Sigh.
Apparently someone wants me to know grizzly "insider" details about one of my heroes. There's a reason they call Private Lives "private," people.
Now, leave Tiger Woods alone!!
love, hosaa
rejecting gossip
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Blundering Gracefully
Dear me, I knew this would happen.
Facebook confuses me with its publicly private world. In the process of trying to follow some of my favorite artists and arts organizations, I accidentally (okay, maybe not very accidentally) clicked on a friend request for a certain dancer.
A week or two passed with the "request pending" still sitting in my Friends list. I thought about deleting it, but would that have seemed rude?
(For the record, there is a friend request of my own sitting in my notifications: the high-school boyfriend who dumped me before prom and took my best friend and who is now a married minister, and a Republican to boot. He only needed three strikes.)
Last night when I got home from the Kaleidoscope skating-for-survivors event with Scott Hamilton, I checked my e-mail and found that I'd had a message from the dancer whose friendship I had blundered into requesting.
It was a very sweet greeting that invited me to join his fan group, which I did right away. This dancer is most certainly a master of the art of the graceful gesture. But I won't get to tell him how much he reminds me of Rudolf Nureyev.
love and big smiles, hosaa
blundering as gracefully as possible
Here's Scottie! [click to enlarge]
Facebook confuses me with its publicly private world. In the process of trying to follow some of my favorite artists and arts organizations, I accidentally (okay, maybe not very accidentally) clicked on a friend request for a certain dancer.
A week or two passed with the "request pending" still sitting in my Friends list. I thought about deleting it, but would that have seemed rude?
(For the record, there is a friend request of my own sitting in my notifications: the high-school boyfriend who dumped me before prom and took my best friend and who is now a married minister, and a Republican to boot. He only needed three strikes.)
Last night when I got home from the Kaleidoscope skating-for-survivors event with Scott Hamilton, I checked my e-mail and found that I'd had a message from the dancer whose friendship I had blundered into requesting.
It was a very sweet greeting that invited me to join his fan group, which I did right away. This dancer is most certainly a master of the art of the graceful gesture. But I won't get to tell him how much he reminds me of Rudolf Nureyev.
love and big smiles, hosaa
blundering as gracefully as possible
Here's Scottie! [click to enlarge]
Thursday, November 12, 2009
That Was It
I know I'm late to this, but I finally went to see "This Is It" last night. Just a few thoughts from a non-fan: I loved it.
The movie's tagline is "Discover the Man You Never Knew," and for someone like me, that was truly the case. I pretty much grew up with MJ music, but from the Jackson Five. I remember their cute cartoon show. By the time MJ went off on his own and reached superstardom with Thriller, I'd moved way far away from pop. (I didn't come back to pop at all until 2003, when a certain redhead said he could've been in the top one or two at least on American Idol). All I knew about MJ, really, came from the tabloids, and for me the "freak" factor (plastic surgeries, dangling babies over balconies) was a big turnoff.
With MJ's death, that "freak factor" evaporated, and the voices of those who truly knew the man and were inspired by his talent dominated the public consciousness. The enthusiasm of at least one friend alone was enough to make me rethink MJ. And the movie did the rest.
Of course with all I'd seen happening to Clay Aiken and the gossip-lies-hatred thrown at him over the last six years, I should already have known not to believe what I read/hear. I try to accept reality as it's presented to me, but I still need to ask questions.
As for This Is It - I am sure I enjoyed this "making of" view more than I would have the actual concert, simply because the big productions leave me too overwhelmed (that's the reason I HATE Phantom of the Opera, for instance). What I got to see was the work behind the art, the meticulous attention to detail, the deeply respectful collaborations, the humility and appreciation for other people's ideas. His vision was so absolute and powerful, he made others see it too.
In the end, MJ was an artist who had become the art.
The film itself, I found just enthralling, simply as a great musical. I would rate it with A Hard Day's Night (which, though scripted, was as close to a documentary of the Beatles' experience with music, fans, and production as you can get). I especially appreciated the full-body-view photography of the dance sequences - something I always look for in musicals. The editing was seamless and fluid. Just a wonderful, wonderfully made work. It's amazing they put it together so quickly.
One episode in the rehearsal process made me smile - when MJ and his backup singer were carrying on after "The Way You Make Me Feel," their playful trilling (musical one-up-manship) reminded me of Clay and his backup singer Quiana Parler during the 2007 summer tour, riffing after "I Want to Know What Love Is."
What a tragedy that, though Michael had complete control of his music and the concert experience, he did not have the same control over his own life. I wish this kind of film had been made years ago - maybe it would have countered a lot of that "freak factor" crap he had to deal with.
Love, hosaa
envisioning the man in his mirror
ETA, I have no idea when MJ started using one particular dance move, but its prevalence in this movie called to my mind the 1980 film Fame and the "Red Light" number by street dancer Gene Anthony Ray:
The movie's tagline is "Discover the Man You Never Knew," and for someone like me, that was truly the case. I pretty much grew up with MJ music, but from the Jackson Five. I remember their cute cartoon show. By the time MJ went off on his own and reached superstardom with Thriller, I'd moved way far away from pop. (I didn't come back to pop at all until 2003, when a certain redhead said he could've been in the top one or two at least on American Idol). All I knew about MJ, really, came from the tabloids, and for me the "freak" factor (plastic surgeries, dangling babies over balconies) was a big turnoff.
With MJ's death, that "freak factor" evaporated, and the voices of those who truly knew the man and were inspired by his talent dominated the public consciousness. The enthusiasm of at least one friend alone was enough to make me rethink MJ. And the movie did the rest.
Of course with all I'd seen happening to Clay Aiken and the gossip-lies-hatred thrown at him over the last six years, I should already have known not to believe what I read/hear. I try to accept reality as it's presented to me, but I still need to ask questions.
As for This Is It - I am sure I enjoyed this "making of" view more than I would have the actual concert, simply because the big productions leave me too overwhelmed (that's the reason I HATE Phantom of the Opera, for instance). What I got to see was the work behind the art, the meticulous attention to detail, the deeply respectful collaborations, the humility and appreciation for other people's ideas. His vision was so absolute and powerful, he made others see it too.
In the end, MJ was an artist who had become the art.
The film itself, I found just enthralling, simply as a great musical. I would rate it with A Hard Day's Night (which, though scripted, was as close to a documentary of the Beatles' experience with music, fans, and production as you can get). I especially appreciated the full-body-view photography of the dance sequences - something I always look for in musicals. The editing was seamless and fluid. Just a wonderful, wonderfully made work. It's amazing they put it together so quickly.
One episode in the rehearsal process made me smile - when MJ and his backup singer were carrying on after "The Way You Make Me Feel," their playful trilling (musical one-up-manship) reminded me of Clay and his backup singer Quiana Parler during the 2007 summer tour, riffing after "I Want to Know What Love Is."
What a tragedy that, though Michael had complete control of his music and the concert experience, he did not have the same control over his own life. I wish this kind of film had been made years ago - maybe it would have countered a lot of that "freak factor" crap he had to deal with.
Love, hosaa
envisioning the man in his mirror
ETA, I have no idea when MJ started using one particular dance move, but its prevalence in this movie called to my mind the 1980 film Fame and the "Red Light" number by street dancer Gene Anthony Ray:
Monday, November 9, 2009
Finding Lost Futures
Dang, I've been at the magazine so long that I not only can't find an article from way back when, I can't even remember the decade it was from.
For the record, I was looking for a story (with illustrations) on converting the backyards of all the houses in a typical suburban block into a common area for gardening. A great local-farming solution. But what issue was it in? I couldn't remember the author or the title, and I'm pretty sure we ran the story long before ProQuest began digitizing our stuff.
Anyway, short story long, while looking for that article, I found these cartoons from a 1987 article, "How to Think Like an Innovator" by Denis Waitley and Robert Tucker. The art work was by an illustrator named Spyder Webb, but it was based on sketches I provided him.
I guess I thought that was really hysterical at the time... setting up the expectation that the little innovator was going to invent the wheeled suitcase but then actually coming up with a game show. HAHA! The lesson is (I suppose) that the process of innovative thinking can lead you in a variety of directions.
And even if I didn't find the future I was looking for, it's all good.
Love, hosaa,
futuring, personally and otherwise
For the record, I was looking for a story (with illustrations) on converting the backyards of all the houses in a typical suburban block into a common area for gardening. A great local-farming solution. But what issue was it in? I couldn't remember the author or the title, and I'm pretty sure we ran the story long before ProQuest began digitizing our stuff.
Anyway, short story long, while looking for that article, I found these cartoons from a 1987 article, "How to Think Like an Innovator" by Denis Waitley and Robert Tucker. The art work was by an illustrator named Spyder Webb, but it was based on sketches I provided him.
I guess I thought that was really hysterical at the time... setting up the expectation that the little innovator was going to invent the wheeled suitcase but then actually coming up with a game show. HAHA! The lesson is (I suppose) that the process of innovative thinking can lead you in a variety of directions.
And even if I didn't find the future I was looking for, it's all good.
Love, hosaa,
futuring, personally and otherwise
Saturday, October 31, 2009
An Enemy of the People
I'm proud to post the college production debut of my niece in Ibsen's "An Enemy of the People," October 23-25, 2009.
A star is born! She may turn out to be a business major after all, but building a portfolio of stage presence and poise can only be a good thing.
Love, hosaa
If all the world's a stage, somebody's got to be the audience!
A star is born! She may turn out to be a business major after all, but building a portfolio of stage presence and poise can only be a good thing.
Love, hosaa
If all the world's a stage, somebody's got to be the audience!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Beautiful Star's Papa
RIP Joseph Alvis Aiken, beloved grandfather ("Papa") of Clay Aiken.
This is the montage I made after the 2005 Christmas tour, when Clay sang a bluegrass Christmas carol especially for Papa. Clay wrote in his book "Learning To Sing" that one of his favorite childhood memories was listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the radio.
"Papa's Beautiful Star" includes both the passage from the book and Clay's special Christmas gift to Papa.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
"Rediscovering Lone Pine"
A novel by Andrew Popper
(reviewed by C. G. Wagner)
The best stories are those that can be read at many levels, and "Rediscovering Lone Pine" is intriguingly multilayered. Told in the first person, present tense, the story draws the reader in at once as a confidante of the narrator, giving it the cinematic, intimate feel of "To Kill a Mockingbird" and bonding intrigue of "Stand By Me."
We join the narrator, Grant Harper, at the very beginning of a childhood mystery, sharing his internalized experiences and seeing through his mind the wild fears that his fevered imagination conjures when he realizes his friend has disappeared into the lonely wilderness. We then come of age along with Grant and his surviving gang, Hannah and Mickey, sharing their traumas, their loyalty, and the crises that would unite and reunite them, including their many searches for their lost friend Jason.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
(reviewed by C. G. Wagner)
The best stories are those that can be read at many levels, and "Rediscovering Lone Pine" is intriguingly multilayered. Told in the first person, present tense, the story draws the reader in at once as a confidante of the narrator, giving it the cinematic, intimate feel of "To Kill a Mockingbird" and bonding intrigue of "Stand By Me."
We join the narrator, Grant Harper, at the very beginning of a childhood mystery, sharing his internalized experiences and seeing through his mind the wild fears that his fevered imagination conjures when he realizes his friend has disappeared into the lonely wilderness. We then come of age along with Grant and his surviving gang, Hannah and Mickey, sharing their traumas, their loyalty, and the crises that would unite and reunite them, including their many searches for their lost friend Jason.
Approaching the book as a straight mystery story, this reader was trying to anticipate twists and predict the outcome - and was happily proven wrong at almost every turn. For where is the satisfaction in not being surprised by a mystery story? Was the detective investigating the disappearance of Jason merely a faux antagonist who would later become an ally? Was Grant's recollection of the events surrounding Jason's disappearance clouded by an amnesia-inducing trauma? My imaginings were nearly as fevered as protagonist Grant's.
The book's cover proclaims that "Rediscovering Lone Pine" won the Maryland Writers Association Prize for Mainstream Fiction. I'm not sure what level of literature "mainstream fiction" is - perhaps somewhere between a good beach book and high art. It's accessible and engaging; one cares about the characters, worries about them, hopes for the best. Living in their world with them is satisfying. My only complaint is that I would have liked just one more scene with my friends. We'd been through so much together!
Review posted at Amazon.com 8-26-09
***
***
On September 26, author Andrew Popper discussed and read from his book at a convenience store where we get our coffee every morning.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Photo and videos by C. G. Wagner, copyright 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Wandering Souls: Winter's Tale Well-Told
I cannot praise Wandering Souls highly enough, a small troupe of players bringing to passionate life both the comedy and drama of Shakespeare's "The Winter's Tale." It was a seven-actor, 20-character tour de force by the peripatetic Wandering Souls, performing their "outreach" production in the beautiful art deco Bethesda Theatre in downtown Bethesda, Maryland, for a limited three-show engagement.
Pared down to its 90-minute essence (the play is perhaps best known for having the greatest stage direction of all time: "Exit, pursued by a bear"), "The Winter's Tale" was accessible to the small audience who was privileged to see it. Though the company did its own marketing, the booking at the between-seasons theater was apparently spur-of-the-moment; the first signal of its existence was the change on the marquee on the day of the first performance.
The vibrant young cast (could any of them have yet seen his or her 30th year?) brought conviction and energy to their multiple roles; the awkwardness of female casting in male roles was deftly handled (Kristen Garaflo as Florizel, Karen Novak as larcenous rogue Autolycus, and puckish Kelsey Meikeljohn as sons of a king and a shepherd), all effusing great charm. One could even hold a warm spot for the irrationally jealous Leontes (JJ Area), for his beliefs, though misguided, were so utterly heartfelt.
The soul of Shakespeare's tragicomedy belongs to the gracious queen Hermione, unjustly condemned for that very graciousness, and her outcast daughter Perdita raised as a shepherdess, parts played with equal helpings of irreproachable nobility and pastoral gaiety by Betsy Rosen.
Kudos to director Adam Jonas Segaller's smart adaptation and clever "stripped down" staging. As actors dart behind a curtain to make a costume (and character) change, or sit on folding chairs off to the side to await their next entrance, there is no attempt for realism except through our connection to the emotions portrayed. This was how Shakespeare often introduced audiences to the staging of his works--suspend your need to see the great battlefields or the passage of time--and the beckoning to use our imaginations is a compelling invitation to adventure.
Kudos also to the Bethesda Theatre and facilities director Tom Davis for offering Wandering Souls the run of the place. The use of the professional venue was intended to show the larger theater-going community what this intrepid band of players is committed to doing elsewhere on its tours of churches, homeless shelters, nursing homes, detention facilities, and community centers.
According to the Wandering Souls' mission statement, printed on the back of the single-sheet program, the troupe is driven by "a belief that the arts can fuel our imagination, engage our personal growth and help unite individuals and communities. Yet, the richness of the arts is often considered a luxury. By bringing stripped-down, high quality, energetic performances to those who have little or no access, we hope to break down that misconception and provide opportunities for a broader cultural exchange."
As the company's Artistic Director Becky Peters was giving her introductory speech before the play--explaining how important it was not just to make the arts more accessible but to actually go into the communities who would not otherwise benefit from these experiences--I commented to my companion, "This was what I wanted to do 30 years ago."
The final performance at Bethesda Theatre is tonight (September 19) at 8 p.m.
links
Bethesda Theatre
Wandering Souls
love, hosaa,
soul still wandering
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Rx Music
Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast....
It's not exactly a "future" story, because it's happening right now, but one of the trends I've been following for a number of years is music therapy.
The idea that music can heal (or at least facilitate healing in some way) is not new, but it still raises the eyebrows of high-brow practitioners.
The latest story to lower that skeptical scorn comes from Mattel Children's Hospital UCLA, thanks to the Music Rx Unit donated by the Children's Cancer Association.
The portable cart has instruments that young patients can play with, and interactive video for demonstrating various instruments. As patients, children participating in music therapy become more relaxed, their pain and anxiety are reduced, and they communicate and bond better with family and hospital staff.
The Music Rx program also includes live performances, filling hospital corridors with stress-reducing sounds. The program planners are also building a recording studio, further extending young patients' involvement in their own music therapy.
I hope adult patients aren't left out of the mix. When my parents were in hospital and nursing home situations, the only sounds they were exposed to were noisy carts and chattering staff, other patients' TV's turned on to Headline News (with the same headlines repeated all day long, repeatedly!), and nothing in the way of soothing sounds.
One day a volunteer musician visited the nursing home where my father was and went from room to room to play guitar and sing just one song for patients who couldn't get out to the great room. I saw my dad that afternoon, and the expression on his face was so light and childlike in its joy. He said I missed all the fun, and he started singing! That became one of the best memories I have of my dad in his declining years.
Music didn't heal him, but it certainly helped him.
love, hosaa
humming
It's not exactly a "future" story, because it's happening right now, but one of the trends I've been following for a number of years is music therapy.
The idea that music can heal (or at least facilitate healing in some way) is not new, but it still raises the eyebrows of high-brow practitioners.
The latest story to lower that skeptical scorn comes from Mattel Children's Hospital UCLA, thanks to the Music Rx Unit donated by the Children's Cancer Association.
The portable cart has instruments that young patients can play with, and interactive video for demonstrating various instruments. As patients, children participating in music therapy become more relaxed, their pain and anxiety are reduced, and they communicate and bond better with family and hospital staff.
The Music Rx program also includes live performances, filling hospital corridors with stress-reducing sounds. The program planners are also building a recording studio, further extending young patients' involvement in their own music therapy.
I hope adult patients aren't left out of the mix. When my parents were in hospital and nursing home situations, the only sounds they were exposed to were noisy carts and chattering staff, other patients' TV's turned on to Headline News (with the same headlines repeated all day long, repeatedly!), and nothing in the way of soothing sounds.
One day a volunteer musician visited the nursing home where my father was and went from room to room to play guitar and sing just one song for patients who couldn't get out to the great room. I saw my dad that afternoon, and the expression on his face was so light and childlike in its joy. He said I missed all the fun, and he started singing! That became one of the best memories I have of my dad in his declining years.
Music didn't heal him, but it certainly helped him.
love, hosaa
humming
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Lost in the Neighborhood
I'm mortified to know I've sent people the wrong way, but can I help it if I'm the kind of person whom people stop in the street to ask directions?
Oy. A man wandering around in front of the Apple store wanted to know how to get to a certain Japanese restaurant. The only Japanese restaurant that popped into my mind was the one about 10 blocks away, so that's where I sent him. It was the wrong one. I hope he saw the one he wanted when he passed by it. Same thing happened a few years ago when someone wanted directions to Austin Grill. I sent him to Rio Grande. Oops.
What is it about me? I either look like I know where I am and where I'm going, or like I won't stab strangers with a stiletto if they ask me questions. Probably a combination. But I get asked directions at least once a week, and sometimes once a day. Even when I'm the stranger in town.
A few years ago, in London, a lady in the Tube station kept asking me, "Way out? Way out?" I looked for the exit signs. They said "Way Out." Heh.
A couple of weeks ago I was wandering around the wilds of Colorado, in the canyons south of Boulder. The B&B I was staying at had a kind of hidden entrance, and I drove by it every single time I tried. Fortunately there was one landmark, a restaurant with a brightly lit sign, nearby, so that helped me find my way "home."
I was out for a stroll there one evening, and a man wandering down the street asked me directions! Fortunately he wanted directions to that restaurant with the brightly lit sign, so I could easily tell him - keep walking, it's on that side of the road, about an eighth of a mile.
The thing is, I would never try to meet friends for dinner someplace without the address, or go to a strange place without maps and printouts of directions. I just don't do that. The two-and-a-half-day jaunt to the canyon forests of Colorado for a family wedding required a notebook's worth of Google Map printouts that would have rivaled my European History folder from freshman year at Grinnell.
So maybe I look like I know where I am and where I'm going because I actually do. I research it. But I don't know all the Japanese and Tex-Mex restaurants in my own neighborhood because I just don't eat out that much.
Maybe I should eat out more. Good rationalizing, huh!?
Love, hosaa
Finding her own way, her own self and all
Oy. A man wandering around in front of the Apple store wanted to know how to get to a certain Japanese restaurant. The only Japanese restaurant that popped into my mind was the one about 10 blocks away, so that's where I sent him. It was the wrong one. I hope he saw the one he wanted when he passed by it. Same thing happened a few years ago when someone wanted directions to Austin Grill. I sent him to Rio Grande. Oops.
What is it about me? I either look like I know where I am and where I'm going, or like I won't stab strangers with a stiletto if they ask me questions. Probably a combination. But I get asked directions at least once a week, and sometimes once a day. Even when I'm the stranger in town.
A few years ago, in London, a lady in the Tube station kept asking me, "Way out? Way out?" I looked for the exit signs. They said "Way Out." Heh.
A couple of weeks ago I was wandering around the wilds of Colorado, in the canyons south of Boulder. The B&B I was staying at had a kind of hidden entrance, and I drove by it every single time I tried. Fortunately there was one landmark, a restaurant with a brightly lit sign, nearby, so that helped me find my way "home."
I was out for a stroll there one evening, and a man wandering down the street asked me directions! Fortunately he wanted directions to that restaurant with the brightly lit sign, so I could easily tell him - keep walking, it's on that side of the road, about an eighth of a mile.
The thing is, I would never try to meet friends for dinner someplace without the address, or go to a strange place without maps and printouts of directions. I just don't do that. The two-and-a-half-day jaunt to the canyon forests of Colorado for a family wedding required a notebook's worth of Google Map printouts that would have rivaled my European History folder from freshman year at Grinnell.
So maybe I look like I know where I am and where I'm going because I actually do. I research it. But I don't know all the Japanese and Tex-Mex restaurants in my own neighborhood because I just don't eat out that much.
Maybe I should eat out more. Good rationalizing, huh!?
Love, hosaa
Finding her own way, her own self and all
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
On Re-Reading "Catcher in the Rye"
It was almost 40 years ago that I actually "studied" this book in high school, so forgive the lack of scholarly insight. I picked up Catcher in the Rye at Barnes & Noble shortly after finishing another novel written in the first person with a young male narrator (which I'll write about later, soon, I hope).
I'm sure I re-read the book several times in my late teens, even without (eleventh-grade English teacher) Marek-lady's oversight, because several vivid images came back to me before I read them. At the first mention of Ackley, for instance, I remembered him as the guy with the "mossy" teeth. (Ugh!) The other thing I remembered was, of course the use of what Marek-lady called "the ultimate profanity," which is probably why the book kept getting banned.
Yeah, "Catcher" being banned makes as much sense as "Huck Finn" being banned, which is None. You take two of the best young men in fiction and ban them because - why exactly? They cuss? They defy authority?
Without rereading the Cliff Notes or whatever they're using now to understand "what it all means," I'll just say I still loved the book and Holden's deep yearning to protect innocence. In the end, it was innocence (Phoebe) that protected him. The idea that Holden didn't change his attitude or mature at all throughout the book is ridiculous. He was running away from his problems, but in the end he faced them.
Holden ran away from Mr. Antolini's "flitty" gesture ("petting" Holden's forehead while he slept on the Antolinis' couch) but in the end realized it was more tender and caring. I loved that realization, though Holden was too far gone in his breakdown to have recovered that friendship just then. I wonder what happened after Holden got out of the mental institution.
The innocence of "old Jane" was the critical thread in the story, I think. It was the idea of his childhood friend losing her innocence to his womanizing roommate that Holden couldn't face. He kept meaning to give "old Jane" a buzz, but never did. And again, I wonder what happened later.
The story that this began to make me think about was "Rebel without a Cause," where James Dean is frustrated trying to explain to his dad, Jim Backus, that grown-ups just don't understand. Holden is the gray-haired teenager, between youth and adulthood, where nobody really understands anything. He can't communicate with his parents, but he knows he can't rely on Phoebe to understand him either.
I don't wonder why people have long wanted to dramatize this story. It is very visual, and the immediacy of first-person narratives always put the audience in the scene. But I'm fine with the pictures in my own head that the book gave me. And like Huck, I don't think Holden needs me to analyze him. Just listen.
love, hosaa
reading the catcher's mitt
I'm sure I re-read the book several times in my late teens, even without (eleventh-grade English teacher) Marek-lady's oversight, because several vivid images came back to me before I read them. At the first mention of Ackley, for instance, I remembered him as the guy with the "mossy" teeth. (Ugh!) The other thing I remembered was, of course the use of what Marek-lady called "the ultimate profanity," which is probably why the book kept getting banned.
Yeah, "Catcher" being banned makes as much sense as "Huck Finn" being banned, which is None. You take two of the best young men in fiction and ban them because - why exactly? They cuss? They defy authority?
Without rereading the Cliff Notes or whatever they're using now to understand "what it all means," I'll just say I still loved the book and Holden's deep yearning to protect innocence. In the end, it was innocence (Phoebe) that protected him. The idea that Holden didn't change his attitude or mature at all throughout the book is ridiculous. He was running away from his problems, but in the end he faced them.
Holden ran away from Mr. Antolini's "flitty" gesture ("petting" Holden's forehead while he slept on the Antolinis' couch) but in the end realized it was more tender and caring. I loved that realization, though Holden was too far gone in his breakdown to have recovered that friendship just then. I wonder what happened after Holden got out of the mental institution.
The innocence of "old Jane" was the critical thread in the story, I think. It was the idea of his childhood friend losing her innocence to his womanizing roommate that Holden couldn't face. He kept meaning to give "old Jane" a buzz, but never did. And again, I wonder what happened later.
The story that this began to make me think about was "Rebel without a Cause," where James Dean is frustrated trying to explain to his dad, Jim Backus, that grown-ups just don't understand. Holden is the gray-haired teenager, between youth and adulthood, where nobody really understands anything. He can't communicate with his parents, but he knows he can't rely on Phoebe to understand him either.
I don't wonder why people have long wanted to dramatize this story. It is very visual, and the immediacy of first-person narratives always put the audience in the scene. But I'm fine with the pictures in my own head that the book gave me. And like Huck, I don't think Holden needs me to analyze him. Just listen.
love, hosaa
reading the catcher's mitt
Friday, July 24, 2009
The Right Sh- Stuff
or, A Clay Aiken Mashup!
The search for an American Idol was not unlike the search for astronauts a generation ago. A "mashup" featuring Clay Aiken and the casts of "The Right Stuff" and American Idol Season 2.
Academy Award winning music by Bill Conti; original film written for the screen and directed by Philip Kaufman. Montage by hosaa. Download more polished version from Megaupload.
love, hosaa
stargazing
The search for an American Idol was not unlike the search for astronauts a generation ago. A "mashup" featuring Clay Aiken and the casts of "The Right Stuff" and American Idol Season 2.
Academy Award winning music by Bill Conti; original film written for the screen and directed by Philip Kaufman. Montage by hosaa. Download more polished version from Megaupload.
love, hosaa
stargazing
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That
Or, A Series of Misfortunate Events
Yesterday I was inadvertently insulted at the convenience store where I buy my coffee on the way to work. I was chatting with a couple of people, and the woman noticed that I was wearing the same skirt as the cashier. She interrupted what I was saying to make that observation. The gentleman turned to look. Then, as though to save herself from her inadvertent rudeness, she added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."
It was a minor and very forgivable offense. But the phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" stuck to the underbelly of my mind, like a barnacle. We go really easy on ourselves, don't we?
The first e-mail I opened at the office was labled "Grave mistake in article...." It pointed out a factual error ("grave" is a matter of opinion), which originated with the author but passed through several readings by several editors, including myself. I notified the publicist who submitted the article and asked for a word or two from the author that we could publish in our correction.
To his credit, the publicist was eager to remedy the situation. But he added that, as a "former Pulitzer Prize winning editor," he demands accuracy in all that he does, but we shouldn't beat ourselves up so much over this because, hey, editing is a complex process. (First of all, what is a "former" Pulitzer Prize winner? Did they take the prize back?)
This again clung to the bottom of my brain. Maybe not wanting to beat oneself up over factual errors is how one decides to remove oneself from the Pulitzer Prize categories and switch over to publicity:
"We made a mistake ... not that there's anything wrong with that."
Now I turn back to the unfortunate events that left our conference staff without a reporter and photographer for the opening keynote session last weekend. I know travel was a bear in Chicago on Friday, and I know the reason I sent myself to the conference was to be a backup resource. So I did the work that the others were supposed to do. The next day we had our photographer, but not the reporter. There were more unfortunate events going on, but mostly they were his responsibility.
The reckoning came yesterday when I asked him to explain himself and told him what the consequences of his mistakes would be. The phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" was on the other side of some parallel universe, not here. But the incident is now over, and the reporter (I hope) has learned a valuable lesson.
Mistakes should have consequences. There IS something wrong with that. But there is also a time for forgiveness and moving on. I don't believe in making people feel bad for their mistakes - just in making them remedy them. They should actually care about it.
On a lighter note, here's how I saved civilization on Monday... (HAHA!)
I was sitting at my gate at O'Hare on the end of a row of seats, and some guy set his carryon luggage right next to me. Nice looking business type. We didn't make eye contact, but he left quickly with a smug look on his face, strutted across the way to the Starbucks opposite us, and got in a long line. He kept looking left and right, left and right, up and down the concourse as he stood in line.
Okay, the smug look might have been, "This old lady looks sweet and innocent enough, she won't steal my stuff." MY interpretation of the smug look at that point became, "Die, damn infidel! Die a bloody shredded body parts MESS! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!"
The thing is, I never saw the guy come back out of Starbucks. I went to the ladies room (lugging all of MY carryon crap, by the way), and when I came back, his stuff was still there, unattended. This is roughly now 20 minutes since he dropped it off beside me.
Now I'm hearing all the announcements about not leaving your stuff unattended, and telling you to report any unattended bags. And I start getting nervous.
Do I keep my mouth shut because it's all probably perfectly innocent? I had no idea what happens when people report suspicious packages in airports. Do they sound alarms? Bring in bomb-sniffing dogs? Clear out the terminal, causing thousands of people problems?
At 30 minutes into the abandoned luggage debacle, I finally reported it to the airline worker at the gate. She quietly got on the phone, and an employee quietly came and fetched the luggage away. No panic and (more to the point) no bloody shredded body parts.
So now I'm wondering if the bad guys all have me on their surveillance cameras as the terrorist-thwarter, and now they're going to come get ME!! (Yes, I know I watch too much 24.)
It was at least another 15 minutes before the smug looking man came back to look for his luggage. He asked up at the desk about his bags and pointed to where he'd left them. The airline worker then made a quiet call, and his bags were quietly returned to him. I have no idea whether the smug suitcase abandoner got a stern lecture for abandoning his bags and causing (at least for one moron) a panic.
I know I did the right thing, and I feel no guilt about inconveniencing a smug person who thinks it's okay to ignore the rules.
Moral of the story: If someone looks honorable enough NOT to steal your stuff, they're probably also honorable enough NOT to let the airport blow up.
Love, hosaa
A little on the self-righteous side, I guess. And there probably IS a little bit of something wrong with that. :)
Yesterday I was inadvertently insulted at the convenience store where I buy my coffee on the way to work. I was chatting with a couple of people, and the woman noticed that I was wearing the same skirt as the cashier. She interrupted what I was saying to make that observation. The gentleman turned to look. Then, as though to save herself from her inadvertent rudeness, she added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."
It was a minor and very forgivable offense. But the phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" stuck to the underbelly of my mind, like a barnacle. We go really easy on ourselves, don't we?
The first e-mail I opened at the office was labled "Grave mistake in article...." It pointed out a factual error ("grave" is a matter of opinion), which originated with the author but passed through several readings by several editors, including myself. I notified the publicist who submitted the article and asked for a word or two from the author that we could publish in our correction.
To his credit, the publicist was eager to remedy the situation. But he added that, as a "former Pulitzer Prize winning editor," he demands accuracy in all that he does, but we shouldn't beat ourselves up so much over this because, hey, editing is a complex process. (First of all, what is a "former" Pulitzer Prize winner? Did they take the prize back?)
This again clung to the bottom of my brain. Maybe not wanting to beat oneself up over factual errors is how one decides to remove oneself from the Pulitzer Prize categories and switch over to publicity:
"We made a mistake ... not that there's anything wrong with that."
Now I turn back to the unfortunate events that left our conference staff without a reporter and photographer for the opening keynote session last weekend. I know travel was a bear in Chicago on Friday, and I know the reason I sent myself to the conference was to be a backup resource. So I did the work that the others were supposed to do. The next day we had our photographer, but not the reporter. There were more unfortunate events going on, but mostly they were his responsibility.
The reckoning came yesterday when I asked him to explain himself and told him what the consequences of his mistakes would be. The phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" was on the other side of some parallel universe, not here. But the incident is now over, and the reporter (I hope) has learned a valuable lesson.
Mistakes should have consequences. There IS something wrong with that. But there is also a time for forgiveness and moving on. I don't believe in making people feel bad for their mistakes - just in making them remedy them. They should actually care about it.
On a lighter note, here's how I saved civilization on Monday... (HAHA!)
I was sitting at my gate at O'Hare on the end of a row of seats, and some guy set his carryon luggage right next to me. Nice looking business type. We didn't make eye contact, but he left quickly with a smug look on his face, strutted across the way to the Starbucks opposite us, and got in a long line. He kept looking left and right, left and right, up and down the concourse as he stood in line.
Okay, the smug look might have been, "This old lady looks sweet and innocent enough, she won't steal my stuff." MY interpretation of the smug look at that point became, "Die, damn infidel! Die a bloody shredded body parts MESS! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!"
The thing is, I never saw the guy come back out of Starbucks. I went to the ladies room (lugging all of MY carryon crap, by the way), and when I came back, his stuff was still there, unattended. This is roughly now 20 minutes since he dropped it off beside me.
Now I'm hearing all the announcements about not leaving your stuff unattended, and telling you to report any unattended bags. And I start getting nervous.
Do I keep my mouth shut because it's all probably perfectly innocent? I had no idea what happens when people report suspicious packages in airports. Do they sound alarms? Bring in bomb-sniffing dogs? Clear out the terminal, causing thousands of people problems?
At 30 minutes into the abandoned luggage debacle, I finally reported it to the airline worker at the gate. She quietly got on the phone, and an employee quietly came and fetched the luggage away. No panic and (more to the point) no bloody shredded body parts.
So now I'm wondering if the bad guys all have me on their surveillance cameras as the terrorist-thwarter, and now they're going to come get ME!! (Yes, I know I watch too much 24.)
It was at least another 15 minutes before the smug looking man came back to look for his luggage. He asked up at the desk about his bags and pointed to where he'd left them. The airline worker then made a quiet call, and his bags were quietly returned to him. I have no idea whether the smug suitcase abandoner got a stern lecture for abandoning his bags and causing (at least for one moron) a panic.
I know I did the right thing, and I feel no guilt about inconveniencing a smug person who thinks it's okay to ignore the rules.
Moral of the story: If someone looks honorable enough NOT to steal your stuff, they're probably also honorable enough NOT to let the airport blow up.
Love, hosaa
A little on the self-righteous side, I guess. And there probably IS a little bit of something wrong with that. :)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
McNamara's Ford
In Remembrance of Robert S. McNamara
Yes, I re-watched the Errol Morris documentary about Robert McNamara last night, The Fog of War.
For those who haven't seen it, the film comprises interviews with McNamara and historic footage, photos, audio tapes, and documents. It is as much about World War II as it is about Vietnam, and tries to put all of McNamara's life and work into perspective.
The segment showing the fire bombing of Tokyo and the decisions leading up to it were terrifying and wrenching, and probably the keystone of the documentary for me. He confessed that if the United States had lost the war, he, Curtis Lemay, and other key figures would have been tried as war criminals. Hell of a confession.
But the other small thing in the film that got to me (really killed me, in a Holden Caulfield sort of way) was when McNamara was filmed driving his car through downtown Washington. The closeups on his care-worn face were poignant.
Then the camera pans down to his hands on the steering wheel, and you can see.... many years after briefly running the Ford Motor Company, McNamara was still driving a Ford.
Love, hosaa
owner of her third Ford
Monday, June 29, 2009
Dancing with Clay
It's fun to merge passions. I combined a couple of my current interests for this montage of "So You Think You Can Dance" stars Randi Evans and Evan Kasprzak's performances, with "Everything I Don't Need" sung by Clay Aiken.
YouTube link to view larger
love, hosaa
singing and dancing are everything I do need!
YouTube link to view larger
love, hosaa
singing and dancing are everything I do need!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Michael Jackson and The Futurist
The Futurist magazine has so rarely covered celebrities that I could almost instantly pull up the article in which we used a photo of Michael Jackson.
It was the August 1984 issue, and we used MJ as a representative of one of the "Nine American Lifestyles," an article by eminent social scientist and futurist Arnold Mitchell of SRI International.
MJ represented what Mitchell termed the "I-Am-Me" generation. The caption reads:
The only other celebrities whom The Futurist has featured (to my best recollection) are:
* Actress Ellen Burstyn, who helped fete futurist/inventor R. Buckminster Fuller at the World Future Society's 1982 conference (her photo with him appeared in our conference coverage in the October 1982 issue).
* Pop princess Britney Spears, whose image was used to illustrate the growing influence of pop music over traditional American music and the potential future demise of folk music. (November-December 2003, World Trends & Forecasts, "Where, Oh Where, Have the Good Old Songs Gone?")
* The Black Eyed Peas, whose anti-hate rap anthem "Where Is the Love?" was cited as a sign of a possible values shift in hip-hop culture. (July-August 2004, Optimistic Outlooks, "Values Shift for Urban Music?")
* Clay Aiken, whose use of the celebrity spotlight to focus attention on including individuals with special needs into programs with "typical peers" earned him recognition as a Visionary. (September-October 2004, "Enabling the Disabled to Serve")
Of course, the unexpected and untimely death of the "King of Pop" serves to remind all of us that our pop culture icons are more than merely symbols of our civilization. They are very much human beings, who live, love, and struggle for the best futures possible. Just like the rest of us.
ETA - gosh, how could I have forgotten Arianna Huffington! Pictured with Al Franken during their stint with Comedy Central, Ms. Huffington illustrated the concept of "celebritizing" oneself to improve paychecks. (June-July 1998, World Trends & Forecasts, "Marketing to a Celebrity-Obsessed Society")
It was the August 1984 issue, and we used MJ as a representative of one of the "Nine American Lifestyles," an article by eminent social scientist and futurist Arnold Mitchell of SRI International.
MJ represented what Mitchell termed the "I-Am-Me" generation. The caption reads:
Entertainer Michael Jackson symbolizes young people moving away from the outer-directed values of their parents and turning inward to find unique ways of expressing themselves. The confusion and contradiction of this "I-Am-Me" group is evident in their tendency to be simultaneously exhibitionistic and demure, narcissistic and self-effacing, confident and insecure, innovative and conforming, says Mitchell.
The only other celebrities whom The Futurist has featured (to my best recollection) are:
* Actress Ellen Burstyn, who helped fete futurist/inventor R. Buckminster Fuller at the World Future Society's 1982 conference (her photo with him appeared in our conference coverage in the October 1982 issue).
* Pop princess Britney Spears, whose image was used to illustrate the growing influence of pop music over traditional American music and the potential future demise of folk music. (November-December 2003, World Trends & Forecasts, "Where, Oh Where, Have the Good Old Songs Gone?")
* The Black Eyed Peas, whose anti-hate rap anthem "Where Is the Love?" was cited as a sign of a possible values shift in hip-hop culture. (July-August 2004, Optimistic Outlooks, "Values Shift for Urban Music?")
* Clay Aiken, whose use of the celebrity spotlight to focus attention on including individuals with special needs into programs with "typical peers" earned him recognition as a Visionary. (September-October 2004, "Enabling the Disabled to Serve")
Of course, the unexpected and untimely death of the "King of Pop" serves to remind all of us that our pop culture icons are more than merely symbols of our civilization. They are very much human beings, who live, love, and struggle for the best futures possible. Just like the rest of us.
ETA - gosh, how could I have forgotten Arianna Huffington! Pictured with Al Franken during their stint with Comedy Central, Ms. Huffington illustrated the concept of "celebritizing" oneself to improve paychecks. (June-July 1998, World Trends & Forecasts, "Marketing to a Celebrity-Obsessed Society")
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Edward Duke
June 17, 1953 - January 8, 1994
Happy Birthday to Edward Duke, who would have been 56.
Loved. Still.
love, hosaa
looking for the silver lining
Happy Birthday to Edward Duke, who would have been 56.
Loved. Still.
love, hosaa
looking for the silver lining
Monday, June 15, 2009
From Decadence to Decay: King Lear
This is not a review, but a recap...
One of the great pleasures of belonging to an informal reading group (so small that we sometimes don't even get a quorum for our monthly Sunday-afternoon-at-the-library readings) is that we are sometimes invited to attend dress rehearsals at the Shakespeare Theatre Company's productions at Sidney Harman Hall or the Lansburgh. (Near the Verizon Center in downtown Washington, D.C.) So, along with other of the STC's friends, volunteers, ushers, student groups, were a few of us from the Shakespeare Readers ...
invited to see the new production of "King Lear" starring Stacy Keach.
Here is the video interview of Stacy and the director.
http://www.shakespearetheatre.org/digital/0809_7.aspx
This production was updated to 1990s Eastern Europe, roughly paralleling the breakup of Yugoslavia. Reduced to the essence - this "Lear" is sex, violence, tempests, helicopters, holocausts, naked butts, and iambic pentameter. The fall of King Lear starts in the decadence of a posh but seedy hotel, as he symbolically divides his realm among his three daughters by slicing up a gaudy red and green cake (roughly emulating the topography of the kingdom) and offering chunks to the daughters who must declare their unparalleled love and devotion to him.
Wicked daughters Goneril and Regan one-up each other on the excesses of their love for their father; they're rewarded with huge slabs of the realm, and they and their husbands devour their slices of cake greedily. Humble Cordelia points out that if her sisters loved their father so much, how could they have enough love left their husbands? Cordelia, Lear's favorite and most caring daughter, doesn't suck up to him, which bruises his vanity. He banishes her, and she sets off with one of her suitors, some guy from France.
The rest of the play is really confusing to me - I wish I'd studied a plot and character summary before, but just didn't have time. It all goes from seedy decadence to utter decay. The King goes mad, his bad daughters abuse him horribly while engaging in all sorts of lewd acts. There is one older guy who is loyal to the king, and the bad daughters' bad boyfriend rips his eyeballs out. Meanwhile, Lear wanders around in the storm, rips his clothes off and dances off like a crazy person (yup - Stacy Keach's big old bouncing backside).
There's choking and shooting and raping in this show, too - all done on stage. Gosh! I don't think I want to be an actress when I grow up anymore!! How it was all staged is remarkable, but still very confusing and disturbing to me.
Since it was technically a rehearsal, the director could have stopped the action at any point to make adjustments, but he never did. I only spotted one flaw - when one of the evil sisters came in with a line of dialogue a bit too soon and interrupted the other. Everything else, as far as I could tell, was perfect. Just WAY too much sex and violence on stage for my taste.
Long show - first act was an hour and forty minutes, and the second was an hour and ten minutes, according to the director--I think it actually went longer. It ended at about five till 11! And with my wonderful ability to find my way home in the dark (not), I got home at about 10 till midnight.
I love theater even when I hate the show. Lear is one of the most depressing shows you'll ever see. Wrenching and awful and fabulous!
love, hosaa
taking my Shakespeare modern
One of the great pleasures of belonging to an informal reading group (so small that we sometimes don't even get a quorum for our monthly Sunday-afternoon-at-the-library readings) is that we are sometimes invited to attend dress rehearsals at the Shakespeare Theatre Company's productions at Sidney Harman Hall or the Lansburgh. (Near the Verizon Center in downtown Washington, D.C.) So, along with other of the STC's friends, volunteers, ushers, student groups, were a few of us from the Shakespeare Readers ...
invited to see the new production of "King Lear" starring Stacy Keach.
Here is the video interview of Stacy and the director.
http://www.shakespearetheatre.org/digital/0809_7.aspx
This production was updated to 1990s Eastern Europe, roughly paralleling the breakup of Yugoslavia. Reduced to the essence - this "Lear" is sex, violence, tempests, helicopters, holocausts, naked butts, and iambic pentameter. The fall of King Lear starts in the decadence of a posh but seedy hotel, as he symbolically divides his realm among his three daughters by slicing up a gaudy red and green cake (roughly emulating the topography of the kingdom) and offering chunks to the daughters who must declare their unparalleled love and devotion to him.
Wicked daughters Goneril and Regan one-up each other on the excesses of their love for their father; they're rewarded with huge slabs of the realm, and they and their husbands devour their slices of cake greedily. Humble Cordelia points out that if her sisters loved their father so much, how could they have enough love left their husbands? Cordelia, Lear's favorite and most caring daughter, doesn't suck up to him, which bruises his vanity. He banishes her, and she sets off with one of her suitors, some guy from France.
The rest of the play is really confusing to me - I wish I'd studied a plot and character summary before, but just didn't have time. It all goes from seedy decadence to utter decay. The King goes mad, his bad daughters abuse him horribly while engaging in all sorts of lewd acts. There is one older guy who is loyal to the king, and the bad daughters' bad boyfriend rips his eyeballs out. Meanwhile, Lear wanders around in the storm, rips his clothes off and dances off like a crazy person (yup - Stacy Keach's big old bouncing backside).
There's choking and shooting and raping in this show, too - all done on stage. Gosh! I don't think I want to be an actress when I grow up anymore!! How it was all staged is remarkable, but still very confusing and disturbing to me.
Since it was technically a rehearsal, the director could have stopped the action at any point to make adjustments, but he never did. I only spotted one flaw - when one of the evil sisters came in with a line of dialogue a bit too soon and interrupted the other. Everything else, as far as I could tell, was perfect. Just WAY too much sex and violence on stage for my taste.
Long show - first act was an hour and forty minutes, and the second was an hour and ten minutes, according to the director--I think it actually went longer. It ended at about five till 11! And with my wonderful ability to find my way home in the dark (not), I got home at about 10 till midnight.
I love theater even when I hate the show. Lear is one of the most depressing shows you'll ever see. Wrenching and awful and fabulous!
love, hosaa
taking my Shakespeare modern
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Ford's Theatre Museum
I'm very impressed with the renovated museum devoted to Lincoln that will be reopening this summer in downtown Washington, D.C. (equidistant between Metro Center and Gallery Place subway stops).
This 14-minute "flyover" of the project, and what you can expect when you visit, illustrates some very sophisticated museology. It combines information with interactivity, with particular attention to the experiential aspects of learning. I LOVE the four-story stack of books that is the centerpiece of the learning center, showcasing Lincoln scholarship.
Well done, Ford's! I'll be there.
Go to: Ford's Theatre Museum
This 14-minute "flyover" of the project, and what you can expect when you visit, illustrates some very sophisticated museology. It combines information with interactivity, with particular attention to the experiential aspects of learning. I LOVE the four-story stack of books that is the centerpiece of the learning center, showcasing Lincoln scholarship.
Well done, Ford's! I'll be there.
Go to: Ford's Theatre Museum
Thursday, June 4, 2009
What's in a Name?
I've been a supporter of the Bubel/Aiken Foundation for almost six years. I haven't seen the press release yet, but I understand that its name is being changed.
Clay Aiken--co-founder and Chair of the foundation that provides education and other resources for promoting the inclusion of children with disabilities into programs with their "typical" peers--has long said that he wanted the Foundation to be sustainable without the need for his celebrity spotlight.
I've sent in my share for a place at the table at the October "Champions for Change" gala. Their good work will continue to need our support, no matter what they call the Foundation! I champion them, I champion their change.
(Now I only wish I could steal all their good ideas to help my own organization, the World Future Society. Stay tuned....)
love, hosaa
not naming names
Clay Aiken--co-founder and Chair of the foundation that provides education and other resources for promoting the inclusion of children with disabilities into programs with their "typical" peers--has long said that he wanted the Foundation to be sustainable without the need for his celebrity spotlight.
I've sent in my share for a place at the table at the October "Champions for Change" gala. Their good work will continue to need our support, no matter what they call the Foundation! I champion them, I champion their change.
(Now I only wish I could steal all their good ideas to help my own organization, the World Future Society. Stay tuned....)
love, hosaa
not naming names
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Altitude or Attitude? A Platitude
In life, you can take the high road or the low road.
I recommend the high road: The view is better, and you don't get your shoes as muddy.
Remember my dears, strength isn't measured by how many people you knock down, but by how many people you lift up.
love, hosaa
trying to get a better view
I recommend the high road: The view is better, and you don't get your shoes as muddy.
Remember my dears, strength isn't measured by how many people you knock down, but by how many people you lift up.
love, hosaa
trying to get a better view
Monday, May 25, 2009
Elliott Yamin at the Birchmere
Just another reminder to go experience live music - or dance or drama or comedy. Support the arts! It supports us.
Some friends went to see Coldplay at the Nissan Pavilion last week, so I knew a scaled down show like Elliott's at the Birchmere would leave them feeling cheated. I invited them to come with me to the show last night (May 24), but understood when they declined, still off their Chris Martin high. I don't know. I like scaled down intimate shows. I like being 25 feet from a singer, seeing his eyes, watching him work.
Elliott has more stamina than he did when he first came to the Birchmere two years ago (May 17, 2007). Starting his first tour for his first album, he lasted a strained 50 minutes but put his whole heart into the show. Without enough of his own material, he did some great covers at that time.
This year, two years stronger and with more confidence, he pulled off an energetic and soulful 70 minute set, covering his first and second albums just about equally (the two encores were from the first album, "Train Wreck" and "Movin' On").
Including the first album was a good move, IMO, not because it's stronger material than his latest CD, "Fight For Love," but because the mood varies more. And because the fans in the audience are more familiar with the first CD, they can sing along and get into the show with Elliott. And he encouraged that a lot!
I got to share my table with two sweet PYT's from West Virginia, Amanda and Leslie, who informed me that their plan was to marry Elliott. Both of them. I hope they understood this would require religious conversions among the three of them, but they were so happy - and especially thrilled when I told them that Elliott would probably be out front after the show to sign autographs.
While the vid's are uploading (good view, but a little shakey and off center, and beginnings cut off on some - sorry about that), here are some of my best shots.
Love, hosaa,
Waiting for Clay but loving the Yamin
"Ya-mini"
Cold Heart
I Can't Keep On Loving You (From a Distance):
One Word:
Someday:
and, apropos of the above (heh):
Friday, May 22, 2009
What It's All About
Since everyone else is pontificating on Clay Aiken's "trashing" of American Idol, why not me?
I won't repost his members-only blog or link to the sites that did, but basically Clay said he was glad that "boy-next-door" Kris Allen won the eighth season of the show that gave Clay his start.
His actual opinions of the artists' performances don't really mean much since he didn't watch the entire season. He did say that he didn't like what Adam Lambert did with a classic country song ("Ring of Fire"), and based on very limited exposure to either finalist said that public perceptions may have formed around Adam as being "arrogant" (because of all the support that the producers and media had given him over the course of the season).
Clay didn't say Adam was arrogant, just that - rightly or wrongly - the perception of him may have been strong enough to encourage some voters to vote against him.
So what Clay was really lamenting in his blog was Idol's loss of innocence, the loss of the vision of what it was all about in the first place. Like Linus in "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown," Clay took the thumb out of his mouth, dropped his security blanket, stepped out alone onto a stage and a single spotlight, and said what AI was all about: giving opportunities to people with raw talent who would not otherwise have that chance.
The truth is, Adam and Kris are both extremely talented, but since Adam was already a professional with lots of opportunities, he didn't need Idol as much as Kris did. The fact that Idol producers and judges (and the media they seem to control with their targeted messages) had so transparently supported the contestant most likely to become a superstar (and make them all richer) was disillusioning to Clay (and to many of us who have loved Idol over the years).
It's always disheartening to see the crass commercialization of our cherished traditions. Charlie Brown winced at Snoopy's enthusiasm in the neighborhood Christmas display competition. And Clay winced at the obvious AI bias for hot-property Adam.
So, like Linus, that's what Clay was talking about in his blog. He was simply reminding us why the AI experience burrowed itself into our hearts in the first place, with Kelly, Tamyra, Ruben, Clay, Fantasia, and Carrie. The kids next door were getting a chance to make it big.... That could be us! And now with Kris, it still can be.
That's what it's all about, Simon!
Love, hosaa
"id(o)ling"
I won't repost his members-only blog or link to the sites that did, but basically Clay said he was glad that "boy-next-door" Kris Allen won the eighth season of the show that gave Clay his start.
His actual opinions of the artists' performances don't really mean much since he didn't watch the entire season. He did say that he didn't like what Adam Lambert did with a classic country song ("Ring of Fire"), and based on very limited exposure to either finalist said that public perceptions may have formed around Adam as being "arrogant" (because of all the support that the producers and media had given him over the course of the season).
Clay didn't say Adam was arrogant, just that - rightly or wrongly - the perception of him may have been strong enough to encourage some voters to vote against him.
So what Clay was really lamenting in his blog was Idol's loss of innocence, the loss of the vision of what it was all about in the first place. Like Linus in "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown," Clay took the thumb out of his mouth, dropped his security blanket, stepped out alone onto a stage and a single spotlight, and said what AI was all about: giving opportunities to people with raw talent who would not otherwise have that chance.
The truth is, Adam and Kris are both extremely talented, but since Adam was already a professional with lots of opportunities, he didn't need Idol as much as Kris did. The fact that Idol producers and judges (and the media they seem to control with their targeted messages) had so transparently supported the contestant most likely to become a superstar (and make them all richer) was disillusioning to Clay (and to many of us who have loved Idol over the years).
It's always disheartening to see the crass commercialization of our cherished traditions. Charlie Brown winced at Snoopy's enthusiasm in the neighborhood Christmas display competition. And Clay winced at the obvious AI bias for hot-property Adam.
So, like Linus, that's what Clay was talking about in his blog. He was simply reminding us why the AI experience burrowed itself into our hearts in the first place, with Kelly, Tamyra, Ruben, Clay, Fantasia, and Carrie. The kids next door were getting a chance to make it big.... That could be us! And now with Kris, it still can be.
That's what it's all about, Simon!
Love, hosaa
"id(o)ling"
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Punk Rampant!
My curiousity sometimes leads me down curious avenues, and when I was watching a DVD of Franco Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet recently, a bit of the dialogue didn't quite sit right.
The Nurse is trying to find Romeo to tell him where and when to meet Juliet, but he's hanging out with his friends. She has a go-around with sharp-tongued Mercutio, whom she declares a "scurvy knave." All right, that's good Shakespeare.
But then her servant Peter is rolling on the ground laughing, and she screams at him, kicks him down the steps, and bellows out, "Punk rampant!"
(with apologies: the video has been removed)
WTF?
Well it sounds good, but it ain't Shakespeare. Zeffirelli's film came out in 1968, so at first I suspected the line was contemporary, perhaps borrowed from Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange, the definitive film on punks rampant. But that didn't come out until 1971.
I did a Goodsearch for the phrase, but came up empty. So then I turned to Google Book Search, and by gum... It's from The Dutch Courtesan By John Marston, 1605:
So the phrase is authentically of Shakespeare's era (or a tad later) and not Zeffirelli's. But how modern is it! "Punk Rampant!" could describe any number of contemporary scurvy knaves.
Love, hosaa,
mind rampant
The Nurse is trying to find Romeo to tell him where and when to meet Juliet, but he's hanging out with his friends. She has a go-around with sharp-tongued Mercutio, whom she declares a "scurvy knave." All right, that's good Shakespeare.
But then her servant Peter is rolling on the ground laughing, and she screams at him, kicks him down the steps, and bellows out, "Punk rampant!"
(with apologies: the video has been removed)
WTF?
Well it sounds good, but it ain't Shakespeare. Zeffirelli's film came out in 1968, so at first I suspected the line was contemporary, perhaps borrowed from Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange, the definitive film on punks rampant. But that didn't come out until 1971.
I did a Goodsearch for the phrase, but came up empty. So then I turned to Google Book Search, and by gum... It's from The Dutch Courtesan By John Marston, 1605:
Freevill (to Franceschina): Go; y'are grown a punk rampant!
So the phrase is authentically of Shakespeare's era (or a tad later) and not Zeffirelli's. But how modern is it! "Punk Rampant!" could describe any number of contemporary scurvy knaves.
Love, hosaa,
mind rampant
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Nonlocality Problem
A little gripe... It's hard to "buy local" when it comes to fresh produce.
There are two farmer's markets within walking distance of me: The venerable Montgomery County Farm Women's Cooperative, which is half a block and across the street from my apartment, and the Bethesda Farmer's Market, in the shadow of my office building.
I like the idea of buying fresh produce directly from farmers, and local farmers in particular because of the reduced environmental impacts of transportation. But these farmers aren't all that local. The corn I bought from the Farm Women's market on Saturday came in from Florida. And the two tables of produce I just passed by in Veterans Park were from Pennsylvania and West Virginia.
I guess I can look at it this way: I want the fresh produce, and I want to support farmers and cooperatives. I know I can't get white sweet corn from Montgomery County in early May. At least the environmental impacts of my own transportation were minimized: I walked.
Love, hosaa
shopping locally
There are two farmer's markets within walking distance of me: The venerable Montgomery County Farm Women's Cooperative, which is half a block and across the street from my apartment, and the Bethesda Farmer's Market, in the shadow of my office building.
I like the idea of buying fresh produce directly from farmers, and local farmers in particular because of the reduced environmental impacts of transportation. But these farmers aren't all that local. The corn I bought from the Farm Women's market on Saturday came in from Florida. And the two tables of produce I just passed by in Veterans Park were from Pennsylvania and West Virginia.
I guess I can look at it this way: I want the fresh produce, and I want to support farmers and cooperatives. I know I can't get white sweet corn from Montgomery County in early May. At least the environmental impacts of my own transportation were minimized: I walked.
Love, hosaa
shopping locally
Sunday, April 26, 2009
HAHA
A few years ago I decided that, whenever someone insulted me or acted rudely, I'd laugh it off. It was probably the only New Year's resolution I've come close to keeping.
It's useful, because nine times out of ten, the insult or rudeness is unintentional or thoughtless. Why take it personally?
Case in point. Last night I went to the Birchmere to meet my cousin for her husband's birthday celebration. I arrived early so I could save a good table for five (not quite early enough, and it turned out I needed space for seven, so the back of the room turned out fine).
While waiting to get in the doors, I sat at the bar with a glass of pinot grigio and my paperback - The Fall by Camus (yeah, I know - perfect reading for an old music hall. But I'm used to being out of place).
I'm trying to get out of myself a little more and be open to random conversations in public places. Not that I want to be picked up or anything. But a couple sat down at the bar table across from me, so maybe I'd just start a conversation. The guy was about my age, give or take seven or eight years, and the girl was much younger. They were both on their cell phones, but chatting in between texting.
I heard the guy grumble to the girl, "What a loser, can't get a date."
Okay, I knew he was talking about whoever he was communicating with on his phone. Maybe it was somebody who backed out of meeting them there. But he was sitting three feet away, directly across the table, from a middle-aged woman sitting alone in a bar with a glass of white wine and a book - the iconic image of "loser, can't get a date."
I smiled, laughing at myself and at the guy across the table from me, and continued with Camus' narrator on the absurdity of public charm.
The guy and the girl paused in their own conversation for a bit, so I asked the guy if he'd been to hear this singer before, Guy Clark. I wanted to know what kind of music to expect.
The guy was very friendly, an aging old-boy/hippie with a long grey ponytail. The much-younger girl he was with, I finally realized, was his daughter. The fact that he was there without a wife or significant other made him a bit more forgivably attractive. The music, he told me, was country ballads, Texas style, and this Guy Clark was very funny - droll, like Lyle Lovett.
The guy went to get drinks for his daughter and himself, so I chatted with the girl - a nursing student going for her LPN. I told her of my experiences with the health care system over the last few years, with my parents in and out of hospitals. "Nurses rock!" I said. (I admit wondering, fleetingly, if she would like me as a stepmother. Sigh. It was a semi-selfish thought: Who is going to take care of me when it's my turn to be in and out of hospitals?)
When her dad came back, the girl was playing around with the settings on her new camera. She was trying to turn off the automatic flash. She let me look for the setting - I never found it on her camera. I whipped out my own camera to show her the function I was looking for.
I'm very proud of my little camera. It's the one I won at the pre-concert party for Clay Aiken's 2007 Tulsa concert. So I bragged about how I won my camera at a Clay Aiken concert.
The guy laughed. I mean, LAUGHED. Laughed harder than he should have. "You like CLAY AIKEN? Seriously? HAHAHA!!"
I just smiled. (Yes, of course! I LOVE Clay Aiken! How normal of me!)
Maybe that was enough to break the ice - he introduced himself, Rick, and I said my name. The daughter introduced herself too. (Sorry - Amanda? Angela? I am really sorry I didn't get her name too. Too flustered.)
By then my number was about to be called to go into the dining hall. Rick and daughter were only a few numbers behind me. I found my table for my cousins and never saw my new friends again until the intermission between opening act and Guy Clark. We ran into each other in the hallway leading to the restrooms. Rick patted me on the shoulder and smiled broadly. Amanda/Angela(?) was cute as a doll. We all said we were enjoying the show. I went back to my party's table and never saw them again.
Anyway, I had a great time. In spite of being thoroughly (unintentionally) insulted twice. I think it was the right attitude to take, don't you?
love, hosaa,
laughing off loving Clay as much as ever, because it feels good.
It's useful, because nine times out of ten, the insult or rudeness is unintentional or thoughtless. Why take it personally?
Case in point. Last night I went to the Birchmere to meet my cousin for her husband's birthday celebration. I arrived early so I could save a good table for five (not quite early enough, and it turned out I needed space for seven, so the back of the room turned out fine).
While waiting to get in the doors, I sat at the bar with a glass of pinot grigio and my paperback - The Fall by Camus (yeah, I know - perfect reading for an old music hall. But I'm used to being out of place).
I'm trying to get out of myself a little more and be open to random conversations in public places. Not that I want to be picked up or anything. But a couple sat down at the bar table across from me, so maybe I'd just start a conversation. The guy was about my age, give or take seven or eight years, and the girl was much younger. They were both on their cell phones, but chatting in between texting.
I heard the guy grumble to the girl, "What a loser, can't get a date."
Okay, I knew he was talking about whoever he was communicating with on his phone. Maybe it was somebody who backed out of meeting them there. But he was sitting three feet away, directly across the table, from a middle-aged woman sitting alone in a bar with a glass of white wine and a book - the iconic image of "loser, can't get a date."
I smiled, laughing at myself and at the guy across the table from me, and continued with Camus' narrator on the absurdity of public charm.
The guy and the girl paused in their own conversation for a bit, so I asked the guy if he'd been to hear this singer before, Guy Clark. I wanted to know what kind of music to expect.
The guy was very friendly, an aging old-boy/hippie with a long grey ponytail. The much-younger girl he was with, I finally realized, was his daughter. The fact that he was there without a wife or significant other made him a bit more forgivably attractive. The music, he told me, was country ballads, Texas style, and this Guy Clark was very funny - droll, like Lyle Lovett.
The guy went to get drinks for his daughter and himself, so I chatted with the girl - a nursing student going for her LPN. I told her of my experiences with the health care system over the last few years, with my parents in and out of hospitals. "Nurses rock!" I said. (I admit wondering, fleetingly, if she would like me as a stepmother. Sigh. It was a semi-selfish thought: Who is going to take care of me when it's my turn to be in and out of hospitals?)
When her dad came back, the girl was playing around with the settings on her new camera. She was trying to turn off the automatic flash. She let me look for the setting - I never found it on her camera. I whipped out my own camera to show her the function I was looking for.
I'm very proud of my little camera. It's the one I won at the pre-concert party for Clay Aiken's 2007 Tulsa concert. So I bragged about how I won my camera at a Clay Aiken concert.
The guy laughed. I mean, LAUGHED. Laughed harder than he should have. "You like CLAY AIKEN? Seriously? HAHAHA!!"
I just smiled. (Yes, of course! I LOVE Clay Aiken! How normal of me!)
Maybe that was enough to break the ice - he introduced himself, Rick, and I said my name. The daughter introduced herself too. (Sorry - Amanda? Angela? I am really sorry I didn't get her name too. Too flustered.)
By then my number was about to be called to go into the dining hall. Rick and daughter were only a few numbers behind me. I found my table for my cousins and never saw my new friends again until the intermission between opening act and Guy Clark. We ran into each other in the hallway leading to the restrooms. Rick patted me on the shoulder and smiled broadly. Amanda/Angela(?) was cute as a doll. We all said we were enjoying the show. I went back to my party's table and never saw them again.
Anyway, I had a great time. In spite of being thoroughly (unintentionally) insulted twice. I think it was the right attitude to take, don't you?
love, hosaa,
laughing off loving Clay as much as ever, because it feels good.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Theaters' History Lessons
The subtitle of this blog is "Subjugation Fails."
My three most-recent outings to the theater were:
1. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at Round House (closes April 26)
2. The Civil War at Ford's (through May 24)
3. Ragtime at the Kennedy Center's Eisenhower Theater (through May 17)
Of these, obviously Civil War and Ragtime have more in common thematically, and also structurally, but Cuckoo's Nest illustrates the historical point very clearly: subjugation of one group (in this case the mentally ill) because it does not fit in with what is deemed normal (so deemed by those in power) is immoral and destined to fail.
Civil War, more concert than play (I would call it a concert with stagecraft and some acting, but no plot--more of a live montage), presents the human impacts of the war from a variety of points of view, including the words of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln. It ends with a montage projected on the backdrop bringing the history of civil rights up to the present. Obviously a rushed and abridged edition; the imagery used is iconic but conveys the most meaning to those who already know their history.
My favorite part of that production was the fact that it took place in Ford's Theatre (hee! Not a good seat in the house, though the chairs themselves have been improved). The famous box where Lincoln sat (with a portrait of Washington hanging in front) was lit up whenever Lincoln's words were read aloud, and the singers/characters turned to "watch" him. I could almost imagine Lincoln standing and nodding in acknowledgement of the performers.
Ragtime got to have my expectations lowered thanks to the Washington Post story ("Reduced Ragtime") about how the production values have been diminished since its 1998 Broadway and heavily Tony-nominated production. That was the age of overproduction, so truthfully it wasn't that big a deal to me. The touring set is impressive enough, with multiple tiers of metal railroad-station platforms surrounding three-fourths of the stage.
This also gave the feeling of America always being on the go. Like with Civil War, the show seemed more pageantry than history, as though these important events could only be reduced to an outline--or a skeleton, whose meat is provided by the strength of the performers and their connection to the audience.
The story of struggle against subjugation and for the liberation of creativity is a compelling one, and all three of these shows grabbed me by the heart.
And for those of you who count such things, all three shows got standing ovations for the performances I attended: A Thursday night preview, a Sunday matinee, and a Sunday night, respectively.
love, hosaa
waiting for the next curtain to rise
P.S. Update on the Box issue. I may go back to Box after all. The non-box version of Comcast no longer carries Show Tunes on the Music Choice channels. Crap.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Forecasts in Hindsight
The May-June 2009 issue of THE FUTURIST is on the way to subscribers soon from the World Future Society. Here's a sneak peak at the Future View editorial:
Forecasts in HindsightBy Cynthia G. Wagner
Every now and then, we at THE FUTURIST are asked to look back at previous forecasts to see how we did. Many magazines have turned back the clock briefly to recall what topics interested the readers (or at least the editors) 10, 20, 50, or even 100 years ago.
So a curious thing happened when I picked up the May-June 1989 issue of THE FUTURIST to see what we were forecasting then. I had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
In the Future View editorial “Tomorrow? Who Cares?” economics professor Thomas Oberhofer wrote of the consequences of short-term focused and greed-driven financial maneuvering by businesses and individuals alike. He attributed this phenomenon to impatience.
“When we are impatient with the little things, it is hard to be patient with the big things,” he wrote. “We see this in many areas of contemporary society. Financial markets in the 1980s have been driven by merger activity and corporate raiding as a means of capturing value. This is in lieu of the old-fashioned way of investing in productive capacity and building a business. Consumers have plunged into debt to enjoy a fling today, often with limited concern for the longer-term consequences of their actions. And the American people have tolerated the creation of massive federal indebtedness and the international erosion of their financial power in the world economy.”
Oberhofer advised economic policies that created incentives for patience and disincentives for immediate gratification, though he noted that implementing and enforcing such policies would require a change in the cultural mind-set.
Looking around the international financial landscape just now, I think I can safely say that cultural mind-sets are very difficult to change: Impatience persists, exacerbated by accelerating change in all directions and by a proliferation of distractions.
Several other topics we covered 20 years ago ring familiar today, too, including the cover story, “Cars That Know Where They’re Going” by Robert L. French, a consultant on vehicular navigation systems. Indeed, as he foresaw, the use of GPS in cars today is widespread.
“Once a sufficient fraction of all cars are equipped with navigation systems,” French predicted, “even unequipped drivers will benefit because traffic will be spread uniformly over the road network.” Unfortunately, this forecast has not quite met with success, though perhaps today’s traffic congestion is not as bad as it could have been without drivers’ ability to better manage their personal routes.
What else was on THE FUTURIST’s mind? Among the other feature articles in the May-June 1989 issue were “Renewable Energy: Power for Tomorrow” by Robert L. San Martin, “Human Factors: The Gap Between Humans and Machines” by Edie Weiner and Arnold Brown, and “A New Era of Activism: Who Will Frame the Agenda?” by Rafael D. Pagán Jr.
Pagán foresaw the impacts of the Information Age creating better-informed and better-connected citizens, who would pursue an active interest in improving public and private institutions. But he warned of fallout from anti-corporate movements: “Leaving the authorship of public policy to activists is irresponsible,” he argued. “Corporations can find a way to retrieve eroded public trust, can be dynamic participants in the debates of our time, and can fairly balance the social contract between themselves and consumers.”
Pagán was clearly optimistic on corporate responsibility, both for self-regulation and for stewardship. “The doctrine of the stewardship of the earth has developed dramatically in the last two decades,” he noted. “Now we are coming to see ourselves as caretakers, and we are holding ourselves responsible for the way we use our resources.… The choice for industry is no longer whether it will be responsible, but how.”
Our World Trends & Forecasts section likewise covered topics that continue to have an impact on our lives and futures, such as family–work balance, investments in children’s health and education, and the phenomenon of “environmental refugees”—entire groups of people forced into migrating due to insurmountable environmental problems. As Hurricane Katrina painfully illustrated, some problems just cannot be planned away, but they can (and must) still be planned for and, if possible, prevented.
And that lesson continues to be the principal subject matter of THE FUTURIST and the World Future Society.
About the Author
Cynthia G. Wagner is managing editor of THE FUTURIST.
Cynthia G. Wagner is managing editor of THE FUTURIST.
For further discussion of financial manias and their causes and impacts, see Chapter 11, “The Past as a Guide to the Future,” of Futuring: The Exploration of the Future by Edward Cornish (WFS, 2004), which may be ordered from Amazon.com.
Back in the old office, back in the day.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Tease
Spring is the biggest tease. She will peer through morning fog...
... then unveil herself, briefly, for a glorious romp.
... then unveil herself, briefly, for a glorious romp.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Thought for the Post-Fool Day
Give loud praise to the quietly heroic.
The noisy fools, condemn with silent disregard.
The noisy fools, condemn with silent disregard.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Mirage, update
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
"You Need Box"
Pronouncements of great import don't always come down from the mountain on tablets. Sometimes you just hear it over the phone from a faceless minion of Comcast.
"You Need Box" is what the Soviet civil-service refugee informed me when I asked why TMC, AMC, and TVGuide Channel disappeared when I switched from my old TV to the new digital-ready one.
In making the switch, I got to relieve myself from the burden of Comcast's digital converter box, its nasty handheld remote (which takes over all of your electronics but doesn't tell you how to control them yourself), and the annoyance of not being able to tape one program while watching another. Oh what a relief! Until I wanted to watch Idol Wrap on TVGuide Channel (shut up).
So I called Comcast to complain about my missing channels, with sleeves all rolled up and ready for a fight, and they'd just better not try to charge me extra for these channels.
"You Need Box"
I don't need no stinkin' box, I've got a digital TV.
"You Need Box"
But, but, I'm getting some stations that go up in the hundreds, how come I can get these and not TMC, AMC, and TVG?
"You Need Box"
Well, the thing is, I still have the box. Comcast isn't charging extra for it, so it's mine to use or not use as I please. Do I plug it back in so I can get my channels but lose my time-shifting record-for-later capability?
Choices.
I ended up exploring some of those upper channels. There are also lower channels with fractional points that come in through my Comcast pipeline. I explored a little - some alternative programming for the local channels. Fine. But in the upper reaches, in 107.300s, I found the music stations - 40 channels of music favorites. Well Top 40, you know, isn't my favorite, nor is country music. But I found (harps strumming, trumpets trumping) SHOW TUNES!!
Happy Dance!
I had the Show Tunes channel on pretty much all weekend. TMC? Heck, isn't that what Netflix is for? (Sorry guys - either open a Hulu channel or say goodbye to your Comcast Box Rejectors.)
So I'm a dork. I put on Broadway's best and got myself up off the couch. Cleaned the apartment, cooked a meal, did a goofball dance - a kickline of one - in the living room. I Feel Happy! (They even played some Spamalot!!)
That's life outside the box. In many ways, we still Need Box - if only to see the limitations that need to be overcome.
love, hosaa
Dancing outside the box
"You Need Box" is what the Soviet civil-service refugee informed me when I asked why TMC, AMC, and TVGuide Channel disappeared when I switched from my old TV to the new digital-ready one.
In making the switch, I got to relieve myself from the burden of Comcast's digital converter box, its nasty handheld remote (which takes over all of your electronics but doesn't tell you how to control them yourself), and the annoyance of not being able to tape one program while watching another. Oh what a relief! Until I wanted to watch Idol Wrap on TVGuide Channel (shut up).
So I called Comcast to complain about my missing channels, with sleeves all rolled up and ready for a fight, and they'd just better not try to charge me extra for these channels.
"You Need Box"
I don't need no stinkin' box, I've got a digital TV.
"You Need Box"
But, but, I'm getting some stations that go up in the hundreds, how come I can get these and not TMC, AMC, and TVG?
"You Need Box"
Well, the thing is, I still have the box. Comcast isn't charging extra for it, so it's mine to use or not use as I please. Do I plug it back in so I can get my channels but lose my time-shifting record-for-later capability?
Choices.
I ended up exploring some of those upper channels. There are also lower channels with fractional points that come in through my Comcast pipeline. I explored a little - some alternative programming for the local channels. Fine. But in the upper reaches, in 107.300s, I found the music stations - 40 channels of music favorites. Well Top 40, you know, isn't my favorite, nor is country music. But I found (harps strumming, trumpets trumping) SHOW TUNES!!
Happy Dance!
I had the Show Tunes channel on pretty much all weekend. TMC? Heck, isn't that what Netflix is for? (Sorry guys - either open a Hulu channel or say goodbye to your Comcast Box Rejectors.)
So I'm a dork. I put on Broadway's best and got myself up off the couch. Cleaned the apartment, cooked a meal, did a goofball dance - a kickline of one - in the living room. I Feel Happy! (They even played some Spamalot!!)
That's life outside the box. In many ways, we still Need Box - if only to see the limitations that need to be overcome.
love, hosaa
Dancing outside the box
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