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
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
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.
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