The Best Christmas I Ever Done Worked.

The Best Christmas I Ever Done Worked.

Skeets: "They also serve, who only stand and wait. - John Milton"
Booster Gold: "This Stinks." - Booster Gold

Having spent a career in retail and customer service working on Christmas is not a strange or unnatural phenomenon. In fact, this year is the first in a long, long time that I will not be engaging in any form of paid activity within the full 24 hour period. Now I'm certainly in agreement that the entire 24/367 evolution of modern Retail is bullshit and shouldn't be supported in any way, shape or form. I think we all deserve our days off.

BUT...only a Sith deals in absolutes. This is a tale of a different color, so gather round the campfire Old Folks, and walk with me for a spell, Lost Child of Israel. This is the story of the Best Christmas I Ever Worked.

It was the perfect little bit of crisp. Like bacon, only frozen and delicious to the eyes and not the stomach. A little under a half inch of snow had fallen and this Christmas day looked like a postcard from Garrison Keillor. After a quickly perfect morning of perfunctory Christmas duties with the girls I was in my beloved "Lost​" inspired Screenland Plaza 8​ Managers shirt and on my way to work. It wasn't gonna be bad, there were real perks to being the Owner/Boss and I decided to be one of the first to take a metaphorical stab by cancelling evening showtimes and only being open from noon to 5. A quick little blast of memories for everyone and home in time for dinner.

The parking lot even looked perfect. It was the kinda snow you could shovel by jamming the front end of whatever you were using under it and then just running forward and making truck noises like a 5 year old. Everything around the building was scooped and salted in less than half an hour. There was nary a bite to the wind the entire time as Gaia herself sighed across the entire expanse. There's a true beauty hidden in winter, it's like an asshole friend that can be so wonderful sometimes and you have to live somewhere that it usually kicks you in the face to find it.

Another nice thing about being Boss was doing the product right. Today there'd be hot chocolate. And getting to do the schedule meant I was getting two of my favorite employees to split the shift with. Big Baby Squeezus himself, the Wu-Tang Financial of Saint Joseph, MO. Justin Graham​ and a time displaced storyteller, the nightwatch bard of Old Missouri. Dan Donan​ nee Donan Donan.

Even the light that cut in from the windows was just right, the snowblind mixed with the sunshine. Even the crappy customers looks beatific in it that day, the floor was shiny and clean, the concessions all Fresh and Hygenic. Everyone was happy, even if it was the miserable old man that only found happiness in his unhappiness that we knew would be there to complain. Everything was perfectly normal.

We got chinese food, and Squeeze taught us both to dance the forbidden rumba while this Christmas track that I'm about to link to played. You've never seen hips on a bear swing like that as a king otter glides you across the room. You've never worked Christmas on most years and hated it but had a special time when you didn't. In this I have been blessed. In this my cup runneth over.

This year, I ain't gotta work the holiday. So I'm out on that. For you who must, we who are about to dine salute you. To be honest, when the day comes that The Island returns and I can go back and return The Conditions to Glory and bring happiness back to The People than I'll be working it right alongside you again.

But until then dance anyway Senorita, it's Christmas Morning and don't ever let them tell you it ain't bright enough to shine. Merry Christmas and may the Deity of Your Choice Bless Us Everyone.

Redbird Down

Hail to A Queen.

Now is a time that we sing in remembrance the songs of youth. We look back upon movie nights, video games and other such sweet things. Here we pay respect to the anomalous action of untimely death. Attention is due when a mockingbird no longer sings.

Laura Wells Swartz set me up on my first date with my future wife twenty years ago in high school. She hung out backstage and talked about derpy stuff. We put on makeup together. We watched Animaniacs. She never hesitated to laugh. She put the smack down on Dumb Junk and could beat some ass at Dr. Mario. In her adult life she took vacations and put in overtime as an Awesome Aunt. She never stopped questioning, but she already knew how to live.

Laura got taken out by Cancer and if it wasn't for social media I wouldn't have found out until some throwaway conversation at some throwaway high school reunion because I hadn't stayed in touch. I don't know how that friend request never got made. Laura reached out last year and told me not to worry about the Plaza stuff, she said she knew who I really was. I shoulda known to tell her not to worry about the cancer stuff, or even just a "thanks for being in my life."

Laura had a varsity letter in band, she was a scientist and traveled the world. She was a winner by any definition of the word and history would do well to know that her perfectly normal story was a butterfly effect that touched everyone around her. I have two daughters in part because of her. Everyone else reaped just as sweet rewards by knowing her. This is her chapter from the book of Greatest People Who Ever Lived.

So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish.

El Diablo de los Muertos

Who wants a little Caliente in their Pantalones? 

“And on that day the foil lined packets did run red, the stomachs churned and the people who turned their eyes towards Vesuvius, they learned the terrible lessons once passed down upon Sodom…the prophecy had been fulfilled, all that remained now was the aftermath.” – The Chalupa Diaries, Book of Tasteful Revelations.

Picking up my daughter after a successful awards assembly I knew that I would have to reach deep into my bag of tricks to top the “everyone gets an award” frenzy we had just departed. With the light of creation in her eyes and my wife having another hour before I dropped her back at work I knew what must be done…it was time to make a run for the border. 10:40 in the a.m. may not be Taco Time to most, but here in the Midwest the Pork Plant opens early and the Migrant workers have brought with them the advanced culture of early lunch. But Waffle Tacos are awful...never forget that.

Seriously, just like Jurassic Park, we were so caught up with if we COULD we didn't think if we SHOULD.

The kindly lady behind the counter took note of my awesome softball jersey so we talked pro wrasslin’ for a bit, then the tray was put forth. A chili cheese burrito, nacho’s bell grande, a number 10 AND a quesarito big box, with Kickstart on fountain tap this meal was about to go down like a freshman on prom night when suddenly a new fancy caught my eye.

There in a new metal tin, piled high like a Freudian Orgy Pit was something of darker colors than my fatty eyes were trained to seek. El Diablo, the package said. Could it be? 15 years after the debut of something Fiery has Taco Bell again sought to change the game regarding Fourth Meal? For all things in the name of Science I stacked my platter high with a weapon of mass consumption.

Unfortunately all my Marvel Universe mirror forms are fatties too.

Opening ever so much easier than previous models of sauce packets that which was now gushing forth led me to immediately take note that unlike it’s weaker pedigree brother Fire this sauce has forsaken the slightly chunky texture of its forefathers. Instead, like the Black Gold that turned a hillbilly into a millionaire this sprung forth in a fast moving river not unlike the Ambrosian milk and honey myths of ancient Greece.

Like an assassin in the night this sauce first disguised its intent with an initial sweetness that would could only compare to the Lip Smackers covered kiss of a 20 year old with nothing but stardust ahead of her. Much like the aforementioned voodoo poonannie this sweetness was all a ploy to pull the vicimt further down the rabbit hole. I made hate to my chili cheese burrito w/sour cream….and then its silent companion made sweet sweet hate to my mouth. Like a moth to the flame this burn was worth it, as Icarus will attest you must fly close to the heat if you seek the knowledge of the gods.

That'll teach you Icarus....that'll teach you. 

I can now attest that I have tasted that knowledge….and it is delicious. Now, all I can say is this, as the beads of sweat tap danced across my forehead and down my neck like the fire ants from a particularly gruesome episode of MacGyver I looked to the napkin to soak my fatness and it was not enough. I forgot my Towel…Some field researcher I turned out to be…..Bring a Towel….you’ll need it.

Livin' the Thug Life on a Field of Dreams

Did youse guys know that I'm still a really real journalist? Here's an editorial I wrote....it appeared nowhere but here because I kinda can't get a job in media.

"The Royals are starting to get a reputation." - Major Media

Now gosh darnit....we've had a reputation, always have, we're one of the oldest baseball cities in America. We are the home of The Monarchs, the NY Yankees of the Negro Leagues. We were decades ahead of the curve with the Domican Republic Baseball Academy in the 70's. We owned the latter half of that decade and a good chunk of the 80's before our beloved owner passed away and our one true HOF'er George Brett retired.

We took the shit end of the MLB labor crisis harder than any franchise not named Montreal Expos. We watched homegrown stars leave, we lacked resources to replace, we had a trust group running the team though wouldn't spring for throwback jerseys on Negro League Appreciation Day. We got bought by a Wal-Mart billionaire that didn't want to spend money and we were languishing in some kind of K-Mart LA Clippers limbo/hell until our owner remembered what made him a billion dollars and stole the Atlanta Braves star pupil and did little else while awaiting maximum results on minimal investment.

And it all worked out....we wandered the desert for decades after the labor strike like the Lost Tribe of Israel and finally we're back and people have apparently forgot about Dre. Did you think we sold the bats? No Son, we still have them. We are what we have always been, there's a reason the George Brett pine tar incident lives in infamy. Recent history would have the world believe Saint Louis owns a copyright on Real Baseball. We lived through Dusty Rhodes flavored Hard Times they ain't never seen and we're still here on the other side of the state with better a BBQ and finally the baseball to match.

Our reputation is what it has always been, welcome back to Missouri, there's a whole piece you've been missing.

The Song of Lillie.

“Hey Guy”, six little letters, so many meanings. Maybe it’s a question…maybe it’s a criticism….maybe it’s happy…maybe it’s sad.

You meet those that are less ordinary when you step behind the scenes of live theater. A trade that is still steeped in tradition, and decidedly old school no matter how many televisions you put on stage. Don Lillie was a throwback to summerstock internships, nothing but peanut butter for lunch and fixing things in ways that would make MacGyver blush. As a college professor of mine he was a mentor, a teacher and in a way I never saw coming, a role model.

In the rush of youth you often want to be done and move on, set construction was no different on shop days. Don was the sort to make you stick around and put another nail in it just to be safe. Now, the location of the nail or the head sticking out a quarter inch may not be the safest features of that fix, but the wall wasn’t going to crush you unless you slammed the door too hard. Don wanted you to be safe from happenstance; the safety that comes from keeping an eye on your surroundings…well, that was up to you.

Some would say in times such as those he was being a bit careless, or cutting a corner. But it was just Don being a teacher again, the set had to be done, but the set had to be safe, safety can be defined in many ways. For a guy that went to Vietnam and was taken prisoner I can see where safety was best defined as protection against the unknown but keep your wits about you. Don had little patience for bubbleheaded actors that couldn’t watch out for a nail but could slam the door. Don said I was built to take the punishment of theater but I was too lazy to fix a hinge so I never slammed the doors. I think that’s the closest he ever came to paying me a compliment.

I butted heads with him more than any other professor or supervisor I ever had. I probably drove him nuts. I was impatient and wanted to do everything, he’d already seen it all and knew it best to slow things down a little. Every time I thought he had it out for me and was closing a door he opened another avenue. He taught me some of the old secrets, the black magic’s of that Rose on the other side of the River kind of theater.

And now I must rat him out…

Given that he passed away today I can now share the tale of the time he broke Theater Tradition. He cast me in a play that opened on the same weekend as it turned out my first daughter was due during; he made me take a phone on stage and told me something I’ve never shared with anyone. “I will deny it to my grave that I told you it’s ok but if that phone rings you turn around and leave, we’ll send someone on with a script to read your lines. There’s only one excuse for missing a show and that’s your funeral but put your family first.” But 4 years later I had forgotten that lesson, until he taught it to me again.

I had recently completed a scouting trip to where I’d be heading for Grad school. I wasn’t sure if me and Valerie would stay together, I wasn’t sure it was the best decision for Ariel’s quality of life, but I wanted to be a Chicago star so I was going no matter what. My sister suddenly dying of cancer delayed those plans, a week after she passed I talk to Don and he said again, “I made some mistakes when I was younger, put other things first, but Katie (despite having a few decades on me he had a daughter only a few years older than my own)…you gotta take care of the kids first, Otherwise whose going to come see your shows that you care about?” Valerie and I were in a real rough patch, she’d skipped the last couple of shows and it was something that immediately hit me when Don pointed it out. Grad school was out of the question, it was time to get the house in order.

I ran into him just a few months ago, Ariel was going to Artscape and I ran into Don in the hallway. He was a little taken back by how big Ariel was, we shared a good laugh about the Plaza story. He then got a little serious and told me I had a bad habit of letting things I couldn’t control get out of control around me. I can’t remember quite how he worded it but it was very Zen and very right.

Don Lille came of age when the world was getting real big in a hurry. Wars, Media, Chemicals, but he stayed very much loyal to an older way of living. He left America a boy to become a Soldier and a Man. He went to Hell and when he came back he grew out his hair and spent the rest of his life trying to make people smile. He often lost his glasses and his keys but could always remember if you owed any shop hours. He knew how to kill a man but the only knowledge he treasured was how to make a flat and where the screws went in a triscuit. I swear he tried to electrocute me once, he swore he was just trying to teach me voltage.

Don was a good professor, but his kids are awesome and that means he was an even better man. The jokes on you guys when his son Matt becomes the worlds first actual Superhero. One day I will bring Shakespeare to this town and it is because of people like him. This is his chapter from The Book Of Greatest Men Who Ever Lived.