What do you do when the meltdown is on the verge?
Dump a lot of water on it, try to plug the leaks, run like hell and don't look back.
Charlie Sheen is slightly less stable than the Fukushima Daiichi reactor. At least we know what's wrong with the reactor: an earthquake rattled the bejeebers out of it, cracked it in a couple of places, and ruined the controls. Now it's halfway out of control and emergency crews are dumping water on it as fast as they can, trying to cool it down to prevent a runaway Chernobyl repeat.
There isn't enough water in the world to shut down Charlie Sheen. He's irrationally convinced of his awesomeness, unresponsive to those trying to rein him in, and every once in a while he flares up and burns someone anew. Mostly by now he's burning only himself. But that's bad enough, I wouldn't wish ill on him.
His opening night was a disaster. Then somehow he dragged himself into some semblance of lucidity and delivered pretty well for a night or two. Now he's done New York and by all accounts the stopper was out and the water level dropping before he was halfway through. What's going wrong?
First of all, too much of the material he's delivering is old. You can't ask a crowd to pay money for a live act, then show them YouTube videos. Do that, and the hecklers are already primed and ready for action.
Second and worst, he's inconsistent. Up one day and down the next, and the ticket you bought is to a crapshoot. If you get Down Charlie, you're stuck with a lousy night and lost money. Well: consider it tuition on a lesson learned.
Charlie's biggest mistake is to try to make himself out to be a rebel. You can't pick that mantle up and put it on - it's either something you are, or it's something you aspire to be. You can't just choose to suddenly be one. And for the record, being a reckless, abusive, destructive customer/boyfriend/husband doesn't make you a rebel. No, that just makes you an asshole.
Sorry for the coarseness. There really aren't any better terms for it.
So Charlie's image is a falsehood, an ersatz rebel who manages to get away with general churlishness by having deep pockets to pay off the offended. As bad as that is, and it's pretty bad, I can't see why anyone would want to give money up to see that offender live and in person. I mean - if you want abuse, why not visit the jail? Those people are just as bad, and probably a lot funnier.
My greatest despair is to see the unrepentant spirit Charlie brings to his current status. He's cheerfully irrational - "friggin' rock star from Mars," indeed. He speaks ill of everyone he thinks may have crossed him, no matter how small the offense. His appreciation for the people around him is thin and superficial. He believes he's actually as good as he says he is, and can't understand when things go wrong. Whose fault must that be? Certainly not his. No, no - it could never be that.
Excellent things have come out of this clown factory - oh, and what a clown it is - Two and a Half Men may be off the air for good. That's good news for TV. I have plenty of things to write about, that's good news for me. And just maybe, this is the meltdown Charlie needs, the last descent that brings him to the point where he discovers that he isn't fabulous, he isn't winning, and he really needs some help.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Birthers Need to Get a Grip
Therer's a subset of the American population that are known as "birthers." To the point, they are the ones who adamantly call for the production of President Barack Obama's original birth certificate, and quickly fasten onto rumors of forgery and allusions to other certificates.
Let's address some of the facts. First, Obama has indeed made his birth certificate available. The state of Hawai'i won't release it to anyone without a tangible interest, but the fact of the specious controversy surrounding Obama's nationality made tangible interest pretty much universal for every American. So it's been studied by more than one individual, including those who can be regarded as neutral. Obama's attending OB-GYN, for instance.
Obama's family tree is a little confusing. His parents and grandparents are from quite literally all over. Africa, Indonesia, wherever. The man is a walking example of the Great American Melting Pot. Me, I'm fourth generation northern European. I'm from Minnesota, my parents are from Minnesota. My grandparents grew up there. Go further back though, and you find people living in Bavaria, Finland, Sweden. Obama's family are a little more recently from somewhere else, and so what? He's from Hawai'i, and Hawai'i was a state of the US nearly two years before Obama was born. In fact, they almost share birthdays - both came to the US in August.
Documents purporting to prove that Obama is actually a native of Somewhere Else have universally been proven false. He isn't native to Kenya, nor to Indonesia. Perhaps most damning to the birthers' theories are the little incidental details of Obama's birth.
Dig back through the archives of Hawai'i's newspapers and you find a teeny little mention of a son born to Mr. and Mrs. Barack Obama on August 4, 1961. And now here's the kicker, if you find a hard copy somewhere of the newspaper, one that somehow escaped lining the bird cage for fifty years, I reckon it'll still say the same thing. Nobody's dug into the official archives and paid a ton of money to get a line changed here or there.
So what's up with the birthers? Why the refusal to accept the reality?
I think it's for the same reason Democrats recounted the Florida vote so carefully back in 2000. They didn't want to lose. They didn't like the closeness of the vote and frankly some of the circumstances looked a little hinky: governor was kin to the Republican candidate, Dems were on a high note and how could it be so close? So there was some bitterness. Now Republicans were on a high note and God forbid we have to deal with Hillary in all this mess, certainly something about the guy can't be right - what's up with that family history? It all looks so iffy...and yet it isn't. Obama's as American as you, me, and the guy standing up to say the Pledge of Allegiance for the first time as an American citizen. Stepping up as a candidate for the Presidency is to throw your hat into the most awful of rings. There is no privacy as President. You can't scratch your butt without getting caught on camera. It's nigh-on impossible to get away with anything, and you can bet there's never going to be a way to close all the loopholes of your family history, if you're trying to cover something up. So you take the path of least resistance: the truth. Saying what's real. You do what you can to eliminate or simply sidestep the friction of being a candidate, and then President, so you can get on with the job of actually being President.
Silk boxers. That's all I'm saying.
The truth. That's all I'm saying. His birth certificate has been seen. Whether you heard about it or not, that's not my fault nor his - if you weren't listening or watching, then who's to blame? If you're not going to believe it until you get to actually lay hands on the birth certificate itself, please step up and shove your fingers into Jesus' side while you're at it, while I rustle up some name change forms for you. "Doubting Thomas," that has a ring to it...and hey, you're already at the public records office, so there's a trip you've saved.
It's one thing to be passionate about your beliefs, to be 100% behind your candidate. Well and good, and well you should. If you think your candidate is the right one for the job, back him. But to try to make him look better by tearing the other guy down, well, that's just lousy sport. Not that I'm saying there's anything sporting about the American political scene, I'm saying that if that's all you bring to the party then maybe your position wasn't so strong in the first place. If all you have in your favor are negative statements about the other guy, perhaps you'd do better as a journalist.
Donald Trump needs to step off his soapbox, because he's braying about facts that have already been verified - just not verified in the direction he wants. Further braying only makes him look more an ass than he already does - which ought to really raise the bar for the next guy.
This issue is so old its sell-by date is covered with the dust of years. To raise it again is to admit defeat before the battle's even joined.
If you don't like the President, say so. Just don't say he isn't American.
Let's address some of the facts. First, Obama has indeed made his birth certificate available. The state of Hawai'i won't release it to anyone without a tangible interest, but the fact of the specious controversy surrounding Obama's nationality made tangible interest pretty much universal for every American. So it's been studied by more than one individual, including those who can be regarded as neutral. Obama's attending OB-GYN, for instance.
Obama's family tree is a little confusing. His parents and grandparents are from quite literally all over. Africa, Indonesia, wherever. The man is a walking example of the Great American Melting Pot. Me, I'm fourth generation northern European. I'm from Minnesota, my parents are from Minnesota. My grandparents grew up there. Go further back though, and you find people living in Bavaria, Finland, Sweden. Obama's family are a little more recently from somewhere else, and so what? He's from Hawai'i, and Hawai'i was a state of the US nearly two years before Obama was born. In fact, they almost share birthdays - both came to the US in August.
Documents purporting to prove that Obama is actually a native of Somewhere Else have universally been proven false. He isn't native to Kenya, nor to Indonesia. Perhaps most damning to the birthers' theories are the little incidental details of Obama's birth.
Dig back through the archives of Hawai'i's newspapers and you find a teeny little mention of a son born to Mr. and Mrs. Barack Obama on August 4, 1961. And now here's the kicker, if you find a hard copy somewhere of the newspaper, one that somehow escaped lining the bird cage for fifty years, I reckon it'll still say the same thing. Nobody's dug into the official archives and paid a ton of money to get a line changed here or there.
So what's up with the birthers? Why the refusal to accept the reality?
I think it's for the same reason Democrats recounted the Florida vote so carefully back in 2000. They didn't want to lose. They didn't like the closeness of the vote and frankly some of the circumstances looked a little hinky: governor was kin to the Republican candidate, Dems were on a high note and how could it be so close? So there was some bitterness. Now Republicans were on a high note and God forbid we have to deal with Hillary in all this mess, certainly something about the guy can't be right - what's up with that family history? It all looks so iffy...and yet it isn't. Obama's as American as you, me, and the guy standing up to say the Pledge of Allegiance for the first time as an American citizen. Stepping up as a candidate for the Presidency is to throw your hat into the most awful of rings. There is no privacy as President. You can't scratch your butt without getting caught on camera. It's nigh-on impossible to get away with anything, and you can bet there's never going to be a way to close all the loopholes of your family history, if you're trying to cover something up. So you take the path of least resistance: the truth. Saying what's real. You do what you can to eliminate or simply sidestep the friction of being a candidate, and then President, so you can get on with the job of actually being President.
Silk boxers. That's all I'm saying.
The truth. That's all I'm saying. His birth certificate has been seen. Whether you heard about it or not, that's not my fault nor his - if you weren't listening or watching, then who's to blame? If you're not going to believe it until you get to actually lay hands on the birth certificate itself, please step up and shove your fingers into Jesus' side while you're at it, while I rustle up some name change forms for you. "Doubting Thomas," that has a ring to it...and hey, you're already at the public records office, so there's a trip you've saved.
It's one thing to be passionate about your beliefs, to be 100% behind your candidate. Well and good, and well you should. If you think your candidate is the right one for the job, back him. But to try to make him look better by tearing the other guy down, well, that's just lousy sport. Not that I'm saying there's anything sporting about the American political scene, I'm saying that if that's all you bring to the party then maybe your position wasn't so strong in the first place. If all you have in your favor are negative statements about the other guy, perhaps you'd do better as a journalist.
Donald Trump needs to step off his soapbox, because he's braying about facts that have already been verified - just not verified in the direction he wants. Further braying only makes him look more an ass than he already does - which ought to really raise the bar for the next guy.
This issue is so old its sell-by date is covered with the dust of years. To raise it again is to admit defeat before the battle's even joined.
If you don't like the President, say so. Just don't say he isn't American.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Terry Jones is a Fool - On Behalf of the United States, My Apologies to Afghanistan
Idiot.
Of all the stupid things to do, burning somebody's holy book is one of the dumbest. There are a few simple reasons:
1) If they're any kind of rational, the people whose holy text you've destroyed will simply pull another copy of the shelf. Problem solved. You've destroyed only one of millions, and even if you were to destroy them all, all you've done is burn a book. Big whoop - the book's message is already out there, and all you've done is made it more interesting. What's in there that you're so afraid of? Hmm, gotta check that out. Good job, Jones. You were trying to scare people away from the Quran, and instead you've caused a spike in sales.
2) The close-minded and easily incensed practitioners of that faith - those people like yourself, Jones - will FREAK THE HELL OUT and go all bugnuts, rioting and revolting and generally raising all kinds of ruckus. Witness the latest uproar in Afghanistan, where dozens are dead and hundreds wounded in the riots. Way to go, Jones - I thought you were supposed to be some kind of holy man, dedicated to peace? How did you get that job?
I don't hold with Islam. There are entirely too many radical factions associated with it for me to take it seriously. Do I think Islam is inherently bad? No, but neither do I think it is inherently good. There's something that makes such radical fundamentalism so easy, and so easily corrupted to become the repressive, oppressive driving force behind so many factions. I can't say whether that's an idealogical shortcoming, or a toxic combination of the faith and the culture where it's practiced. I'm not educated or smart enough to be able to figure all that out. And I'm not saying Christianity is without blame, or Judaism. If only there weren't all the pesky humans in the mix, lousing things up...
Well. Can't have that.
Everybody calm down. All he managed to do is burn a book. Islam isn't even lightly toasted by this halfwitted stunt.
Just because Jones has to be immature and xenophobic, doesn't mean everyone else has to react to it. Let him have his tantrum, but don't give him more attention than he deserves.
Of all the stupid things to do, burning somebody's holy book is one of the dumbest. There are a few simple reasons:
1) If they're any kind of rational, the people whose holy text you've destroyed will simply pull another copy of the shelf. Problem solved. You've destroyed only one of millions, and even if you were to destroy them all, all you've done is burn a book. Big whoop - the book's message is already out there, and all you've done is made it more interesting. What's in there that you're so afraid of? Hmm, gotta check that out. Good job, Jones. You were trying to scare people away from the Quran, and instead you've caused a spike in sales.
2) The close-minded and easily incensed practitioners of that faith - those people like yourself, Jones - will FREAK THE HELL OUT and go all bugnuts, rioting and revolting and generally raising all kinds of ruckus. Witness the latest uproar in Afghanistan, where dozens are dead and hundreds wounded in the riots. Way to go, Jones - I thought you were supposed to be some kind of holy man, dedicated to peace? How did you get that job?
I don't hold with Islam. There are entirely too many radical factions associated with it for me to take it seriously. Do I think Islam is inherently bad? No, but neither do I think it is inherently good. There's something that makes such radical fundamentalism so easy, and so easily corrupted to become the repressive, oppressive driving force behind so many factions. I can't say whether that's an idealogical shortcoming, or a toxic combination of the faith and the culture where it's practiced. I'm not educated or smart enough to be able to figure all that out. And I'm not saying Christianity is without blame, or Judaism. If only there weren't all the pesky humans in the mix, lousing things up...
Well. Can't have that.
Everybody calm down. All he managed to do is burn a book. Islam isn't even lightly toasted by this halfwitted stunt.
Just because Jones has to be immature and xenophobic, doesn't mean everyone else has to react to it. Let him have his tantrum, but don't give him more attention than he deserves.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Webcomics
I love comics. Lots of people love comics and lots of people love webcomics. I'm not unique in this regard, and in fact nothing I have to say at this juncture is really unique.
Webcomics are the latest iteration of the comic genre. As difficult as it can be to generate comics on a professional level, there are lots of people making comics that never get off the drawing board. They write, they draw, and they don't get seen. Large companies with large budgets and large expenses can't afford to generate comics for every little writer and artist out there. There has to be an audience big enough to push the sales past the break-even point. There has to be enough people willing to make the purchase to validate the production.
You can't easily afford to be edgy, to be marginal. You can't easily afford to not have a distinctive style or an unfamiliar plot.
What if some of those issues just go away? Take out the gigantic expensive printing press, remove the bulky logistical staff and sales teams, the offices and all that. What's left?
A writer. An artist. Both might be the same guy. Maybe you just have a couple of people, but it gets to be pretty basic pretty quickly. You get back to the core of the storytelling genre, one person with a story, telling it to the best of his/her ability.
Scott McCloud may be the Zen master of the comic art. His body of work, aside from his contribution to actual comic titles (I have all of Zot!, though some is in graphic novel form) is uniquely introspective. You don't see that many cartoonists that have made more of a splash talking about the craft of comics than they have as actual artists. McCloud's books, Making Comics, Understanding Comics, and Reinventing Comics are permanent residents on my bookshelf.
McCloud's take on the craft of comics is like that philosophical question defining intelligence and awareness - every creature thinks, but only the intelligent creatures think about what they're thinking about.
Don't spend a lot of time on that. I did once, and it started to make my head pound. Too much self-awareness makes you forget what you're doing.
So I have an indelible love of print comics, but even so I haven't missed the boat. Webcomics came on with a rush and I found a few that I thought were pretty interesting, but after a while you could feel the artist (or writer, whoever) losing direction or just losing interest. When it used to update every day, then three times a week, then Mondays and Fridays, you know someone is caring less. It'll be gone soon.
On the other hand, sometimes the pace quickens. Sinfest and Questionable Content both used to post less frequently than they do; Sinfest even posts new comics on Saturday and Sunday. Warning: both have occasionally coarse language. And frankly QC can sometimes be downright shocking. That said, it's also a hugely engaging story. I've been reading it since day one: 2003. There's over 1700 strips on the archive so if you want to catch up, don't plan on getting it all done in one sitting. You'll also note that the quality of the art is off the charts - at the beginning, QC's writer and artist Jeph Jacques was not a noteworthy cartoonist (in my opinion). But as you advance through the strips, there's a consistent, linear progression of art quality. As they say, practice makes perfect. If it never improved again from where it is now, I'd say that it was more than good enough.
Sinfest and QC follow distinct forms. Sinfest during the week is three or four frames like a daily newspaper comic. QC is four frames, very rarely there might be an extra. QC goes in a vertical progression, so it's both scroll wheel and up-down button friendly. Sinfest's Sunday iteration is a big, color spread like a Sunday paper comic, very nice. And before you get turned off by the name, Sinfest doesn't live up to its name - spiritual topics get some serious exploration, and it can be touchingly sentimental.
But the web is so much more than a sheet of paper. The comic I think that best exploits the potentially limitless canvas is the now defunct Framed! by Damonk. In the years since Framed! wrapped up, the support has gotten a little wonky, at least on my end. Your mileage may vary.
Perhaps the greatest thing the Internet has made available to comic creators is space. Bill Watterson said it when writing about creating Calvin and Hobbes that in the comics, space equals time. You get to draw out the perceived duration of a gag, an interaction between two characters, anything. Just putting some space between whatever is supposed to represent then and what becomes now implies a greater span of time between them. It's nothing we've been taught, but we've picked it up by reading comics. The psychology of visual communication is fascinating stuff, and nowhere does it come more into play in such a direct way than comics, when it becomes an integral part of the story.
Some artists can do a bang-up job of making a whole, quick little story out of a single panel. Bil Keane has done it for literally decades. Gary Larson made more people scratch their heads over fewer square inches of the funny pages than anyone else, ever. But when you have so much potential real estate to play with, why would you ever limit yourself in such fashion?
I don't know if Larson and Keane and any of the other single-panel artists ever made the conscious decision to pursue that format as a way to make sales. I imagine a single panel is an easier sell to a paper than a strip. But on the web, you're never limited to a panel. You're not even limited to a Sunday half-page layout. One of Damonk's strips was so big, I was reading the page for about five minutes, and mousing left, right, up and down - all over the page. The navigation itself became part of the story, and it was both brilliant and hilarious. Especially the bit with the snarky signpost.
So you'll see it in the news now and then that print news is suffering, that magazines are having trouble keeping readers, or finding new ones. They're right, they are. And for good reason - online is cheaper to do, quicker, easier. With the growing sales of iPads, smart phones and other portable devices, it's easy to take your online news sources with you, nearly as conveniently as the old print versions. And what of your favorite comics, the funny papers? Fear not.
They're already online, waiting for you. All your old favorites and so many more you've never even heard of. It's a beautiful world out there.
Let's go exploring!
Webcomics are the latest iteration of the comic genre. As difficult as it can be to generate comics on a professional level, there are lots of people making comics that never get off the drawing board. They write, they draw, and they don't get seen. Large companies with large budgets and large expenses can't afford to generate comics for every little writer and artist out there. There has to be an audience big enough to push the sales past the break-even point. There has to be enough people willing to make the purchase to validate the production.
You can't easily afford to be edgy, to be marginal. You can't easily afford to not have a distinctive style or an unfamiliar plot.
What if some of those issues just go away? Take out the gigantic expensive printing press, remove the bulky logistical staff and sales teams, the offices and all that. What's left?
A writer. An artist. Both might be the same guy. Maybe you just have a couple of people, but it gets to be pretty basic pretty quickly. You get back to the core of the storytelling genre, one person with a story, telling it to the best of his/her ability.
Scott McCloud may be the Zen master of the comic art. His body of work, aside from his contribution to actual comic titles (I have all of Zot!, though some is in graphic novel form) is uniquely introspective. You don't see that many cartoonists that have made more of a splash talking about the craft of comics than they have as actual artists. McCloud's books, Making Comics, Understanding Comics, and Reinventing Comics are permanent residents on my bookshelf.
McCloud's take on the craft of comics is like that philosophical question defining intelligence and awareness - every creature thinks, but only the intelligent creatures think about what they're thinking about.
Don't spend a lot of time on that. I did once, and it started to make my head pound. Too much self-awareness makes you forget what you're doing.
So I have an indelible love of print comics, but even so I haven't missed the boat. Webcomics came on with a rush and I found a few that I thought were pretty interesting, but after a while you could feel the artist (or writer, whoever) losing direction or just losing interest. When it used to update every day, then three times a week, then Mondays and Fridays, you know someone is caring less. It'll be gone soon.
On the other hand, sometimes the pace quickens. Sinfest and Questionable Content both used to post less frequently than they do; Sinfest even posts new comics on Saturday and Sunday. Warning: both have occasionally coarse language. And frankly QC can sometimes be downright shocking. That said, it's also a hugely engaging story. I've been reading it since day one: 2003. There's over 1700 strips on the archive so if you want to catch up, don't plan on getting it all done in one sitting. You'll also note that the quality of the art is off the charts - at the beginning, QC's writer and artist Jeph Jacques was not a noteworthy cartoonist (in my opinion). But as you advance through the strips, there's a consistent, linear progression of art quality. As they say, practice makes perfect. If it never improved again from where it is now, I'd say that it was more than good enough.
Sinfest and QC follow distinct forms. Sinfest during the week is three or four frames like a daily newspaper comic. QC is four frames, very rarely there might be an extra. QC goes in a vertical progression, so it's both scroll wheel and up-down button friendly. Sinfest's Sunday iteration is a big, color spread like a Sunday paper comic, very nice. And before you get turned off by the name, Sinfest doesn't live up to its name - spiritual topics get some serious exploration, and it can be touchingly sentimental.
But the web is so much more than a sheet of paper. The comic I think that best exploits the potentially limitless canvas is the now defunct Framed! by Damonk. In the years since Framed! wrapped up, the support has gotten a little wonky, at least on my end. Your mileage may vary.
Perhaps the greatest thing the Internet has made available to comic creators is space. Bill Watterson said it when writing about creating Calvin and Hobbes that in the comics, space equals time. You get to draw out the perceived duration of a gag, an interaction between two characters, anything. Just putting some space between whatever is supposed to represent then and what becomes now implies a greater span of time between them. It's nothing we've been taught, but we've picked it up by reading comics. The psychology of visual communication is fascinating stuff, and nowhere does it come more into play in such a direct way than comics, when it becomes an integral part of the story.
Some artists can do a bang-up job of making a whole, quick little story out of a single panel. Bil Keane has done it for literally decades. Gary Larson made more people scratch their heads over fewer square inches of the funny pages than anyone else, ever. But when you have so much potential real estate to play with, why would you ever limit yourself in such fashion?
I don't know if Larson and Keane and any of the other single-panel artists ever made the conscious decision to pursue that format as a way to make sales. I imagine a single panel is an easier sell to a paper than a strip. But on the web, you're never limited to a panel. You're not even limited to a Sunday half-page layout. One of Damonk's strips was so big, I was reading the page for about five minutes, and mousing left, right, up and down - all over the page. The navigation itself became part of the story, and it was both brilliant and hilarious. Especially the bit with the snarky signpost.
So you'll see it in the news now and then that print news is suffering, that magazines are having trouble keeping readers, or finding new ones. They're right, they are. And for good reason - online is cheaper to do, quicker, easier. With the growing sales of iPads, smart phones and other portable devices, it's easy to take your online news sources with you, nearly as conveniently as the old print versions. And what of your favorite comics, the funny papers? Fear not.
They're already online, waiting for you. All your old favorites and so many more you've never even heard of. It's a beautiful world out there.
Let's go exploring!
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
No Specific Topic
Having been at this blogging thing for a few months now, I can see how a lot of people get started, then just taper off and stop. It takes some effort to keep it going, a dedication to keep delivering.
That, or a certain level of vanity.
Moving on! In a previous post I mentioned I had auditioned for a play. I received a part, and we're into our second week of rehearsals. I'll be the fourth person to die in the play, but that doesn't mean I don't have a fair amount of lines to remember. Even so, as I settle into the part and become more familiar with his mindset, it's becoming easier to memorize the lines. Being who and what he is, the character reacts thus-and-such a way, being that character means acting and reacting, not like that character, but as that character.
"Who am I? What is my motivation?" We hear them as cliches of the performing world, but they really are the touchstones of performing. You don't want to portray, you want to be. Achieve that, and you've eliminated the audience's need to suspend their disbelief in order to enjoy the play. They won't have to suspend it, because they'll be watching not the actor being a character, but just the character.
I've already made the offer to trim my beard into whatever shape the director requires. He said, "we'll see what Costume wants."
That, or a certain level of vanity.
Moving on! In a previous post I mentioned I had auditioned for a play. I received a part, and we're into our second week of rehearsals. I'll be the fourth person to die in the play, but that doesn't mean I don't have a fair amount of lines to remember. Even so, as I settle into the part and become more familiar with his mindset, it's becoming easier to memorize the lines. Being who and what he is, the character reacts thus-and-such a way, being that character means acting and reacting, not like that character, but as that character.
"Who am I? What is my motivation?" We hear them as cliches of the performing world, but they really are the touchstones of performing. You don't want to portray, you want to be. Achieve that, and you've eliminated the audience's need to suspend their disbelief in order to enjoy the play. They won't have to suspend it, because they'll be watching not the actor being a character, but just the character.
I've already made the offer to trim my beard into whatever shape the director requires. He said, "we'll see what Costume wants."
I'm halfway hoping for muttonchops.
In other news, mowing season has begun. In spite of what I wrote earlier on the economies of buying good equipment and taking care of it, my mower may be toast.
Oh noes! The horrors. God forbid I won't be able to mow my lawn.
Actually I think it's very attractive in its current state, the lush, luxuriant growth of spring is very pretty. But no, leave it long and the city will eventually get annoyed and issue a ticket. That sort of thing makes me start shopping in the real estate ads for properties in the county. It's far cheaper to either get the mower working or find a new one. Eleven years of constant use is pretty good, so I'm not feeling bad about it dying if it is really dead. Right now I'm going on the assessment of Son, who is a bright and inquisitive lad (and one of the few characters in the play that doesn't die) but may well have overlooked something.
In fact, I'm almost hoping it is dead. That means I get to shop for an older garden tractor, something classically rugged and handsome and will do the walking for me.
This also flies in the face of earlier statements, that Americans are fat because they're lazy, they won't do for themselves what they can make a machine do for them. It's true.
Let me back up a bit and touch on the play again. With rehearsals four nights a week, I'm not watching TV. Now, I don't have an antenna on my TV, nor do I get cable. If it isn't on a DVD, I don't see it. That limits what I watch to a degree, but frankly there's so little out there I do want to watch. Whenever I see a cable show, almost invariably the thought that crosses my mind the most is, "dang, there sure are a lot of commercials on a channel I'm already paying to watch," closely followed by, "dang, they sure do show a lot of commercials about the channel itself." DVD-based viewing means no commercials, which means the story flows very smoothly, and I get my watching over in only three-fourths the time.
But no TV in the evening hasn't hurt me a bit. I'm off the couch and moving around, exercising my body and my brain. It's even fun, and when was the last time you spent a couple of hours right after work and dinner doing something fun?
No, nooky doesn't count. And unless you're Superman, it doesn't take a couple of hours, either.
So even if you're not playing a halfway-minor part in a local theater production, don't head straight for the couch after dinner. Pick up a camera and go for a walk around the neighborhood - it's springtime, shoot some pictures of blooming dogwoods. Play catch with the kids, draw a picture. Crochet a doily.
What the heck is a doily?
Let me back up a bit and touch on the play again. With rehearsals four nights a week, I'm not watching TV. Now, I don't have an antenna on my TV, nor do I get cable. If it isn't on a DVD, I don't see it. That limits what I watch to a degree, but frankly there's so little out there I do want to watch. Whenever I see a cable show, almost invariably the thought that crosses my mind the most is, "dang, there sure are a lot of commercials on a channel I'm already paying to watch," closely followed by, "dang, they sure do show a lot of commercials about the channel itself." DVD-based viewing means no commercials, which means the story flows very smoothly, and I get my watching over in only three-fourths the time.
But no TV in the evening hasn't hurt me a bit. I'm off the couch and moving around, exercising my body and my brain. It's even fun, and when was the last time you spent a couple of hours right after work and dinner doing something fun?
No, nooky doesn't count. And unless you're Superman, it doesn't take a couple of hours, either.
So even if you're not playing a halfway-minor part in a local theater production, don't head straight for the couch after dinner. Pick up a camera and go for a walk around the neighborhood - it's springtime, shoot some pictures of blooming dogwoods. Play catch with the kids, draw a picture. Crochet a doily.
What the heck is a doily?
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Tractors and the Man Who Loves Them
I've already spoken in this venue about loving cars, and to a much greater degree, trucks. It's not that I love the device itself - not a lot of reciprocation - but the philosophy behind it.
Let me state right now that I will be taking this opening statement out to the woodshed at a later date. Right now, just roll with it.
But as much as I love a truck, I think I could kick the truck to the curb for a tractor. Whatever the truck can do, the tractor can usually do.
Convey you to town? Yes. In a hurry, not so much but it will get you there. And that's where the shared capability pretty much ends. At this point, we park the truck in a safe place while the tractor flexes its muscles.
The tractor can carry a load. Not directly, but its capacity to drag a loaded trailer is almost the definition of a tractor. The machine was originally called a "traction engine," and haulage where rails didn't go was its stock in trade. A traction engine's original purpose wasn't exclusively agricultural, but it quickly became exactly that as automotive technology and roadbuilding technology advanced side-by-side, and motor freight capabilities developed that could move as much as a traction engine, but much faster. And even then in very remote or inhospitable areas, traction engines continued to serve yeoman duty in bulk haulage.
What else can a tractor do? Modern ones are almost outlandishly sophisticated, calling on satellite navigation (and even satellite guidance - concepts are driving themselves!) to plant in the same place as last year to an accuracy of inches. Not a lot of inches, either - three or four. You know those popular corn mazes that crop up (ha ha ha) every autumn? The old way was to mow the corn in the desired pattern. New computer-controlled planters can plant the maze directly - that's how it comes out of the planter, that's how the corn grows. Think of it as a supersized dot matrix printer, and the planter is the print head.
I have an old tractor. Really old, if it was a person it'd be knocking on the door of the Social Security office. It starts with a crank. It runs on gas but if I wanted I could make a few alterations and run it on kerosene. You might not be familiar with kerosene - think of a tiki torch like you see at Wal-Mart or Home Depot this time of year - the lamp oil inside those is pretty close to kerosene. Or I could run it on paint thinner. Alcohol (yeah, flex fuel, baby), probably I could get it to run on diesel with a little work. It would still be spark ignited of course. Hmm. Have to think on that one for a while. But what's it good for?
Dragging the giant stump out of the yard, for starters. I had a tree blow down, and had to cut it up. But I'm not going to mess with the stump, all that dirt and roots and whatnot, and it'll never split right for burning. But how to get it out of the yard? My old pickup is trusty and ready to serve, but its little tires will never get the traction to get going. Subaru is out, too - even with AWD, the stump isn't going anywhere.
Enter the tractor. Out comes the logging chain, and back away in reverse.
Everything stops. Not the engine, just the motion. As tractors go, mine isn't much. 18 horsepower on its best day, and did I mention it was 65 years old? I don't reckon its best day was anytime recently. But the engine never stumbled. The tires spun. 18 horsepower, lots of gearing, and tires 48" with brand new lugs makes up for a mighty tug, but the stump stayed put. If I could lift it, it would probably come in at something over 600lbs with no wheels or anything else conveniently low-friction like that underneath it. So I change the angle, move the chain, and tug again. Success! That was two years ago, and the marks the chain left in the street as I dragged it to the city's pick-up spot are still visible.
What else can it do? Dragging isn't that big a deal, after all. Well, a tractor's designed to power things as it drags them around. Power Take-Off, or PTO is its big party piece. Plug a removable shaft in to that, and it runs tillers, post hole diggers (imagine a giant wood boring drill bit, 48" high and 12" across. Where do you want the post hole? Okey-dokey!), mowing decks as big as fifteen feet across. Not my tractor, but some out there will do it. Hay balers, sprayers, vacuums, blowers, combine harvesters - whoa! Combines? Yup - before there were giant self-propelled combine harvesters, it was a machine you pulled behind your tractor. You can still find them for smaller farms. Of course, a used combine in working condition can be had for about the same price, so maybe you wouldn't bother.
I don't love anything that can't love me back. But I do love the wide-open potential it brings with it.
That, and the occasional bird nest on the intake manifold. That's with the hood removed, between the engine oil fill tube and the exhaust.
Let me state right now that I will be taking this opening statement out to the woodshed at a later date. Right now, just roll with it.
But as much as I love a truck, I think I could kick the truck to the curb for a tractor. Whatever the truck can do, the tractor can usually do.
Convey you to town? Yes. In a hurry, not so much but it will get you there. And that's where the shared capability pretty much ends. At this point, we park the truck in a safe place while the tractor flexes its muscles.
The tractor can carry a load. Not directly, but its capacity to drag a loaded trailer is almost the definition of a tractor. The machine was originally called a "traction engine," and haulage where rails didn't go was its stock in trade. A traction engine's original purpose wasn't exclusively agricultural, but it quickly became exactly that as automotive technology and roadbuilding technology advanced side-by-side, and motor freight capabilities developed that could move as much as a traction engine, but much faster. And even then in very remote or inhospitable areas, traction engines continued to serve yeoman duty in bulk haulage.
What else can a tractor do? Modern ones are almost outlandishly sophisticated, calling on satellite navigation (and even satellite guidance - concepts are driving themselves!) to plant in the same place as last year to an accuracy of inches. Not a lot of inches, either - three or four. You know those popular corn mazes that crop up (ha ha ha) every autumn? The old way was to mow the corn in the desired pattern. New computer-controlled planters can plant the maze directly - that's how it comes out of the planter, that's how the corn grows. Think of it as a supersized dot matrix printer, and the planter is the print head.
I have an old tractor. Really old, if it was a person it'd be knocking on the door of the Social Security office. It starts with a crank. It runs on gas but if I wanted I could make a few alterations and run it on kerosene. You might not be familiar with kerosene - think of a tiki torch like you see at Wal-Mart or Home Depot this time of year - the lamp oil inside those is pretty close to kerosene. Or I could run it on paint thinner. Alcohol (yeah, flex fuel, baby), probably I could get it to run on diesel with a little work. It would still be spark ignited of course. Hmm. Have to think on that one for a while. But what's it good for?
Dragging the giant stump out of the yard, for starters. I had a tree blow down, and had to cut it up. But I'm not going to mess with the stump, all that dirt and roots and whatnot, and it'll never split right for burning. But how to get it out of the yard? My old pickup is trusty and ready to serve, but its little tires will never get the traction to get going. Subaru is out, too - even with AWD, the stump isn't going anywhere.
Enter the tractor. Out comes the logging chain, and back away in reverse.
Everything stops. Not the engine, just the motion. As tractors go, mine isn't much. 18 horsepower on its best day, and did I mention it was 65 years old? I don't reckon its best day was anytime recently. But the engine never stumbled. The tires spun. 18 horsepower, lots of gearing, and tires 48" with brand new lugs makes up for a mighty tug, but the stump stayed put. If I could lift it, it would probably come in at something over 600lbs with no wheels or anything else conveniently low-friction like that underneath it. So I change the angle, move the chain, and tug again. Success! That was two years ago, and the marks the chain left in the street as I dragged it to the city's pick-up spot are still visible.
What else can it do? Dragging isn't that big a deal, after all. Well, a tractor's designed to power things as it drags them around. Power Take-Off, or PTO is its big party piece. Plug a removable shaft in to that, and it runs tillers, post hole diggers (imagine a giant wood boring drill bit, 48" high and 12" across. Where do you want the post hole? Okey-dokey!), mowing decks as big as fifteen feet across. Not my tractor, but some out there will do it. Hay balers, sprayers, vacuums, blowers, combine harvesters - whoa! Combines? Yup - before there were giant self-propelled combine harvesters, it was a machine you pulled behind your tractor. You can still find them for smaller farms. Of course, a used combine in working condition can be had for about the same price, so maybe you wouldn't bother.
I don't love anything that can't love me back. But I do love the wide-open potential it brings with it.
That, and the occasional bird nest on the intake manifold. That's with the hood removed, between the engine oil fill tube and the exhaust.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Charlie Sheen: Ego on the Loose
I've talked about Charlie Sheen once or twice in this venue already. The man is, in short, low-hanging fruit. Or is that "fruitcake?" Whatever.
On top of everything else he's done, grant interviews on the most mundane of subjects, talk about his past substance abuse episodes, describe the assorted women in his life in less-than-generous terms (unless she's a stripper or nude model, then she's a "goddess"), Charlie somehow got a tour organized.
Now, first question you might ask would be, "what kind of tour?" That's the question I asked myself. What kind of crowd would Charlie attract?
Let's break this down. Charlie is an actor. While there are a great many highly intelligent actors out there, your first takeaway of an actor is that he has to have a certain venue in which to deliver, rehearsals, a script, perhaps. The Rock Star From Mars doesn't have a well-developed plan for what he's going to show his fans on his so-called "Violent Torpedo of Truth" tour. At least, that was my first impression and judging by initial reactions from his first tour date, I was right.
Why would anyone buy a ticket to this show? That's easy: in his highly public falling out with Warner Bros. and Chuck Lorre and apparently everyone else, Sheen has been kind of fun to watch. But it's fun the way certain online videos are fun - some of those car crashes are pretty entertaining. That one of the cars all slip-sliding through that icy intersection in Seattle? I love that, it's amazing. Chances are pretty good no one was seriously hurt, it all moves pretty slowly. But at the same time, you know it's a disaster. Those people in the cars are trapped, out of control, frightened. So I like to watch it, but I feel bad a little inside, too.
And now, blithely plummeting down the icy hill of reality we have Charlie Sheen. His stereo is on as loud as it'll go. If his transmission has a gear marked "Sideways," that's the one he's in. The convertible top is down. He's actually smarter than he looks: he's bungee'd animals all over the outside of his car to protect it from minor impacts. And for that inestimable effect, he's set his hair on fire. Charlie is entering the intersection. What will happen next? You'll have to watch to find out.
In his string of interviews and press releases, Charlie set a tone for what his fans expect. Irreverence, ego running loose, and an unending string of whacky quotes. But in the tour, a slightly cooler head has had to do a little planning. Charlie off the cuff is a lit fuse running into an unmarked box - you have no idea what might happen. Charlie trying to produce on a schedule is another thing entirely - the fuse is running into an open box, which turns out to be mostly empty.
Charlie can't deliver. His flash is only flash, and it's best when spontaneous. Trying to put together a show for his audience, the audience that has formed around his chaotic antics, he has missed the mark. It was fun watching him do things almost at random, it was entertaining to think he was "sticking it to the man." But putting together the tour, Charlie has become "the man." He's promoting himself as a "torpedo of truth," but the truth is really that Charlie is a dud.
His opening act was booed offstage. Charlie himself was booed offstage. Charlie isn't fun anymore.
When it looked like Charlie might be a car wreck in progress, that was interesting to watch. When it looked like he was fighting for his job, or at least for more perks, that was interesting. But when he's thrown himself overboard, vowing to swim to shore as a "torpedo of truth," what you take away from the sight is that, rather than flapping randomly in circles, Charlie might ought to strike it in one direction - any direction - and stick to it.
I said it before, I'm saying it again. Rehab, lots of it, pronto. While you're at it, maybe a little career counseling, and a visit or three with a skilled psychiatrist.
On top of everything else he's done, grant interviews on the most mundane of subjects, talk about his past substance abuse episodes, describe the assorted women in his life in less-than-generous terms (unless she's a stripper or nude model, then she's a "goddess"), Charlie somehow got a tour organized.
Now, first question you might ask would be, "what kind of tour?" That's the question I asked myself. What kind of crowd would Charlie attract?
Let's break this down. Charlie is an actor. While there are a great many highly intelligent actors out there, your first takeaway of an actor is that he has to have a certain venue in which to deliver, rehearsals, a script, perhaps. The Rock Star From Mars doesn't have a well-developed plan for what he's going to show his fans on his so-called "Violent Torpedo of Truth" tour. At least, that was my first impression and judging by initial reactions from his first tour date, I was right.
Why would anyone buy a ticket to this show? That's easy: in his highly public falling out with Warner Bros. and Chuck Lorre and apparently everyone else, Sheen has been kind of fun to watch. But it's fun the way certain online videos are fun - some of those car crashes are pretty entertaining. That one of the cars all slip-sliding through that icy intersection in Seattle? I love that, it's amazing. Chances are pretty good no one was seriously hurt, it all moves pretty slowly. But at the same time, you know it's a disaster. Those people in the cars are trapped, out of control, frightened. So I like to watch it, but I feel bad a little inside, too.
And now, blithely plummeting down the icy hill of reality we have Charlie Sheen. His stereo is on as loud as it'll go. If his transmission has a gear marked "Sideways," that's the one he's in. The convertible top is down. He's actually smarter than he looks: he's bungee'd animals all over the outside of his car to protect it from minor impacts. And for that inestimable effect, he's set his hair on fire. Charlie is entering the intersection. What will happen next? You'll have to watch to find out.
In his string of interviews and press releases, Charlie set a tone for what his fans expect. Irreverence, ego running loose, and an unending string of whacky quotes. But in the tour, a slightly cooler head has had to do a little planning. Charlie off the cuff is a lit fuse running into an unmarked box - you have no idea what might happen. Charlie trying to produce on a schedule is another thing entirely - the fuse is running into an open box, which turns out to be mostly empty.
Charlie can't deliver. His flash is only flash, and it's best when spontaneous. Trying to put together a show for his audience, the audience that has formed around his chaotic antics, he has missed the mark. It was fun watching him do things almost at random, it was entertaining to think he was "sticking it to the man." But putting together the tour, Charlie has become "the man." He's promoting himself as a "torpedo of truth," but the truth is really that Charlie is a dud.
His opening act was booed offstage. Charlie himself was booed offstage. Charlie isn't fun anymore.
When it looked like Charlie might be a car wreck in progress, that was interesting to watch. When it looked like he was fighting for his job, or at least for more perks, that was interesting. But when he's thrown himself overboard, vowing to swim to shore as a "torpedo of truth," what you take away from the sight is that, rather than flapping randomly in circles, Charlie might ought to strike it in one direction - any direction - and stick to it.
I said it before, I'm saying it again. Rehab, lots of it, pronto. While you're at it, maybe a little career counseling, and a visit or three with a skilled psychiatrist.
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