Yes, he is.

Yes, he is lazy enough to repost a note he already posted on Facebook. It's the 16 things meme. It's about the only thing longer than three sentences I've written in the past month, aside from work e-mail, which I'll probably have to post out of desperation next month. Betcha can't wait fer that.

1. While I've lived in Minnesota for more than 25 years, I still don't feel like a Midwesterner. I still feel like an Oregonian. Weird.
   
2. I don't understand how anyone can live without music; by the same token, I'm not sure why some people are so limited in their tastes. I'm not saying that I like everything, but I've found a lot to like in most every genre of music.
   
3. This, too, strikes me as weird; I think I had 12 albums when I went to college. I now share over 1,000 cd's, have 19,571 items in iTunes, and need a bigger iPod. Y'know, if I really want to listen to all 53.9 days worth of music. Which, I have to admit, is really tempting.
   
4. See, now I'm wondering if 2 and 3 are really just one thing or two things. I'm bad with boundaries. I find taxonomy fascinating, and loved working as a library volunteer when I was a wee lad, but please, please don't ask me to make one. Ultimately, everything to me seems so connected, even if distantly. It's hard to create clean categories, and cross referencing, well, all sorts of things, defeats the purpose.
   
5. How interesting the way that leads into spiritual matters. I do believe we're all connected. But the web is complex, and we run into problems when we mistake symbolism for reality.
   
6. I guess I'm an atheist. It's taken me a while to arrive at that conclusion. It's also been a very thought provoking understanding.
   
7. I don't believe that atheism is counter to spirituality. What I mean by it is that I don't think there's a God up in Heaven keeping a little playbook of who does what to whom.
   
8. I also don't believe in an afterlife. I think we get one life - the one that we've got.
   
9. I think it's a beautiful gift. I think it's crushingly sad how we often waste it. Wars of belief. Playing silly games with "money". Living in support of "societies" instead of individuals. Pretending that fame is somehow important and deserving of wealth. Pretending that fame is proof of value. Pretending that things are more important than lives.
   
10. I think the universe is vast and beautiful. I find it fascinating how we live in this reality that just gets bigger and bigger the farther out you look, and yet, when you look in, in at the cell, the molecule, the atom, the proton, the quark...it just gets bigger and bigger that way as well.
    
11. It seems to me that everything, everything that matters, is made of the same stuff. We are all made of stars. Yet, somehow, there are rules and laws that make these vanishingly minute particles join with other particles, and other particles to form bigger and bigger, more and more complex systems, and ultimately we end up with the vastness and complexity and wonder of everything we are and everything we know - we are both different and yet similar to the most distant star we can conceive; we are both different and yet similar to every thing.
    
12. That makes me wonder about those laws and rules - how do they get made? Is that the wonder and mystery?
    
13. Or is it the continual combining of things into larger complex systems - cells to multicells, through generations to mammals, through generations to people, through generations to communities, then civilizations...dust to planets, planets to solar systems, systems to galaxies, galaxies to...well, what are we a part of? Do we serve a purpose in all of it? Are we doing it well? What will it all become? Does the thinking we do about all of this help? Are we a spleen, or a brain? At any rate, can there really be any justification for the way we try to destroy each other? For the way we treat our environment? For the ways we challenge our future generations with tasks they may not be able to rise to only to serve our own self interests?
    
14. Not to me. But I also haven't got the slightest idea what to do about it.
    
15. I'm secretly (well, or not) nervous about whether you're laughing at this right now.
    
16. But if there's something that gives me hope, it's music. We reach across vast divides of culture and perception with our music. We participate in a wonderfully complex, beautiful, strange system when we make music. And we show our deepest selves - our emotions, fears, wisdom, poetry, rules, logic, taxonomies... Harmonies. We get closer to something important. Don't you wish you knew what it was? I know I do.

In Which Our Hero Becomes A Fashion Victim

So, I was at a large state managers' conference today. I wore olive khaki slacks, a maroon-on-white striped shirt, an Izod sweater (oatmeal) over that, and a green plaid wool blazer over that. No tie. Smart, if a little faux-professorial.

As I was entering a break-out session, I noticed another guy wearing the same Izod sweater over a turtleneck, only his was grey. We shared a 'lil moment over the coincidence.

Not two minutes later, another guy walks into the session wearing a blue one.

...and just as the session was starting, a guy in a white one walked in.

What are the odds? There were maybe 45 people in the session, and at least a little over half of those were female.

At any rate, I guess I was dressed appropriately...

^The extremely popular (among bureaucrats) Izod box knit sweater^

Kal Ho Naa Ho

Watched Kal Ho Naa Ho this weekend; we were looking forward to a Bollywood film that didn't end with an explosion or a bloodbath (yeah, I'm lookin' at you, Dil Se...), and this definitely fit the bill. And quite nice to see Preiti Zinta and Shahrukh Khan again, without the terrorism, bombings, and rapes of Dil Se.... Kal Ho Naa Ho (Tomorrow May Never Come) starts out as what seems like it will shape up to be a comedy/romance - possibly a bit too broad on the comedy front at that - the opening bits fly with puns, slapstick, and sight gags. It introduces our heroine who is a bit of a mouse with few romantic prospects; it seems clear that once Shahrukh Khan starts singing and dancing, her heart will awaken and romance awaits. However, one should never underestimate the twists that can occur in the 3 hours and 8 minutes of a Bollywood film, soon a twist presents itself, and once again you think you know right where the movie is going. Til it zigs again. Ultimately quite satisfying while circumventing the expectations and tropes inherent in the romantic comedy department. As in most Bollywood films, there is happy and sad, tragedy and comedy, romance and despair, but the balance in this one is tipped toward the light and the happy, and I found it quite delightful. Unlike most Bollywood films, this one is set in New York, and features more English than most. Performances are good - Khan's facial acting is unparalleled, and Preiti holds her own nicely in a role that seems a bit overwritten. However, the real standout is Saif Ali Khan, who brings a certain naturalism to all of this stylish fluff, and grounds the emotions of the film beautifully. Highly recommended.

"Reality Has A Liberal Bias"

This is a post by a guy I know online - reprinted with his permission, but with identifying info removed. I like it very much; I thought you might, too.

Well we had our usual Halloween spectacular on the block, with an election year twist. We had [redacted] and [redacted], Democratic Senate and House candidates respectively, show up. Our neighborhood does a full tilt cooperative Halloween blowout, organized by our local State Rep, [redacted], who lives for Halloween. He gives out both candy and books to kids, has scary story readings from his front porch every hour on the hour, and, this year, got some funding from the neighborhood association to buy extra candy and distribute it to everyone in the neighborhood, since a typical house here ends up giving out a hundred bucks plus worth of candy every year.

So, with him being a politician, and with mobs of kids and families having fun, we attracted more politicians. The knot of people in suits, and press with the video cameras, stood out among the assorted costumed kids, and they were going door to door, meeting with people, etc. There was also a parade of sorts down the street, with a firetruck and a truck towing a flatbed with a big Obama/Biden sign done by a local artist I know. It was a very cool billboard design, actually. It has a sort of early 60s JFK-ish graphic design. And there were the get out the vote people, of course.

So, fun for all, but also a very weird collision of Halloween and politics. Not a Republican to be seen, but that's typical for this neighborhood. We've got two of them on the block, I think, and this year both of them are going for Obama, even the asshole cop who lives next door.

Actually, he's finally become not an asshole. When he first moved here he had a chip on his shoulder like you wouldn't believe, and routinely bullied people. I successfully neutered him, though, through a combination of talking to his superiors and organizing the neighborhood against some of his behaviour, and after that he actually started to come around as a decent enough guy.

I think this neighborhood actually makes liberals out of people. We get conservatives moving in here from time to time, but after a few years they turn into liberals. I think it's the fact that we've got rich people, poor people, black people, brown people, white people, old people, young people, single people, married people, gay people, straight people, and just plain all sorts of people living in a neighborhood that was designed on late 19th century/early 20th century planning, so that there are small yards, closely spaced houses, no garages, and you can comfortably talk to your neighbors or people passing by from your front porch, and almost all houses have big front porches. The result is that everyone gets to know each other, and so we band together for parties and holidays, and we help each other out with changing tires or jumpstarting cars, or shoveling snow, or raking leaves, and we're 90%+ liberals to begin with. The few conservatives who venture here slowly become assimilated because suddenly different sorts of people aren't so strange, and the idea of pulling together as community seems normal instead of weird, and before they even realize it, they're one of us.

Reality does have a liberal bias, and when architecture and urban planning conspires to place people more firmly into the reality of the people around them, and not buried somewhere behind a large lawn, a courtyard wall, in the "media room" in the center of the house, plugged in to Fox News, suddenly they realize they've been a liberal all along, and that the values that they thought they supported as Republicans, values such as community, family, prosperity, and security, are actually really Democratic values. The only difference is that we mean these things for everyone, and we realize that we must accomplish them together, or not at all. Prosperity for some and poverty for others is not prosperity when you have a connection to a mixed community, and, whether you realize it or not, you do have such a connection. Security doesn't mean walls and fences and weapons, it means good neighbors who keep in touch with each other and watch out for each other, and it doesn't matter what race, class, or religion those neighbors are, all that matters is that you help each other out because you're in it together. Community isn't a self-selected group of white evangelicals in a mega-church, or a self-selected group of the well-to-do in a gated community, it's whoever happens to be around at that moment and whoever lives next door. Families aren't just a working father, a stay at home moms, and 2.4 kids in the suburbs, it might be the retired widower next door whose grown son lives with him, along with the son's girlfriend and her child from a former marriage, or a lesbian couple and their kids, or whatever. Families take all shapes, and all lives are equally valid and human.

When you deal with the full spectrum of humanity, and you find that we all really want the same things, suddenly the Republican politics of division and fear start to sound insane.

So, a notice for Republicans out there from us weird liberals: you will be assimilated, and you'll actually really enjoy it. We like everyone. Y'all are invited, regardless of ideological differences. We throw great parties and we're fun to be around. Once you get to know us your psychological armor will fall off and you'll feel ten years younger and fifty pounds lighter. A sense of community that covers all kinds of people is the gateway drug to liberalism, so go on, try it. You'll like it. Trust me.

Don't vote against McCain for the color of his skin

Excerpt from Real Time with Bill Maher - New Rules: September 26, 2008:

New Rule: A candidate for president should not be judged by the color of his skin. And to - and to anyone who thinks differently, I say, please do not reject John McCain just because he's white. I think the recent news from Wall Street has made us all less tolerant, and only reinforced the stereotype that white people are shiftless, thieving welfare queens.

Now, take a look at these pictures. Here are the CEO's of Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, AIG and the Lehman Brothers. I know the first thing that jumps out about these faces is they all happen to be white, and they all happen to be responsible for stealing. But, what you have to understand is that these whites are a product of a society that made them that way.

It was the neighborhoods and the schools they went to: Harvard, Yale, the Wharton School of Business.

They never learned the value of doing real, actual work. And the first step to fixing that is better role models so kids growing up white today don't think the only way out of Westchester is corporate crime.

Or a government handout. Or sailing.

So, I get it. The temptation is to look at McCain and vote against him because you don't see an individual; you just see another typical welfare "whitey."

And it's true. He spent his entire life shuffling from one low-paying government job to another. Well, except those years he spent in prison. Typical. And, between you and me, he's not very articulate.

Oh, he may have some street smarts, but he's not what you'd call an "educated" man. He freely admits he's ignorant about the economy. And apparently the only thing his white running mate knows how to do is crank out one baby after another.

And now, of course, her teenage is pregnant out of wedlock, because she learns it at home!

But, that doesn't mean we should assume all white people are like that just because so many of them are. I believe there is hope. I believe even the stupidest, greediest, laziest whites can break the cycle of dependence, like this November when we finally move George Bush out of public housing.

But do they match the carpet?

From the good folks at icanhascheezburger.com

Blink II

So when did they change the name from Promise Keepers?

Exactly.

Potatoes.

Really yummy potato gratin last night - highly recommended, and pretty darn easy (if you've got a slicer). Creamy Potato and Herb Gratin Ingredients: 3 tablespoons room temp butter 2 1/2 to 3 lbs of russet potatoes 1 cup whipping cream 1 1/2 cup whole milk 1/2 cup coarsely diced onion 1 clove garlic 1 or 2 large sprigs fresh rosemary, coarsely chopped (about 1 heaping Tbs) 1 large sprig fresh thyme, coarsely chopped (about 2 tsp) 2 tsp salt 1/2 tsp freshly ground coarse black pepper Preparation: Preheat oven to 400F. Butter 11 x 7 in glass baking dish with 1 Tbs of butter. Pour cream and milk into a large saucepan. Place onion, garlic, rosemary and thyme in workbowl of food processor. Process until onion is finely minced, and ingredients are well blended. Add onion mixture to milk and cream. Peel potatoes, then slice on thinnest blade of mandoline or slicer(potato chip thickness). Add sliced potatoes immediately to cream mixture to prevent browning. Add one Tbs of butter, salt, and pepper to mixture, then bring to a boil over medium heat, carefully avoiding scorching and stirring gently from time to time. Transfer to prepared baking dish, overlapping top layer in a pattern if desired (honestly, with boiling hot potatoes, I could not be bothered to do this step). Dot top with remaining Tbs butter. Cover dish with foil. Bake 40 minutes. Uncover and continue to bake until top is lightly browned, about 15-20 minutes additional. Potatoes should be very tender, and sauce thick and bubbly. Let stand about 10 minutes before serving. These were lovely - more bite than mashed potatoes, but very lush and luxurious. An excellent side for yesterday's pork roast with garlic-mustard rub and buttered cabbage with poppy seeds.

Exactly.

From the folks at meish.org...

CSI: Cat Scene Investigation

(Interview with Boo Mamluke)

I: ...and what did you hear Mr. Mamluke?

Boo: We were sleeping, when suddenly there was a strange noise.

I: Did anyone else hear the noise?

Boo: No...Mr. Wylde slept through almost the entire thing.

I: And yet you are holding Mr. Wylde responsible for the disarray and damage you discovered?

Boo: Yes. Our investigation shows that the defendants - Byron and Miranda - were undeniably involved, and probably caused most of the disruption. However, it is my belief that Mr. Wylde created the situation that resulted in the disorder, disturbance, and midnight mayhem.

I: I see. Perhaps you can describe the situation.

Boo: Well, most of my small toy collection was strewn onto the floor. Miranda and Byron's water dishes and food dishes were partially spilled onto the carpeting. A stack of paperwork from the desk was hurled onto the floor. A stack of CDs that Mr. Wylde was ripping was knocked across the room and shuffled, making it necessary to sort the unfinished and finished CDs all over again.

I: Very disturbing indeed. I'm told that you were first on the scene and discovered another participant.

Boo: Yes. Yes, I did.

I: Yet that participant has not been charged - what is your reasoning here?

Boo: Well, the other participant is not living. Though Byron and Miranda seem to think it may be.

I: Perhaps you'd better clarify.

Boo: Well, it seems that what happened was that the Roomba was employed by Mr. Wylde to clean up the office - the crime scene in question. However, upon completion of the Roomba's task, it was not returned to its charger, but left on the floor beneath the desk. Some time around midnight, a scuffle broke out between the defendants - Byron and Miranda. It appears that some portion of the scuffle took place beneath the desk. It appears to have been accidental, but at some point one of the defendants bumped the "On" switch on the Roomba. It is unclear if the same defendant or the other then hit the "Clean" button. Regardless, the Roomba seems to have had enough remaining charge to activate and begin noisily sweeping the carpet, while emitting bright red and blue light from its indicators. While coincidental, it appears that it made a beeline for the cats' food and water dishes, knocking them over and spilling them, and likely cornering one or the other of the defendants beneath the cabinet. In alarm, the cornered defendant seems to have leaped onto the desk, knocking the paperwork to the floor. The other defendant seems to have taken refuge on the piano, causing the CDs to cascade noisily onto the floor. The defendant on the desk, alarmed by the new disruption, then appears to have leaped onto the shelves above the computer, knocking several small figurines onto the floor and behind the desk.

I: And that's when you arrived in the doorway?

Boo: Yes. I entered a scene of horror - disarray everywhere, two frazzled kittens in a state of high alarm - tails and hackles fully bushed out, and a blind robot blundering aimlessly through the debris.

I: And did you identify yourself as an authority figure?

Boo: It was dark, and I was wearing underwear. I simply wanted to calm the scene as quickly as possible. It seemed the first priority should be to disable the robot.

I: And did you?

Boo: Eventually, yes. Unfortunately, I stepped on a small toy causing me some pain and distress. I fear my yell did little to help the situation, as the defendants immediately fled into the bedroom, finally waking Mr. Wylde. However, I did manage to disable the robot in the end. I then turned on the lights to assess the damage. It was horrifying.

I: Did you threaten Mr. Wylde at that point?

Boo: Well...not exactly. I did say that he was in big trouble.

I: So you do hold Mr. Wylde responsible for leaving the Roomba off the charger, allowing it to be powered on inadvertently, and precipating the resulting cat-astrophe?

Boo: I do. While not entirely blameless, I feel the defendants have learned their lesson. Mr. Wylde, however...

I: Has Mr. Wylde not apologized for his actions?

Boo: He has. Unfortunately, I have reason to doubt his sincerity.

I: Why is that?

Boo: Well, the laughter, for one thing. Everytime he attempted to apologize, he kept snickering. I just don't feel he's really sorry.

I: Oh, but I am! Really. Really. Heee. Really!

It's the principle of the thing...

So, I had a chance to see the movie-musical version of Hairspray last night, as my sister got it for us as a Christmas gift. I would not have been inclined to seek it out myself, as the feedback I’d heard was generally pretty negative. Now that I’ve seen it, I really think most of the opposition has to do with needing to hate it “just on principle.” The cards are certainly stacked against it.

First, the original John Waters Hairspray from 1988 is wonderful entertainment and holds a firm place in many a cult film fan’s heart; plus since it’s just so darn winning, it has many more fans than most John Waters films. Many of these fans question the whole idea of making a musical out of Hairspray – why would that be necessary? Why, when the original hangs together so well and has such a kickass soundtrack as it is, made up of forgotten and semi-forgotten R & B tracks from the ‘60’s? Can a Broadway score really keep pace with Little Peggy March, The Five Du-Tones, and The Flares? The result is likely to be disappointing. Further, could any adaptation match the inspired casting (notice I don’t say inspired acting) of the legendary Divine, Jerry Stiller, Sonny Bono, Ricki Lake (at the time a virtual unknown, believe it or not), Blondie front-woman Debbie Harry, Waters regular Mink Stole, and Ruth Brown? In particular, Lake and Divine seemed to leave an indelible stamp on their roles – they were Tracy and Edna Turnblad in the minds of most fans.

Second, the Tony-winning spectacle of the 2002 Broadway musical Hairspray also has a devoted fan base, with deep and abiding affection for the original cast of Marisa Jarrett Winokur and gay drag legend Harvey Fierstein as Tracy and Edna Turnblad. Such strong acting personalities again left an indelible mark on the minds of fans; while the score (by Marc Shaiman) has never been considered as strong as the film (despite nabbing fistfuls of Tonys), it is certain that Fierstein’s singular delivery and distinctive croak are as strongly identified with the musical as Divine is with the original film.

So, along comes the film version of the musical (certainly one of the few stories to begin as a film, be adapted as a musical, and return to film as adapted), and it faces quite the uphill battle to win over fans who have already made up their minds that it simply has no reason to exist. As is fairly common, the original Broadway cast was discarded in favor of film stars and unknowns, which might not pose such a big problem except that one of those film stars is John Travolta, a personality so freighted with hits and disasters (and little in between), Scientology, tabloid gossip, and star excesses, that he can’t help but be polarizing for any potential audience. Further, he is cast as the beloved Edna, a role fully inhabited in the minds of fans of both the movie and the stage show by iconic gay drag professionals, while Travolta’s most feminine role was easily the almost-forgotten Boy In The Plastic Bubble – 30 years of macho heterosexual leads and supporting roles helping to bury a sensitive performance that could in no sense have been considered drag anyway. NO! REASON! TO! EXIST!

The muttering about this film started the second production was announced, and escalated to full on grumbling and groaning by the time the first trailers previewed. “Is nothing sacred?” cry the fans of both film and stage show, horrified at the transformations taking place, sullying the memory of two beloved entertainments. I heard it – as a huge fan of the original movie I had my own reservations, and each day they were shored up by the venomous sniping at the outrage being filmed in Toronto. Toronto! Do they not realize that John Waters belongs to Baltimore? Like many, I didn’t go see it in the theaters, and rapidly declining grosses saw it dropping by over a thousand screens within three weeks of release.

So, the DVD arrives neatly wrapped beneath the tree, and in the midst of a television writer’s strike besides. Faced with the dwindling returns of reality television and short-season reruns, seeing something else (anything else, actually) had its appeal. So…what the hell. See it we did.

Y’know what? It’s pretty darn fun. I enjoyed it, and sat with an enchanted smile through many of its charming scenes. It’s nicely done.

This is not John Waters’s Hairspray. It’s mostly Leslie Dixon’s, the writer who adapted it for the stage and again for the new film. The plot has some similarities with Waters’s, but at least an equal number of differences. Fat girl auditions for weekly dance show, prevails on talent and charisma, and finds love in the midst of becoming a civil rights activist for the cause of dancin’ African-Americans in Baltimore. Dixon had to pare the script to make room for the music, and hones the focus very nicely. Naturally, some of Waters’ more outré inclusions were lost along the way – close up pimple popping, Sonny Bono’s greasy amusement park operator, belabored subplots involving psychotherapy and juvenile detention, and beatniks embodied by Ric Ocasek and Pia Zadora in jaw-dropping cameos. The locations are simplified, the plot streamlined, the characters pared to a manageable few.

While Waters body of work and filming style make it difficult to take his moralizing seriously (in fact dares you to take it seriously), Dixon clearly has an agenda, and a much more earnest tone. It’s a nice piece of adaptation – with new jokes and sight gags, different taglines, and modified character motivations, it stands on its own much more readily than a more faithful adaptation might have managed. By developing something similar yet altogether different, Dixon manages to downplay direct comparison between the works, which is no mean feat.

Director/choreographer Adam Shankman keeps the plot moving along, most of which is advanced in musical numbers ably sung by the talented cast, including Travolta (more on that later), Michelle Pfeiffer, James Marsden, Queen Latifah, and newcomer Nikki Blonsky as Tracy Turnblad. Blonsky has a gigantic amount of music to deliver in this version, and acquits herself ably. She is unquestionably Tracy Turnblad – a character that may possibly be actress-proof; no matter who portrays her, the essential charisma first exhibited by Ricki Lake is out in full force. It is commendable that the singers were well chosen, since there is really very little dialog in the show – most spoken bits are only a few lines setting up the next musical number. As far as the dancing, it seems clear that Shankman is a gifted choreographer, though his film skills don’t always capture his work with the necessary élan – I was watching this on a small screen and musicals often suffer there, but the bigger problem seemed to be Shankman being indecisive about where to point his camera to catch the best stuff. As a result, the singing far outshines the dancing as captured on film. It doesn’t ruin the show, but it is a shame in a story that is so centered on the drama of a televised dance program. Shaiman’s music doesn’t hold up to the period authenticity and brilliance of the original movie’s soundtrack, but it is a serviceable Broadway-style score, and again, does not ruin the show. Blonsky and Latifah in particular have some very fine vocal moments, and almost every cast member has some chance to shine in vocal performance. You may not be humming the songs afterward, but you probably won’t be humming in impatience during the movie either.

While Waters’s anarchic visuals and script have been largely lost in translation, Dixon and Shankman keep in enough questionable taste and sight and sound gags to retain at least a mild flavor of the original’s bite. Waters’s subversive casting (Fat girl! Fat drag queen!) is part of the vernacular here, of course, but Shankman manages to add some subversion of his own, whether intentional or not – it’s really something to see an actress whose sexuality is the stuff of neverending rumors (Latifah) sing a come-hither ditty (much more explicitly than her Mama Morton ever did in Chicago) to another woman, albeit one who is actually a man dressed as a woman (Travolta), whose sexuality has also been the stuff of neverending rumors over the years. It makes one’s head spin.

Ah, yes, Travolta. His Edna really is a thing of beauty – a former glamour girl gone to serious seed, living as a pathetic shut-in terrified of having the neighbors see how far she has fallen, how enormous she has become. In this movie much of the role belongs to a fat suit and a multi-hour make up job; one almost wishes Travolta were hefty enough (and pretty enough) to carry the role on his own (and that someone had coached that bizarre accent into something at least remotely resembling an actual person’s speech.) Nevertheless he imbues Edna with a kittenish flirtatiousness and sexy physicality, and makes Edna’s transition from insecure homebody to canny outgoing businesswoman at least one of the more compelling subplots. While Tracy’s romance with Linc is an essential part of the plot, and her white friend Penny’s romance with the black teenager Seaweed even more so, Edna’s romance with her husband Wilbur (Christopher Walken!) is the real heart of this adaptation. There are many capable actors who might have been a better choice for the part, but Travolta more than carries his own here.

There are some lovely little gimmes for the hardcore fans – witty cameos by Waters and Lake, Jerry Stiller returning in a different role; still others for acting fans (let’s face it, the original cast were not likely to be awarded anytime soon) as Walken, Pfeiffer, Travolta, Alison Janney, and Latifah all dig into their parts like the seasoned pros they are. Zac Efron as Tracy’s love interest stands out in no particular way, but gets top billing on the DVD release, and Amanda Bynes (as Penny) reminds us that bad acting really is a part of the whole Hairspray gestalt. Seriously, was Hillary Duff unavailable? Or anyone else for that matter? But these are quibbles, and part of the way that business gets done in Hollywood these days – Efron’s name on the cover may sell a few more copies to the tweener set, while Bynes picture may make it seem wholesome enough to pass muster with Mom. All part of the packaging.

So, I guess I’m saying give it a chance. Yeah, I know you think it doesn’t belong, isn’t necessary, and resorts to stunt-casting. All of which are to some degree true. Still. While it’s not perfect, it really hits a wonderful note of blithe lightness, and has some very nice moments. And that’s reason enough to exist for me.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm thankful for the cats that enriched our lives up to and well into this year - Ethan and Eloise, my beauty and the brain - rest in peace, my lovelies. I'm very thankful for my continuing relationship with Boo - I spent so many years knowing men without growing with them, and while growing involves many growing pains, I have an experience with him now that transcends all else, even if it's like nothing I would have imagined, and, admittedly, often a lot less exciting than I hoped. I'm thankful for my loving parents, my sisters, nieces and nephews, for whom I continue to hope we can turn the world around and make it a sustainable and peaceful place - I don't think I shall live to see the "Republic of Heaven," but I still think it's worth trying to build it. I'm thankful for technology that continues to make the world smaller, and allows me to meet, greet, and visit with wonderful friends from all over the world by simply looking over my digital back fence. I'm thankful for Prozac and modern medicine, without which I'd either be dead or locked in an institution as an invert with suicidal tendencies. I'm grateful for the continued efforts of all who say "this is who I am, and you may not treat me differently under the law," for we cannot build peace and stability on the broken backs of the oppressed. I'm thankful for being fortunate to be born in prosperity, having more than I ever will need, and the ability to say, "Thank you, that will be more than enough, thank you." Happy holiday, everyone!

Conversations at 3 am With a Dying Kitty

Saturday night/Sunday morning

RW: Well, Missy-toes, it’s 2 am; we’ve watched SNL, a tape of Chuck, and this episode of Traveler is almost over – you about ready to hit the hay, Eloise?

Eloise: Uh – uh, oh, I need help! I can’t walk straight – I can hardly walk at all! What’s happening?

RW: Oh, shit! Baby Cat, are you okay? Does it hurt? Hold still. Let me hold you.

Eloise: Whoa, that’s a trip. I can’t make my legs work right. My brain is gefukt, isn’t it?

RW: Probably. Let me get a shower and some clothes on; I’ll call a cab and we’ll go to the vet. Why do you cats always do this to me? It’s 2:30 am on Sunday morning – do you think any vet is open other than the emergency? This is not going to be fun. Look, let’s put your bed right here by the tub, will you stay still for a moment while I shower? Just don’t move.

***

RW: Okay, I’m cleaner and awake – it’ll probably take a bit for the cab; how are you holding up?

Eloise: I crapped in my bed. Also, I think I’m going to throw up.

Can you clean it up? It’s disturbing.

RW: No prob. Other than that are you okay? Breathing okay, feeling okay?

Eloise: I’m…I’m alright when you keep me still. I can’t really groom; could you stroke me? It helps. It feels like grooming. Ahhh…that’s it. Prrrrrrr…

RW: Man, this is not good – your eyes are shaking from side to side. I wish Boo was here; he’s going to be so heartbroken. You do know if we go to the vet that you won’t be coming home?

Eloise: Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Let me just rest for a moment.

RW: You’ll let me know if you’re hurting won’t you? Because we can go – I’ll do anything to keep you from hurting. Boo will understand.

Eloise: I’m mostly just tired now – can we not go right now? When will Boo be home?

RW: Tomorrow, tomorrow in the evening. You don’t have to wait that long.

Eloise: Yeah, just let me rest.

RW: I’ll be right here.

***

Eloise: Are you awake?

RW: Yeah. This floor is really hard. On the other hand, my arms and legs are going numb, so I probably won’t feel it soon.

Eloise: I pooped again – could you get it? It’s very undignified.

RW: I think you’re kind of past dignity at this point.

Eloise: Speak for yourself – brain damage maybe, but these things still matter.

RW: Well, you always were so graceful…you’re still very beautiful.

Eloise: Don’t lie to me. I’m staggering like a drunken sailor. This really sucks.

RW: Well, try not to move. Want to go sit on the couch? I can still call that cab if you want…

Eloise: No. Clean up that poop; let’s talk for a while. We don’t get much chance to do that any more.

RW: Well, you are nocturnal. When you’re not sleeping 20 hours a day.

Eloise: I’m a cat. Try not to focus on that so much – I’m a creature of instinct; what’s your excuse?

RW: You haven’t had to use your instincts too much – we’ve tried very hard to give you an easy life.

Eloise: Instinct is not something that just shuts off – my social interactions, my general behavior, all instinctual.

RW: So what’s the cardboard box thing about? I’ve never seen a cardboard box in the wild.

Eloise: Do you have a cardboard box?

RW: No.

Eloise: Well, get a cardboard box. You’ll either understand, or you won’t.

RW: Right. …and the dancing?

Eloise: Hey, that’s your thing. You started dancing with me, not the other way ‘round.

RW: Takes two to tango…

Eloise: I suppose. I dunno. It’s fun. You’re fun. You play with me a lot; a little dancing now and then is a kick. But that red-dot thing is more fun.

RW: I don’t think either is a good idea right now.

Eloise: Yes. I think my dancing days are over. I’m going to die now, aren’t I?

RW: Yes, I think that’s true. If you need to go, I’ll stay with you. Or if you need help we can get some. Seriously, if it hurts at all, we can end it. Just a short cab ride, and they’ll put you to sleep.

Eloise: I’m okay. Let’s keep talking. You’ve been a good friend.

RW: You’ve been a good cat – you’re the smartest, most graceful, most beautiful cat we’ve had. And you know how much I loved Ethan…

Eloise: Oh, yeah, Ethan. Not the sharpest claw in the paw…

RW: Well, but Rhoda…

Eloise: Oh, that girl was a real mess. It’s been a rough couple years with the pets, hasn’t it? You’re not going to have any kitties left, are you?

RW: You’re making me cry. I don’t want you to go.

Eloise: I’m not going anywhere yet…where do you think I’ll go?

RW: I have no idea. Do you know the song Strawberry Fields?

Eloise: Beatles? You never play the Beatles.

RW: Yeah, it’s more my parents thing…”Let me take you down, ‘cause you’re going to strawberry fields…nothing is real, and nothing to get hung about…” Sorry, I don’t know all the words. “Living is easy with eyes closed; don’t be surprised if it’s a dream…” shit, I’m out, and this is just making me cry again…the point is, I’m hoping it’s going to be nice for you. But I really have no idea. I’m not very religious, and even if I were, most religions are kinda fucked up about pets.

Eloise: I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in an afterlife.

RW: Really? Lots of humans do…

Eloise: Not all – take the ancient Celts. They didn’t.

RW: Well, it might have just never occurred to them, but you’re right they didn’t.

Eloise: And yet, if they needed to fight, they did it. Naked, wearing nothing but a metal torque around their necks and fierce expressions…you don’t have to believe in an afterlife to not fear death.

RW: I’m not sure I follow – do you know what time it is? Where’d you learn human history, anyway?

Eloise: I read some – you know I’m in your lap, or Boo’s, whenever you two are reading, or browsing the web…and I loved lying around on the Sunday New York Times…nice to keep up on the news.

RW: Well, without actually having to live most of it, I guess you’re right. But I’m still not tracking you on the Celts.

Eloise: I’m just saying that when the Celts went to battle, they didn’t spend the time beforehand praying and hoping they’d be good enough to get into Heaven. They spent the time getting ready to fight as hard as they could – they got into a mind of fierceness and killing and winning.

RW: Ah, I see what you’re saying; they’re like cats – they just go at it.

Eloise: No, they’re nothing like cats – they’re humans. Celts. They probably did fear death. But they didn’t let it stop them.

RW: Now I think I understand. You’re telling me you’re ready if it’s time…

Eloise: Hell no. Nobody’s ever ready. Except maybe those who suffer. Then it’s probably better when it stops. But mostly, I’m talking about you – you get so afraid that you don’t do anything.

RW: Excuse me?

Eloise: Hey, no offense. But you know what I mean. You even get so depressed you’ll be too paralyzed to do anything. Except think about dying. And yet you worry about my suffering.

RW: Are you suffering?

Eloise: Nope. My dignity, a little. And nice change of subject.

RW: Well, that’s not so bad.

Eloise: Again…you are not a cat. Dignity matters more than you’ll ever understand. This is unacceptable. But you’re right – I’m not ready to go just yet. Sometime soon. In the wild, I’d go find a quiet place to lie down, and in a day or two I’d die. We cats can’t live long without eating, and there’s no way I could hunt like this. And you still changed the subject.

RW: That would be hard. Humans don’t do that. Most don’t. Maybe a few.

Eloise: I’m pleased not to be alone in the woods. You’re very warm, and I like hearing your heartbeat. You could sing some more.

RW: Really, I don’t know the words. And it makes me cry too much.

Eloise: Well, crying’s up to you. I’m not crying. I don’t really understand humans and crying.

RW: …I don’t think I can explain it either. I’m crying because you’ll be gone, and you won’t be here, and I won’t see you anymore.

Eloise: Um…okay, chalk it up to unfathomable differences I guess. Cats don’t cry. So, you want to watch Lord of the Rings?

RW: Maybe tomorrow. I mean, it’s already tomorrow, but after I close my eyes for a bit.

Eloise: Go in on the bed, let’s sleep. You’re going to have to help me get up on the bed.

RW: Not a problem…but how will you stay on?

Eloise: Just be still, and I’ll be still. For a while.

RW: You sure? We could stay here.

Eloise: Nah, the floor is hard and cold, and you can’t sleep. I’d rather be warm and soft anyway.

RW: Alright – but I’m still dressed if you need to go to the vet…

Eloise: I’ll let you know.

***

Eloise: You changed the subject you know…earlier…

RW: …and I will again. Go to sleep.

Eloise: You don’t have to be so afraid. After all, at least you know what matters to you.

RW: I do?

Eloise: This does. The time with others. The living with the living. The conversation. “Only connect…” You don’t care so much about things like those in the newspapers, but you live for people. Or, you know, “people”. Like cats. And, die a little for them too, when they go.

RW: Yeah. I worry too much about stupid stuff. “What if” stuff. I try to find a line between planning ahead and fretting, but I never really do. I just fret. Change is scary to me.

Eloise: Meanwhile, there’s a war going on, the religious right is destroying your country and all the freedoms you believe in, and you’ve spent the evening bored off your ass, watching TV, and taking care of a dying cat. I submit your priorities are fucked even more than my brain. You don’t even fret about the real stuff.

RW: I’m not comparing my pain. I know that my hurts are trivial. Work sucked this week. Finances are fucked again. The weather was colder than I like. I’m losing a pet. Boo-fucking-hoo. But they’re what I have to work with. Besides, I do what I can. Just not much that makes a difference.

Eloise: Sing to me once more. It makes a difference to me. Send me off, and think of me happy.

RW: I really don’t want to sing Strawberry Fields anymore. Besides, and this probably isn’t a good time to remind you, but you’ve been deaf for at least 10 months now. I might as well sing you a kitty song.

Eloise: You and your kitty songs. Singing “meow meow meow” instead of the real lyrics doesn’t make it a kitty song. You know you’re going to be doing that for weeks after I’m gone now, don’t you?

RW: Probably. But it will help me remember you. I don’t want to say good bye.

Eloise: Hush. Say it tomorrow – Monday tomorrow, not just a few hours from now. I’m feeling fine being still right here. Let Boo say good-bye when he gets home later. Spend another night with me. I can wait. I’m in no pain. Monday morning, well, I’ll be getting pretty hungry by then.

RW: You’re purring.

Eloise: I’m listening to your heart. You should give it a try once in a while.

RW: You’re a very smart kitty. I love you.

Eloise: Sleep now. No, wait, sing me something. I’ll lie here on your chest, and listen to your heartbeat. I can feel you singing. You can feel my purr. Let me be content for a while.

RW: “Let me take you down, ‘cause you’re going to…strawberry fields…and nothing is real – there’s nothing to get hung about…Strawberry fields forever. Strawberry fields forever. Strawberry fields forever.”

***

Rest in peace, Eloise Sabine, put to final sleep at 2:30 pm today, after a sudden neurological episode in the early morning hours of Sunday, November 11. She was 15 years old, and brought great joy to Boo and me all her life.

Happy Halloween!

Hop in the way back machine; let's take a look at Randy's costume gallery of the past!

I've always loved dressing up for Halloween; I made a clown costume when I was only eight, and once won a school costume contest (are those even legal now?) with lambswool glued to my face with corn syrup and streaked black and gray - a fine, if hot sticky and sweaty lycanthrope. Of course, this pic being from about age 20, I can't be completely sure this is Halloween. I might have just been going to a concert. I think it was Halloween, though, for some reason.

Somewhere around here, I should have a picture in my Smurf outfit - blue painted skin and spock ears, and a pair of cut off sweats turned into shorts and hat - I was clearly dressing to impress. Unfortunately, I can't find it. I was also dressing to impress the night I wore this

though as you can see "DORK!" is the main word summarizing your first impression. From 50 yards. The veins and arteries fluoresce (of course they do) and the heart is covered with sequins. If only I'd had the balls to include what the costume is lacking, I might not have looked like such a dildo.

Ah, married life...here I am with one of my old husbands. When you're married, obviously you don't have to worry about gettin' some.

That's also probably my best explanation for Darth Maude - a concept costume that was never filmed, though it did go to a party. It was basically a Darth Maul mask, a tatty gray wig, a two-headed light saber (dirrrrty!), and a caftan. Nobody got it.

But, of course, the best for last...Boo started it by finding a large plastic dish and pretending it was a hat. Next thing you know, we're shopping for fabric, and our friend John, whose sewing skills kept many a Sesame Street stage character, uh, in character, made the lovely dress and cape. I put together the hat, and came up with a way to keep it on Boo's head, and created the feather topknot.

Our friend Grouchbutt dropped in for Halloween, and we dashed around to Ragstock to find his uptown art-chick costume. While the boys were becoming girls, I set to work on my outfit; I'd already made pants, cuffs, and a long tie/scarf earlier in the week. What they weren't expecting was my willingness to shave my head - I'd grown tired of my hair anyway, and it was fun seeing their surprise.

It wasn't til we arrived at the party that someone noticed Boo's alarming resemblance to Glenn Close, so for the rest of the evening, we were the 3rd tier truck show of Sunset Boulevard.

Here's another pic. As you can see, it was a bad year for Andrew Lloyd Weber truck shows.

Happy Halloween, y'all!

Dear Ms. Morissette - THIS is irony. It's also the final nail in the coffin of satire, I fear...

Yes, It's True: Lynne Spears to Write Parenting Book Oh. My. God.

Once

If you haven't already, proceed immediately to see Once. A gentle love story made for next to no money, and featuring nobody you've likely ever heard of, it's truly the most magical movie I've seen in years.

Admittedly I'm biased - but then what critic isn't, really? I have a deep and abiding love for Ireland - we still dream of the day that we leave the US and live there. From the opening scenes on Grafton Street and St Stephen's Green (pictured from our trip a couple years back), Dublin plays as much a role in the film as any other character, complete with the grit, gentle melancholy, and deep vein of joy that so entranced us when we visited. Certainly a lot of my pleasure in the film is the wonderful way that Dublin is captured (on DV, and in mostly natural light)- it is everything that I remember, and exactly as I remember it. There's the spot where Boo and I stood, watching the immense holiday crowds on Grafton Street! That bus! They're sitting right in the seats where Boo and I had that squabble! The buskers! The ocean! Sandymount, where Boo and I stumbled on a St Stephen's Day celebration! Everything is so recognizable, and realistic and wonderful.

The other characters are "the guy" and "the girl"; a street musician and vacuum cleaner repairman, and a Czech immigrant working a variety of odd jobs (look! She's selling The Big Issue!) They meet and begin a tentative romance of sorts, inspiring each other's music and rewarming hearts grown cold from bitter relationships in their pasts. It's a gentle, humorous, touching, and meandering sort of story that neither develops exactly the way you expect, nor resolves quite as you anticipate. The performances are unforced, and the emotions are spot-on. I've seldom seen a friendship between a man and a woman caught so realistically.

Perhaps the most amazing thing after all that, is that this movie is also a musical, albeit a musical unlike any other I've seen. Songs are delivered in their entirety, but in natural situations - sung on street corners for money, at gatherings of friends and neighbors, and, in a particularly beautiful scene, on a late-night street in a flurry of creative outpouring only briefly hampered by the need for new batteries. Yet the songs are more than product for our characters; they also further the story, give voice to internal emotions and conversations, and chart the course of the relationship as it develops. They are also beautiful, catchy, and wonderfully performed. I'll be listening to the soundtrack for weeks to come. It's an absolutely magical, absolutely Irish, and absolutely rapturous movie experience. If it's showing near you, go at once; if it isn't, put it on your Netflix queue right now.

Directed and written by John Carney, starring Glen Hansard (of the band The Frames) and Markéta Irglová, and featuring songs written and performed by Hansard and Irglová.

Everybody...Dance!

How Incredibly....Average!

Well, can't say we haven't tried. But the entertainment lately has, well, not sucked, but just been so darn underwhelming.

We saw 1776 at the Guthrie recently, and it was, well. See it all started when S (that guy we went to North Dakota with) sent around an e-mail trying to see if enough people were interested to try and get group-rate tickets. See, 1776 is not a particularly good musical. I know; I've been in it (Guess when?! Hint: Carter was president...) though we performed a much-abbreviated version. It was still too long. It starts off well, and then, around scene three, it turns into the 18th Century version of C-SPAN. While highlights occur throughout the rest of the show, chances are good you may have already fallen asleep, and will therefore miss them. But, hey, it's the Guthrie, and the people going looked fun, so, of course, I completely ignored the e-mail. But...Boo did not.

Well, the dinner was good. My cocktail was a complete travesty, but that's probably my fault. When it's hot, and it was in the high 90's, I like a good gin Collins. But made with lime, not lemon. This is also known as a gin Rickey with less sugar, but Collins sounds nicer than Rickey. I mean, who would you rather date? And a gin-Collins-with-lime-not-lemon was good enough for Faye Dunaway in Chinatown, and she's a good role model, right? What I got may have had gin in it, though there is no evidence, and I didn't see it made. It couldn't be tasted through the thick sour-lime mojito mix that had been doused over the top. Not a drop of soda was detectable, either. But, like I say, my fault, ordering a classic cocktail when they wanted to serve me a pom-tini or something equally vile.

Dinner was nice, the pinot noir I had with dinner was also lovely, and the company was hard to beat. I was seated across from K, and K's always fun to talk to. K is sometimes masculine and sometimes feminine in appearance, but always pretty level, as befits someone who used to work in construction and now works for a bus company. K ordered a martini, but K is not too fussy, and they didn't screw it up badly. K was in feminine mode, with a lovely delicate cross over her scoop-necked bosom, and a rather fetching teal suit. The thing I like about K's fashion sense is that, while some people find it dowdy, I just find it realistic. It's very much what a Midwestern woman of her age wears. K seldom stands out as a T, not because she tries so hard to blend, but because she's just so casually female. Not glam, not affected, just casually dressed, lightly made up, and with her silvery-gold hair nicely framing her face. We discussed wine, travel, Ireland, Spain, Japan, music, and misspent youth. Quite nice. Boo held court a couple of seats away, and I missed most of that conversation.

I have to give the actors credit; they very nearly saved the production. However, what I'm beginning to find about the Guthrie is that they don't really trust their actors. So, enter technology. The stage is a thrust, and the main set piece was an Independence Hall interior that scooted forward and back, sometimes behind a scrim, sometimes well out to the front of the thrust. When a lovely young man with a lovely voice is singing the lovely and moving
Momma, Look Sharp, it would behoove the director not to choose to move the set. Since it is not quiet. And it only makes it so! much! worse! when you then augment the singer with the most obvious reverb since Madonna's second album (y'know, before she could sing). Also afflicted with reverb was the dynamic and showstopping performance of Molasses to Rum (yeah, these are actual song titles - History was never this much fun!!!) by the amazingly talented (and gay) Bradley Greenwald. Bringing reverb to Bradley is like painting two-inch silver racing stripes on a Bentley - it's tacky, it's ugly, and it's never justifiable.

Poor directorial decisions and a play that was never all that to begin with made for a mostly lackluster visit to the theater.

So, then we ventured out last night for an evening of cinema with Cy and John. We saw Sunshine, though I would much rather have seen Once. However, the other member of our party had already seen it, and Boo and the boys were pretty set on science fiction. Y'know, I'm still yawning. It's a pretty movie. All about flying the Icarus II to the sun to set off a giant fission explosion in hopes of reviving the sun before all life on earth dies. Again, good work by the actors; Cillian Murphy is pretty great as usual, Chris Evans is fine in many, many ways, Michelle Yeoh does a hell of a lot with not much to work with. But, ultimately...meh. The script just doesn't really give you humans with pasts or connections to root for - these people seem to have sprung up five minutes before the movie starts. And, it becomes extremely clear about 1/3 of the way in that ain't nobody coming back alive. So, then it's pretty much just waiting to see if they can actually save the sun before they all croak. And honestly, if you saw Mission to Mars, you'll swear you've seen it all before. Mars's ending is more preposterous, but Sunshine has at least one plot twist that makes you go "Oh, really?!" after they've encountered the Icarus I and found out why its mission failed.

So, not a great month for entertainment.

Just be glad I'm not blogging about work right now.