's idea was it to change the lyrics to "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" to include the line "Hang a shining star upon the highest bough?" instead of "Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow." It makes a beautlful, wistful, almost sad song damn near pointless.

Why did I feel weird about calling this entry "Christmas Questions" instead of "Holiday Questions?"

Why do so many people revere "A Charlie Brown Christmas" yet so few really adhere to the sentiment it evokes?

Why do people who refuse to acknowledge the popular brilliance of IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, not bother to champion MEET JOHN DOE, which accomplishes, in essence, the same thing WONDERFUL LIFE does, but in a much darker context. Isn't that what you guys want???

Why do I start these entries and then have no idea how to finish them?

Is Bing Crosby wearing his toupee under his Santa cap at the end of the movie WHITE CHRISTMAS?"

Would you?

An observation as I close:

I watched WHITE CHRISTMAS for about the fiftieth time last night, and instead of relishing the beauty of all the chorus girls in the big dance numbers, I kept saying to myself, "Shit, if they're not dead, they're 85!"

I Got Nothin'

I have nothing to say.

That pretty much covers it.

I'm sitting here at Barnes and Noble in Peabody (MA), where they're not supposed to serve Godiva Hot Chocolate but they do anyway, hoping to get myself into a writing mood so I can get back to the play I'm writing with Cindy Williams and Eddie Mekka in mind. But nothing's coming. I finished a draft of Act One yesterday, and it doesn't stink. Problem is, when Act One is over, there are only a couple of options: go back and keep fixing Act One, or move on to create Act Two. Fixing is easy. Creating a new Act Two is not. So I have Cindy's character at home on New Year's Eve. She's just asked one of her neighbors to kill her before midnight. And that's the end of Act One. Something will come to me. Maybe not here, maybe not today, but sometime.

I hope.

I got nothin'.

I look at the magazine racks and see famous people staring at me.

Taylor Swift. Where have I seen her? Saturday Night Live. I didn't know who she was then and I barely know who she is now. On this magazine cover (what magazine?), she seems to be paired with another Taylor, this time a guy, from I think the TWILIGHT movies. Where have I seen him? Saturday Night Live. Didn't know who he was then and....you get the idea. I don't know his last name. I sneak over and thumb through the magazine. Every time he is mentioned, he is referred to only as "Taylor." This means he is so famous, that everybody knows him by his first name!

But what if you're referring to Taylor Swift?

No wonder they're hooked up on this magazine cover. Poor kids. They're so rich and famous they have to be placed side by side on a magazine cover so they won't be mistaken for each other.

Alec Baldwin. Now, I've seen him lots of places, but mainly on...Saturday Night Live, where he is one of the best guest hosts. This would be a good place for an Alec Baldwin family phone call joke, but I've done that already in an earlier blog.

Tiger. On Golf Digest. Standing behind a superimposed photo of Obama. Something about 10 tips Tiger can give the president. Seems Tiger is a couple of presidents late on this one. The guy just before Bush II may have been able to learn something from the Tig Man.

Miley Cyrus. All I know about her is I have her father's one hit on my iPod because it's helpful to run to it. Especially at the beginning of a run. Really gets me going. Miley herself, I wouldn't recognize a tune by her on the radio. Sorry. And she's kinda hidden on the magazine under the two Taylors. Miley's fifteen minutes may be down to two or three.

Perhaps I should stop looking at the magazine rack and try to write that second act.

Wait! Rihanna on the cover of GQ! I don't know who she is, but she absolutely belongs on the cover of GQ. Way to go, Rihanna!

Oh, yes, I did see her on SNL as well, didn't I?

She is wearing far, far less on the cover of GQ.

Way to go, Rihanna!

Now, that second act...

Hold on...

Reese and Jake have split. What a shame.

Tiger and Jessica are linked.

Linked, get it?

Robert Pattison and Jaycee Dugard are among People's Most Intriguing People of the Year.

WDF are they?

He's one of those damn vampires, isn't he?

Jennifer Aniston says, "You just have to love your life!"

Well, why is she telling me that NOW? Damn!

So many magazines, so many celebrities, so little time.

Wait, if you pick up People Magazine with Jennifer Aniston upright, then open the magazine, everything else is upside down!

That means something...I know it does.

It means I'd better get back to that second act.

Mo'Nique

Normally, you'd have to drag me kicking and screaming to a movie entitled PRECIOUS. A film produced by Oprah and Tyler Perry, no less. Nothing against these giants of entertainment but...I'm not first in line for their projects, let's face it.

But I trust Roger Ebert. And Roger Ebert gave the film four stars. And I hadn't been to the movies in a while. And neither THE HURT LOCKER nor UP IN THE AIR had opened in the Boston area, so...it was either PRECIOUS or the Nick Cage BAD LIEUTENANT sequel or remake or whatever it is, which Roger also recommended. LIEUTENANT started at 5:25, PRECIOUS at 4:10. Didn't feel like eating at 8. So I went to see PRECIOUS.

It's not a great film. It may not even be a good film. It is gritty and it pushes all kinds of buttons about abuse and poverty and...it's really what you expect it to be.

But then, there's Mo'Nique.

Not a big fan of the solo-named actors. I mean, look at Cher. Good actress. Won an Oscar. But, all these years later, she's still a punch-line, and I think a main reason for that is her single name. Okay, quick, everybody--let's holler out Madonna's movie hits:

Cricket. Cricket.

Okay, maybe EVITA wasn't too bad.

But you get my point.

Anyway, back to Mo'Nique. I don't know much about her. I know she's done some TV acting, some stand-up, some TV hosting. Pretty much thrived in the "celebrity" category. I mean--the name. It's the name. What else could she be but a celebrity?

Well, I'm here to tell you this woman is an actor.

Over the years, I've been an avid moviegoer (not so much this year, but...) and, maybe, five or six times in the past twenty years or so I've come out of a movie blown away by a performance. Robert Duvall in TENDER MERCIES. John Voight in COMING HOME. Emily Watson in BREAKING THE WAVES. Cate Blanchette in NOTES ON A SCANDAL.

Mo'Nique (fix your name, girl!) delivers that kind of performance as the mother of Clareece "Precious" Jones in PRECIOUS. Gabourey Sidibe is terrific in the title role, and she will be nominated for everything. But the heart and soul of this picture is Mo'Nique. As the film progressed, I was impressed with her work, but, truth be told, it appeared to be a one-note performance, which I was blaming on the writer and the director. However, as the film concludes, she is given a scene where she has to try to explain the abominable things she has done to her daughter, and while her abominations are waaaaay beyond forgiveness, Mo'Nique somehow manages (with the help of the writer and director, of course) to bring the viewer into her world, not really to accept it, or even to understand it--but to know it. It is a harrowing, magnificent scene.

And this actress nails it.

Except for maybe the Duvall performance, which is subtle perfection from first frame to last, what distinguishes the other three performances mentioned above is the bravery which the actors must have to bring the characters honestly to the screen. Mo'Nique's performance in PRECIOUS is brave to the nth degree. It is brutally honest and shattering. She has revealed that she was molested by a family member as a child, so what she brings to the screen, she brings with a backstory.

If there is any justice out there, the Best Supporting Oscar must be hers. Duvall and Voight won for their performances. Watson and Blanchette did not. So I'm two for two.

For the record, her name is Monique Imes. I'd go with that.

Voice Recognition Software

I am making this blog entry utilizing my new voice recognition software. Because I am new at this, I find that I sound very much like a robot at this point. However, this program is amazingly accurate.

It is relatively expensive, but at this time of the year, especially in a year when I had two plays produced for long runs in professional theaters, I have to find things to write off. If I don't, I'll be paying the IRS. So, if it's a matter of paying a few bucks to Apple for some new software or paying the IRS, I pick Apple.

Get it? I pick... Apple.

Okay, now it seems that every time I try to write something in a new application, all I do is tell the new application that I'm trying out my new voice recognition software.

So that's what you blog readers -- all one of you -- is/are getting today.

It must be very unsettling for my landlord downstairs. She never hears me talk to anybody. Even when I'm on the telephone I don't talk as loudly as I'm talking now. It's entirely possible she will make me pay more rent for this other person I seem to be talking to at all times now.

I think the best use of this new voice recognition software is going to be my transcribing the written material I found from my mother and from other relatives regarding family history. I have been bemoaning the fact that I don't know that much about my family, but the fact of the matter is my mother and other relatives have actually written things down that I can dig up and record for the family.

So that's what I'm going to do.

This program is amazingly accurate. I said that already.

By the way, side note to my one blog reader at this point -- I plan to tell more friends that I am writing this blog, and I plan to do this when I send out my annual end of the year letter. Problem is, my annual end of the year letter usually comes out sometime in the spring.

I'll see if I can get this done any sooner this year.

Robot signing off.

Why Have the Disease When You Can Worry About It Without Really Having it?

I am a hypochondriac.

I don't watch medical shows on TV, because when I do, I have all the symptoms of that week's disease about two seconds after the closing credits roll. I watched HOUSE for three seasons before I gave up. Most of his diseases were so exotic even I couldn't develop symptoms. But after three seasons House's dyspepsia did me in. So, in a way, it was a disease that killed that show for me as well.

About a month ago, my brother had surgery in which a couple of stents were placed where stents are placed to open up whatever stents open up. Naturally, since that time, I have had chest pains that radiate down my left arm. I had these same pains ten years ago and went through all the steps people go through with these pains and was declared free of any kind of heart issues. Since I was officially declared free, I stopped worrying about the pains. Now, they're back and it's because I am incapable of not sharing other people's maladies.

Today, as I sat at Barnes and Noble innocently working on a play, the two ladies sitting in front of me doing the volunteer Christmas wrapping thing started discussing a friend of theirs who had passed away. Not a heart attack, but something to do with chest pain.

I wanted to take their wrapping paper and just...wrap the hell out of them.

I have three little lumps of something in my right palm. A year ago, I showed these lumps to my dermatologist. She smiled and said, "Oh, we don't usually do anything about these lumps. Unless there's pain, we just leave them alone."

I've gone a year not worrying about the lumps.

But recently, it occurred to me that it was my dermatologist telling me there was nothing to worry about.

What the hell does a dermatologist know?

So now I'm worrying about the lumps again.

Last Christmas, I was feeling some muscle pain in my neck and skull area. Went to my doctor at Lahey Clinic on CHRISTMAS EVE! He looked at me for about 32 seconds, felt my head, told me I was fine. And I was.

Until this week, when the pains returned.

Now I'm worrying about the pains again.

Maybe it's a Christmas thing.

Every slight discoloration on my body must be melanoma.

Every headache must be a brain tumor.

Every chest ache must be a heart attack.

Every cough must be lung cancer.

I need an episode of HOUSE where, at the end, Hugh Laurie looks into the camera and says, "Nobody is sick. Everybody is well. You, particularly, Neary, have nothing to worry about."

That'll last me a while.

Until I overhear another symptom in the line at CVS.

Well, at least at CVS I can pick up something to take for the ailment.

Whatever it may be.

I am a lunatic.

Gus Bernier ("Uncle Gus")

It's that time of year when what has become depressing about the holiday season triggers memories of holiday seasons past when the holiday season was the Christmas season and hardly anybody was afraid to utter the phrase, "Merry Christmas."

Now, when you utter the phrase, you are being bold and defiant.

Jesus.

Oops, there's another un-utterable holiday phrase!

And it's his birthday!

I digress.

So as I fight, fight, fight to return this time of year to its former stature (i.e., better than Thanksgiving), I remember a guy who contributed greatly to making Christmas Christmas for me back in the day.

Gus Bernier. Just a guy who pretty much ran the old WMUR TV station in Manchester in the fifties and a bit into the sixties. I got the impression he showed up in the morning, opened the door of the station, cranked up the broadcasting equipment, and then did everything until he went home, probably after eight or nine in the evening. He did the news and weather, I'm pretty sure about that. And he had a kiddie show, called "The Uncle Gus Show," which ran a while.

But the reason I remember him, and the reason I bring him up today, is that I believed he was Santa Claus.

Yeah, I said "believed."

Sometime in December each year when I was extraordinarily young, Gus did himself up as Santa, sat behind a WMUR desk, and transformed himself. The show would open, as I recall it, with what had to be a miniature igloo or something being dusted by WMUR snow. There was a window in the igloo and the camera zoomed in to the window, then opened up on Gus as Santa. He had an elf, named Ooglook (forgive the spelling, I have no idea), who could have been a man or a woman, and who had the voice of a bursting steam pipe. Bernier's voice was perfect--booming, happy, blustery. He would spend the first part of the show talking to us kids, directly into the camera, as if each of us was his own personal visitor. The television was like Santa's lap, and, since he came on at about 5:00, we watched and listened as we had dinner, or "suppa" as we called it back then.

After this, he would go to his workshop, and show us (and our parents, who, in those days, had "suppa" with the kids) all the new toys he and his elves had "built" at the North Pole. For some reason, which we kids neither understood nor tried to understand, he would tell us (and our parents) that if we wanted to take a closer look at the toys he had built, all we (and our parents) had to do was visit his "friends at Mattel" or wherever. Sponsorship taken care of.

And that's pretty much it. He was as believable a television character as any of the greats--Ed Norton, Barney Fife, Archie Bunker, Cartman--and when I woke up as a very young child and found gifts under the tree, it was this guy I believed had visited the house the night before, left the gifts, ate the cookies and milk.

To me, that's an astonishing accomplishment for an actor.

Well, making me believe, I mean. The cookies and milk--any actor could do that. Most would.

Thanks, Gus.

Merry Christmas.