I figure I owe the world an essay this evening but I’m not sure what I should be writing about. The big topics de jour include all of the various human interest stories surrounding the Olympics. Of course we couldn’t go a whole week without another tempest in a teapot regarding trans issues. Last week it was transvestites in a tableau that may or may not have been inspired by DaVinci. This week its an Algerian boxer, phenotypically and culturally female and without a particularly distinguished career in the ring, of some years, who was called a man by a corrupt Russian sports organization and that was enough for the usual anti-trans brigade to bang the drums and create a pig-pile of epic dimensions with all sorts of people who should no better leaping to completely unfounded conclusions and half the interwebs pivoting from expertise in Graeco-Roman mythology to chromosomal biology before you could say ‘Drag Queen’.

What’s fueling the anti-trans fire? They are a very small and politically powerless community who have no more ability to recruit or seduce children than any other disparate group of human beings. I have pointed out for years that parents generally need not worry about their LGBTQ acquaintances and the safety of their children. Pretty much everyone I’ve ever met in a sexual minority community is keenly aware of the aspersions society casts on them and therefore they comport themselves with scrupulous care around other people’s children. It’s been a long standing rule in my home of many decades that minor children are not allowed without the knowledge/presence of their adults. We all know that even a vague rumor of misbehavior can destroy our lives. We’re not all that removed from ‘The Children’s Hour’. When those children become young adults, if they figure out that we are their tribe, they come looking for us. There’s no need for us to look for them.

Drag used to be considered a bit of oddball fringe humor and has been around as long as there have been cultural gender differences in clothing, appearance, and behavior. Milton Berle did drag on national TV in the 50s. Flip Wilson had his Geraldine in the 60s. Tom Hanks got his major break doing drag on Bosom Buddies for several years. Films like The Birdcage and To Wong Foo… entered the national zeitgeist without causing an uproar. RuPaul has been hosting Drag Race since 2009. None of these has caused the collapse of Western Civilization as we know it. The ‘drag is evil’ and ‘drag queens are groomers’ and ‘transsexuals should be punished’ messaging appeared suddenly starting in the spring of 2022. I am always suspicious of ‘grass roots’ movements that are everywhere at once. That usually means there’s big money and meticulous planning afoot somewhere.

Now what else was going on in the spring of 2022 in terms of the various culture wars about which we all like to tie each other up in knots? The Supreme Court heard arguments in case now known as Dobbs in December of 2021 and a draft of the opinion in that case was leaked to the media in May of 2022 before being released in final form in June of 2022. The Dobbs case, overturning Roe v Wade and flying in the face of stare decisis and fifty years of settled law, presented a problem for right wing culture war politics. For decades, the antiabortion position was the plank that kept their culture warriors together and pulling in unison (and kept the funds flowing). All of sudden, that’s no longer the bludgeon it once was. There needed to be a quick pivot to another equally visceral culture war issue. (I’m sure drag and trans issues were identified years ago and kept in arrears for the time when Roe fell so, when it did fall, it was an easy roll out).

There are cultural and societal conversations that need to be held regarding trans issues in particular. Sex and gender do not exist in nature on the binary that people are taught in elementary school science (and anyone who has taken the most basic of college biology courses will know this). Knee jerk legal definitions of ‘man’ and ‘woman’ based on overly simplified concepts are going to create enormous headaches for the courts to ultimately have to sort out. There’s a lot of bleating about ‘common sense’ but that’s not how the law works. The law says what the law says. The right wing culture warriors, of course, will not stop with the trans community or drag queen story hours. They’ve seen a wedge into the oppression of all sexual minority groups – and that includes 62 year old twice widowed professors of clinical geriatrics. I’ve come to the conclusion that you stand for the worth and dignity of every person, or you become a star bellied Sneetch.

Well, I guess that answers the question regarding what I’m going to write about this evening. Before I sign off, I figure we better look at what’s going on in Covidland. We are definitely in a summer wave. How high it is currently or is likely to get is unclear as we no longer collect standardized data nationwide but wastewater studies suggest that it is continuing to spread in the Deep South, New England, and the Pacific Northwest. The number of cases in the month of July nationwide was likely somewhere in the mid six figures but, again, nobody really knows. Hospitalizations and deaths remain relatively low due to natural and vaccine mediated immunity.

The biggest issue is that the currently spreading strains, KP.2, KP.3 and LB.1 are all descendants of strain JN.1 which emerged last winter. JN.1 has a number of mutations that make it more efficient at evading vaccine mediated immunity and its daughter strains have inherited this propensity. This is likely why, in part, we’re seeing this summer bump. It’s getting around our previous vaccine defenses. I have heard through the grapevine that the new formulation of covid booster set to be released this fall should assist with this so it’s not a bad idea if everyone put the idea of a covid booster together with their flu shot on their radar screen for the fall. I have no idea when it’s going to be available. I usually find out answers to questions like that the same way everyone else does, by reading the news.

Going to check my notes for tomorrow’s Merry Wives of Windsor rehearsal before kicking back with a bad movie for the benefit of MNM.

Wash your hands.

Last night was…something…I had not been feeling great Sunday and was fortunate to have minimal obligations so I hauled out the laptop and began working away on the part of the ‘To Do’ list that can be accomplished sitting up in bed in an old T-shirt and Space Jam sleep pants. I finished up the slides for a series of taped lectures I am doing for a geriatrics board exam review course, wrote up the weekly summary of progress on The Merry Wives of Windsor for the cast and staff, caught up on social media, started an essay that is to be part of the new book and wrote a Mrs. Norman Maine movie review as I have been sadly remiss at sending those in for the last few months due to being overwhelmed with life in general.

Around 4 PM, the thunderstorm rolled in. We’ve been having rain and storms all week but this one was a doozy, likely sent up here by the good citizens of Houston as they have been inundated for weeks. Sheets of rain, lighting flickering all over the skies. Huge claps of thunder. About half an hour in, the power went out. Without Wi-Fi or juice for the computer, I had to shut down what I was doing, but it was still light outside so I pulled out one of the four or five books I’m currently reading and did very little for the next couple of hours. The lights returned as the sun was going down.

There is a peculiarity about my building. When we lose power, the fire alarm goes off. It wasn’t a huge issue to have that obnoxious thing beeping every few minutes. I have two kinds of smoke detectors. Ones hard wired into the building and ones which are individual to my unit. Only some of them have a backup battery. I had recently changed those out so I figure it’s the hard wired kind that get confused when the power goes out. Just one more peculiarity of this place to be added to the master toilet that randomly fills with hot water. With power restored, I fixed myself something to eat and turned in early with bad TV figuring a good nights sleep would be best for whatever was ailing me. (Not covid, but something with rather unpleasant GI effects that I won’t trouble to detail).

I woke up at 1:30 AM to further storming, the power again going out and the obnoxious fire alarm doing its thing. Only this time, instead of beeping every few minutes, it decided to beep roughly every thirty seconds. So there I am in my jammies, flashlight in hand, in my pitch black condo climbing a stepstool to see if changing out the batteries again would shut them up. I was balancing on top of the step stool when whatever has been ailing me made itself known again, this time with vasovagal symptoms. When my gut goes weird, I tend to do that and have fainted in any number of inappropriate places over the years. I immediately scrambled down off the stepstool (shades of headlines reading ‘Local MD found dead in his condo after fall’ entering my mind), went back to bed and put my feet up and head down. There followed several unpleasant hours of continuous fire alarm, no CPAP so no good ability to sleep, and feeling under the weather.

The power returned sometime after 4 but by that time, I felt just awful so I texted work that I would not be coming in and decided to do next to nothing today in order to recover. I have something like seven months of accumulated sick leave so I figure I can take a day or two as I almost never do. I am feeling better after some sleep and some comfort food but I plan on continuing with minimal exertion through tomorrow so I will be ready for my usual ninety miles an hour pace on Wednesday.

The one thing I am doing today and tomorrow is attending rehearsal for The Merry Wives of Windsor (masked just in case I have something contagious) and sitting in the back and having my much younger assistant director do all the running around. The show is on its feet. It will be fully staged after the rehearsal tonight and now it becomes about polishing what we have. Merry Wives is one of those Shakespeare plays that everyone knows the title to, has some idea that it’s the comedy about Falstaff, but very few have actually seen or read. There’s good reason for that. It’s not one of his best efforts. Legend has it that he had to write the play and get it up on its feet in roughly two weeks. Queen Elizabeth explicitly asked to see a play in which Falstaff, a favorite character of hers from Henry IV part one (Henry IV part two was in process at the time but not yet completed), was in love. The Master of the Revels scheduled the royal command performance for the evening of the gathering of the most noble order of the garter at Windsor castle giving Shakespeare and his company very little time in which to work.

As a consequence, the play has more prose and less poetry than any other. I guess he just didn’t have time to put the speeches into iambic pentameter. This makes it a bit harder to learn and I feel for my actors who are struggling with lines as the rhythm and rhyme just isn’t there to help them the way it usually is with Shakespeare. While it ostensibly takes place in the time of Henry IV (early 1400s) all of the references are to the late Elizabethan court of two centuries later. There are subplots that go nowhere. Significant action and character development happens off stage. There are almost no famous or quotable lines.

I’ve taken out about 15-20% of the text to get rid of meandering subplots, repetitions, references that no one will understand, and jokes that lost their meaning sometime around the settling of the Plymouth Colony. I’ve instructed my actors to physicalize as much of their meaning as they can to help the audience better understand what’s happening, even if they don’t understand every word. I’ve told them to take a look at the American comedic acts that developed out of vaudeville and the music hall and went on to succeed on film: Charlie Chaplin, The Marx Brothers, Buster Keaton, Laurel and Hardy. They’re still funny nearly a century later. Why is that? What can they use from those techniques to make a four hundred year old play funny. I guess we’ll see in two and a half weeks if my thoughts and cajoling are successful at all.

The big story of the week is the start of the Paris Olympics and the ensuing uproar over misunderstandings of the symbolism used in ‘the opening ceremonies. The French, never known for dumbing down their culture or beliefs for others, staged a spectacle that had an enormous number of people confusing pagan symbolism for Christian symbolism and therefore deciding it was blasphemous. I have two things to say on the subject. One – never confuse the physical symbol for the concept that it represents. A bible is just a book – a collection of printed pages bound within a cover. It’s the ideas and concepts that it represents that are important. If someone destroys or desecrates a bible, it doesn’t damage those in the least. A religious painting is one artist’s way of attempting to represent the metaphorical divine in a concrete form. How that painting will look will depend upon the artist, the society within which that artist works, and the economic conditions that allow the art to be produced. Leonardo’s ‘The Last Supper’ is masterpiece but was not greeted as such in its time. Issues with the fresco painting technique led to quick deterioration of the work and the monks that owned it thought so little of it that they cut a door through the wall it was painted on. It did not become iconic until four hundred plus years after its creation when the age of mass media began to disseminate images of famous art to the general public. In the 20th and 21st centuries, it has been parodied thousands of times and none of that has diminished either the genius of the painting or the spiritual concepts embodied in the gathering depicted. Two – yes, the tableau at the Olympics was not the last supper but a Dionysian bacchanal. However, pointing that out over and over again with smug superiority to people who have genuine issues of faith is not the way to win friends and influence people. Those who felt insulted are not necessarily less intelligent or less educated, they just see the world in a different way – as in the story of the blind men and the elephant. It’s yet another case in this country of people talking at each other rather than to each other. It comes from the cynical divided politics we’ve allowed to develop. Now even discussions about imagery created by a completely different culture that has nothing to do with the US is invaded by the red/blue divide.

Given the nature of my life, most of my friends are of the more liberal persuasion, but I spend a lot of time with rural populations because of the work I do. I’ve probably spent more time in Appalachia than JD Vance and I go out into rural Alabama twice a week and have for years. The more conservative amongst us are just as worthy of respect as anyone else and this cultural condescension needs to end.

I’m still trying to make heads or tails of the rather insane political season in which we all find ourselves. And people wonder why I’m in no hurry to revive Politically Incorrect Cabaret. How on earth do you write political satire that can in any way compete with current political reality? It’s just not possible. Especially when you need a month or so to write, cast, rehearse, and otherwise prep a show. I can only imagine where we might be a month from now and it’s likely several light years beyond what I could possibly dream up and place upon a stage.

The last piece I wrote was on gerontocracy. No sooner do I finish that and get it out there for discussion when wham bam alakazam the 81 year old White male Democratic candidate has been replaced by a 59 year old Black/Indian candidate leaving the Republican candidate as the old guy all of a sudden and removing one of that side’s most effective campaign strategies. I cannot say I disagree with the decision. I’ve never thought that Biden at his age should run for a second term. I always felt he should satisfy himself with being a one term president and to use that term to correct the errors of the previous administration without one eye on how it might look in the next election cycle while at the same time grooming and presenting a successor. The speed with which this is all taking place and the closeness to the election if not necessarily the wisest choice as it gives the optics of desperation or closed door party maneuverings but it is what it is. It has taken all the wind out of the Republicans’ sails coming out of their convention and stolen the control of the news cycle away from Trump. He’s not fond of that so expect something to get him back on top of the headlines in the near future.

I cannot in good conscience support a party who are so blatantly anti-healthcare, anti-LGBTQ, anti-woman, and anti-pluralistic society as the current Republican party so my vote will be on the side of the Democrats. Am I fond of Kamala Harris, I can’t say I really know that much about her and that is, I think a major dilemma. Very little has been done to highlight her as a leader during the last four years. The bona fides may be there, but they are not widely known. I will have to do some poking around to see what all she has been up to. The veepstakes will also be interesting as the party attempts a balanced ticket that will appeal to swing voters. Whether we like it or not, there are very strong strains of both misogyny and racism in American politics and that will be part of the calculus.

In terms of thinking about the upcoming election, it is wise to remember that it’s not a popularity contest and that the plebiscite does not determine the victor. There are only 538 votes that count, those in the Electoral College. As the majority of states are fairly solidly red or blue at this point, it all comes down to six states that could tip either way: Arizona, Georgia, Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. Whomever captures the swing voters in those states will win.

There are a few other things that could happen. The Republicans are likely to try all sorts of novel legal maneuvers regarding the change in Democratic candidate and make arguments that she should not appear on the ballot for one technical reason or another. And they may make inroads with certain conservative judges. There are also all sorts of disenfranchisement schemes afoot. Check your registration so you’re not caught out on election day. If the race is too close to call in some of the swing states and neither candidate captures the required 270 electoral votes to win, per constitutional procedures the election is tipped to the House of Representatives in which each state gets a single vote. That would produce a Trump presidency as there are more states controlled by Republican delegations than Democratic ones. Such an outcome has never happened in US history and it would lead to even further polarization as it would be tough to see such a victory as the will of the people.

But then, the American political system, when it comes to presidential elections, has been broken for a quarter century. It ran off the rails in 2000 when the Supreme Court handed the victory to Bush despite his loss of the popular vote (and the Electoral Vote once all of the ballots in Florida were fully counted). Perhaps our current way of doing things, invented for an 18th century Enlightenment society is just no longer valid for a 21st century multicultural society that the founders could not have foreseen. Do we fix the system (difficult as it would require several constitutional amendments and we could never get the ERA passed). Do we replace the system with something else? Do we just coast along getting angrier and angrier with each other? I wish I knew.

Switching subjects, people have been inquiring about the current status of Covid. It’s still out there. Numbers are up in terms of diagnosed cases and hospitalizations. They are a bit higher currently than last summer, but nowhere near as high as they were a few years ago during the height of the pandemic. They appear to be highest in the Western states currently. It’s not quite so high here in the Southeast. It’s tough to tell, though, as there is no longer any systematic gathering of data in the way there once was. The circulating strains remain omicron variants and do not appear to be more infectious or more virulent than other omicron variants which have been bopping around for the last few years. The numbers are probably up because the various heat waves of the last month or so have been pushing people indoors together into airconditioned space.

What to do? Stay home if you’re symptomatically ill with any respiratory symptoms. If you test positive for Covid, quarantine until at least 24 hours afebrile and then wear a mask in public for at least an additional five days. Paxlovid is not of much benefit unless you’re over 65 or have significant chronic illness. If you’re healthy, treat symptomatically. Stay up to date with vaccines (the next one should be out in September). Healthy people should be fine with an annual booster in the fall. The very aged, the chronically ill, or those living in health facilities should probably receive an additional booster in the spring. Vaccines do not necessarily prevent you from catching covid but they definitely help keep you out of the hospital. They also significantly decrease your chances of long covid symptoms (10.5% for the unvaccinated compared to less than 3% for the vaccinated). Wash and sanitize your hands. It’s all pretty basic common sense stuff.

I am doing a reading Saturday evening from all three volumes of The Accidental Plague Diaries at 7:30 PM at Steeple Arts in Crestline Village. It’s a benefit for Central Alabama Theater and for one low price you get some wine, some snacks, some entertainment from me (including an update on new writing projects), and a copy of book of choice personally inscribed. I hope somebody shows up.

We live in a gerontocracy. The oldest Baby Boomers are about eighteen months away from turning eighty. The tail end of the silent generation, just above them. whence many of our current leaders are drawn are already octogenarians. Anyone with true adult memories of World War II is over the age of ninety-five. We all age at exactly the same rate, clocking up another birthday with every trip around the sun but something rather peculiar has happened in recent years. The Baby Boom generation has refused to allow itself or its icons to age.

I refer to this phenomenon somewhat facetiously as ‘The Cher Effect’. Cher has been in the public eye for pushing sixty years. During that very long career, she’s occupied a relatively stable cultural niche and has looked and sounded roughly the same as the decades have rolled along. She was born in 1946 and is emblematic of the first year of the Baby Boom and its message of eternal youth. Cher has had a number of advantages. The first of these is genetics. (The first rule of aging being choose your parents carefully). If you don’t believe me, take a look at a few photos of her mother, Georgia Holt as she aged through her 80s and 90s. She also has an enormous bank account and dozens of off camera assistants. All of this makes her an outlier. Unfortunately, her peer group, believing in an entitlement to the heritage of Ponce de Leon, have internalized this extreme outlier status as being the norm.

This is added to by the very long lived Silent Generation now in their 80s and 90s whom have blown all of the actuarial tables out of the water – which is the reason why long term care insurance is no longer available. It became actuarily unsound when the predictions of life span, especially for those with money and access to health care, no longer held true as they had in the past. The reasons for this continue to be debated but my money is on what is known as the semi-starved rat hypothesis. This was originally discovered in rats but has been shown to hold true in other species including primates. If the young are calorie restricted during their development, life span increases, probably because the developing organism becomes metabolically more efficient. The Silent Generation spent their youth in the Depression and World War II. No one was dying of famine in this country but no one could glut either. A side effect of this phenomenon is many Baby Boomers having a parent or parent in law living to a very great age. And how can one consider oneself old when the previous generation is still there?

The first presidential election in which I was eligible to vote was the election of 1980, in which Ronald Reagan beat Jimmy Carter, beginning a major trajectory towards social conservatism which continues to this day. Ronald Reagan was born in February of 1911, making him 69 years of age during that campaign season and at the time of his inauguration. He turned 70 several weeks later. I remember the discussions at the time amongst pundits and the general public about how he was really too old for the job. After all, prior to Reagan, the US had only ever elected two presidents over the age of 65, William Henry Harrison (who died of pneumonia after only a few weeks in office) and James Buchanan (best remembered for being replaced by Abraham Lincoln). Joe Biden is the first president to serve in his ninth decade and if Trump is reelected this fall, he will become the oldest inaugurated president ever, being about four months older than Biden was at the time of his inauguration in 2021.

No one has been talking about the age issue in presidential politics this time around until a few weeks ago when an 81 year old and a 78 year old squared off in a televised debate and it did not go in the ways the pundits had predicted. This geriatrician did not see one candidate that was really too old for the rigors of the job on that night, he saw two. I know a bit about the normal changes that age brings to the body and brain after the age of 75 and while older adults are can be capable and vital human beings, they do not have physiologies that are the same as adults in the 40-60 age group. They generally require more time to process cognitively, they deal less well with stress, both physical and psychological, they take longer to recover if knocked off their balance point, and they are often in the early stages of the multiple chronic diseases of aging.

Serious discussions should have been held in both parties several years ago regarding the rigors of campaigning and the physiologic capabilities an individual executing the office of POTUS should have. They weren’t. Apparently no one could do the elementary school math that would show what an individual’s age would be at a certain date in the future. So now we have one party rallying around a deeply unpopular individual of dubious qualifications who, to all appearances, does not enjoy the most robust health, and who will become the oldest man ever to be inaugurated to the office while the other seems content to commit political suttee, immolating itself at a time when the changing of candidate is not really possible given the structure of the laws regarding elections and the political system.

But they aren’t the only ones. Mitch McConnell (82) has just announced his imminent retirement. Nancy Pelosi (84) continues to plug away in her role. Clarence Thomas (76) shows no signs of vacating the bench. Bernie Sanders will shortly turn 83. Even the maverick third party candidate Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is over 70. The entrenched gerontocracy, occupying senior leadership, prevents promising younger leaders from moving up, representing newer generations and newer ways of viewing the world. The Millennials, as large a generation as the Baby Boom, has entered its forties with most of its emerging leaders blocked off from top positions, likely for another decade or two as the older Baby Boom start proclaiming in a year or so that 80 is the new 50 and 90 is the new 60 a decade after that.

This geriatrician can tell you that 90 is not the new 60 and never will be. That is wishful thinking. And just because you want to believe it is not going to reverse all of the changes to physical and biochemical processes that come with this messy business we call life over time. The gerontocracy will ultimately be handled by a combination of demography and chronology but what remains to be seen is how we are going to adapt and adjust to the inevitable.

Ten years ago this evening, Tommy and I stood before a King County judge in her criminal court room (right after the Grand Theft Auto case) and publicly said our ‘I do’s and exchanged rings, emerging legally married. We hadn’t really planned upon getting married, but after the Windsor decision which led to federal recognition of same sex marriages where they were legal and my having become a federal employee at least in part by picking up VA work to stabilize my UAB salary, it made a certain amount of sense to do so. It wasn’t possible in Alabama (Obergefell was still a year away) so on a trip to Seattle to visit family, we made arrangements to make it legal and binding under Washington State law and we got married for the sake of the income taxes.

Tommy and I both knew that we didn’t want any sort of wedding. We’d been together for over a decade at that point and neither of us was sure how to put together a ceremony that would fit who we were so we didn’t tell anyone other than my family, two of whom came to the ceremony as witnesses and the rest of whom gathered in my sister’s back yard later that evening for a celebratory dinner. We let the rest of the world know when we changed our Facebook marital statuses later that night, much to the shock and delight of our friend group. Thinking back on that day, from a decade’s perspective and with the loss of Tommy about four years later, I just remember a certain feeling of unreality. I had never expected marriage to be a possibility. I always assumed my life would consist of the kind of relationship I had with Steve. We considered ourselves married but there was no way to formalize the relationship in the eyes of the world but that made no real difference to us emotionally. It did put up certain barriers legally, especially during the years of his illness, but we weren’t all that concerned.

Once Tommy and I legally married, I think he relaxed a bit. He was always a little afraid that he wasn’t handsome enough, smart enough, wealthy enough, or anything else enough for me. He never quite figured out that when I make a commitment like I made to him, marriage or no, I mean it and he was enough for me in every way and I wasn’t ever going to go anywhere. I think he only began to truly understand that during those last weeks in the hospital. I fully expected him to come home but with serious health limitations and I was prepared to do everything necessary financially, socially, and career-wise to make sure he would have all the life his body would allow him. I never had to make any of those choices or sacrifices but I wouldn’t have thought twice about them had events taken a different turn.

All of this was brought up this past week when a historian working on issues related to gay marriage in the Deep South and how the Unitarian Universalist church was involved contacted me regarding an interview. How he got to me, I’m not quite sure but apparently a number of people told him that if he wanted to know about the interface between the UU Church of Birmingham and gay marriage, I was his go to guy. We had a very nice interview which is becoming part of some podcast (I’ll link to it when it’s done) and gave him some other contacts to help him round out his understanding, especially of the mass weddings on the Jefferson County courthouse steps when things were first legalized in which the local UU clergy played a significant role. I also broke out the sermon I wrote for the UUs back in 2014 on gay marriage. It’s a bit outdated in this post Obergefell world but still identifies what I consider the crux of the issue. We use a single word ‘marriage’ to cover two very different concepts. One is a a civil contract involving various rights and responsibilities granted by the state and the second is a sacred covenant within a religious tradition where there is a joining with the blessings of a deity. In most of the arguments about gay marriage, one side is fighting to gain the first while the other side is fighting to protect the second so there is much talking at and past each other rather than to and with each other.

The current Supreme Court, if brought the right case, may pull a Dobbs and throw gay marriage back to the states in which case it will quickly become illegal in the Red states and we will be back to where we were with marriages dissolving and reforming several times on transcontinental flights, depending on the flight path. It won’t make much personal difference to me but I worry about the young generation, growing up in a time where from their youth they have been able to see marriage as a perfectly ordinary choice should it be right for them. And will current marriages be instantaneously dissolved in the eyes of the state? That would be a whole can of worms legally.

For this and many other reasons, I know how I am voting in November. Neither candidate is perfect but they have both shown who they are over and over again in recent years and to me it’s a clear choice. Now if the Democrats would quit forming a circular firing squad…again. A conversation should have been had about Biden’s age and fitness but now is not the time to have it. The time to have had it was before the primaries. He has the delegates. They are pledged to him. They cannot legally change their votes. He is the candidate. All this talk of a last minute switch just empowers the other side. Knock it off. Did we learn nothing from Al Franken? Politics is a dirty game and we should never let the perfect be the enemy of the good.

Happy 4th of July. In true Seattle fashion, just as I am considering going out to a party and fireworks viewing, the heavens have opened and a heavy, but warm rain is sluicing down over central Birmingham. So much for my idea of walking from Highland Park to Southside so as to not have to battle traffic. There’s another hour or so before the big fireworks show is due to start so I’m going to sit here and write for a minute and see whether the weather cell which has been parked overhead remains or decides to travel on and soak Leeds, Pell City and other points east. It does give me a minute to let my mind wander back over other 4ths I’ve experienced. Setting fireworks off in the back alley in Laurelhurst – with about 50% of those being in a summer drizzle was perhaps the most consistent streak of celebration. Since then, things have been a little bit of this, a little bit of that.

The first fourth of July of what I would consider my adult life (I mark that from September 1980 when I left for college at Stanford University) would have been in the summer of 1981. I spent that one on a research vessel in the Bering Sea, running water sampling machinery on the night shift. It was an easy gig, relatively well paid, and I had little to do other than punch buttons, eat, watch films, and read. I managed War and Peace in less than a week that summer. The actual day of the 4th we took off from work and we trawled the bottom with a net, bringing up a bunch of fresh king crab which the galley prepared and served up that evening. It was delicious. I believe this was a day or two before we hit the Pribilof Islands where I spent an afternoon checking out the seal rookeries. Seals and sealions are big nasty smelly things up close and they can move remarkably quickly on land and you don’t want to be in there way if their temper is up.

Three years later, on July 4, 1984, I was on the roof of Notre Dame on my first (and so far only) trip to Paris. I kept a travel diary that summer which I still have lying about somewhere. I should really find it and read it and see what 22 year old me was thinking and feeling about the world which was just really beginning to open up to me, at least during that halcyon summer between college and medical school. I was back in Europe for the fourth of July some thirty five years later. July 4, 2019 was spent on a boat cruising up the Rhine River past the Lorelei rocks and in the shadow of the various Germanic baronial chateaux that line the crags above the gorge. In between there was one spent innertubing on the Boise river, one spent on a Maui beach, a few at various places in California, and a performance of Politically Incorrect Cabaret on the end of a pier in Biloxi during a windstorm. You can’t say I haven’t led a somewhat varied life.

There’s a lot of pessimism floating around this fourth about the state of our politics and the potential outcomes of the next election cycle. Our politics do not reflect the will of the people because not enough of the people take the time to educate themselves in issues and vote accordingly. And that’s just the way the powers that run the country like it. If we don’t turn out in record numbers in November and vote for the vision of what we think the country can and should be, we will deserve the outcome. There’s a lot that’s currently wrong with the American political system at the moment from the corrupting influence of big money, to ossified apparatuses of state, to a gerontocracy unwilling to make way for a new generation and new ideas. Both sides sense this and have radically different ways of wanting to handle the issues. I choose the side that will allow for a diversity of ideas and opinions rather than the one which will demand us all to fall in line behind an authoritarian, particularly of the kind currently on offer.

My publisher and I are continuing to throw around ideas for new books. We are looking at using Covid and the radical changes that has caused throughout society as the jumping off point to explore how we as a people have changed over the last five years, what the repercussions have been on the health care system and health policy, and just what the physical and psychological toll has been on us all as individuals as Covid continues to shape our lives. One thought I have is that we all have Long Covid. Some of us have physical symptomatology due to body changes following infection but those of us who escaped that have not escaped other effects in terms of changed social structures, workplace patterns, job duties, or economic consequences from shattered supply chains and other inflationary pressures.

Speaking of Covid. Numbers are going up again relatively rapidly with a 20% jump in hospitalizations and 15% jump in mortality in the last week or so. It’s hard to get a good handle on what’s happening due to the balkanization of the public health system but there seem to be some peaks coming from rapid spread of LB.1, a new omicron strain. I have heard rumor of some hospitals needing to go back to masking protocols but haven’t had good confirmation as to that. If you develop respiratory symptoms, stay home until you are fever free for 24 hours. After that, you can venture out but I would wear a mask for five days. Covid tests are harder to come by than they were but they are around. There should be a new booster available this fall which should be updated to boost immunity against the new strains such as LB.1, KP.1, KP.2 and FliRT. None of these appears to be significantly more virulent than the omicron strains that have been around for the last year, they’re just getting better at spreading person to person.

The rain has stopped. It’s 30 minutes to fireworks time. Perhaps I can venture out… With an umbrella.

Perpetual anticipation’s a delicate art. Keeping control while falling apart… That lyric has been ricocheting around my brain the last few days as I deal with overlapping theatrical projects. The last few performances of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on the one hand and auditioning, casting and prepping The Merry Wives of Windsor on the other. I think I have everything in order and on track but there’s this piece of me that feels there’s something major that’s been left out and all will come to disaster shortly because of it. I find I have to walk a very narrow line with myself. Keeping myself overly busy so that I stay engaged with the world and structured and don’t wallow versus piling so much on the plate that it shatters and I’m writhing around on the floor chasing after all of the bits and pieces that have rolled away and are now hiding under the bed with the dust bunnies.

The Chitty run has been successful. Good sales. Good reviews. A good time had by both audience and those of us on and surrounding the stage. I’m off to Vulgaria twice more, tonight and tomorrow matinee and then it will be put to bed, the latest in a very long line of stage productions that has kept me busy and only slightly mad over the last few decades. The mood is good and I’m enjoying myself (and whatever it was that was dragging my down a few weeks back seems to have been banished until it comes creeping back again). The on stage haircut trick has finally been perfected and now works far more than it doesn’t and I’ve had enough time to create covers for all possible variations of it going wrong so I’m ready no matter what happens. Live theater – there’s nothing like it. Something always goes wrong much to the amusement of cast and crew but the audience never knows unless the faux pas is incredibly major like a set collapse. Thursday night’s amusing moment was someone forgetting to set the tea cart with the Baron’s birthday cake. I have to make a very quick exit and reentrance with it and when it wasn’t there, I got to watch the stage manager make a mad dash across the deck to find it and race it to me so I was only about 10 seconds late getting it into place.

Merry Wives is just about to lift off. We have first read through on Tuesday. It’s a mix of old hands at Bell Tower Players, some folk who are alumni of my A Midsummer Night’s Dream from last year, and some people who are new to me. I still have a couple of cast vacancies but they aren’t difficult ones to fill. My job for the next six weeks is to turn those words (and there are a lot of them, even after making significant cuts) into a rollicking good time. If Midsummer was American Pie for the 1590s, Merry Wives is My Best Friends Wedding for the 1590s – smarter, more sophisticated and with a whole lot of subtext.

My publisher and I are conferring a lot on next steps for the writing career. White, a blank page or canvas… so many possibilities. Thoughts include turning the Accidental Plague Diaries into ebook and audiobook formats with additional commentary and updating. Doing a fourth book in the series that looks back and discusses lessons learned and what we can expect with the next pandemic (and there will be a next pandemic – they’re inevitable). Dramatizing parts of it into a performable monologue. Using APD as a backbone to delve deeper into the history of the pandemic and bringing others experiences, not just my own, into a better understanding of what the pandemic did to us as individuals and to our institutions – stuff that’s continuing to play out in all of our lives on a daily basis. If anyone has strong opinions on where they think things should go, feel free to spout off. I’ll be doing a fundraising reading for Central Alabama Theater on Saturday, July 27th for those who want to know more about all of this. More details forthcoming.

It’s been very wet today, driving the temperature down from the mid to high 90s to the low 80s which has been a nice reprieve. I went to an outdoor wedding yesterday (which was lovely) but the temperature was not. The programs were printed on fans and I felt like a Black church lady sitting there at Avondale amphitheater with sweat trickling down my brow trying to get any sort of motion in the air which felt like one of the far corners of the YMCA steam room. Thank god for white linen. I have a garden party this afternoon. The same suit is coming out but with a change of shirt and color scheme. I look good in a white linen suit but it does make me feel a bit like a small town Southern lawyer.

I checked the CDC for Covid numbers. They’re creeping back up again, especially in the South (people being forced inside together for air conditioning given the rather extreme heat we’ve had recently?). The recommendations remain the same. Exert common sense when around others, keep those hands washed, stay home when you’re sick, and get a Covid booster this fall when it should be fully updated against the most recent strains. There’s no indication yet of when fall boosters will be available, probably shortly after Labor Day. I leave the country on September 12th and I’m hoping I can get one before I go. The bird flu that’s been running through cattle farms is also still out there but there’s no evidence yet of significant human to human transmission. I’m keeping an eye on that one.

In terms of presidential politics, the less said the better. There’s no way to bring Politically Incorrect Cabaret back to deal with the nonsense as every few weeks, reality surpasses anything I could possibly make up. It takes about a month to write and rehearse a show like that. Anything I would lampoon today will be so far out of date in a month as to seem quaint and slightly antique.

Must close out now. Duties call…

Happy Juneteenth to all. Now that it’s an official university and federal holiday (and I got to sleep in), I’ve been reading a bit more about origin, meanings, and traditions. I’ve been living in the Deep South for over a quarter century, count lots of African Americans amongst my close friends but there’s still so much more I have to learn about the culture and subcultures of that community. The thing I have learned the best is about how the middle class white culture I was raised in was simply blind to so many realities and my eyes continue to be opened to the incredibly rich social tapestry right in front of me. I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, so much of the LGBTQ world is invisible to the straight world even when it’s right in front of them. American history, arts, and culture are so thoroughly intertwined with African American history, arts, and culture that this current backlash against DEI, minority perspectives, and ‘wokeism’ (whatever that’s supposed to mean) is a classic example of cutting off nose. It’s an attempt to go back to the monolithic Eurocentric culture invented out of media images of post World War II America that was entirely fantasy to begin with. Personally, I’m moving forward and love learning more and more about different ways of living and being. As I’m now in the last third of life, I’m starting the transition from someone whose main focus iss to do things in the world to someone whose main focus is to be in the world. Perhaps that’s wisdom.

I need to say a thing or two about the Tony award and what’s going on there. I haven’t made a big deal of it because I’m kind of a Tony winner and kind of not. The most accurate way of putting it is that I’m a principal in a company that invested in Stereophonic, the show that won this year’s Tony for Best Play. Our investment which wasn’t huge, was bundled together with other groups investments by a New York producer and became a single investment unit in the property. That producer was one of a number of production organizations that raised the capital to get the show on. Under the rules of the American Theater Wing, Tonys for producers are awarded only to the individuals/organizations at Co-producer level or above (the level of the New York producer who bundled our investment) so she is the one that gets the statuette. We don’t. So if you were expecting to see a Tony sitting on my mantle the next time you came over, you will be disappointed.

These rules are relatively new and to understand them, we need to delve a bit into Broadway history. Modern Broadway got its start about 1900 with the completion of the basic Manhattan subway lines complete with a large interchange at Times Square in midtown. New York theaters were mainly much further downtown around 14th street at the time. George M. Cohan saw the potential in the numbers of people now filing through Midtown on a routine basis and built his theater there. Other entrepreneurs such as David Belasco and Florenz Ziegfeld followed suit and over the next three decades, the Times Square area (where 7th Avenue crosses Broadway) became the epicenter of American theater.

Broadway was well established when American musical theater as we know it developed around World War II. The revolutionary fully integrated musical that changed the artform was Oklahoma! in 1943 (although Showboat came close in 1927). It launched a roughly forty year run of a production model where a production company, typically dominated by a single personality with a deep background in theater (David Merrick, Hal Prince, Kermit Bloomgarden) would raise money from a small coterie of wealthy investors to put on the show and, if the show was successful, those investors were paid back and participated in profit sharing. The Tonys for Best Play or Musical, which began in 1947, were awarded to these easily identified individuals.

In the 1970s and 1980s, the economics shifted. The budget for the original production of Oklahoma! in 1943 was $83,000 (about $1.5 million today – expensive but only about a fifth of what it takes to capitalize a musical these days). Improvements in stage technology, union costs, theater renovations etc. drove up production costs regularly and the one person production shops were no longer viable and were replaced by corporate entities of various stripes. The number of producers needed to raise the capital to bring in a big show went up exponentially. The people behind all of these entities wanted to be rewarded if their show won a Tony and more and more were handed out. With the popularity of EGOT status, people not of theater backgrounds who could never hope to win a Tony for artistic excellence would put money into a likely contender for Best Play or Musical so they could win one for producing.

The American Theater Wing, which awards the Tonys, decided a few years ago to ratchet down and now states that only those of ‘co-producer’ status or above are eligible for the award. What does it take to become a ‘co-producer’? Well, that really depends on the show, it’s budget and how desperate they are for financing. Our group had co-producer status last year on the play Fat Ham (which did not win) as they were having more difficulties raising capital than Stereophonic. We haven’t yet chosen what investment to make this coming season. If you’re interested in learning more about this or joining the group (which benefits Central Alabama Theater – that’s where returns are going, not my bank account), talk to me. The bigger the investment we can make, the more likely we’re going to hit that co-producer mark and then at least CAT will get a statuette and we’ll all get a photo op.

Bottom line – I am a low down the totem pole investor/producer of a Tony award winning play. So I’m sort of a Tony winner although you won’t find me listed on the website and I don’t get a statuette.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is up and running. Or perhaps I should say it has taken flight. Or it’s floating along. Or some other such metaphor that pays tribute to the source material. Audiences seem to be thoroughly enjoying the fruits of our efforts over the last couple of months. And, now that the show is in its final form, I can say that director Henry Scott took the right approach, treating the material as a British music hall and putting the effort into creating numbers in lots of different vaudeville styles playing to the strengths of the various cast members and letting the plot (of a whimsical nature which cannot stand up to any sort of scrutiny) just happen. The show bounces along from number to number without slowing down and carries the audience on a joyous ride.

Reviews and word of mouth have been uniformly positive and I’m looking forward to another ten trips to Edwardian England and Vulgaria before we close at the end of the month. I’ll post some pictures when the theater releases them. I can’t exactly run around front and take any as I spend most of the show either on stage, singing backstage, or changing costume, wig, makeup, physicality and dialect backstage getting ready for my next bit part (five in all). I’m hearing back that each character is distinct and interesting to watch so I guess I’m doing my job correctly. And in my down moments, I really like watching the other show. The one going on in the wings. There are a lot of set pieces and a cast of more than thirty so the intricate dance that happens to get everything on stage at the right time in the right way is as fascinating as anything the audience sees. I should take some backstage video of one of the crazier moments when things are flying, set pieces are rolling, furniture is being carried and people are flinging clothes around in a quick change, all in the space about the size of an average living room.

I’ve always felt somewhat younger than my 62 years when I’m on stage. A lot of that is due to my not falling into performance until my early 40s. The group of actors that I cut my teeth with locally and have been working with for decades were mainly in their 20s when we started out together and are now 40 somethings and I have always kind of thought of them as my peers. Many of them now have children who are entering the community in juvenile roles. There are a couple of ensemble members in Chitty whom I held as infants. The theater kids of my first few years are now in their late 20s and early 30s. Most of the Chitty Ensemble kids are late teens or early 20s and weren’t born when I made my debut on the VST stage (Jekyll and Hyde – November 2004).

Chitty is the first traditionally structured big chorus musical I’ve done since Hello, Dolly! and that was nearly six years ago. In the interim,, I aged a bit physiologically, especially in the musculoskeletal system and we had a pandemic with all of the attendant psychological battering that caused. I’m in a very different place than I was then and that is why I think I’ve been feeling old on stage for the first time. It’s the combination of being constantly in rehearsal with a very young ensemble (being part of some of the big numbers without (fortunately) having to dance any of them) but also having been shifted into a somewhat different mindset as the pandemic, looming retirement and all of those other things are making me deal with the fact that I am an elder, old enough to be most of the chorus’s grandfather, and that being two generations removed, it’s not possible for me to connect with them in the way that show families do and the way I have been able to in the past. But that’s the way of the world and how human development works.

I have a few times on stage where I can spend some time looking at the audience. I can’t see them as clearly as I used to as I’m not wearing my glasses and my vision into the dark of the house is not what it was but I try to look for the small children and gauge their reactions. There’s a lot of theater magic in this show. The car (built by the enormously talented tech director Ben Boyer) ‘floats’ and ‘flies’ without ever actually leaving the ground. There are two extremely talented young kids on stage in the roles of Jeremy and Jemima. The music is up tempo and earworm infectious (thank you Sherman brothers) and the set and costumes are bright and colorful and constantly changing. What I’m generally seeing rom the kids are a stillness, open mouths, and eyes full of wonder. That tells me that the show is working. And there’s just enough adult humor and double entendres to keep the parents laughing as well. You too can be part of the magic if you’re here in Birmingham. Just call the Virginia Samford Theatre box office.

But enough about musical flying cars. I have to start thinking about the next theatrical endeavor, directing Merry Wives of Windsor for Bell Tower Players. Auditions are not this next Monday and Tuesday, but the week after, and I need a big cast so anyone who’s ever wanted to try their hand at Shakespeare is encouraged to show up. I’ve done a bunch of gender swapping so there’s going to be plenty of female roles and I’d really like plenty of melanin in the cast as well. I’m hoping that I did a good enough job last year with Midsummer to encourage a few people who have never been out to East Lake United Methodist Church to come play with me this summer. We should have a good time.

On a completely different subject, I am continuing to keep an eye of viral illness. Covid, of course, remains part of all of our lives. Numbers are down (and it looks like it may become like flu with a seasonal predilection – low in the summer and high in the winter). There don’t seem to be any new major mutations and there is a booster promised in the fall which should be good for currently circulating strains. I’ll get it. I continue to believe that anything you can do to reduce the severity of the infection should you catch it is a good thing. I’ve seen way too many people who have been sidelined by long covid issues and I really don’t feel like joining their ranks. Data continue to show that staying current with vaccination status is strongly protective against the need for hospitalization and long covid complications.

I’m also watching what’s going on with flu viruses. There hasn’t been a major flu pandemic since 1968 so we’re overdue and if we do have a serious one, I’m afraid of what that could do to our weakened and majorly dysfunctional health system, especially given the politicization of our public health measures and responses. The H5N1 bird flu continues to spread in cattle and has been found in more than 90 cattle farms in 12 states now. It has infected a couple of humans who have close cattle contact but there’s no evidence that it’s spreading in the wider community as of yet. This one could be a real problem if it does mutate to allow easy human to human transmission. There are also some Influenza A strains starting to circulate resistant to the common antivirals. This is not likely to be an issue for most of us but could be a problem for the elderly or those with immune compromise for whom antivirals can be literally lifesaving.

My publisher and I have some ideas regarding the future of the Accidental Plague Diaries which we’re beginning to work on. I’m also booked for a reading/signing in late July – more details on that later. OK. That’s enough for now. The cats are yowling. Must get up and give them their morning kitty treats or they’ll be more destructive to the furniture than usual.

It’s a Mrs. Malloy kind of weekend. What’s that you may ask? In Hello, Dolly!, towards the end of the first act, the widow Mrs. Malloy, having been liberated from a loveless engagement to Horace VanderGelder through the machinations of Dolly, is being escorted by Cornelius Hackl to view the 14th Street Parade. She runs into Dolly and, in her excitement about the possibilities of life, she blurts out ‘Isn’t the world full of wonderful things?’ Later on in the second act, Cornelius echoes these words in his monologue during It Only Takes a Moment where he uses the same words to describe Mrs. Malloy. Thornton Wilder came up with these genius seven words in his play The Matchmaker (they may have been in the earlier version, The Merchant of Yonkers as well but I don’t have that script in my library to check) and Michael Stewart was smart enough to keep them for the musical version. They are an exquisite reminder that the world is indeed a good place if we will just open our senses to it and live in it and experience it rather than always live in our heads. I am far too guilty of this latter far too often.

The quote popped into my head last night as I was joining my Unitarian Universalist crew for our annual appearance in the Birmingham Pride Parade. I was tired from a six hour tech rehearsal for Chitty and pulled rank and sat with the other revered elders on the float rather than walking the route which I would normally do. As we waited for the parade to start, I was mainly thinking about being hot and hungry and longing for a lie down and a good night’s sleep. But then the whistles blew, the parade units slowly trundled into formation, and off we went. As we turned the corner from 32nd street on to 7th avenue south, something magical happened. On a sultry Southern night under a crescent moon, waves of positive healing energy radiated from the crowds on the street (easily the largest turnout I’ve ever seen for Birmingham Pride by quite a large margin) and were reflected back by the marchers and a feeling of joy was infectious and my energy and sense of connection returned. The world was indeed full of wonderful things and possibilities and love.

Birmingham is not that big a city. The city itself isn’t even the biggest by population in Alabama anymore. Birmingham, Huntsville and Montgomery jockey back and forth for that title in the 200-250,000 population range. Birmingham, however, is by far the biggest metro area with about a million. We’re just balkanized in a couple of dozen independent civic divisions, (mainly created and maintained by systemic racism – but that’s another story) and it’s the economic powerhouse of the state. The structure of Alabama politics is such that power centers in a small group of landed aristocracy and is deliberately kept away from urban centers. Between this and the sociocultural hegemony of evangelical churches, it’s not an easy place to be of the LGBTQ persuasion as the recent battles over libraries stocking titles with positive messages to that community would attest. Nevertheless, there is a large and vibrant queer community – it just flies slightly under the radar.

When Steve and I moved here (with a good deal of trepidation in regards to our gay couple status), we moved into a neighborhood which we had heard had some gay folk living there. We shortly discovered that there were four other gay male and two lesbian couples on our block alone. Our zip code was one of the densest same sex household areas in the country but there weren’t a lot of visible signs. Despite moving twice, I continue to reside in the same general area and it remains heavily LGBTQ and the straight folk are nearly all allies. I have never worried about the people I have lived amongst for the last quarter century. And I think most of them were out cheering last night.

The parade had something like 160 units. Everything from reigning drag queens to tap dancers to bowlers to the dozen or so progressive churches in the area to veterinary practices to political and judicial candidates. Our parade tends to be more mainstream than the mega parades of New York or San Francisco. Fewer leather fetishes, go-go boys, and bare breasted lesbians. I’m not sure if that’s a sign of being more assimilated into the mainstream or our more conservative culture in general. My major feeling as we made our way through the crowds was what a positive message for the young people and how much easier a time they are likely to have, even in Alabama, than my generation who had to claw and fight for every little scrap of acceptance and representation.

I also was wondering about why the huge boost in attendance this year. I have a couple of thoughts. First is that 2024 has felt like the first true post pandemic year. People are not as afraid of crowds as they were a year or two ago. Covid is still out there and you can still very much catch it but case numbers remain down this summer and outdoor activity appears to be fairly safe in general. it’s well ventilated. Second is I think driven by politics. The stark contrast in vision for a future America being presented by the two major candidates running for president has got the bright blue dots in this ruby red state energized. Alabama’s electoral college votes are a given for the Republicans but the population of Birmingham is not going to gently bow down to a potential Christian Nationalist future. I think at times I need to prepare an exit strategy to leave the country should the worst of the worst come to past but then there’s a weekend like this and I think no – I am needed here as a role model for those generations coming up and to keep fighting the good fight – the one that says y’all means all.

Time to wrap this up. I’m due at the theater for 9 hours of tech today. Even though that’s a dreary and boring process for actors, we all like the end result and it true is a wonderful thing.