First of all, listening to people talk about this season’s new designer collections is exactly the same as listening to people talk about sports. I used to have to feign interest in the Green Bay Packers, which I gather is a group of like-minded fellows who get together on occasion to pass around the old pigskin; how successfully I pretended to be interested remains to be seen. On the other hand, I did enjoy the Brewers game at CFL, because I was introduced to the concept of “brats” (and yes, I realize that the Brewers do not play football). I guess I can feign interest in fashion in a comparable bratlike way because I’m rather amused by the anorectics-on-parade angle (maybe they’ll start banning skinny people from commercial airline flights), plus if I ever become rich and famous I will have no choice, like all rich and famous people, to attend the Fall showings, so at least I’ll be prepared. That’s the problem with being rich and famous: your life just isn’t your own.
Secondly, the whole concept of lesbian restaurant eludes me. I realize that Yale’s lesbian restaurant is a Michelin 3-star attraction for some teams, but I fail to see the link between the noun and the modifier. I do understand, say, the concept of a Mexican restaurant, because they serve Mexican food. And I was unable to discover if there was any link because, although they serve breakfast, they do not open until 10:00 a.m. When we went in, there were only a couple of Latino guys cleaning up. I won’t say that this was one of the great disappointments of the weekend, but it was indeed one of the true imponderables.
Third, there is no question that the only music that works in tab rooms is music you already know. Or more to the point, music everybody knows. Familiar stuff with a little energy, but not too much energy. Madeleine Peyroux sank like a stone. The soundtrack of "Grosse Point Blank" had ‘em dancin’ in the aisles.
Fourth, I concede to JV that he knows way more about stage musicals than I do. He even claims to listen to all those obscure cast recordings that he has on his mini, while I maintain that he simply is NOT listening to "Urinetown" more than once a year. I know that I was carrying "Assassins" in my car for over a year before I finally threw it into the CD player, mostly because when you’re driving, you’d rather sing along with “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” than with “Ballad Of Czolgosz.” Still, I would put my knowledge of the American Songbook against anyone’s, including his. Go ahead, ask me about George or Ira or Cole or Irving or Jerome or anyone between 1900 and 1960. It’s just not going to happen.
Fifth, if you need an example of Gothic revival, Yale is hog heaven. Even the recycling plant is Gothic (although I guess that’s neo-gothic, or Baudrillardian gothic, or maybe just goth). If you know nothing else about architecture, all the stuff surrounding you all weekend, well, it was in the gothic style. What we need is a tournament at the University of Virginia, to see the other side of the coin.
3 comments:
I don't know. I sing along (or more likely, sing while washing dishes even though no music is playing) to Assassins all the time.
You are both right and wrong here, Jim. I concede that your mastery of the American Songbook would decimate mine. On the other hand, I will state that I have listened to Urinetown twice this month already (and once to Assassins but the original, not the revival which is wildly uneven)
The thing about Assassins, that Urinetown really doesn't do for you:
I
I think I've learned more American history from that show than I ever did in high school. At least, the kind of American history that you can break out randomly at cocktail parties and impress people with, because they've only ever heard of the ones with three names. Not that I go to any cocktail parties. But if I did.
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