Just in time for the new year, this blogger is on strike and will not update until JJ updates: no ifs, ands or buts.
Seen here, the tree in Rockefeller Center last week. The transit authority was on strike for three days, costing the city a billion dollars. Let's hope this strike isn't as costly.
er... I mean, touching children's hearts, one at a time. A little departure from the standard EA(t) A(t) (j)OE'S fare, I'd like to get inrospective tonight. I spent the day doing two performances for elementary schools in Chicago and Milwaukee. Anyway, after the show I was heading to the boy's bathroom to change (you know, little toilets, short sinks, low mirrors) and this kid who was one of our volunteers stopped me, essentially with the following:
"Um, I just wanted to say thank you for picking me to be in your play. I really tried my best and I wanted to be really good. I never get picked to be in the school plays and I was nervous I wouldn't get to be in this one, but then you picked me and I tried my best. You were really good and I had a really good time. Thanks for picking me."
Maybe there is something to this. Maybe the past nine weeks have been worth something and leading up to this? I don't know, just a thought.
Kudos to the Michigan Theatre for providing a real space to perform, rather than elementary and middle-school gymnasiums. Yeah, the photo is dark, but, at least it's a picture, right?
Anyway, back in Chicago tonight through Tuesday afternoon... and then, the long drive to the City.
And, what the heck is the cause of the common cold? Dude, someone needs to figure it out and remedy the situation. I'm finished. I hate it. I've always hated it, and though I've been able to better avoid it than when I was a kid, come on! Not good enough. I want it gone--erased--purged--finisimo!
Watch Arrested Development tomorrow night on FOX @ 8/7c. Do it. No excuses. Or, at least turn your TV onto that station and then don't watch. I dare you.
Next time: pink elephants in tutus.
And this is what I get for taking an internet test to tell me whether I'm masculine or feminine: I scored 73 masculinity and 53 femininity: "Androgynous." Wowza. I "scored high on both masculinity and femininity. You have a strong personality exhibiting characteristics of both traditional sex roles."
And, they provided me this nifty picture. Keanu Reeves and Carrie Anne-Moss (methinks?).
Oh, and I saw KING KONG. It's epic. It will appeal to the billions of Americans who want to see CGI dinosaurs attacking humans. Some funny lines. It was over three hours long. At least I got out of the hotel for a while.
Sad and sudden news this week as we mourn the loss of two great actors: Tim Douglas Jensen and John Spencer. 
Tim had been living in New York having graduated from my alma mater fifteen years before me... I was lucky enough to have studied with him for a semester and learned quite a lot about the business. He was a gifted director, teacher, actor and writer, his one-man show SHOES had been performed across the city and state. Another director I've worked with posted this memorial to Tim, who passed away last weekend from bronchitis complications.
Spencer died today in LA from a heart attack, four days before his 59th birthday. Most widely recognized for his role on The West Wing, "his work on the show was rewarded with an Emmy Award win for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series both in 2002 and five consecutive nominations, including last year’s." He appeared on Broadway in Execution of Justice (1986) and Boom Boom Room (1973).
Chicago's Steppenwolf Theatre production of after the quake adapted and directed by Frank Galati from the stories of Haruki Murakami is brilliant. It's simplicity is where it wins the audience over a hundredfold. From its style to thematic elements, costumes to scenery, direction to diction, the storytelling comes across crystal clear in the tales of the super frog who saves Tokyo from an earthquake and a fiction writer who invents bears who share honey pies and salmon. Knowing nothing, I got a rush ticket and found myself in the third row center, consumed by this beautiful and haunting story starring Aiko Nakasone and Hanson Tse [seen here]. If I had to choose one thing which I found the most exciting, though a difficult decision, I would guess it would be the music. I have had some experience with musical theatre (grin) and found the music here to be more integral to the plot and story and characters than in almost any MT piece I've come across. The cello and koto were seamlessly and, perhaps more importantly, successfully integrated into Galati's adaptation.
Genius work, and I'm thrilled I had the opportunity to see it--my first Steppenwolf (let alone Chicago) production. Since Philly's ADRIFT IN MACAO has closed, go see this, now playing through February 19.
The longest sit-down on our tour, Egg and I have been in Omaha since Wednesday evening, having driven I-80 from Des Moines, stopping, of course, at the World's Largest Truck Stop. Since that time, I've seen four films, one play and three shopping plazas. I've encountered some rude people and some nicer people. I've dealt with highs of -1 to mid thirties, snow and ice to chilly and sunny. In all, I've found Omaha to be a nice place, easy to navigate, lots to keep you occupied, etc.
Meryl Streep is a genius and in PRIME, which I finally got around to seeing, she is absolutely brilliant. Notice her character choices and nuances, psychological gestures, ticks, et al. One of the finest actors alive no doubt, she should win every award in the book for this role. (I've only been so facinated recently with one other performance, Cate Blanchett in THE AVIATOR -- a horrid film, but a performance to be studied and learned from. Streep is the same in this flick.)
Too bad I'm dumb. I didn't understand SYRIANA. Damn. It was pretty though.
Next time: reasons I wish I were in solitary confinement.
"She's got a great personality though."
Online dating match service sites. Hmm. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, I swear just for curiosity's sake. So, I checked one of them out [the names have been changed to protect the innocent]. It only took me about forever to answer all of the questions they posed. So, okay, click: "find match." Well, out of 8 million people registered, only five of them were compatible with me apparently. However, to meet them, it's only a mere $59/month for the service. Oh well, Katie-the-insurance-adjuster-and-supposed-love-of-my-life, I guess we weren't meant to be.
And that, friends, is another lesson from Professor Beedow. Scams. Life is a series of scams. Do not fall victim as I did ... ahem, I mean, as I went undercover this afternoon to study and find an answer for you ... to the online dating match service sites. Dr Love, no, my readers and I will not participate in your farcical, obnoxious, scamming, expensive, mindless, impersonal, electronic, over-the-counter, fill-in-the-bubble, true-or-false, what's-wrong-with-me love fest of internet insanity. Have a good one, folks. Now, go out, get yourself a chocolate milkshake and fall in love, but don't tell me about it. Unless she's got a single sister and you pick the one who looks like cutie pie here. [And, if she's number 817, can you imagine what number 1,817 is like? Wow. Now she'd be a beaut.]
Richard Gere and Flora Cross
The film BEE SEASON, based on Myla Goldberg's novel of the same name, is a joy... an excellent diversion into the life of a spiraling family dynamic. Knowing nothing about it, thanks to the studio's non-publicity for this film, I went expecting a story about a spelling bee, akin to 2002's SPELLBOUND. I was never more wrong (well, except for thinking THE ICE HARVEST would be a good time [and no, I'm not even going to give you a link to this one]). Richard Gere and Juliette Binoche are spell-binding, pun intended. See it.
Some themes/lines/thoughts:
"What happens when you close your eyes? Do you see what I see?"
"Let God flow through you."
"God has left us out."
"We can fix what was broken--we're none of us alone."
"Nobody's mother needs her to win anything."
"...To reach beyond myself, to know the world as whole again, and like the ancient mystics, God would fly through me and we would be together."
A father obsessed... a family obsessed. Yikes, a strange twist. What is going on? All of them are alone, separate and not involved with each other, but running parallel story lines. The strain of relationships and life is too much for all of them
All the four characters deal with the same things in separate, distinct and parallel ways: the strain of life, relationships, family, religion, God, and gods. And, no matter one's beliefs or personal ideas, one FEELS for these characters. We, as audience, are drawn into the story, into their home and their lives. It is a REAL FILM--wow, it makes us think, feel, move, breathe. It was excellent.
The biggest problem I had is the ending--yes, it was the perfect move, the right decision, but come on! We have realized this is a thinking movie, we're not going to get by sucking down a cola and popcorn--oh no!--we'll have to think. OK, so we figured that out about a third of the way through the film. So why at the end are we beaten over the head with this idea? We would have figured it out and made sense of it, beautiful sense of it, without all the fanfare. Oh well.
Sage wisdom for the day: playwright Eugene Ionesco wrote that "ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together."
That's serious. Coming up, how I learned to stop worrying and get a date with a model from PROJECT RUNWAY.
And, lastly, you've got to love Catherine Zeta-Jones on a Letterman repeat tonight: "I have never played golf in high heels with my bosoms hanging out, but here we go."
But seriously, what IS the deal with time zones? Having spent most of my life on Eastern Standard time, I never realized what a change it would be to move into a Central Time Zone location. What is it about these people? Do they just want to go to bed earlier, so they petitioned the television industry and clock makers of the world to give them everything an hour earlier than everyone else gets it? (Mind you, it's essentially the same moment in the grand scheme of life, but an hour earlier on the clock.) Why is that? But then, out on the Pacific coast, they have to wait long dreadful hours in the grand scheme of life to get what they want to watch on the tube. It doesn't make sense to me. And who decides these things? I just read that from 3 Feb 1942 to 30 Sep 1945 most of United States had daylight savings time all year, it was called "War Time." What?! War Time? Who came up with that one? And what did people think about it? And what time did their favorite radio programs come on? Regular time? War time? Daylight savings time? Mountain time? What about the Amish? What kind of time do they have? And are their seconds always as long as the seconds people in Houston have? And what's a New York minute?
I also just figured out how old I am as I wrote that exact word, not taking into account time zones and daylight savings time on this interesting website: I am 8,340 days, 21 hours, 54 minutes and 56 seconds old. Or, 22 years, 10 months, 1 day, 21 hours, 54 minutes, 56 seconds. That figure can be converted into the following units: 720,654,896 seconds; 12,010,914 minutes (rounded down); 200,181 hours (rounded down); 1,191 weeks (rounded down). More importantly, who cares?
Oh well. Next time, instructions on capturing an ocean and putting it inside a seashell.
Got pulled over for throwing a banana peel out the window the other day in Washington County, Wisconsin:
COP: “Do you know why you’re being pulled over today?”
BEEDOW: “Uh, no.”
COP: “What did I see you throw out the window back there?"
BEEDOW: “Oh, a banana peel.”
COP: “A banana peel… I’ve got a squad checking it out. You’re telling me he’s going to find a banana peel?”
BEEDOW: “Yes.”
COP: “OK, wait in the car for me.”
We wait in Jonesy [the minivan] for a few minutes. Another squad car arrives. The officers converse.
COP: “OK, he found it. You can go.”
Also, Oprah was a class act on Dave Thursday night. Dave, too, was on his best behavior, giving her majesty many opportunities to talk about "serious topics" like what she's doing to save South Africa. To close the interview, Dave walked Oprah across the street to the theatre for the opening of her musical, The Color Purple. Isn't that something how we're all calling it her musical? Goodness.
Next time: how to avoid arrest for contraband by distracting the sheriff with your new hot pink hat and scarf combo.
Well, there's lots to discuss. So, no hor d'ouvres (how does one spell that? and why?), instead, let's to the meat and potatoes:
I spent most of November Learning to Bow and happily, too. Bruce Feiler's swiftly moving account of the Japanese education system as seen through the eyes of an American teacher, abroad for a year, cuts quickly to life behind the screens. I surprisingly enjoyed it... only surprisingly because it had been required reading for a high school history class, and I guess I never did read it, until now, when I don't have to, but choose to. It's funny how that works, reading and doing things when one doesn't have to instead of when one does have to... but that's life, right?
The point I want to make, though, is how EXACT Feiler is with his account. Little, of course, do I know about the Japanese, but during the proverbial (?) busiest travel weekend of the year, I found myself sharing close quarters with a lovely Japanese woman on an airplane (yes, I was one of the 1.8 million who passed through O'Hare this weekend). All I did was offer to help her with the coat and large purse she was holding, and she bowed to me, arigato, arigato. She was so kind, so polite, so by-the-book. I don't know, I was happy to be there. Call me crazy.
Packer Country
My job has taken me to Green Bay this weekend. What a crazy little place ... the actual city of Green Bay is sparse by any account of a city of such name recognition: a few shops, bars and banks, but mostly nothing. Drive less than ten minutes to Lambeu Field and you'll find a wealth of restaurants, movie palaces, luxury hotels, shopping meccas and the like. But hey, that's why people come here, right? Lucky for me the game was out-of-town this weekend.
Clooney Does Murrow
While near one of those movie palaces, having unloaded some of that cash that keeps growing on trees at a shopping mecca, I stopped in and caught a matinee of Good Night, and Good Luck. The theatre was TINY ... less than 90 seats and a screen small enough to rival my iPod screen (which, by the way, is supposed to be that small). The 90-minute film was also tiny. The beginning of the film used scrolling text to explain some narrative material -- hello? Anybodys home? It was like a high-school film class project... in fact, I think the one JJ and I did was better (perhaps someday I'll tell you about our experiences shooting Pocket Change). The choice of silence as the soundtrack was unnerving and made me squirm - I want a score! Give me a score! Oh, he sort of listened... the jazz crooning seemed out of place and--perhaps?--used only to extend the length of the flick? I dunno. I guess I just didn't get it.
I did, however, see some other movies this turkey day week: Walk the Line was fabulous! Shopgirl okay, Ice Harvest worse than anything I've ever seen in my life. Yech.
Apologies for no links or pictures this post. Maybe it's because you've been bad boys and girls. Coming when I have 'net access next: time zones, a dough boy commerical... and, if you're good, strangers in bathing suits.
No, I'm not IN Chicago. I'm watching it. On Bravo. And huffing and puffing at the television industry. The dubbing in this film on its made-for-television edition is atrocious. Apparently it's fine to show skimpy costumes, lots of skin and suggestive "dancing," but we can't hear the word "ass"? Come on! Bastard, ass, God-damn, Jesus Christ, shit and screwing are just some of the words not allowed -- instead, we hear "blockhead," "butt," "gosh darn," "Joan of Arc," "shhh," and "seeing." OK, that's insane. First of all, this is cable. And a film. We are allowed to hear all of those words on network TV, but not on cable? And worse, they ruined one of my favorite lines in the film: "I don't mean to toot my own horn, but if Jesus Christ lived in Chicago today, and he had come to me and he had five thousand dollars, let's just say things would have turned out differently." Instead, the TV audience hears about Billy Flynn changing the life of Joan of Arc? Goodness.
Oh, and they sure pick terrible times to take commercial breaks. In the middle of Mama Morton's big number! Three bars into the intro of "Nowadays." Sheesh!
I guess I'm making it a tradition to watch this classic John Hughes/Chris Columbus film each holiday season, although, perhaps I've done it too early this year. Thanks to TBS and a weekend without commitments, I had the tube on while this holiday prankster of a flick played. I've seen this, oh, probably a dozen times and still laugh out loud at Daniel Stern climbing through the window and stepping, barefoot, unknowingly on to a carefully arranged assortment of breakable Christmas tree ornaments. Ha!
What makes us watch this movie over and over again? I have no idea, actually. I guess it's not really too dated, but it's not exactly the big-budget extravaganzas that the studios are putting out recently. Perhaps it's just the fun we have with the silliness of it. Goodness, it IS fun, isn't it?
Here's a sign of the times, huh? Fifteen years ago, when this comedy came out, this sort of tagline worked to promote a movie: "When Kevin's Family Left For Vacation, They Forgot One Minor Detail: Kevin. But Don't Worry... He Cooks. He Cleans. He Kicks Some Butt." Yikes! If they used that nowadays, no one would go see it.
That's all. Just a couple of paragraphs about the first movie of the day. Now, A Mighty Wind on Comedy Central. More from Detroit in the coming days.
The Old City Philadelphia was great today, a beautiful sunny Sunday - almost 70 degrees. The top picture is Independence Hall, from the back, moments before I stepped in horse poop. The bottom, the tomb of the unknown soldier in Washington Square, dedicated to those who fought and died in the Revolutionary War. I enjoyed my little history lesson time this afternoon.
Ticky, ticky, tock, Bankok/What a sight and what a city
More, though, I enjoyed the Philadelphia Theatre Company's world premiere production of Christopher Durang's Adrift in Macao. My first impressions: "Brilliant. Silly. Putting the comedy back into musical comedy." A takeoff of the film noirish classics, the musical boasts zany presentational insanity. Everything from a maltese falcon to smuggled diamonds, opium, McCarthy-ism, an undercover agent, a drag queen, and full audience-participation sing-a-long, Durang and Peter Melnick's magical new masterpiece receives a first rate production by the PTC.
In a delightful, laugh-out-loud show, it was difficult to choose a highlight. However, I did, just for you. At my first glance at the playbill, I was distraught [no, really!] to see Michael Rupert without a song to sing. Luckily, he was too. 3/4 of the way through the show [about time for an eleven o'clock number], he was left onstage alone in a blackout. He called up to the booth, asking for lights, pulled sheet music from his pocket, handed it to the conductor and explained to the audience... the authors didn't develop his character enough to provide him a song, so he took it upon himself to hire another composer to write him a song, which he sang, which was about the fact that he didn't have a song. It was Durang and Rupert at their best.
Michele Ragusa, too, was great, although channeling the great Donna Murphy... her Dorothy moment ["I wanna go home, I wanna go home"] brought the house down.
Music direction to a "t" by Fred Lassen; witty, funny and genius choreography by Christopher Gattelli and slick direction by Sheryl Kaller makeAdrift in Macao an absolutely winning combination of theatrical brilliancee. My thoughts? GO SEE IT. SEE NOTHING UNTIL YOU SEE THIS SHOW.
Day One with the Grand Caravan
Still unnamed, our minivan served us well. We drove through New England in the most beautiful season. Bridgeport, CT [seen here, and the location of PT Barnum's Clockwork factory. He later founded New Bridgeport on a swamp.] is stunning as the foliage hangs over the interstate. Our travels also took us through the north end of the isle of Manhattan. Holy kielbasa, I didn't realize there even was a north part of the island, let alone how it looked. North of Washington Heights is a beautiful park and nice area near the GW Bridge. As we got into Jersey, however, things changed as the landscape failed to impress. A totally industrialized state, Jersey seemed like a dirty, flat, boring, lazy, awful place, save for the mansion I spent the night in.
Question: why are motorists in the Garden State [and why on EARTH would anyone name it that?] not permitted to fill up their own tanks? Instead, we are required to wait in lengthy lines at the pump while the attendants take their sweet time. Alas.
Blood on the Tracks...
Rode the PATCO "highspeed" line tonight from Cherry Hill, NJ into Philly. Not at all like the NYC subway, that's for sure. The "regular" train took 30 minutes to leave the NJ station, sticking me in the middle of downtown Philly at T-30 minutes until curtain time with no tickets. The conductor stopped the train at one point and started honking. What?! Turned out to be construction on the tracks. A woman sitting in the front seat on her cell phone: "The first hour I'm home is theirs ... yeah, I wouldn't want to shit on top of my shit either" [ah! must be the cats].
Beauty and the Bad Actor
Now, I don't want to make waves, but the current Philadelphia production of B&B is not exactly excellent. Belle was fantastic, but the Beast wasn't qualifying anything, his choices and instincts were not giving the character any depth, not that it needed much, but come on! She was brilliant though - making excellent musical choices. Lumiere was very good, but channeling Nathan Lane in voice and physicality. "Be Our Guest" was terribly anticlimactic. The choreography was sloppy, the backstage noises numerous, the audience feisty. All the important moments were rushed, and the throwaway information slowed down. Are you kidding me? If I wanted to read the lines, I could have done it myself instead of paying, well, only $10 for a ticket.
Then, nothing was open after the show, only 10:30pm. On a Saturday night? Wow. But, I did find a cheese steak joint. It was fine - could have used more steak and more cheese. That's that, I guess.
"Whenever I get nervous, I sing a little tune," explains Mrs Featherbottom. Well, she'd rival Callas, I think, at news of Fox's decision to cut back its already small order. This, Arrested Development's third season, will now just be 13 episodes long, and we've already seen five of them. It is absolutely brilliant, and I don't understand the problem here. How are people missing the boat here? AD is one of the funniest series on television, and nobody's watching it. Oh! I know, FOX doesn't promote the show, first of all. It says it loves the show, but it is not promoted enough. I'm fuming over the news. Come on! These are some of the hardest working actors in the business -- not only are they doing their collective job and doing it so well, but they are doing their collective job and doing it so well. Here, maybe for the last time, Mrs Featherbottom spends quality time with her wife, Lindsay, and brother-in-law Michael, cooking bangers-in-the-mouth for breakfast.
Genius! They're all geniuses. Back tonight after a month-long hiatus, ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT was brilliant in two back-to-back episodes. Watch it. Mondays @ 8pm on FOX. DO NOT MISS THIS. It is pure hilarious genius at work. Not only should you not miss it, but you should go out immediately and buy seasons one and two on DVD. I did.
[Katherine Heigl as Izzie on GREY'S ANATOMY. Isn't she gorgeous??] What is there to say about spending three hours in front of the boob tube in a little house in the middle of a thunderstorm? Thank goodness the storm didn't knock out the antenna before the end of THE WEST WING, DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES and GREY'S ANATOMY.
In a special LIVE production tonight, Alan Alda and Jimmy Smits faced off as presidential hopefuls in a national debate on Aaron Sorkin's THE WEST WING. Now, at least they tried. I really only enjoy the show in reruns, as I have found the new storyline boring and a poor attempt at trying to continue the show's run past the Bartlett administration. However, at least with tonight's episode they tried to gain back some fairweather fans (myself included). Unfortunately, it was a no-win situation.
I found the premise of the episode (two candidates actually agreeing to disagree on the rules of the debate and instead hold a more "open" discussion) silly. The camerawork was shoddy, the scriptwriting uninventive, the performances bad... in all, I can't believe I watched the whole thing. It was uninspired and poorly executed. There was no pivitol moment, unless you count the candidates' discussion on health care when they both asked for hand-held mics and stepped not only in front of their podiums, but down a few steps.
The episode did make me think, though, how exciting it would be to have a weekly sit-com that actually was live. Wow! Now that I would watch. But Mr Sorkin, a suggestion. How can you get more viewers interested and make sure that you keep your show on the air? Let your viewers vote for the next president! Give us an American Idol-style voting system and have viewers call in, in another live episode, and elect a winner! Great and exciting season finale, eh?
At 9pm, I was again disappointed in creator Marc Cherry's DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES. After a knock-out premiere season, it seems the series has run out of steam. The storylines are the same old thing each week, or else just pretty stupid. Further, this was the first episode in weeks where the actresses actually appeared in a scene together, and that was in the last seconds of the show. Come on. Mr Cherry, you are definitely losing viewers. And again, the writing is piss poor, except for tonight's one LOL moment:
Susan (Teri Hatcher): "I mean, a murderer is living down the street and we can't do anything because you've been convicted of a felony and I burned down a house over there."
One would think that after two hours of mindless entertainment, I would have turned in for the night. Way wrong. Last season's mid-season starter, created by Shonda Rhimes, GREY'S ANATOMY has won every possible award in my book. Excellent storytelling, scriptwriting, editing, scoring, directing, acting... you name it, it's fantastic. There have been a few series that I have enjoyed with such conviction as this (remember THE PRACTICE and SEAQUEST DSV), but this takes the cake. I have fallen in love with Ellen Pompeo as Meredith Grey, and am tickled each week by the antics of all the other interns around her.
This week, a bitchy old lady on her fifth heart attack caught fire during open heart surgery, induced by the bottled-up frustration of her patient husband. When he hears of her recovery, he begins laughing uncontrollably, announcing that the "mythical monster" will never die. So he leaves her. Ha!
And, so sad to watch Meredith deal with the loss of Dr McDreamy each week. Sniffle, sniffle. I cannot WAIT until next week.
Today, I break my rules and provide actual real insight into my life via this excerpt from my personal and apparently not so private anymore journal:
There are people. And they think that because they have been awarded a position of authority [most probably on the basis of someone else’s poor judgment or inability to make a good decision], they must be right. It is these people about whom I grudge today.
They think that they are right in all ways of everything. They think that, because of that mistaken case of worthiness for their job, since they have this position of “authority,” I should want to listen and learn from them. In fact, I don’t. In fact, I don’t want to learn anything from them, let alone be required to sit diligently on the floor of a small, contained room [yes, there is a window, but it opens up to a wall—ha! the fun Freud would have had with that] painted a brilliant vibrant shade and have to simply listen. NO. I have listened to many people in my life—some by choice, some by requirement. Many of those people actually had important, relevant and worthy information for me. Then there are those people, of whom I am writing about, that spout completely and totally bogus information. “Diarrhea of the mouth, constipation of the brain” is how someone I once knew [wearing a tacky toupee] used to explain it.
I paused today. I took another walk. The trails here are breathtaking, even better with an iPod in pocket. So, there's some things to think about. Nature. Spending all summer in New England, and now being here again for a few weeks has really made me see things. Like the stars, for example. Nowhere I've been [in my limited log of places I've been] have I seen a night sky like I've seen here in New England. These people up here sure know how to turn off the lights and see the sky. It's breathtaking--thrilling--beautiful. I enjoy every second of it.
The iPod. What a damn invention. Now we truly can have a soundtrack to our lives. I remember this one time, a friend [JJ Gittes] and I were at our buddy's [we'll call him Rice] home. He was having a bad day and we happened to stop by to ask for a casssette that he had recorded for us. Well, things hadn't gone well with the recording session, and eventually he did get the piece recorded. Problem was, he couldn't get the tape out of the recorder. Long story short, the whole recording device fell to the ground, smashed and broke into a dozen pieces. Rice picked it up, told us "this would be a good time for you to leave" and slammed the door shut. JJ and I stood on the doorstep, heard Rice lock the door, saw him close the blinds and we thought aloud, "wow, I guess he's serious about it." So, we walked to the street, across Rice's newly diagonally-[in both directions]-mowed lawn and got into the car. When we turned on the radio, a terribly sad saxophone solo played on the jazz station. It was the first time I knew I had a soundtrack to my life.
God bless the iPod. Today, I didn't need to cross my fingers that the jazz station would play the right tune. As I walked through the woods, hands in pockets and nifty winter cap covering my ever-growing hair, I listened to some splendid sounds :) Hoorah for alliteration.
The classic novel. Hrmph. I've never been required to read it, but found it among my purchases, so I did. Interesting indeed. I think I was distracted and therefore didn't get a lot of what Huxley is trying to say. The discussion between the Savage and the World Controller, however, is ingenious and vitally important to today's society, I think.
"What's the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when the anthrax bombs are popping all around you?" Certainly in our time this is perhaps more relevant than Huxley imagined--but, it makes you stop. The point is that it is LIFE. Truth and beauty and knowledge ARE important, I think, for the sake of themselves. Without them, all one can see is the terror. We cannot live our lives in fear.
"In a properly organized society like ours, nobody has any opportunities for being noble or heroic." Wow. I'm not even sure really what to say. In OUR society, there is plenty of opportunity, then, for being noble and heroic. There are many problems with society that allow us to step in and take charge. Perhaps it is truth and beauty and knowledge that condition US to be brave and noble and heroic. I don't know. I'm probably just spouting nonsense.
Anyway, a good read. I'd like to go back and read it again. And pay more attention. I bet I'd have some different and more valuable opinions then.
Do not stray from the path... I found the other day that I really do love the fall. It's always been my favorite season, I think. Here in New England, the leaves are absolutely great--so colorful and fun. I walked through the woods yesterday, following the path until it was so flooded that I couldn't pass any longer. It was a good time--walking alone and able to finally get away from everything and just think. I don't want to turn this into a journal--rather, a way of relating new places and things. So, consider this a review of the season autumn. Five stars. And really, what's wrong with straying from the path? I mean, I certainly wouldn't do it in the dark, but during the daylight, why not? I guess that's what Little Red thought, and look what happened to her. Oh well. [Seen here, photos of the journey. Top: a small little river that formed to the right of the path, through the branches and twigs, over the leaves. Bottom: the flooding that stopped me from continuing on the trek.]
I trekked through Queens with suitcase in tow, on my way to the subway. Eventually, having mapped out my evacuation plan in advance, I got to Port Authority and after dealing with ticketing agents, baggage checking (my bag was overweight by 13lbs, which means it WASN'T overweight for JetBlue, which means the skycap at the airport screwed me over) and whatnot, I got onto my bus and all. The bus driver announced everything he needed to, and then "a little song," of which I remember the first and last lyrics: "We go to our places with clean hands and faces/Learning is better than silver or gold." How sweet. It rained the whole way. At least it wasn't a convertible bus.
Also, of note, I joined NaNoWriMo. I broke down and did it. We'll see what happens, but I'm excited. I've always wanted to write a book that people want to read. Here's my opportunity. 50,000 words in November. I can do it, right? Hoorah. Your ideas, comments, and suggestions are welcome as I have no characters, no plot, no title and no other ideas to guide me to my goal. The next week, I welcome your help.
So, to combat my last posting of distressing things re: the big apple, I have some exciting news about what else I did! Wow! Read on!
Trying to kick myself and get going, I took an afternoon and spent some time at the Metropolitain Museum of Art. Ah, life. There was an Egyptian palace there, that is strikingly similar to the one I saw years ago at Toronto's ROM. In any case, the higlights of my time there were (1) the Frank Lloyd Wright room, which is on permanent display. It was great, and I've found an appreciation for his design philosophy; and (2) the piece of silk on loan from Prague used as the tablecloth for the Last Supper. Of course, the Monet and Jackson Pollock were brilliant. [Seen here, Roy Lichtenstein's 1978 oil on canvas, "Stepping Out."]
After a harrowing experience trying to find the Public Theatre on Lafayette Street, I did. And I got a ticket in perhaps the worst seat in the house for Michael John LaChiusa's new work, SEE WHAT I WANNA SEE. His music here is perhaps his easiest to listen to. The visuals were fantastic. The 50s style combined with the Japanese theme... fun. The themes may have been brilliantly layered, but were slightly difficult to figure out once the show was over. Through lies, misunderstandings and confusions, we deduce that "only the dead tell the truth." And whose idea of the truth is what really happened? Who believes what? Why do we believe it? "Why not." [Seen here, the cast at curtain call.]
Lastly, I finally saw last year's Tony-winner, DOUBT with a standing-room ticket. The notes I took on the subway afterward: Brilliant performances. We all have sins and doubts, but we are not alone. Everyone feels lost--but, we all do. [That's the point. We all do.] I guess that's the consolation. Is it a question of how we act I wonder. Can we ever really be sure? I guess it parallels the idea of last night's show. Well, compliments. They are interesting ideas, no. "Oh Sister James, I have doubts." And, (1) who are we to judge? (2) Who are we really looking out for? My guess it that it is always "Number One" no matter who you are or what you say. And so, who are we hurting in the process? It's not easy. In fact, perhaps impossible, to make everyone happy. Life is hard and there's no easy answer ever. Choices and decisions inevitably leave someone out. If she's [the principal] right, well, he's [the priest] gone. But then there's still all those new kids.
Fun in the city turned to a rainy rainy ride to the farmhouse in New Hampshire.
I spent the past week in the "greatest city in the world" and figured I'd share some tidbits with you about my time. 
Stritchy was a blast Tuesday at home at the Cafe Caryle. For a $100 tab (modest there, I ate nothing) I saw Michele Lee and conductor [insert famous name here that I forgot] in the audience. I also saw Kristin Davis [or a lookalike, but who's counting] sitting on a bench in the lobby. Stritch was in, well, rare? form. Her "Could I Leave You" from FOLLIES was great, but not a good enough substitute for the only song I really wanted to hear: "The Ladies Who Lunch." Of course, perhaps it was better she didn't sing it; I wouldn't want my lasting memory of it to be butchered. See, she's getting old and complained of larngytis that night, but who could tell the difference anyway, right? She mentioned Barbara Cook and the whole audience, as if on cue, let out this "Oh I wish I had seen her" sigh. Stritch growled, "Oh don't sigh." It was delightful. Her bullpen was right beside my barstool, which was great to see her warmup, and as a fitting close to the night, warm down, as she drank her cappucino and stripped down to a bra right beside me.
Alan Ayckbourn's ABSURD PERSON SINGULAR was an absurd waste of my time and money. Appaling, in fact, the more I think of it. Mireille Enos essentially recreated her character from last season's VIRGINIA WOOLF. Clea Lewis, however, made me laugh--I couldn't help it, even though I wished she weren't so funny. She gained the audience's approval through gags and gimmicks of character instead of development of character. But, maybe it wasn't her fault. I don't think Ayckbourn really thought much about this play. In fact, the very elderly couple sitting next to me was also quite turned off by the whole event; I agreed with them to the point that I didn't care about their obsessive loud-talking during the show.
SWEENEY TODD, too was a disappointment. At the Eugene O'Neill, where I have been so thrilled before by NINE and CAROLINE, OR CHANGE, I found myself discouraged at the state of theatre today. Finally, the sound board op turned out Cerveris's mic after he sang his important expositional information. Patti (LuPone) was herself, as was to be expected, but fighting allergies as well (coughing and nose-wiping even!). The lovers, as played by Benjamin Magnuson (any relation?) and Lauren Molina (again?) in their B'way debut performances, were a treat! I appreciated that their instruments were both the cello--it made for some good symmetrical staging. Pirelli as a woman is appaling, laughable and ridiculous no matter how "bold" they must have thought they were being. Which, in turn, makes me ask: did they think at all really? Perhaps not. If I didn't know the story going in, I never would known it coming out after this production. Director (and scenic designer) John Doyle so confused his audience it is a wonder the producers allowed it to be mounted in the first place.
Although--I wish I had been an actor on the production. They were required to join the local musician's union, since they're playing the entire show themselves, and therefore making TWO paychecks. Bastards.
More fun from the city soon -- and actual fun, believe it or not. Some good shows to see: SEE WHAT I WANNA SEE at the Public and last year's Tony winner, DOUBT, are both great.
The Dave Brubeck Quartet performed at UB's Center for the Arts last night to an almost-sold-out-house. Their rendition of "Over the Rainbow" was lovely, and Bobby Militello's flute solo was superb--the best fluting I've ever heard methinks. Also, "Take Five" and "London Flat, London Sharp" were highlights of the first half. Problem was, Brubeck is 84 (celebrates 85 this December) and looks/sounds like he's 104. His banter was slow while he caught his breath - but, I was able to deduce that this is the Quartet's penultimate (love that word) concert in the States before a tour of Europe. I hope he makes it as far as Warsaw ("We could go further, but we know better" he quipped.) Although, once he's sitting down at the keys, you'd never know how old he was. He plays geniusly.
The second half was, well, different. His "Pange Lingua" variations should not be coupled with his jazz tunes. That's a problem I've found, well, at least in Buffalo. When the BPO hosts guests (Bernadette Peters and Patti Lupone, for example), they spend half the concert doing pieces the audience didn't come there to hear - and then we get the bread and butter for only half the time, but still for our full ticket price. A funny way of doing business if you ask me. "Pange Lingua" was good when it was good, but definitely not when it wasn't, although it did remind me how much I do love choral works (i.e.: the Messiah). But, as Brubeck himself hinted at, the masterworks should be left to the masters (Mozart, Beethoven) and perhaps Brubeck should just stick to some good ol' fashioned jazz.
Lastly, a note on people. They suck. Strange whooping noises from the top of the balcony, cell phones ringing during the sets, applause between movements, and, perhaps my worst pet peeve - standing ovations. How many productions have I been to recently that definitely did not deserve a standing ovation? Come on, folks. It's not a requirement to stand and applaud - I feel better when there's no pressure to have to stand up. If I don't enjoy something, aren't I allowed to simply sit quietly and clap with my knees bent? What is this strange force that makes people STAND WITHOUT A PURPOSE?! Christ. Standing ovations are meant to be special rewards, to be used sparingly as a sign of a truly great stage performance. When the general population hands them out like penny candy, they lose all meaning, and so too does the population. If we stand for everyone, how are we to reward true greatness?
