What I Am Thankful for This Thanksgiving

With two weeks to go before Thanksgiving, I am in no loss for things to be thankful for. For starters I am thankful for friendly neighbors, self-powering crank up radio/flashlights, electricity, a warm bed, and hot showers. The list is endless, though I can say that a majority are what has helped me through the wake of superstorm Sandy.

Having spent my childhood in the tropics, namely the Philippines, one can say that I'm a veteran to monsoon rains and power outages. So as Sandy's gusty winds howled the power out on Monday Oct 29th, the instant hallway party at my condo was a welcomed community experience, complete with board games and a host of adult beverages. It was reminiscent of a dorm party to which I  quipped "Where's the RA?", inciting peals of laughter yearned for by every comedian. Without the internet, landlines, or reliable cell signal for that matter,  and being isolated in the dark, I caught a glimpse of what life may have been like in the gaslight era gone by of 1800s within the same brick walls of our complex formerly known as Dixon Mills Crucible, the pencil factory.

I will speak for myself when I confess that the underlying current of worry grew by the minute when power did not return well beyond the wee hours of the night. Gas stove top burners were a consolation that provided hot food and beverages as rapidly decreasing outside temps became more apparent indoors. The rate of food consumption (regardless of its nutritional value) increased not only to relieve stress but to fuel body heat as indoor temperatures matched frigid external temps beyond twenty four hours of the blackout.  The self-powering crank-up radio/ flashlight provided much needed communication from the outside world which didn't leave one as isolated and alone as many of us would probably care to admit.

The stories of devastation in my Jersey City neighborhood alone were sadly all but confirmed as I surveyed the patches that I could reach safely and within walking distance. The scope of damage was even more detailed as fellow drinking acquaintances of local Pint Bar shared accounts of personal tragedies as they took a break from the mentally and physically exhausting day of gathering unsalvageable furniture and home items onto the sidewalk. Sandy's storm surge did not just bring the Hudson River on land and wash away people's homes, vehicles,  and livelihood; it was a flood of a reality check that brought with it a new reality of rising sea levels and the need for effective emergency/disaster planning.

My heart goes out to those whose lives are forever changed by Sandy's human casualties, and obviously for those whose homes are no longer. I hope to be able to offer my strengths in any way I can for so many more who are still without electricity and heat. Four days without power and hot water may have dragged me under the weather to the depths of a cold that I've not been able to kick since then. However, I am more thankful for a renewed sense of community with my neighbors, a reliable network of friends/ loved ones/ emergency contacts on whom I was able to rely despite spotty blips of monosyllabic texts that felt like scribbled messages in a bottle sent out to an electronic sea.

With seventy-five percent of life back in order (and until the PATH trains are restored to full service between New York and New Jersey well after the severely compromising post-storm 10pm shutdown)  I've focused on local weekend activities. Today's sun drenched brunch with an old friend and Bay Area theatre contemporary, Beth, was particularly heartwarming as we brunched at the hipster Marco & Pepe Restaurant, followed by cups of Baileys infused coffee on her couch,  graced with her apartment's 22nd floor view of the Manhattan skyline. We bantered about our journeys from the Bay Area to New York, laughing endlessly while connecting the dots with stories and people from our pre-Facebook youth. I am thankful for rekindled friendships, shared survival, and the warmth of community that will shelter you through any storm.

A New Form of Identity Theft

Dear La Jolla Playhouse Artistic Director Chris Ashley, Director

Moises Kaufman, Casting Associate Tara Rubin & composers Steve

Sater/Duncan Sheik:

After watching the discussion panel on the “Nightingale”’s casting

controversy, I’ve learned that “suspension of disbelief” is not an

excuse for casting five non-Asians for the five Chinese named lead

characters in this Hans Christian Andersen fable set in “mythical”

China. I understand that a workshop is a work in progress, however it

was still a public performance for which you charged admission.

While it was “nice” (and I mean that in quotes) that La Jolla

Playhouse hosted a discussion panel due to overwhelmingly negative

feedback, this seemed nothing but lip service as the creative team

justified its casting ratio based on a “mythical” China and not the

real one.  When asked “If this were a mythical Africa would you have

dared to do the same?” and Director Kaufman’s esoteric diatribe was

thankfully interrupted by the opposing panel’s request for a more

direct answer, it further proved creative team’s

anorexic justification.

While a public apology was “nice” (and I mean that in quotes), action

is preferred. And by action I mean that a play set in “mythical China”

with a cast of 12 (previously workshopped with an Asian majority)

should have more than merely two female actresses in supporting roles

and at least one recognizably Asian male actor.

How fitting that a seemingly oblivious audience member asked “Are

there talented Asian singer/actors?” amidst a chorus of angry voices

in this supposedly-not-so-backward San Diego theatre community.

To paraphrase a Capitol One advertising slogan, I dare to ask a

similar question of the sponsors / backers of La Jolla Playhouse and

subsequently this production ~ “Who’s in your wallet?”

With all due respect to the very talented performers of the

“Nightingale”, the creative team has given a new meaning to Identity

theft.

LABOR DAY

At the tender age of ten, while escaping the Filipino summer in San Francisco, I recall walking by a modest French cafe on Mason St. that was hiring for a busboy/dishwasher and inquired about it. Did I realize how independent I was back then? Not as much as I wanted the satisfaction of saying I had a job and that I was earning a wage for something I could do even at an early age. This budding work ethic somehow was also a way be a cut above the rest of my fourth grade class.

As an eighth grader at San Francisco's Star of the Sea Grammar School, I was a server for our yearly Festival dinner and recall someone's compliment "You look very professional doing this." I was well aware that it wasn't my teal Members' Only jacket, but the meticulous manner, graciousness and friendliness that was served with her meal that prompted this unsolicited feedback.

As a young actor in high school, my drama teacher was equally complimentary at how professional I looked while playing a lawyer in the school play, "You, the Jury". Was it my personally provided costume ensemble of blue pin striped suit, slicked back hair and Bally loafers? They were certainly instrumental towards a more mature and commanding gait.

While touring Europe and the States as a professional actor, I recall the satisfaction of a well earned standing ovation surpassing any monetary value. Applause was feedback and confirmation that I had done my job beyond a satisfactory level.

These are fragments from my history that have shaped my work ethic and how I feel I contribute to the work force. Be it on/off stage or in an office... the level of service / performance I like to provide is nothing less than I would like to receive for myself. So on this Labor Day, cheers to your hard earned Dollar (or insert proper currency here) and more importantly, your sense of accomplishment!!!

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

In honor of my dad Alejandro Lim ~  on Father's Day ~ I am wearing one of his numerous shirts I ambushed from his closet, because I recall how happy he was that I found his 1970s disco fab shirt & pimpin' fierce boots to match my fashion sensibilities. More importantly, despite our 40+ year age gap, slight language barrier (he being very Chinese and myself growing up bi-culturally Filipino/Chinese), and being on the opposite ends of the Kinsey scale, his burgundy & brown geometrically lined polyester shirt and camel leather custom made boots bridged a gap and made us feel closer to each other. 

The Chinese-Filipino / Filipino-Chinese generations leading up to mine may not have equated fathers as the warm-and-fuzzy icon of a Hallmark card. But I recall moments of tenderness, and more importantly communication without pressures of expectation or judgment. I recall his hearty laughter when I used to mimic mom's chain smoking dragon lady mah-jong gal pal as she'd hurl Chinese expletives at out our barking dog in between puffs of Philip Morris. I recall his concern and wish that I have a child at some point in my life. 

However far I've landed from his hopes and dreams of his son, I hope to pave a road of success that he can share. I may have seen glimpses of his smile  which I take as a sign of approbation ~ something not easily attainable by any means. And somehow wearing his wardrobe of yesteryears - which retains a fashion forward edge - seems highly appropriate and fitting. Happy Father's Day!

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel – A Review

It has been said that one must never forget where one comes from, yet one must also know where one is going.  “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” is a heart warming coming-of-golden-age ensemble comedy featuring seven British retirees in search of greener pastures, surprisingly rediscovering themselves in a Third World country. Set in Jaipur, India, this film is as robust in color as it is studded with a stellar ensemble.

Told thru the perspective of recently widowed Evelyn Greenslade,attentively crafted by Dame Judi Dench (“Shakespeare In Love”),  we are introduced to her and her travel companions via a montage of their personal histories. We have the romantically and financially bereft Douglas  and Jean Ainslie served up to realistically unsettling Harold Pinter heights by Bill Nighy (“Love Actually”) and Penelope Wilton (“Downtown Abbey”).  The sensual singleton, Madge Hardcastle, is refreshingly portrayed by Celia Imrie (“Calendar Girls”) while her equally frisky counterpart,Norman Cousins, is portrayed by Ronald Pickup (“Fortunes of War”). The Parliament judge, Graham Dashwood, fleshed out brilliantly by Tom Wilkinson (“”The Exorcism of Emily Rose”), longsto adjourn unresolved matters of his younger heart.  Last, but certainly not the least, is a medical tourist in dire need of a hip(and attitude) replacement, Muriel Donnelly, wheeled in by Dame Maggie Smith replete with ignorant fear of everything foreign (including Indians). Once assembled in a row of airport seats due to a cancelled connecting flight, you are treated to this chorus line of British veteran thespians as their characters embark on a longnight’s journey towards their much longed for oasis.

They are welcomed by the highly energetic and youthful Sonny Kapoor,  intelligently presented by “Slumdog Millionaire” star Dev Patel. His natural and charming delivery of saccharin and nearlydiabetic positivity ~ apparently a directorial choice by John Madden (“Shakespeare In Love”) ~ poignantly balances the obviously dilapidated hotel which was over represented by a photoshopped advertisement.  While the guests are forced to confront their mirror of personal foibles in practically uninhabitable accommodations, Sonny’s rhythmically volleyed anecdotes water the roots of their newly developed friendships. One in particular which has resonated as far as my facebook status states ~ “Everything will be alright in the end. And if it’s not alright, then it’s not yet the end.”

The somewhat formulaic and predictable outcome is but a slight crack through which nothing falls, thanks to a formidable cast. This is an heirloom worth seeing and sharing with viewers of all ages. And how refreshingly “exotic”  to feature an under represented demographic ripe with a harvest of wisdom and experience. Just as marigold flowers are favored as companion plants, this motley crew’s Third World travels upgrades them to first class connections with lasting friendships and love.

I Love My Red Sweater

Perfect for Fall, Winter, or even April showers, this Bossini cable knit zip up cardigan withstands the unpredictable weather of fashion. Leave the ribbed collar in its naturally upturned position, with zipper a tad below the sternum, and you'll reap the benefits of this 80s fashion invention sans a retroactive look.
Feel the hug of this snug cardigan, and the value of venetian red.

Have you checked the most predominant color palate in your closet as of late? I've learned mine to be a safe collection ranging from business black and blues to earth tones for work or play. They've been my "go to", and for years have enhanced my dance-scaped shoulder and chest, while usually tapering my ever fluctuating waistline to mask (or celebrate) my vertically challenged frame. Quite frankly red has been the avoided color for my tan complexion, until my sister Alice gifted this suprising conversation piece this Christmas past.

I love my sister for many reasons and one of them is her ability to prescribe clothing with the proper texture, shape, weight, and timelessness.  This medium sized sweater from her last Holiday Hong Kong shopping spree may have been blindly selected. Perhaps she held it up to measure against her son's wider frame. However it was done, she thought of her little brother who feels all the warmer now with a red sweater on a chilly Spring day.

Filipino Movie Night ~ a review of "Zombading" aka "Gay Zombies"

Sometimes it's necessary to spend a mindless Sunday afternoon catching up on movies.  I was ready for that with a couple of friends as we caught up on a contemporary Filipino flick entitled "Zombading", but it was anything but mindless. The title is an English-Filipino amalgam of the words "zombie" and "bading" (pronounced bah-ding) which is a Filipino "slang" translation for "gay". These are my thoughts on the Filipino indie otherwise known as "Gay Zombies". 
Set in the provincial town of Lucban, in the Quezon region of the Philippines, the story opens with a precocious little boy who habitually taunts gays by pointing and yelling "Bakla! Bakla! Bakla!" (the non-slang Filipino translation for "gay"). The Filipino language rivals English in its descriptiveness and synonymical flexibility wherein one thing can be described in so many ways. However, the word "bakla" unfortunately weighs heavier on the derogatory side and has no positive counterpart. It rolls off the tongue with the ease of sucking on a lemon before downing one's tequila shot. Much like the young boy of our story named Remington, many easily use the word "bakla" to categorize, ostracize, and demonize gays in the Philippines. But I digress.
While at a cemetery, young Remington pokes fun at a grieving mannish "widow", and the wrong one at that.  What turns out to be a mourning gay witch Pops Ricafuerte (excellently played by Roderick Paulate) curses the young boy into a life of homosexuality at the strike of his twenty first birthday. The film places us fifteen years later when Remington (now played by Martin Escudero) experiences the perfectly realistic conflict of a budding relationship with his girlfriend Hannah (played by Lauren Young) being strangely derailed by inexplicable urges towards his childhood best friend Jigs (played by Kerbie Zamora). 
When his symptomatically increasing feminine mannerisms alarmingly jog his memory to the first utterance of this curse, he is aided by both girlfriend and best friend to seek out this witch from the past in the hopes of a reversal. After a hyperbolic catfight akin to Filipino dramas, the widowed witch extends her kindness and helps the sexually confused boy. Of course the answer only comes from a seance complete with campy dance club beats and an apparition of spirits in the form of mythological half buffalo,  half gogo dancing boys clad in speedos. The spirits advise that his only escape from the curse is finding a replacement by the eve of his twenty-first birthday ~ a sacrificial virgin if you will ~ but more appropriately a heterosexual male who was a virgin to gay experiences. 
Seeking out potential replacements by asking a group of heterosexual male friends which of them haven't had gay experiences may be far fetched. Yet this prompts a comically poignant silence and an isolated one out of ten who raises his hand. Nevertheless, many a manly man in their circle of friends own up to their masculine preference for the same sex. In his rapidly changing state, Remington questions whether this was a indeed a curse or a twist of fate that he needed to accept, while Hannah fights for the man she loves by lobbying to find the "cure". (Taking a second here to say hooray to a well posed conflict despite the incredulous story line!)
While Hannah selflessly encourages Remington’s  happiness, no matter what his choice may be, they were still without a sacrifice. Their obstacle is cleverly wedged by a sci-fi subplot of murders terrorizing their small town. A serial killer on the loose was targeting hairdressers and frying them with a GayDar. This was not only the murder weapon which emits colorful rays that toasts its victims, but also a bedazzled hair dryer scientifically created to identify homosexuality within animals for the propagation of rural farming. This golden gay gun clearly fell into the hands of the murderer who we later learn to be the town’s highly masculine advocate for family values (insert your favorite anti-gay politician here).  With Remington’s witching hour rapidly approaching, the horror of murdered victims-now-zombies were rising from the ground and running amok, preying on townspeople  including (surprise) the male lover of said serial killer. In an unguarded grieving moment, the self-hater himself falls prey to the low budget stun gun which points to his direction in a Ouija board fashion, and fires the gay ray of death. Whew!
Having eradicated the source of anti-gay sentiments and battled some seriously grotesque gay zombies, Remington’s transformation into full femininity was nearly complete as evidenced by the similarly eclipsed moon. Though slightly predictable, the winning and most unusual deux-ex-machina/resolution comes with a most loving sacrifice from this young man’s father Ed (played by the uber masculine John Regala). And by “winning” I mean the writer’s positive political statement made thru the character of Ed in his final moments as a straight man to save his son: “I want you to be happy. You’re just on your way, whereas I’ve been and back. And it doesn’t mean I can’t be your father even if I am gay.” What normally would’ve been a cue of heart tugging music in typical Filipino dramas was a whirlwind of enveloping neon lights dissolving the scene to the morning after when a news team questioning bystanders.
Perhaps I gleaned way more than what was intended to be a lighthearted comedy with a touch of the widely known Filipino horror genre.  But I’ve noticed that just like the brilliant “My Househusband: Ikaw Na” (also from 2011), "Zombading" turns stereotypes on their heads, re-examines them thru poignant role reversals and leaves its audience excited for the possibilities of a more tolerant and open minded generation. This is proven by the final scene as we discover another young boy who points at a man-lady. This time, however, he admiringly utters "Oh how beautiful" and the visibly enchanted creature smiles demurely with a diabolical glint in her eyes as she sashays with her umbrella in the rain. 

Growing Up On A Field of Dreams

Whenever I share pictures of my hometown San Francisco, many ask "Why did you leave?" There's never a hesitation to respond that my sails wholeheartedly rode the winds of passion for theatre towards the East Coast.  My life in the theatre, however humble, has been a gateway to international travel, a balanced corporate life with matching skill sets, perennially produced cabarets, and my new experiences as a Broadway show investor.

As a young musical theatre hopeful, I would dim the living room lamps, open the curtains overlooking our quiet street, and bask in moon glow as I sing thru the score of "Cats".  This palatial home sits nestled amongst other Victorians in San Francisco's Inner Richmond cul de sac called Ewing Terrace. My recent yen for the warmth of home prompted a Christmas baking frenzy of shortbread cookies, as well as a google search of this stately sounding address of my youth - Ewing Terrace.

The search yielded an intriguing history of Ewing Field, which was a professional baseball field of the San Francisco Seals for only one season in 1914. I am far from being a baseball aficionado, but can relate to the fog that clouded the vision of many a baseball player and fanatic. That fog would roll down from University of San Francisco's Lone Mountain campus and greet me as I walked home from school. Somehow I don't think Seals owner Mr. Ewing had as fond of a recollection as his team played a lousy opening day game on May 16th 1914 due to the cold and fog that would symptomatically keep spectators away and confuse the ballplayers themselves in subsequent games. The team abandoned Ewing Field to return to Rec Park in 1915, leaving this $100,000 (approx 70m today) facility to its short lived reinventions until a spectator's lighted cigarette caused its demise in 1926.

Ewing Field stood vacant from 1926 until 1938 when the Catholic Church sold it to Heymann Homes for $150, 000. The old ballpark was demolished to make way for ninety five homes which sold for $7500-$8000,  sporting a subdivision with an "attractive pillared gateway entrance" and its homes with "gardened terraces similar to Presidio Terrace." Apparently, somewhere underneath one of the houses near Anza Street, probably still buried, is the historic Ewing Field time capsule - an iron chest containing names and photos of team players and other baseball memorabilia. It was buried a mere three feet beneath home plate on opening day 1914, so who knows how much further would I have had to dig to find such a treasure. 


"If you build it, they will come" is the frequently quoted line from the iconic 1989 baseball film, "Field of Dreams" starring Kevin Costner. Well, Mr. Ewing built it, and the Seals and their fans came. Although it was a relatively brief amount of time, his dream was nevertheless realized, and his field ensconced in San Francisco's baseball history.

There were many a nights I would fall asleep looking out my bedroom window onto our garden terrace and Anza's streetlights. While a part of me now thinks "If I only knew then...", the other part of me pays homage to Mr. Ewing's love for baseball ~ letting the time capsule serve its purpose (as it has for me) in being a field of dreams for those now living in my home on Ewing Terrace.