Pfunksfoolosophy

My Mom has a big crush on Johnny Depp. This is something that I don’t feel ashamed about telling people because my Mommy has good taste.She also enjoys his acting. She first fell in love with him rather late in the game with ‘Chocolat’, which is surprising as he wasn’t in it for very long, but since I have every film in which he’s appeared, she caught up fast.
The two of us each have a favorite role.

Mine is his turn as ‘Boston George’ in ‘Blow’. First of all, the man NAILED his accent. Nailed it, I tell ya. I’m a Masshole and it takes some doing to impress me when it comes to the particular nuances of a Boston area accent. Not all Massholes say ‘Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd’. We all don’t sound like the Kennedys either. Hell, most of the Kennedys don’t sound like ‘Kennedys’. I’m digressing. Let me tell you about my Mom’s favorite role. Capt. Jack Sparrow. She adores him in ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ because he simply lets loose. He’s fearless as an actor. He also looks really, really good with eyeliner and gold teeth. For me, his best acting was ‘Blow’. His silent reactions in his scenes with his family–his mother’s overbearing, money grubbing social climbing that caused his father to implode, made me misty eyed.

The moment of betrayal–damn, my heart broke for him. How many times do you find yourself pulling for a cocaine dealer? Mom couldn’t see that. She saw his acting as stellar but she really enjoyed the freewheeling Peter O’Toole on crack of Capt. Jack. She loved his bleary, alcohol addled spirit; the swashbuckler as written by Hunter S. Thompson’s less stable brother. Hey, that’s another one–’Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’. Damn. Damn good acting. Have you noticed that his speech patterns have sort of adopted Hunter’s in real life? Just an observation.
Really, though how can you decide on which Johnny Depp movie to take with you on a desert island equipped with a DVD player? Jack Sparrow and Orlando Bloom’s character (see? can’t even remember the poor sod’s name) dueling in the barn–’I'm a pirate’. Classic stuff.
Or Boston George teaching his ‘art’ while in jail so he can get released early?
Jiminy Christmas! What makes it worse is that he’s effortlessly handsome–no, he’s actually beautiful. His girlfriend has got to have a great deal of self confidence. I mean, would you even bother to make yourself up when your man was prettier than you? I’m not knocking Vanessa Paradis, but sheesh, man.
But I digress again.
Here’s the thing: Johnny’s gonna be playing Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. I saw the original play with Len Cariou and Angela Lansbury. I got queasy, I can’t lie. HOWEVER, ya gotta love the fact that Johnny’s putting his rep on the line. He’s gonna sing. Loads of men wouldn’t try that. Not my man Johnny D. I would imagine he’s put his soul into it. You don’t get half measures with the dude. (Even on Jump Street, bless him) I can’t wait to see his acting muscle flex further. So far, he’s not let me down. Heck, I might even PAY to see this bad boy. Be sure to visit Sweeney Todd on MySpace for more information. You KNOW I’m checkin’ it out.
If you don’t know the story, it’s about a barber in late 18th early 19th century London who murdered his clients for cash. Here’s the catch: he had an accomplice in a woman who used the flesh for her meat pies. *shudder* right? (hence my nausea.)

The line ‘Have a little priest?’ got me, man. The lyrics are sublimely clever. I can only imagine Johnny Depp as the Demon Barber.
Sure, he’s gonna creep me out, but that’s the point. Put Tom Cruise in there and you’ve got a surefire dud. Only Depp could do it. Only Depp will take the risks and ACT.
My Mom’s boyfriend will definitely make her a stone goner after this one. She doesn’t even like musicals anymore, but I’ll bet ya she’ll be there with her homemade popcorn in her huge purse.
Make sure you visit the official Sweeney Todd movie site.

Ya gotta love the fact that she made it this far, but it had to be done. She just wasn’t up to snuff dancing-wise. I loved her plucky spirit, I have to tell ya. I’ve always liked her, though. She’s just a kick in the pants. Ya know, she did a great job and she should be proud of herself. Plus, she was going through a lot of crap this year and she kept a smile on her face.
I may not have been a ‘Donny and Marie’ fan, but I’ve always had a soft spot for her due to the fact that she’s the only girl in a house full of brothers. Had to have been rough.

In other news: I think my roommate burned his shoes in the oven. The house is full of smoke and my eyes are burning. No matter. I have my inhaler. Sonofa…more on the finale of Dancing with the Stars later.

I have to go find some fresh air.

As my faithful readers know, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner for my local (which isn’t really local anymore) yesterday. It was yummy and it was well received. Here’s the thing though: there were a couple of guys who had been there since the bar opened (NOON) and as it was nearly seven in the evening they were well in their cups. They were youngsters from Britain. I’m sure that when they first entered the dank dive bar they were perfectly charming young men. One of them was actually quite fetching–dark hair and eyes, nicely built…good teeth…that’s neither here nor there, really because they were effing obnoxious. The daytime bartender is Canadian and I suppose her youth and desire to have a good night tip wise caused her to be a bit more lenient than desired. They remained until change of shift, which occurs at NINE of the clock. Well, there I was setting up the food and reminding all those concerned that I have a real, REAL problem with cross contamination when the taller and more boisterous of the two gatelegged it over to peer under the foil. I  nearly wet my pants, such was my discomfort. I told him rather pointedly that I would prepare his plate for him and that if he didn’t leave off with the manhandling I would in good fact slap the snot out of him. No need to mince words.

Well, as I began preparing his grub, he complained that I didn’t load it up with more  food. I wanted to slap him but I remembered that all Brits aren’t well mannered–especially after several hours of drinking spirits. (But I suspect this specimen was a jerk drunk or sober) I stayed the course and handed him his plate. No thanks were offered. His compatriot, having witnessed the shenanigans and my ill humor, decided to just let me do my thing and thanked me profusely. No need for the gushing, my good man; it’s annoying. I made plates for everyone who asked and settled in for a bit of a rest.

Loudmouth Louie, let’s call him, decides that he wants more. No worries. I tell him that I need to take a breather and upon my return he will get his food. He gives me the fish eye. Actually, in retrospect it may very well just have been the drunk eye. No matter…all was swell. They got seconds and they continued to be annoying. Al, the resident elder statesman and bar fly was peeved beyond compare. I think he may have wanted a gun. When Loudmouth Louie approached thanking me for the grub, Al said, “Talk is cheap. How about you give her a couple bucks for her effort? She does this for nothing, ya know.” LL would hear none of that because he kept talking, talking about how ‘that’s typical New York. Money talks  here, idnit?’ Al was clearly about to pimp slap him and I knew  it. I was powerless to stop him, but he kept his cool and went back to his corner. LL staggered back to his bar stool and promptly spilled his beer uponst himself. I shrugged. Al commenced to curse and rant about the kid. He was a marked man, lemme tell ya.
I love Al, though. He’s a stand up guy for sure. He wanted me to be compensated. That really defeats the purpose of my doing it, but it doesn’t  stop me from looking for free cocktails for my efforts. Somehow it seems less offensive if someone buys me a drink. If I received money, then it wouldn’t be a true act of thanksgiving for me. There is honor among drunks, I tell you.

Okay enough of them…here’s the good stuff: There were a couple of really cute guys in there. That’s a rarity. Oh, and a chick  I hadn’t seen since  G-d was young sauntered up to me and we had a good laugh what with note passing all night. She’s a kick in the pants that kid. Weighs about 10 pounds soaking wet, but can eat like a stevedore. I appreciate that. Who needs to hang out with people who are gonna order a salad and barely eat THAT? No, friends. If you’re gonna  hang with me in a restaurant, you’d better know that we are gonna  grub. All right, back to the action with the cute boys: I was in my corner, serving up the goods so I couldn’t really do what I like to call ‘quality perving’ so I watched the menfolk and appreciated their youth and beauty from afar. I was spoken to by one of them briefly, but I sensed that he was going out to smoke some pot and would return for food and little else. Pity as he was tall, dark and had excellent teeth. Lovely, really…pretty even. Mama like. Mama like a lot. I’ve since forgotten his name. Like that has ever stopped me before. With the first of my pretties off to make nice with the ganja, I occupied my time with scattered conversation with folks around me. Some of the conversation was hilarious and some of it was just plain weird, but I forged ahead. While I may appear to be a social critter, I am not. No, no no. Not by a long shot. I am empathetic, however so perhaps that is what creates the ‘must speak with Pfunk’ dynamic.

As I was pondering that very thing, I sensed someone at my shoulder. I turned and looked up into a most fetching face. I smiled  like a kid with Halloween candy. He looked familiar. Had we a drunken make out session in common? No, I’m sure I would remember him. Hmm…did I owe him money? No, too cute to borrow money from. Hmmm…then he spoke and reminded me that we had a conversation (people do this all the time. I’m old, how can you expect me to remem…but he was cute) a while back, he had gotten cranked in the head with a bottle at some point during the evening when we first met and he had been in the bar with a friend. I vaguely recalled the conversation (oddly, not the bottle incident) and his pal. Couldn’t remember his name. He told me that he couldn’t remember mine, which was comforting. I am nothing if not honest in that regard. That is why I give everyone nicknames. Makes it easier for me. To tell you the truth, I’ve forgotten his name already.  He told me that he had to come over and say ‘hi’ but he was leaving. My heart sank. There had to be some way to get him to ahem…stay. No. I was there to feed folks, not engage in some alley way slap and tickle. Plus, I’m getting too old for that…aren’t I?
Long story short(too late): I made him try some of my food, told him I had a crush on him all giggly and funny-like and you know what that little pisher said?

“You’ve always had a crush on me!” It was a divine parting shot. I was joking about the crush, but damn, the guy got me. My response: “Did we…wait–did we have SEX?!”

The bar fell silent for a moment as everyone wondered what the hell just happened.

Man, I wish I could remember his name. AND if we DID have sex. I’M KIDDING.

Can’t be too careful.

The night was long, but I made some new friends and my friend George proposed to me. That was sweet. He’s five foot nothing and cute as hell. I’ve gotta get him married off soon. And teach the girl to cook. He likes to eat, goodness knows he proved that last  night.

They liked my macaroni and cheese, what can I say? No leftovers, man. And I made a ton of food. Damn…I will make soup later tonight. I have the carcass of that poor bird.

Oh, fight club was in attendance. It was scary. I’ll write more on that later.
Wow, is all I’ve got to offer on that one.

So, my new friends…welcome! I hope you get something out of this blog and I know we’ll be in touch outside of the blogsphere.

Good times, good times AND another win/win sitch. You know how I love THAT.

Cute boys, free cocktails and great food…PLUS new pals? Dude, I’m a lottery winner.

Joanna…keep on truckin’ gal.
Sesame: you know i loves ya, miss celie. And darling, it IS Mister Tibbs, really.

The panty peeler is going down for the winter. Back to club soda and my ’special’ soda from now on. Say goodbye to Hollywood, say goodbye my baby. Lookathere…a Billy Joel reference apropos of absolutely nothin’.

Rock  on.

Well, I’m not going to my grandmother’s house…BUT I am cooking like my grandma. I love to cook Thanksgiving dinner. My turkey is legendary and it’s really quite simple to make. Some folks like to brine and think it makes a huge difference, but it’s been proven that the difference in flavor and moistness is negligible. Here’s what you do: DON’T OVERCOOK IT. Simple, huh? Also, I cook it sloooowly and use a compound butter of sage and thyme. Rub it all over the bird, stuff it between the skin and flesh and you’ve got yourself a great tasting, moist little turkey. What else is going with that little critter?

Dressing. Plenty of dressing. I don’t like to stuff the bird…it gets icky. SO, I make a sausage and pepper dressing using cornbread and herb stuffing mix. It’s quick and easy and damn if it doesn’t fill ya up. Additionally, we’re having mashed taters. Garlic mashed ’cause I likes mah garlic. It’s good for your heart. Of course the butter and whole milk might not be so wonderful, but come on…it’s yummy stuff.

This leads us to my favorite part of any meal: GRAVY. Hopefully I will make enough. Sometimes there isn’t enough gravy and that makes me sad. I can make a meal of mashed taters and gravy. I HAVE made a meal of it, in fact. I’m also making candied sweet potatoes. None of that marshmallow topped business, that’s for the birds, man. Collards and sweet potatoes go great together so I’m making some collards.

The piece de resistance will be macaroni and cheese. Mama like. Cheesey…creamy…aw, man…I wish you could be here to enjoy it.

If you’re in NYC, look me up. I’ll be in the West Village serving it up.

No food stalkers, please.

Hope you all have a happy and food filled holiday. I know that I’m thankful for you.

Be well, gang!

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Larry King creeps me out for a number of reasons, but the main thing is this: He lacks tact. While I am not some kind of huge Marie Osmond fan, I like to think of her as the sister I never wanted. She’s been a part of my life for a long time and I feel sorta protective of a woman who tells corny jokes AND laughs at them. I had a friend who worked with her brother Donny when he was in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat” and was  told that Donny was a stand up guy. I dig that. No diva moments. Cool…and while we’re at it, Marie is kickin’ butt on “Dancing with the Stars”…so when Larry dropped the ‘So, your son is in rehab’ business, I wanted to pimp slap him. It’s really none of our business.

I think she’s got enough going on without Larry King just throwing it out there. Sure, as a celebrity you give up your right to privacy–to a point. It would have been nice if he had asked her if she wanted to discuss that prior to air time. I only saw a clip of it and the look on her face said it all. Since I’m pretty sure she would never say the ‘f’ word, she still had that ‘WTF?’ look on her face. I wouldn’t have blamed her for saying “WTF?”–matter of fact, I would go right out and buy a copy of “Paper Roses” and play it in her honor.

Larry, I just don’t get you, man. Tact. Get some.

Marie, if you happen onto this blog, know that my kid thinks you’re pretty groovy with the corny jokes. You can adopt her. You’ll have more controversy. You’ll also be an instant grandma. Let me know what you want to do about visitation rights. AND keep your chin up. I’m sending you chocolate. It helps.

Larry King…oy.
Thus ends my rambling rant.

I’ve got friends from all walks of life, from many different countries and I’ve dated like I was a representative from the United Nations, so I can tell you I love nothing better than a good accent. The challenge is that many of my friends have grandparents or parents who have had a rough go of it here in the states when it came to employment…due to their thick accents.
My friend Erik’s dad was an Engineering professor back in Russia, but here he was a cab driver, a janitor and finally a superintendant at an apartment building. His accent was and IS just too thick. I think it’s charming and cute, but there is a stigma attached and that’s unfortunate.
My friend Ana, whose mom came from Puerto Rico with little more than the clothes on her back and a desire for a more glamorous life, had a thick, thick accent. It used to make me laugh because it was so cute when she was going to nursing school.
Now, even though she’s been here for at least 30 years, she’s made the decision to lose her accent. She’s thinking about accent training and while I will miss her saying things like “You don’t told me nothing” when she means “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know”, I know that she’ll be taken seriously as she moves forward in her quest for administrative duties in Nursing.
It’s important to be understood and it’s vital that we respect one another enough to communicate well.
Heck, I’ve got Scottish friends that I’ve had trouble understanding. It’s really a win/win for anyone who wants to reduce their accent.
I wonder if my dad’s people in Mississippi would qualify?
Heh…you know Southern folks have their own language.

Good luck out there…

What’s been going on with me? Not a whole heck of a lot, really. Lately, I’ve been very, very introspective which can be both a blessing and a curse when you think about it.
Too much time on my hands to think is almost a sure fire way for me to get into trouble.
As the holidays approach I suppose I become more and more wistful. I’ve experienced a lot of death in my life and the holidays make the losses seem more pronounced. I also have the time to re-evaluate my existing relationships. What are you willing to tolerate from others? You probably remember that I’m only going to keep about 30 friends for the rest of my life, right?
It was fifty, but I don’t think I need that many. It’s hard to keep track of that many and quite frankly, I don’t wish to keep in contact. So, before the new year, I’m going to do some pruning. It’s necessary. What purpose does it serve to hang on to a relationship that has no purpose? If you’re not in contact with the person at least once a month, guess what? It’s pretty much over.
Now, there are exceptions. You have friends with whom you don’t have to communicate every week or even every month. These friends have a place in your soul and that’s groovy. They are few and far between…but you know who I’m talking about…the folks who expect you to remain where you are…in that one place, that one image of how they perceive you to be, and when you’re not there, they act stricken. Too bad. Cut ‘em loose. They’re not terribly concerned about your development and chances are they’re more concerned with their own lives to even notice that you’ve dropped ‘em. Mourn the loss for a bit and move on.
It’s liberating to excise the unnecessary weight from my spirit. Try it…it may just get you moving in the right direction. You can’t always keep friends around just because you’ve got a history. Sometimes the season has played out. Recognize it and keep on steppin’.
Try not to place blame, just ackowledge that it’s time to change. You can do it. You’ll be surprised how good it feels, actually.
Also take some time to process it all. It’s strange, but it’s vital to your growth, guys. Don’t hang on just because; move forward because you must. Some folks are gonna hang on and some folks need to hang up. It’s okay. Keep growing. I know I’m trying…

Today is Veteran’s Day, but it will be celebrated tomorrow.

My dad served in Korea and was a drill sergeant in Junction City, KS–Fort Riley, the home of the famous ‘Big Red One’. He never talked about the war, but my mom tells me that he suffered from ’shell shock’, which we call ‘post traumatic stress disorder’ today. Maybe that’s why he drank. I’ll never know, but I do know that my family has a long history with the military, dating back to at least the Civil War. My nephew expressed interest in joining the military and I told him that it would break my heart if he enlisted. Especially now.

While I respect and love our military men and women and wish to honor them, I feel that my family has done the best it could in the way of defending this nation. I’m going to adopt the same attitude as many of our nation’s  leaders: let someone else’s kid do it.

I hope to help out my homeless vets tomorrow. I’m going to make some sandwiches and take them down to them. It’s the least I can do since our country abandoned them. You should hear some of the stories of these guys. All of them are Vietnam Vets. They got hooked on drugs during the war–some of it administered by the powers that be and some of it because they wanted to dull the pain of combat. When they were discharged, they had little in the way of support and slowly fell through the cracks.

Pray for them. Think about them and the men and women who are coming back broken and weary. We owe them our devotion–even if we don’t agree with the war,which I know I don’t.

Happy Veteran’s Day.

Every now and then I get this feeling that makes me want to just walk out of my building and never look back. Keep on going until I get where my feet take me, ya know? Most of the time, my logical self speaks up loud and clear and reminds me that I have needs to attend to; family members depend on me and I can’t be selfish. Invariably, I take nice long trips to the South of France or to Tuscany in my mind. I go to the library and check out some books. Freedom comes in many forms, but it begins in your mind.

If you can’t possibly take that much needed vacation, why not immerse yourself in a nicely written book of fiction? Heck, you could get a well written biography and take off with Theodore Roosevelt, Rosa Parks or…even Liza Minnelli.

Take the time to quiet your mind and set aside your challenges. Pick up a book. If reading isn’t your thing, get a good movie or some new music. The library is free and they’ve got all sorts of media to keep you satisfied. Freedom is there…it’s there, guys.

Swim out to your ship if it’s not coming in fast enough. Swim out to it.