Minneapolis, Minnesota
The day I turned 21, the only people who celebrated the occasion with me were a self-employed black man and his wife. They took me to Sir rah's House in Cleveland, Ohio. Mine was the only white face in the place. I have been forever grateful for that wonderful occasion, which was only a part of my continuing education about what it means to be black or different in America.
If there is to be a first (at least half) black president at all, the country and its voters will have to wrestle a lot this year with the issues of race. An honest reckoning will challenge blacks, whites, Hispanics, men, and women. It won't be pretty. There will be firestorms -- and the instant controversy about Obama's pastor is merely one. Time will tell if it is the last one.
People upset with the Rev. Jeremiah Wright need to get a grip. As a gay man, I have heard and read the words of preachers, pastors, priests, bishops, and even the current pope in his prior role of cardinal. Regularly, their words consign me and others like me to hell. Many of them want me dead. Where is the outrage and indignation about that?
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
About Florida and Michigan
Minneapolis, Minnesota
It is well established that political parties have the right, not subject to review or overturn by the courts, to establish their own rules and procedures. The Democratic National Committee made it clear to all that, except for a small handful of states, including Iowa, New Hampshire, and South Carolina, no states would be allowed to process delegate selection before Feb. 5. The parties in Florida and Michigan understood this ahead of time, as did all of the candidates who originally asked to be considered for the nomination. That is why none of the Democratic candidates campaigned in Florida, and why all of them except Clinton removed their names from the Michigan ballot. The rules cannot be changed now, in the middle of the game, for a do-over. That would be unfair to Clinton and Obama, and also to Kucinich, Richardson, Edwards, Biden, and Dodd. It is unfortunate that Florida and Michigan chose to disenfranchise their people and their rights to elect the delegates of their choice. At this stage of the game, a fair compromise -- in order to allow these states a "presence" at the Democratic convention -- would be to divide the delegates in both states evenly between the two remaining candidates, Clinton and Obama.
It is well established that political parties have the right, not subject to review or overturn by the courts, to establish their own rules and procedures. The Democratic National Committee made it clear to all that, except for a small handful of states, including Iowa, New Hampshire, and South Carolina, no states would be allowed to process delegate selection before Feb. 5. The parties in Florida and Michigan understood this ahead of time, as did all of the candidates who originally asked to be considered for the nomination. That is why none of the Democratic candidates campaigned in Florida, and why all of them except Clinton removed their names from the Michigan ballot. The rules cannot be changed now, in the middle of the game, for a do-over. That would be unfair to Clinton and Obama, and also to Kucinich, Richardson, Edwards, Biden, and Dodd. It is unfortunate that Florida and Michigan chose to disenfranchise their people and their rights to elect the delegates of their choice. At this stage of the game, a fair compromise -- in order to allow these states a "presence" at the Democratic convention -- would be to divide the delegates in both states evenly between the two remaining candidates, Clinton and Obama.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Fascinating Times
Minneapolis, Minnesota
The more I look at this presidential race, the more I am led to conclude that there is no real "establishment" on the right or the left. Certainly not one that is centrally organized and controlled by a few elites of whatever persuasion. There do seem to be clumps of people who share mindsets of conventional wisdom. I do not think people are lambs led astray, but perhaps we have the partially-blind leading the partially-blind, if you will.
Given that keeping a GOP contest in the public eye is good for the presumptive nominee, and given that the purpose of a series of contests is to have a contest up-and-down the line, I find it fascinating that so many want Huckabee to drop out because of math possibilities or impossibilities. Economic conservatives and national security conservatives would scream loudly (and many of them are) if they felt their voices were being short-circuited and discounted; yet, they don't mind suggesting that social, values-based conservatives should be shut down. I ran, and won -- barely -- a city primary against a values-based conservative. These are good honest folks (who may or may not be wrong about a lot of things) with whom I may or may not agree about a lot of things. While it may not be possible to make political alliance with them either within or across party lines, it is possible to garner their respect, but not if their voices are shut down and not heard. Where mutual respect is lacking, there is no hope for consensus about much of anything.
On the Democratic side, there was enthusiasm for this contest from an early date, but the clumps of conventional mindset assumed, sub-rosa I think, that Clinton would prevail at the end. All of that wisdom is being challenged, and very possibly will be replaced. If, as expected, Obama carried MD, VA, DC, and WI in the next eight days -- primary elections all -- I don't believe even the Clinton machine can reverse the momentum and maintain a firewall in Texas and Ohio on March 5.
Newspapers in Dallas, El Paso, Austin, and San Antonio -- and Cleveland -- have endorsed Obama. The juggernaut will continue to pick up steam. But we can't know the scores until the games are played.
We may not like the process. We may not appreciate the viewpoints that prevail. Nonetheless, the collective of the body politic, more-right or more-left, prevails at any given time in the tides of history.
The more I look at this presidential race, the more I am led to conclude that there is no real "establishment" on the right or the left. Certainly not one that is centrally organized and controlled by a few elites of whatever persuasion. There do seem to be clumps of people who share mindsets of conventional wisdom. I do not think people are lambs led astray, but perhaps we have the partially-blind leading the partially-blind, if you will.
Given that keeping a GOP contest in the public eye is good for the presumptive nominee, and given that the purpose of a series of contests is to have a contest up-and-down the line, I find it fascinating that so many want Huckabee to drop out because of math possibilities or impossibilities. Economic conservatives and national security conservatives would scream loudly (and many of them are) if they felt their voices were being short-circuited and discounted; yet, they don't mind suggesting that social, values-based conservatives should be shut down. I ran, and won -- barely -- a city primary against a values-based conservative. These are good honest folks (who may or may not be wrong about a lot of things) with whom I may or may not agree about a lot of things. While it may not be possible to make political alliance with them either within or across party lines, it is possible to garner their respect, but not if their voices are shut down and not heard. Where mutual respect is lacking, there is no hope for consensus about much of anything.
On the Democratic side, there was enthusiasm for this contest from an early date, but the clumps of conventional mindset assumed, sub-rosa I think, that Clinton would prevail at the end. All of that wisdom is being challenged, and very possibly will be replaced. If, as expected, Obama carried MD, VA, DC, and WI in the next eight days -- primary elections all -- I don't believe even the Clinton machine can reverse the momentum and maintain a firewall in Texas and Ohio on March 5.
Newspapers in Dallas, El Paso, Austin, and San Antonio -- and Cleveland -- have endorsed Obama. The juggernaut will continue to pick up steam. But we can't know the scores until the games are played.
We may not like the process. We may not appreciate the viewpoints that prevail. Nonetheless, the collective of the body politic, more-right or more-left, prevails at any given time in the tides of history.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Tides of history...battleground Minnesota
Minneapolis, Minnesota
When it was announced on Thursday this week that Obama would rally at Target Center in downtown Minneapolis today, James and I secured E-tickets; Friday morning there were none left. The tickets said that Target Center's doors would open at 1:30pm.
This morning, we received emails from the Obama campaign stating that tickets did not guarantee entry -- first-come, first-served. We headed down and arrived at Target Center at 1pm.
We could see that the skyways leading to the TC from all directions were clogged with people, and we set out to find the end of the line on the street. You can Google TC to look at a map surrounding the place. The line wound around the main entrance on 1st Avenue North, around the corner on Sixth Street to 2nd Avenue North, and then to 7th Street, and then north past the site of the new Twins stadium, past the garbage burner, to Highway 55/Olson Highway/Sixth Avenue North. That's where we found the end of the line at 1:10pm. The line continued to wrap around 6th Avenue, back to 5th Street, and back toward downtown.
At 1:35pm, the line moved forward about 30 feet. By 1:45pm, another 20 feet. Few, including us, were dressed for the weather for such a period of time, and it became clear that we would need to leave early so James could make a 4pm appointment elsewhere. At 2pm, we left our place in line and joined hundreds who were abandoning the effort while hundreds more were still walking towards us -- having no idea how far away they were from the end of the line!
The crowd was a total mix of ages and races. Everyone quietly very happy. One person saying, "Even if I don't get in, I won't be mad because this is spectacular!"
The television news and CNN covered the rally of 20,000 which got underway about 4pm.
Romney also was in town today. Hillary will be here tomorrow. Ron Paul is coming through on Monday.
When it was announced on Thursday this week that Obama would rally at Target Center in downtown Minneapolis today, James and I secured E-tickets; Friday morning there were none left. The tickets said that Target Center's doors would open at 1:30pm.
This morning, we received emails from the Obama campaign stating that tickets did not guarantee entry -- first-come, first-served. We headed down and arrived at Target Center at 1pm.
We could see that the skyways leading to the TC from all directions were clogged with people, and we set out to find the end of the line on the street. You can Google TC to look at a map surrounding the place. The line wound around the main entrance on 1st Avenue North, around the corner on Sixth Street to 2nd Avenue North, and then to 7th Street, and then north past the site of the new Twins stadium, past the garbage burner, to Highway 55/Olson Highway/Sixth Avenue North. That's where we found the end of the line at 1:10pm. The line continued to wrap around 6th Avenue, back to 5th Street, and back toward downtown.
At 1:35pm, the line moved forward about 30 feet. By 1:45pm, another 20 feet. Few, including us, were dressed for the weather for such a period of time, and it became clear that we would need to leave early so James could make a 4pm appointment elsewhere. At 2pm, we left our place in line and joined hundreds who were abandoning the effort while hundreds more were still walking towards us -- having no idea how far away they were from the end of the line!
The crowd was a total mix of ages and races. Everyone quietly very happy. One person saying, "Even if I don't get in, I won't be mad because this is spectacular!"
The television news and CNN covered the rally of 20,000 which got underway about 4pm.
Romney also was in town today. Hillary will be here tomorrow. Ron Paul is coming through on Monday.
Monday, January 21, 2008
A Funeral on Saturday
Minneapolis, Minnesota
The social remnants of my former law firm gathered Saturday at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Lake of the Isles, Minneapolis.
B's funeral on Saturday was most interesting. A former attorney general of Minnesota was one of three eulogists. Attendees included a former congressman and mayor of Minneapolis, the current mayor, a former vice president, a renowned publisher and Republican activist, and a chunk of the state capitol's lobbying corps.
B's father worked his way up to be London bureau chief for the Associated Press during WWII. B and his mother got the last boat out of London in 1939 before war was declared. B joined the navy at age 17. His first job in Minneapolis was as a reporter for the Minneapolis Tribune. He later went to law school, then got a job in the attorney general's office where he met the early partners of the law firm. B became known as one of the state's premier lobbyists, able to work both sides of the aisle in the days when both sides knew something about the common good. His efforts were largely responsible for the legal structure that has allowed credit unions to flourish, and his efforts at the state and county level had much to do with the pre-Reagan model system of alcohol and mental health treatment that Minnesota used to enjoy.
An interesting thing about Saturday was that for all the time that many of us in the firm had spent together in the past, we had never been in church together. Just observing who did and did not receive communion was jarring. Apparently, communion was important to B; I did not know this.
When my first car got smashed-up, without me in it, B sold me his VW superbeetle and gave me three years to pay without interest. Working on his legislative lobbying team was a huge education and a great focus on the need for diligence about details -- information is preparation and preparation is power. He also put me in touch with the counselor at Hennepin County who helped me come out. New Year's Day open house at B's residence was always a fascinating gathering of the political power structure: governors, senators, legislators, county attorneys, and wanna-bees.
More than a touch nostalgic. We have fewer years ahead than there are behind. And we all made each other the people we are today. We still have time to create the people of tomorrow.
The social remnants of my former law firm gathered Saturday at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Lake of the Isles, Minneapolis.
B's funeral on Saturday was most interesting. A former attorney general of Minnesota was one of three eulogists. Attendees included a former congressman and mayor of Minneapolis, the current mayor, a former vice president, a renowned publisher and Republican activist, and a chunk of the state capitol's lobbying corps.
B's father worked his way up to be London bureau chief for the Associated Press during WWII. B and his mother got the last boat out of London in 1939 before war was declared. B joined the navy at age 17. His first job in Minneapolis was as a reporter for the Minneapolis Tribune. He later went to law school, then got a job in the attorney general's office where he met the early partners of the law firm. B became known as one of the state's premier lobbyists, able to work both sides of the aisle in the days when both sides knew something about the common good. His efforts were largely responsible for the legal structure that has allowed credit unions to flourish, and his efforts at the state and county level had much to do with the pre-Reagan model system of alcohol and mental health treatment that Minnesota used to enjoy.
An interesting thing about Saturday was that for all the time that many of us in the firm had spent together in the past, we had never been in church together. Just observing who did and did not receive communion was jarring. Apparently, communion was important to B; I did not know this.
When my first car got smashed-up, without me in it, B sold me his VW superbeetle and gave me three years to pay without interest. Working on his legislative lobbying team was a huge education and a great focus on the need for diligence about details -- information is preparation and preparation is power. He also put me in touch with the counselor at Hennepin County who helped me come out. New Year's Day open house at B's residence was always a fascinating gathering of the political power structure: governors, senators, legislators, county attorneys, and wanna-bees.
More than a touch nostalgic. We have fewer years ahead than there are behind. And we all made each other the people we are today. We still have time to create the people of tomorrow.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
New York news at the weekend
New York, New York
Last night's James Sewell Ballet performance was one for the books. From beginning to end, one could hear a pin drop in the audience, so rapt was the attention. To my eye and ear, it was the best performance so far, and it was a gift to be among the spectators. Schoenberg even sounded like real music to me.
The usual physical pains aside, everyone remains in good health and spirits.
We continue to wait for the NY Times to retract the reviewer's statement that Emily lip-synched her song in "Opera Moves." The waiting has hung like a cloud in everyone's mind.
B (formerly with Ballet Arts Minnesota) was down from Boston Ballet and taught company class before Friday night's show. We also have seen many former JSB dancers, plus many friends and colleagues of long-standing.
One of many benefits of performing at the Joyce Theater is the infrequent opportunity to work with an organization that has determined what it takes to do things right, and then secures the capital to make it happen. Unlike so many of the venues with which we deal, this one expects excellence of itself and its people in every department. It is simply refreshing to deal with folks who do not accept mediocrity as good enough.
Except for rains that finally visited us all day on Friday, the weather this week has been great -- with this weekend the most glorious of all!
Did you know that a modest asking price for a modest 650 sq. foot studio apartment anywhere in Manhattan is $425,000?
From Minnesota we have seen W, H, F, and G, and (via Dusseldorf) M and M. Members of dancers' families have come in from Minnesota and Maryland.
We have 7th and 8th performances today, and will be home tomorrow.
See you in St. Paul next weekend! (Bring friends.)
Last night's James Sewell Ballet performance was one for the books. From beginning to end, one could hear a pin drop in the audience, so rapt was the attention. To my eye and ear, it was the best performance so far, and it was a gift to be among the spectators. Schoenberg even sounded like real music to me.
The usual physical pains aside, everyone remains in good health and spirits.
We continue to wait for the NY Times to retract the reviewer's statement that Emily lip-synched her song in "Opera Moves." The waiting has hung like a cloud in everyone's mind.
B (formerly with Ballet Arts Minnesota) was down from Boston Ballet and taught company class before Friday night's show. We also have seen many former JSB dancers, plus many friends and colleagues of long-standing.
One of many benefits of performing at the Joyce Theater is the infrequent opportunity to work with an organization that has determined what it takes to do things right, and then secures the capital to make it happen. Unlike so many of the venues with which we deal, this one expects excellence of itself and its people in every department. It is simply refreshing to deal with folks who do not accept mediocrity as good enough.
Except for rains that finally visited us all day on Friday, the weather this week has been great -- with this weekend the most glorious of all!
Did you know that a modest asking price for a modest 650 sq. foot studio apartment anywhere in Manhattan is $425,000?
From Minnesota we have seen W, H, F, and G, and (via Dusseldorf) M and M. Members of dancers' families have come in from Minnesota and Maryland.
We have 7th and 8th performances today, and will be home tomorrow.
See you in St. Paul next weekend! (Bring friends.)
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
At the Joyce Theater with James Sewell Ballet
New York, New York
After two glorious New York fall days of sunshine, light warm breezes, and only a few clouds, it seems we may enjoy today some of the rain and dark clouds that the midwest has had since the weekend.
Everyone is healthy and well. We arrived in Manhattan about 11pm Sunday night. Monday was taken up with technical load-in and spacing rehearsal, followed by a dancers' worklight rehearsal from 5-7pm.
Kevin Jones could teach lighting design and efficient theatrical and dance production. He is so well organized. The crew here had lights placed, color installed, lights focused, and cues run without dancers before 2pm on Monday. Quite an accomplishment compared to some of the disorganized companies we hear about.
Yesterday's dress rehearsal worked out all of the sound, light, and movement bugs.
The photo shoot progressed well with a number of movements and poses from the three ballets on the program. This photo call drew only three photogs, down from past years, and a sign of the changing times in the print press business -- plus, it's a very busy week in New York for dance and other things.
Our publicists, Ellen Jacobs Associates, are on the ball. From Paris (where she was several days last week) to Chicago (Monday this week) to New York, no one does it better than Ellen, in spite of all the changes in the p.r. business. JSB has worked with her since 2001, in spite of the journalistic changes, on the premise that you dance with those what brung ya.
Last night's opening house of 326 received the performance with lots of enthusiasm. We papered last night and tonight, after which we should be rolling for the rest of the run. I might add some papering for the Sunday matinee to maintain the audience energy level.
Former JSB dancers, M & B, took the train in from New Jersey and joined us briefly afterward. C, formerly of Jazzdance by Danny Buraczeski and now a professor in Pennsylvania, also made the scene.
Life at the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church (www.gts.edu) is relatively quiet, save for the morning jack-hammers for street construction outside. We do not lack for spiritual opportunities: morning and evening prayer daily at 8am and 5:30pm, plus mid-day sacramental services.
I understand we will get the A-List, with photo, in City Pages next Wednesday for our O'Shaughnessy season in St. Paul.
After two glorious New York fall days of sunshine, light warm breezes, and only a few clouds, it seems we may enjoy today some of the rain and dark clouds that the midwest has had since the weekend.
Everyone is healthy and well. We arrived in Manhattan about 11pm Sunday night. Monday was taken up with technical load-in and spacing rehearsal, followed by a dancers' worklight rehearsal from 5-7pm.
Kevin Jones could teach lighting design and efficient theatrical and dance production. He is so well organized. The crew here had lights placed, color installed, lights focused, and cues run without dancers before 2pm on Monday. Quite an accomplishment compared to some of the disorganized companies we hear about.
Yesterday's dress rehearsal worked out all of the sound, light, and movement bugs.
The photo shoot progressed well with a number of movements and poses from the three ballets on the program. This photo call drew only three photogs, down from past years, and a sign of the changing times in the print press business -- plus, it's a very busy week in New York for dance and other things.
Our publicists, Ellen Jacobs Associates, are on the ball. From Paris (where she was several days last week) to Chicago (Monday this week) to New York, no one does it better than Ellen, in spite of all the changes in the p.r. business. JSB has worked with her since 2001, in spite of the journalistic changes, on the premise that you dance with those what brung ya.
Last night's opening house of 326 received the performance with lots of enthusiasm. We papered last night and tonight, after which we should be rolling for the rest of the run. I might add some papering for the Sunday matinee to maintain the audience energy level.
Former JSB dancers, M & B, took the train in from New Jersey and joined us briefly afterward. C, formerly of Jazzdance by Danny Buraczeski and now a professor in Pennsylvania, also made the scene.
Life at the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church (www.gts.edu) is relatively quiet, save for the morning jack-hammers for street construction outside. We do not lack for spiritual opportunities: morning and evening prayer daily at 8am and 5:30pm, plus mid-day sacramental services.
I understand we will get the A-List, with photo, in City Pages next Wednesday for our O'Shaughnessy season in St. Paul.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
It cannot last ...
Louisville, Kentucky
Such the life my brother and I lead.
One week I am conferencing and partying in Columbus OH.
The next week, he phones me while scraping off gravestones at night in a Pineville MO cemetery.
The next Saturday night, we are eating steaks with a sister and cousins at the Plains Tavern in Plains KS.
The next Saturday, he is texting me from a gathering of cousins in Boulder CO, and I am texting him back from a party for a thousand people at Churchill Downs in Kentucky.
Two weeks later, I will be a week in New York City.
It cannot last...
Such the life my brother and I lead.
One week I am conferencing and partying in Columbus OH.
The next week, he phones me while scraping off gravestones at night in a Pineville MO cemetery.
The next Saturday night, we are eating steaks with a sister and cousins at the Plains Tavern in Plains KS.
The next Saturday, he is texting me from a gathering of cousins in Boulder CO, and I am texting him back from a party for a thousand people at Churchill Downs in Kentucky.
Two weeks later, I will be a week in New York City.
It cannot last...
Thursday, September 27, 2007
"That's just crazy!"
Louisville, Kentucky
Ben Cameron delivered the keynote speech to the Performing Arts Exchange today. The PAE is the Eastern/Southern booking conference, and Ben is arts program director for the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation.
Ben recounted the application received from a dance company seeking a grant to buy land on the internet's "Second Life" in order to construct a building in which to hold virtual performances. Second Life is an alternate, virtual universe in which $1.6 billion of real world money transactions occur daily.
At its Second Life facility, the dance company sells out its performances and has added performances in order to meet the demand for tickets.
All of us at our luncheon table said "That's just crazy!" -- at the same time we furiously took notes about this latest frontier.
In the culture wars for survival, organizations that wish to thrive must step up the pace and brainpower of their marketing and fundraising efforts.
Ben Cameron delivered the keynote speech to the Performing Arts Exchange today. The PAE is the Eastern/Southern booking conference, and Ben is arts program director for the Doris Duke Charitable Foundation.
Ben recounted the application received from a dance company seeking a grant to buy land on the internet's "Second Life" in order to construct a building in which to hold virtual performances. Second Life is an alternate, virtual universe in which $1.6 billion of real world money transactions occur daily.
At its Second Life facility, the dance company sells out its performances and has added performances in order to meet the demand for tickets.
All of us at our luncheon table said "That's just crazy!" -- at the same time we furiously took notes about this latest frontier.
In the culture wars for survival, organizations that wish to thrive must step up the pace and brainpower of their marketing and fundraising efforts.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Dance/USA, the best ever...
Chicago, Illinois
Friday started with two presentations summarizing the changes in audience behaviors. Subscriptions are down. More single tickets being sold later -- often in the last 24 hours. It is daunting to do marketing in this environment, and few have the $$ resources to "be there every step of the way."
News flash: People 25 and under no longer use email. It is very yesterday. Now, they exchange messages among their networks by way of instant messages on their MySpace pages and other postings. No longer good enough to have a great website; companies now need a MySpace and YouTube presence. Yikes!
The remnants of live journalists from San Francisco, Boston, and cyberspace reported on how best to interact. Newspaper writers are split: some want email press releases only, while others want the hardy copy follow-up. Apparently, the internal mechanics of newspaper work require both. If one wants coverage: previews or reviews, there have to be current photos available, in a color option, that pertain to the work being performed. Photos need a striking central image, high resolution, good contrast, and cannot be generic.
M presented the half-hour all-conference gathering on Career Transitions for Dancers with ease, authority, articulation, and moderation. I sat in the front row to encourage him. Proud of him.
We bused to the Columbia College Dance Center for another reception and showcase performances by Muntu, Lucky Plush Productions, Hedwig Dances, Human Rhythm Project/BAM, Mordine & Co., Dance Colective (sp), Giordano Jazz, River North, and Luna Negra. Ninety minutes without intermission.
Saturday evening, what started as a group of four, increased to eight, 12, and eventually around 20. We went to Rumba restaurant for dinner. When live Latin dancing got started, lessons were given in salsa and cha-cha. Four of us left the group near midnight. No one was in the lobby at 6:30 Sunday morning when I caught the airport express.
Following the February 2006 Dance/USA meeting in D.C., I got a bit mouthy -- as they invited us to do -- about the poor schedule dynamics and other shortcomings. In the hallway after the final blessing on Saturday, Dance/USA's executive director looked at me and said "Well?"
"It was the best ever!"
"That's what I want to hear!"
Friday started with two presentations summarizing the changes in audience behaviors. Subscriptions are down. More single tickets being sold later -- often in the last 24 hours. It is daunting to do marketing in this environment, and few have the $$ resources to "be there every step of the way."
News flash: People 25 and under no longer use email. It is very yesterday. Now, they exchange messages among their networks by way of instant messages on their MySpace pages and other postings. No longer good enough to have a great website; companies now need a MySpace and YouTube presence. Yikes!
The remnants of live journalists from San Francisco, Boston, and cyberspace reported on how best to interact. Newspaper writers are split: some want email press releases only, while others want the hardy copy follow-up. Apparently, the internal mechanics of newspaper work require both. If one wants coverage: previews or reviews, there have to be current photos available, in a color option, that pertain to the work being performed. Photos need a striking central image, high resolution, good contrast, and cannot be generic.
M presented the half-hour all-conference gathering on Career Transitions for Dancers with ease, authority, articulation, and moderation. I sat in the front row to encourage him. Proud of him.
We bused to the Columbia College Dance Center for another reception and showcase performances by Muntu, Lucky Plush Productions, Hedwig Dances, Human Rhythm Project/BAM, Mordine & Co., Dance Colective (sp), Giordano Jazz, River North, and Luna Negra. Ninety minutes without intermission.
Saturday evening, what started as a group of four, increased to eight, 12, and eventually around 20. We went to Rumba restaurant for dinner. When live Latin dancing got started, lessons were given in salsa and cha-cha. Four of us left the group near midnight. No one was in the lobby at 6:30 Sunday morning when I caught the airport express.
Following the February 2006 Dance/USA meeting in D.C., I got a bit mouthy -- as they invited us to do -- about the poor schedule dynamics and other shortcomings. In the hallway after the final blessing on Saturday, Dance/USA's executive director looked at me and said "Well?"
"It was the best ever!"
"That's what I want to hear!"
Friday, June 15, 2007
Dance/USA, so far
Chicago, Illinois
The published business agenda of the Dance/USA Councils gets gaveled to order this morning, but two days of other real business already has happened.
A fair number of people came to Chicago on Wednesday in order to catch the six dance companies on Wednesday night at the Museum of Contemporary Art (Muntu, Oregon Ballet, Lubovitch, Limon, Complexions, and Hubbard Street). There was a pre-performance reception at the museum. A Joffrey director hosted a post-performance reception at his home downtown.
The Dance/USA board met all day Thursday, while non-board members wandered into town. The opening night reception happened from 5:30-7:30 on stage at the 1,500 seat Harris Theater next to Millennium Park.
The energy here is very high with a swirl of generational mix. It is striking how so many of us, so suddenly, look definitely older. There is a whole group of newer, younger people. Such a swirl of unfinished conversations...
Tonight's reception is at the Dance Center of Columbia College. Followed by a 90-minute showcase performance.
The published business agenda of the Dance/USA Councils gets gaveled to order this morning, but two days of other real business already has happened.
A fair number of people came to Chicago on Wednesday in order to catch the six dance companies on Wednesday night at the Museum of Contemporary Art (Muntu, Oregon Ballet, Lubovitch, Limon, Complexions, and Hubbard Street). There was a pre-performance reception at the museum. A Joffrey director hosted a post-performance reception at his home downtown.
The Dance/USA board met all day Thursday, while non-board members wandered into town. The opening night reception happened from 5:30-7:30 on stage at the 1,500 seat Harris Theater next to Millennium Park.
The energy here is very high with a swirl of generational mix. It is striking how so many of us, so suddenly, look definitely older. There is a whole group of newer, younger people. Such a swirl of unfinished conversations...
Tonight's reception is at the Dance Center of Columbia College. Followed by a 90-minute showcase performance.
Thursday, November 9, 2006
Remembering Danny Shapiro
Minneapolis, Minnesota
I have not made this kind of recommendation before.
Starting tonight and running through Sunday evening, Shapiro & Smith Dance will present "ANYTOWN" at the Southern Theater in Minneapolis.
ANYTOWN is a poetic collaboration pairing the choreography of Danial Shapiro and Joanie Smith with the music of Bruce Springsteen, Patti Scialfa, and Soozie Tyrell (of the E Street Band). This production has played to standing ovations in New York City and across the country. Addressing the concerns of today's middle and working classes, ANYTOWN follows three ordinary families as they cope with floods, war, infidelity, and one another.
This weekend, ANYTOWN will be performed without the presence of my dear friend, Danny Shapiro.
Danny died October 3, at age 48, after a four-year battle with prostate cancer. Too soon.
I met Danny 10-11 years ago. Didn't really get to know him until he got sick in 2002. Taking the time to know him these last four years was one of the best things I have ever done for myself.
His accolades have been reported on the obituary pages of the Star Tribune and New York Times, and on www.danceinsider.com.
Tickets for ANYTOWN can be reserved by calling the Southern Theater, 612-340-1725.
As part of the ANYTOWN performances on the national touring circuit, Danny started the "PSA in the USA" program to encourage men of all ages to take 30 seconds to have their blood drawn for a PSA test to report the early prospects of prostate cancer. He never had a clue that cancer could happen to him; nor did his wife. Early detection can result in early treatment.
Please encourage the men in your life -- including yourself, if applicable -- to take the PSA blood draw. Then, if you live anywhere close to Minneapolis, join me in attending a performance of ANYTOWN at the Southern Theater this weekend.
I loved Danny Shapiro, and I know there are many people who love you -- or who you love -- that should stay around for a while.
I have not made this kind of recommendation before.
Starting tonight and running through Sunday evening, Shapiro & Smith Dance will present "ANYTOWN" at the Southern Theater in Minneapolis.
ANYTOWN is a poetic collaboration pairing the choreography of Danial Shapiro and Joanie Smith with the music of Bruce Springsteen, Patti Scialfa, and Soozie Tyrell (of the E Street Band). This production has played to standing ovations in New York City and across the country. Addressing the concerns of today's middle and working classes, ANYTOWN follows three ordinary families as they cope with floods, war, infidelity, and one another.
This weekend, ANYTOWN will be performed without the presence of my dear friend, Danny Shapiro.
Danny died October 3, at age 48, after a four-year battle with prostate cancer. Too soon.
I met Danny 10-11 years ago. Didn't really get to know him until he got sick in 2002. Taking the time to know him these last four years was one of the best things I have ever done for myself.
His accolades have been reported on the obituary pages of the Star Tribune and New York Times, and on www.danceinsider.com.
Tickets for ANYTOWN can be reserved by calling the Southern Theater, 612-340-1725.
As part of the ANYTOWN performances on the national touring circuit, Danny started the "PSA in the USA" program to encourage men of all ages to take 30 seconds to have their blood drawn for a PSA test to report the early prospects of prostate cancer. He never had a clue that cancer could happen to him; nor did his wife. Early detection can result in early treatment.
Please encourage the men in your life -- including yourself, if applicable -- to take the PSA blood draw. Then, if you live anywhere close to Minneapolis, join me in attending a performance of ANYTOWN at the Southern Theater this weekend.
I loved Danny Shapiro, and I know there are many people who love you -- or who you love -- that should stay around for a while.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Ridgely's Delight: Remembering
Baltimore, Maryland
For some reason, I remember her shoes.
My niece, Bernadette, was wearing "flats" on the sunny spring morning when I drove her and my brother to the Minneapolis airport.
As they got out of the car and walked to the terminal, I saw her shoes and how she carried herself, and thought how "cool" and cosmopolitan she had become at 26.
She was headed back home to Baltimore, and my brother to Denver, following the graduation and party of my mother from college in St. Cloud, Minnesota.
That morning was the last time I saw Bernadette. She made a round trip drive from Baltimore to Minnesota and Wisconsin that summer, but I was somehow too busy to see her, although I did talk to her on the phone from my mother's house while she was en route.
She died in late October that year of 1999, when she fell under the wheels of a train near her townhouse in Baltimore's Ridgely's Delight neighborhood.
She was the first born of my 10 nieces and nephews. A couple years before 1999, she had graduated from Mt. Holyoke College in Massachusetts. At the time of her death, she had applied to medical schools and was working on medical research in Baltimore. You can still Google and find a study for which she was co-author in 1999.
She was the first of what we hoped would be many prides and joys. Being first did not diminish those who followed.
Dealing with her death was, and remains, the worst experience of my life.
In a round-about effort to try and make sense of it all, I set out in the summer of 2000 to tour Kansas for two weeks to find the roots of my grandfather, Harry Peterson. I might have made the trip eventually in my life, but never so soon if Berni had not died.
What I found restored a measure of balance and hope.
I found a wealth of living relatives, and stories of others passed, stretching back to Delaware and the 1600s and, somehow, to Sweden before that.
However, that is all its own separate story.
I knew that if the opportunity ever came my way, I would visit Berni's haunts in Baltimore.
My work at Baltimore's Convention Center ended at 5pm today. I walked back to the Mt. Vernon Hotel to change clothes and set out to walk the 1.2 miles to Berni's last residence at 605 S. Paca Street.
The walk is pleasant enough. Past the University of Maryland Medical Center, past Oriole Park at Camden Yards. In fact, Berni's last home was only three blocks from where baseball is played for 80 games every summer.
You would never know it. South Paca Street is such a quiet oasis, lined with trees, townhouses built to the edge of the sidewalk. A red brick, three-story walkup. Around the corner and a block distant is the dog park where Berni played with her dog. Two blocks away is the gas station. A block further is the pub, Pickles.
Six tenths of a mile further south is the 1300 block of Ridgely Avenue.
Three sets of rusted railroad tracks make a crossing next to an abandoned warehouse.
Two blocks away is the relatively new M & T Bank Stadium where the Baltimore Ravens play football. In between lie acres of surface parking lots.
It is almost absurdly simple to visualize the scene late on a night in October 1999. A car of young people stops short of the railroad tracks on the right side of Ridgely. Berni and a friend get out and wait for a train to come by that is moving slowly enough to try and jump aboard.
The scene is so innocuous now. So ridiculously ordinary and benign.
I have sometimes encouraged the nieces and nephews to dream big and reach high.
Berni had always held a dream of riding the rails. That night, her dream exceeded her reach.
Standing in the middle of the middle tracks, I could feel the possibility of chasing the dream for no more than 30 feet before falling short. I could see the feet touching the ground, running to make it happen.
I saw the shoes.
Oddly, it was not as emotional at the tracks as I had thought it would be -- as it had been when I set out from my hotel in the Mt. Vernon neighborhood.
I stood by on Ridgely for 45 minutes thinking of this and that.
Although I had the sense that Berni was no longer at this scene, whether or not she had lingered for a time, I told her of the amazing stories I had been prompted to learn after she lost consciousness here. I told her I would rather have learned the stories later and in some other way.
I told her she had been the maid of honor at her sister's wedding, and was now an aunt. I told her another sister was now living in Madrid and she would never recognize the cool dude her brother has become.
I told her that her grandmother had had heart surgery a couple years ago but was now standing for election to the Minnnesota Legislature.
I told her we missed her, and that as long as we all lived, so would she.
I told her that she may never have known how much Irish was in her blood, and related the Irish blessing:
The train that came by as I walked away had the most mournful whistle -- heard for blocks away. I have heard that train's whistle on the plains of Kansas, next to the childhood home and presidential library of Dwight Eisenhower in Abilene, and next to the homestead where my grandfather was born in Jasper.
For some reason, I remember her shoes.
My niece, Bernadette, was wearing "flats" on the sunny spring morning when I drove her and my brother to the Minneapolis airport.
As they got out of the car and walked to the terminal, I saw her shoes and how she carried herself, and thought how "cool" and cosmopolitan she had become at 26.
She was headed back home to Baltimore, and my brother to Denver, following the graduation and party of my mother from college in St. Cloud, Minnesota.
That morning was the last time I saw Bernadette. She made a round trip drive from Baltimore to Minnesota and Wisconsin that summer, but I was somehow too busy to see her, although I did talk to her on the phone from my mother's house while she was en route.
She died in late October that year of 1999, when she fell under the wheels of a train near her townhouse in Baltimore's Ridgely's Delight neighborhood.
She was the first born of my 10 nieces and nephews. A couple years before 1999, she had graduated from Mt. Holyoke College in Massachusetts. At the time of her death, she had applied to medical schools and was working on medical research in Baltimore. You can still Google and find a study for which she was co-author in 1999.
She was the first of what we hoped would be many prides and joys. Being first did not diminish those who followed.
Dealing with her death was, and remains, the worst experience of my life.
In a round-about effort to try and make sense of it all, I set out in the summer of 2000 to tour Kansas for two weeks to find the roots of my grandfather, Harry Peterson. I might have made the trip eventually in my life, but never so soon if Berni had not died.
What I found restored a measure of balance and hope.
I found a wealth of living relatives, and stories of others passed, stretching back to Delaware and the 1600s and, somehow, to Sweden before that.
However, that is all its own separate story.
I knew that if the opportunity ever came my way, I would visit Berni's haunts in Baltimore.
My work at Baltimore's Convention Center ended at 5pm today. I walked back to the Mt. Vernon Hotel to change clothes and set out to walk the 1.2 miles to Berni's last residence at 605 S. Paca Street.
The walk is pleasant enough. Past the University of Maryland Medical Center, past Oriole Park at Camden Yards. In fact, Berni's last home was only three blocks from where baseball is played for 80 games every summer.
You would never know it. South Paca Street is such a quiet oasis, lined with trees, townhouses built to the edge of the sidewalk. A red brick, three-story walkup. Around the corner and a block distant is the dog park where Berni played with her dog. Two blocks away is the gas station. A block further is the pub, Pickles.
Six tenths of a mile further south is the 1300 block of Ridgely Avenue.
Three sets of rusted railroad tracks make a crossing next to an abandoned warehouse.
Two blocks away is the relatively new M & T Bank Stadium where the Baltimore Ravens play football. In between lie acres of surface parking lots.
It is almost absurdly simple to visualize the scene late on a night in October 1999. A car of young people stops short of the railroad tracks on the right side of Ridgely. Berni and a friend get out and wait for a train to come by that is moving slowly enough to try and jump aboard.
The scene is so innocuous now. So ridiculously ordinary and benign.
I have sometimes encouraged the nieces and nephews to dream big and reach high.
Berni had always held a dream of riding the rails. That night, her dream exceeded her reach.
Standing in the middle of the middle tracks, I could feel the possibility of chasing the dream for no more than 30 feet before falling short. I could see the feet touching the ground, running to make it happen.
I saw the shoes.
Oddly, it was not as emotional at the tracks as I had thought it would be -- as it had been when I set out from my hotel in the Mt. Vernon neighborhood.
I stood by on Ridgely for 45 minutes thinking of this and that.
Although I had the sense that Berni was no longer at this scene, whether or not she had lingered for a time, I told her of the amazing stories I had been prompted to learn after she lost consciousness here. I told her I would rather have learned the stories later and in some other way.
I told her she had been the maid of honor at her sister's wedding, and was now an aunt. I told her another sister was now living in Madrid and she would never recognize the cool dude her brother has become.
I told her that her grandmother had had heart surgery a couple years ago but was now standing for election to the Minnnesota Legislature.
I told her we missed her, and that as long as we all lived, so would she.
I told her that she may never have known how much Irish was in her blood, and related the Irish blessing:
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rain fall gentle on your fields.
And, until we meet again, may God hold you
In the palm of His hand.
The train that came by as I walked away had the most mournful whistle -- heard for blocks away. I have heard that train's whistle on the plains of Kansas, next to the childhood home and presidential library of Dwight Eisenhower in Abilene, and next to the homestead where my grandfather was born in Jasper.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
New Orleans: Coda and Capo
New Orleans, Louisiana
Six summers ago, my brother and I wept in each other's arms in Dodge City, Kansas.
We were parting at the end of a journey where we had found our grandfather's roots, roots that extended back to Delaware and the first Peterson's arrival around 1638.
Our lives had been changed on the hot plains of southwest Kansas, and we wanted to hold on and savor the grace of the moment.
Different ones had tears at the end of last night's performance at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in New Orleans.
We all wanted to hold on.
Yet, it is time for this tour to end. As someone remarked, “It feels like we've been down here forever!”
In five minutes, a third of our group will leave for the airport and Minnesota. The rest of us will follow tomorrow.
Finding a New Orleans venue - any kind of venue - had been problematic until very recently. Fifteen churches had said “no” before The Rev. Susan Gaumer at St. Andrew's said, “Yes, of course.”
Afterwards, Susan told James Davies that it all came together for her with a single image: 102 singers massed beneath a 16-foot figure of a resurrected Christ, arms raised in blessing.
In many ways, this was the best performance even though the venue imposed technical limitations.
In one of the week's countless sweet moments, the mother of tenor Michael Lahr flew down to hear his solo in “Michael's Letter to Mama,” by Armistead Maupin.
Several other Minnesotans joined us for the finale.
Acts of creation are acts of faith. This is what gives the arts their intrinsic value.
Some of us are called to create human life. All of us are called to live life daily.
In an interview on the bus on Thursday, Richard Long observed that “When a part of you is smothered, a part of you dies.”
Large portions of New Orleans were smothered, and much of it will die. Many people who left will never return. Those who remain have a hard journey.
However, I feel no guilt about our boutique hotel digs in the French Quarter: we are bringing much needed cold cash to a place that will need tons of it for decades.
The city will grow again. What was not broken will be stronger.
The Great Southern Sing Out Tour has been eight days of collective worship, of living life daily. The grace of the moment, the faces, names, and places, will abide with us always.
Six summers ago, my brother and I wept in each other's arms in Dodge City, Kansas.
We were parting at the end of a journey where we had found our grandfather's roots, roots that extended back to Delaware and the first Peterson's arrival around 1638.
Our lives had been changed on the hot plains of southwest Kansas, and we wanted to hold on and savor the grace of the moment.
Different ones had tears at the end of last night's performance at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in New Orleans.
We all wanted to hold on.
Yet, it is time for this tour to end. As someone remarked, “It feels like we've been down here forever!”
In five minutes, a third of our group will leave for the airport and Minnesota. The rest of us will follow tomorrow.
Finding a New Orleans venue - any kind of venue - had been problematic until very recently. Fifteen churches had said “no” before The Rev. Susan Gaumer at St. Andrew's said, “Yes, of course.”
Afterwards, Susan told James Davies that it all came together for her with a single image: 102 singers massed beneath a 16-foot figure of a resurrected Christ, arms raised in blessing.
In many ways, this was the best performance even though the venue imposed technical limitations.
In one of the week's countless sweet moments, the mother of tenor Michael Lahr flew down to hear his solo in “Michael's Letter to Mama,” by Armistead Maupin.
Several other Minnesotans joined us for the finale.
Acts of creation are acts of faith. This is what gives the arts their intrinsic value.
Some of us are called to create human life. All of us are called to live life daily.
In an interview on the bus on Thursday, Richard Long observed that “When a part of you is smothered, a part of you dies.”
Large portions of New Orleans were smothered, and much of it will die. Many people who left will never return. Those who remain have a hard journey.
However, I feel no guilt about our boutique hotel digs in the French Quarter: we are bringing much needed cold cash to a place that will need tons of it for decades.
The city will grow again. What was not broken will be stronger.
The Great Southern Sing Out Tour has been eight days of collective worship, of living life daily. The grace of the moment, the faces, names, and places, will abide with us always.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Biloxi: You Raise Me Up
New Orleans, Louisiana
They formed a tight circle on the white beach sands of Biloxi, Mississippi. In the center stood Richard Long, 61, and words written for the occasion by a black woman in Minneapolis were read.
They formed-up in two facing columns, two-deep, perpendicular to the Gulf of Mexico shoreline.
Between the columns, they unrolled a white fabric runner leading to the water.
As Richard was led through the columns, they joined hands and sang their signature, "Walk hand in hand with me."
Stepping into the Gulf of Mexico, Richard was surrounded by more than 100 brothers singing, "We shall overcome."
No dry eyes on Biloxi's waterfront.
Several of those present were not born in 1965 when Richard was stationed nearby at the Keesler Air Force Base. Black people were not welcome on the Gulf beaches in those days. The power of the federal government, represented by 17,000 soldiers, was no match for the power of attitude in Biloxi, Mississippi.
A reporter-with-camera from the local newspaper was present to record the scene, as were the archival cameras hired by the Twin Cities Gay Men's Chorus to follow their tour of four Southern states.
The day started with a 90-minute bus tour of Mobile, Alabama, narrated by three community volunteers.
Our Magnolia Express bus had the gracious stories of Linda, who told us "You can say anything you want about somebody in the South if you finish with the words, 'Bless their heart!'"
The City of Mobile (pop. 250,000) is built on a swamp, Mobillians claim to have started Mardi Gras with the arrival of the French in 1702. That other city, further west, did not start its Mardi Gras until "missionaries" arrived there from Mobile in 1850.
Live oak trees, 150-200 years old, are everywhere throughout the city. Unlike some people, they are protected by law, and cannot be trimmed in the slightest.
Mobile receives the highest annual rainfall of any urban city in the continental U.S., operates the 15th largest port, and provides 24% of the nation's seafood.
Mobile Bay is only 3-to-10 feet deep in all of its 30-mile stretch to the Gulf.
TCGMC's Mobile partner, Bay Area Inclusion, was exceedingly well organized, and obtained full underwriting for the performance. They feted all of us handsomely afterward, and many went clubbing with some of the guys until the wee hours.
The only hitch in the proceedings occurred when the air conditioning in Bishop State Community College went out yesterday afternoon. Fans were on, wool tuxedos were dispensed with, and artists and audience got "pitty" together.
Seven Mobile police officers volunteered their services for security on their day off, and one of them gave his phone number to one of the soloists.
The three bus drivers who have been with us all week attended for the first time and said they enjoyed themselves a great deal. Their previous gigs have included multi-state transport for at least one George Bush campaign.
Driving along the Gulf Coast today, and into New Orleans, was a sorrowful, sobering experience of disbelief. It is as bad -- and then some -- as the pictures on television.
We have a few hours before starting the pub crawl to hand out publicity for tomorrow night's performance. And -- best news -- we don't have to be checked-out and on a bus by 9am in the morning.
Time to see this city, up close, on foot.
You raise me up so I can stand on mountains.
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders.
You raise me up to more than I can be.
-- Act 1, TCGMC, Great Southern Sing Out Tour
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