Seeing (Red) Through Bono's Eyes

The next wave of ads for the (Red)^® campaign, U2’s front man, Bono, launches appealing to the generosity of sensible Americans in these tough economic times. A long with an entourage of his celebrity friends, they name off things we squander our money on, and how little it takes to keep a person alive with AIDS for another day; only .12 cents.

This is not the lead singers first dabble into philanthropy. Before the (Red)^® campaign came into fruition, there was ONE^®, whose primary focus was to end world poverty. The objective now, continues to be just as ambitious; provide a ready source for people infected with AIDS to get the proper medical treatment. This time around however, Bono is doing more than just meeting with world leaders.

Understanding the principle that money makes the world go ‘round is of ample importance here, and one that Bono knew he had to capitalize on. Talking is important but only goes so far. To fund his goal, he merged with industry giants such as Dell, American Express, Apple and Starbucks. Selling (Red)^® products through these companies, he’s able to provide a constant stream of donations to his cause. The singer has also set up a clothing company based in Africa so that it can continue to profit globally and fund its own needs.

With the world being what it is, it’s refreshing to see someone take such an active approach to bettering their surroundings. Having made enough money in his career to never need for anything, the singer is vocal about his motivation for continuing this cause. Years ago, while visiting a village in Africa with his wife, a father asked him to take his daughter back with him to Ireland knowing fully well he’d never be able to provide the basic things the girl would need. This experience changed him forever. “I think about my own family. My own girls and become angry and want to do things different,” he says.

“This is a global pandemic, and if we don’t stand up and do something about it, knowing fully well it’s within our scope to do something about it, God will punish us,” he tells Oprah in an interview.  Indeed such conviction for justice is commendable.

I hope further down, both world hunger and AIDS will become an historic topic far in the crevices of time, but for now, I hope we all do our part to help both actively and passively. I hope that we think of how fortunate we are to have urgent care available and that millions around the world are not as lucky. I hope we pause at the thought of all things (Red)^® and be supportive by purchasing (Red)^® products. This is my hope for the world.

Kathy Griffin: Comedianne Supreme

Last week launched the 6^th season of the hilarious reality show Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List. Two Emmys, a New York Times best seller and two Grammy nominations later, it’s hard to imagine Griffin every going back on the D list, but as she says, she’s very quickly reminded by everyone else around her where she stands on the totem pole.

Few were those whom actually knew who Griffin was five years ago. Aside from her adoring ‘gays,’ there wasn’t much activity going on the Griffin camp. In fact, sporadic shows would reckon mediocre attendance, but Griffin is a prime example of funny being funny, not matter where it comes from. She’s built an act that rivals no one else. Making her living “talking shit about celebrities,” she makes no excuses for what she says and where she says it. So true to her persona that she’s managed to offend Catholics, Jews, straights, gays, democrats, republicans, her own mother—really no one is off the table.  In fact, a look into the Griffin camp has won her mother, Maggie Griffin, a popularity that rivals that of Kathy’s. As Griffin put it, “She’s the star, and I’m just a co-star. It’s her show.”

It’s this real look into the life of a celebrity that has won her an honest following. A couple seasons back, Griffin dealt with divorce and the death of her father in front of the cameras. It was put out there for her fans to see and the public was much appreciative. As a result, Griffin’s popularity has grown so much, that she dabbles with A-listers like Bette Midler, Liza Minnelli, and Cher at the drop of a hat. But it’s not only with celebrities that she’s become popular, but with a huge audience just looking for a laugh. Having said that, with equal swiftness has she managed to alienate and piss off everyone else.

To promote the new season of My Life on the D List, Griffin was invited on The View—a show she’s been banned twice from, and met one of those opponents, Elizabeth Hasselbeck, a staunch republican. As Griffin gabbed away Hasselback pouted silently until finally confronting for not being funny. Without skipping a beat, Griffin replied, “Well actually, these are the moments that I live for, so bring it!” The audience responded insanely.

This season promises to bring a more laughs and funny scenarios at Griffin and her mother’s expense. From hosting a Kiddy Pageant to a public Pap smear, Griffin will provide an interesting take on what it’s like to be a D list celebrity, all the while driving her assistants mad. With all the garbage on television, its refreshing to see Bravo take such care of a funny show. Here’s hoping for season 15. 

The Salton Sea

Walking the salt-encrusted earth I look west and hear the call of seagulls flying above. It is the golden hour and the sky is turning orange and pink and the clouds above sparkle with flecks of lavender.  I hear too grasshoppers churn through the shrubs and see little things: jack rabbits, roadrunners, and field mice scurrying to safety. An odd sensation lingers in the air. The smell of sulfur comes and goes.  The water stands as if frightened by some apparition and I think to myself, yes, that’s it. A ghostly air exists all around as if years back a nuclear accident happened. Far into the distance visions of an almost apocalyptic past are visible. Remnants of life remain scattered throughout and somehow through this devastating beauty phantoms of life teem sporadically. The sea appears like a mirage amid a desert changed over the years, but there is very little there. An hour passes and the silence becomes overwhelming when I realize I’m alone. I become the sea, lonely and abandoned.

Years passed, before I braved myself to drive the abandoned coastline and watch the sun reflect bitterly its incandescent light. The highway here has also been left desolate. Not many people drive through it anymore. The years of endless quakes and heat caked the asphalt to liken scales like the reptiles that inhabit the desert. In the distance trucks bound east drive in due diligence trudging through the miles of space. They pass quickly like rays in the distance; one moment there and another gone.

I walk past the barnacle beach and hike up a peak protruding at the edge. It seems the highest point nearby. At the very top an old wooden bench stands decrepitly. I take a moment and sit looking out onto the flat canvass. Birds fly all around and the water refuses to stir. In the distance I see the ground—moss colored where the water receded. Trees deadened with time stand skeletal like monuments of the memory that was the sea once.

In my travels, I remember the elders recount memories of their childhood on the water, how they used to swim there once. They tell me too of the yacht club that was on the other side of the sea and how they’d have to wear boots because barnacles would cut their feet. Even in their voices a sadness looms as they remember the good times they’ve had there and at the same time look at what it’s become.

On Red Hill, where the docking station once hosted visitors, an old canoe wades in the mud. The water there’s receded so much it’s become impossible to use—even if the sea were clean. There’s a totality on this side of the sea. The red clay structures and vapor rising from the geothermal plants far off, appear to have been struck my some nuclear blast. A palpable eeriness descends on my soul so I drive away to another end, but fail to be appeased.

At one of the canals that pour into the sea, I see two men fishing in the distance. It seems strange they’d be there. I park away not wishing to disturb them and at last I find myself at the very end. A dozen docks stand frozen coming out of the mud. Where fishermen once sported patiently, a row of bridges stand statuesque as remnants of a once active community and it becomes the final straw. The end of my journey is near.

Footsteps clank the hollow planks as I walk into the fading sun. It’s twilight hour and my body is spent. I’ve seen too much loneliness. I’ve seen too much abandonment. I wonder—as I drive into the distance, when I’ll return. I wonder how things have changed and how I tumble in winds of time. Night descends and I draw down my window. The air on my face is cool and for a moment I think I’m near the beach but look steadfast onward; home.

On Golden Pondering

The four of them sat round the dinner table in robes each more garish than the next contemplating men as if there sat four high school teens eating cheesecake. The notion of following four women in their golden years seemed normal at the time, but completely implausible by today’s standards. There was nonetheless something to be said for the gravitas of network wigs to even air such a show. The Golden Girls came at a time when America was all about anti-establishment and decadence, at the height of crime rates and when it was cool to go against the system. There was essentially very little room for wholesomeness and looking back since technologies hurried us towards the twenty-first century.

The past 5 years has seen a resurgence for all things ‘golden’. Partly due to incessant re-runs and DVD release of all the seasons, The Golden Girls have gained a new pool of fans in an unlikely demographic. There still remain those twentysomething and up individuals who remember the original air dates, but growing too is the younger generation whom have learned about Rose, Blanche, Dorothy and Sofia indirectly. Even more surprising, is the relevance of the story line. It holds true through the years and manages to faithfully pull a string of chuckles. Be it the hilarious Saint Olaf stories, Sophia’s “Picture it!” rants, or Dorothy’s dry sense of humor, the scenarios the series presented always held true to the characters’ personalities and made the viewer empathetic to their plight. In fact, the characters were so well crafted that invariably seemed to follow—as most things of such nature do, the quiz that helped you determine which golden girl you were. Admit it! You know you’ve done it.

Unfortunately, very little is left of The Golden Girls legacy. Surviving the three, Betty White remains the only cast member alive. Glancing at her on late night cannot help but stir sweet memories of a bygone era.  Her appeal remains so strong today, that there was even a successful Facebook^â campaign to have her host Saturday Night Live to which she did to great acclaim.  Furthermore, she launches a new show this week on TV Land. And the girls have collectively earned a place in gay culture, but Bea Arthur especially has won iconic status with her particular sense of style. Shoulder pads will never look the same on anyone else.

It is safe to say that another generation will continue to enjoy The Golden Girls wagon for years to come and immortalize the show to something way more special than producers thought it would ever become. Perhaps a remake of it will follow years down the line, but the truth is that there will never be another show that peeps into the lives of women of a certain age in the same way. In the end, maybe the show’s greatest triumph was not the countless jokes through the years, but that for once, viewers become enamored with characters no matter what age they were in, and that thought is golden. 

Face it Facebook...

I sit bewildered as grandmother tells me she heard the moon landing on radio because they didn’t’ own a television set and how there was a time when she thought Elvis Priestley was black because of his smooth baritone. The fact is that she was a product of a generation that moved slower. It seems difficult to compare our times because the world’s changed so much since then. Technology has hurried speedily the unstoppable inertia of globalization, and so we live in an age when it becomes increasingly important to stay connected. Staying connected, has therefore become a commodity we’ve taken thorough advantage of, and by this, I of course mean Facebook®.

Okay, I have to begin by saying that I too like millions of others have for some time considered it “important” and cannot be without an account. I try to tell myself that I only have it because I want a space where I can upload and share pictures with whom I choose to share them with. The truth however, is that I find myself sporadically looking to see what other’s have written and occasionally comment; and like clockwork, I post a weekly opera scene—I guess its my way of spreading a little culture. This week it was the opening to Mozart’s Don Giovanni from the 2008 Salzburg Festival with Maltman and Schrott. Other than that, I find myself rarely writing anything on the wall.

A friend of mine wrote she was only a couple of friends away to having 1000 contacts and urged everyone to recommend people she’d might want to add. I laughed because here I am ignoring the persistent requests and occasionally deleting others at an attempt to maintain some kind of privacy. Now I don’t have any questionable material on my page, and don’t put anything that I’d be ashamed of, but I want to believe there’s a level of privacy people should keep hold of.

We’ve become so preoccupied with putting our business out there and looking into others’, that we’ve filled our brains with useless information. The media has created a business of exposing everything and anything celebrities do to appease those that subscribe to what they have to sell. It’s the basic law of supply and demand—capitalism at its best/worst. In a minute I can tell you that Jennifer Lopez was spotted having lunch at the Ivy and that Rhiannna got a new haircut. We subscribe to all of this. It becomes the topic of conversation. Were you to through some names like Harper Lee or Elena Kagan to those same people, they’d look at you bewildered.

I sit at my desk and tell myself, “Face it! Facebook is here to stay.” It’s just the new way people communicate. Just like people don’t call, they text; and they don’t mail letters, they e-mail, Facebook is the new way to communicate. I fear however, that gone too is the way we’ve learned how to maintain a conversation and negotiate ideas back and forth.

I don’t think Facebook is a terrible thing. In all honesty, I’d just wish we’d at least consider sitting down more often and talk, face to face.

Natalie Merchant: Leave Your Sleep

Seven years after her last album singer/songwriter Natalie Merchant breaks through with her latest project titled Leave Your Sleep, a two-disk carefully chosen collection of British and American poems set to music. At first the task would appear daunting to even the most prolific of musicians, but it inherently seems that if anyone could pull it off successfully, it would be Merchant.

Written over a period of seven years--and mainly inspired by Merchant's daughter, she is quick to shy away from labeling it as a children's album even though it continuously sounds so. The innocent sensibility does not by any means reflect the sophisticated arrangements, but by the poems themselves, the voices of the poets. Working with titles such as, "The Sleepy Giant," " The Man in the Wilderness," and "The Land of Nod," Merchant matches the simplicity of the words with appropriate tempos and lush orchestrations sometimes heart-wrenching by their beauty. By and by what the album does above all is present the poems with a new sensibility and demonstrates her integrity to be true to her art. Thoroughly researching even the most obscure of poets, Merchant makes no apologies that this album is about the celebration of the power of words and what they can convey. "I thought for some time about aging and making the transition into a mature artist, Merchant says. Indeed she is successful. Merchant manifestly is an artist that gracefully manages a new phase in her life.

Leave Your Sleep is not to be taken lightly. It is a brutally honest portrayal of Love, Motherhood, and Death as if we were to discover those ideas for the first time, and plays to our vulnerabilities ans sense of childhood. The album sparks with touching vignettes, among those "Vain and Careless," "If No One Ever Marries Me," "Equestrian," and "Spring and Fall: To a Young Child."

If there was a criticism to be made, it is seemingly gone are the days of Natalie Merchant break-out artist and coda of 10,000 Maniacs, but in its place an artist that explores new sides to her musicianship and life experience. In any case, Merchant fans are sure to satiate their appetite with the new material and be impressed.