I reread Gambaro's The Walls last night. I have always loved this play. A man is taken into custody for a crime he did not commit and the walls keep moving in on him throughout the play. They move in while his freedom, and sense of self are slowly robbed from him. Gambaro's characters are vibrant and the language is dynamic. I wish someone in the DC area would attempt this one. Maybe they have and I am not aware of it. Maybe this piece about the walls moving in around us is the perfect piece to pull out right now.
I just saw this and...I am grinning from ear to ear.
Catch you cats later.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
it has been said, and is worth saying again
At times I consume too much knowledge at once and it all fragments and I have a hard time remembering which book/article/song/poem/play I read something in, and what the point was that the writer was trying to make. My bad. I need to slow down and absorb one at a time. Except every now and then all the themes happen to converge in some sort of weird serendipity. I am reading The Blue Tango and was reading more about evacuees in the Post today and watched City of God tonight. The first deals with the murder of a young woman in Belfast, the second was another story of hope and courage after relocation to a new city, and the third gives a stark look at the drug world in Rio de Janeiro from the 60's-80's.
How does this all tie together, you ask? Oh, but it does.
It is very interesting to note that the drug trade only became prevalent in Rio after massive floods forced evacuation in other parts of Brazil. The government helped for a time and moved hordes of people to what became the slums of Rio de Janeiro. Once it was no longer forefront in the media, the government ignored the plight of this poverty stricken population (that and the political arena fed into this as well). The drug trade became rampant and now employs over 100,000 people in the city. City of God tells this story from the perspective of a young boy from the slums, who grows to be a newspaper photographer. I thought the film was tremendous.
The Blue Tango is very lyrical in its narrative style. The feel of the era is captured so well. You have here a man from a poor class who grew up to be a judge. His status did not save his daughter, whose murderer was never found. Patricia Curran was a wild child, and even though her Daddy had money, she ran with some unsavory characters. She was violently stabbed to death. The nature and number of her wounds indicated insanity or uncontrollable anger in her attacker.
You all know the story of Katrina and Rita, the superdome, the flooding, the shelters and so on.
OK, so here it is. Poverty spawns violence. I know that everyone knows this. When the only jobs available are not enough to make ends meet, or more importantly to allow one to advance their life, individuals will begin to look outside the law to ease their situation. The poor, due to the lack of education and basic opportunity, will reinforce the drug trade, illegal guns, and violent crime, simply to exist. Most who looted during Katrina, or began their foray into a life of crime were looking for a way to feed themselves. Once the cycle has begun, the children are educated into it and the way out is never shown to them. Let's face it, George W. Bush got into Yale as a C student. That is not an opportunity available to some one from South Central, Los Angeles. More importantly, no matter where you are in the social structure, you will be affected by this current. Be it in taxes, the media, violence in your community, etc.
The violence is not the biggest byproduct though. It is the need for vice that runs rampant. Be it drugs, sex, God, or gambling. The use of something to take us away, or get us out quick is so alluring to those with nothing. Escape from life drives the market. It drove Patricia to all those men, it drove up the drug trade, and it certainly will drive up the violence, because when one cannot get out easily, they will claw their way out if need be.
Socialism is looking better and better eh? No, not here in America! Once the hubbub over the newest tragedy in the U.S. wears off the people who were left behind before, will be left behind again, and so the cycle continues. My hope is that while the issue is fashionable with the voters, some real reforms are made that work to arm the poor with an education, a living and a voice.
Me-thinks too much and me-does too little.
How does this all tie together, you ask? Oh, but it does.
It is very interesting to note that the drug trade only became prevalent in Rio after massive floods forced evacuation in other parts of Brazil. The government helped for a time and moved hordes of people to what became the slums of Rio de Janeiro. Once it was no longer forefront in the media, the government ignored the plight of this poverty stricken population (that and the political arena fed into this as well). The drug trade became rampant and now employs over 100,000 people in the city. City of God tells this story from the perspective of a young boy from the slums, who grows to be a newspaper photographer. I thought the film was tremendous.
The Blue Tango is very lyrical in its narrative style. The feel of the era is captured so well. You have here a man from a poor class who grew up to be a judge. His status did not save his daughter, whose murderer was never found. Patricia Curran was a wild child, and even though her Daddy had money, she ran with some unsavory characters. She was violently stabbed to death. The nature and number of her wounds indicated insanity or uncontrollable anger in her attacker.
You all know the story of Katrina and Rita, the superdome, the flooding, the shelters and so on.
OK, so here it is. Poverty spawns violence. I know that everyone knows this. When the only jobs available are not enough to make ends meet, or more importantly to allow one to advance their life, individuals will begin to look outside the law to ease their situation. The poor, due to the lack of education and basic opportunity, will reinforce the drug trade, illegal guns, and violent crime, simply to exist. Most who looted during Katrina, or began their foray into a life of crime were looking for a way to feed themselves. Once the cycle has begun, the children are educated into it and the way out is never shown to them. Let's face it, George W. Bush got into Yale as a C student. That is not an opportunity available to some one from South Central, Los Angeles. More importantly, no matter where you are in the social structure, you will be affected by this current. Be it in taxes, the media, violence in your community, etc.
The violence is not the biggest byproduct though. It is the need for vice that runs rampant. Be it drugs, sex, God, or gambling. The use of something to take us away, or get us out quick is so alluring to those with nothing. Escape from life drives the market. It drove Patricia to all those men, it drove up the drug trade, and it certainly will drive up the violence, because when one cannot get out easily, they will claw their way out if need be.
Socialism is looking better and better eh? No, not here in America! Once the hubbub over the newest tragedy in the U.S. wears off the people who were left behind before, will be left behind again, and so the cycle continues. My hope is that while the issue is fashionable with the voters, some real reforms are made that work to arm the poor with an education, a living and a voice.
Me-thinks too much and me-does too little.
Friday, September 23, 2005
i believe you already
I am begging everyone, including my self, to stop using 'truly' to boost every descriptory word, which should be able to stand on their own. It has become the new 'like'. For example:
"Now, I love Recess Cups, but I do not think you realize how truly great the extra, truly big one is. It has so much truly delicious pseudo peanut butter and truly processed milk chocolate that my mouth was so truly happy for the entire day, although my stomach felt truly miserable from the truly huge lump of truly noxious, preservative laden, sugar-pile I ingested."
I am in the midst of reading a some new plays as well as a couple novels. I promise to discuss more sagacious items next week.
"Now, I love Recess Cups, but I do not think you realize how truly great the extra, truly big one is. It has so much truly delicious pseudo peanut butter and truly processed milk chocolate that my mouth was so truly happy for the entire day, although my stomach felt truly miserable from the truly huge lump of truly noxious, preservative laden, sugar-pile I ingested."
I am in the midst of reading a some new plays as well as a couple novels. I promise to discuss more sagacious items next week.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
as I was trying to say
Sometimes I am in the middle of a conversation and I get interrupte...
I sent this link into Lucky Spinster before my bloggin' days (I cannot remember if she posted it or not), but thanks to Mike for sending me the new, and oh so amusing, version.
Coo coo ca choo.
I sent this link into Lucky Spinster before my bloggin' days (I cannot remember if she posted it or not), but thanks to Mike for sending me the new, and oh so amusing, version.
Coo coo ca choo.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
whatever you do, don't press that button
In many of the situations I find myself in, I feel like I am living out the exposition to some bad action adventure flick. For instance, everything is sunny and beautiful and kids are frolicking, while I walk through the park and all the while a meteor is hurtling towards earth. Even the crappy days feel like that. I have had a fight with someone, or am feeling sick, or am having money issues...but soon that will mean nothing once the aliens invade. The more I know, or read, or watch, etc. I find myself running into, what seem to me to be, characters from art, literature and the media. I will not be exaggerating when I tell you that I had dinner, over the weekend, with a denizen of Fargo. Not the actual geographical Fargo citizen, but someone that belonged in that movie. It was not that she had the accent (which she did), or that she dressed a certain way or talked about certain things (oh..the conversation, it was so priceless), it was the fact that she seemed to evoke a caricature (which of course I am sure she is not). I could barely speak for the whole night because I was so enamored of watching this person speak, and gesture. I mean, surely this could not be real...no, it was surreal and I kept waiting for zombies to attack. Some others folks I have also met in my adventures are:
The Baptist preacher from The Poisonwood Bible,
Ignatious from Confederacy of Dunces,
The Artist's Wife from a painting by Thomas Eakins,
Fletch,
Shakespeare's Mercutio,
and all the characters from Animal House.
I know that 'life experiences become art, which in turn become life' (I cannot remember who said that), but it still is surprising to me. I sit quietly typing away, so blissfully unaware that someone has found the secret button that, when pressed, will detonate the world....
The Baptist preacher from The Poisonwood Bible,
Ignatious from Confederacy of Dunces,
The Artist's Wife from a painting by Thomas Eakins,
Fletch,
Shakespeare's Mercutio,
and all the characters from Animal House.
I know that 'life experiences become art, which in turn become life' (I cannot remember who said that), but it still is surprising to me. I sit quietly typing away, so blissfully unaware that someone has found the secret button that, when pressed, will detonate the world....
Monday, September 19, 2005
parking is a bitch
I hate being late for theatre. I hate it when audience members are late. I hate it when I am onstage and I hate it when I am sitting in the house. So I mentally punished myself for being late today, even as I was sitting in my seat. Ce'este la vie.
After the show today I stayed and listened to the post show discussion. I should probably stop doing that. Arctic Actor was talking about inane comments during post show talk backs the other day and I am immensely sympathetic. I have been privy to some of the worst questions ever asked and yet I still stay and listen. I can't say why. The thing that usually bothers me (like today) is that the moderator will try to start a discussion about the play, but the questions will inevitably segway to inquiries about the actors. I watch as the actors try to bring the discussion back around to process and concept, but it is all in vain. I have long since stopped participating in these discussions. I know, I am a big fat hypocrite. If I wanted to change the tone of these talk backs I should speak up, right? Well blah...
In other news... ahh screw it, that will have to wait for the next post. I am tired.
Flamadiddle.
After the show today I stayed and listened to the post show discussion. I should probably stop doing that. Arctic Actor was talking about inane comments during post show talk backs the other day and I am immensely sympathetic. I have been privy to some of the worst questions ever asked and yet I still stay and listen. I can't say why. The thing that usually bothers me (like today) is that the moderator will try to start a discussion about the play, but the questions will inevitably segway to inquiries about the actors. I watch as the actors try to bring the discussion back around to process and concept, but it is all in vain. I have long since stopped participating in these discussions. I know, I am a big fat hypocrite. If I wanted to change the tone of these talk backs I should speak up, right? Well blah...
In other news... ahh screw it, that will have to wait for the next post. I am tired.
Flamadiddle.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
its like tomato
I actually heard this conversation today between two children.
Child 1: Hey is Tom-ass coming over to your house today.
Child 2: His name is not Tom-ass its Thomas.
Child 1: That's what I said, Tom-ass.
Child 2: No you said Tom-ass, but his name is Thom-as.
Child 1: You just don't know how to say it.
Child 2: No, you just don't know how to say it.
You see folks, the line here between distinguished and idiotic, is not so great at all.
Take that!
Child 1: Hey is Tom-ass coming over to your house today.
Child 2: His name is not Tom-ass its Thomas.
Child 1: That's what I said, Tom-ass.
Child 2: No you said Tom-ass, but his name is Thom-as.
Child 1: You just don't know how to say it.
Child 2: No, you just don't know how to say it.
You see folks, the line here between distinguished and idiotic, is not so great at all.
Take that!
Monday, September 12, 2005
damn she's good
Let us start with the stable
Let it be a real stable, and let Mary be angry
at the filth of it, at dust sifting from the rafters.
Let her grow resigned as the cracks of light are grouted by night,
let her grow out of mind
as the invisible fist grabs guts
and twists,
then twists harder,
let her grow scared. Let her try to remember
wading in the sea with her girlfriends, the coarse hem of her skirt in her hands,
The algae fingering her ankles.
Let her try, but let her fail. Let the fist
drag her under, under and under,
let her breath tear ragged as hot bread.
Let sweat ride the dark hairs above her lip.
Are you picturing her naked? Let her be naked.
Let us write in the animals, but not kneeling, and if they roll their great eyes skyward
let it not be like saints in paintings
but like bored executives rising in elevators.
Yes, let the animals itch,
let them switch their tails,
let the puckered stars of their assholes flex and soft wads of shit fall to the hay.
Let Mary's purse of a stomach wrench itself inside out,
let the donkey sniff her vomit, bare yellow teeth, and turn away.
Let there be flies,
flies in the mucousy eyes of cows,
flies skimming her slick of blood, its tributaries
with rafts of dirty hay.
Let Joseph work in his hand to feel the slick rind of the child's skull,
then wipe his bloody fingers on her thigh.
Let her squeeze his other hand harder than she needs to.
Let her wonder who is screaming,
let her wonder if she's dying,
let her take the name
of her own sweet son
in vain.
-Beth Ann Fennelly
We elevate humans to icons and then forget their humanity. Isn't Mary's story all the better and more rewarding if there was a struggle. Not being Catholic, or even Christian, the story always reeked to me of falsity. Namely because Mary was this serene, gentle figure in the face of her ordeal. It rings much more sincere this way - young, scared, angry, tired, hurting, and concerned with getting through each moment.
I have just finished slipping through (at least that is how effortless it felt) two wonderful collections by Beth Ann Fennelly Tender Hooks and Open House. I am in love with her voice. She is Sylvia Plath, Shirley Manson, Sarah Kane, David Mamet, Dario Fo, and Virginia Wolf rolled together. But she is herself, she is unique. I highly, HIGHLY, recommend her poetry.
Let it be a real stable, and let Mary be angry
at the filth of it, at dust sifting from the rafters.
Let her grow resigned as the cracks of light are grouted by night,
let her grow out of mind
as the invisible fist grabs guts
and twists,
then twists harder,
let her grow scared. Let her try to remember
wading in the sea with her girlfriends, the coarse hem of her skirt in her hands,
The algae fingering her ankles.
Let her try, but let her fail. Let the fist
drag her under, under and under,
let her breath tear ragged as hot bread.
Let sweat ride the dark hairs above her lip.
Are you picturing her naked? Let her be naked.
Let us write in the animals, but not kneeling, and if they roll their great eyes skyward
let it not be like saints in paintings
but like bored executives rising in elevators.
Yes, let the animals itch,
let them switch their tails,
let the puckered stars of their assholes flex and soft wads of shit fall to the hay.
Let Mary's purse of a stomach wrench itself inside out,
let the donkey sniff her vomit, bare yellow teeth, and turn away.
Let there be flies,
flies in the mucousy eyes of cows,
flies skimming her slick of blood, its tributaries
with rafts of dirty hay.
Let Joseph work in his hand to feel the slick rind of the child's skull,
then wipe his bloody fingers on her thigh.
Let her squeeze his other hand harder than she needs to.
Let her wonder who is screaming,
let her wonder if she's dying,
let her take the name
of her own sweet son
in vain.
-Beth Ann Fennelly
We elevate humans to icons and then forget their humanity. Isn't Mary's story all the better and more rewarding if there was a struggle. Not being Catholic, or even Christian, the story always reeked to me of falsity. Namely because Mary was this serene, gentle figure in the face of her ordeal. It rings much more sincere this way - young, scared, angry, tired, hurting, and concerned with getting through each moment.
I have just finished slipping through (at least that is how effortless it felt) two wonderful collections by Beth Ann Fennelly Tender Hooks and Open House. I am in love with her voice. She is Sylvia Plath, Shirley Manson, Sarah Kane, David Mamet, Dario Fo, and Virginia Wolf rolled together. But she is herself, she is unique. I highly, HIGHLY, recommend her poetry.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
its the new black
Oh my my my, when will they ever learn? Don't they know that they were wrong when hating blacks was en vogue? Don't they know that they were wrong about not letting women vote? It is not just the moral high horse that keeps the white, Christian, straight, conservative so damned prejudice; it's really just that they are out of style. They are the same people that wear comb overs, polyester ties and still listen to cassettes. They don't realize when the tide changes so they are the last to get on the merry go round. We need a social politics fab five to do weekly make overs for these poor saps. Because in a few years, when gay marriage is not just accepted, but has federal money supporting programs to help those gay couples who are just starting out (a sort of affirmative, with snaps, action), these relics will have to do the back peddle and go on talk shows to say "Well, at the time I just could not support it, but now I have come to understand that marriage between two consenting adults really is ok." They will smile and hug a gay person, to show that queers no longer freak them out. They will not say sorry, They will not say they were wrong, but they will disco around it like the old farts that they are.
You disappoint me.
You disappoint me.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
the news the news
reading reading like watching myself crumble. WHHHYYYYYY!!!!???? Is this the end, ending of the what? Big Easy you are
fetid
horrid
wasted
putrid
blasted
rotted
squalid
your ids
hurt my id
the world is spinning too fast and everything that is spinning is nothing you want to pluck out of the air because all those things flying around will bite off your arm, they are so scary with their sharp teeth. Capitol you are
fetid
horrid
wasted
putrid
blasted
rotted
squalid
your ids
hurt my id
How does it all get synced up? Katrina. Rehnquist, War, Stampede, O'Connor, Gas. Makes one wonder...
fetid
horrid
wasted
putrid
blasted
rotted
squalid
your ids
hurt my id
the world is spinning too fast and everything that is spinning is nothing you want to pluck out of the air because all those things flying around will bite off your arm, they are so scary with their sharp teeth. Capitol you are
fetid
horrid
wasted
putrid
blasted
rotted
squalid
your ids
hurt my id
How does it all get synced up? Katrina. Rehnquist, War, Stampede, O'Connor, Gas. Makes one wonder...
let me eat my cake
Tyranny is dealt with in an amazing way in Ruhl's Passion Play. I was staggered and inspired by the work. Ruhl writes about the nexus of religion and politics at a time when it could not be more relevant. But as you watch the history of how skewed the world is by the intermingling of the two, you see that this is not a new problem, and it is one that will rear its ugly head time and again.
She talks about how we democratically elect our own monarchs. Which is what we see happening now. I found myself depressed as I drove home last night with the thought in my mind that my voting does nothing in the end, as I am never one to vote with the majority, and the majority of those who vote are not representative of the will of the nation. They are the conservative religious and the rich. So the tide of America will always elect those that will impose the will of the few on the lives of the many. Our current president is the exact embodiment of this disturbing theory. The masses elected a "likeable guy" who used tyranny to get himself where he is. There was no question as to whether or not he would be president. His party and his family grew him from infancy to play this role and they masterminded his ascension to the throne. Now, while there, he ignores the wishes of the people with the ever familiar "I know what is best for you" attitude that is the hallmark of a ruler, not necessarily a leader.
If this huge issue was not enough to deal with in this piece, Ruhl also tackles sin, war, theatre, religion, family...I found myself exhausted by the end, in a good way. I also loved her ability to use surreal moments to augment the push of the work. I loved the water flowing from Mary's mouth, and the giant fish. I know that this makes no sense, and in all honesty this is not the kind of play where I could do a short summary, so instead, if you are in the DC area, just go and see it. It really is a most incredible feat of theatre.
She talks about how we democratically elect our own monarchs. Which is what we see happening now. I found myself depressed as I drove home last night with the thought in my mind that my voting does nothing in the end, as I am never one to vote with the majority, and the majority of those who vote are not representative of the will of the nation. They are the conservative religious and the rich. So the tide of America will always elect those that will impose the will of the few on the lives of the many. Our current president is the exact embodiment of this disturbing theory. The masses elected a "likeable guy" who used tyranny to get himself where he is. There was no question as to whether or not he would be president. His party and his family grew him from infancy to play this role and they masterminded his ascension to the throne. Now, while there, he ignores the wishes of the people with the ever familiar "I know what is best for you" attitude that is the hallmark of a ruler, not necessarily a leader.
If this huge issue was not enough to deal with in this piece, Ruhl also tackles sin, war, theatre, religion, family...I found myself exhausted by the end, in a good way. I also loved her ability to use surreal moments to augment the push of the work. I loved the water flowing from Mary's mouth, and the giant fish. I know that this makes no sense, and in all honesty this is not the kind of play where I could do a short summary, so instead, if you are in the DC area, just go and see it. It really is a most incredible feat of theatre.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
invisible line
Years ago when I was in college I went to see the parent of a friend in a community production of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. It was beyond painful and I was gripped with the familiar impulse to stand up and shout. "You are all really bad!" or "You guys are trying to act!" Something, anything to break the impenetrable monotony of such wretched theatre. I find myself gripped with this same impulse even when I am not at a bad production. I have even had to hold onto my seat to keep myself from bounding up and yelling "Ha, ha I know you are all trying to be in the moment but I know you are just my buddy from the last show I did and I have seen you do this exact moment before. You are cheating, dammit!" But then, I cheat. Actors may not think they have a bag of tricks, but we do, Oh yes we do. The best experiences for me are the ones when all the stars (writing, direction, technical, acting ) all align. Then I am swept away, but that is the exception, not the rule of my play going experience. More times than not the seams show. Yet, I still see promise in most work, or bright moments, or brilliant ones for that matter. I am headed to see Passion Play tonight. I am expecting great things, namely because I love Ruhl's work... And I will stay in my seat.
Friday, September 02, 2005
and the air is brown
I am so angry at the events in the world. I am flustered and paralyzed.
The waters rose and drowned a city, a rumor trampled 1000 people to death in a matter of minutes, the powers that be are opening wide the doors for more filth to seep into the air we breath.
More dirt in the air.
I wonder what toxins inhaled by us and warming up the earth will do?
Oh wait, they will cause biblical size storms and make people think crazy, like radical religious crazy,
because dammit I need some gas,
or my life is more important
or I can’t move I am so suffocated under all this shitty air.
Maybe our psychotic behavior is just that, we have sucked in too much poison and now we are rife with it. It all feels too big to stop.
I want to be the one who figures the way out.
I want to help the one who figures the way out.
Or maybe I will just move to Canada where I can buy some weed, not fear guns, and say aboot instead of about.
I want an absence of religion in those I look to to run things,
I want the presence of sanity in the people who surround me, and
I want the collective unconscious to be tapped so that we all stop fucking with each other and realize that the best, and maybe only way out is to work together. So kitch.
Ok done now. Just feel like I puked.
The waters rose and drowned a city, a rumor trampled 1000 people to death in a matter of minutes, the powers that be are opening wide the doors for more filth to seep into the air we breath.
More dirt in the air.
I wonder what toxins inhaled by us and warming up the earth will do?
Oh wait, they will cause biblical size storms and make people think crazy, like radical religious crazy,
because dammit I need some gas,
or my life is more important
or I can’t move I am so suffocated under all this shitty air.
Maybe our psychotic behavior is just that, we have sucked in too much poison and now we are rife with it. It all feels too big to stop.
I want to be the one who figures the way out.
I want to help the one who figures the way out.
Or maybe I will just move to Canada where I can buy some weed, not fear guns, and say aboot instead of about.
I want an absence of religion in those I look to to run things,
I want the presence of sanity in the people who surround me, and
I want the collective unconscious to be tapped so that we all stop fucking with each other and realize that the best, and maybe only way out is to work together. So kitch.
Ok done now. Just feel like I puked.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
so there!
I have put this off for far too long. Been told by many to just get off my ass and do it. So here. I did it. Quit bugging me.
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