Penumbra

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, a novel by Robin Sloan, is (to date) the geekiest book I’ve ever read.  The fact that it is even a book, with pages and print, and has front-cover art and blurbs full of praise on the back-cover seem to be against everything the actual content espouses.  About 42 pages into the book (paperback), when the protagonist is accomplishing some small but impressive computer task, he actually says “If this sounds impressive to you, you’re over thirty.”  The fact that he actually says this made me take the time to feel slightly insulted but thereafter he pretty much has it right.  Luckily the book lends reverence and relevance to both camps; that is, actual books and all the stuff that seems to be running amok at Google.  The fact that both kinds of research complements the other might be a stretch because it seems to me the printed page in real life; I mean printed on real paper bound between two covers, just might be an art form on its last legs.  Nonetheless, I liked the book.  And I’m way over thirty.

Soccer, to me...

In a couple of hours I will turn my attention to the World Cup and watch the Americans play their game against Portugal.  This year I have tried to educate myself a little bit more about the game itself but having a hard go of it since I’m basically not all that interested.  It’s only USA, USA patriotism that has me interested and if the American team does not advance I will probably drop the whole effort like the lukewarm rock it is for me.  I know that futbal is the most popular sport in the world by far; but my beginnings, and now my endings (obviously), do/did not include it.  Growing up in a small mid-San Joaquin Valley town in California I don’t think I ever even saw a soccer ball, much less kicked one around.  It was not a participatory option in the schools I attended, from grammar school right through college.  So I think I can be forgiven for being an outsider, even after all this time.  Also, it seems like for at least the last 30 years soccer has been touted as the next big thing in U.S sports but, hey, it just never happens.  Unless the American men can reach the professional level of other countries we are still not ready.

After consulting with a soccer aficionado I now understand "stoppage time" but that doesn't mean I have to like it.  It's definitely a Say What? rule for me.  Every sport I've ever played (or observed, for that matter) everybody knows how much time is left in the game and play is adjusted accordingly.  In soccer nobody knows except one referee and it looks to me like even he isn't sure.  Say what?

And another thing, just like other “American” sports now, most teams are so multinational you really do need a scorecard, if not a translator on name pronunciation.  What we need is an influx of foreign talent on a par with what’s going on in hockey and basketball and baseball.  Then maybe soccer can reach some level of sustainable interest beyond a World Cup every four years.

All that glisters...

At the risk of encouraging a trend I'm denying this blog entry every happened:

A couple of weeks ago I joined a friend of mine for coffee and a cronut on DeKalb Ave. in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn.  Afterwards, just as we were parting company, we heard some sniggering from passersby who were looking back as they passed.  I like a good snigger so I looked that way myself and saw splashes of gold paint on the sidewalk.  Upon closer inspection it proved to be dog turds that had been spray-painted gold.  My companion was familiar with the phenomenon and it turns out there is some dude in Bushwick who has, over a span of months, made this his contribution to the world of artistic creativity (canine-inspired division).  Right now he is the Bansky of the dog shit world and thus unidentified because he does his doo doo work in the wee hours of the night.  Upon further investigation it has come to light that he is only now appearing on the radar of the hip and with-it because there is now a rip-off dude who is also doing the deed, except with gold glitter spray-paint.  Why this blog is not really happening is that I don’t want it to go any further.  There are too many copycats out there and there are too many different colors of spray paint available.  But wait, thinking on it, maybe the coolest “art” would be to spray it brown.  Now that would be a statement.

Anyway, you didn’t hear any of this from me.

Dead LeBron

I like the comedian Louie C.K. and his television show “Louie” so I watch it on a regular basis.  The other night, Louie and some of his regular cast members got caught up in the approach and impact of a major hurricane.  Complications ensued; some of it funny but some scary stuff too because of the reality of Hurricane Sandy and that was, like, yesterday.  This is not, however, why I’m mentioning the show.  Here’s why:  During the course of this episode there were interruptions with weather bulletins about the hurricane.  The one that tickled the hell out of me was this straight-faced report:

“Hurricane Jasmine-Forsythe has claimed the life of LeBron James of the Miami Heat. Mr. James was swept away by the storm surge that destroyed 90% of the Florida Peninsula. Once again, we’re reporting the death of LeBron James, the rest of the Miami Heat, and 12 million other people.”

It is, of course, an around-the-bend comment on how skewed our news reporting is and what the media thinks is important in the hero-worshipping and celebrity-enthronement environment in which we live.  And naming the hurricane “Jasmine-Forsythe” made it just that much more weird and quirky.  Insert guffaw here.

Casa Valentina

I have to admit that Harvey Fierstein is some sort of theatrical genius and, to boot, he has been out and proud for a hell of a long time.  The majority of his projects (but not all) have been gay-themed and he has reaped the rewards for going mainstream both as a playwright and as an actor.  Within the theatrical community in New York you might call him “beloved” since he makes a huge amount of money for the people who back his projects, both gay and straight.  He has used this power to benefit LGBT rights and does his best to right gay wrongs when and where he perceives them.  His voice is gravelly and loud and he can be heard from miles away, both literally and figuratively (and creatively).

Ostensibly his new Broadway play, Casa Valentina, is not “gay-themed,” but if you agree with that you’ve got your brain up the wrong pair of underwear.  Admittedly, there are no gay characters in CV (well, maybe at least one) but that doesn’t make it not a gay-themed play.  Does that make any sense?  The timeframe of the play is the early 60’s and the setting is a resort in the Catskills (New York) where a group of cross-dressing heterosexual men seek the freedom of living and, yes, breathing that particular personal fresh air in an atmosphere in which they can feel safe (and uninhibited).  The concept of this play is based on historical fact.

Two things make this a gay-themed play.  One is that the serpent in this “safe” garden is the fact that 97% (that might be a made-up number but it has to be close to the truth) of the world thinks men who dress as women are homosexual, but the men depicted in the play hate that and some of them are actually, and factually, homophobic.  Secondly, being a play written by Harvey Fierstein, there are innumerable and sometimes hilarious “gay” zingers delivered campily (is that a word?) in grand, drag-queen RuPaul-worthy style.  Fierstein even has the audacity to make one of his characters an aficionado of Oscar Wilde so he not only gets in his own time-honored zingers but he gets to quote Oscar’s.  So we get a double-whammy of flamboyant gay (and sometimes vicious) cleverness.

I think it was probably a choice the playwright and the director had to make as to just how feminine these men would be portrayed (including a lip-synched and nicely choreographed amateur musical number in the second act) as opposed to essentially masculine men who don’t change their basic behavior but are just dressed in women’s clothes.  I mean, did these men go to this resort to dress as women and relax or did they turn into drag queens as opposed to just being basic transvestites?  This question is not answered, at least to my satisfaction.

Most of the actors (all rumored to be straight) are really good at disappearing into their feminine roles; but a couple were obviously uncomfortable and, therefore, I think they failed in supporting what the play intended.  But, hey, it was fascinating to see how these theatrical veterans coped with what they were given.  Their bravery is admirable.  The two women in the play are merely bland foils to the men (presumably as directed) but also it seemed to me that neither actress really had any insight as to what drove their character’s, well, character.

The climatic ending struck a nicely ambiguous note, leaving the audience wondering what happens next.  At first I objected to this and felt a bit snookered but then, upon further reflection, I’ve decided that’s how it should be.  We don’t need to have the play “wrapped-up” and presented to us like a present.  Overall, I think Casa Valentina needs some judicious editing, especially in the middle of the first act, and I wonder if Mr. Fierstein just couldn’t bring himself to cut some of those campy, and admittedly delicious, drag-queen zingers.