Net Cotton Content

Dirty Math

Now that we can all look back with some long-term perspective

— even some nostalgia —

at the difficult economic situation we all faced way back in 2009...

The bright folks at Available Light are presenting Dirty Math, an original script written and produced just for you. The show opens this Thursday, April 2 for two weekends.

As the Dirty Math website says:

In Dirty Math, Available Light takes on the most current of economic questions: Why did this happen? How did this happen? Why did it happen to us?

It's Thomas Friedman meets The Huffington Post meets The Wooster Group. There will be music, movement, and metaphor.

Let's consider ourselves warned: in a time when theatre is ever more real than the world around us, we will be enlightened.

Come as you economically are.
All tickets are priced at the usual pay what you want. Really. (Why? Because Available Light believes that great theatre should not be reserved only for the economically fortunate.)

Want more?
Here's an item from the blog of Michael Grossberg, the Dispatch theatre critic.

Here's an interview with Matt Slaybaugh, Available Light's artistic director and the writer of Dirty Math in Columbus Underground.

I'm in the April 10th lunchtime performance, but don't let that discourage you.

Life Without Integrity

Life without integrity
is like loosely hanging threads,
easily fraying from the main cloth,
while in acts of piety we learn to understand that
every instant is like a thread
raveling out of eternity to form a delicate tassel.
We must not cast off the threads
but weave them into the design of an eternal fabric.

Each day points to eternity;
the fate of all time depends upon a single moment.

[adapted from the work of Abraham Joshua Heschel in Mishkan T'Filah]

Talking and Moving

Many's the time that I wish I could talk on the phone in my car.

But it isn't safe, so I avoid it.

I often stop myself from just checking voicemail, or taking a glance at who is calling. I just ignore incoming calls when I'm driving.

I know it isn't safe to talk on the phone while driving. I know that I'm not able to drive at my best and talk at my best at the same time.

Say what you will, but I think this is true for you, too. (I've seen the way you drive when you are on the phone.)

Cars Have Become Flying Phone Booths
I sit in traffic and casually count the number of drivers who are also on the phone. People driving while not on the phone seem rarer than people driving while on the phone.

No one wants to sit in a Private Rolling Phone Booth without taking care of a little phone work. I do understand.

Which Led To An Odd Moment Thursday Night
So I was at the beautiful Drexel Theatre, the beloved art cinema of Bexley.

They have a couple old-fashioned phone booths — real working phone booths — in the lobby.

During a screening of I've Loved You So Long, I received a call on my cell and quietly moved to the lobby. Seeing the empty phone booths, I stepped inside one to take my cell phone call.

While I was in the phone booth, I had an odd sensation:

How strange to be talking and immobile.

Why doesn't this phone booth move?

Why am I on the phone, but not moving at all?

I'm used to my car serving as a phone booth.

But I was unprepared for this phone booth's inability to serve as a car.

The First Official Available Light Super Patron [Dutch Treat] Nosh

You are hereby invited to learn about Available Light, the healthy, organic, locally grown theatre company whose double-secret mission is to cause you to become more aware of — and more engaged in — the world around you.

So, here's a chance to kill two birds with one stone:

1. Eat at Katzinger's Deli. It's time to put a little deli in your life. And Katzinger's is "The Available Light of Delicatessens."™

2. Hear about Available Light's plans from Matt Slaybaugh (artistic director) and me (board chair). And you! You — and we — can also hear from you. That's the whole idea. (Unless you just want to chew on everything. In which case you may chew in peace, holding your corned beef close to the vest.)

To attend The First Official Available Light Super Patron [Dutch Treat] Nosh, simply come to Katzinger's [map here] on Friday, April 3rd at 2 p.m., get your thang (food, dessert, beverage, whatever) and come to the Back Room, where we will be loosely assembled, loosely attired, and loosely organized.

RSVP requested but not required. It would be nice of you to let Emily Rhodes (board trustee) know you are coming, so we can wipe the crumbs off a chair for you.

[There will be no solicitation of funds at this event. (Except, of course, Katzinger's will solicit the funds of anyone who approaches the cash register and starts naming foods.)]

Please share this with anyone who might enjoy deli steeped in theatre.

Tickets are on sale for The Odd Couple

Do you know Arnett Howard?

Did you see Our Town last year?

Do you think I look like the guy in the apron on the left (as illustrated by the legendary Max Ink)?

Why am I asking so many questions?

Because — in just six weeks — Arnett Howard and I are going to be The Odd Couple. Arnett will be lovable, sloppy Oscar Madison. (Now with a trumpet.) I'll be Felix Unger. (I have issues.)

This Is Your Invitation

• Save the date. We will be on stage May 7-9 at 8 p.m. and May 10 at 2 p.m. Please put one on your calendar.
• Buy advance tickets. Tickets start at $15 and go all the way up to $250 (because this is a fundraiser for a theatre company, a school, a cancer foundation, and a social service agency). You can buy tickets by clicking here.)

Need persuading?
Here we go...

Why The Odd Couple?

• We need to laugh. Oh, baby, do we all need to laugh. If you don't know why I'm suggesting this, ask me.
• The relationship between Oscar and Felix is more than funny — it's important. As my beloved wife said (when she suggested we stage The Odd Couple for you):

"In good times and bad, all we really have, at the end of each day, and at the end of all our days, are our relationships with each other. That's it. There is nothing more important than our relationships."

I love my wife. And, apparently, I love you, too. And the way I'm showing it is by inviting you to explore this relationship on stage.

C'mon.
Won't you please go ahead right now and buy tickets (and perhaps be a patron for these reasons) for The Odd Couple? Again, for tickets, just click here.

Thank you. Hope to see you in the house!

First Read-Through Is Tonight

This evening, the cast and crew will gather for a first read-through of The Odd Couple. There are sure to be some laughs as we face the suddenly very real idea of performance. We open in 46 days!

Tonight's run through is not a public performance, but -- then again -- no one has said it is strictly private.

If, say, you -- a member of the theatre-going public -- happen to be in the back room of Katzinger's Deli (map here) starting at 6 p.m., would it be wrong for you -- also a member of the corned-beef-eating public -- to refuse to give up your table, eavesdrop, and (when appropriate) laugh and applaud?

Your Appointment With Dr. Drobkin

Yesterday, I wrote about the funniest men in my life.

Because you might never have met them, I sent you to Old Jews Telling Jokes.

Since then, I have been clammy with fear that you did not visit that site.

So I am bringing you the jewel in that crown: "Drobkin."

Please, for the love of all that is good in this world, play this video.

Old Jews Telling Jokes

Every weekday for several post-war decades, my father met the same four or five men for lunch at the Neil House Motor Hotel across from the Ohio State House.

This was a group — Doc Benis, Bob Greene, Harry Hofheimer, others — that my barber (he coincidentally cut most of their heads) describes as "the closest group of men I have ever seen. They were truly devoted, in a meaningful and genuine way, to each other. They simply loved each other."

That love was manifest in their lunches at the Neil House. They would meet and discuss the day, but mainly they would practice their jokes. They didn't tell jokes as much as practice them. They would repeat each, day after day, for years, hoping to get each one — with timing, inflection, the precision of wit — exactly right.

The waitress played straight woman, in the style of Gracie Allen. Bob would insist that the Mayonnaise reach all corners of the bread. She would always retort with derision.

On the day after they had given her their annual holiday tip, she was absent from work. "She'll be back," Harry said, "when that's all spent."

I know that my typing betrays all the personality-driven talent these men had for being funny. Please just believe: they were well educated, clever, and very funny.

Harry's Funeral
Harry Hofheimer was the funniest man I ever met. ("Funniest person," I'm told, is reserved for his wife, Lois. She wrote much of his best material.)

In life, I didn't know that Harry was the funny one. He was surrounded by so many great wits — my father included — and he was the quietest one at the table.

At his funeral, the following story was told:

Harry was watching the local news one evening when along came a report of little Timmy who had fallen through the ice on the pond. The report: Timmy was under the ice for 17 seconds.

Harry's response: "Just who is in charge of timing little Timmy under the ice?"

You see, Harry, wasn't a joke teller. All these men could tell formal jokes, but that wasn't the primary display of their talent. They were — and Harry, the best of them — masters of found comedy.

More evidence from Harry's funeral:

The rabbi called Harry and asked for money for the synagogue. "Rabbi," Harry asked, "what do you need money for now?"

"The synagogue needs new carpet, Harry," answered the rabbi.

"But Rabbi," Harry answered, "I never walked on the old carpet."

Deep Humor
Harry's humor was not without deeper meaning. On his shaving mirror was a Post-It note that declared a primary ambition in life:

May my grown children someday stand in a bar, saying something nice about their old man behind his back.

I love that. That is my ambition, too.

I'm sorry if you never met my father and his friends.

Here's a poor, but very worthy substitute. It's called Old Jews Telling Jokes and that's a fair description. There are plenty there. "Plumber" is a classic. So is "Health Care." So are all the others.

All sorts of people can be funny. But isn't there something about the Jewish diaspora experience — as strangers in strange lands — that heightens our ability to find the humor in daily life?

How To Get Smart

Another letter, now from a student in my CCAD class...

Uh, Artie?

My name is [Student ID 00006XXXX].

During tonight's Marketing class, I thought of some questions not about the course.

Just curious: what do you do and how you do it? How do you know so much? Do a lot of research? How much time will you suggest a student to spend on reading/researching?

I was born in America but moved to [a distant land] and then moved back for College. And so I spend most of my time studying for exams, but not really being knowledgeable. Any suggestions?

I hope my questions don't sound impolite, and won't cause any inconveniences.

Thank you, you make an evening class exciting.

Sincerely,
[Student ID 00006XXXX]

Dear [Student ID 00006XXXX],

Your questions are not impolite. They are music to my ears. There are many motivations for teaching, but there is something especially delightful about appearing smart — only because I've seen more road than most students.

Stuart Handelman Answers Your Question
I once worked with an art director named Stuart Handelman. Stuart was a hard-working, tasteful fellow. (An endearing trait: he'd always stay at his desk at lunch, eating Saltines with peanut butter on them.)

Stuart was especially fond of an advertisement that he'd seen for The New York Times. Designed to drive a target audience (people who are looking for jobs) to a behavior (using the job listings in the Times), it said, "Get your job in The New York Times."

Stuart would say, "Every job I have ever had, I got in The New York Times, but not through the classified. I got my jobs by being informed about the world, which I do by reading The New York Times every day."

I was already reading the Times, because it helped me to understand my adopted home of New York City. But Stuart's words made me understand the larger, longer-lasting value of reading the Times: it would help me be informed about the world.

How To Read A Newspaper
Some folks say, "I don't have time to read a newspaper."

To them, I say, "Piffle. Do you have time to watch television? Yes? Well, do yourself a favor and turn it off and read the newspaper."

I don't read fast enough to read the entire Times word for word. So, here's how I read it in 20 pleasant minutes:

• I read the headlines, photo captions and first paragraphs of all items on the front page, the editorial page, and the op-ed (the page opposite the editorial page). I read more of each article only if I'm interested.
• I read the headlines and photo captions throughout the paper.
• I quickly scan all the letters to the editor and the obituaries. Living and dead people — who are in the newspaper by the mistake of writing a letter or dying — are often very interesting.  
• I read one or two articles inside the paper that are interesting to me.
• I don't punish myself for leaving the rest of the paper unread. I got my $1.25 worth. I'm happy. I move on.

By reading the paper this way, I learn about the topics that are near and dear to me. Of course, I study the topics in which I have a keen interest: obituaries, public opinion, the economy, certain arts, Israel, the daily life of the president. (I really love stories that provide the detail of how our president — the current one at any time — goes about each day. The Mundane Of The Mighty is so fascinating.)

And I also learn — and here's the real answer to your question — all about topics that are surprisingly interesting to me. Odd stories of odd ambitions, odd achievements, odd discoveries.

In the end, I have a fun and — to you, at least, my dear — entertaining reservoir of tales and metaphors.

But Newspapers Are Expensive
And they aren't environmentally healthy.

So I go to my hometown library — or any library that I am passing during the day — to read the Times. I don't get there every day. But I try to pass by — and drop in.

Reading at the library has an unexpected benefit. I bump into people I like. (I generally like people who visit libraries.) Like my tenth grade English teacher. He's a great guy and I see him — and chat with him — far more frequently now because we often visit the library at the same time. That's nice!

Catch Them While You Can
Your opportunity to read the newspaper is quickly ending.

I don't think there will be more than three newspapers in the United States in three years.

More's the pity. As Times columnist Nicholas Kristof opines in a piece called "The Daily Me" this week, we'll quickly turn into a nation of people who read only what we want, rather than people who happen upon the unexpected. We'll become narrower rather than more open-minded.

In The End
You ask how much time should one spend "reading" or "researching." Frankly, if you have to ask, then those activities must not sound like much fun. To you, R+R might seem only like the means to an end. They sound like work — which is something to avoid when one isn't actually at work. (Lest one becomes nothing more than a working stiff.)

If you are simply interested in the subject, however, reading and researching become the fulfillment of your natural curiosity.

So I recommend a daily dose of the Times, as a daily shopping trip through potential topics in which you have a natural curiosity. Then, as you find topics you love, reading and researching them won't merely be an investment in future knowledge. It will be a joy.

"I learn by going..."

So what's it all about? The Hokey Pokey? Maybe.

I like this poem, introduced to me by my friend Sallie Sherman.

Here, poet Theodore Roethke, reminds us that life is a journey, death is our destination, and we "learn by going where [we] have to go."

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

If we learn by going, it makes sense to think about our direction.