Welcome Back!

This post is not (I promise) an ode to "Welcome Back, Cotter" the seminal 70's TV series that introduced America to John Travolta (or the dancer's Tom Cruise, as I like to refer to him).

This post is also not (I promise) a reversal of my position on Sanjaya (or the blind man's LaToya Jackson as I like to refer to him).

This post is (I think) a hardy "Hello again," to one of my earliest readers and oldest friends. She's been away (raising a girl-child, and earning them big bucks) and unable to keep up with everyone's favorite drunken blogger (that's me!). So everybody say it with me, "Welcome back, Ellie!"

Since the earliest days of the Drunken Rogue (when a juice cup was the beverage of choice), Ellie has been there. She rode shotgun in the wheelbarrow (while Poppa Rogue pushed us around), she was my co-writer on a brilliant stage play we wrote based on a fire-safety pamphlet (I was a creative genius even at eight), and a year ago when I started blogging, she was one of the first in line to check 'em out.

So in addition to a big "thank you" for her return, this is a great opportunity to suggest some great articles to catch up on. (This is the part that not only applies for Ellie, but anybody that isn't up to date with the Drunken Rogue).

The first thing Ellie (and all my beloved readers) should know is that the Drunken Rogue has a new home (not that I'm vacating this one). You can now check out a different side of the Drunken Rogue (with almost no reading whatsoever) at Exclamations of a Drunken Rogue. It's a new-fangled Tumble blog. It's a great way for me to pass along the things that really crack me up throughout the day (and my extensive Internet viewing) to all of you. Visit it, bookmark it, visit it again, and again, and again.

Also, I would be remiss if I didn't remind people to check out Mrs. Rogue's new blog. Ella Finds and Shares, is a whole different world than my Ramblings, but it is just as (if not much more) cool. If you are into design, furniture, fashion, art, or just cool stuff, then Mrs. Rogue will find something that you definitely want to see. Don't forget to input your email at the top right for updates sent right to your email box. (The Preceding was a paid advertisement for "Ella Finds and Shares" the opinions expressed ARE the opinions of the Drunken Rogue and not following the suggestions presented therein, may result in negative consequences for the marriage of the Drunken Rogue. Nobody wants that).

Now for the real meat and potatoes (meat and potatoes here means blogging):

The Drunken Rogue's Favorite Recent Posts

1. I'm Turning Into My Father? Well, There are Worse Things I Could Be...

2. A Drunken Guide to Valentine's Day

3. She's Breathing My Air: Ode to My Baby Sister

4. One Final Bow

5. Just Shut Up and Sing: Fame, Speaking Your Mind and Responsibility

Whoo, sometimes I forget just how good I am (this sentence has absolutely no hubris in it). If you've missed any of this stuff, I strongly suggest it. For those of you that have been around lately, please feel free to suggest some of the recent stuff (last few months) that particularly tickled your funny bone.

Thanks to everybody for reading these things. I enjoy writing them, I enjoy getting your responses, I REALLY enjoy the conversations in the comments, and it means a lot that some people like hearing what I have to say. Thanks, and welcome back.

From the Depths of My Soul, a Call for Reason...

Alright. That's enough. It's gone too far now.

It's time for Sanjaya to stop singing on my TV. I don't want to hear his rendition of "Walking after Midnight" during Country week, or listen to him warble through "Hound Dog" on Elvis Night. I don't even want to see him butcher Milli Vanilli's "Blame it on the Rain." That's right ladies and gentlemen, the lip-syncers are even too good for Sanjaya Malakar.

The good news is, after tonight's (well, I hesitate to call it a performance. Let's just say tonight's) hairstyle showing he just won himself a role in Mel Gibson's production of Apocalypto II: Electric Boogaloo (that's right, I made a Mel Gibson/Native American/Breakdancing 80's movie joke all at the same time). Seriously, tell me you couldn't see him, smiling that like, holding a still beating heart on top of an ancient Aztec Temple.

Up until this week I had only a mild distaste for young Sanjaya. I thought he was horrible, but harmless. But this week he not only ruins the cool-factor of mohawks for probably the next ten years, but also butchers a great No Doubt song. "Bathwater" is one of their coolest (and less appreciated) songs. Now, it's that thing that Sanjaya did last night on "Idol." Thanks, dude. That's another CD I've gotta break.

Mrs. Rogue has a particular love for "Bathwater" (or as we'll now forever know Sanjaya's version, "Lukewarm Bathwater"). She begged me to fast-forward (thank you Tivo!), but I couldn't. I just knew at any moment Gwen Stefani would bum-rush the stage and do us all a favor by beating him senseless with the microphone. Two and a half minutes later, Sanjaya's still warbling. You let us down Gwenny, and I'm not gonna forget that!

Look how surprised Gwen is while hearing Sanjaya sing. Aren't you sorry you didn't beat him, Gwen?

Ladies and gentlemen of the "American Idol" voting public, I come before you a humbled man. I don't claim to understand your criteria for judging. The idea that you could allow Antonella Barba to survive as long as you did in the competition astounds me. That Bucky Covington now has an album thanks to you, shows that you are indeed king-makers (or at least mediocre, over produced country singer-makers). I know Sanjaya's hair is bouncy, I know that Simon says mean things to him (and we all hate the British!), I know that Howard Stern and Votefortheworst.com are telling you that you can make a difference. But put all that aside. Turn on your DVR tonight and re-watch the show. Or maybe cruise over to YouTube and look for one of Sanjaya's older performances. When he comes on stage, I know you'll be tempted to bob your head along with the melody he's abusing or the rhythym he's ignoring, but don't. Don't watch those lovely curls (or dangerously high mohawk) bounce around. Nope, close your eyes and listen. Hear Sanjaya sacrifice the songs of your youth (or your parents youth if you're one of his beloved twelve year old crying fans). Bathe in the mediocrity that is Sanjaya. And then, let him go. Like William Hung and Antonella before him, let him slide into the annals of pop culture as "that kid that couldn't sing on 'American Idol'". Only then can our long national nightmare be over.

And now for your viewing and listening pleasure, the Drunken Rogue brings you:

Sanjaya Anthem

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Glee Club and the Debate Team Just Don't Cut It Anymore as Extracurriculars

Thiago Olson may be a lot of things, but an underachiever isn't one of them. He spent his weekends and downtime (when he wasn't running track and field or cross-country events) building his own personal Mr. Fusion. In November of 2006, Thiago became a nuclear power. That screaming you hear is 500 Iranian scientist being punished for their failure.

Now, Thiago didn't really build himself a bomb. We believe in the right to bear arms, but even the NRA allows for some limits (this nuclear bomb is for Duck hunting!). What he did create was his own little star, sort of. The machine young Mr. Olson built (from parts he found on Ebay and in local hardware stores, by the way) doesn't have any explosive properties (the department of health has recently checked it out, thank God) and it wouldn't work as an energy source because it takes more energy to get running than it outputs, but it does make for a fairly impressive science fair project. And I was proud of my model volcano (complete with marshmallow lava!).

The Michigan teenager knew that he had reached nuclear fusion when bubbles appeared in his dosimeter, which is funny, 'cause I always thought that was a sign of too much roughage. Thiago knew, however, that the bubbles were a byproduct of fusion indicating the presence of neutrons. I have no idea what half the words in this paragraph mean, and well...frankly...that makes me feel a little small.

The good news for those of us not cooking up nuclear fusion in our garages is:

1. Thiago probably doused himself in radiation during this whole process and will therefore either, get cancer much earlier than the rest of us, or grow a third arm. Either way, his dating chances are significantly slimmer than ours.

2. The fact that he had enough spare time to study, research, acquire the parts necessary and actually construct a "star in the jar" apparatus (which can be seen to the right), signifies that his chances with the ladies weren't that good to begin with. Nah-nah-nah nah-boo-boo!

This does however mean a great deal of bad news for bullies in Thiago's town. You mess with Thiago, and you just might get nuked!

Check out a different side of the Drunken Rogue at "Exclamations of a Drunken Rogue"

A Satisfied Mind

What are you looking for in life?

This is something that I have been forced to ask myself a lot lately. First and foremost because of our impending move down south. But also, to a degree, because of the immenent European vacation. We're planning stops and stays, which cities to add which to cut out, where to linger and where to rush. Over and over again it comes down to, what do you DEFINATELY want to say you have done or seen when you get back to the states?

Rome was a must. The combination of the center of Western Civilization and the modern center of Christianity was just too enticing. Throw in things like the Sistine Chapel and the fact that I can sing "An Evening in Roma" for like three days in a row, and we had to make time for Rome.

France, both countryside and Paris, were pretty much a lock because...well, I am married to a French major. We're spending two days in the Italian Riviera (might as well be France), two days in Provence (Avignon, to be specific), and then two and a half days in Paris.

We needed a couple of days in Prague, firstly because Allie is participating in a marathon there and secondly, because it's one of those cities that is amazing but rarely visited by the average European tourist. Everybody goes to Rome or Paris, London or Zurich. But who goes to Prague? Us, that's who.

I'm Irish. I'm proud of it. And I have a terrific love for beer. Do you think there is any way that we would miss out on a little time in Dublin? Not likely. So, we've penciled in three and a half days in Dublin. Right across from the Guinness brewery, I might add. I'm gonna dance a jig, kiss random stones (blarney or otherwise), try to find one of those darn leprechauns, and drink the Guinness brewery dry.

The whole idea of this trip is that if circumstances fall against us, and for whatever reason Mrs. Rogue and I never make it back to Europe, we will have seen the things that we most want to. We're trying to get satisfaction.

Beyond the trip, what do we want out of life? What is that will leave us satisfied when we look back at the next ten years?

A job with a purpose. I don't want a paycheck. I'll take one for a short period of time, but I want a job with some substance. A career if you will. I'm a writer at heart, and someday (maybe posthumously, but someday) that will be the label that others apply to me. But for now, and the foreseeable future, I need a career that can put me and my talents to use. I'm a smart, personable, well-spoken guy. The Rogue is looking for a company that can put me to work and send me home proud of the job I've done.

To be in command of my finances. This is another place where that "job with a purpose" can come in handy. I don't need to rich, or paid above my worth. But I do want to make enough to pay my bills, get out from under our student loan debt, and get us on the road towards home ownership.

A home of our own. Ella and I both enjoy gardening. We are both animal lovers. These are things that conflict significantly with long term renting. We do it now because we don't have the financial means to buy, but that won't always be the case. We want a porch for coffee in the morning and beer in the afternoon. We want a yard big enough for elephant ears and a banana tree, with a little room for the Drunken Dog to run. We want a full bathtub (showers are great, but sometimes you wanna stew) and a dishwasher.

And one more thing to fill that home. An Eames Lounge chair and ottoman. You can find out more about it at today's Exclamations of a Drunken Rogue!

Yep, that stuff would leave me pretty satisfied.

Not Everyone Speaks the Same Language...

...except for that one time when we built the tower of Babel. That worked out really well for everybody, right?

The Internet is a big place. With the advent of Web 2.0 (my current favorite tech phrase), everybody has a "space" on the web. Whether you set up shop at MySpace, Blogger, Facebook, or through your Gmail and Google Groups account, chances are you have a slice of html to call your own.

Everyone's space should be different. We don't all paint our houses the same (or at least we shouldn't) and so why would our digital homes be just alike? Mrs. Rogue has recently set up a little place of her own, that while wonderful is very different that mine. She uses it to showcase cool designers, artists or interesting things she finds on her daily travels through cyberspace. You should check it out. You like me, and I like it, so chances are good you will too.

You can find her at Blogger under the title "ella finds and shares..."

In the spirit of expressing yourself in your own unique way, I found a really cool site that gives me another outlet. "Tumblr" is a new kind of blogging site. You might call it blogging for the anti-blogger (or maybe just the Attention Deficit afflicted). It's all about short posts: a video, a photo, an interesting quote. The idea is to post the things that you see or hear with little or no commentary. Your readers (or would it be spectators? there's not really much to read) would get an idea of what your day was like without all the extraneous trappings.

Check mine out at "Exclamations of a Drunken Rogue"

Say what you want, and say it your way.

An Awfully Shaky Sword: I'm Too Old For This...

A great man once said, "I'm too old for this ..(expletive deleted to maintain family friendly atmosphere).." That man was Roger Murtaugh. The fact that he is a fictional character created and portrayed by Danny Glover (my brother from another mother) does not lessen the veracity of that statement. I AM too old for this stuff. Many of us are too old for many things. You may be too old to have a MySpace profile (not you, Mom, you're perfectly young enough). Perhaps you're too old for your car (really, fellas, a Maserati at 72?). In my case I may be a little too old to be learning new tricks. At least tricks with a sword.

Swordplay (particularly the pre-choreographed, stage and screen kind) relies on confidence. Right now, I am not very confident with my swordplay. It's been a long time (somewhere around four years) since I've even picked up a sword. I'm clumsy, a little skittish, and probably pretty dangerous to be around (but not in the cool deadly way, just in the I might accidentally put your eye out way).

The good news is, I have three of the very best teachers an actor could ask for, and a good base of knowledge about stage combat to reclaim. I used to know how to fight, and I haven't really forgotten it. It's all there, deep in the muscle memory, I just have to root it out.

This morning I also got to break out another set of skills that haven't been used in a while. These I feel infinitely more confident with. I used to be a pretty good actor. I still am. I got my first real scene work today (up until now, it's been all blocking and bull whip practice) and I rocked. It was a lot of fun to be walking the boards again. Making choices, seeing opportunities for moments, getting a couple of laughs. If there was ever anything that felt like riding a bike (just get back on, and it all comes rushing back to you) for me, this is it.

So, let's recap: Joel the actor is in full effect. Ready, willing and able. Joel the fighter is on his way, but it's a long road 'tween here and there.

Everybody Hurts: Performances It's Acceptable to Cry During

I'm a reasonably sensitive guy. I get the occasional tear welling up during a good "daddy song" on country radio. Movies make me cry outright (every now and then), and I've even been known to be brought to tears (or at least the beginning of tears) by a personal expression of affection. I cry (sometimes) when I get hurt (if it's bad enough), and Jack Daniels, Otis Redding and myself have shared a few wet handkerchiefs over bad breakups. But even I, a man in fully in touch with his emotions, realize there is a time and place for everything.

Apparently, not everybody gets this. There are just some performances that are definitely not worth your tears. So, I thought I'd take on the task of outlining the crying do's and don'ts for all my readers.

Always Acceptable Crying Times or "AACT" as I like to call them (ie. AACT on that emotion you're feeling).

1. When Old Yeller Dies the first time you see the film. -- Your friends did it, your father did it once upon a time, and trust me that gnarly biker dude you're always trying to avoid staring at in traffic did it too. So let the tears flow.

2. At any point during "The Passion of the Christ". -- If you've seen the film, you're probably wondering why this didn't make number one on the list. I suppose it's just because not everyone believes Jesus Christ was God. But regardless this one's got to tear you up a little. In fact, this one may fall into the "feel free to wail and gnash your teeth performances".

3. The Led Zeppelin Reunion Tour -- This one is mostly in here, because it's never going to happen. Not all of them are alive, and the ones that are generally aren't in very good shape. But, if it ever came to pass, I'd be front row, boohooing while Robert wailed "When the Levee Breaks".

4. During the inevitable 24 hour marathon of Beatles coverage the day Paul McCartney dies -- I can't imagine that Ringo will outlive him, which would make his death the final death of the greatest band ever assembled. When VH1 runs "Anthology" in it's entirety and we reach Paul's performance of "Yesterday" I think it's safe to say there won't be many dry eyes around.

5. The Climax of "Armageddon" -- Sure, it's a big dumb movie about some cowboys blowing up a space rock, but when Ben Affleck bangs on that window and screams "I love you, Harry!" it gets me every time....What? You thought I was gonna say the part when Liv Tyler's crying? Pish-posh! Affleck's twice the actor Liv is.

Sometimes Acceptable Crying Times or "SACT" as I refer to them (ie. You can cry, but you might get SACT by your buddies for being a wuss).

1. Otis Redding's "Monterrey Pop" performance of "Dreams to Remember" -- Generally, you are just supposed to nod your head and say things like, "Man, that guy knew how to wail." But, if you've recently been heartbroken, here is the appropriate time to let it all out. (Incidentally this is the only time when one of the SACT's becomes an AACT, so do not attack the cryer!)

2. When somebody ruins the end of "The Sixth Sense" for you -- No, I'm not going to do it here. I can't tell you how many times I've heard this has happened to people. It's a wonderful movie, and someone robbing you of the cathartic experience at the end is definitely worth crying over, but only after you've beaten the crap out of them.

3. The end of "The Notebook" -- This one is only for the most manly of male criers. Sure it's a chick flick turned up to about 11, but this story of love and loss got to me, and I'm willing to bet it got to you too.

Never Acceptable Crying Times or "NACT" (ie. the sound a cat makes when it's throwing up a hairball. This is a perfect acronym, because if you're crying during these, you disgust me).

1. During any Eddie Murphy movie -- Yes, even "Dreamgirls." The film may be emotional, but Eddie no longer qualifies as an actor that is allowed to be in movies that make you cry. You can, however, cry when you think about his career as a whole, and how one of the most promising stand-up comics of the latter half of this century is now making "Norbit" and "Nutty Professor 15: Fat Jokes and Fat Suits!" Yep, feel free to cry over that.

2. During any episode of "Dora the Explorer" -- I know you love watching this show with your kids or your nephews and nieces. I also know that Swiper the fox is a rascally bad guy, but I promise he's not going to really beat Dora and find what she's looking for. I promise. Just be strong.

3. At the end of "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King" -- I know, you're thinking to yourself, "Which ending?" Any one of them. It's not okay to cry when the ring (and Gollum) finally burns up in Mt. Doom. It's not okay to cry when the eagles save the hobbits. It's DEFINITELY not okay to cry when Samwise and Frodo share their moment back in Rivendell. And, no, it's not okay to cry when Frodo goes to the undying lands. There, that's done. Now let it go.

4. When George Lucas inevitably releases the Super Special Editions of the "Star Wars" Trilogy, further raping your childhood -- See, I'm an equal opportunity geek offender. I know that you love "Star Wars" 'cause you grew up with it. I did too. I know that you hate "the flanneled one" for changing your beloved films. I also know that it doesn't matter whether he makes Han Solo a ballerina dancer and changes the force to advanced techniques in ventriloquism, you'd still buy ever collection he puts out. I know this, because I would too. So quit crying about it. It is completely alright to cry about Jar Jar though.

5. During a Sanjaya performance on "American Idol"...or anywhere else for that matter -- I know it was a little girl, and she was probably just super emotional to be on television, watching a performance of her favorite show (she actually cried during Melinda's performance too), but someone should be teaching this girl some restraint. When the Beatles performed in Shea Stadium, women cried, screamed and tore their own hair out. When Elvis shook it up, women fainted from over-excitement, and now when Sanjaya warbles his way through "You Really Got Me" this little girl blubbered for three solid minutes! These are not equivalent. The only people who should have been crying last night were the band members of families of "The Kinks" 'cause Sanjaya just destroyed their song.

Now that we've got all that straight, suck it up...or let it all hang out, whichever is appropriate.

All The World's a Stage...But Especially the Parts Where You Perform Plays

While a lot of my online friends and loyal readers are familiar with the goings on in the "business called show," I know that there are some that aren't. I also am currently knee deep in it, and that's what I want to write about today, so there!

In the professional world there is very little time for rehearsals. In repertory theatres the rehearsal period is generally a week or two during the day while the current show runs at night. Off Broadway shows may be work-shopped for decades, but once they actually begin the rehearsal process they go quickly into previews.

College theatre is a little different. The main obstacle to such a quick turn around is that the actors, technicians, crew etc. are all students and therefore largely unavailable for work and rehearsals during the day. This extends the process, generally with three to five weeks of rehearsals, followed by a week or two of performances. "Zorro" is roughly on this schedule.

The first week of rehearsals is often used for "table work". This consists of line readings between the actors, discussion about characters' motivations, accents and physicality with the director, and maybe some early blocking. Blocking, at its most basic, is the process of deciding where to stand and where to walk while saying your lines. Some of it is organic (ie. If I said this, I'd want to do this), some is pre-determined by the director (I want a certain visual image at this moment) and some is trial and error (you can't walk there, 'cause I'll trip over your gown).

That's how the first week would go for most shows. "Zorro" is not like most shows, however. When we're done, "Zorro" will run just less than two and half hours. Probably two hours of that will involve some level of physical interaction (dancing, fighting, whipping, physical comedy). With so much physicality inherent in the show the emphasis (even this early) has to be on actor training and preparation. So instead of discussing character motivations and reading lines for the first four or five rehearsals, we're blocking out fights, learning stage combat techniques and training with new weapons. This brings us to the bullwhip.

I'm a pretty cool guy. I'm funny, intelligent and charismatic. I've sold cars, answered phones, acted at the community, collegiate, and professional levels. I've been trained in hand to hand combat techniques, am handy with a broadsword, knife, rapier and dagger and very good with a quarterstaff. And now I know how to use a whip.

I also have arms of Jello...after having thought about it, they may not like me using their product name. Let's just say I have arms of gelatin dessert. Saturday morning was my first training session and after about forty-five minutes worth of whip work I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then came Monday night. I spent the better part of two and a half hours with a whip in my hand, and it darn sure wasn't just danglin' there.

There is a very specific crack that the director wants me to learn for the show. I'll be beating a peasant, and it needs to look painful, while not actually being so. It's not an easy crack to learn, but after just two days of work I'm getting the hang of it. Not only am I going to be hilariously funny in this role, (at times at least) I'm gonna look like a badass. Woohoo for me!

Tonight I'm called at 7:30 for more whip work, so chances are that by tomorrow my arms will be literally be too sore to raise to this keyboard. But the payoff at the end of April will be sweet! Thanks to everybody who has sent me well-wishes and congrats for getting back on stage. It has been a while, but once I'm there it feels like I've never left. I guess there will always be a little bit of the actor in me. And now there's a little bit of the Whip in there too.

Once More Unto the Breach Dear Friends, Once More

My interest in Theatre began at the age of twelve. For five years I was constantly involved in one production after another. During my senior year of high school and the start of my freshman year of college I took a break. It lasted about a year and a half. From the Spring of 2000 to the Winter of 2004 again I was continually on stage. Then I took another break. Again my vacation lasted about eighteen months. In the fall of 2005 I performed in a play entitled "Atomic Field." It's been a year and a half since then and I've got the itch.

One of my favorite professors during my college career was Mark Guinn, a man who's friends call him "Rat". Rat is not a man that you say no to. On the contrary, he's a man that as often as possible you follow. If he says "Jump", you have a strong inclination to ask "How high?" He's a professor, director, actor, fighter and about as close to a "wise man" as I've ever come in contact with. When Rat asks for help, you give it.

These two things (my "itch" to act again, and my desire to please Mark Guinn) combined to send me back to the stage. This April and May, you'll see the Drunken Rogue in all his bumbling glory as Sgt. Gonzales in Stone Theatre's Production of "Zorro" by David Richmond and Drew Fracher. It's got romance, humor, suspense, sword fights, bull whips, music and dancing...and that's just the first act.

It's going to be a lot of fun working with some old friends, making new ones, and mostly getting that warm reception from an audience again (we all know I'm a bit of a glory hound). It will also give me an interesting opportunity to describe the rehearsal process for people who might not have been exposed to theatre before.

***Author's Side Note***It ticks me off to no end that FireFox (and MS Word) both label "theatre", my preferred (and completely acceptable) spelling of the word as a typo. Somebody's getting a nasty letter about this.***End Author's Side Note***

Over the next couple of weeks, I'll try to break down some of the steps we take and explain what's going on in the production and what it's like for the actor. I'd tell you what it's like for the director, set designer and the costume crew, but the fact of the matter is I don't know. Also, it goes without saying that any one within driving distance is more than welcome to attend the show. We'll be running from the last week of April through the first week of May. I'll give you more updates when I have them.

It's been a while since I've taken the stage, and longer since I've fought on one. I might be a little rusty, but don't think for a minute that I don't still have what it takes. The Drunken Rogue is back in the spotlight, and loving every minute of it.

One Final Bow

The play of life is one actor short this weekend. There are people we come into contact with that literally change our lives. One of mine died this past Thursday.

Dr. George Brian was one of the greatest actors I've ever had the pleasure to see in action. He was the most giving and talented director I've ever worked with. He was also an amazing man, one that I am very sad to say goodbye to.

I was twelve years old the first time I wandered into a theatre for an audition. I went there because a couple of girls I liked were going. I stayed there (for the better part of the next 15 years) because of Dr. Brian. He had a love for Theatre, literature, music, and life that few could hope to equal. The truly amazing thing is I've been gifted at least three times with similar friends and mentors. But Dr. B was the first, and that gives him a special place in my heart.

Dr. Brian was born in 1919, served his country in WWII, almost single-handedly built the Theatre program at ULM, served as Executive Director of the Rose Theatre in Bastrop (that's where I met him), and led hundreds (if not thousands) of people just like me to a better understanding and love for Drama. It would be a full life for two or three men, but for one it's amazing.

Dr. Brian (or Dr. B, as we all called him) has left a hell of a legacy. One that his family and friends can and should be proud of. He will always be missed, and never be forgotten. The hundreds or thousands of people he taught to love Theatre will pass that love on to hundreds of thousands. I don't doubt that each one will put a smile on his face as he watches from above. The world of Theatre is a little poorer today, but Heaven has a great new storyteller. We miss you, Dr. B, and we love you.

Beware the Ides of Pinch...I Mean March: Why are the Irish So Darn Mean?

Firstly, let me say that the Irish are not a mean people (as long as you aren't a werewolf or snake, then they'll cast your butt into the sea). They are a welcoming, fun-loving, light-hearted people. Not that they don't have enough hardship in their history to deserve a little meanness. But it's just not there.

It's been requested, I've promised it, and now finally here today I reveal the secret hidden origin behind the "pinching" that goes on in schoolyards and playgrounds worldwide on St. Patrick's Day. It's a sordid practice, blemishing the sanctity of an otherwise spirit-filled (see, I made a liquor joke there) holiday. The cruelty of torturing those that don't celebrate, or have just plain forgotten, St. Patrick's Day goes against the spirit of the entire day...although, now that I think about it, St. Patrick is honored for driving the pagans (ie. non-believers) from Ireland. On second thought, maybe this pinching thing is central to the celebration of Paddy's Day. We'll explore my existential dilemma later. For now...

The Ides of Pinch

"Beware the Ides of March!" Sure, you read that in high school during the one semester worth of instruction on Shakespeare that you were forced to endure and have spent the years since trying to expunge from your brain, but do you have the slightest what the "Ides of March" is? Most of you probably do, but for the couple who have forgotten Senior English, let's review. In the Roman calendar (ironically replaced by the Julian calendar shortly before Julius Caesar's death) the middle of the month was referred to as the "ides." It is commonly thought that the "Ides of March" the day Caesar was assassinated was in fact March 15. This is false.

During my extensive research for this St. Patrick's Day series, I have uncovered new and shocking information that in the ancient Roman calendar the month of March actually had 34 days. It's hard to believe, I know, and it seems like it would be impossible to balance at the end of the year, but those Romans were just that crazy. Since March was extended so, the "ides of March" would actually fall on (surprise, surprise) March 17th, or St. Patrick's Day.

What does this have to do with the custom of pinching? To understand the origin of this practice we first have to look at another Irish Saint. Saint Ides, known as the Brigid of Munster (which translates to the Bright or exalted one of Munster). St. Ides was a sixth century Irish Nun credited with the gift of prophecy as well as numerous miracles. She was venerated by the Catholic Church and further honored by the Pabst Brewing Company with the production of a fantastic (and thrifty) malt liquor bearing her name.

St. Ides was a bit of a stickler for upholding and following Church doctrine. You might compare her to the modern Cardinal Ratzinger (who has since become Pope) who was known as Pope John Paul II's bulldog. He kept folks in line, as St. Ides did in her day (how interesting that the drink named in her honor actually makes people fall OUT of the lines). She was particularly fond of St. Patrick and his place of honor in Irish society. On the day of his feast (the aforementioned TRUE Ides of March), children that were not respectful of the Church's celebration of Ireland's patron saint, would be disciplined by a sharp pinch to the neck. The word quickly spread amongst the Irish children that you had to watch yourself around St. Ides, on that day especially. "Beware the Ides of March," they'd say to the young ones, "she'll pinch you but good."

Saying quickly grew in popularity even among adults (who were significantly less in danger of getting a pinch at church), and with the travel of the Irish sailors among the British Isles, became a slang term for impending doom even among the British. It was THIS story that Shakespeare was referencing when he wrote that famous scene in "Julius Caesar." Though he did eventually re-write his original scene of the Senators pinching Caesar to death, he kept the warning. That line was a particularly beloved joke among the British commoners.

So, though the original saying has been confused, and the reasoning for the pinching now has lost it's connection to St. Ides, we (or at least the meanies among us) continue St. Ides' enforced participation in the celebration of St. Patrick even to this day.

Truthfully, most of this story is false (it wasn't obvious at all was it?). St. Ides was a sixth century Irish nun, the tasty malt liquor, St. Ides, is in fact named for her, and the "Ides of March" did mean "the middle of March." Other than that, it's mostly BS. The sad truth is, I spent most of a week trying to find out why we pinch each other when we don't wear green, and I found absolutely no explanation whatsoever. I do know that the practice is much more common here than in Ireland (see, I told you the Irish weren't mean), but other than that, I got nothing! So, until I find a better reason, I'm gonna say it has to do with the death of an Emperor, a sixth century and a cheap malt liquor. I dare you not to wear green on Saturday.

Party List the Fourth: The Necessities for a Kickin' St. Paddy's Day

4. The Day off. -- While some may tell you that few hours in the evening should be plenty for a proper St. Patrick's Day celebration, it's just not true. The proper St. Paddy's Day begins in the wee hours of the morning, and ends in the wee hours of the NEXT morning. I had a full day planned with two separate film screenings (the recent Oscar winner, "The Departed" followed by the John Wayne classic, "The Quiet Man"), separated with drink intermissions full of dancing to gay Irish tunes (gay here meaning happy and light, the Irish are all man, baby). The day was to wind down into a full on party as friends gathered for an evening full of toasts and blessings (all over proper Irish drinks, whiskey and beer). There had even been discussion of an excursion to Shreveport (or ShreveVegas as absolutely no one calls it, but someone should) to hear live music at "Flanagan's" a proper Irish name for a bar if ever there was one.

But alas, some of the above celebration is not to be. I've got to work Saturday night (I've tried pleading Religious holiday observance, but they keep reminding me I'm not Catholic. Party poopers). From 6-9pm I may be locked down, but rest assured that the Drunken Rogue won't let a little thing like work get in the way of a good time. I'm still going to watch my two favorite Irish films (I'm even throwing in a third, with "Miller's Crossing"), then after the remote broadcast, I'm catching a ride to "Flanagan's" to celebrate St. Paddy's Day in style. You can take the Irish out of the party, but you can't take the party out of the Irish!

So I'm Turning Into My Father? Well, There are Worse Things I Could Be...

We take a break from our regularly scheduled blogging to honor the man that largely made me what I am today...well, he was there at the very beginning anyway.

Today my Dad, Jimmy Everette, turns 60. And I have to say it's been an eventful six decades. In 1947 President Truman announced the "Truman Doctrine" designed to stop the spread of Communism, Jackie Robinson became the first African-American to play in the Major Leagues, the United States Air Force was formed using branches of the Army and Navy and Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier. People born in 1947 include: David Bowie, Jack Hanna, Laura Schlessinger, Nolan Ryan, Farrah Fawcett, Edward James Olmos, Rob Reiner, Billy Crystal, Ry Cooder, Emmy Lou Harris, David Letterman, Kareem Abdul-Jabaar, Dave Barry, Arlo Guthrie, Arnold Schwarzenegger, David Mamet and Stephen King. Not a bad group to be in.

These people were old enough to be awestruck when the first man walked on the moon. They've seen not only the birth of the Internet, but the explosion of the computer itself. They've watched television go from black and white to color to high definition, not to mention from 13 inches to over 50. They lived through the red scare (started in 1947), the race wars, the Vietnam War, Watergate, a Presidential assassination (and several more attempts), an impeachment, Republican majorities, Democratic majorities, recessions, bubbles, gas shortages and literally everything in between. They've got stories to tell, and it's an awful shame that we don't listen more often. They are the most successful, most diverse, longest living generation in American history (if not World history). They're a hard act to follow, and they expect a lot out of us. But they've provided a pretty good road map to follow.

On his sixtieth birthday, I want to say thanks to my Dad. Thanks for working hard. Thanks for the free room and board those first eighteen years, I probably wouldn't have made it without them. Thanks for the gas money, and groceries while I was in college. Thanks for standing and taking it (without getting your feelings hurt) when I got a little education and decided that you were backward and simpleminded. Thanks for not rubbing it in when I realized I was wrong. Thanks for setting a good example of a life well lived, with friends and family ahead of success and possessions. Thanks for loving Mom, and showing me that being a good husband is hard work but delivers one of the biggest rewards life has to offer.

Thanks for pushing me to achieve, even when I thought you were pushing in the wrong direction. Thanks for reminding me of the direction when I lost my way. Thanks for instilling a love and reverence for the written word, and those that lay it out. Without it, I'd probably be an accountant, and while my bank account may be a little more full, my reader's inboxes would be empty. Hmmm, on second thought maybe I won't thank you for that one.

Thanks for coming to see me in plays, even though you had little interest in Theatre. Thanks for taking me hunting, even though I had little interest in the outdoors. Thanks for your persistence, though some call it stubbornness. It wore off, and it's won me a lot of fights over the years. Thanks for occasionally losing an argument, and thanks for admitting it when you were wrong. It means so much more coming from someone like you or me.

Mostly, thanks for being around. I know now, that not every one's Dad is. At every stage of my life it's been helpful to know, no matter how badly I fail at something, I've always got a safe place to land. Thanks for providing the safe place.

Happy birthday, Dad. I hope you don't feel any older today than you did yesterday, and no older next year than you do right now. If you liked this birthday wish, just wait 'till you see the one I'm working on for your seventieth.

Erin Go Bragh: A Saying that Has Nothing to Do With Undergarments...or Girls Named Erin

Ah, a long weekend lays behind us. One in which I did not maintain my commitment to write about St. Patrick's Day daily until the next Saturday. So sue me. I got busy (I do have a job, as hard as it is to imagine). But I'm back with more Irish pride and useless (and probably false facts to share with my Yankee friends (here Yankee means American, not northerner).

Erin Go Bragh is a phrase that you've probably heard a thousand times. Alright, maybe not a thousand, but three or four at least. But did you know (I sure didn't) that it doesn't have anything to do with Erin and her underwear? Nope, it's actually an Americanized version of a Gaelic (that's Irish speak) phrase that means...well about fourteen different things depending on who you ask. Mostly people say it means "Ireland Forever." But then they argue about what THAT means. Some say it means "Ireland will last forever", others say "I'm faithful to Ireland forever." Then there's the group that says English is too narrow to capture the real meaning of the phrase, suggesting it's actually close to, "Ireland until Judgement day" or even "Ireland the Brave." The point is there are lots of different interpretations, and none of them have anything to do with Victoria and her secret.

It's a cool phrase you have to admit. It sounds good rolling off the tongue, it looks good in a stylized font on a flag, or a tattoo. And mostly it makes you sound smart, which we know is a motivating factor for most things that people do. So, when you're three hours deep in your St. Patrick's Day celebration and you're ready to make a move on the cute redhead in the corner, hit her up with a little "Erin Go Bragh!" and she'll think you actually have a clue what you're talking about. Won't she be surprised on your second date?

Party List the Third: Necessities for a successful St. Patrick's Day

3. Traditional Irish Food. -- I knew we'd get there eventually and I've put a lot of research into this looking for the perfect dishes to recommend. Color me surprised when I found out that the perfect entree for your St. Patrick's Day party is an American favorite as well. That's right ladies and gentlemen, the Irish have been enjoying Buffalo Wings for centuries, and this Saturday you should too! For alternatives to Buffalo Wings (something for the ladies) try a fresh slice of Domino's Pizza (Domino's comes from the Gaelic, Dominagh). As an added bonus you can now order your Buffalo Wings from Domino's and save time and money, while honoring your Irish heritage. It truly is a wonderful world we live in.

Coming soon -- Does Aquamarine Count as Green?: How Not to Get Pinched, and Why the Hell They're Doing It in the First Place

Luck of the Pale: The Double Edged Sword of Being Irish

The Irish are pale, there's no two ways about it. Even those of us with dark hair and eyes (we're called Black Irish 'cause we've got rhythm) still burn pretty easily unless our bloodline has been mixed over the years with other (more tannable) peoples. Sucks to be us right? Not so much. Think about it, if you are genetically pre-disposed to sunburn doesn't that give you a built in excuse to sit in the shade while your compadres toil in the sun? Isn't a great excuse when the wife says you need to take the dog for a walk but you'd rather play another ten minutes of that new video game? I might have given myself away on that one a little bit.

The Original Irish Brawlers

Last night, Mrs. Rogue and I went to see a midnight showing of "300" the new film from Zach Snyder based on Frank Miller's graphic novel of the same name. It tells the story of King Leonidas and his Spartans as 300 of them stood against the mighty army of the Persian empire in defense of Sparta (and greater Greece). It's a well known historical story, and the film (while definitely taking liberties with history) is AWESOME! What you probably don't know (and the film fails to mention) is that Leonidas and his Spartan warriors were actually Irish. True story. Sure, the lived literally hundreds of years before the country (and people) we know as Ireland formulated. Sure, St. Patrick (and Christianity) didn't exist yet. But let's look at the facts. These Spartans were short (everybody was back then), they were known as brawlers (and good ones) and, as shown in the film, they enjoyed their wine and women thoroughly. Tough guys with hearts of gold that's the best way to describe the Spartans as presented in "300," and it's not a bad way to describe the Irish either. I've had no luck however finding any conclusive proof that the Battle of Thermopylae took place on St. Patrick's Day, but the Greeks did eventually drive the Persians into the sea (just like St. Pat drove the snakes into the sea, eerie).

Patty's Day Party List Part 2 (I love alliteration)

2. Booze -- Can you celebrate St. Patrick's day while staying stone cold sober? I don't even understand the previous question. It's like asking "Can I use the Internet if I want to avoid computers, electrical outlets and and wireless devices?" Umm, not in this Universe. Alright, maybe my position on this one is a little tough. I'll leave you some wiggle room, feel free to drink tea while you're at my St. Patty's Day party, but when I slap you on the back and say, "This is vun, I'm havering the bestesest time. Hav're yo doin'?" You better reply, "Terrivic!" followed by an unintelligible holler. We've got appearances to keep up here.

Everybody's Irish on St. Patrick's Day...Except for You...Not Even the Irish Will Claim You

Here we are, just ten short days away from the Irish New Year, Christmas, Thanksgiving and Independence Day all rolled into one. It's St. Patrick's Day, folks! Why are we focusing on this happiest of holidays so far in advance? Firstly, with a day of this magnitude you really need a countdown. Second, I didn't really even acknowledge it last year and so I owe you (and St. Pat) one. Thirdly, this is my blog, I'm Irish, and I say so.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let me fill you in on how this is going to work. Everyday for the next ten days I'll toss up a couple of St. Patrick Day treats here on the old blogstead (it's like a homestead, but for the Internet). Not only will I prepare you for the ultimate St. Patty's Day party with a list of requirements for a successful celebration, but I'll also school with you with some fun-filled, little known, not necessarily true facts about the origin and history of The Day Belonging to the Saint Known as Patrick (that's not really its official name, I just thought I'd make it sound a little more impressive...it worked didn't it?).

The Original Beer Swilling Irish Priest

St. Patrick's Day is of course the celebration and commemoration of the Savior of the Emerald Isle, St. Patrick. What did he save it from? Well, while the actual historical facts are lost as writing had not yet been invented (don't listen to that tomfoolery about the Egyptians and the Hieroglyphs, everybody knows that Shakespeare invented writing. Before that we all just hoped we didn't forget stuff) and legend tells us that it was a plague of snakes and werewolves that St. Patrick cast out of Ireland (did we really need to mention the snakes? I thinking ridding an entire country of a plague of werewolves would have been plenty to warrant getting a day named in your honor), it is a widely held belief (widely here meaning held by this author and this kid from my high school that I convinced) that it was the teetotalers that St. Patrick banished from Ireland. That my friends is something worth celebrating.

Patrick had seen in his travels around the countryside (all 14 acres of it) that Ireland was a country rife with conflict. Wives nagging their husbands for terrifying too long at the pub, mothers berating their sons for boozing and carousing instead of seeking gainful employment as a shepherd or...well, that's pretty much all there is to do in Ireland. Sure, he could have sided with the ladies striving for the "betterment" of their men, but Patrick knew that while you can take the Irish out of the booze, you can't take the booze out of the Irish. If there's one thing that the Irish (particularly our Priests) are good at, it's picking a winner. So Patrick with his walking stick and beer mug in hand drove the teetotalers into the sea. He was quickly canonized, and a day was set aside every year to honor his struggle against the forces of intolerance and sobriety.

The Ultimate St. Patrick's Day Party: A Drunken List

1. Irish Tunes -- While our temper and love of spirits may be our two defining features, its our ability to get our groove on that separates the Irish from countless other ethnic groups. To set the mood at your St. Patty's Day soiree (and by the way, you probably shouldn't call it a soiree) make sure you have plenty of proper Gaelic tunes on hand. I'll give you a few great examples, but in general if you can dance to it without moving your upper body (and thereby not spilling your drink) it's probably fine.

"Seven Drunken Nights" by the Dubliners -- The quintessential Irish Drinking song. It's funny, irreverent, and it's so dirty the last two nights have to be censored.

"I'm Shipping Up to Boston" by the Dropkick Murphy's -- This is that awesome Irish rock song from "The Departed". On second thought, pretty much anything from these guys will work. There name is "The Dropkick Murphy's," how could they not be awesome?

"13 Drinking Songs" by Naked and Shameless -- This is an entire album that you should add to your playlist. True it's not exactly Irish, but this is a band named Naked and Shameless with songs like "Drinking Song #6 I Need a Liver". There's a lot to love here.

"Whiskey You're the Divil" -- Nope, I didn't spell it wrong, it's just that I'm so Irish I slur my speech a little, see? Awesome song, good chorus (which means a sing-a-long) and just long enough to finish a drink but not need another one.

"Whiskey in the Jar" by Literally Anyone has ever played music -- It's a little known fact that when you form a band you are legally required to cover three songs. "Baby I Love Your Way" by Peter Frampton (for the ladies), "Stairway to Heaven" by Zeppelin (for the rocker in you) and "Whiskey in the Jar" (for everybody else). It has the aforementioned great chorus for singing along, it's an awesome story song about love, greed and betrayal, and the words in the chorus basically require you to take on an Irish accent. Rock.

Coming Tomorrow: Is that a Leprechaun or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

Graduation Day

It's an exciting time in the house of Rogue. We've got a big weekend ahead of us with lots to celebrate. First and foremost, Mrs. Rogue is graduating. Not in some metaphorical sense, signifying a maturation or emotional growth, no, I mean literally with the cap, the gown, the whole deal. That's worth celebrating all by itself. Truth be told, I'm almost more proud of her graduating than I was of myself when I finally exited college. Ella has worked really hard over the last two-plus years, and she deserves to sit on her haunches (and what cute haunches they are) for a while and relax.

This weekend (specifically tomorrow) also marks my first anniversary as a blogger. It was March 2nd, 2006 when I first signed up with Blogger and MySpace. I wrote my first blog, "Who are You? And Why the Hell Do I Care What You Have to Say?" (I've got a way with words don't I) on March 3rd. I've kept it up for a year, and other than my marriage (two and half years already, woohoo!) it's about the longest I've stayed committed to anything in my life. In that year I've started (and sadly given up on) two side projects, a political blog and a movie review blog. It's not that these weren't great ideas, and I had some great help on both of them. But trying to write consistently for more than one site was more than I could juggle with my real job (your friendly neighborhood DJ) and attempting to maintain a favorable relationship with Mrs. Rogue. Over the past 365 days (it's not a Leap Year after all) I've written a total of 233 blogs. Since I'm such a math wiz I've done the figuring and that comes out to an average of four blogs per day...my math may be a little off there, but the point is I wrote a lot in the past year.

The question is what am I going to do THIS year? Probably write more. Definitely watch a lot of television (that's sort of what I do best), hopefully celebrate my third year as Mr. Rogue to the lovely Mrs. Rogue (don't leave me now, sweetheart), oh...and travel to Europe.

I went and applied for my passport yesterday. It was a completely surreal experience. First of all they take your birth certificate (a document that I have been taught to protect) and staple it to your application forms. STAPLE it! I thought I was going to have a little freak out right there in the post office. That was before they made me swear an oath. I raised my right hand and everything...in the post office. Bizarre. So, I guess I'm international now, or soon will be anyway. I'm a man that has a passport...well, I've got a receipt for one.

With Ella's graduation imminent, it makes thinking about our impending move from the safe haven of Ruston pretty necessary. We've started looking at apartments and houses for rent (expensive) and I've started making job inquiries (although the chances that someone wants to hire me now and then wait for me to start until June seem slim). Much like Ella's graduation (and our European vacation) this move snuck up on us. It'll be here before we know it. So, if there is a wealthy benefactor out there reading this that would like to adopt us (and put me on the payroll) it would be much appreciated.

My current focus is trying to find a way to break into the world of professional publishing. I want to write for a living, not just for fun. That's my goal, and I'm working towards it. So during our celebration this weekend (I am the Drunken Rogue, after all) we'll be looking forward to the next phase. Looking forward to Germany and Rome, Paris and Dublin. Looking forward to Baton Rouge and whatever comes next. It's an exciting time in the house of Rogue.