And Another Thing....

Fight Like A Girl

V and I took a fieldtrip to hipster Williamsburg to the Galapagos Art Space to see the second night of PFL. That's right, folks: The Pillowfight League.  Women wrestling each other to the ground and clocking each other with pillows.

This seems like a continuation of the popular girls roller derby contest; that is, women playing over-the-top fake characters who truly duke it out. We were into it, as was the crowd, with all of us jumping forward to catch a better look whenever the women took it to the mats.

Afterwards, at dinner, V. and I talked about what makes female fighting so compelling.

I wouldn't say that I like violence, or that I think violence is a good thing. But when I see women boxing or street fighting or, yes, pillow fighting, my blood goes up. It gives me pleasure. Why is that?

Part of it must be the appreciation of fire and toughness and skill. But I never was into MEN boxing, etc.---and no, it's not just because I'm a lesbian. I don't see women fighters as sexy, exactly. I think that violent sports are exciting because, like all good entertainment, we put ourselves into the scene. And because we're  Americans, we put ourselves in as the winners. So during a fight, our thrill comes from the feeling in our body that this is us fighting and winning. We feel the adreneline without the exhaustion or pain. Seeing women fight makes women feel like we, too, can fight--and that makes us feel tough and sparky and confident and able to take on the world.

Though what does it say that both V and I admitted afterwards that we were tempted to start a fight ourselves with a loud (and big and well-built) asshole who kept shouting denigrating comments? Maybe it says that the "ready to take on the world" feeling isn't always a good thing.

The Game Continues!

Today in New York (Subway edition)

I saw:

1. a man carrying a cat in one of those front carriers for babies.
2. a woman in a leather jacket with a clear bag filled with egg shells.
3. two teenagers taking turns having their picture taken with a drunk guy passed out on the floor.

You wanna guess which one I made up? I believe Rob is winning so far.....

Maus

My friend Lewis says I shouldn't let the mouse get to me. He suggests two things:

1. Buy the mouse a cape, a pair of tiny boots, and some goggles. Then charge admission to see him burst through the wall.

2. Try to figure out what the mouse is telling me. Maybe he needs more light because he's an artist, and he has to paint. Or maybe there is treasure in the walls, and he's desperately trying to get me to knock down the wall to find it. Or maybe he's a tiny Buddhist, and wants me to give up my attachment to the idea of having a bedroom without mice or swiss-cheese plaster.

January 19

In December, a friend asked me, "So, when do you think it will snow?"

Jan. 19, I said. "Because it's my mom's birthday and it always does."

And indeed, when I woke up this morning, the trees were wearing their winter finest. It's gone now, but for a little while, the City looked like January.

On Criticism

    I just finished Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles and it so puzzled me that I've just spent the last hour reading other people's reviews. Most of them saw what I saw--it is quintessential colloquial Murakami, being about an Everyman who happens to wander into the ever-shifting dreamscape of internal mind and memory. But it is also structurally a mess.

    Then I read one review from a woman who said she couldn't stop thinking about it, that it was inhabiting her. And I thought--yes, I see what she means. Three years ago, when I was living in the era I like to call The Dark Times, I would have lived in this Murakami work, too. It's unsteady probing into death and deterioration would have resonated with me.

    In my theater critic days, I believed that, more or less, all critics saw the same thing. My colleagues and I often agreed on plays. But now I am coming to believe that critics can only properly evaluate the arts on the narrowest of levels. That is, we can say how GOOD something is.

    What do I mean by good? I mean that critics, who have consumed vast amounts of their chosen art form (often more than the practitioners) can quickly evaluate if a piece of theater or literature is well structured, well-written, cohesive. We can judge the production values and the talent of the players. We can say whether a writer or director has achieved their stated vision. That is, we can tell you how well something is executed.

    What we can't do, though, is tell you how a piece of art will make you feel. We can tell you how it made US feel--but art is so personal, and its impact and resonance will depend on how old we are and of what gender; what class we are and of what ethnicity; how depressed, how optimistic, whether we've just broken up with the love of our lives or whether we have just found her or whether we have stopped looking.

    I think that this is why people get so angry with critics. We want them to see what we see in a piece, if we loved it. We want them to hate it the way we do, if it turned our stomachs. But critics can't do this. We can't see with the million eyes of their readers. We can only see with our own two eyes, in whatever place we happen to be at the time. And like Murakami's work, that place is always shifting, so that the next day, we may look back on our work and feel like someone else has written it, that that doppelganger has moved on, and we may see her again only in memory.

Rat poison

Max, my dog, ate rat poison sometime last night. Two vets and $400 later, I think we're out of the woods.

This makes me hate that little mouse chewing up my wall even more.

I should make peace with that mouse. Or maybe I should take comfort in the idea that the mouse is still alive, rat poison or no. Max is much bigger than my mouse. Plus he got a K1 shot. So I've got to believe that he'll be OK.

internet access restored!

After two weeks with no internet at home...now it's back!

In gratitude for your wait, I've posted all the recent columns, and a string of features reaching back six or seven years (not all the features I've ever written, but ones I like).

So if you're looking for some reading, I hope you'll check out the website!