Remember that bit in Shakespeare in Love about losing one’s wife at the theater? My family might have felt that way last month, when I did a fair bit of reviewing both here on the blog and for publications. But I also wrote about law and family and my other usual topics. Details after the fold. Continue reading
Why study? Well, I think it should be obvious that democracy dies when citizens are dumb.
Why Wednesday? It works with my schedule.
What’s next? Article One, Section 6, Clause 2. Continue reading
Sometimes I take a bunch of concert photos and don’t have time to go back and tag them all with names. Especially at festivals. I think this is Aubrey Bramble (what a great name) performing in Golden Gardens at Bumbershoot 2014. Golden Gardens is a great name for a band, especially one that sounds as shimmery and ethereal as this Seattle band. Golden Gardens sounds like a metaphoric name for heaven.
But for me, Golden Gardens is the park with the largest off-leash area in part of town. There are few things more neurotic than an urban border collie, so for nearly ten years, I drove there literally every day to spend 30-45 minutes throwing a ball. That piss-soaked corral was my third place, rain or shine. I knew more local dogs by name than humans.
The heavenly music of Golden Gardens is hard to reconcile with my muddy memories of rambunctious canine joy. But if all dogs do go to heaven, I know mine is at Golden Gardens.
“You never take me to the modern ballets,” my 8-year-old complained. “I only get to go to the story ballets.” Was she right? Conventional wisdom tells us to introduce kids to ballet through story, but I’ve never really bought it. After all, little kids are far more likely to spontaneously erupt into abstract dance than adults are, so why would they have a harder time understanding it? But as a reviewer, I do tend to take the kid closest to the age that readers are likely to want to bring, so maybe my artistic younger daughter had been unfairly sequestered in the story ballet ghetto? Fortunately, Pacific Northwest Ballet came to rescue with Her Story, a mixed rep of contemporary ballet choreographed by three of the world’s leading choreographers. The title implied a feminist theme, but the only link between the three pieces is that the choreographers are all women, and all three pieces are magnificent. Continue reading
On Wednesdays we study the Constitution.
For several years, I took pictures at every show I attended. I usually blog about the concerts I go to, and I don’t always have access to press materials. Plus, pics or it didn’t happen, right? I’m not a very good photographer, but nowadays, even an amateur photographer with a recreational camera can get a great image sometimes.
But the trick is, I’m short. Unless I’m right up in front of the stage, my view at almost every concert (but metal shows, especially, I don’t know why big guys favor metal) looks like the back of some guy’s black hoodie, no matter where I stand. Most of my concert photos are hail mary shots, taken with my arms fully stretched above my head. Sometimes those shots are all I see of the show.
I love this image of Hobosexual drummer Jeff Silva at Bumbershoot in 2014, but nearly a quarter of the image is the back of someone’s head. If I crop out the bottom, I lose the drummer’s left hand. If I crop from the side – well, it’s not too bad, but I like having the cymbal up on the left. What I really need is to be a couple inches taller.
When a middle-aged white man complained on Twitter with a picture of one of my favorite graphic novels captioned “Can you believe they expect us to buy this stuff?” a woman replied, “It’s not for you.” So before I review the Disney on Ice “Follow Your Heart” show I need to disclose that Disney-themed ice shows are not for me.
I am an admitted urban snob who has worked tirelessly to protect my daughters from the Disney princess cult and made a niche writing about sharing the art I like with my kids rather than spoon-feeding them the idiotic drivel our culture tells us is the only stuff safe for their consumption. My taste is high-low eclectic, running from ballet and opera to heavy metal festivals and comic books, but if there is one unifying thread, it is almost always noncommercial.
I associated figure skating with hired thugs and baseball bats until my daughter discovered Yuri!!! On Ice and I found myself driving to Shoreline twice a week for skate lessons and studying the merits of heat-molded boots. When I got an offer for press tickets for the whole family to attend an ice show, I overcame my knee-jerk response of “I’d rather have my eyes picked out by crows,” and accepted the tickets because I knew my daughter would want to see professional figure skaters live.
What happened next will astound you (sorry, couldn’t resist.) Continue reading