BRAVE NEW WORLD

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.

Mother said, "Straight ahead."

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.]

Into New England

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.

NYC, What is it About You?

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.

A Hell of a Town

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.

God Loves Jazz, Too

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?

THE SECRET GARDEN *

"One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live for ever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvellous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange
unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands of years. One knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes."

The beginning of chapter twenty-one of Frances Hoddgson Burnett's classic 1911 children's book is perhaps the only passage worthy of my time. Reading it for the first time in my life (and now, as, well, at least an older child--come on, I'm still a kid!), I guess I expected what I got. It was childish and dull, thank goodness I was able to, in the later chapters, start skimming the text and still know exactly what was happening. In any case, this passage was just great and so full of feeling -- thank you Frances for that at least! It made me smile and feel warm inside, something akin to those great Czech liquors I've tasted...

My suggestion: Don't read it, unless you've got a daughter you're reading to, or you're required to do so because, oh, I don't know, you're going on a children's theatre tour of the show and perhaps you're a good, responsible artist and for the sake of your craft you're going to do your homework.

METROLAND **

“The easy answer is, you know when you’re in love, because there’s no way you can doubt it, any more than you can doubt when your house is on fire. That’s the trouble, though: try to describe the phenomenon and you get either a tautology or a metaphor. Does anyone feel any more that they are walking on air? Or do they merely feel as they think they would feel if they were walking on air? Or do they merely think they ought to feel as if they are walking on air?”

This strange coming-of-age story by Julian Barnes follows this protagonist throughout his life as he journeys through Paris and meets all sorts of people (read: women). In any case, it was something to pass the time and I got a good passage out of it.

My suggestion: Only if you're on a desert island and you're allowed four (not the standard three) items should you bring it along. But hey, what are used book sales for if not for strange, cheap paperbacks?

EARLIER READS

THE HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE
John Irving
****
Excellent. Rich. Fun.

KISS ME LIKE A STRANGER
Gene Wilder
*****
Intelligent and witty. An honest and encouraging read -- lots of
information on the craft of acting from one of the comedic masters.
A must, for everyone. I don't care who you are -- he writes for
people. It's a book people want to read. It's about LIFE, which
nobody writes about, at least, not that I've found until Wilder's text.

THE BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES
Tom Wolfe
***
A fast, albeit long, mystery novel from the man in the white
suit. Hell, I would NEVER want to spend a day in jail after some of
his (probably kind) descriptions.

IN THE LAKE OF THE WOODS
Tim O'Brien
**
Too bad, because I had expected a lot more from the author of
"THE THINGS THEY CARRIED." A simple mystery story that really isn't
that inviting or exciting -- I didn't care what happened to her, or
him for that matter.