metaDRAMA

Time Flies When You're Having Fun (But Finding Yourself Without Any Time To Write Down What You Really Want To Say)

2008-03-16T23:30:00.002-04:00

So in the interests of that horrendously long but accurate title for this post, I'm closing up shop here at metaDRAMA. I'm going to try consolidating my so-called "belletristic bemusements" with my actual reviews of plays over at That Sounds Cool, in the hopes that merging all the thoughts I'm having about theater, both in what I'm seeing and what I'm reading, will help me become more timely in my posts. So far, it's worked: the fourth "Critical Thought" is posted over there right now. Thanks for bearing with me as I try to flesh out what exactly I want to do with all this criticism, and where I hope it will lead me in the future. Your thoughts, as always, are welcome. (Only you might want to do them over there, as I'll stop checking this blog.)

A Base of Biases

2008-02-02T14:41:00.000-05:00

As I continue to explore what it means for me to write criticism, one class I took in college keeps coming back to me, ENG 450N. The whole purpose of that course, "Evaluating Literature" was based upon coming up with a series of criteria (which would evolve over the semester) and then straining them down to a list of recognizable biases that could identify what works and doesn't -- at the most primal level -- for us. In the interests of being fair to my own writing, and in continuing to grow it, I wanted to explore why I had such an emotional reaction to Fabrik. This came out in part from Matthew Freeman's self-awareness after Happy Days, and also from a series of comments I received from Anonymous in response to something I'd blogged about Apartment 3A for the Show Showdown race.

First and foremost: Fabrik is, as I say in my review, the second play that's ever made me really lose myself in tears. I'm not talking about choking up a little, as with Journey's End: I'm talking about needing to sit in the theater after the show for a few minutes afterward, unable to really speak intelligibly, and then having a lump in my throat for the rest of the night. In other words: powerful stuff. Thinking back, the only other time that'd ever happened to me was seeing a college production of Cabaret, and I knew that had hit home only because I knew the actor playing Herr Schultz. That's when it hit me: I could've seen myself in his shoes, too, standing there in my fruit shop, a Nazi youth having just thrown a brick through my window, and me, remarking naively that it was OK, they wouldn't do anything to me, for I was, first and foremost, a German, just like them. Sobering thought, especially given how false that thought turned out to be. But whereas I'd usually be able to pull back behind the fourth wall and hide myself from any real feeling (the tragic flaw of the audience), knowing the actor forced me to confront the scene, and from there, every effect was amplified across the boards and into my heart.

But Fabrik is about a puppet -- why was it able to hit me? Could've been the intimacy of the theater -- the miniature scale of the action itself made the small, delicate movements all the bigger. It could've been that I was sitting in the front row, just feet away from the giant German boots stomping a puppet prisoner to death. It could've been the soft classical music reverberating -- I'm always a sucker for an emotional score. More directly, I think it was again that it spoke to me through my work as an artist: this time, the aestheticism of the violence pulled my strings, so to speak. Not to mention that, due to some bad memories of Hebrew School as a child (don't ever force a kid through years of religious study), I had the repressions of my own making rising up in me.

So then, what do I want to see on stage? First -- and this should be no surprise to those who have read my reviews -- I prize aestheticism above all else. A show that is elegantly and creatively directed already has an advantage. If it's going to be a black-box, then the performances need to be unique, otherwise it seems like a reading to me, and if it's going to be a reading, then there needs to be something noticeably different about the script, which may explain why the scripts I've been reading lately are alternative narratives, found in Clubbed Thumb's Funny, Strange, Provocative or Jordan Harrison's magazine, Play: A Journal of Plays (and also why even though I didn't like Doris to Darlene, I identified something in the writing as being superior to the rest of the show -- also why I ended up loving Amazons and Their Men).

Second, I prefer works that dispense with the fourth wall, either by the necessity of the space, or by the unconventionality of the drama. I didn't love Peter Handke's production of Offending the Audience, which I saw last night, but I loved the idea of changing our perception of the space that the performers and actors share. (I said the same thing with a similar play from The Flea and its Bats, seating ARRANGEMENTS.) The same goes for what Nature Theater of Oklahoma's done with No Dice and, more so, with Poetics: A Ballet Brut. And don't get me started on site-specific work: though it wasn't open for review, I loved Lisa D'Amour's Bird Eye Blue Print, and was thrilled with the broken anonymity of Small Metal Objects (to say nothing of what Rotozaza's been doing with works like Doublethink and Etiquette.)

Third, I like work that challenges more than the superficial. That's why I have such negative reactions to plays about the here and now, like Hunting and Gathering, but such respect for works like Crime and Punishment. This goes for politics, too: if you're going to just joke about the system, as with the trivial November, then I'm going to feel as if my time's been wasted; show a sign of real political struggle (or personal experience), as with Widows, and my heart starts to go out to the show.

Which is not to say that I can't enjoy other sorts of theater, but I need to be affected: I can't stand leaving a theater feeling nothing, or without something pushing me to consider the world in a new light. If the only sort of theater out there is really the everyday, then Charles Isherwood is right to suggest that we head to the nearest Trader Joe's to get our fix during the next strike. Luckily, I'm happy to report that the city's inventiveness shows no signs of flagging, and my apologies in advance to the shows that I don't appreciate: they, too, are doing their part in widening the variety of theater out there, opening up the way with each failure for something new and exciting. I'm far from recognizing the perfect show, but I get closer with each day to growing not only an opinion, but myself.

If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It

2007-12-26T01:22:00.000-05:00

Dredging through some archives that I managed to catch up on over the holiday, and here's a little gem from American Theater (October 2007), from an interview with writer/director Craig Lucas. Says Lucas:

There's this whole play-development thing in America that assumes somehow all new plays are broken and need fixing. But what does that mean? Every single one of Shakespeare's plays has a bad fourth act in my view -- every one of them! And your job as a director is to find a way to make it play on stage, to sustain it. I keep asking dramaturgs: "What would you do if Chekhov's Three Sisters came across the transom tomorrow?" I think many would say, "Perhaps you need to explain why they aren't going to Moscow."

Lucas continues, "Theater should be a participatory event, not 'you sit back in your chair and we'll do everything for you.' That's fine for mass entertainment, but that isn't why I go to the theatre. I go to be teased and drawn out."

This fits neatly with another director/playwright's stance, this time from Harold Pinter, courtesy of John Lahr in The New Yorker (Dec. 24 & 31). His view is tidily expressed here: To supply an explicit moral tag to an evolving and compulsive dramatic image seems to me facile, impertinent, and dishonest. Where this takes place it is not theatre but a crossword puzzle. The audience holds the paper. The play fills in the blanks. Everyone's happy. There has been no conflict between audience and play, no participation, nothing has been exposed. We walk out as we walk in."

Yeah, consider how much the Times hated The Homecoming when it premiered in the '60s (though they offered a corrective a few weeks later, hint, hint), as opposed to how much they like it now. Truth be told, you'll always find someone who thinks the whole play is broke -- even Raymond Carver's brilliant short story collections were first torn to pieces by his editor (again, that issue of The New Yorker, specifically, "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love"). So what's the trick to escaping "development hell"?

Try letting the playwright free-fall; whether there's a big impact or just a feeble splat, at least the work is being experimented with, at least it's not in limbo. Everyone's entitled to some failures, so long as they have the will to keep on going, as long as they're able to find the audience. That's what I admire about 13P (this year is Shelia Callaghan and Lucy Thurber): they're letting the playwrights do what they must, and last year's production of Have You Seen Steve Steven (and the revival of The Internationalist) both gave unique voices the opportunity to be heard. You'll also see things like this in groups focused on getting those voices out, like New Georges (God's Ear and Good Heif) or Clubbed Thumb (the upcoming Amazons and Their Men, but see also their recent book 'o seven plays: Funny, Strange, Provocative). I hope to talk to these groups in '08 to see what their perspective is on where the director steps in. (Note, I've left companies out of this mix, like Elevator Repair Service, Nature Theater of Oklahoma, the Debate Society, &c., because their work is collaborative, and totally something else that I'd like to focus on in the new year. Bold theaters, however, like SoHo Rep and the increasingly daring Playwrights Horizon are worth checking out.)

Theater should be more than junk food (I railed against a recent production of The Santaland Diaries because of this), and my resolution for the new year will be to challenge myself as an audience member at least as much as the playwright is challenging me. Doesn't mean I'll like it, but it doesn't mean it's broken either.

Critical Thought #3: Thoughts on Second Thoughts

2007-12-09T21:49:00.001-05:00

Saw No Dice on Saturday. Got fired up by the show and wrote a review about it that evening. Saw two more shows tonight, The Devil's Disciple and Vital Signs (a one-act play festival), but kept thinking about No Dice. Now although I write on a website that is by nature fluid, I don't think it's ethical for me to amend any review that I write, at least not to change an opinion of it (making a technical correction, especially as I have no editor; that I feel is fair game so long as I credit the correction, much like a newspaper does the next day). But then I started reading the comments to my last thought here, and it occurred to me, when talking about subjectivity and the use of blogs, wouldn't it be great to be able to stay fresher?

I'm not talking about changing an opinion, or pulling a 180, but what if you realize you haven't spoken strongly enough in favor of a show or if you were too lenient? Sometimes it takes a while for something to sink in, and it's true that you don't always realize what you've got until it's gone. Also, let's not ignore the fact that in such a subjective field, mood plays a large part, and you'd be hard pressed to find any writer who can block out all moods, stresses, and other thoughts from their ultimate perspective. (That's why I'm against trusting any one voice.) So why not allow the critic a space in which to slightly touch up or touch down their thoughts? We've allowed John Simon to change his mind entirely about Sondheim over the course of 40 years (though the plays themselves haven't changed, only the times), so why not compress that and allow -- nay, expect -- that critics give themselves the room, even if only on the Internet to self-correct? Wouldn't that be an excellent use of blogging? The PR firms would still have their blurbs, and if the internet really is as shabby a tool as they think, any later corrections wouldn't really change those (not like the pull quotes are always honest, either).

I don't really know that there's so much of a point to this post, and it certainly feels like a ramble, but what I'm trying to say is that No Dice really is a striking show. I still prefer the more compressed and stylized work of The Debate Society, but that's because I'm an aesthete at heart, and I can't say that No Dice is as original as other theatergoers might take it to be, because I've seen a lot of experimental works from groups like Rotozaza. But that energy, those accents, that faux-amateurish charm (yeah, they knew exactly what they were doing), they really did succeed in getting the audience to love them, and I'd be remiss if I didn't tell the audiences that "I'm A Sexy Robot" is still stuck in my head (I want Nature Theater of Oklahoma to release a YouTube video . . . even though their whole point is that it's live).

Here's the point (at a point where some bloggers are worried about such a stupid, imaginary thing as "trust"): after editing, processing, careful considering, review, and publishing, the review is still a subjective force, and if we're really interested in the arts that we write about -- the theater itself -- then there's no reason why we shouldn't go back in to the fray and write for what we stand behind. Playwrights endlessly workshop their plays, changing them even in the midst of previews; perhaps it would be more truthful for critics to acknowledge that what's currently going as their final word isn't necessarily their most accurate one. And maybe they should explore ways in which they can continue to explore their reactions; otherwise, a deadline is just as cold as it sounds.

Critical Thought #2: What's a Spoiler?

2007-12-06T00:15:00.000-05:00

Rob Kendt calls out Jacques Le Sourd for spoiling the big secret of Tracy Letts' new play, August: Osage County, which I review here. My stance on spoilers is simple: if the play does not earn its ending, then you have the right to ruin it -- think of it as an active choice to take away whatever incentive the audience might have to actually go out and see it. No spoiler alert is necessary (though it's certainly courteous): plot analysis is implicit in any critical reading or evaluation of a work. (For example, I wouldn't talk about the end of The Sixth Sense, but I would gladly tell you about The Village.) I generally extend it one step further, just because I try to be a nice guy and give the benefit of the doubt where I can, which is to say that I won't give away anything that is integral to the work itself; that is, if there's a perspective-changing revelation (Darth Vader is Luke's father), I wouldn't say a word, although if it were simply a surprising plot point (Darth Vader cuts off Luke's hand), I would.

In the case of August: Osage County, I don't think Le Sourd gives away anything that would ruin anyone's enjoyment of the play. The relationship between Ivy Weston and Little Charles isn't that big of a shocker, any more than Beverly's suicide after the first scene. The play is about larger things than that (and smaller things), and isn't impacted by this commentary. In fact, it's actually important, as it addresses one of the taboos of the play -- I mean, imagine trying to analyze The Goat (or Who Is Sylvia?) without mentioning that he's fucking a goat. How would you talk about our shallow notions of love, or the (admittedly exaggerated) very real prospect of loving two distinct people at the same time?

If this were the case, you'd only have solid reviews of revivals, for with those, there's an understanding that the plot is already understood (as with my usage of Star Wars above). Critics who analyze Romeo and Juliet, for example, seem to have no problem spoiling -- even for younger audiences -- the fact that these two star-crossed lovers both die. Yes, that's an extreme example, but I'm just saying: knowing how a play ends doesn't necessarily stop the audience from enjoying it, unless that's all there is to the show.

And seriously, if all a show has going for it is a twist -- which is certainly not the case with August: Osage County -- then there's a bigger problem with American theater than people say. Ultimately, the point I'm making is this: if you're reading a review, you're either looking for validation (or argument) regarding what you've already seen (and therefore can't have spoiled), or you're trying to be persuaded into seeing the show in question. Shouldn't the critic have the right to talk you out of seeing the show, if it so rankled their senses? Because if not, if we take away that most aggressive of critical tools, aren't we preventing the critic from justifying his or her own views, thereby belittling all negative arguments and simply promoting the positive?

Critical Thought: Introduction and #1

2007-12-03T21:45:00.000-05:00

One of the things I find most interesting about the theatrosphere is that at times, even with all of the theatrical content out there, it is a self-generating gossip machine, a place where there are more comments about comments than actual observations about the industry itself. (For instance, Nick's wrap-up of the Hunka/Jacobs back-and-forth of earlier this year, and the various responses that's gotten.) There's been much said in the last month, but I've stayed out of it; I'm glad someone bashed the Isherwood column, but on the whole, I found that to be unnecessary; I was pleased to see such great coverage of the strike, but found myself with no hard news to contribute; and I was flattered to be mentioned in George's latest state of the union address, even though I think it's a good thing that there are no standards -- in other words, no limitations -- to what might be said on the Internet.

I had a great time reading all of these posts, or what might be called "lurking" by New York Times Magazine's new media columnist, Virginia Heffernan. You may have even seen the rare post by me, but for the most part, I've decided that whereas I already have my focus on reviews on my main site (That Sounds Cool) and over at the Show Showdown, I don't have the energy to talk about talking about other things, which is something this post seems to belie. So without further ado, I'm going to introduce the new direction for my blog, an attempt of mine both to break out of idleness and irregular posting here, but also to strengthen my original intent: to find the form of criticism that best realizes the medium, and also to show, to anyone reading, a different sort of artist's search for truth. I set out on this path back in April, with a mini-manifesto (of sorts), and I'll delve back into that search now by citing some good examples in the various literature I read, either of good usages, good observations, or things that just make me wonder what the whole point of criticism is, anyway.

Anyway, I'll begin with two excerpts from the December 2007 issue of Harper's Magazine.

Try to understand what the author wishes to do, and do not blame him for not achieving what he did not attempt . . . if the book is judged deficient, cite a successful example along the same lines, from the author's ouevre or elsewhere. Try to understand the failure. Sure it's his and not yours?
- John Updike, Picked-Up Pieces (1975)

Granted, he's talking about literary criticism, but theater is just a flesh-and-blood, three-dimensional production of what's already on the page, and what Updike says here is pretty accurate. If you're going to condemn craft, it helps to put that text into context, by either finding places where it works in the play and then doesn't, or by talking about the genre as a whole, explaining what extra piece was necessary to elevate the text or justify it. Of course, this requires a wealth of knowledge, which is why the theater critic must never stop seeing shows, and shows of all variety, not just those content to sparkle in a big house, but those that are forced by necessity to innovate in a smaller space.

And then these two gems from W. H. Auden's De Droite et de Gauche (1952), which has the French title because the original English was lost (meaning that the following is a return to form for this belated retranslation):

The best literary critic is not the one whose judgments are always right but the one whose essays compel you to read and reread the works he discusses; even when he is hostile, you feel that the work attacked is important enough to be worth the effort. There are other critics who, even when they praise a book, cancel any desire you might have to read it.

Man, to be that critic, the one who manages to spark a genuine excitement in the reader. There are all to many shows that I've written negative reviews for, but in all of those critiques, I always start by trying to set the scene, to explore what exactly it is that I'm responding badly to, in the hopes that the reader will be able to use their own judgment. I avoid hostility (though I often get it from anonymous comments that would rather attack me than explain the supposed merits of the play in question), because I don't think it is ever conducive toward discussion or thought, but I do think the important thing Auden says here is that the best critic is -- most importantly -- not always right. How dare we boil things down to such blacks and whites?

Judging a work of art is virtually they same mental operation as judging human beings, and requires the same aptitudes: first, a real love of works of art, an inclination to praise rather than blame, and regret when a complete rejection is required; second, a vast experience of all artistic activities; and last, an awareness, openly and happily accepted, of one's own prejudices. Some critics fail because they are pedants whose ideal of perfection is always offended by a concrete realization. Others fail because they are insular and hostile to what is alien to them; these critics, yielding to their prejudices without knowing they have them and sincerely offering judgments they believe to be objective, are more excusable than those who, aware of their prejudices, lack the courage to enter the lists to defend their personal tastes.

That quote there is the heart of criticism, and I think it explains why so many people out there are having poor reactions to modern American criticism. The easiest observation to make is that a lot of the professional critics out there don't seem to actually love what they do. You have to want the show to succeed -- even if that biases you a little -- or you become incapable of seeing anything other than what you've already established in that first five minute impression. Granted, we are a culture that works heavily off of first impressions, but historically, the first impression has never gotten us anywhere. Look at how many firsts we've been wrong about; Hell, look at how many people John Simon has reversed his opinion about as the years have gone by! That second point there, too, again speaks to the necessity of experience -- really the only qualifying point for any active critic. If you enjoy spending your time in the theater, it will never seem alien to you; instead, it will just be another adventure.

What I find most interesting about that whole thought is that prejudice can be something useful, and if you think about it, there's really no reason why we should be able to fight for the playwrights we love. The problem is, as with Isherwood and Sarah Ruhl (love), Will Eno (neutral), or Adam Rapp (hate), is that it's not enough to just have that closeted off: it needs to be clear, too. Why do I like Adam Bock plays so much? And how can I resolve his casual, completely innocuous language, with my other loves -- for lyrical text (specifically rhymed couplets) and a cinematic aesthetic on the stage (the sort of stuff Lear deBesonnet does). I imagine that delving into that would only make me a better critic, and as the months go on, I hope to start interviewing some of these delightful artists so that I can find out why I feel so connected to their styles -- and perhaps succeed in exciting the rest of you to the same degree.

Business Models

2007-10-28T21:24:00.000-04:00

I choose not to review television shows because they're the common medium: it's all too easy to access them, even easier to pass judgment on them (and for the most part, given how much TV we watch, accurate judgment), and there really isn't that much art left in the great many shows out there. I won't say there aren't exceptions (The Wire), or that there isn't great writing (House), innovative storytelling (Lost), or superbly self-indulgent satire (Boston Legal). But the only purpose critics serve in television is to keep a show on the air, something they've been failing to do (Arrested Development on the high end, Veronica Mars on the low).

Which brings me to the point of this would-be screen screed: NBC is all but giving away Friday Night Lights in a desperate attempt to grab fearful audience's attentions for the second season, which everybody seems to know is good, but nobody seems to watch. (It can't be that they don't know when it's on; it's actually in the title of the show.) You can buy the full season, all twenty-two episodes, for $20 through their site, and most other outlets offer it for $30, which is still a steal. Not that I'm schilling for the marketing department, though. I'm just pointing out the brilliance of their marketing. NBC has the pockets to take a "loss" on their DVD (in this case, it isn't really a loss, since making the DVD costs next to nothing -- any copy they sell, for almost any price, is a profit), but in doing so, helps to build an audience of cheapskates looking for a good value who, after stumbling into this solid, solid show, will theoretically keep watching, week after week, the "after" economics that will then yield profits for the show and the network.

There are theaters out there that have started similar initiatives, all with the purpose of dropping prices NOW so that they will have a more sustainable fan base LATER. With every ticket Todd Haimes sells for Speech and Debate, he's getting audiences (lured in by the solid production values and the $20 ticket price) interested in what Roundabout does. Every discount, be it for "young professionals," tour groups from out of town, corporations, &c., helps to build word of mouth and spill over into a large enough audience to sell out the next show on trust alone. I never know what I'm going to find when I go to Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind, but I'm willing to buy a ticket because I trust the company will be doing fun stuff. When I make a small investment of money or time at PS 122 or HERE Arts Center, I'm trusting that their directors and curators are putting up shows that they actually care about, and not just trying to lease the space out. (This isn't always the case, but one can hope.)

Sarah Benson, new artistic director of Soho Rep, makes a valid point in the new issue of TONY (which is all about where the cost of a ticket goes): "The box office is a piece of the pie, but it's a small piece . . . we don't rely on it." Like Signature Theater, she is looking outside the box to find ways to keep the box office inexpensive so that she can build loyal audiences who trust the programming enough to come back should donors dry up and prices go back down. It's a circle too: the New York Times Magazine recently wrote about the kinds of people who give to their colleges (and why), and I think we'd find that donors are those long-standing patrons who feel a connection, cultivated over the years, to a good-intentioned organization.

Discounts are but a limited band-aid on the overwhelming inflation of ticket costs, and I'm liking the balls of a group like Roundabout to commit to cheaper pricing (with their ACCESS ROUNDABOUT program, say). When I saw Speech and Debate, I saw the next generation of theatergoers, and if they were simply half as impressed as I, they'll be back for more.

Get Your Read On!

2007-10-27T18:41:00.000-04:00

OK, so I wasn't a huge fan of Soho Rep's recent production of Philoktetes, John Jesurun's messy web of ideas and images. But if you read a little between the lines, you'll note that I very much admired the script, both for educational value and poetic aspirations. This is why I'm pleased to point out that at performances of Philoktetes, you can buy a slim copy of the script. It's a Soho Rep version, published through On Stage Press, and though I'm told it's a division of Samuel French, I couldn't actually find information on buying this through them or Amazon, or really anywhere but at Soho Rep itself. (Which is odd, since the book is labeled as being $8.00, and is being sold there for $5.00.)

Anyway, I'm excited about the initiative, apparently led by series editor Daniel Manley. I guess now that Soho Rep is on an Off-Broadway contract, they can branch out into publishing, but I'm thinking of all the new premieres at small houses, and thinking just how great it would be if you always had an option to buy the script from the theater: that is, after all, the greatest point of access. Not that there aren't flaws: Soho Rep only sells the scripts before the show, not after (when you might really be inspired to pick one up), and Manley's budget apparently doesn't extend to hiring a proofreader (read: I'm available), but the idea itself, of really spreading theater not just on stage, but in book, word of mouth, whatever . . ..

I've seen books for sale at The Public and HERE Arts Center, both of which are great hubs to the arts; I hope to see discounted versions, or annotated ones, somewhere down the line. In a world that obsesses over the 2-disc or 3-disc DVD version of a film, this might be a way to close the gap between art and understanding.

McFrankenstein and the HIPygmalion Party

2007-10-26T01:26:00.001-04:00

Two interesting discoveries while on Broadway tonight. First (and yes, as it turns out, TONY is on this one, too), while grabbing an Angus Deluxe during the 15-minute break at Pygmalion (yes, I'm a pig, but at least I don't speak cockney), I encountered big advertisements for the lottery tickets being given out for Young Frankenstein. Apparently, three hours before that show, you go across the street to this strange thing called a theater (in fact the Hilton Theater, where the show is playing), and you put your name in a lottery. Should you win this lottery, you'll also (shockingly) buy your $26.50 tickets there. However, to find if you've won, you have to go into the heart of that neon McDonalds next door two hours before the show. Now, I thought as with Signature Theater that when there were corporate sponsors, all the tickets were $15 or $20 a pop. So what's the deal with this franchising? (As for the information itself, it's hopelessly hidden on the slow-to-load, hard-to-navigate site for the show, located here.)

As for the other, because I attended Pygmalion as part of the HIPTIX program, I got a chance to see their marketing department at work, as October 25th happened to be a "Makeover Party" for all the young professionals in the audience. The event was cheery, with a few of the actors making the rounds (Jay O. Sanders and Doug Stender), and there was free Tsingtao beer and light snack foods (followed by decadent mini-brownies). There were goodie bags, too. But aside from the two charming makeup artists giving penthouse guests a "makeover," nothing about the event tied to theater itself, which I thought was the whole point of the HIPTIX program. I was lucky enough to be introduced to some other people with an interest in theater, and I had a nice discussion about some other shows I'd recently seen or now plan on seeing (The Overwhelming and Speech and Debate), but for the most part, people came for the swag and the food, and stuck with their friends, and didn't seem to give a shit about theater. Heart's in the right place, but isn't there something more we can do? Surely there's something more I can do, and I'll keep reaching out until there are enough of us to actually affect a change in theatergoing trends.

Not Your Mother's Opera

2007-10-20T11:34:00.000-04:00

I think this snippet from the 10/26 New Yorker sums up the theatrical generation gap better than anything else I can write:

[Mercedes] Bass[, a $25M donor] said that she was thrilled with Gelb's attemps to bring a new audience into the Met, and that she understood what a commitment a night out at the opera could be. "Opera is somewhat of an acquired taste, and it is very time-consuming--you need to have three or four hours to devote to it," she said. "And then, to a certain degree you have to have the finances. I am very aware that for a couple to go to the opera, it means basically a hairdresser, a babysitter, a taxi or car, dinner on the Grand Tier. All of that mounts up to being sort of an expensive evening."

I'm glad that the emphasis is on all of Gelb's attempts to make it less expensive, as not all of us have that sort of money, let alone hairdressers, babysitters, or cars. But the fact that people think theater needs to be some sort of social statement -- not in of itself, but by those who attend it -- doesn't bode well. Note also that this is expected to be the average operagoer, which means that every night, 3,800 rich socialites are expected to make an evening of the arts. Gelb's singled out, time and time again, as an outside-the-box thinker, in that he's aired live performances in less expensive venues, like movie theaters, and that he's instituted rush seating (specifically for the elderly, retirees who can no longer afford it). But what sort of box was the previous manager, Volpe, thinking in for such a business model -- for something that is an "acquired taste" -- to ever work?

America in a Nutshell

2007-10-16T08:29:00.001-04:00

From a new commercial for CNBC: "I'd rather follow a fool with a plan than a genius with no plan."

Yeah, that pretty much sums up our country right now: our demand for the immediate makes us glom onto quick answers, even if they haven't been thought through, even if that first plan is so horrendous that it requires a second plan. See, I'd rather trust that the genius has our best interests at heart, and that change will come through gradual growth . . . but sure, why not take stupidity now.

Dropping the Ball

2007-10-14T03:02:00.001-04:00

So I'm just wondering, in light of The New York Times' lack of coverage of New Georges recent premiere, Good Heif, what exactly a company needs to do for a review. I know the Times is sporadic, at best, in its coverage of off-Broadway plays (and with just cause, there are too many), but can't we at least have some guidelines? (1) The run is at least three weeks: then you don't have to feel as if the review is irrelevant. (2) The show is at least in a 99-seat venue: then you know you'll have readers. If that doesn't narrow it down enough, add requirements: (3) That there be good word of mouth about the company or the venue: why the Times covered Dead City at 3LD and God's Ear at CSC but not Good Heif at Ohio Theater. Or (4) That the work be new, which, in a time of not-often-enough-produced female playwrights or American ones, should call out to the "arbiters of taste" to render some judgment, if for nothing else than to help the Pulitzer committee out. The rest, the Gray Lady can leave to the bloggers or the umbrella websites that unite them: rest assured, there are many Martin Dentons out there. But seriously: The Ritz may be on Broadway, but I'd much rather read about something totally new than about something that's back again. Given the Broadway climate, it's possible we'll start getting a new Gypsy review every year -- and miss out on some of the new works out there. (Note: I didn't like Good Heif, but it's the principle that counts, and as I've said before, the more people who review something, the easier it is to remove pure opinion from the picture.)

So What's the Pointy?

2007-10-06T22:36:00.000-04:00

That is, why write reviews at all, you know? A lot of shows that I've seen lately, and artists that I've read, seem to support raw experience over processed analysis, and I'm in agreement. Kate Fodor (of 100 Saints You Should Know) and Elizabeth LeCompte (director of the Wooster Group, as profiled by Jane Kramer in the 10/8 New Yorker) both seek to play with character and explore possibilities rather than to stodgily or solidly define -- very different, I think, than the strict definitions of Beckett, or the precise language of Albee. Fodor's program notes point out that she doesn't have (or want) the answers that her character seek, nor even know their complete histories. And LeCompte looks to "get lost in it" until she knows what she wants.

Given this, why bother trying to define art within narrow boundaries? Why try to turn the beach of the mind into a sandbox?

That said, why not search for the middle ground? I see criticism as a non-affiliated tour agency, one that visits as many foreign vistas as possible, compiling them in such a way that they can simply lay out an audience's options as plainly as possible. It's not really my job to deny anyone access to a particular play, so much as it is to educate people to the possibilities: yes, you can go Iphigenia 2.0, but perhaps you'd be happier checking out Philoketes? Or if you hate the sound of The Misanthrope, maybe you'd be more comfortable seeing something more traditional, like The Children of Vonderly.

I don't understand criticism that seeks to define something simply as good or bad, especially when it is less than descriptive, or dismissive of positive points. Maybe that lopsided black and white works for the government's depiction of axes and evils, but art is far from being that easily summarized. I'm still looking to find the aesthetic that works for my own writing, and I'm far from perfect as a theatergoer and critic, but I'm getting better because I'm staying open to the possibility inherent in every show, no matter how sweaty the space, dim the lights, or eccentric the writing. Magic is happening, and I don't want to be caught sleeping when I see it.

Somebody Stop This Guy!

2007-09-28T10:29:00.000-04:00

Note: this is strict opinion, and I fully endorse the right of other critics to have other opinions. I also don't claim to be any better, but I am interested in getting better, so I put this out there in the hopes of sharing my own personal progress as a reviewer, theatergoer, and writer.

I have to justify it because I briefly worked with Matt Windman during the neonatal stages of the New Theater Corps, and I don't want it to seem as if there's anything behind my critique of his critiques. But come on:

Okay, Mr. Hove. We get it. You're a smart guy with intriguing ideas. Nevertheless, wouldn't it have been better to just do Moliere's "The Misanthrope"?

Can somebody explain Matt's language to me? To know that Mr. Hove is smart and that he has intriguing ideas, you need to be watching his experimental modernizations of classic works. Had Mr. Hove done a standard reproduction, a carbon copy facsimile, it would be a simple revival, as bland as any star-vehicle on Broadway (take The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial). No wonder (as was pointed out at the recent Prelude panel I attended) downtown theater has it so rough: a lot of critics are stodgy traditionalists, who refuse to look critically at anything new, and say things like "Frankly, 'The Misanthrope' doesn't need to be updated." Can we expect honest opinions from someone who attends a Shakespearian play thinking there's only one way to present it? I'm all for period pieces, formal revivals, and time-capsule productions, but I'm wide-eyed and eager for the new, too: the chance to resurrect a play, not simply revive it.

Some critics seem unwilling to rise to the challenge of avant-garde, either from a lack of seeing enough "alternative" theater to know what is still avant-garde and what isn't. (This is actually a point I'd like to explore further: how long does it take before something isn't avant-garde any more? I'd say that The Misanthrope takes enough chances that it is genuinely surprising, refreshingly new, not just to the Broadway snob but to the ten-plays-a-week enthusiast. Iphigenia 2.0, which Windman also calls avant-garde, belongs to a style of work that Mee, among others, has been doing for years now, and to call that avant-garde expresses at best a disinterest and at worst a disdain for new works out there, that is, they weren't big enough to really be doing work before, they may have broken ground ten years ago, but only now is worth mentioning that they're groundbreaking.)

What I'm saying is that it's far easier to slap the disaffecting "avant-garde" label on something and to walk away than it is to actually try to process the pros and cons of a production through the filter of accumulated theater knowledge.

Which is, of course, why any theater critic must constantly travel not just to Broadway, but to the off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway stages, or even, for completists, to other cities and countries. I'm not saying that Matt can't dislike "The Misanthrope"; I'm saying that the reasons he cites are lazy and based on a personal bias. There's nothing wrong with there being a conservative audience, but a critic must write to teach and expose others, not to pander to that audience. So explain what makes some experiments succeed, and why others fail: don't just condemn an artist wholesale for trying.

Verbing Ourselves

2007-09-28T09:23:00.000-04:00

It's official, or as official as an esteemed publication can make it. James Wood, for The New Yorker, applies everything he learned at Harvard to write the following sentence:

So here is Alter's inspired attempt to English the Hebrew:

What he's talking about is a new translation (as compared to the King James Version) of the Book of Psalms. Considering how much we bastardize our own language every day (and I'm a creative writer, so I know something about fucking one's own prose), it should be no surprise that we've now officially verbed it -- "to English" -- which is admittedly no worse than "to verb" something in the first place.

Prelude -- Not to a Kiss, but to Hot New Theater

2007-09-27T00:29:00.000-04:00

Interested in hot, experimental theater, but don't want to shell out cool, hard cash? Then get to CUNY's Graduate Center (365 Fifth Avenue), and more specifically the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center, because this weekend (9/26-9/29), there's a festival of readings, performances, and panels that are all about the changing theater scene. Those of you questioning the limited scope of ethnic theater out there can talk with Jason Grote at a 4:00 9/28 panel about downtown theater and racial representation. Those of you interested in PS 122's '08 season can check out early drafts of Hello Failure (by Kristen Kosmas) and the Debate Society's The Untitled Auto Play. Or you can just pick random shows by interesting sounding theater companies--Lightbox, 31 Down--or by funky names--Sherri Zahad And Her Arabian Knights or Red Fly/Blue Bottle.

Of course, my goal isn't to advertise, but rather to hype up downtown theater, especially after attending today's prelude to the Prelude, a kick-off panel about Uptown/Downtown theater, and the struggle to change the mainstream, featuring comments from Sarah Benson, Jim Nicola, Alex Timbers, Adam Bock, and David Cote (that's the artistic directors of Soho Rep, NYTW, and Les Freres Corbusier, not to mention a fine playwright, and a fine critic). Panels do tend to be pessimistic, with larger institutions having to pander to their subscribers (Benson), the instability of an unfunded market for artists (Nicola), the condescension of certain critics (Benson), and a conservative audience (Cote, quoting Anne Bogart).

Timbers' valid question is: how do we get the younger, rock-concert going audiences to move from what's considered hip at UCB or Ars Nova, and to a theater out in Brooklyn doing some odd Radiohole event, or to a Clown Festival at The Brick, &c., &c. My main concern is that you can't: concerts--music in general--is a transportable conversation machine, something that you can pop in and share with everyone, and discuss at leisure around a water cooler, bong, &c. Theater doesn't really provide that, and there isn't any hub for young audiences, even though hip spaces like New World Stages or Theater Row could easily aspire to that. In other words, does Shakespeare in the Park get audiences to buy tickets to the Public's presentation of Wooster Group's Hamlet?

Things are commercial, and for every self-sustaining group doing good work, like Elevator Repair Service, there are plenty of groups that can't work outside of limited residencies, and who never get the budgets they need to fully realize their work. Under the Radar, Mark Russell's curated event at the Public, is one way of bringing attention to deserving groups (and the Public will be bringing back The Brothers Size), but there's only so much Mr. Russell can see, only so much that Soho Rep can host, or NYTW can develop. And these are just downtown theaters: what does it take to get MTC to really take more risks? (In this case, the success of Adam Bock's The Receptionist, though we can certainly be encouraged by modern Greeks like Ruhl's Eurydice and Mee's Iphigenia 2.0.) And even here, these aren't really company imports: they're built from the commercial model (when they go to Broadway), and don't foster the creative energies from both directors and writers that allows NYTW to keep reinventing the wheel.

Cote joked that in the next twenty or thirty years, a lot of theatergoers are going to have died. But nobody really laughed. Taste changes slowly, especially if conservative audiences are afraid to sample new wares (or worse yet, sleep through young works at Roundabout), and even more so if critics are steadfast in the works that they've been schooled in, the ones they are more fluent and conversant in. There's no need to get condescending: but there is a need to adapt, which may be where more bloggers come into the mix, bringing new sensibilities and a necessary balance to a jaundiced eye. I'll keep looking for the best in plays, and I'll keep trying to convince you all to go out to them, so keep reading: and check out Prelude if you've the time!

Yes, But OPERA Still Isn't For All

2007-09-09T01:07:00.000-04:00

I love the arts, but they can be expensive. For those in the know, there are plenty of resources out there to get cheap tickets, from butts-in-seats middlemen to theater-endorsed lotteries and/or rush tickets, not to mention old standards like TKTS (and TDF). There are also now individuals, like Roundabout's HipTix!, that play to the under-represented 18-35 demographic by using social-networking parties and discount offers to appear, appropriately, hip. Go a little younger, and you'll get the teen program, High Five!, which succeeded at least in getting me interested in the arts.

Democratically speaking, there hasn't really been anything to get people out to the opera, not en masse, that is, which is why I'm excited about New York City Opera's widening of their OPERA-FOR-ALL programming. In the interests of full disclosure, I was invited to attend their opening festivities this weekend, which kicked off with La Boheme and Don Giovanni, the latter of which I attended on Saturday, and commented on here. How pleased I was, then, to find that the audience was littered with both shy, jean-wearing first-timers and well-to-do socialites, opera-glasses in tow. Of course, this was just two days of $25 tickets, after which fans could look forward to spending upwards of $100 for decent seats, or $16 for the fourth-ring rafters (which, to be fair, would still be cheaper than gallery seats to see Patti LuPone in Gypsy). Instead, you can get exposed (for better or worse) to opera throughout the entire festival, with approximately fifty seats in the front orchestra going on sale each Monday to whoever gets them first (phone/online, too).

Now, I didn't like Don Giovanni, but the truth is that opera isn't really for everyone. It's an accumulated taste, one that runs on protracted exposition and often archaically rustic melodies to make its points. Even involving people like Hal Prince and Susan Stroman can't spark life on the stage when there's a complicated aria that requires stillness, and what you often get are overbearing sets that diminish the acting, and orchestras that drown out most of the men. Subtlety doesn't translate over the overwhelming space of New York City Opera, which leaves only the booming passages of Italian poetry (with the occasionally illuminating supertitle) to loko forward to. For some, this is their cup of tea. For me, I longed only to see Daniel Mobbs's Leporello up close, to hear Julianna Di Giacomo's indomitable Donna Elvira without the noise of squeaking sets around me, and after the first intermission, to get out of there. (Which would've been a mistake, as the second act was much more varied.)

But whether I liked the opera or not is beside the point: there will be $25 dollar tickets available this Monday for the Toni Morrison-inspired Margaret Garner (not to mention La Boheme and Don Giovanni), which rightfully puts the taste-making decision back in your court. I don't ever worry about theater, but that's because I'm hyper-exposed to it. Isn't it about time more companies started going out of their way to keep a healthy part of this population indoctrinated?

Any Time You Want to Talk....

2007-08-31T22:23:00.001-04:00

In response to Leonard Jacobs (responding to me):

A review is a critical, but still at heart opinionated, appraisal of a work as is. So long as the format of the production you saw is acknowledged -- i.e., during previews, with an understudy, &c. -- then I see no reason why *THAT* performance cannot be objectively (and comprehensibly) covered. That's like saying the beta version of a software shouldn't be reviewed: not so. Such appraisals (often called "previews" but really, simply semantics--i.e., what if I just add a small "p" to my "review"?) are useful to people wondering about the process, the show, the buzz, and more.

The Little Mermaid, currently in Colorado, is getting reviewed there, and read about by interested audiences here. (The production there is even acknowledged as a tryout, and isn't that the same as a preview? Again: semantics.) When it comes here, it will no doubt be different from Denver (Riedel hints, through much denial, that it may have a new director), but does that invalidate the right of critics over there to review what they saw? Or should New York City audiences (and all relevant tourists) be under embargo from reading those foreign reviews until after it opens here? Why can't I read about Spring Awakening playing at the Atlantic Theater or Rock 'n' Roll playing in London? Someone sinking that much money into a show -- even a preview of a show -- should stay willingly in the dark? And let's not ignore that publicists reviving a show use quotes about what's been said about earlier, potentially different versions. Ultimately, if you aren't ready to be reviewed, don't let ANYBODY see your show. Everybody's, as they say, a critic.

However, the argument here is about what you call the "separate but equal" critics... where's the equality? I seldom get scripts when I attend a show, I rarely get press material, and I only occasionally have a seat reserved. I am certainly treated differently from the mainstream, and most invites are from people who are curious about what I might say about the show, formal or otherwise.

There is a difference between blogging and reviewing. I made that clear in an earlier post. It has to do with the medium you release your material into, and whether it's an institution or not. Denton et. al. are free to post reviews on their blogs: if they post to their INSTITUTIONS (for instance, if I were to post to Theater Talk), that would cross the ethical line. It goes from a singular thought to a commercially backed opinion by dint of the editor's publishing it.

As for hurting the artists? I've gotten thanked by people during previews and cursed by people after openings. I don't really think they're the fragile creatures you make them out to be.

And Suddenly "100 Saints You Should Know" Has Tons of Free Publicity!

2007-08-30T17:11:00.000-04:00

So, George Hunka posts a review of 100 Saints You Should Know. (He leaves at intermission, so perhaps it should be 50 Saints You Shouldn't Know.) This inspires some flurries in the blogosphere, particularly from Matthew Freeman, who wonders when it's OK to walk out. At this point, Leonard Jacobs gets involved, which starts out as a question of ethics about reviewing a show before it opens, and becomes a hyperbole heavy fallout, a response to the apologists, and a series of rebuttals between Jacobs and Hunka. Jay Raskolnikov weighs in from Chicago, talking more about the issue of when it's fair for a critic to review a new work, and using Hunka's blog/review as a discussion point.

The main talking points that sprang out of that included the difference between blogging and reviewing, the ethics of leaving a show, and what an audience owes a show. (Isaac Butler has a more specific question: "What do reviewers/critics owe their subjects?")

I'm not neutral on this subject; like Hunka, I was invited to attend 100 Saints You Should Know, and I accepted free tickets on the condition that I blog something about it after seeing the performance (good or bad), and was given a discount code to share with readers if I wanted to encourage others to see the performance more cheaply. I don't consider this to be using Playwrights Horizon publicity as a pimp, and I don't think I'm fucking a whore of a show (actually one of the lighter bits of hyperbolic metaphor Jacobs uses). I'm twenty-three, I work two jobs, and I love theater: if you give me a free ticket, and I am free, I will see your show. And, unless you ask me not to, I will probably review it, too.

I think an embargo is necessary for the mainstream media because they are businesses first and writers second: removing the prohibition forces critics to go to attend ever earlier previews so that they can get the first word while it's still relevant, much like movie critics are currently flying out to London to catch earlier and ever earlier premieres, chasing the scoop. But a blogger is a writer first, their reviews don't have an institution backing them up; if they happen to see an early preview, they're ethically off the hook so long as they acknowledge what they saw, and when. If a show has huge changes between previews and opening, then they've pretty much cheated their paying audiences, too, and a blogger, who speaks directly from that audience and not from a cultural arbiter, has the right to post a review as early as they like. Being formal isn't a crime, it's a blessing; a lucid blog is a treasure.

The issue I do have (which Hunka casually dismisses as me telling him how to write a review) is that Hunka left at intermission, wrote a review anyway, and didn't mention his incomplete knowledge of the subject until the end of the piece. That's a trust issue: what separates an opinion from talking out of your ass is knowing what you're actually talking about. You can review something you've only seen half of, but you need to make it clear early on that what you're talking about is that first half of the play. Otherwise, any assertion you make about the playwright's style, message, goal--you know, important things for a review--is ass talk, and I mean that respectfully. I walked out of Tragedy! (A Musical Comedy!) and made that clear. I did the same when analyzing Only Revolutions. That can, and should be a focal point: for instance, if Rob Kendt wrote a review saying he walked out of something, I'd pay attention. Doing otherwise devalues--collectively--everything that other blogging critics write; it puts a smear of doubt behind every flickering letter.

As for the obligations of a blogger or critic, I posted this one Isaac's site, and I stand by it:

I think a modicum of respect -- a silent acknowledgment that cast and critic share a desire for the work to be good. For that reason, the critic shouldn't launch personal (or political) attacks, and shouldn't put words in other people's mouths. The goal of a review, even a slam, should be as accurate a description of what happened, and, for the better critics, why.

Leaving at intermission is fine; failing to be accurate and being unable to offer constructive criticism on how a new work might be improved, that's not. Or at least, that's a type of reviewing that I want no part of.

Apologize? Oh, Wait, We're On FOX

2007-07-28T01:45:00.000-04:00

OK, a not-so-guilty confession: I watch, and love, So You Think You Can Dance, FOX's American Idol of dance. Any one of the top twenty dancers on that show could be doing professional work, and any one of these last eight could be doing almost any style of professional work. But I'm here to talk about choreographer Mia Michael's wardrobe malfunction and Wade Robson's anti-war routine: not because there was anything wrong with any of them, but because they had to publicly apologize for them. If anything, the apology is what made me aware that there could even be a negative slant to what they'd done . . .

What did they do, you're wondering? Well, apparently something on the very slick and somewhat totalitarian blazer she wore was upside down, and apparently this wrong-faced symbol -- this symbol that nobody would've otherwise noticed -- caused a big stink a division of the US Military. We should be thankful, I guess, that this talented modern choreographer isn't answering questions in Guantanimo right now, on trial for demoralizing our troops (ala Tokyo Rose), but seriously: she's allowed to wear what she wants, with impunity. Granted, there are some symbols that have been corrupted, like the swastika, but to have to apologize for a pretty much unseen, unheard, non-politically motivated fashion faux pas . . . that's pretty petty of the military (who, I'm sure, have nothing better to do than watch So You Think You Can Dance through a fine-toothed comb).

As for Wade, well, this eclectic and interpretive guru choreographed a routine that was about making love, not war, and about peace, expression, freedom, and the good qualities that we'd like to see in our countrymen. Obviously, this must be an anti-war statement, and one that's specifically targeted at the soldiers, who clearly--clearly!--are less brave and courageous because of a commercially marketed dance competition.

I wonder if these two Emmy-nominated choreographers were singled out by their competition. The larger issue, of course, is what this says about the freedom of artists to express themselves in any space larger than a dusty 99-seat theater on the Lower East Side. Should they somehow manage to get into primetime with--gasp--a message, worry not, they'll be squashed, and made to kowtow. We have plenty of things to fight about, and to fight for. This is not one of them.

Look What They're Doing!

2007-06-28T20:40:00.000-04:00

For the artistic visitors to this site, you should consider checking out the new floating model of theater showcase that's been proposed by the upcoming Collective:Unconscious "UndergroundZero" theater festival this summer. Curator Paul Bargetto and director Caterina Bartha are off to showcase "an alternative to the current system of limited runs that consign many successful shows to oblivion." I'd love to hear more, and I'll certainly try to get down there for some of these short plays, but I think the idea of a rotating theater, if it could sustain itself (you'd have a lot of casts with possibly awkward calls) would be great. Uncertain audiences might be drawn by the allure of a good program, just like some readers go for the trusted editors of an anthology rather than the writers themselves. Hell, there's a panel too, which I'll post information about in full below:

July 31 at 7:30
League of Independent Theater Convocation
The League of Independent Theater is the brain child of John Pinkard, John Clancey, and Paul Bargetto. This organization is dedicated to preserving and strengthening independent theater in New York City by fostering theatrical productions produced in 99 seat theatres. The League assists in the voluntary exchange of information among its members, serves as the collective voice of its membership, works to increase interest in independent theater throughout North America, strives to foster a sense of community among all members, and develops programs addressing the unique needs of its members. The League invites you to join them in a panel discussion of the of the AEA showcase code and welcomes commentary on what improvements should be made to the code. Info: www.leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com FREE

They're in Tribeca, at 279 Church Street, so that's one idea for the summer.

Not to take away from any of the other festivals out there, by the way, I love them too. Though I have infinite space, I have limited patience to type this out, so I'll briefly shout out the one other festival I'm extra hyped about (and which you might not know about, unlike the all-encompassing Fringe): each week from July 4th to August 18th, there's going to be a new group taking the Ohio Theater (66 Wooster) stage at ICE FACTORY '07. This is all new work, but not just all new work -- it's all new work from established downtown staples (plus a few emerging and exceptional talents from all over). This is where the shows will start before they open big(ger) in two years, but here, the idea of a community of diverse artists coming together for a festival of "cool" new works -- that excites me. Wonder what the Soho Think Tank will think up next.

I'm More Authentic Than You

2007-06-27T19:09:00.000-04:00

Is nobody else offended about the recent Campbell Robertson article highlighting Spike Lee's plans to "try Broadway" by making Stalag 17 "more authentic"? I think it's fine that Lee "has never worked in the theater and couldn't recall the last play he attended," as that just means he'll bring a fresh eye to the craft. But he shouldn't be whittling his own agenda into an existing play by changing it in this fashion. If he wants to "make it interesting" for himself, he should pick a new play that he can shape with the playwright -- not mangle something that the writers (former P.O.W.s, by the way, which is as authentic as it gets, unless street cred has had a sudden boom in the market) can no longer change. Well, that's not entirely true; while Edmund Trzcinski is dead, his co-writer Donald Bevan (who hasn't even seen the suggested changed yet) is more or less on board. Now I don't care much for copyright, as I've said previously, and I don't mind Mr. Lee going nuts with his own vision, but why is there the need to tie this into the actual Stalag 17? Even the producer, Michael Abbot admits that "It's not really a revival, it's a new production." Well then: call it that. Because right now it seems like another producer is just trying to cash in on a box-office draw . . . and although "most of the 20 or so performers will be theater actors," they're looking at people like Clive Owen for the lead.

I don't know why I'm so up in arms about this -- after all, Hollywood defaces its own gems on a yearly basis, with shallow remakes that promise to reinvent the genre but really only cash in on the legacy of a better film. Mr. Lee is no stranger to that world, and at least he wants to bring his own strong perspectives to this play, but I just feel that the various shifts in theme are taking this play too far away from its core to be billed as Stalag 17 and becoming too wound up in publicity (so early in the game) to ever live up to any expectations or be a piece of art for art's sake. Granted, nobody wants another stale Caine Mutiny Court-Martial revival, but how about something new that really taps what Lee wants: "more profanity than appears in the script and, perhaps, hints that the relationships between prisoners of war could at times be intimate more than just collegial."

I don't doubt that money is at the source of the whole gimmick: while Lee's intentions may be true, Mr. Abbott didn't persist in trying to get Spike Lee to direct the play he had the rights to because he thought Lee would have such a bold vision. He did it because he thought it would generate attention and help an older play do well. Given that great reviews didn't help Journey's End at all, maybe that's necessary. But is "more exciting" and "more profanity" more authentic? Or more honest? Or are we just diluting our limited pool of Broadway shows with even more off-the-mark gimmickry?

The Complacent Theater

2007-06-21T22:47:00.000-04:00

Here's a controversial topic for all the artists out there, but having seen two terrible shows in a row (and I mean awful, near unredeemable works) by the names of 27 Heaven and From Riverdale to Riverhead. I refuse to review these formally; as I've said before, I am not interested in bashing theater, although I will be blogging my gut responses, as usual, at Show Showdown. Anyway, here's the topic.

Whatever happened to booing in the theater? It seems to me that we've become complacent audiences, applauding even shows we don't like, and stifling our urges to walk out in an angry fuss. It's ironic that we show so much support considering how careless we've become with our cellphones and cellophane. Or perhaps our nonchalance is just a heightened form of reckless viewing.

Now, I'm not advocating disrupting the show, even though theater was born amongst rowdy crowds. On behalf of the one person who may be enjoying a horrible work, I would not begrudge someone their own pleasure, even if I find it perverse. However, I'd like to be able to do more at a curtain call than not applaud. But not only is it uncouth to boo, but such actions would actually villainize me and cast my critiques into doubt. Hell, even blogging a personal opinion sometimes draws down the wrath of the outside world. So why has making your private thoughts public--which is what a play does--become so unacceptable?

Running Commentary

2007-06-15T08:23:00.000-04:00

"One must embrace the whole world to then be able to spit it back out again," writes Fabrice Melquiot, whose Devil on All Sides I just saw performed (in translation) by foolsFURY at PS122. Given the whole red state/blue state debate that's been boiling since the Impending Theatrical Blogging Event, I was wondering what the take is on this: clearly, if you want to write a piece about all sorts of characters, this is true, for accuracy's sake. But more and more often, plays are focusing in on specifics, which can either seem freeing or sheltered, and which is why some people I know refuse to go see plays: they find them to be bullshit. Melquiot's play is one of those dividing forces, which is poetic, and visual, and turns war (at one point) into a sort of game children play, but what's surprising about it is that it captures many different voices from the war in the former Yugoslavia. Most plays I see these days wouldn't bother having characters from both sides, especially when it comes to political ones . . . thoughts?

By the way, foolsFURY interprets theater like this: "We believe that for theater to be successful it must provide audiences with unique and powerful experiences that they cannot have watching television or film." This is along the lines of a discussion I just had with a co-worker, as to how I despise plays being adapted for film (which, even when it works due to visual prowess, is still just diluting a more intimate act, and justifying people's choices to stay away from the "overpriced" or "inaccessible" theater). Here's a company that's taking it back for the theater by trying to remind audiences that there are some things that they can experience only live and on stage. Devil on All Sides doesn't always work for me, but I'd still rather see that than a film.

Finally, a closing thought from E. B. White, no theater attached: "Once having given a pig an enema there is no turning back, no chance of resuming one of life's more stereotyped roles."

Sympathy for the Devil: On Closure

2007-06-12T11:40:00.000-04:00

It was while reading all the backwash about the season finale of The Sopranos that I realized one of the major problems playwrights, theater, and the arts are having as well: the demand of audiences for closure. I wouldn't compromise my vision to placate the audience, but luckily, I haven't yet been given an ultimatum to do so. This, at least, is a blog: I answer to no editor, and my audience, limited as it may be, is pretty accepting of whatever wild theories I may fling out there. But David Chase, who's big as they come in the wake of his success, got panned by "America" and it looks like it's only writers and fellow artists who enjoyed the final episode.

As of yet, David Grindley is one of the few directors I've ever seen willing to sustain a show through the obligatory curtain call, and he did so with Journey's End, which has been suffering. As with The Sopranos, the writers get it, the fellow artists do, but the audience itself, again this great confused entity of popular opinion called "America" hasn't responded well to it. Admittedly, it's a lot easier to accept a big show-closing number, even when it's depressing, than it is to have the play cast a lingering pallor over our moods, but why are we so afraid to allow ourselves to be affected?

Not that you have to end Pippin or Machinal without a curtain call, or that they're necessarily better for maintaining the artistic sentiments expressed within, but that so many people are frightened of making a stand, and so eager to break the illusion (look at our modern playwrights and the fourth-wall breaking trends) . . . that worries me a little. Comedies mock this all the time, like The Actor's Nightmare, in which George is killed at the end, and remains dead through the curtain call -- but that's OK for the audience, because it's just another joke. Were Pippin not to bring the players back onstage, despite them "quitting" moments before, the audience would be confused. In Machinal, the beauty of our heroine's tragic death is completely stripped by her reappearing thirty seconds later, smiling, bowing, and nodding, with little regard to the emotional journey that the cast has worked so hard to maintain.

Blogs rarely have closure, which is one of the reasons they undergo such scrutiny from the mainstream media: they offer topics for debate and give opinions, but these are often light pieces, unsubstantiated gossip or opinions, and not conclusive essays with beginnings, middles, and end. I would argue that it's not really lazy writing, just a different media, one that's trying to engage rather than simply to declare. This is Barry Champlain, trying to reach his audience, only to find out that nobody actually wants to connect, they just want to be told what to think: that way it remains at a distance, and therefore purely as entertainment.

Did I offer you a solution, or close up the magical question of what the status of theater is? No. Did I get you thinking about it? I hope so.

Well, It MIGHT Matter If You're Black or White...

2007-06-11T15:09:00.001-04:00

I'm linking late into this story through Martin Denton's nytheater i, which is in fact linking into it late through BLOGstage (of Backstage). Of the many topics that sound in about this topic, the one I found most appealing was Cat*'s, as she says

To use another Shakespearean reference, in Midsummer's it is clearly written that Helena is tall ("painted Maypole") and Hermia dark ("tawny tartar" and "ethiope") and while often that is interpreted as her simply being brunette rather than blonde... there's a case to be made - a strong one - for casting her with an "actress of color"... but color-blind casting, switching the ethnic backgrounds of the actresses simply because the white chick did better reading for Hermia and the black chick gave a better audition for Helena is foolish and would require rewrites for the casting choices to even make sense...

Now, if you've got permission to rewrite the script, or if it's open domain, or the character is an ambiguous blank, by all means, cast color-blind. But here are a few anecdotes of my own as to why color-blind and gender-blind casting simply doesn't work. It's hard enough to suspend disbelief to watch a play; it's even harder when what you're watching distracts or takes away from the atmosphere of the play.

Take for example the current production of You Can't Take It With You at T. Schrieber Studio. Donald and Rheba are black, and they're most definitely the serving class. How ghastly. Except this is a play written in the '30s (as a film, it won the Academy Award in '38), and the current production is of a period piece, meant to take in--flaws and all--the situation back then. I was fine with Peter Aguero as Donald through the entire play; he carried himself with a portly bluff that made me guffaw many a time. Up until Rheba (Shirine Babb, who is a black actress) remarks, "I sure am glad I'm colored." To which Aguero, who is a white actor (and sketch comic), replies "I sure am too." Laughter, but not at all for the right reasons.

In an old college production of mine, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, our director chose to make the Player a woman. If the actress had been playing it as a man in drag (like most of the Player's troupe), the jokes would still have worked, but to translate the role itself just makes the jokes fall flat. Not that a woman being the pimped-out ringleader of a bunch of male "actors" is a bad idea, but it doesn't fit with Stoppard's jokes, and it devalues the role of Alfred, the most girlish lad, and the one who gets the most "parts."

It also puts a double standard on a woman who's playing the role as a man, as she has to work twice as hard to play the role as a guy, and not as a woman dressed as a guy: another production I worked on (Picasso at the Lapin Agile) had both Elvis and Gaston played by women. The girl playing Elvis was phenomenal, and the director actually used the genre to make some underlaying jokes (of the double entendre kind). The one playing Gaston, on the other hand, was just flat, because the one thing that needed to be true -- that it was old, lecherous man -- was constantly undercut by the fact that it was obviously a young (albeit lecherous) girl.

I can't speak to much of the rest of the debate about color on stage -- I don't know if there's a reverse racism (or not, as Matt Freeman asserts), but the noble cry of any role being open for any actor just doesn't wash with me. And I wouldn't want to whitewash it either. There are plenty of plays out there for women and black actors -- plenty of good ones, too -- and while I'd kill to be in Topdog/Underdog, if a really white guy acting really black would take away from the show (or subvert the point of the play), you have to wonder if you're not just making a different kind of art at that point. That, I'm all for: I'm against copyrights when they stand in the way of just making a good performance. But let's not call Raisin in the Sun that if it's got an all-white cast (although there are white raisins); at that point, it's not Hansberry's play.

As for the examples being given of black actors playing "white" roles in Shakespeare -- aside from the fact that Shakespeare is timeless and part-fantasy (even his history plays), most companies have already changed the way his plays were done, and I don't think Liev playing Othello or Denzel playing Macbeth would really change that much.

No, THEM'S Fighting Words

2007-06-10T01:08:00.000-04:00

In preparation to head back to the Pretentious Theater Festival, I saw some of the New York Times' summer listings. Not sure what the purpose of these blurbs are, however: is it to raise awareness of what's being done for these hot times, summers in the city, or is it to get a few extra bits of snark in about other shows?

For instance, how does this statement about SUMMERWORKS read to you?

It may not be as diverse and sprawling as the Fringe, but the chances of seeing something, you know, good at the Clubbed Thumb's annual showcase are considerably better.

Great for Clubbed Thumb; bad for the Fringe. Percentage-wise, it may be true, but the way it reads, it makes it seem like each of the three Clubbed Thumb shows is worth at least 70 of the Fringe shows, and I think this kind of equivocating is dangerous. Also, what is it that gets SUMMERWORKS a shout out (not that it shouldn't) and not the upcoming ICE FACTORY FESTIVAL? Because it's Jason Zinoman's listing that I'm quoting, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he just hadn't received a press release yet, but it seems to me that a lot of upcoming festivals were left off that page, and despite being online listings, my search of the NYT online archive hasn't yielded any updates even now, a month later.

I've got no problem with the Times wanting to be an authority, but little things like this (not too little to the festival organizers, I'll bet) are what make it into that disgusting "cultural arbiter" that so many of us out here rebel against. Report the news, write the listings, and let's stay away from snark as best as we can. You've got columns and reviews for the opinionated stuff, nu? As for the rest of us; this is just one of the necessary functions we can serve.

A few more random tidbits from browsing New York Times Online: did you know that you can now click any word twice and it'll bring up a pop-up with the definition, or have I just never accidentally double-clicked a word before? Also, kudos to Brantley's new coinage, "festivate," which is what all of us should be doing. I will nitpick about one more thing: why do Lincoln Center and the National Asian American Theater Company get links to their websites, but not the Pretentious Festival at the Brick? Is there diswebination going on?

In All Seriousness

2007-06-03T23:28:00.000-04:00

In part because I'm still feeling the residual effect of The Impending Theatrical Blogging Event (and the implied Yuenglings) and because the American Apparel advertisement (on the back of the A.V. Club Crossword) has the word "dysphemism" on it, I would like to upchuck an idea that's been lodged in my skull for a while. The ITBE was more a comic jam session, but it served the purpose of uniting various bloggers under one roof (or from secretive bunkers), and we did have some decent commentary (earlier and less drunkenly on) about theater itself, as in (a) what constitutes it, (b) why don't more people see it, and (c) what can we do to encourage it? (That is, aside from convening at The Brick to perform for ourselves and the caps-speaking AUDIENCE.)

What it all boils down to is our need to be social animals. We blog because we'd like to believe that someone out there cares enough about what we have to say on things: I assume theater comes from a similar, although probably more high-minded, place. The reason television (in particular, reality programming) is killing theater, along with the more spectaculicious (new coinage) movies, is that they are instantly accessible and discussable water-cooler topics. Our world is oversaturated with things to talk about already (and off-off-Broadway is no exception), and our biggest fear is in being left out of the conversation. This is why, if theater wants to grow, we need to nurture discussion about it. We need to insure that there will be a forum--even if it's online only--where theatergoers can nourish their attention-starved needs to vent. Even if it's just to make a connection over a powerful and gripping show, theater cannot thrive in an isolated context: not when there are so many other things competing with it.

So here's a topic that I've spoken about many times before, and which I again see inherent in the aggregate thought of the multiple bloggers who attended the ITBE. We need a real metaDRAMA. Not my sporadic ramblings about things that have irritated me. But a site, spun from the metacritic or Rotten Tomatoes model that provides playgoers a place to sound off about the various shows out there, and gives audiences a way to highlight the things most worth seeing. For me, the highlight of the ITBE was having Eurydice recommended to me by Adam Szymkowicz, and being able to recommend The Eaten Heart to everyone there.

To compete with lazy, idle, pop-culture laden, trend-following viewers, we need to appeal to theater's ability to engage, excite, be immediate and illuminating, public and live, and we need to start now, before we erode the next generation's tolerance for the immediate, entirely. I know there are people out there as excited about theater as I am; tonight, I met some of you. Unfortunately, there are critics out there who are no longer excited about theater, and unless we find a way to really spread word-of-mouth, it may be One Word to rule the shows, and One Word to bind them.

Emerging Emergency

2007-05-27T22:49:00.001-04:00

I had a depressing thought after seeing the phenomenal The Eaten Heart. How long does an artist have to be emerging for? These days, it seems like it takes a long time to be recognized for your work, if it even happens, at all. I waxed momentarily on this last week in response to God's Ear, but The Debate Society shouldn't be "stuck" in an incubator, even if it is the very freeing Ontological-Hysteric Incubator: they should be having money flung at them to let their teeming ideas run rampant.

Part of the problem must be the general lack of profiles being run in high-profile publications; I rarely see any coverage of an innovative playwright or a theater company in The New York Times: just a lot of puff pieces given over to popular 'slice-of-the-moment' characters whose horns need no further tooting. So what can we, the internet bloggers and online critics, do to help ensure that brilliant artists are always given a packed house and a rabid following?

Well, Why Not?

2007-05-26T12:24:00.001-04:00

Just goes to show you (or shows to go you) how backed up I am that Surplus managed to scoop me (and so far as everyone else I can see) on the whole Addams Family musical coming to Broadway in '09-'10. I read it first here, where it apparently beat out Campbell Robertson of the Times, but I digress: there's a point.

A lot of shows have been taking flak lately, shows that aren't even in previews yet (and hence undeserving of criticism). Everybody laughed at Xanadu, but an early report from my fellow racer Patrick, shows that it might not be quite as bad an idea as we thought. People have been up in arms about the purported jukebox musical from The Flaming Lips and Aaron Sorkin, but I've seen odder cafeteria confections in children's lunch-boxes. What I say? Two things that I like, mixed together. There's only so much that can be wrong with that, especially when they go so far as to compare the forthcoming plot to Brazil. (Pretentious, I won't argue.)

Not that there haven't been bad ideas. I don't quite remember how much Lord of the Rings lost as a cash-crop musical, or what exactly they were thinking with The Apprentice: The Musical, but these were spur-of-the-moment attempts to make money off a hot, topical item. With The Apprentice now canceled, and spring 2006 far gone, we may be saved from another Trump fiasco (do we need his "great" White way on the Great White Way?).

But there are also those stuck in the mix between inspired and greedy: why are we so worried about Spider-Man: The Musical? The only question there is: why U2? Julie Taymor is pretty talented at finding unique ways to stage what we thought could only be animated (The Lion King), and a book penned by Neil Jordan isn't necessarily better than anyone else's, but why not give the guy a chance? Batman: The Musical is looking less and less likely, but was nobody excited (or jaded enough) back in '04 at the prospect of seeing Tim Burton's vision on stage? There's camp, there's kitsch, but then there's also sometimes a rare success in the ridiculous.

Which brings us back to The Addams Family. Granted, we're already getting a Gothic comedy out of Mel Brooks and his Young Frankenstein, but do we have any reason to shudder at this combination?

Composer-lyricist Andrew Lippa (The Wild Party) is writing the songs; Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice (Jersey Boys) provide the book. Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch, the Improbable Theater founders who created Shockheaded Peter, will direct and design.

I'd at least like to give them the benefit of the doubt, especially when one considers that they're modeling the show NOT after the well-meaning movies or their charming TV counterpoints, but on the original and disturbing comics in The New Yorker. Give the guys credit for reaching deep.

End point? Anything can work on Broadway, and given the current and much beleaguered "state" of musical theater, should be tried on Broadway. If Spring Awakening wins big, we might be able to take a step back from the cloying laughs of Legally Blonde, Spamalot, and the rest of the sugar-fed spectacles. And even if it doesn't, I'm all for adding some darker comedy to the mainstream: especially when it's at least starting in such capable, eager hands.

Language, Language, Language

2007-05-08T02:43:00.000-04:00

Still caught up in the exuberant English of God's Ear, but I thought I'd comment briefly on something David Cote said in his preview of the show, something that should be painfully obvious to those who have seen this production (though pleasantly surprising for New Georges): why it is that "cult favorites such as Melissa James Gibson, Young Jean Lee and, yes, Schwartz still can't get arrested above 14th Street." As Cote points out, at least Playwrights Horizon and Manhattan Theater Club are producing someone like Adam Bock this year (and apparently Eric Grode of The Sun, my new hero, pulled hard for The Thugs). At the same time, he justifies the statement by mentioning that these "classics-oriented outfits" are "dabbling in new titles," as if it's a passing thought, rather than an artistically motivated decision.

But hey! Why is it that Sheila Callaghan, even after last year's triumphant Dead City, has nothing major in the city at the moment? I love Neil LaBute (especially the under-appreciated Fat Pig), and I'm glad that MCC has lavished such attention on him, but it seems to me that such partnerships (like Primary Stages and Terrance McNally or Playwrights Horizon and Christopher Durang) wind up churning out mediocre (at best) works, while the innovative wordsmiths scuttle about on the fringe. Why is the only time I see a Daniel MacIvor play at a festival? (And ones with somewhat self-deprecating names like the "Fringe" or "Under the Radar," as if that's where these plays should remain -- no disrespect to the awesome festivals themselves.) Some artists are at least by choice taking on site-specific work, like Lisa D'Amour, who last year explored multimedia in the stunning Stanley (2006), but are these artists doomed to HERE, PS122, and Walkerspace until they conform? (Not that that's much of a punishment: these spaces are rich with a myriad of intimate possibilities.)

I understand the commercial aspect of theater. And I understand that Broadway has more or less inflated the entire market (as has New York itself) by making the cost of living or producing so high that it's hard to be dedicated (the stuff of dreams). But I'm terrified that the pull-quote in this article is from New Georges' artistic director, Susan Bernfield, saying that "We have a bigger responsibility for the stuff that's perceived as weird." Not because Bernfield is anything less than a saint, and god bless her for producing such new and vibrant works, but because of the honesty in that statement: the great responsibility of pushing theater ahead has fallen far from Broadway, and shows have become "cult" where they should have become "classic." Push that envelope, people. Paper cuts today, Broadway tomorrow.

Gut Responses

2007-04-24T15:06:00.000-04:00

So aren't gut responses awesome? Right below this post, I had some choice words to say for the offending audience at Mike Daisey's ART performance of Invincible Summer. As the days continue, it turns out that they weren't religious (they were a choir), and that it apparently wasn't premeditated -- in fact, it was "agitated" by the house manager's reluctance to pause the show. Of course, this is just what Norco High School says, still without explaining the fact that a chaperone felt it was necessary to also drown the script out (literally).

We can assume, as over at Playgoer, that it's a non-issue: that the high schoolers felt intimidated by what they perceived as rage in Daisey (though I feel that's hardly the case if you watch the much ballyhooed video), and that the chaperones thought it better to just leave without discussing their stance. And hey, I've had to walk out of productions before that all but force you onto the stage to exit, so I can sympathize with the unfortunate circumstances that led to the walkout being so disruptive. But this is all in looking back at the past, in retrospect: the fact of the matter is that when it happened, nothing really did either. Bloggers posted about it, and Daisey struggled with it in the moment, but so far as I can tell, charges weren't filed for what is clearly blatant vandalism, and I saw very little (which is to say none) in the actual print media about it. Apathy is one of America's problems, but it's also become more and more an issue in the types of performances I've seen. Ever safer, ever more passive: why is it that this spontaneous event was more visceral to me than the show itself?

The reason I think your gut is awesome is that that is where passion and excitement come from. I wrote the perhaps ill-informed blog entry below while I was piqued, but it was true at the moment I said it (to me). And that's what I'm really interested in, as a reviewer: not really the processed idea -- filtered, stretched, and frayed -- but in the immediate, the stirring, the real. You shouldn't have to like it more later by placing it into context (look at how Stoppard's stood by his statement that Coast of Utopia needs no reading list), and much as Steve Martin's lines about icebox laughs (in Picasso at the Lapin Agile) are amusing, who really goes to theater so that they can experience something later . . . if they're lucky?

Of course, as seen by what happened to Daisey, sometimes gut responses are bad, too, or perhaps just water bottles. And maybe it's a good thing that nobody's overreacting. We just banned fake weapons from the stage; should we ban water next?

Invincible, Even After Kryptonite!

2007-04-21T14:39:00.000-04:00

I had considered calling this post "What the Fuck," but I was fearful that it might make some crazed religious nuts march through my front door, up to my computer, at which point they'd pour water all over it, and then storm out silently. I suddenly had the thought, "Well at least we can be glad that's all they did to Mike Daisey," during the middle of his performance of Invincible Summer at American Repertory Theatre, but I don't really think glad factors into it at all. More like, where are the criminal prosecutions against the people who purchased tickets to visit someone's intimate home, where they could then defile it with a silent but disruptive protest of another man's art.

Wait, I don't think protest is accurate here either: there were no words, no comments, no explanation . . . even when the monologist begged them, choking back his anger simply to better understand the situation, to stay and discuss what they had done. This was a premeditated hate crime, violent as anything physical may be, and I'd actually call for the police to try to track down some of these people who purchased tickets (there were 87 of them, and some record of where they came from, or a credit card receipt should be around somewhere) and to press charges.

I'm angry, and I wasn't even attacked, but I don't like what this says about art. We'd press charges if someone walked into a museum and flung water on a priceless piece of art -- the only difference here is that the original text that Mike had composed for his show isn't seen that way. And why not? What makes words any less valuable?

I'm offended too. You can see a YouTube clip of the "protest" on Mike's site, here, and read the following comments about it from Isaac and Matt, though I certainly hope there's more discussion (and as I said above, active prosecution) about this subject over this next week.

[Notice: Theatreforte]

Criticizing Criticism: A Manifesto of Sorts

2007-04-20T12:45:00.000-04:00

Lately, I've been asking the big "why" of more than a couple of shows I've seen: that is, "Why do this production?" But there's just as easily another question beneath that, and that's applicable to me: "Why review this production?" and along with that, what is a review, what's criticism, and what's a blog. Those of you browsing the "blogosphere" have probably come across various meditations on this theme before, but I'll do my best to address them all with this mini-manifesto, engaging with some recent reads (including an old post of Garret Eisler's, something heartfelt from Martin Denton, and some wit from Howard Kissel) and building toward a more communal ideal, where the line between artist and audience and art and criticism isn't so wide.

I love Martin Denton, and what he's doing over at nytheatre.com and his personal blog (which is attached to the intriguing, but still-in-progress indietheater.org):

No matter how terrible or misguided or perverse a show seems to be, always remember: they didn’t do it just to annoy you. Anyone who works in Off-Off-Broadway knows how hard it is to get a show up—any show. Almost everyone involved is doing the work for no money, and finding time to do it around day jobs and other responsibilities. They’re running on passion—that’s why I love OOB so much. These artists are compelled to tell us something. Try to figure out what it is. Give them room to say it.

This is from his commentary on the NY IT Awards (and don't forget to vote): even this comment on criticism itself is filled with passion and genuine love, which is where the reviewer has to come from. However, the one caveat to Denton's post above (applicable to Broadway and more and more to Off-Broadway) is that while they may not do it to annoy you, there are quite often financial reasons creeping in that lull both the subject material that's produced and cull a certain type of performance.

That's why it's so important to see new work, the kind that is still willing to be rough and risky, and why we should make it a point to go in blind: for the experience and the love, rather than simply to make notes on a play. Denton says he doesn't write things down during a show because he doesn't want to abstract the experience: one way to know how much I'm enjoying a show is to look and see how much I'm writing down. (The true value of a press kit is not needing to take factual notes.) I disagree that what's happening in the audience has relevance to the show (especially with the rudeness of ringtones), but this here's a pretty accurate job description (can we standardize it?) of a reviewer: "(a) have the experience, and then (b) report honestly and articulately about it."

Nobody's questioning Isherwood's paper proselytizing ability; it's when they feel he's been dishonest with judging the work, or when he's veered from critiquing the experience to making moral (or otherwise) judgement calls that he gets slammed by his readers (as with the infamous assessment of Adam Rapp's Essential Self-Defense). On the other side is the danger of those with too little experience: although Cynthia Ozick writes her April 2007 Harper's essay to talk about literary bloggers, theater bloggers are only one remove away:

Less innocent is the rise of the non-professional reviewer on Amazon--though "rise" suggests an ascent, whereas this computerized exploitation, through commerce and cynicism, of typically unlettered exhibitionists signals a new low in public responsibility. Unlike the valued book club reviewer, who may be cozily challenged by companionable discourse, Amazon's "customer reviewer" goes uncontested and unedited: the customer is always right. And the customer, the star of this shoddy procedure, controls the number of stars that reward or denigrate writers....Most customer reviewers, though clearly tough customers when it comes to awarding stars, are not tough enough--or well-read enough--for tragic realism or psychological complexity. Amazon encourages naive and unqualified readers who look for easy prose and uplifting endings to expose their insipidities to a mass audience.

These are the people who have an experience, but have no experience from which to write more than the flimsiest of visceral responses. These opinions are valid, but only when weighed in aggregate: on their own, featured as they are, they are often too personal to engage the work, and as Ozick points out, too exclusive to provoke commentary (which is why I will always have comments turned on). So to add another another items to Denton's admirable start: (c) a reviewer must be looking to add to the discussion which the piece itself, in its creation, has already sparked.

This is what I think Garrett was getting at when he reviewed Linnea and wondered "if it was even worth reviewing at all."

Exposing the flaws of prominent productions that are taken seriously by others is an essential function of criticism. (See Richard Gilman's famous contrarian essay "On Destructive Criticism.") But something like "Linnea" seems the result of some part-time theatre enthusiasts (no doubt with serious ambitions) who are just not ready for prime time. I'm all for letting them hone their craft out of the public eye until they have something really ready.

There's a reason New Theater Corps refuses to publish bashes of shows: we're simply not interested in beating a dead horse, nor are we interested in promoting one. Our reviews are aimed at pointing out shows that get limited exposure and helping audiences find the shows that would catch their eye, if only their eye was focused on it. Here's the fourth function of a reviewer then: imagine the finest story ever, written on a grain of rice. It is (d) the reviewer's job to be the magnifying glass for a show, to serve as an after-the-fact amanuensis who is more interested in highlighting talent than shutting it down.

It is Howard Kissel who makes the greatest case for reviewing:

[W]hether or not their ultimate judgments are sound, they ought also make their prose lively. It doesn't help the theatre when readers are sent to shows that are boring, but it's even less help if their writing is mundane. Whether praising or panning a show, the critic's basic job description is to make the art itself sound exciting.

Yes, here's the essential final part of reviewing: to be art in of itself. Not just a magnifying glass, but (*d) a mirror too, one that encompasses not only the play, but also the critic, one that continues the experience from the page to the stage and to the people.

Many reviews are written with an eye to scoring intellectual points rather than simply informing the reader whether or not he'll have a good time. In fact, many reviewers do not like to see themselves as consumer advisers. They are writing about an art form and want their observations to be treated seriously, not simply as a matter of thumbs-up or thumbs-down.

Nothing is as easy as Caesar's ominous verdict makes it look: we should treat the plays we see with the utmost of respect, as if they were gladiators themselves, men and women who should live, regardless of whether we ourselves were merely entertained. As Kissel reiterates: "it's much easier to write a negative review than a positive one," so let's keep with Denton's first comment and remain honest, above all else, which leads us to the final ideal (e) that a reviewer exercise thought and care and -- dare I say it -- love. To go back to Ozick for a moment:

What is needed are critics who can tease out hidden imperatives and assumptions held in common, and who will create the contentious conditions that underlie and stimulate a living literary consciousness. In this there is something almost ceremonial, or ceremoniously slow: unhurried thinking, the ripened long (or sidewise) view, the gradualism of nuance.

So, a distilled manifesto of what I will do my best to become as I continue this metamorphic journey as a critic:

(a) I will look the experience first and then
(b) be honest, always, about it.
(c) My goal is to add to the community, to
(d) magnify the artistic experience, and
(*d) to mirror the work with as much craft as possible in the review.
(e) Finally, to linger in that moment, to nourish with love, not hate.

To do these things, to spring forth not just stale commentary but living, breathing text on what has blown our mind or percolated our soul or resonated in our being . . . that's exciting. That's worth reading. To do these things is to be a real writer, interpreting the world through the narrator (or critic's) lens, the author's (hopefully experienced) viewpoint, and to make our work counterpart to theirs: to use Ozick's beautiful closing phrase, to make our work a "ghostly twin" to theirs.

Plagiarize This!

2007-04-15T10:49:00.000-04:00

Last week was a big week in Greek drama for me, and it resurrected the idea of plagiarism once again, as in: is it wrong for an artist to steal if it changes the work? I'll stress: my qualifier is that the new is different than the old, that you don't just add a line about cellphones to Alcestis and slap your name on the play as "Adapted by." How can it be wrong to play with text in theater if one of the things we celebrate is the way in which directors find ways to play with shows?

It comes down to money and ego, but remember that the words are out there. Just because you find them first doesn't mean you own them, especially when those words are a product of the experiences born out of this life. But if I can go out and write a better Harry Potter book than J. K. Rowling, if I can convince people to read it, why don't I have the right to do so? Theoretically, it won't hurt her capital unless my product is genuinely better (or achieves the odd sort of social popularity of cumulative advantage): in either case, I've a right to do so.

The triggering thought extends back to the controversial Harper's article of February 2007 in which Jonathan Lethem steals text (only to credit it in the end notes) to make a verbal collage on the subject of plagiarism. He's linked different ideas in a new way, and hence elevated the individual thoughts and methods, in much the same way that we vaunt the ability to "tag" things on the Internet and to explore the heretofore unseen connections between what's out there. In medicine, in sports, in history, in pretty much anything but art, this is an incredible boon: doctors making realizations about their differential diagnoses, coaches and trainers coming up with new strategies, historians making new realizations from the multiple angles . . . only in the "creative" arts is it a bad thing that we're scanning books onto the Internet or spinning off ideas to invent something new. I want to put James Tyrone in a play I'm working on: why not?

There's another article in that Harper's issue that was somewhat overlooked, and that was a joint piece between artist Joy Garnett and photographer Susan Meiselas as to who had the right to use a picture of "Molotov Man." Well, all Meiselas did was snap the camera at the right moment, to do what some cultures still believe to be "soul stealing" and then develop the print and find a willing publisher. What makes her the owner of that moment in life, then? An artist is really just in the right place at the right time: as Steve Martin writes in Picasso at the Lapin Agile, the best artist is really just open to receive the idea at the moment it happens. In this case, Joy catches the reflection of genius off another person's "work" and in turn she adopts it. In this case, the controversy actually causes a whole cadre of netizens to adopt the art, and suddenly we're swimming in beautiful new works. And how can anyone possibly find that a bad thing?

Maybe I'm naive, but the artist is a filter. He or she (and gender is really irrelevant here) experiences the world and then creates something from those experiences. But the world is the universe and everything in it. Including plays, photos, advertisements, and so forth. The idea that work should be kept out of the public domain for x years is only more ridiculous in the medical community. But wait, you ask: if not for the protection of rights, why would anybody struggle so hard to create at all? Well shit, I say. If you're in this to make money and not because you love what you're doing, then you're in the wrong business. This will, inevitably, lead me into the class discussion that's come up on other blogs, but rich or poor, if you're striving to create from a commercial aspect, your work is already tainted by a need to succeed, and a fear of experimentation (or of succeeding at your experiment only to have someone take the next logical step off your experiment before you can).

The commercial world works so hard to force things into the public domain: lights flash, bells whistle, and smells drift at us through almost every orifice. When we succumb and allow the world to transform us, we should then be careful in our most intimate, free-thought moments of creation to then partition ourselves from all that is not truly "public domain" once more? I liked OEDIrx, but didn't like Orestes 2.0. Both, however, gave me thoughts for my own ideas (which is why there's no such thing as a bad night at the theater): why can't I use them? Chuck Mee was recently subverted himself, in the brilliant transFigures. Why shouldn't they use him? Notice how all this reviving hasn't stopped anyone from doing straight classics, like Prometheus Bound (to their own detriment), see how The Polish Play hasn't ended the career of Macbeth (this version itself being an adaptation) or Ubu Roi.

I'm a big supporter of the thoughts of the masses over the thoughts of the few, and when you limit anything, you come close to ruining it. Obviously, you shouldn't call something Beethoven or Samuel Beckett if you've altered their originals . . . but remember, it's when we try to call their adapted work something else (without permission) that we get into trouble as artists. Look at how the blogosphere works. I see a post that inspires me, I link to it and post about it. Someone else reads mine (and perhaps back to theirs), and then write their own. Suddenly there's discussion; suddenly there's something new. Nothing is wrong, everything is sacred. Go ahead, plagiarize this. You must.

An Intimate Look

2007-04-05T02:44:00.000-04:00

I've noticed a growing slant in my reviews, and I want to honestly air it. If you perform a show in a small, cramped space -- if you use the audience for part of the performance -- if there's not so much distance between the stage and the first row -- I'm probably going to be more interested in your show. Now, it's not a bias: I still like highly theatrical Broadway shows that rely on distance and space, but that's an aesthetic type of show, like the heavily stylized Coast of Utopia, which I connected to more on a visual than emotional level. But I can't help but think that Well did so much better off-Broadway than on because it had an easier time connecting (filling a smaller house, too), and that one of the reasons I liked Macbeth: A Walking Shadow better than the Public's version was that I felt more implicit in the show.

My basic take is that shows have compensated for the ebbing fourth-wall in theater by simply increasing the comfort zone between audience and actor. What it results in is an audience that has the luxury of tuning out; an audience of observers, but no more activists. I like that the Neo-Futurists of Too Much Light Make the Baby Go Blind will pull you up on-stage, and that if you mess with them, they'll mess with you. I like that in volume of smoke, Isaac Butler made us implicit in the theatrical tragedy of 1881 by placing his actors (who played audience members) right next to us in the audience.

I saw Howard Katz and Los Angeles within the same month, and liked the latter, less professional production more. Why? Because in the cramped underbelly of The Flea, with a suffering girl slumped over the divider, her head practically in my lap, I'm more alert, more sympathetic, and more interested in the work. I'm active, whereas with Marber's play, I was admiring the acting, sure, but also drawn to the noisy old man beside me who kept fidgeting with something in a plastic bag. Alfred Molina is far more entertaining than old men with mysterious packages (usually), but proximity is a huge factor in personal investment.

If we really are becoming more apathetic theatergoers, we need to get more invested in our shows. Hard to ignore a show that's being performed in a bathroom, an elevator, or a train. (Or, as in The Sublet Experiment, in someone's house.) This upcoming interactive play I'm seeing, Accomplice: New York, promises to mix theater with life. Rotozaza's Five in the Morning as PS122 uses audience members, or something. From what I heard about Hell House, it was a very lively experience. Maybe I'm just too young to sit idly in my chair and appreciate a show; maybe I need to depreciate in age before I can do that. Or maybe it's really just about restoring that connection between the stage and the audience, about remembering that we're all really, when it comes right down to it, on the same stage, all together, all one.

The Beauty of Being Wrong

2007-03-31T16:20:00.000-04:00

Earlier in the week, I questioned all of the new plays that seem to be cropping up with scripts, but without performers. I asked whether or not these were works of theater, or if there was some sort of requirement that would distinguish the people begging for change on a crowded subway car from the people begging for change on a crowded subway car who called themselves actors. Well, I'm still wondering if it's fair to call certain shows theater, like the glib and impactless An Oak Tree, but I would like to rescind my pre-buzz commentary on Doublethink, which I've since seen.

Simply put: it's theater if it is a performance meant to illustrate something -- be that a moral, a story, an emotion, or an idea -- to an audience and given that the performance isn't meant for personal gain (i.e., a con game). If a show is produced simply to make money, the greatest impetus for performance is removed from the equation: that is, the why of performance: why this show, why this night, why, why, why. To use the two examples I keep swinging about: An Oak Tree told a rather bland story that constantly kept both the audience and performer at arm's end, more like inviting someone to read off of cue cards than asking them to use their confusion and personality to join a more involved process (the upcoming NBC show, Thank God You're Here, tries to mine the neuroses of comedians for laughs). Doublethink, on the other hand, already starts on the high note of a social experiment: we have the intimate privilege of seeing how two actors interpret the same directions, whereas they, seperated by a screen and blinded by floor lights, washed out in the dark, can only follow those directions to the best of their ability (it appears to be very freeing).

In An Oak Tree, there was very little direction (beyond Tim Crouch's stifling control), and the theatricality didn't extend far beyond Crouch's shiny coat and shinier pate. Rotozaza, on the other hand, have not only sleekly produced a lot of intricate technical effects for Doublethink, but they've managed to keep the actors engaged directly in their world, wheras Crouch kept releasing his guest from theirs. One thing to consider: I've only see one night of either performance, and for all I know, An Oak Tree was better with another performer, and Doublethink could be bombing right now, as I type this. But I maintain that Doublethink is grounded in true theatrical conventions, whereas An Oak Tree is a manipulative stage-show, like a bar-mitzvah magician, and that the former is true theater because of its encompassing vision, whereas the latter is failed hypnotism because of its limited goals.

I'll continue trying to define theater, here, as I continue to see shows as often as I can: if any of you out there have genre-bending recommendations, please make them, and let's all see if we can find the trust, communication, and committment of Doublethink as we go about seeing and recording as much as we can about theater as humanly possible.

Why Nobody Listens to Critics

2007-03-30T14:38:00.000-04:00

The more I write reviews and the more I read them, the more attuned I am to the selective presentation of press clippings and quotes. I understand that a lot of reviews tend to be mixed, and the publicist obviously has a need to protect his client from the snarky asides, but when you're reduced to quoting one word ("Great") or when you're deliberately misrepresenting the original content . . . at what point do we stand up, wave our arms around, and shudder? Now more than ever, I'm convinced we need some sort of aggregate theater system that eliminates (or at least provides a second opinion to) the fictitious quote-mongering out there.

Here's an example:

PRESS: "An indestructible global blockbuster! It will probably run forever!"

NEW YORK TIMES (Jason Zinoman):

“Be,” the latest low-budget spectacle trying to tap into the seemingly inexhaustible tourist market for banging on trash cans in unison, seems like a collection of loose parts stitched together to create an indestructible global blockbuster. Produced by the Israeli company Mayumana, it starts with elements of “Stomp” (like drumming on one’s chest), throws in some from “Blue Man Group” (giant tubes) and then adds sex appeal. It will probably run forever. (I just hope I’m not quoted on the front of the theater.)

Let's be honest: with the latter quote, Zinoman was begging for it. But the first part? Dishonest exclamations. Mind you, I enjoyed the show. I wasn't blown away by it, but I wouldn't advocate against it (like Isherwood against Rapp). This is why people should just go to the theater more regularly, to be surprised: then all this nonsensical buzz wouldn't matter.

At the 032607 blogging panel, one of the questions that was raised was in reference to the quid pro quo symbiosis of the critic and publicist. I ask that question again, as critics routinely allow themselves to be misrepresented: can anything be done to stop such indebtedness?

Surprise, Surprise

2007-03-30T10:51:00.000-04:00

Riffing off a lovely post by the Playgoer, I wonder if anybody goes to the theater to be surprised any more. In part because I'm trying to win a race, in part because I'm an editor and a critic, and in part because I just love theater, I rarely know anything about the show I'm going to see on any given night. Have a cool poster or postcard? (Orestes 2.0) Nice; I'm game. Are you a theater company that I trust, like The Flea? (Smoke and Mirrors) Dope; I'm there. Discount offer? (Serendib) Sweet. I don't know what I'm going to get, but it hardly matters at affordable off-off and off-Broadway theaters. I admit, when I'm shelling out full-price to see Spring Awakening, I consider what I may or may not have heard about it, but even then, I don't want to know what happens in the show itself. (The gimmicked audience and needless use of meta elements on the chalkboard, ugh; everything else, anachronistic staging, yes!)

The only way my guerrilla audience tactics work is if you accept one reasonable premise: there is no such thing as bad theater. There are awful shows, but even those evoke something in you (and I actually find passable theater, or bland theater, to be far worse). And if you're at all involved in the arts, as a writer, director, amanuensis, whatever: it's a learning experience. You may see a production that gets everything wrong . . . except for one shining moment of stagecraft, and that's what lives in you and fills you. Yes, you've got to have passion for this to work; but why should we as an audience be any less receptive than we expect the actors to be? (Amendment: if you're torn between two shows, neither of which runs past the evening in question, there's nothing wrong in doing a little research; you'll feel more content with your choice, rather than restlessly wondering about the other show you're missing.)

The other advantage toward being surprised is that you lose preconceived notions. Nothing kills live theater more than stale expectation. If you've read a play before seeing it, or you've seen other productions, you should do your best to block those from your mind: we ask the actors to treat each night like it's their first, and we should do the same from our seats. I consider myself a critic, but I have very little patience for comparative analysis (and even less for those who preface their reviews with showoffy references to past productions). What's important is the immediate, visceral response (which is why blogs have such a future) -- as a person -- and what follows are the deep-seated thoughts and observations about why that work affected you as it did, or where you feel things could've been improved (in technical relation, perhaps, to other work).

I love theater. That should be enough.

I Know My Calculus: It Says NYC Plus Theater Equals Naught

2007-03-28T19:23:00.000-04:00

So, Robin Pogrebin reports from the NYT today that Signature Theater will not be moving into the new Ground Zero Arts Center (which would make it the second theater in the neighborhood, right after the sleek, wave-of-the-future 3LD Performing Arts Center). The reason, according to Deputy Mayor Daniel L. Doctoroff is "because of the cost and complicated logistics of having the two institutions share a confined space." That cost, by the way?

Estimates of the performing arts center’s cost were approaching $700 million, city officials said. Under the new plan, the center and a new Signature Theater are expected to come in at about $350 million combined.

I'm assuming the unspoken $350 million are going toward the Joyce Theater, a center for dance that will remain there. I'm happy for the Joyce Theater, though I'm not a dance enthusiast, but why is it okay to spend that much on one theater, and not that much for Signature? (And I won't even mention the other two companies that were dropped from the roster. Well, okay: one of which, the Drawing Center, seems to have been ousted for "controvserial programming," which sounds a lot like censorship to me.) I've got a better question: why do we need to spend $350 million dollars to build a theater? If you've already given up the dream for erecting a cultural mecca to counter the bleak terrorism of nineeleven, what does it matter? Certainly the artists themselves, who have worked in far nastier off-Broadway spaces than the current location of the Signature Theater, can deal with a less-than-perfect (and cheap) building.

Nor do they really need that much money to make a brilliant building. I mentioned 3LD earlier:

In August 2002, Three-Legged Dog committed to a 20-year lease on the space at 80 Greenwich Street from the building's owner, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. By last August, the group managed to raise $3.1 million toward the $4.6 million arts complex. The largest contributor has been the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs through the support of Alan J. Gerson, City Council Member, District 1. Other contributors have been the Luesther T. Mertz Advised Fund of the New York Community Trust, Booth Ferris Foundation, the New York State Council on the Arts, and the Non-Profit Finance Fund. Critical financing has been provided by FJC, the Fund for the City of New York, and the Alliance of Resident Theaters, New York.

Their space looks phenomenal, the ticket prices are affordable, and they did it for $4.6M. You're telling me that it costs sixty times that to move three blocks north into what is more-and-more looking like just another high-rise office habitation? Hell, if the city is that bad at negotiating contracts, we should give all our property over to the MTA: they know how to contract things out (although their station-work on Cortland Street slips past their February 2006 deadline).

Here's an irony though:

[T]he city hopes to move the Signature to Fiterman Hall at 30 West Broadway, cater-corner to 7 World Trade Center. Fiterman, part of the Borough of Manhattan Community College, was heavily damaged by falling debris on 9/11.

This, of course, is the former residence of 3LD, so at least one theater company seems to have benefitted from the transition. In some ways, this may end up being a boon for Signature Theater, which needs to move out of their current Tenth Avenue theater by 2011 (a real loss for the neighborhood) -- it's not like this new cultural center will be ready in time, given the boondoggle of the last five years. Either way, someone should let them know: their website still has hope for the WTC district.

End note? Stop mistakenly equating theater with luxury: we don't need to hemmorage cash to put on a good show, and some of the most inventive work is made from its mother, necessity. On Broadway, producers don't seem to understand how to make a show for less than an ever-ballooning billion dollars (hyperbole, lest I get hate mail from equally snarky producers), so let's please cut the crap folks, and use some common business sense.

So Easy, Even A Monkey Could Do It!

2007-03-27T17:39:00.000-04:00

Last year I covered a much-hyped show that I was most unimpressed with. An Oak Tree was mind-numbing gimmickry: one actor who knows the script, and another--who has never read or seen the show--doing a cold reading off a clipboard. I'd love to hear what James Urbaniak got out of his personal experience performing the play at random, but as a casual observer, all I could think was that I could do that. I've performed, and I don't think I'm a terrible actor, but trust me: if I think I can do something, you aren't doing a very good job.

While browsing Culturebot (yes, Guitar Hero is a fantastic game), I read hype about an upcoming show at PS122 in the form of twin shows called Doubletalk and Five in the Morning. The picturesque charm described in the synopsis doesn't sound all that bad, but have you noticed how many theater companies are relying on intrigue to get people to the theaters lately? Even fantastic multimedia shows that I loved, like HERE's Stanley (2006) or 3LD, which is mounting the upcoming Losing Something, can't keep from hyping the gen-re-defining technologies going into the performance, as if that's the reason to see a show. When I had the pleasure to speak with Mark Russell on an episode of Theater Talk, I spoke honestly that I thought the appeal of his Under The Radar Festival at The Public would be the lure of seeing an expertly curated open-house of out-of-city performers, bringing new (but professionally culled) works to the stage. I wasn't disillusioned at the festival either: I saw more of Canadian Daniel MacIvor's narrative-bending work and puppetry that seemed a natural evolution of the past. So yes, we all want to see something new, but it has to be more than new -- and this should go without saying -- it has to be good, too.

Yes, But Is It Theater?

Which brings me back to the act-by-numbers approach of this new theatrical rage. I've seen happenings, or even flash-mobs, that involved the audience in a carefully planned theatrical experience, usually without them even being aware of their participation. But to put that same concept on a stage, and then to try to think outside the box, when you are, by nature, usually in a black-box theater . . . heavens, what are you doing?

Is all this post-post-drama even theater? Isn't that the same as saying (as we have with art) that all we need to do is exhibit something on a stage for it to be theater? The two shows at PS 122 have sets and, as with An Oak Tree, use silent audio devices to feed their characters text, so you can make the argument that there's still creativity. It's not quite improv: there are scripts. But it's not a reading. And it's not technically acting (any more than going about life is). So what is it?

032607

2007-03-26T23:58:00.000-04:00

Welcome back to the official relaunch of my actual blogging. If you're looking for reviews, you want to go back to my archival site, That Sounds Cool. But hey, so long as you're here, why not stay and check out the view? I've left the remnants of my stalwart-but-rapidly-staling rants below from when this place was called Verify This; the name of the site now speaks for itself. I don't believe in mixing blogging with criticism, so this will be the site where I make comments on my comments, and on the selected musings of others. As for the title of this post, the rather cryptic string of numbers refers to the inspiring date for this relaunch: a little blogging symposium moderated by David Cote on behalf of the Summer Play Festival salon series, with special guests like Isaac Butler, Garret Eisler, Cara Joy David, and George Hunka. (And by "guests like," I mean those specific people, specifically.)

The observations of the evening were what you'd expect, but they did shed some light into the conflict-of-interest debate that wound up removing two prominent bloggers from the gaping freelance staff of the New York Times, and the usual questions about the purpose of blogs and the use of complimentary tickets boomed throughout the attic studio. One clarification: I don't get free tickets for Show Showdown, the four-person blog/chronicle/race to see the most shows in 2007. If they were offered, I would certainly take them, although I would never pander to a publicist to maintain a sycophantic relationship. (I do receive tickets through New Theater Corps, the Theater Talk-sponsored blog for young critics for which I currently serve as editor, and occasionally through my own site and my own connections.) I consider the work we do at Show Showdown to be a valuable, albeit snarky and unprofessional, asset to anyone looking to see what's out there, and while the gimmicky nature of the site may explain why it is one of the first blogs to have been featured in the Arts & Leisure section, the work there is genuine and produced out of a real and undeniable love of theater. Blogs tend not to make money: after listening to the evening's panel, if not for love, what then?

The one worry I had was listening to how Cara Joy David had received industry "threats" because of her non-libelous and column-like posts. Does Michael Riedel get the same? Is an "insider" or a "journalist" not allowed to have an opinion outside of the news? Heck, they wouldn't be human if they didn't. (There are, for the record, many alien news anchors.) It's one thing for an artist to write to a critic and discuss a comment or review (some more vividly than others) -- and in fact, the panelists seemed to welcome raging debates on their sites or via more ignorable e-mail -- and it's another to use the leverage of excompensation, like some Pope of Theater, against freethinkers and freer writers.

I also wanted to address an issue that didn't come up at the salon, and this was the necessity of blogs to review certain shows. Theater, especially off-off-Broadway theater, the kind that doesn't get coverage in even the local media, is the most transitory art form out there. As a happening, that's fine, but as the product of hard work, it drives me nuts that there is often no record of the fine theater being produced every day. A network of hardworking bloggers can help point out some of the overlooked gems the city has to offer, and the rapid response times allowed by online publishing allows the word to get out almost instantaneously. I'm a big fan of Isaac's process-oriented musings of theater craft, and I check Garret's journalism (vulturized from other writers or not) religiously, but don't leave legitimate review-oriented sites out of the blogosphere.

It's a pleasure to be back, folks. I hope you'll stick around for a while.

2006-02-06T14:08:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. The Last Month

How like me. I make a New Year's Resolution (note the emphatic use of capitalization) to write more frequently and then I completely cease to do so. Okay, I may have been tied up (not literally; the last thing I need is for this site to somehow become cross-referenced by a wacky porn index, as I often find when Googling myself), but that's no excuse. Never mind that I've been writing a review every other day, working overtime at my job, and setting up an alternate blog to archive all my work at (http://thatsoundscool.blogspot.com). And forget, for a moment, that I've started writing short stories again, you know, so that at least the creative juices are flowing, if not absolutely spilling out all over the place. I should've been more dedicated to posting these rants here, not because I'm vain enough to think anyone reads them, but to ensure that when I become more popular there is plenty of material for people to blackmail me with. I'd hate to leave the little people empty handed.

But none of this really explains what I have against the last month. After all, I was on TV, wasn't I? I made a nice little cameo appearance on Theater Talk, for which I have been an active member of the New Theater Corps (http://newtheatercorps.blogspot.com). That's a positive investment on my criticism work, and it looks like it all turned out pretty good. Or so says my vanity, coupled with my ego. So why exactly am I railing against The Last Month (again, emphasis intentional)?

Perhaps it's because I was derailed for a while thanks to some lovely food poisoning. I don't know what I ever did to Thai food, or to the Spice restaurant chain (I swear, I only ever recommended the place), but they got me pretty good. I'm glad I lasted through the season premier of "24," but only just. Ironically, or perhaps allegorically, that's how long my little fit lasted. And there must've been a ticking clock, because every hour or so, I'd take a "commerical break" over at the bathroom. I'm not sure if food poisoning does the same thing as a colonoscopy or enema (nor am I entirely sure what those nasty sounding words are, I just like using them), but I'm as clean as I'm going to get.

The whole dreadful experience also made me reconsider my stance on alcohol, as did a rather random conversation with a former EIC (not the one who's been helpful in my job search), who, eerily enough, memorized a column I wrote on the subject. Let me just say: God save the Queen. For the record, he's probably reading this, too. God save you too, and good luck in your new job. Digression aside: my new stance on alcohol is that I really, seriously, definately don't need it. Beer in particular, it just does nothing for me. Aside from its wacky ability to make me blackout and do stupid things, I'm better off without it. Which leads me to a slight problem: what exactly do you DO, in terms of hanging out at local establishments, if you don't drink? I should mention also that I hate coffee and tea, so a lounge isn't much better. And we've already seen what hanging out in local restaurants accomplishes.

All of this has been a little too personal for me, despite my keeping romance (i.e. the lack thereof) out of it. I think the real reason for my anger against the Last Month is that nothing really happened in that entire month worth ranting about. Well, you know the old salt: when the news isn't happening, it's time to make the news. See you all next month: it's time for me to Make a Difference (ibid).

2006-01-01T15:20:00.000-05:00

Aaron on Writing

I love the New Year. Full of promise, full of hope, and a shot that cries out twenty-four times across the world. That twenty-four-fold ringing in reminds me, for some reason, of perspective. That we all experienced the same thing--a new year--but all had different experiences of it; in fact, we even celebrated it at different times (because there's no one correct viewpoint). And it reminded me, as I made my resolutions (drunken, but still truthful), of just how much I love writing.

Think of it: we all live in the same world, and we all see something different. The goal of writing is not to assert a definite (that's why everything must eventually come down to opinion; even a news piece assumes certain societal facts, e.g., that a murder is wrong). The goal of writing is to allow the reader another viewpoint, a look into someone else's soul. Bias, therefore, is the most essential requirement for original fiction: it is when we lose sight of our internal prejudice that we create the most bland and un-compelling fiction. The homogeneity of writing is a terrible prospect; give me my Wallace, give me my Rushdie, my Auster, my Coover. Let no two writers be the same.

That said, everybody knows that I want to eventually start a "fucking" literary magazine. Not just fiction, but lots of edgy opinion pieces, ones preaching a more aesthetic view of the news and a more original interpretation of the world, rather than just the crusty essay prose that passes for compelling reading today. (Note: there's nothing wrong with Harper's or Atlantic Monthly, but I'd like to see the boundaries pushed also.) I was talking with one of my friends, another Aaron, about The Nation, and we discussed their approach to certain topics: lots of individually slanted pieces espousing the same thing in myriad ways. The only problem with The Nation is that their small sampling of the infinite viewpoints comes entirely from the left. (Granted, there are very few intelligent, edgy, conservative writers, which I think is very telling, but it'd be nice to see them attempt a little panache in their prose.)

Let's stop trying to deny our inner voice, our true writers. Let's conform only enough for people to still get a general impression, and screw them beyond that. There's no write way to right something, and if you udnreastnd waht I'm wirintg (or think you understand), what else really matters? Ultimately, you're the writer: you decide what my words mean, no matter how clearly I delineate them. "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy cow." Pretty clear. But you'll decide how brown or quick the fox is, how high he jumped, and if the cow was just lazy or hung-over. Let's work our minds, let's challenge ourselves: let's write! Happy New Year!

2005-12-25T20:47:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Celebrity
I saw an advertisement for FOX's upcoming "Skating with Celebrities" and no, it's not a spoof of "Dancing with Celebrities" (which in turn, is not a parody of anything, not intentionally, at least). And as the episode ended, I realized that I really didn't know any of the celebrities. Which begs the question: What constitutes a celebrity? Are you a star simply because you were once on Full House? It seems to me that there has to be more to it than that, otherwise there's probably just as many celebrities as there are ordinary people.

According to the dictionary (that little read source), you need to be a widely known person. Being a former anything disqualifies you, as you are currently nothing. That is, off the radar. Negligible. Absent. In fact, if we're tuning in to watch just out of disbelief that you are actually still alive, you are anti-celebrity. Next time, hire yourself some paparazzi (an ugly necessity to maintain that image), and stay in that artificially created spotlight. I mean, I was a child model (that is, I was in a single print advertisement); should I qualify? (The answer is: Yes. But that's another story.)

No, a celebrity is maintained by making the personal image synonymous with their work. That's why high-profile musicians have such high-profile stories. All the rappers have their feuds, all the teeny-boppers have their... well... their "teeny-boppers," and all the rock bands wear their hearts on their sleeves, chests, ass-checks... wherever the ink fits, really. Unless an actor throws a phone at someone every now and then, we tend to forget the films they've been it: the principle is, we have to be interested equally in the person and their work for them to become celebrity.

Now, I admire that one of the contestants is a rehabilitated drug-addict (that is, literally, a former child-actor). But his sad story is no different from that of Alonzo Bodden, who won (on an untelevised episode) the final Last Comic Standing. Nor that of some of the contestants on other reality TV shows. But are any of these people necessarily celebrities? I could pull some other names out of hat, friends of mine, and you'll either know them or not. What makes them a celebrity, rather than an actor, or a comic, &c, is whether you know them before I mention them. There's just too many people out there who have all performed at one point or another for them all to be celebrities. FOX needs to be honest about their schadenfraude-ing duties and just label this "Cheap Laughs."

Honestly though, we should just know people for their accomplishments, not for their status. Elvis is an iconic name, just like Jesus, but I really don't know the work of either. Should I call these people celebrities? And if I respect them just for the bankability of their name, isn't that far worse than honoring their legacies and messages? I know at least with the latter of those two icons, many people have forgotten the point because they've gotten wrapped up in the mythos, the "celebrity." Let's also think about these celebrities: they're all actors, media whores already. What about some Nobel laureates performing? What about John Ashbery?

We're lost in the pop-pop flash of the glitzy media. We want to quantify fame so that we can strive to achieve and own it, as if there were some logarithm we could perform to achieve it. And failing that, we want to laugh at those who had an opportunity for stardom, but lost it. In doing so, we inadvertently fall prey to the biggest paradox of them all: we can't see what happens to someone after their fifteen minutes are up without extending their fame. So we'll never get to see what happens when the fame falls away. And we'll go on chasing those celebrity ghosts, those people that never were or never deserved to be, from channel to channel, always indulging the hope that one day, that will be me (I mean . . . us).

2005-12-13T20:14:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Legislative Wordplay

You Republican raconteurs, you. Your conservative chicanery of inelegant (yet elegant) nonsense phrasings is no surprise after Bush first elucidated "fuzzy math" (and fuzzier English). Now that I've managed to get that out of my system (at least for one sentence), here's an idea I came up with. The current political engine works is quite adept at calling a spade anything but a spade (how about "rathbon"?), so let's not be left behind in the lurch (ditch, gulf, &c). In the spirit of Paul Auster, who once let a madman propose a world in which each object had a one-to-one relationship with its name ("City of Glass"), let's come up with some new names, and skirt all the bull-ocracy.

The example I'd like to choose is "abortion." Both sides of the issue have taken positive-sounding names ("The Right to Choose" versus "The Right to Life") and put their own unique on what is essentially the same issue (though the way they talk, it's hard to see, let alone hear). It's a heavy-handed subject, but what I find most astonishing are the ways in which each party chooses to describe the act itself. I've never seen such graphic descriptions of violence (we allow this on TV) as some of what I've heard. Babies vacuumed out of their mothers, still wailing with the sound of silence from unformed trachea, non-existent vocal cords, absent lungs. The malicious cutting up and disposal of embryos and the black marketeering for the stem cell market, as if people enjoy handling so much meat (and yes, some people do). They've (the anti-abortioneers) really vilified the subject. The other side, not surprisingly, talks of painless procedures and acts of mercy. They find ways to make a teenager's sluttishness look like victimization and come up with the most ridiculous of excuses. Yes, accidents happen, and I accept that. However, I don't believe that people's privates have a magnetic attraction that somehow causes the one to fall atop the other purely through the miracle of science. There's got to be a little willpower, or barring that, some blood vessel expansion. That comes first ("then," as the nursery rhyme for the modern age goes, "comes marriage, then more sex, then comes ____ with the baby carriage," and if you're really lucky, love, eventually*).

I fear that all of this banter may have distracted from my actual stance on abortion. --Good. What I actually think about it is irrelevant; we're only judging words today, and how they're used to make a point. So my solution to the whole abortion problem is to call it something else (much like the GLBT community is currently dealing with "union" instead of "marriage"). What I mean is, let them ban abortions. You'll just go in for some perfectly legal cosmetic liposuction. If that's a little too edgy a concept (think Nip/Tuck**), just call it something else. Some word that they haven't banned yet. Because once they have to start defining exactly what it is that you're not allowed to do, a battle will be able to be fought on clear grounds, without all this ginger-stepping that allows one term to mean so many varying things. Our government can't agree on what "torture" means, nor "warfare" or "terrorism" for that matter. And as long as we allow them to use such generic and non-descriptive terms, they can continue to avoid the issue.

So let's forgo the wordplay, let's stop playing Scrabble. We can still agree to disagree, but let's at least agree on what we're disagreeing about. Otherwise, we'll never really solve anything. We'll just be generating a lot of hot air.*** And really, you don't want to be a rathbon, do you?

---------------------
*It occurs to me that "Love Eventually" might make a far better movie than "Love Actually." If you'd like to purchase a treatment or script, my contact information is on the link to the right.
Let's just come up with another name for abortion, okay?
**And please, Ryan Murphy, don't ever let the advertisers dictate to you on how to sell your product. This season may be notoriously awful, but you shouldn't have to censor yourself because the hot-dog vendors hawking products on the sidelines of your episodic drama are pulling out.
***And the last thing a country with Global Warming (or, more specifically, the fact that our own environmental actions are destroying Nature itself, and I'd be more specific if I knew the actual science behind it--again, the avoidance of strict terminology allows this country to avoid taking responsibility for what they call "cutesy science") needs is more hot air.

2005-12-08T00:58:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Private Schools

First off, if it is possible to be without bias on a subject . . . I don't have that restraint. I hate the concept of a private school. And second, so far as research or experience goes to back that statement up: I have none. I went to a public elementary school, a public middle school, a public high school, and a public college. Never mind that the middle school was M.S. 54, a specialized program (Delta) for the more scholastically apt (N.B. and ignore that I was not initially accepted), and forget that my high school was the academically elite and studiously sterilized Stuyvesant (N.B. and again, excuse that I passed the entrance exam by only three points). The fact of the matter is; I never paid for a higher (or even lower) education, and I know nothing about private schools, let alone Catholic schools (save the stories our parents tell us to help them sleep better at night). I know of people who have attended these once-removed-from-reality edifices (facades, really) of education. That’s about the extent of my knowledge.

Of course, having a basis for an argument is irrelevant (or so many Catholic schools, not to mention our Ultimate Administration of governance), so let loose the gripes of wrath. A friend of mine (Sharon) recently informed me that her hometown (Sparta) had gained a moment of infamous popularity thanks to an MTV headline. Well, let me be the first to congratulate her and then to tell her that there is such a thing as bad press. So far as I know, Sparta was a country in ancient Greece (a place far removed in time and place), and the current one, located somewhere in the ambiguous smog of New Jersey, should be the next Afghanistan on our list. I just don’t see the point in having a second Sparta, especially one that’s going to have such inept policies.

As for the policy itself: Pope John XXIII Regional High School’s principal, the Reverend Kieran McHugh has mandated that students can no longer have websites (including web-logs or Facebook-type pages) . . . for their own protection. “If this protects one child from being near-abducted or harassed or preyed upon,” says McHugh, “I make no apologies for this stance.” However, should a child be far-abducted or wholly snatched, that’s apparently not only their own problem, but part of the “unspoken” policy. The real reason, obvious to the rest of the world (a group whose brains are not stifled by the unbearable rigidity of mitres), is that students were bashing their terrible school (well, d’uh), over the Internet. That, in itself, is against school policy: now students will face expulsion for simply posting mundane chatter on the Web. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for clearing up the worthless chat and chattel, but this is a First Amendment violation.

Not so, apparently. You see, this is Private School. Normal laws don’t apply there. It’s all bendy. Because students sign a charter for the right to pay money to attend such a luxuriant home of learning, they constrict themselves to special rules. To rules which could eventually (and legally) include other restrictions or requirements, such as an inability to question religious faith and the necessity of theological workshops (brainwashing). Fantastic, no? That we can send our students to places that could make it a requirement for their pupils to learn fanaticism, the MacGyver way to make bombs from anything, and the strict training of suicide bombing. Yes, I’m taking the extreme here, but aren’t we just sanctioning the right of religious (or even just private/exclusive) schools to mandate their own policies, ones that they see fit to preserve a better tomorrow? We cannot let such one-dimensional stupidity exist. Where would the Intelligent Design be in that?

Meanwhile, Pope John H.S. insists that their policies are not only just, but for the safety of the students. If you’re going to ban the Internet because of the potential for stalkers, why not ban the Street? Or those suspicious black SUVs? Or how about just banning crime? I mean, what’s one blanket statement compared to another? In any case, the whole problem with private school is that each is essentially a country onto itself, one that is adjunct but separate to our government. One that creates a specialized kind of thinking, a disjoined type of student: one separate and possibly more than equal. Private schools, to put it bluntly, scare me.

I’d like to imagine that parents would be wise enough not to send their students to a school that teaches farther and farther from the norm. But parents are easily frightened, and would rather authoritatively clamp down than risk their fragile students in a “danger” school. And I understand that there are some very real problems with safety in certain public schools. But the more we restrict our young, the more resentful we make them, and the more likely they are to be incapable of tolerance or understanding of other social situations, even. Schools are a paradigm of the world’s social makeup: if a student makes it through school only because they’ve avoided danger, or because they’ve been surrounded by the comfortable ideology of the like-minded, how will they ever deal with the angry voices of the rest of the country? The answer: they won’t. They’ll continue to clamp down, and the whole cycle will continue.

Private schools enable the minority to pretend they’re the majority; they allow the suppression of normal student development; they bleed parents as a preface to the gouging of college; and they don’t really—in my opinion—make the least bit of difference on how smart your child will be. After all, I’m a public school baby, and look how I turned out. Bitter, resentful and full of trenchant barbs: a model citizen. So get behind me, the poster child for public schools, and run from all that is wholly unholy: private (especially religiously private) schools.

2005-12-03T18:41:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Gift Cards

Ho, ho, ho . . . 'tis the season for giving, or so they say. I certainly wouldn't know, what with being the broke critic that I am (and a soullessly bankrupt person besides). Plus, I'm quite embittered, or so they say; so don't bring any of those prostitutional chants of goodwill around my block, I don't want them.

But if you would like to give me a gift this year, please send cash. Why go through all that hard work picking out something you think I'll like only to have me then go through all that hard work returning it? Unless it's something you made yourself (where the thought really does count), I'm perfectly fine using holiday donations to go shopping for myself. I'm a big boy now, all growed up.

Let's get something clear though. If you can't think of something non-commercial to get me, but you don't want to be so thoughtless as to give me cash, don't get me anything. A gift card is pure evil, distributed in various plastic denominations.

First off, you can't return it. Second, it's impossible to spend EXACTLY the total value of the card, so at some point, I'll have to waste my hard-earned money. Third, why should my choices be limited to the confines of one store? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of Democracy? Where's my personal freedom of choice? Let's be honest: these gift cards don't accrue interest and I'm not likely to need $100 worth of books at Barnes & Noble at any given time. (Not that I won't spend it; I'm a bibliophile.) Chances are, when I see an item I really want, I probably won't even have the gift card with me. Cash is a bit more liquid, you'll have to agree.

Now, Sharon, a friend of mine, pointed out a new form of gift currency going around on courtesy of American Express. It's basically a pre-paid debit card, insured and all. But then you're spending extra cash on a middle-man instead of just paying me off for your happy holiday. Plus, then all my transactions are visible to the public, and last time I checked, drug dealers didn't accept plastic. Not really a problem for me; I'm just saying. . . . Anyway, I suppose you could always take that debit card to the bank and make a full withdrawal, but then again, I suppose you could've just given me cash to begin with. I can imagine the awkward conversations already: "So, son, what did you spend your credit on?" "Well, Dad, I bought some cash." "Cash?" "Cash. Merry Christmas."

What, are you worried that I'm going to take your cash and use it to buy other people belated presents? Relax, I could just as easily do that with your gift cards, let alone your actual crummy presents. Look, you can trust me: and if you can't, I'm not quite sure why you're giving me a gift at all. (Unless it's a payoff, some sort of money-laundering thing. Again, I'm not really a product of the underworld, so I don't know anything about that.)

So this holiday season, don't get cutesy, don't try to be sweet. Nothing warms the soul like some cold, hard cash. Or a hot cocoa. With marshmallows. But hey, don't go getting any funny ideas. Give me the money, I'd rather buy my own!

2005-11-27T12:26:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Analysis

There is nothing like a semi-philosophical debate about the purpose and nature of analysis to sober one up. (You can try singing the previous sentence to "There is Nothing Like a Dame" but I don't think you'll get any further than I did.) In any case, it's practically a rule (going hand in hand with the whole 'not eating' thing) that every self-proclaimed artist have a manifesto. At the least, it's something bulky enough to burn for heat when the power goes out; at the most, should you ever make it, it's something strong enough to justify your success. So here's mine.

I believe the reader is just as much a writer as the author, and unless both are fully involved in the creative process, it's just literary masturbation (one-handed).

It takes two to tango, folks, and I'm sick of the chick-lit or junk novel, the light beach reads or glorified (and simplified) crime novels that tell you everything up front. An author's job should be to put words on a page - words that move him or her - and, as a teacher of mine once said, to let them live. Most readers, especially the stupid ones (but hopefully the smart ones), are just going to put words in your mouth (or is that page?) anyway. That is, everybody has a unique perspective, their own slant on language, and it's a guarantee that nobody will see exactly what I meant to be seen. So as I figure it, why even have a fixed image anyway? Just write something that's aesthetically pleasing, something that lives, that fits the premises (or doesn't, if that's the point), and allow the reader to take it with them.

Which brings me to the bane of my existence: Analysis. Considering how strongly I feel that a writer's work should be ambiguous, aesthetic, and enjoyable (so as to encourage personal thought), the idea that we should pick apart existing works and proclaim one solitary meaning (or pick apart the interpretations of others) is offensive. If you want to make an annotated version, that is, to research terms and to look for anagrams and wordplay, that's fine, because you're just pointing out an author's cleverness for stupid people. However, if you also want to explain what the purpose of each character was, to say that Quilty or H.H. was a double of the other (I have lapsed into Lolita here), I think you're mad. You know why? Because it doesn't matter. Even the annotated notes don't really matter. I should get whatever I get from the book when I get it. If I need Cliff Notes to understand it (as we're frequently training our students to use), it didn't have any effect on me, and we should move on to the next book. It's not necessary (or even conducive) that we understand every sentence, every phrase, or even every idea. Nor do I see how sitting about writing about this or that is going to add any value to this world. If you think the author was using a certain theme, and you liked it, good. Write a story that uses that theme.

Let me take a step back: the conversation originated with poetry. I made a comment that John Ashbery's poetic standpoint was very appealing to me. He writes poetry that's meant to be experienced, straight through, without mulling over lines or re-reading. If you miss something, you miss it, that's part of the experience (just like seeing a movie on the big screen, where you can't rewind). The very act of missing something will redefine what you even get from the poem, and if it's only one word, one phrase or a single image or idea (or even nothing); you've still gotten at least that from it. You don't walk away empty handed. Of course, to then try to analyze one of Ashbery's poems would be redundant. You'd be experiencing it out of context, as it wasn't meant to be read (just like Shakespeare is meant to be performed). If you want to justify historical references that are oblique (again, annotations, not commentary), then append away. That's why the appendix is that thing we don't need. The point being: poetry and fiction should move you WITHOUT an explanation. If you get moved my studying it, then you're attracted to analysis, not the work itself, and that's a whole other kind of sad: second-hand transfusions.

Now, lest I be construed as shitting in my own pool, let me clarify that there's a difference between analysis and criticism. Analysis, to me, is a deadening effect: it involves a thesis and, like many scientists in the Bush Administration, requires looking purely for the lines that support that thesis, while ignoring all other comments (or trying to explain them). That's no good, nor can it possibly be accurate. In fact, the only way to truly analyze something would be to go line by line, at which point you'd have just rewritten the novel itself. Why pick out themes and what not, just for the sake of illustrating what the "deeper" meaning was? If all I can do is float on top of the water, knowing there's treasure at the bottom isn't going to help me. And seeing pictures of the divers going under, that's just living vicariously through analysis.

Criticism, on the other hand, is a lively and opinionated affair. We're not trying to prove a point with arts criticism, not really. If there's any analysis, it's meant to be one-sided (and acknowledges that). We're just trying to say: hey, don't (or do) see this (read this) and here's why (why not). It's not meant to explain something to the reader: it's meant to convey an emotional reaction that one person had. In many ways, at its best, criticism should be like a creative piece itself. Refreshing, aesthetic, full of images and wordplay: enjoyable to read. There's no need for a plot summary; the point is to be visceral, not superficial. Or at least, so I believe. I can still remember Harry Knowles's "Fucking The Monster" review of Sphere (I met him at a conference once, when I was first starting out as a critic): not a single word about the movie, but damned if I didn't want to never see the film after reading the review. It's color commentary, edgy and productive, that gets me going, that justifies what we do.

Along those lines, I guess if people wrote "color analysis," I might be more interested. But too often, I find analysis to be derivative of the product, and criticism to be its own separate animal. Analysis is indirect in getting to the point; criticism should be short, sweet and a direct response. Which leads me to a rule: Analysis is always wrong, Criticism is always right. Analysis presumes to be fact-based and supported, but the text it uses is liquid and subject to constant interpretation, so it's no more supported than a leaf in a tsunami. Criticism is an opinion, and despite what some bad teachers may say, your opinion can't be wrong. Q.E.D.

Now, before this gets any more analytical (and self-defeating, to the point where I need to excoriatingly criticize myself to get back on track), let me just wrap things up, a plea to all writers, critics, scholars and creative geniuses:

There is only Write and Wrong. Wrong is Wrong. So just Write. (Period)

2005-11-20T18:55:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Public Transportation

This is not a love/hate relationship I'm in: Emotion has nothing to do with it. This is S&M, plain and simple. I, like many others in the vice-tight grip of the dystopic MTA, am a submissive; I smile as police interrogate me; I laugh when trains reschedule and delay with capricious delight; I contort myself into sardine tubes and jockey for position; and yes, I pay for this abuse. I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world. I can't.

That said, I look for ways to bite back. I rip that MetroCard through the reader, I punch through the turnstile, and I ram myself against the doors. And all the while I'm conscious of saving money (i.e. taking the bus so as to be able to transfer for a train within two hours), all the while, I'm thinking of ways to take that Card and shove it. It's a pretty passive resistance, but how else to deal with the illusory practices of the MTA.

Case in point: the MetroCard. Tokens used to be art; intricate and beautiful, they combined form and function. Ah, listen to me, gushing like some combination of Art History major and schoolgirl. Now we have these ugly plasticine devices that no doubt have conveniences for the ninja (no coins jingling means extra stealth), and moreso allow the MTA to sinisterly monitor our use (or abuse) of the sytem. And what they've done is to adapt the economic policies of this country, focusing their reparational attentions on the big hubs rather than the unsightly stations and train lines that the majority don't populate. Don't be fooled by the Wonkian design: this MetroCard is no golden ticket. It will get you where you're going, eventually, but it'll cut corners and punish you at every turn. On second thought: perhaps not so different from the Chocolate Factory, from which children fall down disposal chutes or are pumped through chocolate funnels.

Point the second: the Price. I'd never really paid attention to it until I started working a regular midtown job, but $2 dollars a ride is the kind of extortion that chips away at you, like acid-reflux or one of those other livable illnesses. Still, that's not infuriating so much as the Unlimited scam, for which you'll pay $27 or $76 for a week- or month-long pass. Consider how much these rates are inflated by how much you'd pay normally: you get a special rate of six rides for every $10 spent, so you'd need to ride 14 times to get your money back over the week. That's also assuming you don't lose the card: while it's not designed to be lost (like the iPod "Pico"), accidents do happen. And yet, if you're addicted to travel and keep your wallet tight (and your MetroCard tighter), I guess it's okay. Still, look at all the people lost and confused (no, not tourists). "Where are you going?" I'll ask, and they'll just scowl and walk away, or maybe reply, their eyes dulled with the subterranean glare, "Anywhere. Anywhere but here."

Which is interesting: to get where we want, we must be where we least desire to be, most notably during rush hour. Now, we don't have it as bad as Japan (where pedophiles justify their existence) and we're far more efficient than Russia, cheaper than London and open later than our US counterparts, but man, we don't live there. We live here, and we should really only shit in our own backyards. Anywhere else would just be rude.

One final thought though: despite the supplicant population of transients (our modern boxcar residents); despite the tactless graffiti (I guess the real artists of the street have been hired); despite the tumultuous passage of this metallic phallus through the vaginal underbelly of the city (thanks Freud); it's better than taking a cab. (Marginally relevant anecdote: I've only ever been hit by a car while in a cab. BY another cab. I guess you could say it was a auto-erotic moment, cab-on-cab action.) And, lest I shit all over those yellow bugs, my emergency egress, at least it's not a Pedi-Cab. Because for all the gouging of the MTA, at least they're practical. And God, despite what you may have heard, hates the ridiculous.

2005-11-09T20:43:00.000-05:00

Aaron vs. Heights

Gosh, no, I haven't forgotten about all of you. But it's been busy at e-casa de Riccio, as I put my cyber-shop in order and my electronic affairs together. Now, in my new job as a freelance proofreader/copyeditor, I have gotten to see some exoticly mundane locations. It's funny, but being up more than twenty stories tends to elevate your perception of things. Forgive the pun: the height must've gone to my head. It takes a while to adapt to the literal pressure.

Take for instance, Central Park. I never really appreciated how scenic the whole thing looks, how urbane - a paradoxical word for the forested area of the urban jungle - the greenery is, sitting in the shadow of this concrete prison. But day after day, I'm looking out at this page from another book, and it makes me almost want to waste my time walking through it. Such a shame things are rarely as close as they appear, and like my stance on God, the moment I should grasp the beauty of the thing, it will become complete inaccessible by definition. In other words, I might go back and row around the pond because that's what I'm good at, I might play some softball, but I'm certainly not going to rusticate in Sheep's Meadow.

But that's not all I see: the shadow starts at the base of Central Park, but as the day slips forward in subtle incriments, all of "uptown" looms its scabby self at me. You ugly hideous beast, I love you. Which makes me forget for a moment, as I lean out to wrap you in my arms (you sweet embraceable you), that I'm quite high up. When I was younger, in a teen traveling camp, we used to dare each other to lean against the thin-seeming glass, that vitreous substance, and peer down into the ant-occupied minuret, "look ma no hands" free. What a frightening and exhilirating feeling.

Much like the experience of soaring on a rollercoaster. Of the few things my brother has ever done (intentionally or not) to better my life, his "chicken-call" convincing was How I Learned To Love The 'Coaster (or Dr. Rollerlove). In that bizarre black twist that defines my life, the way I finally justified the needless thrill was the reminder that if I died, I'd most likely be dying with many other people, and therefore, the embarassment of a premature death would be far less obvious. This same philosophy enabled me to fly to England; I guess it's the same philosophy that lets us live our anonymously famous lives.

This has been a wobbly ranting narrative so far, and it's not likely to get any saner. Suffice to say, I'm intoxicated with the feel of actually having a purpose (read: a job that I love), and maybe it's not just the oxygen-rich air that's doing it to me. Everything just seems better from way up here. But if you're wondering why you don't see me, relax, I like to stay far away from the edge.

2005-10-23T16:55:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Barnes and Noble

I have found Hell. It is not, as previously recorded, located somewhere between here and digging to China. Nor, as hypothezied by deconstructionalists, is it located in our celestial orbit to counterbalance the fraudulent notion of heaven. Furthermore, Hell is most definately not merely a state of mind, as the Freudulent would have you believe. No. Hell exists. Right here, on Earth (but not, as pessimists assert, Earth itself): at any of your local Barnes and Noble/Borders/Local Booksellers.

I refer, of course, to the Young Adult Fiction section. I recently journied through the munificent tiers of books in search of a GRE review book, having decided that such a course of action might be the inevitable conclusion to my job search. After frightening myself initially by picking up the specialized "English" GRE review book (which trains one to recognize classical authors by style alone), I started to flee the ominous and omnipresent stacks, only to collide with this self-made Hell.

First off, I never realized there were so many Chicken Soups for the Soul. Apparently we're all very sick people (we would be, to write these books to begin with), and more so, we can be segregated into extremist factions, from the Christian Right to the Libertarian Right to the hardcore street toughs (who I'm sure have better things to do than read... this, at least). I'm still waiting for Chicken Soup for the Chicken Soup Reader's Soul, or Chicken Soup for the Illterate Soul, or, as my good friend Zack pointed out, Chicken Soup for the Fetal Soul. These, I'd like to affirm, were the best of the section. To the left: illustrated diet books for young teenagers. The kind of glitsy girl-talk pink and posh covered journals that assert, in glam-speak, with like every other word, exactly what it's like, like, to be a girl, like, trying to have, like, a body... and junk. Frightening. Almost as frightening as, to its right (to it's FAR right): The O'Reilly Factor for Kids. Did I mention the brainwashing children's version of the Left Behind series, forty books long and growing? (That's more than Animorphs, and only slightly less than Goosebumps.)

And on the opposite side: popular television show serial novels, set in the Buffyverse or thereabouts (not that there's anything wrong with that) and the modern day Hardy Boy/Nancy Drew equivalents. Yes, I'm talking about the pulp teen spy novel. But they used to have more tact: now they come right out and say "These are ordinary kids. Like you. They dress... like you. But then they go and do dangerous things." Wow. Way to make me feel, even more, like I wasted an integral part of my childhood. Good thing that section's not nearly as long as the wall-to-wall collection of Manga (Japanese comics, read back to front). I remember when these were merely a novelty item: hard-to-find and harder-to-sell, we were assured of only getting the best Japan had to offer. But then we got the culture shock of Tamogotchi and the Fad Market, and all of a sudden, every single pisspoor comic was ported over here. No more Ranma 1/2: instead, we get comics that are a sixteen of that, in other words, Ranma 1/32. For those who don't know, Manga, like most Teen novels, work in decompression: rather than telling a story concisely, they span out simple sentences over multiple pages to convey exaggerated shock and recycle the same sight-gags over and over again. It's much like reading a children's book, but again, we were in the Young Adult/Teen Fiction section. No wonder nobody likes to read any more. Look at the choices we're offering them.

No, this was a horrific example of what the market has been driven to; the same place that The New Yorker informs me many newspapers have been driven to. Despite the writer's general intelligence, they are forced to cater to their audience, in other words, to write not for themselves, but for those who might actually buy the paper. This has resulted in a lot of dumbing down, in other words, the creation of Hell in every bookstore. If we stop writing for the smart, we cease to give people the ability to read anything smart. Stupid becomes the new median, and I hestiate to think what lies beneath being retarded and stunted.

Save us, oh Jesus-for-Kids. We need your almighty miracles, as depicted in at least half a dozen Manga, to rectify the brand new sins of a greedy and intolerable market. For we, or at least I, are surely in hell now.

2005-10-21T16:56:00.000-04:00

Aaron and the Homeless

Every other street, or neighborhood, ought to have one. I say this in response to the approach I’ve seen taken down on Houston by a more compassionate and understanding neighborhood. There’s a homeless man who lives – yes, resides – in a chair that sits outside a local Ray’s Pizza. He sleeps there, sheltered by the pizzerias’ awning, reclining against the wall and with this feet stretched out, back supported by a rickety chair. He has a large aluminum can hung around his neck, like a pasta sauce container, stripped of all recognition, and, for all purposes, is no more scruffy or banged up than the can itself. The community allows him to reside there, without calling on the police to catch him for loitering, even allows him to use the bathroom during operating hours to stay somewhat clean, and in return, he helps out around the neighborhood with small tasks. I have seen him, occasionally, sweeping the streets or delivering for the pizzeria. He seems sweet, not at all belligerent, and contributes to the neighborhood, becoming a staple rather than an eyesore, actually serving to give the place some LITERAL character.

Now, as a long time resident of Manhattan, I recognize that there’s a homeless problem. It’s one that seems insurmountable, and no long-standing solution has ever been offered. But how about something like this as a start? This neighborhood has not offered him a place to live, not welcomed him in with open arms: but they haven’t repelled him with pitchforks and fire either. Instead, they tolerate his presence – in fact, they, in cooperation with him, have found a way for both to benefit. I don’t mean to imply that the homeless are lesser creatures than the residentially-endowed or that they are a situation to be “tolerated” or “dealt with,” but merely that, in a city where being homeless is very much a social stigma, this seems to be a mutually beneficial fit. One that other neighborhoods with a charitable streak might want to consider.

We have all these people sleeping, unprotected and alone on the street. I’m not suggesting that we correct that overnight, but why not invite these people to sleep – one to a block – in our neighborhood? Find people who, due to circumstances are reduced to living on the street, and give them a halfway street on which they can rest a little easier. In a charitable cooperation, this person might be assured of three square a day, and a somewhat sheltered place to sleep, in return for which he/she might protect the premises (a living alarm) or help out with minor reconstruction/chores around the area. It costs us very little to help those who are suffering, but at the same time, it’s no surprise that we are more compelled by the intimate than the anonymous. Having a familiar face, a sort of outdoors doorman, might encourage the mutual relationship to grow: the homeless might be able to eventually better their situation through cooperation with local businesses (e.g. finding work) and hopefully, with legal employment and good relations with the surroundings, move up.

This is a serious topic, I understand, and I know that I don’t have quite the eloquent words to describe this. I also know that not all homeless people would take kindly to a relationship like this, one which, to some, would seem degrading and demeaning. And this is not a case of beggars not being choosers, because the moment a beggar loses the right to choose is the moment they lose their self-respect, the last ounce of their essence and self. What I’m saying is that it is difficult to find the appropriate methodology, and rather than having the current parasitic and defiling relationship, a more symbiotic approach, one cleaned up more than mine, seems like a good solution to an honest problem.

I post this here just because of the raw amount of homeless people I have seen recently, and the gentle way with which I have seen certain people treat them. People who have called them by their first name, or given sandwiches directly rather than money, as if they were children going off to school. Giving up a little curb seems a small sacrifice to enter into an overall more empowering relationship with the world and our community: and maybe I’m just in a naively inspired mood (for what is inspiration but naïve?), but couldn’t the residents of the Houston area have hit on something crucial and key?

2005-09-30T00:48:00.000-04:00

Aaron and the Faux Pas

In case it's not clear, I have a slight obsession bordering on mania when it comes to television. I enjoy scripted, reality and experimental shows: probably because I just get such a good feel for things that would never actually happen to me in real life. I mean, it's not like there's a show that narrates the life of being holiday help at Russ & Daughters (more to come on that later). I think mainly it's just having something that's always ready to preoccupy me and my minor ADD (undiagnosed, but it's the thought that counts, right?).

This isn't going to be a long post, but I got sucked into watching The Amazing Race. This new season, the eight, interested me by purporting to be a family show: ten teams of four race around the world to win a million dollars. Plus, the first episode was set in New York City, and there's nothing more entertaining to we who live here than watching tourists - especially greedy ones - bumbling around. So I watched, looking for cheap laughs: I just never expected they'd all be at the producer's expense.

We live in racial times, and it's important to be careful when casting. You want balanced teams that represent the wide walks of life: if they're all going to be white, at least make some of them religious nuts, some of them whiny brats, some of them Italian stereotypes. Thankfully, the crack board of The Amazing Race managed to find black people in America: I know they're a rare breed, but they do exist. However, here comes the big amusing faux pas.

I need to set the scene: we're zooming in on those cab/boat hybrids that shuttle people around the Statue of Liberty, meeting the families for the first time. We've got all these team names: Paolo, Schroeder, Godelewski, all of whom are constantly filmed in a blind panic until they blur together. And nine of them are of the pasty white persuasion: as in, those who don't seem to know what the sun is (and can't use being Irish as an excuse). Until, in a stroke of genius, we're introduced to the one minority team, a black family that seems incredibly together. They are: the black family. Congratulations, producers: I'm sure we will remember their name, just as we remember their skin pigmentation.

I'm not being racist, but I think this Amazing Race serves as a real standard for American sterotypes and prejudices. After all, this show's won the Emmy for reality programming the last three years in the row, and this is what they choose to represent America with? Nine duplicates of themselves and one slightly off-color family that seems as if they were shaded in to give the show a little credability? I'm hoping the whole thing gets better, and until the Black family gets kicked off, I'll continue to watch... but wow. That's just messed up.

Well, thanks for tuning in: time for me to get back to work, by which I mean back to the boob tube, the six hours of sleep I'll pull, and the fun of working in a premiere appetizer store.

2005-09-20T16:55:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Circulation

So every now and then, I look at my profile to see how many hits I’ve had. That gives me an estimation (or affirmation) that there’s somebody out there actually reading this web log, my pre-emptive memoir. Aside from the fact that these numbers jump quite erratically (so much so that I’m convinced there’s some ballot stuffing going on), this miniature obsession has gotten me enough fuel for this week’s rant: the lengths (and breadths) to which printed works will go to increase their readership numbers.

The most obvious offender is The New York Post, which in addition to having more abrasive and in-your-face street salesmen than any of the other publications put together (these people worked double shifts during last week’s City Council elections), now manages to sell copies of its magazine by offering cash incentives. That’s right, the Post, which costs a quarter, is essentially a readable lottery ticket (one in which none of the profits have to go towards that silly thing called ‘education’).

The first incentive was a $10,000 “Grand Master” Su Doku tournament: the cash prize (publicized on the front page) boosted sales of the Monday and Sunday issues and got foolish logicians hopelessly enmeshed in this “wordless crossword.” (Will Shortz said it, not me.) After this five-week festival, the equivalent of passing out cheap samples of crack cocaine, the Post started raking in cash from publishing a Su Doku book (along with hundreds of other great marketers) – a very cheap enterprise, considering that the author is a computer program. It’s only a matter of time before the algorithm for puzzle construction becomes freeware, at which point we can generate our own infinite Su Doku’s for private publication and use. The Post (although publishers of stupid and integrity-less articles) has a smart editorial staff, and they moved ahead to phase two.

This next incentive was a scratch-off ticket to be enclosed one day, with the instructions on how to scratch it off following in each consecutive day. To find out if you’d won you’d have to follow the instructions, and this meant buying a copy every day (multiple copies even, if you wanted to increase your chances). There’s no better way to increase your readership than by offering them free gifts and cash rewards for buying into the war of the presses: I think it’s only a matter of time before we see Frequent Flier miles awarded to subscribers and/or at certain legalized distribution centers. Oh, and by the way, I’m told the individual pages make great rolling paper for marijuana, though of course, they by no means will publicly endorse that.

Online sites don’t stray too far from this type of thinking either: they offer constant pop-ups to win prizes, and the most successful sites are usually the most glamorous, which is a shame, because when it comes to the printed word, less is usually more. Now, I’ve been trying for the last three months to put together a book of short stories for publication, and I’ve learned a thing or two (about a thing or two) about making something viable for mass consumption. And unless I adapt strong measures like offering a piece of my soul to whoever finds the golden ticket hidden in one of my books, I don’t think there’s any way I can compete with the myriad other competitors. And again, that’s a shame, since there’s some work in this book that I think is actually pretty promising.

I made the allusion early on that there was a connection between the marketing force for a news publication and a political campaign, and I meant it. The two were almost synonymous on the actual voting day, both being pitched and sold in the same way. Campaigns offered the less appealing gifts: handshakes from a well-oiled hand, plastic buttons and bumper stickers with pictures of use only to political stalkers, and the occasional thank you (time permitting). Is it any surprise that voting itself often doesn’t turn out the numbers that certain other, far less important, activities do?

Circulation has run rampant, and I’ve got no real solution on curing it – and let’s face it, my own readership numbers are nowhere near high enough to do anything about it, even from a grassroots perspective. But it’s something to think about, like most of my ill-tempered rants against society, so stick around and let’s grow legitimately. (Those who act now will receive a limited edition thingamajig, so call now while supplies still last!)

2005-09-16T01:40:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Bush

It was only a matter of time. Now, what I'm presenting to you tonight is a very one-sided debate in which I will basically annotate the released transcript of Bush's speech tonight with the intent of debasing the man. I'm going to do to him what Katrina did to New Orleans: which is, according to Bush, "nearly empty, still partly underwater, and waiting for life and hope to return." That said, I really don't have to do much work. In fact, I feel as if I could leave the following alone as a horrific monologue.

[Interlude: A friend of mine once auditioned for a Shakespearian comedy by doing a tragic speech, "To be or not to be," or something like that, with sock puppets. He did not, suffice it to say, get into the show. However, I don't think that reflects as poorly on him as this aforementioned horrific monologue, one that could be delivered by Captain Obvious.]

[Second Interlude: And along that train of thought: Bush is on a lower level of existance than a pop singer. I have previously railed at pop stars for not writing their own material, but whether you like them or not, they do put up a good show. They make other people's songs look good, other people's choreography, directing, &c. Bush somehow manages to do none of the above, which is unfortunate for a man who should be leading this country. He not only doesn't write his own material (unless asking permission at the UN to take a pee break), but he doesn't deliver it well. He may have the ultimate pressure on him, but that's what we give him long extended vacations for.]

Those little interludes should give you more than a fair taste of what you're in for. Here we go folks. "Glasses onnnnnnnn!"

BUSH: Good evening. I am speaking to you from the city of New Orleans, nearly empty, still partly underwater, and waiting for life and hope to return. Eastward from Lake Pontchartrain, across the Mississippi coast, to Alabama and into Florida, millions of lives were changed in a day by a cruel and wasteful storm.

AARON: Thankee-sai, Cap'n. Way to emphasize the importance of geography over that of human life. And thank you for humanizing the disaster while at the same time trivializing it as a simple storm. I know, I know, slap a face on it and you can launch a nuke at it! But wait: it's not alive, it's a giant wind tunnel, affectionately known to the intelligent as a hurricane. I know you dislike large words, but The Post got around that by calling it a 'cane.

BUSH: In the aftermath, we have seen fellow citizens left stunned and uprooted, searching for loved ones, and grieving for the dead and looking for meaning in a tragedy that seems so blind and random. We have also witnessed the kind of desperation no citizen of this great and generous nation should ever have to know - fellow Americans calling out for food and water, vulnerable people left at the mercy of criminals who had no mercy, and the bodies of the dead lying uncovered and untended in the street.

These days of sorrow and outrage have also been marked by acts of courage and kindness that make all Americans proud. Coast Guard and other personnel rescued tens of thousands of people from flooded neighborhoods. Religious congregations and families have welcomed strangers as brothers and sisters and neighbors.

AARON: In what we'll see as a recurring theme, Bush will constantly applaud the effort of religious people; as if normal people didn't give a damn. Let's also give a hand to the repetition of Bush's speechwriter: criminals, by definition, tend not to have mercy. Also, let's clarify: this hurricane may indeed have been blind (it not being animate and all), but it is far from random. We saw it coming. On the same TVs that we could later watch bodies of the dead and the punctuating acts of courage and kindness, we saw Katrina coming. I know you might not have TV out on the ranch, but it didn't just suddenly appear. Nor were the last three years of your cuts to the Engineers Corps "accidental."

BUSH: In the community of Chalmette, when two men tried to break into a home, the owner invited them to stay and took in 15 other people who had no place to go. At Tulane Hospital for Children, doctors and nurses didn't eat for days so patients could have food, and eventually carried the patients on their backs up eight flights of stairs to helicopters.

Many first responders were victims themselves - wounded healers, with a sense of duty greater than their own suffering. When I met Steve Scott of the Biloxi Fire Department, he and his colleagues were conducting a house-to-house search for survivors. Steve told me this: ``I lost my house and I lost my cars, but I still got my family ... and I still got my spirit.''

AARON: Hey there again buddy. All the first responders were victims, considering the first responders were the people there. Who lived there. You know, in that little city that no longer exists? It's nice that he still had his family: a lot of people didn't. And they didn't care about houses and cars when they were starving to death: I believe they lost their spirits around this point.

BUSH: Across the Gulf Coast, among people who have lost much and suffered much and given to the limit of their power, we are seeing that same spirit: a core of strength that survives all hurt, a faith in God no storm can take away and a powerful American determination to clear the ruins and build better than before.

AARON: In other words, the headline should read: "Bush to God: Fuck Off!" Storms, according to intelligent design, are too complex too be created by freak accidents like "nature." The creator, that little voice in your ear, is therefore the person who sent this "storm" upon us. So it's a faith in God that God can't take away. I guess that answers the question of what happens when the unstoppable force meets the unmovable object.

BUSH: Tonight so many victims of the hurricane and the flood are far from home and friends and familiar things. You need to know that our whole nation cares about you, and in the journey ahead, you are not alone. To all who carry a burden of loss, I extend the deepest sympathy of our country. To every person who has served and sacrificed in this emergency, I offer the gratitude of our country.

And tonight I also offer this pledge of the American people: Throughout the area hit by the hurricane, we will do what it takes. We will stay as long as it takes to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives. And all who question the future of the Crescent City need to know: There is no way to imagine America without New Orleans, and this great city will rise again.

AARON: On the other hand, Hawaii and Alaska have been declared expendable. As for New Orleans, let's leave that explanation to Rob Smiegel as Clinton: "We gotta have the beads! Mardi Gras! Whooo!" Now, how many of us knew that New Orleans was called the "Crescent City"? Hmm, I guess we can imagine an America without it; albeit one far less festive. However, let's take this moment of silence to consider yet another recurring theme: you saying that we're going to stay as long as it takes to help these AMERICAN citizens... that's a statement of fact; more than that: it's your job.

[Interlude 3: Be warned. The way Bush acts as if he's going out of his way to do his job, it's only a matter of time before he starts passing around a tip jar too. Nothing disgusts me more than people being upset when they don't get paid additionally for providing the service we're already paying them for.]

BUSH: The work of rescue is largely finished; the work of recovery is moving forward. In nearly all of Mississippi, electric power has been restored. Trade is starting to return to the Port of New Orleans, and agricultural shipments are moving down the Mississippi River. All major gasoline pipelines are now in operation, preventing the supply disruptions that many feared.

The breaks in the levees have been closed, the pumps are running, and the water here in New Orleans is receding by the hour. Environmental officials are on the ground, taking water samples, identifying and dealing with hazardous debris, and working to get drinking water and wastewater treatment systems operating again. And some very sad duties are being carried out by professionals who gather the dead, treat them with respect and prepare them for their rest.

In the task of recovery and rebuilding, some of the hardest work is still ahead and it will require the creative skill and generosity of a united country.

AARON: Now honestly, the port of New Orleans never ceased to exist, so restoring operations isn't that hard. The port simply expanded, that's all. That's a poor joke though, in bad taste, and unlike Bush I'll acknowlege this mistake and move on to the more important thing: before we've talked about repairing the levees and restoring homes, we've assuaged the public's main concern. Major gasoline pipelines. This wasn't really a problem for area residents who are still simply FLOATING their cars to work.

BUSH: Our first commitment is to meet the immediate needs of those who had to flee their homes and leave all their possessions behind. For these Americans, every night brings uncertainty, every day requires new courage and the months to come will bring more than their fair share of struggles.

The Department of Homeland Security is registering evacuees who are now in shelters, churches or private homes, whether in the Gulf region or far away. I have signed an order providing immediate assistance to people from the disaster area. As of today, more than 500 thousand evacuee families have gotten emergency help to pay for food, clothing and other essentials.

Evacuees who have not yet registered should contact FEMA or the Red Cross. We need to know who you are, because many of you will also be eligible for broader assistance in the future. Many families were separated during the evacuation, and we are working to help you reunite. Please call 1-877-568-3317 - that's 1-877-568-3317 - and we will work to bring your family back together, and pay for your travel to reach them.

AARON: I feel it's important to point out that the evacuees who haven't yet registered for FEMA or Red Cross aid either can't, don't have televisions, or would prefer to do this without government interference. Again, the town is still in poor condition: from what phones are they placing these (thankfully) toll-free calls? That's okay, it's the thought that counts: we're a country of proud SPIRITS who don't need practicality. We're creative.

BUSH: In addition, we are taking steps to ensure that evacuees don't have to travel great distances or navigate bureaucracies to get the benefits that are there for them. The Department of Health and Human Services has sent more than 15 hundred health professionals, along with over 50 tons of medical supplies, including vaccines, antibiotics and medicines, for people with chronic conditions such as diabetes. The Social Security Administration is delivering checks. The Department of Labor is helping displaced persons apply for temporary jobs and unemployment benefits. And the Postal Service is registering new addresses so that people can get their mail.

AARON: Both Jeanette and I instantly realized the underlying truth of this insidious message. These "dislocated" residents desperately need their bills and spam: those are the foundations of America. They can become the new landfill and foundation for New New Orleans.

BUSH: To carry out the first stages of the relief effort and begin the rebuilding at once, I have asked for, and the Congress has provided, more than $60 billion. This is an unprecedented response to an unprecedented crisis, which demonstrates the compassion and resolve of our nation.

AARON: Near the end of this speech, when our attention spans can no longer retain this not-so-inspirational statement, Bush will explain that we have weathered the similar crises of 9/11, Jamestown, Plymouth, Chicago and San Fransisco. And didn't we help raise an awful lot of money recently for tsunami victims across the world? And spend an unprecedented amount of money giving the Iraqi people democracy?

BUSH: Our second commitment is to help the citizens of the Gulf Coast to overcome this disaster, put their lives back together and rebuild their communities. Along this coast, for mile after mile, the wind and water swept the land clean. In Mississippi, many thousands of houses were damaged or destroyed. In New Orleans and surrounding parishes, more than a quarter million houses are no longer safe to live in. Hundreds of thousands of people from across this region will need to find longer-term housing.

AARON: What was the first commitment again? Oh yeah. Oil pipelines.

BUSH: Our goal is to get people out of shelters by the middle of October. So we are providing direct assistance to evacuees that allows them to rent apartments, and many already are moving into places of their own. A number of states have taken in evacuees and shown them great compassion, admitting children to school and providing health care. So I will work with Congress to ensure that states are reimbursed for these extra expenses.

In the disaster area and in cities that have received huge numbers of displaced people we are beginning to bring in mobile homes and trailers for temporary use. To relieve the burden on local health care facilities in the region, we are sending extra doctors and nurses to these areas. We are also providing money that can be used to cover overtime pay for police and fire departments while cities and towns rebuild.

Near New Orleans, Biloxi and other cities, housing is urgently needed for police and firefighters, other service providers and the many workers who are going to rebuild those cities. Right now, many are sleeping on ships we have brought to the Port of New Orleans, and more ships are on their way to the region. And we will provide mobile homes and supply them with basic services, as close to the construction areas as possible, so the rebuilding process can go forward as quickly as possible.

And the federal government will undertake a close partnership with the states of Louisiana and Mississippi, the city of New Orleans and other Gulf Coast cities so they can rebuild in a sensible, well planned way. Federal funds will cover the great majority of the costs of repairing public infrastructure in the disaster zone, from roads and bridges to schools and water systems. Our goal is to get the work done quickly. And taxpayers expect this work to be done honestly and wisely, so we will have a team of inspectors general reviewing all expenditures.

AARON: I'm still here. I don't feel it's important to keep rehashing that Bush is just stating the obvious. Although if you dig a little deeper, don't you just love the way he says that federal funds will cover the "great majority of the costs." Why don't you consider levying a "crisis tax" or something that slightly raises taxes (we're talking like, around $5 more a person) to make sure that everybody is back on their feet? But wait; let's not forget that you are the man trying to privatize social security so that we'll ultimately all have to fend for ourselves.

BUSH: In the rebuilding process, there will be many important decisions and many details to resolve, yet we are moving forward according to some clear principles. The federal government will be fully engaged in the mission, but Governor Barbour, Governor Blanco, Mayor Nagin and other state and local leaders will have the primary role in planning for their own future. Clearly, communities will need to move decisively to change zoning laws and building codes, in order to avoid a repeat of what we have seen. And in the work of rebuilding, as many jobs as possible should go to men and women who live in Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama.

Our third commitment is this: When communities are rebuilt, they must be even better and stronger than before the storm. Within the Gulf region are some of the most beautiful and historic places in America. As all of us saw on television, there is also some deep, persistent poverty in this region as well. And that poverty has roots in a history of racial discrimination, which cut off generations from the opportunity of America. We have a duty to confront this poverty with bold action. So let us restore all that we have cherished from yesterday, and let us rise above the legacy of inequality.

When the streets are rebuilt, there should be many new businesses, including minority-owned businesses, along those streets. When the houses are rebuilt, more families should own, not rent, those houses. When the regional economy revives, local people should be prepared for the jobs being created. Americans want the Gulf Coast not just to survive, but to thrive, not just to cope, but to overcome. We want evacuees to come home for the best of reasons, because they have a real chance at a better life in a place they love.

AARON: So you mean you do like black people? This is what we call a blanket statement: how exactly are more families - minority families at that - going to own houses? It's not enough to just say that you envision a future where everybody is equal: poverty, like a hurricane, like the concept of terrorism: they are not afraid of your nuclear arsenal.

BUSH: When one resident of this city who lost his home was asked by a reporter if he would relocate, he said, ``Naw, I will rebuild but I'll build higher.'' That is our vision of the future, in this city and beyond: We will not just rebuild, we will build higher and better.To meet this goal, I will listen to good ideas from Congress, state and local officials, and the private sector. I believe we should start with three initiatives that the Congress should pass.

AARON: Holy shit! You're going to listen to good ideas from Congress! And officials! And the shady sounding "private sector." In other words: you're going to continue to do exactly what you've done for the rest of your presidency. You're going to listen to others and let them pull your strings, which admittedly, is probably safer than actually trying to do anything yourself. We wouldn't want you to blow a fuse or anything. Aren't we all more encouraged, hopeful and inspired by our valiant leader telling us that he has NO IDEAS, but that he's more than willing and able to LISTEN to those of others?

BUSH: Tonight I propose the creation of a Gulf Opportunity Zone, encompassing the region of the disaster in Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. Within this zone, we should provide immediate incentives for job-creating, investment tax relief for small businesses, incentives to companies that create jobs, and loans and loan guarantees for small businesses, including minority-owned enterprises, to get them up and running again. It is entrepreneurship that creates jobs and opportunity, it is entrepreneurship that helps break the cycle of poverty and we will take the side of entrepreneurs as they lead the economic revival of the Gulf region.

AARON: No sir. It is money that creates jobs and opportunities. Money being spent through entrepreneurship (and I applaud your efforts to say this word, though you fumbled three for three) and other vehicles for the trickle-down theory. Thankfully, you've PROPOSED the creation of accounts that MIGHT pay some ELIGIBLE evacuees who need extra help UP TO $5,000. That'll definately do it. Why don't you put some golden tickets in Hershey bars while you're at it?

BUSH: I propose the creation of Worker Recovery Accounts to help those evacuees who need extra help finding work. Under this plan, the federal government would provide accounts of up to $5,000, which these evacuees could draw upon for job training and education to help them get a good job and for child care expenses during their job search.

To help lower-income citizens in the hurricane region build new and better lives, I also propose that Congress pass an Urban Homesteading Act. Under this approach, we will identify property in the region owned by the federal government, and provide building sites to low-income citizens free of charge, through a lottery. In return, they would pledge to build on the lot, with either a mortgage or help from a charitable organization like Habitat for Humanity. Homeownership is one of the great strengths of any community, and it must be a central part of our vision for the revival of this region.In the long run, the New Orleans area has a particular challenge, because much of the city lies below sea level. The people who call it home need to have reassurance that their lives will be safer in the years to come. Protecting a city that sits lower than the water around it is not easy, but it can and has been done. City and parish officials in New Orleans and state officials in Louisiana will have a large part in the engineering decisions to come, and the Army Corps of Engineers will work at their side to make the flood protection system stronger than it has ever been.

The work that has begun in the Gulf Coast region will be one of the largest reconstruction efforts the world has ever seen. When that job is done, all Americans will have something to be very proud of, and all Americans are needed in this common effort. It is the armies of compassion - charities and houses of worship and idealistic men and women - that give our reconstruction effort its humanity. They offer to those who hurt a friendly face, an arm around the shoulder and the reassurance that in hard times, they can count on someone who cares. By land, by sea and by air, good people wanting to make a difference deployed to the Gulf Coast, and they have been working around the clock ever since.

The cash needed to support the armies of compassion is great, and Americans have given generously. For example, the private fundraising effort led by former Presidents Bush and Clinton has already received pledges of more than $100 million. Some of that money is going to governors, to be used for immediate needs within their states. A portion will also be sent to local houses of worship, to help reimburse them for the expense of helping others. This evening the need is still urgent, and I ask the American people to continue donating to the Salvation Army, the Red Cross, other good charities and religious congregations in the region.

AARON: Okay, I've left you alone to ramble for a while, and look where it gets you! You are sending only a portion of this $100 million dollars that OTHER presidents have raised on your inept behalf to governors for emergencies. The rest is going to local "houses of worship"? I'm sorry: seperation of Church and State. The Church takes donations from the clergy all the time for exactly this purpose: to aid and help our society (or at least, that's what they say). They shouldn't need money from the government, and they shouldn't get it. Charities are fine, but people don't need faith right now: they need basic amenities.

BUSH: It is also essential for the many organizations of our country to reach out to your fellow citizens in the Gulf area. So I have asked USA Freedom Corps to create an information clearinghouse, available at usafreedomcorps.gov, so that families anywhere in the country can find opportunities to help families in the region or a school can support a school. And I challenge existing organizations - churches, Scout troops or labor union locals - to get in touch with their counterparts in Mississippi, Louisiana or Alabama, and learn what they can do to help. In this great national enterprise, important work can be done by everyone, and everyone should find their role and do their part.

The government of this nation will do its part as well. Our cities must have clear and up-to-date plans for responding to natural disasters, disease outbreaks or terrorist attack, for evacuating large numbers of people in an emergency and for providing the food, water and security they would need. In a time of terror threats and weapons of mass destruction, the danger to our citizens reaches much wider than a fault line or a flood plain. I consider detailed emergency planning to be a national security priority. Therefore, I have ordered the Department of Homeland Security to undertake an immediate review, in cooperation with local counterparts, of emergency plans in every major city in America.

I also want to know all the facts about the government response to Hurricane Katrina. The storm involved a massive flood, a major supply and security operation, and an evacuation order affecting more than a million people. It was not a normal hurricane and the normal disaster relief system was not equal to it. Many of the men and women of the Coast Guard, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the United States military, the National Guard, Homeland Security and state and local governments performed skillfully under the worst conditions. Yet the system, at every level of government, was not well coordinated and was overwhelmed in the first few days. It is now clear that a challenge on this scale requires greater federal authority and a broader role for the armed forces, the institution of our government most capable of massive logistical operations on a moment's notice.

AARON: It wasn't a normal hurricane folks, you heard it here first. It was a mutant. An X-Hurricane. The ubermensch of natural disasters. Give me a break: I'm glad that you now plan to develop emergency plans for large urban areas (this apparently is the only thing that government is responsible for). It does frighten me though that as with September 11, you are using this as an excuse to gain greater federal authority and more power for the military. We do need operational plans and the national guard should be here (not Iraq), but all we really need to do is just react faster. That's it. No more hitting the snooze alarm, okay chief?

BUSH: Four years after the frightening experience of September 11th, Americans have every right to expect a more effective response in a time of emergency. When the federal government fails to meet such an obligation, I, as President, am responsible for the problem, and for the solution. So I have ordered every Cabinet secretary to participate in a comprehensive review of the government response to the hurricane. This government will learn the lessons of Hurricane Katrina. We are going to review every action and make necessary changes, so that we are better prepared for any challenge of nature, or act of evil men, that could threaten our people.The United States Congress also has an important oversight function to perform. Congress is preparing an investigation, and I will work with members of both parties to make sure this effort is thorough.

In the life of this nation, we have often been reminded that nature is an awesome force, and that all life is fragile. We are the heirs of men and women who lived through those first terrible winters at Jamestown and Plymouth, who rebuilt Chicago after a great fire, and San Francisco after a great earthquake, who reclaimed the prairie from the dust bowl of the 1930s. Every time, the people of this land have come back from fire, flood and storm to build anew and to build better than what we had before. Americans have never left our destiny to the whims of nature and we will not start now.

These trials have also reminded us that we are often stronger than we know, with the help of grace and one another. They remind us of a hope beyond all pain and death, a God who welcomes the lost to a house not made with hands. And they remind us that we are tied together in this life, in this nation, and that the despair of any touches us all.

AARON: When I was a counselor for a Jewish summer camp, they used to make us sing a song called "Don't Laugh At Me," by Mark Willis. One of the lines is "In god's eyes, we're all the same/someday we'll all have perfect wings." This seems to me the exact same as what Bush is saying here: we may be horribly unequal, racially discriminatory and violent, but God will welcome us after we die with open arms. This life isn't very important, which is apparently why Bush is striving so hard to make sure all life as we know it ends before his term does.

BUSH: I know that when you sit on the steps of a porch where a home once stood or sleep on a cot in a crowded shelter it is hard to imagine a bright future. But that future will come. The streets of Biloxi and Gulfport will again be filled with lovely homes and the sound of children playing. The churches of Alabama will have their broken steeples mended and their congregations whole. And here in New Orleans, the streetcars will once again rumble down St. Charles, and the passionate soul of a great city will return.

In this place, there is a custom for the funerals of jazz musicians. The funeral procession parades slowly through the streets, followed by a band playing a mournful dirge as it moves to the cemetery. Once the casket has been laid in place, the band breaks into a joyful ``second line'' symbolizing the triumph of the spirit over death. Tonight the Gulf Coast is still coming through the dirge, yet we will live to see the second line.

Thank you, and may God bless America.

AARON: Despite the overwhelming presence of God at the end here, this part's actually kind of poignant. I read once that all we really remember is the very beginning and the very end. I strongly believe that Bush subscribes to this theory along with his speechwriters, because this is probably the only decent and uplifting portion of the speech.

Now, I know you were probably expecting more commentary from me, but that's it. I'm completely spent. I just feel that you should know I probably spent more time writing the annotations to this speech than Bush did reading or editing it. Before you label me anti-American, my heart really does go out to all of the victims of Katrina. I just can't stand the cloying lies of our government. Be safe, America. Be safe.

2005-09-12T21:06:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Muggers

[*This might not be especially funny to those of you who have traumatic memories of being mugged, but, well, get over it. Life moves on. Besides, this one’s dedicated to that special someone, you stalker you.*]

There is nothing (and I’m resisting the urge to post my copy of “There is nothing like a mugging!” [the popular South Pacific hit]) like getting mugged to make one reassess their priorities and values. Like, say, mainly: my life, first and foremost. Which is, obviously, since I’m writing this, intact. And since my hands aren’t visibly shaking (with anything other than the usual carpal tunnel), I’m going to go ahead and say that I’m over it.

At least in a physical sense: nobody likes being threatened with a knife to their throat or patted down by a slimmer version of Fat Joe. Had it been a fatter version of Eminem (a Mega M&M? perhaps), I’m not really sure how I would’ve reacted. In any case, I did exactly as told – not even thinking to lie or anything about my PIN number – and as a reward was left several items: Jorge Luis Borge’s Collected Fictions (you know, so I can reflect on the situation) and my travel edition of Scrabble (don’t ask). I think he may have even chuckled at that after he took off his game face. For some reason, perhaps my writing is that bad, he chose to take my wallet rather than my writer’s notebook. My goal is now to make him regret that by publishing a bestselling novel.

For what it’s worth, I deserved it on some level – you all know how I love to read and walk, something that’s assuredly not a good idea at 1:15a.m. – but at the same time, Stuyvesant has these really awkward looking “riggings” up, as if we’re filming portions of Pirates of the Caribbean here, replete with scaffolds and hulls. Makes it very easy to hide in a little nook and follow someone into their building. For a place that now charges three times as much as they did five years ago, security really should be better.

M&T is also a horrid responder: should your card be stolen while their office hours are black, there is no way for you to reach a live operator. The closest you can come is to report your card stolen/missing to an answering machine. That’s not a real comfort, and I plan to hold M&T completely liable for the money extracted from my card. Even if that means picketing outside of their office – I do enjoy picking fights with people who aren’t likely to brandish knives on me. Hopefully the guy who mugged me will be content with the money he’s now essentially stolen from M&T and never come looking for me again.

Now it’s time to pick up the pieces, which is really just my way of coming full-circle to my initial point: priorities and values, aside from my life, and the living of it. On my list of things to do are a replacement ID card from the DMV (and you’re bound to hear the end of that), clearing up matters with the irascible M&T bank manager and grabbing a wallet from some street vendor (preferably one that hasn’t been stolen). Oh, and getting a library card, because you know I loves to read. Just, um, not at 1:15am anymore.

Surprisingly, one of the biggest inconveniences is going to be obtaining a new cell phone. My mother refused to let me pay for insurance each month (which would've covered this): she's obstinately blocking me from it once more. Of course, she's also paying for the device, and I can't complain because without it, I've had to fall back on pay phones: the poor man's cell phone. Only these never get reception: I spent a dollar in change just trying to find a phone that actually worked on both ends (reciever and mouthpiece) and was terrified to stick my finger into the quarter return slot because of that old urban legend about the tacks people leave in them. Well, not really frightened so much as lazy. Or both. The point is: these things mean business - there's a reason why those stainless steel cords are just long enough to be used as nooses. And there's no negotiating with a machine for a little more time on the phone - Mommy needs more money for crack, so you'd better pay up.

And while we're on the subject of phones and muggers - our lovely antagonist decides that he's going to prank phone call the people in my most recent calls. While this is only heresay until the lovely and anti-commentitus Jeanette posts something (again, she is not a comment whore) in her own defense: she was rudely woken up by Mr. Mugger who proceeded to fumble over her all-too-difficult-to-pronounce name before falling back asleep again. I'm sorry you lost a valuable seven minutes of REM. I will play "It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I feel fine)" for you later. Both my singing and the mugger's calling are, make no mistake, far more disturbing than you might possibly realize.

Moral of the story? You know, I was mugged, and I don’t feel particularly obligated to give you one. Go have your own experience and see if you feel like tying everything up so neatly for everyone else. I just needed to laugh a little.

2005-09-09T02:17:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Legal Con Artists

I've just bought a new pair of glasses, the old pair being a vicious casualty of war between my brother and I. It will not necessarily be missed, the frames dislocated from the shoulders, the lenses themselves scratched something fierce and the whole contraption possibly doing more harm than good. However, what will be missed are the five hundred dollars that went towards purchasing this new pair.

Now, the legal con is very simple. It involves a necessary product - for instance, food - but one that is specialized in, that very few people know anything about - specifically, an organic food or an exotic food. You can do basic research online now, thanks to the internet, but interpreting the data becomes like stock analysis for the layman: of not much use. We don't know how to read the information properly, and when we arrive to get our prescription filled, we're taken for a complete ride. The more appropriate analogue would have been medication, but that expense is never questioned and has inflated so high because of people allowing medical coverage to needlessly purchase the most expensive and generally worthless of products.

In any case, upon arrival at the shyster's lens store, the seller will immediate entice you with words of "savings," "sales" and "under-the-table discounts." What these equate to are a skillful manipulation between inflations and gradual lessenings of that inflation to a more reasonable (but still slightly exaggerated) price. Of course, that implies some basic knowledge of haggling, something that went out with the agoras of yore. Couple that with the fact that these optometrists live off of commissions (they profit from giving you the most expensive of options) and today's honest and naive citizen is going to get shucked.

I actually overheard a conversation while putting my contacts in (after my "free" eye exam) between a new hire and the store manager. The latter boasted of owning three stores and said that this new seller - a former bartendress - would do fine in no time, once she learned "how to sell" the products. I think it no small coincidence that all employees were women, and moderately attractive ones at that.

Now, the frame we pick out is going to cost either $250 or $299 (there are two attractive looking options) - but they'll be half off. Now, $150 for glasses sounds fine, until you factor in the cost of my ultra-thick lenses which (honestly) have to be custom made because they're so damn terrible. The price is now overall $350 or so, and it's necessary to upgrade the scratch-guard. She offers us SG and anti-glare protection for $75 (which is a great deal over $120... though still completely unnecessary if you think about the longevity of my last pair) - when I ask for just scratch-free lenses, she tells me that would be $65. So why not spend the extra ten?

Now that she's gotten us up to around $445, she manages to sell us one final time. A second frame and lenses - a back-up pair - for only $55, to make the whole thing an even five. This is what's called the consolation prize, so we think we're getting our money's worth. After all, two pairs for five is really just $250 each. Reasonable. However, the actual economic truth is, if she's willing to part with my "expensive" custom lenses and a pair of non-designer frames (which look just as good) for $55 - isn't that approximately how much a pair would cost? Maybe $150-200 at the most. All of a sudden, the $500 expense we've accrued isn't looking as good.

Still. A man's got to see. And my credit card has a great pay-back plan. So maybe, whether we'd like to admit it or not, we're all just willing participants in this legal shell game. After all, need we look any further than the lies our government has forced down our throat for support of this most basic of self-evident truths?

2005-09-02T18:44:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Accomplishment

In the last few days, I've managed to get my father to switch from AOL Broadband to RoadRunner (yes, even customer support was laughing at us for not doing it sooner), overcome a fear of allergies by eating both grapes and mangos (slow and steady wins the race) and managed to defeat my revising block, coming up with good new drafts which make the originals look like crap (though previously, I asserted they were perfect).

And what has it gotten me? Nothing. A firm slap on the wrist in terms of a wake-up call: reminders that when I inevitably return to graduate school as a creative writing fellow, I'm going to need some career orientation to show them for this year. And my short story collection won't cut it, nor will Barnes and Nobles. So back to the job search, and the blog, with the idea that all these little accomplishments by which we grade our lives aren't really worth anything.

I mean, let's look at this parable masquerading as an anecdote in re allergies. Now, I haven't eaten most fruits in over ten years. So imagine how good they taste to me now - it's like I've managed to open up a whole new world by simply forgetting the old one. This goes completely in synch with my whole creative writing ouvre of perception, but I love the new sensations. We should only be so lucky as to reguarly wipe our minds ala Eternal Sunshine.

No more digressions though: this whole return to the sublime texture and sensation of what was previously a "forbidden" fruit got me thinking about the whole "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and the old salt about "saving yourself" so that the first time really meant something. Well, I mean, it's too late for that now. But I ran a little mental algorthim - and here's the story - as to what would happen to a man that hasn't had sex in ten years.

You see, this man happens to be extremely hideous, so he consequently has to hire extremely expensive hookers - not because ugly ones won't do him, but because he still has taste - who still make him brown bag, but hey, he's getting laid. This inevitably bankrupts him, and he finds himself living as a homeless person. And feel free to insert your own joke about that here. God knows I'm already going to hell for all my "what ifs" involving the unfortunate streetwalkers, if not onto the street myself, so I won't dig that hole any deeper.

Now, this man manages to build himself back up - slow and steady again, let's re-enforce that message - and after ten years, he has enough money to either buy a house and the security that entails, or hire a hooker. Yes folks, he is that ugly. He mulls his options, thinks carefully about it, and then of course decides to have sex, because, well, security is one thing - but it's been ten years. And of course, this bankrupts him again, and he's back out on the street. It's a vicious cycle, because the man's as smart as he is ugly, so he keeps building up his money, but blowing it - literally, figuratively, whatever - prematurely.

So, this man has accomplished nothing, just as I, with my return to fruit, have really accomplished nothing. If anything, according to the story, I'm going to eat cherries while brown-bagged and get kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Wow. Not really sure how any of that came together. Let me get the heck out of this blog while I'm ahead - that is, while I've accomplished something.

CURRENT MUSIC VIDEO:
"Party Starter," by Will Smith. Clean rap, nice looking video: he's still got it all.

RANDOM PLUG:
Somebody recently posted something about how I was their "arch-nemesis" in the eighth grade and that she consequently was told to date me... that's going to be the last time I google myself.

boo-yeah to:
"Hex," the pseudonym for Emily Cox and Henry Rathvon, the cryptic constructors for The Atlantic (which may be returning to fiction after all) and just astounding puzzlers. I may have solved your little game this month (October 2005), but I'm sure you'll get me next time. You always do. Thanks for keeping my mind sharper than the Su Doku Grand Master Challenge (logic can always be out-thought, riddles defy logic).

MY LIFE (an update):
This marks the return to my trend of regularly updating my blog, but also the end to this little additional section at the end. It requires far too much analosity (coined it here first!) and patience. I could be playing Bridge, dating a girl or writing a novel. So if this is why you read my blog, bugger off - this was never the grist of the story anyway.

2005-08-31T04:12:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Slanguage

Here's something Lynda Barry would call autobifictionography.

There are two siblings, a younger brother and an older brother, and they live in wholly different worlds. I guess, following that old axiom that we look for ways to distinguish ourselves, the younger brother obsesses with the physical and the older brother with the mental. One hangs with what some people would consider street toughs - I'd call them ordinary people - one hangs with theater students, writers: the bohemian street toughs, if you will.

Where the story diverges is that the older brother has chosen to become a writer: spends each day saturating in the language of every writer, today from Borges to Moody, yesterday from Cervantes to Theroux. And yet he is surrounded, everywhere he goes, by the prevailance and indefatiguable nature of slang. He finds himself so appalled by the malediction of the English that he cannot help but jump on the bandwagon to communicate. His own words - erudite, well-thought out, often prolix - they don't serve any intelligible purpose. They're not, to use the proper term, "real" enough.

[A short digression onto the terminology of "real," a word the younger brother uses with increasing inaccuracy. It begins with the asseration that there is one specific worldview (and only one). It ends with the conclusion that the older brother is so far distanced from this "real" world that he has created, for all purposes, a functioning fantasy world which despite serving as his reality, is no more than the bitter stuff of dreams after a rude awakening. The older brother researches "real" - by which I mean he looks it up at www.dictionary.com - and assumes the younger brother means that he is living a life of pretense, falsehood, or affectation - a world that is artificial and spurious. The older brother is not necessarily sure that the younger brother understands all this terminology (though he understands that he is quite smart), so he keeps his mouth shut.

What would it be like, he - the older brother - wonders, to live in this other world, his - the younger brother - world? Can two realities operate on the same plane without a constant grinding friction, a gradual wearing away of the seams, an abnegation of self sacrificed to the painful truth that there is in fact no reality at all?]

He coins the term "honeydew" for "pussy" which is in fact already slang for "vagina." He tries to get his friends to accept the British usage of "good on you." He starts saying "what's good" and attempts to respond with "no d" an online double entendre for both "no doubt" and the positive assertation of moving one's head up and down in a vertical line more than once. He even jokes around with the phrase "PCRN" - politely chortling right now - and the counterpart "PGRN" (guffawing). None of this actually changes his own reality or those of the people around him, none of this brings him closer to his younger brother. Most of it is in fact embarassing. These two worlds have no relationship to one another, and hence the two brothers have no relationship.

This would be a sad reality to face, were there such a thing as reality. God would shed tears, were there such a thing as God. These two brothers would mourn the loss, if either of them existed, at one time, in this world, together.

CURRENT MUSIC VIDEO:
"Do You Realize (Version 2)," by The Flaming Lips. They really just need a great director, because most of their videos look like shit. They just sound so good.

RANDOM PLUG:
I know I posted a link to their music video from The 'Bu, but Jeanette sent me back to them for Awesometown and now I learn that the good ol' boys of The Lonely Island will all be involved with SNL: Andy as cast, Yorma and Akiva as writers. All you really need in this world is a camera and a sense of humor. That really just boils down to eyes and ears.

boo-yeah to:
Ok Go and Death Cab For Cutie have both just put out amazing CDs. But the shout-out goes to Arlene, who has read the comic book Will and I have been working on and, with a few succinct words of praise, encouraged us to continue with that. If you or I are lucky enough to have children one day: always praise them.

MY LIFE (an update):
My manuscript stands at 147 pages right now. I am deep in revision mode. I will be submitting said manuscript to Iowa State (and through them George Saunders) in exactly four weeks. You can see samples of stuff I'm working on at www.writefight.org. Therefore, I'm learning how to work through my weaknesses. In order to address my need to produce at least a thousand-and-one words a day, expect to see posts here on a more regular basis. If anybody out there exists long enough to sneak a peek, that is.

2005-08-18T01:32:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Consumer "Help"
You've all noticed it. The snide comments and sniggers from the executives that you'll never have the priviledge of overhearing through that impermeable glass ceiling... well, those you might not have noticed. But the signs, omens, portents and shards of disrespect falling like stalagmites upon us are clear: consumer help and the advertisements designed to guide us are - unsuprisingly - of no help at all.
Take this nugget of wisdom, for example, that stands resolute in a local McDonald's, defying grease stains and graffiti to announce: "All purchases will be packaged 'to go' 20 minutes before closing. This policy is for the the safety of our employees and customers. [sic]" I threw the [sic] in there just so you know that's word-for-word what's written, "thus" to be specific for the Latin (yes, someone has been studying grammar, and it is - sadly - me). Now, pay close attention to the latter portion of that cloying remark: "for the safety of." How does making everything "'to go'" help serve and protect the average McD's consumer? (Average, of course, being all of us.) No, this is an extra serving of lies to go with your fries, as much smoke blinding you as there is ice in your coke. I hope you enjoy this first of many qualassurpurps (quality assurance purposes), as Safire mentioned recently. In case I've lost you in all the parenthetical packaging of this paragraph: good, that's the point. Because what the hell are we even talking about, anyway?

Let's move on to further obsfucation: AOL, Belkin, &c. technical support. We actually broke a phone yesterday in the Riccio household, trying to get a goddamn human voice. Sorry for the strong language, but you aren't hearing the half of what foul curses spilled out during our electronic exodus. Forty days and forty nights are nothing compared to the pain and suffering of digital limbo. An example of conversation might go something like this - and I swear AOL's computer voice is smarmy and tongue-in-cheek:

"Now, I'd like to ask you a few questions about your computer," here I am, jamming on the 0 button. "Well, I could connect you to a human operator, but THAT'S... going to take a while. I, on the other hand, am ready to advise and assist you with the same capacity. If you'd like to continue my services, please say ye-" "No! No, absolutely not." I'm pressing 0 like a madman now, until finally... "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions first..." The pre-recorded voice has returned, and not only isn't it listening, but it's smug about that. Are we really that cocky, AOL, that we can assert our computers are as efficient as human help? Or have you outsourced so much that in fact you know computers are more effective, or at least more understandable? Either way, you still aren't telling us anything.

One final example of how you've managed to pervade our society without actually giving us anything. Check out this week's "The New Yorker" - the actual print copy. You'll notice immediately from the three inside and back covers that there's some redundancy. In fact, I would go so far to assert that every advertisement in the magazine is for Target, each drafted by a different artist as part of a special "project." The name of that project? Brainwashing, perhaps. Either way, there's nothing redeemable about the campaign: it's pure product placement, with only those hypnotic red target signs suffusing (and here's the 'meta'-art) all of New York City.

No matter where we turn, fiction or reality, we're going to come face-to-face with the same old campaigns and disassociative cognizance, the stuff brought about by these villanous (and for the most part unseen) CEOs. I group them all - yes, all - into the same category. Whether you're lying blatantly through non-informative messages, doing the same through sickening adverts or preventing us from ever contacting the human voice behind it all, advertising and the consumer "help" it promises is nothing but a wet dream, and one that we only think (through years of commerical programming) is going to be enjoyable.

HERE'S A MUSIC VIDEO! "A Million Ways," by OK Go!

boo-yeah to: Friends. I mean, where the heck would I be without people willing to help me revise a new bridge bidding system? Or people to hang out with on a lazy Wednesday afternoon? Or a sultry Friday evening? You guys are all so completely different, I don't think I could ever have a party and bring you all together to do something. But it sure would be interesting.

MY LIFE (an update): I have purpose, namely to get my portfolio of creative writing up to 150 pages, double spaced, so that I can get it entered in the Iowa contest (judged by one of my idols, George Saunders). I have a feeling that they'll be looking for stuff more extensive than what I've got, but I'll make up for it with some awesome diversity. At the least, I'll be writing a lot of stuff over the next month, and thankfully, I've got a muse back in my life. Let's hope that I can go completely bliztkreig on the keyboard (the one I haven't broken from frustration from two days worth of customer "service") and churn out some fantastic stuff.

2005-08-05T15:37:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Fear

Fear is a dangerous thing. Some would say in fact, that it's the only thing to fear. There's fear of the physical, that you'll be hurt by the present, and there's mental fear, which is a dangerous expectation of the future. Today's blog aims to look at both of them, one through my own stupidity and one through the stupidity of others. It wouldn't be fair of me to criticize others without first confronting myself.

So let's call this section, "Return of the Vasovagal Synapse." Yes, while at the doctor's office today, getting my yearly physical, I, out of the blue, passed out. Well, not so much out of the blue. You see, I'm not good with needles - not the actual present pinching pain, but of what it could concievably feel like. And this year, I got not just the blood extraction (I use that terminology because it sounds more sinister), but re-upped my vaccinations to Hepatitis B and Tetanus.

Now the real fear of vaccinations goes back to a misguided attempt to innoculate me in Junior High School (thankfully any traumatic memories of infantile injections have been excised). Getting the cultures of Hepatitis B the first time involved moving to the highly sanitary and hygenic cafeteria of Booker T. Washington (in other words, not a more scummy location could you find: a basement school cookery). They also decided to use not needles, but air-guns, those highly pressurized forms of injection that don't leave visible marks on the skin, going as they do between blood vessels.

Not a terrible idea, but the sudden whoosh is not only frightening, but the shock of having your skin punctured (at least mentally) causes your arm to go numb about an hour later. This is the equivalent of dead legs you may have unfortunately recieved from bullies. Let's not ignore the fact either that these were not highly trained nurses doling out the medication, but rather people who looked suspiciously like scullery maids (sans skullcap/hair net). I would trust them with guns of any sort - especially medically designated ones - less than some of the "choicer" members of the NRA. You know, the ones who sleep fondling their piece.

Back on track, they were not. They were missing the places in our shoulders and hitting us in very uncomplimentary ways, ways that wracked our muscles with spasms and other such pain. Repeat this vivid imagery all three rounds of the immunization process, right arm, left arm, right.

Now, flash forward to me getting the dreaded Hepatitis, once more in the right, and right after getting a Tetanus shot in my left, of which I'm told, "This will hurt tomorrow." So really, don't you expect the fear to just ooze between my pores, track down between my eyes and curl its venom down my body like a snake? Sorry, creative writer, poetic licence to kill and all that jazz. As she stabs me a third time, I feel the pressure spreading through my whole body and I manage to stammer something incoherent, but along the lines of, "I'm going to pass out." Which I did.

Now, I'm not proud of this weakness, but admit it: of all the places to pass out, a doctor's office is probably the most appropriate. They had me back on my feet in no time, by which I mean, I immediately recovered and they gave me sips of water while telling me to lean back, and not in the Fat Joe sense. They may have suggested I pull up my pants tho', considering we'd just finished the physical examination. And so, for the fourth time in my life, I've had what's called a vasovagal synapse, which is really just doctorese for "you passed out." It's not seriously dangerous to my health, nothing to be concerned about, I just need to literally chill out more with unexpected situations.

I know I've gone on for a long time, but I wanted to make sure I'd properly abased my own psychological fear so that I could move on to the physical stupidity people have over fear. There's a lawsuit in the works against the NYPD, in order to get them to stop searching people's bags. I'm sorry, but the people who have filed claims say that they are now afraid to travel the subway system because they don't want their rights violated. Not because the searches are like a needle-in-a-haystack in their effectivity. Not because there's discrimination going on. But because they refuse to let police officers search their bags. Officers, I might add, that are at least making some people feel safer. What are these people so ashamed of having in their bags? Dead babies? I'm sorry, but just as the only thing we must fear is fear itself, the only people who have something to hide are people with something to hide.

RANDOM PLUG:
Dennis Leary, I feel, did not do a good enough job shamelessly self-promoting his goods and the goods of those whom he likes. Therefore, I'm pumping up the joy of Rescue Me, the firehouse drama I simply can't get enough of. Go watch it on FX, Wednesday nights at 10:00. And then catch Nip/Tuck when it replaces Rescue Me on the line-up. And then stick around, 'cause The Shield will be back.

boo-yeah to:
Air conditioning. I don't have it, but man, I wish I did. And lest this be a "careful what you wish for" moment, I'm talking about the kind of air-conditioning I can turn on and off. Not one that follows me around like a bitter raincloud, keeping me perma-chilled.

CURRENT MUSIC VIDEO:
"Trouble," by Coldplay. I wish I could make "Fix You" look as good as "Trouble" or "The Scientist" or even "Yellow" which featured the same damn walking, but at least was taken in entirely one shot, rigged to look a certain way as the sun just rises in the background. Simple is great, but at least have an artistic vision that's more than just pandering to your audience.

MY LIFE (an update):
Once more, I think I've covered my life pretty well above. But I am glad that my ex is willing to talk to me again, that it's at least possible for us to be friends. I don't like burning bridges and I don't like hurting people. It's good to know that life does in fact go on, even if it sometimes continues in very odd patterns that involve everyone I know apparently moving into my neighborhood.

2005-08-01T01:20:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Belligerent Drunks

Well, goodness: this is a blog I never thought I'd be writing. I'm a recreational drinker, the bastard child of the social stigma stating we can only hang out if we're getting something done. That something has swung drastically from the physical of something like dancing to the obesity-inspired culture of American drinkers. Now, before we go any further, let me stress that this is not vindictive against bars, bar denizens, bar inhabitants, &c. While that may have at one time been my stance during the confusing time of my life when I was trying to find a column's (raspy) voice, I now appreciate the effects of some good libations.

However, and this being the point, I'm terrified of what might happen to me when I get perhaps a little too happy. I've seen the effects firsthand, and while some people, like my good pal Artie, might be gentle old men obsessed with buying people jukebox requests, others, like a certain drunken "film" critic run a little long on bullshit and a little short on patience. And what kind of drunk am I? It'd be hard to tell, considering that the few times I've been drunk enough to lose control of my body, I've also lost control of my memory - and that's a frightening thing for a writer, since memory is all I've got.

But let's get back to me, in a bar, specifically the Blarney Cove (which I have cleverly disguised linguistically in order to preserve it for myself). I'm drinking Killians, and I am having a blast, mainly because I'm with the girl that I like, on a date, and it would take very little to make me happy at that moment. And yet, there are I am, filled with intoxicating chemicals anyway. If you're looking for embarassing blackmail stuff, apologies, I didn't do anything I'm ashamed of at this point. But it's around this moment that my mind starts going blank: the return trip from Union Square (by which point, I am probably filled with not only the warm fuzzies but the fuzzies that are complementary to six beers).

Apparently, arriving home, I was coherent, somewhat sober and carrying on conversation. And after sleeping for about an hour, I transformed into a bellicose Riccio, rambling on about something or other to my poor father. Now, one of my oldest friends, Colin, has assured me that had any of you been there, it would've been hilarious, so I'm going to take this as proof that I am a gentle giant, a non-belligerent drunk, one who would not so much as even politely suggest a film review, let alone foist them upon you.

In summary, drinking good, even if the side-effects can be wildly unpredictable for some. It's a social skill we can't really afford to be without, and there's much to be said for the lack of inhibitions it brings about. You find me a game of beer pong (beirut) and I'll be there. Until then, I guess I'll just have to increase my tolerance to be absolutely sure. Cheers!

RANDOM PLUG:
Having already tried to advertise "The 'Bu" and "Kicked in the Nuts," I now draw your attention to the fantastic Channel 102. This is the NY branch of Channel 101, and what it does is gives amateur filmmakers the opportunity to cast me (and people like me) in comedic five-minute pilots that will be viewed and voted on at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. Those that make it are turned into "series" - by which I mean those directors can keep producing monthly episodes until their audience share gets them cancelled. You really have to check it out, and not just so that you can cast me in something.

boo-yeah to:
Artie. He's one of the random people Jeanette and I ran into, and since she hasn't sung praises to him yet, I will. This is a man with a fine taste in old music and a fine sense for hitting on large groups of lesbians, or at least fine choice in friends with slightly more libido (though just as little chance).

CURRENT MUSIC VIDEO:
"Scent Of A Robot," by Pete Miser

MY LIFE (an update):
Considering how totally this blog was about me, you really shouldn't need any update to put two and two together. Otherwise, fall back on your basic calculus: "you+me = us." Now, cryptically, at best I could only assemble the word "ume," but I'm not really going to let that bother me. K? Umek? On an unrelated acronymical route: PCRN (politely chortling right now), the word that's practically porn is here to take the world by storm. Use it in all your abbreviated conversations from now on and u wil b 2 kul.

2005-07-28T11:29:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Vertical Fashion

No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, there was no escaping the attack of flying models. Target (yes, that Target) sponsored a fashion show, one that would show off the elegance of affordable clothing from the highly "posh" department store. Of course, how better to display low costs than to shrug off expense (along, obviously, with common sense) and allow your models to walk down a vertical runway, suspended by high tension cables. Nothing spells publicity like the possibility of models freefalling to their death.

A brief aside must be made here: I apologize for the previous sentence in which I made light of models dying. Tom Welling (a former model who now plays the young Clark Kent on Smallville) has a stunt double who just fell off a water tower while shooting a new episode. He's in critical, which just goes to show that God loves irony, because he keeps injuring people who play Superman in any capacity. So of course, I'm expecting some models (who surely know less than a stunt director) to hurt themselves.

Back to the main thrust: so I call Jeanette to tell her the good news (and no, it's not that I've converted to Catholicism) and we wind up going to The Rink Bar. Because it's been raining for the last hour (not like either of us would know, she inside her environmentally controlled workspace, me inside McDonald's, enjoying the black triple diamond landscape of iceberg thighs [only %10 showing] and overzealous moms) the bar is pretty empty, which is nice because it gives the both of us a clear view of the ten story building behind us, down which models are caroming in what can only be called synchronized free-falling. We're talking all-out expense from Target too; there are spotlights and the "hits" of the '80s and '90s, so it must be legit. Not like I'd know though, I had other things to look at.

A final thought on vertical runway modeling: if you've ever thought that we look like ants down there, you look like ants up there too. Not only could I care less about what you were all wearing, but I couldn't actually see it. You may have sparked the next best thing since base jumping, and yet I feel I still have better things to do in my life than walk down the side of a building while essentially dancing the Macarena.

RANDOM PLUG:
The one in your wall. As in, the electrical socket. That's pretty random, isn't it?

boo-yeah to: Anybody quitting their job on Friday. Apparently that's a synchronized event now too, 'cause everybody and their mother seems to be doing it.

CURRENT "MUSIC" VIDEO
The 'Bu #8, by The Lonely Island

MY LIFE (an update):
Well, AIM is ambiguous, but we've known this for some time. Once again, I find myself communicating my deepest thoughts electronically; thankfully, I'm not being allowed to do that today. So sorry, that's all you get for now.

2005-07-27T02:04:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Hard Drugs

So I'm reading the Post today (yes, I know) and the big story is all about how Osama bin Laden wanted to buy up a lot of cocaine from the Colombian cartels so that he could lace it with poison before distributing it to America. Am I a terrorist for agreeing that this would not be a terrible thing? In one fell swoop, we not only kill off the majority of drug users, but we highly discourage other potential addicts through the dosage of fear. In fact, I'm surprised that the Bush Administration hasn't attempted this type of reform yet, and then I remember that the majority of their constitutency are surely snorting lines of something up every night. I'm not a violent person, and I don't really want to kill off those who are currently caught in the web of Coke (the caffenated ones, maybe), but if he's got to attack one portion of our population, that wouldn't necessarily be the worst of times. As it turns out, the Colombians decided killing off their clientel would be decidedly bad for business and - in the most overlooked case of racism yet - rejected the millions offered by a black bearded Muslim in favor of the millions offered by baby-faced white Christians. I'm told Rev. Al Sharpton is on the case.

RANDOM PLUG:
Okay, so the new "Su Doku" puzzles that I was first introduced to in London and which have now become so popular in the Post (yes, again, I know!) are actually quite addictive. And I found that trying to solve today's [Difficult Puzzle #02] helped me concentrate better on getting out of bad poker hands. At least, that's the bit of superstition I'm choosing to believe in today. All I'm saying is, the fact that I can solve them makes me smarter than you. I mean... I prefer logic games. That is... oh, screw it. I do cryptic crosswords for fun.

boo-yeah to: Lance Cpl. Aaron Riccio, who has exactly one reference through the Penninsula Clarion if you ever, you know, stalk me through Google. He's all he can be, which is precisely not me.

CURRENT MUSIC VIDEO:
If You Can't Say Love, by Visionaries

MY LIFE (an update):
I see skies of blue. Things are definately looking up, whether or not I get this job 12 hours from now. Either way, you'll hear about it, 'cause I'll have a story for you. In the meantime, please support me and my fellow writers by going to WriteFight, where you can read the hottest amateur fiction ever! Guess which one I am for extra points.

2005-07-26T01:09:00.000-04:00

Aaron vs. Old Things

You should know, while you can still avoid ever reading my blog, that I have a distate for old things. When I was younger, an old woman once hit me with her cane for sitting in "her seat" on an MTA bus. Never mind that the other five seats in the front were all empty, never mind that I was sleeping, never mind that I was ten. I have never really forgiven that older people seem to expect a double standard of respect that they never earn or return; it's also tended to wash overboard into my general disdain for all things classic (with the exception, perhaps of music). Not that I don't mind the occasional museum exhibition, but let's remember one crucial detail. These things are kept under lock and key in a museum, where they can't ever hit anybody with a cane. The one exception is my tolerance for the older crowd I encounter at the local Bridge Club, and I'm sure that's just because I'm taking deep satisfaction in beating life masters, hence making all the time they've spent aging behind a deck of freshly shuffled cards worthless. Also, I need to give myself some leeway sixty years from now when I'm arguing against euthanasia.

Anyway, my case in point will be this week's Bryant Park movie, Suspicion. Aside from being in a monotonous (and "suspicious") black-and-white and despite being directed by Alfred Hitchcock, this movie represents the worst of H-wood. Granted, this was filmed before his biggest hits, but the studio refused to let him make Cary Grant a murderer because they didn't think the public would believe him. I don't really need to draw parallels to today's society, so I'll put it simply. Hitchcock: age 41; murky executives: old. Ageism knows no bounds. Besides, those who do not understand the past are doomed to be forever frightened of it, and I will never understand an audience that finds a fat, middle-aged man making quacking sounds or the endearing use of the term "monkey face" appealing. (Perhaps this is why the word appalling is so similar.)

And now, a few staple items.

RANDOM METAPHOR (as extracted from IM):
Jessie: He was telling me that after they retire monkeys from the lab they're sending them to a retirement home off the coast of florida and they want to make it a tourist place.
Me: Yes, their bites are like Bertie's Every Flavor Beans. Each one transmits a unique and undefined virus.

RANDOM PLUG:
Jeanette is very funny; she needs to update her Blog more often. Here is where you help me coerce her into doing so by clicking mercilessly on her site, affectionately titled Bagles, Boobs and Beer.

boo-yeah to:
Kamel. I've only met you once, but you are awesome, man. I'm going to laminatate a plaque for you. I'm also told you could make a leper on prozac feel better, and I believe it.

CURRENT MUSIC VIDEO:
Feel Good Inc., by Gorillaz

MY LIFE (an update):
I have my first job interview here. It doesn't matter so much if I get it or not, so much as I feel vindicated in my resume and cover letter skills. Plus, I'm working as a film critic here. To tie things together, I am proud to tell you that none of the artists I saw were particularly old. Further vindication for youth: go us!