tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169021542024-03-07T10:17:54.048-08:00More WordsBecause there aren't enough opinions on the Web.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-59879641447957872132011-01-02T18:48:00.000-08:002011-01-02T19:35:22.691-08:00Here Goes...A few weeks ago I was on the street corner, loaded down by Trader Joe's bags (such shopping trips are probably hampering my ability to ever have children one day but...a girl needs her half-priced Gouda) feverishly waiting for the walking man to light up so I could cross to the subway stop and get on the hipster train home. Impatience got the better of me and I decided to f!@k the man, the walking man, and bait death by sprinting to the other side of 3rd Avenue. But as I made for my wholly unnecessary getaway I was almost side swiped by a car. (There's a lesson in here somewhere, make peace with waiting especially if you've done heavy grocery shopping). As I spun back to the sidewalk I wound up by a like-minded gentleman who was cursing the drivers: another fellow warrior in the unspoken war between pedestrians and drivers that plays itself out every day in every big City everywhere. We got to talking, in that small talk kind of way one does with a total stranger after a near death experience and it turns out that he was a psychic. Suddenly, like Dustin Hoffman's character in 'Rain Man' "1214, 1214 Matchsticks" he began autistic-like asking me questions one of which was "Do you write?", "Do you write?" to which I mumbled "sometimes" (by which I mean I update my status on Facebook regularly and then he spat out that "I should write" because he was picking up a psychic read from me that I could be very successful at it). I am not so sure that's true and I was raised to believe psychics are hokum peddlers so I will keep my dreams of being signed to Random House at bay but...it seemed like a good enough reason as any to put words to screen once more and open my slambook to the occasionally curious passerby(s). Plus, it's a new year and I made it to the other side.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-4688076632745441992009-09-20T18:58:00.000-07:002009-09-20T20:03:09.367-07:00My America<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8tWYCHwKGRclpR8Y2fI0pU9QDPg3BiHm-22LiH0uzDCct4i6o0ERgVHPQxu4UdIUU7UxZ_tvYlzNNu_28jnanwaleGifY-h6tvVEnBIIClsYNpvpJUkSxxbCT6dw63LazXFq2w/s1600-h/vol.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8tWYCHwKGRclpR8Y2fI0pU9QDPg3BiHm-22LiH0uzDCct4i6o0ERgVHPQxu4UdIUU7UxZ_tvYlzNNu_28jnanwaleGifY-h6tvVEnBIIClsYNpvpJUkSxxbCT6dw63LazXFq2w/s400/vol.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383738165774585666" /></a><br /><br /><br />I started volunteering recently for a number of reasons, mostly selfish which is funny considering that volunteering is supposed to be about devoting oneself to the service of another but, I think, in my case, perhaps, it's really in the service of myself. I am doing it in part because I tend to complain bitterly and without impunity about the state of things. If I had any money at all, I suppose I would give it away but, instead, I just have time so I am putting in my hours. I figure for each complaint and/or liberal rant I need to do a few hours changing the world albeit in a hyper-local rather small and personal way which, you quickly come to realize, is the way most us can really affect any kind of change unless you are an RFK or MLKjr or a Cindy Sheehan. The bottom line: I got sick of online activism because I think it might be the ultimate coward's way out. How many Move On petitions can you sign in a lifetime? <br /><br />At any rate, it's been interesting, illuminating, and, yes, heartening thus far. This weekend was my favorite: I read to kids in a homeless shelter which makes it sound very dramatic and very bleeding heart indeed, but it was all pretty normal. No "Gangsta's Paradise" scenario more like working in a regular (read: middle to upper middle class, white) daycare. The kids were dropped off in the playroom/daycare and the volunteers,us - meaning me, were there to greet them and facilitate the day. We got introduced, it was a little awkward at first, what with them meeting us and us meeting them and what with us being adults and with them being kids. But eventually it dissipated and the usual kid/adult cha-cha-cha began. You know the one, right? When you realize that all children are basically anarchists and you, as an adult are policemen, jailer and lawyer? Basically, their thin blue line. After our introductions were made and we had gotten a little more familiar we walked them over to the library and read to them and then we took them to the park. The kids were cute, man, were they cute and well-behaved and, in spite, of all the treacherous shit they must see (or maybe not - who knows? Povery, in this case homelessness, doesn't mean bad parenting necessarily, does it? Maybe, somewhere along the line, I bought into the notion that wealth, or cul-de-sacs means more love but that's hogwash. Just look around you)... <br /><br />I was surprised or I have been in doing the volunteering by<br /><br /> a) It's amazing how many people come out and give up their time and do something for others no matter how selfish or not the intent is (see the above i.e. "is there anything such as true altruism? Or is it all an extension of the ego and, perhaps, even more so because it is cloaked in righteousness?").<br /><br />and<br /><br />b) I have been doing this for a few weeks with a secular volunteer organization that works with non-profits in the City and, so far, many of the things I have done have been, in large part, organized by churches which has been interesting to realize. I hang out with a Godless crowd - folks smart enough to think they know better than to need religion with all its false and manipulative comforts and,quite honestly, I feel that way about it too. Truth is, I don't feel "him" and never will. I was born, basically, an atheist with a dash of agnostic throw in for humility's sake. Still, I am just not willing to summarily write organized religion off as all hideously evil. I have a few friends whose hatred for religion is so deep they cannot see or bear to see any of its good points. The abolitionists were deeply religious and henceforth, in this country, almost every civil rights movement started in the pews. I suppose it helps to have God, even if he's fictional, on your side when you are going up against the Goliaths especially if they are violent, chagrined bigots or, even worse, state sanctioned law. <br /><br />At any rate, I am getting off on a tangent, per usual, but my essential point is that the good works element of the Churh is alive and well (along with all the heinous nasty shit they do too) which has, for a secularist like me, been interesting and humbling to witness especially since I tend to write off anyone who proclaims themselves a Christian to be...a loon. These past few weeks have taught me that those loons often take care of many of the neediest in this society for better or for worse (this is probably a by-product of the hostility towards government that exists... People are suspicious if not downright angry about the state caring for its citizens but less so about Jesus doing so). <br /><br />I am just glad someone cares be it an unemployed ad men (who I met recently), a lifelong parishioner, or an Upper West Side denizen even if the "giving back" is more often for the giver than the recipient.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-2738373426430211422009-09-07T06:32:00.000-07:002009-09-07T06:58:58.504-07:00Status Anxiety<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHZvBeskA-6OG3sfL86iUxF4NwbFkev_7WR54sQ6JoJvIRU140AQMxVqJdKHMr1VfDidRvyvoxbiiLfdGzCjE2eQAnRctCK7xgn7ABZnIpyPoUgj7ydJ5az6Jvh8RVNErMJkQhQ/s1600-h/House_of_Mirth_3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHZvBeskA-6OG3sfL86iUxF4NwbFkev_7WR54sQ6JoJvIRU140AQMxVqJdKHMr1VfDidRvyvoxbiiLfdGzCjE2eQAnRctCK7xgn7ABZnIpyPoUgj7ydJ5az6Jvh8RVNErMJkQhQ/s400/House_of_Mirth_3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378718456670638514" /></a><br /><br /><br />It's been a rough Summer. Spring was just a preview. I think there are a few reasons for this and one is, of course, that I am getting older. And, I find myself struggling with the image of my life or what I thought it would be, versus the reality of my life. Perhaps, this comes from being a part of a generation that was told to do whatever made me "happy"...? Post-boomers, we must be one of the first generations in history who live in pursuit of this ephemeral notion. At the same time we are pursuing whatever makes us "happy" is that it is becoming harder and harder to get by (I am talking facts and figure - middle-class bill paying type of thing). I don't think this makes me a Molotov-throwing class warrior or whiner for pointing this out.<br /><br />And, to that end, I could not help but be dismayed at the tenor of political discourse this summer. It was easy to hope or think (or maybe fool oneself) into thinking when Obama got elected, that there would be a return to seriousness. The forces of right-wing derangement that were unleashed and danced on the national stage during the Bush years would have been beaten back and retreated into the shadows for at least a year or two to plot their next single-issue voter campaigns for the next elections. But, no. We've had to endure a season of red-faced screaming over health care which, to me, is obviously just an excuse to rage over the shifting racial demographics and the tenuous grasp on power whites hold in this country in the foreseeable future. Less fear of death panels and more fear of a black planet. <br /><br />But, now the Fall is coming and oddly enough or not, I see it more as a time for renewal than summer. I am sensing rebirth here even as the leaves begin to crack and turn dry. Obama addresses Congress on Weds and I am hopeful that he is going to fight in the spirit of Teddy Kennedy's legacy of noblesse oblige. The only <strong><em>truly </em></strong>civil society is one that takes care of its weakest members. Personally, I am girding my loins too to be brave and hopeful and disciplined in my own life. To continue, I suppose, to pursue that always allusive, sometime happiness and to remember to recognize what a privilige it is to be able to do so.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-81545935847326241902009-04-30T14:42:00.001-07:002009-04-30T14:47:06.169-07:00Eternal Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEUlvvwXU3-OJ0e8-sXT-rafzpxO4B8BCuBz7VMz_l-ZeSdF5_kkqdWsRApMs9FxHMq5XzuucUd4eTEEvqFrGMyHNWZOCC0tyjYA12C9_81Jecm3fUu7g8tlNI20YTFt9WZYR2Q/s1600-h/Spring+in+new+york+5.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEUlvvwXU3-OJ0e8-sXT-rafzpxO4B8BCuBz7VMz_l-ZeSdF5_kkqdWsRApMs9FxHMq5XzuucUd4eTEEvqFrGMyHNWZOCC0tyjYA12C9_81Jecm3fUu7g8tlNI20YTFt9WZYR2Q/s400/Spring+in+new+york+5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330603402958530690" /></a><br /> Last weekend, New York was treated to a premature summer. Such a dramatic burst of heat (and dry heat, mind you, not humid, like it’d been imported from the California desert or something with just enough faint Santa Ana-like winds for it to feel haunting) that before you knew it the City was in full-summer sensuality mode. Walking around the streets, you couldn’t help but be struck by the endless carnival of human beauty: one gorgeous, expertly-coiffed, fat-free, cocoa-buttered person after another strolling by seemingly unencumbered by anything but the care of their own good looks. It was hard not to stare, it was hard not to feel like some kind of combination of troll and vampire, it was hard not to feel titillated and not worthy at the same time, it was hard not to feel pained somehow by the beauty as far as the squinting eye could see, it was hard not to enjoy it but feel hollow in the too early summer sun as part of you wished you still had a parka to hide all your failures and dashed expectations under. <br /> <br />Everyone talks about winter being the difficult season but after this weekend that gave me pause, maybe its spring. It dawned on me that to be faced with another renaissance, another renewal, another rebirth was to be confronted with the realization that your springs are not eternal (to embrace a cliché), and that difficult recognition unleashes an exquisite panic. You know the one, right? It’s the “life is passing me by”/ “What is this existence, this life thing?” anxiety. Or as Diana Ross, the ultimate Supreme, sang to herself in Mahogany “Do you know where you’re going to, do you like the things that life is showing you, where are you going to, do you know?” Skin barred, sun blazing, green buds sprouting, winter weather long gone and the natural obstacle of cold weather no longer a factor in the daily struggle, the answer seemed to be “FUCK NO”! <br /><br />The weather in the City has returned to its normal 60-degree type spring fare. Summer has been temporarily staved off and jackets and boots are back on but we all know that it won’t be long till the halter tops are de-rigueur and the Greek Gods come out from under their sweaters to parade the streets with us mortals. The smallness of my life will, no doubt, be all too readily illuminated by the summer sun but by then the humidity will have kicked in and we’ll all be sweating - a reminder that perfection, like spring, is hardly eternal and as Shakespeare might have said, sweating his balls off on the streets of Manhattan under thousands of heat blowing air-conditioners “conscience doth make cowards of us all.” Conscience might not but spring in New York certainly does.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-30307144744105468762009-04-05T08:46:00.000-07:002009-04-05T09:16:23.536-07:00Diminished Returns<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcY10RUku1qglLh5QwywsVPeGYYXMKm2OlnblrzOiuht_0i7hz4A3fHHullZFY2VXbYHfiNreqrN2LwDxVWg6RADxZR2s1AfbqEyjCKgz1zwO6voJKWRji26V4_cPPZ5lDKG-bzA/s1600-h/wall_street_crash_1929.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcY10RUku1qglLh5QwywsVPeGYYXMKm2OlnblrzOiuht_0i7hz4A3fHHullZFY2VXbYHfiNreqrN2LwDxVWg6RADxZR2s1AfbqEyjCKgz1zwO6voJKWRji26V4_cPPZ5lDKG-bzA/s400/wall_street_crash_1929.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321234584280324402" /></a><br /><br />In the months since I last posted (months, I tell ya, months) the American financial system has undergone the equivalent of a heart transplant. I happen to live in the place where its undergone surgery. In other words, I live in the rotten heart -- New York City. It's been a strange few months, to say the least. On the one hand, 2009 started out with this kind-of glorious optimism: the end of 8 years of unimaginable Bush era malaise, mendacity and mediocrity and the beginning of the Obama years. His inaguration day seemed like something out of a fiction, a mixture of extreme promise and hopefulness and sheer relief: it felt like the war had ended and all that was missing was a ticker-tape parade and a sailor kissing a girl on a corner. <br /><br />Well, the fiction has ended now and the reality has set in and we have to trudge, slog, or as Churchill said, "muddle through" what everyone is calling "the new hard times". I am part of a generation that is not the "muddle through" kind. Again, I know I speak to a particular class and, to an extent, race. Most of my friends were not born in extreme poverty, the kind that has to muddle through no matter what returns their parents are getting on their 401k's because their parents never had them to begin with. <br /><br />I am fortunate enough to have a day job right now which I am grateful for while at the same time resenting which is an odd juxtaposition. I have an ego and ambition, I imagine for myself a fully creative life one day that is not subject to performing administrative duties for others, for pay. But, all around me I have friends who are unemployed, getting laid off, borrowing money from parents and now they are forced to wait. All the while, we tell ourselves and each other that this is only temporary, because deep down despite our cultivated disaffectation, we feverishly believe or hope that the American Dream, as it were, is just laying dormant right now, and that, we too, will be rewarded for working hard, if and when the chance to do so comes back.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-36055425226468656692008-11-23T21:53:00.001-08:002008-11-23T22:37:45.787-08:00On Loving not Hating New York.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqNrE7pIZQhiaBkQR4ArZe5MMxu4McbFZgb9fDnSWSiY-qb4EuPoPKCNl6i3LVpXcctb__EuPjImwKu-QaFZxOheWkmYRbmOl7D2VPJyzgO4HQuST1rAbyaY2zJ2tIrrHpRcN6A/s1600-h/Stieglitz_33_01.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqNrE7pIZQhiaBkQR4ArZe5MMxu4McbFZgb9fDnSWSiY-qb4EuPoPKCNl6i3LVpXcctb__EuPjImwKu-QaFZxOheWkmYRbmOl7D2VPJyzgO4HQuST1rAbyaY2zJ2tIrrHpRcN6A/s400/Stieglitz_33_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272107265457287394" /></a><br />Living in New York can be like a badge of honor for some: an occupation almost. As if in response to the question "what do you do?" (always a favorite of mine because it comes with a lot of qualifiers: "I'm an actress,er, with a day-job but, no an artist, and no I don't always get paid for it, and, and, and...blech") they can answer "I live in New York". Being a resident of this City is a job, never mind the actual job. I often describe living here as Darwinian which I don't think is original or a stretch to say by any means though recently in describing it as such I did elicit a quizzical look from someone (who lives in L.A. - go figure). After you've been here a while you realize that, for better or worse, much of the rest of the world disappears into a hazy fog of "out there". I don't particularly care for the all-consuming tunnel vision that comes from living here but unless you are wealthy and have a country house or thousands of frequent flier miles the rest of the world becomes something you visit after a 4 hour Greyhound bus ride.<br /><br />I would say that I have more of a love affair with this City than a love/hate relationship with it (though I do have days when I am felled by the daily challenges: waiting for the subway which is rapidly, almost shockingly, decaying with every passing year, tromping to and fro for even the most basic of middle class amenities, groceries, laundry, and don't even THINK about a car). Though I didn't grow up in the American suburbs my parents eventually did retire there. I am always shocked at how, well, contained life is in their development. How little contact there is with, well, the outside world funnily enough. My parents can go for days, if they so choose, just seeing each other and the good people who work at the Food Lion. They are older and spent 40 years traveling around the world (my Father was in the foreign service and his first post was Senegal and his last was Switzerland and in-between there were stints in Paris, and Rio and Hong Kong so these people have, you know, lived and seen a lot of shit and met a lot of people both paupers and princes)... which is to say that this is by no means a judgment call, at all.<br /><br />Still it is, I suppose a comparison. <br /><br />What I think I love about New York in contrast, to say, the cul-de-sac in which my parents are living out their golden years is the fact that there is no escaping the humanity and, by extension, the humility of being one of many. Butting up against these life stories, this constant throbbing mosaic of urban life, its ugliness, its beauty, its millions of triumphs and bitter disappointments. The fact that you can feel beautiful one minute and with just the opening door of a subway as ten women better dressed, more beautiful, taller - definitely taller- breeze in and sweep past, instantly humbled. For a drama lover there is nothing better than the endless mini-series of human storytelling that is perpetually being played out by 14 million of us against the indifferent steel and chrome, the City.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-50543649564198369542008-10-30T11:15:00.000-07:002008-10-30T11:37:34.901-07:00The Joyless Jazz Age (2000-2008, R.I.P).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLW71Rr4eKuIDxPZq8k5gvJ5E3vjZt-s7KxUi4eCCGnwA7eEpDAUao1KKrO6MqIrwtd7rqJy5msau_oQEm9J8wZvk8sXhi8KtOP7o3xM2ClzMJUeR0VEvMF7BkgR6dEnO63zlig/s1600-h/paris-hilton-vote-or-die.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: undefinedpx; height: undefinedpx;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLW71Rr4eKuIDxPZq8k5gvJ5E3vjZt-s7KxUi4eCCGnwA7eEpDAUao1KKrO6MqIrwtd7rqJy5msau_oQEm9J8wZvk8sXhi8KtOP7o3xM2ClzMJUeR0VEvMF7BkgR6dEnO63zlig/s400/paris-hilton-vote-or-die.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263015641588957218" /></a><br /><br /><br />It was characteristic of the Jazz Age that it had no interest in politics at all.<br /><br />--F. Scott Fitzgerald, from Echoes Of The Jazz Age (Nov. 1931)<br /><br />Well, here we are less than five days away from a major political realignment. The nightmare of the Bush years and the dreams of a 50-year Republican majority might meet their final resting place next Tuesday. Barring the capture of Bin Laden by John McCain, nay, Todd Palin in the rocky border between Afghanistan and Pakistan and a 2000-point rise in the Dow, I am going to go out on a limb and say we are about to witness a massive regime change.<br /><br />Even if Obama turns out to be some magical combination of Lincoln, FDR and Clinton, I still think we are in for a rough ride here in this United, divided, States. The past 8 years have been horrifying and the ugly lights are coming on after a long night of very tawdry, destructive, partying. In the morning we will awake to a legacy of illegal war, torture and a seemingly insurmountable avalanche of debt. I am just regurgitating the cliché that this really is a “perfect storm”. Just when the government needs to follow the Keynesian model of “pumping the well” there is no, uh, you know, liquid left to do so.<br /><br />Also, I am curious to see how a nation whose culture is so bound to consumerism does when identity cannot be bought with a credit card. People are tribal and I have long argued that part of our democratic pluralism has been bound to our ability to distract and buy (I think this comes with the death of religion, maybe?). This is not earth shattering analysis here but I fear we could witness some massive civilian violence. <br /><br />Or not. <br /><br /> Perhaps, the culture is going to experience the kind of contraction that many of us felt was and is needed. By contraction, I think I mean the end of, what I called, “The Joyless Jazz age”. The years when “Sex and The City” became a major cultural touchstone and Paris Hilton, for better or worse, was so dominant a cultural force that love her or hate her you couldn’t ignore her. The years when, despite a war that was draining our resources the only people truly appalled enough to do anything radical about it were over the age of forty: a mother named Cindy Sheehan and some upper West Side Grandmothers, Code Pink. The years when three hundred channels of cable spewed “To Catch a Predator” and “Cribs”, “The Hills” and “The Swan”, “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition”, and “The Biggest Loser”, “American Idol” and “The Littlest Groom”.<br /><br />The Joyless Jazz Age is over and not a moment too soon. Let’s pray (as only a secularists can) that its replacement is not nearly as gruesome.<br /><br />I’m hopeful but I might be giving away my television and buying a shotgun just in case…j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-31583518216809629632008-08-10T08:42:00.000-07:002008-08-10T11:15:12.064-07:00American Pyscho (or what would Susan Sontag think?)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlp4RCmZsWS-Gtovp_SnSfacBMmgJCS-7CVkM47qyy3EJ1CeSX-9kL3VnO3K73sWtRykJOb1WmyKVeznapAlOi5Gh5TI0ZFGlkN8xnEREhbRfToKo3hxqpzInUcE3e0RhRwMi6cA/s1600-h/mojo-photo-darkknightcheney.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlp4RCmZsWS-Gtovp_SnSfacBMmgJCS-7CVkM47qyy3EJ1CeSX-9kL3VnO3K73sWtRykJOb1WmyKVeznapAlOi5Gh5TI0ZFGlkN8xnEREhbRfToKo3hxqpzInUcE3e0RhRwMi6cA/s400/mojo-photo-darkknightcheney.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232942492843663778" /></a><br /><a href="dick cheny"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="dick cheny" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Not one to miss out on the cultural zeitgeist (if there is such a thing anymore) I went a few weeks ago one hot summer afternoon to see Batman, oh I'm sorry "The Dark Knight". It's always a relief to escape into a Dionysian-like stadium of air-conditioning and Laz-ee boy seats in the summer to watch a major motion picture and "Knight" certainly qualifies. It's been hard to escape the media blitz surrounding this film in large part because of the infotainment media (and, the public's?) ghoulish fascination with the death of Heath Ledger. The semi-glee with which entertainment reporters asked the cast members of this movie about "Heath" (a true testament of super fame is when you just become one word, "Madonna", "Jesus", "Nike", "Brangelina", "Heath") was discomfiting at best. One couldn't help but wonder if James Dean had it right all along? I thought of him and his motto of live fast, die young, leave behind a beautiful corpse every time I saw yet another poster of the Jihadi Joker staring out from the side of a building.<br /><br />The film is all it promises to be: a dark, rollicking, action packed, thrill-a-minute ride but I couldn't help but find it a nasty piece of work. I agree with cultural theorists who say that no art is ever made in a vacuum (and if it is, it's usually pretty awful) and this picture, in particular, seems to feed on the queasy paranoia and fears of this surreal era. In some ways, it's a perfect parable of the Bush years but I found it hard to tell if the filmmaker wanted me to root or hiss for Batman. Still for better or worse, the anti-hero is still a hero. So our hero is Bruce Wayne, a billionaire vigilante willing to go to questionable lengths to keep the citizens of Gotham safe. The storyline infers that he has to because the government, the justice department and the local police force are too corrupt and incompetent to do the job. Even the new hotshot D.A, Harvey Dent, with his Spitzer and RFK-like intensity is no match-up for the sheer dementia of the Jihadi Joker. There are refrains of Dick Cheney's "you gotta go to the dark side" because the rule of law is a thing of the past, monsters have to be dealt with accordingly and to deal with one, you must become one in this cinematic fairy tale. Plus the scenes of catastrophe that thuddingly unfold one after another is this film and the mangled response of the police in particular hits a little too close to home. The view of government as essentially useless should be disturbingly familiar as it's been the prevailing philosophy of our ruling party. There were moments, in the film that I couldn't help but think of Naomi Klein's book "The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism". Granted, this particular billionaire, Bruce Wayne's private security apparatus is altruistic in nature (he's out to protect the innocent and his hot ex-girlfriend) unlike the super rich that Klein describes in her book who pay for services that they think will keep them safe, everyone else be damned.<br /><br />The flipside of this is that "Batman", err, Mike Bloomberg, no sorry, um, Bruce Wayne aka the Dark Knight is not bound to follow any rules or any laws, for that matter. He can go to a foreign country and abduct escaped criminals (remember when the CIA went to Italy and threw "the bad guys" into blacked out vans and they were transported to secret prisons?). In this case, our man, Batman, flies into Hong Kong under cover of night to get a ruthless accountant who is, of course, Chinese! I love that bit of casting which feeds into our western paranoia that the Chinese are taking all our money and have no morals or ethics. Movie villains are nothing if not a reflection of a culture's xenophobia. As the movie climaxes and the Jihadi Joker constructs greater and greater theater of destruction our hero is forced to take action and use his superior technology to spy on all 31 million of Gotham's citizens. Even this action disturbs his moral conscience, a trusted adviser played by one Morgan Freeman. Poor Morgan Freeman, ever since the Shawshank Redemption he has been doomed to play a thin facsimile of Nelson Mandela in almost every movie he has been cast in i.e. a black Saint with no real purpose other than to be a foil for the white guy's tolerance and goodness. (He must be a hero since he's got Morgan Freeman on his side!). Ultimately, Batman's invasion of people's privacy does have its consequences and Nelson Mandela resigns but it also has its rewards: it leads Batman to the Joker. The lesson here: spying might be questionable, kids, but in times like these, clock ticking, it's also a necessity. Holy Peepers Batman!<br /><br />After two and a half, admittedly, expertly paced hours of sociopathic, sadistic scenes of destruction, I had, had enough. I can appreciate the skill of the filmmaking and some of performances and, yes, I am talking mainly about Heather Ledger who actually infuses his character with deeply grounded pathos - think Commedia delle Arte meets method - but utterly believable! You know: acting. Unlike Christian Bale, who plays it so by the book, gravelly voice (check), stiff upper chest (check), faraway stares (check), he comes off as utterly one dimensional which is fine, it's a comic book character. But, he's also a humorless snooze which becomes tiresome after two hours as does watching endless scenes of destruction. I was ready to get out of the Laz-ee boy seats and return to the hot, muggy streets after the Joker blows up a hospital. I know the filmmaker posits that the Joker simply wants to see "the world burn" but it's hard to watch this blockbuster if you actually read and consume news regularly: the world is burning. Lastly, for years, I have been regularly forced to hear Western neo-cons whinge on endlessly about the jihadi "worship of death" but as I watched "the Dark Knight" I had to wonder if, we really have any right to lecture anyone about civilization and democracy when this is the entertainment we eagerly make, celebrate and consume.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-19770868362703195272008-06-27T06:48:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:04.481-08:00Things On My Mind.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiav7RWcfGeg500S3RlDscTeCzETGIolsu4pV9sA2bhzHAIRIJj5-ockZOfwcl9x6U7SEwVyXglHOpzJwB6Y8VS9LOnEd9Bq9IdZI9NCBozOqFr1IIJcc8yDFcuNDVJdZL6vnE9pw/s1600-h/42427651.SanFranciscoCARodinsThinke.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiav7RWcfGeg500S3RlDscTeCzETGIolsu4pV9sA2bhzHAIRIJj5-ockZOfwcl9x6U7SEwVyXglHOpzJwB6Y8VS9LOnEd9Bq9IdZI9NCBozOqFr1IIJcc8yDFcuNDVJdZL6vnE9pw/s400/42427651.SanFranciscoCARodinsThinke.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216558165747671826" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A random, somewhat disparate, collection of t'ings I been t'inkin' about.<br /><br />In no particular order...<br /><br /><strong>Zimbabwe: </strong>Wow. I've been listening to a lot of news stories about this (the scary side effect of streaming NPR all day at an office job). But, seriously, it's like "The Last King of Scotland" all over again only this time, lets substitute Mugabe for Idi Amin. You forget how precious it is to be able to vote without getting petrol fuel poured on you because you dare to support the opposition. Our democracy is fragile (and it's been beaten to shit over the past 8 years) but we face none of the terror (yes, terror) that these people are facing right now. Beware the strong man of Africa... the nasty, lingering effects of colonialsim? Maybe.<br /><br /><strong>The Gun Ban-Ban or the 2nd Amendment ruling or Why our Supreme Court can kiss my M@#tha-f!#@$g ass:</strong> Any hardened Hillary Clinton supporter need only take one look at this decision and consider John McCain's statement that he wants a court full of Roberts and Scalias and Thomases. This decision is a nightmare. The idea that the framers wanted every American to have a Glock in their home is lunacy. We have a standing army and no one's trying to overthrow the King. The constitution's genius is that it's malleable and the notion that our laws should ahere more to the realities of 1776 than 2008 is, in a word, assinine. <br /><br /><strong><em>Wanted</em></strong>: The new Angelina Jolie movie. God, it looks awful but I love James McAvoy so much (yet another "Last King of Scotland" reference). Word is that it's despicably violent which I find curious given Ms. Jolie's reputation as a global humanitarian....I guess I find it odd that someone so concerned about the plight of refugees (usually fleeing their country because someone is out to the kill them and their entire family) would then turn and make a film that gratituitiously gorges itself on violence. Not to get too Tipper Gore circa 1987 on your ass, I do believe there is a correleation between what we are seeing and what we are doing... Count me among the moral majority. Hmmm, is this just an uneasy combo of art and activism?<br /><br /><strong>Gallery Hopping in Chelsea:</strong> I am. Tomorrow. Going gallery-hopping. Taking my <em>New Yorker</em> and doing the art walk. I will report on the state of contemporary art on Monday. I am mildly hopeful.<br /><br /><strong>Adventure:</strong> I am dying for it. I am in-between shows and this is never a good thing because then I have time to think (hence Rodin's penseur) and the wanderlust really creeps in. Not creeps so much as slaps me against the face and, like a devil, takes over my body, exorcism-style. I long for bigger and better things, dramatic, novel-like adventures like being a war correspondant or working for "Doctors without Borders" or, closer to home, engaging in, for me, debauchorous, unhealthy, behavior... In short, I become petulant and teenage.<br /><br />Pity the individual with a romantic sensibility (I do).j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-65334746254284067562008-06-09T15:14:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:04.647-08:00Staples makes me sad.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQS7zCZGn0Wr5PrlAjAyAFEzEjO_r6zrYnoXDgHSTKbdbkAYuzDU1BpfVAUP9JtQ2yTki183tcT-vV1LFrUODJsOMp8M64XP2-O7cDIc8XdoY-6Tt4PwSJiB-NW3wSWfSdM7_Epg/s1600-h/staples2.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQS7zCZGn0Wr5PrlAjAyAFEzEjO_r6zrYnoXDgHSTKbdbkAYuzDU1BpfVAUP9JtQ2yTki183tcT-vV1LFrUODJsOMp8M64XP2-O7cDIc8XdoY-6Tt4PwSJiB-NW3wSWfSdM7_Epg/s400/staples2.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210008976030432610" /></a><br /><br />I couldn't tell you why but I have had this odd prediliction since I was a child. A strange sensitivity almost or maybe I am just trying to dress up my affection for being maudlin or my fondness for being blue. <br /><br />Shopping in Staples makes me sad. <br /><br />Sometimes shopping in a Duane Reade brings on a similiar melancholy (I sound like the Edgar Allan Poe of Strip Malls) but for some reason not as bad...maybe the make-up section still makes it seem....fun.<br /><br />Staples though brings home alienation to me and 21st century class structures and makes them manifest. I am almost always shopping there because I've been sent on a duck-duck-goose run for labels for some temp job I'm at. Everyone in there is usually some kind of business person or, rather, the underling of a business person looking mildly annoyed as they search for the "sign here" labels or "toner cartridges" while "Steely Dan" plays overhead. The workers are all in uniform and are usually very nice to whatever asshole they are dealing with. In those moments searching aisle five for "poster-board spray adhesive" all the Nietchszean-style nihilistic thoughts, all the suspicion of modernity comes flooding in and it's like "<strong><em>this</em></strong>, <strong><em>this </em></strong>is progress"? Maybe, I <strong><em>should</em></strong> move to Oregon, get a bow and arrow, and eat with my hands. <br /><br />But, instead I pick up whatever I've been sent for, get in line, and fully wallow in the utter sadness that is part of the contract you sign when you are brought into this world. <br /><br />Now that wasn't easy.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-67939856431916462172008-06-05T14:28:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:04.799-08:00TRANSFERENCE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihoGCIUm3bj-suyz_l-vE9k5EIo-4GN6B1c-Quns5gDSgWXNRFH3Ip5aw9OzpClSmkE8Wr14NUd7qyDx4DFkp745sMfHKIIEVsL8H5WJEdVk37U7NoTQ3Xi15v2C6x2l6Wbyqcnw/s1600-h/obama1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihoGCIUm3bj-suyz_l-vE9k5EIo-4GN6B1c-Quns5gDSgWXNRFH3Ip5aw9OzpClSmkE8Wr14NUd7qyDx4DFkp745sMfHKIIEVsL8H5WJEdVk37U7NoTQ3Xi15v2C6x2l6Wbyqcnw/s400/obama1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208512841262438002" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Transference<br /><br /><br />I am thrilled that he won the nomination. Obama, of course. <br /><br />Side note: I don’t want my 30 days of continuous blogging to turn into a watery regurgitation of what I’ve heard on NPR. But, in truth, politics is always on my mind to some degree or another. Or maybe it’s not politics but culture, the big picture, what’s happening locally, globally and how are my fellow, human-being-animals reacting to it? Chalk it up to A LOT of history classes in college. I don’t entirely understand people who proudly announce that they’ve got no interest in politics (again, for me, politcs = big picture). To me, this is like proudly announcing that you’ve got no interest in art?! Curiosity is currency and it should extend to all avenues of life, no? Wow. I am in danger of sounding like an Generation X Dear Abby.. But, really, really, isn’t it all so fascinating? All of it, life, culture, people, art, and that includes politics (again politics = BIG PICTURE).<br /><br />We are, of course, in a verrrrry interesting political period here in these United States and the hope (yes, it’s a corny word but for lack of a better word, hope but I use it with a caveat: it’s DESPERATE hope), the desperate hope this primary season has produced is palatable. The desire for, yes, here’s that other word again: change. And, for better or worse, vast numbers of the American populace (and the world apparently judging from the headlines fom the rest of the globe) have rested their hopes firmly upon the sinewy shoulders of one Barack Obama. Who, I note, have noted, and will say again: I love. And yet, ahhh the inevitable “but”, I am mildly weary of the degree to which there seems to be some mass kind of transference happening between him and the people, as it were. The pinning of all of ones’ (here’s that word again) hopes on one person to me seems a little frightening, frankly. . To me, there seems to be a desire of so many of us to see this one person, a man (a human man, it should be noted) Obama to absolve us, the American people, of the sins of the past 8 years. As if his presidency would prove to us, once again, that we are indeed the country of tolerance and openness and reinvention and truth and justice and not the land of Guantanemo, and Katrina and foreclosures and Iraq and Abu-Gahrib and utter indifference to all of the aforementioned.<br /><br />Maybe I should just relish in this moment and in the fact that for now, for this instance in my still relatively young lifetime, I feel that history is not static and that progress is tangible and not just read about in the Chapter on the Sixties in that high school textbook. Maybe I should let my eyes well up with tears every time Obama talks about the “fierce urgency of now” and forget about the pandering speech he just made to AIPAC (just one day after he got the nomination it should be noted) declaring Jerusalem off-limits to the Palestinians. <br /><br />See? Human being in a very corrupt system. I still love him but, deep down, I know that anyone, and I mean anyone, who is about to touch that much power is bound to disappoint. <br /><br />It’s part of a noble tradition.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-3636713976756692992008-06-05T13:33:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:04.887-08:0030 (continuous) Days of Blogging<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYFNg74KvjRWZw-V7jia0vj-sAuIbQ3O-fG5QLMMkYqyTQSG9YPH6rxGrXIS3jiHBwJmdkA-qFwuYYBRMgXwck0JXYiKGpOy6I4M0bg95fmKUkZNDh8OWGVXSgO2E5pgy3qOGGQ/s1600-h/Lady%2520Writing.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYFNg74KvjRWZw-V7jia0vj-sAuIbQ3O-fG5QLMMkYqyTQSG9YPH6rxGrXIS3jiHBwJmdkA-qFwuYYBRMgXwck0JXYiKGpOy6I4M0bg95fmKUkZNDh8OWGVXSgO2E5pgy3qOGGQ/s400/Lady%2520Writing.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208500648290777730" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In an attempt to inject my life with discipline, rigor, and Victorian self-improvement I am committing myself to 30 days of blogging. <br /><br />Who's keeping score? No one! <br /><br />Like Van Gogh painting for an audience that never came (save Theo) the joy will be in the doing. Or not. (Insert tired anecdote here about Vinnie's ear getting cut off though, apparently, it is now in heated dispute whether or not Van Gogh cut off his own hearing device or if Gaugin did it while they were both in the throes of an alchoholic infused night out on the town).<br /><br />I feverishly hope, of course, that someone will stay tuned from now until the middle of July as I record my wry, ever-so-slightly vulnerable observations on living in the surreal life of the 21st Century.<br /><br />Oh dear, what the hell do I have to say that is not on Gawker or the Huffington Post?<br /><br />Stay tuned...j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-72208460635034216442008-03-04T18:38:00.000-08:002008-12-08T22:38:05.198-08:00OBSESSION (It's not just a perfume from the 80's)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRl-wl2pWZ5HvXyTSRBFddFayjTmUtPUfSJ-3_AOs1RRYyL2pQ9MrRQUxY-c9_oWpbw4Iq7q4hM8bZCqsEMYDevow6ciegC32f94GXzf4gPqcTsvDEFEwrqDOKCQn4eYMO-MWiQ/s1600-h/clintobama.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRl-wl2pWZ5HvXyTSRBFddFayjTmUtPUfSJ-3_AOs1RRYyL2pQ9MrRQUxY-c9_oWpbw4Iq7q4hM8bZCqsEMYDevow6ciegC32f94GXzf4gPqcTsvDEFEwrqDOKCQn4eYMO-MWiQ/s400/clintobama.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174083190076930626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSInMMmEYe2rYngoppztCLPC66_sPTxStQ7C4Goc2KUa4hhLkWaSPOaoS3Rr9ZSnHLT0XM1e8GVkkfZj5ZvNDAwf5rN86KjTk6FjyGrnlhAIC0jBWzyjq67sbnMqTFB6OFd3vEfw/s1600-h/wire.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSInMMmEYe2rYngoppztCLPC66_sPTxStQ7C4Goc2KUa4hhLkWaSPOaoS3Rr9ZSnHLT0XM1e8GVkkfZj5ZvNDAwf5rN86KjTk6FjyGrnlhAIC0jBWzyjq67sbnMqTFB6OFd3vEfw/s400/wire.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174082537241901618" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I, am, clearly ambivalent about blogging or just lazy (I cop to both) since I have been seriously deliquent about keeping this updated. Chalk it up to watching too much of "The Wire" which I am, yes, frighteningly obsessed with. I don't care if this makes me the hundredth hipster (and ONLY by virtue of my zip-code) to spout off on how "ammmmaaazzinnnng" the show is. It is. Amazing, that is. Plus, I feel a certain loyalty to any show that centers around the underbelly of America especially if that underbelly is located squarely in the heart of Baltimore, Maryland. (A place I know well: I went to college there, came of age there, fell in love hard for the first time there, and, lastly, was mugged three times, twice by gunpoint, there). Watching it is just a welcome back to Balmore hon'. Baltimore has a lot of charm but the City has been, more or less, ravaged by the loss of its manufacturing centers and what rose up to replace it: a drug trade with customer loyalty and profits that any Captain of Industry would envy. The show is in essence a treatise on moral relativism in an era of decay. David Simon (who I have now read a lot about in truly obsessive/pyschofantic fashion) says he was inspired by the Greek dramatists notion of fate i.e. instead of the Gods failing man it's now institutions (government, school, press) who randomly abandon and thus, destroy it's constituients no matter how good, how promising, how worthy they may be).<br /><br />It's odd to have "The Wire" looming large in the background of my thinking these days. Seriously, I'm obsessed and this has to do as much with the compelling themes, the fantastic writing and the terrific acting. Seeing genuine journeymen actors (none of whom looked botoxed or underfed) chew the dialogue and tear up the storylines with relish is thrilling. At any rate, it's a curious thing to be bouncing back and forth between watching "The Wire" while indulging in my other obsession: the Democratic Primary. There's been a lot of ink spilled about how historic, blah-de-blah, it's all been and it has and it is. And, I will readily admit that my love of Obama seemingly knows no bounds. As Hendrik Hertzberg wrote "he's got Bobby Kennedy's heat and Jack's cool" so what's not to love? All things being relative and knowing that no matter what platitudes these pols spout to get elected most of it will remain just that: a platitude. "Change" is as amorphous as "faith" but I don't care, I'll take false hope over no hope while I can.<br /><br />Nonetheless, there is something jarring about watching "The Wire" with its vivid and stark view of the rotted and decaying American-Every- City and then hear the candidates wax on about America's greatness, our military prowess, our vast potential... For many of us who have lived or are living in these parts of urban America know that there are entire pockets of this country where the violence and poverty rival most third world nations. John Edwards hinted at this but Obama's promise of one America was ultimately more seductive than being reminded that there were two America's. I fell for it too. Maybe I fell for Obama's One America because it makes me feel better about abandoning that other America. I watch the other America on "The Wire" from my apartment in Brooklyn (David Simon calls New York City "a pile of money") - I watch it struggle and gasp from the safe distance of my couch. Then in the morning I turn on NPR in hopes that I might catch a snippet of Obama's speech at some rally to make me feel better about America ( One and Two).j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-58585224616433587342008-01-05T18:11:00.000-08:002008-01-06T09:15:09.869-08:00Female Liberation?2007 was a great year for me in many regards even if I made enough to put me solidly on the poverty line. I did eight shows (count 'em 8 shows) last year and got paid for... one of them! In the process, I met some amazing new people, people that I came to New York to met: actors, and playwrights, and directors, and just general artist/dilletante-types. I ended the year with a kind of faith that, hell yes, I am struggling and I might, like the grasshopper, have nothing for the eventual winter of my life so to speak but nevermind; I am here now and making work and doing it with wickedly talented, sincere, sharp, funny people who are all sacrificing to be creative.<br /><br />2008 has started out with a slight bump and I am about to do something that, honestly, I rarely do on this blog - confess. Believe it or not, I seldom use this as a public journal. But here goes -- I recently had an experience with a guy, who shall heretoforth go unnamed, and it reminded me of why, sometimes, I really despise the prevailing dynamic between (straight) men and women that exists in this particular time and place, especially in this City. Simply put, there seems to be a kind of reversal of any gains that were made during the sexual revolution or during the women's movement. (The latter especially is in tatters. The Onion recently had an article with the headline "Man Put in Charge of Ailing Feminist Movement" and it was the funniest thing in the paper). My example of this is dating in New York which is, in my experience, more like something out of a Jane Austen novel than, say, an episode of "Sex in the City" (a show which to me has about as much to do with my life as a woman in New York as "Gossip Girl"). Maybe this has to do with a 5 to 1 female to male ratio? Plus, as far as I can tell, being single is seen as some sort of major personal failure. I almost dread being asked the question "are you dating anyone?" as much as "what do you do?" Both being pre-cursors of judgement i.e. " are you successful? are you desired? and depending on the answers to those: are you worth getting to know?" <br /><br />My latest experience hooking up and then attempting to have (a) date has not been great and I have sought out and received so much conflicting advice from friends it's made my head spin. The advice, usually, comes in two forms, the most prevelant is: don't make the first move - ever. You have to be pursued, there is a biological, evolutionary, model at work - woe to you if you mess with the hunter-gatherer paradigm of male/female relationships. You must be the Diana of this urban-myth so run and he will chase; if he doesn't chase then, yes, he's "just not that into you" (this turns out to, generally, be my experience). The other advice is, of course, the direct opposite and goes something like: "be aggressive, take control, it's sexy." <br /><br />Armed with this information, the dance begins and is usually a tiresome series of emails that reveal, once again, that all relationships boil down to a power-play. I hate this. I find it annoying and incredibly, yes, tiresome. I loathe the inherent inequality - the game of figuring who holds the cards. I don't know why I would expect anything else though since we are just taking the model of what we've grown up with and feeding it into our own lives. Equality especially in personal relationships takes a lot of communication and a lot of honesty and, sadly, I find most guys especially most American guys just do not have enough genuine curiousity about another person for this to happen. I am shocked at how conversations usually develop between men and women - the woman asks questions all night, listens and then comments appreciatevely at the answers she hears from the man. As far as I can tell the "healthiest" most functional relationships I see are very often same-sex. I wonder if this is because by already subverting the expected cultural-norm/model it frees two people up to engage on a more level playing field as equals from the get-go? Am I generalizing? Probably. Is some of what I've just written bullshit? Absolutely. Is some of it true? Without a doubt.<br /><br />I don't know where I am going with this and I am fearful that this is quickly turning into one quasi-academic, half-bakked theory on relationships or, in my case, the lack therof.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-9332576942912145662007-12-28T08:38:00.000-08:002008-12-08T22:38:05.363-08:00Pakistan on my Mind.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfPP9OCE8V_DDvOCNcEOwqk36LX7q0irs80OgFFK7AF8Q2Bj5sMaYTdbdLTSxZL6PTIouNpuVMfy_aQ7kLhy_qLyy7EiKgU8NDToPplNLmUzIgpjf76X4f0tp9TX1pzPo-VbYig/s1600-h/bhutto%2520benazir.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfPP9OCE8V_DDvOCNcEOwqk36LX7q0irs80OgFFK7AF8Q2Bj5sMaYTdbdLTSxZL6PTIouNpuVMfy_aQ7kLhy_qLyy7EiKgU8NDToPplNLmUzIgpjf76X4f0tp9TX1pzPo-VbYig/s400/bhutto%2520benazir.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149064843681513682" /></a><br /><br /><br />I found out that Benazir Bhutto had been assisinated in, of all places, the elevator. The news flashed on one of those "captivision" televisions that are de-riguer in most high-end office buildings. I mean, god forbid, we just be in an elevator sans stimuli. I gasped and I am still gasping at the news and the photographs of (even more) turmoil that have been unleashed in that part of the world. I read about it all day yesterday, her life as the offspring of a powerful and aristocratic Kennedy-esque (by way of Pakistan) family. The streak of tragedy and corruption that ran through her life. She sounded supremely flawed, like all leaders, and, of course, terrifyingly brave almost like a character out of a novel. I read that her minders didn't want her to go into the crowd and expose herself but she was apparently unfazed and bullheaded about addressing her supporters in the flesh, so to speak. It never ceases to amaze me how almost all human beings are capable of such extreme acts of courage and cowardice. <br /><br />Of course, the U.S. news is focused on how all of this will affect the "Global War on Terror". I really wish that phrase would stop being printed and repeated. It's so laughably Orwellian and utterly meaningless; an advertising slogan not a policy and printing it gives it credibility. At any rate, I did remind me how, by comparison, life here seems so, well, placid. The past (nearly) eight years of governance have been so awful and the response, by and large, has been so utterly tepid, defeated almost. I am not, by any means, suggesting that turmoil is a sign of a healthy civic life but our culture seems like it's at the almost opposite end of the extreme. I sometimes look around at my peers, my friends, and, well, myself and am reminded of that frog in boiling water metaphor/analogy i.e. put the frogs in cold water and they won't jump out, slowly boil the water and the frogs won't realize that anything is wrong until they are floating on top i.e there will be no trouble closing the lid. <br /><br />Well, that's dark...maybe too dark and it is an election year afterall. And, perhaps, the extreme cultural/political amnesia we've experienced these past eight years will begin to wear off and the great American mass will realize that if they don't act now, events like the ones happenning in Pakistan - corruption, military rule, quasi-dictatorship, phony elections, politics for keeps - will become a daily reality here too.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-38096865788114755032007-11-22T12:02:00.000-08:002007-11-23T08:53:28.260-08:00Home"Home" I am vaguely obsessed with the concept, now that we've started asking questions about what that is, or what that means to people and, interestingly, how many times when the question is asked how torn or unsure most reponses are. And, to that end, I took the Greyhound Bus (to me an American icon of a bygone era). I get on it and immeadiately start thinking of that Simon and Garfunkel song that has that refrain "Kathy I said as we boarded the greyhound in Pittsburgh, I'm empty and aching and I don't know why, it took me four days to hitchhike to Saganau, I've come to look for A...MMMM...EEEE...RRRR....IIII....CCCC....AAAA".. And, the Port Authority is quite an experience the day before the most travelled holiday of the year, Thanksgiving. I had the offensive thought as I joined the many feets-long line and began the process of waiting to get on a seriously overbooked bus that I knew how it felt to be one of those poor and huddled masses at Ellis island minus, you know, the stakes of a new life and the hope and terror the new arrivals must have felt. The only thing I feel as I stand in the line is something approximating severe irritation.<br /><br />Finally, we board over an hour past the time that was scheduled. I wonder if somewhere President Bush is clutching his forehead over the bus delays like he did over flight delays but I doubt it, the bus is, mainly, the refuge of the poor - real Americans own cars or take planes.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-3776756413518486302007-09-11T10:24:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:05.578-08:00The Music Industry<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6x8smOCrte9afFyhdjjKCNWFSlzXlaRyCMeCk8dwoCBgXmAP1YYQzX8XvP9pWqOw4rhUJceiHO0FJsnFFoYCu3nSMlsRxbDpU2zHBa-IQo-RUbdK_bqcXz4fX2bnqsEljvD2fTA/s1600-h/cash_johnny_essential.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6x8smOCrte9afFyhdjjKCNWFSlzXlaRyCMeCk8dwoCBgXmAP1YYQzX8XvP9pWqOw4rhUJceiHO0FJsnFFoYCu3nSMlsRxbDpU2zHBa-IQo-RUbdK_bqcXz4fX2bnqsEljvD2fTA/s400/cash_johnny_essential.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108999168374226818" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Would this man have stood a chance of getting his videos played on MTV (if he were just starting out and not a bona-fide legend being produced by Trent Reznor)???<br /><br />Just wondering...j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-59883508583553638482007-09-06T13:37:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:05.859-08:00Wander LustOoooh, I'm in love with travelling again but I was never out of love with travelling but I am often out-of-pocket which is a discreet way of saying: I'm a pauper and travelling is for rich folk or very crafty aid-workers or diplomat types. I grew up travelling so it's in the blood, kid. But, then again, who doesn't have the yen to blow this Taco Stand for places unfamiliar (though, uh, I've mainly been to Western Europe lately so that hardly qualifies as "exotic" or "foreign" even). <br /><br />I've promised myself that the next trip I pay for (and, luckily, eventhough I've travelled a decent amount these past few years they've mainly been for theater gigs which means: <strong>me no pay</strong>) Besides, I want to get out of the Western Europe travel vortex. I'm talking whole other continents, people! And to that end, I am putting it in print and on the web in order to make it, somehow, more real and to make myself accountable to my own travel...lust(!).<br /><br /><strong><br />And so, in no particular order, the top 3:</strong><br /><br /><strong>Vietnam and Cambodia (Does that count as 2?)</strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9ddWu48L6UWJLZsHlCWXb_8566HKlavGrawxpdauMEsx8F11ZXyxu4YE-zSr5q5aG8fOEIOpEJrkumfg1ZfBfeDev7eeCN3cuEAcM30EPu0-1WB0gfbFaHuOdFraTrFwqD3aYQ/s1600-h/vietnam_and_cambodia_055.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9ddWu48L6UWJLZsHlCWXb_8566HKlavGrawxpdauMEsx8F11ZXyxu4YE-zSr5q5aG8fOEIOpEJrkumfg1ZfBfeDev7eeCN3cuEAcM30EPu0-1WB0gfbFaHuOdFraTrFwqD3aYQ/s400/vietnam_and_cambodia_055.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107199269953530514" /></a><br /><br />Chalk it up to watching "Apocolypse Now, Redux" one too many times... Not really, I have friends who have gone and say that it is astoundingly beautiful and that the people are, surprisingly, warm given that fact that we dropped Napalm on their children only thirty years ago. Oh, being an American is fun, isn't it? I think I am just generally fascinated by countries that have, for better or worse, been irreversably changed by colonialism and the former Indochine certainly falls into that category. Plus, I know this might be lame but...I love vietnamese food! The most delicate and piquant of all asian cooking (mint? lemongrass? vietnamese coffee?!). Plus, a communist/buddhist country with capitalist leanings is worth a visit, no? <br /><strong><br />PERU!!!!</strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgea7_-4F6oaKqdGHRQefMTI5MnbsU64VmzfdR0v5qsXvuyOLBwKDrtIixQ2BysIrVeFVnV6S8sLyHBTt0O0Sqgn1pRggw9r7pvXHdKF6IKfmbqh04m-aMf5NBV2cJolY0VcdFi_g/s1600-h/Yapita_Handmade_Earflaps_From_Peru.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgea7_-4F6oaKqdGHRQefMTI5MnbsU64VmzfdR0v5qsXvuyOLBwKDrtIixQ2BysIrVeFVnV6S8sLyHBTt0O0Sqgn1pRggw9r7pvXHdKF6IKfmbqh04m-aMf5NBV2cJolY0VcdFi_g/s400/Yapita_Handmade_Earflaps_From_Peru.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107204866295917218" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I am itching to go back to South America though Peru just sufferred a terrible earthquake...but I want to see Machu Pichu before the acid rain washes away the last remnants of the once great Inca empire. Plus (here we go with the food again): cerviche? potatoes with cheese? arroz con pollo? Itchy sweaters and hats with ear flaps? Plus, it's relatively cheap and after spending a month in Europe I need to visit countries where the dollar is still king (or just not almost worthless).<br /><br /><strong>SOUTH AFRICA</strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkDL0zs3gMgUCtN8_fpRkvm-lvNQxRz5-C4ZzqvG-SKf-jjjT8-3NHN59CkMJNb5HYzY7K2CYInblN6GL2zlcqsUZIld9G67xJuyVZuFKUH244C1somj12vdzNPSAuYhIx4iMVg/s1600-h/1st%2520Page%2520Heading_Marketplace%2520in%2520Cape%2520Town.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkDL0zs3gMgUCtN8_fpRkvm-lvNQxRz5-C4ZzqvG-SKf-jjjT8-3NHN59CkMJNb5HYzY7K2CYInblN6GL2zlcqsUZIld9G67xJuyVZuFKUH244C1somj12vdzNPSAuYhIx4iMVg/s400/1st%2520Page%2520Heading_Marketplace%2520in%2520Cape%2520Town.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107208066046552754" /></a><br /><br />Truth and Reconciliation Committee! Nelson Mandela! Home to the next World Cup! Plus, I met a very cool South African in Edinburgh who made his country sound pretty incredible - joyous, beautiful. Again, I've heard it on good authority that it's the kind of place you don't want to leave and the political transformation of South Africa is fascinating. Plus, I've never eaten the food so that alone merits a visit.<br /><br />Now, I just have to steadily amass a fortune which between temping and acting gigs should be doable in about 30 some-odd years after I give up my apartment and go live with my parents. But I can DREAM and thus make this happen. <br /><br /><strong>Travel or Shrivel!</strong>j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-8727252435019039452007-09-04T13:03:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:06.122-08:00I saw 24 Plays last Month or some thoughts on Theater (cue the Snoring).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJsV174UCZc9Q1tKd9FwcCy4yIJshZitfXPsTZ5uZIx9ypNjHfgulshjx-znv8MAPMxQvNhXfXC7Cwhgw5CWWVShvFPOred0TWUwVwy27s4KALKjkVlyEK24buQBC0zUef7m8xg/s1600-h/sleepers.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJsV174UCZc9Q1tKd9FwcCy4yIJshZitfXPsTZ5uZIx9ypNjHfgulshjx-znv8MAPMxQvNhXfXC7Cwhgw5CWWVShvFPOred0TWUwVwy27s4KALKjkVlyEK24buQBC0zUef7m8xg/s400/sleepers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106443729371589234" /></a><br /><br /><br />I saw 24 plays last month or 24 shows or or whatever you want to call them. Some of them were performance "experiences" I guess, but the majority of them were plays. And, dear me, I came away with the thought, that I often have, which goes something like "making a good play is so hard" and "theater is so subjective"... Actually, in a fit of pretension one night I even likened it to proving the existence of God (I was getting all St. Thomas Aquinos on their asses). But...here are a few things I came away with in terms of "what I want to see in when I am sitting in the dark" (ahem). <br /><br />So without further ado -- Here in, ahhh yes, the always trusty, always reliable, numerical list format<br /><br />1. A Story<br /><br />I'm a sucker for a good beginning, middle and end. I am going to throw out all the usual cliches like when I see a play "I want you take me with you" and "bring me on a journey" blah, blah, etc. etc. Serioulsy though, maybe the time for non-linear, deliberately obtuse to the point of incoherence theater/storytelling is over (thank god). I don't want to be spoonfed by any means but from where I am sitting clairty is king. Now, that doesn't mean everything needs to be a clean point A) to point B) but if you want a mess on stage - let me, the audience member, know why. I can't care about your characters or their actions or the world artificially being created in front of me if I don't understand what the f!@#$ is going on and I don't mean in that ambigious Harold Pinter kind of way. <br /><br />2. Cultural Authenticity<br /><br />Hmmmmm, this is a tough one and I hestiate to put it out there but..the worst thing I saw at the Fringe was a British play set in the heart of white trash Americana (though they wouldn't have described it that way). Man oh man, was it phoney in the worst possible way - finger wagging, self-righteous which means it was also smug and humorless! Think Lars van Trier movie but not nearly as good (he's never been to the United States either but writes/makes those great DOGMA film allegories about the injustices of the Fat American Empire). For the record, <em>Dancer in the Dark </em>is one of my favorite things...when the dog bites, when the bee stings... But, really, I am not sure I would want to see an American do a play about the chav's who roam the British housing tenements. It's hard enought to write a play that doesn't reduce your own county members to two-dimensional cariactures but it's nearly impossible not to do it when writing about the "other" (especially ones as ubiqioutious and, at times, offensive as Americans). I am not sure what the solution is... Is it to keep theater local just like produce? I dunno but if you are going to take on another country's culture (especially the weakestmembers among them) make sure you do it with a wide embrace.<br /><br />3. Writing RULES!<br /><br />A beautiful play, a visually beautiful play, a feast for the eyes, a sumptious sensory experience unless it's a William Forsythe ballet or Charles Bukowski stories done with puppets (which I didn't see but I heard on very good authority was muthf@!#g amazing) is nothing if the writing is shit. It's just becomes so much window dressing - momentary distractions and utterly forgettable.<br /><br />4. Actors shouldn't be critics<br /><br />Yikes, I have a lot of opinions which, like a true actor, I am very good at running at the mouth and talking about after I've seen a show...within, of course, the correct amount of politcally safe walking distance of said show. However, I will say, with great sincerity, this is an art-form I love, even if the culture couldn't give a shit and most of our audience are going the way of the Dodo bird, so I wish I had fallen in love with more of the 24 shows that I sat through (in true Bogart fashion - leaning forward, arms uncrossed)... <br /><br />But, theater, like faith, can't be willed - you're either a believer or your not.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-788345109783477282007-09-03T08:56:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:38:06.250-08:00And so the Nostalgia sets in...(a few thoughts on being "abroad").<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeJXc1YtZXCAzROZSy4qwVvyh3-89bQdz4CZsWSo8n78aIG8z4kMInD3c55VC721f5Ah2fIBx7Q1oIDkOTJCeJ-iFTZKwj3dJensYZVR8zc8tdE8ghukSRxPx0ZOg66DKBlmYGA/s1600-h/the+shalimar.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeJXc1YtZXCAzROZSy4qwVvyh3-89bQdz4CZsWSo8n78aIG8z4kMInD3c55VC721f5Ah2fIBx7Q1oIDkOTJCeJ-iFTZKwj3dJensYZVR8zc8tdE8ghukSRxPx0ZOg66DKBlmYGA/s400/the+shalimar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106008666364373602" /></a><br /><br />Of course, when it was all over and even in the midst of being there and doing performance # 24, I kept on having the same thought, the same reoccurring thought, which went something like "jesus christ, we really pulled this off, we are in Scotland, we are back in Edinburgh, I can see the Castle from my window and I am doing my castmate's dishes, we're back, Baby, we're back." When we were selling Shoni's t.v. and my hardback copy of "Kafka on the Shore" and Kim's juicer/hotpants/Nina Simone record/DVD of Napoleon Dynamite during our ghetto-fabulous stoop sale on Bedford Avenue in the middle of June <em>I wasn't so sure </em>we were going </em></strong>to pull it off. But, oh boy, we did and we did it, if I do say so myself, with aplomb! Plus, the cliche is true: the harder you work, the sweeter the rewards or maybe you can chalk that up to being brought up with the whole American "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" ethos. <br /><br />The Fringe Festival in Edinburgh a magical experience, a kind of delicious bubble (think College) where the only thing that matters for a whole month is doing the best show that you can do, drinking the best beer you can after you do said best show, then seeing the other "best shows" that other people are doing in the Festival, and drinking more of that best beer, and then having the best hook-ups (it's a town full of actors - perfect for superficial intimacy and built-in endings!!!) and getting up the next day and doing it all over again. <br /><br />And, what makes it all so wonderful is that it's this finite month so you are constantly aware that time is running away from you - you are forced to Carpe Diem whether you want to or not.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-45021743172662130132007-07-16T10:54:00.000-07:002007-07-16T10:58:19.801-07:00Chicken Little<a href="http://www.consumersforpeace.org/images/vets_against_war.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.consumersforpeace.org/images/vets_against_war.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />I had the curious thought this weekend about the Iraq War… what if we were winning? Would George Bush be so despised? I have a theory that the reason Americans are turning away from him in such droves is not because he is an incompetent, piece-of shit, liar but because he is a loser. We hate losers and we hate losing; it goes against our mythology and it contradicts our status as the world’s last remaining hyper-power. Scary to think that if we were winning Karl Rove really would have crowned the Emperor and the Republicans would, indeed, be solidifying their plans for a fifty-year reign.<br /><br />I had this thought because I think about the Iraq war everyday . The news out of Baghdad and beyond reinforces the disparity at play in the world still I move along with my life: I shop, I rehearse, I pursue my goals, I read US Weekly, I party, I even hope but there is a sense of unease about how world events are playing out around me. I am often accused of being a “Debbie Downer” because I can’t quite divorce myself from the fact that much of the world seems to be spinning into ever greater chaos and barbarism by the day. <br /><br />Chalk it up to listening to too much NPR. <br /><br />Needless to say, I spend a fair amount of time feeling guilty. Sure, I have had my share of hardships but none of them involve a roadside bomb or death in crowded marketplace because I needed to get some rice. I am not exactly sure how to turn my guilt, my frustration, my rage really, into meaningful action. I suspect that there are a fair amount of Americans who feel as I do and I hope (yes, this is where hope comes in) we collectively put down our credit cards and shopping bags, turn off the tv’s and do something about it one day. Till then I will try and temper my chicken-little speech and live my life as honorably as I can, silently honoring those suffering at home and away.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-24840881965651648402007-07-13T08:15:00.000-07:002007-07-13T08:33:09.668-07:00BRINGING SEXY BACK.<a href="http://graphitefurnace.blogs.com/main/images/keepontruckin.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://graphitefurnace.blogs.com/main/images/keepontruckin.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />I haven’t blogged in a year. At least. <br /><br />Why?<br /><br />I lost my taste for it and, more to the point, life took over – it took over in that nagging, kind-of “oh god, where did my day go?” and “when will I have time to do my laundry” kind of way. Oh yeah, and I really committed to being part of a theater company which is the equivalent of getting married and having a baby. Seriously. It’s a commitment only you’re married to, about, five other people and there’s no sex. More like plural marriage. Think “Big Love” without the Mormonism.<br /><br />So for all of you reading this who I don’t see on a daily basis which is to say, no one, I am still trucking along (as R. Crumb would say). Still doing the office monkey thing and, yes, still acting despite the protestations of my mother. My sweet mother (I love her and that is said without irony or snarkiness) who is merely worried and can’t understand why I keep shrugging off permanent jobs that offer the promise of health care and a 401K, for the chance to runoff with the gypsies because they have offered me a spot in the circus. <br /><br />And speaking of running off with gypsies… I am about to. In about two weeks I am off to the Edinburgh Fringe for a month. Shalimar (said, theater company/plural marriage, I mentioned) is off to Scotland to show our wares, our latest show, our, yes, screaming baby (I am never one to let go of a metaphor even a bad, cliché-ridden one). And…that is, in part, why, folks, I decided it was time to blog again –to document life for the next month in the thieves’ den. <br /><br /> I’ll get a 401K when I’m forty (sorry, Mom!).j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-1172529918500780172007-02-26T14:42:00.000-08:002007-02-26T14:45:18.510-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5582/1616/1600/128443/bert_ernie.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5582/1616/320/887854/bert_ernie.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5582/1616/1600/421837/248341%7EElizabeth-Taylor-Richard-Burton-Posters.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5582/1616/320/215150/248341%7EElizabeth-Taylor-Richard-Burton-Posters.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5582/1616/1600/954145/sr_satc.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/5582/1616/320/128682/sr_satc.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br />The Shalimar proudly (re)presents "stirring" March 16th, 17th, 18 and March 22nd, 23rd, 24th and 25th AT the InterArt Annex. <br /><br />Shalimar is (re)throwing up one of our most popular pieces “stirring”! “stirring” is a modern-day Pygmalion tale inspired by real life personal ads, blogs and emails and tells a bittersweet and funny story of 7 New York hipsters navigating the line between fantasy, lust, love, hope and reality. <br /><br /><br />ON March 17th, 23rd and 24th: Please Join Us for a Night of Hipster Speed Dating after the Show !! <br /><br />Even though it's snowing Spring is just around the corner and we're in the mood for love! Leave your laptop behind and come out and speed date. Watch our show, have a few Brooklyn Brewery Beers (on us!), and then get ready to get to know the rest of the audience. The next day you might NOT be going to brunch alone... <br /><br />March 17th & 24th: Straight Speed dating.<br />March 23d: Gay Speed dating (cause this ain't the middle ages).<br /><br /><br />FOR $ 20 you get A SHOW, 2 DRINKS AND a Chance to meet the LOVE OF YOUR LIFE or at least meet some really cool activity partners.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-1149057232229325732006-05-30T23:23:00.000-07:002006-05-31T05:22:58.933-07:00What I did This Summer<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5582/1616/1600/auditorium.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5582/1616/320/auditorium.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(The Theater at Round Lake which looks a lot like a set piece from "Our Town").<br /><br />My Summer Begins Now!<br /><br />I start working on a one-person show (scary! exciting! terrifiying!)this week... Did I mention scary?! Also doing a reading and helping my friends, Barbara and Bondo kick of the inaugural season of their theater, Round Arts in Round Lake, NY. <br /><br />Mo' Info here: http://www.home.earthlink.net/~roundarts/id4.htmlj.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16902154.post-1149054796574640822006-05-30T22:14:00.000-07:002006-05-30T22:53:16.640-07:00Some Thoughts on the Artist and Money (and what exactly one has to do with the other)<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5582/1616/1600/van-gogh-boots.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5582/1616/320/van-gogh-boots.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />It's been a dramatic year thus far for me: I fell in love (albeit briefly, if truly, madly, deeply). I was dissappointed by love (was it love or just the appearance of it and was I subsequently more in love with the rejection of love? If I went to a shrink - I don't because I think they encourage an obsession with the "self" and tend to just perpetuate one's own narcissicsm and god knows we have enough of that in the culture already - I might explore my love of the unlovable instead I just blog about it to total strangers). But I quickly fell out of love though it's effects have lingered on... <br /><br />I also had my first glimpse into the mortality of my parents: my father had a brush with his heart and I, in turn, had to deal with the reality of time and the cycle of life (?) in a way that was not just an excersise in abstract thinking about "when" and "what if"... I am getting older, the life experiences are starting to add up: the joys of my life grow as does my gratitude of being alive but so does my horror of just how brutal life is (I've been reading the articles on the Hadatha massacre which give new meaning to the not-so -banality of evil and makes one shudder for the deep wellspring of outright cruelty and savagery human beings are all too capable of that, in extension, I am capable of...right?).<br /><br />In the past year, I have worked harder and longer and more consistently than I have, probably, since my first year out of college - 2 jobs, 7 days a week type of thing. And, despite a grinding schedule (a grinding schedule of my own choosing so I am not complaining) I have continued to try to nurture my artistic life, like so many of my friends - my peers who have, like me, foregone the lure of the (now dissappearing) middle class American life and decided to pursue an artist's life in the biggest of big cities. We hope that one day we will be able to fondly look back at our days slinging hash just to be able to rehearse in parking garages, begging and stealing and borrowing to make our theater, write our novel, paint, bang on the can, what have you. But, my question is what if we can't? Does creativity stop when it becomes apparent at some point that the money isn't going to come in? And, when did we start believing that artistic legitimacy was qualified by the amount we got paid for it?<br /><br />In the midst of these life changes (?) or are they life realizations (?) I am more committed now than ever to being an artist, an artist-citizen. Despite my new-found commitment I refuse to buy (and buy is the right word to use for this) into the notion that my artistic life is quantifiable by how much I get paid for it. Would I like to make money eventually and work solely as an artist? Hell yes and I hold out the hope that I will! But I don't think Bruce Willis is a more legitimate artist or Matthew Barney for that matter because their coffers are loaded with greater stock options than mine. The full-time artist is a relatively new phenemeneon in history, and, yes, I am fully aware that the Medeci's sponsored more than their fair share of the greats and that Leonardo didn't do much else but paint but history ( museums and Shakespeare's folios) is litterred with the works of people who toiled and gleaned by day only to create in their spare moments (and remember leisure time is a relatively new development). <br /><br />Finally, I think you create because you have to, because it's a relief and it's mysterious and, yes, I have to say it, it's transcendent and you do it because it gives you some measure of control over what you see in the world. You'd do it, I do it, for free, I do it because I love it, I do it for reasons that can never be broken down into check-form. <br /><br />All that being said: I look forward to giving up the day job.j.t.http://www.blogger.com/profile/11688118814265569459noreply@blogger.com0