House vs. Doc Martin (and Others)

My parents always had this guideline, if you will, that if someone on TV wasn't the kind of person you would invite over for tea, then they probably weren't worth watching on TV either. Now granted, this doesn't always apply to serious drama, as found in films and theatre, and it certainly doesn't always apply to literature (from Gilgamesh on down, we'd be dealing with some very problematic houseguests); however, I think for television shows I watch regularly this is a fairly accurate rule of thumb. If I am going to devote an hour or more a week to this person, then he'd better be someone likable, someone with worthwhile qualities I can admire, or at least find humorous or diverting.


So my question is: How did an asshole like House get top billing?


He's taciturn, surly, is motivated purely by self-interest, has little or no compassion, and absolutely no manners. See, here's my problem with this guy. It's not like there haven't been characters like this before, but usually they've been relegated to a supporting role, making it clear that their behavior is not the norm. Making a character like House the star of the show sends out the message that it's okay to be a jerk when you're a genius and people need you to do what you do. I just don't buy it. We need more courtesy in this world, not less.


However, to be fair, I decided to look at some other characters whom I admire, ones that, if squinted at, might fall into the above category, but for some reason, I choose to forgive them.


Doc Martin. He's taciturn, surly, and lacks interpersonal skills. However, he does seem to truly care about his patients, even if he is incapable of expressing it. When he is careless of people's feelings, it's more from being oblivious than any deliberate malice. In fact, in most cases, he is exceedingly polite. I would enjoy his company for tea, but I have a notion I would make him nervous. The conversation would be stilted, and he would excuse himself early.


DCI Gene Hunt from Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes. Sure, he's the kind of cop that thinks with his gut and is more likely to solve things with a fist fight or blazing guns. But can you blame him? He's only being consistent with what a man of the 70s or 80s would do. As long as he's got 21st century foils Sam Tyler and Alex Drake to keep him in line, he's an alright bloke. I might not invite him to tea, but I'd let him buy me a beer.


Bernard Black, Black Books. I will grant you that Bernard can be a jerk at times, but he is more likely to make an ass of himself than be an asshole. He is just So Appallingly Funny. I would drink anything with this man: tea, wine, whatever's going. But I'd send him home before he decided to do Belly Savales or, god forbid, Cobumbo.


I am noticing a bit of a pattern here: They're all British (well, Bernard is Irish...). Am I really so shallow? Just dress the jerky behavior up in a fancy accent and I will forgive anything? Well, no, not exactly, no. I think what it comes down to is that there is a certain smugness in House that I dislike intensely, this attitude he has that he is just untouchable; they need him, so he can act however he wishes. I don't believe these other characters have that much power. And, in addition, I believe they are balanced out more equally by their co-stars.


All things considered, I would just rather spend my evening with my favorite fellows from across the pond. May House fade into oblivion.






89 Days til the Burn

PalFest is a Success!

I am really encouraged when I see things like this: a Palestinian Literature Festival in Ramallah. Violence and oppression raining around them, and there they are, those brave souls, reading poetry and stories and plays, keeping the dream of Palestine alive. Are these not Zamyatin's sailors in the mastheads?

Michael Palin was there. And Nathalie Handel, too. And many others. And the festival went forward as planned in spite of Israel's attempts to disrupt it. See news article here.

Art is a powerful tool, as we well know. It can transform the world. I hope the Palestinians pile word upon word upon word, subverting media misconceptions, undermining the wall, and transporting them to freedom.

90 Days til the Burn

Nanci Griffith and The Loving Kind

Friday night was also a chance for me to see Nanci Griffith in concert at the Rio in Santa Cruz.


Nanci was so inspiring-- I just came away singing! She had a really sweet presence onstage and a good rapport with her audience as well as her band. Stylistically, she is a little more country than I prefer, but I have to admire her for her skill and longevity. She has been a singer/songwriter for many years. Her songs have been covered by many famous artists.


I especially liked her folksongs-- one was set in the Dust Bowl, another in Ireland. The title song, "The Loving Kind," tells the story of Mildred and Richard Loving, a black woman and white man who married in 1958 and ended up having to defend their right to marry all the way to the Supreme Court. They won their case and ended up setting the precedent for the nation. This song is a tale simply told and very subtly parallels the recent struggle of gays and lesbians to have their marriages validated. No obvious connection is made to this in the song, but Nanci did so when she introduced it onstage, and also mentioned that it was Mildred Loving's hope, right before her death, that her and her husband's story would serve as inspiration for those seeking the right to marry.


The opening act, Jenna Mammina, was good, too. She was clever and funny and did this amazing thing where she created a song on the spot from six words thrown out to her from the audience. I loved it!






91 Days til the Burn

Frolicking at Filoli

Today, the weather stayed nice long enough for some friends and I to enjoy Filoli, an English estate and gardens in Woodside, some 30 miles south of San Francisco.

Filoli is created from the motto: FIght for a just cause, LOve your fellow man, LIve a good life.

I never knew this place was here. How did this go undiscovered for so long? It's like a little piece of Europe plunked down right in my backyard. Inside the house was a ballroom and a library and *huge* fireplaces and art... Outside were gardens with winding paths and secret doorways and trickily fountains. All the roses had names, and the trees, too. (Each had little nameplates to tell visitors what they were.) But one tree I had to name myself. I called it the Merlin tree because it looked like the tree Nimue trapped Merlin in.

It was a beautiful day, and we came away refreshed in spirit, body, and mind. We will return. Oh, yes. We will.

92 Days til the Burn

Laugh Lines

Every so often I like to cull a few gems from student writing. Enjoy! (Or cringe, as you please).



"Only losers decide to go to the movies by themselves."

"My ex-girlfriend and I had a very happy relationship because I told her the truth no matter what."

"But the fact that you can hog the covers, or spend all your money on your twelve cats if you please makes being single all worth the while, right?"

"If you don't achieve the goal you always thought you wanted, as long as you are happy, you are successful in your career -- even if it's unemployment!"

"Furthermore, men and women were created as supplements of each other. Women need shoulders when they feel sad. Men need soft and warm voices when they feel stressed."

"Even the grandparents got evolved."






93 Days til the Burn

In Search of Cordelia

I did the strangest thing tonight. I turned on the TV while I was cleaning house. I never do this because I find TV too distracting on the one hand, and on the other, when it's worth watching, I like to give it my full attention.


Even stranger, I let the channel rest on a reality show. I never watch reality shows; I'm allergic to them.


Even stranger, said reality show was Paris Hilton: My New BFF.


Did I mention I *never* do this? Never.


But this show was like a road accident. I simply could not turn away. It was so repulsive, I had to investigate to see what makes it tick. I do this for you, Dear Readers. May my sacrifice not be in vain.


First, a quick update. Paris Hilton is in search of a best friend (thus BFF: Best Friends Forever). Apparently her last one betrayed her in some vague, unforgivable fashion. So here she is: bereft. She doesn't look bereft. In fact, she looks rich, spoiled, and vulgar. But I digress.


Let the auditions begin. The young hopefuls line up to proclaim their undying love.


What's wrong with this picture?


I mean, besides the fact she puts these foolish, pitiable creatures through all manner of humiliation.


Besides the fact that the very idea of *auditioning* for a best friend is so patently artificial that it knaws at my moral center with a squirmy, maggoty determination.


Besides the fact that not once--not *once*--in all the effusive offerings of trueness and loyalty did anyone ask what Paris was going to bring to this relationship.


And as I watched on with appalled fascination, Paris up on her throne, surveying her little kingdom, suddenly it hit me: Well, it's Lear, isn't it? "Which of you shall we say doth love us most?" Except Shakespeare did it with style, taste, and a considerably better ear for poetry.


But it occured to me then what I was waiting for: I was waiting for Cordelia to step forward and say boldly (paraphrased), "Nothing. I give you nothing. No love, more or less, than what you deserve."


Of course, there is no Cordelia. And even if there were, Paris would never recognize her for her worth. Not until, Lear-like, Paris too was stripped of her power and left naked and raving in a thunderstorm. It doesn't bear thinking about...


Poor Paris. Poor thing.
For thy fake love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.






94 Days til the Burn

The Paradox of an Imperfect World

Continuing the earlier thread with the Zamyatin quote, I discovered this little jewel while reading Michael Moorcock's Sailor on the Seas of Fate featuring the penultimate Philosopher/Reluctant Warrior King, Elric of Melnibone.

"He ran his fingers through his milk-white hair and there was a kind of innocent anguish in his crimson eyes. He might be the last of his kind and yet he was unlike his kind. Smiorgan had been wrong. Elric knew that everything that existed had its opposite. In danger he might find peace. And yet, of course, in peace there was danger. Being an imperfect creature in an imperfect world he would always know paradox. And that was why in paradox there was always a kind of truth. That was why philosophers and soothsayers flourished. In a perfect world there would be no place for them. In an imperfect world the mysteries were always without solution and that was why there was always a great choice of solutions."

(Note: I read the first page of this book during the rehearsal of a high school play--I think Chris Saenz was reading it--It took me this long to get back to it. It was worth the wait: deep philosophical musings, pulse-pounding adventures, and some really beautiful prose. I never knew high fantasy was so much fun!)

95 Days til the Burn

Un-consciousness Conspiracy

I used to believe that dreams were just the flotsam and jetsam of daily life rising to the surface. That it was the brain's way of repackaging the human experience and filing it away neatly for later reference. But it's very difficult to maintain that arch sense of aloofness when your brain spits out something like this:

I dreamed that I was taking a drama class at SJSU (this is a nice touchstone with reality because I have been considering this lately). So I go to class and the instructor is just, well, Gorgeous. And I develop an immediate crush on him to the point where I see him after class to tell him I'm considering dropping the course just so I can date him. ;-)

The creation of this dream "character" was very specific. He was tall, slender, dark-haired, American but of East Indian descent, beautiful smile... And I can assure you that I have never seen this man before in my life. Not in life, or television, or movies, or even a book.

So where did he come from?

I am reminded of Donna Noble's experience in the world library and how she was never entirely sure afterwards if her husband in that virtual world was real or imagined. (Ref: Forest of the Dead).

I am also reminded of that really marvelous conversation between Harper Pitt and Prior Walter in Angels in America:

Harper Pitt: What are you doing in my hallucination?
Prior Walter: I'm not in your hallucination, you're in my dream.
Harper Pitt: You're wearing makeup.
Prior Walter: So are you.
Harper Pitt: But you're a man.
Prior Walter: [looks into mirror and screams] My hands and feet give it away.
Harper Pitt: There must be some mistake here. I don't recognize you. Are you my... - some sort of imaginary friend?
Prior Walter: No. Aren't you too old to have imaginary friends?
Harper Pitt: I have emotional problems. I took too many pills. Why are you wearing makeup?
Prior Walter: I was in the process of applying the face, trying to make myself feel better. I swiped the new fall colours at the Clinique counter at Macy's.
Harper Pitt: You stole these?
Prior Walter: I was out of cash. It was an emotional emergency.
Harper Pitt: Joe will be so angry. I promised him no more pills.
Prior Walter: These pills you keep alluding to...
Harper Pitt: Valium, I take Valium. Lots of Valium.
Prior Walter: And you're dancing as fast as you can.
Harper Pitt: I'm not addicted. I don't believe in addiction and I... I never drink and I never take drugs.
Prior Walter: Well, smell you, Nancy Drew.
Harper Pitt: Except for Valium.
Prior Walter: Except Valium in wee fistfuls.
Harper Pitt: It's terrible. Mormons are not supposed to be addicted to anything. I'm a Mormon.
Prior Walter: I'm a homosexual.
Harper Pitt: Oh. In my church, we don't believe in homosexuals.
Prior Walter: In my church, we don't believe in Mormons.
Harper Pitt: I don't understand this. If I didn't ever see you before, and I don't think I did, then I don't think you should be here in this hallucination because in my experience the mind which is where hallucinations come from shouldn't be able to make anything up that wasn't there to start with that didn't enter it from experience from the real world. Imagination can't create anything new can it? It only recycles bits and pieces from the world and reassembles them into visions. Am I making sense right now?
Prior Walter: Given the circumstances, yes.

*****

So where do we go when we dream? Is it the Dreamtime? Is it Jung's Collective Unconscious? Is it echoes of the past, or through-a-glass-darkly glimpses of the future? Or are we, perhaps, catching sight of our infinite self in a myriad alternative realities? Hmm.


I don't know. But one thing is certain: I am definitely going to wander over to the theatre and see who's teaching drama this year...






96 Days til the Burn