The Small Town Metropolitan

Must Sleep

I've been up with the lark for several days now and I must again tomorrow.  The lark is a highly overrated bird.

 

Off the Shelf

...whereas there has been from time immemorial an Enigma of Woman, there is no corresponding Enigma of Man.... The sentiment, "Man's love is of man's life a things apart; 'tis woman's whole existence" is, in fact, a piece of male wishful thinking, which can only be made to come true by depriving the life of the leisured woman of every other practical and intellectual interest.  Lovers, husbands, children, households - these are major feminine preoccupations: but not love.  It is the male who looks upon amorous adventure as an end in itself, and dignifies it with a metaphysic.  The great love-lyrics, the great love-tragedies, the romantic agony, the religion of beauty... the entire mystique of sex is, in historic fact, of masculine invention.

 - Dorothy L. Sayers, Introduction to Dante's Purgatory

Sometimes I don't understand...

...how things like this happen, and life just goes on. 

British scientists will be allowed to research devastating diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s using human-animal embryos, after the House of Commons rejected a ban yesterday.

An amendment to the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Bill that would have outlawed the creation of “human admixed embryos” for medical research was defeated in a free vote by a majority of 160, preserving what Gordon Brown regarded as a central element of the legislation.

[snip]

A second amendment, which would have banned the creation of “true hybrids” made by fertilising an animal egg with human sperm, or vice-versa, was also defeated yesterday by a majority of 63. Another free vote last night was expected to approve the use of embryo-screening to create “saviour siblings” suitable to donate umbilical cord blood to sick children.

In the United Kingdom it has become legal to create animal-human hybrids.  The mind boggles.  Something that, a few years ago, would have been the stuff of over-the-top SciFi or bleak dystopian fiction has now become the stuff of simple, medical and political fact.

What could possibly go wrong?

How did it come to this?

In England.  A perfectly normal place.  One of the good places, in fact.  Land of common sense and decency and "spinsters cycling to Evensong through the mist."

And I think to myself, "so this is how the horrible things are allowed to happen.  All those horrible things of history that we look back on and wonder how good people could possibly have let them happen.  It's because we don't see them happening right before our eyes.  At least most of us don't.  And so at first, nothing seems to change. 

We wake in the morning and the birds are singing and our day's work awaits and we just get on with it, because what else can we do?  And it's easy, because everything is the same: our work, our families, our friends our fears, our plans.  Only now we are working and and planning and living in a world where scientists are creating animal-human hybrids to experiment on and destroy.  So nothing is quite the same."

And I am just as guilty, I suppose.  I will get up tomorrow and work on my play and cut my sound effects and write and worry about my father's health and get on with things. 

I will also pray.  I don't know what else to do.

The Uses of Imagination

When we were children my sister and I pretended all the time.  We didn't let the fact that we were living in a small house in a small town hamper us in anyway.  With a few discarded clothes from the "dress up clothes basket" and a few simple household items to aid us, we could be anywhere at any time doing anything. 

We could be French aristocrats in the days of the Revolution, dodging the guillotine with the help of the Scarlet Pimpernel.  We could be flappers solving mysteries in 1920s New York.  We could be members of Robin Hood's merry band.  We could be much more mundane things too (grocery store clerks, waitresses, bus drivers).

My mother says that we were a joy to watch.  (She always tried to observe us discreetly, lest we become self-conscious).  She says that we seemed to believe so completely in the reality of what we were pretending that our belief was infectious - she could always tell exactly what we were supposed to be  (antebellum Southern belles, say) even though we were really just  little girls with old bathrobes tied around our waists.

So why do I mention all this childhood play?

Off the shelf

There was much worse drama when Linda, aged twelve, told the daughters of neighbours, who had come to tea, what she supposed to be the facts of life.  Linda's presentation of the "facts" had been so gruesome that the children left Alconleigh howling dismally, their nerves permanently impaired, their future chances of a sane and happy sex life much reduced.

- The Pursuit of Love, Nancy Mitford

In which the worlds shabbiest blogger apologizes yet again

All my resolutions to post daily crumble to dust at my feet.  In my defense we go from crisis to crisis here at the Small Town Theatre.  None of them are fatal crises, so I can't really complain.

Nevertheless, I think we are in need of a little divine intervention to solve some of this week's problems.  And really, how hard should that be?  As I pointed out to my mother  yesterday, how many professional theatres were founded by Benedictine monks?  How many are run by faithful Catholics?  How busy can Saint Genesius really be?  Maybe, like a good man of the theatre, the saint is simply biding his time, waiting for the most dramatic moment to come to our aid.

As a director, I have a few thoughts on when that moment would be.  But I'm sure he knows best.  I'm sure of it.  Absolutely. 

Off The Shelf

"I could easily go on writing all night but I can't really see and it's extravagant on paper, so I shall merely think.  Contemplation seems to be about the only luxury that costs nothing."

- Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle

Quick Shots

• The fam and I watched Room With A View on PBS's Masterpiece the other day.  Masterpiece was formerly Masterpiece Theatre and the name was changed because.... I have no idea actually, and can only venture a guess.  Was "theatre" considered too stodgy?  Was Masterpiece Theatre too long a phrase for stunted contemporary attention spans?  If so, I fear the change demonstrates a lack of understanding of their core demographic: people (even relatively young people, like myself) who yearn for the stodgy and have abnormally long attention spans.  But I digress.  The film itself was a joy: lovely to look at, marvelous performances.  The whole thing felt much more grounded in life, more warm flesh and blood than the Merchant-Ivory film of two decades ago.  I wasn't sure about the non-canonical book ends (I will not spoil, have no fear), but there is no doubt they add another level of poignancy and I quite warmed up to them by then end. 
• We're holding auditions for the theatre this weekend.  My father is pissed that they conflict with the NFL draft.  (We are an odd family, I've always known that).  Still, he plans to check in on the Steelers' progress during breaks.  If they aren't focusing on the offensive line, he's not going to be pleased. 
• From the Carbolic Smoke Ball: The Steelers combine all my father's interests by drafting Bill Shakespeare. 

I planned to get so much done today...

...but today was one of those days when everything takes longer than it should.  I am bone weary with very little to show for it.  I am now off to knit up my raveled sleeve of care.  More tomorrow...

I have been to my first mass...

...since returning to The Small Town.  And I will post a few thoughts on it when I have a more rested brain.  Nothing like this happened there. 

Via