Waiting for Waiting For Godot

Waiting For Godot is one of those plays I've always heard about but have never seen performed. I haven't read it either. All I know is that it's about two guys sitting around waiting for this person named "Godot" who never shows up. It's one long conversation about, well, life, the universe, and everything, from what I can gather. And there's this kind of play on the name "Godot" -- God, Godot -- get it? So. Very philosophical, very neat stuff. When it first hit the stage, people loved it. People hated it. People reacted. So when it turned up on my Artsopolis eSavers email, I had to go, didn't I. Plus, I thought it would be fun to take my son. I bought the tickets online, printed out the directions to this place I never heard of, and out into the dark we went.

It was a dark and stormy night. (No, really!) Could that have been the reason for my disorientation? It contributed to it, anyway. That and the flipping lousy directions. I'm telling you, people can't give decent directions, let alone a machine. Mapquest be damned. I don't know who's to blame -- Artsopolis, the Santa Clara Players, or Mapquest -- but I drove around in circles for an hour before I found the place. Sort of found the place. What I found was the Triton Museum of Art. The play was supposedly being held at the grandly titled "Triton Pavilion." My son and I walked around the grounds for 20 minutes before finally giving up and crashing what was an obviously high society party at the museum. Did anyone know where the so-called "Pavilion" was? Staff directed us out back.

There, across the dimly lit grounds, with little more than a hedgerow path to guide us, was the "pavilion" -- a set of squat hexagonal-shaped buildings more akin to an outhouse. And sure enough, posted there next to the door, was a sign the size of a postage stamp declaring the performance of Waiting For Godot. The play was already in progress. We were an hour and a half late.

Then, before I could even say a word, this ancient woman who could have passed for one of The Furies herself descended upon us and said, "You can't go in there! The play is already in progress!"

That, my friends, was the proverbial last straw. I lit into her and told her what I thought of the so-called directions available through their website. I also asked for my money back. She couldn't help me. The ticket guy had already packed up and gone home. So I grumbled, as I exited stage left, that I would be writing a letter of complaint. (Eventually, I will).

We went to a movie instead.

The irony of this whole experience is not lost on me, however; you see, I'm still waiting for Waiting For Godot.

Gypsy Soul

Great, great band. I'm so glad I got the chance to see them perform. (Thanks, Guy!)

Who?
By Cilette Swann and Roman Morykit

Who will speak in my absence?
Who will stand in my place?
Will you rejoice in the life that I've led?
Who will I inspire along the way?

Who will sing at my passing?
Who will dance upon my grave?
For whom will I be a lasting memory?
For whom will I easily fade?

[chorus]
Do I give enough?
Do I love enough?
Do I live enough?
Did I ever give up on
Anyone I shouldn't have?

Do I risk enough?
Do I forgive enough?
Do I trust enough?
Am I good enough?

Who will wake from this slumber?
Who will share in the faith
That we are the sum of the choices we make?
We cannot lay down at the mercy of fate.

Mammorama

Well, after years of avoidance, I finally went through with it. I had a mammogram. You see, my plan was, if I waited long enough, the technology would advance to the point where the experience wouldn't be nearly as uncomfortable as the stories made it out to be. And believe me, there are stories. Women talk.

So, okay, I'm beginning my fourth decade. There's no going back. A woman's gotta do what she's gotta do. I braced myself for the worst.

The nurse led me into a small room with a machine that really did look like something out of a science fiction movie. This thing looked like it could flat iron my hair, transport me to Venus, and tell me the time when I got there. The nurse said to me, "Just pretend you're a model and we're going to take some pictures." The nurse, who was maybe a little over half my height, took another look (up) at me and said, "You really could have been a model." (It was the "could have been" that tweaked me just a bit).

I've noticed something about nurses (in my vast experience of about three or four trips to the hospital in my lifetime), especially the older ones. They develop their own style, their own little catch phrases for putting patients at ease. I'll never forget that one nurse I had when I was in labor with my son. "Just stay loose as a goose, loose as a goose." For an hour she said this. I was ready to knock her "loose as a goose" at that point. Thank God she went off shift. I was in labor for 20 hours and I don't think I could have handled it. Twenty hours of labor is one thing; twenty hours of "loose as a goose" and one might be capable of murder.

So, anyway, this nurse, the one who was giving me my mammogram, says to me that a lot of women are nervous when they come in, so she handles it like a photo shoot to make them relax. And you know, she wasn't far from the truth. Because it was "lay your arm here" and "turn your head this way" and "lean in" and "imagine you're Cleopatra." It did indeed feel just as awkward as a professional photo shoot. (You know the ones where you think "This is either going to look really weird or really spectacular." And then you see the picture later and it either looks really weird or really spectacular.) Perhaps the only difference was when she asked me if she was hurting me. Photographers would never ask that question. Beauty knows no pain.

It wasn't that bad, really. It was a bit of a squeeze and there were moments of discomfort, but it didn't last that long to be truly terrible. I'm not saying I'd rush out to do it again tomorrow, but maybe it won't take me a decade to get there next time around.

All that Glitters is not Golden

There is much that this movie gets right.

First, it is superbly cast: Dakota Blue Richards is an absolutely winning creature and the rest of the supporting cast were perfectly suited for their roles, especially Sam Elliot as the aeronaut Lee Scoresby (Elliot--like Alan Rickman as Snape in Harry Potter--I had pegged for the role as soon as I read the books. I love it when I'm right). Nicole Kidman as Mrs. Coulter is deliciously evil: you will love to hate her. (She hasn't had the opportunity to display such whiplash changes between sweetness and cruelty since To Die For). I am curious and mildly concerned about Daniel Craig as Lord Asriel. The film version is painting his character a little too admirably. In the books, he is just as despicable in his own way as Mrs. Coulter. It will be interesting to see how they handle things in the next film which, if they follow the books, will have to begin with his committing a very shocking murder.

The special effects are brilliant. The technology and gadgets of this alternative world are a delight to behold, and the costumes and decor are a sumptuous feast for the eyes. The fantasy creatures--both the whimsical and enigmatic daemons and the fearsome Ice Bears--are engaging.

The plot follows that of the book with a fair amount of accuracy, cutting a few corners where a film must, but reasonably so.

What disappointed me was the dialogue, so clunky it fell on my ears with a leaden thud. How many times do we have to hear that Lyra is "special", that there are mysterious "prophesies" about her? We can see that she is special easily enough, and as for the prophesies, mention them once and be done. Similarly, the "specialness" of the golden compass was harped on so continually it became tinny and redundant. "This is the golden compass: it tells the truth"; "This is the golden compass: you use it to see things." Enough! We can see what it does plainly enough when she uses it. There were too many trite, banal, and cliche lines to count. This script was desperately in need of a script doctor (or a script nurse at the very least, as Carrie Fisher would say).

I hope that the next two films will be better. Enough critics have commented on the problem that I hope they will take steps to make improvements. I will watch the films nonetheless; there is so much more to look forward to.

p.s. I am also tired of hearing the rabid Christians on the Internet harp on and on about the controversial "killing God" scene (which isn't going to happen until the third movie anyway). Saying Lyra goes a quest to "Kill God" is like saying Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz goes on a quest to kill the Wicked Witch. It's completely circumstantial. The thing that bothers me the most is how they are circulating emails (I just received one today) encouraging people to ban the movie (and the books) and protect their kids from "killing God in their hearts." First off, the movie is just a piece of Hollywood fluff and isn't enough to convince anybody to kill anything. Secondly, kids today either don't care or are intelligent enough to draw their own conclusions. Thirdly... ah, just read the damn books before jumping to inane conclusions and quit yer whinging.

Tori! Tori! Tori!

Tori Amos

Paramount Theatre

Oakland, CA

8 pm

Me and tori, well, we're like *this.* We go way back, She and I.

Even if I only managed to get balcony seats--there's really no bad seat in that house--even so, She still sings "Hey Jupiter" just for me.

Yeah.

Space... The Unattainable Frontier?

First, De Anza College has a New Planetarium! They have some really neat shows scheduled, so check it out.

I took my son and a friend to see a show there, and it really was worth the experience. It has been years since I've sat in a Planetarium and stared up at a starry dome, taking a mindtrip across the universe; I'd forgotten how much fun it is.

However, our host said something that left me feeling kind of disturbed and restless. He said, "This is probably the closest I'll get to experiencing actual space travel." Sadly, I couldn't help but agree with him.

Do you remember how bright and shiny the year 2000 looked from the 70s and 80s? We were going to have flying cars and space stations and trips to the Moon and maybe even a colony on Mars. I thought that even if I wasn't an astronaut I might at least get a trip into space in my lifetime.

What happened to that bright future? Who stole our Science Fiction Age?

I want to go. Oh, I do.

Live from San Francisco

O Joyous Night!

Samba Da and Ozomatli on stage at the Filmore: So Sexy and So Fun! I felt the earth move, baby. They do things with them bongos that I just gotta learn how to do.

This must be a small taste of what Carnival in New Orleans or Rio must be like. If you get the chance to see either of these bands, don't hesitate, just go. You'll have the time of your life. I did.

(Thanks, Isabel! And Thank You, KFOG, for giving her the winning tickets!)