For the most part, I do not enjoy parties at all. I have a bad habit of committing to things and then, as soon as I do so, I try everything in my power to get out of them. Being a patent attorney helps in these situations, as there is always some deadline that I actually have to meet. Usually, however, these deadlines occur during weekdays, so I am stuck with the weekend get togethers. Or am I?
Since I purchased my condo, I have had a lot of people over to see it and to hang out. This is making up for a lot of lost time, for when I lived at my old place, I hardly ever had people over. I lived in a small "garden apartment", i.e., the basement of a house. The ceilings were low, and there never seemed to be enough room for me let alone anyone else. I hated (HATED) the bathroom. It was a tiny closet compared to what I have now.
So upon moving to my condo, I started invited people over. It seemed like the right thing to do. After all, they had always been so kind because they always invited me over to their places when I did not have the ability to reciprocate. Now, however, most of the people that I would have over have BEEN over. I am over the whole "have a gathering at my house" bug, especially after the last one where 2 of my expensive wine glasses were shattered.
That still leaves me with the problem of not having to attend other people's gatherings. My M.O. usually is to start out "out of sorts" and to fade into the background of gatherings to listen to what other people say. I then find an opening and join in the conversation. At the same time, my desire to go out has diminished greatly within these last few months because I LOVE being at home. It is all MINE. I love it. I spend so much time at work that I hardly ever get to spend a lot of quality time at home. I have no roommates, and my neighborhood is QUIET. My place is clean (well, most of the time...there is usually some sort of clutter), and I love the solitude. I am flattered that people invite me to gatherings, but nowadays it takes something special (such as the Chicago visit of Katie from Overflowing Brain) to make me want to "emerge from my cave", so to speak.
What does this have to do with anything? Well, this weekend is the Super Bowl. This weekend is the last real fun party weekend for another month (Oscars parties). Everyone gathers to watch the commercials and the big game. The spectacle is the thing, and the Super Bowl has become the champion among sports championships. A one-off winner take all in professional sports. No best of seven series. No arbitrary selection of participants (hello, BCS). No-this is The Game. People plan for their Super Bowl parties. They have mounds of food, lots to drink, and lots of guests.
I hate it all except for the game.
Since the 1996 game (Packers/Patriots), I have only attended 2 Super Bowl parties. I did not have a great time at either one of them. Why? Because there were a lot of non-football fans gathered who were inconsiderate of those of us who live and die by the happenings of the NFL. These are the people who insist on socializing and talking during the game itself yet have the temerity to "Shuuush" people when the freaking COMMERCIALS are on.
WTF??????????
Now, since that 1996 game, I paid attention to how much fun I had during Super Bowls. I have found that 80% of the time, I really enjoyed the Super Bowls. That means 8 out of 10 times, I had a good time. Can you guess the 2 times where I wished I was by myself? Yup. Those would be the Super Bowl parties. I have fond memories of:
1) John Elway and Terrell Davis willing the Broncos to victory against a Packers team to whom everyone had essentially awarded the championship. It was a knock down drag out fight. I remember Davis leaving with a migraine during the 2nd quarter, in incredible pain. I remember how the Broncos looked vulnerable. I then remember Davis' triumphant return during the second half and how he kept pounding at the Packer defensive line until they were too tired to stand. It was one of the closest Super Bowls of the previous 14 years, and it was the first time in 14 years that an AFC stood triumphant over an NFC team. It was the saving of the legacy of John Elway, a player I despised (but I still had to respect his tenacity).
2) John Elway's MVP performance in the next Super Bowl and how he retired soon after. This game was not as close, but it was a lot of fun to watch.
3) The Greatest Show On Turf (the Rams offense) led by a former grocery store shelf stocker versus the hard hitting Tennessee Titans of Eddie George and Steve "Air" McNair. I remember the Titans being down by 10 points and then rallying to tie it up with 2:12 left and the announcing talking Overtime. I remember Kurt Warner (the aforementioned store stocker) unleashing a 73 yard bomb on the next possession that found a home in the waiting arms of the speedy Isaac Bruce to put the Rams ahead again. I also remember an incredible drive by the Titans, one which featured an amazing escape from a surefire sack by the fleet-footed Steve McNair. I remember his pass to Kevin Dyson and how Dyson was stopped one foot short of the goal line on the last play of the game. Sigh...THAT, my friends, is a Super Bowl.
4) The 2000 Super Bowl featured my Ravens and was one of the 2 parties I attended within the last 10 years. It was a church party in Baltimore, and my friends had strong armed me into attending. It was all right, but the truth is, very little of the game has stayed with me. I blame the party.
5) My first Super Bowl in Chicago was spent watching the Patriots versus the Rams. A little known QB named Tom Brady led the Patriots to a 20-17 win against a Rams team that was a heavy favorite. I saw Kurt Warner rally his team and tie it up. I also saw a cool and composed Brady go under center with less than 2 minutes left and drive towards field goal range. I remember Adam Vinatieri drilling the field goal that won the Patriots their first of 3 titles this decade. I also remember that Super Bowl as the one that had U2 as the halftime show, the Super Bowl post 9/11. It was amazing and completely memorable WITHOUT a party.
6) The storyline for the 2002 Super Bowl was Jon Gruden versus his old team, the Oakland Raiders. Gruden knew that offense like no one did, and he spent the week preparing his team to face the Raiders. It was not even close, as Rich Gannon broke the Super Bowl record for interceptions in the face of the Buccaneers relentless pass defense. In his first year in Tampa Bay, fortune had smiled on Gruden by giving him the Raiders as an opponent. Would the Bucs have had such an easy time with another AFC team? One wonders. This Super Bowl was also the first one that I watched on my then-new 42 inch widescreen TV. I had the best seat in the house-on my sofa watching the game. Awesome.
7) The 2003 and 2007 Super Bowls are the most memorable in my book. 2003 featured the return of Tom Brady and the Patriots facing a team that had entered the league a mere 8 years prior to that. The Panthers had ridden Stephen Davis, their powerful running back, to the Super Bowl. Indeed, the Panthers were seen as a one trick pony. No one thought that Jake Delhomme, the former back-up in New Orleans, could lead a team if it came down to a shootout. I distinctly remember watching the first half; the Patriots stopped Davis, and the Panthers looked as if they did not belong. I saw the frustration building on Delhomme's face, as it looked as it he was wilting under the hot lights of the Super Bowl. Ahh....but when the second half started, Delhomme started leading his team. I witnessed this quarterback, who as much as anyone relied on the running of Davis, carry his team on his back with his leadership in the huddle and his AMAZING passes. The second half turned into a shoot-out, with Brady and Delhomme trading TD passes. With less than 2 minutes left, Delhomme tied up the score with a long bomb to Mohammed. If not for an errant kickoff by John Kasey, the Panthers normally surefire kicker, Vinatieri might not have been able to kick his second Super Bow game winner. It was an exciting game, and I loved watching Delhomme's transformation on this stage. Magical.
8) New England versus Philadelphia was memorable only because of the fact that Philly really should have won the game. The reason that they lost? Poor conditioning on the part of Donovan McNabb. McNabb spent most of the 4th quarter dehydrated and slow. When the Eagles should have been in a hurry up, the tempo was slower than usual because McNabb was throwing up in the huddle and having a hard time catching his breath.
9) Pittsburgh v. Seattle: one of the WORST Super Bowls ever. The game looked as if there were 2 junior college teams duking it out, and the officiating was horrible, no doubt swayed by all of the terrible towels swirling in the stadium. A true yawner.
10) Indianapolis versus Chicago: the OPPOSITE of Jake Delhomme = Rex Grossman. When given the opportunity to help his team win, he actually handed the Colts the victory with his picks. Most of them were "what the heck was he thinking" throw. The Bears defense took away the big play for the most part save for one early long TD pass; they kept the game close. I always wondered what would have happened if Lovie Smith had benched Grossman during the 3rd quarter...
11) New England versus the New York Giants: wow-just wow. First of all, I DID attend a gathering of people at the behest of my friends. They were very kind in making sure that I had a great seat and even saved my spot for me. This game was remarkable because, once again, I saw a QB come of age. My respect for Eli Manning grew immensely that night, and where most parties had people talking and mixing, the 3rd and 4th quarter of THIS game was marked by people WATCHING THE GAME IN STUNNED SILENCE. It was magical. I am so fortunate to have watched the most amazing play in Super Bowl history unfold live. Manning surrounded by a blitzing Patriots defense...almost going down...staying upright and scrambling....finding David Tyree down the center of the field....unleashing a missile that was WAAAY over Tyree's head, and Tyree's amazing leap....Tyree keeping the ball glued to his helmet as Rodney Harrison tried to wrest control of the ball away from him on the way down. Catch. Wow. Manning led his team winning score with less than a minute left. Not enough time for Brady, who had been PUNISHED all day by the Patriots defense. An amazing game. A unique situation.
So out of these last 11 games, I have been to 2 gatherings. I prefer to watch it on my own, taking in the coaching strategies, finding out clues from the coordinators, and dissecting the battle...er..GAME plan. It does not matter whether I have a rooting interest in a team-what I am looking for is that moment where a player makes the difference...Jermaine Lewis in 2000...Brady and Vinatieri in 2001...Delhomme in 2003...Manning in 2007...THOSE are the moments that I seek. I love to analyze these things WITHOUT distraction. And to all of you who say "football takes so long between plays that you can have conversation and not miss anything", I say that you are not real NFL fans. Call me one day when you, too, actually strategize when you play Madden on your gaming system. Let me know when you look at the chalk talk or if you wake up at 5 AM to watch the best NFL show on TV, the Edge NFL Match-up.
Until then, I can be found on my sofa, with a roaring fireplace beneath my NEW mammoth HDTV, immersed by Dolby Digital 5.1 and a 1080i picture with the best seat in the house.
Enjoy the game!
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Things Happen That Take You By Surprise
I have a very good friend. Let's call her Eve. Eve and I became fast friends in law school. I remember the day that it happened. It was in Civil Procedure class. Our professor must have watched "Paper Chase" one too many times, for he fancied himself John Houseman. He would chose a different victim every class, and for that entire class, you were his bitch. It did not matter if you struggled or how long it took you to figure out his question-he stayed on you the entire time. We were all intimidated by this professor. The scary part was that we never knew who he was going to call on. Every day, those of us who he had not called on would wait with baited breath, for he would only put you on call once during the semester. Early on in the semester, it was open season. So many victims for him to chose from.
The first semester of law school is a scary time anyway. You are trying to figure so many things out, but you do not want anyone to figure out that you do not have any earthly idea what you are doing. You worry about being found out-about being proven an idiot in front of your peers to the point where they will point and whisper about you as you sit in the student lounge. Of course, what we failed to realize is that we ALL felt that way. When our Civ Pro professor had his victim, we all felt sorry for the victim because NO ONE knew the cases as he wanted us to. EVERYONE looked like an idiot, even the brightest among us.
Enter Eve. Eve was one of his first victims, and it happened early on in the semester. He had a field day with Eve, but she acquitted herself quite admirably-I daresay more than anyone else could have managed with the impossible case that day. I noticed Eve leaving class dejected-I knew that she must have felt awful in spite of the fact that she did relatively well. This was still early on in the semester when we did not know our classmates, but I took it upon myself to approach her and say: "you did really well in Civ Pro today-I doubt I could have even come up with ONE coherent answer, but you danced with the devil and beat him."
The look of gratitude that flooded over her face was one that I would never forget. Her self doubt was washed away, and in its place was a tentative confidence. She asked me "Do you REALLY think so?" I nodded "absolutely-everyone in the class was impressed-including me. Way to go."
I left it at that. A couple of days later I was in the library, studying the maligned case of "Pennoyer v. Neff." The best way to describe that case would be as a hazing ritual that Civ Pro professors put their students through. I was at a study carrel, and I noticed Eve walking toward me.
"Do YOU understand this case?" she asked.
"Nope," I answered. With that, we figured it out together. I found out a lot about her-how she came from a large family, how her boyfriend had a tough upbringing but was a whiz with complicated mathematics (think Good Will Hunting), how her parents were 20 years apart in age, and how she was almost wait listed from our law school. We became very good friends, and she was one of my first real friends that first year of law school. She and her boyfriend Wally came to my first giant law school party, and i immediately developed a mancrush on him-he was (and is) such a great guy. Eve ended up with one of the highest GPAs from our section after first year, and she was a shoo-in for law review. She was brilliant, but she always had time to help others. She went to school for public interest, but when she was offered a job with one of the top 50 firms in the WORLD (yes, the WORLD), she saw an opportunity to pay off her debt and save so that she could pursue pro bono work for the needy. She took the job and for the last 6 months, she has been succeeding at that.
Things were tough the last year of law school, for Eve's father was diagnosed with cancer. Eve spent many weekends in Minnesota with her family, visiting her father and comforting her Mom. Several times, Eve did not know if her time with her father would be her last. During all of this time, she still remained the same awesome, smart, sassy, sexy young woman who I considered as close to me as a little sister. I could talk to her about anything, and she could do the same with me.
After graduation, Wally and Eve moved in together in a fabulous apartment right in downtown Chicago. The two of us would get together on occasion for a quick lunch and to catch up on things. She still traveled on the weekends to see her Dad, who, thanks to a tragic setback, had to be put into a retirement nursing home. 2009 was shaping up to be an incredible year for Eve. This was the year that she would realize so many of her dreams. She was succeeding as an attorney at a top 50 firm, her relationship with her awesome boyfriend was going well, and she had her eyes on a goal.
This weekend, Eve was traveling back to the airport in Minnesota after having visited her parents. She was driving along the road and passed out at the wheel. She woke up to find herself in a ditch (I'll bet you thought this was going to end differently). Eve was confused as to what happened.
This evening, I was in Jewel doing some grocery shopping. Eve tried calling, but I was in a bad area for cell phone reception. She left a message, but I did not listen to it. I called her back as soon as I got to the car.
"Hi Eve!" I said. "How are you? Sorry about that. I had bad reception."
Eve: "That's OK...so, did you listen to my message?"
Me (still happy): "No, I figured I would just call you back. What's up"
Eve: "Well, I was calling my closest friends because I figured they should know..."
My heart sank. Oh no, I thought, Eve's dad died. I steeled myself for the bad news...and received even worse news.
Eve: "So I kind of have a brain tumor...."
Silence...what do you say when someone you care about tells you something like this? I immediately started asking questions, trying to figure out some way the doctors could be wrong and some way that this was all some sort of macabre joke.
It wasn't. Eve had a brain tumor. Best case scenario is full recovery. Worst case is that she dies, Somewhere in the middle are 2 other options: 1) they could remove the tumor, but since it is so close to the speech center of the brain, she would be rendered unable to speak for the rest of her life or 2) she could live with the tumor and live for another 10-15 years.
Goddamn it...SHE IS ONLY 26.....
All of a sudden, my own problems at work seem so small. All of a sudden, I felt the need to talk to my brother and my parents to remind them how much I love them. All of a sudden, I want to tell my friends how much I care for all of them. All of a sudden, I am wondering: Why her and not me...she is such a great person...this is NOT fair...
Eve seems to be in good spirits, but I am sad and worried. There are so many other things I am worried about tonight, this and one other thing that I will not speak about here (some of you know). Everything else can go to hell because everything else does not matter.
What matters is that my friend, a sweet young girl of 26 with her whole life ahead of her, has a brain tumor. And I will be damned if I am not there for her, Wally, and the rest of her family for whatever they need.
The first semester of law school is a scary time anyway. You are trying to figure so many things out, but you do not want anyone to figure out that you do not have any earthly idea what you are doing. You worry about being found out-about being proven an idiot in front of your peers to the point where they will point and whisper about you as you sit in the student lounge. Of course, what we failed to realize is that we ALL felt that way. When our Civ Pro professor had his victim, we all felt sorry for the victim because NO ONE knew the cases as he wanted us to. EVERYONE looked like an idiot, even the brightest among us.
Enter Eve. Eve was one of his first victims, and it happened early on in the semester. He had a field day with Eve, but she acquitted herself quite admirably-I daresay more than anyone else could have managed with the impossible case that day. I noticed Eve leaving class dejected-I knew that she must have felt awful in spite of the fact that she did relatively well. This was still early on in the semester when we did not know our classmates, but I took it upon myself to approach her and say: "you did really well in Civ Pro today-I doubt I could have even come up with ONE coherent answer, but you danced with the devil and beat him."
The look of gratitude that flooded over her face was one that I would never forget. Her self doubt was washed away, and in its place was a tentative confidence. She asked me "Do you REALLY think so?" I nodded "absolutely-everyone in the class was impressed-including me. Way to go."
I left it at that. A couple of days later I was in the library, studying the maligned case of "Pennoyer v. Neff." The best way to describe that case would be as a hazing ritual that Civ Pro professors put their students through. I was at a study carrel, and I noticed Eve walking toward me.
"Do YOU understand this case?" she asked.
"Nope," I answered. With that, we figured it out together. I found out a lot about her-how she came from a large family, how her boyfriend had a tough upbringing but was a whiz with complicated mathematics (think Good Will Hunting), how her parents were 20 years apart in age, and how she was almost wait listed from our law school. We became very good friends, and she was one of my first real friends that first year of law school. She and her boyfriend Wally came to my first giant law school party, and i immediately developed a mancrush on him-he was (and is) such a great guy. Eve ended up with one of the highest GPAs from our section after first year, and she was a shoo-in for law review. She was brilliant, but she always had time to help others. She went to school for public interest, but when she was offered a job with one of the top 50 firms in the WORLD (yes, the WORLD), she saw an opportunity to pay off her debt and save so that she could pursue pro bono work for the needy. She took the job and for the last 6 months, she has been succeeding at that.
Things were tough the last year of law school, for Eve's father was diagnosed with cancer. Eve spent many weekends in Minnesota with her family, visiting her father and comforting her Mom. Several times, Eve did not know if her time with her father would be her last. During all of this time, she still remained the same awesome, smart, sassy, sexy young woman who I considered as close to me as a little sister. I could talk to her about anything, and she could do the same with me.
After graduation, Wally and Eve moved in together in a fabulous apartment right in downtown Chicago. The two of us would get together on occasion for a quick lunch and to catch up on things. She still traveled on the weekends to see her Dad, who, thanks to a tragic setback, had to be put into a retirement nursing home. 2009 was shaping up to be an incredible year for Eve. This was the year that she would realize so many of her dreams. She was succeeding as an attorney at a top 50 firm, her relationship with her awesome boyfriend was going well, and she had her eyes on a goal.
This weekend, Eve was traveling back to the airport in Minnesota after having visited her parents. She was driving along the road and passed out at the wheel. She woke up to find herself in a ditch (I'll bet you thought this was going to end differently). Eve was confused as to what happened.
This evening, I was in Jewel doing some grocery shopping. Eve tried calling, but I was in a bad area for cell phone reception. She left a message, but I did not listen to it. I called her back as soon as I got to the car.
"Hi Eve!" I said. "How are you? Sorry about that. I had bad reception."
Eve: "That's OK...so, did you listen to my message?"
Me (still happy): "No, I figured I would just call you back. What's up"
Eve: "Well, I was calling my closest friends because I figured they should know..."
My heart sank. Oh no, I thought, Eve's dad died. I steeled myself for the bad news...and received even worse news.
Eve: "So I kind of have a brain tumor...."
Silence...what do you say when someone you care about tells you something like this? I immediately started asking questions, trying to figure out some way the doctors could be wrong and some way that this was all some sort of macabre joke.
It wasn't. Eve had a brain tumor. Best case scenario is full recovery. Worst case is that she dies, Somewhere in the middle are 2 other options: 1) they could remove the tumor, but since it is so close to the speech center of the brain, she would be rendered unable to speak for the rest of her life or 2) she could live with the tumor and live for another 10-15 years.
Goddamn it...SHE IS ONLY 26.....
All of a sudden, my own problems at work seem so small. All of a sudden, I felt the need to talk to my brother and my parents to remind them how much I love them. All of a sudden, I want to tell my friends how much I care for all of them. All of a sudden, I am wondering: Why her and not me...she is such a great person...this is NOT fair...
Eve seems to be in good spirits, but I am sad and worried. There are so many other things I am worried about tonight, this and one other thing that I will not speak about here (some of you know). Everything else can go to hell because everything else does not matter.
What matters is that my friend, a sweet young girl of 26 with her whole life ahead of her, has a brain tumor. And I will be damned if I am not there for her, Wally, and the rest of her family for whatever they need.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Proper Sidewalk Etiquette
1. If you are with a group of people and are spread across the sidewalk, be aware of a) people behind you who want to get past and b) people ahead of you headed in your direction. We all have equal rights to the sidewalk. Don't be a sidewalk hog.
2. They are called sideWALKS not sideRIDES; ergo, bicycles do NOT belong on sidewalks. Take it to the streets.
3. Spitting on the sidewalk is a disgusting habit. If you do it, you are a disgusting person.
4. I do not CARE if it is raining in the city-golf umbrellas belong on the golf course. They have NO BUSINESS on the streets of a major metropolitan city during rush hour.
5. If you are going to check out the sites and stare at the Sears Tower, DO NOT BLOCK THE FREAKING SIDEWALK WHERE PEOPLE WITH JOBS ARE TRYING TO GET TO WORK.
6. Don't walk in the MIDDLE of the freaking sidewalk. Choose a side. It's easy-there are 2 to choose from!
7. If you have a wheelie bag, it is YOUR responsibility to keep it out of everyone's way. After all, we are all trying to share the same sidewalk space. If you do not keep it out of my way, I reserve the right to take it from you and toss it into the middle of the street.
8. If you walk your dog during the winter, pick up the dog poop-especially if the dog poops on the sidewalk. I don't care if he or she did it in the snow-the snow melts, and what is left is feces on the sidewalk.
9. When you exit a building, stop and look both ways before entering the flow of traffic. Sometimes this can be hard (revolving door and people coming behind you), but remember that the people already walking on the sidewalk are the ones who have the right of way.
10. From Brita (I could not have said it any better and probably would have said it a lot worse): Also note the use of cell phone walkers who smash into you with their elbows sticking out...I reserve the right to throw you AND your cell into the street...Like what is this? 1999? Get a bluetooth already!
2. They are called sideWALKS not sideRIDES; ergo, bicycles do NOT belong on sidewalks. Take it to the streets.
3. Spitting on the sidewalk is a disgusting habit. If you do it, you are a disgusting person.
4. I do not CARE if it is raining in the city-golf umbrellas belong on the golf course. They have NO BUSINESS on the streets of a major metropolitan city during rush hour.
5. If you are going to check out the sites and stare at the Sears Tower, DO NOT BLOCK THE FREAKING SIDEWALK WHERE PEOPLE WITH JOBS ARE TRYING TO GET TO WORK.
6. Don't walk in the MIDDLE of the freaking sidewalk. Choose a side. It's easy-there are 2 to choose from!
7. If you have a wheelie bag, it is YOUR responsibility to keep it out of everyone's way. After all, we are all trying to share the same sidewalk space. If you do not keep it out of my way, I reserve the right to take it from you and toss it into the middle of the street.
8. If you walk your dog during the winter, pick up the dog poop-especially if the dog poops on the sidewalk. I don't care if he or she did it in the snow-the snow melts, and what is left is feces on the sidewalk.
9. When you exit a building, stop and look both ways before entering the flow of traffic. Sometimes this can be hard (revolving door and people coming behind you), but remember that the people already walking on the sidewalk are the ones who have the right of way.
10. From Brita (I could not have said it any better and probably would have said it a lot worse): Also note the use of cell phone walkers who smash into you with their elbows sticking out...I reserve the right to throw you AND your cell into the street...Like what is this? 1999? Get a bluetooth already!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Wicked
Wow.
I have just completed watching a performance of "Wicked." It is now 11 PM, but I had to write this post anyway because I wanted the experience of the day to be fresh in my mind when I write the post. The sights, the sounds, the annoying people in the audience (more on that later)...but it all started with the most hectic of work days.
Things were going along smoothly in the morning. I had to do some research in an old laboratory notebook looking for some endocrine hormone related studies pertaining to a patent interference proceeding (the mechanics of which I will NOT bore you with at this time...maybe later). In the background, on my computer screen, I had the live ABC feed for President Obama's inauguration playing on my computer in the background. I was feeling GOOD-it was the perfect day and looked to be even better. I had my performance of "Wicked" to look forward to, and I had planned out my afternoon perfectly. All I had to do was complete that task and then do some document review (mindless discovery work) for a few hours. I was then going to walk to the Ford Theater and watch the show. Of course, work has a way of messing up our best laid plans. Exactly 1.5 hours before I left for the show, one of the partners sent down a research task that HAD to be completed tonight. There is a client meeting scheduled for tomorrow, and this research HAD to get done and would I mind doing it? Mind? Yes. Say no? Uh-uh. I set about working on it in a fevered pitch and was handed ANOTHER grenade-a copyright search for a character in the public domain. THIS was fun. I love stuff dealing with characters, and I had done some other research on Oz to prepare myself for "Wicked."
More on that later. So I finished the research task, finding cases ON POINT and CURRENT and ACING OPPOSING COUNSEL's so-called precedent (yeah, I said it) within ONE HOUR. Talk about efficient. I then took some time to familiarize myself with the state of public domain with respect to fictional characters. Now I will not share with you the name of the character in question (obviously, there is some attorney-client privilege that comes into play here), but I will share with you what I know about the characters from L. Frank Baum's "Oz" series. Did you know that for all works from Baum published before 1922, the fictional characters are in the public domain? That means ANYONE can use them without paying any copyright fees. This would explain a lot from what I saw in the show tonight (but I am getting ahead of myself yet again).
Going into the show, I had no idea about the storyline or what I would learn about the witches of Oz. I knew that the musical was acclaimed and that a lot of people that I know and trust in such matters loved it, but that was all. So I set off from work (in plenty of time) to walk to the theater where it was showing. I had purchased a will call ticket, so I wanted to get to the box office in plenty of time. Now, "Wicked" has been playing for over 4 years now, and I figured that it would not be that crowded. Boy was I wrong. When I reached the Ford Theater, I noticed a line snaking out the front door-and this was 45 minutes before showtime. It took me 10 minutes to get my ticket from the Will Call box and then another 15 minutes to wait for my seating area to open up. The Ford Theater is an old school theater, a former movie theater that has ornate gold inlays as part of its decoration. The stage is a classic proscenium stage, and I noticed an ornate border surrounding the centerpiece, a map of Oz that also served as a curtain. The Ford Theater also has the most intensely uncomfortable seats.
The theater was PACKED-waves of people and families came crashing in one after another. I started to feel a little squished (no doubt to the giant overweight woman that reeked of old person seated to my right). What IS that smell, anyway? Finally, the lights turned down, and the show began.
What can I say? I am still relatively blown away. First of all, the performances were spot on. This was not some performance of "Phantom" where people were merely going through the motions of a show they had performed several times before. No, these performers were giving it their all, and the audience appreciated it. Dee Roscioli was amazing in the role of Elphaba, the woman who would become the Wicked Witch of the West. Equally amazing was Annaleigh Ashford in the role of Galinda/Glinda. Without the performances of these two actresses, the story would have fallen flat, for so much depends on how much the audience buys into their interactions. The music and lyrics were also perfect. As with the story, both danced the fine line between comedy and drama. The audience let itself be carried away with "Popular", "I'm Not that Girl", "Defying Gravity", and especially "For Good." The musical talents of the ensemble-well, all I can say is that, having watched quite a few Broadway shows ON BROADWAY in my time, this was far and away one of the best that I have watched.
One of the more remarkable things was how the stage served the production yet never became its own distraction. I remember watching "Les Miserables" on Broadway and being distracted from the amazing music because of the centerpiece of the stage, a turntable kind of device that would noisily spin during Act and Scene changes. That took me out of the musical. When I saw "Dirty Dancing" recently, I was taken out of the story by the "gee whiz" aspects of the stage production, including the overly elaborate "bridge to the staff quarters" and the painstaking re-creation of the sets from the film. "Wicked" did it right. Of course, there were some elaborate set pieces, but they never overshadowed the show itself. Much as a special effect should serve the story, so too did the stage pieces serve the overarching need-nothing appeared to be mere window dressing. And remember what I said about the public domain? Well, I knew that the ruby slippers were actually the intellectual property (copyrighted and trademarked) by MGM, for in the original novel, the slippers were silver. Lo and behold, when the sparkly slippers made their appearance on the stage (and no, I will not tell you why they were there), they were, indeed, silver-the public domain slippers as it were. Of course, the imaginative geniuses behind the show used one key portion of the show to illuminate the stage with a reddish/purple light that, in that instant, made the silver slippers appear to be ruby in color. When that happened, I jsut shook my head in amazement, as I was impressed by the ingenuity shown by the technical staff to give the audience what they wanted while at the same time staying within the allowed intellectual property boundaries. Note to self...stop being such a huge intellectual property nerd...
What about the story? Well, I cannot discuss it because I had so much joy in watching it unfold myself (except for the second Act-more on that in a second). If you want to discover another layer to the story of Oz, a prequel and also a parallel story to the "Wizard of Oz," then you should definitely go to see this musical. Unlike George Lucas' atrocious "Star Wars" prequels, Winnie Holzman and company got it right with the denizens of Oz.
So why was I not surprised by some of the revelations in the second half? Well, during the intermission, an audience member sitting a couple of rows up from me was speaking to who I assume was her father and proceeded to recite everything THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE SECOND ACT. As, in mounting horror, I realized what she was doing, I quickly tried to distract myself from her piercing, irritating, high-pitched voice. I partially succeeded, but I was irritated that some of the surprises had been ruined for me. I suppose it is poetic justice, as some of you readers know of my penchant (inadvertently) to spoil TV episodes that you might not have watched (and you know who you are). Still, if you are at the freaking show, WHY WOULD YOU PROCEED TO TELL EVERYONE WITHIN LISTENING RANGE WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? We GET it-you love the show and have seen it many times before. Shut the HELL UP!!
Other than that, I took in the crowds and listened to the gentle demands (seriously, no sarcasm intended) of a young girl that her father buy a "Wicked" t-shirt. The father said no, and I quietly laughed to myself, as I know that, if I have a daughter, I would be putty in her hands, and I knew that the father would cave. Sure enough, at intermission, he got up to scavenge for his little girl, who was sitting behind me and was incredibly well behaved for the entire show. She even stopped asking for a t-shirt immediately upon her father telling her to stop.
Yeah, if I have a daughter, I will be completely useless in the "telling her no to what she wants" department. I also thought it was cool that this was something they were sharing together. "Wicked" is an amazing show to attend as a family, and other than for Disney productions, these types of shows are sadly few and far between.
Bottom line-if you have yet to see this show, go and see it. You will not be disappointed.
Wow...I really did not expect to be as impressed with the show as I am.
I have just completed watching a performance of "Wicked." It is now 11 PM, but I had to write this post anyway because I wanted the experience of the day to be fresh in my mind when I write the post. The sights, the sounds, the annoying people in the audience (more on that later)...but it all started with the most hectic of work days.
Things were going along smoothly in the morning. I had to do some research in an old laboratory notebook looking for some endocrine hormone related studies pertaining to a patent interference proceeding (the mechanics of which I will NOT bore you with at this time...maybe later). In the background, on my computer screen, I had the live ABC feed for President Obama's inauguration playing on my computer in the background. I was feeling GOOD-it was the perfect day and looked to be even better. I had my performance of "Wicked" to look forward to, and I had planned out my afternoon perfectly. All I had to do was complete that task and then do some document review (mindless discovery work) for a few hours. I was then going to walk to the Ford Theater and watch the show. Of course, work has a way of messing up our best laid plans. Exactly 1.5 hours before I left for the show, one of the partners sent down a research task that HAD to be completed tonight. There is a client meeting scheduled for tomorrow, and this research HAD to get done and would I mind doing it? Mind? Yes. Say no? Uh-uh. I set about working on it in a fevered pitch and was handed ANOTHER grenade-a copyright search for a character in the public domain. THIS was fun. I love stuff dealing with characters, and I had done some other research on Oz to prepare myself for "Wicked."
More on that later. So I finished the research task, finding cases ON POINT and CURRENT and ACING OPPOSING COUNSEL's so-called precedent (yeah, I said it) within ONE HOUR. Talk about efficient. I then took some time to familiarize myself with the state of public domain with respect to fictional characters. Now I will not share with you the name of the character in question (obviously, there is some attorney-client privilege that comes into play here), but I will share with you what I know about the characters from L. Frank Baum's "Oz" series. Did you know that for all works from Baum published before 1922, the fictional characters are in the public domain? That means ANYONE can use them without paying any copyright fees. This would explain a lot from what I saw in the show tonight (but I am getting ahead of myself yet again).
Going into the show, I had no idea about the storyline or what I would learn about the witches of Oz. I knew that the musical was acclaimed and that a lot of people that I know and trust in such matters loved it, but that was all. So I set off from work (in plenty of time) to walk to the theater where it was showing. I had purchased a will call ticket, so I wanted to get to the box office in plenty of time. Now, "Wicked" has been playing for over 4 years now, and I figured that it would not be that crowded. Boy was I wrong. When I reached the Ford Theater, I noticed a line snaking out the front door-and this was 45 minutes before showtime. It took me 10 minutes to get my ticket from the Will Call box and then another 15 minutes to wait for my seating area to open up. The Ford Theater is an old school theater, a former movie theater that has ornate gold inlays as part of its decoration. The stage is a classic proscenium stage, and I noticed an ornate border surrounding the centerpiece, a map of Oz that also served as a curtain. The Ford Theater also has the most intensely uncomfortable seats.
The theater was PACKED-waves of people and families came crashing in one after another. I started to feel a little squished (no doubt to the giant overweight woman that reeked of old person seated to my right). What IS that smell, anyway? Finally, the lights turned down, and the show began.
What can I say? I am still relatively blown away. First of all, the performances were spot on. This was not some performance of "Phantom" where people were merely going through the motions of a show they had performed several times before. No, these performers were giving it their all, and the audience appreciated it. Dee Roscioli was amazing in the role of Elphaba, the woman who would become the Wicked Witch of the West. Equally amazing was Annaleigh Ashford in the role of Galinda/Glinda. Without the performances of these two actresses, the story would have fallen flat, for so much depends on how much the audience buys into their interactions. The music and lyrics were also perfect. As with the story, both danced the fine line between comedy and drama. The audience let itself be carried away with "Popular", "I'm Not that Girl", "Defying Gravity", and especially "For Good." The musical talents of the ensemble-well, all I can say is that, having watched quite a few Broadway shows ON BROADWAY in my time, this was far and away one of the best that I have watched.
One of the more remarkable things was how the stage served the production yet never became its own distraction. I remember watching "Les Miserables" on Broadway and being distracted from the amazing music because of the centerpiece of the stage, a turntable kind of device that would noisily spin during Act and Scene changes. That took me out of the musical. When I saw "Dirty Dancing" recently, I was taken out of the story by the "gee whiz" aspects of the stage production, including the overly elaborate "bridge to the staff quarters" and the painstaking re-creation of the sets from the film. "Wicked" did it right. Of course, there were some elaborate set pieces, but they never overshadowed the show itself. Much as a special effect should serve the story, so too did the stage pieces serve the overarching need-nothing appeared to be mere window dressing. And remember what I said about the public domain? Well, I knew that the ruby slippers were actually the intellectual property (copyrighted and trademarked) by MGM, for in the original novel, the slippers were silver. Lo and behold, when the sparkly slippers made their appearance on the stage (and no, I will not tell you why they were there), they were, indeed, silver-the public domain slippers as it were. Of course, the imaginative geniuses behind the show used one key portion of the show to illuminate the stage with a reddish/purple light that, in that instant, made the silver slippers appear to be ruby in color. When that happened, I jsut shook my head in amazement, as I was impressed by the ingenuity shown by the technical staff to give the audience what they wanted while at the same time staying within the allowed intellectual property boundaries. Note to self...stop being such a huge intellectual property nerd...
What about the story? Well, I cannot discuss it because I had so much joy in watching it unfold myself (except for the second Act-more on that in a second). If you want to discover another layer to the story of Oz, a prequel and also a parallel story to the "Wizard of Oz," then you should definitely go to see this musical. Unlike George Lucas' atrocious "Star Wars" prequels, Winnie Holzman and company got it right with the denizens of Oz.
So why was I not surprised by some of the revelations in the second half? Well, during the intermission, an audience member sitting a couple of rows up from me was speaking to who I assume was her father and proceeded to recite everything THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE SECOND ACT. As, in mounting horror, I realized what she was doing, I quickly tried to distract myself from her piercing, irritating, high-pitched voice. I partially succeeded, but I was irritated that some of the surprises had been ruined for me. I suppose it is poetic justice, as some of you readers know of my penchant (inadvertently) to spoil TV episodes that you might not have watched (and you know who you are). Still, if you are at the freaking show, WHY WOULD YOU PROCEED TO TELL EVERYONE WITHIN LISTENING RANGE WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? We GET it-you love the show and have seen it many times before. Shut the HELL UP!!
Other than that, I took in the crowds and listened to the gentle demands (seriously, no sarcasm intended) of a young girl that her father buy a "Wicked" t-shirt. The father said no, and I quietly laughed to myself, as I know that, if I have a daughter, I would be putty in her hands, and I knew that the father would cave. Sure enough, at intermission, he got up to scavenge for his little girl, who was sitting behind me and was incredibly well behaved for the entire show. She even stopped asking for a t-shirt immediately upon her father telling her to stop.
Yeah, if I have a daughter, I will be completely useless in the "telling her no to what she wants" department. I also thought it was cool that this was something they were sharing together. "Wicked" is an amazing show to attend as a family, and other than for Disney productions, these types of shows are sadly few and far between.
Bottom line-if you have yet to see this show, go and see it. You will not be disappointed.
Wow...I really did not expect to be as impressed with the show as I am.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
On This MLK Weekend, a True Story From the Family Files...
When my parents completed their residency training in this country, they looked around the country for a place that would be ideal to practice medicine yet also be conducive to raising children and having some sort of quality of life. The coastal areas were very attractive to them, yet they did not want to settle in a place that had severe winters. After a personal visit from the administrator of a small Virginia hospital, they settled in southeast Virginia, in the Hampton Roads area. At the time, the Artful Brother started attending school in one town before having to switch to another school prior to his 3rd grade year. The school that the Brother was to attend was founded during the 60s in an effort to avoid desegregation efforts by Congress and the Supreme Court. The Artful Brother was a typical 8 year old, a hell raiser who looked the role of the innocent, but in school, he always behaved and was a great student.
On that first day of school, he went out on the playground during recess with his new classmates and was running happily on the peanut shell-based surface (safety, don't you know). It was a crisp fall day, and he was just learning that maybe he could fit in among all of these Southern Virginians. He was unfazed by the lack of...color ...in the classroom save for himself. Because this had often been the case thus far in his childhood to date, he never gave it a second thought.
Lost in his reverie, he did not notice the trio of bullies that was watching him. Now don't worry, he was not physically attacked or humiliated. That would be a difficult story. No, what happened instead could have had more serious consequences had it occurred to anyone with less fortitude than the Artful Brother.
Artful Brother to the bullies: " Hi, my name is _____. What are your names?"
Bully (silent, then): "What are you doing here?"
Brother: "I just started school here. It's really nice. Is this your first day here too?"
Bully: "No, but we BELONG here. You don't."
Brother: "Huh?"
Bully: "Our school doesn't allow niggers."
Pause for a second, and focus on the various layers of ignorance that underlie that statement.
Artful Brother: "What's a nigger?"
Just then, the bell rang and the face off ended, with the Artful Brother never getting the answer to his question. The need for an answer dogged him, however, for to this day, the Artful Brother is a learning sponge who always wants to learn new things. The Artful Brother made his way home and was sitting down to dinner with the Artful Mom (the Artful Dad was at the hospital).
Artful Mom: "How was school today, honey?"
Artful Brother: "It was OK-the teacher is really nice and so are most of the kids."
Artful Mom (relieved): "Oh that's good!"
Artful Brother: "Mom...what's a nigger?"
Artful Mom (her heart sinking): "It is a name that people without education call people who are different from them (note how Mom put a generality into the target group being denigrated-in her teaching, any racial slurs attack all races equally). Why do you ask?"
Artful Brother (thinking): "Oh no reason. This guy named Bully called me that today, and I did not know why."
Artful Mom (hiding her sadness and her desire to cry for her boy): "Just ignore him, sweetie. He doesn't know what he is saying because he is just a small boy like you. Stay away from him, though, until he learns that what he said was wrong."
Artful Brother: "OK, Mom."
What a horrible experience for the Artful Brother-face to face with the most abhorrent racism on his first day of school. By itself, this would be a sad story, but there is a coda to it, one that would only occur 9 years later.
It is now Senior Year for the Artful Brother. He has excelled in academics throughout his entire career and he is getting ready to graduate and go on to a great college. He has so many friends in the school and the small Southern town where the Artful Parents settled. He has also achieved the singular honor of being the school's valedictorian (having also been voted Most Likely to Succeed). He is the first minority to be the school valedictorian, and he is honored and humbled. He gives an amazing speech on friendship and the importance of friends in ones life. In the crowd, the Artful Parents and I watched proudly, and I saw tears in Mom's eyes that seemed a bit bittersweet. I asked her, "Mom, are you happy?" She answered, "I could not be happier...but there is more. I will tell you later."
All of my brother's graduating class surrounded him and congratulated him after the ceremony, but Bully was missing. Of course, one would assume that Bully was still a bitter little boy blinded by racism, but there was another reason for his absence. Bully never made the grades that allowed him to graduate, and he flunked during the school year twice (making up the grades over the summer). Bully was allowed to graduate in summer school, far from the cheers and accolades that met the boy (now man) who he had mercilessly teased as a child. The Artful Brother, to this day, has never mentioned this story and has carried himself with the utmost pride.
After the ceremony, I asked Mom why she was crying.
She composed herself, then began: "When your father and I completed our residency training in this country . . . "
On that first day of school, he went out on the playground during recess with his new classmates and was running happily on the peanut shell-based surface (safety, don't you know). It was a crisp fall day, and he was just learning that maybe he could fit in among all of these Southern Virginians. He was unfazed by the lack of...color ...in the classroom save for himself. Because this had often been the case thus far in his childhood to date, he never gave it a second thought.
Lost in his reverie, he did not notice the trio of bullies that was watching him. Now don't worry, he was not physically attacked or humiliated. That would be a difficult story. No, what happened instead could have had more serious consequences had it occurred to anyone with less fortitude than the Artful Brother.
Artful Brother to the bullies: " Hi, my name is _____. What are your names?"
Bully (silent, then): "What are you doing here?"
Brother: "I just started school here. It's really nice. Is this your first day here too?"
Bully: "No, but we BELONG here. You don't."
Brother: "Huh?"
Bully: "Our school doesn't allow niggers."
Pause for a second, and focus on the various layers of ignorance that underlie that statement.
Artful Brother: "What's a nigger?"
Just then, the bell rang and the face off ended, with the Artful Brother never getting the answer to his question. The need for an answer dogged him, however, for to this day, the Artful Brother is a learning sponge who always wants to learn new things. The Artful Brother made his way home and was sitting down to dinner with the Artful Mom (the Artful Dad was at the hospital).
Artful Mom: "How was school today, honey?"
Artful Brother: "It was OK-the teacher is really nice and so are most of the kids."
Artful Mom (relieved): "Oh that's good!"
Artful Brother: "Mom...what's a nigger?"
Artful Mom (her heart sinking): "It is a name that people without education call people who are different from them (note how Mom put a generality into the target group being denigrated-in her teaching, any racial slurs attack all races equally). Why do you ask?"
Artful Brother (thinking): "Oh no reason. This guy named Bully called me that today, and I did not know why."
Artful Mom (hiding her sadness and her desire to cry for her boy): "Just ignore him, sweetie. He doesn't know what he is saying because he is just a small boy like you. Stay away from him, though, until he learns that what he said was wrong."
Artful Brother: "OK, Mom."
What a horrible experience for the Artful Brother-face to face with the most abhorrent racism on his first day of school. By itself, this would be a sad story, but there is a coda to it, one that would only occur 9 years later.
It is now Senior Year for the Artful Brother. He has excelled in academics throughout his entire career and he is getting ready to graduate and go on to a great college. He has so many friends in the school and the small Southern town where the Artful Parents settled. He has also achieved the singular honor of being the school's valedictorian (having also been voted Most Likely to Succeed). He is the first minority to be the school valedictorian, and he is honored and humbled. He gives an amazing speech on friendship and the importance of friends in ones life. In the crowd, the Artful Parents and I watched proudly, and I saw tears in Mom's eyes that seemed a bit bittersweet. I asked her, "Mom, are you happy?" She answered, "I could not be happier...but there is more. I will tell you later."
All of my brother's graduating class surrounded him and congratulated him after the ceremony, but Bully was missing. Of course, one would assume that Bully was still a bitter little boy blinded by racism, but there was another reason for his absence. Bully never made the grades that allowed him to graduate, and he flunked during the school year twice (making up the grades over the summer). Bully was allowed to graduate in summer school, far from the cheers and accolades that met the boy (now man) who he had mercilessly teased as a child. The Artful Brother, to this day, has never mentioned this story and has carried himself with the utmost pride.
After the ceremony, I asked Mom why she was crying.
She composed herself, then began: "When your father and I completed our residency training in this country . . . "
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Fantasy Films, or Khan Noonien Singh v. Henry Higgins
Fantasy films come in all shapes and sizes, and most of them are easily broken down into subcategories. First, there are the hardcore true fantasy films, such as "Lord of the Rings", "Conan the Barbarian", and "The Chronicles of Narnia"-sword and sorcery epics where there are heroes, monsters, magic, and forests...lots and lots of forests. Next, you have the science fiction films, those that begin with "Star"-"Star Wars", "Star Trek", "Stargate"-all about exciting adventures from the future or from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. These films are marked by alien creatures, ray guns, space ships, and clear cut heroes and villains. Third, you have horror films, those films with creatures from the great beyond, devils, demons, Freddies, Jasons, and Michael Myers (no, not "Austin Powers"-the OTHER Michael Myers). These films are marked by nubile young people in abandoned cabins or home alone with no parents being stalked by bogeymen who hate misbehaving kids...unstoppable killing machines whose every kill shows imagination and ingenuity that would be more at place in an ad agency than in a home with a machete. Finally, you have the animated films, those Disney, Pixar, Dreamworks candy-coated confections filled with songs and dance where the animals help you out of jams and where there is always a happy ending-safe for kids (most of the time), and fun for the whole family.
When I was a child, I gravitated towards these types of films (well, except for horror films-remind me to tell you one day of my first screening of "Jaws"...in a theater . . .at the age of 7), and I used to love superheroes, comics, toys, and fantasy (ok, ok...I admit it...I am still a huge nerd who loves his superheroes-no surprise to longtime readers of this site). I used to spend a lot of time by myself creating new adventures, playing with my action figures, and just crafting stories. My parents used to worry...they would tell me "Artful, you are living in a fantasy world. Those movies are not realistic in any way. Why do you like them so much?"
Ahhh....but my parents loved fantasy films even more than I did. True, they hated cartoons (well, except for "Lady and the Tramp"-my Dad always got a kick out the Italian chefs calling Lady a "cocker Spanish-girl"), fantasy, horror, and ESPECIALLY science fiction. My brother had to fight tooth and nail to see the original "Star Wars" in the theater (during its initial run-limited engagement my ass...). But to all of their protests and hatred of all things sci-fi, I blissfully said nothing in defense, for I knew that my parents loved fantasy films in their own way.
My parents LOVED classic musicals.
Musicals are the ultimate in fantasy films. Love stories in far off places or far off times, where everyone is dressed impeccably and can dance with abandon through the streets of Paris, where the daughter of a dustman could become a duchess in a flower shop, where a governess could teach a crusty old Captain to love again with the spectre of Nazi Germany hovering over them...where New York street gangs could have been companies in the Bolshoi . . .and where a sailor On the Town could dance with Jerry Mouse. Yes, my parents loved musicals, and through their love of musicals, I found an appreciation for them as well. I remember that my folks would not let my brother and I watch Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady" because Henry Higgins yelled "damn" several times near the end of the film. They also thought the street gangs of "West Side Story" and the violent deaths of Riff and 'Nardo were way too violent for kids (nevermind that I had already been traumatized by Quint's grisly death-by-shark in "Jaws" ). My memories from childhood are of family movie nights revisiting a more innocent time when we could believe that people just might start dancing down the streets, where even Brando could sing (OK, maybe not, but "Guys and Dolls" is a LOT of fun to watch).
What I love about musicals is that, like some of the very best animated cartoons of the Warner Brothers era, they could be enjoyed on several levels by young and old alike. There are many themes that I never picked up on while growing up, yet they became apparent to me as I matured. Take "Fiddler on the Roof" for example. I always found Tevye to be a bit whiny-I mean, how bad could he have it? A loving wife, 5 lovely daughters, lots of friends in the village-why did he seem so sad? And yet...as I grew older, I understood his struggle to the changes in tradition, the things that he knew, the way things are-his struggle against change itself. The first suitor sought both his blessing and his permission. The suitor for his second daughter did not seek his permission, but he only sought his blessing. The suitor for his third daughter Hava...the apple of his eye, his favorite...well, he sought neither as their marriage went against all tradition (I can still see Topol in the role yelling at the sky in futility "TRADITION!!!"). Such a great film.
Out of all of the the great musicals, the one that has been a true revelation to me as I have aged has been "Gigi", Vincente Minnelli's adaptation of the Collete short story about a young girl coming of age in turn of the century Paris. Leslie Caron is amazing in the title role, and Maurice Chevalier is in his element as Louis Jourdan's uncle, scheming and advising his nephew to just enjoy his bachelor life (who cares who he harms?). The songs are amazing, and Minnelli knew how to shoot Paris. The only thing that saddens me is that I could never see Paris as it was. With the advent of letterboxing, I was finally able to see the film as it was meant to be seen, and all I could think was "wow!" Now, most of you know of my love of film, and this love can tend towards the maudlin and the sentimental at times. but Minnelli framed one of the most beautiful shots I have ever seen on film (and those of you who have been fortunate enough to witness the shot understand). The scene is near the end of the film. Jourdan's character is in a hansom cab and is take to a giant park. We see this gorgeous fountain (all lit up at night as most Parisian fountains are) and we see the silhouette of the cab pull up in front of the fountain. We then see the cab pull away, and on the left side of the screen, in silhouette, we see Gaston (Jourdan's character), top hat on, his head down, thinking things over.
My God, what an amazing shot. I wish I had that shot framed.
Mind you, this was not a shot of a duel between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. This was not Gandalf's face-off with the Balrog on the Bridge at Khazad-dum. This was not even gorgeous waltz of the robots from "Wall-E"-no, this shot is from a 1950s musical about a young girl coming of age in Paris. This shot is probably my favorite film shot of all (with a close second being Will Kane alone on the deserted city streets in "High Noon").
Since those early days, my love of musicals has continued unabated. When I lived in Baltimore for grad school (round 1), I sometimes made day trips to New York to catch shows on Broadway. This was how I was able to see "Phantom of the Opera" (with and without Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman), "Cats", "Cabaret", "Beauty and the Beast", "Miss Saigon", "Rent" with the original cast, "The Lion King", and, before he died, Rex Harrison in a revival of "My Fair Lady." Living in Chicago, I have been fortunate enough to see even more musicals, as the theater district in Chicago has so many great shows.
I am writing all of this because, in less than 2 weeks, "Wicked" is having its final curtain in Chicago. After assuming that it would be here forever, I was taken by surprise, for I never had a chance to see it and was worried that I would miss it. Thankfully, I now have my ticket and will be seeing it next Tuesday night. All I know about it is that it has something to do with the origins of the witches of Oz. That is all. Well, that and the fact that everyone who has ever seen the show has fallen in love with it. The anticipation is there, and I am looking forward to yet another wonderful experience.
Now, over the years, my male brethren have given me a lot of grief for my love of musicals, and I really do not care. I feel sad for them because their own insecurities and small mindedness are causing them to miss out on some amazing performances.
I leave you with this little bit of trivia. Ricardo Montalban passed away this week. To most people, he was best known as the mysterious Mr. Roarke of "Fantasy Island" or KHHHAAAAAN! from "Star Trek: the Wrath of Khan." Few people know that Mr. Montalban, after becoming a star in Mexican cinema, starred on Broadway opposite Lena Horne in the musical "Jamaica." Khan as a calypso singer? Believe it!
When I was a child, I gravitated towards these types of films (well, except for horror films-remind me to tell you one day of my first screening of "Jaws"...in a theater . . .at the age of 7), and I used to love superheroes, comics, toys, and fantasy (ok, ok...I admit it...I am still a huge nerd who loves his superheroes-no surprise to longtime readers of this site). I used to spend a lot of time by myself creating new adventures, playing with my action figures, and just crafting stories. My parents used to worry...they would tell me "Artful, you are living in a fantasy world. Those movies are not realistic in any way. Why do you like them so much?"
Ahhh....but my parents loved fantasy films even more than I did. True, they hated cartoons (well, except for "Lady and the Tramp"-my Dad always got a kick out the Italian chefs calling Lady a "cocker Spanish-girl"), fantasy, horror, and ESPECIALLY science fiction. My brother had to fight tooth and nail to see the original "Star Wars" in the theater (during its initial run-limited engagement my ass...). But to all of their protests and hatred of all things sci-fi, I blissfully said nothing in defense, for I knew that my parents loved fantasy films in their own way.
My parents LOVED classic musicals.
Musicals are the ultimate in fantasy films. Love stories in far off places or far off times, where everyone is dressed impeccably and can dance with abandon through the streets of Paris, where the daughter of a dustman could become a duchess in a flower shop, where a governess could teach a crusty old Captain to love again with the spectre of Nazi Germany hovering over them...where New York street gangs could have been companies in the Bolshoi . . .and where a sailor On the Town could dance with Jerry Mouse. Yes, my parents loved musicals, and through their love of musicals, I found an appreciation for them as well. I remember that my folks would not let my brother and I watch Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady" because Henry Higgins yelled "damn" several times near the end of the film. They also thought the street gangs of "West Side Story" and the violent deaths of Riff and 'Nardo were way too violent for kids (nevermind that I had already been traumatized by Quint's grisly death-by-shark in "Jaws" ). My memories from childhood are of family movie nights revisiting a more innocent time when we could believe that people just might start dancing down the streets, where even Brando could sing (OK, maybe not, but "Guys and Dolls" is a LOT of fun to watch).
What I love about musicals is that, like some of the very best animated cartoons of the Warner Brothers era, they could be enjoyed on several levels by young and old alike. There are many themes that I never picked up on while growing up, yet they became apparent to me as I matured. Take "Fiddler on the Roof" for example. I always found Tevye to be a bit whiny-I mean, how bad could he have it? A loving wife, 5 lovely daughters, lots of friends in the village-why did he seem so sad? And yet...as I grew older, I understood his struggle to the changes in tradition, the things that he knew, the way things are-his struggle against change itself. The first suitor sought both his blessing and his permission. The suitor for his second daughter did not seek his permission, but he only sought his blessing. The suitor for his third daughter Hava...the apple of his eye, his favorite...well, he sought neither as their marriage went against all tradition (I can still see Topol in the role yelling at the sky in futility "TRADITION!!!"). Such a great film.
Out of all of the the great musicals, the one that has been a true revelation to me as I have aged has been "Gigi", Vincente Minnelli's adaptation of the Collete short story about a young girl coming of age in turn of the century Paris. Leslie Caron is amazing in the title role, and Maurice Chevalier is in his element as Louis Jourdan's uncle, scheming and advising his nephew to just enjoy his bachelor life (who cares who he harms?). The songs are amazing, and Minnelli knew how to shoot Paris. The only thing that saddens me is that I could never see Paris as it was. With the advent of letterboxing, I was finally able to see the film as it was meant to be seen, and all I could think was "wow!" Now, most of you know of my love of film, and this love can tend towards the maudlin and the sentimental at times. but Minnelli framed one of the most beautiful shots I have ever seen on film (and those of you who have been fortunate enough to witness the shot understand). The scene is near the end of the film. Jourdan's character is in a hansom cab and is take to a giant park. We see this gorgeous fountain (all lit up at night as most Parisian fountains are) and we see the silhouette of the cab pull up in front of the fountain. We then see the cab pull away, and on the left side of the screen, in silhouette, we see Gaston (Jourdan's character), top hat on, his head down, thinking things over.
My God, what an amazing shot. I wish I had that shot framed.
Mind you, this was not a shot of a duel between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. This was not Gandalf's face-off with the Balrog on the Bridge at Khazad-dum. This was not even gorgeous waltz of the robots from "Wall-E"-no, this shot is from a 1950s musical about a young girl coming of age in Paris. This shot is probably my favorite film shot of all (with a close second being Will Kane alone on the deserted city streets in "High Noon").
Since those early days, my love of musicals has continued unabated. When I lived in Baltimore for grad school (round 1), I sometimes made day trips to New York to catch shows on Broadway. This was how I was able to see "Phantom of the Opera" (with and without Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman), "Cats", "Cabaret", "Beauty and the Beast", "Miss Saigon", "Rent" with the original cast, "The Lion King", and, before he died, Rex Harrison in a revival of "My Fair Lady." Living in Chicago, I have been fortunate enough to see even more musicals, as the theater district in Chicago has so many great shows.
I am writing all of this because, in less than 2 weeks, "Wicked" is having its final curtain in Chicago. After assuming that it would be here forever, I was taken by surprise, for I never had a chance to see it and was worried that I would miss it. Thankfully, I now have my ticket and will be seeing it next Tuesday night. All I know about it is that it has something to do with the origins of the witches of Oz. That is all. Well, that and the fact that everyone who has ever seen the show has fallen in love with it. The anticipation is there, and I am looking forward to yet another wonderful experience.
Now, over the years, my male brethren have given me a lot of grief for my love of musicals, and I really do not care. I feel sad for them because their own insecurities and small mindedness are causing them to miss out on some amazing performances.
I leave you with this little bit of trivia. Ricardo Montalban passed away this week. To most people, he was best known as the mysterious Mr. Roarke of "Fantasy Island" or KHHHAAAAAN! from "Star Trek: the Wrath of Khan." Few people know that Mr. Montalban, after becoming a star in Mexican cinema, starred on Broadway opposite Lena Horne in the musical "Jamaica." Khan as a calypso singer? Believe it!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Regression, or the Artful Parents and the TiVo
This Christmas, I purchased an HD TiVo for my parents. My parents are in their late sixties and early 70s, but they tend to be rather technically savvy. My mom surfs the web like a pro and considers any day that does not include time with her Wii and Wii Fit to have been a wasted day. She is also obsessed with Tetris. My dad set up the entire home entertainment system-and this was after he turned 70, mind you. I remember having conversations with him about HDMI versions (we agreed that 1.3a was the way to go) and whether his receiver should be merely pass-through or decoding.
Yeah, I know.
Anyway, the one constant in all of their purchases is that my Mom's first response to any electronics purchase is "No!" My father and I, however, have realized that Mom usually comes around once we show her how the technology can benefit them. This was the case with DVR. Ever since I learned the joys of the DVR so many years ago, I knew that it would be something both of my parents could enjoy. Beyond the benefit of easy recording and convenience, there was that whole thing of "being able to pause live TV while you go to pee" that makes DVR wonderful. My dad had long been sold on it, but my mom...well, "No!"
Now, this Christmas was the first Christmas in a few years that I could afford to purchase something nice for them. I chose TiVo, much to my father's delight. The newer TiVos not only record in HD but also allow one to stream video from Netflix straight to the TV without the hassle of bothering with DVDs, the mail, and such. I had been streaming Netflix through my Xbox for a while, and I was amazed at how easy it was to set up. I also get a couple of the DVDs every month through the mail, but I was never getting the full benefit of my Netflix membership. I figured that once I set up the TiVo and showed Mom and Dad how to use it, I could set them up with my Netflix account, thereby making it a family account that I would pay for and that they could use.
Predictably, my parents loved the TiVo. I mean, who wouldn't? Mom became enamoured with this puzzle game that came with the system, and Dad immediately set about trying to set up the system to record his beloved "Saturday Night Live." I showed them how to add films to the instant queue and how to search for movies and then returned to Chicago. After a couple of days, I noticed that they had watched...a LOT of movies on Netflix. I mean...a LOT. My instant queue was filled with so many films that I myself would never dream of watching. I also started getting "Netflix recommendations for Artful" that were...well, they were not even close. After my initial bemusement, I started to add some titles to my own instant queue and then stopped. At 37, I realized that I had allowed my parents to have full access to my movie viewing habits. Now, I am not someone who likes abnormal films or anything, and Netflix does not deal in porn or stuff like that, but I have had to struggle a bit with this little loss of privacy. Have I really regressed back to the point in childhood where Mom and Dad can monitor fully an aspect of my life?
The point really hit home when I wanted to add a film to my queue but refrained from doing so based on the title of the film and the inevitable questions that the Artful Mom and Dad would ask if it showed up in my queue. It is a Canadian film, a comedy about the struggles in relationships that people go through, a story told through a series of vignettes (5, to be precise). The film received excellent reviews and is SO MUCH better than the title. In fact, there is supposedly very little in the way of risque subject matter other than some salty language. It has been described as similar to "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and "American Pie", riotous sex comedies that have a heart. It sounds like a great film...but I refuse to put it in my Netflix queue based solely on my concern over my parents' response if they saw it in there.
The title?
Umm...Young People F****ing.
Yeah, try explaining THAT title to the Artful Parents...
Yeah, I know.
Anyway, the one constant in all of their purchases is that my Mom's first response to any electronics purchase is "No!" My father and I, however, have realized that Mom usually comes around once we show her how the technology can benefit them. This was the case with DVR. Ever since I learned the joys of the DVR so many years ago, I knew that it would be something both of my parents could enjoy. Beyond the benefit of easy recording and convenience, there was that whole thing of "being able to pause live TV while you go to pee" that makes DVR wonderful. My dad had long been sold on it, but my mom...well, "No!"
Now, this Christmas was the first Christmas in a few years that I could afford to purchase something nice for them. I chose TiVo, much to my father's delight. The newer TiVos not only record in HD but also allow one to stream video from Netflix straight to the TV without the hassle of bothering with DVDs, the mail, and such. I had been streaming Netflix through my Xbox for a while, and I was amazed at how easy it was to set up. I also get a couple of the DVDs every month through the mail, but I was never getting the full benefit of my Netflix membership. I figured that once I set up the TiVo and showed Mom and Dad how to use it, I could set them up with my Netflix account, thereby making it a family account that I would pay for and that they could use.
Predictably, my parents loved the TiVo. I mean, who wouldn't? Mom became enamoured with this puzzle game that came with the system, and Dad immediately set about trying to set up the system to record his beloved "Saturday Night Live." I showed them how to add films to the instant queue and how to search for movies and then returned to Chicago. After a couple of days, I noticed that they had watched...a LOT of movies on Netflix. I mean...a LOT. My instant queue was filled with so many films that I myself would never dream of watching. I also started getting "Netflix recommendations for Artful" that were...well, they were not even close. After my initial bemusement, I started to add some titles to my own instant queue and then stopped. At 37, I realized that I had allowed my parents to have full access to my movie viewing habits. Now, I am not someone who likes abnormal films or anything, and Netflix does not deal in porn or stuff like that, but I have had to struggle a bit with this little loss of privacy. Have I really regressed back to the point in childhood where Mom and Dad can monitor fully an aspect of my life?
The point really hit home when I wanted to add a film to my queue but refrained from doing so based on the title of the film and the inevitable questions that the Artful Mom and Dad would ask if it showed up in my queue. It is a Canadian film, a comedy about the struggles in relationships that people go through, a story told through a series of vignettes (5, to be precise). The film received excellent reviews and is SO MUCH better than the title. In fact, there is supposedly very little in the way of risque subject matter other than some salty language. It has been described as similar to "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and "American Pie", riotous sex comedies that have a heart. It sounds like a great film...but I refuse to put it in my Netflix queue based solely on my concern over my parents' response if they saw it in there.
The title?
Umm...Young People F****ing.
Yeah, try explaining THAT title to the Artful Parents...
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Story of Troy
During an on-line chat with Eddie one day, I made a comment that was a bit out of character for me (and said completely in jest). This was the chat dialogue that followed:
Eddie: "This is not Artful! Who is this?"
Artful: "Troy."
Eddie: " hahahaa (sidenote-Eddie abhors shorthand such as 'lol' while on-line chatting)-Troy McClure?"
Artful: "No, just Troy...no last name. Troy."
With that exchange, Troy has become my alter ego. We have since filled in Troy's background. He is from East London (as that is the only sort of "English from the UK" that I can speak). He is a bruiser, but he is always good for a larf. Soon enough, whenever Eddie and Missy were around, they would invariably start referring to me as Troy, a funny in-joke that had to be explained to anyone standing around why they were calling an Indian guy by the name of Troy.
Flash forward to Monday. I left the office briefly around midday to grab a takeout lunch from a place close to work. Now, I have a typically hard to pronounce Indian name (at least, for people NOT from India), and I usually have to explain to various cashiers, hosts and hostesses exactly how to pronounce it and how to spell it. On this occasion, I felt inspired:
Cashier: "And what is your name for the order?"
Artful (confidently): "Troy...yup, that's my name."
Cashier: "Oooh! Troy. That is a very strong sounding name!"
Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.
Artful (not expecting this reaction): "Really? Ummm...why do you say that?"
Cashier: "It just is-it is a lot stronger sounding than Jasmine at least (which turned out to be her name)."
Upon returning to the office, I immediately shared the experience with Eddie, who "hahahaa'd" (lol'd) and seemed extremely pleased. He also confirmed my suspicions that the cashier was, in fact, hitting on me.
As that has never occurred in instances where I gave my real name, I can only assume that her interest was due to the power of Troy.
So if you are out and about in Chicago and see an Indian guy in his 30s who answers to the name of Troy, you might just have met me!
Eddie: "This is not Artful! Who is this?"
Artful: "Troy."
Eddie: " hahahaa (sidenote-Eddie abhors shorthand such as 'lol' while on-line chatting)-Troy McClure?"
Artful: "No, just Troy...no last name. Troy."
With that exchange, Troy has become my alter ego. We have since filled in Troy's background. He is from East London (as that is the only sort of "English from the UK" that I can speak). He is a bruiser, but he is always good for a larf. Soon enough, whenever Eddie and Missy were around, they would invariably start referring to me as Troy, a funny in-joke that had to be explained to anyone standing around why they were calling an Indian guy by the name of Troy.
Flash forward to Monday. I left the office briefly around midday to grab a takeout lunch from a place close to work. Now, I have a typically hard to pronounce Indian name (at least, for people NOT from India), and I usually have to explain to various cashiers, hosts and hostesses exactly how to pronounce it and how to spell it. On this occasion, I felt inspired:
Cashier: "And what is your name for the order?"
Artful (confidently): "Troy...yup, that's my name."
Cashier: "Oooh! Troy. That is a very strong sounding name!"
Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.
Artful (not expecting this reaction): "Really? Ummm...why do you say that?"
Cashier: "It just is-it is a lot stronger sounding than Jasmine at least (which turned out to be her name)."
Upon returning to the office, I immediately shared the experience with Eddie, who "hahahaa'd" (lol'd) and seemed extremely pleased. He also confirmed my suspicions that the cashier was, in fact, hitting on me.
As that has never occurred in instances where I gave my real name, I can only assume that her interest was due to the power of Troy.
So if you are out and about in Chicago and see an Indian guy in his 30s who answers to the name of Troy, you might just have met me!
Monday, January 05, 2009
Stolen Lines #1
I tried to think of the right answer. Unable to think of that, I spoke anyway.
As my mouth opened and I formed the words, my mind went back to the first moment I saw her. I was a grad student, and I had just come out of a long term, bad relationship. At the time I was in the relationship, I did not think it was necessarily bad. After all, when one is in a relationship, we are often blind to the bad stuff. It is only with time and distance can we see the toxicity of certain relationships. My previous girlfriend had been my polar opposite. Where I was passive, she was aggressive. Where I tended to be mellow, she tended to be...well, MEAN. It took the observation of my best friend at the time for me to actually focus on what the heck I was doing in the relationship. I was driven to succeed in school, and I had a clear notion of what I wanted to do with my life. She was haunted by the demons of her childhood, and the manic-depression that haunted her mother was, in retrospect, rearing its ugly head in her. The break-up was not pleasant, and as she was my first long-term girlfriend, it was hard on me. Of course, it is easy now to see that it would never have worked out. At the time, however, I was wondering if I would ever find someone ever again.
But then I noticed K. Now, K was also a graduate student studying in a lab a few floors above me. She was attractive, quiet, and intelligent. She seemed to also have a direction to her life, a purpose. I was very shy and, having just emerged from a bad relationship. was reluctant to embark on dating once again. Luckily, one of my lab mates took it upon herself to set things in motion by finding out K's situation. She was single and had come out of a bad co-dependent relationship herself. She was not looking, but one of her requirements would be a guy who was not so needy. I appeared to fit the bill.
Our first date was a movie, the Ethan Hawke version of "Great Expectations." I think that both K and I were expecting a classic romance, but it was a little more risque than we would have liked. We went for coffee afterward, and we discussed the rigors of being grad students, bits and pieces about our research, and aspects about our interests. I found out that K fancied herself an actress and had even taken part in a few productions in town. I discovered that she owned her home in a trendy area of town. I also discovered that she was very close to her recently widowed mother. She loved to cook and entertain. Everything should have worked, right?
Over time, however, cracks appeared in the veneer of our relationship. What had once started out so promising ended with with a tearful farewell.
Lost in my reverie, and attempting to think of the right answer to her question: "Why do you want to break up?", I was distracted by figuring out what I SHOULD say rather than what the right answer was. I mean, I was unable to come up with the right answer because there was no SINGLE right answer-just a conglomeration of issues that told me that she wasn't the one. Sometimes, the truth in break ups can hurt a lot more than non sequitur reasons.
The right answer? Well...first, there was the fact that, once again, I had followed my pattern of being the rescuer-the person who comes in and takes care of a bird with a wing down. K was the bird in this case, an amazing person who, when we met, thought she was nothing special who had been used and abused by her previous boyfriend (mentally and not physically). I set about to disavow her of this notion, and I succeeded to a certain extent. The unwelcome side effect of this was that K started clinging to me in the most suffocating way. Every second of every day, she wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, and when we would see each other next. Actually, to call it suffocating would be understating the situation. She would pop into my lab and visit me at all times, even where I was trying to work. That, in itself was not sooo bad, but it got to the point where I could hardly get any work done. She was ALWAYS hovering nearby or calling me on the phone.
There were also the father figure issues-her father had passed away 2 years before, and she still felt the void. However, she often put me in the position of her father. Ummm......yuck?
And, of course, there were superficial things. I must admit that, in retrospect, I could have handle the break up better. After all, maybe I could have helped her change things. However, there are some things that are just SO fundamental that a passing comment is just not enough.
She had awful personal hygiene.
There, I said it. Now, you might say: "But Artful, how bad could it be? I mean, you would have keyed in on it early on, right?"
Umm...no, sometimes the judicious and strategic application of perfume and hand lotion can cover up big defects. The eye-opening moment for me was during the first weekend we spent together, 2 months into our relationship. We had gone hiking in the summer heat, and upon returning to the hotel, I immediately made a beeline to the bathroom to shower. After I had dressed and emerged, she stated that she wanted to go to dinner.
"OK," I thought, "she obviously did not sweat as much as I did. I mean, maybe those pits under her arms are from water that she splashed up there when I was not looking. Maybe she is just really hungry and will shower after dinner."
We went to dinner and returned to our room. I brushed my teeth because I wanted to give her the bathroom. She....did not need it. After I left the bathroom, she entered to use the toilet. I heard the flush but then no running water afterwards-SHE HAD NOT WASHED HER HANDS!!! As it turned out, she had also not bothered to shower or brush her teeth. We went to sleep (and I was completely grossed out by that point). The next morning, I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. She did none of those things (and yes, some of them were DEFINITELY required). Mind you, this was day 2 . . . in the summer. . . umm, yeah.
On day 4, we left. She had not bathed or brushed her teeth during this time. In retrospect, maybe she was trying to get rid of me? But no...then what was up with the clingyness and the entreaties for intimacy (yeah-as if THAT would happen after what I witnessed)?
At the time of the break-up (shortly after this weekend), the right answer would have been "you are too clingy and unhygienic, and my germophobic ass just cannot handle that!". Instead, I trotted out the old tried and true "this is just a bad time in my life."
OK, I KNOW that that is SUCH a guy line, but keep in mind that a) my last break up was still fresh in my mind AND b) I was SO immature (barely in my 20s at the time and not ready for ANY relationship. At least I deserve credit for telling her directly and not complaining to my friends about it, playing the a-hole guy card by being mean and forcing her to break-up first, or ignoring her and hoping that she would break up with me. I followed up that line with something that was, actually, true: "it's not you, its me." It WAS me. I was the one who was feeling claustrophobic. I was the one who had germ issues. I was the coward who could not tell her these things. In my mind, she was better off. Would it have been better to stay in the relationship for the sake of the relationship? I think not. I had made that mistake previously. It would also not be fair to her. Honesty would have devastated her. I have had friends tell me that I should have informed her of the hygiene thing, but whenever they told me that, I countered with "HOW?"
In retrospect, there are a lot of things I could have said that would have been better. Hindsight is, after all, 20/20. Unable to think of the right answer that summer evening, I spoke anyway, and thankfully, I was able to end the relationship with a minimum of tears. I hope that K has found happiness with someone else-I really do.
Postscript-since that time, my best friend has referred to girlfriend #1 as "the mean one" and K as "the stinky one." Thanks, Aaron.
Note: I stole the first two sentences from Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter, as part of Grace's experiment.
As my mouth opened and I formed the words, my mind went back to the first moment I saw her. I was a grad student, and I had just come out of a long term, bad relationship. At the time I was in the relationship, I did not think it was necessarily bad. After all, when one is in a relationship, we are often blind to the bad stuff. It is only with time and distance can we see the toxicity of certain relationships. My previous girlfriend had been my polar opposite. Where I was passive, she was aggressive. Where I tended to be mellow, she tended to be...well, MEAN. It took the observation of my best friend at the time for me to actually focus on what the heck I was doing in the relationship. I was driven to succeed in school, and I had a clear notion of what I wanted to do with my life. She was haunted by the demons of her childhood, and the manic-depression that haunted her mother was, in retrospect, rearing its ugly head in her. The break-up was not pleasant, and as she was my first long-term girlfriend, it was hard on me. Of course, it is easy now to see that it would never have worked out. At the time, however, I was wondering if I would ever find someone ever again.
But then I noticed K. Now, K was also a graduate student studying in a lab a few floors above me. She was attractive, quiet, and intelligent. She seemed to also have a direction to her life, a purpose. I was very shy and, having just emerged from a bad relationship. was reluctant to embark on dating once again. Luckily, one of my lab mates took it upon herself to set things in motion by finding out K's situation. She was single and had come out of a bad co-dependent relationship herself. She was not looking, but one of her requirements would be a guy who was not so needy. I appeared to fit the bill.
Our first date was a movie, the Ethan Hawke version of "Great Expectations." I think that both K and I were expecting a classic romance, but it was a little more risque than we would have liked. We went for coffee afterward, and we discussed the rigors of being grad students, bits and pieces about our research, and aspects about our interests. I found out that K fancied herself an actress and had even taken part in a few productions in town. I discovered that she owned her home in a trendy area of town. I also discovered that she was very close to her recently widowed mother. She loved to cook and entertain. Everything should have worked, right?
Over time, however, cracks appeared in the veneer of our relationship. What had once started out so promising ended with with a tearful farewell.
Lost in my reverie, and attempting to think of the right answer to her question: "Why do you want to break up?", I was distracted by figuring out what I SHOULD say rather than what the right answer was. I mean, I was unable to come up with the right answer because there was no SINGLE right answer-just a conglomeration of issues that told me that she wasn't the one. Sometimes, the truth in break ups can hurt a lot more than non sequitur reasons.
The right answer? Well...first, there was the fact that, once again, I had followed my pattern of being the rescuer-the person who comes in and takes care of a bird with a wing down. K was the bird in this case, an amazing person who, when we met, thought she was nothing special who had been used and abused by her previous boyfriend (mentally and not physically). I set about to disavow her of this notion, and I succeeded to a certain extent. The unwelcome side effect of this was that K started clinging to me in the most suffocating way. Every second of every day, she wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, and when we would see each other next. Actually, to call it suffocating would be understating the situation. She would pop into my lab and visit me at all times, even where I was trying to work. That, in itself was not sooo bad, but it got to the point where I could hardly get any work done. She was ALWAYS hovering nearby or calling me on the phone.
There were also the father figure issues-her father had passed away 2 years before, and she still felt the void. However, she often put me in the position of her father. Ummm......yuck?
And, of course, there were superficial things. I must admit that, in retrospect, I could have handle the break up better. After all, maybe I could have helped her change things. However, there are some things that are just SO fundamental that a passing comment is just not enough.
She had awful personal hygiene.
There, I said it. Now, you might say: "But Artful, how bad could it be? I mean, you would have keyed in on it early on, right?"
Umm...no, sometimes the judicious and strategic application of perfume and hand lotion can cover up big defects. The eye-opening moment for me was during the first weekend we spent together, 2 months into our relationship. We had gone hiking in the summer heat, and upon returning to the hotel, I immediately made a beeline to the bathroom to shower. After I had dressed and emerged, she stated that she wanted to go to dinner.
"OK," I thought, "she obviously did not sweat as much as I did. I mean, maybe those pits under her arms are from water that she splashed up there when I was not looking. Maybe she is just really hungry and will shower after dinner."
We went to dinner and returned to our room. I brushed my teeth because I wanted to give her the bathroom. She....did not need it. After I left the bathroom, she entered to use the toilet. I heard the flush but then no running water afterwards-SHE HAD NOT WASHED HER HANDS!!! As it turned out, she had also not bothered to shower or brush her teeth. We went to sleep (and I was completely grossed out by that point). The next morning, I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. She did none of those things (and yes, some of them were DEFINITELY required). Mind you, this was day 2 . . . in the summer. . . umm, yeah.
On day 4, we left. She had not bathed or brushed her teeth during this time. In retrospect, maybe she was trying to get rid of me? But no...then what was up with the clingyness and the entreaties for intimacy (yeah-as if THAT would happen after what I witnessed)?
At the time of the break-up (shortly after this weekend), the right answer would have been "you are too clingy and unhygienic, and my germophobic ass just cannot handle that!". Instead, I trotted out the old tried and true "this is just a bad time in my life."
OK, I KNOW that that is SUCH a guy line, but keep in mind that a) my last break up was still fresh in my mind AND b) I was SO immature (barely in my 20s at the time and not ready for ANY relationship. At least I deserve credit for telling her directly and not complaining to my friends about it, playing the a-hole guy card by being mean and forcing her to break-up first, or ignoring her and hoping that she would break up with me. I followed up that line with something that was, actually, true: "it's not you, its me." It WAS me. I was the one who was feeling claustrophobic. I was the one who had germ issues. I was the coward who could not tell her these things. In my mind, she was better off. Would it have been better to stay in the relationship for the sake of the relationship? I think not. I had made that mistake previously. It would also not be fair to her. Honesty would have devastated her. I have had friends tell me that I should have informed her of the hygiene thing, but whenever they told me that, I countered with "HOW?"
In retrospect, there are a lot of things I could have said that would have been better. Hindsight is, after all, 20/20. Unable to think of the right answer that summer evening, I spoke anyway, and thankfully, I was able to end the relationship with a minimum of tears. I hope that K has found happiness with someone else-I really do.
Postscript-since that time, my best friend has referred to girlfriend #1 as "the mean one" and K as "the stinky one." Thanks, Aaron.
Note: I stole the first two sentences from Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter, as part of Grace's experiment.
Random Thought of the Day
I was reading how President-Elect Barack Obama was flying around in one of the presidential planes when I came to the following passage:
Although the airplane was not called Air Force One because Obama is not yet president, it had all the trappings of the real thing: the presidential seal at the front of the plane, name cards with the presidential seal and cups and plates emblazoned with "Air Force One."
I then got to thinking: "wouldn't it be great if there was really a presidential SEAL?" I mean, imagine a marine mammal sitting at the front of the plane barking at the Commander in Chief.
Strange I know, but this is how my brain works.
The next Presidential Seal?
Although the airplane was not called Air Force One because Obama is not yet president, it had all the trappings of the real thing: the presidential seal at the front of the plane, name cards with the presidential seal and cups and plates emblazoned with "Air Force One."
I then got to thinking: "wouldn't it be great if there was really a presidential SEAL?" I mean, imagine a marine mammal sitting at the front of the plane barking at the Commander in Chief.
Strange I know, but this is how my brain works.
The next Presidential Seal?Saturday, January 03, 2009
How I Intend to Be a Better Person in 2009
Resolutions are interesting things. Most of the time, we look at short term goals that we might have and write those into the resolutions. Very few of us, however, take the coming of a new year as an opportunity to truly do some soul searching to discover what we should inherently change about ourselves. The problem is that the older we get, the more ingrained our bad habits seem to be and the more we struggle to keep up with the changes we want to make. After all, it is so much easier to sit in front of a warm fire than go outside into the bitter Chicago cold and take a long walk. It is so much easier to sit in front of the TV rather than finding activities to do outside the home or to do things around the house. When one lives, as I do, by himself, it can be even harder, as there is no other person to whom you must hold yourself accountable. There is no one there to say "it is time to mop the floors, do the laundry, pay the bills, get up, make breakfast, go to work, go grocery shopping, go to the gym, make appointments, fill the tank, talk to the management company, call the cable company about the service, call your mom, call you dad, call your brother, make travel plans for next year, remember student loan payments, etc." I tend to keep a lot of my tasks in my head, and I have noticed a decrease in my memory pertaining to tasks as I have grown older. Hence, one of the first fundamental changes I would like to make is to keep a planner that outlines my responsibilities on a week-to-week basis, factoring in hard times for grocery shopping, chores, and going to the gym. If I can do anything for 3 weeks without interruption, I have noticed that such things become habits. Organization is the key to success in my book.
The other thing that I want to do in the new year is to be a better friend. This fundamental change comes from my own bad habit of not calling my friends enough. Months can go by before I realize that I have not spoken to 2 of my best friends in the entire world. Now, one might say that they should call me as well, but conversations are a 2 way street. I need to make more of an effort to speak to them on a regular basis (or at least until they tell me to stop) and to be a good friend in other ways. Oftentimes, I struggle with the problem of not wanting to point out issues for fear of antagonizing my friends. I believe the best approach to this issue would be to focus on myself and try to address my own individual issues. After all, who am I to criticize where I have so much to work on?
Hand in hand with this is something that I have been doing for years. For the most part, I do not speak to friends about friends unless EVERYONE knows what is going on. For example, if I have a problem with friend 1, I will NOT complain about friend 1 to friend 2 unless I have already discussed the issue with friend 1 to begin with. Granted, we all need to vent to a third party, but it seems unfair to vent where one party has not had an opportunity to air grievances first. At the same time, I want to refrain to talking to ANYONE but that individual if I am having issues with them. Trust is one of the primary cornerstones for any good relationship, and it can crumble where we speak to others (complain/talk smack/bitch) about issues we may have with friends without being upfront and honest with them. In order to be a better person, I refuse to speak ill of my friends in any way, shape or form. While they may frustrate me at times, I am sure that I frustrate the heck out of them as well, and I know that I would not like it if they were complaining about me without confronting me directly. That is not friendship, is it? So I need to be a better friend in this regard.
Fundamental changes are not easy tp make, but I think that I am headed in the right direction, 2008 was hard on a lot of my friends, but all in all, it treated me pretty well on balance. I hope that I will continue to learn and grow in 2009. I look forward to having all of you along for the ride!
The other thing that I want to do in the new year is to be a better friend. This fundamental change comes from my own bad habit of not calling my friends enough. Months can go by before I realize that I have not spoken to 2 of my best friends in the entire world. Now, one might say that they should call me as well, but conversations are a 2 way street. I need to make more of an effort to speak to them on a regular basis (or at least until they tell me to stop) and to be a good friend in other ways. Oftentimes, I struggle with the problem of not wanting to point out issues for fear of antagonizing my friends. I believe the best approach to this issue would be to focus on myself and try to address my own individual issues. After all, who am I to criticize where I have so much to work on?
Hand in hand with this is something that I have been doing for years. For the most part, I do not speak to friends about friends unless EVERYONE knows what is going on. For example, if I have a problem with friend 1, I will NOT complain about friend 1 to friend 2 unless I have already discussed the issue with friend 1 to begin with. Granted, we all need to vent to a third party, but it seems unfair to vent where one party has not had an opportunity to air grievances first. At the same time, I want to refrain to talking to ANYONE but that individual if I am having issues with them. Trust is one of the primary cornerstones for any good relationship, and it can crumble where we speak to others (complain/talk smack/bitch) about issues we may have with friends without being upfront and honest with them. In order to be a better person, I refuse to speak ill of my friends in any way, shape or form. While they may frustrate me at times, I am sure that I frustrate the heck out of them as well, and I know that I would not like it if they were complaining about me without confronting me directly. That is not friendship, is it? So I need to be a better friend in this regard.
Fundamental changes are not easy tp make, but I think that I am headed in the right direction, 2008 was hard on a lot of my friends, but all in all, it treated me pretty well on balance. I hope that I will continue to learn and grow in 2009. I look forward to having all of you along for the ride!
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