Month: July 2015

Bill Clinton Makes a Return to Relevancy (August 5, 2009)

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Much is being made today of Bill Clinton’s successful diplomatic exchange with naughty toddler nation North Korea for the safe return of captive American jounalists, Laura Ling and Euna Lee. This fine article from John F. Harris and Mike Allen on Politico does a much better job of explaining what this bit of good press does for William Jefferson’s legacy better than I ever could:

http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0809/25816.html

No President and no period in American history is ever perfect. However, I have always regard the years of the Clinton reign with a smile. Yes, he often had problems keeping his pants on, but as Hillary Clinton famously said during the course of the 2008 Democratic primaries, “What didn’t you like about the 90s? The peace or the prosperity?” Toche Madame Secretary.

True story: when Boop graduated from the University of Illinois at Urbana/Champaign in the summer of 2000, with a BA in English Literature, famously useless, and an even more banal GPA, she had her pick of three different jobs upon her move to Chicago. All were corporate, carrying a very decent wage for a 22 year-old, and not one of these did Boop solicit herself. She just posted her scanty resume on Monster.com, sat back and let people come to her. No folks, this is not a fairy tale or my own wishful thinking. Those were the days. Kids coming out of undergrad now are lucky to find part-time janitorial work.

But I digress: my admiration for his work from 1992-2000 aside, I grew completely incensed with Bill Clinton during the last race for the White House. Rather than functioing as the overall asset to the Democratic party that he should have been, Clinton reverted to the petulant child he is prone to being when he doesn’t get his own way or enough attention. Hillary displayed far more grace and sportsmanship than her hubby when it came time for her to concede the nomination to Obama. Afterward, even while promising full cooperation, the former President more often than not behaved lukewarmly to then-candidate Obama, so much so that the eventual winner of the race gamely joked about it at last Fall’s Alfred E. Smith dinner/roast.

I wished Bill Clinton would go away for awhile, and he finally did, as Obama assembled his new administration, giving Hillary the high profile cabinet post of Secretary of State. But now the Emperor is back and he’s got new clothes on. Sure it’s somewhat annoying that we continue to placate North Korea’s demands for respect and deference when they have failed to play by the rules oh, pretty much ever. But no matter. Bill Clinton looks like a hero again – and my guess is he’s going to be reluctant to give that up, or the media attention that comes with it.

6 Days to 31 (August 3, 2009)

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From birth until 26 years of age, if anyone asked me what my favorite holiday was, I would have looked them straight in the eye and declared that it was my birthday and Halloween, in that order. I don’t like family holidays, for a number of reasons. Halloween is a chance to dress up as a full grown adult and adopt a new identity for the day. What’s not great about that? And then for those who might point out that August 8th, my birthday, is nowhere recorded as a national holiday, I counter that holidays are all about perspective.

In my early 20s, I would be especially happy if my birthday fell on a work day. That afforded me the opportunity to ride the train downtown to work in my tiara, enjoying all the looks and questions, proudly responding that yes, in fact, today IS my birthday. Queen for a day and all that, followed by see through excuses to get nothing done at the office: long lunch, working the room, accepting little gifts from co-workers who have been privy to my daily birthday countdown (usually begun 30 days before, but there were no hard and fast rules). ” Oh a gift for me. How thoughtful. You shouldn’t have! However did you remember my birthday?” Shameless, I know.

Cut to my 27th birthday, when I was staring down the barrel of a divorce, had just started pursuing my Master’s degree, working part-time as an administrative assistant. I was broke, lonely and definitely at a crossroads. I took my birthday easy that year, not feeling too proud or invincible. Unfortunately, the closer I moved to 30, the more difficult I found it to recapture my former enthusiam for the day I was born.

This Saturday I will be 31. I planned myself a lovely party at a cool lounge called The Fat Cat on North Broadway (3-6 PM for anyone who wants to stop by). I am getting my hair and nails done, and working out extra hard with Rob this week in an effort to bolster my self-confidence. I am really giving it my all to, “fake it ’til I make it.” I realize I am not old enough to be seriously concerned with the imminent breakdown of my body. But in a year when I lost one of my best friends, took a leap in my career, and have yet to find solid footing, and with my second marriage in somewhat of a disarray, it’s getting harder to hold onto my resolve. Then there are the little reminders that even if I remain youngish and healthy, I have begun the slippery slope toward slowing down. Some examples:

1. Before I went to the gym last week, I had some nasty menstrual cramps, so I popped a couple Aleve. On the drive over to the gym, the OTC painkillers gave me an evil case of heartburn. I then had to pull over at 7-11 to swallow a couple Tums. Pathetic.

2. I get two-day hangovers now. I accept this may be a karma slap for the back half of the 90s.

3. I have applied for a number of media related internships this summer, and despite my insistence that my years of experience should not factor against me, I am as hungry as any of the kids, not one of these companies will give the “old girl” a shot.

4. As a matter of course, most new people I encounter ask me if I have children. When I say that I do not, the next usual question is when I will start trying (this is after they have been told my age). It seems that once you reach 30, and dare to have a husband, you and your womb are equally interesting.

I was watching a late night episode of E!’s “True Hollywood Stories” over the weekend. It was one of my favorites, the Selena episode. Yolanda Saldívar, Selena’s friend turned assailant was 34 years old when she murdered the Tejano superstar. I was eating some cookies when I heard this, and nearly spit them out. 34! She looked WAY older than that! Here is a link to her mugshot:

http://simplysparked.blogspot.com/2008/08/selena.html

This news both elated and frightened me. Obviously, only three years younger than 34, I am of the opinion that I am holding my own a lot better than Yolanda managed to, even before the aging effects of prison. On the other hand, does old age sneak up on you unawares like a thief in the night? On my 34th birthday, will I magically look like my mother? Scary stuff.

I have already gone on about this much longer than I meant to. I am not so self-absorbed I can’t recognize the shallowness of being consumed by this line of thinking. But I can’t help it.

End of the Month (July 31, 2009)

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Even by usual standards, this has been a tough month for me and those that I love. But take heart sufferers, this is the last day of the month, and a Friday at that. I declare this must bode well for a fabulous August.

Eddie and I hit a tremendous marital roadblock, Jen’s Little Rosebud had surgery. My BFF Gary graduated from his MSW program May 8th and has been wickedly exposed to the cruelty of the job market, right as his student loans are about to come due. Little C lost her position. Jeremy’s mother died yesterday. It seemed that July was unseasonably cool this year in more ways than one. I send my love out to those going through troubled times, as they have sent their love in return to me.

Tomorrow is August 1st. One week from then, Boop will have to confront her 31st birthday. A few months ago I swore I would have a better attitude about it than I did my milestone birthday last year. Despite a few setbacks, I still cling to those plans. August is the last month of summer and I think the long suffering citizens of Chicago deserve to see it go with a little heat and happy times. I will do my part.

Go Cubs Go? (July 29, 2009)

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Drum roll please…this is our 101st post! I just became aware of this milestone as I sat down to the computer. On the one hand I can hardly believe I have found so many topics and occasions on which to blabber, and at the same time, I feel like I’m just getting warm. Sorry folks – Becky Boop is here to stay. My thanks to everyone has read along with Jen and I the last 7 months.

I have had a curious relationship with my favorite baseball team, especially this decade. Like that old friend who annoys you more than anything else, the one your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner asks you why you keep around, and you don’t really have an answer? This friend only calls you when he/she is in trouble or needs to borrow something like your car, couch or money. They have no discernible ambition or skills and may still live with their parents. In short, they’re a royal pain in the ass, always taking and never giving. But somehow you just can’t seem to let them go. They’ve been in your life forever and you don’t know what it would look like without them.

So it is with me and the Cubbies. We quarreled badly at the end of the 2008 season. Or rather, I was left in shock in my living room, clutching myself to quiet the shivers and wiping my tears as another false promise was made from April-September. I will not rehash what went down. It was tragic.

When Spring Training 2009 rolled around, the familiar murmurs of the Cubs being “loaded with talent,” began. I tuned them out. I would not be fooled again. I kept the team at arm’s length, the way you avoid hugging or kissing your Mom when she drops you off somewhere to hang out with your friends. You know she’s there and you love her. You’re just too embarassed to acknowledge her. “Talent nothing!,” said I. Bah! If the Cubs could finish with a 97-64 record last year, make history by tying the record for the most All-Stars on any one team, watch Big Z throw his first no hitter, and still get swept in round 1 of the NLCS? Phooey. I will believe no more.

And it seemed I was on the right track. The Cubs woefully underperformed before the All-Star break this year. Injuries, the returning suckiness of Fukodome, the shittiness of big name pickup Milton Bradley, and worst of all, the seemingly hapless attitude of Big Lou. I felt smug in my aloofness, smiling wickedly and knowingly at the twinkling ballpark lights I can see from my living room.

I have three acquaintances who shall remain nameless (my father, Theresa and my trainer Rob). These individuals have tried to sell me their theory that last year the Cubs crumbled under the weight of high expectations. After their humiliating exit from the first round of post-season play, the bar is set so low this year. Wouldn’t it be just like the Cubs to sneak up and take it all now? It’s a nice thought but I just don’t associate the North Side team and winning, no matter how perverse the circumstances might be. I snickered at these people. Fools.

And yet this week, I have become aware of an unconscious stirring in my breast. The month of August is upon us and the Cubs appear to be in the division race. As of the time of this posting, they are in a dead heat with the St. Louis Cardinals. Dammit. There was an exciting game this week, which ended in a walkoff grand slam by the not-good-often-enough Alfonso Soriano. Double dammit. Because, somehow, though I thought I was enjoying the view in my lofty tower, I have begun to care again. I am being sucked in.

Do not accuse me, as you might, of being a fair weather fan returning to the fold in times of calm. I have sat through many a game, live and on TV, happily during years of mediocrity. I just can’t tell you how bad I wanted it last year, and how much I truly believed it was going to happen. I worked it up in my head that 2008 would be the best year ever because Obama would be our new president, and the Cubs would win the World Series. I was left to console myself with 50-50. Can I really put my heart on the line again?

Feast

Becky SarwateLeave a comment
Source: http://www.goodmantheatre.org

The Albany Park Theater Project describes itself as a “multiethnic, youth theater ensemble that inspires people to envision a more just and beautiful world.”

At the curtain drop of the troupe’s latest production, a remounting of its 2010 “downtown debut,” “Feast,” ANTP Artistic Director David Feiner confessed to pride in the college attendance rate of the program’s graduates equal to satisfaction with the show. Many of the company’s committed children matriculate and become first generation university students from hardworking immigrant families. It’s an inspiring accomplishment and message in a post-Great Recession country where the American Dream often feels more elusive than ever.

APTP is a worthy non-profit, deserving of the Chicago theater community’s patronage. It would be so even if it produced mediocre artistic offerings. Luckily for all parties, including fans of good work, Albany Park Theater Project offers some of the most exciting, visceral, rhythmic storytelling in the Windy City. “Feast” marks the company’s fifth straight partnership season with the legendary Goodman Theatre.

Having been privileged enough to see and review the group’s 2013 foreclosure crisis-themed stunner, “I Will Kiss These Walls,” as well as a later examination of the nation’s broken immigration system, “Home/Land,” I have long admired the intersection of bold socioeconomic commentary, good writing and go-for-broke performances that are the hallmarks of an APTP experience.

Moreover, the results are completely unforced. With “Feast,” billed per press materials as “a 90-minute piece that explores food’s role in nourishing individuals and communities,” the group’s 2010 class did their research. Collaborating with adult theater mentors, the young artists “conducted more than two dozen interviews,” resulting in a script that asks a briskly paced series of existential questions. How does hunger (or abundance) affect personal security, the soul, the creative spirit, pride and family?

Though the APTP vision and mission is bigger than any one year’s cast, the quality of the performances in “Feast” is simply overwhelming — in all the right and sometimes purposely painful ways. A prime example occurs in the Link Card vignette. Featuring three young ladies with diametric views of the digital food stamps, the script is brave enough to consider Link as an application process fraught with bilingual tension, a source of well-fed joy, however brief, and a bottomless source of social shame. There are no wrong interpretations and no judgment.

But there are amazing acrobatic feats, a child’s soliloquy and an angry, defiant determination to break the cycle of poverty. Three voices and a full picture of an issue that is finally gaining the increased attention it deserves with this decade’s Occupy Wall Street movement, the rise of Senator Elizabeth Warren’s voice and the 2016 Democratic presidential campaign of Bernie Sanders.

Income inequality is having its moment, but as “Feast” makes clear, issues of hunger and want go back generations — to the fields of the Philippines and the villages of Mexico, as well as the cities, suburbs and towns in the United States. Food is wrapped in ritual, in love, in opportunity, in perceived success. However the weight of these concerns are nicely balanced in the production through stylistic APTP trademarks that lighten the load.

The kids transition in and out of the performance with a unified percussive display that demands their feet, hands and copious energy to make a joyful but large statement. We are here. This issue is here. And none of us are going anywhere until we figure it out. Because people who work hard and dream should have enough in their bellies to sustain their bodies and spirits.

It’s tough to single out any one performer from the harmoniously accomplished cast of 25. There are beautiful but haunting voices, dancers, drummers, gymnasts, physical comedians and touching dramatists. The tapestry of an imperfect reality held up for our collective examination. Albany Park Theater Project’s triumphant “Feast” is a deliberately hungry celebration of the company’s past, in the critical present, that deserves a very popular near future. See it.

“Feast” runs through August 16 at the Goodman Theatre, 1170 N. Dearborn, Chicago, IL. For information or tickets, call 312-443-3800 or visit the Goodman Theatre website.