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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 5, 2001)
j-<r : 5 . 2ÛÛL HUMOR keep a tape recorder in my car so I can make notes for my writing; I’m a terrible driver, and I figure our roads are safer without me trying to find a pencil and my lane at the same time. But the other day 1 left it on accidentally and ended up recording the entire thrilling excursion from Safeway to the dry cleaners. I listened to the tape afterward out of curiosi ty and made a shocking revelation: 1 talk to myself. And not in an intelligent Hamlet solilo quizing kind of way hut in the disjointed, inco herent mumbling manner of an insane street per son collecting cans in a shopping cart. I also sing. Constantly. Oftentimes I’ll he waiting in line somewhere and a person will tum to me and say: “W hat a nice voice you have’’ or “Do ya mind? I’m tryin’ to pee.” I’ll think: “Geez, was I singing? I hadn’t real ized.” I just can’t help myself. So I was a little skeptical when I bought a ticket to the opening night of Sing-a-Long Sound o f Music, a new audience participation experience in the spirit of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Every viewing of The Sound o f Music is a sing-along as far as I’m concerned. And is now really the time for girls (or, in this case, more likely boys) in white dressesvvith blue satin sashes? I wasn’t sure. Because I have neither the time nor the ability to fashion lederhosen or dirndls out of curtains, I simply cut down some mailing tubes, wrapped them in brown paper and tied them up with string over the crotches of myself, my ff iend Brian and my boyfriend, Floyd. For the record, our brown paper packages measured 9 inches long and would have cost at least four bucks to ship. We arrived at the theater in time for the cos tume judging, hosted by none other than I K l* rSÏÏ3T*Swï2s3. V.; ^ • ' - a < < ^ • *#49$ ■ 1 : : .JR fimm It.. i * 2 î i » ■ <1 \! 1 | V 1 S>' 1 ^ O TSPDTS j s « E A ST S ID E PORTLAND ''yV \ +** ^ K 6 N«all R i - : " ^ " _ : - - - o X The sound of music sense in the real world today, either, so I’ve decided that shouting and singing are as healthy a response as any. Sure, yelling at The Sound o f Music feels good, but screaming at the nightly news feels even better. Talk about therapy. W henever newscasters talk about the Taliban, I don’t resist the temp tation to transform suddenly into Harry Belafonte and sing, “Hey, Mistah Tal iban, tally me b a-n a-n a....” I’ve even got a little calypso dance I do. Stupid? You bet. But singing is defi nitely one of my favorite things; after doing it, like the , ' song says, “I don’t feel so bad.” So how do you solve a problem like Osama bin Laden? I don’t know, but in the meantime I’m going to cope with the sound of m usic.. .and lots o f shouting. And that, my friends, is T h e Gospel According to Marc. j D <( ..and shouting THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MARC b y M a rc A cito wno is now nice do going on d t ana, l must say, still a complete babe. She cheerfully greeted some Hitler youth, a couple of Baroness Schraeders in drag and some women dressed as the Alps before the three of us stepped onstage and shoved our brown paper packages in her direction. “These are a few of my favorite things,” I told her. She declined to hold my package but did let me squeeze the Charmian. We won first prize. Singing along with the subtitles was great fun, although I never realized just how many choruses of “Do-Re-M i” the Von Trapp children sing until I had to do it myself. But the chief pleasure came from yelling back at the screen. As each of the children exited during “So Long, Farewell” we screamed: “You are the weakest link. Goodbye.” As the nuns gathered behind a grill to watch Maria get married we shouted, “Free the nuns!” I lost complete control. For someone who mumbles to himself, the opportunity to say whatever I wanted for three hours was cathar tic. It’s like primal scream therapy. I got into some kind of zone and started a Boxxes/Brig— 1035 SW Stark St............................................ 1 CC Slaughters— 219 NW Davis St................., .................. 5 Club Portland— 303 SW 12th Ave.........................................11 Crush— 1412 SE Morrison ................................................. 13 Darcelle XV— 208 NW Third Ave............................................ 5 Dirty Duck Tavern— 439 NW Third Ave............................... 6 Eagle POX— 1300 W Burnside St............................................7 Egyptian Club— 3701 SE Division St.....................................8 Embers Avenue— 110 NW Broadway .................................. 9 F e i— 316 SW 11th Ave...........................................................16 Fox and Hounds— 217 NW Second Ave...............................14 Frontline— 1125 SW Washington St....................................... 3 Hobo’s— 120 NW Third Ave..................................................... 5 Klub Z— 333 SW P a r k ........................................................... 10 JOQ’s— 2512 NE Broadway...................................................12 Neighbors— 1417 Villard St........................................... 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Maria kissed the Captain and I said, “O oh, th at’s not how the M other Abbess does it.” Maria sang to the Captain that she must have done something good to deserve him, so I shout ed, “And now I wanna do something bad!” I was hoarse by evening’s end. But yelling at the screen also made me realize how little sense The Sound o f M ils ic actually makes. For instance, when Maria sang to the Captain, “Somewhere in my youth or child- » hood,” the woman in front of me asked, “W hat’s the difference ?” And anyone who’s lex iked at a map knows that if the Von Trapps had actually climbed ev’ry mountain out of Salzburg they would have come down the other side o f the Alps right into Nazi Germany. But let’s face it, very little makes Squeezing Charmian M a r c A c it o fully interuls to follow every rainbow till he finds his dream. You can e-mail him at marcacito@home. com . Guide courtesy of J u s t n T T T ... I .... i..... i .....J M M : i NWfnrrtSt . I I . I 8 - 1 i i~ i 4 M l * * ! I ! 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