Leading with the Past

The Mets last game at Shea on Sunday could have been a real celebration of the present Mets (after Johan Santana pitched a brilliant game on Saturday with three-days rest), and the past Mets, with many Amazin's back to celebrate their time at Shea after the game. But it was not meant to be.

The present Amazin's were just not that amazing; they were a talented, but high-priced shadow of the teams that performed magic at Shea. This was the second year in a row for a sobering collapse in the last few weeks of the season. Yes, there was the failure of the bullpen and the loss of Billy Wagner, but there the frustrating at bats of David Wright, and some of the other sluggers on the last and lost Sunday.

The fans were frustrated by the end, but they stayed and were brightened by the memories of what had been the great and not-so great Mets of their 46 year history. It was time to focus on the winners of today and the playoffs to come, or so TBS thought in its coverage on Sunday. It might have been time for the cries of "wait til next year" in the new park a replica of Ebbets Field the symbol of Brooklyn teams that came so frustratingly close and won one year only to be taken away shortly thereafter. No it was not that time yet.

It was time to reflect on the greatness of the checkered past of the Amazins' and the stadium that hosted the improbable events of the short but rich heritage of the Mets. It was time to remember the grit of Lennie Dykstra, and John Franco; the great catches of Cleon Jones and Tommie Agee, and Ron Swoboda; the smooth and consistent skill of Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, Keith Hernandez, and Mike Piazza; the lost promise of Dwight Gooden and Daryl Strawberry, the privilege of watching Willie Mays and Duke Snider in Mets uniforms; and it was the time to remember how the likes of Rod Kanehl, Marv Throneberry, and Ed Kranepool and countless others could play over the head, and keep the Mets in most games against their more talented opponents. It was not yet time to move on.

Manlychildishness--a guy thing

Being a guy for all my life has been mostly fun, but a struggle at times. I work very hard and at work, I try to be as effective at solving problems (and helping people) as I can be. But when I am off from work, which isn't often, I want to enter more of a responsibility-free child-like state. Some men spend more time in this child-like state, and pose some difficulty for the women in their lives.

An intriguing new book examines how guyhood got that way. "Men to Boys," by Gary Cross, a "cultural historian" at Penn State, examines the gradual devolution of manhood over three generations. It goes from the lingering Victorian ideals of masculinity and self-restraint, being a gentleman and "measured deference to female culture at home" in the 1940s, 50s, and early 60s (seen currently on the TV series "Mad Men") to the comic outlandishness of radio host Howard Stern and ex-basketball player Dennis Rodman-- and then tells us what it means. The patron saint of manhood has morphed from Cary Grant (mature, decisive, and manly) to Hugh Grant (less mature, indecisive, and ambiguous), and we have left behind the Victorian patriarch without finding a good substitute.

In the Wall Street Journal's words, Mr. Cross's takes us on a "thoughtful journey through the male-strom of modern masculinity." Their review of the book is at the following web address:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122186403983658605.html

Opera On-Deck

I like to break down barriers that tend to keep people in their boxes and silos, and mix them so we can learn from each other. So, it was a natural to see the simulcast of the Washington National Opera Company at DC's National Park on a clear Saturday night. There were some baseball fans who probably attend every event at the ball park, and families just out on a nice night for a free event (where kids could roam free), mixed mostly with opera buffs who probably do not set foot in a ball park often, let alone take the subway to an event. About 15,000 people came out to cheer the screened-in opera, and they mixed and mingled, and probably added some fans to both baseball and opera and everyone lived more happily ever after....



The Washington Post's take on the event is at the following Web address:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/14/AR2008091402042.html

The Ear-Budding of America--Plug-In/Tune-Out

You see them everywhere. On the subway, on the bus, walking down the street, in stores, in restaurants, and at gas stations. When did it happen? When did the ear-buds start entering the ear drums of so many, shutting out the sounds of so much modern day life. Is it enough to enjoy your private playlist of your life, or is it too much isolation and shutting out of everyone else. The victims of the ear-buddotry seem so dead to the world around them. Is it life-fulfilling, or life emptying?

The ear bud became a silly part of Brian Williams' current slip down journalistic standards during the 2008 Olympics, when he asked Michael Phelps on Nightly News what he listened to on his i-pod before his last swim victory, and whether he took his ear buds out one at a time, or left one in until the last second before the start of a race. Even Phelps seemed embarassed by how far the interview had slipped into the trivial.

Ben Stein makes similar points with regard to the bondage of cellphones and the like in his column for the Sunday NY Times, "Connected, Yes, But Hermetically Sealed" at the following web address:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/24/business/yourmoney/24every.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=ben%20stein&st=cse&oref=slogin

B&B-Eeezy Listenable/Dancey/Jazzy/Poppy

I am listening to the Bird and the Bee, an indie, dance, jazz, pop duo from the West Coast, consisting of musicians Inara George ("bird"), daughter of Lowell George of Little Feat fame, and Greg Kurstin ("bee"), a producer of Lily Allen, Flaming Lips, and the Chili Peppers. They met while the two were working on her debut album and they decided to collaborate on a jazz, electro-pop project. The result, a debut EP, Again and Again and Again and Again, a full-blown CD/LP, the Bird and the Bee, and other EPs and soon to be released second CD on the jazzy Blue Note label, produces a light, breezy, easy to listen to jazzy-dance mood.

Additionally, now there is a new album, An Invitation, by Inara George in collaboration with Van Dyke Parks. It is wistful and expansive, with the music anticipating and leading the songstress through some interesting orchestral maneuvers influenced by a varied mix of Kurt Weill, Edith Piaf, Judee Sill, Sleeping Beauty(Tchaikovsky), Randy Newman, Brian Wilson, and Regina Spektor.

E-pic Battles

In an era when we are supposed to have little attention span, when mail now of the e-variety and photos now digital are instant and disposable, and we should be ready to multi-task 24/7, it was refreshing to watch the Wimbledon final and the 15 inning all-star game. Two titans of tennis, representing youth vs experience, fought for 4 hours and 48 minutes plus rain delays, often in long, breathtaking volleys that took especially incredible strength, in often wet, wild, and windy conditions. It almost did not matter who came up on top, because both contestants won in a thrilling contest.

The All-Star Game this year was led in by a Home Run Derby, a made-for-TV event, that featured the titanic, continuous long-ball blasts of Josh Hamilton, a reformed drug-addict, in the legendary Yankee Stadium. The All Star Game, itself lasted15 innings with many twists and turns from the eighth inning on that relied in the end on substitutes (all-star subs at that) performing above their level, and sometimes at positions they had never played. It went late into the night with no end in sight, but end it finally did with the same winner as always since 1996. The 15 innings tied the 1967 game for the most innings, and the 4-hour, 50-minute affair (two minutes more than Wimbledon) stands tall as the longest game in All-Star history.

All 63 available players saw action--and position players, J.D. Drew and David Wright were ready to take the mound had the game gone later. The long event brought on unexpected twists as it should.

"It seemed like the Stadium didn't want it to end," said Derek Jeter, one of three Yankees representing the AL. "That's what we were talking about. It just wanted baseball to continue. I thought it was fitting."

Two fitting, attention focusing events for an attention-deficient era.

Night At the Hotel

Finally, I made it out to the wondrously-named Rock 'n Roll Hotel in DC's newly up-and-coming NE Atlas neighborhood. The hotel makes good use of the faded elegance of the funeral home that occupied the space previously. It was the site earlier in the week for the unlikely double bill of Tim Fite, a NY punk, hip-hop prankster (who obviously studied at Pee Wee Herman’s Playhouse), and the Watson Twins, a friendly Kentucky, by-way-of LA folk-country alternative duo. The Twins were kicking off a North American tour to plug their new CD, Fire Songs, and Tom Fite just seemed to be in the neighborhood. For once, the W Post’s reviewer hit the target with his review—it was dead on. The review is at:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/07/10/AR2008071002782.html

The awkward match kept the evening interesting, but each act was not enough to make it alone.

Fite seems slightly out of touch, like a neighborhood clown in for a kids party, with his orange pants and pink suspenders, and wayward act. But he makes it work for him, as a fun-loving, ready-to-do just about anything performer. He effectively teams up with his elementary background drawings and a trio of backing Fites flashed up on a screen behind him, and an energetic DJ carnival-barker partner-in-mirth, Dr. Leisure. The energetic duo (or group of five depending on how you are counting) captured the crowd more than the headliner, the Watson Twins.

Chandra and Leigh Watson's farmland alternapop, backed by a competent rock trio, started strong, playing a few of their new songs, and a fine cover of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven." Their fine voices worked for the rock ‘n roll songs, but when they changed the mood and went slower and mellower, they lost their audience, and the crowd noise impolitely overtook their competent vocals. They never gained back the crowd, and the night ended on a downbeat.

The Watsons have the potential to harmonize their way to a large, attentive following, but on this night, they were less than a full match for the mysterious energy and humor of Tim Fite.