Negative capability

Half past twelve, and I’m watching the late show in my flat all alone,
How I hate to spend the evening on my own.
Autumn winds blowin’ outside my window as I look around the room.
And it makes me so depressed to see the gloom.

Is there a man out there?
Someone to hear my prayer?
Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!
A man after midnight!
Take me through the darkness
To the break of day.

Movie stars find the end of the rainbow with a fortune to win.
It’s so different from the world I’m livin’ in.
Tired of TV I open the window and I gaze into the night.
But there’s nothing there to see, no one in sight.

Is there a man out there?
Someone to hear my prayer?
Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!
A man after midnight!
Take me through the darkness
To the break of day.

I saw “Mamma Mia!” last weekend with Janet when I was down in Chicago for a “summer in the city” excursion. I haven’t laughed and giggled so much at a movie in I don’t know how long. Perfect summer escapism. Those silly ABBA [sorry, can’t get the B’s to go backward] songs linked together by the thinnest of plots. Pretty “Greek islands” scenery, and plenty of middle-aged performers trying their hardest to keep up on the dance numbers. Personally, I loved the “amateurish” feel to some of the performances by actors whose agents probably warned them against doing the show. I mean: Pierce Brosnan and Colin Firth in a singing and dancing spectacular? There’s something Ruby Keeler-ish about their performances: “Look ma, I’m in a musical – and on film!!” It was “Hollywood Karoake Night goes to the movies”!

[Ruby Keeler was the ingenue in a series of Warner Brothers film musicals in the 1930s. She usually played the plain girl from Kansas - or somewhere else obscure - who is unexpectedly thrust into the limelight when the star of the show breaks her leg two minutes before curtain. Ruby could dance, just barely, but she won the audience over with her heartful earnestness. “You’re going out there a nobody, but you’ve gonna come back a Star!]

On the other hand, Christine Baranski is a complete professional, 110% comfortable with the material. You just know that she would have no difficulty doing 7 performances a week of the show in New York or London.

Meryl Streep – LOVE HER! Here’s America’s finest screen actress going “outside her box” and plunging fully into the world of 1970s dance-pop music. Kudos to her for trying something a little different.

It looks like the take-over of Anheiser-Busch by Belgo-Brazilian InBev is going forward: the Stella Artois producer made Budweiser an offer it couldn't refuse ($70 a share, I've read). It's a Bid Deal: more than $50 Billion, all told. Another sign o' the times: globalization, of course; standardization and homogenization of the world beverage industry; the declining value of the dollar; the difficulty of keeping a company "in the family" for generation after generation.

In spite of having lived in St. Louis, I've never liked Budweiser products. Indeed, as a History Major at Wash U, I went to classes in Busch Hall. But I didn't drink beer at all until I was a college senior, when I spent a Year-Abroad on an exchange-program in England (UEA, in NARRR-itch). I owe it all (my beer taste buds, I mean) to those good guys in Waveney Terrace: Richard, Tim, John, Alan and Steve. In those halycon days, you could get a good pint of Adnams bitter for 60p. Oh, those were the days, my friend. When I returned to the states, rice-water just didn't do it for me. And it still doesn't. You won't find Busch products in my fridge. (Sorry OIC, but if you drop by there's a good party store just down the street from me.)

Speaking of declining America: I read an interesting piece yesterday in the "Financial Times" about General Motors. Although it's still a Big Company, and actually is still selling more vehicles in the United States than any other (at least the Prius shortage is sorted out), most investors (Wall Street money people) don't see much of a future in Detroit. The market value of Toyota - as measured by the value of its Stock - is 25 times greater than that of General Motors. Actually, as noted by the FT, the toy-maker Mattel has a greater stock value than GM! (I wonder if the Matchbox cars that I used to collect as a child are worth anything these days.)

We're ready for opening night tonight! Hoping for a good house, of course. You can work and work and work, but with theatre in general - and comedy in spades - if you don't have a good audience, it doesn't mean anything.

We're presenting "No Sex Please" in the Black Box theatre, an improvised "thrust stage" where the audience is on three sides. Entrances and exits are a little awkward, since we really don't have any "backstage" area to speak of, but the inconvenience is worth it because the players are right in the midst of the audience. I much prefer the Black Box to the larger proscenium stage in FRT. The hookers and I don't appear in the show until the middle of the second act. But we still have our call at 6.45, 45 minutes before curtain. Since the first act is nearly an hour long, and intermission about 15 minutes, that means it's almost 9 pm when we finally come out on stage. But then once we appear, we're constantly going on and off stage for the rest of the show. As a real farce, "No Sex" is full of rushed entrances, slamming doors, silly chases - and general sexual innuendo. It's been very nice that the prostitutes who attack me on stage are real-life friends - Rikki and Nashini. The trust and comfort we have are really important to me when they are trying to rip off my clothes!

Just finished reading this 1978 novel (his first) by Andrew Holleran. Remarkable how influential it was, how so much of its tone has shaped gay consciousness and discourse over the last two generations. It's set in the fast and furious sexual and social world of lower Manhattan and Fire Island in the 1970s. The novel pre-dates the onslaught of AIDS/HIV, but even so, an elegaic atmosphere of memory and loss pervades its pages. Certainly the novel reflects the rampant coupling and promiscuity that was the rule in the post-1960s era of Gay Liberation. But in a larger sense, "Dancer from the Dance" is about the Education of Americans. It echoes early novels about initiation and enlightenment set in New York, most notably "The Great Gatsby." Like the Fitzgerald, "Dancer" is terribly disillusioning. In American culture, those who seek to go "over the rainbow" ultimately realize that Oz is an illusionary world of people wearing green-tinted glasses.

This shirt seems to be the height of "à la mode" in Iron Harbor this summer. Saturday night I was out with friends, and received FOUR independent and UNSOLICITED compliments about it: "Oh, that's a nice shirt you're wearing." By the fourth comment, it became slightly unsettling. I began to wonder if people were being ironic, or perhaps that by offering praise for this particular shirt they were actually condemning all the unfashionable, boring, poorly fitted and heavily stained shirts that I habitually wear on most other occasions. People don't usually comment on what I'm wearing. I'm not a particular fan of the fashion mags, so it's odd for me to be singled out as a fashion plate.

Admittedly, I had wanted to be in the "casual dressy" style, because earlier on Saturday evening I'd been to a chamber music concert which was part of the PMMF series. The Bergonzi String Quartet (from south Florida) played Mozart, Ravel, and several pieces by the engaging second violinist Scott Flavin. Very engaging - and the strong playing of the ensemble was enhanced by the excellent acoustic of the Reynolds recital hall on campus. The PMMF is in financial difficulties - in part due to the economic downturn and the ensuing decline in corporate sponsorships. There have been rumblings that this may be the last year of the festival. Maybe it would be more successful if there was more "fest" in the "festival." By that I mean that often there doesn't feel as if there is any connecting thread between the concerts - or any real sense of celebration. Why can't we have wine and hors d'oeuvres at intermission - or maybe after the concert? (At least they should get some flowers for the lobby, IMHO.)

Anyhow, after the concert I headed out (without changing) for the night scene. First at Terry's, then at the Down Front Club. We were a big group: Rob and his friend Joan, Rikki, Nashini, DD, Archie, Lara from Boston, Brett and Michael, Pink and Michelle. It's good that we stayed away from the Wine Bar - Rob was a lot more comfortable without running into Erik. Also, I had told him to drink a glass of milk before coming out - it seemed to help keep him in line later in the evening, and he had none of his usual "seediness" on the day-after. It was fun to be in the midst of so many Bright Young Things. They really do come out of the woods on the weekends - who knows where they hide themselves during the week! But I think that the Down Front Club must be owned by a hearing aid manufacturer: they seem determined to induce hearing loss in all their patrons.