Trains

I like trains. Always have. When I was a kid I had American Flyer and HO model trains. One of my favorite Christmas memories is set in Rochester, NY, at my grandparents' house. I was the first one down on Christmas morning and there, in Norman Rockwell overkill, was an electric train laid out under the tree. I was ecstatic -- at least until Grandma came down and scolded me for playing with my new toy before anyone else was up.

I like passenger trains too. When I was eight we took a train from LA to Chicago and I thought it was great, even though it was hours late. I'm old enough to remember eating dinner on a train from Vermont to Richmond: prime rib on real china at a table topped with linen, drinking wine from a stemmed glass. Ransom and I took Le Train Bleu from Paris to Nice and, though it was not at all what it had once been, it was still a romantic and charming experience.

We also took Amtrak from New York to California a few years back; it too was not great but was worth doing once. A highlight of that trip was a late night stop in a small AZ town. I wanted a picture to commemorate the greatest line in all of rock and roll: "standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see. It's a girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford slowing down to take a look at me." Alas the station was closed up with nary a light on; no picture that night.

A friend of mine tells a great train story: traveling from Philly to Richmond she came across a very upset older woman. Asking how she might help, Kathy was told, "it's my husband, he's not on the train. He was in the last car and when the train separated his car didn't follow us." Kathy assured her it would all be ok and that she would help the woman contact her husband. "No, no, you don't understand," cried the woman. "He's DEAD! It's his coffin that's no longer on the train."

My friend Don and I had a sit-com moment traveling to Jacksonville in the 70s. As the attendant got us settled in our sleeper I told him where we were going and asked to be woken up 45 minutes before we arrived. I figured I'd tip him in the morning. Big mistake. After a late night of eating and drinking I slept late. The train wasn't moving when I finally rubbed the sleep from up my eyes to see that we were in . . . Jacksonville! I shouted at Don to wake up and we rushed out the door, shoeless, with bags trailing clothes. The train was already moving again as we jumped off. My Dad was standing on the platform, shaking his head, not wanting to ask.

My weirdest train tale is from MetroNorth a couple years back. I was on my way to an opening at City Opera. Ransom was conducting. Just past Stamford the train stopped and, after ten minutes, the conductor told us there was a problem and we'd be here for a while. An hour later another train pulled up next to us and we boarded that train to continue our journey. The problem? A 55 year-old man decided to show his wife and three kids how to flatten a penny on the train tracks. We came along and ran him over. Cut him in half right in front of his family! I was sad to miss the opera but you know the really sad thing: he had already passed his genes on!

Mel & Andrew, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g . . .

Remember that little children's song? It occurs to me that Andrew Breitbart and Mel Gibson deserve each other. They would likely fight over which one is the more homophobic, the more racist, the more hate-filled -- and wouldn't those fights be a hoot to watch? -- but perhaps they'd work through it and find true happiness. They seem a perfect pair

Of the two, I think Breitbart is the bigger threat. Gibson's a celebrity and we have, alas, come to expect bad behavior from our celebs. Breitbart though is an opinion maker and it scares me that there are Americans stupid enough to fall for his twisted and manipulative spin on the truth.

The Shirely Sherrod affair is a disgrace. No one comes through it untainted -- even Ms. Sherrod, I dare say, who might have stuck up for herself a bit more. The USDA and the White House look like fools and the NAACP like scared-as-a-rabbit idiots. But Breitbart is a case unto himself. "Damn the truth, full speed ahead" seems to be his mantra. He seemingly will do anything, say anything to attack his enemies, collateral damage be ignored.

What's wrong with this man? What's wrong with our political process that such venom is encouraged? Why is it even tolerated? Why do racist homophobes find an audience? Alas, the answer to that one is all too obvious.

Manning up

My last post included comments on the Reduced Shakespeare Company's Completely Hollywood (abridged) which just concluded a run at the Kennedy Center. I didn't like it and left at intermission. Some readers attacked me for not being specific in my "review." While I maintain that I was not in fact reviewing the piece, I will concede that I was not specific in my criticism. I will go one further and retract my use of the word "drivel."

The three actors are all quite talented and I applaud their ability, their hard work and what I perceived to be their spontaneity. Some of the writing was very clever and at least one of the sight gags was funny: the turning of the "camera" to make the actors seem to walk up a wall.

I am not fond of broad humor; I prefer subtlety. Let's leave it at that.

What's troubling is the amount of energy and venom a complete stranger would pour into his/her comment on my blog. I published several but held one back. An anonymous writer doesn't get to attack me personally -- not on my dime anyway. I have written before that we are not as nice a people as we once were. Amen to that.

Best wishes to the Reduced Shakespeare Company; I will go see them again when I can. Though I am not a reviewer, it's what I would do were I.

Two strikes and you're out

My friend Don and I saw Shear Madness at the Kennedy Center on May 24, 2008. I hated it. I remember thinking at the time that theatre couldn't possibly get any worse. A year later we saw Arcadia on May 23 at the Folger Theatre, also in Washington, DC. It is brilliant, perhaps my favorite modern play, and it was a great production. We both loved it.

Tonight we saw Completely Hollywood (abridged) by the Reduced Shakespeare Company, also at the Kennedy Center. My two-year old question was answered. THIS is how bad theatre can be. It was dreadful. Mercifully, Don was willing to leave at intermission and we went to a pleasant supper an hour earlier than planned.

None of this is of particular note except that at both Kennedy Center performances those in attendance seemed to be loving it -- except, perhaps for two people -- more on them in a minute. The audience laughed and clapped and had a jolly old time. I sat there stone-faced, lamenting the state of culture in America.

Regular readers know that I am a harsh critic and a curmudgeon, but come on, this was drivel! Well executed drivel perhaps, but drivel nonetheless. It was akin to watching Late Night where the audience is so pumped up that they will laugh and scream and cry and make fools of themselves whenever the producer tells them to. The Reduced Shakespeare Company should be under a restraining order to change their name; the Bard deserves better.

One must take the bad with the good though, and so it was today. To balance this dreadful piece of theatrical claptrap the gods provided me five delightful hours connecting with friends that I have not seen in 47 years! From my junior high days in Japan came Terry, Marguerite, Marion and Shelley, and we had a great time telling stories and catching up. Five hours with them seemed like five minutes compared to the endless sixty minutes I spent with the RSC!

And those two people and two strikes mentioned above? In the first case, two people left the performance tonight well before intermission. Don and I wondered whether they were audience members whose tolerance was even less than mine or whether it was part of the show. I'm convinced it was the former. "Bravi" I say to them. And as for the two strikes: I'm sorry my dearest, dearest friend, Don, but Thalia and Dionysus have decreed that you be removed from your position as director of theatrical choices. Condolences, but it's for the best.

Rock and Roll will never die!

It took perhaps five years for Ransom to understand that if I was playing rock and roll when he came home it did not mean I was mad at him. He had a hard time believing I could actually like rock music; after all he knew I liked Mozart and Bach and opera. To this day he doesn't understand how I can swim in both streams, but at least he no longer thinks it's personal.

I watched Pirate Radio last night and I've gotta say: WOW! What a fun time. It's an excellent little movie, very funny and very tight, but most importantly, it has perhaps the greatest soundtrack of all time. From All Day and All of the Night by the Kinks to Won't Get Fooled Again by the Who to my favorite, the much less-heard Here Comes the Night by Them, Van Morrison's break-out band. There's also the who-remembers-it-was-such-fun-to-sing Elenore by the Turtles.

While I do in fact love classical music and while I believe Wagner's Ring is the greatest musical achievement of all time, rock and roll has an energy that can't be denied and a history that is irrevocably tied to my life. I was grinning through virtually every minute of the film, either for what I was watching, or what I was hearing -- and for what I was remembering. I think there was only one song I didn't know; the rest were the soundtrack of my life, at least through the late 60s.

I remember watching the Ed Sullivan show to see Elvis and, later, the Beatles. I saw the Rolling Stones at the tiny Virginia Beach Dome, at Norfolk's Scope and then at Shea Stadium. I saw the Beatles at RFK stadium, long before it was, sadly, renamed that. There was the Grateful Dead, the Who, Elton John and countless soul and Motown groups as well. Though I don't go to rock concerts anymore, I am still very much the windows-down, hair-blowing, turn-it-up guy I was 40 years ago.

My only disappointment in Pirate Radio was that the version of Stay With Me used over the closing credits is by Duffy. It pales in comparison to the pretty much unknown original by Lorraine Ellison, a must-have for anyone who loves soul music. (Note: I see that the CD soundtrack has both versions; perhaps Ellison's was heard in the background at some point and I missed it). A minor quibble. The point is: see this movie!  And crank it up.

Long live rock!

The rules don't apply to me

I watched State of Play over the weekend; engaging, but not great film making to be sure. The plot begins with a married congressman having an affair with a staffer. Hmmm, where'd they get that idea? As in real life, the fictional representative believed he could get away with it and keep the affair hidden. Well, no.

I was wondering why it is that people in power -- men mostly -- always seem to think they can get away with stuff? Now of course powerful men do get away with stuff all the time, but that's mainly rape the environment, spit on the constitution, defraud the American people kind of stuff. When it comes to shtuping your secretary, that usually gets found out. Why don't they know that?

Cut to last week, driving to work. I saw a large man wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed, in very big letters, "the rules don't apply to me."

And there's my answer. This guy, like the congressman in the movie, like certain senators and presidents, thinks the rules don't apply to him. And this guy ain't alone. I would argue that we are becoming a nation of selfish egocentrics who think the rules only apply to other folks. Why else do so many of us run red lights but bitch about the people -- not us -- who do? Why do so many of us leave our shopping carts anywhere we want in the parking lot, instead of returning them to the corral? (This is one I DON'T do; I made it a New Year's resolution years ago and have stuck with it). How come so many of us talk on our cell while driving?

Because the rules don't apply to us -- only to them!

I've often said that if America had to fight World War II today we'd lose. We just don't have the willingness to sacrifice and to pull together that we had 70 years ago. As we celebrate Independence Day I fear that the sacrifices made in our name 234 years ago are out of reach for most Americans.

Happy 4th everybody!