Paul's Life

Dead and gone.

paulnathan — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 21:23:13 GMT

It’s been a while since I have posted a blog. I’ve been a bit depressed and thoroughly uninspired. My father passed away two months ago and it was a bit of a blow. Not unexpected but painful and more difficult than expected. There was no big realization that my dad was gone, no long list of regrets, or things left unsaid. Just a certain ennui and a sense of loss. I’ve been trying not to fight it, trying to experience the loss and honor the memories I have of my dad. This past Sunday was father’s day and I spent a good part of it thinking about dad. I left the country shortly after it happened so there was not a lot of time to connect with anyone. Being in Germany I've been very isolated, the language is a big barrier and being far from friends and family has made this very much a solitary mourning process. It has given me a chance to focus on his memory and the mourning process. Losing a close friend you often deal with the loss that the people around you are experiencing. You are supportive because you know they are in pain. Focusing on the relationships we have with the living sort of takes the edge off our own pain. This always meant that I never had to face a loss alone and undistracted. I don’t want to sound like I am in trouble here. I’m not. My father passed as well as anyone could want. We had plenty of time to say goodbye. In many ways it was as good a death as one could hope for. It’s just that with no distractions it has been in sharp relief for the past few months. My relationship with my father was a simple one. He was my dad. A lot of people become friends with their parents when they grow up. That was not the case for us. We were never friends.Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad. I think he was about the coolest guy I know, but we just never had a relationship that I think of as being either equal or like buddies. He was my father, I was his son. I loved my father. He was a quiet example of what a father should be. Loving and supportive, it was obvious that he loved being a dad. We had a big family. Five kids in six years. It could not have been easy for my parents. We were not rich but our family never wanted. My brothers and sister were my best friends growing up. My mother and father were both born in San Francisco as was I and the rest of my family. When I was 9 we moved to Reno, Nevada then two years later to a small farm town called Sycamore, Illinois. We moved because the schools were good and my parents wanted us to live in a place where we could run around without fear of being abducted, or beaten up by gangs, or exposed to drugs (most of which ended up happening anyway). My parents gave up their life in San Francisco, their friends, and family all to give us kids a better life. My father only complained once. It was in the winter of 79. For six months it never got above freezing, for half a year there was snow on the ground. We moved back to California the following year. My father never said an unkind word to anyone, lost his temper in front of me, yelled at us, or cursed in our presence though certainly the five of us kids gave him plenty of reasons to. He always told all of us we could do anything and encouraged us to follow our dreams and be happy. He was not perfect by any means but he was about as close to it as I could have wanted. I’ve known that my dad was going to die soon. In many ways I have been expecting this and dreading it for years. I can not count the times that I heard my phone ring late at night and expected it to be my mother telling me my father had passed. Each time the caller ID rang with a number from their area code I expected the worst. It’s dominated my psyche for years now so in some ways it’s a relief knowing it’s over, in other ways it is painful and I miss being able to share my life with him. For the past ten years he had been battling diabetes. He’d been on dialysis three days a week. It was a long slow decline that was painful for him and painful to watch. Yet I never once heard him complain. Knowing that he was dying and being able to do nothing about it was hard for him and for my family, but it is part of life and his good attitude carried us all through with dignity. My mother is a hero for taking care of him every day and every night but then she always did have his back. I’ve told this story a couple of times but it’s one of my favorite experiences with my father. I was about fifteen. I was with my friend, Ben Murphy. We had told my parents that we’d meet them at a pizza parlor. We arrived just before them. A couple of wanna be biker jerks were standing in line behind us when my parents walked in. One of these guys started hassling Ben and I. My father tapped him on the shoulder and calmly asked him if he wanted to step outside. I freaked. I have never seen my dad raise his voice let alone get into a fight. My dad was a big man six six, two hundred eighty pounds. He was strong, but he was no fighter. This guy looks at my dad and says “lets go.” I watched as my mom sidled over to one of the tables and casually picked up a big metal napkin holder with sharp corners. Who are these people? No one else noticed my mom do this. She seemed like a nice quiet lady. But there were three of these punks and my mom has an Irish temper. Most of all, she had my dads back. I was locked in place. My whole reality was undone by this behavior, so antithetic to the people I knew. My dad strolls to the door opens it up for the biker. The punk steps through. My father calmly shuts the door behind him, then turns and says laughingly “I’ve always wanted to do that.” The whole restaurant is in tears laughing. The biker comes back in but now everyone is laughing and he is so embarrassed that he and his friends skulk out. I said goodbye to my father a week before he passed. I flew out to see him, held his hand, told him I loved him, and told him a joke. It’s so hard to say goodbye like that. I didn’t know he was going to die. I really thought he would live. The doctors had just put a new heart into him and he had survived the surgery. He was weak but I thought he would get better. I thought we would have more time. In a situation like that you don’t say goodbye to someone with finality. A deep, heartfelt goodbye does not convey the kind of optimism that someone who is recovering from open heart surgery needs. I flew to Guam two days later to be with my girlfriend. I promised her I would turn off my computer and spend a week with her in paradise with no interruptions. It was hard. My mother called in the middle of the trip to let me know that things had taken a turn for the worse. My mom is not prone to dramatics so when she called I took it seriously. I flew home from Guam and made arrangements to fly out to see my family. At the end I couldn’t speak to my father. They had intubated him and he was unconscious. My mother called me and told me they would take my father off of life support in the morning. I told her I loved her and asked if she wanted to talk about it. She told me that she and my father had agreed long ago that we children would not be involved in any decision like this. They didn’t want us to have to live with that kind of a burden. My father passed that Thursday morning. He was surrounded by his wife of fifty years, two of his sons, and his daughter in law. When they took the tube out of his throat he said “thank god”. My mother asked him if he wanted to say anything. He said “Celebrate” then he went to sleep. I was all good with his passing. I was fine with everything until I got here to Germany. My father had been stationed here when he was in the service. He told me stories about going to Berlin, and exploring the country on his time off so my travels here are something I have enjoyed sharing with him. When I got here to do my show this year the director set us up for our finale number. The song is Celebrate. So every night as I close my show I walk on stage and hear my father’s last words, I hear the song that we played at his memorial service. Some nights I am inspired and think that I should spend the rest of my life celebrating, life, and love, and the wonders of this world. Some nights I call my mother and tell her I love her. Some nights I just miss my father. Like now. This coming week I will spread some of my father’s ashes at the Jewish Cemetery in Berlin. I think he would have liked that.

Floating out to sea.

paulnathan — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 20:37:29 GMT

Last week my girlfriend flew me out to the tiny island of Guam. It was the best present ever. I love presents. To be more precise I love good presents. I hate bad presents. I would rather not receive a thoughtless gift. The problem is that I cherish gifts. So if someone gives me something silly or thoughtless I end up stuck with it because it came from someone I love. I once broke up with a girl because she gave me popcorn as a Christmas present. That's true. I don't really expect nice presents but if you are my girlfriend and you are going to give me something for Christmas - Popcorn - really. She is gone but I still have the popcorn. I think of her every time I see it. Presents matter. A present is a physical manifestation of our consideration for one another. A great present does not have to be expensive, it doesn't have to cost anything, it just has to be thoughtful. Some token that says... I know who you are and I am thinking of you. Ok. For some of us that means expensive, not for me. A girlfriend of mine once gave me a sterling silver, jewel encrusted magic wand. That was a great gift, not because it was valuable but because it was thoughtful. A friend of mine couldn't find a magic book she wanted to give me so she borrowed a copy from a private collection and photocopied the entire book, then hand colored all the pictures. Gross copyright infringement but a great present. Brittany knows I love to travel and that I love to dive. So this was the perfect gift. Travel, scuba, sex and cuddles. A friend of mine just lost his house in a fire. All he escaped with was his lap top. It got us thinking... What would you grab in a fire. What would you take? What would you miss? What matters to you? People have asked me that before but I never really considered it. Not really. I could live without or replace everything I own. The things that matter most to me are just reminders of people or places. In the end what matters to me are the stories, the adventures and the people I share them with. Presents are just reminders of these things. Last week my Girlfriend gave me one of the most thoughtful presents I have ever received. A vacation. Some new stories that we shared together. She is working in Guam right now. We spend our nights together via skype but we miss sleeping next to each other. So she flew me out to provide stud service and cuddles. She took care of everything. For a week I didn't have to make a decision or think about work. All I had to do was service her and relax. My little mow was the most wonderful GF. She took me scuba diving during the day and dancing at night. We went to the falls and on a tour of every club on the island. My favorite was Club Texas, a filthy cesspool of sleaze and depravity. The dancer on stage was well into her fifties but if you kept your eyes below the C-Section scars she she didn't look a day over forty. Sitting with Brittany at the tip rail watching the show I looked to my left and there was a creepy man with the most bizarre drinking habit I have ever witnessed. On the bar in front of him was a shot of Jack, a glass of beer, a bottle of water, and a carton of milk. He would hit the Jack, chase it with a sip of beer and then slurp milk up through the straw. Three feet to our right an aging buy me drinky girl was putting the finishing touch on a happy ending massage. I swear this was all happening right at the tip rail on the main stage. Not in some dark corner booth. As we left the club Shemale sing song girls (they don't actually sing) plied their trade in the parking lot out back. Club Texas is my favorite. I actually like the club way better than the state, though I do need a shower after leaving either. We visited Tanfofo Falls which was beautiful. There is a frightening gondola that takes you to the falls. Near the falls is a cave where a Japanese soldier lived for 28 years after the war. He knew that Guam had been captured by the Americans but did not know the war had ended. He is hailed as a hero in Japan. Imagine living alone in the jungle for 28 years. Brittany knows that I love Scuba Diving so she overcame her fear of water and got Certified last year. She spent the week before I came out taking refresher courses and finding out about local dive spots then she took me to some of her favorite spots. We went snorkeling at Gab Gab and Diving around the island. We even went for a night dive. Diving at night is the most beautiful and surreal experience. It's magical. When you turn your flash light off you are in total darkness. Then you wave your hand and the whole world lights up from the phosphorescence. It's like a million tiny fire flies dancing in the water. We got separated from the rest of the divers. Then we got lost trying to find them. I knew we were in trouble when the ocean floor dropped out from under us. We had been in shallow water. The boat was anchored at seventeen feet. We wanted to go a bit deeper so we found a valley and followed that until we hit about twenty five feet but the current kept pushing us further out. We didn't realize it. The current was very subtle and sneaky. Before we knew it we were sixty feet of water and the floor was falling off fast. Worse the current was pushing us farther and farther out into deeper water. As the water got deeper the current got stronger. I realized we were in trouble so I signaled to Brittany for us to go up to the surface. I had hoped to get my bearings and then drop back down and make a nice leisurely swim back to the boat. When we surfaced the boat was no where in sight. It was one of the most frightening moments of my life. The current was pushing us hard out to sea and there was just no sign of anyone around us. I was trying to decide what to do when I finally saw a light off in the distance that I thought might be the boat. It had to have been three hundred yards from us. Even when I pointed it out to Brittany she didn't see it. We started to swim towards the light but we were pushing against the current and against the wind. At first it seemed like we were losing against the tide then we pushed harder and after about ten minutes of hard kicking the light was a little bit closer. Ten more minutes and we could make out the shape of the boat in the darkness. We found out later that they had radioed in to search and rescue warning them that we might be lost and letting them know that if we didn't show up soon they would need to come looking for us. It took forever but we finally made it to the boat. The current lessened as we got into shallow water and the swimming got easier. My legs were numb by the time I got into the boat. My head was swimming and I think I passed out for a moment. I think the only thing that kept me conscious was thinking about Britt. I knew she would flip if I keeled over so I just took slow deep breaths and tried to keep the gray from closing in on me. I have had some close calls in my life. But Scuba is by far the most dangerous thing that I do. It is so peaceful so simple but everything goes from lovely to deadly in just a moment and doing what seems most natural is the thing that will kill you quickest. Very treacherous. The day before our dive a Japanese girl had passed out at sixty feet. She drifted down to a hundred and seventy feet. Her buddy swam down after her. At that depth you can't see more than a few feet. It's all dark but he found her and inflated her vest. She popped up to the surface but that ride up nearly killed her. She spent the next week in a decompression chamber. It's so simple, so peaceful, that it's easy to forget how dangerous it is and that is when things go horribly wrong. Our time together was magical. I wouldn't trade that for anything. We spent the next two days and nights together in relative calm, just cuddling, and remembering each other. It will be months before I hold her again.

Gone for a month and all hell breaks lose.

paulnathan — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 16:11:02 GMT

I leave town for a month and all hell breaks lose. An SUV crashed into my theater this week. Actually the theater is on the second floor. We just finished putting in a new stage, painting the place and generally making it all nice in the Climate Theater. Then Thursday morning someone ran into the music shop downstairs. Fortunately no one was hurt and the theater is fine but I a phone call and this picture emailed to me about five minutes before I went on stage here in Germany. You can see the entry way and the sign for my theater on the right. I'm thinking fundraiser. Here is the link to the story: http://sfist.com/2008/07/31/hitandrun_driver_crashes_into_sam_a.php

Drinking Bootleg Absinthe in Switzerland.

paulnathan — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 03:02:43 GMT

Absinthe was invented in Couvet Switzerland around 1790 by Dr. Pier Ordinaire. It was invented as a medicinal tonic. Shortly after his death the recipe was purchased by Major Dubied. Dubied and his son in law named Pernod built a small still and began making absinth as a beverage. All of this happened in Couvet, a tiny little village in the Val De Travers about ten miles from the border of France. For years I had heard about Couvet. I should have stopped in there in the spring when I went to Pontarlier. But it was cold and windy (read Blizzard) in the mountains. The Val De Travers happens to be the coldest place in Europe and the mountain roads are small, windy, and no place to be in the winter. Summer though is a different story. The fields are beautiful, the mountains, lakes, and streams are all magical like something out of a fairytale. I'm putting up some pictures. This town rates a 9.4 on the Unkle Paul cuteness scale. The only thing that kept them from a perfect ten was that the inhabitants refused to wear traditional dirndls and lederhosen except during holidays. Enough about cute. I was there for the absinthe and I found it in abundance. There are twelve legal distilleries in the Valley and about a dozen more bootleg stills. I'm going to post a lot more about this trip on www.absintheology.com so for you absinthe fanatics out there I'll have some video and a bunch of pix. Even if your not into absinthe there is one cool story that I have to tell. I was having breakfast in my hotel and trying to talk to the waitress. Everyone in the region speaks French (not German like the rest of Switzerland) and I was having a lot of trouble ordering. A woman at the next table heard me speaking English and started a conversation. I told her that I was in Couvet for the absinthe and she said... "oh my friend here has a still, would you like to see it." He began making faces at her and signaling for her to stop spilling the beans. It turns out that he has an illegal still in a small shed out behind his house. I jumped at the chance before he could back out. Here is a picture of the pharmacy. It belonged to this guy's family starting with his great grand father (or grand father - it was hard for me to understand - neither of them spoke great English and my French is nonexistent). Anyway... It was cool for me because absinthe started out as a medicine - a healing tonic and here was a guy with a real old time pharmacy who makes absinthe in a small still out back. This place is magic.

Blizzard in the Alps.

paulnathan — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 01:35:47 GMT

We are stuck in the French Alps in the middle of a terrible blizzard. I may have to eat one of my friends. It’s a terrible choice to have to make... which of your friends to eat first. It’s worse knowing that right now they are thinking the same thing about you. It was a simple plan… Not really a plan actually… A plan implies planning and that would have precluded the present situation, I will say instead that it was a simple idea. Fly into Milan with my cameraman, meet our interpreter, then drive to Pontarlier, the birthplace of absinthe. It was so simple that I didn’t really look at the map. Not really. If we make it out of here alive and uneaten I’ll post some lovely video of the Italian and Swiss Alps. You will immediately notice the snow and perhaps think, “wow! Someone could get stuck in that snow and have to eat someone else”. But that’s how it is when you are in the middle of a situation; you sometimes lack the clarity of perspective. I suppose I should tell you a bit about my friends. One of them is my long time friend and traveling companion Eric Masters. He agreed to come along and run camera on this fools errand. The other is Sherry O. Sherry is an artist who flew to Milan to act as my interpreter. Eric is bigger and has more meat but Sherry is probably more tender and won’t put up as much of a fight. Eric and I flew into Milan from Düsseldorf. We met Sherry under the fountain at the train station and headed for Pontarlier. Pontarlier is easy to find using google earth. You just type it in and you fly instantly to that point on the screen. Finding it on a map proved to be a bit more difficult; actually driving there through the Alps is proving to be a long and arduous task. Sherry whipped out the biggest map I have ever seen in my life. It was longer than the car and taller than her. We finally found Pontarlier and decided that the fastest route would be through the Italian Alps, under the Grand Tunnel Saint Bernard, into the French Alps and voila. We arrive in town and immediately run into the old Pernot Fils factory. It’s now owned by Nestle. They make strawberry and Chocolate quick for export to the UK here. As you drive into town the smell of chocolate is overwhelming. The whole place smells like a nice warm glass of hot cocoa. I have looked online and cannot find the absinthe distilleries anywhere. They just don’t have websites like we do in the states. No address. No phone number. All I have to go by is the labels that say product of Pontarlier France. Pontarlier is the birthplace of absinthe… Sort of… Various recipes for absinthe had been kicking around the region for generations. Local healers used it for everything from Menstrual cramps to purgative. In the late 1700s Dr. Pierre Ordinaire sold the recipe for absinthe to the Pernot family who begin making it in the town of Couvet Switzerland. He started out making about 30 liters at a time. In 1805 Msr. Pernot moved across the border to France to avoid paying the heavy French import tax and the rest is history. By 1908 the Pernot Factory was producing 25,000 liters a day. By 1925 there where four absinthe Distilleries in Pontarlier producing a combined total of over 100,000 liters a day. At the time that absinthe was banned in France in 1914 there were 22 distilleries in Pontarlier and two more just outside of town. There are only two distilleries left in town. They both make absinthe as well as Brandy, Anise Liquor, and a local specialty called Sapin. Sapin is made by distilling down pinesap; it tastes like licking a pine tree. Pontarlier is not a big town but we have no idea where to go. I pull over a cop and ask. The police say “Follow Us” (only they say it in French). A mile and a half later we arrive unannounced at the Distilleries Françoise Guy with a police escort. If you are interested in seeing how Absinthe is made I will have a video up in a couple of days that takes you through the process, but basically it goes like this… A variety of herbs are put into a vat. These include locally grown Wormwood and Anise from Spain along with a few others that they wouldn’t talk about (secret recipe). These are put into a big copper vat, which is filled with 98 percent alcohol. They put a lid on top of this and heat it up until the alcohol evaporates. When the alcohol evaporates it takes the essential oils from the plants with it. All of this travels through a short copper pipe into a cooling coil where it condenses and becomes absinthe. The stills here are over a hundred years old. Made of brass and copper they look like something out of a museum. Called alembic stills, they have been producing liquor for a hundred and 118 years. François Guy first used them to make absinthe in 1890. After the ban they were used only for brandy. When the ban was lifted Guy’s great grandson broke out the old recipe and started making absinthe again. The smell is spectacular… When you walk in to the room it transports you from the city in winter to a spring mountainside. There is nothing in the world like that smell. We spent about an hour taking a tour of the distilleries. They kept giving us samples. Sherry got too drunk to interpret, Eric got to drunk to shoot and we all got too drunk to drive. By the end of the tour it was hard to understand what they were talking about because Sherry keeps breaking into song and Eric further impedes the translation process by muttering to himself then laughing out loud. If the distillery manager had any illusions about the seriousness of our intentions they have now been dashed. We have been warned by the staff that there is a storm coming in to the mountains. “Stay here” they say (except they say it in French) but I don’t think they mean stay with them. I think they mean we should haul our drunken asses to a cheap hotel and sleep it off. We roll out of the Distillery Guy and head for the only other distillery left in town. Distillery Emile Pernot, where they make Un Emile and Denisette among others. We met François Trenent, the owner. He bought the factory three years ago from Emille Pernot. Msr Trenent takes pity on us and shows us around. He pours us more drinks, pats us on the head and sends us out into the snow to fend for ourselves. Absinthe is classified as a spirit not liquor because it has no sugar added during the distillation process. It is also classified as an aperitif because it is supposed to be consumed before a meal to improve the appetite (as opposed to a digestive, which would be for after a meal). Speaking of which… I am getting a bit hungry. Sherry is passed out in the back seat. I don’t think she would notice if I just took a nibble off of her leg. Then when she wakes up later I could blame Eric… I think she would believe me. It’s good to have a plan. Next stop Venice – if we make it out of here alive.

Cartography, Hourology - This is a boring blog.

paulnathan — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 14:39:31 GMT

Peter and I spent yesterday at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich (pronounced Gren-itch). The royal observatory is where time starts and ends, it is the center of the world. It is the most important place on earth. Of course Peter and I keep getting weird looks from the staff. Why does everyone think we are a couple. It may be my giant white fuzzy pimp coat. Be advised... This blog isn't very funny and may not be interesting unless, like me, you are into the history of math and cartography. By the early 1500s travel to and from the new world was a constant for most of the western world. Spain, England, France, even Portugal and Germany had holdings into he new world. Shipping with the far east was a big part of commerce and the slave trade in Africa made up a big part of the economies of most of the western European countries. Unfortunately no one knew where they were. Not if they were on board a ship that is... By the middle of the 1500s any competent sea captain could find his latitude using the instruments of his time, that is to say he could determine with great accuracy how far North or South of the Equator he was. Finding out how far East or West he was at any given time proved to be a huge problem. After a merchant fleet of British ships crashed off the coast of Sicily killing over a thousand British sons the crown put up a reward of 20,000 pounds to anyone who could reliably solve the Longitude problem. The equivalent of several million dollars in today's market. This prize attracted a lot of solutions. My favorite was a ring of barges circling the entire world sending up flairs to let sailors know where they are. It turns out that the two best solutions to this problem were both proposed at about the same time. One solution involved a precise listing of exactly where various celestial bodies where on any given night. Sir John Flamsteed spent forty years of his life at the Royal Observatory creating just such a cart (Edmond Haley - of Haley's comet did the same thing on the southern hemisphere). It turns out that if you use this chart with good instruments, the right training and calm seas you can find your location to within a few miles. Because the charts were all done from the Royal Observatory in Greenwich it became the place from which everywhere else was measured, 0.00.00 Longitude, the Prime Meridian. But a more economical way of determining where you are is by knowing precisely what time it is where you are and precisely what time it is somewhere else. Using simple geometry you can then determine exactly how many hours, minutes and seconds difference you are from that location. The North South vertices of our planet are divided up into 24 meridians or longitudinal lines. Each about a thousand miles apart at the equator (the lines converge as you go toward the poles). So if you know that the sun is exactly at noon where you are and you know that you are exactly two hours, 25 minutes, and 35 seconds earlier than somewhere else (let's say Greenwich England) than you know that you are 2,595 miles to the west of that location. Each hour difference is 1,000 miles, each minute is 16.7 miles, and each second is .27 or about a quarter mile. San Francisco is about 8 hours before London so it must be about 8,000 miles away (it is). So all you need is a compass a sextant, and a very good watch set to noon at a known point somewhere in the world. That somewhere is the Royal Observatory in Greenwich which is the prime meridian or first meridian. 0.00.00 degrees longitude. It took a hundred years before a watch maker named Harrison from a little farm village made a clock that was accurate enough to solve the Longitude problem. The most accurate clocks of the time were only accurate to within a few minutes a day and were not suited to use on board a ship where waves tossed it, the temperature changed constantly and salt and water eroded the works. I've attached a picture of the first Harrison Clock. It took five years to make and was not accurate enough for navigational use. It took him twenty more years... The final timepiece looks like a big pocket watch. It's about six inches across. It was accurate to within a second a week. A very big difference indeed. The Royal Observatory became the place where everyone else set their watch by. Is still the place that time starts and the whole world sets their time to GMT or Greenwich Main Time. The guard just winked at me... He thinks I'm for hire or hiring. If London had prettier girls maybe people would stop thinking Peter and I are a couple. Next stop Amsterdam.

Gay on a Plane

paulnathan — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 13:33:51 GMT

My flight attendant thinks I'm gay. I'm flying back to London for the first time in six months and I happen to be flying with a friend. He happens to be a very handsome British man with boyish good looks, an innocent face, and that sweet upper class British accent that marks a man as cultured and charming. His charm is a great counterpoint to my brash American, bull in a china shop sort of demeanor. The steward seems to think that we make a cute couple in an opposites attract sort of way. Service is different when they think you are gay... I've never noticed before (apparently I have not been perceived as gay before). There is an extra gen-a-se-qua in the service. A desire to help that goes above and beyond. They treat us like we are honeymooners. "Can I get you some Champaign?", "would you fellows like a snack", “You know the seat divider between you goes up so you can be more comfortable. (Lots of winks)” “Would you fellows like a blanket”, "Can I fluff your pillow?"... My steward actually said that... "Can I fluff your pillow"? Now that is service. I don't care what he thinks about my private life Just keep swinging on by with the Champaign. ("From first class, just for you two" - wink) and pillow fluffing. Who are these smooth skinned boys who fly the friendlier skies. I have often considered becoming gay for business purposes, grant money, tax benefits, stylish cloths. But now I am seriously considering a life style change for the purpose of travel. It's like a secret society. A cult of well-dressed men catering to one another's needs. If you looked at Peter and I together I don't think you would assume we were romantically involved. If you did peg us for a couple than I would definitely be the daddy (or Pitcher as they are referred to in the parlance of pretty boys). Here comes the steward again… More Champaign… oooowww and snick snacks. Yummy. It’s fun being gay on a plane. I would like to point out for the benefit of my mother (who is still hoping for grand kids) that I am still heterosexual and that I like women way too much to be gay. I suppose I could be bisexual and just tell people that I am gay when I am traveling. Yes… that’s what I will do from now on. Snacks Yummy.

Lesbian wedding and fish day in Køpenhagen

paulnathan — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 22:02:49 GMT

Lesbian wedding and fish day in Køpenhagen I have been duped. I had been led to believe Danish girls are good looking. Calumny. Half-truths. Bullshit. I’ve been here for an hour and haven’t seen a single Amazon hottie. This country is devoid of Paul bait. A wasteland of aging chicks with sagging asses and sun dried skin. Nothing good looking lives Copenhagen. This wedding is going to suck. I’m in Køpenhavn (Copenhagen) to celebrate the union of two souls. One of my oldest friends is getting married. Her name is Katrina and her fiancé is Anna Faith. They have been living in all kind of sin for 7 years, but California refuses to recognize an actual marriage between them because they are both girls. Katrina happens to be Danish and they recognize gay marriages in Denmark so they had the ceremony here. I happened to be in Europe so I went. Katrina promised me a bevy of sexy young bridesmaids all drunk and ready for a green-card wedding (with benefits). I’m not holding out a lot of hope. Shit half the girls here have mustaches. The idea of Viking warrior princesses is certainly appealing but like many ideas made real the actuality is a bunch of mannish women with beards and big forearms. An hour in Denmark and unless things change for the better in a big way this whole country sucks. I mean Copenhagen is charming and quaint but not quaint enough to justify the hideousness of the population. It’s like England (the world capital of unattractive women)… It seems like the girls should be hot, the accent is sexy; but twenty years of pub food and beer takes a toll on a girls body, skin, face, and teeth. Four hours later and I have to admit Copenhagen has grown on me a bit. This afternoon I took a canal tour of the city and spent a few hours in the NY Carlsberg Glitter http://www.glyptoteket.dk/ . It is the most beautiful museum I’ve ever been in. It’s so open, so well designed. The Glyptotek has an exhibition of Impressionist painters. I got interested in the impressionists when I got into absinthe and began studying them as part of my research into the history of that time period. I’ve come to really appreciate and love a lot of the work so this was a real treat for me. Seeing twenty of Degas works in a row was eye opening (what a commercial sellout he was). The Renoir’s where vibrant (as you would expect), and to see a Monet in person is very different than seeing a print or an image online. But my surprise and delight we in finding a few painters I had never heard of or seen before. Jacques-Louis David’s portrait of the Comte de Turenne done in 1816 was immaculate (though not part of the impressionist period or style at all) http://www.glyptoteket.dk/13743415-E247-499E-8E01-C1468A5FCFD4.W5Doc?frames=no&ItemID=51873&ItemIDs=52508A51838A52519A51854A51856A51873A51885A51888A52552A52550 and Camille Pissarro’s Portrait of Nini from 1884 was stylish, beautiful, and fresh. I had never heard of Pissarro before… Her work is stunning. http://www.glyptoteket.dk/13743415-E247-499E-8E01-C1468A5FCFD4.W5Doc?frames=no&ItemID=52965&ItemIDs=52592A52590A51897A52594A52600A52965A51905A52568 Of course for me the highlight was to see Édouard Manet’s The Absinthe Drinker from 1859. Of course that is the image attached to this blog. This is the painting that started the whole Impressionist movement. Seeing the painting that changed the conversation in art was inspiring. Following the Hegelian dialectic conversation in art for this period is particularly noteworthy as here more than any other period in art history you can see the rapid shift in art, which mirrored a shift in society that was profound, ubiquitous, and important. It’s not that this particular work of art changed history, rather this particular work of art mirrored changes in society that took place with a speed that was unmatched in history. Impressionism was fueled by disenfranchisement and dissatisfaction with the way society treated its artists and the way the art world treated its own. This was happening at a period when workers were becoming increasingly dissatisfied with work conditions, the people of Europe becoming less tolerant of the last vestiges of an aristocracy that contributed nothing but took much, and a bourgeois class that exploited the common worker without remorse. People began to examine their circumstances and to question authority, tradition, and their own decisions. More important they began to do something about it. Broad swaths of society began to realize for the first time that they could do, could be anything they chose to. Manet’s break with tradition was not the impetus, nor even an important contributor to this movement, rather it was a mirror held up to society at this vital time in history. http://www.glyptoteket.dk/13743415-E247-499E-8E01-C1468A5FCFD4.W5Doc?frames=no&ItemID=52590&ItemIDs=undefined OK. I am beginning to like Copenhagen. We all went out tonight for a pre-wedding dinner. It was very nice. After dinner everyone went home. I hit a few clubs. As I am walking down the street a couple of guys ask why I am dressed nice. I tell them that I just came from a celebration of Saphotic love. They don’t know what that means but they invite me for drinks then take me on a tour of Copenhagen clubs. I have to admit the girls are a lot prettier at night. I don’t know if it is the make up, the lighting (or lack there of) or if it is just because they have shaved. Whatever it is they are getting better… A lot better. Today is Fish Day in Copenhagen. Happy Danish children play with fish as vendors sell a variety of seafood. There are fish rides, and fish food, fish fish fish. The town square reeks of oceanic plunder. A trip to the Rosenberg Palace was all I could manage to fit in. Again the art is fantastic. All the art was anonymous but there were a few standouts. One painting of the Temple of Babylon in particular. There were a lot of clockwork pieces that blew me away and a lovely collection of arms. Not enough time unfortunately because the wedding is about to start. It’s billed as a traditional Danish, Jewish, Lesbian wedding. Don’t get me started. The important part – the only part that matters is that Katrina and Ana Faith proclaimed their love and their intention to be together for all time in front of their friends and family. Ritual and dogma mean little. They gave their word to each other with witnesses. The bond won’t be recognized in the states, but it will be recognized between them, their families, and friends. Isn’t that what really matters? I think so. Marriage is a commitment between two people – the rest be damned. After the wedding there were speeches, performances, music, and dancing. It was the best traditional Danish, Jewish, Lesbian wedding I’ve ever been to. So much love, so much support, so many unshorn women. The next day the paper ran a story about the wedding. It talked about freedom of expression, and how unfair it is that some people can’t celebrate their love just because they do not fit the traditional mold. I’m glad I could be there to witness, to share, to support my friend’s love for one another. I joke around and play the cad but I am a romantic at heart. Next blog… Unicorns and bunnies. I promise. By the way I'm home and expect to stay that way for a couple of months. I'm available for drinks, food, dancing, or sex.

Birthday in a brothel in Berlin.

paulnathan — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 10:08:45 GMT

First things first. If you are reading this and you are my mother, my niece or a person of moral conviction stop now. I will write a blog about bunnies and unicorns next week. This missive is graphic and full of tales of poor behavior and bad decisions. The author does not condone the use of drugs, prostitutes or same sex marriage. I live by the words of my favorite libertine author (Oscar Wilde) who recommends “all things in moderation especially moderation”. OK. So this wasn’t the worst birthday I’ve ever had but it was on the weirder side. I’m writing this from the cabin of a cheap airline headed for Copenhagen. One of my oldest friends is getting married tomorrow. It’s not a real marriage. They are both girls so it doesn’t count. It’s not even recognized in the US because we are God-fearing people who know that lesbians are destined to burn for eternity in a Christless hell. A hell filled with people who don’t go around persecuting anyone who doesn’t believe in their brand of religion sounds like heaven to me. Especially if it is filled with girls who kiss each other. But to each his own. I did not get laid on my birthday though I did get hit on by a Harvard professor, a Columbian hooker, two drunken Russians, and a smooth skinned boy from France. I am sitting next to a six-foot tall Danish girl who looks like she is still rolling from last night. Probably ecstasy. She is still in club wear and her long legs look even longer in her tiny little skirt. She keeps reading my notes over my shoulder… Nosey Danish girl. The plan for my birthday was to go sightseeing but I ended up sleeping until five. I started my birthday at Gorky Park, which is a little café I like. It was sort of my last day in Berlin and it was my birthday. I had planned on hooking up with this Ukrainian super model for an evening of dancing at Treasure. But I got a call from a Friend to take me out to a birthday dinner at a small French restaurant near by and then everything went sideways. It’s a fashionable place with fantastic food. They have a couple of hunters who bring in fresh meat every couple of days. The menu changes depending on what gets caught. Fantastic food. I got hit on by a poly sci professor from Harvard. We talked about art for a while then politics. She was a little to right wing for me, which was too bad because she was totally hot and way into the idea of slumming with an artist for his birthday… Tre bohemian. We blew out of there and met up with my friend Pine at the local Russian mafia bar, CCCP. We are supposed to go to treasure so I can hook up with Dasha (the super model) but we get talked into going to a Brazilian brothel to buy drugs. I want to be clear. I wasn’t buying drugs. I don’t do drugs. (If you are my niece and you are reading this… Drugs are bad. So are Columbian brothels and lesbians and so are nosey nieces who where told not to read this in the first paragraph so when you end up in therapy know that I warned you- assuming, of course that you are reading this, which you should not be) My friend wanted some blow and who better to get it from than a bunch of Columbian hookers? She asked me to go with her. It seemed like fun and Pine was into it so I went along for the ride. We get there and they don’t have anything on hand and we have to wait but we can’t wait unless we buy a girl… My friend Pine agrees to “Take one for the team” while we wait. Sitting in one of the bedrooms drinking a Luke warm cola while we wait for the drugs and my friend to come I get a call from a girl I am dating back home. The headboard and the hooker in the next room are making a lot of noise and it’s hard to hold a conversation. It was all a bit surreal. Weird but fun. Mostly weird. Chatting on the phone when the blow finally arrives and my friend starts lining up rails for all the girls and the madam while I’m trying to have a conversation with this girl back home. Then I get beeped by the supermodel wondering where I am. My friend is trying to get me to do a line with her and I keep trying to explain that I really don’t do coke but my German is so bad that she doesn’t understand so I have to explain it in bad Spanish to a Columbian hooker who translates it into bad German while snorting thick rails of Columbian fluffy. One of the other girls is trying to give me a birthday present (if you know what I mean). She has a lovely smile with two very nice teeth but I’ve just never been into prostitutes. Even for free (except for one – You know who you are. Shit make that two). Just then Pine shows up looking very relaxed and I just want to get out of here so I can hit up the supermodel and get the same relaxed look on my face that Pine is sporting. We finally get out and end up back at CCCP chatting with this multi-millionaire who is explaining to me that Kiev is the place to invest in real estate and going into how to park your cash in offshore accounts and who to bribe when my friend, Pine starts telling me that he has met his soul mate. “She got hit in the head when she was a kid and it messed up her sense of smell. She can’t smell bad smells.” He goes on to explain that she is perfect for him because he can quietly break wind all night long and not offend her in the least. “She is perfect”. We each have our own criteria for perfection. For instance I happen to like Danish hotties who party all night in tiny little skirts and catch their flight home a little bit dizzy and read other people’s writing, which is very naughty. I just want to take this girl into the bathroom and toy with her affections. This is the Danish girl…. I just grabbed your computer. I going now to the bathroom at back of the plane. I am bad girl to take your computer. You come and spank me. That was weird. She just grabbed my laptop and typed that then kissed me on the cheek and took off. I gotta go. I’ll be back. OK. Shit like this does not happen. I’m not going into detail but this is now officially the best morning after my birthday ever. Hold on... she wants the laptop again. You are tricked. I am not really Danish. I am from Norway. Silly American.

Berlin is poor but sexy.

paulnathan — Thu, 06 Sep 2007 01:09:57 GMT

“Berlin is poor but Sexy” That’s a quote from Berlin’s mayor. This city is magic. Anything can happen here. At first I thought it was just me, but I don’t believe that anymore. I have been trying to book an artist named Peaches for a show. Six months ago I called her manager and was told that she was in recording sessions and wont be performing live until next year. Last weekend I Performed at the Admiralspalast here in Berlin. After the show there was a party. As I stood by the dance floor a girl grabbed my hand and pulled me on to the dance floor. I dipped her, flipped her and walked away… As I was walking away she grabbed my hand and introduced herself… “I’m Peaches. Who are you”. “I’m Paul…. Wait did you say Peaches! I’ve been trying to book you for a gig.” “I’ll do it”. Say’s Peaches “It’s in San Francisco” Says I. “I’ll do it” “Your manager said you are recording and not performing.” “I’ll do it” So now it looks like I have Peaches is booked. Magic. Two days later I’m partying with her band. Her drummer got so drunk he passed out and knocked over a palm tree. That’s rock and roll. The picture above was taken back stage at the Wild Rose Revue. The artist is Dan (Tallulah Freeway). She is even hotter in person. This city is re-making itself day by day. Berlin rebuilt after the war. Then the entire society rebuilt again when the wall came down. The city is poor but sexy. Berlin is full of life, opportunity, and art. San Francisco used to be like that. Full of people for whom money was just a small part of what mattered. I used to be like that. Being here reminds me of what is important. The people here look you in they eye when they talk to you. It used to be like that in San Francisco. Now no one looks at anyone… Not when you are walking down the streets. Not when you are in a club or a restaurant. Our culture has made us afraid of ourselves. Don’t talk to strangers. Watch our for the crazy people. Disconnected. Superficial. Here families live in one place for a thousand years. Connections go back through families for generations and are expected to continue for generations to come. In San Francisco three out of every five people moved to the city in the last six years. The social fabric of the city is in shambles. The sense of community is lost. And the price of living in the city is so high that everyone must scramble just to live. Just to stay in town. It is too expensive to be an artist in San Francisco. Here artists are revered. Living in Berlin is not expensive so artists can afford to do art. Here every restaraunt has art on the walls. Every club has live music. Most places have interesting décor beyond what is on the walls. Architecture, design, even furniture is all created, arranged to be interesting. Not all of it works, but this is a city that can afford to take chances. Some friends of mine are building an ice palace here. In San Francisco it would cost more for the permits and environmental impact studies than they spent on the entire project here in Berlin. It is going to be amazing. Last night I performed at Rodeo. It used to be a post office. Now it’s the hippest club in town. Dirty, Funky, Crumbling Elegance. The dining room is a four story dome. Everything is lit by candles. Doing magic in such a magical place is a joy. It’s what magic should be. There is a sense of decay, of re-creating spaces. What used to be a buerocrat’s habitrail is now the place to be in Berlin. Tonight I perform for the Regierender Bürgermeister of Berlin (the Mayor), Klaus Wowereit. He’s a cool guy (Berlin is poor but sexy). He is openly gay and very popular. He came out during his nomination saying "Ich bin schwul, und das ist auch gut so." ("I am gay, and that is a good thing"). The party is a celebration of 40 years as a sister city with Los Angeles. When I found that out I called the mayor’s office in LA asking for a letter from the mayor of LA to the Mayor of Berlin. They said yes so I told the mayor’s office here in Berlin and now it has turned into a big deal with a press conference. Then they said no. LA’s mayor does not want to send a letter congratulating Berlin on being a sister city for 40 years because they don’t want me to read the letter because I am not an authorized representative of the mayor’s office. Now everyone in the Berlin office thinks there is going to be a letter and they are offended that the mayor of Los Angeles wont send one. I have caused an interntional incident – Yikes. And with Berlin of all places – you know what these people can be like.

I got my absinthe back.

paulnathan — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 22:18:40 GMT

If you are reading this than you probably already know about some of the parties I throw in San Francisco. Of all the parties I throw the Absinthe Parties are my favorite. If you know about the parties I throw than you probably also know that officers from the California State Alcoholic Beverage Control visited my last big absinthe party. They behaved courteously and professionally but they did bust us, and they did write us tickets to appear in court, and they did confiscate over seventy bottles of my favorite beverage. I have been fairly quiet on the subject since this incident occurred at the end of December of last year. In fact I only posted one brief note about it letting people know what happened. I did this to quell any rumors, which I felt would do no one any good, and to avoid having to answer the same questions over and over again (which is tiresome for all concerned). Well I am happy to report that as of today the entire incident is resolved and for once evil has triumphed over good. Thanks to the fair and honest officers of the California ABC and to the machinations of my lawyer Paul Spiegel Esquire ( http://www.eclecticlaw.com ) I am once again the proud owner of a large quantity and variety of absinthe. Allow me to begin at the beginning and relate the whole story so that there will be no misconceptions as to what occurred. A couple of days before New Years I threw a party at the theater for some of my friends. This was not the first time I had thrown one of these little fetes nor was it the last. On this particular occasion several people turned up at the door. Our doorman was suspicious of them. He felt as though they did not belong at the event – in fact he thought they “might be cops”. He told them that it was a private party and sent them away. About a half hour later they returned… this time in full SWAT gear. They charged the gate, which our security guard shut. Before he could slam it all the way one of them blocked it open. Our intrepid doorman then blocked the ingress until they threatened him with jail and manhandled him out of the way. Rushing inside they caught Cat mid pour. At first she thought they were guys in costumes… they weren’t. Since Cat was already busted she walked around the venue with one of the officers doing as much damage control as possible. In fact when I showed up she asked me to leave, telling me “I am handling this sir. You should go!” I walked away until I realized what was happening and what she had done. I’m no hero but I sure wasn’t going to let her and my staff take the heat while I chilled at home so I walked back in and took the rap. I stayed with the officers until five in the morning inventorying everything they confiscated and locking up. Five of us were issued citations to appear in court the next month. No one was arrested. When we showed up in court the District Attorney decided not to fill charges. The case was not dismissed… It was never filed. Since there was no case filed we were never found guilty. Since we were not guilty I felt that it was improper for the government to keep my property so I asked for it back. To be honest I didn’t really expect to get it back, especially the absinth. When I called the ABC they were courteous and even friendly. I was congratulated for not being charged. I asked for my property back and was told that they would return the liquor but that absinth was contraband and would not be returned. I told them that Absinth is not a controlled substance, and that it is legal for me to possess it and in the absence of criminal conviction I felt that it should be returned. They passed the case up to the legal department. The wheels of justice turn slowly. It has been six months since I first spoke to the lead counsel for the California ABC. He has been polite, friendly even. It has taken him all this time exhausting all efforts to find a law that prevents me from possessing my absinthe. I know that some people will be reading this with interest as to the legalities of possession of absinth. Absinthe has long been in a gray area legally. I want to be clear… The lead counsel for the California State Alcoholic Beverage Control checked local, state, and federal guidelines for possession of absinthe. His office found (after spending six months researching it) that there is no law that prevents a private citizen from possessing absinthe. The happy consequence of this long tale is that as of 3pm on Monday August 6, 2007, I am in full possession of the confiscated absinth. That’s right the sate gave it back. I want to be clear about why I am posting this. Since I first became interested in absinth I have searched for answers about the legal status of absinth. Answers are few and far between. The few answers that do exist are nebulous and often misleading. I am posting this story online so that interested parties can have a firsthand accounting of my interaction with the legal system in the hopes that it will answer some questions for fellow absinth lovers and to avoid having to answer the same questions over and over again at parties. There is one further note that needs to be made clear. This bust happened in San Francisco. Had it occurred elsewhere the outcome would probably have been very different. The biggest issue for me is the absolute professionalism of the officers and legal department involved. That bust cost them several thousand dollars and a ton of man-hours. Six officers spent ten hours each on the bust. Then more officers spent time inventorying, writing reports, and following up. After the court released the case the state’s legal department spent a lot more time and money researching the issue. They could have stonewalled me. They did not. They acted fairly and legally. I am sure it was annoying for them (the officers in particular) but they all obeyed the law. If our governments upper management would behave in the same honest, open, fair way than the world would be a better place. Here is the law governing the manufacture and distribution of absinth in California – 347b. It shall be unlawful for any person, firm or corporation to manufacture, sell, furnish, or give away, or offer to manufacture, sell, furnish, or give away any alcoholic solution of a potable nature containing any deleterious or poisonous substance, and the burden of proof shall be upon the person, firm, or corporation manufacturing, selling, furnishing, or giving away, or offering to manufacture, sell, furnish, or give away, any such alcoholic solution of a potable nature containing any deleterious or poisonous substance, to show that such alcoholic solution of a potable nature did not contain any deleterious or poisonous substance. Every person who violates any of the provisions of this section is guilty of a misdemeanor, and shall be punished by a fine not exceeding two thousand five hundred dollars ($2,500), or by imprisonment in a county jail not exceeding one year, or by both such fine and imprisonment. Additionally Absinthe is listed as a prohibited item by the U.S. Customs service. It is unlawful to import absinth (or any consumable containing Thujone – the psychoactive in absinth) into the US. This stems from an obscure and poorly written cosmetics act written in the late 70s. There seems to be no penalty other than the confiscation of the property. I have never been busted for transporting absinth across the boarder so I cannot speak to this from firsthand knowledge. This is all the customs department has to say on the subject (this is from the U.S. Customs website (http://www.cbp.gov/xp/cgov/travel/vacation/kbyg/prohibited_restricted.xml) Absinthe (Alcohol) The importation of Absinthe and any other liquors or liqueurs that contain Artemisia absinthium is prohibited. I hope as you read this it is for gratification not because of a bust and that you never need to know any of this. If you have questions you can email me through my website: www.friemagic.com Paul

Creepy New York Limo ride.

paulnathan — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 16:49:04 GMT

I'm writing this from the backseat of a swank, Lincoln Town Car in New York. Traffic is standing still and my driver is freaking out. I haven't blogged for a while. Mostly because I have been busy... Lets see if I can catch up. My last blog was when I got back from Europe two months ago. Since then I spent a week in Atlanta doing a show, a week in Houston, a week in Las Vegas, and a week performing in SF. Most of these were uneventful other than to say that the shows went great, the clients are happy, and life is good. The show in Vegas was for a networking company... They make high-end switchs for American Express, Google, and Yahoo. They just came up with a smaller, less expensive model and they hired me to introduce it. You know; use magic and comedy as a metaphor to make their message more memorable, entertaining, and comprehensible. I do a lot of these and I enjoy them. It’s not the same kind of fun I have doing a festival or a comedy club; it’s more challenging, but I enjoy it. They expected a couple of hundred people to see the shows. We had nearly a thousand... Almost five times what they had hoped for and nearly ten times what they had the previous year. It’s nice to know the hard work paid off. Getting the script together for that show meant twelve hours a day for three weeks... While I was blogging my way across Europe this spring I was spending a couple of hours a day online learning about network switching and about the company. For a while there I was a very dull boy... Just a second. We are in the Midtown Tunnel - it's all stop and go... Someone just bumped us from behind. My driver is out of the car and shouting at the guy in a curious mixture of Arabic and English with a Brooklyn accent. He has a crowbar in his hand... I think there might be bloodshed. NOPE... He's back in the cab and on the phone. He is talking to someone in Arabic and giggling like a little girl (a crazy little girl who could snap at any moment). I am afraid. Anyway... Between all the travel and the madness I did get to throw a fun party in San Francisco... Cuatro de Mayo. I also got to do something I have been wanting to do for a while... Last week John Anaya and I got together and performed Devil in the Deck for the first time in almost two years. Devil is my favorite show to perform, though it is also the hardest for me. As I mentioned I'm sitting in stand-still traffic in downtown New York. My driver keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror and talking in whispers on the phone. I think he is planning to kill me. I've been staying at the W hotel on Time Square. It's one of the nicest hotels I have ever stayed in. Best beds ever. Great view and fantastic service. I checked out early so I could make my flight. The doorman hooked me up with a limo driver to take me to the airport for fifty bucks (A cab would have been at least that much). As we drove off the driver introduced himself as Crazy Abdul. “That's what mother calls me” he said. The ride is nice but Crazy Abdul is living up to his name. He keeps rolling the windows up and down and staring off into no-where. So I'm on my way to JFK to catch a flight to London where I’ll be doing a show I have been looking forward to for two years. It's called Glastonbury Festival. It's a music Festival unlike anything else in the world. It's three days long and hosts a quarter million people. The Who is headlining this year. They only do it every other year. OK... I am now officially freaked out... We are finally moving. Crazy Abdul just opened his door and vomited into the street without slowing down. Shit… Stuck in traffic again. Abdul is nodding. Thank God traffic isn't moving because Crazy A isn't going anywhere for a while. He has gone strangely still and silent. I think he might be dead... Maybe I should poke him. Nope he's laughing again. I'm trying to stay calm. I had planned on going to run with the bulls after Glastonbury but I have to fly back to the states for a show in Atlanta in two weeks. After that I am heading home. I've decided to spend the summer, or at least a good chunk of it, in San Francisco.. In fact I will be having a party at the same time as the bull running. The bulls run on the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month of the year. This year I am having a 007 party on that date since it will be 07.07.07. The following week I'm having a Bastille Day party which should be a blast as well. Of course you are invited... I'll post all the information soon in the mean time it’s all at: www.shakeitandstir.com for the 007 party. and www.fetelaboum.com for the Bastille day party. In the mean time I have just hacked a local wireless network so I am going to post this before my driver wakes up and drives us out of range... God help me he's on the move... This guy is even crazier than the girls I date. NO... NO.. NO... He just wet himself. He is crying. I should have taken a cab. PS. Yes all of this really happened including the wetting. God help me I wish it had not… But then I would have nothing to blog about. So it is kind of a balance. The smell of urine in the closed quarters of a Lincoln town car, or a boring blog. Was it worth it? You be the judge.

Back in the USSA.

paulnathan — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 23:43:12 GMT

Pictured is me at the Tabu Absinth Distillery. I mentioned this in my last blog not this one, but I just got the pix and I though some people might be interested. I'm standing next to the Alembic still which they use to make absinth. An Alembic is the type of still you use for this kind of production. Alembic stills are also used for making perfume. It's a pretty big distillery and absinth is just a small part of what they do, but it is something they do because they love it. There is a whole floor upstairs dedicated to the production. Fourteen different herbs are left in a barrel for six weeks to leech the oils from them. Then this liquid is distilled in the contraption I am standing next to. Finally the absinth is colored, bottled and shipped. Jörg manages the plant. He is an avid magic Collector. He wanted to talk about magic and I wanted to talk about Absinth. We got along great. What a trip. Three weeks on the road, two more to go. When Last I posted I was in Prague (which I have been informed is in fact officially in the EU - but you still have to clear customs and they still have thier own currency so as far as i'm concerned they are not in the EU. Besides they are a surly poeple not nice and friendly lke the Germans and the French.) A Czech police officer had just extorted fifty bucks from me and I had been conned by a money changer on the street but we were all having fun. Prague has beautiful architecture. The Prague Castle is impressive and the dome is awe inspiring. But as you walk through the city every building is lovely. Peek into any window and you get a glimpse of some baroque palace inside. There is a celestial clock tower, museums and theaters everywhere. We left two days later for Vienna, taking back roads the whole way. Stopped in a small village for goulash and something with potatoes in it. In Vienna (spelled Wien) we stayed with friends who own a small, independent film studio. Fortunately they had beds on their sets and we just slept there each night. Saw a concert at the Schoenberg Palace. It was a selection of popular music by Beethoven and Schubert. They had two opera singers, waltzers, and ballet dancers. It was fantastic, fun, inspiring. After the concert Babe and I waltzed in the hall of mirrors at the palace. The next morning Eric and Liane Left for Budapest while Babe and I spent the day getting the car repaired. Someone had slashed all four tires. The car had been parked for three days, we hadn't offended anyone but the car had Belgian plates and apparently the don't like Belgians in Vienna. Suddenly no one spoke English. We drove back to Amsterdam stopping in Köln (Cologne) where I picked up some Cologne for my assistant, Cat. We rode the gondola over the river. I just finished reading a book by Topsha Learner called The Witch of Cologne which is centered around the Cathedral there (they call it the Köln Dom) so it was fun to see. For most of the book the cathedral was Catholic at the end it was protestant. It's still protestant, the interior is stark by comparison to the eastern European churches in Czech Republic. With no reformation the Eastern churches are oppulent in both design and décor while the reformed churches tend to be lavish in design (since they where built before the reformation) but parsimonious in décor. Babe flew home to LA from Amsterdam, I flew to London. Sitting in a sandwich shop working on a script some guy snatched my bag. I watched him walk out the door with it. I ran after him. I almost caught him, but he saw me coming after him and dropped the bag and ran. I was tempted to go after him but I had left my laptop on the table in the Sandwich shop. Nothing like this has ever happened to me any time I have traveled. It certainly made for an adventuresome couple of days. I'm headed to Atlanta until Friday when I will be back home for the weekend (maybe - I may stay here on the east coast for the weekend then head straight to Houston on Monday). It's been a great trip and I'm still speaking to my traveling companions even after three weeks in the same car, mostly the same room, and often the same bed. We're doing it again next year. I think I want to stay closer to the west next year... Babe says Greece, I'm thinking Switzerland, Eric hasn't voted yet... We shall see.

Lost in a formerly communist country.

paulnathan — Sun, 15 Apr 2007 23:28:50 GMT

It's midnight here in Prague. They spell it Prague, Pragu, Prag, Praha, and a few other ways as well. Finding it without a map is complicated enough, not being able to spell it made things more difficult. This trip has been a whirlwind through six countries and eight cities so far, with four more to go. On Tuesday we toured the Tabu Absinthe Factory. That was a blast. Then drove to Hanover to see Martin Mall (the German diabolist from Dark Kabaret last year) in a variety theater. Yesterday we left Berlin and headed west for Potsdam. Potsdam is a lovely town. Reminiscent of Bruges. We visited the palace and gardens of Sanssouci (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanssouci), which is French (all the German nobility of that time spoke French - If you have ever heard German you will understand why) for without cares. Frederick the Gross (Frederick the Great) had it built in 1745 - 1747 as a retreat from working life, Sanssouci is often compared to Versailles but it is much more intimate. With only ten rooms it was never meant to accommodate more than a handful of guests. Frederick the Great was a musician, poet, and philosopher very much in the style of the enlightenment. I have to say his taste in art is better than any of his contemporaries that I have seen. Every painting in the place is an example of the finest neoclassical or late renaissance style. The rooms are Rococo but in the more restrained "Frederician Rococo" style. I was tired and homesick but then there were midgets and I snapped out of it. I love midgets. If your a hot midget girl call me. We left Sansouci elated, inspired, and ready for the drive to Prague... Dinner in Dresden was a delightful surprise. I had thought (we all had thought) that Dresden had been bombed to the ground during the war. Apparently somebody missed because there was a whole city center that was spectacular. What a fantastic surprise it was to have a fine dinner on the cities walls in a building that was five hundred years old and extravagant beyond our expectations. It was the first city in Germany in which we had seen a lot of large old buildings left standing. We ended up spending a lot of our evening walking the old city walls overlooking the Elbe River. The drive to Prague was an adventure. Czech Republic is not part of the EU so we had to clear customs, but we crossed with no problems. Our gas gage in the fancy rental car told us that we had exactly 98 Kilometers to go, which was good since Prague was 86 kilometers away and there was nothing but empty fields for as far as we could see. When we finally did find a gas station they didn't take credit cards and we had no local currency to pay with so we moved on, now with less then fifty kilometers on the meter. We got lost looking for gas. It was two in the morning and everything was closed. There were wolves howling in the distance (I'm not making that up - we actually heard wolves). We where lost in a former Eastern Block country in a tiny village with no gas, no map, and two girls in the back seat who where dealing with their anxiety by laughing hysterically. Just as I pulled over to the latest in a series of closed gas stations to pour what little was left in the hoses into our tank a woman appeared and opened up for us. I paid with my credit card... 1,250 Czech. I had no idea if gas was cheap or if I had just paid a fortune. At least we were moving. Driving through the city looking for a hotel. I got pulled over by the Czech Policie (that's how it is spelled). A fifty dollar bribe got us going again. They give receipts here when you bribe the cops. Very civilized. Now we are in Prague... Spent the day wandering the streets. Every door opens into a bit of baroque wonderment. The Churches are fantastic. There is a blacksmith in the streets, and tiny theaters everywhere. The streets are clean. Oh... If someone on the streets offers to change your money make sure they are giving you Czech money not Hungarian, which is worth significantly less... Ooops. My traveling companions went to the communist museum tonight. I went to a black light theater show. It was fantastic, magical, and amazing, then confusing, weird, and very much what you would expect from Czech absurdist theater. On the way home I saw a midget passed out on a bench, it made me smile. Tomorrow we tour the castle here and another on the way to Vienna. I've been looking forward to seeing Vienna since I was a kid. Hopefully things will slow down a bit now and I will have another chance to post before I get home. I love the traveling but I miss San Francisco, my home, my friends and my life. P

Easter Breakfast.

paulnathan — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 15:17:51 GMT

It's Easter here in Essen. I'm about 35 Kilometers north of Düsseldorf. This morning we had Easter Schnitzel. Pictured here is Babe and I with our Holliday Repast. Happy Easter. Remember Jesus Died for your sins. To ensure that he did not die in vain I propose that we all go out and sin... A lot. P

ON the Road Again. Naturally.

paulnathan — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 14:55:32 GMT

Back on the road. This time for five weeks. We started in London. I say we... I'm traveling with my dance partner babe... This is our fifth trip to Europe and our umpteenth time on the road. Babe is the easiest person for me to travel with. She is beautiful, fun, frivolous, and socially ept. She grew up in a fine home on the east coast. Total debutant. She whispers in my ear when we go to nice parties. Warning me which fork to use, reminding me to chew with my mouth closed and not to say fuck at the dinner table. She's also immensely talented. A trained actress, dancer, and one of my favorite partners on stage. It came in handy this trip. We dined with my friend Tobsha Learner. Tobsha is a writer. If you travel you probably have seen one of her books on the bestseller rack at an airport book store. Her most recent book is called The Witch of Colon. The Witch of Colon is a great story about a Jewish midwife set in Köln in the late 1600s. The well researched historical backdrop of the enlightenment versus the dark age superstition is a fantastic read. The story is compelling and the history is rich, vivid, and interesting. I just finished the Baroque Cycle which takes place at the same time but on a much wider scope so I am already very much in the mindset and time frame of this story. Which is a much easier read than The Baroque Cycle. The story is very tightly focused on a particular place and time. I can't recommend this book enough if you like the genre. Anyway dinner at Topsha's was the perfect way to decompress after our long trip from the states. Very informal but quiet and staid. Tobsha lives with an oil mogul. So it's all very upper crust and proper but they keep a very relaxed environment that I find comfortable. They both travel a great deal and being an artist who I admire and enjoy, Tobsha held a great deal of fascination for me. I say fascination... It's the wrong word... It implies a much more one sided conversational relationship which was not the case at all. The conversation was lively, diverse, and engaging. Of course it's difficult to maintain a high level of intellectual discourse when your jet lagged and trying to remember which spoon to use and not to say fuck when you guess wrong. We left London and made for Amsterdam where we met up with the third member of our contingent. Eric Masters. Eric is the person I have traveled with the most in my life. Eric has been my best friend and technical director for as long as I can remember. He is the guy I trust the most when I am on stage. He works with the local sound and light crew to solve problems when I am on stage. Off stage he acts as the social secretary for our group. Here in Europe I'm the guest star and have to be available to shake hands and take pictures whenever we are out. It's fun and exciting but it's a lot of work. It's hard for me to keep people straight because I am usually focusing on the stage shows, managing models, and performers, and rehearsing. Eric does a great job of meeting and befriending people. It's a great balance to our little group. The show I'm doing here in Germany is a four day affair that I am hosting for the fourth year. After this we leave for Berlin. I'll be performing at the White Trash for a night there. While we are in Berlin we are hooking up with the last member or our traveling caravan. Liane is Eric's girlfriend of thirteen years. Their first date was her coming along with us for a show that I was performing at and Eric was Teching in Sacramento. I had hair back then, and was forty pounds lighter. Eric had never teched a show before and Liane thought the whole thing was very exciting. All that has changed now. I'm fat, Eric is Jaded, and Liane knows that what we do is little more than the satisfactory completion of a series of mundane tasks. Oh Well... Babe and I still think its fun. Tonight I'm rehearsing with a young lady I have never performed with before. We are doing a fire show I wrote for this event. I will actually be lighting her on fire. She has long hair. It should be fun. I think that's her knocking at the door now. Let's hope it works out. I hate the smell of burnt hair. Wish me luck, I'll hit you up soon. P The Attached image is from the Tower of London. It was a beautiful spring day in London. One of those rare perfect days. I took advantage of the lovely weather to do some sightseeing. The picture is taken at the Raven Sanctuary in the Tower. In the background is the Tower Bridge. Legend has it that John Flamsteed (1646 - 1719), the 'astronomical observator' complained to King Charles II that the birds were interfering with his observations. The King therefore ordered their destruction only to be told that if the ravens left the Tower, the White Tower would fall and a great disaster befall the Kingdom. Sensibly the King changed his mind and decreed that at least six ravens should be kept at the Tower at all times to prevent disaster. On the far left is the White Tower... This tower was built in 1100 and is the oldest tower of the complex. Behind me is Traitors Gate. Origionally named Water Gate, Traitors Gate is how thye would bring prisoners into the tower. Five Queens where brought to the tower through that gate and executed.

Absinth party day in court.

paulnathan — Fri, 02 Mar 2007 00:25:55 GMT

Last December I threw an absinth party with some unexpected visitors. The police showed up and put a damper on the event. They issued citations to a few of us for selling "a poisonous alcohol", which has got to be the most ridiculous rule in the world. At this moment I am sure you are scratching your head and thinking "but alcohol is poisonous". Yes it is. This is a stupid law. But our court system is full of stupid laws. The police where professional and very nice under the circumstances. A lot of people have asked what happened that night and what would happen in court. I have been reluctant to give out a lot of details and more reluctant to speculate as to what would happen in court. Part of the former was at my lawyers advice, much was due to the tedious nature of telling the same story over and over, especially when the story is so pedestrian as a visitation by the police. Most of the latter was because speculating on the court case seemed moot and a waste of my time. In fact I haven't worried over the outcome and have spent surprisingly little time thinking about the legal ramifications. We were never actually charged with anything. The police confiscated my absinthe and wrote tickets to several of my servers and to myself. The tickets where notices to appear in court. We showed up in court this morning and no charges had been filed. The DA decided not to pursue the matter at all. So we have not been charged with anything. We didn't even walk into a court room. Its a fairly anticlimactic ending which turned out to be the best ending we could have hoped for. No fines, no charges, nothing on the record. It worked out better than I expected, better than I hoped. My brother is a police officer in Kansas City, when I told him the story he scoffed at our legal system. It's all for the best. The DA's office has better things to do with it's time than bother people for throwing nice parties. Speaking of nice parties. I'm going to have to throw one soon... A fundraiser to make up for the ten grand in lost absinth. So stay in touch. One last note. I called the officer who was in charge of the bust. He is at the ABC office in Oakland. I told him who I was and he brightened up a lot. He was very friendly. He congratulated me for not being charged. I asked him about getting my absinth back. He told me he would have to check with the legal department. From what I can tell there are no laws about possessing absinth so there is no reason for me not to have my property back. I don't think they will give it to me but I figured it was worth asking, and it was nice talking to my old friend officer Tinloi. 347b. It shall be unlawful for any person, firm or corporation to manufacture, sell, furnish, or give away, or offer to manufacture, sell, furnish, or give away any alcoholic solution of a potable nature containing any deleterious or poisonous substance, and the burden of proof shall be upon the person, firm, or corporation manufacturing, selling, furnishing, or giving away, or offering to manufacture, sell, furnish, or give away, any such alcoholic solution of a potable nature containing any deleterious or poisonous substance, to show that such alcoholic solution of a potable nature did not contain any deleterious or poisonous substance. Every person who violates any of the provisions of this section is guilty of a misdemeanor, and shall be punished by a fine not exceeding two thousand five hundred dollars ($2,500), or by imprisonment in a county jail not exceeding one year, or by both such fine and imprisonment.

Stage Fright?

paulnathan — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 09:50:12 GMT

Here I am backstage getting ready to go on. I hate this part of my job. I ‘m alone in the greenroom waiting. This is when I think about quitting. Twenty minutes from now I’ll be on stage… My head will clear the crowd will go nuts which is why I wont quit performing, but for now I’m waiting. It’s not nerves or stage fright… Well not exactly. It’s just thinking about what is about to happen over and over again, what can go wrong. It’s running lines in your head and practicing intricate manipulations over and over again. Waiting. I don’t usually get stage fright. Not since I was a kid. There is, however, one notable exception... Paris three years ago. That was a tough gig. I was working for a company called Alcatel. Actually I was working for Testbeeld, a Belgian production company that Alcatel had hired. They sent me the script two days before I had to be on the plane. Let me explain because a lot of people don’t know what it is that I do. A lot of my shows are public, comedy clubs, festival shows or private parties. Those are easy. But a fair amount of what I do is working for corporations developing scripts that deliver a message. I use comedy and magic to illustrate a point, an idea, a concept in a (hopefully) interesting and memorable way. Usually I meet with the marketing team, go on the internet, read a bunch of white papers about the company and develop a script from this material. I have a few tricks I do that I created to be interchangeable so I can sort of plug in information at different points in the presentation. It’s always a lot of work but usually it’s manageable. Not so in Paris. In Paris the client wrote the script. I had sent them a few options of tricks that I could do to manifest various ideas. Then when they asked me if I could do a trick that would fit with a particular aspect of unified IP communication I said sure and I came up with some solution that would fit. By the time we were done brainstorming they had come up with a script that strung together 8 magic tricks in Six minutes, none of which where from my regular show. Most of them I had never done before on stage, and one of which was a big illusion that I had to order. The illusion that they ended up choosing was a box that got stuck full of swords. Of course there was a girl in the box - she disappeared then reappeared unstuck by the swords. It’s a fairly classic trick and a fairly easy one to master (I thought). Unfortunately they did not agree on this trick until four days before the show. I ordered the effect and had it shipped. It arrived the morning that I flew to Paris so I had no time to assemble it let alone practice it before I arrived. So I basically had two days to learn eight new tricks including this big illusion, memorize the script, develop blocking with the lighting director, and train my assistant (They had hired Miss Belgium to be my assistant). No Problem. At the end of the first day we had everything pretty much in line but I still didn’t have my script perfect and I was quite happy that I had another day to practice because the illusion was much harder than I had anticipated and I kept stabbing Miss Belgium with the swords. No problem I have another full day of rehearsal it will all be fine. The next morning I arrived on stage and everything was gone. The producer told me all the props had been moved to another stage because the president of the company wanted to see it. We arrived at the new stage and there was a presentation going on. The theater was packed with the top people from Alcatel and I was not ready. I had half an hour to wait in the green room. I was not ready. I kept going over the script, the motions, the blocking. I was not ready. I just wanted to bolt. Charles De Gaull airport was a short cab ride away. When I finally walked on stage I was a wreck. Nearly shaking with anticipation of the myriad things that could go wrong. Knowing that I could not make a mistake, knowing that if I blew it I’d be shipped home and never allowed to work in France again. My reputation would be ruined my parents would be shamed and I would have to perform ritual suicide to save the honor of my family. Well that’s how it felt anyway. Sweat was pouring down my neck. I was literally trembling. Fear of standing in front of an audience is the biggest phobia in the western world. It’s ironic because nothing truly bad can happen to you. You won’t really die, or get hurt just by speaking publicly. Yet it drives us to the brink of panic. It is utterly irrational yet it is pervasive. Everything went fine until the sword box. I started sticking swords into the box when I suddenly heard a very loud “owe” from inside the box… That can’t be good. Ultimately I got through it and ultimately it was fine but the process was miserable and I never want to go through that again. Miss Belgium did not fair quite so well as I. It’s true that you can’t really get hurt just by getting up in front of an audience, but being a magician’s assistant in front of an audience has it’s own very real perils. My scars are on the inside hers are all too evident. Oh Shit. The Emcee is starting my introduction. Gotta go. I wrote this while waiting to go on stage last night, but couldn't post it until I had internet access today. The picture is from the show.

Kangaroo. It's what's for dinner.

paulnathan — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 15:03:45 GMT

Spent the day here in Sydney wondering the streets and harbor walks. I had forgotten how much I love this town. The people are so friendly. They come up and talk to you. I'm shy so having people come up and talk to me is wonderful. Sydney is one of the most wonderful cities in the world. It has the energy of Hong Kong, the architecture of New York, the Sophistication of London The amazing views and beauty of San Francisco and the laid back attitude of Berkley. I hate to post a blog when nothing has happened so I will just tell you about dinner last night. We ate at Nick's Seafood Restaurant on the Harbor. Stunning view, right on the water. I had something called "Bugs" which is like a lobster but more tender and a delicious flavor. I was going to order a local delicacy, the Blue Fish. You can't get it anywhere else. But I was really tired and I made a stupid joke about having Kangaroo instead. Here is the conversation: Waitress: So what are you blokes having? Paul: I'll have the Kangaroo. Waitress: Good on Ya. How would you like that served... We recommend rare. Paul: Oh. I was just joking. Waitress: So you don't want the Kangaroo? In that case I recommend the Blue Fish, it's a local delicacy. Paul: Wait... Back up. Do you actually have Kangaroo? Waitress: Yes, of course we do. Paul: is it any good? Waitress: No. But we keep it on the menu for the tourists. Paul: I'll have the Kangaroo. Rare. Notice that the waitress never made comment about how stupid I was or rolled her eyes, not a single patronizing comment or gesture. It was like being in the exact opposite of France. Like that episode on Star Trek where Captain Kirk is in an alternative reality where everyone is evil and he has to fake being evil so he can survive and get back to his dimension. Except Australians are like the good Captain Kirk and French people are like the bad Captain Kirk only more haughty and with a stupid accent and they refuse to speak English even though you know they do speak English and they are just playing dumb because they are actually demonic beings in cute little berets... But Australians aren't French at all. They are more like us, but friendlier. Kangaroo tastes fantastic. It's like a nice rare cut of Beef but with a hint of Lamb. Very tender, flavorful, succulent. Overall I give Kangaroo a big thumbs up. The picture I have attached is me with my plate of Kangaroo. It was a pleasant surprise. I did not expect to like Kangaroo very much. I really just ordered it so I could tell my vegetarian friends that I had eaten a cute kangaroo. I'm hoping to have Koala Bear before I leave, and perhaps some wombat. I always get a bit homesick when I'm on the road. The first couple of days are the worst. I miss my friends, my home. I miss BAGG, and Morphine Movie Nights, and Strap on Tuesdays. I miss the late nights cooking for friends. Tonight I'm going to drown my sorrows in absinth (it's legal here) and attempt to find solace in the arms of some random tart. I went out last night and did magic for people at a bar. After that I couldn't buy a drink to save my life. Everyone was chatting me up and hanging out. Having so many friendly people here makes it fun. The Women are amazing. So beautiful. They all have the accent that drives me nuts. It's like a high class British accent but with a bit of Alabama or Arkansas mixed in. Of course the country started off as a prison colony so all the girls here are descendants of people with no moral compass. A whole continent of hot prison chicks (friendly prison chicks). I think I found a way to get over my homesickness. Next post... Northbound.

Snakes on a Plane.

paulnathan — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 03:47:49 GMT

I'm on a flight to Sydney right now... I'm certain there will be some fun stories from down under but right now the flight is just what you would expect... Long, boring, and uncomfortable. I don't know why the airlines insist on hiring Torquemada’s furniture designers but they seem to be crafted for the least amount of comfort. There isn’t much happening here on the plane, although I am thinking about replacing the in-flight movie with a copy of Snakes on a Plane, which I brought for this purpose. You see the one wrinkle in this otherwise perfect trip is the fact that the flight is full, and worse full of children from some Christian youth camp down under. It's summer in Australia so school is out and, according to the young lady across the aisle from me, a missionary organization dsent two hundred kids to the Americas to study Evil first hand. They started at Washington DC (the epicenter of evil) and visited the white house where they caught sight of president Beelzebush. Then Hollywood - or as they keep referring to it, Sodom and Gomorrah Wood. Then they took a brief trip to San Francisco where they were able to shake their heads and wag their fingers at virtually everybody. Now they are on the plane with me. Faces freshly scrubbed, no doubt to get the last vestiges of evil off of them. They glisten with good intentions and that special inner light that true believers get (Just before they do something really horrible in the name of their faith). They spent the first two hours of the flight singing, their little voices lifted in joyous adoration to god. Now they are watching the Davinci Code. I've been hitting on one of their chaperones... I think I might get her to put out in the bathroom if I promise to convert when we land. I have a bet with my agent, who is traveling with me. I've got a hundred dollars that says I can close this deal on the plane, he says I'll have to buy her dinner in Sydney first... If I lose I’m paying him in Australian dollars. The aisles are clear... The flight attendants are all up in first class sipping champagne and giving lap dances to the big spenders. I’m going to slip over to the AV cabinet and put snakes on a plane on the big screen. I’m sure the kiddies will love it. “I am so sick of these Mother $^&%$##ing snakes on this mother &%*%^##ing plane”. There’s not much else to report from the plane so I’ll tell you a story from my travels last week. As you know I had flown to London to inseminate a good friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous (she told me that after I posted her name, address, and birthday in my last blog… Doh!) I flew in on Sunday and finished my duties on Monday… There's not a lot to do in London midweek when the weather is crap so I hopped a quick flight over to Amsterdam to see my favorite fetish model (pictured above). She also wishes to remain anonymous (also after my initial posting – double doh), plus she made me take out all the hot details so here is a more family friendly perspective. We've been friends since we hooked up in Amsterdam last Easter. She’s been over to my place in San Francisco a couple of times for shows but this was the first time I had come to visit her. Seeing her made the trip worthwhile. The picture above was taken at the train station in Amsterdam when she met me last week. She is a very special girl. Blessed with the kind of sweet, innocent face that makes you want to hold her softly and kiss her gently. But with the kind of body that makes you forget about her face. Suffice to say her personality is as lovely as her looks and her imagination is as curvy as her body. She showed up at the airport looking as sexy as a super model should. For her appearance here tonight she’s chosen a conservative look. Tight black sweater, and fitted skirt to accentuate the curves of her figure, black silk stockings and hold-ups, all covered by a nice Burberry trench-coat. She could have passed for any secretary, or office girl in The Hague but with a better body and just a little too much sex appeal. I've dated plenty of models, and I know how much work it is but I have never met a model who works as hard as her. She is constantly shooting, doing appearances, updating her website, or on the phone with her management company. She is a very special girl. When she looks at me with those soft blue eyes saying no is not an option. We spent our time relaxing over coffee and bagels, shopping for antique books, and going to Rembrandt House. We walked through the red-light district on our way back to the train station. Many of the shops had pictures of her from a project she did last summer and as we walked into shops people recognized her. It was fun to be with a celebrity. She’s in the Dutch newspapers pretty regularly as well as in all the magazines. Next posting will be from Sydney… Oh is that children crying that I hear. Yes. I believe it is. Snakes on a Plane has been playing while I have composed this. It looks like there’s going to be one or two kids in therapy with a snake phobia. The young lady I’ve been hitting on traded places with my agent so we could sit together. She’s been watching the movie while I type this. Occasionally clutching my arm then burying her face in my shoulders. I’ve been comforting her. She told me when the film started that she hates scary movies, and that she is terrified of snakes. I’m going to help her out… I’ll take her to the bathroom where there are no snakes. I’ll hold her tight in my arms. We still have six more hours of flying time and I have a DVD of anaconda in my backpack. Excuse me while I go win my bet.

Mother Fluffer

paulnathan — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 09:25:13 GMT

On the road again. I'm back on the road. I'm supposed to be in Australia right now. I'm supposed to be on the gold coast scuba diving. I'm supposed to be reconnecting with old friends in Sydney and Melbourne instead I am in London. It's summer in Australia where I am supposed to be. It is winter here in London where I am. Bitter cold and rainy. Snow yesterday. I love London but I would rather be in OZ. Now to be fair I'm leaving for Australia on Monday but instead of spending three weeks vacationing their I'm spending this week in cold, dreary, London. What could possibly tear me away from scuba diving on the barrier reef? I'm not here doing shows. I've come here on a secret mission to impregnate a friend of mine. I'm very excited about being a part of it. She has been wanting a child for the past five years. She's been in a couple of relationships but it just hasn't worked out and now she is getting to an age where having a child gets more difficult, more dangerous, and less convenient. Almost too old to have a child. It's a difficult thing for her to do but it is something that she wants very much and she just can't wait any longer. Truth be told I had been thinking it would be nice to have a child but I'm far to narcissistic to be a good father so this is great for both of us. As I said she tried several relationships but infertility, incompatibility, and insanity just got in the way. In some cases it was all three. She went to the sperm bank and inquired about doing it that way but England changed it's laws a couple of years ago and now sperm donors are no longer anonymous and can be held responsible for any progeny derived from their donations. As you can guess, very few Brits are donating their seed in this legal climate. In fact last year their where a total of three donations in all of the UK. So that left her in a situation of having to find a willing sperm donor. She is a persistent girl... She asked all of her friends, then a bunch of people she didn't know and when there was no other choice she called me. I was honored that she asked me (even though I was really a last resort). So here I am in London the proud father of 9 fertilized embryos, one of which will be implanted in the hopes of becoming a child. Now this is not our first attempt. It costs about ten grand to do the implantation. When I found that out I told the girl (she wishes to remain anonymous) to just fly me over by me a nice dinner and I'd do it for free. We agreed that this was a much preferable method unfortunately my schedule didn't allow for flying over so she came to San Francisco. She flew over twice but the same schedule that made it impossible for me to fly to London also made it difficult to find time for a lot of insemination while she was in town. But we did manage a few times. Not enough apparently since it didn't take. Let me tell you it's not easy impregnating a girl. It's not sexy, it's not fun. Impregnation reduces one of my favorite pastimes to a high pressure chore with timelines and charts and temperature gages. It was actually quite difficult to achieve the desired results. Each attempt was met with a great deal of ambivalence and distraction. I had a lot of trouble at her place because her cat (Pictured above) kept watching me. It was an evil creature with obvious malice in it's heart. I had trouble here because of the constant distractions in my everyday life. Truth be told that is all just excuses... The truth is it's difficult because you know that you will be bringing a child into the world. I wasn't thinking about the girl or the act or the moment. I was thinking about the rotten little teenager who would be ruining my life in a decade. I was thinking about what a bastard I was and how miserable I made my parents... Oh my god. what have I done. Eventually we resorted to a nineteen year old fluffer to assist in the process. She is now referred to as the mother fluffer. I have to gto the airport right now but with any luck I'll be a father in a year. Well not exactly a father, more of a contributor in the ongoing biological conversation. With more luck I'll be dead or senile before the kid turns into a teenager. Thank god he or she will be living with his mother. My job here is done I'm going to Amsterdam to visit a Dutch Playmate then flying back home from there. I hope it will be easier to achieve the desired results with her. Next up... Tales from Amsterdam.

It's a Raid.

paulnathan — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 13:09:01 GMT

Busted. That's right... Tonight our party was stormed by six of California's finest. Of necessity this will be short story about a long night. I'm sitting here lighting my last Cuban cigar, having a glass of something I shouldn't, and trying to put into words what happened without incriminating myself and getting a tongue lashing from my lawyer. Early in the evening several investigators from the ABC showed up in plain cloths. We told them that they couldn't come in. We told them that it was a private party. They left. Just under an hour later they came back in uniform and charged the door. We told them that it was a private event. They insisted, threatened to arrest us, then physically restrained our door man. Highlights of this evening's raid. Cat getting Officer Brandon's phone number (she said he was the cutest cop). I also got a kick out of the moment one of the officers recognized me. It was fun watching him realize that he was a fan of the guy he was busting. He'd been to several of my shows (doh!). Favorite moment... Watching the earnest young officer's face blush red as the girls I was with had frank discussions about "relationships" and "bedroom rodeo". Honestly it was enough to make me blush. As I sat in the art gallery while the police took a tour of the space I told one of the officers I was calling my lawyer. As I pushed send the officer commented that he had never seen anyone with his lawyer on speed dial before. I told him I never travel anywhere without a lawyer, a nurse, and a confidential secretary. It's trying moments like this that make you realize how wonderful it is to be surrounded people you love and, trust and who love and trust you. When I finally reached my lawyer he told me not to discuss anything, especially online, so at my counsel's recommendation I can't go into too much detail. I will say that no one went to jail. The biggest bummer of them all. The party was canceled. I can't tell you how much I was looking forward to tonight and how disappointed I am that it got canceled. Over the past year I have been jet lagged or busy virtually every time I've been in town. I was looking forward to seeing my friends without having my head a thousand miles away. This was the first time in a year that I could invite people over for an evening without being distracted by tour schedules, box office business, and travel weariness. Big fat Kudos to our door guy. Who handled everything like a pro and did everything he could to prevent entry of the police, even risking arrest. He was physically manhandled out of the doorway before they could enter. Double kudos to Cat who told the cops it was her party then went around shooing people out of the event so that no one else would get into trouble. Thanks to everyone who called or sent text messages offering to bail me out. I Had just left the event for a few minutes to change at my house when I got the call. When I came back I found Cat talking to the police. I asked if there was anything I could do and she told me "no, please leave". When the officer asked her who I was, she told him I was just some guy at the party. It's nice to know that someone cares enough to go to jail for you... Of course I've always known that about Cat. Why the police came is a mystery... At my lawyers advise I'm not going to speculate. They gave us citations for selling alcohol without a license and let us go. Our case comes up next month. My cigar is almost finished. My glass is empty. Overall the night could have gone a lot worse. I'm going to sleep. Next post... Mother fluffers.

Cheating at Cards.

paulnathan — Mon, 13 Nov 2006 07:47:04 GMT

OK. Jamaica was great. They did lose my luggage for three days on the way down. And the flight was delayed just long enough to miss the last connecting flight out of LA to SF so I had to spend the night in LA and catch an early flight to SF (6AM) then drive like hell to make my gig in Tahoe tonight, but overall it was fun. I did not get any Cuban cigars while I was down their and they don't have absinth, but still it was a great trip. I'm in Tahoe now. I came up with a girl - we where supposed to do to a couple of trix together but the layout of the room didn't allow for it so we just did one thing together. The gig was for a bunch of Australians who make slot machines. Very cool people, very nice, great crowd. I was burnt out from traveling for two days straight but amped on adrenalin. I couldn't sleep so I went to the poker room and played low stakes hold em. I was up a few hundred dollars when they changed dealers. The new dealer had a shiny metal card protector. Mirror shiny. Now for those of you who don't know about cards let me explain. When playing poker the dealer will put a plastic card on the bottom of the deck so that no one can see the bottom card (because seeing the bottom card is a huge advantage to players) Having a mirror on the table means that people can see the bottom card, in fact it means that if you push back the top card just a little you can see what that is as well. In fact in my hands I can peek the top few cards in the deck easily and I'm not well versed in those techniques. An object used like this is called a SHINER (because it is shiny and reflective). I first learned this technique of cheating when I started learning about cards as a boy. I was probably seven or eight when I first read about them. Anything can be used as a shiner. A coin, a foil gum wrapper, a ring with a shiny flat side. My favorite story is about a magician from New York who used to do gambling demonstrations (I think it was John Scarne). He would hold up a straight razor at the beginning of his presentation and say "There will be no cheating in this game". He would then lay the straight razor on the table and proceed to use it as a shiner for the rest of the demo. For those of my friends who play a bit or who know much about the mechanics of a deck of cards you will appreciate it when I say that not only did the dealer have a shiner in his hand the whole time but he kept pushing back portions of the deck. Now I'm not saying that he was cheating (he was). But I will say that he could easily have seen the bottom card (knowing what the bottom card is gives a player an advantage of more than 7% over the rest of the players at the table) and could have been signaling to other players in the game. I kept getting lucky and pretty much broke the rest of the players. But I want to be clear it was luck not skill that kept me in the black. I didn't play much while he was dealing... In fact I would have walked away from the table and reported him to the casino (eventually I did) but I wanted to watch him for a while to see if I could catch him at anything overt. I didn't expect to and I wasn't surprised when I didn't catch him at anything really obvious. The things I saw could have been cheating or they could just have been bad card handling technique. I suspect that in the morning he will get a strongly worded note from the pit boss instructing him to report for some additional "training" in the handling of cards and the protocols of the casino. Casino's don't make a lot of money off of poker. They don't play against the players. Instead they take a small percentage of each pot. As a consequence there is little reason for a casino to do a lot of policing of the dealers so a lot can happen at the tables. When I told this story to a friend of mine he said he had seen dealers signaling at the tables in Tahoe. Some folks would say that I left a winner so I shouldn't complain. But the fact is if I don't say something about this than who will. The table was in the poker room at Harvey's, the dealer I saw was named Eli. I reported it and I am sure the casino will put a stop to it but in the mean time be warned. Most of the dealers i saw where straight.... Best of luck. P

All tied up in Paradise.

paulnathan — Fri, 10 Nov 2006 08:12:39 GMT

I'm in the weirdest place in the world. Sitting at a dining table in a robe and sandals eating bacon and fruit. I have done dome crazy gigs but this one takes the cake. This week I'm performing at Kink in the Caribbean. It's a weird party at a resort in Jamaica. The idea is to get people from all over the world to fly over here and dress in leather and lace, and rubber, and bondage gear and spend the week in the sun tying each other up and spanking each other. How do I get myself booked for these things? It's weird enough to be tied up and spanked. It's weird enough to want to be encased in latex from head to foot. But to want to spend a week doing it in the sun and salty air... I just don't get it. It's not like it's one or two people either... It's hundreds. People from all over the world. Poland, Ukraine, London, New York, Paris, Alaska. I mean tying people from all over the world. There is one guy who likes to dress up like a pony and give girls rides around the resort... He must be pushing sixty, yet every time I see him he has a different girl on his back. See the picture. He makes horsy noises. I'll be walking to my room when suddenly I'm in the middle of ten or fifteen people in various states of unusual dress or undress tied to palm trees on the side of the path. I wake each morning to the sounds of bullwhips cracking. Of course I like weird and I love new experiences, and I love to tell stories about the times I spend doing weird stuff but my mom has started reading this blog so I can't go into too much detail. Suffice to say it's a freak show here in paradise. The event is called kink in the Caribbean. Feel free to check out the website. I swam with dolphins today. If you get a chance... Do it. We swam with dolphins, fed sharks, kissed dolphins, fed Barracudas (not sharks they are in the mackerel family - Who knew?) more Dolphin kissing than the full dolphin ride. It was fun. I fly to Lake Tahoe in the morning then back home to get ready for Dark Kabaret. Paradise is busy. A seventy year old man just walked by in a leather apron and nothing else. I'm out of bacon and fruit. I'm going to go ride the water slide.

My Burden

paulnathan — Fri, 03 Nov 2006 09:43:15 GMT

Each year I produce a show called Dark Kabaret. It's a blast to do and a blast to put together. It's a show that I am very proud of. I'm not only proud of the show but I'm proud of how well the show has been received. Each year I put together a group of my performer friends to do the show. I try to fly in someone from out of town and work with people who I don't think we would normally get a chance to see here. About half of the audience is composed of friends of mine the other half are people who are either fans of the show or people who have heard about it and think it sounds like fun. It's great because the whole audience dresses up and makes a night of it. For us it's a blast not just to do the show but to get to hang out with such a sexy, cool, supportive audience. Here is the part that you don't see. Each year I go deep in debt getting ads for the show out so we can do the show without losing money. Each year we distribute about twenty thousand flyers, we put up posters all over town, and I run adds in newspapers, on the radio, and on the internet. It's three months of serious work. We spend time rehearsing with the band, creating, new bits, costuming... It's a lot of work that doesn't show up. I usually have the ads, flyers, and posters designed three to six months in advance. To make the event work I have to have everything published at least two months in advance. This year we got a great boon. Eric Burden was interested in being in the show. I can't tell you what an honor it is for me to have an artist like Eric interested in my little show.... But he couldn't commit. He wasn't sure if he could make it.. He wanted to but he wasn't' sure. Can I wait a couple of days? Sure... A couple of more...Sure but I have to get the flyers printed. I should know soon. OK but I have to get the billboard printed. Finally I told him I had to know or I was going to miss out on a bunch of press opportunities. "OK" he said. Fantastic. We have Eric Burdon in the show... The press releases are sent out to news services world wide. The billboard is printed and shipped - they expedited the order because I was running behind. The flyers go to print... It's all good. And because Eric Burdon is in the show I know it's going to be great... Special. The first day I announced the show to our private email list we did record sales. Since then we have been selling tickets like crazy. I know this is going to be a dynamite year. Then I get the call... Eric Burdon is not going to be in the show. Huh? WTF... But the flyers are printed. The billboard has been shipped our first ads have run in the Onion. Several news agencies want to do stories. Sorry Eric can't do it. What can I do??? I start work on new flyers, prepare a bunch of emails to people apologizing and offering their money back and I try to find another artist who approaches his stature who might like to be in the show... Does anyone know William Shatner? I really want him in the show. I've wanted him in the show since it first started. This is a disaster... Eric just called. He apologized for the trouble. He explained that he didn't realize how much trouble I had gone to and told me he would work his schedule around to make it to the show. He's taking miserable flights so he can be with us that night... But Eric Burdon will be there. He is in the show. It's always something. Two years ago the lollies broke up the day before they were starring in the show. Last year... I don't want to talk about last year. Three years ago the best friend of our band leader died two days before the show. Let's just say that dark kabaret is not just a name it seems to be cursed. Of course the show must go on. On the flip side... Three years ago George Clinton jumped in to the show at the very last minute - He played for 45 minutes on a whim - Of course he was busted four days later in Florida for smoking crack - He lawyer said he got the crack in san Francisco while he was doing a show - I called up his lawyer and told him the show was Dark Kabaret - With a K. I have pictures. Two years ago my buddy Scott Land had gotten the coolest gig a puppeteer can get (I know you are thinking that this is an oxymoron but their are actually cool gigs for puppeteers) he was the lead puppeteer for Team America World Police. He worked with Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the creators of South Park. The movie was number one for a couple of weeks one of those weeks happened to be during Dark Kabaret and Scott flew up from LA to join us. What a treat. Five years ago my niece was born the morning of the show. So I guess it's all relative. Now I know that the show is not responsible for any of these occurrences (well maybe partially responsible for the break up of the Lollies) but is sure feels that way... I'm sure that when my father dies I will get the news while on stage during the show. I'm equally certain that if that happens their will be something amazing that happens to balance it out. Dark is just a shade of light. A stop along the slippery sloping gradient of light to dark, black to white, ying to yang, good and evil. I'm in Jamaica drinking coladas with little plastic monkeys hanging from the glass. P