The Wonders of Bureaucracy

My computer woes continue. In the school's infinite wisdom, I've been denied the purchase order needed to have the Mac specialists come and fix my computer. Instead, I had to wait until today (3 1/2 days after I reported my problem) to have an IT guy come and look at my Mac. I'm frustrated that it's taken so long, but I'd get over it pretty quickly if he actually fixed it. Unfortunately, this joe knows nothing about Macs. But, since he's the designated Mr. Fix-it for my department, he had to be the one to come and look at it. After he admitted that he couldn't do anything, I asked if I could please now send it to the Mac hospital. In short? No. I have to now wait for him to contact the only person in our IT group to have a clue about Macs and see if he knows what to do. When he can't fix it, then I can send it away. Why couldn't the Mac guy come to look at my computer in the first place? Because of the wonders of bureaucracy.

John Hodgeman has never looked better

So yesterday, out of nowhere, my work computer decided to call it quits—sort of. My screen is all sorts of messed up, and though I can still work, it’s not so easy on my eyes. Since we’re one of the few CBS offices who use Macs, we get no support whatsoever from the school, and I have to send my computer away for up to four days to get it fixed. Of course, that’s four days AFTER the school’s bureaucracy finally gets around to issuing me a PO, without which Tekserve will not come and get my sad, tired, little computer. Boo.

Weekend Reading

Over the weekend I finished reading Julia Glass’s sophomore outing, The Whole World Over. Split between the arid desert of New Mexico and the urban sprawl of New York City, Glass creates two worlds inhabited by a loosely connected cast of characters who struggle to find their way through turbulent relationships, careers upheavals, and loss of many kinds. Most arresting and touching for me, was Saga; having lost much of her short term memory from a freak accident, she has intriguing and unique perspectives on events both large and small, which offers a fresh look at such well-traversed themes (the search for love, the challenges of marriage and child rearing, etc.).

Subtle clues throughout the book, published in 2006, tell us that the story actually takes place several years earlier (a gay New Yorker wishes he could take his stuffy visiting brother to Hedwig and the Angry Inch instead of the uber-popular The Producers, for instance). And, though not hailed as a “9/11” story, it comes as no surprise when that days events act as a catalyst for change and resolution among many of the characters. I wasn’t sure how I’d react to this element of the novel, since I’ve mostly avoided 9/11 movies and books. In part, I feel like many of them are manipulative (Oliver Stone’s World Trade Center, especially), but I suppose I also subscribe to the “books/movies should be escapist” mentality, at least on this topic. Luckily, Glass’s take on the attacks felt both appropriate and genuine. She never tries to put us on the planes or in the towers; instead, she has her characters’ experiences mirror what most of us in NYC felt—shock, confusion, and worry about those we love. Her deft handling of both her characters and her plot devices should be applauded.

The Iceman Cometh again...this time as Jim Tyrone

Jen and I took in the revival of A Moon for the Misbegotten last night at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre. I hadn't seen the show before and wasn't particularly familiar with it, aside from of the familial/biographical themes O'Neill favors. The first act was slow--at least for me--but the second act packed a little more of the needed emotional punch. One of the evening's big disappointments for me, though, was the performance given by leading lady Eve Best. Though the reviews I'd read were mixed overall, Best garnered rave upon rave. I went in expecting to see a powerful, memorable, and nuanced performance. Best, instead, seemed to be playing 90% of her scenes to the back of the house. Here's a tip for Ms. Best: shrieking your lines does not make for nuance. I suspect she was trying to compensate for her slight frame, given the many, many references to her character's hulking size. Her physicality (much stomping and wide-spread legs) worked to some extent; in the end, though, she felt miscast. Bringing more star power to the stage was Kevin Spacey, who, while good, did not blow me away. Colm Meaney (best known for his Star Trek days) rounded out the trio with a very solid performance.

Is there a 12-step program for this?

I think I can officially call myself a book-buying addict. My pile of to-be-read books is probably somewhere between two and three feet tall and, in some cases, stretches back to books I purchased or received two-plus years ago. And yet, I cannot stop myself from buying more books. My most recent purchase: The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, by Michael Chabon.

Last night Anne and I went to hear him speak, read, and be interviewed at the 92nd Street Y. I loved The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Wonder Boys, and The Mysteries of Pittsburgh (The Final Solution left me cold) and was excited to hear him talk about and read from his new novel, which introduces an alternate world history and takes place in a fictional Yiddish community in Alaska. He told a wonderful and detailed story about how this novel was indirectly inspired by the phrase book, Say It In Yiddish; he also talked about the tension he always feels between developing his characters and progressing his plot and his need to hole up in hotels and other away-from-home places to work most productively. And, in a great side note, he talked about receiving a phone call from Sam Raimi while out to dinner with his father in Kansas City, MO. Raimi called to ask him to work on the Spiderman 2 script and said simply, “Spidey needs you.”

After hearing him tell these stories and read an excerpt from The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, I knew I’d end up with the book in my collection sooner rather than later. Since the Y was sold out, Anne and I hoofed it six blocks to the nearest Barnes and Noble, which was ten minutes from closing. They’d already blocked off the entrance, and the security guard looked fairly disinterested in our Chabon craving, though he did ultimately let us in. After scouring the new releases section and “C” section of the fiction area, we realized that all the other Y attendees had beaten us to the punch and bought every last copy in the store. We were now women on a mission, though, and would not be defeated! Two avenues east was another Barnes and Noble, and we heard tell that there were still 40 copies left. We made our way (in the rain now) to that other store and finally got our hands on copies of the book. It was a wet and windy road, but this book junkie needed her fix.

Oh, and the mystery of Chabon’s name pronunciation is finally solved. For all those curious, it’s SHAY-ben.

Qualified movie recommendation

Last night I took in an advanced screening of Waitress. If you've heard anything about this movie, you probably know that the writer/director/co-star, Adrienne Shelly, was murdered before it ever came out. Apparently she was once the indie It Girl, and this movie may have been her introduction to wider fame and acclaim, had things not gone the awful way they did.

Irrespective of the sad behind-the-scenes story, here is my take on the movie. It's intentionally quirky with a capital "Q," and thematically similar to The Good Girl, though a little fluffier. Some of the dialogue is stilted and rings false, certain plot points are pretty obvious, and the ending was a little too pat for my personal tastes. Despite all that, though, the movie somehow charms. Though you have to, of course, credit Shelly for much of the movie's winsomeness, it's really Keri Russell who brings the movie home.

The supporting cast is a veritable who's who of folks you've seen on TV. Nathan Fillion was my favorite, and Andy Griffith as an old curmudgeon was great. Cheryl Hines has a little less to do and mostly just smiles her big gigantic smile throughout. And, in no great typecasting departure, Jeremy Sisto plays the guy you'd rather not know.

I'm not sure I'd recommend spending a full ten smackers on it, but it's worth a Netflix.

(No) Sex and the City

In my ongoing quest for love, I’ve recently realized that match.com is like a bad boyfriend you can’t quite shake: he makes all these great promises, and in moments of weakness you see all his potential and forget all the times he’s disappointed you in the past; he’s there every time you feel alone, but you quickly realize that you’re the one doing all the work in the relationship; you think you’ve found someone with whom you’re compatible until you see him hanging out with Dr. Phil. Even though I know all of this, I keep going back for more.

All this is a prelude to this sad story: I recently signed up for one month on lavalife.com (a half-hearted attempt to break it off with match, I guess), and for the past week and a half or so I’ve been emailing with a normal sounding guy. I didn’t think he was going to be the love of my life based on our emails, but he seemed to have enough going for him that I’d give him a chance in person. Then yesterday he drops this bombshell; I asked what he did over the weekend and he said that he never does anything Friday nights or Saturdays because he observes the Sabbath. Then, in response to some Boston weekend/clam chowder comment, he tells me he keeps kosher. Riddle me this, Batman: How am I going to date someone who can’t go out on the weekend and has only a few restaurants where he’ll eat? As someone who advertises herself as non-religious, I’m really not looking for someone who devotes that much of his lifestyle to God. Am I alone in thinking that if he’s this religious he should let a girl know from the start?

To complete the cycle, I’ll probably leave lavalife and return to the disappointing arms of my man, match.