kind words

Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless. - Mother Teresa

The Objectification of Betty White

This past year has seen a lot of the delicious, soon to be nonagenarian, Betty White.

And almost everything and everyone has her talking about sex.

STOP IT!

The most distressing was Saturday Night Live. Yes, she won an Emmy (as well she should have since she was running around by a 16 year old, revived their ratings and was brilliant), but the majority of the sketches were about sex. And it became EXHAUSTING. And we know I ain't no prude. At ALL.

I saw another movie recently where virtually every one of her scenes was about sex and or being randy at her age and I just wanted to yell, "STOP IT!" but I couldn't because my friend who was in the movie was two seats away. Plus, as we all know, it's really not nice to yell in the movie theater. Sometimes I do it anyway. Yes, sometimes I'm Rudy MdRuderson.

Okay...back to the point. I know everyone needs to get a gimmick, but Betty doesn't. This was one of the first women on tv, and the very first who had creative control over content.

That's why her final skit on SNL with Tina Fey was so absolutely brilliant. It was a delicious, clever, mind-fuck game between two ginormously talented women.

And it wasn't about sex.

Sex is the easy way. We can do better than that for Betty. We can honor her.

Can't we?

eternal nothingness

Eternal nothingness is okay if you're dressed for it.

- Woody Allen

pigtails and inkwells

Without our pigtails, the boys have nothing to dip in the inkwells...other than their dicks.--TiZ

AAAAAAAAAARGH!

A colleague of mine is fucking with me. I'd call Shim a friend but since Shim de-friended me on the Book of Face I can't do that anymore. Can't even call Shim an acquaintance.

And what kind of friend fucks with you?

Obviously, one who's been demoted to colleague.

But this time, out of the blue, months later, Shim involved a mutual friend...putting me in a position where I could hurt them. I didn't because the MF is miraculously cool (and 'twixt you and me, my 28 Bleaders, a bit whackadoodle) but it was close.

I don't need this. I don't need help. As we (you, my 28 Bleaders and I) know, I can do enough damage all on my very own, with a curtsy and a smile, thank you very much.

Aaaaaargh.

One less Christmas card to send, methinks.

Expectations

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.--Monty Python

Aunt Flo

If women are supposed to be less rational and more emotional at the beginning of our menstrual cycle when the female hormone is at its lowest level, then why isn't it logical to say that, in those few days, women behave the most like the way men behave all month long?--Gloria Steinem

Who Wore It Best

My current employer had a fab fund-raiser this evening. Best eats, best music I's evah had at one of these here fancy schmancy thingamajigs. Well played. It really was quite gorgeous.

And I'm all dressed up in the ONE dress-up dress I brung. I looked cute.

And wearing the same dress? A 12-year-old from Summer On Stage, the education program.

Why Lord?

And instead of being embarrassed, because I am who I am (and probably a little bit tipsy am who I am), I run up to her, lifting my dress the entire journey, yelling, "Look, we're twins!"

Why Lord?

My moronability rose 20 points this evening.

Why Lord?

Expectations

Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person is a little like expecting the bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian.

- Dennis Wholey

lessons

If you hold a cat by the tail you learn things you cannot learn any other way.--Mark Twain

National White Chocolate Day

September 22nd, yesterday, was National White Chocolate Day. And to that I pose the oft asked question,

WTF?

What is white chocolate? Does anyone like it? Does anyone eat it?

I believe it is a National Wax Association conspiracy to rid itself of surplus product.

What it most definitely is NOT is chocolate. To be labeled chocolate, a product must have cocoa solids from chocolate liquor (which is not alcohol). White chocolate does not have these solids. Therefore, I think it should be relabeled...

White Shite.

And thus, yesterday was National White Shite Day.

Celebrate good times, come on. It's a celebration.

Identity

Let TiZ be Tiz.--TiZ

Can you tell I watched a West Wing re-run this morning? Honestly, insert your name, Let ________ be _______ and see how you feel.

Exercise

Exercise is the yuppie version of bulimia.--Barbara Ehrenreich

My TaRot

says I'm in for some shit today.

FantAsStic.

Money

I've been rich and I've been poor. Rich is better.--Sophie Tucker

Something Else I Love Right Now

...actually...ALWAYS.

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

I don't have cable in my flat in la citta so I have to partake of his glory online, and while glorious, it's still not a full-on, full frontal glory.

But I'm not in my flat right now, so I have cability.

And tonight his guest was Jimmy Carter. I admire Jimmy Carter for so many reasons...his candor, wisdom, joy, brute intelligence, deductive powers, self-effacing humor and sheer tirelessness. In ten days he turns 86, and he is out hawking the 23rd book he's penned since his presidency. 23rd. Come ON!

Was he a good President? An effective POTUS? Hells, no.

But damn, look at what he's done since. And he got all up in Fox News' junk...wheeee!

Okay...that's all. Just a few other things I love.

And the $4 yoga class I'm attending tomorrow. I'm AsSuming I'm gonna love that.

And the fact it's supposed to POUR tomorrow. Sweet Candy Christ. I know I'm gonna love that.

Moving Forward

We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.--Walt Disney

Things I Love Right NOW

Enough Debbie Downer. Enough Wendy Whiner. Down with Calamity Jane.

A list of things I love, in no particular order, 'cause love is love...

The crew. Them I love A LOT.

My BIHH family.

My bathtub.

That the HOUSE season premiere is tonight. Wheee.

The pretty tree out my window.

Cable TV.

Being able to stream Netflix onto my computer that sits on the toilet while I bathe.

Pictures of my family.

Slatted blinds.

Air-conditioning.

Humidifiers.

Knowing all I have to do is walk five feet and I'll have someone to play with.

Knowing all I have to do is close my blinds and I have myself to play with.

Coloring books.

Yoga.

Performing.

Writing.

Generous friends.

The South Beach Diet.

The GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO series.

Slap-dash orthotics.

Horoscopes.

Kittens and candy.

There's more...obviously. But that's all for now.

Rigmarole, Fol de Rol and Outlets

You all know when I write it's more about me, right? It's, in fact, all about me. What I write says more about me and my current state of mind and soul than anything I'm commenting on.

Okay...I'm a hard-AsS.

My life is spent on the road. More often than not, half my year is spent away from my home and my loved ones. This, and the fact I'm a maniac, has killed many a relationship.

By nature of my business, I am told where I'll be living, if I'll have a bathtub, if I'll have a car, who I'll share the car with, when I go to the supermarket (sometimes), how much room I'll have in a fridge, and who will be my friends for the next couple of weeks or months. I now also have to put a security deposit on an apartment that I don't get to pick out.

I have no control over anything...other than how I react.

That's just the social/personal aspect of the whole kit and kaboodle. Sometimes where I'm living is gorgeous. Sometimes there's a bathtub. Sometimes I get to live in a city near a friend and her new family. Sometimes I love the people I'm working and driving with, Bitch.* This is one of those times. They are keepers, each and every one.

But this can get old. At least for me. I think a lot of it has to due with the fact I'm getting old. I LOVE to work, don't get me wrong. I fucking LOVE what I do. My time onstage gets me through a lot of la vida's shenanigans and I'm always grateful for the opportunity.

But change is hard. Especially when you're the type of person who cried when her parents changed the upholstery on the dining chairs. Don't you know, they saved a swatch of it for me.

They were wise.

I know I am responsible for 100% of my life. I'm even pretty sure I was responsible for the strange suckiness of tonight's audience. Honestly, I was the laugh vacuum...with great sucking power.

I am responsible for 100% of my life. I have invited all of this, shaken its hand and said, "Howdydo, partner."

Now...what to do with it?

Your feedback is always welcome. Especially when it results in an apology, and a reassessment (both situational and textual) from me.

See...it IS all about me. (Somewhere there is an emoticon for that, but hells if I know what/where it's at.*)

*Remember, never end a sentence with a preposition, Bitch.**

**That Bitch was for good measure.

Controlly McViceGrip

I know I know. I have control issues. Maybe even control tissues since it's basically a muscular reaction at this point.

But I may have been outdid.

The last 2 months have just let me muttering (Okay, screaming), "Stop trying to control me." And this is not to directors. I LOVE direction. Sadly, most of my direction the past couple of years just includes the word "Don't." This must be because I am VERY creative.

Let me give a list of some of the strangest offenses...

1. Being given a line reading...in conversation.

2. Being told by an employer that they want me here early so I will be well-rested for the first day of rehearsal. Well...I'm being nice enough to come a day earlier and you obviously don't know this cast, 'cause we're gonna go out and get drunk.

3. Having a colleague say, "I run this rehearsal."

4. Having stickers on the back of company cars that ask, "How's my driving?" and include a phone number so any bored tea partier can call the insurance company and narc on you for "unsavory lane changes."

5. Being asked, "Who was driving the company car at noon yesterday?" and not being told why.

6. A colleague having to sign a release saying she would drive better (aka, no unsavory lane changes).*

7. A suggested group warm-up pre-show.

8. Having my clothing eyed and "fixed" by other than someone employed to do so.

9. Being called once a week for each claim (so 3x a week) by Worker's Comp to see if I still need medical treatment.

10. Being called to the office and never being told why.

And of course...All Things Pandermonium.

It's become cold sore central for me. Haven't had any blossom in nine months. Two in the past three weeks.

But it's a good lesson in what controlling tendencies can do to those around you (and my lips). I guess. I gave up caring three days ago and it's worked wonders on my disposition.

Can't you tell?

*This is weighing particularly heavy on my mind at the moment, as I cut someone off at a four-way stop traffic circle. He was directly opposite and turning left. I was turning right...into the same lane...BECAUSE HE DIDN'T HAVE HIS BLINKER ON. So, there I am smiling and curtsying with an "I'm so sorry" wave, because he can just dial up a number and say I did an unsavory turn WHEN IT WAS HIS FAULT. This is what I'm worrying about while I'm driving instead of DRIVING. I'm honestly thinking of driving around wearing a Nixon mask.

Eine Kleine Tea Party

So...here I am in AZ. And I'm asked to do a radio interview...a 6:30 am radio interview. I turn it down, because...well...I couldn't do it...'cause...well...I didn't want to.

So...I do a 9:30 am radio interview. They lure me with a venti iced green tea unsweetened and the company of my buddy Matt. As we're riding over, our press rep turns on the radio and it's...

right wing.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

He claims the station is well-balanced and our guy is pretty middle of the road.

I listen some more.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

This be a Christian radio station, praise sweet candy Christ.

We're sitting in the anteroom and I can hear more commentary that makes my ears bleed. I'm beginning to twitch--I have no interest in embarrassing the theater, but as witnessed in the West Wing during the Bush League, I can be pretty mouthy if I feel injustice and/or thoughtlessness is being tossed about in the name of righteousness.*

Matty and I enter to meet our host. Within 30 seconds I learn he grew up two blocks from my Tante. Let the softening begin.

Not mine. His.

Okay, a little bit me.

And we are jolly and intelligent and fun. But I make sure to talk about being a female drag queen. The host asks Matty to show him a few moves. (We were simulcast on the web.) Matt suggests they partner. Matt wangles the host into being the girl 'cause Matt has to be the guy 'cause Matt is taller.

Brilliance.

And the guy is a good sport about it all. We leave all shades of proud that we have softened him.

They cut the dance from the archives of the show that are now available on the interwebs. And it's not his producers who have done this. He is his own producer.

Our work here is obviously not done.

*God does not talk to me. I do not talk to him. We have an understanding.

Pandermonium

I'm in the midst of it. Pandermonium. I've voiced my concern so it's not like I'm going to surprise colleagues by writing about it here.

I'm in the midst of a co-production. And the show is being altered to suit the new theater.

Now, the stage was built incorrectly, so we've had to change blocking and set moves. This was a mistake. This I get.

But altering the integrity of a piece to pander to an audience and its current political climate? Not their intelligence. Not even their sensibilities. Their beliefs.

Slippery slope we're being thrust down. In my eyes, it turns the theater into a bordello and the actors into prostitutes.

This is a mistake, I believe.* This I will never get.

And I've always preferred to think of myself as carny trash.

The audience is reacting less and less enthusiastically the more we sell ourselves.

This I will sadly have to get used to.

This and feeling dirty.

* Even the Nana said, "Oh no!" And when the Nana says, "Oh no!" people should listen.

SNICKERS!!!!

Nine years and one day ago I left Manhattan on the 8:35 am train to Baltimore.

The Universe is good at keeping me out of harm's way.

And I slept through it. In its entirety. It wasn't until I awoke right outside of B'more that I had a feeling something had gone wrong. Everyone on the train seemed to be making alternate plans. I exited the train to find my new company manager, Katie Burns. I simply asked, "What's wrong?"

"You have no idea at all?"

"Nope. I was asleep."

"Well, I'll tell you in bits and pieces as we walk to the car. It's a lot to take in."

And that's what she did. Every hundred feet or so, she'd drop another nugget of information.

When we reached the car, she handed me my welcome bag full of delightful treats. And after every nugget, I would find another treat to revel over.

"And then the Pentagon was hit."

"Oooh, a violet plant."

"And then the South Tower fell."

"Oh, look. Notepaper."

"And then the North Tower fell."

"SNICKERRRRRRRRRS!!!!!"

That's what I remember most vividly. For a few seconds, a Snickers bar was the most comforting thing in my world.

For years, I would contact Katie Burns on the date...with the single word, "Snickers."

I don't know where she is now but I thought of her. And I did buy some Snickers.

9-11-2010

When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.--Jimi Hendrix

Pie

The pies have pleased.

Years ago, back in my Disney days, some delicious, anonymous soul would leave a 2-liter bottle of TaB in my dressing room. AMAZING. What's better than starring in a Broadway show? Starring in a Broadway and receiving anonymous TaB.

Knowing that not everyone is smart enough to enjoy the Nectar of the Gods (and wanting to hoard it all for me, Me, ME), I started a tradition--when a beloved colleague does a Broadway gig, I deliver a homemade chocolate chip cookie pie. Who doesn't love a ginormous, gooey chocolate chip cookie? No one, says I.*

The tradition extends to any show I am doing at any theater...for tech. Chocolate chip cookie pies show up during the ten out of twelves. Even under the best of circumstances, ten out of twelves suck. Who doesn't love a ginormous, gooey chocolate chip cookie during tech? No one, says I.*

Everyone gets a little happy and feels a little cared for and that's a little bit of goodness.

And for some reason I feel a little happier and a little more cared for when I do it.

PIE!

*I recently jauntily delivered one to a favorite executive cross-dresser who was back on Broadway after many years. It never occurred to me that he was of such fame that he wouldn't be able to accept a gift from a stranger. I sure hope the crew enjoyed it.

Song for the Day

h/o/t/ Jim Sweeney

I Took a Dislike

...a dislike to someone recently. A pretty strong dislike. And I couldn't figure out why. Was it a mix of bossy know-it-allness with a touch of incompetence (like we alls got)? That will usually do the trick. Was there the added dash of megalomania (it's like lookin' in a mirror)? If so, I'm truly in a crank stew.

But this was different. This made steam come rushing forth from every orifice.

And then I figured it out.

He sounds like Rush Limbaugh.

Enough said.

At least if you know me. He could be Mother Theresa and I'd still have issues.

Happy 8000

You e-lightful Bleaders. You did it!

You and the Arabic readers where TiZ translates to something along the lines of "hoo hoo."

I know there are some blogs that reach 8000+ hits in a day, but since I remain Ann Anonymous, do not promote (other than the occasional shout out on the Book of Face), and am just "the nicest random blog I've ever come across,"* I count myself mighty blessed.

As a result of a kick in the AsS from Labor Day (which I will spend sacked on the soporofic sofa with a head cold...which is strange 'cause I'm in Tucson where it's so dry I have no boogers), I vow to labor (in a Tizzy the light fantastic way) more with my writing.

See you in the land of 0s and 1s...it's Heaven.com.

*Thank you, random reader from India...where TIZ does not mean "hoo hoo."

I Thank You

You who commented. You who didn't turn your backs on Ye Olde TiZ and AsS when I took my momentary blug leave of absence. Ooooh...a bleave of absence.

After the previous blug, I think the reason is obvious.

By the way, I DID clean and I DID find someone who wanted to take care of my apartment for me whilst I am away.

And I DID see an almost secret Eddie Izzard concert in a tiny venue. Genius.

And I CONTINUE to work with the sweetest group of people in the history of theater.

Life is Good.

Love, Loss and What I Ate

LOVE

I went to L.A. for three days or so. Not for the reason I expected but for the reason I needed. To see friends. And not the friends you often read me write about (I was going to write "hear me write about" but that just seemed too stoopid for written word) but the ones I obviously needed to see.

First stop-Larry. Larry and the dogs. Larry who has been around electronically for years but only recently again personally. I'm glad the recent has happened. Larry is a good man. A great man. With great dogs. We went hiking 'cause that's what I wanted/needed to do. I find talking easier when there is physical activity involved. I find almost any interaction easier when physical activity is involved. Keeps me out of my head. Keeps me honest.

And then I scampered away to my

Second stop-Death and the Props Goddess. Yes, that's right. Death and the Props Goddess. We're going way back...Yale. Dr. Death was renowned because he could take one toke or your pot and tell you what kind it was and WHERE IT WAS GROWN. Yes, he was the Henry Higgins of Pot. To the extent he took my roommates mom's crop and murmured, "Sens. Westchester?"

Bingo!

The Props Goddess did props for the Yale Precision Marching Band. She earned the moniker rightly. If you've never seen them, youtube 'em. Raucous, underhanded, overt musical joy. Death was the announcer (as well as a brilliant organist who serenaded thousands of tripping Yalies with Bach Toccata in D minor at the yearly Halloween Concert at Woolsey Hall). I fondly remember their "Salute to Communism" and the quick cut-to-commercial on national tv.

Anyway...that's who they were. Who they are? AWESOME. I never spend three hours over dinner. I spent three hours over dinner.

Third stop-Harriet. I love her. Have worked with her. Barely know her. But love her. She is funny and smart and thoughtful and thought-filled and kind.

Fourth stop-Kevin. Hiking with Kevin. Kevin makes me laugh and I envy Kevin 'cause Kevin lives his dreams. Hanging with Michael. Who knew I needed to see Michael? Loopy, efficient, generous Michael. Callie. Who knew I needed to be dry-humped by Callie? Don't get excited. Callie is a dog. Debra Jo. I knew I needed to see Debra Jo. Debra Jo always makes time. And she knew I needed an attitude adjustment. Little did she know how much.

Fifth stop-Kieran. Warped Kieran. He drinks TaB. He's a film-maker. He's wicked and wicked smart.

Sixth stop-Sus and her baby sirens. All delicious, gnawable creatures who put things in a new perspective.

Seventh stop-Sistah. We have not seen one another in eight years. We played identical twins. We would like to play twins again. This would take some weight loss on my part. She is married to the delicious Rafe and mother to another awesome siren. She has NOT turned into a soccer mom with a muffy hairband as she feared. I needed to see her. I'm not quite sure why yet but maybe someday...

Eighth stop-Nemo. She has a real name but I like Nemo. When we met 14 years ago, I was in the midst of some naughtiness and kept repeating, "I'm telling no one." Well...Nemo means "no one" so that's how I got away with confessing my sins. We continue to confess and absolve and shriek and cackle over life. She buys me TaB. Her almost teenage siren was there too. If all I created on this earth was this young woman, I would die happy. Nemo is the best. Mother. EVER.

Ninth stop-Eddie. He's new. He's Nemo's. I like him.

Other things I loved-Von's had TaB. The Tangerine Hotel. The Troubador Players' production of A WHITHERS TALE. My CaR and San Diego...and Newport Beach and Encinitas.

LOSS

Oy. It started with a director saying I was not right for a role I had played to great success before, so I would never be playing her again.*

Within an hour, the job for which I had booked a ticket to L.A. (and then to Tucson) was pulled due to ridiculous legalities that folks have overlooked for twenty some-odd years. Thank you, ridiculous legalities. I now have a residence in L.A. so you can never ridiculous legality me again. Since the ticket was non-refundable, L.A.--here I went.

While hiking with Larry, I learned that George David Weiss had passed. You may not know him by name, but he wrote WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD, THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT and CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU. He also wrote my first princess musical which put me on the map with an Atlantic Records original cast recording and a Warner Home Video. We hadn't spoken in ages and he was quite aged (Don't read this, Nana.) but we had worked together for five months and were good drinking buddies, so it made me melancholy. Workable melancholy but nonetheless...

And then...

Andy died. I'm not going to give you his full, delicious moniker because...well...he never asked to be included in something entitled TIZ AND ASS. But Andy was an ER doctor, a highly-regarded Ivy League professor and researcher. And while riding his Vespa to work he was hit by a truck.

And he died.

When his brother-in-law called to tell me, he wanted to make sure I wasn't behind the wheel. Why compound the issue, eh?

Honestly, Universe, you couldn't have picked on some exec from an investment bank bail-out who took his undeserved "stolen" yearly bonus and went to Cancun?

You had to take Andy?

Andy was a part of my Yale escapades that I hold madly near and dear. An episode of my life I rarely write about because I hold it so strangely sacred. A group of guys who, no matter what I did, made me feel like I was brilliant and cared for and a lady. They are a part of my secret arsenal. And Andy was a kind and loopy and generous and talented and absolutely brilliant bullet.

As I wrote one of my friends, "my most recent fond memory of andy was at the reunion, post-cemetary when we all gathered at the non-working fountain in front of stirling. andy just dropped a beautiful nugget of why we had to cherish the kind of discourse owned only by the sob's because it was precious and existed nowhere else.

i hate this for all of you. the earth does not seem to be spinning on its axis correctly."

I made the sadness workable for a little while. People to see and love, you know.

Now I just hurt. If you feel like being angry with God, I'm your girl. Call me. But I may be asleep since that's what I do when sad. When the going gets tough, Tizzy gets her AsS to bed.**

WHAT I ATE

I ate a lot. I've become a nervous eater. L.A. and its environs sustained me with...

peanut butter

chocolate chip cookie dough

Snicker's bar

Japanese vegan

Spinach salad with a pig's worth of bacon

Bob's Big Boy Bacon Cheeseburger with avocado and fries

chorizo omelet

chips and guac

a GINORMOUS shrimp quesadilla

a GINORMOUS honey bun

bagel with peanut butter and butter

Carvel large chocolate cone

and...

2 12 packs of TaB.

All in three days.

Burp.

*Okay. You'll find that the tapestry of the show unravels if you change the quality of that character. It's not the book and it's not the movie. Go with God (the one I'm currently rather angry with).

**Actually, not sure I believe in GoD. Working on that. I do believe in the human spirit. And I also believe that my AsS will not remain in bed for long.