(a follow-up to https://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2018/06/bond-burroughs-and-miltaraphilia.html)
What would you do if your first love, who taught you everything and against whom no other love has ever felt so intense and pure, turned out to be...
...an idiot?
You might spend the rest of your life NOT telling people about that first love.
Which may not be an altogether bad thing, but...
...welcome to my literary life.
The writer who taught me to be a reader, who inflamed a passion in me i'd never imagined, whom i thought i'd hold aloft for the rest of my life, has become a bit of a...
...dirty secret.
Not literally - i'd never avoid the topic if it came up. But since my teen years, i've almost never shared my reminisces of the amazing worlds of edgar rice burroughs in polite (or any) company.
I don't recall how my first burroughs came into my hands. It was one of the tarzan novels, maybe #7 or 8. When i'd read the last word, i'm sure i knew i wasn't done. There were twenty-seven others, all in print. I gobbled them up, stopping when i finished the penultimate (i decided i'd save the last one for the last year of my life). I can't remember whether i read my first non-tarzan burroughs, "A Princess of Mars", before i finished the tarzans. But i'm pretty sure that's when it became concretized that i would have to read everything he ever wrote. A quest i came damn close to consummating, consuming the Mars novels, the Venus novels, the Pellucidar novels, the Caspak novels...everything that was still in print, and a fair amount that wasn't. My hunger branched out to burroughs' genre stablemates - howard, norman...
I was fourteen when i read that first novel, and eighteen when i hit college and ran out of steam (but still figuring i'd finish the quest someday). Earlier this year, i was cleaning out my storage, and most of my burroughs books went to donation, but i took that last tarzan novel, and read it on the long bus ride home. It was surprisingly satisfying, and so easy to fall back under his narrative spell. Whatever else one can say about him, few have equaled the tightness and fluidity of his prose.
I'm not sure how old i was when i gave my first interior eye roll at my burroughs passion. My thirties? Of course, by my late teens i already had an awareness that he wasn't as sophisticated as the more "serious" sci fi to which i was graduating - heinlein, niven, clarke...but it wasn't until many years later that i'd processed the moral flaws inherent in the burroughs worldview. A touch of the bullshit macho "hemingway" code, with all the institutional violence and emotional negation that entails. A victorian, self-loathing prudery. Racist overtones, with the way whites were portrayed in comparison to the natives. Rampant speciesism, with many other animals portrayed as "evil" or disposable...this despite the ennobling of "natural" man, and a disparagement of "civilization". A disquieting sexism, with men the prime motivators and wimyn ineffective and overemotional (Though perhaps that charge is unfair, as he clearly took delight in writing an occasional dynamic, capable female character...the exceptions that proved the sexist rule, or stabs at a nascent feminism? It can be so hard to judge someone from an era gone by. Perhaps even the racist charge is unfair.)
Still, such joy i took in those books so scrupulously lined up on my teenage shelves. And the greater point is the literary universes that my burroughs passion opened up. There have been a handful of other writers whose discovery prompted a similar need to read EVERYTHING the writer wrote - o'neill, stoppard, vonnegut, dawkins...so if it hadn't been burroughs, would it have been some other writer? It's almost impossible to imagine that not happening, given my personality and the fertile ground that was my brain. Yet some people say they became serious readers long before thirteen. It's disquieting to think of myself as a lesser reader than i am, but who knows? Yet maybe even, had some other writer been the one to ignite my passion, might my moral growth might have raced ahead more quickly?
And perhaps there are ways in which burroughs changed me for the good? Made me a smidgen more romantic? Reinforced ever so slightly my sense of "me against the world"?
Whatever the case, my burroughs burst was clearly an alignment of innumerable psychological and cultural forces. It gave me joy, and profound escape from a world whose dysfunctionality i could only begin to imagine when i was thirteen.
So if you're ever tempted to say to some youth, "Stop reading that crap! Let me get you something GOOD", well...a more circumspect approach might serve them better. Offer your allegedly "better" book, but take joy in the fact that they're reading at all. Heck, in this day and age, can you even be certain that captain underpants isn't better for a child than dickens or bronte?
But yes - to this day, i know edgar rice a thousand times better than william s.
Ah, the shame...
(coming soon - pt. 3!)
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Saturday, June 23, 2018
bond, burroughs, and militaraphilia
At first glance, i can seem morally/ethically exceptional...i've never struck another person in anger (except my big sister once as a child). The teeny handful of things i've stolen in my life are the stuff of amusing anecdote. I've never raped, harassed, or been a predator in any but the most relatively profoundly benign ways.
And by the time i was a late teen, i had fallen in love with the visions of lennon, vonnegut, thoreau, and "My Dinner with Andre".
Pretty hip?
Sure...
Yet there's a level on which i've always felt a...well, "faker" is too strong, but slightly embarrassed at pieces of my youth. "Deep dark secrets"? Again too strong, but there are parts of my past i never trot out in genteel, cultured company.
Let's trot.
I was a pacifist by the time i was draftable, ready to be a conscientious objector should my country call on me for military service. I like to think that there was no point in my youth when i would have obeyed, had i been asked to kill.
Perhaps some might have found that surprising however, given my youthful love of things military. I never felt a disconnect, but if you'd looked at me objectively...
Playing "war" with neighborhood kids was a devoted passion, starting around the age of twelve. Dividing into teams, armed with our favorite toy gun, strategizing and "killing" each other until only one side was left. I was good. The best, even. Stealthy, fast, patient, and sharp. I can't say that no one ever got the drop on me or that my side never lost, but those were rare. Nor was there anything brutal in our play. It was never consciously personal...just the joyful abandonment of pure play, then reboot and go again. It eventually graduated to super-soakers, which was beyond brilliant.
Yet...was there a deeper level on which we were all training ourselves in predatory ways and attitudes? A level on which we were subconsciously approving of the real-world parallels to our play?
How can there NOT have been??
But if there was, how can i have become so entirely pacifist when the time came to decide such things for myself? There was never any internal discussion or debate - nor any need.
My militaristic-seeming seeds bloomed early. Around the age of four, my favorite toy became G.I. Joes. I had a collection of figures and outfits and accessories, plus three or four sizable vehicles and a two-story headquarters. These weren't those pathetic four-inchers, these were the original eleven-inchers. I had a group of G.I. Joe friends on my block, and we always gathered to play at lizzie's house. She had the coolest collection, and was so conscientious about not getting our pieces mixed up that she had us all bring only our naked Joes. Isn't it fascinating that a girl was the star of our otherwise all-male company? A girl loving military toys?? Somewhere in the back of my mind, i've always wondered what kind of a person she became. A moral degenerate?? The hilarious side of that, is that the point of this article is how i grew into a pacifist icon, despite my seeming militarism as a child...so why wouldn't she as well? But prejudice is always faintly illogical...and more to the point, of course she grew up to be a degenerate! We all did, we all are. But just now, that's neither here nor there...
After my Joes, there were war comic books. Mostly Sgt. Rock and Men at War. Some of them introduced a level of sophistication and ambiguity to my young mind...i remember a story about two wounded survivors of a battle, one who can't see or talk, and another who can't walk. They work together to get to safety, and only in the last panel is it revealed that they're actually enemies.
And then came the models. Plastic glue-and-paint kits, of warships and airplanes. I probably did a dozen or more, between the ages of five and ten. Amateurish at first, but eventually my decal and fine brush work were exemplary.
When i was very young, i had those two-inch green plastic soldiers, and around the age of eight or nine, that morphed into a grand sprawl of one-inch plastic soldiers in various colors, with assembly-required tanks and vehicles to scale (HO?). By then, it was apparent my primary interest was World War II. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because that war seemed (to my child's mind) morally unambiguous, with clear "evil" on display? That explanation doesn't quite fit though, as i took more delight in the Axis toys (this was later paralleled in my Star Wars figures...the Empire was always cooler to me). Was WWII...cool? My plastic armies eventually took over our 8'x4' holiday train platform in the basement.
When i outgrew comic books, i collected military books. Sprawling tomes, sometimes focusing on just the ships or planes.
But the culmination of my militaristic pursuits was the board game i created to play with my neighbor and best friend, dave bent. It started from two existing board games about WWII sea warfare, War at Sea and Victory in the Pacific. There were cardboard markers to represent each ship of every navy. They each had numbers representing firepower, defense, and speed (aircraft carriers had a fourth number). I combined, i expanded, i rewrote the rules. I created ships the creators had missed (like the pathetic russian navy!). So many of those three-number sequences are forever burned into my synaptic pathways. A single game could last weeks, at several hours a day. I was always the Axis. Such joy, passing away those hours...
Many might try to bring my father into the picture, and say that coming to grips with his legacy must have been at the heart of all this. He'd been a soldier, and spoke of his service with pure patriotism and pride. He never went to war, but one cannot imagine him having any reservations about doing so (had he, i think perhaps our relationship mightn't have survived). Surely my own youthful zeal for things military must have been related to him in some way, even if only as a means of appeasement?
Well...no. I really don't think so. I remember no time in my life when winning his approval was important. My first awareness of him as a fellow humyn was one of disconnect. He was he and i was i, and the twain simply did not meet. This was neither sad nor happy, it just...was. That may be an oversimplification, but essentially it feels true.
So then, why?
I want to say it's just a reflection of my big youthful brain, looking for outlets to express my creativity and need for escapism (which i couldn't have been aware of then...but we live in a dysfunctional society defined largely by an out-of-balance need for escapism). Perhaps subconsciously i knew that dad (and by extension, the rest of the macho culture that surrounded me) would never hassle me over what seemed an extension of his own life? Maybe...
Once i realized how pacifistic i was, i never felt the need to "burn" my miltaristic past. I just moved on - i was very self-accepting. A trait that was tested by the third focus of this essay, but first...
Edgar rice burroughs! The writer who turned me into a reader...
(Part 2 - https://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2018/06/bond-burroughs-and-milataraphilia-pt-2.html)
And by the time i was a late teen, i had fallen in love with the visions of lennon, vonnegut, thoreau, and "My Dinner with Andre".
Pretty hip?
Sure...
Yet there's a level on which i've always felt a...well, "faker" is too strong, but slightly embarrassed at pieces of my youth. "Deep dark secrets"? Again too strong, but there are parts of my past i never trot out in genteel, cultured company.
Let's trot.
I was a pacifist by the time i was draftable, ready to be a conscientious objector should my country call on me for military service. I like to think that there was no point in my youth when i would have obeyed, had i been asked to kill.
Perhaps some might have found that surprising however, given my youthful love of things military. I never felt a disconnect, but if you'd looked at me objectively...
Playing "war" with neighborhood kids was a devoted passion, starting around the age of twelve. Dividing into teams, armed with our favorite toy gun, strategizing and "killing" each other until only one side was left. I was good. The best, even. Stealthy, fast, patient, and sharp. I can't say that no one ever got the drop on me or that my side never lost, but those were rare. Nor was there anything brutal in our play. It was never consciously personal...just the joyful abandonment of pure play, then reboot and go again. It eventually graduated to super-soakers, which was beyond brilliant.
Yet...was there a deeper level on which we were all training ourselves in predatory ways and attitudes? A level on which we were subconsciously approving of the real-world parallels to our play?
How can there NOT have been??
But if there was, how can i have become so entirely pacifist when the time came to decide such things for myself? There was never any internal discussion or debate - nor any need.
My militaristic-seeming seeds bloomed early. Around the age of four, my favorite toy became G.I. Joes. I had a collection of figures and outfits and accessories, plus three or four sizable vehicles and a two-story headquarters. These weren't those pathetic four-inchers, these were the original eleven-inchers. I had a group of G.I. Joe friends on my block, and we always gathered to play at lizzie's house. She had the coolest collection, and was so conscientious about not getting our pieces mixed up that she had us all bring only our naked Joes. Isn't it fascinating that a girl was the star of our otherwise all-male company? A girl loving military toys?? Somewhere in the back of my mind, i've always wondered what kind of a person she became. A moral degenerate?? The hilarious side of that, is that the point of this article is how i grew into a pacifist icon, despite my seeming militarism as a child...so why wouldn't she as well? But prejudice is always faintly illogical...and more to the point, of course she grew up to be a degenerate! We all did, we all are. But just now, that's neither here nor there...
After my Joes, there were war comic books. Mostly Sgt. Rock and Men at War. Some of them introduced a level of sophistication and ambiguity to my young mind...i remember a story about two wounded survivors of a battle, one who can't see or talk, and another who can't walk. They work together to get to safety, and only in the last panel is it revealed that they're actually enemies.
And then came the models. Plastic glue-and-paint kits, of warships and airplanes. I probably did a dozen or more, between the ages of five and ten. Amateurish at first, but eventually my decal and fine brush work were exemplary.
When i was very young, i had those two-inch green plastic soldiers, and around the age of eight or nine, that morphed into a grand sprawl of one-inch plastic soldiers in various colors, with assembly-required tanks and vehicles to scale (HO?). By then, it was apparent my primary interest was World War II. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because that war seemed (to my child's mind) morally unambiguous, with clear "evil" on display? That explanation doesn't quite fit though, as i took more delight in the Axis toys (this was later paralleled in my Star Wars figures...the Empire was always cooler to me). Was WWII...cool? My plastic armies eventually took over our 8'x4' holiday train platform in the basement.
When i outgrew comic books, i collected military books. Sprawling tomes, sometimes focusing on just the ships or planes.
But the culmination of my militaristic pursuits was the board game i created to play with my neighbor and best friend, dave bent. It started from two existing board games about WWII sea warfare, War at Sea and Victory in the Pacific. There were cardboard markers to represent each ship of every navy. They each had numbers representing firepower, defense, and speed (aircraft carriers had a fourth number). I combined, i expanded, i rewrote the rules. I created ships the creators had missed (like the pathetic russian navy!). So many of those three-number sequences are forever burned into my synaptic pathways. A single game could last weeks, at several hours a day. I was always the Axis. Such joy, passing away those hours...
Many might try to bring my father into the picture, and say that coming to grips with his legacy must have been at the heart of all this. He'd been a soldier, and spoke of his service with pure patriotism and pride. He never went to war, but one cannot imagine him having any reservations about doing so (had he, i think perhaps our relationship mightn't have survived). Surely my own youthful zeal for things military must have been related to him in some way, even if only as a means of appeasement?
Well...no. I really don't think so. I remember no time in my life when winning his approval was important. My first awareness of him as a fellow humyn was one of disconnect. He was he and i was i, and the twain simply did not meet. This was neither sad nor happy, it just...was. That may be an oversimplification, but essentially it feels true.
So then, why?
I want to say it's just a reflection of my big youthful brain, looking for outlets to express my creativity and need for escapism (which i couldn't have been aware of then...but we live in a dysfunctional society defined largely by an out-of-balance need for escapism). Perhaps subconsciously i knew that dad (and by extension, the rest of the macho culture that surrounded me) would never hassle me over what seemed an extension of his own life? Maybe...
Once i realized how pacifistic i was, i never felt the need to "burn" my miltaristic past. I just moved on - i was very self-accepting. A trait that was tested by the third focus of this essay, but first...
Edgar rice burroughs! The writer who turned me into a reader...
(Part 2 - https://nakedmeadow.blogspot.com/2018/06/bond-burroughs-and-milataraphilia-pt-2.html)
Sunday, June 17, 2018
"The L Word"
-created by michele abbott, ilene chaiken, kathy greenberg
2004-2009
Females creating a show starring females whose characters revolve around men...not...one...bit. Non-heterosexuality is the driving impetus, and not in a shy way (see show title). At least one openly gay female director every season...
WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE?
Seasons 2-6, actually.
One wonders what sort of backstage "deal with the devil" was made between season 1 and 2, and whether it happened over abbott and greenberg's protests (if they had any involvement beyond season 1, IMDB is mum).
Season 1 gave us layered, non-stereotypical lesbians being real humyn beings. After that...i think the proper word is "sex&thecityized". Cliche-driven, achingly stupid...i'm being unfairly hard, though. Condemnation is a reflection of emotional investment, and season 1 prompted no small love. The show also never embraced the full evil of sex&thecityization. But if you want it in a nutshell, listen to the opening credits song that arrived in season 2 - the most cloying, facile slice of aural vomit in television history.
It all got so disappointing that i stopped watching during season 3, and only came back much later. Would i have returned without the happy nudity regularly on display? Not likely.
The show's initial success hinged on one thing - caring what happened to these people. With the replacement leads...not really. And in two cases, i even stopped caring about the originals.
REGULARS
Bette (jennifer beals - FLASHDANCE, THE BRIDE) is an artfully-achieved character you probably wouldn't like in real life (emotionally closed off, hyper-controlling), but objectivity allows us to root for her. Tina (laurel holloman - ANGEL, BOOGIE NIGHTS), bette's love who defects to the straight world for a season or two) is ultimately the emotional heart of the show. Jenny (mia kirshner - EXOTICA, DRACULA: THE SERIES) starts out brilliantly as the ingenue who abandons the straight world (and so would you)...but devolves into a manipulative, deceitful cunt of susan lucci scope. Nothing works in that, above all the notion that the others would put up with it. Shane (katherine moennig - RAY DONOVAN, THE LINCOLN LAWYER), a womynizing commitment-phobe (in many ways, the most sane of the bunch), is the character you care about most...until a stunningly ill-conceived affair with jenny. Which leaves the title of most-cared-about character to alice (leisha hailey - THE SNOWFLAKE CRUSADE, BOSCH), a blogger turned show host with a heart of gold, just searching for love. Pam grier (FOXY BROWN, JACKIE BROWN) is the token-but-beloved straight who lends mainstream credibility. Dana (erin daniels - BOOMTOWN, SWINGTOWN), a closeted tennis pro who dies of cancer, is seamless and sensational. You'll cry that she's gone, but applaud the realism. Marina (karina lombard - WIDE SARGASSO SEA, KULL THE CONQUEROR) provided season 1 steam, but wasn't a great loss, as she didn't connect with the others much.
REPLACEMENT REGULARS
Helena (rachel shelley - DIFFERENT FOR GIRLS, JACK AND THE BEANSTALK: THE REAL STORY), a spoiled snob of an heiress who is humbled and semi-redeemed, is the second part of the show's non-credibility spiral. Would the group realistically accept bette, helena, and diva-era jenny? Probably, probably not, and no way in hell. Carmen (sarah shahi - ALIAS, FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION) is sensational as shane's most scintillating lover. Max (daniela sea - SHORTBUS, THE CASSEROLE CLUB), a trans man with an impressive character arc, gets a bit lost in the late-season semi-mediocrity. Tasha (rose rollins - BOSCH, GIRLTRASH: ALL NIGHT LONG) is a street-savvy soldier dishonorably discharged during "don't ask, don't tell". She's part of the show's most compelling romance, with alice (but even that has a cringeworthy end, as the show sets up a possible three-way union which would have shown the world that lesbians can be smarter than straights...but it fizzles out in the same old possessive/jealous bullshit).
RECURRING NON-REGULARS
Big names weren't shy about wanting to be a part of this, and it never came off as contrived - marlee matlin, cybill shepherd, wallace shawn, rosanna arquette, jane lynch, anne ramsay, holland taylor, elizabeth berkley, camryn manheim, ossie davis, lolita davidovich, alan cumming, kelly lynch, kelly mcgillis, julian sands, margot kidder, gloria steinem, eve ensler, russell simmons, shawn colvin, billy jean king, fred schneider, garry marshall, nancy wilson, ann wilson, sandra bernhard, charles dutton, michael hogan, anne archer, eric roberts, anabella sciorra, bruce davison, and lucy lawless comprise one of the most impressive guest star lists ever. Lauren lee smith (LIE WITH ME, MUTANT X), kristanna loken (TERMINATOR 3, BLOODRAYNE), kate french (SOUTH OF NOWHERE, GIRLTRASH: ALL NIGHT LONG), and janina gavankar (TRUE BLOOD, WHO'S AFRAID OF VAGINA WOLF?) all made the screen pop, too.
Kudos for what the show tried (and sometimes succeeded) doing - showing lesbians as flesh and blood people, often hopelessly self-destructive messes just like anyone else. Fearless, groundbreaking, sexy as hell, and a joy when it worked? Yes. And they did it without overly vilifying the straight world! Watch the first season. Beyond that, you've been warned.
2004-2009
Females creating a show starring females whose characters revolve around men...not...one...bit. Non-heterosexuality is the driving impetus, and not in a shy way (see show title). At least one openly gay female director every season...
WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE?
Seasons 2-6, actually.
One wonders what sort of backstage "deal with the devil" was made between season 1 and 2, and whether it happened over abbott and greenberg's protests (if they had any involvement beyond season 1, IMDB is mum).
Season 1 gave us layered, non-stereotypical lesbians being real humyn beings. After that...i think the proper word is "sex&thecityized". Cliche-driven, achingly stupid...i'm being unfairly hard, though. Condemnation is a reflection of emotional investment, and season 1 prompted no small love. The show also never embraced the full evil of sex&thecityization. But if you want it in a nutshell, listen to the opening credits song that arrived in season 2 - the most cloying, facile slice of aural vomit in television history.
It all got so disappointing that i stopped watching during season 3, and only came back much later. Would i have returned without the happy nudity regularly on display? Not likely.
The show's initial success hinged on one thing - caring what happened to these people. With the replacement leads...not really. And in two cases, i even stopped caring about the originals.
REGULARS
Bette (jennifer beals - FLASHDANCE, THE BRIDE) is an artfully-achieved character you probably wouldn't like in real life (emotionally closed off, hyper-controlling), but objectivity allows us to root for her. Tina (laurel holloman - ANGEL, BOOGIE NIGHTS), bette's love who defects to the straight world for a season or two) is ultimately the emotional heart of the show. Jenny (mia kirshner - EXOTICA, DRACULA: THE SERIES) starts out brilliantly as the ingenue who abandons the straight world (and so would you)...but devolves into a manipulative, deceitful cunt of susan lucci scope. Nothing works in that, above all the notion that the others would put up with it. Shane (katherine moennig - RAY DONOVAN, THE LINCOLN LAWYER), a womynizing commitment-phobe (in many ways, the most sane of the bunch), is the character you care about most...until a stunningly ill-conceived affair with jenny. Which leaves the title of most-cared-about character to alice (leisha hailey - THE SNOWFLAKE CRUSADE, BOSCH), a blogger turned show host with a heart of gold, just searching for love. Pam grier (FOXY BROWN, JACKIE BROWN) is the token-but-beloved straight who lends mainstream credibility. Dana (erin daniels - BOOMTOWN, SWINGTOWN), a closeted tennis pro who dies of cancer, is seamless and sensational. You'll cry that she's gone, but applaud the realism. Marina (karina lombard - WIDE SARGASSO SEA, KULL THE CONQUEROR) provided season 1 steam, but wasn't a great loss, as she didn't connect with the others much.
REPLACEMENT REGULARS
Helena (rachel shelley - DIFFERENT FOR GIRLS, JACK AND THE BEANSTALK: THE REAL STORY), a spoiled snob of an heiress who is humbled and semi-redeemed, is the second part of the show's non-credibility spiral. Would the group realistically accept bette, helena, and diva-era jenny? Probably, probably not, and no way in hell. Carmen (sarah shahi - ALIAS, FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION) is sensational as shane's most scintillating lover. Max (daniela sea - SHORTBUS, THE CASSEROLE CLUB), a trans man with an impressive character arc, gets a bit lost in the late-season semi-mediocrity. Tasha (rose rollins - BOSCH, GIRLTRASH: ALL NIGHT LONG) is a street-savvy soldier dishonorably discharged during "don't ask, don't tell". She's part of the show's most compelling romance, with alice (but even that has a cringeworthy end, as the show sets up a possible three-way union which would have shown the world that lesbians can be smarter than straights...but it fizzles out in the same old possessive/jealous bullshit).
RECURRING NON-REGULARS
Big names weren't shy about wanting to be a part of this, and it never came off as contrived - marlee matlin, cybill shepherd, wallace shawn, rosanna arquette, jane lynch, anne ramsay, holland taylor, elizabeth berkley, camryn manheim, ossie davis, lolita davidovich, alan cumming, kelly lynch, kelly mcgillis, julian sands, margot kidder, gloria steinem, eve ensler, russell simmons, shawn colvin, billy jean king, fred schneider, garry marshall, nancy wilson, ann wilson, sandra bernhard, charles dutton, michael hogan, anne archer, eric roberts, anabella sciorra, bruce davison, and lucy lawless comprise one of the most impressive guest star lists ever. Lauren lee smith (LIE WITH ME, MUTANT X), kristanna loken (TERMINATOR 3, BLOODRAYNE), kate french (SOUTH OF NOWHERE, GIRLTRASH: ALL NIGHT LONG), and janina gavankar (TRUE BLOOD, WHO'S AFRAID OF VAGINA WOLF?) all made the screen pop, too.
Kudos for what the show tried (and sometimes succeeded) doing - showing lesbians as flesh and blood people, often hopelessly self-destructive messes just like anyone else. Fearless, groundbreaking, sexy as hell, and a joy when it worked? Yes. And they did it without overly vilifying the straight world! Watch the first season. Beyond that, you've been warned.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
"The Dana Carvey Show"
-created by dana carvey and robert smigel
1996
This beautiful little burp in the history of sketch comedy, had all the potential to be one of the best ever.
So they cancelled it. Of course. Breastmilkgate? In the opening sketch of the premier episode, dana played bill clinton, breastfeeding a baby (and puppies). Viewership dropped from 16 million to less than one, in under three minutes. Which was basically the end, although six more episodes drew the breath of airtime. People talk about the talent pool of writers and performers (and rightly so) - steven colbert, steve carell, louis c.k., charlie kaufman, and bob odenkirk. Carvey, smigel, carell, and colbert are all over the place...and brilliant. The cameos are perfect - hartman, randall, vigoda, channing, degeneres, letterman, philbin...
The network gave carvey free rein, and he responded so admirably that it was either going to be one of the biggest hits ever, or...very much not. Curiously, it aired in prime time...right after "Home Improvement".
If you were culturally conscious in '96, you deserve to see every moment. The best sketch? "Skinheads in Maine". The series-stealer? Elon gold's impression of jeff goldblum.
Well done, dana. You didn't play it safe. We're not worthy.
1996
This beautiful little burp in the history of sketch comedy, had all the potential to be one of the best ever.
So they cancelled it. Of course. Breastmilkgate? In the opening sketch of the premier episode, dana played bill clinton, breastfeeding a baby (and puppies). Viewership dropped from 16 million to less than one, in under three minutes. Which was basically the end, although six more episodes drew the breath of airtime. People talk about the talent pool of writers and performers (and rightly so) - steven colbert, steve carell, louis c.k., charlie kaufman, and bob odenkirk. Carvey, smigel, carell, and colbert are all over the place...and brilliant. The cameos are perfect - hartman, randall, vigoda, channing, degeneres, letterman, philbin...
The network gave carvey free rein, and he responded so admirably that it was either going to be one of the biggest hits ever, or...very much not. Curiously, it aired in prime time...right after "Home Improvement".
If you were culturally conscious in '96, you deserve to see every moment. The best sketch? "Skinheads in Maine". The series-stealer? Elon gold's impression of jeff goldblum.
Well done, dana. You didn't play it safe. We're not worthy.
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
"Elephant Parts"
-created by michael nesmith, bill martin, and william dear
1981
Let's call it saget syndrome...the urge for ex-stars of bloatedly successful but horribly shallow TV shows to turn to subversive, edgy material as a catharsis for their sins against culture.
I'm not sure who the first saget syndrome sufferer was, but few have done it as gracefully as nesmith, former wool cap-wearing Monkee. And not just smoothly, but brilliantly, both musically and conceptually. Many performers get their feet inside the Hollywood door, but few have the talent to make a contribution that goes beyond their single-faceted initiation. This hour-long program, winner of the first grammy for "Video of the Year" is a thoroughly deserving delight. A mix of sketch comedy and songs (and nesmith's first post-Monkee return to the airwaves), it holds up very well in its entirety...no small feat, as sketch comedy is probably the least-lasting form of funny (indeed, the all-comedy sequel "Television Parts" hasn't aged nearly so well).
But of far greater note is the music, particularly "Rio" and "Tonite" (with "Cruisin" not far behind). Exceptionally well-crafted, just pure aural delight. This shouldn't be entirely unexpected...even though michael was the Monkees' george in terms of lead vocals, his one contribution that slips onto anthologies, "Listen to the Band", is strikingly better written and performed than most of their fare.
"Rio" is usually given the title of first music video ever, and it's hard to argue against that claim. The Beatles may have been the first to "film" their music, but that was in a purely self-contained and unintentional context. Nesmith got a request for a "promo clip" of his new song, with the studios expecting nothing other than a single-shot live performance like every other artist, and instead handed in a video that's strikingly sophisticated, even by today's standards. Before anyone else, he saw where music was headed. One dreams of every video being classy as the first...but that's probably just greedy. Enjoy...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnpcTsy10dE
1981
Let's call it saget syndrome...the urge for ex-stars of bloatedly successful but horribly shallow TV shows to turn to subversive, edgy material as a catharsis for their sins against culture.
I'm not sure who the first saget syndrome sufferer was, but few have done it as gracefully as nesmith, former wool cap-wearing Monkee. And not just smoothly, but brilliantly, both musically and conceptually. Many performers get their feet inside the Hollywood door, but few have the talent to make a contribution that goes beyond their single-faceted initiation. This hour-long program, winner of the first grammy for "Video of the Year" is a thoroughly deserving delight. A mix of sketch comedy and songs (and nesmith's first post-Monkee return to the airwaves), it holds up very well in its entirety...no small feat, as sketch comedy is probably the least-lasting form of funny (indeed, the all-comedy sequel "Television Parts" hasn't aged nearly so well).
But of far greater note is the music, particularly "Rio" and "Tonite" (with "Cruisin" not far behind). Exceptionally well-crafted, just pure aural delight. This shouldn't be entirely unexpected...even though michael was the Monkees' george in terms of lead vocals, his one contribution that slips onto anthologies, "Listen to the Band", is strikingly better written and performed than most of their fare.
"Rio" is usually given the title of first music video ever, and it's hard to argue against that claim. The Beatles may have been the first to "film" their music, but that was in a purely self-contained and unintentional context. Nesmith got a request for a "promo clip" of his new song, with the studios expecting nothing other than a single-shot live performance like every other artist, and instead handed in a video that's strikingly sophisticated, even by today's standards. Before anyone else, he saw where music was headed. One dreams of every video being classy as the first...but that's probably just greedy. Enjoy...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnpcTsy10dE
Saturday, June 2, 2018
golden gating
I biked over the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time yesterday. It was splendid, as advertised.
But the really noteworthy parts of the adventure happened before...and after.
My brother john picked me up to hike the Marin headlands, particularly the coast. We took my bike, and parted ways the next day in Santa Rosa. I took a train to San Rafael, and from there it took three and a half hours to get home to Haight-Ashbury (there were mountainous roads and false starts, as i prefer asking for directions over scrupulous map scrutiny). My lunch break was glorious, nestled into a two-foot rest nook at the center point of the bridge. I munched on sesame wheat bread and guacamole, while sharing smiles with the bikers passing by. It was blustery, but not quite cold. I watched the ships far below, most of them sailing craft, and marveled that they made any progress at all, with a powerful current below and strong winds above seemingly working at cross purposes.
I wondered a tiny bit what all the fuss was about, though. It was just a bridge, like any other huge city bridge. Wondrous, but worthy of being on the short list of terrorist dream targets? Taking out the Bay Bridge would disrupt far more commerce, i should think.
The silliest part of the adventure happened when i got back to San Francisco, however. Looking at my map, i saw that when i emerged from the Presidio nature area, Lyon Avenue would give me an almost perfectly straight shot home. Take a look at Lyon on a map. I'm not crazy, it appears as a street, yes? After a few blocks, the street became little more than a flora-covered wall. You have to take stairways to continue. There's nothing unusual about that, in a city that can be more mountaineering miasma than scenic stroll. But even though block after block of Lyon is nothing but staircase, they keep posting street signs! Is this just a relic of some mayoral administration with a heightened sense of whimsy?
Lyon Avenue - the silliest street in the world.
My twenty-mile trek was the first big adventure for my new bike, a Peugeot nearly as old as myself.
The other silly bookend of the trip belonged to my brother. Watch what happened when he got to the bottom of the thirty-floor staircase to the Point Reyes Lighthouse...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mlmzZXoJAlA&feature=youtu.be
But the really noteworthy parts of the adventure happened before...and after.
My brother john picked me up to hike the Marin headlands, particularly the coast. We took my bike, and parted ways the next day in Santa Rosa. I took a train to San Rafael, and from there it took three and a half hours to get home to Haight-Ashbury (there were mountainous roads and false starts, as i prefer asking for directions over scrupulous map scrutiny). My lunch break was glorious, nestled into a two-foot rest nook at the center point of the bridge. I munched on sesame wheat bread and guacamole, while sharing smiles with the bikers passing by. It was blustery, but not quite cold. I watched the ships far below, most of them sailing craft, and marveled that they made any progress at all, with a powerful current below and strong winds above seemingly working at cross purposes.
I wondered a tiny bit what all the fuss was about, though. It was just a bridge, like any other huge city bridge. Wondrous, but worthy of being on the short list of terrorist dream targets? Taking out the Bay Bridge would disrupt far more commerce, i should think.
The silliest part of the adventure happened when i got back to San Francisco, however. Looking at my map, i saw that when i emerged from the Presidio nature area, Lyon Avenue would give me an almost perfectly straight shot home. Take a look at Lyon on a map. I'm not crazy, it appears as a street, yes? After a few blocks, the street became little more than a flora-covered wall. You have to take stairways to continue. There's nothing unusual about that, in a city that can be more mountaineering miasma than scenic stroll. But even though block after block of Lyon is nothing but staircase, they keep posting street signs! Is this just a relic of some mayoral administration with a heightened sense of whimsy?
Lyon Avenue - the silliest street in the world.
My twenty-mile trek was the first big adventure for my new bike, a Peugeot nearly as old as myself.
The other silly bookend of the trip belonged to my brother. Watch what happened when he got to the bottom of the thirty-floor staircase to the Point Reyes Lighthouse...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mlmzZXoJAlA&feature=youtu.be
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