“We should not be at the mercy of Chuck Grassley, Jeff Flake, Brett Kavanaugh this President or any man to screen our stories and evaluate their credibility before they are accepted as worthy of public consideration. I know I did not vote for this method of triage any more than I asked my high school friend’s younger brother to penetrate me with his fingers as a I slept in their parent’s home 21 years ago. Astonished and ashamed (because after all, I’d been drinking that evening and was wearing tight pants), I pretended not to wake up, and I never said a word about until I confided in my husband a year ago.
Why didn’t I speak up? We’ve all tortured ourselves with this question.
Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, an educated and accomplished woman, has been driven from her family home by collective male anger and the slurs and death threats that come with an interruption of the status quo. Brett Kavanaugh has said in open testimony that he will make us all pay for suggesting that his abuse of women is somehow disqualifying from the Supreme Court elevation that is his white, male destiny.
#WhyIDidntReport is more than a trending hashtag. It’s an accepted method of female survival, reinforced yearly, daily and hourly by our broken political culture.”
“Caroline, or Change, a 2004 Tony Award-nominated Best Musical (with music by FunHome‘s Jeanine Tesori), is an amalgamation in all of the best American theatrical ways. Part blues rock opera with its finger on the pulse of the Civil Rights movement, part celebration of post-World War II Jewish survival and culture, with book and lyrics by Tony Kushner of Angels in America fame, the work absolutely demands that audience members sit up and pay attention. It has a lot to say, much of it with a Southern Gothic aesthetic evocative of Tennessee Williams at his best.
Much of the Western world’s mid-20th Century social tensions are channeled through Caroline Thibodeaux (Rashada Dawn), a divorced mother of four and domestic worker serving in the employ of the Gellman family. The Thibodeauxs and the Gellmans are galaxies apart on the relative privilege spectrum, but both clans know loss, grief and of course, the experience of being culturally ‘othered.’ As the curtain lifts, audiences are exposed to the strange, but special relationship between 39-year-old Caroline, who confines her moments of spiritual peace to one cigarette per day, and eight-year-old Noah Gellman, who enthusiastically lights Caroline’s smokes and idealizes her as ‘stronger than a man.’
This characterization is both more and less true than the young, motherless Noah can fathom. Caroline’s internal struggles are expressed via song and short, terse verbal communications devoid of warmth. A domestic violence survivor with broken dreams who supports her family by taking her weary seat on the segregated bus to ‘wash white people’s clothes,’ the only kind of ‘change’ Caroline has known is the kind that asks her to do more with less.”
“Playing with traditional, linear, and narrative conventions, Homos leaps back and forth between past, present and everything between to take a look at two young, bookish, Big Apple men falling (and trying to remain) in love as massive cultural shifts swirl around them. Scenes boast Sorkinesque rapid-fire dialogue, impacted by events such as 9/11, President Obama’s 2011 repudiation of the Defense of Marriage Act and rising public consciousness of insidious hate crimes.
The play also shines a light on the heterogeneity of the LGBTQ ‘community,’ despite American culture’s seeming preference for pouring all members into one rainbow-hued bucket. The Academic is presented as the traditionalist: a monogamist conscientious about moving through orderly stages (love, cohabitation, and then marriage) with a desire to live in the ‘right’ neighborhood. Conversely, The Writer abhors convention. Uncertain about committing beyond the moment, eager to smash cisgender norms and vocabulary, besotted with the chaos, noise and mood swings of New York’s creative circle, The Writer exhibits a self-pitying and destructive streak that stands apart from The Academic’s more earnest approach to intimacy.”
“Somehow, according to MLB.com, Carl Edwards Jr.’s ERA is a mere 1.80 in his last seven appearances. This, assuredly, does not tell the story of the lanky young right hander’s recent awfulness. I’ve been playing closer attention to the reliever these last two weeks, and he’s a strong example of the sometimes misleading nature of statistics.
It is a running joke at home between my husband Bob and I that Edwards is only bad when I’m looking. My spouse, a rabid Cubs fan and huge proponent of numeric measurement, believes that a career ERA under 3.00 points to looming greatness. However, that confidence has been mightily tested over the last fortnight. Edwards has put 10 extra men on the bases in 15 games. Most egregiously, he has done so with the bags somewhat to almost full, giving the lie to that old Earned Run Average. Most of the runs that have followed from Edwards belong to the dude who came before. He’s been undependable at home vs. the Mets, in Milwaukee, and as of last night’s very disappointing loss, Washington D.C.”
“John McCain will be missed dearly. He was unpredictable. He was a man who loved his country and had enough character to shut down racist white voters pliant to Republican dog whistling. I was watching live in October 2008 as McCain appeared at a Town Hall event in Lakeville, Minnesota. I don’t remember much that was said, but I will never forget these words in defense of then-Democratic candidate Barack Obama, who has just been disparaged as an untrustworthy ‘Arab:’
‘No, ma’am. He’s a decent family man [and] citizen that just I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues, and that’s what the campaign’s all about. He’s not [an Arab].’
From the vantage point of September 2018, that kind of character seems lamentably noble and quaint.
And I suppose that sense underpinned the double consciousness experienced as I watched coverage of McCain’s State funeral this long weekend. The country and its leaders were not just coming together to mourn the loss of an American icon. As we listened to the passionate and powerful words of those who eulogized the deceased -Vice President Joe Biden, President Barack Obama, and hell, even Dubya – it was hard to escape the feeling that something more than the Arizona Senator had endured a slow and painful death.”