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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.)
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.