I wasn't sure that I would post anything about the whole Susan Boyle phenomenon. I mean, I haven't posted in eons and why should that be the thing to inspire me to break my silence?
I first saw about this story on one of the local news programs. The dowdy little woman with Martin Scorcese eyebrows belting out a difficult song with gusto and style. I watched the youtube clip and saw the look of shock and awe on the judges' faces, the standing ovations, the teary-eyed audience members. And I was moved too.
But why was I moved? Why was the audience? Because we can't imagine that unattractive people can do anything well. And really that's what it all boils down to: we have come so brainwashed into thinking that only people with perfect bodies and perfect hair and perfect faces can do anything worthwhile and the unattractive are just there to be laughed at.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, March 02, 2009
Some people call me Maurice
A few posts back, Tom asked about podcasts and I figured I'd take a few minutes and write a little about what I'm listening to on the ol' Ipod these days.
First of all, it's important to note that I listen to my Ipod a lot. I walk over 2.5 hours a day (30 minutes to work, 30 minutes home, at least 1.5 hours of dog walks) and, as I almost always walk listening to something, I go through podcasts pretty quickly. I'm always on the look out for new and interesting podcasts to pass the time.
At Internet Radio Archive I've recently discovered a series of Sherlock Holmes stories produced in the early 1960s by the BBC. Carlton Hobbs makes an excellent Holmes. His dry, almost whimsical delivery anticipates the stellar performance of Jeremy Brett, who played Holmes on television in the late 1980s and is considered by many (myself included) to be the very best Holmes. Unlike the more well known radio series that starred Basil Rathbone, the Hobbs series is remarkably faithful to Conan Doyle's original stories. The only major change I've found in the handful of episodes I have is the inclusion of Watson in "The Lion's Mane," a late story which Conan Doyle has Holmes narrate himself.
First of all, it's important to note that I listen to my Ipod a lot. I walk over 2.5 hours a day (30 minutes to work, 30 minutes home, at least 1.5 hours of dog walks) and, as I almost always walk listening to something, I go through podcasts pretty quickly. I'm always on the look out for new and interesting podcasts to pass the time.
At Internet Radio Archive I've recently discovered a series of Sherlock Holmes stories produced in the early 1960s by the BBC. Carlton Hobbs makes an excellent Holmes. His dry, almost whimsical delivery anticipates the stellar performance of Jeremy Brett, who played Holmes on television in the late 1980s and is considered by many (myself included) to be the very best Holmes. Unlike the more well known radio series that starred Basil Rathbone, the Hobbs series is remarkably faithful to Conan Doyle's original stories. The only major change I've found in the handful of episodes I have is the inclusion of Watson in "The Lion's Mane," a late story which Conan Doyle has Holmes narrate himself.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Did Heath deserve an Oscar?
I loved Nolan's The Dark Knight and thought Ledger was great, but was he really the creepiest Joker?
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
I tried to find the key to fifty million fables
25 Random and (not really that) exciting things about me:
1) I know the words to a ridiculous number of lame late 80s, early 90s rap songs. "All right, stop what you're doin'..."
2) My favourite movie is Casablanca. I've seen it over 50 times and can recite the dialogue.
9)Every Christmas I have to watch A Christmas Carol at least once.
13) I used to have a pet rat. His name was Fred.
14) I have never seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, and I have no desire to see it.
1) I know the words to a ridiculous number of lame late 80s, early 90s rap songs. "All right, stop what you're doin'..."
2) My favourite movie is Casablanca. I've seen it over 50 times and can recite the dialogue.
3) I'm addicted to "Lost."
4) I drink an obscene amount of coffee.
5) After learning that people who drink a lot of coffee are more prone to seeing ghosts and experiencing hallucinations, I worry that my life is one vivid (and lousy) day dream.
6) I like my dog more than I like most people.
7) My encyclopedic knowledge of television annoys my wife.
8) I read every book I was supposed to read during undergraduate. It took me ten years to do it.
9)Every Christmas I have to watch A Christmas Carol at least once.
10) People tend to hate me 'cause I never smile.
11) If I could get away with one eccentricity, I would wear a fedora and always dress in black.
12) I reread the Sherlock Holmes stories once a year.
13) I used to have a pet rat. His name was Fred.
14) I have never seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, and I have no desire to see it.
15) I could never live in a small town.
16) I didn't attend a real concert until my first year of university.
20) I still tear up when I think of Brad.
21) My Ipod is full of old-time radio dramas and podcasts.
22) I read Shakespeare in grade 6.
23) I used to collect comedy lps and tapes. I still have a number of them.
24) Gorillaz's "Clint Eastwood" is the perfect "walking down the street" song. The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony" can also get the job done.
25) I enjoying wasting time with these sorts of things...
17) I made a short movie.
18) My favourite novel is Tom Jones. I'm also love Death of the Heart, Notes from Underground, and High Fidelity.
19) Growing up, I had a huge crush on Mallory Keaton.
20) I still tear up when I think of Brad.
21) My Ipod is full of old-time radio dramas and podcasts.
22) I read Shakespeare in grade 6.
23) I used to collect comedy lps and tapes. I still have a number of them.
24) Gorillaz's "Clint Eastwood" is the perfect "walking down the street" song. The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony" can also get the job done.
25) I enjoying wasting time with these sorts of things...
Friday, February 13, 2009
I come from the land of the ice and snow
I feel bad about not writing more this semester, but things are quite busy. Not much to report in the way of updates as the things I'm busy with are pretty dull admin type things. I don't see that changing any time soon, so perhaps I'll have to try harder to see the amusing bits in the very, very mundane.
I have read some interesting novels in the past little while that I quite liked. The novels of Ron Hansen, who wrote The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, continue to impress me. I read Hitler's Niece over the holidays and am about half way through Margerite in Ecstacy.
I have read some interesting novels in the past little while that I quite liked. The novels of Ron Hansen, who wrote The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, continue to impress me. I read Hitler's Niece over the holidays and am about half way through Margerite in Ecstacy.
Monday, February 09, 2009
She probably lives in Tahiti
Bad weather breeds camaraderie.
Steady rain and temperatures hovering around zero have made sidewalks of Winnipeg are a virtual skating rink today. Walking to work took an extra 20 minutes because I had to do the straight leg shuffle most of the way. As I passed the other people silly or desperate enough to brave these condition, our eyes would meet, we'd share a smile and, in a few instances, an inane verbal exchange.
"Pretty bad out here, eh?"
"Yeah, it's sure not fun."
I'm not someone who likes strangers talking to me on the street. Growing up in Toronto I learned pretty quickly that talking to people on the streets was something only the craziest of the crazy did. To say hello to a stranger was an invitation to abduction or assault. But for some reason I found these acknowledgements comforting. It's like we were saying, "I know what you're going through. I'm going through it too, and we're going to be alright."
Steady rain and temperatures hovering around zero have made sidewalks of Winnipeg are a virtual skating rink today. Walking to work took an extra 20 minutes because I had to do the straight leg shuffle most of the way. As I passed the other people silly or desperate enough to brave these condition, our eyes would meet, we'd share a smile and, in a few instances, an inane verbal exchange.
"Pretty bad out here, eh?"
"Yeah, it's sure not fun."
I'm not someone who likes strangers talking to me on the street. Growing up in Toronto I learned pretty quickly that talking to people on the streets was something only the craziest of the crazy did. To say hello to a stranger was an invitation to abduction or assault. But for some reason I found these acknowledgements comforting. It's like we were saying, "I know what you're going through. I'm going through it too, and we're going to be alright."
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wassail, wassail all over the town
With the rush of Christmas now over and the rush of New Year's just beinging I thought I'd take a few minutes to give a quick update to whoever still reads this blog.
Christmas was quite low key, but also enjoyable, this year. My in-laws came in on the 23rd, but stayed with my brother-in-law and his wife. So, they'd come over here or we'd go over there. There wasn't too much planned, captial-e events. Pretty laidback all in all.
I must admit that I do miss family movies that has been a Christmas tradition until this past year. Whenever we'd go to Saskatoon or they'd stay with us ofr Christmas, we'd rent a pile of classic and not-so-classic films to watch. When people are sleeping at another house and have to drive across town, they aren't as keen on staying up and watching movies. We did go to a movie, but finding something in the theatres that everyone wants to see is hard. In fact, we split into two groups when we went. Rachel and her mom went to Doubt; everyone else went to Quantum of Solace. For some reason it's easier to agree on older movies.
Oliver proved that he can handle company quite well. While there are still bursts of puppy-excitment, he's become a mellow, easy-going dog. Christmas was our testing ground for seeing how he coped with having people over now that he's a little older, and he passed. Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Well, it looks like the deep freeze we've been experiencing here in Winnipeg will be with until Christmas. I must admit, the four half-hour-to-hour long walks a day have turned my feet into perpetually frozed blocks of ice. They only begin to thaw before it time to go out in the cold once more.Instead of posting a brand new Christmas blog that in all likelihood wouldn't be that good, I thought, why not post a retro Christmas blog? Here's one from way back in 2006. It was a simpler time, a time of innocence and magic.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Hangin' my stockin' I can hear you knockin': Zat you, Santa Claus?
After doing this blog for four years, it's hard to remember what I have and haven't written about. I'm pretty sure that in Christmases past I've listed my favourite Christmas songs; last year, I detailed Christmas in the Netherlands with St. Nicholas and Black Peter...but I don' think I've ever listed some of my favourite holiday movies. So that's what I'm going to do this year. These are, in no particular order films I try to watch every holiday season. Some will be the classics that appear on everyone's list, some will be hidden treasure that you've never heard of before.
1) Miracle of Morgan's Creek (1944) I love Preston Sturges movies and The Lady Eve might just be the best comedy ever made. Miracle is a great holiday movie because it's so wonderfully, shockingly subversive! It's about a girl, Trudy Kockenlocker (how did that name get by the censors?), who goes to a GI dance with her friend, Norval Jones. Well, Trudy has such a good time that she winds up married and pregnant... but has no idea who the father might be. Norval steps up and tries to do the right thing. It all comes to a head at Christmas ... a fitting time for a young girl who's been unexpectedly knocked up to deliver her "miracle" child.
2) It's a Wonderful Life (1946) This classic film deserves every iota of praise. A truly inspired reinterpretation of Dickens' A Christmas Carol with George Bailey, a good and honest man who has placed the interests of others ahead of himself, believing that his life has been misspent. This film reveals the fragility of life - suggesting that one person could make the difference between a whole community's happiness/success and misery. This is my advisor's favourite movie of all time, and the fact that he lost a job at a prestigious American university because he unrelentingly defended this film when someone's wife dismissed it as sentimental nonsense makes me proud.
3) Scrooge (aka A Christmas Carol) (1951) Many versions of Dickens' ghost story of Yuletide redemption have been made over the years, but this is the definitive. Anyone who tells you otherwise is an absolute moron. I feel as deeply and passionately about this film as any other. I usually watch it three or four times a year and can recite most of the dialogue from memory. One of the great joys and proudest moments of my dissertation has been working this film into a highly praised chapter on Dickens adaptations.
4 & 5) About a Boy (2002) and Love Actually (2003) I can't imagine there are many other people with two Hugh Grant films on their must-see holiday lists, but both of these films are great Christmas movies. In About a Boy Grant's character is haunted by his father's very popular, but ultimately innocuous Christmas song, "Santa's Super Sleigh". All but rejecting the holiday, he holes himself up in his apartment watching Frankenstein until he learns that family can be about a community you choose. In Love Actually Grant is one of a dozen or so actors whose intertwined stories portray the highs and lows of the holiday season.
6) Santa Claus (1954) I'm pretty sure I could only ever sit through the "Mystery Science Theatre 3000" version of this piece of Mexican yule-poo (that's for you, Kyler). I recently inflicted this on some friends... and I'm not sure they'll ever forgive me. Basic premise: Santa and his multinational child labourers battle the devil, Pitch, who tries to convince children to steal, vandalize and be naughty. You read that right. Santa fights the devil. I'm sure it's going for "quaint," but it hits "creepy" nearly every single time. Particularly disturbing are the giant toy reindeer that pull Santa's sleigh, Pitch's Busby Berkleyesque dancing, and most of Santa's facial expressions.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
When I sang a song about a honky-tonk... it was time to leave
The other morningI realized how much my life has changed: I reached into my jackey pocket for my house keys. I produced the said keys, an unused pooped bag and a handful of loose kibbel. As Dave has commented, I might as well change the focus of this blog to my dog.
On another, non-Oliver, note, I've just finished reading Ron Hansen's fantastic novel Exiles, which tells of English poet Gerard Manley Hopkins's attempt to honour the memories of five German nuns who died when The Deutschland sank off the coast of England in 1875. Hansen weaves the stories of the nuns, who were leaving Germany following the Falk laws and Bismarck's persecution of Catholics, and Hopkins, whose conversion to Catholicism and membership in the Society of Jesus isolated him from his Oxford tutors, his friends and his family and whose poetic experiments (Hopkins is called the most modern Victorian poet and the most Victorian modern poet) isolated him from the literary world.
On another, non-Oliver, note, I've just finished reading Ron Hansen's fantastic novel Exiles, which tells of English poet Gerard Manley Hopkins's attempt to honour the memories of five German nuns who died when The Deutschland sank off the coast of England in 1875. Hansen weaves the stories of the nuns, who were leaving Germany following the Falk laws and Bismarck's persecution of Catholics, and Hopkins, whose conversion to Catholicism and membership in the Society of Jesus isolated him from his Oxford tutors, his friends and his family and whose poetic experiments (Hopkins is called the most modern Victorian poet and the most Victorian modern poet) isolated him from the literary world.
Monday, November 24, 2008
And I replied, "Oh why ask me?!
A few posts back, I mentioned that a former student of mine, Brad Toews died and that I would write more at a later date. There have been no fewer than 15 attempts. Everytime I sit down to write something I find myself at a loss: Brad was popular, funny, the life of the party... and Brad took his own life. I will never be able to wrap my mind around that.
Brad started taking classes with me last September. It was a 3 hour evening class - Major English Authors - on Monday nights. On the afternoon of the final exam, he came up and told me how much he liked my class and how he'd decided to stick around for another semester and was interested in the other courses I was offering.
Brad took both my second semester courses, including 18th century literature where he was one of four students. I got to know him pretty well (or so I thought). He was thoughtful, he tried, he was funny, very funny. Humour carries a lot of weight with me.
In trying to come up with a good Brad story, my mind races: there was the ever-present Giants hat, T-shirt (even in the middle of winter), and his smile; there was his arrival for each of our 8:30 classes with a bowl of cereal, an apple and his books; there were his stories about picking up hitchhikers; there was the time he ran back to dorm at the beginning of class to wake up another student who’d been having alarm clock issues. But my favourite Brad story, and the one I’d like to share, might not seem like that big a deal to some of you, but means the world to me, particularly now.
As some of you know, Providence College is a Christian school and the faculty are encouraged to pray at the start of each class. And, I’ll be honest, I’m terrible at it. Not that I don’t like or value prayer; I’m just not comfortable with spontaneously praying out loud. I asked my class if we could share the responsibility. At the start of each class, I’d ask for a volunteer to pray. More often than not, if no one else offered, Brad would throw up his hand, remove his hat and offer a simple, heartfelt blessing on the class that usually began, "Hey God." I hardly ever had to pray! I knew that if no one else offered, I could count on Brad to let me off the hook.
On the Thursday before Brad’s funeral, I got a call from Gerald Dyck of the Westside Community Church: Brad’s family wanted me to pray for hope for the future at his interment. There’s no way they could have appreciated the extra layer of irony, but I know Brad would have appreciated it. And though preparing that one prayer was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, I was honoured to be on the hook.
Brad started taking classes with me last September. It was a 3 hour evening class - Major English Authors - on Monday nights. On the afternoon of the final exam, he came up and told me how much he liked my class and how he'd decided to stick around for another semester and was interested in the other courses I was offering.
Brad took both my second semester courses, including 18th century literature where he was one of four students. I got to know him pretty well (or so I thought). He was thoughtful, he tried, he was funny, very funny. Humour carries a lot of weight with me.
In trying to come up with a good Brad story, my mind races: there was the ever-present Giants hat, T-shirt (even in the middle of winter), and his smile; there was his arrival for each of our 8:30 classes with a bowl of cereal, an apple and his books; there were his stories about picking up hitchhikers; there was the time he ran back to dorm at the beginning of class to wake up another student who’d been having alarm clock issues. But my favourite Brad story, and the one I’d like to share, might not seem like that big a deal to some of you, but means the world to me, particularly now.
As some of you know, Providence College is a Christian school and the faculty are encouraged to pray at the start of each class. And, I’ll be honest, I’m terrible at it. Not that I don’t like or value prayer; I’m just not comfortable with spontaneously praying out loud. I asked my class if we could share the responsibility. At the start of each class, I’d ask for a volunteer to pray. More often than not, if no one else offered, Brad would throw up his hand, remove his hat and offer a simple, heartfelt blessing on the class that usually began, "Hey God." I hardly ever had to pray! I knew that if no one else offered, I could count on Brad to let me off the hook.
On the Thursday before Brad’s funeral, I got a call from Gerald Dyck of the Westside Community Church: Brad’s family wanted me to pray for hope for the future at his interment. There’s no way they could have appreciated the extra layer of irony, but I know Brad would have appreciated it. And though preparing that one prayer was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, I was honoured to be on the hook.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Let it snow
We got some sad news this week: one of Rachel's uncles - Gerry Peters - died. I really like all Rachel's family, but Gerry has a special place in my heart. When Rachel and I first started dating, way back in the mid ninties, Gerry took on the role of protective father-figure as Rachel's dad was in Newfoundland. Gerry and his wife Sylvia were always very hospitable to me, and I'm very sorry he's gone.
Two of Gerry's daughter live in Winnipeg with their families and, as we couldn't make it back to K/W for the funeral, we offered to dog-sit for one of the daughters. So, for the past few days, Oliver has a playmate, Mortimer. They've been getting along famously.
Here we are playing in our backyard.
Two of Gerry's daughter live in Winnipeg with their families and, as we couldn't make it back to K/W for the funeral, we offered to dog-sit for one of the daughters. So, for the past few days, Oliver has a playmate, Mortimer. They've been getting along famously.
Here we are playing in our backyard.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Since I don't have you
So, I'm going through a little separation anxiety.
We took Oliver to the vet for his final booster shots. These will allow him to be able to take obediance training and go to dog parks. While there, the vet had a look at his one cracked tooth (a baby canine) and was worried that it could get infected and damage the adult canine. So, he stayed over night and is getting 1) a tooth removed, 2) neutered and 3) microchipped. We weren't expecting to leave him and the vet is the other end of the city, so we went to a nearby Pet store and bought him dinner and a thrift store for a bowl. When we told the clerk what we were doing, she gave us a huge bag of various treats for him. We took him to a park and walked, ate and brought him back to the vet's.
On our way home and over dinner, we frantically made a list of every minor house project we need to do and can finish before he comes back. I re-sealed the bathroom floor tiles last night and Rachel will be weatherstripping our sunroom this afternoon. We'll likely weatherstrip one of our doors too. But I suppose all these projects are to avoid missing Oliver. Last night I woke up three times to take him outside to pee.
Also, it turns out that Oliver (who is now 22 lbs!) is actually YOUNGER than we thought. We believed he was coming up on five months, but he hasn't lost his insiscors, which happens like clockwork at 4 months. SO, the adult weight of 25-30 lbs is out the window. We have no idea how big he'll get (though the vet doubted over 100 lbs).
We took Oliver to the vet for his final booster shots. These will allow him to be able to take obediance training and go to dog parks. While there, the vet had a look at his one cracked tooth (a baby canine) and was worried that it could get infected and damage the adult canine. So, he stayed over night and is getting 1) a tooth removed, 2) neutered and 3) microchipped. We weren't expecting to leave him and the vet is the other end of the city, so we went to a nearby Pet store and bought him dinner and a thrift store for a bowl. When we told the clerk what we were doing, she gave us a huge bag of various treats for him. We took him to a park and walked, ate and brought him back to the vet's.
On our way home and over dinner, we frantically made a list of every minor house project we need to do and can finish before he comes back. I re-sealed the bathroom floor tiles last night and Rachel will be weatherstripping our sunroom this afternoon. We'll likely weatherstrip one of our doors too. But I suppose all these projects are to avoid missing Oliver. Last night I woke up three times to take him outside to pee.
Also, it turns out that Oliver (who is now 22 lbs!) is actually YOUNGER than we thought. We believed he was coming up on five months, but he hasn't lost his insiscors, which happens like clockwork at 4 months. SO, the adult weight of 25-30 lbs is out the window. We have no idea how big he'll get (though the vet doubted over 100 lbs).
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Oliver! Oliver! Never before has a boy wanted more!
This is Oliver. He's come to live with us.
I know I haven't written in over a month, and so much has happened - some good, like Oliver; some... very, very bad, like the unexpected and terrible death of a former student. I'll need to write about Brad soon, but the grief is still too fresh. So I thought I'd return to the world of blog by introducing our new puppy to you.
Oliver's early story is, like his Dickensian namesake, one of hardship: he was found by a farmer near Crystal City. The farmer thought he was a gopher and was about to run him over with his truck when he realized it was a skin-and-bone 3 pound puppy. The farmer took him to a local vet, who looked after him for a little while before turning him over to our friend Erin, a pastor and animal lover who lives in Crystal City. Erin's known for rescuing things and, as she was also in the process of rescuing another dog, asked if we could take little Oliver.
The first thing people say when they meet Oliver is, "He's beautiful. What is he?" Well, we know he's beautiful, but we have no idea what he is. The vets (the one around Crystal City and our new local vet) both say Terrier cross. There maybe some lab in there and who knows what else. Maybe some bassett hound (his front legs bow a little).
Some people insist he's going to be huge, but the vets and pet store employees all figure 25-30 pounds. He's growing quickly and it's been really interesting watching him become accustomed to his new home. He does not, for example, like to walk. I have to carry him down the street and he'll walk home. I think it's fear that he's not coming back.
I'm sure it's even more amusing watching us become accustomed to him. We have his "diaper bag," poop bag dispensers, tags, toys. We take him with us most places, because he's crate trained (he LOVES his crate) and too young to leave for a long period of time without an accident.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Left me standing all alone
Well, the Fringe is over. It was an excellent fringe this year. The quality of shows is quite high. The only show I didn't really like was still quite good - the humour was a little too frat-boy for my ultra-sophiscated tastes (that's sarcasm, by the way). Since I last posted I saw a few more excellent shows: "Singing At the Edge of the World", "Manners for Men" and Gemma Wilcox's amazing "Shadows in Bloom." I'd never seen Wilcox before but she was fantastic, slipping in and out of various characters. A number of performers enact several characters in their shows, but few have Wilcox's flexibity and attention to detail.
I had a few ideas for possible Fringe shows. A couple of people have suggested I consider writing/performing something one year... but we'll see. Ideas aren't the same as fully realized scripts.
With the end of the Fringe, it's time for the move. We take possession of the house on Thursday and start the annoying moving process whenever we get the keys. People (friends, Romans and countrymen) have offered to move the majority of our stuff (minus the furniture) on Saturday.
And the next Monday, before we've even had a chance to unpack, I teach an intensive all-day, five-day-a-week course.
I had a few ideas for possible Fringe shows. A couple of people have suggested I consider writing/performing something one year... but we'll see. Ideas aren't the same as fully realized scripts.
With the end of the Fringe, it's time for the move. We take possession of the house on Thursday and start the annoying moving process whenever we get the keys. People (friends, Romans and countrymen) have offered to move the majority of our stuff (minus the furniture) on Saturday.
And the next Monday, before we've even had a chance to unpack, I teach an intensive all-day, five-day-a-week course.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Lunatic Fringe / I know you're out there
My favourite of the Winnipeg summer festivals (IOW the various events they put on to make up for the horrible winter) is the Fringe Festival. Some people prefer Folk Fest with its man-skirts, wannabe hippies, and mini-lawn chairs, but I'm a Fringe guy. I like theatre.
As most years, I've seen a pretty wide variety of shows, everything from serious "plays" to experimental spoken word. And, like most years, some things are good, some things... aren't. That's the beauty of the Fringe.
One play I saw yesterday - Kier Cutler's "Teaching the Fringe" - got me thinking about the Fringe in particular and theatre and society in general. Cutler is a regular Fringe performer, one of the handful of actors referred to by those annoying patrons who insist on wearing threadbare ghosts-of-Fringe-past t-shirts as a "Fringe god." Last year, when he was staging the last of his Teaching trilogy (Teaching Shakespeare, Detroit, and As You Like it), one Winnipeg audience member was so offended by what she (bizarrely!) interpreted as Cutler's attempt to 1) instruct would-be predators how to seduce young girls and 2) legitimize teacher-student relationship that she wrote a three page letter to the Fringe organizer and reported Cutler to Child-Find Manitoba. Cutler's response? Teaching the Fringe.
Cutler uses the letter as the anchor for his first autobiographical show, but more than just responding to the ludicirous charges, Cutler talks about audiences and audience behaviour. He recounts some of his more extreme N.A.M.E.s (negative audience memebr experiences), but there was the under-lying message audiences are largely unaware of their role in theatre. And it was this part of the show that resonated with me. As I thought more about it, I realized that audiences are getting worse and worse.
In the show right before Cutler's show, "Mr Fox," a cell phone went off four times. Same lady, same cell phone. Seriously. Once is irresponsible enough, but to leave it on and have it ring three more times is beyond stupid. If you're unable to master the subtle art of flicking the off button on your little Razor or Motorola, maybe you shouldn't have a cellphone. This woman eventually left, but like a typical Canadian apologised as she left. But she was just an extreme example of a larger problem of audience memebers. I have yet to see a Fringe show this year that wasn't interupted by a cellphone. The Fringe orgainzers play a recording of one the local CBC guys reminding people, "for respect to the artists," to turn off their cellphones and yet people must sit their and think, "That reminder must apply to everyone but me."
Maybe this the problem Cutler is talking about: an increasing believe in society that the rules apply to other people. I saw a woman get furious with Fringe volunteers because they wouldn't let her go into a show she was late for. The doors were closed, there are countless signs around stating, "No late comers," but apparently that didn't matter because she was "from out-of-town."
As most years, I've seen a pretty wide variety of shows, everything from serious "plays" to experimental spoken word. And, like most years, some things are good, some things... aren't. That's the beauty of the Fringe.
One play I saw yesterday - Kier Cutler's "Teaching the Fringe" - got me thinking about the Fringe in particular and theatre and society in general. Cutler is a regular Fringe performer, one of the handful of actors referred to by those annoying patrons who insist on wearing threadbare ghosts-of-Fringe-past t-shirts as a "Fringe god." Last year, when he was staging the last of his Teaching trilogy (Teaching Shakespeare, Detroit, and As You Like it), one Winnipeg audience member was so offended by what she (bizarrely!) interpreted as Cutler's attempt to 1) instruct would-be predators how to seduce young girls and 2) legitimize teacher-student relationship that she wrote a three page letter to the Fringe organizer and reported Cutler to Child-Find Manitoba. Cutler's response? Teaching the Fringe.
Cutler uses the letter as the anchor for his first autobiographical show, but more than just responding to the ludicirous charges, Cutler talks about audiences and audience behaviour. He recounts some of his more extreme N.A.M.E.s (negative audience memebr experiences), but there was the under-lying message audiences are largely unaware of their role in theatre. And it was this part of the show that resonated with me. As I thought more about it, I realized that audiences are getting worse and worse.
In the show right before Cutler's show, "Mr Fox," a cell phone went off four times. Same lady, same cell phone. Seriously. Once is irresponsible enough, but to leave it on and have it ring three more times is beyond stupid. If you're unable to master the subtle art of flicking the off button on your little Razor or Motorola, maybe you shouldn't have a cellphone. This woman eventually left, but like a typical Canadian apologised as she left. But she was just an extreme example of a larger problem of audience memebers. I have yet to see a Fringe show this year that wasn't interupted by a cellphone. The Fringe orgainzers play a recording of one the local CBC guys reminding people, "for respect to the artists," to turn off their cellphones and yet people must sit their and think, "That reminder must apply to everyone but me."
Maybe this the problem Cutler is talking about: an increasing believe in society that the rules apply to other people. I saw a woman get furious with Fringe volunteers because they wouldn't let her go into a show she was late for. The doors were closed, there are countless signs around stating, "No late comers," but apparently that didn't matter because she was "from out-of-town."
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
One, two, three, four
So, Feist is going to be on Sesame Street with a revamped version of her ridiculously catchy, "One, Two, Three, Four." Instead of being about annoying love, the new version is about counting to four. She counts monsters, penguins, all sorts of things. Here's the video evidence.
Sesame Street claims that Feist's appearance is the first step in an attempt to focus this season (the 39th, btw)on counting and spelling. And I ask, what else has Sesame Street being focusing on?
Sesame Street claims that Feist's appearance is the first step in an attempt to focus this season (the 39th, btw)on counting and spelling. And I ask, what else has Sesame Street being focusing on?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Feeling sensations that you thought was dead...
I haven't really had a lot of time to write anything in the last few weeks. My wife and I just bought a house and the possession date is ridiculously close, like the end of the month. So most of my "spare" time has been spent getting ready for the move: getting help, packing, figuring out the joys of home-ownership. We're having a yardsale this weekend to get rid of bunch of stuff too. There's nothing I like better than selling off stuff, particularly early on a Saturday morning!
It's a lovely little house and we're happy, or at least we will be once our heads stop spinning.
Anyway, that's the reason for the radio-silence.
As you were.
It's a lovely little house and we're happy, or at least we will be once our heads stop spinning.
Anyway, that's the reason for the radio-silence.
As you were.
Monday, June 23, 2008
George Carlin, 1937-2008
I first discovered George Carlin in the mid 1980s when my friend Shawn and I started buying comedy cassettes and lps. I picked up his seminal Class Clown, which is famous for his routine "Seven Words You Can't Say on Television"; however that routine, for which Carlin was arrested and tried for obscentiy - overshadowed the astute political and cultural criticisms as well as the smaller, more personal observations like the musicalness of boxer Muhammed Ali's name. Profanity aside, in his early work Carlin came across as a laid back hippy, who is as amused with himself as the rest of the world.
As time went on, Carlin's onstage persona morphed to the angry old man, with no time for the but that sharp political criticism and deconstruction of society remained. He
Warning: Adult language and adult ideas...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)