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September 28, 2008

Staring at the Dimensions of Love

The NYT Sunday Styles section offers an unusual juxtaposition of hope for hopeless romantics. First, there's the cold-hearted reality of love in the time of brain damage in the Modern Love article. Then, there's the carefree romance of being swept away in the last moment's of someone else's wedding in the featured vows. Rounding out the review of modern love are the cover stories on queer actors and another that disturbingly read like a MoDo opinion piece stereotyping the domineering nature of socialite CEO spouses.

Meanwhile, in the category of picking up on seminal cultural touchstones that I missed when they were new, I watched Jungle Fever last night. I was curious to see the movie that popularized a rather denigrating term. I was frustrated that the exploration of multi-racial romance was saddled with an adultery subtext. I think there is much to be mined simply from dealing openly with relationships that cross ethnic, educational, and class lines. While many of the scenes discussing the affair seemed contrived, there were definite nuggets of truth in the film. While it's true that there are plenty of people who take a "rainbow connection" blind eye to the color of love, it's equally true that internalized racism leads some people of color to seek out white lovers. Finding the former can be difficult, even 17 years after the release of Spike Lee's film.

Posted by cj at 02:05 PM | Comments (0)

September 21, 2008

the censored emmy's

The Emmy Awards are not interesting. It pisses me off that they tape delay the broadcast and force West Coast viewers to stay up until 11 to see the whole thing. I don't understand why I'm watching it, since I haven't watched the third ep of True Love. (Seriously addicted to that show.)

And then, they go and ruin the acceptance speech of the John Adam's writer by cutting to a clip for the reality series award. Buzz Sugar has Kirk Ellis' reaction backstage to being cut off.

"As soon as I got up there and opened my mouth, they were already flashing the 'wrap it up'," he said. "I find it really interesting that we can have 30 minutes of the show devoted to reality show hosts, when the people who actually create the work don't get enough time to talk." (He got a lot of applause in the press room for that line.)

As for what he was going to say? Ellis wanted to talk about how in the time of John Adams, the word was primary. "We have to listen to a lot of bloviating from pundits in this silly election season about whether words matter and rhetoric matters," he said. "Of course words matter. They always matter. We have to listen to what they have to say."

And so shocking that they wouldn't have the huevos to cut off Tom Hanks when he made the same damn point.

Here's a 10 minute interview with Ellis about Adams:

Posted by cj at 09:55 PM | Comments (0)

September 07, 2008

the many sides of robert zimmerman

I had such an incredible week. Wednesday night I went to my first Dylan concert. I knew I wouldn't recognize most of the songs. I didn't realize I'd run into someone I knew and therefore not push my way closer to the front. At times, I was distracted by the tall men in front of me blocking my view. But my former coworker made up for it by letting me borrow his binoculars. And yes, getting out of the parking lot was excruciating.

But enough about the negatives, the sound man. The sound was just incredible. It amazes me that Bob doesn't just reinvent himself; he reinvents his music. Sure, there were the old fogies complaining that he never plays his songs like they're recorded. They reminded me of all those people in the Dylan docs complaining when he went electric. It's a sign of the times, dude. I marvel at his ability to reinvent iconic songs; I don't begrudge his artistic freedom.

What was life affirming for me was hearing him sing It Ain't Me Babe. For so long, my love for Dylan music was tied to longing for the blind boy grunt. I clung to my dead love, as if pining for a man would actually bring him back. I drove around Chi-town bawling hysterically, hearing the truth of It Ain't Me Babe, but not being able to accept it. And thank G'd those days are far behind me, nothing more than a bittersweet memory.

On Wednesday, there was no elephant in the room keeping me from experiencing and appreciating Dylan. There was just the iconic poet in an iconic venue. Though as my friend said, "he's such a smug son of a bitch."

It was a little shocking to me that the introduction sounded like a recap of I'm Not There. But that makes sense. Dylan is the master showman; he's been creating personas for public consumption since he first picked up a guitar in Minnesota.

I'm just bummed I only bought one t-shirt. Should've picked up the other one I had my eye on, since it's not available at the online store.

Here's the set list from the Santa Monica Civic show.

It was interesting to read this review of Suze Rotolo's memoir today, which chronicles both her time as Dylan's muse and the years since then. It seems overly harsh that the critic judges the author for the cover art (iconic photo of her with Dylan), since that seems like a publisher's decision, not her's. Still, I highly doubt anyone would have signed a contract for the memoir of a red diaper baby if she didn't also happen to be Dylan's first public love.

Except for the fact that tonight Rhapsody got flummoxed and kept repeating phrases of Bob's songs rather than replaying the concert's set list for me, I've enjoyed walking down this memory lane.

Next month, Bootleg Series 8 comes out. And I can't wait for the next edition of his memoirs and of course, for the next Los Angeles show.

Posted by cj at 08:11 PM | Comments (0)