Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.

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Tall wet plays, short wet plays, near empty amusementsparks, and historical neighbor talk, that is, a couple week�s worth of events:

Dead End
The Ahmanson is doing a production of Dead End, which from the publicity it�s getting is a big deal. Not so many plays with a few dozen actors running around on stage these days. It was a good production and interesting to see, though it�s unfortunate that a story set in the Great Depression and dealing with rich clashing with poor, of children growing up with little hope, of talent not mattering as much as who you know, of society grinding down the lower classes feels topical.

I vaguely remembered the movie version, and when I explained the movie series to folks they would take the 1930�s setting and it�s cast of kids, and ask me if I didn�t actually mean the Little Rascals. I tended to answer that since there was gunplay, violence, death, G-men, actual poverty, and that the kids were older and an actual gang, I didn�t think I was confusing the two series. Although props for the Little Rascals in not getting mixed up with Bela Lagosi as the Dead End kids eventually did.

I�d read in the paper before the show that there had been some controversy in the play, both in issues of equity/pay and in noncolor blind casting. I don�t know enough about the former to comment, but the later was interesting. In having only one nonwhite actor, they�ve succeeded in making the play resemble the 1937 movie version, but I�m not entirely sure that this was such a good thing. It assumes that the audience is unsophisticated and would get distracted by a racially diverse cast, which if true is pretty sad. Oddly, considering that there are Jewish and Italian characters, it�s arguable that the original 30�s production of the play was, in context, probably more diverse than this version

The same article mentioned that the set was going to be amazing and it was, with buildings that appear to stretch up taller than the stage itself and the orchestra pit holding pool standing in for the East River. Every time one of the boys would cannonball into it, the people in the first row got splashed. While they were busy holding up their playbills to keep form getting wet, the rest of the audience seemed to love it. Perhaps it was the novelty of real water, or maybe we were all just petty and getting a thrill from seeing folks with pricier seats paying the cost of sitting in the splash zone.

During one of the two intermissions I, along with dozens of other folks checked the set out. The actors are brave leaping into that thing. It didn�t look too deep, and considering that throughout the play people are tossing cigarette buts, orange peels, and other trash into �the river,� it didn�t look non too clean either.

There was a group of middle aged married friends in the row ahead of us and one of the wives said that some would-be lovers in the play would beat the odds and get together in the end. She apparently forgot that the play was not only set in the thirties, but had also been written then and as such, was not to likely to be the most upbeat chipper of things, what with the collapse of the economy, massive poverty, union breaking violence, social unrest, and other fun stuff.

Nine Parts of Desire
A few days before the splashing around we met with some friends over on the west side of town for dinner, and saw Nine Parts of Desire, a one actor play, with Heather Raffo, the writer/creator playing nine different Iraqi women.

There was water in this play as well, a small thing little well representing a river in Bagdad and serving as metaphor for, for, well, for something. I busy working on ignoring the older couple seated next to me, and missed the metaphor bit. Five minutes into the play they decided that they didn�t like it, and then spent the entire time arguing about it. He wanted to leave but she wanted to wait until intermission, but there was no intermission so they should just leave now, but no that was rude so they should just stay. Then there was a scene with a woman recounting torture techniques, which upset the older woman, so she wanted to leave, but her husband gloating at her discomfort snapped back �No, you said we should stay!�

They weren�t exactly yelling, but as engaging as the play should have been, it was hard at times to ignore the waves of anger and hate that can only come with decades of unhappy marriage.

Rides
On the nonplay side of things, in cleaning out his desk John found a free entry ticket for Disneyland that was about to expire, so we went�except that we didn�t. The lines for Disneyland were huge compared to those for California Adventure, so even though we been there only a couple of years ago and it really isn�t that exciting a place, we went there instead. Even though summer is over, for a Saturday the place seemed nearly deserted. There were so few people that we didn�t bother with fast passes. The longest line we were in was for the Muppet 3-D movie, and that was only because we arrived just after one of the shows started.

Even though I normally dislike shoot people up into the air so that they can fall rides, The Tower of Terror ride was cool, though I don�t get why they have an employee ride along with the guests (for atmosphere? Security?). Grizzly River Run was wet, theSun Wheel was nonnauseting (we rode one of the nonsliding and rolling baskets), Soaring Over California was fun, and the rest of things we rode and saw were adequately distracting considering that with the free ticket we only paid half of what it normally takes to get in.

Neighborly party
Finally, there was a party. One of the folks on the hill, tired of not really knowing her neighbors invited everyone over for a potluck. People showed up, ate, complimented her on the views from her back patio, and talked. Some of the talk was gossip, and some was commenting that we would probably know each other better if we had real front yards. Mowing lawns and gossiping over fences is apparently the glue that holds a friendly neighborhood together.

While not the most exciting party I�ve ever been to, it was pleasant, and John and I found out some more of our house�s history. Our hunch that the downstairs had been converted from basement to living space in the fifties was correct, but we had no idea that it had been a mother-in-law apartment. I�m not sure which was more interesting, that John�s photo studio had once been a small kitchen (explaining some of the odd plumbing underneath the house, long unused pipes which no longer connect to anything) or that the apartment was totally separate from the rest of the house. It seems the interior set of stairs weren�t installed until sometime in the 80�s.

Stories that there had once been an illegal conversion sitting on top of the garage turned out to be only partially true. It was not a woman living there in the 70�s with 8 kids who had a room built for her oldest boys to live in, but rather the family living there the 50�s who built an �oriental� style playhouse up there for their kids to play in.

Those 50�s kids names are scrawled in the cement of our upper patio. Given the decade, I think my guess that the patios had once had a half hearted Polynesian theme going on seem likely (there are remnants of volcanic rock and long gone water features), although none of the older folks at the party specifically recall.

After the 60�s, there were a series of half forgotten renters, including the woman with many kids, and a group of Vietnamese men who were only remembered because they built a lean-to on the front porch that all the neighbors found ugly. After the renters left there was a couple who had a very unusual sense of decoration and painted rooms red, black, blue, and other bright colors. I see the evidence of their handy work every time I work on scrapping paint form the walls. They were the ones who lost the house in foreclosure, leading to a woman purchasing it for cheap and our ultimately buying it from her a couple of years later after she had fixed it up.

Most of the neighbors like what John and I have done to the house, and most of them recognized us, although a few did seem to think at first that we were the
other gay couple on the hill, or at least the two guys I think are gay. They didn�t show up at the party, and no one there really knows them, but considering the only time anyone sees them is when they walk their poodles, I think the gay thing is probably a safe call.

more later,
nico

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