(Competitive seasons’ seating packages available)

C’mon, you City!

On the one hand, it clearly requires technical skill and a certain sensitivity to presentation aesthetics.

On the other hand, anyone who can dismiss food as “banal” has clearly been inappropriately de-sensitized to certain very important things.

The Business of Table-top Directing

Political Rhetoric, Present and Future : Global Brief

Many political leaders think that it is dangerous to speak well. In fact, they are looking to bore people – and we feel that. As a result, when we stand up and say real things, people are quite shocked.

…

 The core of a great political leader is not cleverness; it is ethics! 

Woman pays $10,000 for non-visible work of art [npr.org]

Rands in Repose: Lost In Translation

This looks amazing.  I may have to trek down there, grab a couple issues of some random periodical and try out the reading experience.  And my inner geek would love to see how the Techno-Trousers-esque stack storage/retrieval system works.

Memo to other cultural writers:  anyone can give an opinion on a book/composition/object of art/etc.  Doing what Kamin does so well…explaining why it all matters…is what differentiates your opinions and expertise from those of the other 5 billion ranting bloggers.  Try to do it more often, could you?  Pretty please?

I’m open, then, to friendly reader suggestions as to what is motivating my subconscious to inflict the righteous wrath of Roger Waters upon the hapless (or not so hapless, depending on individual) ranks of BP representatives gamely navigating their employer through the disaster currently mushrooming in the gulf.

4 weeks ago, when it became obvious to even the most optimistic that this was going to be a 24/7 news item for the foreseeable future, I resigned myself to the certainty that a fatigue of some sort would set in eventually.

I just wasn’t prepared for it to take the form of “Dogs”.

Three days ago, as I’m watching the latest update on the containment cap that does/doesn’t contain the expected/pathetically inadequate quantity of raw crude oozing up from the sea floor, the attractive but clearly sleep-deprived young lady appearing on my TV delivering BP’s latest round of assurances that all is as well as can be expected, an odd thing happens.  Specifically, her voice dims…I see her lips moving on the tube, but nothing comes out of the speaker.  Instead, I hear the following in my inner ear, the one we all have, that only we can hear:

“You have to be trusted/By the people that you lie to.”

Where the heck did that come from?  But it continues, to my amazement.  A few seconds later:

“And in the end you’ll pack up, fly down south/hide your head in the sand.”

At this point, the TV goes off…and Roger’s bitter sardonics vanish along with it.  Clearly time for me to head to bed.  Which I do.

Wrathful Waters is not so easily assuaged, however.  The next day, the next briefing, this time a even-more-exhausted-looking middle aged man steps up to the podium and….cue the Floyd.

“Deaf, dumb and blind/You just keep on pretending”

etc., etc., so forth, followed shortly by:

“Who was told what to do by the man/Who was broken by trained personnel”

Clearly, my inner Roger is annoyed at being cut off yesterday and is venting on the luckless schmuck.  Poor git.

However special attention is reserved for Tony Hayward, El Jefe Absoluto of BP.  Seemingly everywhere attempting damage control.  But Roger is watching, Tony!  You appear in front of me today and…

“And when you lose control
You’ll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows
The bad blood slows and turns to stone.”

Roger, enough already!  Find some other vehicle to deliver your righteous wrath.

So now I’m getting a bit apprehensive about turning the TV on.  For one thing, this doesn’t strike me as a sane, measured reaction to weeks of slowly building anger and frustration at the greed, incompetence and stupidity responsible for this whole debacle and its aftermath.  A sensible person might be a bit worried at this.  But perhaps that’s just me.

A more pressing problem is that we’re quickly running out of relevant “Dogs” lyrics.  Although I will confess surprise that “You gotta be crazy” hasn’t popped up yet.  At this rate, though, we’re soon going to be reduced to the middle section of the song, the part with nothing in it but Richard Wright’s keyboard beds and random “Here, Rover!” dog whistling.

But honestly, my biggest worry is that this is just the beginning…that whatever dark urge lurking in my hippocampus driving this whole piece of surrealistic karaoke is just biding its time, waiting to expand virus-like to the other players in this drama.  Some this might make sense for…the angry and baffled residents of the gulf coast would seem a lead-pipe cinch for

“I’ve got to admit I’m a little bit confused./Sometimes it seems to me as if I’m just being used.”

Word up, folks.

But other actors just frighten me.  The government, for example…what maps to them?  Can even the mighty lyrical talents of Waters contextually grapple with that great grey force majeure? I fear not…and that I’ll end up with one of the following:

-  John Cage’s 4’33, in its entirety.

-  anything written by Ke$ha (the lyric definition of sound and fury, signifying nothing.)

rattling around between my eardrums as Sartre-ian farce every time one of the (many) government representatives holds court.  At which point I will likely throw myself into the gulf to end the madness.

Thanks for nothing, you schlemiels at BP/Transocean and many,many others.  It wasn’t enough to despoil a major regional ecosystem and its attendant economic and social components…you had to throw my sanity on your vain bonfire along with it.  Have a good drown, all of you.

• Chicago’s Grant Park + beautiful late May afternoon = no better place on earth to be.   Argue with me all you want, but bring some heavy ammo for your position because my bar is raised way high.
• The Matisse special exhibit is on display through June 20th.  No additional ticket required beyond regular admission.  If you are at all a creative type, go see it, even if you know nothing at all about visual art.  Focusing on four years within an astonishing 60-year artistic career filled with textbook-subject achievements, the exhibit lovingly and meticulously details curiosity , ambition and artistic drive propelling a complete re-invention of an already-accomplished painter’s technique and approach.  The curation is spot-on; every piece directly contributes to the study in contrasts, often with dramatic effect, the commentary understated but educational and appropriate.   If you have ever tried to make something, with the accompanying sudden panic-stricken/demoralizing realization you had no idea how to express what you wanted to express and needed to discover the creative toolbox to do so, this exhibit is both object lesson and cause for hope, even if most of us never end up creating anything like The Moroccans.  Highly recommended; carpe the diem, folks, and get down to see it.
• Another big win: the (relatively) new Modern Wing of the Art Institute.  I’ve read and heard all the accolades for it; last weekend was my first opportunity to form my own judgement.  Oh my goodness, did they hit it out of the park, this one.  A gorgeous space that manages to be both minimalist and luxuriant, filled with good light for viewing and space for reflection without being stampeded into the artwork.   And the pieces themselves are a revelation; freed of being shoehorned in amongst the better-known Impressionist and 19th century American galleries, you get to experience a modest-sized but impeccably tasteful collection of pieces in their own space, in proper chronology, many of which I’d never seen before downtown (I had no idea the permanent collection included any Mondrian, for example)  Even the deliberately difficult stuff…the Dadists and full-on Surrealists are represented by good examplars that manage to demonstrate what all the fuss was about.  My only regret was not having another 2 hours or so to wander the galleries and reflect.  Genius work and another gold star for Chicago’s museums.
• Amidst all the hosannahs, one quibble: the Chagall America Windows have been off display for “restoration” for, what, about two decades now?  What’s the deal…the Windex not cleaning up neatly?  And no one has any idea when they will come back.  Free Chagall!  Or at least give us a timeline.

If that means nothing to you or if you’re asking “WTF”, no worries, just move along.  It’s a business-somewhat techno-geeky thing.

(On second thought, don’t just move along.  Instead, get a copy of this and read the namesake essay.   If you are at all involved with project management, re-read it.  And if you happen to be managing software development projects, re-read it a second time still.  Then think about exactly what he’s saying before you put your next project timeline together…because there still is no silver bullet.  And don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.)

If that does mean something to you…was your first thought “Jeez, I didn’t think he was alive anymore, let alone still writing”, just like me?

Now, if Knuth would finally finish chapters 7 and 8…