Tribute

Del Martin passed away this week. Even if you don't recall the name, you'll no doubt have seen the iconic image above of her marrying her partner of more than 50 years, Phyllis Lyon, in June, the first gay couple to be legally married in San Francisco and one of the first gay couples to be legally married after an historic California Supreme Court decision earlier this spring. Del, who is on the left in the picture above, died at the age of 87. I have seen very little news coverage of her passing, perhaps due to the Democratic National Convention and the announcement of someone's odd choice of running mate. However, I do think she deserves a bit of our attention for what she managed to achieve in a very full life.

Del and Phyllis first met in 1950 and became lovers two years later. Their relationship lasted 56 years in all, a clear testament to the ability of lesbian and gay couples to maintain long-term relationships. They were both long-time activists, having founded one of the first organizations for lesbians in the country, the Daughters of Bilitis, as well as the Alice B. Tolkias Democratic Club. Del was also the first open lesbian elected to the National Organization for Women. And they were both strong advocates for the rights of gay couples to marry, a dream they came close to achieving several times. In fact, Phyllis wrote after a marriage license issued in 2004 had been voided that at their age, she and Del did not "have the luxury of time." How fitting then that they were finally able to spend their last two months together as legal spouses. Pioneers in the truest sense.

San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom, one of my new heroes in the straight world, ordered the city's flags flown at half staff in Del's honor this week. An even more fitting tribute would be the defeat of Proposition 8, the ballot initiative that would repeal the right of gay and lesbian couples to marry legally in the state of California. In honor of Del and Phyllis and all that they accomplished, and in memory of Del and her achievements, please vote against discrimination this November.

Visiting a Revisited Brideshead Revisited

Brideshead Revisited, the new version, is a beautiful movie. It's very evocative of the time period in England "between the wars." The costumes are remarkable, some of the most glorious clothing on screen these days; I expect we might have another revival of that style of dress thanks to this film. The settings are also gorgeous. The filmmakers make the most of the scenery at Castle Howard, which stands in for the Brideshead of the title, and of the grounds at Oxford, where our lead character, Charles Ryder, meets the first of several members of the Flyte family. This seems to be one of those films destined to win the Oscars for design, or at least be nominated for them.

The story is familiar to anyone who's read the Evelyn Waugh novel (I have, a couple of times) and/or who's seen the 1981 miniseries starring a very young Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews (I did, back in Mississippi originally, and I now own the DVD). Ryder becomes enamored of Sebastian Flyte and eventually meets other members of his repressive and repressed family, a very Catholic bunch altogether, filled with all of the guilt that their faith prescribes for such things as homosexuality and adultery. It's quite clear to any reader of the book or any viewer of the miniseries that Charles and Sebastian are in love, particularly on the part of Sebastian, and this new version makes it even clearer in case you are unable to discern for yourself why Sebastian is always hanging out with what one character calls "sodomites" in his rooms at Oxford.

The romance involving Charles and Sebastian is handled rather delicately here, as is the relationship between Charles and Sebastian's sister Julia. Of course, Charles and Sebastian get one onscreen kiss, while Charles and Julia are depicted having sex onscreen. (Yes, I realize that Waugh's book is only suggestive about all of this, but if you're going to go beyond mere suggestion, you should do so equally.) I think most viewers still would want Charles to end up with Sebastian rather than Julia, only because it seems that the deeper emotional resonance is with the relationship between the two men. Some viewers might, however, think that the great love of Charles' life is the home itself, so often does he mention its beauty in this new version.

Emma Thompson and Michael Gambon, as Lady and Lord Marchmain, respectively, have what really amounts to cameo roles here. Thompson appears three times, if I recall correctly, and each time is so fleeting. Gambon is only on screen while the three lovers are in Venice, a sequence in the film that lasts only minutes. Both do what they can with the brief time they have, but I feel their enormous talents are somewhat wasted here in such small parts. It's a testament to their skills as actors that I wanted to see them more.

The lead performers are all talented as well. Matthew Goode is a handsome Charles Ryder, but he does look so much like Jeremy Irons did in the TV version that it's a bit eerie. Hayley Atwell is a beautiful Julia. And the standout, for me, is Ben Whishaw as Sebastian; you can sense just how conflicted his character is, what with his obvious feelings for Charles and his mother's stern Catholic fervor competing for his soul. He's perhaps a bit too petulant for most people's tastes, but I think that is in keeping with the character description that Waugh provided.

After watching this film, I have to admit that I was entertained, certainly. I just don't quite see the point in making another film version of this novel. What was wrong with the miniseries? It was almost the perfect adaptation of what Waugh tried to accomplish. And you can't go wrong with any of the performances from the 1981 edition either. You have Laurence Olivier as Lord Marchmain, after all. Did the filmmakers think that we just needed a shorter, an abridged version of the same story, just the outline of events rather than the fully realized details? Did they think that the earlier version was just too long and spectacular looking? They even used the same home to represent Brideshead as the earlier version did. I suppose I couldn't fault them if we'd never seen anyone else tackle this book or if someone else had attempted it and failed miserably. But who was looking around and felt that we didn't already have the definitive take on this classic novel? It isn't as if we can't just rewatch the miniseries on DVD and make the inevitable comparisons. Why subject yourself to that? Find something new or make something original instead. There are other stories to tell.

Wunderkind

The highlight of this past week was going to the Jamie Cullum concert at the Hollywood Bowl with T and N. Although it probably wasn't the best idea to go on a "school night" during the first week of the fall semester, particularly since the show didn't end until almost 11 p.m. and we all had to be up early the next morning, I had a great time and I think T and N did also. T goes to the Hollywood Bowl each summer, and she invited N and me to join her for some of the shows. I was the one who suggested Cullum's show for the three of us.

Cullum is only 29 years old, but he's already an "old hand" at live performing. His musical style is a mixture of jazz and pop, and he's a skilled piano player and an enchanting vocalist. He was playing with the legendary Count Basie Orchestra, and they were in fine form on Wednesday night (despite the bandleader claiming that he'd had a bit too much to drink before the show started). Cullum relished every minute of playing with these pros, and he even did some of his trademark jumps while playing the piano.

Cullum sang several songs that have become associated with him over the years, including a great rendition of Radiohead's "High and Dry." He also delighted the crowd at the end of the show with a version of "Twentysomething," a great song that he says he can only sing for another year before he has to give it up. I also liked "Blame It on My Youth"; it has some incredible lyrics about the ways that we feel when a relationship might be over.

My favorite moment of the night, however, started when Cullum, alone with the piano, started playing "Singin' in the Rain." He even tapped out some of the rhythms on his piano, duplicating (in a way) the sound of someone tap dancing. The best part, though, came when he started singing the lines to a different song. After a couple of lines, we all realized that he had segued into a version of Rihanna's "Umbrella," a somewhat different song about rain. The combination of the songs was fresh and inventive, and I had to smile all the way through the medley. It got pretty big applause from an already appreciative crowd. Perhaps you wouldn't expect Rihanna's song to sound as good without the thumping beat behind it, but it holds its own well.

Cullum has a pretty keen sense of humor as well. In his singing of "I Get a Kick Out of You," he substituted "McCain" for "cocaine," as in "Some get a kick from cocaine/I know that if/I took even one sniff/It would bore me terrifically too." Imagine the reaction that his substitution got from a Hollywood Bowl audience.

There were two opening acts, both of them good in their own ways, but I would have preferred shorter sets by them so that Cullum could have had more stage time. He was really the highlight. The first performer, Elizabeth Shepherd, a Canadian singer-musician, was good in a sort of Joni Mitchell-esque way. Not that she was as good as Joni Mitchell, but she has that sort of vocal quality. She is also an exceptional pianist. The second act was A Christian McBride Situation, an improvisational jazz group featuring the aforementioned McBride and Patrice Rushen (she of the great dance song "Forget Me Nots"), among some other very talented musicians and singers. Let me just state the improvisational jazz is not really my favorite style, and leave it at that.

McBride did come back later to duet with Cullum on an amazing rendition of "Nature Boy," the Bowie song last heard in Moulin Rouge! McBride plays the bass beautifully, and Cullum matched him in enthusiasm during the song. It was another one of the bright spots of the evening. They sang it in honor of Cullum's birthday on Wednesday. I'm glad we were there to share in his day; it was a treat for us as well.

How May I Direct Your Call?

We have a new telephone system at work. It went "live" last Friday, and most of us showed up for work on Monday to a system that now runs through the Internet connection somehow. It's called VOIP or some such nonsense, so if you're a technie, I guess you can appreciate how advanced our campus is now. (More likely, you're laughing that we actually bought what is probably already outdated technology, but that can remain your little secret.) All I know is the cable that connects the phone to my computer is too short, so the new phone has to sit right next to my computer. I've had to rearrange my desk because of this phone.

We had been warned for much of the spring semester that we would be getting the new system, so this isn't exactly a surprise. However, the date was always a bit fuzzy. Turns out the optimum time to change an entire phone system is the week before the fall semester begins. Nothing much going on that week in preparation for the 20,000 students arriving on Monday, I guess. Tomorrow's the first "official" day of work for all of us, so I can imagine a lot of surprised people coming into their offices and finding that the system they're comfortable with is now gone.

(This follows on the heels of our regular "update your computer login password" message, for which you have to be on campus. Anyone not on campus during summer school is probably unaware that you won't be able to log on to the system until your account has been reset. Shame on you for not being here in the middle of July when everyone was "told" that you'd need a new password. You had 14 days then to come up with a new password. You shoulda been here then.)

The new phones themselves showed up last week. I came into my office one day (Wednesday? I think it was...) to find two phones sitting beside my computer: the old one and a new one. The new one looks rather hi-tech and intimidating. It has buttons on it that make no sense to me yet. (Some of them are called "soft buttons," according to an e-mail we received. I hate to imagine which ones are the "hard buttons" and why they're "hard.") We're supposed to have training sessions to learn how to use these newfangled machines, but the training isn't scheduled until the second week of classes--just a couple of days before the Labor Day Weekend, to be exact, and almost three weeks after we got the new phones. One of the training sessions is even scheduled for the Friday before Labor Day. Good luck finding anyone on campus that day. So for the first couple of weeks of the semester, we're on our own with the new phones.

That's a problem. I do have to use the new phone before I can receive any "formal" training on it. Yes, "they" did send out a one-page set of instructions, but those aren't incredibly helpful, being mere bullet points on some incredibly simple tasks such as answering your phone. (I find it amusing that at a college campus we had to have instructions on how to pick up a receiver. That's the first instruction: "Lift the handset." Sigh.) I think I may have set up my new password and I have changed my message for incoming calls, but I'm almost afraid to call the number to find out.

Speaking of numbers, that's probably the best part of the new system. Everyone has a new phone number. Everyone. The entire campus. You're probably thinking that can't be too bad. After all, we all have to learn new numbers for everyone, so it's pretty equal. And it's only several thousand phone numbers, right? However, our campus decided to add a clever wrinkle to the mix. We aren't all actually getting new numbers. Some are, certainly, but most of us are just getting a number that used to belong to someone else. I, for example, have a number that once belonged to a classified staff member in the Music Department. My old number is now in the hands of one of the theater professors. And this is true for almost every number on campus. Instead of having one or perhaps two people be inconvenienced for a week or so putting everyone's existing extensions into the system, the Powers That Be (The Phone Gods?) decided instead just to reassign the numbers we already had, creating a massive number of links across the campus. That way everyone can share in the misery.

How bad could that be, you ask? Well, perhaps you could ask the dean who has spent much of the week responding to calls about veteran's benefits (not at all one of the areas in her job description). Or talk to the vice president who's been fielding calls for financial aid (also not one of the areas in her job description). Or better yet, ask the folks in the campus security department, who spent much of the first couple of days answering calls from students who were having trouble registering for their classes. It seems that the new emergency number for the security department used to be the helpline number for registration problems. That must have been a fun time; they had to shut the number down because it was interfering with actual emergencies. And on and on and on.

We've all been asked to help out. In fact, we've been asked to "please inform the caller of the new extension for the person they are calling" if someone attempts to use a number that has been assigned to someone else for, oh, say, 13 years already (like me). So in addition to my usual duties as teacher and advisor and mentor, I have to add receptionist or switchboard operator. This would, of course, necessitate each one of us knowing whose old number we have, a piece of knowledge I expect very few on campus to obtain. We've also been asked to forward or transfer or whatever the appropriate lingo is nowadays all calls that come to us mistakenly. Did I also mention earlier that we're not going to be trained on these functions until the end of the second week of the semester?

You might have also noted earlier that I said I came back to my office to find two phones sitting beside my computer. That's not a mistake. Each of us is also expected to disconnect our old phones--imagine how much furniture moving that might necessitatein some offices--and put it in a box in our hallway marked for the old phones. At some point, someone is supposed to come by and pick all of them up. I've actually toyed with the idea of taking all of the boxes of phones in the hallways across campus and dumping them in the courtyard of the new classroom/office building as an art installation for tomorrow's convocation. Sort of a monument to ineptitude.

The box for our hallway, by the way, is outside the door to my office. It's already filling up. And no one has yet picked up any of the boxes scattered in hallways in every building across campus. The image above is what we had in the hallway outside the department office.

One more little note. Because the phones are directly connected to our computers and our campus system, each time someone calls, we get a wav message. I don't really need more stuff in my e-mail file, frankly, but that's where all of the missed call messages are going to show up. I suppose some people are so plugged into the world that they want to know all of the calls they've missed, but I don't care. If someone calls when I'm not in the office, they can leave a message or call again another time. I don't need a record of each and every one that I've missed showing up among all of the dozens of e-mails that I already get each day.

This summer, my honors class read Lynne Truss' Talk to the Hand, a book about the rudeness that has become epidemic in society today. One of her chapters is entitled "Why Am I the One Doing This?" In it, she talks about how so much of what used to be considered customer service is now provided by the customer, not the business. Want to activate your new credit card? Punch in dozens of numbers; you won't be getting a person on the phone any longer who will take your information down. Want some help in a store finding an item? Good luck in some stores locating anyone who can help. You can just serve yourself.

I've been asking myself Truss' question since we started this nonsense with the phone system. Why am I the one who has to change my number? Why do I have to get new business cards with a different number on them? Why do I have to notify former students and my family and my doctor and dentist and outside organizations that my number has changed? Why do I have to program my own phone? Why do I have to transfer calls to someone else who had this number just a bit more than a week ago? Why do I have to unplug my old phone myself and put it in the box? Why am I going to have to look at and then delete all of the e-mails telling me that I missed telephone calls? Why, indeed, am I the one doing this?

Yeah, I know it will all settle down at some point. We'll all learn the new system. Eventually, almost all of the people who need my "new" number will have it. And we'll get to the stage where we can all use the phones with some measure of proficiency. However, it's four days until we start the fall semester, and I still don't know how to retrieve messages. It's not that I've received any--at least, I don't think I have--but then again, who knows my new number anyway? I still don't know how to transfer calls if I have any for someone else. I haven't seen the theater professor to explain to him that he might be getting dozens of calls from gay and lesbian students who want to know about the club for which I am the advisor. I'm tired of looking at a big cardboard box of old phones in the hallway. I want to know who's responsible for this nonsense so that he/she/they can be the subject of public ridicule. I guess I have to settle for this rant for now.

Flashback

I've been listening to Elton John's Greatest Hits 1970-2002 in the car lately (along with CDs of Elvis music and a couple of others). While driving home from the movies this afternoon (The Dark Knight, finally, now that the crowds have died down), his duet with Kiki Dee came on. You know, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." That song was a huge hit in 1976, particularly during the summer that I turned 13. I was listening to the song and had the most vivid memory. Isn't it amazing how much one song can summon forth from your past?

Each summer the County Extension Service, which oversaw (perhaps still oversees) the 4-H program, took a couple of busloads of kids to the Mid-South Fair in Memphis. I went two or three years in a row; I don't recall the exact number, but I do know one of them was in 1976. The Mid-South Fair is enormous--well, at least, it was. I haven't been in a long time, naturally, so I can't vouch for its size nowadays. It featured all of the usual exhibits you might expect from a fair and all of the food and all of the rides and all of the performers. Sometimes we would buy tickets to see whatever singer it was that was headlining at the rodeo that year. If I recall correctly, that's where I saw Mel Tillis perform. Hey, it is the South, after all, and who are you to judge?

No, we didn't see Elton John at the Mid-South Fair. He would have been pretty popular at the time, and the fair circuit, particularly in the South, wouldn't have been his ideal audience, anyway. We just heard him and Kiki. A lot. Everywhere, actually. If you've been to one of these kinds of fairs, you know that there's always music playing at the rides. And this song was so huge, it was playing at every ride. Every one of them. No, not over and over like it was on an endless loop, but it was repeated quite often on each ride. I suppose it's a way of attracting people to the ride. I can't imagine why else they would play contemporary music if not to get the crowd in the right upbeat mood.

So as I'm driving today, I had the clear image in my head of watching one of the rides spinning so fast you can barely recognize there are people on board. There's dust, of course, because the fairgrounds are always just large patches of earth, aren't they? The sun was out, and it was one of those glorious days that you can really only experience in Southern states. I'm sure it was humid, but I was 13 and such things didn't really affect me as much then. The smell of cotton candy and corn on the cob, both staples of fairs in the South, were just as clear today as they were 32 years ago. And it would have been on a Saturday, too, as I recall.

I always had friends from school to hang out with on those trips. Four or five of us would spend almost the entire day going from ride to ride, eating way too much food that isn't good for you, trying to win a prize at those carnival games no one ever really seems to master, going to the exhibits now and then to see the cows and hogs and what not, and even spending some time at the rodeo. And we'd usually try to do some things that only one or two of us wanted to do. I myself could never pass by one of those booths advertising "The World's Smallest Horse" or "The World's Biggest Alligator." I'm a sucker for such nonsense. (Someday, perhaps, I'll write a post about spending good money to see "The Devil Chicken.") We'd climb back on the bus at the end of the day, and on our trip home, a few couples would try to make out in the back of the bus. Surprisingly, they never seemed to get very far, probably due to the dozens of pairs of eyes watching them all the time. (Hey, we were 13 or so, after all.) Our families would be there waiting for us when we got back to the park where we'd started our journey early that morning, and we'd go home exhausted and fall asleep.

I haven't thought about those days at the Mid-South Fair in decades. I can't really believe how powerfully evocative that one song was this afternoon. I must have heard it hundreds of times since its initial release in 1976, but it never brought back such strong memories for me until today. I don't think I still have any souvenirs from those trips and, sadly, I don't have any pictures either--I wish I did--but I guess if Elton and Kiki can make me remember the details this well, maybe I don't need pictures. Maybe the song itself is my souvenir.