Emotional Reactions to Art

I originally was going to do a posting giving my reviews of the plays I had seen while at vacation at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, but sometimes things do not go the way planned.  I have spent the last couple days trying to digest something I had witnessed, and realized that I had to write down my thoughts.

They say art is something that provokes a reaction in you.  Could be good, could not.  And I saw two instances of this from the same play.  And it is because of this my mind has been lost in thought.

On Saturday afternoon, I went, by myself, to see the play 'The Language Archive', one of the more modern plays being preformed.  Written by Julia Cho, it's story is of a linguist who finds he cannot talk to his wife, an assistant who is willing to learn a new language to show her love for the linguist, and a couple who are two of the last speakers of their language.  It deals with how difficult it can be for people to truly communicate, in spite of all the different ways we can.

For the most part it was an enjoyable production.   The acting was top-notch, the directing excellent.  The only problem I had was that I felt the script itself was lacking in spots.  In particular a scene on a train and the epilogue.  I know they both were really needed, but they both just didn't seem to flow as well to me as the rest of the play was.  But the actors rose above this easily.  And in two spots, the performance hit me harder than I expected.

The first scene that knocked me for a loop was in the second act.  The research assistant, who has longed to become romantically involved with her partner, the lead male actor in the play, has been studying Esperanto specifically to tell him she loved him.  Since his wife has left him, she feels it is time to let him know, and for the first time in the play you can see her confidence and happiness soar.  But as she is racing to the lab to tell him how she feels, she runs past a newly opened bakery.  Enticed by the smells, she goes in...

And see's his wife baking.

She leaves and heads back to the lab.  She can still do it- she just doesn't have to let him know.  But when he appears, she tells him to go check the bakery out, without telling him why.  Even though she could have had all she has been looking for, she chose instead to due the right thing.  And you could see her very being dying because of it.  She gets no happy ending, instead she just... functions.

There are those of us who will never get the happy ending we so desire.  We must make do with what we are given.  Sure, there are chances, but the cost is too high.  Would I love a wife and children?  Yes- but the price I nearly paid for that dream would have most likely have taken everything.  Have I let go things I desired more than anything, because it was the right thing to do?  Yes, and I have felt like my being died as well.  But we still continue; we still... function.

The second scene...

The second scene has two parts to it; the lie told and the truth revealed.  Near the beginning of the play, when the main character and his wife are having a disagreement about being sad, she mentions that he has never cried.  And one example she brings up is when his grandmother died.  He brings up a plethora of reasons why he just didn't feel too bad when she passed:  she was old and ready to go, people die all the time, she was senile, and he wasn't too close to her.  He rationally explains it to his wife.  It is later when the structure of his life, his routine is torn from him that we get to know the real reason why:

It turns out his grandmother was the last speaker of a language, and she tried to teach him it.  Being a younger child, this (for him) unusual behavior scared him, and made him pull away, isolating her and letting the language die with her.

He realized it was the greatest mistake of his life.

Because of this major lapse in judgment, he ends up spending his life dedicated to cataloging and saving dying languages.  Saving dying ones and yet never developing properly his own ability to communicate.

So we have a man who, for all the wrong reasons, makes a HORRENDOUS choice that can never be taken back or forgiven, and as a result dedicates his life trying to rectify and atone for it?

Remind you of anyone you know?

Watching this revelation and it hitting me had the unintentional effect of putting me in a mood that is normally prevalent in me during the Christmas season:  moody, melancholy, quiet, and a bit dark.  For that, I apologize to my family who was with me that weekend.  I tried to shake it off, but that performance shook me to the core, even more so than the first scene.

So by the very definition I stated at the beginning of this post, this performance was art- at least to me.  While it didn't elicit happy emotions, emotions it DID invoke.  I have no intention of seeing this play again, once was enough.  But I will never forget it, flawed as I thought it was, because of how it connected with me.

And I thank it for that...

One Headlight: A Dissertation (or at least an attempt at it...)

"One Headlight"

So long ago, I don't remember when
That's when they say I lost my only friend
Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease
As I listened through the cemetery trees

I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn
The long broken arm of human law
Now it always seemed such a waste
She always had a pretty face
So I wondered how she hung around this place

[сhorus:]
Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me & Cinderella
We put it all together
We can drive it home
With one headlight

She said it's cold
It feels like Independence Day
And I can't break away from this parade
But there's got to be an opening
Somewhere here in front of me
Through this maze of ugliness and greed
And I seen the sun up ahead
At the county line bridge
Sayin' all there's good and nothingness is dead
We'll run until she's out of breath
She ran until there's nothin' left
She hit the end-it's just her window ledge

[chorus]

Well this place is old
It feels just like a beat up truck
I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn
Well it smells of cheap wine & cigarettes
This place is always such a mess
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn
I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
I think her death it must be killin' me

[chorus]

Confession time:  when this song first came out in 1996, I was not a big fan of it.  For the life of me I cannot remember exactly why this was.  Maybe being released when I was starting to lose interest in music radio has something to do with it.  But eventually it grew into being a personal favorite.

A couple weeks ago, I decided to go online and actually read the lyrics.  At first I was a bit upset to see that I might have heard and interpreted the song a bit differently than it had been meant to be.  But re-reading it I found I was most likely on the right path after all.  In general I don’t try to dig too deep into a song I like, but on occasion I must dig deeper, to make sense of one.  This is one of those times.

The main theme I perceive from this song is that of denial… and the guilt that ultimately tears through said denial.

The Narrator is talking (singing) about the death of someone he was close to.  I at first thought maybe it was a lover, but I began to realize it was more likely a relative, and most likely his mother.  ‘That's when they say I lost my only friend’ implies real closeness, and when coupled with the famous quote ’A boy’s best friend is his mother’ it becomes clearer.  (And I am not suggesting that Norman Bates is a credible source.  It just fits with my analysis.)  Some time in the past the Narrator decided that he didn’t want to be with her.  This act, this denial of her, led to her death, which I am guessing was suicide- most likely by an overdose of sleeping pills.  (‘Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease’ implies that while she killed herself, she did it in the least painful way she could.)

Now why did he leave her behind?  While nothing is explicitly stated, the impression you get is that he was not satisfied with the lifestyle they shared- which his mother evidently did. (‘There's got to be something better than in the middle’)  He wanted bigger and better things, and her hesitation/refusal/indifference led to him leaving her to get what he wanted.  She tried to reach out to him, to find the real him she knew was there behind the new persona he created, but was rebuffed at every turn.  (‘But there's got to be an opening/Somewhere here in front of me/Through this maze of ugliness and greed’)  And as he got farther away she became more despondent, and felt she lost against what he wanted; so she made her choice to not go on.  (‘She ran until there's nothin' left’).

This all comes to a head in the finale.  His mother is dead, and while he is not being blamed for it, at least officially (‘The long broken arm of human law’ implies that the legal system doesn’t implicate him), the Narrator is realizing the truth.  As he stands, alone in his childhood home with the ghosts of memory, his first wishes are to destroy it, to erase it from his mind.  (‘Well it smells of cheap wine & cigarettes/This place is always such a mess/Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn’).  But as he’s standing there, it fully dawns on him:  in his desire to become something he thought was better, he succeeded, but in doing so he lost everything that was REALLY important.  And with that revelation, he comes undone.  (‘But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams/I think her death it must be killin' me.)  We leave the tale right as this happens, when the guilt, the shame, the remorse flood in unchecked.  What happens next is unknown… but it makes for more interesting speculation.

Now this was the first real dissertation I have done on a song (‘Hello Cruel World’ I don’t feel counts), and I like to think I did pretty well with this.  But for all I know I could have gotten it completely backwards.  I am not the original writer of the song… just a fan.  Still, this was fun to do and hopefully fun for you to read.

Dear John: Talk Radio

Dear talk radio,

 It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter to you. I am afraid the magic is gone from our relationship. It started out innocently enough, 15 years ago. I had burned out of normal music- based radio and longed for something different. I had heard of Howard Stern before, but he was a TV show where I lived, not radio. Tapes were too bulky, CDs to easily scratched. I needed something to get me through my nights stocking shelves. And like a hero on a white stallion, you rode up to save me.

 It started out by finding out Loveline, which I had watched on MTV, was a daily radio show that was even more bizarre than the television show. So I started listening, laughing at Dr. Drew and Adam Corolla’s information given with pure snark. I was hooked. I needed more. I then found out that a local radio station replayed Tom Leykis’ show from midnight to 4 am. Also crude, crass, and cutting as all get out, he was a blast to listen to. My nights were productive and informative.

 Around the 2000 presidential race, I started to realize that Tom was just not doing it for me anymore. He had fallen into routine, and it quickly became stale for me. I decided to take a chance and listen to the local news station, 710 KIRO. There I was introduced to Bryan Suits, a very witty man who not only was incredibly knowledgeable, but also a man who was in the military, so he had views that I could relate too. I quickly became a fan. Local talk radio had the one thing missing from national shows: intimacy. I felt like a part of the show since I knew the issues affected the area I lived. From him I branched out to the overnight KIRO host, Lou Pate; a VERY snarky New Yorker living in the Northwest who knew exactly how to push the native’s buttons- even my own. I listened to other local shows, each with its own unique flavor to add to the time I was working: Mike Webb, Erin Hart, Brian Maloney, Dave Ross and Dori Monson. There were others, be they liberal, conservative, or anywhere in between. Music radio was a thing of the past. We were content… no, we were living in bliss.

 But dark clouds were forming…

 Throughout the aftermath of 9/11 I stayed. Throughout the Afghanistan war, I stayed. But as I stayed and things heated up with Iraq, I began to waver. The pure diversity was delightful, but soon sides were being chosen and I found both sides becoming shrill voices of their parties’ affiliations. I understand the need for debate in those times, but when one side blamed everything that went wrong up to erectile dysfunction on President Bush and the other wanted to deport anyone who dared criticize what was going on, I started to rethink things. Fortunately I still had Bryan Suits and Lou Pate to keep me entertained in, at least most of the time, non-partisan ways. But even that was doomed.

 Bryan Suits left KIRO in 2002 to go work with KVI, an all-conservative station. I followed him and tried listening to them, but only one viewpoint does not a good relation make. His unit was soon called to active duty and he left for a tour in Iraq. Lou Pate left KIRO soon afterwards and I had to start listening to music radio for some of the time. Mike Webb and Erin Hart became more and more extreme in their views and it became painful and sad to listen. Sure, ‘Blame Bush’ fired up the faithful, but he was not the sole reasons for our woes. And when Mike Webb started believing the 9/11 conspiracies, I knew it was time to cut back. KIRO at this time was also cutting down their local shows to a mere handful. I still stayed through the years as this happened, as I still felt love for you, but my choices were growing fewer and fewer. I tried Air America, but found the lack of local content off-putting, as well as the same near zealotry I saw in Webb and Hart. I tried again with KVI, but between the lack of quality in their dwindling local shows and the horrendous treatment they gave to Bryan Suits when he came back from active duty was a disgrace. Come to think of it, it was Suit’s treatment at KVI that really got me open my eyes to the reality of our relationship. Add to this Adam Corolla leaving Loveline and it became even more apparent… although I still hung on, out of familiarity more than anything else.

 I think the last straw finally came when the few local talk shows left stopped taking phone calls. That was one of the reasons I loved local talk radio, I could be a part of it if I chose too. No longer was it debate, it was sermons. Why be challenged on your beliefs and ideals if you didn’t have too. Why they stopped, I have no idea. Was it to play it safe? Budget reasons? I don’t know. I even tried to see if Loveline could stop the relationship’s disintegration, but alas, I can not even find it on my dial.

So talk radio, I tried to ignore it, tried to resist it, but it has become inevitable: I no longer care for you and really don’t like what you have become. I would like to say we could still be friends, but we moved past that point long ago. Now I must make do with my iPod filled with my entire music library for those days and nights on the road or cleaning or what have you. I may think of you some time, but understand, I can never go back.

 Sincerely, for the last time,



Mike in West Seattle

All Apologies

I feel I owe a few people an apology.

They see me at one of the coffee shops around where I (or we) live.  My friends come up and haven’t seen me in a while, so they want to chat.  And how do I react to this?  Distracted, a bit short, and possibly an overall sense that I do not want them around me.  They leave, maybe wondering why I might be mad at them, or at the very least that I am irritated by their presence.  It is for this I apologize, because you had the unfortunate luck to catch me in work mode.

There is reason I try to get out of my place when I feel creative.  I get WAY too distracted.  Video games to play, books to read, movies or shows to watch, TV Tropes to look up, the list of distractions goes on.  ( A side note:  TV Tropes is one of THE biggest time wasters I have ever known.)  So I force myself to vacate the premises.  I take my laptop, my notebook and head up to one of the above mentioned shops and begin to work.

When I am in the process of creating, I tend to focus all of my concentration on the task at hand.  I get in the zone, so to speak.  I keep any potential distractions to a minimum, so I don’t lose track of what I am doing.  Hours can fly by instantly when I get a full head of steam going.

And then someone, not knowing any better, interrupts that process…

I try to be responsive, engaging, but my mind is thinking of how to write the paragraph that describes EXACTLY what I am thinking that has eluded me- and that it is fading.  I don’t want to be impolite, but when I get this way, I am like a dog that sees a treat and cannot get to it because some person wants to pet you.  (Yes, Rusty, I should know better, but you are so darn cute.)  And I can’t bring myself to tell them because I feel it might be rude, but all the while I am acting even more discourteous.  And it gets worse, since after the friends who were talking to me leave, I cannot get back into the mode because I am disgusted by how I acted towards them.  So I pack up, head home, and try my damndest to avoid TV Tropes.  (I usually lose that battle…)

So Tony, Jay, Jerry, Sarah, Dad, Lois, and any others I have neglected to mention, I apologize for my behavior.  I hope you all know I am not angry with you, dislike you or am put off by you.  Please understand that sometimes it is so difficult for me to get into my zone.  And to lose it frustrates me to no end.  Thank you for considering me worthy enough to talk to and I shall try harder to not act like an asshole when this happens.

Glitch

Hello.

I like my mind.  It's reasonably intelligent, and (I'd like to think) pretty witty.  I seem to have really good recall abilities.  Books, movies, songs, what have you I can bring forth a title from a line or two, or vice versa.  But there is one area that I am terrible with my recall:  names.  I forget and confuse them constantly, and it is a source of embarrassment.

There are people I have known for years whose names I cannot recall.  It's even worse for those I just meet.  Hell, my name recall is so bad, I occasionally the names of my sister and one of my friends.  Do you know what it is like to call your best friend Drema and your sister Tina?  The looks I get.  I mean, it's not like Drema is a common name.  This also happens, to a far lesser extent, with the names of films (Wings of Mayonnaise, anyone?), but again, it is not as often.

I don't do it out of disrespect, it's just the way my brain glitches on me.  The only way I can cope is to just call everybody 'Buddy' or 'Boss'.  Sure, it makes me sound more personable, but it just bugs the hell outta me.  I should be better than this.  I do NOT like when my mind doesn't work properly, because it raises fears of what most likely lies ahead for me if I survive the myriad of physical ailments I have to look forward to in the next couple decades...

...

...and look, yet AGAIN I have gone down Depressing Avenue.  Lovely...

So anyways, it's like this:  I will try my best to remember your name, but please understand if I mess it up.  

I am trying, after all, Buddy.