A Magical Place

On December 26th family Gilbert made the journey to Disneyland, Anaheim. As can often be expected with these things it was eventful. I will start by running down each family members take on roller-coasters.

Dad - Hates them. Would rather watch the Disney parade.

Mum - Despite a bad back is always game.

Me - I'll always go but can be easily dissuaded into chickening out.

Claire - Loves them and will ride anything.

Elizabeth - Is scared of the teacups.

So with this in mind we all made a pact to do everything and anything. We raced into the park and made sure we had our fast pass tickets to Space Mountain so we wouldn't have to que later. In order to pass the time we decided to jump on a couple of other rides. First up was the Buzz Lightyear ride. A slow moving, slightly spinning ride in the dark. It was full of fun and merriment.... but no for Elizabeth who felt sick afterwards.

A fact you need to know for this tale is that Claire suffers from Vertigo. Basically if things move fast she becomes dizzy. After the Buzz ride she said she felt a little dizzy but would carry on. Next up was the relatively tame rollercoaster 'The Matterhorn.' Elizabeth spent the whole time before we went on crapping her pants with Dad slowly turning whiter at the prospect of moving fast. We made it to the front of the line and all jumped aboard. 30 seconds later the tame ride finished. Elizabeth had survived. Dad had survived. Claire had not. An attack of the dizzies had struck her and she had to be helped out of the children's ride and onto a bench.

She then made the executive decision that she couldn't ride anything that moved. Fun. So the family had been beaten by Buzz Lightyears's ride and The Matterhorn. The problem was it was 11am at this point and we still had plenty of time in the park. We were then reduced to riding the Winnie the Pooh ride which crawled along whilst robotic characters ate honey. Claire felt a little dizzy after that but maintained that was the level of rides she could cope with. Elizabeth was pleased.

Elizabeth was even more pleased when we stopped off to wolf down hot-dogs for lunch. Lets not beat around the bush here, the food at Disney isn't exactly gourmet! The hot-dogs were disgusting, like a dog had just curled out a crap and it had been placed between a bun. Even fouler than the hot dogs were the abomination that was 'Meat on a Stick.' The world 'Ronseal' hasn't ever been more appropriate, it does what it says on the tin. 'Meat on a Stick' was a lump of meat on a stick. Even better than seeing the foul processed food was watching my pescaparian mother gag at the sight of fat Americans and camera happy Japanese chowing down on the meat.It was the closest anyone came to throwing up all day.

So a day of crap food and crap rides as the family all left the park feeling queazy because of Matterhorn's, Toys and meat. Still at the end of the day it's all about spending time with family.

Arctic Conditions

On Thursday night I removed myself from American culture for a slice of Britannia in the shape of a ticket to see the Arctic Monkeys. Dylan had lovingly found the tickets via some means on the internet and we were off to look good on the dancefloor.

Ladies and Gentlemen the weather in new York has turned, it is absolutely freezing. The kind of freezing that makes your hands so cold it's like you've been jerking off a Polar Bear. I was ill prepared for this cold snap and had not really dressed accordingly. Having lost my gloves in a drunken mess on Tuesday I was struggling against the biting winds as my body slowly started resemble a popsicle.

I arrived at the venue 5 minutes early and waited for Dylan, he had a work engagement so we decided to meet there. At 8:45 (meeting time) I received a message from Dylan asking for the address. I was not best pleased. By now the weather had turned and a smattering of snow was falling, my nuts weren't having any of it and retreated into my body to find warmth. Of course Dylan couldn't find a cab because they were all taken as no one in their right mind would want to stand in the cold longer than they had too.... except me. Of course I'm my own worst enemy and should have picked up my ticket from Dylan earlier in the week. The next 10 minutes a barrage of messages were exchanged as I demanded to know how long he was going to be. I ended up calling Dyl and telling him to run the final few avenues if he was stuck in traffic.

For those not up to date on their pop culture the singer of the Arctic Monkeys is currently dating a TV presenter called Alexa Chung, she is beyond beautiful and needless to say I am a little bit in love with her. As I stood slowly freezing to death I noticed a tall attractive woman standing next to me.... then I looked again, holy fucking shit I was standing next to Alexa Chung! My balls were no longer afraid of the cold and decided they wanted to see what the fuss was about. I stood gawping, heart aching and longing as she too waited for a friend in the cold! Annoyingly for me her friend showed up after a minute and she swept inside via the VIP entrance. Then I saw in the distance a mound of flustered curly hair come jogging down the road.... finally! There was one problem though Dylan had been at his work Christmas party and was down 4 gin and tonics. He had just run halfway across Manhattan in the freezing cold and he looked like he was about to die. He excused himself for a moment, walked across the road, probably vomited and then it was time to go inside.

The olden days of throwing myself about in the moshpit are long gone. Instead Dyl and I met up with his friend Tiff and her roommate and decided to stand on the edge and frown on the shenanigans of the youth of today. A few songs in I suddenly felt a searing pain in my foot. Some fat Irish girl had stabbed me with her high heels, her and her equally tubby friend apologized and then started asking me a plethora of questions I was not interested in. They were soon given attention though by the drunk swayer. The drunk swayer was a man who was off his face and was standing around swaying uncontrollably pointing a random people and singing to them. He, Tweedle O'Dum and Tweedle O'Dee were soon the best of friends, stabbing and swaying along to the music. The gig changed pace when the band played one of their slower songs, Cornerstone, somewhat of a love song. The swayer saw this as his chance he grabbed one of the fat girls and started singing in her ear before leaning in for the kiss, unfortunately for him and luckily for the watching crowd he was presented with the cheek as oppose to the lips.

As quickly as they had all fallen in love the trio were no longer friends. The Swayer wasn't done there though. He set his sights on Tiff's roommate. As he moved in for the kill in stepped that colossus of a man and protector of women's rights, Dylan Viner. Bristling like an angered wolf he told the Swayer to move on or there would be trouble. The swayer moved on very quickly, as quickly as a 9-1 victory can be forgotten (no plethora of status updates after this result guys? Shame, I love reading them. COYS) . His next target was Dylan, he leaned in and rested his head on Dylan's shoulder, a quick push and he disappeared into the crowd. we saw Swayer later squaring up to some guy about to get in a fight, I assume they kissed and made up though.

As I braved the cold home Dylan and I reminisced about the old days of attending gigs, and we both agreed by far the funniest two things we have seen both involve out friend Jeremy Elster. The first was when he arrived at a gig for the last 3 songs, because Shabbos went out late that night, yet still insisted he enjoyed it and it was worth the money. The second was waiting for Oasis to take the stage at Finsbury Park only for a bowl of pasta to come flying through the air and land of Jeremy's head. Good times.

Murder Bar

They say where you drink is a reflection of you.... If this is the case then man am I in trouble.

You see I don't like the bar where I regularly drink. It's dark and dingy and has a terrible selection of beers, however I find myself there at least twice a week.

The Watering Hole is less than a block away from work, this means that after a stressful shift where you reek of Barbeque sauce there is really only one place to go. I've tried to champion other bars, in fact Crocodile lounge with its free pizza with every beer threatened to topple the hellhole that is our local, it just couldn't bring in the numbers and fell by the wayside.

Perhaps the worst thing about The Hole is the karaoke, dear sweet lord the karaoke. I have had some interesting experiences revolving around that microphone. Hell I've sung when I've had a few to many and I can just about get away with it, but the problem is when pissed up girls belt out 'It's Raining Men' it makes me want to cry. The most interesting aspect of karaoke is when the Mafia come to drink in the bar. You see the Mafia get what they want and when they say it's their turn to sing, it's their turn to sing. There is a catch to this, you see they sing the same fucking song every... single... time. Even more messed up is when you try to sing the song that they always do. Halfway through your rendition you will feel a thick Italian hand hand on your shoulder followed by the pasta breath of someone quietly explaining that you can't sing that song because it is reserved for a friend. It is at this point you drop the microphone and leave the bar.
Perhaps the most surreal moment was watching actor William Hurt singing the song with the Mafia before hitting on every young black girl in the bar.
No matter how drunk or sober I am, no matter what day of the week it is I always seem to end up at The Hole. Even on my birthday at 4:30am I suddenly realized that I was standing in a room with a familiar dank smell. At the point I stumbled home.

But by far and away the most frustrating thing about the Hole is the fact there is no reception there. It's like it is a vortex and once inside you can never escape, at no point can you call a mate to see where they are because that involves walking outside into the cold New York air.
Nothing good comes of a night in The Hole, you either leave to drunk and are annoyed you got wasted for no reason, or you leave sober and are annoyed you bothered to buy a couple of drinks.

So Ladies and Gentlemen the reason you haven't heard from me for a few weeks is because I have been trapped. Trapped inside a bar full of shitty sports memorabilia, bad singers, weird smells, terrible beer and a lingering sense of guilt. The Watering Hole. I tell you, if drinks weren't $4 for regulars I'd never go.

Squeak

Last night was incredibly distressing for me. I came home, drunk and was faced with a huge moral dilemma.... let me explain.

Regular readers will know of my New York nemesis, that's right, The Mouse, or to give him his real name (as christened by Anna Marshall) 'Rodrigo.' Rodrigo has been the bane of my existence for 9 months. He wakes me up in the middle of night rustling in my bedroom. He pokes his head out when we have guests over. He scares off women, he taunts me by strutting around the apartment like he owns it and worst of all he outsmarts me and moves the traps I set for him. I have given up on beating him.

Last night whilst at work the exterminator came over to our house, unbeknownst to me, and laid some traps. Good luck mate, I thought, Rodrigo is one tough cookie, you wont catch him.
As usual I had too much to drink after work and returned home at 3 am. As I walked in I noticed the traps the exterminator had set, they were more advanced than the store bought ones, impressive I thought..... then I saw it..... Lying on a sticky mat was Rodrigo... caught. He was struggling to break free, horrified that he had been captured. I took a moment to compose myself and weighed up my options. Should I unstick him and let him go free? Should I walk 10 blocks and then let him go free? Should I leave him overnight to starve? Should I squash him? One thing was for sure..... I had to kill him.
I searched online for advice and I found it.... boy did I find it. I looked down at Rodrigo, he was suffering bad, he had wriggled so much that he was bleeding and was obviously hurt. He looked so harmless and cute. I welled up thinking about what I had to do... It was my very own Sophie's Choice.
What happened from then on is something I'm not proud of, but remember I was drunk and Rodrigo had terrorized me for months.
I boiled the kettle.
One the water inside was at the desired temperature I poured in some washing up liquid and poured the contents into a bowel.
I looked down at Rodrigo, he just stared up at me.. helpless.
I couldn't bear to do it.... the water was cooling down. I made a snap decision. I placed the bowel outside the apartment in the hallway. As I walked back inside I reminisced about all the times me and Rodrigo had had together. The first time he ran into the girls bedroom and I didn't tell them. The way me and him used to team up to scare Anna. The times we would both just sit there and watch TV.
I looked down at him, no longer an adversary... but a friend. He looked back at me with those big beady eyes as if to say 'Rob... it's me Rodrigo.... don't do it.' But it was time.
I lifted up the sticky mat and carried it out to the hall. I look at Rodrigo one last time, said goodbye, then flipped the map upside down and placed it in the boiling soapy water.

Rodrigo Mouse passed away in the early hours of the morning on November 18th. He is survived by three housemates in Apartment 3.

My Kinda Town

So after last weekend in London this weekend it was off to Chicago with Dylan to meet Sammy and Dean.

Now there are many places I could start with the review of the weekend. The crap shower in the hostel, the hot receptionist in the hostel with the icy icy heart and come to bed eyes, but instead I'm going to start with Brunch.

On the flight to The Windy City Viner and I were mapping out exactly what we wanted to do once we landed and both of us agreed that the way forward was a pot of Brunch. So once we checked into our ghetto hostel the first thing we asked was where was good for Brunch, a few options were gathered and then we met Dean and Sammy and headed out for some well deserved food.

The restaurant we went to was called Orange, indeed it was life changing.

Perhaps it was the excitement of the four of us being together, perhaps it was dizziness from having not eaten, but needless to say we were in a stupid mood. Our waitress slinked over to the table and the first thing I noticed was her T-shirt. At first it appeared to be a plain pink shirt, however on closer inspection it bore the image of a Liger. Now for those of you that don't know a Liger is the result of when a Lion and Tiger have a baby.

Somewhat blown away by our waitress' bold support of such a bizarre creature I launched into a conversation with her about Liger's Even when she looked at me like I was crazy I carried on, spouting Liger facts left right and centre. The boys thought I was nuts.

After our Liger chat we ordered our breakfast, I had a steak.

The next day at about 11 we had hunger pangs. The unanimous decision was made to revisit Orange and the Liger. However we were to be disappointed, the Liger was not wearing her colors today, her dedication to the Liger cause wasn't as strong as we thought.

On our last morning Dean, Dylan and Sammy begged me to go somewhere else, but I stood firm, the combination of cucumber water, Eggs Benedict and Liger enthusiasts meant we were only going to one place.

If I could buy shares in that restaurant I would.

When in Chicago you have to do something Chicagoey, so we decided to ascend the Hancock tower in order for a nighttime view of the city.

The que to get into the lift was ridiculous, however it did spawn an interesting question 'If you had to be one tall building what would you be?' The game descended into anarchy however when used it as an opportunity to take the piss out of Sammy.

Finally we made it into the lift and after a quick ride we were at the top. There was but one problem, we had ridden the elevator the restaurant and bar as oppose to the viewing deck. No worries though we would stay and grab a drink. The wait to get to the bar was half an hour. Fuck that!

The viewing deck was just 2 floors below, but in order to get to it we had to go all the way back to the bottom and then all the way up again.

More waiting in line. Finally we reached the ticket stand where the unfunniest man in the world cracked a couple of very unfunny jokes.

We were all set and ready to go when we looked back to see Dylan milling around. He was trying to get a free ticket with his media card. Unsurprisingly he didn't.

As we waited in another line to get to yet another lift we were told we had to have a photo taken. Even if we didn't want to the 4 of us had to stand in a line and have our photo taken infront of a superimposed background of the Chicago skyline. We did. We didn't smile.

In the lift on the way up we were feeling particularly stupid and cracked jokes in the crowded lift about having bad stomachs and generally acting like 5 year olds. We got out the lift 45 minutes after we had been two floors higher to have a look at the view. It was nice, was it $20 nice? Probably not.

After twenty minutes we had to wait in another que to get the lift back down the tower. By now we were wondering if we would ever get out of the bloody Hancock building. After a quick photo session where infront of another superimposed background where we pretended to be jumping off the building we were back in the lift going down. Finally our immaturity reached new levels when the voice over the PA shrilled 'Now you've been to the top and know the Hancock tower a bit better you can call it by it's nickanme.... Big John.' We started uncontrollably giggling as the 10 year old boy next to us rolled his eyes.

I won't bore you with more details, I'll leave that to Dean and Sammy, whose blog you can follow here http://deanandsammy.blogspot.com/

It was a great weekend spent with 3 guys I have been friends with since I was 7 years old. The photos will surface in a few days, the others took just a few.

Gilbert's Know How To Party

So this weekend I was back in London for brief celebratory visit. It was time for my little cousin Andrew to have his barmitzvah and become a man.

Our tale begins on Thursday morning at 6am as my father came bounding into my room to wake me up. We were off to synagogue... hurrah. Bear in mind I haven't been there for 2 years, I'm a bad Jew. You see on Thursday morning Andrew had his first call up and read from the torah for the first time, thus making him a man. After he had sung so beautifully my Uncle Michael asked me to help dress the Torah. To be more precise, I had to lift it. This is no easy task, that thing weighs a ton. I joked around and said 'what's the worst that can happen!?' Well the worst that can happen is I drop it and everyone who sees would have to fast for 7 weeks. The pressure was on. I walked onto the bimah and shakily hoisted the torah skywards. Wobbled a bit and then sat down. Phew. I turned to look at the Ladies Gallery where my Mum was sitting. I called out to her 'Are you proud Mum!?' She wasn't.

Thursday morning was amazing and I achieved something I have never achieved before. I ate 3 breakfasts. Yes.... 3. Before Setting off to listen to Andrew I wolfed down a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes in order to give me the desired energy for that time of morning. After Synagogue there was a brief but sugary selection of treats in the lobby. I made my excuses and managed to eat 4 to 5 of those. Fantastic, it wasn't even 8am and I had managed to eat two breakfasts. Then, like music to my ears I heard we were going back to Aunty Shelly and Uncle Michael's for breakfast as everyone was hungry. Now I wasn't hungry but two breakfasts wasn't going to be enough. A plethora of bagels and smoked salmon back at 17 Pine Grove meant that by 9:30 I had achieved the seemingly impossible, I had eaten breakfast 3 times.

The Friday night dinner at our house was a lovely affair. All the family together (that's nearly 50 people btw.... we're a big family), speeches made, jokes cracked, but more importantly... Duck Rolls eaten. Quite simply the Duck Rolls being handed out at my house on Friday Night were the greatest thing I have ever put in my mouth. Vegetarians can go fuck themselves, this stuff was golden. I must have eaten a good 10 of them. In fact they were so good I had them the next day for dinner cold.

The Saturday was fantastic. I'm not going to go into the details of Andrew's performance, but put it this way, I was bloody proud. That kid made me shed a tear! After his barmitzvah we decamped back to the Gilbert's for Shabbat Lunch.

As I walked in I almost got an erection. A waitress wandered up to me, stuck a platter in my face and said 'Duck Roll?' That was the second time I cried tears of happiness that day.

It was then onto the Sunday. Party time. Despite the histrionics of my to sisters with regards to being ready in time we were at the venue with minutes to spare. Photos done and it was time to begin the party.

I won't do the party justice by describing it here for you. Instead I will focus on one facet of the party... the Vodka. And by the Vodka I mean the means by which it was distributed. After all the speeches were said and done we headed to the dance floor where we were met by a vision. Three girls dressed in outfits the Rabbi would not have approved of, despite it being his birthday, with Vodka bottles strapped to their waists. It was on. Immediately I sought out Andrew Myers and Broando, they were two steps ahead of me, they each held an empty shot glass in their hand and had already decided their favorite Vodka giver. It was at this point I reminded them they were married with kids. After a few more shots we had built up a rapport with the girls, one of them was a model who had done a few glamor shoots. We nodded inquisitively as she told us this, as though she was a learned professor at a Museum telling us about how the Dinosaurs lived millions of years ago. Actually if professors looked like that I would have done much better at University. We had a mission, find out her name. With all the stealth of James Bond (drunkenly asking her what her name was) I unlocked the secret and two words came rolling out of that oerfectly formed mouth of hers..... Sammi Pennington. Like a flash I was off to report my findings to Andrew and Broando. Three minutes later they came bounding up to me like a couple of twelve year old boys who had found pornography... except they were men in their thirties who had discovered pornography. A quick google on Andrew's phone had revealed the gold mine, Sammi Pennington's nude photo shoot. As the party wrapped up with everyone singing 'We Are The Champions' a little part of me felt like a Champion.

In reality though there was only one boy we were singing to. Andrew Benjamin Gilbert, that was a great weekend!

And So I Face The Final Curtain

And so the curtain comes down on my New York stage debut. Needless to say I am fucking knackered!

The show went really well and I'm very pleased with everything, but of course this wouldn't be an update if I didn't highlight some of the stranger aspects of my life for the last few weeks.
I'll start with the venue we performed in. The Medicine Room theatre was a very nice space to act however it was interesting to say the least.
The owners of the space were probably the most eccentric people I have ever met. One was a old woman who is currently rehearsing a musical version of a ll of Shakespeare's tragedies. Before every rehearsal she would sit around the piano with a group of friends and warble away about the 'Black ram tupping the white ewe.' Her voice was perhaps not broadway ready shall we say. She was also as mad as batshit. One night she came to see the play and the next day spent time questioning me about the explicit stage directions of the last scene (more on that later.) Eventually she demanded to see my script to see if I was telling her the truth!
There was also a dog who owned the theatre. The dog was just a giant ball of fluff and often mid-rehearsal you would hear him wheezing as he slothed around the lobby. The dog was also the only living thing I knew who took the lift instead of climbing two flights of stairs to get to the theatre.
Of course the dog didn't run the theatre, his owner did. His owner was also a little nuts and would always wear one pink Converse and one Green one.
Perhaps the strangest aspect of the theatre was the man who lived in our dressing room.
Now at first I thought our dressing room was just littered with props; tables, chairs, old costumes, a bed. But then last Sunday I came in for a performance early and heard a stirring. I looked into the dressing room and the long haired ghost who floated around the place was rising from a night sleep. Suddenly I realized that the bed was his, the clothes were his, the empty whisky bottle was his and from then on I was permanently creeped out that I was de-robing in another mans bedroom.

Now for those of you that don't know about the last scene of the play it's time to come clear. I get my arse out onstage. I don't flaunt it but it's there, and if you are sitting in a particular seat you get a very very good view of it.
The arse scene was never problematic however it did run into a few problems. At the end of the scene Ollie has to blow out a candle and the lights would cut to black. More often than not the candle would not blow out and the stage would be plunged into darkness except a dull flickering candle light illuminating my bum. It wasn't attractive.
Now I had no problems getting the ol' butt cheeks out, my bum is one of my better body parts. On some nights, however, the people sitting in the prime butt spotting location proved to be a problem.
On the opening night a couple of girls were laughing every time we said the word 'cum' or even 'come' so Ollie and I twigged pretty quickly that the last scene was going to be hell. Thankfully it provided just a few intakes of breath. I like to assume that's because of glorious peach like nature of my rear.
The worst was this Thursday when I had a lot of friends come see me. I had specifically told Dylan to not sit in the front row, stupidly I didn't give him a reason. Just before the lights went down I looked at the audience from the wings and saw Dylan and Dan sitting in the prime rear viewing area, front row. Bastards. They now look at me in a different light.

And so the maddest, craziest most exhausting 6 weeks of my life come to a close. I'm now a New York stage actor as well as still being a waiter extraordinaire at New York's best BBQ restaurant! I fly home on tuesday night for the mother of all celebrations.... my little cousins barmitzvah. Fuck me life is fun!