March 7 - House Of The Selfish Son

My mom attended the Rush show today with her 91-year old friend Elizabeth. They liked it.

It's nice when my family enjoys the shows.

For years I never invited them to any, for fear they wouldn't enjoy seeing me be who I really am.

Then one day while my extended family was in town, I scraped up the courage to invite them to a show I created at the Annoyance called Arm Soup. It was a Donner Party tale updated for the year 2006. In it a food fight occurs, Wade Boggs sings a song about fireworks with a mouthful chicken, and a mentally challenged man is murdered and eaten at a Taco Bell outside of Reno. There's lotsa cannibalism and lota sexually perverse humor.

That night I was going in for the lead role of George Donner. At one point in the revue, he watches in horror as his slutty girlfriend enjoys eating his dead brother's penis, portrayed by a tofu hot dog.

My family hated it. They didn't say so. But after the show only my mom and my uncle stuck around to say goodbye. And they never talked of the show again.

Every so often if it comes up, I mention that the director of Arm Soup is now a writer for Saturday Night Live. Proof that someone from that show is now making a good living doing comedy.

But now I only invite them to things that they may like.

Afterward, my Mom treated Elizabeth, Lauren and I to a lovely Italian dinner in Andersonville. It was delicious. And it was generous of her to treat. She’s getting toward the age where I am the one that is supposed to take care of her, yet I am nowhere near that. Often I feel that my show business, rock and roll, childless, self-absorbed blogging lifestyle is just an extension of a rather immature adolescence.

My mom lost her husband and I lost my father four years ago to awesome cancer. He was 56. Now she lives alone everyday in a neighborhood that’s changing for the worse. And while she tries to sell the house and move on, I remain a perpetual twentysomething with my bands and my shows and my blogs, dropping in to visit her every once in a while. I suppose a lot of people in the arts feel this way when they reach their mid-30’s.

Anyway, no one on stage today ate any genitals and dinner was excellent.

Later, our boat friends Rebecca, Tim and Jessica joined us for an Oscars get together. We made lists, ate badly, drank beer and Diet Pepsi, and got snarky at the TV. Ben Stiller’s bit was not enjoyed. James Cameron was repeatedly heckled. I yelled “fuck you” a lot when Sandra Bullock got an Oscar for best actress. I don’t hate her, but c’mon, man. Fuck you.

I drank enough beer to forget that I was behaving like a selfish, thirtysomething teenager with a self-absorbed blog about how terrible a son he has become.

After that sentence it's hard to call this a win, even though Mom enjoyed the show, we had a wonderful dinner, and a fun-filled night entertaining.

I should visit my Mom more often.

Verdict: Loss