NYC Theater Report - Spring 2006

I’m hard pressed to think of an enterprise more fraught with peril than commercial art. Oh sure, there’s salvage diving and halibut fishing and CIA “wet work,” but those are perilous primarily for the workers; the investors generally do fine, thanks for asking. In commercial art, especially the peculiar sub-specialty we call Broadway theatre, the inverse is true. The workers – the actors and musicians and set designers and house managers and lighting techs – toil in relative safety and enjoy a weekly check that will almost always clear, even if you wait until Monday to deposit it. The angels of Broadway, the investors, on the other hand, part with their checks with absolutely no expectation of any return. Why should they? Broadway productions cost millions to mount, millions to promote and the vast majority never return a dime of profit.

Part of the reason for this ongoing avalanche of failure is that Broadway shows, like any form of commercial art, are still art. And good art, art that – even through all the layers of artifice – touches you in a human way, that manages somehow to reach into your soul (or your spirit or your mind or whatever name you give the intangible, ineffable part of yourself) to scratch your particular itch – and at the same time manages to scratch someone else’s completely different itch – is maddeningly difficult to create.

To achieve its goal – even if the goal is only to provide pleasant diversion – a theatrical production must cast a sort of spell over the audience, drawing us in to a new world. Although this is not the most of original of thoughts, I find the theater I like best is that which transports me. Not only in the sense of taking me to another world, but in occasionally bringing me into a different consciousness, so that I feel almost as if I am sitting with the characters. That I am part of their experience.

For this to happen, though, almost everything about a production has to be done well. It’s like Donald Rumsfeld says about terrorists attempting to breach our borders: we have to be right every minute of every day, they only have to be right once. Anyone putting a show up on Broadway faces a similar sort of daunting challenge. There are so many ways a production can go wrong. Not even necessarily wrong, just…not right. Or at least, not right enough. A production can begin with a terrific script, like “Defiance,” and then falter because of a directorial misfire or two. Or it can feature a brilliant actress like Lili Taylor in “Landscape of the Body” (by the even more brilliant John Guare), and still have me glancing at my watch. Or the whole thing can be cocked up completely, as the people behind “Clocks and Whistles” managed to do. Occasionally, however, everything comes together almost perfectly and you get a splendid evening of theater that entrances you.

I had high expectations for our most recent trip to New York. Given the word of mouth and positive reviews of many of the shows we planned to see, I thought perhaps four or even five had the chance of transporting me the way “Doubt” or “I Am My Own Wife” or “Urinetown” did. In the end however, only two productions – “The Drowsy Chaperone” and “The History Boys” – broke through the barriers of artifice and encompassed me completely within their worlds. If at all possible, you must see both of them.

“The History Boys”
Alan Bennett’s most recent work was a critical and box-office smash in London. Thanks to an apparently rare détente between British Equity and Actor’s Equity (the British and American stage actor’s unions), the original National Theatre production has been imported to Broadway intact. This means American theatergoers can see one of the most amazing ensemble casts ever, performing a play that both entertains and enlightens. Though it can be intellectually demanding, with dozens of literary and cultural references ranging from Auden to Hardy to Shakespeare, and one scene conducted entirely in French (which also happens to be perhaps the funniest scene in the play), it’s amazing accessible.

The story takes place at a private boy’s school somewhere in England. Hector is the sort of teacher I wish I could have had in my youth: passionate, demanding, a force to be reckoned with…but with a touch of rebellion with which a teenage boy can identify. Hector’s students are seniors, preparing their applications for Oxford and Cambridge. To help them achieve this goal, the school hires Irwin, a young teacher whose job is to coach the boys as to what the admissions boards at the Oxbridge colleges are looking for.

When they are with Hector, the boys are encouraged to gain knowledge simply for the sake of knowledge, to think critically and to enjoy the ineffable mysteries of life. His classroom is a sort of sanctuary of learning, a place where real-world practicality has no place. Challenging as it is, Hector’s class is about joy, about embracing all that life throws at you.

Their work with Irwin, on the other hand, is all about conformity. Not that he’s teaching them to conform; in fact, he’s doing just the opposite – encouraging them to look at every question that might come up on an essay or in an entrance interview from an alternative angle. He wants them to take contrary points of view – not to encourage freedom of thought, but to help them stand out from the crowd. Truth, honor, morality – these things don’t matter. Only the ultimate goal – admission to Oxbridge – matters. He teaches them that “lying works.”

We know where this leads for Irwin: in the very first scene of the play, we see him in his later life, working in government, spinning an increase in police powers and a reduction of civil rights as actually increasing personal liberty. We know where it leads for Hector, too – as he has a few secrets he’d like to remain hidden. The big question is where this will lead the boys. But that’s a question Bennett leaves us to work out on our own.

If you can’t get to the Broadhurst Theater before “The History Boys” closes in September, you can see the movie that will be released this fall. Same cast, same writer, same director – so I’m hopeful.

“The Drowsy Chaperone”
Like the creation of the universe, “The Drowsy Chaperone” begins in darkness. But instead of “let there be light,” the voice we hear says, “I hate theatre.” In truth, the owner of this voice loves theatre – but the theatre of another time. He longs for a time when people sat in the darkness as a show was about to begin and thought, “What do George and Ira have for us tonight? Can Cole Porter pull it off again? Now we say ‘Please, Elton John, must we continue this charade?”

When the lights come up we discover the voice belongs to a character identified only as “Man in Chair,” sitting next to his phonograph in a drab bed-sitter apartment, feeling blue. (Perhaps fueling the pessimism behind his rant about the state of musical theatre.) But when he’s blue, he likes the cheer himself up by playing his favorite scores of years past. Today he’s turning to his favorite musical of all time, Gable and Stein’s 1928 classic, “The Drowsy Chaperone.” “Remember?” he says, looking to us expectantly. Of course we don’t, because “The Drowsy Chaperone” is an entirely fictional construct, a musical-within-a-musical, intended to pay homage to and send up the sorts of shows one might have found on the Great White Way pre-Depression.

When he drops the needle on the record (and is enraptured by the scratching and hissing of its contact with vinyl), the show comes to life in his apartment. As it unfolds, he comments on the action, almost like a DVD commentary track – but with far more wit and grace. He stops the action from time to time to join in the dancing or give us background on the “real life” romances of the actors in this fictional show, or to explain a bit of the action.

My initial notes about “The Drowsy Chaperone” say this: “It’s almost entirely frivolous. There’s not an important thing about it. The show within the show might be about true love and living one’s dreams, but the show itself is just about a man in a chair feeling blue and seeking diversion. It doesn’t hope for a better future – it yearns for a time long past.” Now I think the opposite might be true: that the show within the show is the frivolous bit, and the show itself actually does have something important to say – about loneliness, or how we distract ourselves from the hard truths of life in order to make it through the day.

Fortunately, “The Drowsy Chaperone” achieves its escapist goals, and does indeed transport us to a lighter, more frivolous place. All in 100 minutes. Bravo for Drowsy.

“Awake & Sing”
This is a Clifford Odets classic from 1935, a bit of a polemic about the workers’ need to rise up and shed their chains, told through the struggles of a working-class Jewish family in the Bronx. The cast, which included Ben Gazzara, Mark Ruffalo and Lauren Ambrose (“Six Feet Under”), was excellent (especially Gazzara and Ruffalo) and the staging and direction first-rate. What I found perhaps most fascinating about this revival is that it was staged in the same theater in which the show had its premiere, the Belasco. Though I had never before been inside the space, it may now be my favorite Broadway theater, with its beautifully detailed interior, featuring murals by Everett Shinn and lighting by Tiffany.

The thematic and emotional resonance of this play from 1935 to now may be found in the character of the grandfather, who rails most against the establishment, and inspires his grandson to “Wake up, boychick!” In the original, he was likely the heart of the play, but in this restaging, his character comes off as a metaphor for an ideal that has failed history’s test.

“Defiance”
John Patrick Shanley’s follow-up to his Tony and Pulitzer Prize-winning “Doubt.” Like “Doubt,” it takes place in the somewhat recent past (1971, as opposed to 1964 for “Doubt”), and like “Doubt,” the setting is an environment where strict discipline and deference to authority are the order of the day. For “Doubt” it was a Bronx Catholic school. In “Defiance,” the setting is the Marine base at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina. Although the story is ostensibly about race relations at the camp, the play is not really about race at all, but duty, honor, idealism – and the human frailties that make those qualities so hard to maintain.

The play itself is excellent, nearly the equal of “Doubt.” Unfortunately though, director Doug Hughes (who also helmed “Doubt”) seems to have missed the rhythms of the piece. Shanley has important things to say, but Hughes dulls the points he is making by letting lines – or even whole scenes – gallop off into the distance in a misguided attempt to maintain momentum. I’d be interested to see someone else take it up again and give it a slightly more relaxed pace.

“Faith Healer”
This is one of those shows that I think is well-acted, well-written, well-staged, well-directed – but that never hooked me. Ralph Fiennes plays a man with – apparently – a true gift for healing, but one that is subject to inconsistency; he never knows when he steps onto the stage and begins bringing the halt and lame to him whether or not he can deliver a cure. Cherry Jones (one of the stage’s greatest talents, but oddly off in this performance) is his long-suffering wife, and Ian McDiarmid is stunning as his manager.

The story is told, Rashomon-like, from the viewpoint of each of these characters, in four separate monologues, book-ended by Fiennes, with one appearance each by Jones and McDiarmid. Because of this, the play takes a great deal of concentration and intellectual effort in order to assemble a sense of what really happened, of what is really true. Not that I don’t mind an intellectual challenge, but with such a dark and brooding subject matter, I’m perhaps not as motivated to stay tuned.

Still, the critics have loved it, and you may, too.

“Tryst”
Can the leopard change its spots? This seems to be the question at the very dark heart of a new play by British playwright Karoline Leach. “Tryst” is the story of Adelaide Pinchin, a milliner with very low self-esteem, who is content to work in the back of the hat shop, where she has no contact with customers who might be disturbed by what she perceives as plainness and clumsiness of manner. One day she is chosen by a con man to be his next mark. George Love finds women with a little bit of money, gets them to fall in love with him and marry. Then, after a single night of wedded bliss (George is always careful to satisfy them sexually – it’s a point of honor with him. Perhaps his only point of honor.), George absconds with whatever assets they have.

Adelaide, it turns out, has hidden depths, a reserve of confidence and self-esteem – and insight – that George hadn’t expected and proves to be more than he seems capable of handling. In the second act, when she turns the tables on him, the plot begins to charge forward: will Adelaide be able to change this man for whom she has unexpectedly fallen? At one point, she says “I’ve seen time going backwards,” and milk is spilled. I’ll leave it to you to discover the result of her rescue efforts, and whether or not the milk is successfully put back in the bottle.

“Based on a Totally True Story”
The territory here – Hollywood corruption of young talent – was handled far better earlier in the year by “The Little Dog Laughed.” But the story of a playwright whose work is solicited by the sharks on the left coast certainly has its laughs, and an appealing nature, but why not wait for “Little Dog” to transfer to Broadway? Especially since the magnificent Julie White will reprise her role in that play as the Hollywood player with the sharpest of fangs.

“Landscape of the Body”
John Guare wrote one of my favorite plays (though I’ve seen only the movie version, unfortunately), “Six Degrees of Separation.” Described once as “the Jackson Pollack of playwrights,” Guare splatters the canvas with multiple ideas and multiple points of view that come at you from many different angles. Lili Taylor, who was a revelation in “Aunt Dan and Lemon” a few seasons ago, seemed oddly disconnected from the role of a mother accused of murdering her son. However, Stephen Scott Scarpullo, who plays the teenage son in question, showed a great deal of power and presence for such a young actor.

Ultimately, “Landscape” never came fully into view for me.

“Red Light Winter”
In this three-hander by writer/director Adam Rapp, two college friends share a hostel room in Amsterdam. One is a slick, fast-talking editor at a publishing house who discovered the “next big thing.” His friend is a struggling novelist, at work on a book – though at the beginning of the play, he’s given up on the book and is attempting to hang himself, but is interrupted by the entry of his editor friend, who brings along a little something to cheer him up: one of the girls from the windows in the red light district. Of course, Christina is not all she seems. Not even close.

There are no glaring problems with “Red Light Winter,” other than a plot that moves rather languidly and ultimately never finds a path worth treading. It simply fails to truly engage. So, no green light for “Red Light Winter.”

“cagelove”
Christopher Denham, who played the troubled writer in “Red Light Winter” turns playwright here. (Adam Rapp, writer/director of “Red Light Winter” also pulls directorial duties for “cagelove.”) His concept is an interesting one: how does a couple on the verge of a new life together cope with a brutal rape by an ex-boyfriend? The answer is, not well.

“cagelove” is not recommended, though there was one very funny line: “Katy cares about you – in the same way a heroin addict cares about methadone.”

“Passion”
This short run of a dance performance was actually quite engaging. The dance troupe Momix is a fascinating group of physical artists, creating forms that range from organic to architectural. This time the music was one of my favorites recordings, “Passion,” Peter Gabriel’s soundtrack for “The Last Temptation of Christ.”

What I found most fascinating about the evening was after the performance, when I was drawn into a conversation on the street with a pair of Australians who had also attended. In California, no one starts conversations with strangers, but in New York, interesting conversation is happening all the time. One of the reasons I’ve grown to love the city so much.

“The Wedding Singer”
The word of mouth had actually been good on this musical adaptation of the Adam Sandler/Drew Barrymore film – funny, cute, entertaining. I need to pay closer attention to whom I listen: this was about as entertaining as trimming the hedge. The Jersey girls behind us seemed to like it, though: “Oh my god – that was AWESOME!” I wonder if they realize they were the demographic that was actually being mocked?

“Clocks and Whistles”
A tiny, off-off-Broadway production, imported from England. I have no idea why it was produced there in the first place, let alone being plucked from across the pond. One of the very first rules of drama is that something should be at stake. The only thing at stake in this soggy mess was how fast I could get out of the theater once the torture was over.


Although not everything we saw was successful, I applaud the bravery of those who take the risk of creating art, even when it fails.

Here’s hoping you are all well and happy, and that many of you get the chance to see some of the great work being staged in New York, both on and off Broadway.

Call Monitoring

In the days since USA Today broke the story about the NSA's efforts to analyze telephone traffic, I've come to the conclusion that, for the moment, I'm not upset by it. The content of the calls is not being monitored; only the traffic itself is being analyzed to see if patterns can be discerned. If the NSA can discover potential terrorists who might be operating in the US, or using US-based telephony equipment, good for them. And good for us. Unlike the previous furor over wiretapping, no actual eavesdropping is taking place. In that instance, I think the administration was wrong not to obtain warrants to listen to the phone calls of American citizens.

The problem for in this instance is precedent. Given the very real threat of terrorism, I think it's only prudent to use a technique that doesn't actually step into American's private lives. But given this President's flouting of law and flaunting of executive privilege, I'm not sure where he would draw the line. Would he decide at some point to apply the same techniques in order to, say, prosecute the continuingly ill-conceived drug war? What's to stop the administration from analyzing phone records to determine who's making calls to many different drug stores searching for ephedrine (used to make crystal meth)? Or, for that matter, to determine who might be paying a little less tax than they ought to, or...

Le Mot Juste

Over the past few months, certain writers and columnists have been discussing a phenomenon called "Christianism." Andrew Sullivan says "Christianism is an ideology, politics, an ism. The distinction between Christian and Christianist echoes the distinction we make between Muslim and Islamist. Muslims are those who follow Islam. Islamists are those who want to wield Islam as a political force and conflate state and mosque."

But some would prefer a term other than Christianist: "Christianists...seek to apply their own narrow interpretation of God's law to society at large, punishing those who disagree, and emphasizing adherence to rules over grace and mercy. They might even invent new laws based on their understanding of scripture. Folks like that were called Pharisees back in Jesus' time. Maybe it's just as good a name for them today."

Pander Bear Redux

The pandering continues. This time it's the leader of the Democratic party, Howard Dean. Howard paid a visit to the 700 Club, trying to reach out to evangelical voters. Nothing wrong with that, of course. The problem comes when he misrepresents his party's position because he knows it will be unpopular with his audience, which is pretty much the definition of pandering -- changing your position to suit the audience you are addressing.

While on the show, Dean said the Democratic Party's platform states that "marriage is between a man and a woman." What it actually says is: "We support full inclusion of gay and lesbian families in the life of our nation and seek equal responsibilities, benefits, and protections for these families." Just the tiniest bit different.

And I wonder why I am becoming cynical.

The New Actor's Studio

If you're looking for examples of overacting, professional soccer is the place to find it. Last night I happened upon the Champion's Leauge Cup, the final game of the championship of European soccer clubs, pitting Barcelona against Arsenal. For soccer fans, it's a big deal.

The overacting comes primarily in the form of players feigning injury in order to stop the game to get a little rest (no timeouts in soccer), or to fool an official into calling a penalty on another player. This last ruse actually worked in last night's game, and resulted in the first goal for Arsenal. An official called a foul, which led to a free kick, which led to the goal. But a review of the play shows the Barcelona player made no contact.

At various other times throughout the game, players went down, thrashed on the ground, clutched at their knees or ankles or backs -- and then two minutes later were up and down the pitch as if nothing had happened. One player was barely touched by another, but ended up barrel-rolling across the ground five or six times, as if he'd been thrown from a speeding car.

To those in charge of soccer -- fix this. It's embarrasing, and degrading to the game.

Last Day in New York

The remnants of my baked eggs (delicious!) at Extra Virgin in the Village.


Goods at a Village antique store.


A woman and her crown.

A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief

Last night I went to see a performance by the modern dance troupe, Momix. (A semi-complete review will come after I return from New York.) The music for the piece was "Passion," Peter Gabriel's soundtrack for Martin Scorcese's "The Last Temptation of Christ," one of my favorite records. If you remember, there was a huge furor at the time of that film's release, with Christian groups calling it blasphemy, and expressing horror over the depiction of Jesus as having a relationship with Mary Magdelene. I remember at the time thinking how incredibly wrong-headed and short-sighted the Christians' protests were, as that film came closer to making me a Christian than any other piece of media, including the Bible. (Perhaps especially the Bible!) For me, the power came in that last temptation: Satan came to Christ and showed him what he could have if he denied the cross. He showed him a normal, ordinary life: a loving wife, children, happiness. And yet, Christ chose to make the sacrifice. I found it deeply moving.

Now the Christians are at it again, raising a furor over "The DaVinci Code." This time, I think their case is better, since "The DaVinci Code" is primarily about humanizing Christ, and pays no attention to sacrifice or atonement. Still, I think all they are doing is playing into the hands of the film's publicity machine.

With all the furor and zealotry that is inflamed by media depictions of Christ, it makes me wonder about the true Christian nature of many Church leaders. Does Christ really need their "protection"? Is this the best way to spend part of their limited time on Earth? And that got me thinking about the "Christian" nature of our political leaders, especially our President.

It all put me in mind of a hymn: "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief." The song tells of meeting a man in need: hungry, beaten, in prison, condemned. Each time, he is helped, lifted up, released. In the last verse, the man's identity is revealed:

Then in a moment to my view
The stranger started from disguise.
The tokens in His hands I knew;
The Savior stood before mine eyes.
He spake, and my poor name He named,
“Of Me thou hast not been ashamed.
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto Me.”

The idea behind the song, I was told in church, is that Christ might return in any guise, and that we must therefore treat all humanity with love and respect and dignity. Last night, sitting in the darkened theater, listening to Peter Gabriel's powerful music, I wondered: what if this man was Christ returning to live among us?:

Taking Christianity Back

An excellent piece in Time Magazine by Andrew Sullivan, about the co-opting of Christianity by the Republican right wing.

Required reading.

Midnight in the Goldfish Bowl

David Blaine, last night about midnight, resting on the bottom of his large water-filled sphere on display at Lincoln Center. Blaine will emerge from aquarium tomorrow, after spending eight days inside.

The Perfect Urban Park

I've been to many urban parks around the world -- Hyde Park in London, the Englischer Garten in Munich, Luxembourg Gardens in Paris, Golden Gate Park in San Francisco -- but none measure up to the overall appeal of New York's Central Park.

On my first day of the semi-annual "fill the well" trip to Manhattan, the weather was stunning -- clear skies, mid-70s -- and the park was filled with people enjoying the pleasantness of a spring day. Those who say New York is a tough place weren't in the park today. It was an absolutely delightful day to be alive. I saw dozens of people holding hands, or walking arm in arm. Couples relaxed in each others arms under the trees. A man strolled with his guitar; another played his alto sax at the base of a hill. Children clambered over rocks, dogs on leash took in all the aromas bursting forth. People did yoga on the grass.

If ever there was a day to sell me on the idea of living in New York, Saturday was it.

The Pandering Continues

John McCain, who at one time seemed like a leader who could seize that middle ground that the Democrats and Republicans have left behind in the search for lucre (instead of common sense and respect for American values), is fast becoming just another right-wing theocrat, hungry for power. Why? His willingness to speak at Falwell's Liberty University -- after comparing Falwell's extremism to that of Louis Farrakhan.

Andrew Sullivan (link at right) states it well (as usual): "Falwell and the forces of intolerance he represents control the base of the GOP; and McCain simply has no choice but to kowtow to them. But that in itself is surely an indication of how far right the Republican center has now become. Farrakhan is a religious anti-Semite. Falwell is a religious homophobe. Falwell, however, also blamed Americans for 9/11. He did so while the ashes of many such Americans were still in the air in Manhattan. If he isn't beyond the pale, who is? And if he represents the key to being nominated in the GOP, what has happened to conservatism?"

More Gay Hoopla

In Massachusetts, a handful of parents are suing a school board because a second-grade teacher read a book to her class called "King & King," about a prince who doesn't like any of the princesses and decides to marry another prince. The parents believe this is the first step of indoctrinating children in immorality. "My son is only 7 years old," parent Robin Wirthlin said. "By presenting this kind of issue at such a young age, they're trying to indoctrinate our children. They're intentionally presenting this as a norm, and it's not a value that our family supports." The suit says the school violated a state law which requires parental notification if sex education is being taught.

The thing is, the book doesn't delve into sex any more than "Rapunzel" does. It's merely a picture book that happens to be about two princes falling for each other and marrying. This is clearly an attempt to marginalize gay relationships and make sure they maintain second-class status. Let's hope the court hearing this suit sees it that way.

On the other side of the country, California is considering a law requiring that the accomplishments of gay people be included in history textbooks. State law now requires that "men, women, black Americans, American Indians, Mexicans, Asians, Pacific Island people and other ethnic groups" be included in textbook descriptions of "the economic, political and social development of California and the United States of America, with particular emphasis on portraying the role of these groups in contemporary society." In that context, I don't have a problem with adding gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people to the list.

However, my problem is that there shouldn't be a law like this at all. The criteria for getting into a history book should be, oh, I don't know...making history?

George Bush, the Pander Bear

After getting all worked up about the thought of the national anthem being sung in Spanish, it turns out W sang the song in Spanish HIMSELF while on the campaign trail, pandering for Hispanic votes. Personally, I don't see any need to translate the anthem -- English should work just fine for all Americans, no matter what language they grew up speaking -- but it's just another example of how completely disingenous our President is. I also think it's another example of how the administration uses cheap tactics (in this case, jingoism) to distract people from larger, more important issues.

Lemonade Recipe

On last night's episode of HBO's "Big Love" (better than most TV, but not up to HBO shows such as "The Sopranos" or "Deadwood), one of the characters uttered the cliche "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." There was always something about that statement that bugged me, but I didn't figure out what it was until a few years ago -- you need SUGAR to make lemonade. If life isn't giving you any sugar, then you're going to have a hard time making lemonade, aren't you? Of course, you could always use the lemons in your tea, or to squeeze over some fresh-cracked dungeness crab, or polish your copper. So really, if life gives you lemons, you have options.

I'm Not Alone

If you've read some of my early posts, especially this one, you know part of my reason for beginning this blog was my frustration with politics as usual, especially the divisive polarization practiced by both Republicans and Democrats. According to an article in the most recent New York magazine, others share my opinion. Read it, as well as the two associated articles, here and here.

United 93 and the Seven Minutes

Just returned from seeing "United 93." I think much of its almost non-stop intensity is achieved through verisimilitude: many of the FAA controllers and military leaders and bureaucrats were played by themselves, and mportant dramatic moments were captured on tape, enabling writer/director Peter Greengrass to recreate them with incredbile precision.

But I wonder -- how much of the communications between the FAA and the military and the White House depicted in the film are also true? I ask because several references are made in the film to the need for presidential approval of rules of engagement. The military needs approval to bring down this commercial plane if it is deemed necessary to prevent greater harm. Only the President can grant this approval. Requests are made, but neither denial nor approval is forthcoming, to the great frustration of the commanders on the ground.

Given the filmmaker's efforts at accuracy throughout the film (and simple common sense), I'm imagining efforts were indeed made to learn the President's mind on this rather imporatant little matter. In fact, we know this is true, because we know the message got to him -- we saw Andy Card whisper it in his ear in that famous bit of footage. And then we watched him keep on reading to those kids for SEVEN MINUTES while some of the most serious shit in history is going down outside.

Radio Right will tell you that during those seven minutes, the country was perfectly safe. That despite being informed by his Chief of Staff that the country was under attack, the President's team had every thing covered and the President did just what he should have. But If "United 93" is accurate on this point about the need for rules of engagement approval, then that's not true. Our President was desperately needed. If not for actual leadership, at the very least for his authority. But he couldn't even give that.

Fortunately, we had Mark Bingham and Todd Beamer and the other passengers of United 93 to be decisive when the President wouldn't be.

The Bad Old Days

Seagate has announced a brand new hard drive: 750 gigabytes for $559. To put that in perspective, the first hard drive I bought, back in 1984, cost about $2000 and stored 20 megabytes. So 37,000 times as much storage for about 1/4 the price. That hardly makes up for all the money I lost when the dot-com bubble burst, but it's a start.

Bonzo Goes Gonzo

Is the real "Planet of the Apes" on its way? First there was this incident. Then a few days ago, in Africa, 27 chimps that had escaped from a preserve attacked several tourists and killed a driver.

Where's Dr. Zaius when you need him?

I Hate Plagiarism

I hate plagiarism, perhaps more than any other minor sin. It's worse than piracy. Pirates merely make illegal copies, but the end user still knows who is the creator of the work. Plagiarists take credit for work someone else has done, usurping the crown of achievement. I am always very careful to give credit for good ideas and good work where it is due, partly for reasons of self-interest: I want to receive that credit when I am the one who's done a good job.

But to attempt to pull off the kind of plagiarism this Harvard sophomore was trying? Did she think people would actually buy her story that it done was "unconciously"? To the point that she was able to remember large passages verbatim, or nearly so? She should be expelled and a portion of the sales of her book should go to the author whose work was lifted.

Blendo Redux

In the tradition of "Brokeback to the Future" comes this heartwarming take on "The Shining."

Napmaster Dick

Cheney claimed he wasn't sleeping during the visit of Chinese president Hu Jintao, just double-checking his notes. But believe me, I know what a man in his mid-60s looks like napping, and this is it.

A CIA Scapegoat?

Here's an interesting piece by a former CIA agent, giving some inside perspective on the recent firing of a CIA agent for allegedly leaking classified information, something that is strictly forbidden unless you are the President, and really NEED need it in order to support a sagging case for spending hundreds of billions of dollars of our money on a family vendetta that will coincidentally enrich many of your closest cronies.

"I'm gonna live forever!"

An interesting piece from writer Walter Kirn, writing on andrewsullivan.com:

"At least the high-school students in Kansas who decided to shoot up their school but were stopped before they could because they first wrote about their plot on MySpace.Com already have an insanity defense.

Can a craving for attention drive people crazy? It seems to have in this case. The motivation for the crime was also, here, the motivation for discussing the crime online, and that has proved fortunate. But it makes me wonder if these sort of massacres-as-spectacle aren't the defining offenses of our time. Even politically-motivated terrorism seems to be an effort to garner publicity.

There's something about the world these days that brings out the worst in the lonely and the obscure and feeds their grudges until they grow enormous. And I don't think it's violent video games and movies. I don't think it's access to firearms. I think it's the simple message that you're not anyone until you've done something worthy of media coverage, whatever that thing may be. The star-system has become a kind of moral code with only one commandment: Thou Shalt Not Go Unnoticed. When the concept of fame broke free from its old grounding in the concept of public virtue -- when it was supplanted by the lesser idea of Warhol-ish celebrity -- the lid was off the jar.

Luckily (I think), the Web has come along, where anyone can make his presence felt -- or have the illusion of making his presence felt -- without having to perpetrate a sensational crime. The Kansas kids were eager to do both, of course, and they foiled themselves. Perhaps the Web's promise of liberating people from anonymity will aggravate their mania, but here's hoping it will bleed it off some."

I post this because the lovingly-crafted post I had made for you was lost in the cyberether. If I work up the resolve, I will attempt to re-create it at a future date.

Important/Not Important

Important Issues:

Global Warming
The War in Iraq
Immigration
Social Security
Education

Not Important Issues:

Flag Burning
Same-Sex Marriage
"Under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance

(It's not that I don't think freedom of speech or equal rights or separation of church and state are important, it's just that these three subjects -- not to mention things like Brangelina's baby and Tom Cruise's Scientology rants -- are often used to distract voters from Important Issues.)

In My Dark Place

From time to time -- and only from time to time, thank goodness -- when the paranoia really kicks in, I think about purchasing firearms. It's not outlaws I fear, but some of the ultra right wingers whose posts I read on discussion boards on the Internet. Some of the things they say (and therefore presumably believe) is enough to curdle the blood: suggesting non-Christians move to other countries, locking gays and lesbians in internment camps, suggesting we run all domestic prisons like Abu Gharaib. In the darkest hours of the night, I worry what might happen to civil liberties if somehow a theocracy managed to come to power in this country. What might they decide to do with a person like me? A card-carrying member of both the ACLU and Human Rights Campaign? I'd be first against the wall.

So when they come for me, I want to be ready. I'm figuring a sniper rifle of some sort to pick them off at long range, a handsome 12 gauge if they make it inside the house, and a nice Glock 9mm for the last stand. Who's with me?

Am I Cold? Am I Heartless?

Perhaps I am, but I just don't understand why the Golden Gate Bridge District is considering spending millions on a study to determine if a suicide barrier would be feasible for the span. First, if someone really has it in for themselves, they'll find a way. Second, wouldn't those millions go farther in preventing suicide if they were invested in, say, mental health programs?

Flipping the Bird Flu

The bird flu worries are starting to hit home; one of my clients was recently required by one of ITS clients to put an avian flu readiness plan into place, which included sending me a PowerPoint presentation listing the different levels of alert and what is required at each level, from increasing handwashing to closing the office entirely.

If N5N1 mutates into a form which can be passed from human to human, I'll just dip myself in Purel every morning.

Just when you thought it couldn't get worse...

...it gets worse. The administration, led by President Bush, is apparently making plans to attack Iran. And not just attack -- a NUCLEAR attack. Tactical nukes designed to hit the bunkers 75 feet under the Iranian countryside. Once, again, our leaders believe our action will be met with cheers by the ordinary citizens of Iran, who will be relieved to be freed of the chains of repression.

Bush doesn't deny the reports, he merely calls them "wild speculation." Speculation merely means conjecture without firm evidence -- it doesn't mean what's being speculated about is true or false.

I don't want Iran to develop nuclear weapons, but I don't think this is about nukes. It seems clear, at least to me, that President Bush and his cronies just can't live without that oil money. They want to control/steal as many major oil fields as they can. The option of conservation and developing alternative energy sources cuts Bush and Cheney and their buddies out of the financial loop.

Scratching the Itch

Earlier this year on "The Apprentice," one of the 16 overachievers selected for the show stated he suffered from "attention surplus disorder." I wouldn't mind catching a mild case of ASD. My focus has been known to flashcut from one point of interest to the next with alarming rapidity, with effects both annoying and beneficial. (Hence the "mild" case.)

This comes to me as my paripatetic mind continues to regularly seize onto golf as the target of my attention. Golf has overwhelmed me in the past two years, and taken over a goodly amount of my mental real estate. But I'm feeling more focused and attentive during these past couple of years than I ever have. Maybe it's just age, but what if golf is a form of self-medication for ADD? After all, ritalin works for some people because it stimulates parts of the brain in a way they crave. Thus satisfied, the rest of the brain can operate with more focused attention, without the distraction of those bits of brain crying out for serotonin and dopamine. Perhaps the consuming pyschological nature of golf scratches some itchy part of my brain for me.

Someone once said "golf is 90% mental, and 10% mental." I have made par on every hole at my favorite local track. So why can't I make 18 of them in a row? I obviously have the physical ability to do so, I've demonstrated it. Therefore, the only thing holding me back is my mind. The fact that I can't achieve on a consistent basis the results I know I am physically capable of achieving drives me to try and puzzle out how to let the mind/body do what my consciousness knows it is capable of. Perhaps contemplating this conundrum occupies the frenetic part of my mind so I can more easily point my attention where I want it to go and keep it there for as long as I choose.

Scooter Fingers Bush

According to a federal prosecutor's report, Scooter Libby was given approval to leak classified information to columnist Robert Novak, as part of the administration's desire to heighten the impression that Iraq was pursuing the acquisition of nuclear weapons technology. Apparently it's not a crime, since the President can de-classify information if he likes, but I don't think that matters a whole lot. It's just another instance of Bush acting like a demagogue, either above the law (FISA wiretaps) or acting AS the law, as in this instance.

It's all starting to sicken me.

A Sovereign Nation Acts

The Oglala Sioux nation of South Dakota apparently plans to step in to fill an unmet need. This time it's not gambling, but abortion.

The Fix is In?

Have the powers at August National Country Club, the uber-exclusive (even Bill Gates couldn't buy his way in), uber-traditional host of Golf's most illustrious event, the annual Masters tournament, fallen in with Nike and the starmakers? Over the last 10 years, the course has been lengthened several times (but never lenghtened in the 62 previous years of its existence). This year they've not only added another 155 yards, they've put in more trees, changed tee locations and generally made a tough course even tougher.

But is it tougher in a way that's designed to help The Man, the golfer who has brought more money and popularity to the game than perhaps any golfer in history, Tiger Woods? In a story on TheGolfChannel.com, Fred Funk said of the new layout: "If they want Tiger to win every year, then they got it with the changes they’ve made."

A Common-Sense Argument for Same-Sex Marriage

Yesterday the Massachusetts Supreme Court ruled that same-sex couples that want to marry in Massachusetts but are not residents of the commonwealth cannot do so if they come from a state that forbids such unions. This doesn't seem entirely outrageous to me at this point in the fight for equality in civil rights - marriage laws are generally the province of the states. However, there is a long tradition of people going to other states to take advantage of more liberal marriage (and divorce) laws, Nevada being the most prominent. Couples would run to Vegas or Reno (and still do) to avoid waiting times and blood tests and residency requirements. I believe Delaware was where East Coasters eloped to. (However, when they returned home, their marriages would be recognized in their home state, thanks to the Full Faith and Credit clause of the Constitution.)

Mitt Romney, however, doesn't want his state to turn into the Las Vegas of gay marriage, so he was happily trumpeting the triumph of what he sees as justice. But I have yet to hear a single logical reason why extending equal civil marriage rights to same-sex couples would undermine "traditional" marriage. In fact, here's an excellent argument that lays out why two flavors of marriage don't have to interfere with each other.

Piracy on the Runway

An interesting story in the New York Times today, addressing the issue of copyright protection for fashion designers. The question at hand is how much should the work of designers be protected from duplication? Is it OK for a company to copy a dress seen on the red carpet and charge 1/10 the price?

The head of the company responsible for the Oscar dress knockoffs says "There is no such thing as an original design. All these designers are getting their inspiration from things that were done before. To me a spaghetti strap is a spaghetti strap, and a cowl neck is a cowl neck." Right - and all the words in "To Kill a Mockingbird" can be found in the dictionary and Lennon and McCartney never used a note Mozart hadn't used.

Artists, writers, designers...they all do something magical by assembling existing components into all new forms, and their efforts should be protected from those who wish to profit from piracy.

Wow!

I'm not sure which reality I'm typing this in, but whichever one of the infinite choices of realities it is, I seem to have chosen one in which I am sort of blown away by the concepts presented in "What the #$*! Do We (K)now!?," a film released in 2004, but that I'm just now getting around to.

From a purely filmic standpoint, it's not a very good movie. It's a collection of interviews with physicists and doctors and philosophers (plus one chiropractor and one channeler), interspersed with a goofy story in which Marlee Matlin is an unhappy photographer who ultimately discovers the power within. But the rest is so mind-bogglingly fascinating, that I will forgive its dramatic/theatrical shortcomings.

The interviewees are compelling and almost unfailingly brilliant and/or wise. They got me to understand what the big deal is about quantum physics. The ability of particles to be in more than one place at the same time always stopped me cold. I just couldn't get my mind around it. Now I can. A little. Given the title of the film, I think that's the idea - to realize how little we know.

When we look out at the universe, it's mostly invisible to us. Only 4% of the matter and energy in the universe can be perceived. Science estimate about 22% is dark matter, which Wikipedia defines as "hypothetical matter particles, of unknown composition, that do not emit or reflect enough electromagnetic radiation to be detected directly, but whose presence can be inferred from gravitational effects on visible matter such as stars and galaxies." The remaining 74% is dark energy, even weirder stuff than dark matter. And dark matter is pretty weird. So there could be a lot going on out there that we don't know about.

If you look inside, into cells and atoms, you ultimately get to the smallest stuff we can find: quanta. And quanta abide by rules that seem strange to us. Sometimes they are there, sometimes they're not. Where are they when they're not? One scientist postulates there may be a parallel universe in which scientists there are puzzling about what happens to their quanta when they're HERE. Quanta are as far as we can see at the moment.

From the scientific observation of particles, these scientists and thinkers discuss all sorts of implications for our existence and our potential as conscious beings. Exploring brain chemistry, they look at how the mind works - and what it's capable of. From there they discuss a very interesting question: can the way we think affect our reality? Obviously, it can: if I think I'm going to reach over and grab that last satsuma mandarin orange and peel it, I can make it happen. (In fact, I just did.) Can it make bigger changes? The film highlights a Japanese researcher who caused some very interesting things to happen with water molecules, apparently solely through thought and intention.

I will admit to being troubled by the inclusion of JZ Knight, a woman who channels Ramtha, a supposed 35,000 year old consciousness that has transcended time. I'm just INTENSELY skeptical. However, as one of the scientists says near the beginning of the film, assumptions about what is or isn't possible change constantly. When you get down to the deepest layers (we can find) of the physical universe (our friend the quanta) the same rules don't apply. And maybe, because of that, thought CAN alter reality. I've had several strange instances of synchronicity. The one that came to me while watching this film was a time I was driving in San Rafael with a friend who loves cars, especially classic sports cars. I was telling him that a few months earlier I had seen a beautiful example of a Shelby Cobra. "It wasn't a reproduction," I told him. "It was vintage. And in excellent condition. I wish you could have seen it."

Less than two minutes later, we turned a corner -- and the very same Shelby Cobra was in the lane next to us. I hadn't seen the car on any other day, and I haven't seen it since that day almost a decade ago. It could just be randomness - or it could be something else. I don't know. But as one of the scientists said: "The real trick to life is not to be in the know, but to be in the mystery."

A fascinating film. Rent it.

So Many Laughs

This isn’t mine, but I thought it was so funny that I needed to share. This is from the March 20 issue of The New Yorker.

"Ideas For Paintings"
by Jack Handey

Because I love art, I am offering the following ideas for paintings to all struggling artists ou there. Some of those artists may be thinking Hey, I’ve got good ideas of my own. Really-then why are you struggling? These ideas are free of charge. All I ask is that when you have completed a painting, as a courtesy to me you sign it “Jack Handey and [your name or initials].” And, if the painting is sold, I get approximately all the money. Good luck! Let’s get painting!

STAMPEDE OF NUDES
The trouble with most paintings of nudes is that there isn’t enough nudity. It’s usually just one woman lying there, and you’re looking around going, “Aren’t there any more nudes?” This idea solves that.
What has frightened these nudes? Is it the lightning in the background? Or did one of the nudes just spook? You don’t know, and this creates tension.

MADE YOU LOOK
This idea is difficult to execute, but could turn out to be a masterpiece. It depicts a grandly dressed lady looking straight at you. At first, her look seems to say, “Quick, look behind you!” So you turn around, and when you look at her again her expression now seems to be one of smug satisfaction.

THE BLEAK HOTEL
A man is staring out the window of a bleak hotel room. He looks depressed. From the side, flying through the air, is a football. And you realize, If he’s depressed now, just wait until he gets hit in the head by that football.

THE REPENTANT CAMERON DIAZ
Cameron Diaz, her tear-streaked face lit by a candle, gazes wistfully at a photograph of me.

THE WEARY PEASANTS
Some tired-looking peasants are walking down a road at sunset, carrying sheaves of wheat. A nobleman in a fancy coach is coming up from behind. This creates drama, because you’re thinking, Why don’t those peasants get out of the way?

SELF-PORTRAIT WITH STARTLED EXPRESSION
The key here is to be able to constantly startle yourself as you’re painting. One option is to hire a professional startler, but that can get expensive. (The best ones are from Ireland.) Be sure to use opening the bill from your startler as a free startle.

THE DEATH OF HERCULES
An old Hercules is being lifted into the air by angels. On the one hand, it makes you sad, but on the other you think, He’s still in pretty good shape.

ABSRACT WHITE NO. 1
This is a solid-white painting. You might be asking, “Is it O.K. to put in a fleck of color here and there?” I give up. Do whatever you want.

THE BOXERS
Two boxers are whaling away at each other in a boxing ring. But then you notice that the people in the audience are also fighting one another. And it makes you ask: Who are the truly barbaric ones here, the boxers or the spectators? Then you can turn the painting over and read the answer: “the boxers.”

THE FRENCH LOVERS
A French dandy is embracing his beautiful buxom lover in a lush, overgrown garden. This painting should be in the shape of binoculars.

STILL-LIFE WITH RABBIT
A wooden table is chockablock with fruit, cheese, and a glass of wine. To one side is a dead rabbit, a dead pheasant, and a dead eel. And you’re thinking, Thanks for the fruit, but, man, take better care of your pets.

STILL-LIFE WITH BEETS, CAULIFLOWER, LIVER AND LARGE GLASS OF BEER
Just kidding. Only the beer.

THE EXPULSION OF ADAM AND EVE
Biblical themes sell well. In this one, God hovers over Adam and Eve, kicking them out of the Garden of Eden. As they leave, in an aside to Eve, Adam imitates the expression on God’s face.

THE JOLLY DANCER
The scene is a flatboat on the Ohio River. A frontiersman who looks like me is doing his funny cowboy dance. Everyone seems to be enjoying the dance except for an insane simpleton who looks like my so-called friend Don. Crawling up behind Don is a big snapping turtle.

UNTITLED
This can pretty much be anything. Just remember to make it good, and to put my name on it.

Prosecution Rests in Enron

The prosecution rested its case today in the trial against Enron execs Kenneth Lay and Jeffrey Skilling. The few media reports on this development focused on the fact that prosecutors dropped a few of the charges (three for Lay, one for Skilling - both had dozens of charges filed) instead of the testimony of former employee Joanne Cortez, who told how Ken Lay had a line of credit with the company from which he would borrow cash - then repay the money with Enron stock. I can't find whether he did this because he got a better price for the shares than he would in the market at that time, or to evade reporting rules regarding the sale of shares by company officers (or both) but it's bad either way.

What's more, near the end, when even non higher-ups knew the company was spiraling out of control, Lay's credit limit was upped from $4 million to $7.5 million. He ultimately ended up borrowing $70 million which he repaid with stock that ended up being worthless. Apparently, he would borrow up to his limit, take the cash, then quickly repay the debt with stock and then repeat the cycle.

I'm not sure there's a hole dark enough or deep enough for Ken Lay. I'll be curious to hear what is said in his defense when his attorneys begin presenting their side of the case.

New Drug Delivery System

It occurs to me that science ought to investigate the possibility of using asparagus as a drug delivery system. When I take an aspirin, it's 20 minutes before I start to feel relief. But if I eat a spear of asparagus, five minutes later it has made throughout my body and into my bladder.

Clarity of the Hunt

Michael Pollan, one of my favorite writers, has a long piece in today's New York Times Magazine. It is an excerpt from his forthcoming book, "The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals," in which he examines four meals from their beginnings in nature to their endings at the table. The article recounts his experience hunting boar in northern Sonoma County, and it's bloody (in every sense of the word) fascinating.

Here's an excerpt:

"The fact that you cannot come out of hunting feeling unambiguously good about it is perhaps what should commend the practice to us. You certainly don't come out of it eager to protest your innocence. If I've learned anything about hunting and eating meat, it's that it's even messier than the moralist thinks. Having killed a pig and looked at myself in that picture and now looking forward (if that's the word) to eating that pig, I have to say there is a part of me that envies the moral clarity of the vegetarian, the blamelessness of the tofu eater. Yet part of me pities him too. Dreams of innocence are just that; they usually depend on a denial of reality that can be its own form of hubris. Ortega y Gasset suggests that there is an immorality in failing to look clearly at reality, or in believing the force of human will can somehow overcome it. "The preoccupation with what should be is estimable only when the respect for what is has been exhausted."

"What is." I suppose that this as much as anything else, as much as a pig or a meal, is what I was really hunting for, and what I returned from my hunt with a slightly clearer sense of. "What is" is not an answer to anything, exactly; it doesn't tell you what to do or even what to think. Yet respect for what is does point us in a direction. That direction just happens to be the direction from which we came — that place and time, I mean, where humans looked at the animals they killed, regarded them with reverence and never ate them except with gratitude."

Read the whole piece. It's nourishing.

The Greatest of These

Paul, in his first letter to the fledgling church in Corinth, is reported to have said: "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity."

This quote came to me as I walked in San Francisco tonight and came upon a pair of alcoholics at a corner as I made my way through a somewhat dodgy neighborhood toward a theater. My sense was they wanted to panhandle me, so I avoided all eye contact in order to evade having to interact with them at all, even to refuse their pleas. Well, that's not exactly when the quote came to me. First I had to feel a little guilty that I was ignoring fellow humans in need. But it didn't come to me quite then, either. Instead, as my mind sought ways to deal with the guilt, I remembered a TV spot that is currently running. The spot shows homeless people and delivers the message that "it's OK to say, 'sorry, not today.'" And THAT'S when Paul's quote came to me.

I look at the tremendous political power Christian organizations and Christian leaders have in this country. And how do they use it? Not to spread Christ's message of faith, hope and charity, but to attempt to impose their morality on others. To spread intolerance and limit scientific research. I realize many churches do reach out to the needy, and many people of faith minister (as opposed to preach) to the most destitute among us, but I think Christ would be very disappointed with what Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson and Franklin Graham and James Dobson are doing today with their money and influence.

Reali-Tivo

In the past few months I have become so used to my DVR that, when listening to the radio or sitting in a movie, I find myself reaching for a remote when I miss a phrase or want to hear something again, having become inured to the convenience of pausing and/or rewinding live TV.

But that's not the scary part. The scary part is the fact that I sometimes do it in reality. Someone says something in a meeting or on a conference call, and I find myself wanting to rewind.

Matthew Bourne's "Swan Lake"

Went to the opening night of Matthew Bourne's "Swan Lake" Wednesday evening at the Orpheum Theater in San Francisco. The show is on a tour celebrating the tenth anniversary of its initial production in London. If you don't know Matthew Bourne, you should -- he makes fascinating theater, always with dance at the heart of it. I'm not generally a big dance fan; most ballet bores me, because I love stories and it's a challenge to tell a rich story using only movement and music. In fact, Bourne is really the only choreographer I've felt ever really pulled it off.

SPOILER ALERT! I'll be discussing certain aspects of the show, including its ending. Although the story is a well-known one, if you don't want to know how it turns out, skip the next two paragraphs.

I saw a production of Matthew Bourne's "Swan Lake" about seven years ago in New York, with many of the same cast members who originated the work in London. What makes this a unique "Swan Lake" is that the swans are all played by men. So when the Prince ends up falling for one of the swans, it has a whole different flavor. The show was amazing. It literally moved me to tears. Twice. Early on there is a scene in which the Prince has reached the depths of despair. His mother the Queen enters and in a heart-rending pas de deux, he attempts to connect with her in order to receive comfort -- and she finds ways of avoiding contact. It was a beautiful example of how movement could convey desire and emotion. Then, at the end, even after the Prince died, I didn't cry again -- until a tableau of the Swan holding the boy who played the young Prince appeared behind a scrim, above the lifeless body of the adult Prince still splayed out on the royal bed.

The touring show is an excellent rendition, but it didn't measure up to what I saw in New York. I think there are three main reasons for this. First, I think it would be hard for any production to live up to the memory I have of that evening seven years ago that moved me so deeply. Second, the company overall was more athletic and graceful; they were simply better dancers. But third -- and I think most important -- two key things were changed about the production. First, a boy does not play the Prince in his youth. The same dancer portrays him at age 10 and age 20-something. This lessens the impact of the initial scenes when the young Prince is dreaming and when he is being taught the ways of royalty. And the impact of that final tableau is terribly undermined when its not the small boy being held in the arms of the Swan, but a full-grown man.

The second change was much smaller, but still had a great impact on how the story is experienced. The Prince's descent into depression is indicated partly when he picks up a bottle of liquor and drinks from it. Tonight, he took a swallow, then coughed and set the bottle down. In the production I saw in New York, the dancer first took a small swallow -- as though simply trying to get over the initial burn, then takes two or three more long pulls. It indicated such deep unhappiness, as if the Prince is saying to us, "I must numb myself as quickly as I can manage." A subtle thing, but I think an important one.

Overall, however, if you haven't seen this "Swan Lake," you ought to; it's an electric theatrical experience.

Invigorating Discussion

Going on here. The subject is the influence of religion in politics. Some smart people saying interesting things. Check it out.

Science vs. Religion, Consensus vs. Certainty

Although the debate of evolution vs. intelligent design seems to be over, the conflict between rational thought and religion still rages. It presents itself in subtle ways, undermining progress on global warming, informing the debate on same-sex marriage and the delivery of medical treatment.

Yet, as the discussion continues, what I have noticed is the level of certainty vs. consensus. Specifically, religious leaders seem to have certainty in abundance, but have a hard time reaching consensus. So many are absolutely certain their view of what it means to be Christian (or Muslim or Jewish) is correct, yet they can't reach a consensus on basic issues, such as the divinity of Christ or whether one is saved by grace or good works or whether dancing is a sin or not. (Or drinking. Or gambling. Or...)

Science, on the other hand, has plenty of consensus, but almost no certainty. Every scientist around the world agrees on what the speed of light is, what the chemical composition of water is, the frequency of ultraviolet light...or thousands of other facts. Yet, for all their agreement, scientists stand ready to change their minds and come to a different consensus when new evidence comes along that conflicts with current thought.

So why does it seem our President puts so much more trust in religion than he does in science?

A New Separation of Church and State

Kevin Phillips's new book, "American Theocracy" addresses, in part, the rising influence of religion in the affairs of state. Despite Thomas Jefferson's quote about "a wall of separation," religious leaders have more sway in the halls of power than at any time in America's history. Our President has said, "God wants me to be President," and that rather than going to his own father for advice, he seeks counsel from "a higher father."

Neocons will often counter that the Constitution says nothing about separation of Church and State, but only that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." It says nothing about the influence religion should be able to have on the thought processes of lawmakers and executives.

The problems begin when two different schools of religious thought come into conflict. When it gets down to "God said x" or "No, God said y" or "What God MEANT to say was z," how does one decide which is right? On an individual level, that's easy -- you make up your own mind about what feels true. But at the level of, say, the Supreme Court, there is no way to rationally define religious truth. The Court stays out of it. "God said, I believe it, that settles it" doesn't cut it. You have to base your arguments for or against a certain position solely on the the Constitution and established case law.

Unfortunately, there seem to be plenty of voters who think we'd be a lot better off if judges applied Christian theology to their decisions. Not just judges, either: senators, the President, the Undersecretary for Housing and Urban Development, everybody.

My thought is that we need to go in the exact opposite direction. Not that those who make, execute, enforce and interpret the law shouldn't be religious, but that they erect a wall of separation between their personal beliefs and their public duty. In fact, that each of us as voters should erect such a wall, so that religious thought does not obscure that duty. We can have faith to guide us in our invidivual lives, but when it comes to making decisions for our communities, we should be guided solely by what logic, rationality and common sense indicate is best for the overall good.

We should choose our leaders not because they are Baptists or Episcopalians or Presbyterian, but because they have the skills and commitment to lead. We should make laws not because they agree with the Bible, but because they make sense for our communities. We should implement policies not because we hear the inner stirrings of what we believe is God speaking to us, but because the policies are effective.

Slums of Beverly Hills (and almost everywhere else)

Generally, I'm all for freedom. I love liberty. If what you're doing doesn't affect my life, you knock yourself out at whatever it is that blows air up your dress. But not when it comes to architecture, it might be time for a LOT more government interference, at least in the United States. My specific beef is with municipalities that allow homeowners to build homes in a mish-mash of styles, regardless of the landscape, climate or architectural tradition of the place.

For an example of how residential architecture should be done, look at this Tuscan hill town...
...or this village in Germany...
...or this hamlet in the Cotswolds...



Now contrast those with these examples.

First, here are a couple that work in Beverly Hills...

They work because they respect the Spanish heritage of the region, and the climate of the LA basin. The question is, why within just a few blocks do we find all of THESE houses?





Two of these homes were actually next door to each other. And that happens throughout Beverly Hills -- you drive and find Tudor next to modern next to Spanish next to Italianite next to colonial. There is no thought given to how a home relates to its neighbors or to the community at large.

There are ways to balance the need for individual freedom and creativity with the desire to enhance the sense of community through architectural unity. Look at these examples from Seaside, Florida. Seaside is a planned community where homeowners have the opportunity to create an individual home, yet are required to adhere to certain design standards, such as having porches of a certain minimum size and staying within a proscribed color palette. The architects who planned the community established the code which provides a balance of both freedom and restriction.

Here's the result...
I don't have a problem with my sensibilities being offended -- as long as you don't do it in such a long-lasting, public medium like architecture.

As U Lyk It

The world is filled with adaptations of Shakespeare, both original texts in new settings (think Baz Luhrman's "Romeo+Juliet") and adaptations of Shakespeare's stories (think today's release of "She's The Man," a modern tale based on "Twelfth Night.") But I don't think I've seen an adaptation which translates Shakespeare to a modern setting, retaining most of the original text, yet changing certain speeches to reflect the new take on the story, and adding new lines with a modern flavor, but that still have the distinctive style of the Bard.

"As U Lyk It" takes one of the master's greatest comedies and reimagines it in modern-day Pasadena. The basic story is still there - but instead of one duke banishing his brother to the forest, the new mayor of Pasadena steals the election from his elder brother and sends him out into the Mojave Desert. Instead of the brave Orlando defeating the Duke's champion, Charles, in battle, the two men are now drivers who duel on the short track NASCAR course the new mayor has established in the Rose Bowl.

"As You Like It" is all about love in its various forms, and at the end, everyone is happily wed. In "As U Lyk It," love once again reigns supreme, but adapter Alison Carey has broadened the love interest to include gay and lesbian couples, who also desire to marry. The famous "seven ages of man" speech is brilliantly done, though man's ages in this "California concoction" include cartoon, sitcom, reality show, drama, rerun, and ultimate cancellation.

The audience didn't seem to care much for the show; at least 60 people left at intermission. But the more I think about it, the more I like it. Although Carey gets a bit too strident with the politics, the rewriting is imaginative yet respectful of the original, and the issues raised are real and contemporary. My problems are with the acting and direction. Although the performances aren't awful, I think a recasting of the some of the roles would help the show tremendously, and director Bill Rauch could learn a few things about subtlety. (The show, however, is still in previews, so I'll cut them some slack.) What's more, they might do better in a less conservative community than Pasadena, where the Bush-bashing might have a better chance of getting the desired laughs.

Exit Strategy Parallels

There is an interesting article in the current issue of Foreign Affairs, in which Joel Rayburn draws parallels between the British experience in what is now Iraq, post WWI, and the situation in which the US currently finds itself. Rayburn, a Major in the US Army, argues that "costly and frustrating as the fostering of Iraqi democracy may be, the costs of leaving the job undone would likely be far higher, for both the occupiers and the Iraqis."

Although he doesn't address the issue of whether we ought to have enmeshed ourselves in the situation in the first place -- and therefore avoided the cost and frustration -- what interested me about the piece are the many similarities between the political climate and public opinion of both Britain in the 20s and the United States today. Here's what T.E. Lawrence had to say: "The people of England have been led in Mesopotamia into a trap from which it will be hard to escape with dignity and honour. They have been tricked into it by a steady withholding of information... Things have been far worse than we have been told, our administration more bloody and inefficient than the public knows. It is a disgrace to our imperial record, and may soon be too inflamed for any ordinary cure. We are today not far from a disaster... We say we are in Mesopotamia to develop it for the benefit of the world. ... How long will we permit millions of pounds, thousands of Imperial troops, and tens of thousands of Arabs to be sacrificed on behalf of colonial adminstration which can benefit nobody but its administration?"

We have to learn to pay better attention to the lessons history teaches us.

My Favorite Golf/Life Lesson

As much as I love my regular golf pro (Doug Acton, Your Swing's Covered), I think my favorite golf lesson came on a driving range in San Bruno.

It was my first day with my new driver, and I was hitting everything right. In the stall next to me was a Chinese man in his 70s, just striping 4-irons about 200 yards. He started watching me swing, but without saying a thing. He watched me from the side, from behind, from the other side. This went on for about five minutes. After one last swing, he took a step closer and said (with a heavy accent): "You in too big a hurry." Then he got me to slow down, and swing on an inside-out path -- and my drives started going straighter and farther.

Unfortunately, it seems to be a hard lesson for me to hang on to. What's more, it's one that applies to many areas of my life. I'm a pretty fast-moving person. But I'd probably benefit from being in a bit less of a hurry.

Why I Like Andrew Sullivan

Because he continues to take a logical, rational approach to important issues. In quoting from the President's recent speeches on the situation in Iraq, Sullivan commented:

"Senator McCain has rightly pointed out that we have one president for the next three years; and we are at war. Criticizing him is fine; but rooting for him to fail isn't. I fear it may be too late to rescue Iraq from disintegration. I hope it isn't. No one knows right now. But explaining to Americans the details of what is going on, and not hiding from them the truth of the dangers and trials ahead, is essential to victory."

A link to Andrew Sullivan's blog is at right; you can read the whole piece there.

A New Term

Went to my first ever b'nai mitzvah on Saturday. I'd previously been to bar and bat mitzvahs, but even the term b'nai mitzvah was new to me. It was for a boy and a girl together. In this case, they happened to be twins, but I don't know if being a twin is a requirement for a b'nai mitzvah.

But my point is not about terminology, but about religion. Sitting in the temple, as the rabbi and the cantor gathered the congregation around them and the mitzvah kids, I thought, this is what makes religion worthwhile -- community and ritual. Yet I see millions upon millions of people who use their religious beliefs as a way to sow terror and intolerance. Yes, many are reaching out and truly ministering -- but shouldn't that be what spirituality always leads to? A sense of connection to each other in an incomprehensively mysterious existence that leads us to care for one another?

Only in Hollywood

Seen at a coffee shop in Hollywood. A chalkboard sign with a quote: "The right thing to do and the hardest thing to do are often the same thing." (Or something close to that.) What made it special was the attribution: "Someone on TV."

A tasteless (but funny) joke

A Kiwi (a New Zealander, not the bird) walks into his bedroom with a sheep under his arm and says: "Darling, this is the pig I have sex with when you have a headache."

His wife, who is lying in the bed, looks up and replies: "I think you'll find that's a sheep, you imbecile."

The man calmly replies: " I wasn't talking to you."

Maude Maggart

Maude Maggart is appearing at the Plush Room in San Francsico. (A wonderful room in which to see a singer or comedian.) Her show, "Come Love," is an evening of romantic songs from the 30s, interspersed with a few memories of her grandparents, who were singers/musicians of that time. I loved the songs -- I kept thinking "this is a great song - how come I've never heard it before? (Which is partly why I remember almost none of the titles.) I liked her easy-going, self-assured personality, and thought she delivered the songs with sincere emotion and wonderful artistry. Her rendition of "My Funny Valentine" was especially lovely.

My only problem was with the quality of her voice. Though it's certainly sweet at times, and honest, she had a little trouble with pitch, especially early in the evening. This may have been due to nervousness, because two of her heroes were in the audience: Andrea Marcovicci and Paula West. But even as the evening progressed, and the voice got more solid, the word that kept coming to me was "insubstantial."

Overall, I enjoyed the show, and wonder if perhaps she just had an off vocal night.

Crush Limbaugh

I sometimes listen to Rush Limbaugh when I'm driving. (I have abnormally low blood pressure, and listening to Rush seems to help.) I've always known that Rush is not really a political commentator, but an entertainer. After this morning's show, however, I've come to the realization that Rush's brand of entertainment has its closest parallel in professional wrestling: it's meant to inflame passions around right and wrong, and to highlight the battle between (perceived) good and evil. Most important, it has only a passing acquaintance with reality.

Here's the direct quote from today's show that led to this realization: "I know what education is -- education is a tool used by the Left for the purposes of indoctrination."

"Crush" Limbaugh can be his wrestling name.

A Star is Born

Tiger Woods won this weekend's golf tournament, but a new star rose and finished in second place: Camilo Villegas, a young Colombian who was an All-American at the University of Florida and earned his tour card by playing well on the Nationwide Tour. Villegas, like Woods, is built like a boxer, can hit it a mile, strikes his irons crisply and has a terrific short game. Unfortunately for Villegas, he can't putt like Tiger. Even with his unique green-reading position......his stroke lacks the confidence that may come with a few more starts on the big tour. The galleries were huge for him in Miami, and it will be interesting to see how his appeal translates to areas not as dominated by Latins as south Florida, but he seems to have the charisma to step up to stardom.

With his length and shot-making skills, look for him to make an impact at The Masters.

Dinner and a Show

There is a Vietnamese restaurant in San Francisco called Tu Lan. It's on 6th street, near Market, NOT a nice neighborhood. But it was right on my way home from Moscone Center, where I am involved in the lead up to a keynote address I'm working on for an Intel executive, and I didn't want to have to cook when I got home, since I still have work to do. And there was a parking place right across the street.

As I walked in, I wondered if I should buy a paper to occupy myself while I waited for my food. I needn't have worried - the entertainment I sought was right in front of me. Sitting at the counter, I had full view of the two main cooks working at the stove. They maintained an amazing pace (Tu Lan does a big takeout business), working smoothly together, grabbing ingredients, using their tongs as pretty much the only utensil. The stove spewed flame, customers came and went (including a man whose shaved head was tattooed all over with a spiderweb pattern, even around his eyes, and a homeless man who came in and sold some batteries to the restaurant's proprietor), and dishes kept being plated.
I wasn't bored for a second.

Graydon Carter figured it out

On "Real Time with Bill Maher" Friday, Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter mentioned how he has noticed that President Bush seems to speak to audiences at press briefings as if they are idiots. He does this, Carter says, "because that's the way these issues were explained to HIM."

Van at the Rancho - Part 2, The Show

(The story of how I got tickets to this show can be found by scrolling down to Part 1.)

Van Morrison. On the stage in an intimate setting. Just 200 people. I had high expectations – and they were surpassed.

The Rancho Nicasio has been described – not inaccurately – as a “roadhouse.” The show/rehearsal was scheduled for 4:00 p.m. I have no idea why. Security was tight, but relaxed. I arrived and gave the man at the door my name. He let me into the bar, where I gave my name again and received my receipt and wristband.

The bar was full. Full of people exactly my age. Seriously, I think everyone in the room was 48. There might have been one or two who were 51, but that’s pretty much the range. Although completely lacking in diversity, there was a palpable sense of excitement in the room. I also felt a sense of gratitude. I’m sure somewhere there were some jaded guests of the record company feeling bored, but most people I overheard or spoke to were almost giddy over what was to come, and felt blessed to be a part of the day.

I’ve heard Van play live only once before, at the Masonic Auditorium, which seats more than 3,000. This is the way to listen to him. In this small venue, I had a completely different experience of the power of his music in general -- and of his voice in particular. His singing is so elemental. Van can find the cry of humanity in every song he sings. Even when it’s a bouncy pop hit like his “Brown-Eyed Girl,” Van’s voice carries with it a primal longing, calling to mind a time when our species was first becoming self-aware, and we cried out in the attempt to communicate this giant leap we were making into consciousness. Or, he just listened to a lot of blues growing up. (Personally, I think it’s both.)

The band he brought with him was stellar. There was a horn player, an unassuming, somewhat doughy guy, who one minute could make his clarinet whistle a gentle little tune – and in the next coax huge, clear sounds out of his alto sax. (Speaking of sax, Van plays some himself – and he’s pretty damn good on that horn.) The two trumpeters killed me, and the guy on the old organ in the corner (I think a Hammond B3) tore it up every time Van went to him. The keyboard player was the only guy who couldn’t keep up. It was kind of sad – virtually every other musician who took a solo (including the bass player) got polite to raucous applause (raucous for Mr. Pillsbury on his reeds) – and the keyboardist got bupkus.

I was worried that since the new record is country and western (Van stressed country AND western when he began that section of the show), that those tunes might dominate the show. But they comprised only about 40% of the set. I loved them all. I’m ready to buy the record. His country and western players were fantastic (a male fiddler and a female pedal steel player) and his backup trio, the Crawford Bell Singers added a lovely sweet tone that balanced nicely with Van’s guttural soulfulness.

The show included two major hits, and he did great versions of both. “Moondance” especially was lovely. I love the song, but it’s always been a bit mainstream. Today’s show reminded why it became mainstream – because it’s a great song. People heard it, liked it, wanted to hear it again. The trumpeter tossed in a little reference to Miles Davis’s “Freddie Freeloader,” which I liked. In fact, he turned the song into a chance for most of the band to solo, which helped to reinvent one of Van’s classics. The other hit, “Brown-Eyed Girl” was described by Van as “the money song.” After he played it, he made some reference to “28 years of money” that I couldn’t quite understand.

40% the new record and 10% hits left Van time to explore his catalogue – and he came up with some of my favorites: “Healing Game,” “Did Ya Get Healed” (is a theme developing here?), “In the Midnight” (guess not) and “Tore Down a la Rimbaud.” The latter he dropped the tempo back a bit, giving the tune a more melancholy flavor.

He took the exact opposite tack with “Have I Told You Lately,” the closest Van comes to Hallmark sentiment. (Usually he’s much more oblique and poetic.) For that reason, it’s never been one of my favorites; but this time they picked up the tempo and turned it into (I think) a shuffle.

It was a fantastic experience.

Following is the set list. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of all song titles. If I don’t know almost for certain that I have the name right, I’ll put a question mark next to it.

Did Ya Get Healed
The Magic Time
Have I Told You Lately
Fame (?) (Which had a great line: “There ain’t nothin’ fair about fame.”)
Tore Down a la Rimbaud
Bucket’s Got a Hole in It
There Stands the Glass
Big Blue Diamonds
Things Have Gone To Pieces
Moondance
In the Midnight
Pay the Devil
This Has Got To Stop
More and More
Playhouse
Your Cheatin’ Heart
(NO IDEA)
All Work and No Play (?)
Brown-Eyed Girl
In the Celtic New Year
Healing Game

(He also played "Don’t You Make Me High," I think right around "Big Blue Diamonds," but I'm not sure.)

Van at the Rancho - Part 1, Getting In

Van Morrison is an artist. For more than 40 years, since the seminal “Gloria,” recorded with the British band Them, he’s been engaged in the process of trying to share the human experience with us by tapping something mysterious inside himself that comes out in the form of amazing, soulful music. (But then, I’m a fan.) Along the way, he’s become an icon, inspiring musicians and songwriters from Bruce Springsteen to Patti Smith to U2. (Bruce Springsteen once said “How come it seems that every year Van Morrison comes out with a record and every year it’s great and every year nobody notices?”) Van is about to release his 35th album, “Pay The Devil,” and embarking on a six-city mini-tour in support of it. The tour is playing mostly large auditoria, including the original home of the Grand Ole Opry, the Ryman. The choice of the Ryman is fitting, since the new record is a collection of country and western songs.

However, Van chose to open the tour at Rancho Nicasio, a venue that seats just 200 people. Barely. It’s primarily a restaurant, with music on the weekends. The town of Nicasio is a tiny village in the middle of agricultural lands. It’s surrounded by dairies and horse farms. This is the church.And this…
…is the dense part of town. The Rancho Nicasio archly claims the mantle of "Best Restaurant in Town."

For some reason, Van decided Rancho Nicasio was where he wanted to begin this tour. In fact, it wasn’t really the beginning of the tour. It was more the final dress rehearsal for the tour. And I got to be there.

I learned about the show a month ago when I received an e-mail from Lost Highway Records, the label for the new record. When I saw that the tour was scheduled to start at the Rancho Nicasio (just 10 minutes over the hill from my house), I immediately picked up the phone and called them. The woman who answered the phone knew nothing about the show, but told me to call back after 11 and ask for Max. I did. The same woman answered and went to fetch Max. But after 2-3 minutes, she came back on the phone and said “We have no information about that.” It sounded exactly like the sort of thing characters say in movies when they are covering something up. So I channeled my inner Woodstein and tracked down an executive of Lost Highway Records, who told me “Oh yeah, it’s real important to Van for some reason. It’s happening.”

So, I called back the Rancho. This time they came clean. Van was indeed scheduled to play, but the contracts hadn’t been completed and no tickets could be sold until they had. But I was welcome to call every day and check the status. After a few days of that, they changed their minds and decided I should check the website instead. Which I did. But the date was never announced on the web.

This past Sunday, I decided to call the Rancho again. This time I was told the show was sold out. As it turns out, they never put it up on their web site. Max told me the record company took half the seats (though the record exec told me specifically a month earlier that this was the only show on the tour for which they had NOT held a block of seats. I doubt Max was lying, so the label must have changed its mind), and the other half went to people on the Rancho Nicasio e-mail list and local friends and insiders. I was disappointed, but sort of resigned; I’d always sort of suspected it was too good to be true, that only insiders would have access to such a show. However, Max said he’d take my number and call if something came up.

The day before yesterday, the phone rang and Max told me he had room for me. I jumped.

NEXT: The Show

No-Spin Cycle

On August 28, the day before Hurricane Katrina struck, President Bush was briefed on just how devasatating the storm could be. After the storm, when the extent of the destruction was becoming known, Bush said "no one could have anticipated the breach of the levees." A video released today of that August briefing shows just the opposite is true.

This could be a bad one for the President. It will be tough for the White House to spin. The President's spokesman, Trent Duffy said, "I hope people don't draw conclusions from the president getting a single briefing." Not the point. One briefing was enough if it told him the levees were in danger and then a few days later he claims he had no idea they were in peril.