NYCweboy

This American Lie

Maybe it's just a matter of timing - I didn't see it until late Friday afternoon, and the paid blogosphere does seem to cut out before Happy Hour on Fridays - but I'm surprised that the exposure of Mike Daisey as something of a fraud isn't resonating more on the right.

That may sound odd, but bear with me.

The discrediting of NPR has been an odd hobbyhorse of the right's most ardent screechers, something about the confluence of soothing voices, liberal boilerplate, and perceived objectivity, from what I can tell (roll that all up in a ball and you get... Nina Totenberg). James O'Keefe, in one of his more amusing sideshows, helped take out the head of fundraising at NPR with a tape of a conversation with a fake Middle Eastern investor, which led to a stunning series of off-point comments from senior officials at NPR that mostly made matters worse. NPR was also at the center of the Juan Williams "scandal", in which Williams was dropped as a commentator after telling Bill O'Reilly that he harbored suspicions that Muslims on his flights were possibly terrorists. 

Given all that, surely someone on the right will spend the weekend chortling as This American Life, one of NPR's most popular shows, has had to retract its most popular podcast, an episode recorded with Mike Daisey about Apple's dubious record manufacturing iPads and iPhones in China. Adapted from his monologue "The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs", "Mr. Daisey and the Apple Factory" garnered a lot of attention, and started a string of modestly bad press for Apple, which has tried to minimize the fallout while trying to beef up standards at its plants (and I say "modestly bad" because none of it has really hurt Apple's sales or profits). 

Daisey's claims - that Apple's plants were rife with child workers and exposure to dangerous chemicals, among other horrendous practices - had been questioned by knowledgable reporters (though the practices were also confirmed by their reporting), but it wasn't until this week that Marketplace, PRI's business show (also on NPR), found Daisey's chinese translator who was with him on that trip, who said much of what Daisey claimed to witness - speaking to child workers, or observing workers injured from chemical exposure - never happened. Daisey calls it "dramatic license", now, and TAL is red faced.

But this isn't really just about This American Life; the New York Times has already had to issue its own correction to an online op-ed Daisey wrote making similar claims, and the Associated Press is looking at retracting coverage they did of Daisey on the topic as well. Others will surely follow. Even New York's Public Theater, where Daisey's show has been running, had to issue a statement generally supporting Daisey, but admitting that the show is not exactly entirely accurate (and that's okay, cause that's how drama works. Or something).

Perhaps you can see where I'm going with this - this is a "Mainstream Media" disaster of large proportions, undermining a popular storyline (corporate malfeasance! Cheap Chinese manufacturing practices! Labor rights!) that the right already can't stand. And this, really, is a classic unforced error: no James O'Keefe fakery needed, no dicey ideologue like Juan Williams to make the scapegoat. This was, as Ira Glass admitted, simply shoddy journalism that tends to undermine the credibility of a show like This American Life - failing to ask basic questions, check primary sources, or to make sure that information was fully confirmed. It doesn't help that TAL often comes off as smug, slightly sanctimonious, and hipper than thou on most topics it covers; this was hubris waiting for a fall.

Conservatives may shy away form this because it is, after all, Apple; on the one hand, an emblem of exactly the kind of capitalism they want to enshrine, while at the same time, a do-gooder sort of firm that liberals love to shop because it seems hip and cool and socially conscious. Embracing the discrediting of Daisey, when Apple still faces unpleasant questions about its corporate actions and conditions in factories, could easily be a two-edged sword, and it may just be that conservatives miss the connections: all that raling against MSM and bad journalism is less potent when there's no obvious political payoff.

On the other hand, it's the very clean spin of the Daisey case that I think should give lefty defenders of NPR through the previous scandals some pause: it's one thing to have been pranked by O'Keefe and his ilk, it's no fun having to defend the notion that Juan Williams didn't deserve all of what he got... but the through-line here is much like the unraveling of the NYT after Jayson Blair: lying to your editors shouldn't be this easy, and it's just arrogance to have missed the signs that this report was seriously flawed. Many lefties will, no doubt, want to take the line that Daisey's real disaster is undermining the efforts to investigate Chinese factories. But this, really, amounts to "he may have stretched the truth, but he wasn't wrong" and that's not true. This wasn't stretching, it was fabrication and falsehoods. Journalism can't let that stand. And NPR, as a whole and not just on one program, probably needs to reexamine its mission and how that mission is pursued. 

Most imortantly, though, is that listeners probably need to also ak more questions, and take less reporting at face value. That's the reality of our current American Lives.

Articles We Never Finished Reading: All This, And Daddy Issues Too?

Seriously?

“Horizon” was the first play by O’Neill I ever read, at 9 or 10, and as a black-and-white introduction to a dramatist’s worldview it’s not inappropriate reading for preadolescents. (On the other hand, its portrait of life as a dream-smothering joker might well scar a sensitive, unformed mind. Thanks a lot, Dad, for the recommendation.)

- The often astonishing Ben Brantley, piling daddy issues on top of his so-so critical writing, in a review of Eugene O'Neill's Beyond The Horizon at Irish Rep.

Down East

Apparently, I decided to take some time off.

I feel better about these occasional pauses if I make a decision ahead of time - plan ahead, that's what I prefer (which, objectively, I also disapprove of in myself - I'd love to be a more "seat of the pants" kind of girl/weboy... but it's just not happening). Instead, life just kind of catches up to me... and something's got to give.

There's this debate, each time, in me: do I write about the not writing, or just move on as if everything just resumes normally? I hate to just leave the breaks unacknowledged, and sometimes writing about not writing is all I've got to give. And blogging, after all, was something I started so I could write about what's happening. Or not happening. Sometimes, not writing is all.

The past week was hard, but satisfying - a lot of productive time at work, a chance to show myself as someone seriously interested in management. I wasn't always like this; it's a recent development. For a while, I figured being a writer/barista was enough; then writer/shift supervisor. Now, maybe some sort of manager. Maybe that's the best I can do on spontaneous plans: I'd rather not have a career with goals, just let it unfold as it unfolds.

I'm weird that way.

This past week also marked the beginning of serious rehearsals for my summer foray into musical theater; last year, I reawakened my theater interests with a local production of Annie. This year, I'm happily back in the thick of my summer troupe doing Curtains. It's much fun... but a week of rehearsals only to get up at 4:30 to open the next morning does take a lot of a person.

So, here I sit, a week or so later, ensconced in my Aunt and Uncle's house in Maine, back for a slow summer weekend, and a chance to decompress. As usual, the relaxed air - and reduced heat - makes contemplation a little easier. 

Yesterday was an easy day, with a relaxed lunch, some time on the internet, and an amazing dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. Tonight, it's a cookout after this morning's breakfast at the local maple syrup store. And probably a trip to the local museum.

Starting Tuesday, it's back into the thick of work and rehearsals, and who knows how that will go; another short break may be in the cards. For now, it's a nice break Down East, and a chance to reconnect. And that's pretty good.

A Few More Words From The Terrible TV Criticism Of Alessandra Stanley

It's false equivalency time!

On Monday’s episode of  MTV could show minors in the kind of flagrante delicto that is usually reserved for mature audiences. Yet most adult Americans still can’t watch Al Jazeera English on television — even now, when the world is transfixed by images of Egypt in revolt.

It seems like a perverse application of free speech. But sex is sexier than foreign affairs and it certainly sells better. Freedom of expression is guaranteed to all Americans, but mostly it follows the money.

Yes, that's right, Alessandra Stanley has decided to link Skins and the Egyptian Revolution, as presented by Al Jazeera!

Can you figure out how to veer from discussing the slanted coverage of a news network to the sleazy business of selling teen sexuality on a scripted British import? Neither can Stanley, though she lurches all over the place, and eventually settles on "ratings" as her basis for cable systems not carrying Al Jazeera but still carrying MTV. That's not "analysis", that's desperation.

And, as if that's not enough, Stanley isn't done throwing in the kitchen sink:

To be fair, Al Jazeera English may be providing the most up-close and personal coverage round-the-clock, but it isn’t necessarily the best. And “Skins” isn’t the worst series for young people on cable, not by far. That would be “Jersey Shore.”

"To be fair"? How about "to try and throw in yet another complete non sequitour"?

And "Jersey Shore"? Seriously?

None of this is necessarily surprising - Stanley's long been the best example of worst criticism the Times has to offer... which is saying something in a pool that includes, still, the blatherings of Ben Brantley. Still, even for Stanley's usual lousy standards, this column was especially, awesomely, bad.

It's a shame, because the Times has actually been putting some effort into recasting its Arts pages, improving the quality of coverage, smoothing out its terrible instincts for flashy trash and simultaneous Upper East Side superiority (Which explains the Music department's apparent schizophrenic love of gangsta rap and opera). The Sunday section is almost readable again, Brantley is balanced with the perceptive analysis of Charles Isherwood, Manohla Dargis seems to be less and less of a presence on the film side. But for all the good... there's still Stanley and her astonishingly lame TV reviews. Does this nightmare ever end?

By the way, just to wrap up how lousy this column is: the problem with Skins is that it's not very good, which is the kind of situation where pushing the envelope on salaciousness is meant to cover weak writing and fairly bad acting (it's hard to find great acting talent under 18, and the market is seriously tapped out). Skins is mostly further proof that British shows rarely transfer well to America (The Office is an exception that actually helps prove the rule). Al Jazeera's inability to increase its presence on American cable systems deserves a full, separate article. And Jersey Shore's popularity, while mind blowing, is not inexplicable, and mostly a reminder that America's television habits are not generally, a reflection of good taste. Which, really, should help Alessandra Stanley, and still, somehow, doesn't.

Life Upon The Wicked Stage

I didn't - seriously - plan on a 4 week semi-hiatus to pursue a dream of community theater. When I started rehearsals, I figured I could blog on off days, or days where I just had rehearsal and not work. Neither of those quite happened, never mind the days of getting up 4:30 to work, with rehearsal starting at 7 that evening, home at 11 to do it all again.

What did happen was something of a creative reawakening, at least for me; it's partly the chance to go back and do things I never felt I did enough of in my - gloriously misspent - youth, and partly it's a chance to be around people who do the things I like to do for the same reason - a love of doing it, just for the joy of seeing it through.

Annie is a show which covers a wide swath of ages among performers - we have children age 5 and up, and adults into their fifties and sixties (never mind our director, who's been at this for 40 years with no real sign of slowing down) - and so the experience has been a cross section of the life in performing. You see everything from the nergetic dreams of the young to the seasoned, even world weariness of the elders, all enthralled with playing dress up, pretending to open invisible doors, and sing cheerful songs about the Depression.

If I have never been quite so tired, I have also been never quite so happily at peace.

And so today, in preparation for opening night I have brought a fresh tube of mascara (I still need to stop for some foundation), I need to move a  button on my butler outfit, press my clothes, and make photocopies of script to use during the simulation of a radio broadcast. I am reminded of one of J in B's best creations ever - the drag name of Vera Similitude. It's fun trying to make everything so real.

All of this has gotten me thinking about performing, about the life we lead and how much of it is, indeed, a performance; these things I remember about the people who can be so dramatic - I really do find myself at home with theatrical people - remind me that the capacity for it carries over into life generally. Acting, oddly, is what makes me impatient with people who "fake it" in real life; for goodness sake, commit to your performance. Don't pretend. Good acting isn't defined by the audience not believing it.

I'm sure this experience has changed me, as experiences do - I have met a whole new group of people, deepened existing friendships, learned a few things about myself, and, at this late age, even learned a few things about acting and singing on stage (if only confirming that someone in my high school career clearly missed the fact that I am quite capable of a solo on stage. Take that, Mr. Vogelman). It isn't easy - what thing worth doing ever is? - and it requires conservation of energy... but for those moments, on stage, flying without a net (literally, as I tripped over someone in dress rehearsal), it is breathtaking and fun and joyous. Life upon the wicked stage for me.

And so, with performances getting under way, the end is in sight, one way or another. As yesterday demonstrated, I am getting back into the grrove of balancing writing back into the daily schedule of things. And though I've managed to keep my distance from a lot of daily news, I'm not completely out of the loop, and find myself, yet again, with a lot of things to say. And now, with the time to say them... and my creative juices flowing a bit more vividly than they were... this should get interesting. Well, I like to think it's been interesting all along. But a blog should make a fine stage, and spotlight - for some time to come.

Three Bucks, Two Bags, One Me.

A brief expansion on a previous post: Yes, I am in Annie. No, I am not playing Annie. Or an Orphan. Or Miss Hannigan (that would be my dear friend Chris, who got me into this whole thing). I am playing Drake, the Butler, a man in Hooverville, and the Sound Effects Guy on the radio show.

This clarification is offered because I have been asked about ten times so far "are you playing an orphan?" This was cute. Once. 

Also, you are welcome to come and see our lovely show. Just ask me for details in the comments, or e-mail me (my blog name, folowed by the number one, at g-mail).

One day a penthouse... tonight the Y. Carry on, people.

Seven Minutes

My friend Red is getting married.

This is one of those wonderful bits of "personal business" that's been providing some of my offline distraction lately - I'm thrilled for her, and for Steve, her fiance, and I'm in the wedding party. (And by the way, not all the "personal business" is nearly so wonderful... but never mind. Let's stay in the happy place.)

So last night we had a little engagement party for Red and her man down in a dive bar on the Lower East Side - well, really more of a "dive bar" in that it seemed like one of those artful reconstructions of the real thing than the actual thing itself - and I was reminded of what it is to be friends with my Red... part of a smart circle of really interesting folks.

It was great to see the "Brandeis Girls", friends from her college years who've remained remarkably tight knit and connected; and the other ones, like me, that Red's collected over the years, and who bounce off one another in interesting ways making fascinating sparks.

I mention all of this because I wound up in a long, fun conversation with an actor friend in this circle, husband to one of Red's most supportive friends (and beautiful, even at nine months pregnant like last night). Joey is a real working actor, a journeyman who's found his niche in many ways, and works pretty regularly in a field that's not the most secure. After talking about his most recent theatrical experience, we moved on to a wide ranging musing about acting, writing, and creative pursuits generally.

We talked about the challenge of talking about writing, or really any creative endeavor - that really, you don't want to share much, that we hold our work close to our hearts, and the act of showing them is a brave one. And that, if you share to much, it may keep you from creating the work: talking, rather than doing. I was sort of interested to hear Joey say that he doesn't talk about acting, and it's true - he'll tell you what he's done... but not the process of what he's doing, how he finds a character or creates a role.

Writing is hard; we were both keenly aware of it (and so was Red, who admitted the grind of daily blogging was getting to her). And it's hard, sometimes, to get started and keep going. Joey mentioned a playwright acquaintance who was a runner, like he was, and they talked about the "seven minute warmup" of running - that you have to run for about seven minutes before the endorphins kick in and it becomes a kick, even fun, to do it. But you have to go through the first seven, often painful and difficult, minutes to get there... you can't avoid it.

The creative process, he pointed out, was very similar; you have to take those "seven minutes" of pain to get to a place where the writing, or the whatever, just flows, and when you do - like a painter friend he has who can go days just painting and sleeping in his studio space - you may not want to stop.

And I thought... Exactly.

It was just the conversation I needed - talking to someone who "gets it" about the creative process, the process of creating. Letting out, for just a moment, the dreams and ideas that animate what we do.... and remembering that what we do is hard, and rewarding. And we do it because it's hard... and rewarding. And I thought it might be nice to share that with you.

And to get on with the seven minutes. Thanks, Joey.

Work!!!

I don't miss cable - much - but if I did, a big piece of my pain would be missing RuPaul's Drag Race... which I sort of dismissed, ahead of time, as gimmicky and a little obvious. Wrong, girl... utterly wrong.

Queerty has a nice sum-up of this week's premiere, and you can watch the show in segments here, for free.

I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised; it would be easy to work up a cliche of bitchy queens, backstabbing and cattiness... but that's Project Runway (if you ask me), and that kind of underlines the difference between fashion and theater. The drag queens I have known - one of my first writing gigs out of school was for the local gay rag, covering drag shows - have always struck me with being fundamentally decent, both to outsiders and to each other. They know what they do... and they know that it's hard. There's a mutual respect among peers for doing the work.

Sure, the show is over-the-top and the girls work it... that's the show's real strength (and if I had to do a design your own costume contest... and then show it to Bob Mackie, I'd just die). But what touched me, and will keep me coming back, was seeing the backstage, we're all in this together vibe. And credit to Ru, for doing the best out-Tyra of Tyra and the Next Top Model thing... she still knows how to work it, too.

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The Long Weekend: Just In Time

I freely admit to being a little old school about my entertainments: I was raised on movie musicals, Broadway shows and the Great American Songbook.  Although I love pop music and today's latest hits... the eclectic nature of my tastes brings me back to the classics, all the time. But at the same time, I'm not really a full-on Show Queen; J's brother... shall we call him F in Balto... is the real deal.  Next to him, I'm just an interested bystander.

In the course of thinking about some new critical writing I wound up searching out the old "French Mystique" number from the end of Blazing Saddles.... that, in turn, led me to a You Tube search of Madeline Kahn, which led me to Madeline performing "Getting Married Today" from a Sondheim Tribute Concert. That led me to Carol Burnett performing the same song in Putting It Together (which I saw, on Broadway), which led me to another version of the song I liked best that Carol did, "Could I Leave You" (can't find Carol's version, but here's Dee Hoty):

In the meantime I found this sketch of Carol Burnett and Robin Williams which I think is from one of Carol's shows on CBS. I've never seen them work together, and it's just... well, you have to see it, because Carol's a consummate comic actress... and Robin Williams is crazy:

In any case, all of this led me to trip over a strng of Judy Garland performances... so, just to pass along something I love, here is Judy doing Just In Time from Live at The London Palladium. Judy did a number of different arrangements of Just In Time, but for my money, this one, which was the one she was doing towards the end of her life, is the one that just sends shivers up my spine... mostly because the urgency of finding someone... just in time... really hits home the way she sings it:

And, just for shits and giggles... here's the French Mystique:

Gone Fishin'...

As previously announced, the NYC Weboy will be on a hiatus from blogging here for the rest of August. Please scroll down, as it's likely that J in Baltimore and RedStar may fill in the gaps with musings, links and photos of their own. You may also find me blogging some critical things over at newcritics. I will not be checking this blog on any kind of a regular basis, but I can be reached via e-mail (nycweboy at nycweboy dot com)... and I do welcome correspondence. I will resume blogging the Tuesday after Labor Day. Yes, that means I will not blog about the Democratic Convention... but just assume I liked Hillary's speech, that the VP selection is not my favorite choice, and I wasn't all that impressed with Obama's speech.

Have a great summer. Enjoy.