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Dance the ghost with me
The short version, because I left my brain in bed somewhere last night.
Play: not my Platonic Dybbuk, mostly because of some of its translation choices, but absolutely worth the trip, especially for its final scene, Khonnon in his bridegroom's white lifting Leye in his arms, into the golden ghost-light, as dark-haired and slender in one embrace as twins or a trick with mirrors and their mouths annealing to one another as the rabbi cries out in despair—Too late!—and her grandmother rocks and mourns the black shawl that is the bride's discarded body, shadows of the world of illusion. The rest of the production could have been mediocre and I would still have been glad of that last image. Now I want to see the play in Yiddish.
Company: lovely. I should not let another five-odd years elapse before I see![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shirei_shibolim and terriqat. They took us for dinner at Zen Palate, where I ordered the Tapestry Embrace, which turned out not to be a Harlequin romance, but a delicious thing with seitan and mushrooms and zucchini and a teriyak-ish sauce. I got to watch two people from different friend groups bond over scribal traditions and Jen Taylor Friedman. I'm just kind of sorry we didn't have the time to sing.
Bus: the way down, unremarkable. I free-associated atfleurdelis28 and did not manage to nap, but I didn't expect to. The way back, oh, holy God. The engine was noisier than an MRI and jackhammered through the seats and the driver was self-evidently mental, because at one point we passed the Fung Wah Bus. At least we didn't catch on fire. But next time, maybe we should turn into millionaires and take the train.
But there should be a next time. Because this was pretty cool.
(New York City: I miss it.)
Play: not my Platonic Dybbuk, mostly because of some of its translation choices, but absolutely worth the trip, especially for its final scene, Khonnon in his bridegroom's white lifting Leye in his arms, into the golden ghost-light, as dark-haired and slender in one embrace as twins or a trick with mirrors and their mouths annealing to one another as the rabbi cries out in despair—Too late!—and her grandmother rocks and mourns the black shawl that is the bride's discarded body, shadows of the world of illusion. The rest of the production could have been mediocre and I would still have been glad of that last image. Now I want to see the play in Yiddish.
Company: lovely. I should not let another five-odd years elapse before I see
shirei_shibolim and terriqat. They took us for dinner at Zen Palate, where I ordered the Tapestry Embrace, which turned out not to be a Harlequin romance, but a delicious thing with seitan and mushrooms and zucchini and a teriyak-ish sauce. I got to watch two people from different friend groups bond over scribal traditions and Jen Taylor Friedman. I'm just kind of sorry we didn't have the time to sing.Bus: the way down, unremarkable. I free-associated at
fleurdelis28 and did not manage to nap, but I didn't expect to. The way back, oh, holy God. The engine was noisier than an MRI and jackhammered through the seats and the driver was self-evidently mental, because at one point we passed the Fung Wah Bus. At least we didn't catch on fire. But next time, maybe we should turn into millionaires and take the train.But there should be a next time. Because this was pretty cool.
(New York City: I miss it.)
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I approve of your plan to turn into a millionaire.
as dark-haired and slender in one embrace as twins or a trick with mirrors, and their mouths annealing to one another as the rabbi cries out in despair--Too late!
--that is *painfully* beautiful.
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Oh, God, I hate MRIs. I think they've been responsible for most of the hearing loss I've sustained throughout my life.
--that is *painfully* beautiful.
It was very beautifully done.
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That would explain the strange lights in the sky . . .
The play does sound interesting, if not perfect
It's one of my favorite plays; I recommend it on principle. There is actually an excellent version (not translation) by Tony Kushner still in print under the title A Dybbuk and Other Tales of the Supernatural-it's the production the Klezmatics did the music for.
and that scene sounds like it was powerful.
They could have done even more throughout the production with the idea of the two worlds entangling—the original play's subtitle is oder tsvishn tsvey veltn, or Between Two Worlds; the rabbi speaks of the true world and the world of illusion, of which the latter is ours; at one point, a literal mechitzah, a ritual partition, is even hung up between the two, so that the dead can be summoned to testify at a trial of the living—but that very last scene caught it perfectly.
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Trying to write, trying not to die; it's 2002 all over again!
*hugs*
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You're welcome. I found it the most striking moment in the production, as perhaps it should be.
I hope people looked well.
Well, they had mono, but they were very conversational.
Trying to write, trying not to die; it's 2002 all over again!
This is not what I meant when I wanted 2011 not to be 2010!
*hugs*
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I did re-read A Thousand Mill Lofts Gray (no word on edits yet, but the deadline hasn't passed, so maybe she's focusing on the latecomers) and found some tiny thread of goodness in it, so there's that.
Also, have you heard anything more about the Mammoth Press kafaffle? I was sort of in a blood-pressure haze all weekend and didn't hear the gossip if there was any. Have they fired the editor and torched the beaches?
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Fair. From my perspective, this year's been on probation from the start.
and found some tiny thread of goodness in it, so there's that.
Good!
Have they fired the editor and torched the beaches?
. . . I have no idea. I didn't even know there was a kerfuffle going on.
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http://jessicaverday.blogspot.com/2011/03/wicked-pretty-things-running-press-and.html
Several authors, including a friend of ours, have pulled their stories from the anthology in question after the editor requested the de-queering of a romance.
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Eeeeeyeah.
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For the YA, I confess, I tried to picture a straight romance. I think I tittered and fell off my chair a little bit. Because I'm mature.
And apparently the editor in chief of Mammoth Press/Running Press is a gay man. The world is complex and bizarre.
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I stand by truthiness. The other stuff might be profitable, but it's also Twilight.
She must have a debt or something.
Someone should tell her the photographs really wouldn't hold up as evidence in court . . .
[edit]
No more; she's withdrawn, too.
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Never. The band's got a great name, though.
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Wow.
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Then I got back and found out two guys had fallen out of a bus toilet window, which I don't even know how you do, so I suppose we could have been much worse off, but still: it was kind of ridiculous.
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It's a very good play.
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Sorry to hear of the scary bus trip; I'm delighted that you safely got home again.
(New York City: I miss it.)
It's a place worthy of missing. I was in this afternoon--I usually wish I could stay longer.
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It wasn't scary; it was agonizingly loud and probably unsafe.
I was in this afternoon--I usually wish I could stay longer.
I still have people there, which is good. I can take advantage of that.
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Ah. The part about passing the Fung Wah bus sounded scary to me. I suppose I'm glad it was only probably unsafe.
I still have people there, which is good. I can take advantage of that.
That's good. I've an uncle in Brooklyn, and I'm sure I could kip on his couch or floor if I were stuck in the city, but I'd not wish to impose on him unless I had no other choice. It's only an hour and change by the train, and maybe forty-five minutes' drive to the station, so I usually just go in and return home when whatever I'm doing there is over.