Donald Trump: The Orange Blob From Outer Space

The Blob. A horrid orange lump of an alien comes from outer space to wreak havoc upon the lives of a small rural Pennsylvania town. The 1958 science fiction-horror film (re-made in 1988) was distributed by Paramount Pictures as a double feature with I Married a Monster from Outer Space. Prophecy?

Sixty-two years later, it’s hard not to think the film was exactly that. In 2016, the orange blob was elected President; Melania found herself married to it. We have been living that double feature for four years.

I decided to come to America on the eve of my 50th birthday, November 4th, 2008, which was the day Barack Obama was declared the next President of the United States. I so wanted to be part of history; to live in a progressive country that had the foresight to elect a black man to the highest office in the land. I cried tears of joy and, just weeks later, found myself in Los Angeles at the start of an adventure that sees me still here 12 years later.

In 2016, I found myself sobbing in a bar as the election results were announced. The orange alien had descended and was among us. In the film, the blob grows redder as its power increases and, since Joe Biden was announced as the winner, the orange one’s redness has increased to the extent he looks as if he’s on the point of self-combustion. If Covid didn’t get him, his internal anger eventually will. The heart can take a lot of beating from external forces; what it can’t sustain is being its own punchbag. 

I recall seeing The Blob in 3D – the first time I had ever been given 3D glasses to wear in the cinema – but nothing could have prepared me for the three-dimensionality of the past four years. Can this be real, I have asked myself over and over, reading Trump’s deranged rants as he conducted foreign policy on Twitter? Did he genuinely not care about the American people as they faced the terror of Covid, the monster blob, whose chief job was maybe to take out the lesser blob (and succeeded)? Did he really refuse to recommend mask-wearing, say 13 times that the virus would just go away, and it would be “beautiful” – then have the audacity to say that the development of a vaccine happened on his watch? No, Mr Blobby: it happened in spite of you, not because of you. 

But now, there is hope, and we can look forward to that future feature: Return to Outer Space. We’re not quite there yet. At the end of The Blob, the creature is frozen and transported to the Arctic, and Dave says that although the monster is not dead, it will at least be stopped. “Yeah,” says Steve, “as long as the Arctic stays cold.” As the blob is lowered onto an arctic ice field, the superimposed words “The End” morph into a question mark.

Climate change could yet see the orange alien descend upon us yet again.      

Love, Loss, and Gratitude

 The cliché goes: “It’s always around Christmas.” 

Illness. Death. Heartbreak. But the truth is, “it” is around us just as much every other day of the year – and especially so in 2020; it’s just that at Christmas, it feels more poignant because it’s a time when we are all supposed to be feeling jolly with the yo-ho-ho-ness of it all – and this year, it was hard to summon up the tiniest yo-ho. 

Christmas in adulthood is inevitably different from how we felt as children; it doesn’t mean that we are incapable of joy, but pleasure comes tempered with the knowledge of corresponding sadness.

I lost my father just after Christmas in 1990 and my mother in April 2019. During 2020, many other friends lost a parent, and so many others the world over lost loved ones to Covid. Death felt like the unwanted guest at the festive dinner table this year.

It is hard to think of anything new to say about the one thing that every living creature has in common. We are all born, and we will all die - there you go, another cliché, but no less poignant for its being so.

But it is in times of loss that we find comfort in clichés: they are a uniting force in a world that continues to separate us in so many ways. Clichés are the emotional levellers: the things that strip us to the core and reveal that, at their deepest level, our raw, primal instincts are the same: we want to love and we want to be loved, and the thought of either being taken away is, at best, painful; at worst, unbearable.

The manifestation of those two primal urges leads us into all sorts of difficult territory - desire, jealousy, insecurity, paranoia… I could go on - but when we lose love, it hauls us back to the heart of the matter: the very beating of existence, physically and emotionally, that defines us, independent of the social mores and other “stuff” we find ourselves heaping upon it to make life more difficult than it need be.

Because, as better people have said, in superior clichés from those I am managing, love is all. Corinthians 13 tells us everything that love should be, in its purest form, but it’s pretty unsustainable in the modern world. But, when the physical body of a loved relative or friend departs, one is left with that very spirit, the essence, of love - at least, if you have been lucky in the people with whom you have encountered it. 

We may delude ourselves in sugar-coating the less than savory aspects; we may hide our grievances and guilt in shadows we might not wish to revisit for many years; we may lie to ourselves and others about life, death, and everything in between. But in that moment of departure and what it entails, we become as babies once more, especially when that death is one’s mother: the being who brought you into the world; the person who, literally, gave you life. You really are on your own now; the umbilical cord severed.

At the end of a very difficult year, this wasn’t quite how I imagined wishing everyone a happy 2021, because, in these unpredictable times, we really can’t gauge anything, least of all happiness. So, I’m going to change it slightly and wish you all a Loving New Year. 

For me, 2020 was a year of some great stuff, some less than good, to say the least (most people would say the same, I suspect); a time in which I learnt a lot and, I hope, shared knowledge I have been lucky to glean, with others. It was a year in which I was often great fun and, I have to be honest, at times a right pain in the ass. A year in which my friends loved me for the former and forgave me for the latter - and in which I, too, loved and forgave them for both, too. It was a year in which we had to give everyone a wide berth.

Because we’re human beings. That’s what we do. We mess up and we repair. None of us sets out to do a bad job, and the fact that we end up doing so at times doesn’t really matter; it’s how we put it right that counts. And the people who love us know that. 

And so, my sincere condolences to my friends who have lost people dear to them this year, and my thoughts and positive vibes go out to the many people I know face ongoing difficulties with treatment for their various illnesses; you are braver than I could ever be.

I am blessed having you all in my life, and thank you for your patience, kindness, acceptance of my eccentricities (even though, to me, I am the most normal person on the planet, obviously). In this year, more than any other, thank you for the music of laughter.

I send you all the love I have for the year ahead. 

Read more at jacistephen.com

   

   

   

I Could Have Prommed All Night - Why I Loved The Prom

For the first hour, I was hooked. When a movie has the title I’m Thinking of Ending Things, and the opening voiceover begins with a character saying precisely that, you’re kind of interested. I made it to a little over half time when, quite frankly, I was thinking of ending things. 

The road trip taken by boyfriend and girlfriend Lucy (Jessie Buckley) and Jake (Jesse Plemons) seemed longer than the road. I doubt there’s a road in the world capable of accommodating the conversation that went down in that vehicle (Wordsworth? Really? You could walk the length of the Great Wall of China and not finish reciting his work). I just about managed the journey to the Jake’s parents’ house in the middle of nowhere; but having to endure it all the way back again? 

I won’t even try to explain the movie, but if you’re into pervy killer caretakers, suspicious basements, Alzheimer’s, snowstorms, and the musical Oklahoma! then this one’s definitely for you. Enjoy.

For me, though, it was a huge relief to turn to The Prom, and it made me glad I had decided not to end things. The arsenic is back on the top shelf, although I have heard it might have to come back down for Nomadland which, although apparently wonderful, has put all my friends on suicide watch. I may yet want to end things.

But back to The Prom. Based on the Broadway musical and directed by Ryan Murphy, it’s a real feelgood movie from Netflix. I loved it. Uplifting, joyous, great music, fabulous performances; it was just what I needed to bring me down from the ledge - not just from the previous movie, but from 2020 as a whole.

Its detractors have criticized the straight James Corden being cast as a gay man; others have criticized the fact that his character, Barry, is a stereotypical gay – a theatrical actor (pronounce that as act-awwwwww), with a skill for transforming lesbians into swans through his make-up and costume skills.

Personally, I love Corden’s performance and found it no less stereotypical than every other character in the movie, not to mention the plot; that’s the point. It’s a play within a play – the four leads are like the Rude Mechanicals of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream: they are all stereotypical and, as actors, stepping out of their normal roles into the second play that is someone else’s story. They are performers who, within the second play, find themselves reflecting on the reality (albeit a false one) they have created in the main drama of their lives. 

There’s the egotistical, handsome Trent (Andrew Rannells), the girl-who-never-gets-the-part Angie (Nicole Kidman), and the selfish, ego-driven diva, Dee Dee (Meryl Streep, in magnificent form). Stereotypes, all. And all the more glorious for it.  

As for a straight man not being allowed to play a gay… for gawd’s sake. Corden is a huge talent, whose singing and dancing is in top form, and he also brings depth to the character’s evolvement. 

It’s called acting. Straights should be allowed to play gays without being admonished for it; anyone should be allowed to play anyone if they are right for the part. Where do we go next, if this ridiculous logic continues to prevail? Ban the likes of Hugh Jackman from something like The Greatest Showman because he’s never run a circus? Consign the entire 10 years of Frasier to the scrapheap because gay David Hyde Pierce played Niles, a straight man sexually obsessed with a British woman? 

So, I am not going to feel guilty for loving The Prom, on either front.

Stereotypes exist in real life; that doesn’t mean they can’t, or shouldn’t be, represented. Well over 50% of my friends are gay men and, yes, a lot of them working in the acting profession and/or theatre are stereotypical (so are a lot of my straight friends, come to that). So what? 

And actors act. It’s what they’re paid to do and what we pay to watch. There’s a truly wonderful speech that Dee Dee’s love interest, Tom (Keegan-Michael Key), delivers about exactly that, and it delivers the third dimension: the person outside the play, watching the play within the play, and that character inadvertently becomes the director of both, and dictates both outcomes – he’s the hero (and he’s black – there you go!). It’s a very clever device and one that has been overlooked amid the outrage.  

So, until you can find me a man who can turn water into wine, who would absolutely nail the miracle performing part of the audition, I’m happy to carry on seeing anyone play Jesus. Yes, even James Corden. 

Read more on jacistephen.com

 

2019 Wasn't All Bad

To be honest, 2019 was a far worse year for me than 2020, but then the past four haven’t been great. I lost Mum in 2019 and that pretty much made it one of the worst years imaginable, despite the many stresses that had been related to, and that preceded it (yes, 2018 was right down there with the worst of them, too).

I lost quite a few friends to Covid, and others through different causes; I saw friends and family lose the people closest to them; I watched a US election in despair as the narcissistic creature who is not worthy of the office still refuses to acknowledge defeat.

So, I’m going to focus on some good things that happened during 2020 for which I am so grateful and that would never have happened, had this ghastly plague not been visited upon us.

1. I started to talk in ridiculously over-the-top Biblical language such as “this ghastly plague not been visited upon us.” But it got me looking up what might have been worse, had we lived in Old Testament Egypt. Here goes: water turning to blood, frogs, lice/gnats, wild animals/flies, livestock pestilence, boils, thunderstorms of hail and fire, locusts, three-day darkness, death of firstborn. Try finding a vaccine for that little lot. We don’t know we’re born. See (inadvertent joke about the 10th plague)? You’re feeling better already and it’s only January 1st.

2. In July, I took up residence in Beacon, technically a city, but more of a town, 90 minutes outside Grand Central on the train. The journey itself is a joy, and I’ve met some wonderful people, particularly in the Roosevelt Bar in Hudson Valley Food Hall, where owner Marko and his family, in addition to several others, have become friends. I love having more space than in my city apartment and I enjoy commuting between the two places. I have had to learn to love green things, like grass and trees: not easy for someone for whom a lettuce poses an existential threat.

3. I brushed up on my French and started to learn Italian and Spanish (again). The Italian has been going quite well; the Spanish less so. But given that I lived in Spain for 10 years and got no further than “taco” and “Don’t kill the f*****g bull!”, that’s hardly surprising. 

4. I touched base with friends I haven’t spoken to in years – decades, in some cases. Life takes us all on such different routes, but it’s good to discover that the things you liked about people when you first met them are still there. And I healed wounds with others, not least through the realization that we waste too much time sweating the small stuff.

5. I made new friends, mainly through Facebook, which has been my comfort and joy through so many tough times. We have all shared so much, good and bad, and I have met with more kindness than I could ever have dreamed of. True, I had to sack some people who became rude or aggressive and picked on me and/or my friends, but there’s nothing wrong with separating the sheep from the goats. It’s in the Bible, so it must be okay! And I ended up with more sheep (I think they were the goodies).

6. I’ve spoken to my brother Nigel and his wife Kim probably more than we have in any other year. I love them both so much and am incredibly lucky to have them in my life. It’s been tough since Mum died and having someone so close who has been going through the same thing has been of invaluable comfort. It made me think how tough these things must be for single people with no siblings.

7. I started my own website, thanks to Jayne Gould, a brilliant designer who I met when we first worked on the London Evening Standard in the late Eighties. She is truly amazing, and I learn so much from her every day. Her main task is to stop me pushing buttons, buying up domains that I am convinced are going to earn me my fortune. I’m not sure she signed up to be my internet life coach, but she carries out that task extremely well. 

8. I’ve always loved cooking, but I did even more and took it to my YouTube channel, Jaci’s Box – another addition to my internet repertoire. I just love talking to a camera, but then I already knew that. I once did a TV show for which I was required to live a healthy lifestyle for two weeks. On day one, the director left me with a dozen VHS tapes, as I was required to deliver my feelings to camera every night. She made me promise over and over that I would comply, because most people forgot, or were reluctant to do it. On day two, she turned up, and, having talked my way through the night about anything that took my fancy, I proudly handed over the pile of tapes – all 12 of them. “They were for the fortnight!” she cried.  

9. I made a huge decision to give away most of my belongings that had been lying in storage in Cardiff. Yes, there are days when I regret it, mourning for the beautiful china and glasses that Mum bought me, the expensive furniture, the presents that friends and family gave me for special occasions. But it was the right thing to do: it’s the past. That was then; this is now. The items have gone to good homes and have helped out young people starting out in life. It’s as it should be: stuff needs to breathe and enjoy life, too.

10. I will never again underestimate the benefits of overstocking on toilet paper. 

Happy 2021, everyone

Read more at 

https://jacistephen.com

Hallmark's Easy Guide to Christmas Love - All Year Round!

Enough is enough.

Hallmark has announced that it is to show Christmas movies all year round on Thursdays. God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen – seriously, please; I’m begging you. Give it a rest.

It was bad enough when they started showing them on their Movie Channel on Thursday nights last August; next, when they started showing them on an endless loop in October.

It was bad enough when they started showing them on their Movie Channel on Thursday nights in August; next, when they started showing them on an endless loop in October.

And then, to add insult to injury, festive movies commandeered the Hallmark Mysteries channel.

Gone were my nocturnal treats Murder, She Wrote and Hart to Hart; I was thrust into the worst hell imaginable – non-stop jingle bells cheer. Who was the monster who came up with Wizard’s lyric “I wish it could be Christmas every day?” 

No, I don’t. One day is bad enough, as it is.

It’s hard to believe that there are so many of these movies. I’ve yet to see one twice, which leads me to the conclusion that they are making at least a dozen more while I sleep. The formula is so simple, I know I could actually write them in my sleep.

Here’s the general gist of them and the essential ingredients:

1. Small town. Heaven forbid that any of the characters might have experienced life in a big city; that would make them think twice about the only single person arriving in said town and wondering if they could do better if they moved to LA.

2. Forget a big city: no local has ever been anywhere, done anything, or set foot on a plane; no one has ever seen, let alone read, a book. Hence the excitement when fresh meat arrives – always on a bus, to give the stranger an air of “normality” (or to protect their identity, because they are, in reality, a multi-millionaire and not wanting to attract the town’s gold-digger - the rival to the key love interest and always a nasty piece of work who gets their comeuppance).

3. The small town is always snowed in at Christmas. Forget finding romance in LA; unless you can don a bobble hat and scarf in freezing temperatures, love will always elude you.

4. There is only ever one available, single person in the whole vicinity: a woman or man whose life is unfulfilled: generally, a widow or widower with a cute kid and, just for fun, a terminally ill relative. The kid still believes in Santa, hoping that he will bring the ultimate Christmas present – a new mom or dad.

5. The single person is absurdly handsome or attractive: the men usually have dark hair; the women always have long hair. They are all very white. Of course. Apart from the occasional mail man. 

6. The single person lives in a ridiculously large mansion. How they can afford it remains a mystery, especially on the income from a nondescript job in advertising (it’s always advertising or teaching) that requires them never to see clients, go to an office, or pick up the phone. 

7. Enter single person number two: a man or woman who, for no particular reason (usually that same nondescript job in advertising) rolls into town, disillusioned with life and nursing a broken heart. A veteran returning from war with PTSD (and/or an injury – both is a bonus) proves especially attractive for the one lady who hasn’t had sex in three years but is sure she can resurrect that battered, war torn organ. When she does, there will be a baby (but not yet – don’t jump the gun… which is probably what she said to herself before she did just that).

8. The couple meet and are instantly attracted to each other but have a dark secret that is revealed on Christmas Eve, thereby ensuring that everyone has a potentially disastrous time.

9. A visit to the ice rink where no one ever falls over proves the catalyst for the couple to iron out their differences, while the cute kid plays Cupid and thanks Santa for giving him/her the best Christmas ever. 

10. All the handsome, single men are obviously gay: something that always passes the heroine by, but not viewers, for whom shouting “He’s gay! Stop wasting your time!” makes the whole ghastly Hallmark viewing experience worthwhile.

And there you have it! Happy viewing!

Read more at https://jacistephen.com

HOW TO BE . . . A COUNTRY BUMPKIN (PART II) IN AMERICA

Okay, part II of my new life as a country bumpkin. 

I haven’t taken to wearing dungarees, chewing on straw and belting out Tammy Wynette numbers just yet, but my country living is still in its infancy and there is a lot to learn. 

To be honest, the motivation that led me to seek solace away from New York City was unexpected. As an adult, I’ve lived in cities all my life, in several countries. I love the flexibility that city life offers – of restaurants, night life, people. Coronavirus and lockdown changed all that, and NYC in particular feels less safe. Crime and violence have increased to such an extent, I no longer feel at ease on the streets where I once happily wandered home from my local bar at 4am (always the last order at the food truck en route). Being seated six feet apart from people when dining gives me a sense of isolation that often reduces me to tears. I am very lucky to have work and my health; despite having been sick, I now have the virus antibodies – and yes, I know they don’t necessarily last, so I err on the side of caution. I was just ready for a change of scenery, and one that didn’t involve a trek to the airport for a long flight to the UK or LA and being trapped at Minneapolis airport for eight hours.   

   

I still have my apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, but since moving to Beacon, I spend less time in the city. Being in the country brings so many benefits but is not without its stresses, too. So, here’s a follow-up to the last blog, at a time when I am learning how to adapt to this vast change of lifestyle.

1. There are no 24-hour stores in which to buy a pint of milk for my essential morning cup of tea. It is quicker to find a cow and pull on its udders it than wait for Key Foods to open

2. Everyone knows who you are and where you came from within a week. In these isolating times, it’s rather comforting. “Oh, you’re English Jaci,” I get in tones that might mean “Great to meet you”, or “So you’re the nut job we’ve been hearing about”. It seems churlish to correct people on my country of origin, and nobody understands it anyway. I can spend a 45-minute ride to the airport with a taxi driver, painstakingly explaining the geography of the UK, only to arrive at my destination with a parting: “So Wales is the capital of England?” Whaddever.  

3. People are breathtakingly nice here – so much so, that I think they must be bag snatchers, just warming me up for the big SWAG descent. In the city, I take all my belongings to the rest room, just to be on the safe side – the only downer being that the waiter thinks I have left, and I return from the rest room to discover he/she has thrown away my dinner.

4. Unlike most people, I’ve never found NYC that expensive. You have to know where to go, what deals there are to be struck, both spoken and unspoken, and this applies pretty much to every bar and restaurant when you are a regular. By comparison, the country is extortionate. I talked about upstate NY in Part I, but here’s a more detailed breakdown about my visit to Hudson, a lovely town further up the valley, where the cheapest hotel room available was $884.80 – for just two nights! SIX HUNDRED AND NINETY SIX POUNDS. A meal for two of us, with tip, was close on $300, and we didn’t even have a bottle of wine, just a couple of glasses each. I know I am repeating myself, but I’m still in shock. The story is that with the mass exodus from NYC, everyone has put up their prices, although locals tell me it’s always been this way because the assumption is that visiting New Yorkers are the ones with the dosh to throw around.

5. Hiking. Everyone’s a bloody hiker. I’m not. I walk a lot, usually miles a day, but I am not going to head off into the hills in a pair of worn leather boots, nursing a water bottle. Neither am I desperate to hear anyone’s tales of having done that. Unless I can see a Marriott by standing on a small box, I have no interest in the prospect of being trapped on a mountainside, away from civilisation and having to drink my own urine until the rescue services arrive.

6. Alcohol in my local wine shop is close on double the price of what I pay in NYC, where I have 15% off at my local store, Grand Cru, and 30% off on the delivery order I make online with Union Square Wines. The latter recently did a deal in which they offered free delivery anywhere in New York State. I ordered so much to be sent to Beacon, they must have thought all their Christmases had come at once. The number of boxes in my apartment also made it look as if all my Christmases had come at once. All 61 of them.

7. Conductors on the Metro North line I take to and from Grand Central Station are so polite and friendly, I think they must be in league with the SWAG snatchers. When I show them my barcoded ticket on my iPhone, I expect them to whip it from my hand and jump from the moving train, leaping for joy at their latest stash.

8. Restaurant staff are equally polite. After just one visit to my local Italian, Brothers Trattoria, I was greeted like a long lost relative – “JACI! MY FRIEND!” – and even though neither of the brothers is Italian, I greet them with the enthusiasm of Don Corleone after a successful hitjob. 

9. The Hudson Valley continues to astound me with its beauty and, with fall upon us, the changing colour of the leaves warms my heart at what is and has always been, my favourite season.

10. Where do I celebrate my birthday next month? That’s the big question. Most of my friends are in the city, but my new local, the Roosevelt Bar in Hudson Valley Food Hall is such a joy, I’m tempted to celebrate in the country. Country bumpkin or city girl? Decisions, decisions.