Better Poem about Friendship

Time ticks compass in an instant,

Sure as darkness is to light;

While some things sail on constant,

Others bleed like day to night.

The future that dark ocean stretched

‘Cross tempestuous waves of time;

Blank, untouched by brush, and fresh,

Brings your portrait to my mind.

The past, like an armada, slow,

Drifts safely to the brink;

But in the future’s sunny glow

Aged transport starts to sink.

Dragoons from the stern escape,

Maps of past-discovered lands

Gold glinting time inviolate

Priceless portrait sinks to sand.

Friendship flows to love,

Warm passion chills to hate,

On dying winds a living dove,

As early turns to late.

Thoughts on this, today

For me it’s sad when friendship dies,

I must look around, alone;

Consider what the past has meant,

Reap what I have sown.

Yet thus the world it carries on,

Never yet have I resigned;

Time and time again I learn

That all I have is mine.

My own friendship and my love of self,

My sense of the divine,

My books, and art, and family,

My health, talents and design.

There is naught but light in darkness,

Earth in the sublime,

Society in friendlessness,

My heart; at last, my mind.

I do not understand the present,

Dare not throw away the past.

In all I feel and contemplate,

Am on my own, at last.

Comedy, Thy Name is Woman

I have no desire to watch the new Anna Faris movie, “What’s Your Number?” and my head would probably explode if I tried. The preview alone made me want to stab out my eyes. But a preview of the latest Seth Rogen Bromance immediately followed. The contrast was so startling I dropped my ice pick mid-stab.

Previews, of course, occur in flashes. Usually these flashes are the most memorable moments in the film.

In the preview for the Anna Faris movie, the first flash is of her strolling through Central Park with what looks like a Poor Man’s Ryan Gosling, eating ice cream cones and – apparently – having a conversation. The guy says, “Wow, I totally underestimated you. You lost your virginity to the puppeteer?!” -- FLASH! to image of puppeteer and back – “Hahaha.”

I mean, I ask you.

The next flash is cute, blonde Anna Faris in a hotel robe in a fancy hotel, talking on the phone. She yells, “You wouldn’t know true love if it walked up to you and tickled you on your b---“ She’s interrupted by a doorbell: Room Service! As she opens the door, she is caught almost saying “balls” in front of the help. Oh, the horror!

FLASH! Commercial’s over, and I'm left thinking, This is what’s being heralded as the Great Blonde Hope of American Comedy? You know whom this movie was written for? DUDES. You know who is heralding it as a breakthrough for female comedians? DUDES. And while we're on the subject, you know who likes Sarah Silverman's stand-up? DUDES!

I pick up the ice pick, then -- FLASH! -- a preview of “50/50” comes on the screen, starring Seth Rogen and a pretty boy who looks vaguely familiar. They are hanging out and being best friends when -- FLASH! -- the pretty one gets cancer. He is tearing up and clearly scared, and his BFF Seth Rogen says, "Come on, man, 50/50? Those are great odds! If you were a game at Vegas you'd be the best one!" Pretty Boy can't help cracking a smile, and neither could I. Then -- FLASH!-- pretty boy is gaunt, wearing a hat, but still hanging out with his best friend, Seth Rogen. They appear to be helping each other cope with a difficult situation when -- FLASH -- the commercial is over.

I've seen enough previews to recognize that "50/50" is one Giant Leap for Seth Rogen and the entire Bromance genre.

See, Seth Rogen is a regular-looking, even slightly goofy-looking, guy who has managed to surpass Ryan Gosling and his ilk as a Reliably Commercial Male Romantic Lead. Ten years ago, Seth Rogen would have been confined to the role of the fat, funny friend, but thanks to changing times, Judd Apatow, and Paul Rudd’s willingness to trade places, Seth has accomplished that Holy Grail of Marketing and Show Biz, the “Cross-Over.” Now he gets to star in a "Bromance" that is touching, funny, and true to life. The genre itself has evolved.

Meanwhile Anna Faris is apparently telling some guy that she lost her virginity to a puppeteer. I guess you have to start somewhere.

Maybe all comedic forms, including the Modern Funny Female, have to start in the toilet.

Don’t get me wrong. Toilet humor has its place. Politically incorrect, mean, awkward, gross, British – almost any kind of humor can be funny if done well.

My sole gauge for whether or not a comedy is “good” is whether it makes me laugh. Not roll my eyes. Laugh. And, let’s face it: farts are sometimes funny – in real life, anyway.

But very few comedic forms can stand alone, and toilet humor is no different – unless, of course, you’re a 13-year-old boy. Ninety minutes of gross-out works for the teenage male audience, which happens to be Hollywood’s largest and most lucrative demographic.

I’ve never been a fan of toilet humor, even as a teenager. I loved Scream and Seinfeld and the Simpsons and Office Space as much as the next kid, but I was always baffled by my peers’ affinity for being grossed-out. In “American Pie,” some guy sort of masturbates into an apple pie that his mother made. In one of the “Scary Movie” pics, somebody gets stabbed with a penis through a hole in the wall of a bathroom stall. To me, strange, but unfunny. (What was funny was hearing Roger Ebert talk about that Scary Movie. He gave it a thumb up, and when Siskel called him out, he goes, “I know, but I’m thinking, ‘Whoa, killed by a penis through a wall – I’ve not seen that.”)

I’m often out-of-sync with my peer group’s comedic tastes. For example, I was never a fan of “Borat” or “The Office.” I can feel myself dying inside when watching “The Office;” the awkwardness, for me, is painful, not funny. And Borat is just a big bully. I don’t know if you noticed, but when he goes into Inner City Atlanta and hangs out with black guys, he shuts the fuck up. It’s only in suburban America with white people that he calls people ugly and stuff, and that's like shooting fish in a barrel. I’d like to hear him tell one of the brothers his lady was homely. Now THAT would be funny.

My aversion is partly to bandwagons, but I usually show up late to the party. I discovered Season One of “Sex and the City” after the second movie came out and President Obama after he got elected. The same thing happened with the advent of the “Bromance." I don’t even remember why I finally watched “40-Year-Old-Virgin” – I must have been isolated somewhere with only that DVD for entertainment – but I was absolutely thrilled to find myself laughing! It was for guys about guys, but there was more to it than farts and masturbation and painfully awkward situations. I thought it was funny.

Then, one day, when I was (admittedly) hungover, I turned to OnDemand and noticed a movie called “The Hangover.” Overcoming my anti-bandwagon tendencies, I watched it, and let me tell you -- I haven’t laughed so hard at a movie in years. Sitting there, by myself, laughing out loud, even laughing so hard I cried -- THIS was a truly great comedy. I’ve since watched it again several times, and while the hilarity of the first viewing can never be fully recaptured, the movie consistently makes me laugh.

In this movie, the fat, funny friend, Zach Galifinakis’s character, was revolutionary, too. After years of co-dependence, comedy had broken free from curse words. In “The Hangover,” the joke was that the guy didn’t curse. Turns out it’s funny to hear a grown man say, ”I fudged up guys!” It's also, to me, a more challenging kind of humor. (Like making fun of middle-class white people, cursing is, in my opinion, often a comedic cop-out.)

Through what was clearly an evolutionary process, the Bromance has become a gender-neutral comedic genre that could be slapstick or sophisticated. The evolution continues with “50/50.”

So maybe "What's Your Number?" is a small step in the evolution of female-centered comedic film. But it may very well be a Giant Leap from “Bridesmaids,” which I also read about and opted not to see.

Apparently something involving masturbation happens in a bridal store.

I really didn't want to know.

It's a Chihuahua, Not a Choice

Walking around North Dupont tonight, I saw dogs lined up right alongside the bicycles. Parked there, waiting for their supposed best friends. The little guy was hoarse but still barking, while one of the big guys was starting to freak out, too. The third one was tied super close to the railing, so close that he couldn’t move much. But he hadn’t been trained to sit still; so he was struggling and jerking his head.

And this is North Dupont? Home of the Enlightened & Tolerant White Progressives – among whose ranks I proudly count myself, even though I live on Capitol Hill. North Dupont and I are on the same page except for a few things. One, there’s the “Stop Bitching. Start a Revolution” folks who stand around in black T-shirts that say “Stop Bitching. Start a Revolution.” Occasionally I point out to one of them that what they are doing there, standing around, is effectively bitching and not starting a revolution.

Two, I think it makes more sense for society to abolish marriage and embrace the “domestic partnership” than vice versa. Marriage as an institution has deteriorated in direct proportion to the extravagance of the average wedding. Weddings are fun, and great photo opportunities, but divorces are decidedly neither. The Wedding Industry may have replaced the Auto Industry in terms of power, but divorce seems to leave everyone financially devastated. And make no mistake -- gay marriage comes with gay divorce. It’s a “package deal,” like a single mom on a date. I hope you’re ready to buy a car seat for someone else’s kid.

But North Dupont in general? I love it. I go to the Hair Cuttery there and the tanning bed there. And if I am anything, I am an Enlightened & Tolerant White Progressive. I am also a person who cries at those polar bear commercials and treats her Kitty like a roommate who pays rent (which she definitely does not).

I was shocked to see a Doggie Parking Lot there in North Dupont, in front of the Sweet Grass (or whatever it’s called) organic frozen yogurt and (I think?) salad place. Starbucks trading fairly across the street, while these dogs suffer on the sidewalk?

When did walking the dog become synonymous with running errands? Is it some kind of hip, trendy thing? Is it okay to get a dog if you don’t have time to walk it? Is it something New Yorkers do? Because if New Yorkers do it, they should be ashamed of themselves. They know they set the standard for White Coolness. They should be a little more responsible about it.

Yes! I lay the responsibility for the Doggie Parking Lot on Manhattan’s storied doorstep! North Dupont, my friends, you have been led astray. Patrons of Whole Foods on 14^th Street, you, too, are victims of these hoity-toity Doggie-loving Brooklyn hypocrites!

Now that that’s settled, I can’t decide if the Doggie Parking Lot is an outrage or a business opportunity. God knows the job market is killing me right now, and what’s a parking lot without an attendant? The Doggie Attendant would be a hybrid of the parking attendant and the bathroom attendant, because I would provide water and treats for the dogs, while interacting sort of invisibly with the public, and there would be a tip jar, which some people would honor and others would ignore. The bathroom attendant is second only to the homeless person in eye-contact avoidance. Some people would slink away, while others would slip me a dollar. I could even make a T-shirt that says “Life is Ruff!” and hang a sign on the (inevitable) tree. “Doggie Attendant.” I could put a water bowl in the (inevitable) little fenced-in flower bed around the (inevitable) tree.

Sitting here, now, cozy with my cat and my laptop and my Law& Order reruns, I envision myself conducting a Great Doggie Attendant Experiment on Saturday and then writing about it.

Okay, so I already bought the poster board.

If the Great Experiment doesn’t pan out, I’ll make a bunch of signs that say things like, “It’s a Chihuahua, not a Choice” and “Life is Ruff! Be a pal.” I always pause to comfort doggies in distress. When their thoughtless owners wander back, I give them Meaningful Looks. Now I’ll also hang up signs. Basically I’ll stop bitching and start a revolution. Feel free to help me. I think our best bet for the signs is, “A dog is not a bike. Don’t park your dog.” But if you decide to do a T-shirt, go with “Life is Ruff!”

That is just catchy.

I don't love going to the opera, but I do love listening to magical music like Habanera, from Carmen. I included the first clip because it shows the scene in context and includes the chorus, which might just be my favorite element of the whole. But I included the Maria Callas clip as well, because it's a) such a superior performance and b) it's amazing the way she can evoke the whole scene without moving a step. It's much easier to appreciate the richness of the music without all the moving around.

Beauty like this reminds me that to be alive is worthwhile.

Such Transcendent Poetry, Part II:

Dante's "Divine Comedy" is presented in three parts: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradisio. In the Inferno, the most famous of the three, Dante the Pilgrim (still alive) invents the modern paradigm of "Hell," with its fires, demons, penitents -- and horror.

In a particularly chilling episode, Dante the Pilgrim witness a quintessentially hellish punishment. In "Hell" as we normally envision it, this is the exactly the sort of thing we would expect to see. Reading it gave me goosebumps:

From Canto XXV, the Inferno

Note: I've italicized my favorite bits.

Now if, my reader, you should hesitate

to believe what I shall say, there’s little wonder;

for I, the witness, scarcely can believe it.

***

The wounded thief stared speechless at the beast,

and standing motionless began to yawn

as though he needed sleep, or had a fever.

The snake and he were staring at each other;

one from his wound, the other from its mouth

fumed violently, and smoke with smoke was mingling.

***

The smoke from each was swirling round each other

and turned into the member man conceals,

while from the wretch’s member grew two legs.

The one rose up, the other sank, but neither

dissolved the bond between their evil stares,

fixed eye to eye, exchanging face for face;

the standing creature’s face began receding

toward the temples; from the excess stuff pulled back,

the ears were growing out of flattened cheeks,

while from the excess flesh that did not flee

the front, a nose was fashioned for the face,

and lips puffed out to just the normal size.

The prostrate creature strains his face out long

and makes his ears withdraw into its head,

the way a snail pull in its horns. The tongue,

that once had been one piece and capable

of forming words, divides into a fork,

while the other’s fork heals up. The smoke subsides.

The soul that had been changed into a beast

went hissing off along the valley’s floor,

the other close behind him, spitting words.

For full effect, you should read Canto XXV in its entirety. http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Divine_Comedy

"Dude, exactly:" Such Transcendent Poetry, Part I

I have always sought solace in the arts. My "break-up routine" has evolved over the years to include a specific playlist of songs, a specific menu of comfort foods, the fetal position, and T.S. Eliot's epic poem "The Wasteland:" This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, not with a bang with a whimper.

Dude, exactly.

Like exercise and sex, great poetry can stimulate dopamine production in the brain, triggering a burst of good feeling.

Watching Timon of Athens, I was once again mesmerized – spellbound – by the hypnotic language of Shakespeare. This play was new to me, so I was especially thrilled to experience a "dopamine moment" during Act 3, Scene 4 of the action.

After frittering away his fortune on gifts and parties for friends, Timon of Athens sought help from these friends, only to be thrice denied. The rejection destroys him. He takes up residence in a cave, strips naked, and lives off the “roots” he finds in the earth. Then, in an interesting twist, he finds an abundance of gold in the ground. His misanthropy is so far gone, he recoils from the gold:

"Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold!

No, gods, I am no idle votarist:

Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make

Black white, foul fair, wrong right,

Base noble, old young, coward violent.

Ha, you gods, why this? What this, you gods? Why, this

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,

Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads.

This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions, bless th’accursed,

Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves

And give them title, knee, and approbation

With senators on the bench. This is it

That makes the wappened widow wed again;

She whom the spital house and ulcerous sores

Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices,

To th’ April day again. Come, damned eart,

Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds

Among the rout of nations, I will make thee

Do thy right nature.”

Here are echoes of Hamlet’s great soliloquies; here is a universally relevant analysis of gold and its power.

Later in the scene, Timon cries out against the gold again:

“O thy sweet king-killer, and dear divorce

‘Twixt natural son and sire; thou bright defiler

Of Hymen’s purest bed; thou valiant Mars;

Thou ever young, fresh, loved, and delicate wooer,

Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

That lies on Dian’s lap; Thou visible god,

That sold’rest close impossibilities

And mak’st them kidd; that speak’st with every tongue

To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!

Think thy slave man rebels; and by thy virture

Set them into confounding odd, that beasts

May have the world in empire!”

I mean, exactly.

Some speculate that Timon of Athens was never staged in Shakespeare’s time, but this is what I seek: amazement, joy in beauty, joy in quality. That someone could create (could write) something so beautiful beggars the mind, and affirms my faith, my joy, in being alive to enjoy it. The rhythm of it is wondrous as well, capable of carrying me off into a world of imagination, that transcends all momentary hurt.