sundries

Last night I received a brief Facebook note from a woman I attended a dance camp with as a child. It had a lovely cadence to it, that really captured the feeling of the way we are fond of the past, but also sealed off from it -- This must be the only Racheline I ever knew.

It took me a long time to summon up the memory of her -- the face is hazy, possibly mixed with that of another girl, but I remember and outfit of hers, and I'll have to ask about random details of social interactions she may too not remember clearly to be sure of who she is. But if I'm correct, she's the one who got me to read The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. She was terribly worldly, and we were, I guess about 12?

Regardless, I found myself moved by it, but also confronted with an internal awkwardness that is new to me and exists particularly when interacting with people from my childhood. Being told I looked male was a way other girls told me I was ugly growing up -- in largely female circles, as all of my childhood was, this is a common way in which women police each other normativity. I don't recall any such behavior from this woman, nor do I even recall any of it happening in her presence, but I am still left with this visceral feeling of nervousness and instinct to be apologetic or justifying the fact that I'm using a (still need an adjective -- butch? masculine? cross-dressed? androgynous? genderqueer?) photo of me on Facebook right now.

Of course, she probably doesn't care particularly. Her recollection of me was of interest enough that she sent me a note and asked how I was. It's really so simple: all I have to do is respond.

Aphid Attack Action is live. Man, those little fuckers are everywhere. Soapy water. Lots of soapy water.

Meanwhile, one of the little stalks with a tiny tiny pepper snapped off. So we're down to the large growing pepper, and the two tiny peppers that I don't know if they are going to get bigger -- and many many other flowers that could turn into peppers. I suspect the pepper loss is either a lack of sun for the plant to support that much fruit or a bird attack. Gardening is hard.

Lots of emerging tomatoes -- I'll count soon. Also, new buds on the zebra. Hopefully these will be inclined to become tomatoes. The last died before opening, although the plant is very healthy.

Patty and I are seeing the Coraline musical tonight.

links

The past was neither dim nor drab.
100-year-old color photos (yes, color, not hand-tinted).
via ladyaelfwynn

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fixed_air is having a poll and discussion about abortion on her journal. What's interesting is how civilized the discussion is. We had a long conversation about the internalized sexism of how she framed parts of the poll, and the whole thing is sort of worth taking a look at. No one is trying to change anyone's mind, but people really seem interested in listening.

Do not go over there in a desire for conflict. That's not the point, and I'll be displeased.

http://fixed-air.livejournal.com/224445.html

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Lady, is it a revolution already?

Coraline

We've just come from the Coraline musical, which was absolutely fascinating and enjoyable, although I think it has problems (very fixable ones). I should note, before I go on, that I've not read the book or seen the film and have no particular affinity for Gaiman's work -- I find it clever and amusing, but it doesn't (with te exception of a particular poem) resonate with me.

The real stand-out o the show is the integration of the set and music. Real and toy pianos litter the set and actors add sound -- plinky, eerie and oddly timed -- to moments musical and not. This does wonders for conjuring the world of the show, while making it both relentlessly charming and relentlesly creepy.

The set however, is also part of the problem, in that it is indicative of the way in which the piece has not yet decided if it's a musical or a play with music. The scenes in our world feel like musical theater; the scenes in the other world don't -- part of that is the atonal qualities to the music in this setting (a necessary trope, but one that becomes hard on the ear and is problematic for a musical because such melodies aren't hook-y and the ear craves that); part of that is timing issues. Yes, it is in the other world, the fantastical world, that the show sometimes threatens to drag.

What it really needs is one more song, one that explains to us what the Other Mother is in more than passing (Patty had to explain it to me; and if I didn't get it from a quick mention of the "Belle Dame" lord knows, most of the rest of the audience won't either) while being melodic and punchy enough to stay with the viewer.

All the performances were brilliant, but I was particularly taken with the fellow who played Coraline's real father and one of the theater ladies. HIs prescence was wonderful, his characterizations sharp, and he utterly, utterly broke my heart in the "We Trod the Boards" song, which was probably the most spectacular give-this-show-an-award moment of the piece.

Other exceptional moments include the puppetry of the Ghost Children, anything about the rats (funny, creepy, lovely), the hilarity of the actresses' dogs, and the tendency of the cat not to do obvious cat things (although there's plenty of that too), but do really weird, oddly timed cat things, that ring very true.

Overall the show is clever, very funny, utterly worth seeing, and kid appropriate, assuming you're raising a child who is both urbane and kind -- to appreciate the show they'll need to be more sophisticated than Coraline, but they'll also need to be on her side.

I'd love to see the piece developed further, made bigger, and take on noisy modern tourist-attraction Broadway with its shabby heart (often reminiscent of The Fantasticks, but, you know, with rats) and love for so many worlds of performance past from the oral tradition of fairytales, through the specialities of circus folk, to its memories of the stage's glamorous, scrapbooked past.