We Need a Hero

Omicron sounds like a Marvel villain, doesn’t it?  Something like:

INT. HILLTOP HIDEAWAY – NIGHT

OMICRON, ageless, sits on a chair at a glass desk faced away from us, staring straight through a wall of windows at the luxurious skyline.   Then suddenly —

He swings around.  A tightly fitted black synthetic fabric covers his face and entire body, except for a pair of shiny white leather gloves on his hands petting a white cat sitting on his lap.

Twist mustache, purrrrfect

His hands slide up and down the cat almost seductively until he slowly rises, raising the cat high in the air in a moment of victory.

Then he brings it down to his shoulders, where it wraps itself around his neck and rests comfortably, like the powerful and immovable amulet of horror it will soon turn out to be.

Okay, maybe that was more 1960s Bond than Marvel but you get the idea. 

And, sorry to demonize the cat.

Of course, you can demonize anyone and anything these days and get away with it.  Ask Congresswoman Lauren Boebert (R-CO). 

This is a good start

In the last few years she’s gone to fundraisers around the country with some D-list shtick about hijab-wearing, Somalian born Rep. Ilhan Omhar (D- Minn) being a terrorist, joking she feels safe in an airport or elevator or wherever else she slithers as long as her fellow congresswoman is not there wearing a backpack.

There was a time when this kind of thing would have ended your career instead of making you a headliner.  But there’s an old expression a lobbyist ex-boyfriend once shared with me about this:  Bedfellows make strange politics.

Meaning if you lay down with pigs long enough, before long you’ll grow to love the mud, muck and manure.  In fact, it might even turn into your life’s blood.

Nope, never

Ask aspiring Speaker of the House Kevin McCarthy (R-CA).  He sees Rep. B’s Islamaphobic remarks, as well as the hard right wing racist taunts from the likes of Marjorie Taylor-Greene (R-GA) and Madison Cawthorne (R-NC) as merely a messaging problem rather than the unearthing of a gaggle of mice and cockroaches bent on eating their way through the support beam barely holding up what little structural foundation remains of his party. (Note:  That would be the Republican party, or as he likes to sometimes refer to it, the party of Lincoln.  The latter would be the man who freed the Civil War slaves, the same one that several noted psychics claim to have literally seen turning over in his grave in the last few years)

Not that I’m partial or anything. 

Reality check

But once we get into people like Rep. Cawthorn, who says his trip to the Fuhrer’s vacation home (Note: That would be Hitler’s pied-a-terre) was a memorable sojourn that was on his bucket list, all bets are off.

I mean, there is no prose purple enough you can use to describe that.  Hence, the Omicron excerpt above.  With more than 100,000 new coronavirus cases and 1000 plus deaths in the U.S. daily, the latter stat almost solely among the unvaccinated despite a vast surplus of vaccine, the rest of us have now become the unwitting cast, crew and extras of a new, live and ongoing superhero film missing one basic and very crucial element – a superhero.

All bat signal, no bat

Which brings us to the Supreme Court.  That once hallowed last chance savior body has this week taken up an anti-woman’s right to choose case from Mississippi that will likely end the landmark 1973 Roe vs. Wade decision that gives all women the blanket federal right to seek an abortion up to 24 weeks into their pregnancy.

But in her questioning, Justice Amy Coney Barrett (Note: Whose confirmation in the during the last days of the Trump presidency was celebrated in a massive COVID-19 virus super spreader event at the White House) reasoned that pregnancy and parenthood are not part of the same burden.  In fact, she posed the idea that as long as women could give their babies up to the state for adoption, the right to terminate a pregnancy could at least be almost cut in half, or curtailed even further.

Because why shouldn’t an underage girl raped by a family member who is too scared to come forward in her first trimester be forced to have her baby?  Can’t she, like, just leave it at the firehouse as girls used to do in the old days?

It literally takes your breath away

Granted, this is my incendiary language and not hers.  But it’s essentially accurate when you read through her questioning.  See, Justice Barrett, 49, has seven children, two of whom are adopted, and a fundamentalist’s view of religious doctrine.  So much so that she once held the title of handmaiden at a small and very conservative Christian group called People of Praise. 

Not a fount of choice to be had there. 

Nope. That’s it. Moving to Canada.

Now, far be it for me to take away anyone’s freedom to live their life in their own kind of personal hell, I mean, dogma.  They are free to think of me as a sinner and try to own me as the self-admitted lib that I am, just as I am free to think of them as the misguided, willfully ignorant idiots that I know them to be.

But I’m just at the point of proclaiming what they are all NOT free to do is to refuse a vaccine against a disease that threatens the survival of life as we know it.  If you can drink a Coke, eat fast food, get your kid a small pox and polio vaccine before they enter school, you can sure as f-k be required to get this f-kin shot. 

I mean, I’ve gotten THREE so far and listen to me here.  Don’t I sound normal???

And I’d get three more shots if I had to!

Not to mention, shouldn’t there be at least an intelligence test you have to take before you get to serve in Congress or the executive branch?  (Note: Can you imagine who wouldn’t make the cut?).  How about a few geniuses get together and concoct a 2020 plus racism test that disqualifies you from serving if you score below a certain number?  The same for the basic tents of democracy (Note: Freedom of speech, religion, press, assembly) with essay questions on each so you can’t just pass by memorizing a bunch of laws.

I’d volunteer to grade them because…who else could I trust?

Red pens are ready!

Now I’m just joking, but only barely.  More than ever, this feels like the part of the film where either a hero or extraordinary power swoops in and saves us or we decide to save ourselves by standing up to the likes of the Omicrons.

Whether they’re wearing robes or abusing their elected offices with stupidity.

I’m by no means suggesting storming the Capitol.   Rather, spending some more time standing up to them in strategic discourse and civil disobedience.

As well as crawling through broken glass to cast your vote and make yourself heard.

Bonnie Tyler – “Holding Out for a Hero”

Now You Know

Funny enough it’s almost exactly 40 years ago to the day of his death this week at the too young age of 91 that Stephen Sondheim taught me a life lesson I continue to live by to this day.

Predictably enough, it was while I was sitting in a prized orchestra seat of a then-new Sondheim musical, Merrily We Roll Along, listening to one of his lyrical words of wisdom.

Unpredictably enough, and to this day in my mind unfairly enough, that show would also turn into one of his biggest Broadway flops. 

Flop? Says who??

Though as one of a very select group of people in attendance at the next to last Broadway performance of the original cast of Merrily in 1981, I can only tell you that in my mind that production and that show was, and will always be, a huge success.

Profound.  Moving.  Funny.  Insightful.  Scathing.  Ironic.  Wise.  Deep.  Joyful. 

And smart. 

Oh, so smart. 

What more can you ask for from any piece of art?

Is it selfish to say more more more!!!!?

Oh, the song.  It’s not one of the famous ones, popular ones or even obscure, uncovered and belatedly lauded ones. 

Though it is the first act curtain. 

And its three-word title has immeasurably endured, helping me to process some of the very worst times in my life right after and long after they happened.  Then.  And now.

What’s it called?

 It’s called….Now You Know.

Me too!

A jazzy little number sung by two best friends of a famous young composer who has cheated on his wife with the lead actress in his new hit musical.

They’re divorced and he’s on the courthouse steps, having just lost a bitter and salacious custody battle for their young son.  And though his lovely, kind-hearted ex admits she still loves him she confesses she just can’t get past his infidelity and forgive him for the man he’s become.

So she’s moving thousands of miles away and taking the kid with her.

He’s blind-sided and suddenly devastated at the realization of life without them. 

What’s worse, it gets played out publicly in front of a slew of venal and vindictive reporters and cameras.

Very much the vibe

It’s that moment when even the heel-iest of heels knows they will never truly be the same, much less recover.  Forget about the rest of us.

That scene was set in 1966 and I was a recently out gay guy in my twenties with no thought of ever having a kid, much less a wife.  But boy, could I relate.

Me in the audience

Because it was about the type of hurt and devastation that in some way we will all be forced to experience, and more than once.  That time when:

a. We’ve f-cked up royally and at great personal cost.  Or,

b. We’ve had an unexpected death or perhaps devastating other loss.  Or,   

c. There’s been a terrible betrayal, to us or by us we can never get beyond.  Or,

d. We finally accept that the bold, implied or sealed promises made to us by others, or to ourselves, will NEVER, EVER happen the way we imagined.

We’re lost.  Bigly.  Big time.  And there’s no chance we can be who we once were.  Ever again.

OK well yeah, but also this:

Here’s what Mr. Sondheim had to say to that:

All right

Now you know:

Life is crummy

Well, now you know

I mean, big surprise:

People love you and tell you lies

Bricks can tumble from clear blue skies

Put your dimple down

Now you know

Okay, there you go —

Learn to live with it

Now you know

It’s called flowers wilt

It’s called apples rot

It’s called thieves get rich

And saints get shot

It’s called God don’t answer prayers a lot

Okay, now you know

Okay, now you know

Now forget it

Don’t fall apart at the seams

It’s called letting go your illusions

And don’t confuse them with dreams

Yes sir, quite a blow?

Don’t regret it

And don’t let’s go to extremes

It’s called, what’s your choice?

It’s called, count to ten

It’s called, burn your bridges, start again

You should burn them every now and then

Or you’ll never grow!

Because now you grow

That’s the killer is

Now you grow

You’re right, nothing’s fair

And it’s all a plot

And tomorrow doesn’t look too hot —

Right, you better look at what you’ve got:

Over here,  hello?

Okay, now you know…

– Sondheim, 1981

All the feels

It’s called letting go your ILLUSIONS, and don’t confuse them with DREAMS?

Are you kidding me????

What about, burn your bridges, start again, you should BURN THEM EVERY NOW AND THEN OR YOU’LL NEVER GROW?!   With the lyrical promise, written by someone older and wiser and infinitely more talented that,  that’s the killer…NOW YOU GROW??

Seriously???

Channeling this Meryl energy entirely

You mean, it’s okay to walk away when you’ve tried everything and it’s not working?  And there IS hope at the end of the tunnel?

But how will that work? 

Well, you better look at what you’ve got

Wait, you mean…oh…..your friends….who despite everything are still there and literally singing to you  —

Over here, hello???

Wait, that’s what it’s really about???

I mean, it still slays me.

GENIUS

How he knew so much, put it so succinctly and rhymed so simply, completely and, yes, tunefully.

It’s called devoting a lifetime to your art and never taking the easy way out.

– It’s called consistently mentoring generations of young writers for decades, despite your schedule, because in your teens you were lucky enough, through a family connection, to be mentored by one of the great lyricists of the American musical theatre, Oscar Hammerstein, and always promised to pay it forward.

– It’s called staying current with new work in the theatre for the next half century instead of spending your time reliving and pining for the good old days.

Always one step ahead

– It’s called daring to be bad, in your work and in your life, in order to become good.

– It’s called not letting it all go to your head and knowing at the end of the day it’s just you, your beloved Blackwing pencils and some paper late at night, trying to make a hat.

The thing about Sondheim is not that he didn’t know how good he was.  It was that he didn’t dwell on it, tried to do better and always knew deep down that he wasn’t perfect.

As he so eloquently stated in one of the short verses of the above song I didn’t mention:

I mean, socks have holes,
I mean, roads have bumps,

They make meatheads champs and nice guys chumps…
I mean, even cream of wheat has lumps.

#RIP.  From a fan.

Merrily We Roll Along – “Now You Know”