Sex and the City...the Movie

Ok....it's chick flick time!

I know I'm like a year behind in viewing this film, but last week I finally rented Sex and the City.

The reason why I didn't go see it last May is because the whole experience of going to the movies has gradually turned into some sort of Chinese TORTURE.

Let's see, there's.....

...the price of the movie ticket.

...the price of the popcorn.

...the 200 movie previews that I'm FORCED to sit through.

...the sound of people talking and sitting so close, that they might as well be straddling my EARS.

...and my all-time favorite torture...the delightful sound of cell phones ringing.

You see, this is why god invented DVD'S.

Also, another reason why I didn't see the film is because I don't have cable, therefore, I had only seen maybe a handful of episodes and loved them, yet never really got hooked on them enough to make me want to rush out and watch the film.

I had also heard from several people who enjoyed the TV show, that the movie was over-rated and not very good.

Well, I've gotta say....I thoroughly enjoyed it!

In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I watched it THREE times.

And part of why I enjoyed this film so much, is because I'm secretly in love with Sara Jessica Parker. And if I were straight, Sara Jessica Parker would definitely be my girlfriend. So Matthew Broderick better be DAMN glad that I prefer male genitalia.

There's something in the way that Sara is put together that I find very attractive and sexy.

Her personality. Her sense of style. Her body.

She's adorable.

Anyway, back to the movie....

What's not to enjoy? I mean, it's not only hysterical and over-the-top, but it also has levels of real-life honesty. And the soundtrack is awesome.

And even though I'm not a fashion mongrel, watching all those clothes EXPLODE on the screen got me very excited. Didn't you love the Vogue photo shoot?

(I rewound that part at least 3 times)

And I guess because I've just recently been reunited with the Big Apple, seeing it as the backdrop for this film made me realize why I enjoy it's cornucopia of visual flavors.

Last week, a customer at work told me that another Sex and the City film is in the making.

And if that's the case...the second it comes out on DVD, this man will sitting in front of his TV screen, sipping a glass of red wine; waiting for Sara Jessica Parker to make her entrance.

But in the meantime, I'll just fantasize about it.....

*above graphic made by: Face In Hole

Two Franks

The above photo was taken by my father while he was in the Army; stationed in Newfoundland, Canada in 1945.

And I can only imagine what tremendous excitement it gave him to finally meet his all-time favorite Hoboken, New Jersey, Italian-born singing idol, on the day that Frank Sinatra came to visit his military troop.

There are two things that my father had always wished about his life...

...to be able to sing.

...and that he had gone to school to become a dentist.

(a singing dentist, I guess)

My dad (who was also a Frank) loved listening to his treasure of Sinatra albums.

I have such vivid memories of LP's playing on Sunday afternoons, while smelling tomato sauce cooking in the kitchen and hearing such tunes as: Night and Day, The Way You Look Tonight, Witchcraft, and Come Fly With Me.

One day last week, while I was standing in line at Starbucks, I noticed that they were playing Sinatra songs, which immediately made me smile and think of my dad.

But what's interesting, is that I never appreciated or ever really felt Sinatra in my soul, until I got to the age of forty-one, and was ironically cast in a play in which my character and the character that I was romantically involved with, shared a scene together, where we danced to the music of one of Mr. Sinatra's songs.

The play also used various Sinatra songs that were musically woven between each of the scene changes, so that every performance for me was like experiencing Sunday afternoons in the Carnavil family.

Little by little throughout the rehearsal process, something shifted inside me, where I began to finally hear and connect to what it was that my father had always enjoyed.

About midway through the run of the play, I had officially become a full-fledged Frank Sinatra fan; finding myself singing his songs throughout my day.

And what was really touching for me, is that many times during that one particular scene in the play, I could literally feel my father onstage....dancing through me.

It was as if Frank Sinatra had magically brought my father and I together again...as we both shared a common love.

"So, thank you Mr. Sinatra."

"And Dad...I finally now know why the hell you loved him so much."

My father.....the other Frank.

Phyllis Diller Has a Big Sole

Waaaaay back in the late 70's, I was cast in a musical review that was scheduled to perform at the Sahara Hotel in Lake Tahoe, Nevada.

We rehearsed the show in Las Vegas for two weeks, then the cast traveled via car caravan through the beautiful mountains of Tahoe.

Our living arrangements had been made by the director/producer of the show, in which some of us were to stay in the home of the zany comedienne, Phyllis Diller.

She apparently rented out her home whenever our director needed to house cast members for a show he was producing in Tahoe.

The house was beautiful. Not overly decorated or ostentatious, but rather simple, airy and spacious.

We each had our own bedroom and bathroom, but share common areas such as the kitchen, den, and living room. The living room was my favorite place, because it had a huge bay window that over-looked Lake Tahoe and the casino's. Sometimes at night, I would turn off all the lights and sit in a chair; just gazing out over the beautiful twinkling lights below - it was breathtaking.

Everything that Phyllis Diller owned in the house was literally documented in a large book. Everything from furniture, silverware, dishes, appliances, sheets, bath towels....even down to the ashtrays were accounted for and would need to be accounted for, when we left.

And can you blame her?

I mean, I could just imagine some celebrity crazed psycho like myself, trying to smuggle one of her bed pillows in my suitcase and telling everyone, "Look what I have....and just think, Phyllis Diller actually laid her head on this pillow...could you just DIE??"

But that still didn't stop me from snooping around; looking through every room and going through every closet and drawer. It's not like she had a ton of her personal stuff lying around, but did have several family and celebrity photo's, and also some paintings that she had done.

And it was while I was snooping around in the living room one afternoon, that I discovered a curio cabinet standing in the corner.

When I looked inside...I couldn't believe my eyes.

For the cabinet was filled with several pairs of her shoes.

Now here's the freakish part...

...the SIZE.

They had to have been at least a size 11 with a width no more than 1 inch.

I felt like I was holding a pair of 11 inch kayaks!

I thought to myself, "Who the HELL has feet like this?"

Apparently...Phyllis Diller.

And I know this sounds sick and demented, but I was almost tempted to try them on, however, even with my small feet, I knew the width would have been impossible.

Besides, I would have looked like one of the evil stepsisters in Cinderella, attempting to CRAM my foot into a tiny glass slipper....

"Oh look....it fits!"

"I admit it, I have a tremendous sex drive. My boyfriend lives forty-five miles away" - Phyllis Diller

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

X

Shhhh....I've Got a Secret

I'm probably what you would call an underarm deodorant junkie.

Mainly, because after awhile they all lose their effectiveness, so it seems to help if I rotate brands.

I've tried a lot of deodorants on the market, including that natural Crystal Rock. OMG...can I just tell you...it sucked elephant! And not only did it NOT work for me, but the whole idea of wetting a rock and rubbing it under my arms screwed with my psyche. I felt like Daniel Boone in the wilderness.

I'm basically "natural" when it comes to my health and will always go the alternative route first, but apparently my armpits don't feel that way. They seem to need UN-natural.

I usually use an antiperspirant/deodorant, but there's really no point in me using an antiperspirant because nothing outside of the Hoover Dam could ever stop me from sweating.

So the only real reason for me to use anything is to mask the delicate Italian Hoagie odor.

My personal preference is to use a roll-on, because the gel-stick deodorants burn my underarms, and the white chalking deodorants seem to cake-up my hair; making it look as though I've just rubbed on a handful of wet flour.

One day, several years ago, I was meandering down the deodorant isle at either CVS or Rite Aide, and came across a shelf of deodorants intended for a woman.

Now, I truly don't understand this concept.

Women's deodorant - Men's deodorant.

I mean, if you look at all the ingredients in both of them, they're exactly the same...except for maybe the scent.

Fruit and flowers versus pine needles and sea spray.

Gee...I wonder if could be a subliminal sales gimmick?

Hmmm......

Anyway, I spotted a bottle of Secret and was suddenly reminded of the TV commercial.

"Secret....strong enough for a man, but made for a woman"

And I thought to myself, "Hell...if it's strong enough for a man, then a man can certainly use it. So I bought a bottle.

Well...it ended up being the best damn deodorant I've ever tried.

And the scent is perfect. It's just clean and fresh.

I still rotate brands, but I really look forward to when the time comes for me to switch to Secret.

So now that I've confessed this to you, you've got to swear not to tell another living soul, ok?

I mean, after all...it is called Secret.

"Secret...for people who know how to keep their mouth shut"

The Dread of Polishing My Shoes

The task of polishing my shoes is right up there with having to change the shower curtain liner.

I DREAD it.

I dread it almost as much as I would if I were having an empacted wisdom tooth pulled using a monkey wrench and a crowbar.

And because I'm one of those people who is very rough on my shoes, they need to be polished after every wear.

I swear to god...after wearing my shoes for only one day, they literally look as though I was using them to tap dance for 16 hours, as one of the Rockettes in Radio City Music Hall.

I have no idea what the hell I do to them that they always look so scuffed and beaten when I take them off at the end of a work day.

When I was a kid, I remember my father teaching me how to properly polish my shoes. He had this wooden box that had a foot rest on top, and it had a cool little compartment inside which stored all the shoe polishing paraphernalia.

(it was a great little place for me to hide my evil sisters tampons)

My dad was extremely anal-retentive about having our shoes always looking PERFECT. Not quite like Joan Crawford...but close. I mean to him, your shoes weren't polished until you could see your reflection in them.

He showed me step by step how to first use the small round brush to apply the shoe polish, and then taking the larger rectangular brush to briskly compound the polish into the leather; after that, he would use the yellow buffing cloth to spit shine them. And for that, I had to put my shoes on my feet and then place them on the foot rest.

Buff-Buff-Buff....Buff-Buff-Buff

Buff-Buff-Buff....Buff-Buff-Buff

OVER and OVER and OVER again.

To this day, whenever I smell shoe polish, I can see my father on his hands and knees at my feet with beads of sweat on his forehead from the aerobic workout he got whenever he polished shoes.

(it was like he just did 60 minutes on a treadmill)

And OY VEY....if he could only see me polishing my shoes NOW.

I use the cheapest shoe polish I can find (preferably at The Dollar Store), and I use an old gym sock to scoop out the shoe polish by placing my hand inside the sock, first. I rub the shoe polish around for exactly 10 seconds and then take the gym sock off my hand, turning it inside out, and then placing my hand back inside. Then I buff the shoes for another 10 seconds....and VIOLA!

I'm done.

And honestly...I know it's not as effective as how my father taught me.

But I don't think I do such a bad job...do you?

Relationships....Straight or Gay

I haven't ever really shared much about my relationships with men on this blog, because there's not a whole hell of a lot to share.

I've been single for most of my life and don't date much.

I've had one committed five year relationship with a man who is now married.

Last week a good blogger friend of mine, Chrissy, shared a humorous and charming post about a female friend of hers who once dated men, but was currently in a happy relationship with a women.

Chrissy warm-heartily said, "Maybe I should think about switching teams, if it's that easy."

And I shared with her in my comment, "Trust me...it's not any easier."

Her post has caused me to want to share my own personal views on the similarities of relationships - straight or gay.

Most things that straight couples contend with when it comes to "relationships" are pretty much the same things that gay couples contend with.

Straight couples experience opposite sex challenges, while gay couples experience same sex challenges.

With straight couples it's..."Well, that's because you're a MAN or that's because you're a WOMAN."

With gay couples it's..."Well, that's because I see MYSELF in you."

And yet truthfully, both couples experience these same two things....in the reflection of self.

And here's something interesting...

...I once had someone ask me, "So...in a gay relationship, who is the man and who is the woman?"

(meaning...who is aggressive and who is passive)

And I responded, "Well...let me ask you something. Who wears the pants and who wears the dress in your relationship?"

Because in any relationship (straight or gay) it's not always the man wearing the pants and the woman wearing the dress. Not all men are aggressive and not all women are passive. Certain men may be more passive, while certain women may be more aggressive. And if that works in a relationship...then so be it.

So being male or female, doesn't mean the man or woman will take on the stereo-typical caveman/cavewoman roles in their relationships, whether straight or gay.

It totally depends on the individuals.

And as far as the sexual part of a relationship goes, I can only speak as a gay man, but there's also similarities.

Sometimes gay couples will be ideally matched in the "sex-department" and other times one will have more of a sex drive, while the other one is, "Oh...but we just had sex two weeks ago, I can't get it up this soon. Besides, I have a headache."

So you see...when it comes to relationships (man-woman, man-man, woman-woman) it's identical.

Two people....sharing, laughing, crying, fighting, supporting; working to accept one another and then bending and conforming.

Sometimes it's a perfect match.

And other times it's a challenge.

But as far as I can tell, all relationships seem to come down to the same thing...

A committed bond to take it as far as it will go.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!

X

A Post About Pooping

I would just like to forewarn everyone that if hearing about my pooping habits seems like a little too much information, you may wish to come back on Friday when I talk about something less private.

Such as my masturbating habits.

Anyway…

Lately, because I’ve been having to get up very early to travel into NYC, my pooping habits have suddenly turned into a major life-altering experience.

Generally, I “download” on a specific schedule, but this suddenly time-shift has made my bowels very confused.

They don’t know which end it up.

I usually poop about 10 AM and then again later in the evening around 9ish PM.

But attempting to poop at 5 AM, leaves me in a I-can‘t-do-this-yet-state because my bowels aren’t even awake yet.

So I find myself sitting on the loo BEGGING and PLEADING with them to move, to no avail.

Also. And this is a very BIG also. I CANNOT do poopie in a public restroom. So if there’s not some sort of a totally private vestibule handy, I end up having to hold it in all day long, which makes me feel like the Goodyear Blimp.

OMG…last Friday was the WORST because my bowels were totally screwed up from having been in NY two days before.

As usual, I couldn’t poop in the morning, so I tried applying a little foot reflexology and chanting some Buddhist mantra’s to see if they would help move things along.

It didn’t happen. I was too tense.

I barely drank any coffee, because I feared having an emergency BM on the New Jersey Transient System at 10 AM.

So when I got to NY…I was tired and felt eight months pregnant.

I didn’t eat much for lunch that day, because I didn’t want my bowels to suddenly explode right there in the middle of Saks Fifth Avenue during a customer skincare consultation.

And finally at 5 PM when I got on the train to come back to Philly, I could feel it starting…

…that rumbling volcano simmering in my intestines.

But I knew I had to wait another two hours.

I did everything to distract myself, so I could take my mind off it…

…I read a magazine, I looked out the train window and counted cow pastures, I wrote in my journal, I PRAYED.

When I finally got into the Philadelphia train station at 7:30, I literally RAN all the way to my apartment. And the second I got inside I ripped off my pants and threw my ass on the seat.

Aaaaahh…..

… “There’s no place like home.”

Subways and the Kindness of New Yorkers

Well…as you know, I spent last Friday in the Big Apple.

However, this time the only difference was that instead of driving in with my boss, I went alone and took public transportation.

Which meant that I had to take two trains and then a subway.

Luckily, all my connections were on time, so it went very smoothly. The only catch, was that once I actually got into the city, I wanted to save the company some money by using the subway rather than taking a cab.

Now if anyone here has ever experienced the NYC subway system, you also know that it’s mind-blowing. It’s an underground world of tunnels and trains that conveniently gets you anywhere in the city.



But it can be very intimidating because it’s MASSIVE, and everyone is running around like a colony of ants, scurrying in million different directions; in a hurry to get where they need to be - FAST.

So when I got underground, I had no idea where the hell I was going or what I was doing. I only knew that I had to take the E train.

First of all I didn’t have any subway tokens. And unlike Philadelphia’s subway system, you have to use a machine to get your tokens instead of getting them from a person sitting in a booth. Well…I had no idea how to use the damn machines because they were utterly confusing (they looked like a cross between a casino slot machine and a Nintendo game). So I looked around at everyone with a sheepish look on my face, like to say, “Can someone please help me?!” And just then, a woman smiled and walked over; showing me step by step how to use it. She was so patient and kind, that I wanted to grab her face and plant a “wet one” on her kisser, but instead I just thanked her profusely.

Once I got on the train (which by the way, was packed like a can of sardines) I had a moment of panic because I thought I might be on the wrong one. So I decided to ask a woman who was sitting with her daughter, if the train was going to 5th Avenue. And not only did she tell me that I was on the right train, but she also instructed me how to get out of the subway and get back to the street level, once I got there. We chatted the whole rest of the ride.

Now that was TWO people who went out of their way to help me that day.

So why New Yorkers always get a rap for being rude and uncaring…I’ll never know.

In fact, since I’ve been spending the past three weeks in New York, I’ve had nothing but kindness shown to me.

Whenever I’ve smiled and said “Hello” to someone on the street, they’ve always made eye contact, smiled, and said “Hello” back.

And whenever I’ve needed assistance, they’ve reached out and helped.

Yes…New Yorkers move fast.

Yes…New York can be big and intimidating.

But deep within it…also lies a BIG and KIND heart!

Happy Easter Everyone!

Today’s post will be rather short, because I will be in NYC all day.

But I didn’t want to let the day go by without wishing all of you a Happy Easter!

Now be sure to eat LOTS of candy on Sunday, ok?

And remember…please save me all your black jelly beans.

Because I’m a greedy little bastard!

I’ll be responding to comments later this evening, so thank you for your patience.

Have a fabulous weekend, everyone!

I couldn't find my Easter costume, so I had to settle for Halloween....Boo!

X

Celebrating Women in Show Business

Let’s face it, in as much as I don’t happen to like or agree with the way that it is…

…this a man’s world.

And it’s quite evident in show business.

Roles are written primarily by men FOR men.

And being someone who comes from a theater background, I know for a fact that there are many more substantial stage roles for men, than women.

The pickin's are slim.

Therefore, this places women in a very narrow box of competition.

And then there’s the old double standard….

Men grow gracefully with age, so their careers usually grow with them.

Whereas women simply age, so their careers are usually ticking by a clock.

Women are also much more pigeonholed into “types.”

And it’s really only the women who have been fortunate enough to move past a certain age bracket, and have managed to achieve a certain amount of clout because of box office ticket sales, who continue to get offered roles.

And it’s also the women who have wisely used that clout to take control over their own careers, by finding, producing, and directing their own projects, that sustains them.

And oh!…what a threat these women are to Hollywood.

Because they have created their own power.

Women such as: Julianne Moore, Susan Sarandon, Meryl Streep, and Geena Davis to name but a few, are women who have overridden the odds and have gotten to a place of independent choice.

I once heard Susan Sarandon speak during a Q&A, and she shared that the public would be amazed at how many god-awful scripts are offered to her, which she turns down.

So when I see women who have had long illustrious careers, and in a position to freely pick and choose, it makes me happy and proud for them…

…because I know it hasn’t been easy.

You GO, girls!

City Street Solicitors

When you live in a city, the hassle of soliciting does not end with emails and telephone calls, but also continues outside on the streets.

And the thing that royally pisses me off about this, is that these people are constantly in your face and even physically touching you to get you stop on the street and listen to their 20 minute spiel, convincing you to give them CASH or even your CREDIT CARD NUMBER to donate money to various causes.

Yea…like I’m going to give a total stranger on the street my credit card number???

I. Don’t. Think. So.

Perhaps it would be more convenient if I just gave them my debt card and pin number, so they can go to the nearest ATM machine and withdraw whatever they want.

I’m all for causes don’t get me wrong, but when I am personally drawn to a cause, I donate my time in some way to support them, or I will purchase things from a charity thrift store that gives money to a cause I believe in. But I will not randomly donate money on the streets.

And for those of you who live in a city, you can understand why.

Now the ridiculous thing about these solicitors, is that they don’t even use common sense when stopping people. One time during a horrendous summer heat wave, a girl tried to stop me while I was carrying TWO bags of groceries; asking if I had a few minutes to talk. Why would you walk up to someone who was profusely sweating and carrying two bags of groceries in 102 degree heat (with frozen items) and expect them to stop and chat?

I also had someone try to stop me during a torrential downpour, while I was RUNNING to work because I had no umbrella.

And some of these solicitors can get very nasty, because if you don’t stop, they SHOUT at you as you walk away.

I actually had one guy who was soliciting money for some political cause in front of City Hall, and when I politely said, “No, I’m sorry…I don’t donate money on the street. Have a nice day” he shouted, “Yea…and that’s why your hairline is receding, because you’re an uncaring ASSHOLE!”

(I kid you not)

And after I heard him, I paused for a second…and then walked away as fast as I could, because I truly feared for the spontaneous combustion of a street solicitor.

So instead, I imagined myself as Joan Crawford, shouting back….

With love,

Mommie Dearest

Facing my Demons

It totally shocked my parents when they first saw me onstage in junior high school.

Mainly, because I was such a shy and withdrawn child, and showed no signs of being an extrovert. They couldn’t understand where all this free-spirited energy came from.

In fact, I remember my mother saying to me, “Where have you been hiding all this, Ronnie?”

I think many actors will tell you that as children, they too were shy and withdrawn individuals.

Yet, acting for me was like a magical key that first opened the door to my creative soul and set it free.

But this door also brought into light…my demons.

My fears.

I don’t think a performance ever went by where I wasn’t paralyzed with fear. And I don’t care how many times I repeated a performance, every time I stepped onstage…I was petrified. I would stand in the wings and say to myself, “Why are you doing this, Ron? This is crazy. You’re freaking scared out of your mind, yet you keep doing this to yourself. Why?"

Acting onstage placed me in a state of vulnerability. A place of not knowing. A place of trusting myself. Of letting go and allowing.

Not only was it a place for me to express my creative energy, but also a place to expose my insecurities.

And what better place for me to expose them, than to stand in front of 375 people each night; allowing myself to be looked at and judged.

Because that’s what all my fears basically come down to…

….being judged.

If I wasn’t afraid of being judged, there would be nothing to fear.

And it took me awhile to realize something…

…it really wasn’t the fear of being judged by others that I was feeling, but rather self-judgment and self-doubt.

So every time I stepped on that stage, it was like looking into a mirror...

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!

X

Preparation H for Ass-Face

What I’m about to share with you today may scar your psyche for life.

So please don’t say that I didn’t warn you and then tell me how GROSS this is.

Many years ago, a rare and exotic beauty secret was revealed about how applying Preparation H Hemorrhoid Ointment on the face, could temporarily reducing the appearance of wrinkles and puffiness around the eyes.

I actually saw a woman on either Oprah or Phil Donahue talking about this and then demonstrating how it worked. All I can remember is sitting there staring at the TV screen with my mouth and eyes wide open, not believing what I was hearing and seeing.

Apparently, because Preparation H shrinks rectal wrinkles, someone in their infinite wisdom figured out it could also shrink facial wrinkles.

Who knew?

But what I would like to know is who actually discovered this?

Who was the first person to go, “Gee…I think because I just finished putting this ointment on my ass, let me see if it does something for my crows feet?”

I recently read an article online claiming that supermodels swear by hemorrhoid cream to maintain taught and youthful-looking eyes.

Here’s part of the article:

The active ingredient in Preparation H phenylephrine, is believed to tighten skin by temporarily constricting blood vessels and shrinking it’s tissue. Please note: This is not recommended for those with sensitive skin, as it can irritate the gentle thin tissue around the eyes.

Well…I guess that only leaves elephants and alligators.

Ok, listen…I’m as vain as the next guy, and I am willing to try just about anything, including pasteurized bumble bee sperm to reduce the appearance of my 53 year old eye wrinkles.

But there’s no way in HELL I would put an ointment that was intended for my ass, on my face.

I mean, I like my ass…don’t get me wrong, but I like my face much more.

And never the two shall meet.

I don't think so.

Update: I will be in NYC today (Thursday), so I will be responding to comments later in the evening. Thank you for your patience everyone.....X