the E-MP

Mama Phillis called me yesterday and said,

“I’m in a bit of a jelly… I wouldn’t call it a jam, but…”

See what I mean about ancient history? Who says that anymore?

Basically she found a cell phone lying on the ground in front of Wal-Mart.

“At first I thought it was an iPod and I got so excited!”
“You need to have a working computer to use an iPod.”
“Oh.”

Rather than bring it back into the store and leave it at the customer service desk, she brought it home and called me on the landline for advice.

“I want to get it back to the person but I don’t want them to know where I live.”
“Then why did you bring it home?”

It becomes clear to me that my mother needs this to be her holiday good deed. The person can’t just get back their cell phone– it must be her that gives it back to them.

“Oh! It’s vibrating! It’s vibrating in my hand!”
“It’s ringing…answer it! It might be the person calling from another number.”
“I don’t want them to have my phone number! If I pick it up will they have my home number?”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Oh. How do I open it?”

This goes on for a while, until eventually the call goes to voicemail. She is audibly disappointed when I tell her she probably won’t be able to check the messages.

Eventually I convince her to return to Wal-Mart and leave it at customer service. When she gets back, hours later, she explains the ordeal.

“Well I saw a man with a piercing in his nose and a lip ring and I said ‘You look like you know how to use phones, how do you answer calls on this?’ ”

I’m not making this shit up.

“The security guard and all of the other people I talked to didn’t know how to use it either.”
“Jesus, Mom! How many customers did you bother about this stranger’s phone?!”

Several, it turns out. When she eventually did turn it over to the customer service desk, reluctantly, she asked if they could call her when the person picked it up. They said no. She left, but came back later to ask if she could call them to check on the phone’s status. They said okay.

If you ever lose your technology, pray to your higher power that my mother never finds it.

Okay: go with me on this one.

Imagine that you are God.

You’ve created this awesome Earth that You’re totally proud of. You’ve really worked out Your imagination, creating all of those animals, vegetables, minerals, etc. You’re particularly proud of the humans, who You made in Your own image (although this last is debatable– I think You as God look much better than a mere human). You decide to give Your favorite creation something that nothing else on Earth can have, something that the Humans alone can share with You: love. And it is good.

Then You decide to let this pot simmer for a while whilst You go about expanding the universe, doing all those God-like things You do. Next time You check back in on Earth, the humans are totally running the joint. And by that I mean they’ve pretty much endangered and enslaved all the animals, chopped down more than their fair share of the vegetables, and mined the minerals for all their worth. And this “love” thing has gone a little wonky, too– if they keep on like this, there are going to be far too many humans and far too few of everything else. So You whip up some plagues, some natural disasters, and a few wars to help cut through the ranks and show the humans how precious their lives are. But they just don’t seem to get it. They’re over-populating Your best planet and it’s starting to piss You off a little.

So You think: okay, flood? Nah, been there, done that. Take away the love? No, that would be cruel and unusual. Love is one of Your favorite things, and it’s one of the few things that they can do that brings them closer to You. So maybe You won’t take away the love… just, change it. Some of it, anyway. You need a new recipe for love– a kind of love that doesn’t necessarily lead to more human life. A kind of love that’s just as strong as the first kind, but with different outcomes, so to speak. So You change the love ingredients around a little and voila– You create the gays. And they are good.

So You go off for a while again, turning Your attention to other planets, maybe creating some life elsewhere in the universe now that You’ve learned some stuff from Your trial-and-error planet, Earth. And the next time You check back in with the humans, they’ve got it all wrong again. Not only is Your new form of love not going over very well, but it seems to have somehow created hate in the world. They’re really missing Your point and, frankly, You’ve had just about enough. Not only are they making more problems, but they’re making problems in Your name. AND they’ve killed off all the Dodo birds, which had always been your secret favorite. Suddenly that flood idea is sounding pretty good.

But before You shake the whole planet like an Etch-A-Sketch and start over, You decide to give the humans another shot to get it right. Now that they’ve made up all these bogus “rules” for who and how to love, You’re determined to make them see that love is the one thing not bound by any rules. Love is a force of nature… and if they don’t like this force of nature, You can think of a dozen others You can send their way that they’ll like even less. So You watch, and You wait, and You hope that they realize that the best way to show their love for You is to show their love for each other– ALL of each other. All the time.

Because if they don’t, You have a really nice fallback planet You’re working on across the galaxy… with bigger and better Dodos. And it is good.

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Make God proud– let your fellow man love his fellow man!

Much love,

MAP

There’s nothing quite like a trip to the movies to generate the righteous indignation necessary for a blog entry.

This time, I wasted my time and money on Push, the new Chris Evans-with-superpowers vehicle. I took a chance on this film because:

a) I heart superpowers.
b) I had hoped Evans would lose his shirt at some point.

Sadly, I was disappointed on both fronts. The superpowers were nothing to write home about and (SPOILER ALERT!) Evans and his shirt stay together. Though he does hike it up at one point, only to reveal a decidedly un-sexy portion of his lower back featuring a very large mole that I hope he’s having checked out. I mean, this thing had irregular broders, colors, AND texture– Chris, buddy, use some of the money I spent on your awful movie and get thee to a dermatologist.

Here are some other fine films soon to be stinking up a theatre near you:

1) Knowing: I continue to beseech Jesus to STOP allowing Nicholas Cage into movies. My prayers remain unanswered and Knowing is the latest proof. Somehow, Cage has fanagled his plastic labia-face into yet another movie where he sort of knows the future… but can he save us all in TIME?! All I have to say is that if it’s a choice between Nick Cage and certain doom, I’m taking the doom. Oh, and have you seen the CASTLE he just bought with all of our movie money?

Why Jesus WHY?!

2) Fighting: Are we noticing a theme in these titles? I guess you could say that this one is a little more “real world”, although it does feature pretty-faced Channing Tatum as a rough-and-tumble ne’er-do-well fighting his way through life. Bull– no one who scraps for a living looks like THIS:

3) Crank 2: High Voltage: Wait… there was a Crank 1? Apparently so, but I guess one ass-kicking movie wasn’t enough for Jason Statham to prove to us all that his manhood is the biggest. I blocked out most of this preview, but I do recall one part where he applies jumper cables to his person and gives himself a good shocking. Looks like fine family fun to me!

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My senses were assaulted, my mind was numbed, and my wallet was emptied. Another successful trip to the movies…?

Much matinee love,

MAP

I have discovered this year’s must-have Christmas tree ornaments:

Gay.

Mermen.

In uniform!

Police Merman - Ocean’s Finest

Army Merman - “Be All That You Can Be” meets “Under the Sea”

Fire Merman - For all those hard-to-put-out underwater fires

These ornaments could turn the Baby Jesus himself gay!

Much Holiday Love,

MAP

I emerge from the Powell Street MUNI station to find I am in the last place I want to be on the worst day and time to be there: the Westfield Mall Food Court, 12:00PM, Black Friday.

I’m there to drop Mama Phillis at the Amtrak Bus Stop one level above, but this seemingly simple task has suddenly become mythological in proportion. With her and her luggage in tow amidst this sea of shoppers, I might as well be Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the down escalator, Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the underworld of consumer madness. We take a deep breath and prepare for the ascent– there can be no turning back!

Rock-bottom prices have lured savvy shoppers from the far reaches of the Bay Area and beyond, their bags of bargains and broods of children increasing their personal radii exponentially. Every family is a human wall, each person a pylon with a mind of its own. Just when you think you’ve gotten behind someone who knows how to move through a crowd, they stop to gaze at something shiny in a window. Traffic jams ensue, foot-stepping and unwanted touching abounds.

The roar of the crowd is inescapable– no mental happy-place is safe from this cacophony. Bored husbands shout at irritated wives. Girlfriends cackle at passersby. Little Sally squeals for her stuffed Elmo. Plates clatter, cell phones blare, somewhere a speaker drones a Christmas hit. I add to the din with a whispered prayer for strength.

The air is laced with every food smell imaginable– acrid coffee, spicy Thai, fishy chowder, sweet confections– it’s as if all the food-smells of the world have banded together to assault my face, alternately tempting and disgusting me. I breathe through my mouth and continue to ask Jesus for patience, forgiveness.

Suddenly I am swarmed by unsupervised children and I know I am being punished for some sin. They dart between my legs, shouting jump rope songs as they wipe jelly-fingers and Kool-Aid mouth on my pants. Lord above, why have you forsaken me?! I resist the urge to cry, knowing full well these brats will smell my weakness and take me down like the lame wildebeest. I press on, my fingers tightening on my Mama’s hand, silently hoping that it’s still my mother’s hand I’m holding.

And then, light! Glorious daylight– we’re still crowded and crushed but outdoors at last. I breathe a sigh of relief as I turn to find Mama Phillis still with me, her luggage free of adolescent stowaways. We survived Black Friday and lived to blog the tale!

My new Christmas motto: ’tis better to live than to receive– boycott buying!

Much humbug love,

MAP

I have a total crush on our new President. I could get used to this whole getting-what-you-vote-for thing.

That said, I am saddened by the Prop 8 debacle. As usual, I used food to fill the emotional void.

It’s official: the County Fair Mall in Woodland is the saddest place in the world… or at least in California.

I have extensive experience with this particular armpit of the universe– I suffered through my first job there at the tender age of 15. It’s gotten so much worse.

Reasons to Avoid the County Fair Mall At All Costs:

1) Inexplicable Joy-Leeching: The CFM has always had the uncanny ability to suck the happiness out of even the most stalwartly delighted individual. You can feel it the moment you walk in… maybe something in the recycled air? Even the mannequins look kinda pissed to be there. Note: this effect tends to last for hours after you leave the premises, especially if you’ve eaten any of the food.

2) The Must-Not-Have Items of the Season: Every retailer worth their salt vacated the CFM long ago. Visit the mall today and you’ll be one of dozens shopping at these fine retailers:

Sassy!: the obligatory easy-girl store.
Purple Dragon: the saddest smoke shop you’ve never seen
Mattress Store: bet you’ll never guess what they sell
Designer Men’s Clothes: yes, that’s the name

Picture these retail hotspots nestled between an equal number of empty storefronts. It’s a post-apocalyptic shopping experience: “stark chic”, if you will. But please, don’t.

Even the Target, the crown jewel of the CFM, has recently hightailed it, soon to be replaced by the decidedly less fabulous Burlington Coat Factory. I should also note that the Waldenbooks, my former place of work, is now one of the many empty store-nooks just waiting to not get filled– another casualty of Woodland’s efforts to rid itself of all books and those who sell them.

3) Smells Like Cindy: I am pleased to announce that Cindy’s Cinnamon Rolls, the cornerstone of the otherwise-deserted Food Court, is still booming. And how could they not be? Peddling Cadillac-sized sweet carb creations spackled with cream cheese frosting inches thick, this is one retailer whose product is apparently indispensible to the CFM shopper. And somehow Cindy has managed to create an ever-present cinnamon and sugar fog that pervades the entire mall, driving buyers and sellers alike mad with its sinfully sweet aroma. It’s enough to make Atkins himself rush to the counter and Hoover one up without chewing. This reviewer had particular trouble passing them up– even though I wasn’t hungry, there was just something about them sitting there under that glass… so close, so far… so wanting to become plaque in my arteries. Cindy and her heart-clogging confections need to be stopped!

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This holiday season, I say shop independent. Make gifts. Spend time not money. Be with people. Show love. Give love not stuff!

And if you’re looking for cheap retail space and a cinnamon roll you’ll never forget (and always regret), visit the County Fair Mall.

–MAP

…providing the following things happen in exactly this order:

1) VP Pick Sarah Palin kisses documentarian Michael Moore (with tongue!) on national TV.

I’m thinking “Dancing With the Stars” is an appropriate venue for this peacekeeping gesture. As a special surprise addition to the program, the couple stalks onto the stage in tight embrace– a tango ensues. They are violent and passionate– the chemistry electric, the moves shockingly well-rehearsed and overwhelmingly complicated. As the last note is plucked on the Spanish guitar, Palin will spit out the rose in her mouth and Moore will dive in. VP hopeful Sarah Palin will really be showing commitment to the principles of togetherness by liplocking with one of her most ardent, most repulsive critics in front of the shocked (and moved?) studio audience & multiple millions watching worldwide.

2) The Voodoo priest re-animating John McCain comes forward, confesses all.

I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time– keep a rich white dude’s corpse up and moving a la “Weekend at Bernie’s” and rake in the dividend checks. But enough is enough. It’s time to put McCain’s obviously-expired body to rest and come clean about the whole thing. I’ve seen enough zombie movies to know the alternative, and I think we’d all prefer the kinder gentler option here. Let the man go.

3) Embattled unwed teen Mom-to-Be Bristol Palin births litter of adorable kittens.

Nothing brings together the warring factions like a basket full of freshly-birthed kittens. If the daughter of our Republican VP nominee can somehow fanagle that miracle, I’ll have no problem voting for her mother. If she can somehow make them kittens with wings, I’ll consider a $25 donation to the campaign. And NO dropping them off at the SPCA! I want that litter raised with only the best down-home Republican values.

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Until and unless these demands are met, make mine Obama/Biden.

08′ing anxiously,

MAP

This evening’s audition was a dream come true.

I was up for a part in a Japanese TV show (not the “run-through-an-obstacle-course-chased-by-dudes-in-Noh-masks-until-I-choose-the-wrong-door-and-wind-up-in-a-pool-of-brown-water” kind of Japanese TV show, but I’ll take what I can get). Not only that, but it was a part in a re-enactment (one of my life-goals as an actor is to land a role in a re-enactment… preferably involving the Civil War or America’s Most Wanted but again, taking what I can get).

The casting specs said they were looking for someone between the ages of 16-24. I am most certainly 25. But my agency, attentive to the point of inattention, decided this part was just right for me. I agreed and showed up promptly– fresh-faced and ready to play 16-24 in the Japanese re-enactment I was born to be in.

I knew I was in trouble when 90% of my fellow auditionees came with their moms.

Turns out they were REALLY emphasizing the 16 end of the spectrum… and by that I mean I was up against boys that were clearly not a day over 12. I was last, of course (I think they went in height order) so I got to watch all of the teens and pre-teens go before me. All I could think of was how much I missed my beard, which I had shaved off for this very occasion (and it took me about 3 weeks to grow it, which may be the ONLY thing I had in common with my competition). I thought about what would happen if Mama Phillis was there, sitting with all the other moms waiting for their sons to get the part so we can eat. I would hand her my backpack to hold, and she would lean in to give her constant (and only) acting advice: “Just act the shit out of it.”

When it was finally my turn, I went in to deliver the lines in front of two somber Japanese men with a camera. Another lurked in the corner (artsy director?), and another read lines with me. His first question afterward was:

“How old are you?”

Now… my last misadventure in auditioning centered on this very question, so I was a little taken aback– even though I had been asking myself the same thing for the last half hour. I’ve learned since that incident that the correct response to that question is:

“I’m 18-24 to play younger.”

His response to that was something in Japanese. The other gentlemen nodded in agreement (?) and I was on my way.

So I may not have landed my dream role, but I can say with confidence that I:

a) acted the shit out of it.
b) don’t have school in the morning. Eat that, kids!

–MAP

I’m pleased to report that San Francisco’s celebrity silver fox Symphony Conductor Michael Tilson Thomas has sloughed off the bookish black turtleneck of previous publicity shots and has embraced high fashion for the 2008-2009 season:

There’s so much to love about this picture. Let’s start at the top:

1) Conductor Mane: MTT has textbook-perfect symphony conductor hair. This picture simply cannot do it justice: to truly appreciate the glory of the Conductor Mane, you must see it in action. I suspect he conditions it thrice daily to get that perfect mixture of body and bounce. During especially buoyant symphonies (such as Beethoven’s 9th, which he and his mane masterfully conducted today) part of the fun is watching what the hair will do next. This salt-and-pepper mane-about-town is not to be missed.

2) Slightly-Smug Come-Hither Smile: Is it just me or is MTT beckoning us with his smile? and yet, also keeping us at arm’s length? And is it just me or did he go a little overboard with the mauve lipstick?

3) A Splash of Color: MTT is so over the stereotypical black turtleneck thing. Here he’s combined a purple-tinged shirt with a splash of ochre (expertly concealed in the lining of the jacket, the collar of which has been playfully yet purposefully popped out for our enjoyment). Not just colors, but complementary colors. This man is a pro!

4) Oh the Leather!: Anyone who thinks MTT would wear pleather is a damn fool. Many a cow has met their end in MTT’s closet and I’ll tell you something else: those cows would be udderly tickled to know they got to keep this bony frame warm. I know I would be!

5) OK What’s With The Bracelet?: Some would say MTT has gone a little too far with this bauble, but I disagree: I find it charming that he’s supporting local artisans by purchasing jewelry from a Union Square street vendor. And wearing it on his baton hand, no less!

I heart this man. Never go back to the turtleneck, MTT– you were born to pull off this stunningly chic ensemble.

Symphonically Yours,

MAP