Last week seemed to feature a victory over ignorance, when JCPenny refused to fire Ellen Degeneres as their spokesperson because a group called One Million Moms threatened to boycott JCPenny because Ellen is an out-and-proud lesbian.
People were outraged. Apparently, there are a lot of homosexuals you can go after, but Ellen is the Lucille Ball of lesbian television hosts--she's untouchable.
Even Bill O'Reilly came out in her defense, saying that One Million Moms was trying to bring back McCarthyism.
But all seemed well once JCPenny stood by Ellen. The evil One Million Moms seemed vanquished.
Or were they?
What a lot of people made fun of is that One Million Moms is actually only made up of about forty thousand people. That's still an awful lot of ignorance, but not nearly as much as their name would suggest.
What a lot of people didn't point out is that by even acknowledging this fringe group, the media was giving them power.
When Rush Limbaugh challenged the President to a debate years ago, people balked at the audacity of his suggestion.
Why?
Because the President debating with Limbaugh would only help Limbaugh. Even if the President intellectually decimated him, he'd be giving Limbaugh a very big platform.
That's what happened with One Million Moms last week--they received the gift of attention.
I realize all I'm doing is bringing up the old cliche that there's no such thing as bad publicity, but lately, that statement's grown weightier.
I'd say attention has become the new currency.
It seems like everyone who would normally only get fifteen minutes of fame, spends the first fifteen minutes getting made fun of and then uses that fifteen minutes to justify getting entire careers where they're taken seriously.
And even if they're not, they're still able to make money or make an impact simply because they're given an audience.
The fact is that the public puts credence in fame. It seems that the thinking goes: If you're famous, you must be famous for a reason, and subsequently, you should be listened to.
That little fringe group of forty thousand extremists must be growing larger as a result of all this press. While it's nice that O'Reilly came to Ellen's defense, chances are that a lot of people watching Fox News will not agree with him on this particular point, and will instead, go check out what One Million Moms is all about.
It's a tactic many people in the entertainment industry know very well.
Just this weekend, Nikki Minaj performed at the Grammy's using religion to incite discussion. And what happened?
It incited discussion.
I'm always so surprised that people and the media are so easily manipulated. Then again, here I am talking about the issue as well--giving it attention.
Maybe what we all need to do is give groups like this a little dose of apathy.
That might be the only way to bankrupt them.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Separation Between Art and the Artist
I have a problem.
Well, it might not be a problem. I guess it depends how you look at it.
I have trouble separating the art from the artist.
Let me give an example:
If I don't like an actor or actress, I don't bother seeing their movies. They might be fantastic, but if I dislike them, I can't separate how I feel from the work they're doing.
I used to try and fight this. I'd tell myself that it was my responsibility as an artist to look past my personal feelings about someone and just take their work for what it is.
Then I got a little older and realized that life is too short to spend doing stuff you don't like. And if I don't like someone, I don't like experiencing their work.
I know that some awful people have been truly great artists, and I'm thankful that I don't know as much about my favorite actors, writers, etc., because if I did, I may not like them as much. In fact, sometimes I specifically try not to find out things about the celebrities I like because I don't want to stop enjoying their work.
Yes, I should just learn to develop that separation between art and the artist, but knowing how much of what I do is a part of me, it makes me realize that when I'm appreciating someone's art, I'm also appreciating them, and it's hard to do that if I don't like the person the work is coming from.
Maybe that'll change, but until it does, I'll stick to what I like--and what I'm okay with liking.
Well, it might not be a problem. I guess it depends how you look at it.
I have trouble separating the art from the artist.
Let me give an example:
If I don't like an actor or actress, I don't bother seeing their movies. They might be fantastic, but if I dislike them, I can't separate how I feel from the work they're doing.
I used to try and fight this. I'd tell myself that it was my responsibility as an artist to look past my personal feelings about someone and just take their work for what it is.
Then I got a little older and realized that life is too short to spend doing stuff you don't like. And if I don't like someone, I don't like experiencing their work.
I know that some awful people have been truly great artists, and I'm thankful that I don't know as much about my favorite actors, writers, etc., because if I did, I may not like them as much. In fact, sometimes I specifically try not to find out things about the celebrities I like because I don't want to stop enjoying their work.
Yes, I should just learn to develop that separation between art and the artist, but knowing how much of what I do is a part of me, it makes me realize that when I'm appreciating someone's art, I'm also appreciating them, and it's hard to do that if I don't like the person the work is coming from.
Maybe that'll change, but until it does, I'll stick to what I like--and what I'm okay with liking.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Whitney
I could be wrong, but despite how popular Rhianna may be, I doubt that twenty years from now, anyone will be saying that they remember where they were the first time they heard "Rude Boy."
Although both "Rude Boy" and a song like "Didn't We Almost Have It All" may both be considered pop songs, only one of them is the song my parents refer to as "their divorce song."
A lot of singers give people break-up songs, and fall in love songs, but to give someone a divorce song?
That's saying something.
Her songs encapsulate experiences in a way that other songs don't.
And here's why she deserves so much credit:
The songs aren't all that good.
Think about "How Will I Know?" sung by anybody else--especially one of the singers around these days. Not to date myself, or sound like an old crony, but I doubt Miley Cyrus could make that song sound as joyful as Whitney did.
I'm not trying to take anything away from the writers or composers of a song, but clearly a singer has something special in them, when they can make the National Anthem a number one hit hundreds of years after it was written.
Anybody who doubts how hard a song it is needs only to watch recent incarnations to understand the magnitude of that achievement.
As sad as it is to say, Whitney had trouble evolving with the times. To me, she was always at her best in the eighties when pop could be as dramatic and jubilant as possible. When it wasn't just about sex and scandal.
The cool, laid-back "My Love is Your Love" Whitney had hits, but to me, she just wasn't the same as that young girl with the big hair singing about dancing with somebody who loves her.
That's how I'll remember her.
Marking time for everybody's life, making sense out of the worst divorce I've ever seen, and adding so much to songs that, on the surface, seem so frivolous.
She made pop music seem important.
I'm not sure there's a higher compliment to give than that.
Although both "Rude Boy" and a song like "Didn't We Almost Have It All" may both be considered pop songs, only one of them is the song my parents refer to as "their divorce song."
A lot of singers give people break-up songs, and fall in love songs, but to give someone a divorce song?
That's saying something.
Her songs encapsulate experiences in a way that other songs don't.
And here's why she deserves so much credit:
The songs aren't all that good.
Think about "How Will I Know?" sung by anybody else--especially one of the singers around these days. Not to date myself, or sound like an old crony, but I doubt Miley Cyrus could make that song sound as joyful as Whitney did.
I'm not trying to take anything away from the writers or composers of a song, but clearly a singer has something special in them, when they can make the National Anthem a number one hit hundreds of years after it was written.
Anybody who doubts how hard a song it is needs only to watch recent incarnations to understand the magnitude of that achievement.
As sad as it is to say, Whitney had trouble evolving with the times. To me, she was always at her best in the eighties when pop could be as dramatic and jubilant as possible. When it wasn't just about sex and scandal.
The cool, laid-back "My Love is Your Love" Whitney had hits, but to me, she just wasn't the same as that young girl with the big hair singing about dancing with somebody who loves her.
That's how I'll remember her.
Marking time for everybody's life, making sense out of the worst divorce I've ever seen, and adding so much to songs that, on the surface, seem so frivolous.
She made pop music seem important.
I'm not sure there's a higher compliment to give than that.
Theater That's Too Big to Fail
The title of this post may seem odd.
Comparing a phrase that's been used for a corrupt business with the word theater may seem ludicrous, but I've been seeing more and more examples of it lately.
Smaller theaters seem to be getting kinder, some might even say flimsier, reviews from critics.
I wonder if it's because these critics feel like if they actually lay into any of these theaters, they run the risk of hurting the theater so much it won't be able to recover.
It's not like it hasn't been proven that a bad review can significantly hurt ticket sales for a show. Now that critics understand their power, are they using it more sparingly?
Look at New York, where they don't hold back. A bad review from the New York Times usually means you're toast, unless of course you have the word "Spiderman" in your title.
For example, if you look at the number of shows in Rhode Island that have received negative reviews in the past three years, you'll notice that there aren't many.
Now, it's entirely possible that all the theaters in the area have just been on a winning streak for a few seasons, but that...
Well, let's be honest, that's not likely.
What's more likely is that critics around here feel an obligation to keep the theaters going, and so perhaps they're not always as harsh as they could be.
I know what you're thinking--If that's the case, why are you complaining?
It's tricky.
To me, it's important we try to take away the stigma that a bad review scares away audiences. Maybe it does, but it shouldn't, and we certainly shouldn't play to reviewers or rely so heavily on reviews to sell shows. That's another problem for another day, but what I'm trying to get at here is--I think most shows are worth seeing--good or bad.
Theater has always been like church for me. Or exercise. It's something you make a part of your life, and it's not always good, but it's never wasteful. I've never felt like I wasted my time seeing a piece of theater. That's the sort of attitude we need to try and instill in more people.
Critics shouldn't feel obligated to give a production a good review for fear of jeopardizing the theater's financial state if they don't. They shouldn't be thinking about finances at all. They should be worried about giving the show a fair review.
Comparing a phrase that's been used for a corrupt business with the word theater may seem ludicrous, but I've been seeing more and more examples of it lately.
Smaller theaters seem to be getting kinder, some might even say flimsier, reviews from critics.
I wonder if it's because these critics feel like if they actually lay into any of these theaters, they run the risk of hurting the theater so much it won't be able to recover.
It's not like it hasn't been proven that a bad review can significantly hurt ticket sales for a show. Now that critics understand their power, are they using it more sparingly?
Look at New York, where they don't hold back. A bad review from the New York Times usually means you're toast, unless of course you have the word "Spiderman" in your title.
For example, if you look at the number of shows in Rhode Island that have received negative reviews in the past three years, you'll notice that there aren't many.
Now, it's entirely possible that all the theaters in the area have just been on a winning streak for a few seasons, but that...
Well, let's be honest, that's not likely.
What's more likely is that critics around here feel an obligation to keep the theaters going, and so perhaps they're not always as harsh as they could be.
I know what you're thinking--If that's the case, why are you complaining?
It's tricky.
To me, it's important we try to take away the stigma that a bad review scares away audiences. Maybe it does, but it shouldn't, and we certainly shouldn't play to reviewers or rely so heavily on reviews to sell shows. That's another problem for another day, but what I'm trying to get at here is--I think most shows are worth seeing--good or bad.
Theater has always been like church for me. Or exercise. It's something you make a part of your life, and it's not always good, but it's never wasteful. I've never felt like I wasted my time seeing a piece of theater. That's the sort of attitude we need to try and instill in more people.
Critics shouldn't feel obligated to give a production a good review for fear of jeopardizing the theater's financial state if they don't. They shouldn't be thinking about finances at all. They should be worried about giving the show a fair review.
Not the End of the Road
From Social Corp, the people determined to give you the life you never knew you wanted, comes a new way to make sure your relationship gets those last few raspy breaths before it dies completely.
Introducing--"Not the End of the Road!"
The newest innovation in relationship extension is a mix of nostalgia, sentiment, and good old-fashioned R&B.
It's simple:
As soon as your significant other sits you down for the break-up talk, call Social Corp and order the "Not the End of the Road" package.
We'll immediately airlift and/or helivac the 90's singing group Boyz II Men directly to your door.
As soon as the love of your life hears those aching melodies, there's no way they'll be able to leave.
Listen to this satisfied customer:
"My girlfriend was going to leave me, so I used 'Not the End of the Road' and as soon as she heard 'On Bended Knee,' she realized that we should give it one more try. She broke up with me a week later, but at least I still got that extra week of nostalgia sex. Thanks NTEOTR!"
And from someone who had a change of heart:
"I broke up with my girlfriend at a Starbucks, but when I got to where I had parked, Boyz II Men was there singing 'I'll Make Love to You' which was the song we would play when we were washing our iguanas, and I realized that I probably wouldn't meet another girl who'd be into dating a guy who's into reenacting episodes of 'Diagnosis Murder' with his lizards. Thanks to 'Not the End of the Road,' I figured out that settling for someone I don't mind all that much is probably the best option for me. Plus, Boyz II Men slashed my tires, so I couldn't really go anywhere."
That's right, there's nothing we won't do to ensure that your relationship drags on for that last, painful, belabored, extra mile.
So call and request "Not the End of the Road" today, and we'll even have that creepy guy who talked out all the bridges to record your outgoing message. Here's a sample:
"Baby, Mike can't come to the phone right now. But he still loves you, baby. Baby, please leave him a message. Please."
Call now!
Introducing--"Not the End of the Road!"
The newest innovation in relationship extension is a mix of nostalgia, sentiment, and good old-fashioned R&B.
It's simple:
As soon as your significant other sits you down for the break-up talk, call Social Corp and order the "Not the End of the Road" package.
We'll immediately airlift and/or helivac the 90's singing group Boyz II Men directly to your door.
As soon as the love of your life hears those aching melodies, there's no way they'll be able to leave.
Listen to this satisfied customer:
"My girlfriend was going to leave me, so I used 'Not the End of the Road' and as soon as she heard 'On Bended Knee,' she realized that we should give it one more try. She broke up with me a week later, but at least I still got that extra week of nostalgia sex. Thanks NTEOTR!"
And from someone who had a change of heart:
"I broke up with my girlfriend at a Starbucks, but when I got to where I had parked, Boyz II Men was there singing 'I'll Make Love to You' which was the song we would play when we were washing our iguanas, and I realized that I probably wouldn't meet another girl who'd be into dating a guy who's into reenacting episodes of 'Diagnosis Murder' with his lizards. Thanks to 'Not the End of the Road,' I figured out that settling for someone I don't mind all that much is probably the best option for me. Plus, Boyz II Men slashed my tires, so I couldn't really go anywhere."
That's right, there's nothing we won't do to ensure that your relationship drags on for that last, painful, belabored, extra mile.
So call and request "Not the End of the Road" today, and we'll even have that creepy guy who talked out all the bridges to record your outgoing message. Here's a sample:
"Baby, Mike can't come to the phone right now. But he still loves you, baby. Baby, please leave him a message. Please."
Call now!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Lunch with the Boys: The Gray Area
I was having lunch with the boys when the issue of the gray area came up.
BRIAN: The gay area?
ME: No, the gray area. With us, everything's a gay area.
Here's the gray area--according to our definition.
The gray area is a period of time when you're dating someone but you're not official yet.
(And when I say official, I mean Facebook official.)
Gray areas are always tough, because at a certain point, things are serious enough where it seems like monogamy should be assumed, and yet sometimes...
SCOOTER: So I slept with someone in the gray area.
ME: And now you're in a relationship?
SCOOTER: And I'm wondering--
ALL: Do you tell?
TURNER: How long was it between you sleeping with someone and then getting serious with your current--I hesitate to say boyfriend...
SCOOTER: Well, I mean, I hooked up with Chris on a Tuesday, and Jon and I made it Facebook official the next night.
ME: Twenty-four hours? That's not part of the gray area.
SCOOTER: It totally is.
ME: Scooter, you were having sex with one person and committed to another within the same day.
SCOOTER: There was sleep in between.
BRIAN: It's still a gray area.
ME: It's off-white at best.
TURNER: I'm with Kevin. I mean, what was that?
SCOOTER: It was like a last fling--straight guys do it. That's what bachelor parties are.
ME: Bachelor parties are not gray areas.
SCOOTER: Everything before the relationship and after the first date is a gray area.
Wow, that's a scary thought.
It would mean I've been in a gray area with six different people at one time.
I might still be in a gray area with some of those people.
TURNER: I still say don't tell, but I seriously doubt this relationship is going anywhere if you were hooking up with someone else twenty-four hours before it got serious.
SCOOTER: It's not like the sex was all that good.
Don't try to figure out Scooter's logic. It'll just give you a migraine.
Let's just say there's a lot of gray area in his brain that has to be categorized.
BRIAN: The gay area?
ME: No, the gray area. With us, everything's a gay area.
Here's the gray area--according to our definition.
The gray area is a period of time when you're dating someone but you're not official yet.
(And when I say official, I mean Facebook official.)
Gray areas are always tough, because at a certain point, things are serious enough where it seems like monogamy should be assumed, and yet sometimes...
SCOOTER: So I slept with someone in the gray area.
ME: And now you're in a relationship?
SCOOTER: And I'm wondering--
ALL: Do you tell?
TURNER: How long was it between you sleeping with someone and then getting serious with your current--I hesitate to say boyfriend...
SCOOTER: Well, I mean, I hooked up with Chris on a Tuesday, and Jon and I made it Facebook official the next night.
ME: Twenty-four hours? That's not part of the gray area.
SCOOTER: It totally is.
ME: Scooter, you were having sex with one person and committed to another within the same day.
SCOOTER: There was sleep in between.
BRIAN: It's still a gray area.
ME: It's off-white at best.
TURNER: I'm with Kevin. I mean, what was that?
SCOOTER: It was like a last fling--straight guys do it. That's what bachelor parties are.
ME: Bachelor parties are not gray areas.
SCOOTER: Everything before the relationship and after the first date is a gray area.
Wow, that's a scary thought.
It would mean I've been in a gray area with six different people at one time.
I might still be in a gray area with some of those people.
TURNER: I still say don't tell, but I seriously doubt this relationship is going anywhere if you were hooking up with someone else twenty-four hours before it got serious.
SCOOTER: It's not like the sex was all that good.
Don't try to figure out Scooter's logic. It'll just give you a migraine.
Let's just say there's a lot of gray area in his brain that has to be categorized.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
JFK vs. Lincoln: The Joke Experiment
I've written posts before about the flexible nature of sensitivity.
Like how it's somehow okay to have a toy version of the Titanic even though, when it happened, it was a national tragedy.
I read an article when the toy came out asking how people would feel if a hundred years from now there was a twin towers toy.
People were outraged by the idea. To think we could ever be that insensitive.
But the thing is...
We already are.
To prove this, I tried a little experiment of my own.
I told a joke about Abraham Lincoln's assassination. People laughed.
I told the same joke, but replaced Abraham Lincoln with John F. Kennedy. One person giggled. Most felt uncomfortable.
What's the difference?
Time.
But is it any more insensitive to laugh at one joke as opposed to the other?
It's not like anybody I told the joke to personally knew J.F.K.
When American Horror story did a school-shooting themed episode, some people--who were of the Columbine generation--felt that it crossed a line.
But how did it cross a line anymore than the Black Dahlia episode?
A friend of mine who happens to be a history major says that nothing is history until everyone who has experienced it has died so it be viewed in an objective way, but does that mean we don't have to be sensitive to history once there's nobody left who lived through it?
My argument is the same as it was when I wrote about the Titanic toy--
There shouldn't be an expiration date on sensitivity.
If it's in poor taste to make fun of a President being shot, then it should be in poor taste no matter which President you're joking about.
But if you want to hear a good Taft joke...
Like how it's somehow okay to have a toy version of the Titanic even though, when it happened, it was a national tragedy.
I read an article when the toy came out asking how people would feel if a hundred years from now there was a twin towers toy.
People were outraged by the idea. To think we could ever be that insensitive.
But the thing is...
We already are.
To prove this, I tried a little experiment of my own.
I told a joke about Abraham Lincoln's assassination. People laughed.
I told the same joke, but replaced Abraham Lincoln with John F. Kennedy. One person giggled. Most felt uncomfortable.
What's the difference?
Time.
But is it any more insensitive to laugh at one joke as opposed to the other?
It's not like anybody I told the joke to personally knew J.F.K.
When American Horror story did a school-shooting themed episode, some people--who were of the Columbine generation--felt that it crossed a line.
But how did it cross a line anymore than the Black Dahlia episode?
A friend of mine who happens to be a history major says that nothing is history until everyone who has experienced it has died so it be viewed in an objective way, but does that mean we don't have to be sensitive to history once there's nobody left who lived through it?
My argument is the same as it was when I wrote about the Titanic toy--
There shouldn't be an expiration date on sensitivity.
If it's in poor taste to make fun of a President being shot, then it should be in poor taste no matter which President you're joking about.
But if you want to hear a good Taft joke...
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