My play "Claire's Departure" will be performed August 21-24 as a part of the Silver Spring Stage One-Act Festival in Silver Spring, Maryland. The play premiered at the 2007 Pittsburgh New Works Festival.
Silver Spring Stage 2008 One-Act Festival information
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
I guess I’m a Bikram convert
I started doing Bikram yoga about 3 weeks ago. Hot yoga. 90 minutes in a 105 degree Fahrenheit room yoga. Despite recommendations to use my new member unlimited pass to take class 4 times a week to start, I only go about twice a week. I like it, but days I go to Bikram have little opportunity for anything else. I work all day. I take the train to the studio. I work out. I shower. I take the bus home. By that time is 9 PM, and I’m exhausted. I make myself a light dinner and go to bed. Still, I like it. I’m just not obsessed with it.
Or so I thought.
I had a Dramatist’s Guild meeting on Monday, so I went to Bikram on Tuesday. It was a good session. Normally I struggle to get even during bow pose, but on Tuesday I got a long even extension. I felt good. I cleaned and repacked my yoga gear and brought it into work with full intentions of going Wednesday night as well.
Wednesday was a busy day at work. That sort of stress is the sort of thing that’s nice to follow up with something as cleansing and relaxing a Bikram is for me. (After it’s over that is. At the time it is not relaxing. It is hard work.) Still, I was tired. Plus it was extremely rainy, windy, and nasty when I went to work. It was a pain getting to the train. I decided that I just wanted to get home.
But when I got home, I immediately regretted not working out. I decided to do one of my old yoga DVDs. I couldn’t find it. I think I’d loaned it to someone. My husband handed me one of the yoga DVDs he got from his sister, so I decided to give that a try. I had to stop after twenty minutes. It was just too annoying. A lot of slow, sleepy, “focus on your breath” stuff. Long repeated sequences always returning to downward dog. Boring and slow and cultlike. (The guy and his followers were all shrouded in white.)
I was upset at myself for skipping Bikram. I was still tense. I did 10 hard minutes on the Versaclimber until I sweat almost as much as at Bikram. I took a shower. I felt somewhat better.
The nice thing about not going to Bikram was being able to spend the evening with my husband. We watched a movie. We drank wines. These are the things I don’t like about nights that I don’t get home until after Bikram.
However, last night taught me what a significant impact Bikram can have on how I feel, and the converse reaction to skipping it. I wish I could go tonight, but I’m going to see a friend’s show. (It’s having a life that keeps me to 2 Bikram classes a week.) But I’m going tomorrow morning before my 4th of July plans. Would it be easier just to spend the morning sleeping in, watching tv, and making my pasta salad? Of course. But I will feel so good for going to Bikram I can’t resist. I guess I’m addicted.
Or so I thought.
I had a Dramatist’s Guild meeting on Monday, so I went to Bikram on Tuesday. It was a good session. Normally I struggle to get even during bow pose, but on Tuesday I got a long even extension. I felt good. I cleaned and repacked my yoga gear and brought it into work with full intentions of going Wednesday night as well.
Wednesday was a busy day at work. That sort of stress is the sort of thing that’s nice to follow up with something as cleansing and relaxing a Bikram is for me. (After it’s over that is. At the time it is not relaxing. It is hard work.) Still, I was tired. Plus it was extremely rainy, windy, and nasty when I went to work. It was a pain getting to the train. I decided that I just wanted to get home.
But when I got home, I immediately regretted not working out. I decided to do one of my old yoga DVDs. I couldn’t find it. I think I’d loaned it to someone. My husband handed me one of the yoga DVDs he got from his sister, so I decided to give that a try. I had to stop after twenty minutes. It was just too annoying. A lot of slow, sleepy, “focus on your breath” stuff. Long repeated sequences always returning to downward dog. Boring and slow and cultlike. (The guy and his followers were all shrouded in white.)
I was upset at myself for skipping Bikram. I was still tense. I did 10 hard minutes on the Versaclimber until I sweat almost as much as at Bikram. I took a shower. I felt somewhat better.
The nice thing about not going to Bikram was being able to spend the evening with my husband. We watched a movie. We drank wines. These are the things I don’t like about nights that I don’t get home until after Bikram.
However, last night taught me what a significant impact Bikram can have on how I feel, and the converse reaction to skipping it. I wish I could go tonight, but I’m going to see a friend’s show. (It’s having a life that keeps me to 2 Bikram classes a week.) But I’m going tomorrow morning before my 4th of July plans. Would it be easier just to spend the morning sleeping in, watching tv, and making my pasta salad? Of course. But I will feel so good for going to Bikram I can’t resist. I guess I’m addicted.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Words, words, words.
Anyone who talks enough is likely to get something right eventually. It's like monkeys with typewriters.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Theatre vs. Movies
The movies were supposed to be the end of theatre. Certainly movies are more popular than than theatre. Still, theatre continues. Why?
Movies have a number of advantages over theatre. One is simply financial. Although most movies cost more to produce than most plays, once a movie is completed it can be run simultaneously on as many screens in as many cities in as many countries as the market will bear. Sure there are still distribution and publicity costs being paid, but the majority of the costs are fixed no matter how many times the movie is replayed. As for theatre, every performance costs money for actors and technicians and space rentals and insurance and on and on. Want to run the same play in multiple cities? Now you need an additional set and additional costumes as well. Oh, yes, and don't forget royalties. Those darn playwrights just insist on getting paid every night!
On an artistic level, movies do spectacle much better. Even in the early days, the capability of what could be done in a studio far surpassed what could be done live on stage. Now the technology makes even more possible. Sure, theatre (usually Broadway) occassionally goes in for the spectacular effects. But no matter how impressive sinking the Titanic on stage may have been, it was only amazing because of the live aspect of it. It was not comparable to the movie Titanic. (And in fact, the musical Titanic suffered from nights when the darn boat wouldn't sink. If it happens in a movie they don't use that cut. The theatre audiences who witness the "bad" nights, understandably, just end up feeling gypped.
So why go to theatre at all?
1. Intimacy
Particularly in a small cast play in a smaller theatre, the audience can feel the energy of the actors/characters. The audience feels this connection. It is impossible to ignore that they are all there together, even if the characters never directly acknowledge that the audience is there. When there is a quiet dramatic scene and you can hear a pin drop in the audience, you know something is special happening. When there is a hilarious comedic scene and the audience is rolling with laughter, they give back to the actors and energize them.
2. Ephemerality
Each performance in theatre only occurs once. Even the most mechanical actors will be slightly different each night. The difference may be an actual technical SNAFU. Generally, the difference is a small bit of timing, a different line delivery. The audience laughs at something no one has ever laughed at or doesn't laugh at something that normally brings down the house. The lead actress cries real tears or doesn't. Sure there is the risk that you will see the show on a "bad" night. But you could see the show on an amazing night. Regardless, it is your night. If there is a movie you love you can watch it over and over again, and it will never change. If there is a play you love you can see subtle differences in nights of the run. Or, moreso, if you see that play in a different production altogether with a different cast, director, and designers, you will get to see it in a whole different way.
3. Spectacle that you create yourself
Last night I was at a reading of a play in progress. During the subsequent discussion one person criticized a scene for being overly cinematic. What he actually meant was that it would be difficult to stage. The director of the reading program noted (I wish I remembered exactly how he worded it) that in film the spectacle is given to you, but in theatre the audience has to create it for themselves. I'd never thought of it that clearly, but that is so true.
Think of the musical The Lion King. The audience suspends their disbelief to allow puppets with visible puppeteers to be animals. The same thing would look absurdly unfinshed in a movie. The audience expects movies to make even the most fantastical stories seem real. Jungle animals need to be CGI (a'la the Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe) or something animatronic.
Even in simpler productions, the audience sees the stage, the percenium, the rest of the audience, yet they allow that to become whatever setting they are told.
In the intimacy, ephemerality, and spectacle of theatre the audience is an active participant. The audience provides energy. They provide part of the soundtrack. And they provide the necessarily imagination to make the show work.
For movies, the audience is simply an observer. For theatre, the audience is part of the ensemble.
Movies have a number of advantages over theatre. One is simply financial. Although most movies cost more to produce than most plays, once a movie is completed it can be run simultaneously on as many screens in as many cities in as many countries as the market will bear. Sure there are still distribution and publicity costs being paid, but the majority of the costs are fixed no matter how many times the movie is replayed. As for theatre, every performance costs money for actors and technicians and space rentals and insurance and on and on. Want to run the same play in multiple cities? Now you need an additional set and additional costumes as well. Oh, yes, and don't forget royalties. Those darn playwrights just insist on getting paid every night!
On an artistic level, movies do spectacle much better. Even in the early days, the capability of what could be done in a studio far surpassed what could be done live on stage. Now the technology makes even more possible. Sure, theatre (usually Broadway) occassionally goes in for the spectacular effects. But no matter how impressive sinking the Titanic on stage may have been, it was only amazing because of the live aspect of it. It was not comparable to the movie Titanic. (And in fact, the musical Titanic suffered from nights when the darn boat wouldn't sink. If it happens in a movie they don't use that cut. The theatre audiences who witness the "bad" nights, understandably, just end up feeling gypped.
So why go to theatre at all?
1. Intimacy
Particularly in a small cast play in a smaller theatre, the audience can feel the energy of the actors/characters. The audience feels this connection. It is impossible to ignore that they are all there together, even if the characters never directly acknowledge that the audience is there. When there is a quiet dramatic scene and you can hear a pin drop in the audience, you know something is special happening. When there is a hilarious comedic scene and the audience is rolling with laughter, they give back to the actors and energize them.
2. Ephemerality
Each performance in theatre only occurs once. Even the most mechanical actors will be slightly different each night. The difference may be an actual technical SNAFU. Generally, the difference is a small bit of timing, a different line delivery. The audience laughs at something no one has ever laughed at or doesn't laugh at something that normally brings down the house. The lead actress cries real tears or doesn't. Sure there is the risk that you will see the show on a "bad" night. But you could see the show on an amazing night. Regardless, it is your night. If there is a movie you love you can watch it over and over again, and it will never change. If there is a play you love you can see subtle differences in nights of the run. Or, moreso, if you see that play in a different production altogether with a different cast, director, and designers, you will get to see it in a whole different way.
3. Spectacle that you create yourself
Last night I was at a reading of a play in progress. During the subsequent discussion one person criticized a scene for being overly cinematic. What he actually meant was that it would be difficult to stage. The director of the reading program noted (I wish I remembered exactly how he worded it) that in film the spectacle is given to you, but in theatre the audience has to create it for themselves. I'd never thought of it that clearly, but that is so true.
Think of the musical The Lion King. The audience suspends their disbelief to allow puppets with visible puppeteers to be animals. The same thing would look absurdly unfinshed in a movie. The audience expects movies to make even the most fantastical stories seem real. Jungle animals need to be CGI (a'la the Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe) or something animatronic.
Even in simpler productions, the audience sees the stage, the percenium, the rest of the audience, yet they allow that to become whatever setting they are told.
In the intimacy, ephemerality, and spectacle of theatre the audience is an active participant. The audience provides energy. They provide part of the soundtrack. And they provide the necessarily imagination to make the show work.
For movies, the audience is simply an observer. For theatre, the audience is part of the ensemble.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Will technology be the death of teaching?
I was reading an article about a system called StraighterLine that is starting to be used at some colleges. The system posts self-guided course materials, and provides online access to a tutor if the student has trouble with the work. Essentially it’s a online class without a professor.
I could see this being effective for a very straight-forward class with concrete methods and definite solutions, such as algebra, but I can’t see this being effective for anything requiring complex analysis and abstract thinking. Sure such a course could be placed online. Those students who already have the skills would do just fine. But I don’t believe those other students could nurture those skills without direct interaction with a skilled teacher.
I’m not against online learning. I think it expands learning opportunities beyond geographic boundaries and, in some cases, makes it more economically accessible as well. And, I’m definitely not saying that online learning needs to mimic “old school” (literally) model. Some professors are creatively using technologies such as podcasts, blogs, and Twitter to the benefit of their students.
I worry about the model that pulls teaching out of it. Sure there have often been self-directed study models used in schools, but they were usually reserved for advanced students who were already surpassing their peers and who had the skills, motivation, and focus to learn on their own. Usually this occurred off to the side of another class, so the cost was the same for both sets of students.
A model such as StraighterLine scares me it is economically desirable. The cost of tutors (even enough to provide 24x7 coverage) is going to be cheaper than a professor’s salary. I fear a pressure to expand this usage to more and more classes. Sure this model may not work with some types of classes, but there is always the option to offer fewer of those other types of classes.
The risk is another “No Child Left Behind.” NCLB hurt arts curricula because it bases a school’s funding on standardized testable reading and math skills; therefore, reading and math often emphasized to the sacrifice of everything else. If an instructorless online system is significantly cheaper than other options, mightn’t schools be similarly compelled to focus on those classes that can be taught in that way?
Or perhaps it’s a good thing. Certainly we have all been taught by people who provided nothing more valuable than what StraighterLine provides. Perhaps it is those people who would be forced to find other work. Perhaps those teachers who truly engage and inspire, those who use the technology to enhance their lessons, who treat a classroom as a collaborative arena or thought—perhaps those wonderful people will still teach classes. Perhaps students will soon take them. Perhaps finding out there is an actual teacher tied to a course will be a signal that this is exceptional material taught in an exceptional way.
Courses that challenge the brain beyond its ability to regurgitate, be the subject art or philosophy or astrophysics, are the vital to ensuring that our future includes thinkers rather than an entire generation of human data processors.
I could see this being effective for a very straight-forward class with concrete methods and definite solutions, such as algebra, but I can’t see this being effective for anything requiring complex analysis and abstract thinking. Sure such a course could be placed online. Those students who already have the skills would do just fine. But I don’t believe those other students could nurture those skills without direct interaction with a skilled teacher.
I’m not against online learning. I think it expands learning opportunities beyond geographic boundaries and, in some cases, makes it more economically accessible as well. And, I’m definitely not saying that online learning needs to mimic “old school” (literally) model. Some professors are creatively using technologies such as podcasts, blogs, and Twitter to the benefit of their students.
I worry about the model that pulls teaching out of it. Sure there have often been self-directed study models used in schools, but they were usually reserved for advanced students who were already surpassing their peers and who had the skills, motivation, and focus to learn on their own. Usually this occurred off to the side of another class, so the cost was the same for both sets of students.
A model such as StraighterLine scares me it is economically desirable. The cost of tutors (even enough to provide 24x7 coverage) is going to be cheaper than a professor’s salary. I fear a pressure to expand this usage to more and more classes. Sure this model may not work with some types of classes, but there is always the option to offer fewer of those other types of classes.
The risk is another “No Child Left Behind.” NCLB hurt arts curricula because it bases a school’s funding on standardized testable reading and math skills; therefore, reading and math often emphasized to the sacrifice of everything else. If an instructorless online system is significantly cheaper than other options, mightn’t schools be similarly compelled to focus on those classes that can be taught in that way?
Or perhaps it’s a good thing. Certainly we have all been taught by people who provided nothing more valuable than what StraighterLine provides. Perhaps it is those people who would be forced to find other work. Perhaps those teachers who truly engage and inspire, those who use the technology to enhance their lessons, who treat a classroom as a collaborative arena or thought—perhaps those wonderful people will still teach classes. Perhaps students will soon take them. Perhaps finding out there is an actual teacher tied to a course will be a signal that this is exceptional material taught in an exceptional way.
Courses that challenge the brain beyond its ability to regurgitate, be the subject art or philosophy or astrophysics, are the vital to ensuring that our future includes thinkers rather than an entire generation of human data processors.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Stuff
I like stuff. I was raised on stuff. I was an only child in an upper-middle class family. My parents bought stuff for me and for themselves. Little of what we had was particularly fancy or flashy, but we sure had a lot of it. At Christmas they went particularly overboard. They'd start shopping early and by the end of December would have accumulated huge piles of presents for each of us. A college boyfriend who spent a Christmas with us described it as "decadent." Although I bristled at the negative connotation I couldn't really argue.
Over the years I've tried to purge. When I moved from a condo to a one bedroom apartment I had to purge because of the diminishing available space. Loads and loads to Goodwill and to friends. Items sold on Craigslist. There would just be know room.
Even with the space I realize that stuff is a burden. More things make organization and cleaning more difficult. It's harder to find things amidst vast collections. A cluttered room also clutters the mind.
I'd like to get rid of books that I rarely read, kitchen appliances that I rarely use, or clothes I rarely wear, but I always worry I'll regret it. And some things are sentimental. And some things I just like. I do. I like my stuff.
On Friday, a close friend's apartment was broken into. She was robbed. They took sentimental items like her grandmother's wedding ring. They took practical items like her computer. What they didn't take they rifled through. All her stuff was gone or in severe disarray.
We all agree that the most important thing is that she was not hurt. She was not there when it happened. She is perfectly safe. We would all prefer to lose our stuff than have something happen to our persons.
Still, the loss of stuff is angering, disheartening, and disorienting. You think you are coming home to your stuff, but it is not there. You locked the door, but still it is gone. It is scary. It is upsetting.
This event makes me look at my stuff differently. What of it is *truly* important? What can I do to protect those things? What, if something were to hapen, could I just take the insurance money and buy a new one? What can never be replaced? What can I do about that? Do I have enough back-ups of my writing? Where is my favorite jewelry kept? What is just a distraction? What should I do with all my stuff?
I hope I remembered to lock the door.
Over the years I've tried to purge. When I moved from a condo to a one bedroom apartment I had to purge because of the diminishing available space. Loads and loads to Goodwill and to friends. Items sold on Craigslist. There would just be know room.
Even with the space I realize that stuff is a burden. More things make organization and cleaning more difficult. It's harder to find things amidst vast collections. A cluttered room also clutters the mind.
I'd like to get rid of books that I rarely read, kitchen appliances that I rarely use, or clothes I rarely wear, but I always worry I'll regret it. And some things are sentimental. And some things I just like. I do. I like my stuff.
On Friday, a close friend's apartment was broken into. She was robbed. They took sentimental items like her grandmother's wedding ring. They took practical items like her computer. What they didn't take they rifled through. All her stuff was gone or in severe disarray.
We all agree that the most important thing is that she was not hurt. She was not there when it happened. She is perfectly safe. We would all prefer to lose our stuff than have something happen to our persons.
Still, the loss of stuff is angering, disheartening, and disorienting. You think you are coming home to your stuff, but it is not there. You locked the door, but still it is gone. It is scary. It is upsetting.
This event makes me look at my stuff differently. What of it is *truly* important? What can I do to protect those things? What, if something were to hapen, could I just take the insurance money and buy a new one? What can never be replaced? What can I do about that? Do I have enough back-ups of my writing? Where is my favorite jewelry kept? What is just a distraction? What should I do with all my stuff?
I hope I remembered to lock the door.
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