End of Year Letter to Family, Friends, and Other Disinterested Persons

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It’s been another memorable year, if only because I can remember it.

There’s still no one claiming to be a long-lost child of mine, so that’s a blessing again, although it would be nice to have someone who would come over and throw out my junk mail, so that I don’t have to put on pants.

My pet snail, Nehemiah, escaped from the terrarium after I accidentally tipped it over while exercising to a Choy Li Fut video. That was about six months ago, which probably isn’t enough time for he/she/it to have made it out the door, but, just in case, I’ve established accounts on Facebook, WhatsApp, Instagram, WeChat, TikTok, Snapchat, Pinterest, and Reddit in order to put out an all-points bulletin. Recent algorithm changes have apparently caused me to be shadow banned on 17 other social media sites.

I haven’t travelled since the accident, not out of concern for Nehemiah’s whereabouts, but rather out of fear of getting hit by falling space debris. Nevertheless, I plan to renew my passport, not in anticipation of an overseas trip, but, rather, in case there’s another Civil War and I need ID to cross the street for groceries or ammunition.

Not to brag, but I fixed something last month.

Rudy, my third cousin, twice removed, the one who, you may remember, misplaced his car keys three years ago, recently became the last person in North America to order from Amazon for the first time, which, the family decided, was a good excuse for a party. Unfortunately, Rudy couldn’t attend, as he still hasn’t found his keys.

Patsy, my double half-first-cousin, finally got her GED, after being let go by Twitter, so, with Rudy not in attendance, we instead feted her at the party, ironically ordering all the gifts from Amazon.

We welcomed a new addition to the extended family this year, as the as-yet-unnamed ward (name reveal forthcoming on her 13th birthday) of the sister-in-law of my ex-boss’s special friend Alfie, brought home a small, multi-legged, stray animal that appeared to be some type of feline, though it didn’t match any pictures in the cat encyclopedia we found online. Based on the vacant stare in the animal’s eyes, the unnamed one named the creature Rudy.

Finally, and most importantly, . . . wait, I see Nehemiah trying to slide under the door. I have to go. Happy New Year.

The Apple Tree – Porchlight Revisits – Porchlight Music Theatre – December 8, 2022

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The Apple Tree, as the title suggests, starts in the Garden of Eden, so I’ll bite into that scene first. It’s too long. Mel Brooks did the whole History of the World, Part I, in 92 minutes.

The production started well, but bogged down under the weight of too many apples. They should have cherry-picked the best parts to get to the core of the story quicker.

My two principle takeaways from the garden were, first, that newcomer Ciarra Stroud, as Eve, is someone to watch in the future, and, second, I want to read Mark Twain’s The Diaries of Adam and Eve, upon which it’s based, because, as great as the authors Jerry Bock, Sheldon Harnick, and Jerome Coopersmith have shown themselves to be in other shows, they don’t have a Prize for American Humor named after them.

I’ll pause here, as did the show for intermission, to mention that Mike Nichols not only directed The Apple Tree on Broadway, but, two years later, also directed Plaza Suite, another show featuring three distinct scenes with different characters played by the same actors (though not in this production), for which he won the Tony Award for Best Direction. That’s quite a niche.

I would have loved to have seen Barbara Harris’s Tony Award-winning performance in The Apple Tree in its entirety, but, in particular, I wonder how she attacked the second scene, The Lady or the Tiger. In this production, I thought the part of Princess Barbara might have been more effective played more light-heartedly. Monte Hall always had a good time when the contestants had to choose a door on Let’s Make a Deal, though I admit their lives weren’t at stake.

The finale, Passionella, made me think of Avenue Q, though not until I realized that I carry a photograph of the actress, Leah Morrow, with me next to some random puppets, on my phone, as evidence of when I saw her as Kate Monster in 2014. Do I think of her as a monster talent? I don’t know, but once again her wonderful comic chops were brought to bear, a joy to watch.

Rent – Porchlight Music Theatre – November 3, 2022

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I love the musical Something Rotten. So what does that have to do with Rent? The following are some lyrics from SR’s “It’s a Musical.”

“Some musicals have no talking at all
. . . .
All of the dialogue is sung
. . . .
You just sit there asking yourself
“Why aren’t they talking?”
. . . .
And people actually like this?
No, they love it . . . .”

I’m not one of those people. I’ll save a long explanation of why for another time, after I’ve had time to construct one. For now, it is what it is.

So, when one of the characters in Rent spoke/sang “it’s over” early in the second act, I momentarily got excited, until I realized the line wasn’t directed to me, and I had to sit through another three or four false endings.

That said, if I were on the Jefferson Awards committee, my report would contain numerous nominations, with excellent stage performances and behind the scenes work all around.

To mention only a few, the band rocked throughout, Lucy Godinez, as Maureen, brought the house down with a diva dive into her big solo, and Josh Pablo Szabo, as Angel, captured the audience upon first entrance.

I might have been less anxious for a swifter conclusion if the show had not been up against the fifth game of the World Series, though, to be fair, those broadcasts could use less, not more, talking.

Clue – Mercury Theater – October 29, 2022

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Not exactly Agatha Christie. While there were some giggles, the highlight of the first two-thirds of Clue was the guy behind me explaining the intricacies of his Halloween couch potato costume.

Part of the problem was that I didn’t particularly care for the characters (with no offense to the actors, whom I’ve seen do good work elsewhere). The suspects displayed fewer dimensions than their cardboard, board game avatars.

It occurred to me that it would have been more interesting if the dramatis personae had been the survivors of the S.S. Minnow. In fact, Episode 16 of Season 2 of Gilligan’s Island, entitled Not Guilty, wherein the setup suggests that one of the castaways is a killer, was a better whodunnit.

That said, the last half hour or so of Clue provided some real entertainment, beginning with Chicago favorite Mark David Kaplan, as the butler, being cut loose to deliver a rapid, over-the-top summary of the prior action on a par with Nathan Lane’s rendition of Betrayed as his jail cell synopsis of the story in The Producers. They probably have to replace the scenery after every performance once Kaplan gets done chewing it with exquisite aplomb.

Clyde’s – Goodman Theatre – October 1, 2022

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I didn’t think to count, but, according to the program, there were 21 sandwiches in this play, set in the kitchen of a truck stop eatery.

The last play I saw with this much food on stage was Sweeney Todd. That time the food wasn’t actually what it was alleged to be in the show (I hope).

Similarly, I doubt that all the ingredients suggested in Clyde’s were as stated, but, this time, I suspect, for convenience and budgetary sakes, not to avoid criminal prosecution.

But that doesn’t mean that the Goodman is cutting corners, as evidenced by the quote in the program from the props supervisor, who had to decide things like, “how many pickles do I need.”

If she messes up and there are too many leftovers, do they take it out of her pay? And I wonder how much food they went through in rehearsals. Did the actors ask to redo scenes so that they could eat more?

Speaking of the cast, their fine performances were highlighted by the fact that no one said their lines with their mouth full, which was particularly important in a performance without captioning.

Haunted Dolls & History’s Horrors – Chicago History Museum – September 27, 2022

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This is a disjointed temporary exhibit within the boundaries of the permanent Chicago: Crossroads of America exhibit, framed in terms of a scavenger hunt to find 13 hiding spots of 16 dolls (a trio of carolers and the so-called terror twins accounting for the numerical discrepancy), whose origins range from 1862 to 1933, with a few stops at “no date available.”

Chucky was not among the dolls, but “a beheaded beauty” was, according to the brochure I was given at the check-in counter. I’ll never know, as I ran out of interest before finding it. Maybe I headed in the wrong direction.

I also made the mistake of accepting the pamphlet for the adult version, unaware at the time that there was a kid-friendly version, which might have provided more clues and required less attention span, in addition to scrubbing “mentions of violence, disasters, and the supernatural.” Don’t the curators know what kids watch on TV?

Fortunately, I didn’t compound my mistake by putting any effort into my search. Instead, I created my own, simpler, version of the contest. So, although I accidentally found 10 of the not-so-covert nooks and crannies containing the artifacts before my energy petered out, I also awarded myself points for finding the elevator, a bench to sit on, the bathroom, a security guard to pester with stupid questions, and, most importantly, the exit.

Porchlight Music Theatre ICONS Gala – Ritz-Carlton – September 23, 2022

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I have now been to the last four Porchlight ICONS Galas, which have provided an interesting progression. The first one was a Sunday brunch that honored Jerome Robbins. He was not present to accept the award, having been dead for 20 years.

In 2020, because of the pandemic, the event became a three-day online affair, and included a pre-recorded interview with honoree Joel Grey, who, I’m happy to say, is still with us.

Last year, with life starting to open up, we were able to honor Chita Rivera in person on a Wednesday night.

This year, the event worked its way up to a Friday night, and not only was honoree Donna McKechnie in attendance, she also sang for her supper (a song from her Tony award-winning role as Cassie in A Chorus Line).

It was a wonderful evening, which means I only have two complaints.

Please don’t pass around exploding appetizers before dinner. Ten minutes in the bathroom trying to clean up my shirt, after biting into a pastry filled with goat cheese, wasn’t in my original plan.

And, if the hotel can go to the trouble of offering three different entree choices, how about also giving us dessert choices.

After all, because of my connection with Porchlight, I was given a Golden Ticket (really) for the event, just as if I were a kid in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, not Willy Wonka and the Vanilla Thingy on My Plate Gala.

A Show of Hands: Handwriting in the Age of Print – The Newberry – September 14, 2022

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My handwriting is terrible. If I were a referee tossing a homemade coin to start a football game, we’d never get to the kickoff, because no one can make heads or tails of my penmanship.

Fortunately, commercial typewriters were introduced in 1874, well before I started school. Unfortunately, no one ever taught me how to type. But, on the computer, I’m a whiz with two fingers – no trouble reading this piece.

All that aside, here’s the thing. According to The Productive Engineer website, printing is, perhaps surprisingly to some, faster than cursive writing, and, at least in my case, far more legible. On the other hand, the site suggests, cursive is better at improving one’s motor skills.

I’m a pretty good driver, but I don’t think that’s what they mean. What I did decide, however, is that if my cursive were better, I could play the piano better. Huh?

Well, cursive writing, not lifting the pen between letters, is like playing notes legato, Italian for tied together.

And, the Newberry exhibit (we finally got to it) includes mention of 1814 lectures on the art of writing that promoted “forearm” or “muscular” movement, using the arms and shoulders, rather than the hands and fingers, which is akin to the notion of using arm weight when playing the piano.

So, there it is. Schools that have discontinued teaching cursive writing might incorporate it into their music curriculum, except, oh wait, budget cuts have killed those programs too.

Magnetic Resonance Imaging – September 7, 2022

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The most amusing thing about getting an MRI is when they ask you whether you want to listen to any music. Sure, okay, why not. They didn’t have my piano teacher’s CD of Haitian compositions, so I settled for anything classical.

Then they gave me ear plugs, and ear phones to put over the ear plugs, just like a rock star, but no paper bag to put over my head, so I just kept my eyes closed the whole time, like in everyday life.

None of it mattered, as I could barely hear the strings, the presumably dulcet tones being drowned out by what sounded like heavy metal music, though metal isn’t allowed in the room because of the really large magnet surrounding you.

I even had to trade in my spiffy Covid mask with the metal nose strip for a piece of Kleenex and a rubber band, because, again, still no paper bag. Nevertheless, stripped of metal, I thought I was showing a lot of mettle given that it wasn’t an open MRI, which doesn’t mean they don’t discriminate, but rather that it makes you feel like you’re in the trash compactor scene from the original Star Wars.

Fortunately, these days the procedure only takes 20-25 minutes, and they do offer you a sedative, but apparently not for take out, because I asked, though I didn’t have my credit card with me anyway because of its darn magnetic strip.

Northwestern Hospital Emergency Room – August 26, 2022

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This was a free event for those of us with Medicare, and apparently open to anyone 21 or over, which accounted for the large turnout, some of whom appeared to be season ticket holders, even though there wasn’t a beer stand or food cart to be seen, which was a shame, because they would have done great business with the captive audience, captive being defined as an average stay of over seven hours, on par with Lollapalooza, though the music for this fun fest was limited to various cell phone ringtones.

No reservations were required, and it was general admission, but, like most such events, one could get a better seat by getting there early, or, in this case, by coming alone, so as to avoid being relegated to the lobby, and thereby missing all the dramatic moments near the intake desk that helped the time fly by.

The cast did a fine job, though there wasn’t a George Clooney to be found. The set design was realistic, but drab, and, unlike a good carnival, they didn’t let me take home the pictures they took of me. Moreover, for pain relief, a better bet might be the local CBD store.  Nevertheless, it was immersive theater at its best.