You're Entitled to My Opinions

Mad As Hell

dbcsez — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 13:58:14 GMT

This comment from a Huffington Post regular named mad as hell, appeared in response to an article about Progressive Caucus members not signing on to any watered-down health care reform legislation. I'm inclined to agree with mad, and with those Congressmembers who see the compromised legislation as business as usual continued. This is simply the most articulate and cogent expression of the single-payer manifesto I've seen in one place. Kudos, Mr. hell. ****************************** AN OPEN LETTER TO THE US CONGRESS ****************************** --------------------------------- Heed this or enjoy your last term in US Congress ---------------------------------- We, the people, DEMAND that a strong condition-free PUBLIC OPTION be included in whatever Health Care Reform legislation you enact. We will be watching your actions closely, so, keep the following in mind before casting your vote. Make it count for all Americans :- Health Care Reform is MEANINGLESS if: 1. There is no Public Option ( with clear path to SINGLE PAYER, No Co-ops, No Triggers ). 2. Everybody is not covered. (Without Exception) 3. Coverage can be denied based on "Pre-existing" conditions. 4. It does not contain Patients' Rights. 5. Strict Regulations are not imposed on insurance plans. 6. Affordability and costs to consumers, as well as providers, are not addressed. 7. Accessibility, delivery and quality are not maintained and/or improved. 8. There's NO oversight from medical, financial and nat.ional sec.urity persp.ectives. 9. Profit motive is NOT REMOVED. 10. Innovation, Research guidelines and funding are not addressed. Health Care For Patients, NOT For Profit because Health Care For Profit is Health Care DENIED. Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should an insurance middleman come between a patient and his/her doctor - especially, if the insurance middleman stands to gain from it. Insurance and Employers have no business being in Health Care. They contribute nothing towards it.

Fazakerlys in Transylvania

dbcsez — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 13:51:56 GMT

Bob Fazakerly has played keyboards at First UU Church, Houston, for more than 25 years. He missed the choir's trips to Transylvania & elsewhere in 2003 & 2006 due to work and family obligations, but finally got to go this summer to help celebrate the electrification of the pump organ at our partner church in the village of Árkos/Arcus. Since Bob is a meticulous writer, I have left his report on his travels unedited. For those who have this impression of Unitarian Universalists as a bunch of pagans and humanists, it helps to know that many of us maintain a sturdy theism, along with the belief that God is not necessarily the hairy thunderer depicted on the Sistine ceiling. The Unitarians in Europe mostly count themselves as Christians, as they have for more than 400 years, right alongside their Calvinist Reform, Orthodox, and Roman Catholic neighbors, though differing on the mathematical question of whether 3 = 1.--dbc ***** RECOLLECTIONS OF ÁRKOS Egy az Isten! These Hungarian words, or slight variants thereof, adorn every Unitarian church in Transylvania. The inscriptions on the bell towers and the woven tapestries inside the churches loudly proclaim, “God is One.” As I found myself on the other side of the world in July – in the country of Romania, the provinces of Transylvania and Moldavia, the town of Árkos among others – those three words were constantly with me. We visited several other Unitarian churches besides the Árkos church, including the 13th-century church at Székelyderzs, and each one reminded me of the oneness of God. We visited many Orthodox, Reformed, Evangelic and Roman churches and monasteries as well. Amidst all the variety of religious art (or lack thereof), architecture, theology, and worship styles those three words, written or unwritten, were always present in my mind. We visited many places of remarkable beauty in a land of pristine mountains and lakes and the Oneness was all around us. Egy az Isten! And if it is true, then we are One. Out of the oneness of God springs the oneness of humanity. Romanian and American. Hungarian and German. English and Russian. Eastern and Western. Black and White. Despite all apparent differences, we are one human family. Egy az Isten! The depth of meaning in those three simple words is endless. I was there to participate in the dedication services for a new organ. Well, not a new organ really. It was an old organ that had been transformed by much new work. The old bellows were replaced by a new electric blower. Pipes had been reworked and tuned. Stop actions had been repaired. Tracker mechanisms and connections had been replaced. All of this had taken place under the direction of Dean Dalton, our former music director who now makes his home in Transylvania – at least part of the time – with his wife Zsófia. I had a couple of lengthy practice sessions prior to the services. The organ and I had to arrive at some negotiated settlements. The organ did not immediately like my finger action. Being a tracker instrument, it wanted me to work a lot harder than I like to work. Nor did it like my carefully learned “toe-heel” pedaling – the result of many years of working on the radiating pedal boards built to American Guild of Organists specifications. I learned quickly that I was going to be the loser in these negotiations, so I changed some fingerings and started to use a “high-finger” technique that my first piano teacher emphasized for Bach playing. And I went to toe only on the pedal and brought some of the pedal notes up to the manual. Despite one stubborn, sticking key, things worked out okay in the end. Organists, by the way, are much better prepared if they have been trained on piano. The piano builds strong hands to accommodate such ornery devices as tracker organs! The services brought quite a few dignitaries from the region. The minister of the Árkos church, János, was of course there taking great pride in the event. Also present was the Rev. Bálint-Benczédi, the Unitarian Bishop of Transylvania, the minister of the Reformed Church in Árkos, the Mayor of Árkos, and all the wonderful parishioners who are normally in attendance there. The choir sang in Hungarian and English. I loved their “Spirit of Life,” sung in English especially for the American visitors. The Cantor Attila – a genuinely nice person and good musician I am anxious to get to know better – has his new choir performing quite admirably. The Saturday before the services, five of the Unitarian churches in the area combined to host a picnic and fair. It was delightful, with sermon and prayer followed by many performing groups, including Hungarian dancers and folk musicians, and fine food (not to mention a sort of liqueur concoction they call “’pálinka” which appears in abundance at all celebratory events). Listening to the folk music, I better understood the origin of some of the peculiarities of Béla Bartók’s music. The rhythms, modes and inflections of that folk music are indelibly etched in his scores. We came upon Bartók’s former residence in St. George quite by accident. We stopped to get a snack and pulled into a parking place that just happened to be right across the street from the Bartók memorial. I learned that one of the Unitarian churches in Hungary is named in honor of the great composer. My son Bryan loves animals. Being a big city boy, this love has mostly accrued to the benefit of our three dogs. But in Árkos, Bryan found many other types of animals with whom to commune. Right there at Pastor János’s house there were cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, geese, and pheasant. We stayed with a parishioner named Éva who had an intimidating German Shepherd. Bryan made friends with him, though the dog never took a liking to Cory or me. One evening at János’s house I was looking for Bryan and I wandered back to the cow pasture and there he was, reaching through the fence, with several of the cows waiting their turn to get his attention. Egy az Isten! Don’t forget the animals, for they also belong to the Oneness. In the small, very poor village of Székelyderzs stands the oldest “Unitarian” church building in the world, dating back to the 13th century. Originally Roman Catholic, the building has served Unitarian congregations since the Reformation. It is still used for services. There is a pipe organ about the same size as the Árkos organ. The paint on the walls has been carefully removed in many places to reveal frescoes dating back centuries. A renovation process is underway. We met other tourists there. A couple was there from Florida and we struck up a conversation. There we were, fellow Americans meeting for the first time at a Unitarian church in Transylvania. Cory, Bryan and I took turns signing the guest book. Bryan and I went up into the church tower, as we had done at Árkos and at the Orthodox painted monasteries in Moldavia (in opposition to the signage, but we had the excuse we could not read the language). A beggar woman was outside the church trying to catch the tourists both coming in and going out. Cory handed her some money and I found myself thinking that by helping that woman Cory was helping all humanity in some mysterious way. I purchased a book to have a memorial of the church. It was in Hungarian and I couldn’t read a word. The next day I discovered two English pages in the book. Since I can’t read the rest of the book, I content myself to read those two pages repeatedly. There is something about that book that touches a special place in me. Egy az Isten! Bob Fazakerly

Our Redhead Rules the Roost at the Chicken Ranch

dbcsez — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 20:59:20 GMT

A while back, Paxton informed me that his musical theatre classmate Megan Stanke had a part in Country Playhouse's new staging of "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." http://countryplayhouse.org/whorehouse.php Of course, there was no need to consider: We were going. I managed to get a pair of tickets in the back row, center section, before last night's house sold out, and I'm really glad I did. As the http://www.houstonpress.com/2009-07-16/culture/capsule-stage-reviews-best-little-whorehouse-in-texas-the-phantom-of-the-opera-reckless-the-wiz/ capsule review</a> in the Houston Press mentions, HSPVA's triple-threat redhead shines in the role of Shy, though she goes from awkward to fabulous all too quickly even for musical theatre. We were awfully proud of Megan, who has plenty of star quality without the massive ego that often comes with it. The Press review gets a lot right, but it doesn't mention the real highlight of the show, for us anyway: the Aggies. CP found nine young men to play the seniors on the Texas A & M (American) football team who got treated to a night at the Chicken Ranch after beating the Texas Longhorns in the annual Thanksgiving game. And damn, can those guys dance! It was clear that choreographers Alex & Victoria Arizpe had those guys working their denim-clad booties off to give their big number the combination of precision and abandon that made it such a yee-ha moment. Sure, the Chicken Ranch girls did a terrific job too, but it's always a pleasant surprise when guys from the neighborhood show that kind of talent. We also discovered to our excitement that Michael Perez, with whom Paxton acted in "The Music Man" two summers ago, is a sophomore at Stephen F. Austin, majoring in psychology, minoring in theatre. Yee-ha again! In "Music Man," Michael stepped into the role of Marcellus (played by Buddy Hackett in the film) on less than a week's notice after the casting chaos that occurred during rehearsals. After the show, I "knighted" Michael with my umbrella and dubbed him Pax's Big Bro. Pax told everyone who'd listen that he wants to come back next spring and audition for whatever musical CP is putting on. They'll be performing "Rent" on its li'l ol' stage in January 2010; Pax will be at school in Nacogdoches during rehearsals and can't help out with that show, but he'll certainly want to be here to cheer them on.

Fremont Solstice Cyclist Pix, June 20, 2009

dbcsez — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 14:28:23 GMT

Questions? Send me a message. A video from the painting party into the ride: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jW15h5-lZn0 Noam Gundle: http://www.flickr.com/photos/noamgundle/sets/72157620115554397/ Regolux: http://www.flickr.com/photos/27966644@N05/sets/72157620433322134/ and http://www.flickr.com/photos/27966644@N05/sets/72157620433068682/ Dapper Lad: http://www.flickr.com/photos/2kings/sets/72157620020597122/ Daffodilious: http://daffodilious.xanga.com/705277039/fremont-solstice-2009-phoenix-rising/ ArchitectureGeek (mostly from the parade itself, not the cyclists, but a good set): http://www.flickr.com/photos/architecturegeek/sets/72157619942779987/ Matt Freedman: http://imageevent.com/pmattf/fremont/solstice2009;jsessionid=r5oa2lgze2.tiger_s Barebuns: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sotosoroto/sets/72157620430017322/ Aaron Bonner: http://bonnerphoto.smugmug.com/gallery/8750047_eVczU#578256595_ovgak (cyclists) and http://bonnerphoto.smugmug.com/gallery/8741157_VDXzX#578261127_DC3dQ (a few parade shots) Lara: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lara7/sets/72157620802449078/

Control: Not the Janet Jackson Story

dbcsez — Wed, 27 May 2009 20:56:50 GMT

This is a bonus posting for this week. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0413108/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0079400/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0421082/ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joy_Division This extraordinarily long paragraph is brought to you by my finally reading some short stories by the late David Foster Wallace. It's August 1986. I am finishing an Amtrak odyssey, having visited my folks in Connecticut and my cousin in Chicago. The Texas Eagle from Chicago to San Antonio departs about 2.5 hours late. As it travels, it gets further behind schedule, especially with a long stop in St. Louis. This is not good. I'm supposed to be in Austin by about 6:00 the next night to meet some friends with whom I have tickets to see New Order at the old Austin Convention Center, but it doesn't look as if the train will be there even at 10. Then I have to get from the Amtrak station to the gig. I'm not a huge New Order fan, I don't even own any of their records, but friends of mine do, KTRU does. But I'm a big enough fan that I don't want to miss a rare US appearance, especially when I've gone to the trouble of purchasing tickets. So thinking quickly, I jump off the train in Dallas, leaving my bags aboard, take a bus from downtown to Love Field, somehow get a ticket on a very full Southwest Airlines flight about 20 minutes before takeoff (using Southwest's new ticket computer and my handy VISA card). In a bit of a claustrophobic panic, I fly to Austin, get a cab from the old airport to the old Convention Center, and meet up with my friends to catch an amazing show (if a bit too short for all that trouble). My friend who had driven up from Houston then drove us to the Amtrak station just after midnight, when the train had just pulled in, so I could retrieve my luggage, and then to a no-star motel somewhere in South Austin for a sleepless night. Recently I have been indulging myself, and the young rock fanatic that dwells within, with Netflix rentals. First I checked out Peter Gabriel's "Growing Up" concert DVD, shot in Milano in 2002. It is brilliant and self-indulgent in ways that only PG's concerts can be. There is the usual godly level of musicianship from Tony Levin, David Rhodes, and the others. There are the expensive stage tricks. There's the absolutely adorable presence of young Melanie Gabriel on backing vocals, looking sometimes very much at home, sometimes a little like a 13-year-old a trifle embarrassed to be hanging out with her dad. Strangely, the whole thing left me a little cold, partly because, having seen PG on three tours, I kept thinking how much more boss it would be in person. Next came the 1979 documentary on the Who, "The Kids Are Alright," which I hadn't seen since my buds & I invaded the Champions Cinema to watch it when it came out. It was as good as I remembered, but again deprived of full impact by the small screen and a sensible volume limit on the audio. All over again I remembered being duly impressed, back in 1979, with John Entwistle's playing, and being surprised at how well Pete Townshend played (not just how artfully he destroyed) his guitars. I had forgotten how much goldurn racket the Who made in their live performances, and those sloppy drunk interview segments with Keith Moon and fellow dipsomaniac drummer Ringo Starr. Most disappointing was the reminder that without great songs and that Roky Erickson–inspired howl, Roger Daltrey would still be a sheet metal worker. Then came the great revelation: I finally got to watch Anton Corbijn's lovely biopic on Ian Curtis, unhappily titled "Control." There are plaints and plaudits aplenty here, but on balance I loved it, if one can love a movie about a poetically precocious, epileptic, 23-year-old suicide. On the plus side, I loved the black & white cinematography, which was really shot on color stock and digitally decolorized. The lead actors Sam Riley & Samantha Morton as Ian & Debbie Curtis are beyond brilliant; granted, I don't know how realistic Riley's on-camera seizures are, but what he did physically during those scenes is not covered in most acting schools. Alexandra Maria Lara is also delicious as Annik Honoré, but she's more scenery and story. Lastly, I appreciate that Corbijn and the screenwriters kept things focused on the human elements of Ian, Debbie, and the immediate Joy Division family, in a very linear narrative fashion, without resorting to a lot of fancy cinematic tricks. Quibbles I had with "Control" were mostly about the depiction of the band and its evolution. Before I go into these quibbles, be aware that the actors portraying Joy Division actually played and sang the songs on the soundtrack, close enough to the real thing to make you believe it was all lip-synched. The whole story of the beginning of Warsaw/Joy Division revolves around Ian's fascination with Jim Morrison, who was a fairly obscure figure at that time in the Northern English industrial towns. Ian played Doors records for his mates, got them hooked, and he got a spot singing with the band. Ian was one of those great vocalists who was not technically a great singer. Despite his tenory speaking voice, he started singing in that world-weary baritone because of Morrison (and yes, Bryan Ferry too). In Riley's performances on the soundtrack, a discerning ear can catch a bit of the Morrison influence, and Jim's name appears briefly in Ian's room amid all the Bowie/Roxy paraphernalia. Bernard Sumner apparently was even worse as a singer, if you believe the movie, but in real life must have picked up the knack by the time of Ian's death. I happen to like Sumner's quavery little voice, even on the earliest New Order recordings. By the time I saw New Order in 1986, he was damn good, but not nearly as impressive as Steven Morris's handling of keyboards, electronic drums, and real drums. The portrayal of Peter ("Hooky") Hook in the film is a disappointment. Hooky has a well-deserved reputation for being a chronically angry dude who could knock back a few pints with the best of them. At the Austin show, he seemed a bit put out at having to play for a motley bunch of punks and goths and Ian Curtis Cultists in the ass-end of America, with a sub-par PA and the dreadful acoustics of a mostly concrete interior. He even seemed to be taking out his anger and frustration on the band, Gillian Gilbert in particular. Maybe in the Joy Division days Hooky was as bland and easy-going as he's portrayed—except during the riot scene when Ian gets a sudden bout of stage fright and Rob the Manager pays some hanger-on out to sing lead and the crowd gets hostile and Hooky gives some wanker a pretty good boot in the teeth (at least I think that's what happened). Incidentally, Toby Kebbell as Rob Gretton is fookin' brill. Of course, in a film like this you have to decide what to leave out. So important bits go by the wayside, like, oh, Martin Hannett (played by Ben Naylor), the guy ultimately responsible for how Joy Division sounds on those masterful recordings. He's not important to this particular story, probably barely makes an appearance Debbie's book "Touching from a Distance," but he may have been among the first to realize that Ian's lyrics were preliminaries to his suicide. Also not so important to the story, but of interest to the band's fans, were unusual practices like changing the name of the band whenever there was a change in personnel, releasing singles without including the songs on albums, and insisting on bathing the stage in solid white light (no strobes, since they would provoke seizures; the band were known to get rough with lighting techs who tried to get creative with the strobes despite explicit instructions NOT to). Finally, what the hel-lo?! "Ceremony," debuted in Joy Division's last gig, released on the posthumous double LP "Still," and as New Order's first single, does not make an appearance on the soundtrack. And, uh, seeing this film and some subsequent reading have put to rest for me the myth that Ian hanged himself in a meat locker. If the kitchen at his & Debbie's little townhouse in Macclesfield, Cheshire, could loosely be construed as a meat locker, then the myth might hold water.

Three Yee-Has for Sara Hickman!

dbcsez — Wed, 27 May 2009 15:42:01 GMT

I just received this bulletin from musical super-pal Sara Hickman, about whom I have written fawningly numerous times in this space. Sara is now officially a constellation in the same exalted portion of the Texas sky as Willie Nelson his-own-self. This comes after having a section of Lavaca Avenue renamed in her honor. In a word, OMG. ***** AUSTIN, Texas – May 26, 2009 – The Texas Commission on the Arts (TCA) has announced its appointments to the positions of state poet laureate, state musician, state two-dimensional artist and state three-dimensional artist. These positions, created by SB 1043 of the 77th Legislature, will be filled by one-year appointments. The eight appointees named for 2009 and 2010 were selected for the exceptional quality of their work and for their outstanding commitment to the arts in Texas. The 2009 appointees include Texas State Poet Laureate Paul Ruffin of Huntsville, Texas State Musician Willie Nelson of Austin, Texas State Two-Dimensional Artist Rene Alvarado of San Angelo, and Texas State Three-Dimensional Artist Eliseo Garcia of Dallas. The 2010 appointees include Texas State Poet Laureate Karla K. Morton of Denton, Texas State Musician Sara Hickman of Austin, Texas State Two-Dimensional Artist Marc Burckhardt of Austin and Texas State Three-Dimensional Artist John Bennett of Fredericksburg. [snip] Tomorrow, Thursday May 28, at 9:30am a resolution naming Sara as State Musician will be read at the Texas State Capitol. If you're in Austin, you're cordially invited to attend! During the reading of the resolution, legislators will recognize Sara and briefly talk about her accomplishments.

Seniors Reap Awards; Munchkins Fill RMC

dbcsez — Tue, 19 May 2009 17:49:28 GMT

(This post was edited 21 May 2009, after I realized that I had used real names where I normally use pseudonyms.) The Class of 2009 at HSPVA consists of 147 seniors as of now. A little more than half of them showed up at Zilkha Hall in the Hobby Center for the Performing Arts last night for the senior award ceremony. A few dozen of them received scholarships and awards of merit in various disciplines, artistic and academic. A few of them received multiple awards because they are just that awesome. Moose's name was called only once, among the many seniors (nearly all 147) who received Texas Scholar medals for completing certain high school courses. He did not win one of the two new Chandra Wilson scholarships, but then he's not the academic powerhouse that the Creshelle Smith and Micah Pushia are. Moose also did not win his classmates' vote for best performance of the year despite his star turn in "Zombie Prom." True, he acted, sang, and danced his dupa off in a difficult role, but Josh Langham got his Peter Sellers on in "Voice of the Prairie," playing eight different parts and leaving audiences breathless. The estimable Creshelle Smith also got the performance nod for her work in "For Colored Girls...," in which all seven young women kicked dramatic butt. There's lots else to write about last night, but I'd like to make a mention that I spent what turned out to be a pleasant evening with Moose and She-Rex. It's always encouraging to know that the three of us can have fun together, as we did after the ceremony, going to Mission Burrito (dinner for them, a Negra Modelo for me), talking about the Classic Rock on the Sirius radio, solidifying plans for the summer. ***** The award ceremony followed what could only be described as an exercise in claustrophobia. K (Musetta's daughter) participated in the HISD West Region's Elementary Gifted & Talented Expo at the Rice Memorial Center. The 300 kids, their exhibits, and their families filled the RMC Grand Hall and the old Sammy's to bursting. I literally could barely stand in there for five minutes, then could barely squeeze through the milling throng to get back out. What I saw of the exhibits looked very nice, but I couldn't get close enough to any of them to give them a good look, and there certainly wasn't time to look at all of them. Hey HISD: Next year, bigger venue, please—and somewhere actually in the West Region with sufficient free parking, like the gym at HBU if possible. Sadly, E (Musetta's son) could not attend the expo due to a wicked fluish cough and fever, possibly related to the bronchitis he had a few weeks ago. Poor lad is a mess. He had to stay home by his lonesome. Not only would he have been one additional body in that crowd, but a contagious body. With entire HISD schools closing for weeks at a time due to H1N1, one doesn't take chances.

Why Is This Critical Mass Unlike All Others?

dbcsez — Fri, 15 May 2009 19:47:37 GMT

In its essence, Ride to Work Day http://documents.publicworks.houstontx.gov/documents/divisions/planning/bikeway/bike_month_broadcast.pdf was like a Critical Mass ride. There were about 200 people riding their bikes together on city streets, occasionally stopping cross traffic and riding through red lights so that all could get through an intersection in a single cluster. And like a lot of CM rides, there was recorded music playing. So much for comparison; now for the contrast. First, this ride had the official sanction of the City of Houston. Mayor Bill White himself, City Councilmember Jolanda Jones, and a few other governmental luminaries participated in the event, pedaling from Memorial Park to City Hall. There was even a police escort of six very capable HPD bike officers and two Metro Police motorcycles. Second, it was in the morning, riding to work as the event's name implies, rather than in the afternoon or evening riding away from the tall buildings. The cyclists met at the South Picnic Loop between 7 and 7:30 am. Because I could only estimate how long it would take to get there by bike, I left home at 5:30 and got to the park around 6:30, just as the first Public Works Department employees shepherding this ride arrived. My pre-ride ride took me through downtown Bellaire via South Rice Avenue, and past the Galleria on Sage Road. Third, the musical accompaniment was provided not by some random kid with a boombox, but by a dude about my age (or a little younger) with an orange Slick Daddy retro bike attached to a trailer with a sound system hooked up to an MP3 player. Come to think of it... Fourth, most of the riders were well-to-do middle-agers, certainly not college students and anarchists; the majority wore actual cycling togs and shoes along with the required helmets, and rode some nice rigs obviously not obtained at a pawn shop or garage sale. I was alerted to this ride through an e-mail from a co-worker who facilitates the Cancerville cycling team. When I asked whether the team would be participating, she replied that there would not be an official Cancerville presence. This makes sense, since the ride terminated downtown, not at the Texas Medical Center. Maybe next year there will be a group of TMC employees that will start at Memorial Park, ride with the pack as far as Waugh Drive, then break off and continue southward to their jobs at Big Med. The ride mostly followed designated bike routes, which makes sense: This is an event to promote, believe it or not, Houston's designated bike routes. We did not take over Memorial Drive as I'd expected; that would be more like mass suicide than Critical Mass. We crossed Memorial in the park, and went via the jogging loop to the back streets of the Rice Military neighborhood (which has no military installations and is several miles from Rice University), eventually chugging up the rather narrow Blossom Street all the way to Shepherd Drive; then we crossed back over Memorial, Buffalo Bayou, and Allen Parkway on the Shepherd viaduct, turning left on West Dallas with its nice, wide bike lanes. After I split off at Waugh, I have to assume that the ride continued on West Dallas all the way in. Jolanda Jones is also a sponsor of a cool ride next week, the Tour da Hood. It starts at 8 am Sunday, 24 May, at TSU, and features stops in all six of Houston's historic wards, finishing around 3:30 pm. I have other obligations, but I wish I could participate in that ride. Lastly, I should mention my bonus ride: Since I got to the park wicked early and didn't want to sit around waiting, I decided to check out the mountain bike trail the runs from the Picnic Loop toward Buffalo Bayou. As many kilometers as I have logged and in as many parts of this city, never had I checked out the trails in Memorial Park. They're doozies, color-coded by level of difficulty, and the yellow trail I rode has some scary bits. I consider myself a fairly intrepid rider, but I got to a downslope studded with roots, took a quick breath, and said aloud, "Aw, HELL no!" before portaging. When I got a little braver, I built up a little speed and tried a not-too-drastic upslope with some roots, but wound up eating more dirt than I was hungry for. Bike and rider hit the ground; left knee got a trifle skinned, heels of hands stung a bit from the impact. Next time, I'll bring a friend and a first aid kit.

25 Years

dbcsez — Tue, 12 May 2009 15:46:10 GMT

Well, I didn't post anything here yesterday, per my recently acquired habit of getting something up Monday or close to it. That's OK. I've missed my share of deadlines, and I'm not compulsive about what's not compulsory—well, maybe a few things. Anyway, today's a more appropriate day, as I can observe the 25th anniversary of the graduation of Rice University's Class of 1984. Note that I use the word "observe" and not "celebrate." While I have been able to face getting old with better than average equanimity, it's still no fun to be reminded that one finished college a quarter of a century ago. My life occasionally intersects with those of other 1984 Rice graduates (and 1980 matriculates who did not finish in four years), and some are Facebook friends. Many of them look smashing for 46+, without having resorted to the cosmetic surgery. Many of them are ridiculously successful in their professional lives, some in their personal lives. My record is checkered in both the professional and personal arenas. I guess that's the main reason I note this date with some jumbled emotions. Certainly I don't begrudge my classmates their success. When I decided to major in classics and become a Latin teacher, it certainly wasn't the money that sparked the decision. Of course, I had planned to become at least a cult figure in either music or literature before age 30. So much for planning. Someone forgot to tell me to do more (than zero) drugs and write a jaded hipster youthquake novel like those of Bret Ellis and Jay McInerney. But here I am 25 years down the road, with a white elephant house in Sharpstown, currently inhabited by my ex-wife and our 17-year-old; a shrinking but still considerable credit card balance; a bit of atrophy in my frustrated artistic muscles; problems with interpersonal communications; and a touch of the neurosis that accompanies a progressive worldview, induced by watching the governments of the world flirt with fascism. Amid all this, I am also keenly aware of my many blessings—indeed, too many to list, and some of them quite mixed. There are the basic necessities in abundance, family, friends, rewarding work for a state institution, music, the world of ideas, anti-smoking ordinances, veggies and herbs growing in the backyard, among others. Rice has changed, too, and not all for the better. Part of what I have always loved about the place stems from its smallness. I don't think all the expansion and construction, including the 30% increase in undergraduate population, is necessarily good for it. It will still be comparatively small, and inexpensive for a top-rated school, but I hardly recognize the place any more. How will Beer-Bike work with 11 colleges plus the GSA? Will the football team continue to qualify for bowl games (of which there are way too many for it to mean anything, but that's not Rice's fault)? Plus ça change, plus ça change. There, I've spoken my piece. Now get off my lawn, you crazy kids.

Oldman & Depp

dbcsez — Sun, 03 May 2009 23:28:01 GMT

After Dema & I returned from seeing HSPVA's senior recital production, "Is There Life after High School?" we looked around for a movie and stumbled across "HP & Prisoner of Azkaban." The ad breaks were frequent, and that was when we found the soccer matches in the nearly empty stadia on two Spanish-language channels. But back to Gary Oldman. I have seen him in a buttload of films, and not the ones you might think: e.g., I have yet to see "The Dark Knight" because I thought "Batman Begins" was shite. I probably will sit thorugh TDK at some point, which would be my 18th Gary Oldman flick. Three of those are from the Potter franchise. Per IMDB, in chronological order of release and omitting titular italics or quotes: Sid and Nancy, 1986 Prick Up Your Ears, 1987 Track 29, 1988 Criminal Law, 1988 Chattahoochee, 1989 Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, 1990 (just rented that one) Henry & June, 1990 JFK, 1991 Bram Stoker's Dracula, 1992 Immortal Beloved, 1994 Basquiat, 1996 The Fifth Element, 1998 The Contender, 2000 Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban, 2004 Batman Begins, 2005 HP & the Goblet of Fire, 2005 HP & the Order of the Phoenix, 2007 That's 17 out of around 55 feature films in which Oldman has appeared. I bring this up primarily because of my son's pursuing a career in the dramatic arts. And when it comes to acting, my boy could do a helluva lot worse than emulate Mr. Oldman. And actually, I made the list for my own benefit; I don't care whether anyone else notices or cares. Another actor I've suggested Pax study closely is Johnny Depp. Here's my Depp list for the sake of comparison. I'm surprised at how many of his films I've never seen, like "Gilbert Grape," and thought I'd seen several more—but again, this represents about a third of his feature filmography. Platoon, 1986 Cry-Baby, 1990 Edward Scissorhands, 1990 Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, 1998 Chocolat, 2000 Blow, 2001 Once Upon a Time in Mexico, 2003 Finding Neverland, 2004 Charlie & the Chocolate Factory, 2005 Sweeney Todd, 2007 Pirates Pirates Pirates A final thought: Why haven't Oldman & Depp made a film together yet?

I Got Your Mythos Right Here, Buddy

dbcsez — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 18:47:16 GMT

http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/2009/04/rank-and-file-bigotry.html Please read Melissa McEwan's item from the link above, then if your appetite for this kind of analysis is not fulfilled, my own reply to it below. ***** Right on, Sister. I wanted to write something quick & witty here, but wound up with this convoluted codicil to Melissa's excellent essay. There's a book that's got me thinking in whole new ways, Karen Armstrong's "The Battle for God." In examining the recurring phenomenon of fundamentalist backlashes since the Middle Ages, she spells out in the first few pages the continuing dialectic between "mythos" and "logos." Mythos is the story or stories that a culture tells about itself. It is not necessarily false, and some deep level is as true as reality. But it does not easily withstand the light of reason. Logos is the application of reason, especially toward solving the problems of a person, small group, or culture. Sometimes logos presents facts and solutions that challenge mythos or even threaten its very existence. The Renaissance and the Enlightenment were periods when logos held sway. However, people in Europe and Euro-America (not just intellectuals, but popular movements) perceived a threat to their mythoi and rebelled against the prevailing logos-based climate; the Reformation and the Great Awakenings of the 18th century are just two examples from Christendom. When you fuck with mythos, you fuck with the essential identity of a culture, how its people perceive themselves and the world around them. The people in that culture feel adrift, begin to look for any hunk of floating debris that will allow that mythos to continue, and when necessary use that debris as a weapon. I have mentioned George Lakoff's "Stern Father" and "Nutrturing Parent" subcultures in comments here previously. The Stern Father crowd feels that its mythos has been cornered by an encroaching Nurturing Parent worldview and all the logos that undergirds it. The obstacle that we Nurturing Parent types face is that the Stern Father team has a pretty good grip on the news media and other fora where ideas are discussed. Even liberal/progressive oases like Rachel Maddow's show are constrained by MSNBC's corporate sugar daddies; not that she would want to, but Rachel could never get away with pushing ideas from the left as outrageous as those that routinely appear on BeckO'ReillyHannityLimbaughSavage. The right wing will continue to cling to its mythos like a security blanket, and it will lash out at any perceived threat to that mythos as long as it can. Its intellectuals will continue to use the tools of reason, but will base their reasoning on empirically false premises. And there ain't a helluva a lot we can do about it, but we have to try. I direct this beloved virtual community's attention to a posting from David Roberts on HuffPo today http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-roberts/quit-arguing-with-doucheb_b_191509.html . I disagree with Roberts only in that we cannot let outrageous, hate-based rantings of douchebags go unanswered, lest these rantings gain echo-chamber "truthiness" in the cultural mindset.

Off to the Woods Again

dbcsez — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 16:18:57 GMT

There's an old Aggie joke that goes, "At Texas A & M, if you do it once, it's a mistake; if you do it twice, it's a tradition." We are about to establish an Aggie tradition of sorts this coming weekend, by spending the last weekend in April at the Piney Woods Conservation Center with a bunch of churchmates for the second consecutive year. Before starting this post, I took a look at http://people.tribe.net/dbcsez/blog/63d5c49e-054f-45a1-b6db-29b3be95f450, the posting after last year's trip, to see if there was anything I should remember. That post does mention how Moose had his eye on Stephen F. Austin State for college, and now he's actually been accepted there, "Axe 'em Jacks" & all that. I hope that Moose will feel a little less lost there this year. We will enforce a strict policy of no electronic entertainment devices on the trip. Maybe this time he'll try his hand at canoeing, or at least riding in the canoe if not actually paddling. Poor lad has balance issues. I played a lot of guitar at last year's campout, something at which I do not excel but can pass off in very forgiving company. Next to Charlie Burrus, however, I'm a total shlub. This year, weather permitting, we'll have singing & s'mores aplenty once it gets too dark for boats. What really frustrates me about the experience is the prohibition of swimming in the pond. Some canoers wind up in the drink, it's just a part of the activity, but once you're in you can't stay there & splash around. We're also making plans for June travel. Musetta got invited back to read AP World History exams in Fort Collins, Colorado. She'll be taking her kids to Denver, where her parents will pick them up and cart them off to Gunnison for the week. I'll be heading up the following week to spend a few days there, then jaunt over to the West Coast for an Amtrak holiday. My main purpose for the West Coast excursion is writing: I noticed also as I was looking for the Piney Woods post from last April that I had also been posting chapters of a novel I'd started writing, but have not worked on since. Well, it's time to drag that novel ("Santa Cecilia") out of the mothballs, dammit, and when I get tired of that, I'll work on this Hungarian text I'm co-writing. By the last week in June, I plan to be in Salt Lake City when the UUs take over the Salt Palace for General Assembly. The 2002 GA was held there, and the organizers like SLC so well, they booked it again. Unitarians roaming free in Mormontown...ah, must be a sight to behold. Moose should be "bridging out" of YRUU (Young Religious Unitarian Universalists) at GA this year, now that he's turning 18. At least, that's the plan, but plan's don't always work out. Fingers crossed, wood knocked.

David Rovics is Playing Old Lyme

dbcsez — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 20:34:44 GMT

http://www.davidrovics.com/ If you check David Rovics's website after 16 April 2009, you probably won't see the notation of his upcoming performance in Old Lyme, Connecticut. Wait a minute. Sure: New Haven, Bridgeport, Hartford, Norwalk, New London, Middletown, Danbury, Waterbury, even Naugatuck, but Old Lyme? Surely you jest! Well, yeah, our favorite less depressed reincarnation of Phil Ochs has an actual gig at the historic, picturesque Congregational Church in Old Lyme this Thursday. It's not as though Old Lyme is a backwater devoid of what we city folk call culture, but it's a bit of a surprise to see him booked there. He's also playing some more predictable venues, like the storied den of folk Club Passim in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Old Lyme has a year-round population in the neighborhood of 6,000. Throw in the nearby townships of Old Saybrook, Lyme, and East Lyme, and you're approaching 20,000. Add summer residents, and you're up to a whopping 30,000—except it's not summer yet. The full-time residents are mostly upper-middleclass to filthy rich, and while quite a few are politically and socially liberal, it's not a hotbed of anarchist sentiment. If Black Bloc youth (and some fogies like me) are willing to drive/cycle/hitchhike 20 miles from New London or Norwich, 35 miles from New Haven, to see this show, that expands the fan base a bit. I found out about this gig from Facebook, where I am one of Mr. Rovics's 900 friends (probably one of the few who has stayed at his and Nathalie's place in Portland—the apartment they had before they moved into their house last year). After a brief swing through the Northeast, he'll be heading for Denmark, where he's probably better known than he is in the U.S. For the record: Old Lyme and the Lyme colony were founded in 1639 just across the Connecticut River from the Saybrook Colony, original home of Yale University. Nearby Lyme is indeed the home of the first documented diagnosis of Lyme Disease, known in the 1970s as Lyme Arthritis. My grandmother was one of the first patients, and it still afflicts my father who lives there today. From the wiki http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyme_disease : "The full syndrome now known as Lyme disease was not recognized until a cluster of cases originally thought to be juvenile rheumatoid arthritis was identified in three towns in southeastern Connecticut in 1975, including the towns Lyme and Old Lyme, which gave the disease its popular name. This was investigated by physicians David Snydman and Allen Steere of the Epidemic Intelligence Service, and by others from Yale University. The recognition that the patients in the United States had EM led to the recognition that "Lyme arthritis" was one manifestation of the same tick-borne condition known in Europe." A lot of influential 20th-century artists (mostly painters) spents summers there in the company of the estimable patroness Florence Griswold. Ornithologist Roger Tory Petersen had a home there. One of its more renowned tourist traps was the late Elizabeth Tashjian's Nut Museum http://www.roadsideamerica.com/nut/ , where the proprietress offered tours with a wealth of historical and cultural information about nuts (it didn't hurt that she was delightfully nutty herself). I once had a CD of a chamber and vocal music concert recording in the very church where Rovics is playing, which I found through sheer serendipity while working in the classical room at Planet Music, Meyerland Plaza; I gave that CD to my aunt, who is a big aficionado of the annual rummage sale held at that church.

7 Young Black Women Who Are Considered Awesome Actresses When Excellent Is Enuf

dbcsez — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 14:20:30 GMT

It occurred to me the other day that I never posted my rave review of HSPVA's latest production. By now, I don't have "enuf" recollection of the details to post a meaningful review. I will say that the cast of "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf" was more than equal to the challenge presented by this gritty script. Ntozake Shange's iconic play contains almost nothing beyond seven women in different-colored dresses taking turns reciting monologues, bits of interchange and dancing. There's very little in the way of set or props. The play exemplifies the phrase "stark and powerful." It's actually a little too powerful in places, and not quite appropriate for wee ones. Since it is ultimately about women's self-empowerment, I thought it would be good for Musetta's little girl to see, but Moose advised against that, and I'm glad he did. Moose & I wound up going immediately upon returning from Nacogdoches. The only knock I would have on this production is that there didn't seem to be enough characterization. Since the rhythms of the script don't change much throughout, it's easy for all seven actors [sic--let's get over the term "actress," please] to lapse into the same cadences and talk like the same person. However, part of the point of this show, embodied in the seven different colors of dress, is the splendid diversity of black womanhood in personality and experience. You need one to be polished and sophisticated, one to be impish, one to be quick-tempered, etc. This came through at times, but mostly not. The show got a bit of an encore last Saturday at the HSPVA Theatre Guild Gala, when most of the senior theatre students gave some quick performances after dinner. Moose did his gay vampire audition piece from (oops, forgot the title), and "Easy Street" from "Annie," earning a lot of plaudits from the parents in attendance. Two of the seniors who were in "colored girls" did monologues written for the Lady in Blue, though neither of them wore the blue dress in the show. Yet they were good. Really good. Even amid the jocularity of the gala, there was room for dramatic performances of depressing material like "i used to live in the world--then i moved to harlem." They were exhilarating. You could feel the shiver flying across the room and back in the upstairs room at Treebeard's. The performances were all worthy, but Josh Langham playing Cassius from "Julius Caesar" took the cake for me. (Actually, for dessert, most of us took some of the cake, and then a serving of bread pudding, yum.) Josh wasn't nearly "lean and hungry" enough to be Cassius, but he was plenty scary, revealing to Brutus not only the threat to the Patrician Order and the Republic that Caesar poses, but an annoying personal reminder that Caesar, whom Cassius once saved from drowning, is now The Man. More chills & thrills.

Cultural Revolution Yogurt

dbcsez — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 15:47:17 GMT

This is not an April Fool joke. http://www.kalonaorganics.com Dear Kalona Organics: Normally I buy & enjoy Brown Cow yogurt. I bought two cups of Cultural Revolution yogurt at Whole Foods out of curiosity, and I liked what I ate. However, on reflection, I found the name a bit offensive. The Chinese Cultural Revolution, for all its noble intentions, was so thoroughly perverted in practice that it resulted in millions of deaths and imprisonments of citizens who just weren't Red enough. Reaction to it after Chairman Mao's death is what created the cruelly hyper-capitalist China we know today. You wouldn't name your yogurt "Holocaust" or "Black Plague" or "Operation Iraqi Liberation," would you? "Cultural Revolution" has similar associations, even for a socialist like me. dbc

Nacogdoches: A Learning Experience

dbcsez — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 01:56:13 GMT

As my 17-year-old will freely admit, the jump from high school to college has been a scary prospect for him. Compounding that has been the ease with which his fellow Thespians at HSPVA have been admitted to schools and received scholarship money. So many of them have their college arrangements all set, while he has been treading water in his senior AP classes and focusing on just "surviving" high school. The idea of college is now, by Moose's account, less frightening. We visited Stephen F. Austin State University Saturday afternoon, took the tour, met some students & faculty members in the theatre department. Suddenly, he actually stoked on college, and with the welcome that we received in Nacogdoches, I'm pretty stoked on his going there. He still has to get accepted, but that should not be a problem. Things I learned about SFASU that impressed me: 1. University President Baker Pattillo has been at the school almost continuously since he enrolled there as a freshman in 1966, when it was still Stephen F. Austin Teachers' College. 2. After Dr. Pattillo spoke at the orientation, we heard from a communications professor who joined the faculty in 1965, thinking it was a stop on the way to a "name-brand university" like Harvard or UT. He decided to stay. 3. All this time I thought SFA was part of the Texas State system, like Sam Houston State, Lamar, and of course Texas State (the former Southwest Texas State, alma mater of U.S. President Lyndon Baines Johnson). SFA is independent, though funded at least in part by the state government. 4. SFA has not followed the trend of setting up satellite campuses in metro areas or nearby towns—unless you count the Piney Woods Center, where Forestry Management students get to practice managing an actual forest. Otherwise, it's all right there on a compact campus on Business US59 in Nacogdoches. 5. Not that "Naco-nowhere" is completely lacking in culture, though it does have that reputation, but SFA attracts touring shows and musicians to its Fine Arts building, conveniently located right off Business 59 and with at least some parking nearby. This week the Music Department is putting on the mini-opera double feature of "Cavalleria Rusticana" and "Gianni Schicchi," as Houston Grand Opera did recently. 6. In-state tuition is just over $6,000 for a 15-hour load, but the whole package will wind up costing about $19,000 for the first year. Yikes. UH would cost less, because we could forego room & board, but the experience of living in a dorm and having a built-in social circle on campus might just be worth the expense. Meanwhile, what is the correct procedure for propitiating the Financial Aid gods?

In Houston They Fuck on Main Street

dbcsez — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 01:43:27 GMT

With apologies to Joni Mitchell, it was amour, mama, AND cheap display. They also rides bicycles on Main Street, hundreds of them, as long as somebody puts cones down to reserve a lane for them. I rode the 8 South Main Metro bus to First UU Church Sunday morning. If you really need details, it was the one that reaches West Bellfort & Chimney Rock around 8:35, but it was running a tad late. Though I had brought something to read, occasionally I had to look up from it; when we reached Braeswood & Main, I noticed that we were not turning into the right-hand lane as we made the customary left onto Main, but into the center lane, since the right lane was occupied by a pack of cyclists. The cyclists, proceeding both directions on Main, had numbers on their backs, for they were riding in the Guaranty Bank Tour de Houston, in which I had considered participating but never registered. In a way, it was a glorious sight, not quite like mustering a couple hundred riders for Critical Mass, or the annual Moonlight Ramble, but a vision of what Houston could be if it approached bike-friendliness whole-heartedly instead of half-assedly. Impressive, anyway. Of course, not only did they wear numbers, but proper cycling togs and mostly above-average road bikes. I've never been part of that scene. True, I splurge on things that may seem lacking in redeeming social value, but I've never been able to justify the money I'd be spending on synthetic bikewear. It's similar to my soccer jersey jones: I'd love to own a real jersey, just don't want or need to spend $70 additional to prove I'm a fan. It's not that I begrudge those who buy & wear cycling togs, but these are the same cycling hobbyists who load bikes onto their SUVs and drive out to freakin' Chappell Hill to find, uh, hills on which to ride. As an urban bicycle commuter, I just can't identify with them. We made it through the velocipede gauntlet and the Medical Center, past Mecom Fountain, and reached Southmore Street, where I debussed—but left my umbrella aboard, as I realized just as I was about to enter the church building. Damn. Seeing that I had plenty of time before rehearsal began, I broke into a run, thinking I could catch the bus as it idled outside Wheeler Station. As it turned out, I had to run only two blocks: With just one passenger remaining, the driver had pulled the bus over so he could grab a soft drink at the Chevron station at Main & Wichita. The folks sitting outside the Minit-Man Car Wash got to see an old white dude with a backpack scampering up Main trying to catch a stationary bus that only went another four blocks in that direction. After I retrieved my umbrella though (which it turned out I did not need that morning, as the threatened precipitation never came), I got to see something a little odder, but not wholly out of character with the Midtown-Museum District area: an apparently homeless couple enjoying an al fresco morning delight. As I walked past the Mann Eye Clinic building, there on the landing by the Main Street entrance, not very well shielded from the passing traffic, lay a blanket, a pair of bare feet with toes up, another pair toes down, & another blanket on top moving with an unmistakable rhythm. It required a triple-take to confirm that there was indeed a couple scrumping there. Several years ago, that very building made headlines when some Rice students stopped there to use the ATM at the bank that occupies part of the building, where they were robbed & kidnapped at gunpoint. Given the choice, I'd rather there be sex going on across the street from my church than violence.

Red & Gray 2009

dbcsez — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 15:00:37 GMT

As of last week, my son Moose has left his mark in the annals of the legendary Hight School for the Performing & Visual Arts, Houston. He contributed a short one-act play, entitled "Playdate," to the annual Red & Gray Playwrights Festival. He found a director and eight or nine brave actors to stage it. And Papa is awfully proud—mostly because he started something like this and brought it to completion, which, like his parents, he's had trouble doing in the past. I can say without hesitation, and Moose would probably agree, that this was not the best of the three Red & Gray Festivals we have seen. It was understood that the plays presented were works in progress, and his script needed some polishing. But the actors were real gamers, and they made even the few rather clunky lines in "Playdate" work. Classmates Rachel Rubin & Hannah Jones collaborated on the other senior work, "Crapshoot," a really fun satirical piece about auditioning for parts in a show. What it completely lacked in plot it made up for in character/caricature development and really imaginative faux monologues. I particularly like the monologue in which a stuffy Juilliard grad in a top hat plays "Jesus...from The Bible...by God," exploring his fear and inadequacies in the face of his destined career as a carpenter. Three juniors also submitted scripts for staged readings, which included some zippy dialog, which unfortunately the actors read to quickly for the text to breathe. Not that the acting was bad, but the young thespians were constrained both by being seated and by the amount of time it would take if paced properly. Meanwhile, Moose's college plans are a big question mark. We think he'll end up at the University of Houston, which would not be a bad thing, especially since they have playwriting courses there. Some guy named Albee has left his mark on UH. I think this Albee guy has even won a prize or two. Wink-wink.

Facebook: Here I Am, World

dbcsez — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 21:51:22 GMT

I didn't especially want to do it, but this afternoon I did it: created my new Facebook profile. The main reason for the lack of enthusiasm was fear: Fear that it would be just like MySpace, which in addition to being an arm of Murdoch's Evil Empire is just butt-ugly squared; fear that people from my high school class with whom I have not interacted in nearly 25 years (often for good reasons, sometimes not) would suddenly want to be my friend; fear of exposure to more spam than this vegetarian could eat and poop in a lifetime. However, even apart from Barack Obama's ingenious use of Facebook in 2008, several people whom I know and respect, and who do not jump on every Internet bandwagon that passes by, have jumped on this one. I know of one young churchmate who has simplified his life by not communicating through any means except Facebook, to the utter despair of his family, who practically have to use Facebook to summon him from his room to the dinner table. I have had a profile on LinkedIn for nearly five years. I never use it. I used to have my own .com domain for posting my eccentric opinions and literary pretensions, with pages hard-coded in old-school HTML (with help from Dreamweaver), so why demote myself to something like Facebook that even the cyber-impaired can use? I have been partial to Tribe since I discovered it, since it is so much more a "we" social networking tool than an "I" social networking tool. Tribe's emphasis is on groups with shared interests and pursuing these interests in community. Unfortunately, the tribes I'm in have a barely detectable pulse: I can go literally weeks without seeing new postings in some of these tribes, so the community feeling is missing. It's also hard to attract people to Tribe when they're already on one of the major name-brand sites. In the past month, I have also established a presence on Ning, but that is sectioned off into hundreds of nings that do not swap information easily. So all upon a sudden, I am socially networked out the proverbial wazoo. What next, dbc: LiveJournal?

Nearly in Tears in the Break Room

dbcsez — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 22:05:56 GMT

I happened to be in our break room at work, "The Beach," this morning when Charlie Gibson interrupted "The View" with a special report. And a very special report it was. It's not the end of America's terrible misadventure in Iraq, but it truly is the beginning of the end. At the risk of mixing suggestive metaphors, the Big O is pulling out, and not a moment too soon. Of course I cannot be completely happy with this gradual withdrawal of troops. While aware of the logistical constraints involved, and content with what amounts to a compromise plan, 18 months of draw-down is still too long, but we peacemongers will have to live with it. Besides, it could go faster. Also, I don't remember hearing the President anything about military contractors leaving Iraq. Granted, Blackwater (now styling itself XE) no longer has a license to operate there, but that's merely the biggest and baddest of the contractors, not the only mercenary outfit in-country. I fervently hope that the administration will work out the details of getting those clowns the fuck out of Iraq, too. Lastly, Afghanistan. I don't get it. What does Obama envision accomplishing there? Finding bin Laden crouching in a wicker basket in the lobby of the Sheraton Kandahar? Putting the Taliban back in their little box? Military escorts for girls going to school and back? Obama is a sensible fellow; he must know something I don't, right? Despite less than complete satisfaction, I was mindful of the importance of today's announcement at Camp Lejeune. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I felt that the Marines in attendance also got it, and many of them were thrilled that operations would be ending. It may not be a majority of our armed services that oppose the occupation after six agonizing years, but the percentage certainly has increased since Dubya's "Mission Accomplished" flight o' fancy. As I watched, I felt that it might be a moment to shed tears of joy if I weren't a) at work, b) multi-tasking, and c) fully conscious that shit will still happen and Americans will still die needlessly in Iraq. (Iraqis dying needlessly in Iraq may still be a direct result of our withdrawal, but I'm banking on less violence there once the hated American presence is removed.) Joy...mixed with caution.

Palahniuk & DFW: Astral Twins

dbcsez — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 03:25:46 GMT

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1962#Births So I didn't get this up in time for their joint birthday, but I have discovered through the wonder that is Wikipedia that unknown literary colossi Chuck Palahniuk and David Foster Wallace just celebrated...or, rather, Palahniuk might have celebrated his birthday Saturday. DFW would be observing his birthday in the afterlife, if times means anything there. The authors of "Fight Club" and "Infinite Jest" were born the same years as Yours Truly: 1962. Apart from Thalidomide and some tomfoolery in the Caribbean involving nuclear missiles, it was a pretty good year, I'm told. Read a summary of the year here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1962 . I heard about DFW's suicide during that long, weird weekend we spent in Austin and Georgetown (TX) after Hurricane Ike knocked down a few thousand power lines and brought the swelter to our shelters in Houston. It rated a mention on NPR, and then an online elegy from the SF Chronicle's Mark Morford. I had heard of the guy only indirectly, never knowingly read even a magazine article of his. Having plowed thorugh Pynchon's "Against the Day" last year, perhaps I could hack through "Infinite Jest" this year. I'm not so sure I want to attack the print version of Palahniuk's stuff (I almost said "oeuvre"). Not willing to spend so much time with characters I'm likely to loathe. If somebody can convince me otherwise, give it a try. In no particular order, here are some other names of relatively well-known persons born in 1962, or at least known to Westerners who have been paying attention. If I've omitted anybody, I have my reasons. From the world of words: Tracy Chevalier, Neal Shusterman, and Daniel Keys Moran, about whom I know nothing except what I read on the wiki. From the world of sport: Kevin Mitchell, Chris Chelios, Jackie Joyner-Kersee, Herschel Walker, Patrick Ewing, Daryl Strawberry, Clyde Drexler, Pam Shriver, Tracy Austin, Roger Clemens (never much liked him, but he rates a mention here), Jerry Rice, Doug Flutie, Bo Jackson. From the world of music: Michelle Shocked; Sheryl Crow; Ian Astbury; Joan Osborne; Dmitri Hvorostovsky; Red Hot Chili Peppers Flea, Anthony Kiedis, and Hillel Slovak; Metallicans Kirk Hammett, Cliff Burton, and Ron McGovney; oh yeah, a few guys from Guns 'n' Roses. From the world of stage & screen: Steve Irwin, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Eddie Izzard, Jim Carrey, Matthew Broderick, Emilio Estévez, David Fincher, Ally Sheedy, Amanda Donohoe, Alton Brown, Tom Colicchio, Wesley Snipes, Craig Kilborn, Anthony Edwards, Kristy McNichol, Jodie Foster, Demi Moore, Esai Morales, Joan Cusack, Cary Elwes, Aida Turturro, Jon Stewart, and Ralph Fiennes. From the world of politics: Felipe Calderón Hinojosa, current President of Mexico; Michael McCaul, a Congressmember from central Texas; Aníbal Acevedo Vilá, outgoing Governor of Puerto Rico

Houston's New Diva Deficit: Terry Hayes, 1996-2009

dbcsez — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 20:41:55 GMT

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/front/6265092.html (Chron links get archived within a few days.) The Diva fought terminal colon cancer for nearly three years. She was expected to last only two years. The cancer came and went, then came back. The can-do attitude and fighting spirit may have come and gone, too, but if it did, she never let it show. As I have mentioned previously in this space, Terry was on the outer perimeter of my Houston-based acquaintances. I knew her sister Bev better, through her work with the Harris Country Green Party. Bev is a Cancerland employee, too. Years ago, Terry participated in Green-related activities, especially when Art Cars were involved, but was never a regular at monthly meetings. Those meetings aren't everyone's cup o' joe. (Bev adds an FYI: Terry was, along with me and Brian, one of the first of the group that showed up in response to an ad in the Houston Press... David Cobb inspired us to pursue the creation of HCGP... She organized the garage sale that gave HCGP its seed money... We set it up in front of Corazon (when Chris Moore was still located on Montrose)... Terry solicited and gathered items and spearheaded sale... I can’t remember how much money we made, but it was $500+.) However, I can claim that I knew Terry before and after she lost 150 pounds, and visited her a few times when she was an inpatient. I watched a nurse hook her up to a two-liter bag of extremely clear liquid, clearer than the clearest water I've ever seen, that was supposed to attack her tumor. I had come to know her all over again in her role as the Cancer Diva on a blog hosted by her employer, the Houston Chronicle (also formerly the employer of Bev and her companion Brian, who are still considered extended family there). And of course, I was not the only one. Her blog touched the hundreds who bothered to send comments and good wishes, some of them patients or survivors themselves. It may have touched thousands more who merely read and lurked. Like my musical pal Sara Hickman, Terry's words made me laugh & cry, sometimes in the same paragraph. And her cat Sasha is the coolest fur-bearin' critter in town. Thanks for everything, Terry. See you in a better life.

Mud in Your Eye, Break a Leg, MERDE!

dbcsez — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 02:03:33 GMT

No, it's not really a review. I disqualify myself from writing reviews of shows in which my son has a speaking part. That said, I'm not beyond saying that I really enjoyed seeing HSPVA's production of "Kiss Me, Kate" Saturday night. The kids were terrific, with the only minor hitch being that some of the dancers were called upon to sing, some of the singers to act, some of the actors to dance, and, well, they tried. It was, after all, the all-school musical, a collaboration of the theatre, instrumental, vocal, dance, and visual art departments. Some of these young artists who were not triple threats had to cross disciplines, with mixed results. But the whole cast poured their hearts and souls into the production, apparently had a great time doing it, and the joy was infectious. Moose played Ralph, the neurotic stage manager, and appeared as a "Paduan citizen" in some of the songs. He wasn't in the most uproarious scenes, but he got some good laughs. Last Tuesday night, rehearsals ended at 5 pm in order to give the cast, crew, and orchestra a chance to rest for opening night. I took Moose to a special dinner & dessert at the Black Labrador, then to Spec's. The trip to Spec's was strictly a prop-purchasing mission: wanted to get "Ralph" a flask, which turned out to be useful in the scene in which Fred (the Howard Keel part in the movie, the actor/director/producer of the musical version of "The Taming of the Shrew") is convinced that he is bleeding and asks Ralph, the nearest person, if he can find some alcohol. Ralph then produces the flask. It was too small to be seen by the entire house, sad to say, but I'm sure some in the crowd dug it. We had the misfortune of being at Spec's on the night of a massive wine tasting. The whole parking lot of the giant Spec's on Smith Street in Midtown was overflowing into the multi-level garage nearby. It was insanity on wheels. The good fortune came in finding a helpful employee to open the display case of non-plastic flasks--which, in case you have never purchased a flask, ain't cheap. A stainless steel flask of any decent size would run about $35. We got a smaller one for $25. Amongst all the terrific performances, gotta hand the props to Alyssa Davidson as Lilli/Katherine. It's a demanding role, in which the character Lilli is temporarily taken over by the character that she is portraying. It requires very robust vocal cords that can take a lot of howling and growling. She never quite let the estimable Megan Stanke steal the show as Lois (the gold-digging club singer)/Bianca, a challenge in itself because Lois/Bianca has the best dance numbers and some of the best songs. If you missed it, castigate yourself briefly, and set aside money for season tickets to HSPVA Theatre's 2009-10 season. Moose is graduating this May, but I'm planning to buy some season seats and stay involved with the Theatre Guild for as long as they'll have me. Then I can continue to be an insider and write these extremely biased non-reviews.

Some Musicians Who Died Way Too Young

dbcsez — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 02:41:52 GMT

My blogging has been sparse in recent months, but I would be terribly remiss if I did not observe this date, the bicentennial of Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy's birth and the semicentennial of Buddy Holly's fatal plane crash. 2009 is also the bicentenary of Abraham Lincoln, Edgar Allan Poe, and Charles Darwin, each of whom changed the direction of their craft (statesmanship, literature, biology) in profound ways. It is hard to make the same case for Mendelssohn, as brilliant, precocious, and prolific as he was. Some have noted that with the same encouragement his sister Fanny could have been an even better composer (Felix apparently thought as much but dreaded the repercussions against her invading what was then all-male territory). Whether he achieved the same sublimity as Mozart is strictly subjective: I'm no expert, but from what I've heard of their music, I believe Mendelssohn did reach those heights, and earlier, but not as often through the rest of his career. My main Mendelssohn connection is a piano piece that I played to death in eight grade, the "Fantaisie ou Caprice" in a-minor. This piece was not even one of my assigned pieces, just something else lurking in the book that my teacher provided for me. I didn't even know at the time why I liked this stuff better than the Mozart, Haydn, Clementi, and Kuhlau that my piano teacher thrust at me, until I got hold of some Chopin a couple of years later, after I'd stopped taking lessons altogether. The Romantic composers just floated my boat more than those of the Classical period. There aren't many recordings of "Fantaisie ou Caprice," but I managed to find and purchase one back in the 1990s when I was working at Planet Music in Meyerland Plaza, where I sometimes helped out in the classical room. It's on a CD of Variations and Fantasies played by Martin Jones, from his set of Mendelssohn's complete piano works recorded in the 1970s. The recording is underwhelming: it sounds too distant, as if somebody hung the microphone from the ceiling of a large room and set out to record the reverberations rather than the piano. It lacks the ardor that I also projected onto it, expanding it into something orchestral in my imagination. Jones plays the middle part half-again too fast for me, more tarantella than waltz, and it's over far too soon; then, when it's over, the return to andante has nothing to offer, and the listener slips back into dreamless sleep with just the bad aftertaste of the dream. That's appropriate. The liner notes from the CD assess Mendelssohn at mid-life, i.e., at 20, when he composed the three Fantasies or Caprices. He was already perceived as having left his best work behind in his teens. Buddy Holly did not even make it to 23. He had four good years of making a living with music. Ritchie Valens, who perished with him at Clear Lake, Iowa, had a professional career that lasted all of two months. Even though he recorded sentimental crap like "Everyday" and "True Love Ways" toward the end, I don't think many serious music lovers saw Holly's songwriting skills declining irreversibly. It feels a little weird using $20 words to talk about Charles Hardin Holley, though. So let me slither out of the academy for a minute and deliver the goods on Buddy. I'm not a huge fan, but I recognize that there's a lot to love. I love that he was willing to buck conventional wisdom and leave behind the traditional country sound that was supposed to be his meal ticket, only to become hugely popular in rock & roll. I love that he squeezed the anger and frustration of a kid with a vision far broader than Lubbock, Texas, into his songs, but not come off as an angry and frustrated person. I love that his pure love of music, language, and risk come through in his life and his songs. I love that he helped make Waylon Jennings's career possible; Waylon gave up that seat on the plane for Big Bopper, and for his courtesy was awarded 30 more years of music-making, much to his eternal torment. I love that Declan MacManus changed his name to Elvis Costello, adopted Buddy's look and guitar style, unleashed the pent-up anger, and at about the same age Buddy was at death, began knocking new life into rock. I love that some people spend thousands of words on interpretations of the lyrics of Don McLean's "The Day the Music Died," while others spend thousands of words describing how they fucking detest that song. RIP, Felix & Buddy.

Dr. King Sez, "Free, Free Palestine!"

dbcsez — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 22:27:06 GMT

I was gratified and a bit stunned to hear on "BBC NewsHour" this afternoon that there was a cease-fire in Gaza, giving aid workers a chance to do, uh, aid work. I also felt my stomach drop a few stories, as I put myself in the shoes of the aid workers entering Gaza City. It sounded as if the devastation would be so severe, they wouldn't know where to begin. Situations like the current crisis in Gaza always involve a form of triage: Food, water, and medical supplies go first where they are most desperately needed. But could the aid workers possibly have brought enough? Will there be anybody there NOT in desperate need? For how many children does this cease-fire come too damn late? I was also gratified and a bit stunned to see a group, carrying Palestinian flags and chanting, "Free, free Palestine! Killing children is a crime!" marching in the Black Heritage Society parade on MLK Boulevard. I'd like to think that Dr. King, had he lived to see his 80th birthday this year, would not knee-jerk into the pro-Israel-no-matter-what chorus line. Since he wasn't around, Green Party Presidential nominee Cynthia McKinney has to be the prominent Black leader speaking out on behalf of the human beings who call themselves Palestinians. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Psk5rjjsvy4&eurl=http://www.gp.org/index.php Some pals of mine from the Harris County Green Party and KPFT were also in the parade, and so was a rather diverse lot of Afro-Americana, including two groups of Black Masons and some End-Timers. The whole parade lasted less than an hour. There was one (1) drum corps from a Third Ward elementary school, only two drill teams, several cars carrying politicians, several cars carrying signs with the names of politicians but not the politicians themselves, three or four legitimate floats, and the H-E-B giant shopping cart with a V-8 engine. It was small, but praise Jah it was not the Grand Parade they threw downtown: hypercommercialized, pointlessly loud, and full of Junior ROTC groups, about which I have editorialized with disdain in the past. I do wish that some of the high school and university bands would deign to join the neighborhood parade instead of that monstrosity. They wouldn't allow "Free, free Palestine!" to participate in the downtown parade. Indeed, this old marching band geek really missed that the most. Before the little parade there was also the community march, most of which me missed, but we did see the tail end of it, so to speak. As E and I drove north on MLK from the South Loop, there must have been a thousand horses and riders walking, trotting, and even cantering down the southbound lanes. According to Green stalwart Don Cook, the community march honored Cynthia McKinney with a ceremony at MacGregor Park; I missed that, but I don't think Cynthia showed up. Obama-mania was very much in evidence on the Boulevard today, but I think there were a few who knew who the real progressive candidate was.