Wednesday, November 25, 2009


As I write this there are about thirteen people, calling themselves "friends" and "family", that are descending on Santa Fe and my home expecting food.

Since nobody seems to be capable of providing me with an accurate head-count, I think that I will be serving cereal.

What I do know is that seven of them are going to be house guests! We are going to be stacked like hamsters in the house of Steeze.

Needless to say, I have already started drinking and, with luck, I will be able to maintain the buzz through the weekend. Therefore I will not be posting for the next couple of days.

Since I am not a "funny facty" kind of guy I am going to provide you with a woefully serious fact about myself:

My father's family is French-German and my mother's family is Cherokee.

So what does that make me? All kinds of strange.

I look just like my mother's side of the family:

That isn't a picture of me. These guys are from like the 1730's. It's the best I could do. A Google search of "Cherokee" just brings up pictures of cars.

There's a lot of that strangeness on the interweb. Search "Sequoia" and you get a bunch of trees, "Seattle" you get pics of some city in Washington, "Pontiac" and you guessed it, more cars. And the list goes on and on...

Anyway, as I said, my features are just like my mother's side of the family but I inherited my father's blue eyes and shockingly white skin.

My brother on the other hand, looks like my father's side of the family but inherited brown eyes and dark skin. Go figure.

We grew up in a very white neighborhood in a very white city. My family were reasonably affluent and educated. My father was a chemical engineer doing research for a large petroleum conglomerate and my mother stayed home until my brother and I were in our teens. She then went to work as an international cost account analyst for TRW. We were members of the country club and my parents were active in the community and the church. Basically we were the stereotypical fluffy Wonder Bread kind of family.

Except for one really big thing...

People would call my brother "colored" and look shocked when they found out that we were related.

Some parents didn't want their kids to play with him.

Salespeople would follow my brother around the store to keep an eye on him.

When my brother was old enough to drive he was constantly stopped by the police because he looked suspicious—not once did he ever receive a ticket for doing anything wrong.

And this wasn't like in the 1950's. This was the seventies and eighties.

He always pretended that he didn't notice. But, hell, even I noticed and I was a few years younger than him. At the time I just didn't understand why some people thought that my big brother was bad.

So I guess what I am saying is that I am thankful for learning about the stupidity of discrimination at such an early age.

I am also going to embarrass myself by saying that although I am glad that I learned about racism early, I am also glad that I didn't have to experience any of it.

Discrimination is vile.

But, unfortunately, still rampant in our world.

Because of that I am sad to say that I am truly thankful that I was born a male that looks white.

So to all my homies on the rez, here's a little video about genocide to get the Thanksgiving holiday started:

email me: Teezy

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Tuesday, November 24, 2009

California Dreaming

The comments in my last post made me remember a little documentary about living in Los Angeles.

Please enjoy...(language NSFW) :)

email me: Teezy

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Monday, November 23, 2009

Commuting in Santa Fe

View from the gate of my courtyard to a neighbors house

Sheezy asked me to post a vid of my commute to work and back. It usually takes me about ten minutes (one way) to get to work so I have had to do quite a bit of editing (sorry Sheezy—I don't think anyone wants to watch a 20 minute video of me driving).

I also don't want all you crazies out there to know how to get to my house or office.

Please enjoy...

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Friday, November 20, 2009

For Immediate Release: Teezy has Become a World Famous Theater Critic!

Teezy—assuming my newly appointed role as preeminent critic of all things steeze

For what seems like days and days, I have been writing critical essays on the evaluation of theater and the performing arts in Santa Fe, receiving little support, much less acclaim from the literary community or my intellectual peers.

I must say that I certainly understand that my opposition to what I believe to be the ubiquitous blurring of the difference between serious objective discourse and mere public relations schemes can appear threatening to those less enlightened.

I also realize that when reviewing theater, most of the Santa Fe literati seem to be more focused on glib commentary influenced by facile partisanship rather than responsible and unbiased journalism. Consequently, I am both vilified and ignored by the local intelligentsia covetous of my lucid and superior critiques.

Therefore, it gives me great pleasure to announce that I, your always humble and obsequious Teezy, have had my review of Aida at the Lensic Theater in Santa Fe published by one of, if not the most important and influential (online) literary journals in all the WORLD!!

Yes, it is the incomparable, one and only, Eureka Theatre Company!! (dot com)

They even spell Theater TheatRE! That's pure class you idiots.

If you are feeling up to the challenge of some meaningful intellectual literature, you can see my professionally published (online) review here. (Sorry, you will have to scroll down past the video of the American Idol guy and then past the article about some murdered dude in Espanola.)

But, right under that is:

Aida at the Lensic Theater, Santa Fe
by Teezy

My own byline even!

Now that I have made it to the top of the heap, I promise that I will not forget the little, little people whom I have triumphed over. You will always be in my memories.

It is unfortunate that I was unable to get any footage of the actual performance (I used a clip of the "Put the F*cking Lotion in the Basket" duetto from il Silenzo degli Agnelli instead.) Perhaps next time the Lensic will not be so sensitive about me filming copyrighted material.

In case you missed my groundbreaking review of Aida you can check it out here.

email me: Teezy

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Wednesday, November 18, 2009

My Ideal Woman...Too Bad She's Twitarded

A few days ago I wrote about some identity issues that I was having after seeing a production of Bat Boy: the Musical at the Greer Garson Theater here in Santa Fe. If you missed it, you can read the post here.

I have been struggling with my identity since I was a child and seeing someone just like me, on stage, heralded with applause and adoration made me connect for the first time with the world around me.

I have been giddy ever since the experience.

Then, things got even better. I ran across this little vixen.

Alas, her heart longs for Skylark, but I have a feeling that he is going to dump her. That's when I will swoop in to pick up the pieces.

There may be a few ethical issues. Bat Boys are not necessarily vampires so the inter-species thing (although dirty-hot and sessy) may pose a problem within the confines of our prejudicial society. Also there is the age difference. She is an eternal tween, while, unfortunately, I am not.

I bet we can get around the tween thing if we build our love cave in Utah.

Vampons from Beef & Sage on Vimeo.

email me: Teezy

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Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Blogger Thinks That I am a Cat Lady, a Soccer Mom, or Some Other Random Freak

I've actually read Orwell's 1984 and am abundantly aware of the ramifications of life in a "Big Brother" society. 

To some of it I say bring it on—my life is a well-crafted and intricate web of deceit that would boggle even the greatest masterminds of our time.  

But what I believe to be the far-reaching implications of basic consumer technology terrifies me.

We are tracked, observed, and studied with our credit card transactions, our cell phones, our browser history, our MyFace pages, our Twatter, and the list goes on and on...

I know that there is someone out there in cyberland observing me at this very moment, adding to my "file".

Even Blogger requires that you provide the Google beast with all sorts of personal information before you can start a blog. 

But, could Blogger be the warm-fuzzy side of my Big Bro?
Is Blogger attempting to utilize it's plethora of personal information to provide me with customized service?

According to Helen Kang,  Blogger's Software Engineer, they are.  

I was reading the "Blogger Buzz" section in my blog's dashboard and saw the article about the new and improved "View Next Blog" link that appears at the top of most blogger pages (you have to remove it from the template if you choose not to have it appear on your site). 

Helen states:

"The new and improved Next Blog link will now take you to a blog with similar content, in a language that you understand. If you are reading a Spanish blog about food, the Next Blog link will likely take you to another blog about food. In Spanish!"

In Spanish! no less. Sounds cool, I guess.

But Ms. Kang doesn't stop there. She teases you with the prospect of connecting with someone just like you:

"You might discover a cool blogger who has hobbies similar to yours, has similar taste in electronic gadgets, likes sports that you're into, or has similar curiosities and interests".

I have hobbies, I like gadgets and you don't even want to get me started about my special "curiosities" and "interests".  I felt as if Helen was speaking directly to my soul.

Could it really be true? After reading the article I was so excited. I was ready to try it out. Today was going to be the day that I found a friend. I would be able to validate my suspicions that I am not completely and utterly alone—that there are real people out there who are just like me.

Even though this pilfering of personal information frightens  me, I could not wait to get started. I knew with the life dossier that I had been required to give Blogger to start my site, combined with all my posts, Google searches, Gmails, etc., that Blogger had a bevy of like-minded individuals in the queue just waiting to be introduced to someone like me. 

I quickly brought up my home page and clicked on the "View Next Blog" link.

The first blog came up and I immediately began reading the latest post.  

It was written by some SRSLY! f*ckd-up 42 year old single barren woman complaining that her mother doesn't like it when she refers to her cats as her mother's "grandkitties", and how upsetting it is that her mother refuses to speak to her "grandkitties" on the telephone.


I may be all kinds of crazy, but I aint no cat lady.

I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach.  I felt dirty. 

I could almost smell the cat piss and pebble covered turds that comprise that woman's existence.  How could Blogger think that this abomination was "a cool blogger that has hobbies similar to yours"?

I knew that it had to be a mistake—perhaps I double clicked the link by accident—perhaps my request just got sidetracked in the vastness that is the interweb.

I went back to my home page and tried again and again and again...

Time after time I ended up on some soccer mom's site showing pix of monkey-looking kids doing stupid shit that the parents evidently thought was brilliant.  I think that the only time on my site that I have even mentioned kids was when I was drinking in front of them. I certainly do not have any little snot-makers of my own.

But what could be worse than Blogger thinking that I could relate to oblivious soccer moms and filthy cat people?

Up pops blogs in all sorts of distasteful third-world languages.  All the scrawls and squiggles made my head spin—so archaic.

I'm an American damn it. 

What? does Blogger think that I floated over here on a beer cooler? 

Bite me Helen Kang—you don't know me—how dare you judge me and pick out such shitty prospective friends for me.  You suck.

The only time that I got something useful from Big Bro technology was when a friends TiVo scanned my brain and picked this out for me:

It has turned out to be the perfect accessory for me.  I have even fashioned a discreet  belt loop clipping device so I don't ever have to be without it.

Teezy wearing my Comfort Wipe Holster

But before you get any entrepreneurial ideas, I am currently working on the patent and will be selling on eBay soon.  

I will also have trendy crocheted cozies on my Esty page—check back often!

email me:  Teezy

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Thursday, November 12, 2009

El Meson and Chispa Tapas Bar, Santa Fe

I have to say that El Meson has consistently been one of my favorite restaurants in Santa Fe since I moved here. With the addition of Chispa in 2000, it has become a regular stop for both locals and tourists.

The reasons are pretty simple. the chef, David Huertas, was born and raised in Madrid (Spain, not New Mexico), graduated from the Culinary Institute of America and certainly knows how to prepare traditional Spanish fare. Another great thing is that there is nightly entertainment in the bar with no cover (it was flamenco night when I was there).

Another nice thing was that on the evening I was there, that regular old hag hostess was no where to be seen. That nasty mean old lady has become a joke with everyone that I know. Everyone that I mention her to knows exactly who I am talking about and we all agree that she is just plain rude and wonder why she is working the door (and has been for quite some time)—she must be a relative.

Anyway, by far, the most important reason to visit El Meson and Chispa is that they serve one of my favorite beers, Alhambra Negra.
Everyone who knows me knows that me loves me beer. I am sure that there are other restaurants in Santa Fe that serve Alhambra, but I only drink it at El Meson—for reals.

The restaurant serves entrees, apps., etc., but I prefer the tapas in the bar.

We started our meal with some nice Padrón peppers. My friends the Neezies (a couple—both their names start with "N") serve Padrón peppers during the summer when they entertain. They purchase them from a local gardener at the Santa Fe Farmer's Market at the Railyard. I tend not to be awake during the Farmer's Market's hours of operation so I rely on the Neezies for my fix. It is nice to know that occasionally El Meson will offer them as a special.

We chose another special for the second tapas of the evening—braised mussels. I have to say that I prefer the mussels that are on the regular menu to the special that evening. I kinda like slopping up the broth with a piece of bread and, although the mussels themselves were good, the broth was a little bitter and sour.

Our final tapas was yet another special for the evening—crab cakes. They were very good, but rather small. There were two, so Seezy and I both got one, but again they were about the size of a half dollar. Oh, well, no worries, it is tapas.

I say no worries until we got the check. The total including tax and gratuity was almost $70!! for three tapas and four beers.


I think those two tiny little crab cakes alone were over fifteen bucks. For fifteen dollars those crabs had better have just crawled off Paris Hilton!

I just find it a little disappointing to spend $70 on dinner for two and leave the restaurant hungry and sober.

So, the Teezy review: Good food, Good Entertainment, Great Beer, mediocre service (avoid Broomhilda at the door), and whatever you do, don't order the specials!

email me: Teezy

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Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Bat Boy at the Greer Garson Theater, Santa Fe

One of the great things about doing design work for arts organizations in Santa Fe is that I often get comp tickets to interesting events. Last weekend I was given a couple of tickets to Bat Boy: The Musical at the Greer Garson theater here in Santa Fe, so my friend Seezy and I decided to go see the show—it turned out to be a life-altering experience.

Greer Garson Theater, Santa Fe

So, if you are like me (or just really, really want to be), you would be asking yourself, "Who on earth is Greer Garson?"

I know that a lot of you think that I just babble on this blog, but I actually did some investigating and found out a bunch of stuff about her (yeah, go figure, it's a chick!).

Greer Garson was like an old-timey actress from a long, long time ago—before the internet.

I have posted a picture of her below:

Greer Garson

As you can see, back in the day she was pretty much a hottie. According to the photographic evidence that I was able to uncover, she evidently spent most of her time, when not on a movie set, in lacey lingerie, lounging around on hot-pink crushed velvet sofas pulling her hair in a lurid and suggestive manner.

It seems to work for her. When I try it, people just stare.

Anyway, back to the investigative journalism.

As I said, she was this old-timey hotness starring in the "talkies". (They called movies "talkies" after language was invented.) So, Greer did what comes natural to most hot actresses—she married a multi-millionaire. His name was Buddy Fogelson. (it's funny, they even had old-timey names)

Now don't get me wrong, she had to work for it—their courtship lasted nearly TWO MONTHS before Greer decided that Buddy was the love of her life, her one true soul-mate, and that she could settle for being a simple multi-millionairess on a modest 14,000 acre ranch in Pecos, New Mexico. You can read a little about their spread here. I am sure it was a very difficult decision.

Obviously Buddy and Greer weren't greedy and decided to spread the love around because the College of Santa Fe named their theater after Greer and, as seen in the photo at the beginning of this post, hung a big picture of her head in the stairwell.

They also had some steezy "GG" carpet made to honor her in a color reminiscent of her cherished velvet sofas.

Steezy Greer Garson Carpet

So enough with the ancient history lesson and on with Bat Boy.

If you keep abreast of the news at all, I am sure that you are aware of Bat Boy. He seemed to be in all the headlines of every major newspaper a few years ago. Fortunately, the paparazzi turned their sights to Brittany after her melt-down and Bat Boy has subsequently been able to keep a low profile.

Bat Boy in the news

Bat Boy: The Musical is his life story set to music.

Yes, Bat Boy is a coming-of-age story, but so, so much more.

As Seezy and I sat in the darkened theater watching Act I, I found myself truly relating to the characters on stage. I felt for Bat Bay. I empathized with his pain, his desire to be accepted, his need to be understood, his deep longing for compassion, no, dare I say, his need for LOVE!!

At the end of Act I, I was feeling a little light-headed. I had so many emotions rushing to the surface, I wasn't certain how to deal with them without medication. I think Seezy noticed my distress, but failed to offer me any pharmaceuticals that might have been in her purse. In spite of Seezy's obvious lack of concern for my well-being, I decided to soldier on.

The lights dimmed and it was time for Act II.

By this time I was feeling a little warm and decided to take off my jacket revealing my white shirt, black vest and tie that I had worn for the occasion.

Just then Bat Boy appeared on stage and I couldn't believe my eyes...he was wearing the exact same outfit as I was!!

I take pride in my ability to repress emotion. It is a much honored family tradition. But, seeing Bat Boy on stage—in my clothing no less—opened a floodgate of sensations that I had never felt before.

There it was, staring me right in the face—Bat Boy—my doppelganger!!

Me (Teezy) on the Left, Bat Boy on the Right

For those of you who know me, you can attest to the fact that if you compare the two of us side-by-side the similarities are uncanny.

The physical resemblance is obvious. We are both shockingly pale. We are both quite thin and nearly hairless. We both have large ears and sunken eyes. We have enlarged canine teeth. And, as evidenced by the pictures above, we both tend to appear overly emotional when photographed.

But it doesn't stop there.

I, like Bat Boy, am always misunderstood. I too never quite fit in. I also have spent my life looking for companionship and love—never to have found it. People are often scared of me and, like Bat Boy, think that I am strange. I usually spend my evenings alone in a dark room. And, as if that weren't enough, just like Bat Boy, most people I come into contact with hate me.

As I sat watching the remainder of the play, my entire childhood rushed before my eyes. Everything started to make sense. I have been living a lie.

I don't even know who I am anymore. I think that I may be a Bat Boy!

Mom, Dad (if those are your real names), you and the rest of the family are going to have a lot of explaining to do at the next reunion. And don't you worry. I don't need your stupid "invitation", I'll find out where it is, I'll be there, you just wait and see!

All I can do at this point is thank the great cast of Bat Boy for helping me to make a little sense out of my strange life. Especially Miles Cooper (Bat Boy), Anna Smith (Meredith Parker) and Carey Cox (Shelley Parker).

I truly enjoyed the performance.

email me: Teezy

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Friday, November 6, 2009

I Don't Want no Pig Flu

I went to Borders in Sanbusco Market yesterday on my lunch break to purchase a birthday gift for a friend. I have been avoiding human contact a little more than usual lately because of all this pig-germ scare, so I decided to go at about 2:00P thinking that who, with any semblance of a real job, would be hanging out at Borders at 2:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday (myself certainly being the exception)...

Sanbusco Market

Well, if you are at all familiar with the Borders at Sanbusco, you know that there is a front entrance and a back entrance. I chose the back entrance because I was looking for a CD and the music section is at the back of the store. I don't consider myself lazy, I just try to do everything in my power to limit exertion.

I go inside, and much to my surprise, there are numerous people shuffling about the store. Initially, I do not pay much attention to this detail until, all of a sudden, I began to notice the noise.

A little wheeze, a little chortle, some throat clearing, a nose blowing in the distance—

My palms began to sweat, and I felt my heart begin to beat faster.

Then all hell broke loose!

A riot of coughs, snorts and spasms, as well as other revolting and indefinable human bewailing.

As my survival instinct kicked in, my eyes began to dart. I started taking notice of my surroundings and, most importantly, I realized that I had come face-to-face with something that I believe most people would consider pure evil—a building full of pasty, frail and diseased afternoon book-readers!!

Terrified, I immediately knew that I had to take cover. Since I had just found the CD that I was looking for, I scurried (yes, I scurry when I feel threatened) to the "Classical Music" section, knowing that no one would be there, and I could, perhaps, take a few moments to re-group.

I began to consider my options. Unfortunately, Borders has installed those scanner things at the exits making it nearly impossible for me to just clepto the damn CD. If only I could make it to the check-out quickly and get the hell out of this nightmare.

I cautiously lifted my head above the CD rack to look in the direction of the check-out stand that is located at the back of the store.

What I saw then made my head spin. The check-out at the back of the store was completely closed—they had even removed the registers! When will the fallout of our dismal economy come to an end? How long can retailers keep expecting customers to act human when we continue to be treated like cattle?

I then came to the horrific realization that I would have to traverse the entire store to complete my purchase.

I felt like a caged animal and those germ-riddled book-readers were closing in. I knew that my alone-time in the "Classical" section was coming to an end and I would have to make a break for it.

I wondered why these human petrie dishes were even there. I can understand running into them at say the pharmacy, or even (as disgusting as it may be) the grocery store. Both places provide basic necessities for sustaining human life. But a book store? What in the hell do any of them need at a bookstore that would justify putting my life in jeopardy? Come on, for once in your book-filled existence think of someone other than yourself!

Damn frail, sickly little book-readers—killing me on a perfectly good Thursday afternoon.

I just wanted to scream at all of them: "Put the books down! Go home! This isn't the stone age! Haven't you heard? We have TELEVISION!!!

Stupid books.

But you know how self-righteous those book-readers are...with all their fancy "learning" and "knowledge"—bastards.

I started to make a plan. I figured that I could probably hold my breath until I would be able to duck into the "Reference" section (another pocket of isolation), then one last surge to the front of the store and sweet, sweet escape.

But I was worried.

The deluge of book-reader expectoration had filled the entire building with a pork-scented napalm that was as thick as a Star Jones fart cloud.

I thought I was going to die.

Then, suddenly, I saw my chance. An escape route—a direct line to the check-out stand—I just had to dodge between two thick chicks and some androgynous emo thing.

I took my chance, and was fortunate to have survived to write this post.

Mark my words—those pasty little afternoon book-readers want to kill us all!

email me: Teezy

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