Sunday roundup
I think I've finally figured out where, post-vacation, all my time's going and why I don't seem to be able to keep the blog or my photo page updated, etc.
See, I had NPR in Berlin. They just started live broadcasts there. And I loved it. So much so that when I came home, I finally mastered Real Player and made it work with our slow connection speed, etc., and now I have NPR (and BBC 4! and, uh, something called "Maximum Broadway," which I found when I set out optimistically looking to see if anything like "The Sondheim Channel" existed. Close enough). Problem is, I now sit down at the computer on a weekend morning and turn the player on, and I hop around time zones trying to avoid all the middle-of-the-night 'Talk of the Nation' rebroadcast crap from the States, and I listen to the weather forecast for the central Cascades, and then the shipping forecast on BBC 4, which, for reasons I've been afraid to examine too closely, I find incredibly compelling, and then I listen to the smug and insider-ish topical comedy program (the "Now Show"), which K and I used to listen to every Saturday morning in London and never understood, which we now listen to every Saturday afternoon and never understand, and then I think "right -- better switch over to the Broadway channel so I can work," and then a bunch of songs come on that I've never heard, and then I'm googling the lines to find out where they came from and creating a list of new shows I obviously need to see, and, well, then it's time for bed.
All of which is to say that I didn't get up to much this past weekend. Added to which, K came down with a fever and chills. We were supposed to go see a Korean dance troupe Saturday night as a sort of vaguely job-related thing, but I opted to stay home and watch K sweat and twitch rather than go watch Koreans dance. (Six of one, if you ask me.)
And I hasten to add: that's not anti-Korean, that's anti-dance. It's a phase I'm going through.
On Sunday, K felt better and agreed to come with me to make use of the comped VIP tickets I had for an Ionesco play.
The tickets neglected to mention that the play was entirely in Hindi.
Moreover, since our VIP tickets were front row center, and it was the sort of Surrealist staging in which the house lights come on and off at random intervals (either that, or it might just have been their tech crew -- hard to tell, in Mumbai), we were too scared to make a dash for it, and sat with frozen smiles on our faces for over an hour, while two young actors minced around in baggy pants and cummerbunds and screamed at each other and moved furniture around. It was gratuitously loud, totally impenetrable, and profoundly irritating. Much like India itself, come to think of it.
Even more frightening, it wasn't the worst theater experience I've had here.
Afterwards, I had an odd craving for Mickey D's (which are almost entirely veg here), so we went to the one by the train terminus, and barely managed to find a seat outside next to a blaring speaker, and returned to a perennially favorite topic of discussion: cultural psychologies revealed in the international variations on the Beeb's "The Office." If, by the way, you've never pondered this topic before, I highly recommend this thought-provoking foray into the issues. And then K asked something which made me snort Pepsi out my nose:
"What would an Indian version of 'The Office" look like?"
The boss would be an ass -- and everyone'd pretend not to notice, because he'd be a Brahmin!
Jim might pine for Pam -- but she'd have been married since 14 and have a son in college!
Ok, perhaps you had to be there. But I'd love to be a fly on the wall during that pitch meeting.
See, I had NPR in Berlin. They just started live broadcasts there. And I loved it. So much so that when I came home, I finally mastered Real Player and made it work with our slow connection speed, etc., and now I have NPR (and BBC 4! and, uh, something called "Maximum Broadway," which I found when I set out optimistically looking to see if anything like "The Sondheim Channel" existed. Close enough). Problem is, I now sit down at the computer on a weekend morning and turn the player on, and I hop around time zones trying to avoid all the middle-of-the-night 'Talk of the Nation' rebroadcast crap from the States, and I listen to the weather forecast for the central Cascades, and then the shipping forecast on BBC 4, which, for reasons I've been afraid to examine too closely, I find incredibly compelling, and then I listen to the smug and insider-ish topical comedy program (the "Now Show"), which K and I used to listen to every Saturday morning in London and never understood, which we now listen to every Saturday afternoon and never understand, and then I think "right -- better switch over to the Broadway channel so I can work," and then a bunch of songs come on that I've never heard, and then I'm googling the lines to find out where they came from and creating a list of new shows I obviously need to see, and, well, then it's time for bed.
All of which is to say that I didn't get up to much this past weekend. Added to which, K came down with a fever and chills. We were supposed to go see a Korean dance troupe Saturday night as a sort of vaguely job-related thing, but I opted to stay home and watch K sweat and twitch rather than go watch Koreans dance. (Six of one, if you ask me.)
And I hasten to add: that's not anti-Korean, that's anti-dance. It's a phase I'm going through.
On Sunday, K felt better and agreed to come with me to make use of the comped VIP tickets I had for an Ionesco play.
The tickets neglected to mention that the play was entirely in Hindi.
Moreover, since our VIP tickets were front row center, and it was the sort of Surrealist staging in which the house lights come on and off at random intervals (either that, or it might just have been their tech crew -- hard to tell, in Mumbai), we were too scared to make a dash for it, and sat with frozen smiles on our faces for over an hour, while two young actors minced around in baggy pants and cummerbunds and screamed at each other and moved furniture around. It was gratuitously loud, totally impenetrable, and profoundly irritating. Much like India itself, come to think of it.
Even more frightening, it wasn't the worst theater experience I've had here.
Afterwards, I had an odd craving for Mickey D's (which are almost entirely veg here), so we went to the one by the train terminus, and barely managed to find a seat outside next to a blaring speaker, and returned to a perennially favorite topic of discussion: cultural psychologies revealed in the international variations on the Beeb's "The Office." If, by the way, you've never pondered this topic before, I highly recommend this thought-provoking foray into the issues. And then K asked something which made me snort Pepsi out my nose:
"What would an Indian version of 'The Office" look like?"
The boss would be an ass -- and everyone'd pretend not to notice, because he'd be a Brahmin!
Jim might pine for Pam -- but she'd have been married since 14 and have a son in college!
Ok, perhaps you had to be there. But I'd love to be a fly on the wall during that pitch meeting.
2 Comments:
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Anonymous said...
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- 1:36 PM
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Anonymous said...
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- 3:03 PM
Post a CommentThe Sondheim Channel? The Sondheim Channel? What the hell is this world coming to? It used to be chics born during the Nixon Administration blazed the trail, culturally speaking...Who knew the trail led to something called the "Sondeim Channel." I pray to the cowboy buddha there is no "Lawrence Welk Channel."
As for the Korean Dance Troupe, I regret the time we could have seen a Chinese Dance Troupe at that park, where the dancers performed on schedule--if no one else was there, that wasn't their problem: both the revolution and the show must go on as scheduled. I also regret the chinese "show" we did see--I'll never forget the "musician" whose role was to repeatedly slam two metal pot lids together. I'm still not sure why.
A parting shot at Ionesco. About a zillion years ago, some commentator wrote a column in Newsweek, aimed specifically at high school kids: important stuff that parents kept secret. I remember one of the pieces of advice was "The girl who argues that the theater club should put on a performance of "The Bald Soprano" will be a burr in the side of all who know her for her entire life....."
I remain,
Bill Roth
I was going to say something about the Sondheim Channel but Mr. Roth appears to have beat me to it.
Except I'm envious, rather than outraged.
Though I don't drink Pepsi, it almost came out of my nose when you mentioned your version of the dreaded "Talk of the Nation" dodgeball.
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