Letter to St. Nick - Reprint

Letter to St. Nick

(Originally Posted on Christmas Eve 2007)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the steid,

no' a creature was stirring, no' aiven the dead.

Fer 'twas bonnie old Scotland an' cold as she be

an' thare sat our own downcast GB under mum's tree.

"Ah've been good, ah've been bad, ah've been all o'er the place,

an' aiven some o' ma friends think ah've been a disgrace.

Ah'm still pushin' that old loadstone up ma own hill

and ah'm trying so hard tae improve ma sittin' still skills.

So ah'm writin' ye Santa, St. Nick or whatever...

aiven though sometimes some think ah've the gift to be clever,

some people just na'er seem willin' tae give me a break

and ah wish some would realize that this is MA cake.

An' ah'd like just tae eat it an' enjoy it too,

without havin' tae explain every damned thing that ah do,

fer it's startin tae make me quite cranky ah'd say

tae wake up and see who ah'm fuckin' or no' fuckin' each day.

If ma life had so many a winsome, sweet wench,

ah'd be much more relaxed and ma jaws ah'd no' clench.

But in truith, ah'm no' quite the big smooth operator

an' tis much more likely a lass saying...'Good nicht, see ye later!'

What ah'm askin' fer Nick, tis no' so hard tae grant...

Just some kindness, some love an', okay, special pants

that will fit through the thighs an' will fit in the arse

an' will squeeze ma wee boy when ma mouth gets too crass.

Fer ye know ah have problems wi' keepin it shut,

when ma publicist says ah should be quiet as King Tut.

Tis a case o' exuberance gone run amok

an' ah seem tae be havin' the same problem wi' ma co_ck!

Sae dear Nick ah wud ask fer some skills that ah'm cravin'.

The power tae be good an' tae stop misbehavin'.

Though deep doon in ma hairt ah just really got tae tell ye,

that ah'm no' goin' fer sainthood, no' NOW an' no' EVER!

An' ah've just one more thing oan ma list left tae ask ye.

Wud ye bring me a bag full o' fairy dust sparklies

ah kin sprinkle all o'er me when ah'm tired an' ah'm scruffy

sae ah kin leuk like the old me, even when ah leuk puffy.

Kis ah'm tired as hell readin' how fast ah am aging,

every time ah tarn aroun' an' it sets ma pulse a raging.

So along wi 'the dust ah would ask ye to be so kind

to deliver all o' ma lovin'  fans a swift kick on their behinds."

GB 12/2010

Yers truly,

GB

P.S. "An' no camel sh_it please, as ah've really no'  been THAT bad!"

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

A Silly Christmas Tale

by zonistonate


Once upon a Christmas fair
a certain Scot crept down the stairs
The mantel clock showed a quarter to four
as he stealthily strode towards the kitchen door.

Remembering with fright the words mum had spake,
"Now Gerrrardd dinna ye touch that cake!"
But determined he was and quite mad with the craving,
he knew there was little now left that could save him.

His feet were bare and his nose was running
but the plan he had was one of cunning
Anyone who took Ambien...knew the score
and he'd had enough bouts of sleepwalking before.

The ruse was simple once he'd had his fill...
He'd tell his Mum he'd taken his pill
and dead to the world, put his life at stake
and swear he'd not touched the bluidy cake!

But the best laid plans of mice and men
are no match for a mother who knows ye, ken?
When he lifted the fancy cake platter cover
instead of the cake, he found a note from his mother.

"My darlin' son, now that ye're awake
would ye please put the turkey in the oven to bake?
I know you were probably sleepwalking again 
But that story is old and I don't buy it, ye ken?

I love you to death and ye know that to be true
So blow ye're runny nose and put on your bloody shoes!
Famous ye may be...and even worshiped by some
But my job is to remind you who ye are when come home!"

He smiled at himself as he turned on the oven
Cunning he might be, but no match for the women
who'd given him birth and knew him like the clock
so nothing she did should ever come as a shock.

Today was Christmas and he'd eventually get his cake
but he'd help her with the turkey now that he was wide awake.
He rummaged through the cupboard and found a loaf of bread 
he might not have cake, but second best was what he'd have instead.

The moral of the story is that everything tastes good when one is home for Christmas....and you can't fool mom!
A merry one to all!  

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Playing the Field Through Rose Colored Glasses

If IMDb is to be believed, Playing the Field, the Gerard Butler project formerly known as Slide has finally got a start date of March 2011.   It had been rumored that the baseball themed, Robbie Fox comedy was being shopped around by Butler and Italian director Gabrielle Muccino for a while now and was finally picked up by Nu Image/Millenium.  It is to be co-produced by Butler's own Evil Twins production company.

In the meantime the story has undergone a metamorphosis and the protagonist, as played by Butler, will no longer be a former baseball player,  but more in keeping with Butler's Euro-centric style,  will feature a retired futball (soccer) star who tries to reconcile with his estranged wife and son by coaching his son's soccer team.

From the little I have heard of the plot,  the comedy element will come in the form of the soccer moms who all want a piece of the new,  sexy coach (yes we all know what piece it is they want) and Mr. Studly will spend some time trying to deflect the advances of the oversexed and obviously under-serviced soccer moms so as not to imperil his plan to reconcile with his family.

Sound a little familiar?

With two movies in post production that Butler fans are hoping will redeem their idol's promising acting credentials after the tepid reviews of his last three movies (okay, I am being kind here), another predictable comedy that will do nothing to add luster to his resume makes one wonder who the heck picks his projects!

To be fair, this is bit unfair of me, especially considering the state of movie making today and the kind of movies that are making money for their investors.  With actors such as Russell Crowe and others of his calibre striking out at the box office in favor of superhero, kiddie movies....one can see that perhaps he is taking what is being offered or can be made these days, the critics aside.   One can't do Shakespeare everyday, can one?

Let me look at this another way.   Rather than thinking this is going to be another dud like The Bounty Hunter with a predictable, cliched script and a lackluster pairing of the leads, let's dream a little here.....  Let's put on our rose colored wishing glasses and think about how this movie could be different....

What if.....?    What if this was a well written,  stylish comedy with an interesting central pairing and lush setting?   We're talking an Italian director here.   What if Butler finally allows himself to actually play a retired Scottish futball star, a little rough around the edges, but smart and his ex-wife a fiery, but sophisticated Spaniard (or other nationality) English professor?   How about letting  the supporting characters have some level of smarts and not be Jersey Shore or Hollywood housewives types?  How about a college town setting? A great child actor that really bonds with Butler?   How about the comedy coming out of the clever writing and  natural situations that we've  not seen a thousand times before?   How about a little drama and some interspersed pathos and maybe....yes not maybe....please...some passion (whether suppressed or expressed) between the leads?   How about a little more Philadelphia Story or Love Actually and a little less Ugly Truth?   Wouldn't that be grand?

I think I will keep on the rose colored glasses  for a while and wait and see what comes out of the mix.  The eventual casting will tell us a little....and oh how I wish I had a peek at the story!   The title is not very promising, but let's hope the "Field" is a little more full and rich then the title implies.

As always, I am keeping my fingers crossed.  I have hopes for this director.  I have seen a few of his movies and perhaps will put a few more on my Netflix over the next month.

I am hoping Playing the Field is a symbolic title and not indicative of what Butler will spend his time doing in this movie.   I want to see some sparks and the tinkling of some sparkling dialogue and lots of spontaneous laughter with no laugh track necessary.

I know....I'm a foolish optimist.   But one can always hope.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate



 

Frolicking In Miami Beach

Gerard Butler looks like he was "frolicking" on the beach with several friends before popping into some of the  Art Basel  exhibitions in Miami Beach.  Frolicking, I say, because he is the type to actually frolic (check out the last photo).

Just Gerry here.

GB  is looking good these days!   He's slimmer than he's been in a long time and it works for him.  Contrary to what some think,  his youthful look is due to that weight loss and,  in these photos,  perhaps the windswept hair and the sunscreen moisturizing his face.

For those that think he should look picture perfect all the time,  he is not going to go the mousse and mirror route while kicking back near the beach. Would you?  I mean we ALL look perfect at the beach, don't we?

I think there is sometimes great naivete and very unreal expectations of this person (and actors in general) by their fans.  Where you see him dressed the way you would like to see him, it's most likely a photo shoot or other publicity shot.  When he is on his own, he is "just Gerry" and he dresses the way he pleases.  By now we all  know what that means.   His sartorial splendor leaves one breathless at times.

However, here, he looks fine and the blue shirt fits well and does make his eyes pop, as does the ever present  paparazzi.

The colt in action.

He's not your 300 hero-hunk in these photos.  The  person  here is enjoying some personal time with friends and, as is often the case, being funny without trying.   Personally, I think he is really 15 years old in his head and for all his athletic build, he is also sometimes an ungainly colt!  

That this colt also has a head (and body) for business and does very well for himself is incongruous at times.  For me therein lies some of his charm.   All men are little boys underneath the armour and those that aren't wish they could be.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate


*Photos courtesy of Just Jared and Gerard Butler Gals

Happy Thanksgiving from Hollywood, California

Gerard Butler riding on a cool, clear Southern California day.

With all the things that are not right in the world at the moment, a fine looking fellow is one of the many things to be thankful for.  



Photo courtesy of  www.justjared.com

The Outlandisher - Chap. 13 - Travel by Boot

17th Century Scotland - The Red Bull Inn

Sitting on the rough wooden bench in the room upstairs, Jamie McFraser and Gerremy McButler's conversation was momentarily drowned out by the loud claps of thunder and the torrential rain that peppered the  roof of the Red Bull Inn.   Presently both men sat facing the object of their consternation and discussing how to approach the search for the key that would allow McBuler passage through the mirror to 21st century New York.

After doing a thorough reconnaissance,  featuring tactile compression of every inch of the surface, they came to the conclusion that it had to be a matter of some kind of spell or group of words that had to be said in the right order that would open the portal.   They had spent the last half hour discussing a little Scottish history and the events that might link the past and the present in hopes of coming up with some clue on how to proceed.

McFraser had also recounted to McButler everything he was doing on the ill fated night that had brought McButler through the portal with a roaring thump.  In turn McButler explained to McFraser what Dressed to Kilt was and how he was  trying on the outfit he was to wear to the occasion when he had turned and momentarily seen the image of Jamie McFraser staring back at him from the mirror.   As a matter of fact, it had been Noly's growling and the ensuing fright that had caused him to trip on the little dog and plummet through the vortex that had suddenly appeared in the mirror.

McFraser had questioned McButler on the circumstances the evening the Captain disappeared, only Gerremy had been unable to shed much light, since he had been fast asleep, under the influence of an Ambien laced shot of Scottish whiskey, which had put him out like a light.   He skipped lightly over his adventures with the English dragoon in an unaccustomed fit of embarrassment.  He noticed McFrasers stern silence and unwillingness to prod further on the matter and wondered what it was all about.

He was not about to go in that direction again though, as he and McFraser had been getting along and he didn't particularly relish seeing the menacing look on the big Scots face ever again.  He was no coward and had survived a fair share of bar brawls in his day, but he knew damned well that if push came to shove, this fiery headed Highlander was capable of killing him without too much trouble.

He decided to take a different approach.

GMcB:   Since yer wife traveled here from another century, dae ye think she might have some clues to offer on this situation?

JMcF:  Perhaps.  My wife is ne'er one tae be scarce wi' the words.  We'll wait til the storm passes, though.    One o' the young lads in the actin'  troop  was struck by a bolt o' lightning an' the poor bastard was left deaf an' dumb.  If it's just the same wi' ye I'm going tae stretch out in the bed and catch up on some sleep while I can.   Ye can wake me when the rain stops.  We should save the candles for later.   Ye can stretch out on the table if ye're tired!

GMcB:  (frowning)  The table?  Unh unh.  I had enough o' that table already.  If ye dinna mind,  that bed is big enough fer two an' I promise tae stay on my side of it.

JMcF:  Ye don't snore, dae ye?

GMcB:   (innocently)  Me?  No' a bit!



Gerremy McButler found himself lying on the table, uncomfortable but thankful for the blanket and pillow that Jamie had ceded to him when he pushed him off the bed  earlier.  He had been sorely tempted to punch him in the head while he was down, but he needed him to find his way back to civilization and he was unwilling to risk alienating him.

Damn, how was a man expected not tae snore when the peat and wood fires clogged up the sinuses.  It was his bad luck McFraser was a light sleeper.   He had found out just how light when he had accidently jostled  Jamie while trying to pull the captain's very snug  trousers out of his arse, only to find a sharp point pierce the skin behind  his right ear.

Yes, Jamie McFraser was one very tautly strung  highlander and thank goodness his protestations of chaffing had the ring of truth to it, or he might have lost the ear altogether.   After the commotion, they had settled down again, with Gerremy determined not to move so much as a hair.   That determination had been skewered completely and certainly no match for Morpheus, who had warmly embraced him and apparently squeezed enough snores out of him to cause him to be quietly, but very unceremoniously,  dumped on the wood plank floor with a blanket carelessly tossed at his head.

Picking himself up, he'd had to beg for the pillow,  which caused McFraser  to lob some strong profanities at him in Gaelic.  McButler had gotten enough of a whiff of their meaning to realize that McFraser knew some curses not even he had ever heard of.    He'd made a mental note to ask him the meaning of a few to add to his own well stocked repertoire before going in search of the pillow McFraser had hurled across the room.



As usual, he was destined to get little sleep.   What seemed like only an hour later he was roughly awakened by the highlander, who had changed his mind and decided to return to Claire and see what light she could shed on this "time traveling" business.  Besides, McFraser had said he was as hungry as he was broke,  and it could rain for days, so they might as well tackle the elements and make their way before it got dark.

Still aching from the hard, inhospitable table, McButler made a show of easily sliding to the ground, as he tried to shake the drowsiness of sleep from his brain.  He noticed Jamie was doing the same, stretching in front of the mirror.

His stockinged feet had barely touched the floor, when a very loud peal of thunder,  immediately followed by a bolt of lightening,  lit up the room.   Covering his ears to shield them from the sound,  Gerremy McButler, in a show of grace seldom witnessed by mortal man (or woman),  tripped over the tight fitting boots he had slipped off  previous to climbing up on the table little more than an hour before,  and careened into one Jamie Lee McFraser with the equally loud, but well worn verbal explosion otherwise known as FUCK!

The next thing either of them knew, they were grabbing thin air and being sucked in,  hand over foot,  by the black vortex that opened up to receive them.
 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Living in the Moment: Why Gerard Butler Loves Sex!

Always a sensualist and  advocate of "living in the moment,"  I can't tell you how many times I come back to the premise that being in a moment with all your senses (and even your sixth) is so important to personal happiness.   I have written about it since I was in in school...."happiness is a function of recognizing the wonderful little moments in life and being there with all your senses, soaking it all up."   I am that way about plays, musical performances, the people I am with, communing with nature, being with myself.  The bottom line is  "When I am scattered I am not content."

So it was that my own feelings were validated while reading through the NY Times this morning and finding an article on a  recent study that correlates "unhappiness"with the tendency of letting one's mind wander.

*Gerard Butler happy?

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/16/science/16tier.html?_r=1&nl=todaysheadlines&emc=a210&pagewanted=print

In one paragraph, the study cites the unsurprising:

'The least surprising finding, based on a quarter-million responses from more than 2,200 people, was that the happiest people in the world were the ones in the midst of enjoying sex. Or at least they were enjoying it until the iPhone interrupted.'

After reading that paragraph my mind went immediately to Gerard Butler, whose photo of his arrival at LAX had caught my attention earlier.

You know Gerard Butler ...he of the "manwhore, " "can't sit still"  ADD,  cell phone as another appendage, reputation?

It was "in the moment" I read this that I felt the man should clearly be vindicated of the smears of so many disgruntled fans who consider him the antichrist and a threat to the institution of marriage or even monogamy?  All the vitriol can't be because they HATE his acting!

I had to ask myself the question.   "Could all the purported sex he has just be that Gerry just likes to be happy?"

It is a rare bird that knows themselves well enough to know where their weaknesses lay.   Gerard Butler, by his own admission in countless interviews, has said that he has a problem concentrating.  He has made an issue of it in going to Oneness University,  in his travels to India, flirtations with light therapy, even in reading books on how to bring all the disparate parts of him together in cohesiveness.    He is honest about it.  He has dealt with his demons, worked hard on ridding himself of addictions that have plagued him....always searching and trying to find the things that bring him contentment.  

Well, there are many things people know about Gerard Butler because he so often puts them out there and, while I'm sure there are many others that make him happy,  these three have to be at the top of his list:  1) Performing (be it acting or singing) to entertain others,  2) socializing (not to include talking to rocks) and,   3) if the tabloids and his fans are to be believed, LOTS of SEX.   Now, according to this article,  we perhaps get a glimpse of why the latter is so important to him!   Could engaging in sex be one of the times when his mind is not wandering to the next thing he has to do, going in a million directions, his electrical system sparking furiously?

He certainly looks happy in that LAX photograph  and we've  heard he has been engaging in all three of the above listed loves in NYC just recently.   If giving someone a smile is a contagious thing, the smile in that photograph is working.  It made me smile. 

Now I have one question for Gerry:

"Does he turn off his sexy red cell  phone while engaging in sexual acrobatics with the bevy of beauties he's so often photographed with?"  

I would hope so, but inquiring minds want to know. 

Be happy Gerry!   "Living" is important.


Zoni

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

*Original Link for Photograph:

http://justjared.buzznet.com/photo-gallery/2495980/gerard-butler-lax-01/

The Outlandisher - Chap. 12 - Clash of the Scottish Egos

9-22-10

Clash of the Scottish Egos

It was inevitable.  Gerremy McButler was totally convinced of that.  His life, right from the beginning, had been an example of the old adage one step forward and two steps back so this didn't come as any great surprise.   Why should this nightmare trip through time be any different.   If he had thought meeting up with one crazed English dragoon had been wicked, meeting up again with one hard headed, titian haired Scottish laird, was absolutely mind altering.

After leaving Claire McFraser's cottage,  he had decided to give the mirror one more try.  Claire had been occupied with patients and he hadn't been able to recount his disastrous meeting with one F. Neil McRandall and get her take on it.  It was obvious the crazy Captain was enamored of her husband, but he wasn't sure that she was aware of it and didn't know how to recount it without bringing him into it.   Did McFraser reciprocate some of the Captain's affections?  From the little he had mentioned him, he thought not, but one never knew how these things played out and he would have to wait and ask McFraser himself, in any case, since Claire had been too busy to see him.

He had returned to the Red Bull Inn and run smack into the person he was seeking,  namely, Jamie McFraser.    As he was going up the stairs to the room, he spotted McFraser having a tankard of ale with the proprietor.   Tired and angry,  he had approached McFraser from behind and put his hand on his shoulder.

GMcB:  Just the pairson I was lookin' for!     Tell me how ye brought me here to be pairt o' yer  Machiavellian plan.   I want tae go home.   Right now!

Without so much as twitching a muscle, McFraser had practically broken his hand by squeezing it so hard, it forced him to sit down.

JMcF:   Ye should know better than to sneak up on a body like that!  Ye're lucky I didna break yer arm.

Slamming a glass down in front of McButler, he poured him  some ale from his own tankard.

JMcF:  Ye look horrible.  I think ye need this more than I do!  Drink!

Rubbing his hand and still angry, McButler scowls at McFraser before  thirstily taking a few gulps.  He did not dare drink water again and resigned himself to a few lapses until this mess was cleared up.

JMcF:   Now what the hell is wrong wi ye that ye need tae shout it tae the world?

GMcF:  (lowering his voice)  Why the de'il did ye no' warn me about yer friend the fucking sadist McRandall?

JMcF:  Ran into him already, did ye?

GMcF:  Ye knew he would come after me?

JMcF:  If ye'll clear that muddled heid o' yers, ye'll  mind I did warn ye about the Captain.

GMcF: (still angry) Well, when ye said he wis after yer arse, I didn't  figure ye were speakin' in the literal sense!

JMcF:   (looking McButler over carefully)  Ye're a big fella an' ye dinna appear tae have suffered any lastin' damage!

GMcF:  Only tae ma psyche!  The man is madder than a hatter!

JMcF:   And what exactly is a "hatter."

GMcF:   It's someone who is mentally unstable, which said Captain appears tae be.  He almost killed me!

JMcF:  Yet here ye are.  Besides, the Captain isna daft.  He's nasty an'  he's sick.  I've run across arse bandits before, but na'er one that got his kicks from hurtin' people.

GMcF:   Seems like ye're more o' a babe in the woods than me.  Where I come from, people like him can advertise their preferences an' hook up wi' like minded types.

JMcF:  Ye're jokin'?

GMcB:  Not a bit.  An' to add tae it, I think the Captain might be there now.  He wis gone when I woke up, but his trousers an' the rest o' his clothes were still there.  I think he managed tae find a way tae take a trip through the bluidy mirror.

JMcF:   Well that's good news tae me.  One less thing I've got tae worry about.  I am goin' tae kill him some day, but for now, I'm relieved not tae have him on ma tail all the time.

GMcB:   When ye say  "on yer tail" are ye talkin' in the literal sense?

JMcF:  (frostily)  Mr. McButler, dae ye enjoy breathin'?

The look in Jamie McFraser's eyes chill him to the bone.

GMcB:  O' course, I dae.  What kinda question is that?

JMcF:  Then ye will never imply what ye just did again.

GMcB:  I'm not implyin' anythin'.   I wis  merely askin' a simple question.  It's no sin, ye know?  Some o' ma best friends are gay.

JMcF:   Gay?

GMcB:   That's what they call men who like men in ma time.  They openly live together and have good lives most of the time, except for the bigots.

JMcF:   Interestin'.    I've got tae remember an' ask Claire about it....  Say,  speakin' o' Claire...  How'd ye two get along?

GMcB:  Like a house on fire.  She's a fiesty one, isn't she?

JMcF:  (smiling to himself)  That she is.  (narrowing his eyes)  Just what dae ye mean by "a house on fire?"

GMcB:  (unawares of the change in tone)  Just like ye said, we got along, cep fer her puttin' a pillow o'er my head one night, though I dinna think she was really tryin' tae smother me in bed.

JMcF:   In bed?  An' just what were ye doin' in bed wi' my wife?

GMcB:  (becoming aware of the menace in the voice)  Sleepin'?

JMcF:   She let ye sleep in the bed?

GMcB:  Well, yeah, after she made me bathe tae get rid o' the lice, she practically cooked me alive wi' the boiling water she poured o'er ma heid!   I thought she wis tryin' tae cook ma balls!  That wife o' yers is dangerous, come tae think o' it.  She could give the mad captain a run fer his money!

JMcF:   (incredulous)  Ye got hot water?  She actually heated up water fer ye?

GMcB:   Ye expected me tae freeze ma balls off?  Are ye crazy?

JMcF:  What else did she do for ye?  Think verra carefully afore ye answer McButler.

GMcB:   If ye're asking did I sleep wi' her, the answer is no.  Well, technically I did sleep "with" her, but we didna  do more than sleep.....which was kinda strange tae me.  I never slept in a bed wi' a woman and not.... Well, ye know....?

JMcF::   I see.  Sae ye say ye ha' carnal knowledge o' every woman ye sleep wi'?

GMcB:  Well, not every wumman!  But aye, normally I dae!  But ah got tae say yer Claire knows how tae defend herself.  She took a knee tae ma stones when ah tried tae kiss her after she ripped off ma shirt.

JMcF:  (coldly)  Mr. McButler.  I think ye ought tae stop talkin' before ye find yerself wi' ma dirk embedded between your 2nd and third intercostal space.   Ye ken?

GMcB:   Wha....?   Listen, wasn't me doing the rippin' .   She said she wis leukin' fer my smallpox vaccination.   (shrugging)  But pairsonally, ah think she just wanted to see ma abs.

JMcF:  (suddenly understanding)  I see.  She was looking for the round little mark on  yer arm an' you misunderstood her intentions.  Aye, I see it now.

GMcB:   Well that's guid tae hear, kis I don't relish bein' gutted like a fish fer somethin' that wis clearly not ma fault.   An' besides that, ah DID save yer guid name by winnin' the pissin' contest ....wi' a little help from Claire, o' course, but....

Seeing the mine field in the direction this conversation was headed, McButler stops.

GMcB:   ...it's a long story.  I'll let Claire tell ye aboot it, aye?   Could ye PLEASE see yer way tae helpin' me figure out how tae get back tae ma own time an' tell me the trick tae the fuckin' mirror?

Jamie Lee McFraser looks dumbfounded.

JMcF:  Ye think I ken how it's done?  I havena a clue.



Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Birthday Wishes (and a little advice) for a Scottish Scorpio

Gerry Butler Nov. 2010

Dear Mr. B:

I hope you take a moment out of your birthday celebrations to ponder  the greater mysteries of life (such as where that other black sock you were looking for this morning disappeared to) and to thank God or the Universe for all your blessings this past year.  You seem to have family that loves you , friends that support you and you get to work doing something you love and get paid handsomely for it.  How cool is that?

Now I know one has to take the bad along with the good and the bad includes the twin boils on your now exquisitely skinny bottom, otherwise known as the paparazzi and the critics.  The latter haven't been so kind to your last few movies, but they'll come around if you do some good work.  I think most of them want to cheer for you.  Give them something of substance to sink their teeth into.  Be stingy with your roles and pick them out for their complexity and their charm.

There is a third  group I'm sure you'd love to lance with a sharp needle and that is the group known as "the nasty fans."  Wish I could help you with that one but they irritate the hell out of  me too.   My advice is just to ignore them!  

That you've lived to be 41 is no small feat in today's world.  Take care of your health so you can be around another 41!   If you think the first half went fast, wait until you're into the second!   My advice to you on the health front is to keep the blood flowing everywhere it needs to go.  It takes several things to accomplish that...a healthy diet, exercise, and keeping your body chemistry balanced to keep inflammation down to a minimum.   Have your CRP levels checked often and keep you HDL up!  A high HDL is a sign your liver is moving the cholesterol out of your bloodstream in a speedy manner.  The benefits of keeping inflammation down are many and the most important thing you can do (hence the CRP tests).  The best incentive I can give a man is the fact he will enjoy and perform sexually well into old age if he does these three things.   The same is true of women.  Enough said!

And dear Gerry, a healthy diet means cutting down on cake and cheese.  It's hard, I know....but remember that blood flow? 

Oh, and one last thing....Don't let doctors give you too many pills!  That is the worst thing you can do.  Aging is a disease in Western medicine and there is a pill for everything.  Don't start down that slippery slope.  There are natural alternatives.  Find them! 

Now about living your life.....  I don't think there is much there I can advise you on that you aren't already doing.  Hopefully you will try a little moderation in a few things, but you have to be true to yourself and your nature, so enjoy life and be kind to others while doing so.   What goes around comes around and if you live by that alone, you'll be okay!

Now go out and celebrate your big 41 in style.  Yes, you can even act like you're 14 if you want to (as long as it doesn't hurt anyone) and all it takes is a typo!  You are in charge of writing the script that is your life.  Do  it with your own particular style and a lot of love!

Thanks for some of the laughs, man.  See you at the movies!

With affection,

Zoni

Holy Water for the Soul? 5-23-09

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS
5-23-2009


Holy Water for the Soul?

Ahhhh but the Indian lassies (not to be confused with lassis) will miss Scottish actor Gerard Butler now that he has finally departed our fair shores. You could almost hear the sounds of a few hearts breaking when we learned his departure was imminent.

I, for one, shall miss the tumultuous excitement that seems to follow him everywhere he goes these days and there are several people we know who will miss his company, hopefully even the one he would wish to "fuse and merge" with.

From reading a blog by one of our talented writers, it leaves us wondering exactly which lady really caught the fancy of the Scottish hunk. While the money is on lovely Bollywood beauty, Priyanka Chopra, those who read with different eyes wonder if his taste has shifted to the more cerebral qualities of someone equally well known to us.

The effusive Mr. Butler has the kind of temperament that unnerves the more propriety-conscious souls among us and, from all indications, the lovely Nandita Das even resorted to singing a bit of a famous Indian love song to one of her friends in an attempt to not be left alone with the ailing, but handsome as ever, actor who came aboard a certain yacht to say a final goodbye to attachments he has made while visiting India and her holy sites.

We can only hope that he had the foresight to avail himself of some anti-virals, anti-parasitics and antibiotics prior to drinking the holy waters of the Ganges during his pilgrimage. This is a case where practicality and spirituality are hand maidens of that part of us that knows we must live another day to continue the search for inner peace by spending time with the people and places that fill us up, and to sate our thirst for the knowledge that will help us expand our minds and unify our dual natures. It is also common knowledge that oneness helps to quiet the ants in one's pants so that we can sit still and focus on the important tasks at hand, such as remembering your lines and mastering other accents besides your own.

Mr. Butler was overheard telling Ms. Das that the latter was one of the reasons he came to India, "in addition to the added lure of the scenery, of course." Ms. Das said she was not sure whether he was speaking of scenery in the pastoral sense, or of the Bollywood beauties he is said to admire.

During his visit with Nandita, we are told he also gave Hritik Roshan's wife Suzzanne, who was also aboard the yacht, advice on how to kill the "ants" that had been plaguing her, only to laugh it off with a big OH...when told that these particular "white ants" were in reference to the unsavory rumors that Hritik was romantically involved with his recent Kites co-star, actress Barbara Mori.

Yes, we shall miss Gerry and his lively, effervescent presence.....and , when he fully recovers from what ails him, we hope he will look back on us fondly. As we know, "nothing ever ends"...but hopefully, in Butler's case, that will only apply to the memories and friendships he has made in India, which we hope he will carry in his heart, and not to any little critters who may have set up domicile in the more vulnerable regions of his G.I. tract.

Alavidha and caio Gerry!

Sigh.....

Lakshima Liesalota

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Bollywood Parties 4-01-09

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

May 1st, 2009

BOLLYWOOD PARTIES

As promised, the first snippets of Priyanka Chopra's party for her friend, Scottish actor Gerard Butler, are starting to spill out.

First of all, as was reported by another Bengali news source, the police were summoned to quiet down Ms. Piggy Chops revelers when they got a little too noisy for some of her neighbors. This has happened once before and the actress was overheard saying to one of her guests that "she had sent said neighbors a note telling them she was having a party and asking them to please turn down their hearing aids for the evening."

Today her spokesperson issued an apology to all hearing impaired persons and said the actress was making a little joke at the expense of her older neighbors, who had perfect hearing but were jealous they were not invited to her parties.

One of our spies, who attended the party with an invited guest, tells us that Ms. Piggy's guest of honor seemed to be having a great time and, in addition to providing the guests with a Karaoke rendition of "Light My Fire," the Scottish hottie danced with almost all of the Bollywood A list actresses present and even a few of their chaperons too. It seems Mr. Butler was able to win even that stern contingent over, as they were overheard giggling and comparing notes later in the evening. The consensus seemed to indicate his charm (along with the promise of an autographed photo of him in full 300 garb) had garnered him the CSA (Chaperon Seal of Approval).

The most interesting conversation of the evening though, seems to have been the one Butler was enjoying with actor Shahid Kapoor, Priyankas rumored boyfriend, as they retired to a corner of the room. Making herself invisible, our source was able to eavesdrop a little and tells us that the conversation ran into the realm of spirituality and vegetarianism, with Shahid, a well known vegetarian and teatotaller and Butler, a non drinker and former alcoholic, weighing in on the pros and cons of each. Discreetly flipping the switch of her hidden mini recorder and despite the noise, she was able to tell us the conversation, while not verbatim, went something like this:

Kapoor: " Really, Gerry, you should try to become a vegetarian. After a while you will find your mind clearing up all the debris that animal fat produces in your arteries and that will aid you greatly on your spiritual quest to achieve clarity of thought and the immediate responsive oneness of body. "

Butler: "Believe me, I've tried Shahid, but after awhile ah gotta have a regular meal. I think ah'm a pretty strong pairson, givin' up alcohol an' even after a million times, finally smoking... because I know it will eventually kill me, but that doesn't stop me from wantin' to light up every time ah get a whiff of it. It's like eating fish. I know it's good fer me in the long run and ah like it a lot, but even a steady diet o' fish gets old an' ma body stairts hankering for a big hunk o' beef.  Don't ye ever feel that way?"

Kapoor: "I hear you Gerry, but trust me, that big hunk of beef will get you into trouble if you're not careful."

Butler: "Speaking of fish, have ye been able to convince Priya to go the vegetarian route? I've seen the girl wolf down a steak in five minutes flat. She's gat some healthy appetite fer a lass."

Kapoor: "Now see here Gerry, are we speaking about food here or something else?"

My source tells me the conversation continued for a while longer but at this junction, noticing her presence, she was forced to move on and was unable to tape Butler's reply.

That reply would have been interesting in the extreme but unfortunately lost to us unless we hear from other sources.

Today the excitement is building up for the big party being thrown by wealthy actor and businessman, Shah Ruka Kahn. Though more intimate and harder to access by the exclusivity of the guest list, we have hopes of being able to report on that as well and perhaps some more tasty tidbits from Ms. Piggy Chops party as well.

Lakshima Liesalota 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate 

When Your Rashee is Not Just a Rashee (with comment) 4-30-09

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

April 30, 2009

WHEN YOUR RASHEE IS NOT JUST A RASHEE

And when we speak of Rashee these days, it seems to pertain to visiting Scottish hottie, actor Gerard Butler. One has to have been sleeping behind the proverbial bush not to be aware of the buzz he is causing on his visit to these parts which started several days ago, first by coming down with "heat rash," which we now know was not "really" a case of heat rash at all, but had to do with Ashutosh Gowariker's comely personal assistant and an allergy to dosha oils and, secondly, for his announcement of plans to bring either Tom Cruise or Penelope Cruz to India to co star in a musical.

And to top off matters, not only has Butler thrown his hat in the ring of "dueling boyfriends" for the affections of Bollywood actress, Priyanka Chopra, but now he is the object of "dueling parties," with the arrival back in town of another of Butler's admirers, Shah Ruka Kahn, who upon reading of Butler's "heat rash" episode and Piggy Chops' decision to throw a party in Butler's honor, decided the best way to cheer up his new friend was by throwing another bash in his honor. Our sources tell us this will take place on May lst and the exclusive guest list includes a who's who of Bollywood beauties.

Butler and actor Shah Rukh became fast friends when they met in Dubai last November at the launch of Atlantis The Palm and met each other again at an Oscar bash earlier this year.

Will Kahn be able to outdo Ms. Piggy Chops tribute to her friend? We will know when news of Priyanka's party starts leaking out to the press.

In the meantime, our sources tell us that Butler is keeping himself occupied visiting spiritual sites to further his education in oneness and his guide has been spotted leaving his hotel room in the early hours after providing the actor with instructions on how to meditate to elevate his consciousness to a higher plain and remain in a state of oneness for longer periods of time.

Lakshima Liesalota 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

by NigelPod 18 hours ago (Thu Apr 30 2009 19:49:06)

---

Ah the Belle of the Ball! As for his mediation to elevate his consciousness ( is that what we are calling it these days?) to a higher plain..and remaining ina state of oneness for longer periods of time....my only question left...or right hand? 

by zonistonate 12 hours ago (Fri May 1 2009 01:04:50)

---

Nigel, I posed your question to columnist Lackshima Liesalota in the comments section and this was her answer:

"As to the question, a little more imagination here is indicated, please. One must get past linear thinking.

The word was meditation and nothing so crude is involved in bringing the subject to a higher level of understanding of their pleasure centers. We are talking a whole different kind of sophistication in sensory stimulation that is achieved first through relaxation and complete surrender, followed by abandonment of one's notions of what real intimacy means.

Our sources tell us these sessions require great skill to administer...I mean teach... and that achieving that kind of oneness with oneself, much less another human being, is extremely rewarding and the reason Butler keeps returning to India. Once he masters this technique, he will be able to share with others.

In the spirit of sharing this discovery with his friends, it has been clarified that he was literally talking of bringing a cruise (as in ship) to India, but as with many things when dealing with another culture, the real meaning was lost in translation. As a shrugging Mr. Siegel told us, 'Gerry was blabbering on and on, and when he mentioned a "panoply" of something or other, I thought he said Penelope. You know how it is?'

I have been told that Butler's team was trying to figure out how to expand on the cruise idea. Mr. Siegel intimated that there was no reason something so instructive and desirable should not also help to further the art of making quality motion pictures."

Lackshima 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

More on Butler's Rashee 4-29-2009

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:   ENTERTAINMENT NEWS

April 29, 2009

MORE ON BUTLER'S RASHEE

Further developments on the mysterious rash acquired by visiting Scottish hottie Gerard Butler keep coming in, as another anonymous source came forward to inform us that the dark haired beauty, who originally made the call to the front desk summoning physicians to the actor's room, was none other then the personal assistant of filmmaker Ashutosh Gowariker. It seems that Gowariker had sent her to try to put a damper on Butler's plans to film an American version of his current movie "What is Your Rashee?" in India next fall. While originally pleased with the idea, Gowariker began to have second thoughts when he learned that the film was to be a musical and set to star Butler and academy award winner Tom Cruise as the time challenged lovers.

A phone call to Cruise's management yielded the information that Cruise was very excited about doing a musical with Butler, since he'd "already done just about everything else" and that he "figured if Travolta could do it, he could too!"

However, stepping in to set the record straight, Butler's partner, Producer Alan Siegel said the project, tentatively titled "Where is Your Moon?," was set to star Gerard and academy award winning Spanish actress Penelope Cruz, not Tom Cruise and that the Times of India reporter had got it all wrong. Siegel also accidentally let slip that Butler's first choice for the project had been our own Piggy Chops, but after receiving a note from her current boyfriend Shahid Kapoor telling her that if she starred with the skunky Scottish actor, she could kiss their relationship goodbye, Priyanka declined the role

Shahid Kapoor denied the allegation and said he hopes to work with the "hunky" actor himself some time in the future.

Ms. Piggy Chops was unavailable for comment. We were told she was busy getting ready for her party in honor of her friend Gerard.

As for Butler himself, we hear that he is still confined to his bed and is receiving round the clock student nursing care from the Bengali Tantric School of Nursing.

Lakshima Liesalota 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

Some Fun With Gerry's Visit to India - Gerard Butler's Rashee?

CALCUTTA-BENGALI TIMES:  ENTERTAINMENT NEWS


April 29, 2009

GERARD BUTLER'S RASHEE?

And we don't mean his Zodiac sign either. An unnamed source, who has been traveling around southern India with the actor, tells us the Scottish hottie broke out in a mysterious rash late last night.

Butler, after enjoying a late dinner at a local restaurant with friends, returned to his hotel room with an unnamed Indian beauty who was also a dinner guest. Several hours later the actor's companion placed a call to the front desk asking them to summon a physician because the actor was not feeling well and had several red spots on his face and elsewhere on his body, possibly due to something he had ingested at dinner.

After being taken to the local hospital it was determined that it was not a case of food allergy, as had been suspected, but that apparently the actor was allergic to the scented oil his unnamed guest had been rubbing on him to "calm" his dosha.

This morning when asked how Butler was feeling, his camp said he was resting quietly and recovering from heat rash and overexertion.

The actor is to be honored at a party thrown by his friend Priyanka Chopra before leaving India and Ms. Piggy Chops told us she hoped he would be recovered sufficiently to attend.

Lakshima Liesalota 

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.



Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate

The Outlandisher - Chap. 11 McRandall Does Manhattan

August 17, 2009 

Chap. 11.

McRandall Does Manhattan

If Gerremy McButler thought things were going to improve with sun up, he was very much starting to doubt it now.  Forgetting to close the shutter before collapsing on the bed, he had awakened to a pigeon roosting on the bedstead, cooing at him. His head ached ferociously, probably as a result of the Ambien-Whiskey cocktail he had mistakenly drank the night before.

His body aches, from slumping over the table half the night, had only been aggravated  by the lumpy mattress and his unattended knees hurt from the fall in the street the previous day.  To top it all off he had a stuffy nose, probably as a result of the cold room and the thin blanket that barely covered him.

He was used to strange things happening to him and,  Murphy's law being what it was, they usually did.  But this one was by far the most bizarre.  He felt like this might just be another movie he was filming, only this one had no director and no crew.
 

Sitting up and surveying the room in daylight, he noticed that his visitor from the night before had left a few things behind on his departure.  Still laying on the back of the chair was the Captain's red coat and his sword and belt.

When he got up to use the chamber pot, he also noticed the captain's trousers on the floor in front of the twin replica of the "fun house" antique mirror which had been the travel conduit through which he found himself in this predicament in the first place.

Where the hell had the man gone without his trousers, he wondered?   Could it be he had found his way through the mirror  to another time?

With this possibility in mind, he went over the mirror, trying to find any weak spots, but with the same frustrating result as before, nothing happened.  There had to be some trick to it and he just didn't know it.   The only person with a clue or answer to the riddle had to be Jamie McFraser and he would have to find him first.


Perhaps Claire would be interested in coming along with him to find Jamie.  She might even offer some clues too.   After all she had made a similar trip once herself.

Stretching  and studying his figure in the mirror, he noticed a few of what looked like flea bites on his torso.  Absently scratching them, he decided he was pleased with his naked reflection.  True to what Jamie had said, he had forcibly dropped several more pounds since he had been here....wherever here was today.

 Relaxing his abdomen, he was pleased it was leaner and  not the flabby paunch he sometimes saw between movies.  Sticking his pelvis out, he admired his manhood and hugged it protectively with his hands, almost in appreciation that he hadn't lost it the night before.   He'd seen the madness in the dragoon's eyes when he had screamed out and had no delusions that the man got off on inflicting pain and God knows what other mayhem.

Smelling the back of his arm, he realized he still smelled of piss and thought he would almost give anything to have a hot shower.  He'd had to remove the fallen privacy curtain which was covering the chamber pot before using it and the whole room smelled like stale urine.

He hugged himself, shivering from the cold and,  looking for a change of clothes, decided the Captain's discarded pants and jacket were better then the bloody, urine soaked Kilt he was wearing the day before.

He threw some water from the pitcher over his face and torso and after drying himself off, he managed to struggle into the Captain's trousers which, due to his size, fit extremely snug through the thighs and crotch and instead of coming down to his ankles, hit him mid calf.  He was unable to close the top two buttons of the flies and decided the linen shirt, which was still serviceable,  would cover it the two he couldn't manage.  Pulling on his boots, which hid the shortness of the pants, he looked in the mirror and felt he was at least, passable.

It was too much to hope that the jacket would fit and indeed it was tight across the shoulders and barely slid over his biceps.  The sleeves were much too short, but if he rolled them up with the shirt, it wasn't too bad.  Of course he could not close it, but that didn't matter.  At least it gave him a modicum of warmth and he'd be damned if he'd freeze to death.

 Slapping on the sword, the outfit was complete and sheathing the big knife, he felt he cut an adequate, if not dashing figure. 

He rolled up Jamie's soiled clothes in a ball and tucked them under his arm.  He would return them to Claire and hoped she would feed him breakfast in return.  Getting ready to go out the door, he  spied the sporran containing his precious Ambien and strapped that on as well.  It served to protect his vitals in case they decided to pop out of the pants, which they threatened to do at any moment.

Eyeing the mirror once again,  he made a face.

GMcB:   Dinna go anywhere, ye blasted horror!   Ah need tae find out how tae book my return ticket back tae sanity an' ah'll be back wi' the travel agent as soon as ah kin locate the bastirt!

He opened the door and went out, being on the alert for one naked, deranged dragoon.

New York City

Captain F. Neil McRandall of his Majasty's Dragoons rubbed his eyes vigorously and blinked again, afraid he was losing his mind.  He was standing before a bank of large windows and gazing down several stories at what had to be a hallucination.  Clad in a linen shirt and little else,  he had been drawn to the windows as the only source of light  after finding himself sitting bare-assed on a wood floor in a semi-dark room. 

Thinking he had fallen and banged his head he reached out and been reassured by the presence of the ornate mirror he had been leaning against.  It was a false reassurance, because the mirror had been the only familiar object in all this.

The last conscious thing he remembered was staring lustily at the unconscious figure of Gerremy  McButler,  whose very tempting backside was once again scenically positioned to afford him a delicious view of the object of his desire. Glancing down at himself and deciding the situation required him to proceed without McButler's cooperation,  he had stepped back and using the mirror to steady himself, had removed his trousers when suddenly he had heard a loud "whooshing" sound and felt himself being sucked into a vortex that had deposited him here, wherever here was. 

Well, wherever it was, he was alive and the sight that lay before him,  unreal.   He was looking at a street lit by what looked to be some kind of light source hanging from large overhead poles stuck in the ground.  It was obviously late evening, but there were several people walking about below and something had just whizzed by, a carriage of some sort, but moving without any visible means of propulsion.  Where were the horses?

There was another one 

He turned back to the room with the intent of locating some candles to explore the situation more closely. There was just enough light to make out what looked like a settee near the infernal mirror.

Perhaps he should wait until daylight?     Chances are he hit his head when he fell and he was dreaming all this anyway.

 He walked to the settee and discovering it was soft, sat down.  Perhaps he should lie down and see if it would clear his spinning head?  The settee was large enough to accommodate him and then some.  He realized there was some kind of fabric draped over one end of it, and pulled it over himself for warmth.  He forced himself to close his eyes.


Claire McFraser's Cottage, Inverness

Claire Avoyant McFraser sat by the kitchen hearth, drinking a cup of tea and frowning.  She had returned with a slab of bacon to go with the eggs she had collected from her two chickens that morning, to find Gerremy McButler missing.

She wondered for the umpteenth time what the hell was wrong with her that she had this effect on men.  First Jamie had flown the coop and now this McButler had done the same.  Perhaps he had returned to the Inn he had been babbling about?

She smiled at herself, remembering the scene from the previous evening.  He wasn't Jamie, but he had a certain naive charm that was hard to resist.  He had certainly proved his metal at Inverness Castle among the other lairds, but there was still a boyish quality that lurked close to the surface and in that large frame of his, it was very appealing. 

 She wondered whether he would be back?  She still had so much to ask him about the future that had changed so much since her own WWII recollections.

Well, she couldn't sit here all day.  She had to harvest some of her herbs if she was to prepare more of her healing balms and tinctures.   She hadn't had any patients for a few days, but she knew they would start to trickle in soon enough.
  

Clearing the table, she pulled her basket over her arm and went out to her garden.

Small Hamlet near Edinburgh

Jamie McFraser had always prided himself on being good at whatever he set out to do, however this acting thing was a little harder than he had bargained.  Wearing a dark wig and sporting a charcoal blackened beard and some fake blood, he strolled onto the makeshift stage and bowed to a fat little man dressed in flowing robes.

McFraser:  Yer lairdship, the battle is o'er an' ah am the only one left to tell the tale.  The English knew we were coming so we lost the element o' surprise we counted on.
  

Fat Man:  Are ye telling me we've a spy in our midst, MacGillicutty?

McFraser:  Aye.  Tis exactly what I'm tellin' ye.  It is imperative ye find who's passing on information or ye will see a repeat o' today when we attack again come the morn.

Fat Man:  Very well!   Send in Captain MacRyan and go get your wounds taken care of.

Turning to go, he had stubbed his toe on the uneven boards and stumbled badly to the amusement of the gathered crowd, one  who had shouted out "Grace be thy name, ye big lout?"

Unable to contain himself, he had retorted in kind to the jeering man.

McFraser:   My grace may leave something tae be desired, sir, but yer face looks like yer mother sat on it to keep ye quiet when ye were but a wee bairn.!

Of course, the man had jumped on stage and the melee that had ensued, as others got involved, had ended his chances of continuing with this particular troop and so thus had put a damper on his acting for the moment.

He had to eat, so he was now forking hay into a horse stall at the local blacksmith.

He wondered how Gerremy McButler was faring wi' Claire?  Thinking about it, he found himself feeling a stab of jealousy.  Would those two go that far?  He dinna ken McButler all that well, but he was sure Claire could protect herself from any o' his advances.  But would she want to?

He smiled to himself thinking of his feisty wife.  Just then,  however, the dark haired daughter of the smithy peered her pretty head around the corner with a cup of ale and some bread.  She sat down next to him as he ate it, cute dimples in evidence as she smiled shyly at him.
  

Hmmmm.  He was hungrier than he thought.  Putting Claire out of his mind for the moment, he thought the bread tasted a little better all of a sudden.

New York City

Allaine Seigelson looked up and made a face as he entered Gerry McButler's loft in Manhattan.  The Sistine Chapelesqueness of the ceiling was a little too ornate for his liking, but he had never said as much to his friend, which was quite unlike him.  McButler had been so excited to show him, he hadn't had the heart to say what he really thought about it.

Thinking of Gerry now, he frowned.  He had tried to reassure Rusty the day before, but truth be told, he was very worried about his lengthy disappearance.  It was only 9:30 a.m., but he hadn't been able to sleep and felt he needed to check Gerry's loft for any visible clues to his whereabouts before letting anymore time go by.  Perhaps he had left something on his desk to indicate where he was going?

As he walked into the Great Room he was surprised to find a tartan on the floor next to the sofa.  He noticed the ugly mirror that Rusty had told him about and a pair of boots, still in a box, sitting in a chair nearby.  Picking up the tartan, he draped it over a corner of the sofa and noticing a pin in the shape of a lion that had slid behind the cushion, he laid it over the tartan.

This must be the Scottish finery that  Marta was speaking of and GB's Dressed to Kilt outfit. He noticed the white shirt hanging on the back of the chair where the boots were.  All that was missing was a kilt....

Suddenly he heard a noise coming from Gerry's office and thinking it might be his friend, called out.

Allaine:  Gerry is that you?  Where have you been damn it!  You had us worried to death here.

Getting no response, he headed towards the other room, only to see a strange man, clad only in a long shirt, standing at the door with one of Gerry's antique candlesticks raised over his head.

Allaine:  Who the hell are you?   Where's Gerry?

Sizing up Allaline and finding him non threatening, McRandall slowly lowers the candle stick?

McRandall:  Gerry?  You mean McFraser's friend?   The big fellow with the funny haircut?

Allaine:   Don't think I've ever heard of a McFraser among Gerry's friends, but then I don't know all of his Scottish chums.  I've been trying to reach him for days, though and he's not taking my calls.  When did you see him?

McRandall:  Last night?

Allaine:    Really?   Where?

McRandall:   (shrugging his shoulders)   The  Red Bull Inn in Inverness.

Allaine:  (surprised)  You mean he's in Scotland? 

McRandall:  Where else?

Allaine:  So you just flew  in today, eh?   Nice of Gerry to let you use his apartment, but the little shit should have let me know he was going to take off.  He was supposed to stay in New York until after Dressed to Kilt.

McRandall:  (incredulous)  What?  New York?   You mean the colonies? 
 

Allaine:   That's kind of provincial isn't it? (laughing)  It's 2009 and some of you Brits floor me still calling us the colonies.  You're English, of course?

McRandall:   2009?

Stunned and trying to make sense of what's happened to him, he nods slowly so as not to make Allaine suspicious.  He looks like a friendly sort and he needs a friend at the moment.

Allaine:  I understand you're probably still a little groggy.  Flying makes me nervous and even taking something,  the trip is exhausting.  I  can never figure how Gerry can sleep on the plane anywhere he goes.   By the way, did he say when he's coming back?

 (mumbling  to himself)  I hope to hell he called Connery and let him know he wasn't going to do the show before taking off. 

Another thought striking him, he look at McRandall.

Allaine:  Was he alone?

McRandall:  Alone?

Allaine:   Yeah, I mean was he hanging out with anyone else?   A girl, maybe?

McRandall:   A girl?   I'm not sure you can call her a girl, but he seemed to be very cozy with McFraser's  crazy wife.

Allaine:  Wife?  Exactly what do you mean by cozy?

McRandall: I observed him leaving her house in the early morning and McFraser was nowhere in sight or I would have known. 

Allaine:  Oh fuck!   Damn it Gerry!   If the tabloids get wind of this, true or not, it's going to cost him the other 50% of his fan base. (mumbling to himself again)   It was bad enough when they thought he was schtupping Shana Moakler.....

Looking at McRandall again.

Allaine:  Say, have you eaten yet?   I'm starving.  There's a place on the lower east side that makes a wonderful toasted bread with a hole in the middle filled with eggs and truffles and cheese.  They make great coffee too!  Why don't you join me for breakfast and tell me all about it?   What did you say your name was?

McRandall:  It's McRandall.   F. Neil McRandall.  I'd love to join you, but I seem to have misplaced my pants and  have nothing suitable to wear.  I can't very well go like this, can I?

Allaine:   Airline  lost your luggage, eh?   Can't trust them to get your bags to your destination anymore.

McRandall shrugs.

Allaine:  Come on, let's see if we can find something of Gerry's that might fit you.    You're a slim fellow, but there's got to be something from his skinny days.  The kid never throws anything out....

'inoteca

Seated at a popular lower east side eatery called 'inoteca, and enjoying the morning sun, Allaine Siegelson munched on a brunch time favorite, the decadent Truffled Toast, while sipping on a just right, strong cafe latte.

Looking across the table at Gerry's new friend. who was having the same, he had to admit he found the guy strangely puzzling ....and in some of the circles he'd moved in, that was really saying something.

Though a nice enough looking fellow, there was something paradoxical in that while something about him suggested a worldly sophisticated decadence, the look didn't mesh with the really innocent questions coming from his mouth, questions that suggested small town naivete. 

A good judge of character, Allaine would have sworn this was a man of dark tastes and anything but naive.

He had been able to fit him with a pair of Gerry's smaller size jeans and with the help of several strategically placed safety pins, they served him well enough to be carried off with a practiced ease, though the way he eyed everything around him in wonder, again sounded some strange alarm bells in Allaine.

McRandall seemed to know little of Gerry's life and still less about life in the big city, although he claimed to know London quite well and,  what had been immediately apparent to Allaine after watching him get google-eyed over several tight jeaned young models walking by, was that F. Neil McRandall definitely preferred  men over women, weather he was ready to admit it or not.

Thinking of the many things he had to do, he felt the best he could do for the fellow was orient him to the big city and point him in the direction of his appetites....which judging from the looks of him, were turning out to be considerable and perhaps hereto unexplored in any great depth, though he knew darn well that New York had nothing on London in this regard.

Perhaps the guy was still in the closet and afraid to operate in his home town, in which case the city could offer him a modicum of freedom in which to explore his wild side.
 

Well, he would be frank with McRandall and if Gerry had trusted the guy with his apartment, he would do the same.  But first he had to find out exactly where Gerry was and get in touch with him. 

With that in mind, he leaned forward and engaged F. Neil McRandall in conversation once more so that he could figure out what the hell to do next!

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.


Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate