Donald Hall and his Alligator Bride.

When I was a young teenager, I loved poetry. Like most teenage girls of my vintage I adored Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Rod McKuen. Like minded girls were also enjoying Sara Teasdale and Elizabeth Bishop...back in the day, as they say. I can't imagine what we were playing at during our Teasdale phase.

Anyway, my interest in poetry was noted by the teachers at my new high school and I was invited to attend a program that had been previously reserved for juniors and seniors who were taking the Honors courses. Ann Arbor poet and future poet Laureate, Donald Hall, was coming to our school to do a brief reading and take some questions about poetry, academia and writing in general.

In all honesty, this 14 year old girl of 1971 had never heard of the man. I was flattered to be invited and more than a bit intimidated by the situation as juniors and seniors seemed so far above me. Imagine.

For his reading, Professor Hall chose the poem The Alligator Bride, which is even now a bit of a mystery to me, but was dark and undecipherable in 1971. Yet, I applauded with the rest of the group who seemed more sophisticated than ever. How did they understand this poem and what did they get out of it? Had the good sisters of the English department prepared and coached them or were they, like me, too afraid of being called out as a dummy not to applaud and act elated by the reading.

To his credit, the reading was dramatic and Hall's voice stayed with me as did his reptilian lady in white. As a 14 year old, I imagined a real alligator or a vicious, snappish female. Later I saw it as an almost psychotic image, a imagined companion and perhaps an ex-wife. When, my nephew went to University of Florida, gator brides took on an entirely new meaning as I imagined a sharp, chic sorority girl cutting her significant teeth on the heart of the poet. In this incarnation, I even imagined a wedding cake complete with gator bride in a dress, veil and pearls. Who knows.

Lately someone on etsy, explained the poem as a writing about a depressed individual who could see despair in a cat and a bag of spilled groceries and who was contemplating at least a spiritual death.

I still can't imagine 14 year olds with the capacity to figure this out. I still think about Professor Hall and this reading. Funny how some things stay with you always.

Super hilarious article in Politico!

So now Obama is their puppet master? Well I guess the press have been puppets, but it has been willful at every turn. Deliberate even, they crave covering up Benghazi and the bad economy. They love painting Romney a criminal as they let Obama lie about anything and everything. Now they have the temerity to cry "manipulation"?

Here's a flash for you Ann Compton, and Tapper and the rest of your ilk. You are choosing this and the nation has suffered for your hero worship and negligence.

Make better choices and try some honesty for a change.

Slooooooooooooooow Amazon

Can anyone tell me why it might take four days to "prepare" a book for shipment? This is super annoying. I can see stuck in the USPS system, but FOUR days to "prepare"? This is not a marinated main dish or a ceramic tile floor!

Albee again...A Delicate Balance at the McCarter

I just don't know.

On the surface Albee seems to know nothing about mental illness. It is terrifically unlikely that someone will become schizophrenic in their late 60s. If he doesn't know that he should read up a bit.

But I suspect he does and his character is just using it as either an affectation or a coping skill as she remains married to a man who desires all around him to be dependant...on him, and at odds with each other, while looking like a long suffering and tolerant saint.

Nope it's not Agnes who controls the family dynamics, it is Tobias. He is the fulcrum about whom all action pivots. And it's not pretty.

Agnes is a dependant wife a la 1960s. We have no idea what income she may have from her late parents, but we are led to believe that she and her odious sister Claire have nothing without Tobias.
Agnes characterizes herself as the implementation phase of Tobias' wishes, the nurse to his doctor role and this appears to be true. She is not even able to relieve herself of a sister who freely states she wishes her dead...DEAD. She must tolerate this vile but cutesy-wootsey alcoholic, because Tobias says so, he allows it.

He allows, and aids and abets Claire's alcoholism. No one in the play sees the drinking as benign, even Tobias who encourages it in a classic double bind way. "Why did you quit AA, here have another," which mirrors his interaction with his best friend "I don't want you here, but stay!"

Tobias encourages people to dislike each other, but love him. And if he pays the bills and encourages dependence, you have to behave. If the man was nice you could say, people take advantage of the agreeable gentleman, but this is a guy who killed his cat because he "didn't love me." Not because it was ill, cachetic or incapacitated, but because he perceived a lack of affection.  Love me or I'll destroy you.

Sociopaths can be charming. Never forget it.

Media keeps on lying

Benghazi cover up was quick and brutal, those calling for investigation were squashed like ants by those who should have been doing the investigating...the press. Those seekers of truth and justice pursued stealth and excuses and plain old whitewashing. Woodward and Bernstein are truly dead as role models? Or did their format only apply to GOP presidents and leaders? It's sad, but true that all press is partisan. GOPers have always been able to kick their garbage to the curb, a la Nixon, a la Mark Foley, but dems love them a lying cheating scoundrel. It's all about power and control, not about truth.

And don't let people tell you that the snivelly Jake Tapper is an exception. He's just as bad, worse even as he masquerades as a journalist, unlike Matthews, Maher, or that lunatic at CBS who says Bamster should squash the Republicans. Tapper hides behind a facade...he looks tough one day, but I suspect that its just hemorhoids, not courage.