Another Original Cast Member Of "A Chorus Line" Passes On!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                        Ronald Dennis, who originated Richie Walters in "A Chorus Line," back in 1975, is the seventh Original Cast member of the show to pass on.  The most recent prior to Dennis was Robert Lu Pone, back on August 27 of this year.

                         Dennis was 78 when he died.  He had been a survivor (meaning he had it and lived with it) of AIDS for a long, long time, since being diagnosed in 1984.  He was a dancer and an activist for the AIDS and Black communities.  His cause of death is not known, though age and his condition I am sure figured into it.

                          Interestingly Dennis is the seventh Original Cast Member to die.  All have been male.  The "girls" are all still alive!  What does that say, I wonder?

                          Richie is the one who galvanizes "Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love," with the "Gimme The Ball" section.  No one did it with the spark or zest of Ron Dennis, whom I was privileged to see at the Shubert Theatre on Broadway, with my father, back on October 25, 1975.

                            Who are the other deceased?  I will do my best to list them here.

                             Clive Clerk (Larry)--June 21, 2005                                                                                                               Michel Stuart (Greg)--September 27, 1997                                                                                                   Cameron Mason (Mark)--sometime between 1990 and 2000+                                                                     Thommie Walsh (Bobby)--June 16, 2007                                                                                                     Sammy Williams (Paul)--March 17. 2018                                                                                                     Robert LuPone (Zach)--August 27, 2022

                              Gentlemen, welcome your fellow cast member Ronald.

                               Ronald Dennis, may you rest in peace!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why Don't Teachers Conceptualize Math????????????????????????

                         Maybe more do, today, but, in my time, believe me, they did not.

                         Math was the bane of my existence from about third grade on.  I did not fail, but there were times when I struggled, areas where I excelled, and others where I just did not.  I will tell you my math experiences.

                           But first, let me tell you what "conceptualizing math" means to me.  It means explaining to me, student, why such a thing is done, and not just what.  During my time, if I were so much as to question why something should be done a certain way, the teacher's attitude was because he or she said so.  That was never good enough for me.

                               So, let's see.  In third grade, we had addition and subtraction of large numbers.  I always excelled at going forward--addition and multiplication--but not backwards, like subtraction or division.  The first "F" I ever got was in third grade on a math paper, with the teacher writing, in red, of course, to make me feel especially bad about myself, "You did not think about these problems."  On one of my report cards that year I got a "C-" in math, my lowest grade for my time.  The teacher commented that I "was having great difficulty borrowing in subtraction."

                                  Well, of course, because she never bothered to explain what I wanted to know.  Why do we have to borrow?  Is there another way?  And that thing about the zero changing to a ten, or changing to a nine, why and when?  To understand these things, which I eventually mastered, it would have helped if the "why" of things had been explained.  But who cared, besides me?

                                      Remember the end of Act I in David Lindsay-Abaire's "Proof?"  The sister walks in, as Catherine is working, and she tells her sister she didn't find the proof, she wrote it.  Without seeming to understand how she came to do that.  When I saw the play I thought, "That could be me."

                                         In fourth grade, it was even worse.  Long multiplication and division, with having to change zeros to tens and hundreds, etc. took a long time for me to master.  If something had bothered to explain why, except saying one just does it, that might have made a difference to me, and instilled an interest in math I was slowly losing.  And then there was all that subtraction in long division, and columnizing everything on the side.  When I was taught to do it, the way my parents did, in sixth grade, what a difference!  It was so much easier, and clearer!  I never went back to the fourth-grade way again.

                                         And in that year, I got another "C-" in math.

                                       Seventh grade was worse.  That teacher was young, insecure, and in some ways afraid of us.  She would belittle those like me failing to understand, at an age when, facing puberty, I was afraid to counter back.  I got another "C-" that year, but somehow picked myself up and was A-B the rest of the year.

                                       Eighth grade was the worst, socially, and in math.  Start with the fact that I was appalled I had not been selected to take Algebra in the eighth grade.  As it turned out, this turned out to be a good thing, because the same teacher of Algebra was who I had for eighth grade math.  And several of the bright students in that Algebra class had to take it over in ninth grade.

                                          This was the year that severed my ties to math and science.  The math teacher was as disinterested in teaching us the subject as many of us were in studying it.  The concept of positive and negative numbers I just could not grasp, and no one could make it understandable to me.  Interestingly, I started out the first marking period with a "B," but the rest of the terms all my grades were "D."  And I had never got one in my life, till then!  I was so humiliated.  The science teacher was no better, as I had no idea what was being taught, the labs were difficult, and neither he nor I were interested.  I got the only "deficiency slip" in my entire school career, thanks to this class.

                                              Because of eighth grade, I opted, in ninth, to take something called "Pre-Algebra."  It was Algebra I, in two years, went at a slower pace, and the teacher, for me, was able to clarify things in ways I could grasp.  Which meant in my junior year I would take Geometry, and in senior year I would take Algebra II, or Trigonometry.  I just could not escape math.

                                                 But what was this?  In my junior year, when I took the PSAT, I did better on the math than the verbal section.  I actually cried.  On the SAT's, my verbal scores soared, but my math scores were higher than I expected.  Somewhere existed in me a math potential, but no one was able to bring it out.

                                                    This was confirmed by my acing Geometry in junior year. I had the highest average in our class.  I remember the teacher, Mr. Jern, taking me aside, urging me to think about math or things related to it, as a career.  I told him, as happy as I was with my grades this year, I cannot tell how this came about.  This situation was so outside the realm of my previous experiences.

                                                      Alas, senior year came.  I walked into Trigonometry feeling quite cocky.  It turned out to be a repeat of eighth grade.  The teacher was disinterested, could not reach me, and again, I started out with a "B," but once we got to logarithms, I was lost.  And, though I graduated from high school with honors, in my final term of math in that town's school system, I got an "E," the letter then for "failure."  And, of course, it made me feel like one.

                                                        So, here I am facing college.  So many of them required lots of math and science in their core curriculum.  One of the reasons I chose Seton Hall was because, at that time, the only adverse core requirement was a course in mathematics, and they had one tailored for students like me.  It was called "Math For Liberal Arts Students," designed to be the last math class any of us would take, which proved true with me.  The teacher was understanding, and even though I did not do well on the probability section of the final, I scored at least a "B."

                                                          Of course, people in math professions are always more successful, financially.  It is "more lucrative," they say. But are they really happy?  I wonder.

                                                           Just as I wonder how happy I would have been, had I been good in math?

                                                           Retrospectively, I probably am better off where I am, and where I have been.

                                                            Farewell, math; you who did me dirt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Darlings, What Does This Line Actually Mean??????????????????????????????

                          Those of us who keep Christmas in our hearts, and out, at least know the first verse of the secular carol "Deck The Halls."  As a child, I can tell you this line puzzled me.   I did not even understand what donning an apparel meant, though I did know apparel meant clothes.

                           By puberty, I knew what the word "gay" meant, in the sense of orientation, so, when singing this carol there were those of us--and I was one--who, when singing the "word" gay, let our wrists go limp.

                            But, really, after all these years, what does it mean?  Or does it mean anything?  I pose that question to you now, darlings.

                              Let's face it, the gay community has copped this phrase, so does it mean that Christmas is meant to be like the fashion show in "Coco?"

                              Now, you have to admit, girls, we all want to look this festive on Christmas.  Even Baby Jesus would approve!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                But was this what the lyricist meant?  "Deck The Halls" was written in 1862. Its lyricist was a man named John Ceiriog Hughes. He lived from 1832 to 1887, and he never married.  But he had a "partner," Annie Hughes.  

                                 It makes me wonder.  Was Annie his "beard???????????????????"

                          

Why Would I Dream About The Bronx???????????????????????????????

  

"What's to tell about The Bronx?  It's uptown, and to the right."--   Priscilla Lopez, as Diana Morales, in "A Chorus Line."  



Girls, let me tell you what happened.  I was almost finishing this nice long post about The Bronx, when the screen went blue, erasing all I had written.  So now, I have to start again, meaning the post will not be the same as the first.  Better, or worse?   Even I cannot tell.


But I can condense.  I wrote about my three very limited experiences with The Bronx.  The first was as a child, in the Sixties, driving with my Aunt Kathleen and grandmother to visit my grandmother's sister, whom I called Aunt Essie, in the Fordham section.  Her building was elevated, and my grandmother and I were thrilled to ride in the elevator, but my aunt was afraid--she had many neuroses, a family trait-- and walked up six flights!  I loved Aunt Essie's sixth-floor apartment, and hoped someday to take it over myself, but, as I said earlier, sometimes things not turning out the way one wants can be for the best.


The next sojourn was in the 1990's, on a date, with a guy I met at the LGBQT Center in the Village, probably in the book group I was in.  His name was, I think Bob or Bobby.  He was in his thirties, a little shorter than I, and suggested we visit The Bronx Botanical Gardens, which he lived near to.  I had to take the train--the number 6--to the Parkchester stop, and while the neighborhood was nice, the trip took me through some scary neighborhoods which are probably even worse today.  Bob and I had coffee at his place, but no hanky panky.  I don't think either of us wanted it.  The visit to the gardens was nice, and he walked me back to the subway politely.  I never saw him again.  I thought maybe a nice friendship might have come out of this, but alas.... That is the world of gay dating.
   


My final excursion to The Bronx was in 2006, to the Rose Hill campus at Fordham University.  My father, then 91, was being inducted into the Fordham University Athletic Hall Of Fame. He had been a four-letter man--football, baseball, basketball, and track.  I had no ability whatsoever; looking back, I think it bothered me more than my father.  It turned out also to be something of a family reunion; several of my cousins were there, as well as my nephew Jonathan, representing my sister, his mother, who could not be there, as she was taking care of my brother-in-law, who had Parkinson's.  It was a wonderful day, I was so proud of my father, the journey uptown on an early Sunay morning, as the sun was rising. was exciting, and the Rose Hill campus made me wish I wanted to enroll for something.


Sixteen years later, after a pandemic never anticipated, as well as outright hatred and violence, I would never think of setting foot in The Bronx.  Once I dreamed of dining at Dominick's restaurant, on Aruthur Avenue, but there is no direct train line, and one has to walk through some what were, back in the day, very dicey areas, but now must be worse.  So, that is that.  Plus, whenever David and I watch the news at night, and some unfortunate person is attacked, more often than not the location turns out to be somewhere in The Bronx.  No thanks.


So, why, in the world, would I dream about The Bronx?  I did, one night last week.  Of course, my therapist would have to be on vacation, so I cannot ask him.  Readers, if you want to take a go at it, please do.


The dream made me feel I was being held captive in a car, driven by my mother.  I was younger, and so was she; hell, she was still alive.  She was determined to get me out of the house, and on my own, so she had found for me--meaning rented--a place in The Bronx, which she plopped me down in, and left. My last memory was of sitting in the empty living room, thinking, "Now, what do I do?"


Some background is needed here.  After college, in 1977, I moved back home.  I began looking for jobs, locally, and in NYC, fixated on the latter.  My plan was to commute each day to NYC from New Brunswick, living in the house in Highland Park, until my parents passed, whereby I would sell the house, and move into a small apartment in Highland Park.  What did I know?  Much as I desired New York, all I really knew, South Orange aside, was Highland Park!


But things went differently.  My mother passed in 1979, my father sold the house in 1980, I was commuting to NYC by 1981, with my father champing at the bit, and some of his siblings and some of my cousins coming down on me, for holding him back, as I was not on my own yet.  That happened on December 1, 1983, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.


So, why this dream about The Bronx?  And my mother?  I can tell you, had my mother lived a longer life, she would have balked at the idea of me living in NYC.  She hated the place.  And I used to call her provincial.  If she saw what was going on now, she would freak!


Or who knows?  People change.  I certainly have!  Back in Jersey I would never admit about my sexuality.  But once I got to NYC, who cares?


As for The Bronx, it was just a dream.  But if you want the best Italian food in all five boroughs, go to Manducatis, now called Manducatis Rusticana in Long Island City, Queens.  The food and service are the best!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Besides, what can be said about a borough whose best claim to fame is supplying a classic line to an iconic musical???????????????

Girls, It Is Christmas Week In New York City!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                           Since I was born, Christmas Week in NYC was always magical.  And all through my youth and early middle age, it was.

                            Of course, as a child I was secure in the safety of my parents' protection.  By my teens, I longed for when I could do it on my own.  And when I got to the city, and could, I never missed an opportunity.

                              But now, it is a different story.  David and I were in the city yesterday to see Lea Michele in "Funny Girl"--more on that, in another post--and getting off the R train at 49th Street was like walking into a city on the verge of revolutionary eruption.

                               It wasn't just crowded--that I could handle--but because Argentina won the World Cup in soccer, (which means nothing to me) hundreds, if not thousands, of these toxic masculine types were screaming, yelling, throwing off their shirts in the middle of this cold weather, while their girlfriends attempted to out scream one another.  I could sense this easily turning into a vicious mob, in these still Covid ridden times, and I instantly longed for the safety of our cozy warm apartment.

                               David wisely moved us over to Eighth Avenue, and while it was crowded, we were able to make our way to the August Wilson Theatre.  But, in this day and age, the idea of going to, say, the Rockefeller tree, "The Nutcracker," or my favorite, the tree at the Metropolitan Museum Of Arthas been dispelled. That was always a must for me, and a very spiritual experience.  The last time we attempted to go in, which I think was in 2019, hence pre-Covid, the line was down the steps and into the street!  In the cold!  Of course, this was on a weekend.  Are weekdays easier?  I doubt not, but the thing is, at my age, and with my fear of all that happens to folks in the city, and having to watch for pickpockets this season, Christmas in NYC just doesn't have the warm fuzziness it had for me, years ago.

                                Is it age?  Is it our times?  What do you think, girls?

                        See what I mean, darlings????????????????????????????????

How Many Brains Did It Take To Create This Piece Of Crap????????????????????

                        Last week's "Svengoolie" broadcast of 1955's "Creature With The Atom Brain" could have easily doubled as a "Sventoonie" feature.  A precursor to "Night Of The Living Dead," the last word in the title should be plural, because there are multiple dead people walking, controlled by mad Michael Granger as ex-con Frank Buchanan, out to avenge his wrongdoers, aided by Gregory Gaye as scientist Dr. Wilhelm Steigg!    Would you believe that this is a Fifties horror movie yet has only one female in the cast--Angela Stevens as June Walker.  Now, before getting yourselves all geared up over a mostly all-male cast, let me assure you the men are not much to look at.  Angela actually is, and it is a shame she does not get enough screen time.

                              This film did not emerge from a think tank, but the mind of a moron!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                          Cute fellow, isn't he?  I kept hearing all though the "Sventoonie" feature, "Snowbeast," a made-for-TV movie from 1977 that this was "JAWS" on ice.  Even with Bo Svenson, Clint Walker, Yvette Mimieux, and Sylvia Sydney, where was the tension, suspense, nuance of the 1975 Spielberg shark thriller?  Too little too late for this film.  But you have to wonder about Michael J. London, who played the title role.  Did his career go anywhere?????????????

                            Or did he, to paraphrase Dionne Warwick, go on to "parking cars, and pumping gas?"

Darlings, It Is Now Official--'Merrily' Is Moving Uptown To Broadway!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                        Girls, remember, you heard it first here.  Just like did about Lindsay Mendez being the perfect Mary Flynn.

                         That the show is moving, retaining this trio, is exciting.  It will give others a chance to see it.  Though I think there should still be a CD.

                           But this will not happen till the fall of 2023.  I am sure they want some shots at TONY nods.  The venue has not been chosen, and they are talking about a new creative team, and casting, so does that mean the show will expand in size?  Which might hurt it, just like in 1981.  Incidentally, if this 'Merrily' does make it--and I believe it will--this will be the first Broadway revival of it in 42 years!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                              Pray the integrity of the piece is maintained.

                              There is no way I am going to miss THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!