British Bluegrass

So, now that Tom Hiddleston plays guitar, sings and yodels (per the Hank Williams biopic), and Benedict Cumberbatch plays a little banjo (per The Power of the Dog), when are they starting their bluegrass band? & what will it be called? & where do I get tickets?

Let's start a rumor they will be debuting at SXSW.

Name ideas:

• Hiddlebatch
• Sherloki
• Thames River Pastie Boys
• Lonesome Bluegrass Brits
• Foggy City Bluegrass Blokes
• British Biscuit Boys
• Front Porch Crumpet-Stuffers
• The Hiddlebatch Boys

First two and the last one are other people's ideas. I think the last one wins.

F*ck, Ted Lasso!

Various people bugged me for years to watch Buffy: The Vampire Slayer (the TV show, not the movie). And I refused. Why would I watch a show with such a dumb name, one that was obviously about some girl all full of angst over some gorgeous vampire, season after season? Little did I know I had predicted the dumb Twilight books and movies with those thoughts. 

I gave in when, living in Germany, a box arrived of taped episodes from a friend who was tired of my nonsense. So I watched - and learned Buffy: The Vampire Slayer was one of the smartest, most complex, creative shows ever on TV. At times, it really hard to watch, because it was the worst moments of high school and university, presented in demon-form... but it was cathartic. And SO fun. 

No one was telling me I should watch Ted Lasso, but I just kept hearing how it was so brilliant. And I SO did not want to watch it. Because, for what little I knew, it was a series making fun of Americans, making fun of having a positive, upbeat outlook, of trying to be a good person, of trying to be nice. I expected a series where snarky, smart British people would continuously roll their eyes at the stupid overly-positive American football coach. And I just didn't need it in my life. 

Now, let's be clear: I am a snarky and somewhat smart person and I have rolled my eyes at stupid overly positive American football coaches. And I'm darn good at British accents. 

I'm so glad I didn't read any reviews of the show. I'm so glad I stayed away from anything written about the show. And I'm so glad I accidentally subscribed to Apple+ for a month because I thought the Beatles documentary, Get Back, was on it (nope - it's on Disney+). I thought, okay, what the hell, I'll watch this damn show. 

How good is this show? I watched season one of Ted Lasso in 24 hours. Stefan hates TV. He hates movies. He's already watched half of season one - yes, I'm rewatching it. He watches an episode and then says, "Let's watch another." HE NEVER DOES THIS. 

First off: you can watch all of Ted Lasso for $5. Yup, just $5. You can get Apple+ on whatever advice you use to watch Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, whatever. I use my Roku device. It's the best $5 I have ever spent in my life. If you are thinking, "Oh, I'll just wait for this to be on regular TV", it will NEVER be on regular TV, because of it's incredibly adult language and adult "moments" - there's no nudity, but there are... moments. 

If you haven't seen it, and you are maybe sort of kind of thinking about it, please don't read anymore. Please just pay the damn $5 and watch it. You don't want to know anything more about it than you might already know. Trust me. Just one thing: you may need subtitles. Whew, those are some strong accents... 

I knew I was going to write about this show. I just didn't know when. But tonight, after a particular moment in Season Two, I had to write. And if you know me, I bet you know the moment. 

I have always wanted to be buoyant. Effervescent. With no apologies. And around certain people, I could be: as a child, I could be that way around my paternal grandmother, who never said, "Oh, stop being so dramatic." Who never mocked me and called me "motormouth." Who never rolled her eyes at me. Every time other family members, or friend, or teacher, made those little mocking comments, I'd get a little more withdrawn. And by the time I was at university, I had the moniker of being angry and quiet by a lot of folks. I was good with it. It beat being made fun of. 

I held back being me for so many years. And if you knew me in high school or at Western or in New England or Austin and you don't think of me that way, you don't think of me as withdrawn or cautious, congratulations: you were so wonderful to me and made me feel comfortable and I decided to let me guard down. Or you were an ass who made me comfortable just to mock me later - there were those, certainly - and you suck eggs for that. But most everyone else, especially everyone in California, saw a very scared mess who let every humiliation chip away at her, who second-guessed everything she said or did, and who often didn't say what she wanted to say or do what she wanted to do, for fear of judgment or rejection.  

Austin, Texas healed me from hurts that I never thought I'd overcome. And Germany, and my wonderful friends at the United Nations, and my polar opposite that I married: you cut me loose. And I will always love ya'll for it. For about a decade, I was me, no apologies. I was Ted Lasso. It was terrific. 

Then I moved to Oregon. I was still that person. I was Ted Lasso. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. 

Oregon - the entire state, as well as, specifically, Forest Grove and Portland - worked hard to kill Ted Lasso. They have driven me right back under that dark cloud of reservation since moving here in 2009. 

I'm tired of the smug comments about my accent. I'm tired of watching people bristle when I try to participate in an event or meeting. I'm tired of saying, "Good morning" and watching people - NEIGHBORS - drop their eyes as they pass, or cross the street when they see me coming. I'm tired of saying "Thank you!" and watching people smirk or frown. I'm tired of moments like this. I'm tired of two-faced Oregon friends who pretend to care and behind your back are delighting in all that they think is wrong with you. I'm tired of being dismissed again and again from consideration for a job or inclusion simply because I'm not a Pacific Northwesterner. I'm tired of being Carol fucking Milford in Gopher Prairie, Minnesota. 

I was more welcomed in Kabul. 

Combined with the almost 63 million people that voted for a misogynist racist, fascist and wannabe dictator - I was just done. Fuck all ya'll. I decided I would be the person who walked down the street not making eye contact, not saying hello, and crossing the street when I saw someone coming - which I did long before COVID. When all the anti-vaccination bullshit happened, I wasn't surprised - have you not been listening to people for the past damn decade? When people were surprised at the return of book bans, of white people pulling guns on peaceful protestors, of the insurrection at the capital, of a governor creating his own militia, I was the one who smirked. I was the one rolling my eyes. 

It was so much easier not trying to be nice, and letting loose anger when I felt it. It really was. That part, I enjoyed very much. I even felt good being smug. But it was sad not believing that you should just be you and screw what anyone thinks. Not believing that, in fact, people really are, at their core, good at heart. Not believing.   

And now I'm watching Ted Lasso. It's the best-written, most thoughtful, hilarious thing I have seen since Sherlock. I put it in the top five best things on TV ever. When I've teared up while watching, until tonight, it's been from joy, or from feeling touched by a beautiful moment.

But tonight, I cried. Very hard. Noises were made. And I have to take a break for a few days before I continue Season 2. And, again, if you know me, and you've seen the show, you know why. But maybe now, if you've seen it, you also know why I was so bouncy in my late 30s and early 40s. I knew that I knew Ted Lasso, but I couldn't figure out why I knew him so well. Now I know.  

A show about goodness, kindness and hope. About being nice. Things I'd almost given up on.

Also, a show that is a complete refutation of toxic masculinity. Wow, THAT was so needed now.  

Still not sure if I'm going to start saying "Good morning" again though. 

Maybe it doesn't get better?

I loved the It Gets Better campaign created by Dan Savage and Terry Miller to discourage suicide among LGBTQ youth. Reflecting on one death in particular in his Savage Love column, he wrote, "I wish I could have talked to this kid for five minutes. I wish I could have told Billy that it gets better. I wish I could have told him that, however bad things were, however isolated and alone he was, it gets better." 

I believe the message is realistic and appropriate and right on - and not just for gay teens. I loved how the message was picked up by so many people across the USA to tell all young people suffering from isolation and in fear - gay or not - your life will improve, things do get better after your teen years. 

I believed in the campaign because I believe it is the truth, that if you can survive the bullying, harassment, insults, belittling, fear and insecurities of your teen years, you will get to leave that situation and be more in control of your life as you move into adulthood. It gets better. It's true. 

Now, I'm in my 50s. And things are dire in ways that are a lot like those teen years. And I'm not sure it gets better. 

For women in our 50s, it seems that society, from TV commercials to TV show characters to activities promoted to our age group, believes that our lives are supposed to be focused on our children or grandchildren, or going to a local casino. The idea that some people over 50 might not want to limit their lives to those roles, or not have those roles at all, is met with confusion and disbelief. I had a person tell me I should check out the local senior center because there's a lot going on. Here's what I found: bingo, free lunches on Fridays, a monthly accordion concert, workshops on how not to get scammed on the Internet, and a bus that leaves every morning for a nearby casino, and returns every evening. If those appeal to you, good for you, but to me, I'd rather watch paint dry. 

Most every woman I know in their 50s is struggling with mental health issues. We're experienced professionals - managers, program directors, journalists, graphic designers, human resources specialists, accountants and on and on - yet no one wants our expertise. I'm seeing women all around me pushed out of our careers. I'm not able to find work worthy of my skills and expertise and I'm not being taken seriously in job interviews. Doctors don't listen to me during appointments. We're also ignored when trying to get involved in activist work or even just when trying to get service, especially in a crowded bar or restaurant (pre-COVID, of course), we get funny looks when we show up at Marvel movies or kayak lessons, and for those trying to date, forget it: men in their 50s want women in their 30s, or younger.

And the pandemic has made things even worse. 

Referring to her anticipated disappearance on her upcoming 50th birthday, the writer Ayelet Waldman said to an interviewer, 

I have a big personality, and I have a certain level of professional competence, and I’m used to being taken seriously professionally. And suddenly, it’s like I just vanished from the room. And I have to yell so much louder to be seen.

It me. 

Among the many reasons I love riding a motorcycle is because when I tell people I ride, or they see me next to my motorcycle or carrying my gear, THEY SEE ME. Suddenly, I'm a living, breathing, interesting person, worthy of attention and respect. I would ride even if that didn't happen, but I absolutely love it when it does. Also, I believe what I've spent on motorcycles, equipment, gas and travel expenses is a lot cheaper than a decade of therapy. 

But not every women can take up motorcycle riding - or wants to. And I won't be able to ride forever. And I can't ride every day. 

In so many ways, I'm feeling like I did as a teen. I feel invisible. I feel like I don't matter. I'm feeling like life is passing me by. Whereas when I was a teen I felt like good years were too far in front of me, out of reach I feel like good years are too far behind me, that they aren't coming back. 

It gets better isn't working for me, or for most women in this age group. Because we don't see how it can be true. 

If you read this blog in 2018, you know I've experienced this feeling for a while. 

Also see Gen X, struggling for employment? I hear you

Here's what I think "senior" centers should actually be, FYI. 

I have had a most rare vision.

I love saying various actors' names into my Roku device and seeing what movies or old TV shows might be available for free. 

And it was in doing so that I found the 1968 A Midsummer Night's Dream for free on Pluto TV last night (via my Roku device), featuring a lot of very young British actors that are now giants of stage and screen: David Warner as Lysander, Diana Rigg as Helena, Helen Mirren as Hermia, Judi Dench as Titania, Ian Holm as Puck and lots more familiar faces, all young and fresh and earnest and fearless. (you can easily guess which name I had used to discover this, if you know me at all)

I watched about half of it (I was sleepy). 

It's VERY primitive in terms of filming and special effects (think high schoolers in the 70s filming with one super 8 camera, or in the 80s with videotape). It's clear that they had to dub it later because they didn't have sound equipment, and the dubbing still makes the sound muddy. I think they wore their own clothes (or no clothes at all). They filmed almost entirely outside (no budget for lighting for anything indoors). There are no fade-ins or fade-outs, special effects are done from quick jump edits and lighting that looks like flashlights, and on and on. 

And yet... it's really wonderful to see how British actors just GO FOR IT, go all-in regarding their performances, damn the poor filming quality, damn the lack of any budget whatsoever, damn how cold they were in most of the scenes. They hold nothing back. It's delightful.

But let's face it: Mark Lamos' 1988 production of A Midsummer Night's Dream at Hartford Stage in Connecticut ruined all productions for those of us who saw it, because his was PERFECT!!! There are a couple of staging choices he made that I cannot get out of my head, like how Titania delivers the line, I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again, sitting astride Bottom in the most provocative way... I've never seen a production that interpreted that line that way. 

We need theater. We need it SO MUCH. We need to sit in darkened theaters or fully lit public parks or and empty field or, really, anywhere, together, and see people pretending to be something else, delivering a compelling story. We need to laugh together, cry together, be delighted together as we share in the experience. 

We are all losing our humanity because of this damn virus and the people who refuse to get vaccinated.

Also see my 2012 blog about loving Shakespeare, when I was trying to read all the plays. 

And my blog Lovin' the Bard has been the most popular personal blog I've ever written.

Sometimes people leave you

Confession: I'm not a big fan of Sondheim musicals. Guess I'm just not sophisticated enough. But being a theatre kid, his music has been all around me, starting my freshman year at university - I was even in a Sondheim review at WKU. And I do love Into the Woods except for the song, "Into the Woods." 

When I went to the movie of Into the Woods, I was snickering after the movie started and I heard someone behind me whispering, "IS THIS A MUSICAL?!?" No one walked out, so that's impressive. 

I was enjoying the movie - just a nice way to spend the day after Christmas. And it got to the Baker's Wife singing, "Sometimes people leave you" and WHAM, out of the blue, I think I made a noise as I completely and suddenly burst into tears. Whew - I still get chills thinking about it. I had to wait until all the credits were over so that I was pulled together enough to leave the theater. 

Whether I'm a big fan or not, I am absolutely in awe of his creativity, talent, influence and incredible output, and he is part of the soundtrack of my life. Very sad to see him go.

Thanksgiving Day 2021

8 a.m.: Create a Facebook album for 22 memes that I think are hilarious and need to be shared. Responses are many and positive. 

10:30 a.m.: Walk the dogs. 

11 a.m.: Make deviled eggs for the first time. Take a photo to show just how serious I am about this endeavor. 

Finish. Eat one broken egg to ensure I've done it all properly, share on egg with Stefan so he's not left out, chill the rest. 

noon: Put turkey in oven, clean kitchen, listen to Alice's Restaurant twice, singing along to the chorus every time. 

2 p.m. Sautee green beans in chopped garlic and onions. 

2:30 p.m. Prepare green bean casserole to bake

3:15 p.m. Take turkey out of oven, put in green bean casserole, begin chaos of trying to steam cauliflower, boil potatoes, make gravy and cook stuffing, all at the same time. 

4:15 p.m. Somehow serve everything on time, at the same time

Food on the table: Turkey, gravy, stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes with mashed cauliflower snuck in, deviled eggs and champagne. Meal was followed by pecan pie (which I did NOT make myself). 

Afterwards, put everything away in tupperware, fill dishwasher and press "start", boil turkey carcass to make broth and watch half of part one of Get Back. Collapse into bed at 9:30. 

So much to be thankful for: a beautiful, stable, peaceful home with someone I love. A table with an abundance of delicious food, on ceramic plates made in Stefan's hometown, Höhr-Grenzhausen, Germany, on placements from Central America, on a table cloth from Kandahar, Afghanistan. We're all connected whether we want to admit it or not. 

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. 

What it's like in Afghanistan now

A woman in Afghanistan I'm going to call "W--" has extensive connections with a USA NGO and, therefore, she must get out of Afghanistan. W-- is trying to get the rest of her family out as well. Here's what happened to W--’s husband and one of her daughters when they went to the passport office in Kabul, as told to me by someone affiliated with that NGO: 

A long-time family friend of W--'s family said he had a friend at the passport office that might be able to help get W-'s family passports, which some in her family do not already have. W--'s husband and B-- (female), a dear family friend, and B--'s father all went together to the passport office to see what they could find out.

There were several different lines at the Kabul passport office: one for people who needed a passport for getting medical care in another country, one for those who were renewing their passport, one for those who have already applied, and one for those who were applying for a new passport. B--, her father and W--'s husband were in this line.

Two Taliban singled the three out in the line - they approached the three and asked them several questions, including if they had documents or cell phones with them. They hadn’t brought anything with them - they were in line just to talk with the friend and see what they needed to do. When the three said they didn’t have any documents or phones with them, the Taliban took the three out of line and put them in the back of a covered truck/van. They put hoods on them so they couldn’t see where they were going and bound their hands in something metal - handcuffs or chains, they aren't sure.

One of their cousins happened to be at the passport office at the same time, standing in the line for people who had already applied for a passport. He saw what happened and called W-- immediately, so she would know what was happening.

The Taliban took the three to an unknown location and put them in a small room. They aggressively questioned W--'s husband about why he was with B-- when he wasn’t a relative. They beat W--'s husband badly.  B-- told the Taliban they had know this man for many years and he is like a family member. She asked them not to hurt her father because he has a heart condition. They hit her father anyway, on his shoulder and upper arm with an electrical metal cord. The beating left marks on his arm. They also beat B--, apparently on her back. B-- later said the beatings of B-- and her father weren’t “too bad" but W-'s husband was beaten badly. 

(stunned to hear a beating being described as "not too bad.")

After 18 hours, the Taliban let the three go, probably because they had no proof against them for whatever it was they wanted to accuse them of. 

The three went to W--'s empty in-laws house so they wouldn’t be at their actual home in case the Taliban followed them. The Taliban did, indeed, follow them to the home and entered the house asking where the rest of the family was. B-- didn’t know and said so.

Why were B--, her father and the friend singled out to be questioned and taken away? B-- said it seemed like the Taliban knew something about the family, but they didn’t accuse them of anything specific. The family has all been repeatedly told to hide all of their documents that show one of their family member's connection to the U.S. in a place no one can find, and they have done so.

While B-- was in custody, her husband took their three young daughters to his parents’ house and went to look for B--. He hasn’t resurfaced so they don’t know where he is. 

W-- and her family will return to their home in the next day or two. No one knows what will happen now.