Let's bonk two birds with one stone.  Or three.  Or more.  It's time for LGBTQ+ PRIDE X FINE FEATHERED FRIENDS COLLAB:  And speaking of little birds...
LADIES AND GENTLEPERSONS!  MISS ANNIE LENNOX!!!
WILD APPLAUSE!

That's the first time I've seen that video.  It's fascinating.  You whippersnappers might need a bit of explanation.  Annie is in the bowler hat and the other "women" are "characters" she played in many of her music vids.  Like drag queens, Annie has always embraced her "otherness" and did her own kind of drag by putting on these personas in her videos.  This is where the time-space continuum gets weird.  The video for the song "Little Bird" was from 1992.  The characters on stage with her, starting with the "Sweet Dreams" persona (with the orange hair) originated in 1983.  That's not even ten years.  And now 1992 was 33 years ago.  Weird!
But before I move on with the cuckoo bird theme; I wanted to suggest a movie for y'all for Pride Month.  It's called: God's Own Country from 2017.  Let's look at the trailer!

Some refer to this film as the British Brokeback Mountain; and yes, it has quite similar themes and story elements.  And as fine a movie as I think Brokeback Mountain is; I think this one is better.  Or perhaps I should say, more realistic. Or maybe more honest?  I felt like Brokeback Mountain was actively trying to jerk my...tears.  With this one, I was trying to keep myself from bawling.  It stars Josh O'Connor before he was a STAR, which he seems to be fast becoming.

More to come!

So this blog was supposed to be a hopeful one.  One to remind us of the promise of Humanity.  The Milk of Human Kindness...and it will be.  But since ICE and Co. are quickly turning into Brown Shirts, I think it's time for some levity.  'Memba this?

Ummmmmm...come to think about it...those lil' tots look like poster kinder for The Hitler Youth.  And it looks like "Mom" is pouring blood on the ice at the 13 second mark.  Huh.  So much for levity.  And now I'm thinking about "Box" from Logan's Run.  "Memba him?  It was his job...to freeze you!

And now I'll never watch this scene the same way again as it's become a parable for what's happening now.  
So, let's move on!
Where were we?  Oh yeah...KEANU REEVES!  He always makes things better.  When last we met, we were inquiring as to Mr. Reeves' love (or not) for our Fine Feathered Friends.

Now, I think the folks at the TikTok Keanu Fan Club might be making assumptions about Mr. Reeves ornithophilia; but I think they're pretty safe assumptions.  HAL agrees!:

And it seems to be backed up by other humans as well:

Here's another shot of Keanu "birdwatching":

And a link to watch this delightfully dumb video!
www.tiktok.com/@keanufanclub/video/7460541008804203809

And this brings us to some more GOOD NEWS about birds; brought to us, I feel, by the birds themselves.  I'm not quite exactly sure what type of bird that is that Keanu is admiring; but it looks a lot like a wood thrush.  Now, the wood thrush is a fascinating creature.  I'd never really heard one until I moved to Virginia; into a neighborhood that is still quite heavily wooded with natural forest (we have brown bears in our back yard!).  The wood thrush resembles an American Robin, in fact, I think they're in the same family.  Yes, they're both thrushes:

The wood thrush is a "near threatened" species, mostly because the woods they inhabit are disappearing.  They also have it coming at them from both ends.  They spring and summer here and fall and overwinter in South America, which is also losing its' forests.  Now, I've lived where I live for quite some time (like, shit, 20 years??!!?) and every summer I hear the wood thrush in the trees behind our house.  It's a haunting sound.  Their calls echo; and I attributed this to the "hollows" of the hills we're in, which amplify and muffle sounds in strange ways.  But the wood thrush's echoes are not an unusual phenomenon of acoustics.  The echoes are coming from the bird itself:

They are very secretive birds, usually staying high in the tree-tops: very much heard but not often seen.  That is, until this spring.  Which is interesting to me, since my phone has been auto-doom-scrolling to me, the dire news about an overall, general decline in bird populations.  So for years, in the warm weather, I only heard them.  It seemed as though they started their haunting songs in the early, late-afternoon until near sunset.  I never saw one.  A single one.  And I looked, believe me.  I'm not an "avid" bird-watcher; but I am a bird-watcher.  I keep a little journal of sightings of note.  Here's one from a few years ago (I hadn't actually laid eyes on the wood thrush yet):

But this spring, a bird flew into the yard and was sitting there and I didn't recognize it right off.  Then I realized it was a wood thrush.  And since then, I have had five or six eyewitness encounters.  It's like they're saying: "Cheer up.  We're not dead yet!"  It's kind of like a "build it and they will come" sitch.  For example, the Eastern blue-bird.

Growing up, I never saw a single blue-bird.  A bird which was once so common and loved it had entered a realm of archetypiality: The Bluebird of Happiness.  But I never saw one; that is, until I moved here.  And they're everywhere!  If our neighborhood had a mascont bird, it would be the Eastern Bluebird.  Now, my thumbnail understanding of the fortunes of the eastern bluebird was that it had once been super common but it had niche nesting habits.  One thing led to another and there was a huge decline.  But there was human intervention; one of the rare cases of it being a good thing.  Nesting boxes with the "niche" they needed in place.  People put them out; the bluebird came back.  Here's a little article on it:

The blue bird (Blue Bird? Blue bird? Bluebird? bluebird?) is not quite so delightful when it comes to protecting it's young.  A couple of years ago I went to get the mail and came across our cat, Marissa, playing with a baby bird.  Or perhaps a fledgling.  She hadn't killed it.  She hadn't even really roughed it up (cats will often "play" with things they catch, not really wanting to kill it, but ending up doing just that by putting the creature in shock).  I got the bird away from her, unscathed and brought it in the house:

We kept it inside over night.  All baby birds kind of look the same.  I had no idea what it was.  But once the cat was sequestered, I put the bird back outside.  It peeped a few times.  Within ten minutes a pair of blue birds swept in and came at me like harpies.  I don't know if you've ever been the object of birdie wrath, but it can be quite intimidating; even from a bird as seemingly benign as a blue bird.  Eventually "Larry" hopped off into the woods under the watchful eyes of his guardians (I'm guessing Mom and Dad blue bird?) and it was a happy ending.  Huh,  Happy?  Blue bird of happiness?  Right?  Nice!
We really can be kind to our fine feathered friends if we just take some time and effort to figure out their needs and wants.  What's the phrase? One for the birds.  Usually used in a dismissive way; as though the birds of the world were unworthy.  We need the birds.  If the bugs go, the birds go.  If the birds go...well, what's next.
I don't know about you; but I don't really want to find out.  And I really don't want to live in a world without birds.
Please see part 3 for the wrap-up: The Bird Are Coming! / Part 3: Gay Pride Birds of a Feather Bonus!

CFR   6/15/24

Down the hole again!  Will the fall never end, thought Alice (and everyone else with Undiagnosed Somatization Akiltism)?  Here we see the Dodo present Alice a Placidyl pill to prepare her for her trip to Underland South.

You really can't make this shit up.  You really can't.  But apparently you can.  And quite often, people will believe it.  Believe it as TRUTH.  Something you know is made up because YOU MADE IT UP.  There are all kinds of conspiracies that have wormed their way around Lewis Carroll's Alice books; a book I have adored since childhood but now find kind of tainted because of all the weIrdness around it; not least of which is that Carroll was more than likely a pedophile and the real-life Alice was one of the objects of his...lets just say...intentions.  I think there exist actual photographs of Alice that are...let's just say...inapporpriate.  And I am not going to try and find them and/or post them here.  First of all, I don't want to see them.  Secondly, I do not want to end up on some watchlist.  I'll get back to Alice later with some of the more disturbing "theories" about the books.  Or rather, what has happened to the books.
I started writing this blog because I've been thinking about birds.  I have also loved birds since childhood; and thus far, there have been no "theories" about them to impede that enjoyment--

Hey, I know!  Let's all take a Placidyl (TM/Reg.) pill before we continue!

So Christmassy!

...all is calm, all is right!

But let's go back a bit.  Do you remember back when Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds came out?  Back in a time when people actually cared about things like grammatical correctness?  Do you recall how people actually got upset when the tagline for the movie was seen as being an affront to the English language? The Birds Is Coming! People were perturbed by this perceived error in grammar.  Can you believe it?  Let's take a look at the trailer:

More to come, after this word from our sponsor...

There was also a cultural kerfuffle over the grammar of this ad campaign, if my College of Communication learnin' serves me correctly.  Back when the Culture Wars were about actual culture:

I guess it should be "...as a cigarette should!"  Grammatical correctness is not one of my stronger suits.  Both sound right to me.
Anyways...
My original thought about this blog was birds.  The animals.  You know; Our Fine Feathered Friends.  Our Web Footed Friends.  I hear a song cue.  Put your hands together for Mitch Miller and his Orchestra!

Way Back In the Day, my dad had quite a bit of the Mitch Miller oeuvre which he would break out for family parties and put them into rotation with the Irish music and more than likely, Neil Diamond(!).  The above ditty has lodged itself into my long term memory banks.
But yes, birds.
Some people are dog people.  Some people are cat people.  Some people are dog and cat people.  And some people are bird people.  But I would argue that bird ownership is still somtething of a niche group.  I don't think a lot of people realize that birds can be not just intelligent; but also, quite affectionate.  And I also think most people simply take birds in the world around us for granted.  And if not exhibiting outright hostility; usually affectless indifference.  A lot of people consciously or unconsciously suss out what other humans are like on a core level by the way they treat animals; particularly cats and dogs.  I go further.  I think you can glean a lot more from people and what they're all about in regards to how they regard birds.  So I wanted to do a little experiment.  For example, Donald Trump.  What is his attitude towards birds.  I mean, he famously does not have a dog and I think that says a lot.  But what does he think about birds and what does that tell us about his personality?  So I did a search:  DOES DONALD TRUMP LIKE BIRDS?  HAL 9000 immediately brought up the infamous "Eagle Clip":

Okay, politics aside 'cuz we're just talking personality here: I have to give Donnie props.  Not a lot of people would get in that close a proximity to Hallaeetus leucocephalus (sounds like a horrible disease that RFK would pooh-pooh); particularly a crotchety, "get outta my hair-space" one.  Despite the leather gauntlet, he was in real danger of getting a razor sharp talon or beak to the face.  Even small birds can be intimidating: e.g.: the mockingbird.  Have you ever had the latter dive-bomb your head?  It's scary!  Say what you will about him, he's got balls (despite the TACO moniker).  And then there's his obsession with windmills and their deleterious effect on birds.  So, he really likes birds, right?  But if he does, why has his administration repealed all kinds of protections on birds?  So, he doesn't care about birds, right?  Is the eagle just a prop?  Is he indifferent to the eagle?  Who is the eagle, metaphorically, in this case?
How about a person who I have doubts is an actual human being?  How about Laura Ingraham?  What does she think about birds?  Cue HAL!  HAL, What Does Laura Ingraham Think About Birds?
Here's a link to her musing on the attempts to bring back the Dodo bird with her frequent co-host Raymond Arroyo (and this is what passes for right wing "comedy" I guess).  You're welcome to watch but in sum, she seems extremely indifferent to the Dodo birds plight or it's potential come-back.  And Raymond seems concerned the Dodo could pose some sort of existential threat.
www.foxnews.com/video/6319625649112

Here's a screenshot of them mocking the Dodo:

They seem to enjoy mocking not only birds (they hate Big Bird from Sesame Street too); but other people--particularly their looks--and all I can say is: People Who Work In Glass Towers Shouldn't Throw Botox.  That Arroyo really bugs the shite outta me.  Does he know his last name means "dry riverbed" in Spanish?  Does Laura know her last name means "Raven of Peace"?  So, she's got a bird who gets a bad rap in her name (outside of Norse mythology).  Is Lara the blonde Maleficent of Right Wing Propaganda?

No, that's an insult to Maleficent. She actually had a sense of humor.  And an insult to ravens; who not only seem to have a sense of humor, but superiour intelligence, gratitude, kindness and affection.  Let's take a  look!

I've always loved crows and ravens and used to want one as a pet.  However they live for a long time and when they bond with you, it's like having a five year-old child. Super high maintenance and they belong in the wild anyways. 
But back to Mr. Arroyo, our glass house residing "personality" who love to throw stones.  Which makes sense, as he seems to have a real Biblical bent.  He writes a book series about a twelve year-old boy who's a sort of knock-off Harry Potter who is decidedly Christian, what with all his non-Wizarding Biblical Utility Belts.  His name is Will Wilder:

Oh, so it's specifically Catholic.  Gee, I wonder if Will Wilder has ever had to use his "staff of wonder" on Predator-Priest-A-Dons?  Or Scout-Master-Saurauses?
Mr. Arroyo seems to write mostly about boys and nuns.  Remember that scene in Airplane?

And do you think that Tad Lincoln ever wondered if his dad was more than likely Uranian?

​

Which really begs the question as to whether or not Mr. Arroyo is a bad drag queen.  Oh!  I mean, a "bad drag queen afficionado"!  But it's pretty clear what Ms. Raven of Peace thinks about LGBTQ+ issues and he's on her show, supporting and condoning her worldview; so I guess it's safe to say he's not an ally.  Here's a quote pull about a Wild Willy book:

I don't think I can really expound any further on that.

So let's ask HAL about someone that I think we can all agree is a "nice" person who has buckets of humility:
HAL, What does Keanu Reeves think about birds?

Please see: Here Come the Bird! Part 2 for next installment!

CFR   6/11/25

​Ash taps the bell on the desk and and it TING-TINGS.  A rustling brings forth a MAN from somewhere in the back.  He's so tall he has to duck under the door frame.  This is STONEY PETERSON, 30? 40? 50? 60?  He lives up to his name and has the look of a 1950's movie idol.  He's quiet, yet friendly; very Vermonty.
STONEY
Oh, hey-ya Chief!
RI
Stoney!
Stoney pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose and tilts his head.
STONEY
Ri-ri?
RI
Yes, it's me!  I know, I look different.
STONEY
I'll say!  You got tall!
RI
Well, I'm wearing heels.
Jurgin thrusts out his hand to shake, as he spontatneously starts singing a tailored version of "Stoney End."
JURGIN
(SINGING)...Going down the stoney end, I always wanted to go down the stoney end...*
The other three look at him like he has three heads

RI
Stoney, this is Jurgin Turpin. He's my...what exactly is your title Jurgin?
JURGIN
"Executorial Administrtationatrix."  Nice to meet you Mr.--
STONEY
Peterson.
JURGIN
Stoney Peterson. That is one rock solid handle!  What do you do, Mr. Peterson?
STONEY
Please, call me Stoney.  I'm the handyman.
JURGIN
Right.  Well keep yourself handy, Stoney.  And I'll let go of your hand now.
Jurgin unclasps Stoney's massive hand and shakes his own and flexes it.
JURGIN
Ha-ha...it tingles...
RI
So where did you say mom was?
ASH
She's--
JURGIN
I'm sorry to interrupt; but do you smell something burning?
ASH
Like I was saying.  Mom's in the kitchen.
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. HOTEL KITCHEN -NIGHT
A WOMAN is leaning over a large oven door as smoke pours out of it.  She turns to the CAMERA, which closes on a pan she's holding in her oven-mitted hands: the contents of which are scorched beyond recognition.  The CAMERA pulls back and we see the frowning face of the woman as she waves smoke away.  In her 60's, she is quite attractive; looking younger than her age.  She's wearing a peasant skirt and shawl and giving off a total Stevie Nicks vibe.  Vermont Earthy-Crunchy by way of Manhattan.  This is Ri's mother: JEANETTE "JEAN" CUMMINGS-KRUMHOLTZ.
JEAN
Oh shit.  Another one bites the dust...
Ash comes through the kitchen door.
ASH
Honey, close your eyes.  I've got a surprise for you!
JEAN
Now?  I'm a little farputzed at the moment.
ASH
You'll be glad you did.
JEAN
Okay.
She closes her eyes and Ash turns to the door and waves the others into the room.
ASH
Okay, you can open 'em!
Jean opens her eyes and when she see Ri, she SCREAMS in delight.  She tosses the pan into a large sink and runs to her daughter and embraces her.
JEAN
Ri sweetie!  Oh my God, you're here!
RI
Hi mom...
JEAN
Let me look at you!
She holds her at arms length and then pulls her back and starts kissing her cheeks.
JEAN
What's the occasion?  Why didn't you call?  I mean what a surprise!  And I mean that in a good way.  A pleasant surprise.  But you don't write.  You don't call.  Are you sick?
The SMOKE ALARM goes off.  Stoney goes to the back door and opens it, then stands under the alarm and waves his hands.  After a moment the alarm stops.
JEAN
WHAT?  Oh, I'm sorry I didn't hear that last part about why you haven't visited us in two years, three months, five days and (looks at watch)--seven hours.
ASH
Now babe, come on.  Let's give her three minutes before we give her the third degree.
Jurgin, in the meantime, has gone to the sink to see what the source of the smoke was.  He lifts the pan and pokes the contents.
JURGIN
I smell...chocolate?
JEAN
(Distracted, which was Jurgin's intention--) Oh, my babka!  Yeah.  Stoney, you've gotta fix the thermostat on that stupid thing!
Ash and Stoney exchange a sly glance.

JEAN
(To Jurgin) Hi, I'm Jean.  I'm Honoria's mother.
JURGIN
That tracks.  I'm Jurgin.
JEAN
Like the hand lotion?
JURGIN
Sure.
JEAN
So, Jurgin...
JURGIN
Yes Mrs. Krumholtz?
JEAN
Have you asked my husband's permission yet?
JURGIN
For...?
JEAN
Asking out my daughter.
JURGIN
Asking her out where?  For a cigarette?
JEAN
On a date!
Jurgin and Ri LAUGH uproariously, for some time.
JEAN
Sure laugh.  And I get it.  You're gay.  But gay men make terrific husbands; just ask my friend Sharon Sheinbaum.  She's been married to Herb for twenty-two years now.  They have the best marriage in town!
RI
They live here now?
JEAN
No, they're still in Manhattan.  But you're in Winooski Falls and are you in luck! Have I got a gay fellah for you!
ASH
Jean...
RI
I'm curious.  Who?
JURGIN
Yeah.  Who?
She makes a Price is Right gesture towards Stoney, whose face goes beet red.
ASH
Jean--
JEAN
Stoney doesn't mind.  He's on the market!
RI
No offense Stoney; I mean you're great and everything...but Mom, you might as well be trying to set me up with Uncle Louis.
JEAN
Believe me.  I've thought about it.  Well, your cousin Stevie anyways.
ASH
Jean stop.  That's just weird.
JEAN
Well what am I supposed to do?  Why isn't she married?  I know she's not gay.
RI
How do you know?
JEAN
I asked you.
RI
Oh, right...
JEAN
Are you hungry?  We don't get a delivery until Tuesday and the cupboard's bare.  How 'bout we eat out?
RI
I was thinking that myself.  Can we go to Jolly Jingles?
JEAN
Jolly Jingles?  I haven't eaten there in years.
ASH
Well I'm starving.  It sounds good to me.
JURGIN
Me three!
JEAN
I'll grab my purse.
JURGIN
Can Mr.Peterson come?
All heads turn to Stoney.
STONEY
I already had dinner.
ASH
So, you can have dessert!
JEAN
Yeah!  I wonder if they still have Maple Balls.
JURGIN
Excuse me?
JEAN
They used to have the best Maple Balls in town.  Stoney loves Maple Balls, isn't that right Stoney?  In fact Stoney is quite the patissier.  He makes the best Maple Balls in Vermont!  Why his balls have won contests!
JURGIN
I bet.

Just a note here: I have updated the BLOG INDEX on my hompage up until April of 2025 and I kinda can't believe how much stuff there is on these blogs.  I like to think there's something for EVERYONE!

​So, this blog entry is gonna be totes rando...just some miscellany that comes into my head.  My GIANT head...speaking of having a big head; and I don't think that I do; but my next few thoughts may make me seem a bit presumptuous; however, as my "filter" is now somewhat officially broken (and what do I have to lose, right?)  I wanted to talk about Scarlett Johansson's tootsies.  And it wouldn't be the first time...

A couple of years ago I wrote a blog about feet.  It was called "Baring My Sole."  Here's a link:
www.christopherfreidy.com/blog/baring-my-sole
It was about feet.  In general  And specifically; that is, Celebrity Feet; of which, there is an entire website dedicated to said (as well as anyone else who wants to get their feet wet there (ha-ha).  It's called Wikifeet.  Here's a link:
wikifeet.com
In my blog, I posted a grid of photos of famous feet.  All men.  And there was a list of names and you had to match the feet to the person.  As I said, it was all men; but for one.  That would be Mrs. Scarlett Johannson-Jost.  I did not qualify why I included her in a group of men.  And as some might consider me a bit of a wag; some might've thought I was implying that Ms. SJJ's feet were manly.  Or mannish.  Let me clarify that here:  that was not my intention.  I included ScarJocojo (TM/Pat.Pend) as I felt I should throw in a pair of lady feet so as not to be too sexist.  In fact, I think I shouted to the hubs in another room to throw out a name of a celeblady's feet that he (or anyone) might like to take a gander at.  So ScarJo was a go!
Now here's where my head gets big.  And bear with me...I'm not saying my shenanigans have infiltrated online (or any) culture; and she probably never had any clue about this blog of mine out there in the Ethernet (and why would she?).  But, as my husband is a huge fan of Ms. J-J (as am I, but he even more so; which is why he probably shouted her out for feetly consideration in the first place); we see ALL of Scarlett's movies.  I mean EVERYTHING.  Although, we didn't see Avengers: End Game (but let's face it: you've seen one of those and you've seen 'em all, am I right people?!!?).  Yes:
a new ScarJoJo project is out and we're there.  So, it seemed to me that I started to notice that she was appearing barefoot in a lot of recent stuff.  Like, scenes where she didn't really need to be.  Like in that NASA movie she did with Tatum Channing.  Like it seemed to me that she was putting her barefeet forward for some reason. I remember thinking: Oh, I hope she didn't read my blog and think I was implying that she had manly feet.  I felt really guilty.  Now, this is all predicated on her having seen the blog and then my assumptions about a possible reaction.  The chances?  Slim to none.  But then again...who knows.  She's a Sag.  I'm a Sag.  My phone keeps informing me that Archers have The Shining.  In any event...let me assure Ms. JoJo that she has perfectly lovely and feminine feet that have received a Five-Star rating on Wikifeet!  The highest foot-afficionado rating!  If Michelin gave stars for feet, I have little doubt it would be the same!  Congrats Pretty-Footed Lady!

She might also be happy to know that her hubby's tootsies are hubba-hubba on LeFoot de Wiki:

Not a perfect 5; but close enough.  And close-ups too.  It seems Colin hurt his foot during the Paris Olympics(?) and there are close-up photos of said foot.  Even bloody and bandaged, Colin's tootsies tantalize--err--not that I'm into that or anything.  But don't we live in a fabulous world where we can see, say...Alec Baldwin's feet at the stroke of a...keypad?  And might I add his hot legs too?

I told you this blog was going to be all over the place...
Oh, guess what?
​DRUMROLL PLEASE:

What's The 'Tippi' Trap, you ask?  Why it's a play we--"we" being my friends and our theater company--put up back in the wild and wooly days of pre-Geffen Playhouse Hollywood Theatricals:

It's all over on my Youtube channel, if you're interested.  I even have the original "middling" review of it from the LA Weekly.  I'll find it and we can discuss later!  But here's a link to part one:
youtu.be/N7den75BXlw?si=Lmi8ALijHZZg6Evu

Speaking of Youtube...
I have a lot of stuff over there; but not a lot of views, particularly; but that's okay.  It's more of an archive for me.  I'm lucky if a video I post cracks a hundred views.  But there is one that has quite a few views and some rave reviews. Let's take a look!

Around ten years ago I was working with a theatrical group called The Star City Playhouse.  I was in like 90 percent of their shows.  The man who ran the show; I guess, took a liking to me and kept putting me in play after play; usually as the leading man.  I am an actor.  How could I say "no"?  But after a while (I'm talking years here) I started tiring of it.  He started to depend on me being in every show.  I didn't want to be in every show.  But I fellt super guilty if I said "no" or that I needed a break.  You see, he'd pissed off a lot of people in the theater community and alienated most of the local talent...it's involved.  A Whole Other Blog.  So when "new blood" joined the group, I was thrilled.  I  much prefer being part of an ensemble; especially if the ensemble is doing a comedy or a musical or a musical comedy.  Like heavy dramas with small casts?  Avoid at all costs, is my thinking.  We did Moon for the Misbegotten.  It's about an alcoholic.  I needed  drink after that one.
So, the two fellows in the above video were from a town that was about 45 minutes away.  They were like half my age; but I felt two kindered spirits.  One of the kinder-points was our shared love for Tommy Wiseau's The Room.  And that love spread amongst the theater regulars to where at one point we all got together to see a screening at a local theater that had, like the Mystery Science Theater guys making fun of it in real time.  Something like that.  But they had technical problems.  There was no sound.  Everyone left but us and we all remained in our seats, supplying the dialogue, in character.  We had a blast!
Stephen, the guy playing "Johnny" in the clip was particularly obsessed with it.  I would often thrill him with tales of my real world experience of The Room from when I lived in Los Angeles.  And in particular, the infamous billboard:

Memory can be a fuzzy thing.  The above is not the exact billboard I recall.  I remember it being just Tommy's face with the phone number and the words: Can You Really Trust Anyone? or something along those lines.  It went up a year or so before we moved to Virginia, but it did not go unnoticed.  I can remember my first thoughts about it.  I thought it was an ad for a theatrical performance by some actor I was "supposed to know" but didn't.  I'm not even sure it said that it was a movie.  Joseph thought, because of the mysterious question involved that it had something to do with Scientology or perhaps some new "religion" that had sprung up in LaLaWood.  Eventually, we memorized the number and he tells me we called it.  "Oh, yeah..." I said, "didn't we reach a recording and it was actually Tommy Wiseau?"  "Yes," he replied.  "What did he say?" I asked.  "Even if I could remember," he said, "you couldn't understand what he was saying."  I called the number and it rang through to dead air and then clicked off.  Weird.  But what isn't weird about Tommy and his Room?  He really should do a sequel.  I wonder if he could recapture that once in several lifetimes magic?  If anyone could, I bet it would be him!
So, one day I asked Stephen and TJ (he played "Mark") if they would memorize the dialogue from the "I didn not hit her!" rooftop scene.  They readily and delightedly agreed.  I watched the scene and transcribed the "dialogue," and produced pages.  They memorized and we shot the scene in two takes.  I did a super quickie cut on my computer and the result, as you can see, is a delightful shambles.  That is visually and soundwise.  The shot composition doesn't match between cuts and there is extraneous noise; but I think it added to the "on the fly" spirit of the original.  Stephen went on to join a rather prestigious playwriting group here in Roanoke.  It's at Hollins University:

And he's been directing many well received plays here in the Roanoke theatrical scene; of which (believe it or not); there is one.  TJ moved to Richmond.  Sad.  Miss him.
So, speaking of plays...
Back in the early 2000s my friend Joel wrote a play and we put it up at the Gardner Stages in Hollywood.  I guess there's a theater company that works out of there: Working Stage?  Something like that.  Maybe they're the same entity?

The play was called Touch and it was about a gay male couple and several of their friends.  It took place in the couple's apartment.  Our friend Joseph played the landlady.  I remember the space was the smallest of the theaters and that the set was really crammed.  The play was more or less a comedy.  It was reviewed by a gentleman with the rather unimagineable name of Wenzel Jones.  Apparently Mr. Jones is not only a theater critic; but an actor as well.  Now, if you ask me, that's a real Conflict of Interest.  But apparently the United States has dispensed with the Conflict of Interest and Mr. Jones was simply on the cutting edge.  I tried to find the review for Touch, as Mr. Jones has an archive at Backstage Magazine (it was under their auspices that Mr. Wenzel reviewed the play: Backstage West, to be precise) that go all the way back(stage) to the early 2000s, which is when we did the play.  But alas, the review was not there.  I think you may have guessed he did not like it.  Here are a couple of sentences from a review of Annie he wrote, which I think gives an excellent idea of his shtick when it comes to something he didn't paritcularly cotton to:

So, he's a would be Addison DeWitt; with perhaps a fifth of the wit.  Mr. Jones, in his "scathing" review pretty much ripped it apart in a "delightfully" "bitchy" way.  In reviewing my performance, if memory serves me correctly, all he could muster was some insulting comments about my waistline and my hairline.  That was it.  I mean, seriously.  He reviewed my physical presence; nothing about my performance.  So here's a picture of Mr. Jones:

Now, I could exact a revenge here.  I have other pictures...as they say in the old gumshoe movies.  I could post those and tear apart Mr. Jones' appearance.  But I'm not going to.  Because I'M A NICE GUY. But I'm not a nice guy.  Did you ever notice that guys who say they're "nice guys" always seem to be not very nice guys?  So no.  I'm not a nice guy.  I have horrible, ugly, vengeful thoughts; just like most everyone else.  But I don't get off on belittling people.  Or making fun of how they look because I'm too assinine* to make a truly thoughtful observation.  It doesn't give me joy to make other people feel less than.  And speaking of less: Mr. Jones is the LAST person to go after someone based on their hairline.  I will say that.  Yes.  That I will say.  And I might add you could easily do a production of Annie on his forehead.  Turnabout is fair play, Captain Dudley.
Well...now that we've cleared the air...let's cleanse our pallets with something nice.  How about an actual Nice Guy.  Let's see what Hal 9000 has to say if we ask him who The Nicest Guy on Earth is.  Another drumroll please!

It's none other than KEANU REEVES!

Okay...No More Mr. Nice Guy!  That's me, that is.  I mean, should I be classy and not cave to my lowest common denominator by posting beefcake pics of Mr. Reeves?  Or his feet?  NO!  NO MORE MR. NICE GUY!  Bring it on Keanu: and TAKE IT OFF! And STEP on it!!!

Oh, he's a lefty!  Nice! 
3 degrees of Me-ation: when I worked at Macy's Beverly Center in the Customer Service/Gift Wrap Department, the location in the main store was right next to the brassiere section.  I was on my way back from lunch or something and Mr. Reeves was perusing the brassieres.  This caught my attention in several ways.  Firstly, there was almost never anyone shopping for bras in that department.  I never understood it.  It was empty like 98 percent of the time; so, to have an actual person wandering amongst the Bali boulder-holders was odd in and of itself. Secondly, it was frickin' KEANU REEVES. And that it was a man in a tweed sportscoat.  And a very tall man at that.  He was not going to go unnoticed.  And that he was a movie star wasn't all that odd, considering movie stars were on the premises quite often; but that it was Keanu Reeves quietly and intently and for quite some time looking at the most initimate of ladies merch?  I couldn't stop staring!  Of course there was no way he couldn't have felt my piercingly laser-like gaze on his back; but he kept calm and carried on.  To this day I wonder if he in fact purchased a bra and if so...who was it for?
Okay.  It's official.  My GUILT has kicked in over my quip about Mr. Jones' hairline.  I guess it's my Eanneagram 9 personality.  I want everyone to get along.  I want to smooth things over.  I want to make things right. I mean, even though he Broke Balding-Bro Code: (there must be payback). So, what's something nice we can say about Mr. Jones?  How about: "He was smart enough to get on Jeopardy!"

We're talking back in the day here:

Which begs the question: just how old is Mr. Jones?  But, we're being nice...so let's be nice.  Here are his opponents:

My research has revealed that Mr. Gelb went on to play the next night.  But can I just put myself in jeopardy by saying that Mr. Maney should've won?  I mean, they should've rigged the game to keep that babe on the air.  Maney?  Try ManLey!  Rooogahhh!!!

So there Wenzel.  I was nice.  Speaking of Jeopardy!  I know a lot of people crushed hard on Alex Trebek; I mean, I know I did, ever since High Rollers (oh, remind me to tell you the Ruta Lee/hit in the head by a chadelier story) and Alex's Super-70's stache.

Now I don't know about straight people or lesbians or whomever else; but I know a lot of Gay Men have Antiques Roadshow Crushes.  I know I do.  It's a thing.  Mine happens to be the poster man:

Mr. Nicholas Lowry.  He also qualifies as a Big Dumb Man.  For more on that, here's a link to my blog about them:
www.christopherfreidy.com/blog/in-faint-praise-of-the-big-dumb-man?view=full

He qualifies even more so when he's in a relatively quiet suit and clean shaven.  I haven't seen him on there in a while, and I need a Nick-Fix.  Let's see what we can find...

I need a moment.  My Nick-Fix just went from a crush to full blown Courtly Love!  I can't find any hard info about his birthday, other than that we're just about the same age.  As to Astro-compatibility? I guess we'll just leave it to the stars, as I'm happy to report I get along pretty well with pretty much all the other signs.  Nick, you just went to the very top of the Hall Pass List!

So, that portrait of me at the top is from my high school senior portrait sitting.  It was a proof that I tried to retouch with a basic photo editor but it didn't do such a good job.  I look too red and blotchy.  Not to mention shiny.  This particular style of portrait was often called The Reflection or Reflections.  And it's super cheesy.  Not only is the whole concept cheesy, I'm postitioned in such a way that it looks like I have a mutant ear growing out of the top of my head.  Needless to say, this was not the photo I went with for the yearbook or home use.  I don't think anyone ever liked this concept.  It's creepy.  And speaking of creepy...
I wanted to "retouch" the photo via computer--for free--and I loaded it on to one sight and the result was startling.  No, not just startling: terrifying.  I looked like Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs doing Imelda Marcos.  And I would post it here as a gag; but it simply isn't funny.  I don't want to inadvertently (or advertently) give anyone night terrors.  But I did impose a simple filter on it via one site and I think the result was better.  It took out a lot of the glaring pizza-face redness.  Interesting sidenote: in the portrait I did choose, I just went with the classic head and shoulders.  It hung in the stariwell of my parents house from '84 until they moved.  I was told that people who passed by it (who hadn't met me) often inquired if I was "a person of color."  I do sorta look anything but Irish.  Here's the second version:

Oh, hai Tori!  It's been a hot minute!
Yes.  How are you?
I'm doing okay.  Hanging in there with the rest of my fellow Derangement Syndromettes.  And I know; I spelled asinine wrong.  It only has one "S."
I'm giving you a pass.  I think it should have two "s"s myself.  I mean, it does mean "resembling an ass."
Like an ass, as in the human glutei maximii?  Or ass as in an donkey; or is it burrow?
It's "burro": no "W."
Which one?
The animal...I think.  I guess both work. 
Speaking of asses; did you see Keanu's?
No.
We should ask the computer who has the nicest ass in the world.
Should we?
Yes!  Hey computer: who has the nicest ass in the world?  Oh, it's saying this Romanian gentleman named Andrei Andrei--
Who?
​This guy:

I couldn't find any actual pictures of his behind.
Life's tough.
I bet it was really tough in Romania under the Ceausescus.
I would imagine.
Well, you know what they say about the past...
It's prologue?
That too.
Okay. Gotta run.
Bye Tori.
Ciao.
I guess that concludes this blog.  And now it's back to our Christmas story!  Ciao bebes!

Please see the next blog for the next installment of: Cumming Home for Christmas.

CFR   5/29/25

That looks better than I remember.  I'll have to revisit.
Okay, let's review (and if you want to follow along from the beginning, please see my blog: The Hallmark Movie for the Restivus! from December, 2023.  The conclusion of each blog should tell you where to find the next one (hopefully); but here's a link to the first one:
www.christopherfreidy.com/blog/the-hallmark-christmas-movie-for-the-restivus

I actually need to review myself; that is, bring myself up to speed on my own story, because I kinda forget where I was with it.  But here goes:
Our teleplay follows the yuletide exploits of one Ms. Honoria Cummings.  Most people call her "Ri-ri" or just "Ri."  She's one of them, there "high powered" Businesswomen who works for a conglomerate in The Big City. JOHNSON INDUSTRIES is led by Ri's boss, Mr. Marlon Johnson.  It's a family business he's inherited.  He seems kind of indifferent to running it; but he's also kinda good at it, so he does.  Johnson Industries has all kinds of holdings.  A diverse portfolio, as they say.  One of those ventures is a chain of Christmas themed restaurants called Jolly Jingles.  Wildly popular in the 60's and 70's, Jolly Jingles declined in popularity and was eventually shuttered by the company.  But one last location held on, in Winooski Falls, Vermont.  Actually, it was kind of forgotten about.  It mysteriously "fell through the cracks" and continued doing business.  But it's an anomaly and Marlon wants it off the books; so he sends Honoria to Vermont to do the dirty work of axing the place and disemploying its staff.  
Luckily or unluckily, Honoria happens to be from Winooski Falls, where her dad is not only both the mayor and the sheriff; he also runs a holiday themed "motor in."  Along with her persnickety personal assistant, Jurgin; she climbs into Marlon's super-expensive self-driving Tesos car and heads to the chopping block.  I should also mention the movie starts out with a flashback with Honoria narrating.*  It seems she's gotten pregnant on her return trip home and there is more than one candidate for the father; including Marlon who she's been flirting with. 
That's the basics, thus far.  I'll post part of the last installment here:

​CUT TO:
EXT. -ALL HOLIDAY INN -EVENINGTIDE
The police cruiser pulls into the driveway of the inn, past a vintage Holiday Inn neon sign.  A large flashing neon "ALL" has been added above the "H" in Holiday.  The attched marquee reads: JOIN US FOR X-MAS WITH ST.S PAT AND NICK WITH THE TAYLOR SWIFTT EXPERIENCE / MARCH 17TH!
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE CRUISER - FURTHER EVENING
Ash drives with Ri in the passenger seat.  Jurgin, in the back, cranes his head and looks up at the marquee.
JURGIN
Taylor Swift spells her name with two "T"s?  News to me...
ASH
Oh, that's not the actual Taylor Swift!
JURGIN
No!
ASH
Yeah; no. But she's an incredible simulation!
CUT TO:
EXT. PARKING LOT - EVEN FURTHER EVENING
The cruiser pulls into a space in front of a door with a neon sign that says OFFICE.  The doors of the car open and Ash, Ri and Jurgin emerge from the vehicle.  Ri,  is clearly kind of in awe at the tumult of assorted holiday decorations from not just Christmas; but EVERYTHING (but mostly Christmas). She pirouettes as she takes the place in.  Honoria will heretofore be named as "Ri" from this point on.
RI
It's amazing...so...kitschy.  
JURGIN
You say that like it's not a good thing.
ASH
"Kitschy"?  You mean, like, "cozy"?
JURGIN
No, Sir.  She means like, "campy."
ASH
So, like, tents and campfires and The Boy Scouts?
JURGIN
Sure.  Let's go with that.
RI
Daddy's not "hip," Jurgin.
JURGIN
(To Ash)  Oh.  Sorry, Sir.
ASH
You can call me Chief Krumholtz.
JURGIN
I'd rather not.
ASH
How about, just "Chief"?
JURGIN
Yes, chef!
ASH
You're a funny guy.
JURGIN
I try!
ASH
Well, follow me!
He escorts them through the door of the office
INT. OFFICE -NIGHT
The office has a little lounge area and a check-in desk.  The whole vibe of the place is a kind of a retro-holiday, Populuxe-Googie type, deal-eee-oh, daddy-oh.  An old 50's TV, the sound off, has an old Rankin-Bass Christmas special on the screen.
JURGIN
So, Chief...you run this inn; you're the sherrif...what else do you do?  Cosmetology?  Theology?
ASH
Believe it or not, I had planned to be a rabbi but my life went down a different path.
JURGIN
I can see it.
RI
Where's mom?
ASH
I'm not sure.  And where's Stoney?
JURGIN
Who?
Ash taps the bell on the desk and and it TING-TINGS.  A rustling brings forth a MAN from somewhere in the back.  He's so tall he has to duck under the door frame.  This is STONEY PETERSON, 30's.  He lives up to his name and has the look of a 50's movie idol.  He's quiet, yet friendly; very Vermonty.
STONEY
Oh, hey-ya Chief!
RI
Stoney!
Stoney pushes his glasses down the bridge of his nose and tilts his head.
STONEY
Ri-ri?
RI
Yes, it's me!  I know, I look different.
STONEY
I'll say!  You got tall!
RI
Well, I'm wearing heels.
Jurgin thrusts out his hand to shake, as he spontatneously starts singing a tailored version of "Stoney End."
JURGIN
(SINGING)...Going down the stoney end, I always wanted to go down the stoney end...*
The other three look at him like he has three heads

Please see: CUMMING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS / PART 13
for next installment.

CFR   5/30/25

Do you have a "type"?  You know.  A particular set of attributes in another human being that gets you all hot and bothered.  Turned on.  Randy. Horny. Thirsty. All a-tingle? Etc. etc...

Now, as I'm attracted to men; I will be discussing the less fair sex, here.  For the most part.  In particular, Big Dumb Men; or: BDM as I'm just now coining the phrase.  Now, that also stands for "Business Development Manager" and I think that works here.  Because I don't know about you, but I'm always trying to figure out ways to develop a little business with a Big Dumb Man.  Am I right people!  Now don't get me wrong.  I am not attracted only to Big Dumb Men.  As a matter of fact, I have an extremely wide range of "types" I find attractive; which is a curse and a blessing.  The curse part, not least of which, includes Maximum Facilitation of Sluttiness.*  But for our purposes here, we will be focusing on The Big Dumb Man.
And now, I'd like to nominate someone for the positon of All Time Greatest Big Dumb Man: Ladies and gentlefolks of all walks, I give you: MR. JACK CARSON!

But here's the thing.  The Big Dumb Man (or "Guy" if you prefer; and I might add "Dude" but dudeism is kind of a whole other thing.  It implies a certain degree of "cool."  A Big Dumb Man is not "cool." In fact, he borders on dork) isn't necessarily "dumb."  More often than not, they're quite smart.  Jack Carson is perhaps best remembered as "Wally" in 1945's Mildred Pierce.  Joan Crawford is of course, the title character.  Wally is a "family friend."  He's constantly hitting on Mildred and she's constantly putting him off.  She's estranged from her hot-headed, ill-tempered husband and in love with "Monty," a wealthy playboy who's a total milksop, if you ask me. If not a milquetoast.  Let's take a look!

Is she out of her mind?  He'd have me out of my robe faster than you can say...oh, say..."say"!  He's so charming and sexy.  And you just know he's great in bed.  So, like, what's her problem?  
Christopher Reeve as "Clark Kent" is a great example of a Big Dumb Guy; that is, if he wasn't also Superman.  But he's got the look.  It's a kind of 50's EVERYMAN thing.  They tend to wear boxy suits and neck-ties (often bowties).  Glasses, although not a must; are a definite plus: for that puppyish squint when they take them off.  So Reeve is perfect at acting the part; but we all know Chris Reeve was anything but a geek.  He could play it; but a true Big Dumb Man really has to be it.  But let's watch him play it.  And if the new version of the reboot of the original 1978 movie has even an eighth of the chemistry these two had, I know I'll be happy!

I briefly "dated" a Big Dumb Man in the 80's.  His name was "Bruce," if you can believe it (actually, I couldn't believe it at the time).  He might come a close second to Jack Carson for All Time Greatest BDM.  I have pictures of him; but he's quite a shy and retiring person; so to protect his privacy, I won't post the pictures.  But I can give you a near perfect facsimilie:

You may recognize actor Rich Sommer, perhaps best known for playing "Harry" on Mad Men.  Not only could he be Bruce's brother lookswise; he has the same stature and build and even affect.  Maybe Mr. Sommer is the better choice for exemplar.

I did a search for "Rich Sommer shirtless" and sure enough, there he was:

Which brings us to the physicality of the Big Dumb Man.  They need to be "big"; that is to say, tall.  At least 6 feet.  Bulky.  Expansive.  Wide shoulders.  Tree trunk like torsos.  But not overweight for their frame.  Big hands and feet.  Large, moony, rubbery faces.  Handsomeness that doesn't hit you over the head. It's there from the start but it grows on you until you realize how truly handsome they are.  They usually have full, luxuriant heads of hair (a bald man can be a Big Dumb Man, but it's a distinct and separate thing); and they keep their hair styled, generally in a very old school way, e.g.:

The entire 50's aspect of them is not a calculated thing.  It just is.  Because they usually have a kind of 1950s mindset. Midline conservative.  Kind of status quo.  As far as when they take their clothes off...well, I direct you to the picture of Mr. Sommer, sans shirt.  Again: exemplary.  Solid but never "ripped" or "shredded."  Just a touch on the doughy side, usually; but here that is a bonus. It merely adds to the adorable factor.  They take the "Dad Bod" to the outer envelope; but never go past it.  A Big Dumb Man can go to the gym, of course; but if he starts to get too developed, he loses his Big Dumb Man bonafides.  A Big Dumb Man can't be too overtly "hot."  You might say he needs to be lukewarm at all times; but that could turn into a kind of spontaneous combustion in the right circumstances.  For example, you might think Jason Momoa would qualify as a Big Dumb Man:

He's certainly BIG and tall and built the right way; but he's all wrong.  He's certainly an incredibly attractive man; but he's not a Big Dumb Man.  He's too effusive in every way.  He's brash, loud and outgoing.  He's got a long mane of hair.  He can attain ultra levels of muscular "rip," and often does.  He's got a beard (Big Dumb Men almost never have facial hair) and he's got tattoos.  And he keeps getting more.  Big Dumb Men don't do tattoos.  If they do, it's probably because they were in the military and got their branches emblem (smallest version) put discreetly somewhere on their arm; never below the wrist (however, there are exceptions).  Also, Jason is half native Hawaiian; which brings us to race.  Can a Big Dumb Man be anything other than Caucasian?  Although they tend to be as white as Mayflowers, the Big Dumb Man can...YES...be of any stripe of the Rainbow Coalition!  Let's look at some examples, shall we?
Black Big Dumb Man:

Hispanic Big Dumb Man:

Native American Big Dumb Man:

Pacific Island Big Dumb Man:

Asian Big Dumb Man: 

But what about, say, from particular countries; not known for the large physical stature of their men?  Again, I would say yes.  They can be found; but you have to look a bit harder and give more leeway.  For example:
FRANCE Big Dumb Man:

PHILIPPINES (ADJACENT) Big Dumb Man:

IRELAND: Big Dumb Man

IRAN: Big Dumb Man:

The above is Mr. Kayvan Novak, actor, who is most decidedly my favorite new Big Dumb Man.  You probably know him as Nandor the Relentless (vampire) on What We Do in the Shadows (TV version).  The man is hilarious and smoking hot (Sagittarius!) and really points up the erotic appeal of the Big Dumb Guy when he does "undraped" scenes, which he does, quite a bit; luckily for us:

Even when he was at the peak of his physicality, there was still a softness.  This, I think, points up the non-threatening aspect of The Big Dumb Man:

Yes, Mr. Novak has a great sense of humor.  Most Big Dumb Men do and it's a huge part of their appeal.  But what about the "dumb" part.  I said earlier that The Big Dumb Man is quite often and usually is, extremely intelligent.  So, why call them "dumb"?
The "dumb" part isn't so much about how smart they are.  It's about the way they navigate the world.  They're sort of oblivious to the world around them; dumb to it.  The world exists insofar as how it reacts to them.  They are the centers of their own worlds.  Self-centered but not necessarily selfish.  They sort of can't see past the end of their own nose.  Now, I can't speak to all of them.  I'm mostly extrapolating from my experiences with Bruce and a few others; and this doesn't mean that they can't be kind, nice people.  They just seem to think, I think, that the world really does revolve around them without thinking about it.  I'll give you an example.  When I was seeing Bruce, we had seveal dates and we had great chemistry.  It was the 80's, however and a lot of our interaction involved "having a good time."  I don't think I need to explain.  But I really liked him and wanted to go further.  And then one day, I didn't hear from him.  In fact, I think we had plans--a date--and there was no confirmation phone call.  He disappeared.  Utterly stood me up.  Well, what he did was "ghost" me before "ghosting" was really a thing; or called that, anyways  I wasn't crushed or anything.  Miffed and disappointed; but I was already figuring out The Big Dumb Guy personality and how they operated.  Fast forward a month or so and I was asked to bartend at an event at Boston City Hall.  It was the first time I'd ever been inside that monstrosity.  Speaking of Big Dumb Things:

The one city that needed Brutalist architecture like it needed more clams. I forget what the event was; but Bruce was involved in it, in some organizational capacity.  Sure enough, he was there.  He was hard to miss, three heads above the rest of the crowd in his dark suit and Mad Men eyeglasses.  So at one point an hour or so into the event, he strided up to me with a big smile on his face.  "Hi!" he beamed, as though there was absolutely nothing wrong.  He really did look like Rex Morgan, M.D. or Clark Kent or Carl Betz who played Donna Reed's husband on TV.

"Hey, Bruce..."  I replied.  He just kept smiling at me.  Did he think I'd simply forgotten about the pre-ghosting, ghosting?  "Bruce," I said.  "Come on..."  "Well," he said, "I met someone who really likes to take care of me."  "Like, your house?" I asked.  "Yeah, he cooks and cleans.  He's the best!"
And you know, I just coudn't be mad at him.  He'd found a wife.  I don't think it lasted long though.  To Bruce it was just the most natural and logical thing.  "Oh, a better option came along.  I knew you'd understand."  And, in a way, he wasn't wrong.
Now, you're probably wondering if I have a "hot take" on the "Big" part (so to speak) of the Big Dumb Man.  That is to say, the typical "member" of the Big Dumb Man.  Now, I am sure there are exceptions to this, either way; but in my experience, the Little Big Dumb Man of the Big Dumb Man is generally in exact proportion to his frame.  But Chris, you're talking about "big" men.  So they must be big "down there"; right?  And the answer is: define "big."  All I can say is that the typical member of The Big Dumb Man is perfectly suited to the man it is attached to.  No more.  No less.  And they are not hung up about it, either.  In a way, their penis is "them" and it's attached to them and they are the penis.  So in a way, they are a really giant penis.  In a suit.  They can't get any bigger, which is why they are completely at ease in their own skin (so to speak); even if their actual penis is not particularly huge.  I think this makes a weird kind of sense.  And in my experience the Little Big Dumb Man is usually quite pleasant.  Aesthetically pleasing.  Pleasing to the eye.  Pretty even.  It too is non-threatening.  Imagine the most perfect and beautiful penis you've ever seen and The Big Dumb Man is going to possess it. 
Now, Jon Hamm is too handsome to be a Big Dumb Guy (Man) and he's not quite bulky enough; but he comes close and he gives off the vibe (perhaps a bit too much).  Some more Big Dumb Guys (Men):

I think the connecting thread here; the commonality of all Big Dumb Men, is good naturedness.  They're easygoing.  Charming.  Friendly.  Wry. Confident but not cocky; with just a hint of neurosis. Fun to be around.  For me, it's the factor that makes their flaws forgivable.  Sure they can be scamps.  Scallywags. Bounders.  Cads, sometimes...but they don't mean to be.  It's just they way they're built.
And they know you'll understand.

*My sluttiness nowadays is mostly in my mind.  I'm a happily married man.   

CFR   5/14/25

Remember that kid's book we all read at some point in our childhood?  The one about a house that "lives" in the country and then the city grows up around it?  I was thinking about that when I came across this story.  I did a search with a vague rememberance of the book.  I typed in: "book about a little house that city grows around."  Sure enough, the book popped right up.  And naturally it's called The Little House.

I was noodling around the web, thinking about ideas for a blog that didn't involve perceived/imagined IP appropriation; and thought I'd do another one about Reidys.  I've done two or three in the last couple of years and I think they're kind of fun.  I just do random searches for people with the surname "Reidy" (and sometimes it's a first name) and when a Reidy catches my eye (or eyebrow; it seems to be the definitive connecting principle of people with the name).  So, on one of these quests, it brought me to "Reidy's Pub" in midtown Manhattan.  On 54th street, no less: thoroughfare of that famed and fantasized nightclub of yore: Studio 54!
Apparently, Reidy's pub was the little pub that could.  My understanding is that the pub was originally in a brownstone and when developers wanted to put up a highrise, Reidy's stood steadfast; held out; and the builders had no choice to work around them; as you can see in the top photo.  I guess it was Reidy's Pub until about 2016 when the last Reidy retired.  Apparently it's now a French bistro called Papillon:

Here is the only "back in the day" photo of it I could find.  I think it says Reidy's on the awning. The highrise doesn't look finished yet!  It's dated: April 1982.

I can't tell you how thrilling I find this.  Well, I can.  I'm telling you now.  And I'm a little sad that I can't go to Reidy's Pub. And I'm also gladdened that I can go to Papillon.  That the space still exists. I mean, come on.  How freakin' cool is that?  It's really the little storybook come to life.  And it was a Reidy establishment.  And it was on the street of Studio 54.  When I was a kid I was fascinated by Studio 54.  I'm not kidding.  I WANTED TO GO!  I was eleven when it opened.  That these places are on the same street is kind of amazing to me.  It's like some strange fantasy came true for me in some alternate Universe.  I mean, in some way, I'd have to be related to those Reidys, right?  The New Yorker magazine had an article about Reidy's.  By Calvin Trillin, no less.  A Sagittarius and a "Journalist and humorist."  This just keeps getting better and better.  Calvin and my dad are basically the same age.  My dad was born in April, so he was 46 when that picture of Reidy's was taken.  So he was like 13 years younger then than I am now.  Wow, the time-space continuum really starts to get, like, super spacey as you get older.  It seems to simultaneously speed up and slow down.  Weird! 
Calvin and Christopher, are, of course, names beginning with the letter "C." Speaking of names that begin with the letter "C": Conan.  As in "Conan O'Brien."  Mr. O'Brien is again entagled in my, oh, what to call it?  Information stream?  I like that.  Conan's in my stream.  I mean, take a look at this:

Like why?  What do you even call that box?  Why is Conan in my stream?  I mean, if Conan likes my stream, he's welcome to hang out in it.  I understand he needs friends.  I mean, if he can just drop everything and go gallivanting off to Spain with Javier Bardem, how many friends does he really need?  And speaking of Javier Bardem...I'd like to hang out in his stream...if you catch my drift...here's Sr. Bardem in a really roiling stream:

Conan's middle name is "Christopher."  I wonder if, like me, back in the day he had trouble finding those personalized mini-liscense plates that were in every gift shop on the planet in the 70's.  No, wait.  I know he did.  If I had trouble finding "CHRISTOPHER," which was never; or "CHRIS", which was sometimes; but always with a "K"; then there was no way in nine-hundred hells he ever found "CONAN."  

​There is a gentleman traversing this Earth named "Conan Reidy."  He popped up once in one of my searches.  For Reidys.  Not Conans.

WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS MR. CONAN REIDY?!!?
Well, do a search and you can find out lots about him.  He's also a MASSHOLE.  From Medford.  He's one of them, there corporate type fellows.  Here he is in action:

Wow!  Dude is thick!  And check out the size of those paws!  He is giving off some Conasty-Reidyumminess!  Okay, I'll stop.  
But seriously, Conan.  Ah, O'Brien.  If you really do need friends; I think the next time we're both in the Greater Boston area, we should totes meet for lunch with Mr. Reidy.  Ah, Conan.  Reidy.  Errr...that would be the three of us.  Me, Christopher Reidy.  You, Conan O'Brien.  And Mr. Conan Reidy.  We could speak of not speaking to corporate development.  Or community theater.  Or, oh, I don't know...how about Javier Bardem.  Let's invite him and we could all go to say...oh, I don't know...how about Kowloon's in Saugus?  

And Conan, if you're concerned that Kowloon's isn't quite fabulous enough for a celeb of your status; not to worry.  Kowloon's has had it's fair share of A-listers, I can assure you (NODS HEAD KNOWINGLY):

I was wondering Conan, if our paths ever crossed in ole' Beantown.  I was a frosh at B.U. when you were a senior at Harvard.  It's possible.  I knew this dude from Harvard around that time.  He was really tall and had curly, curly hair and wore glasses.  He was also super-slender.  And one of his points of pride was that he had directed a theatrical production of  Peer Gynt in a swimming pool.  Wouldn't that be wild if you knew him?!!?
So, I'll leave you all with some more info about Mr. Trillin and a link to Kowloon's "Celeb Gallery."  
Ciao for now!
All my love,
​Chris

​www.kowloonrestaurant.com/gallery