Fuck Cancer!

Dear Santa;

  I know it's a bit late in the game (it being less than a week before Christmas and all), but I'd like to change my wish list. I asked for a handful of things that are sort of silly. But, what I really want -- NEED -- is a cure for cancer.

  Not for myself, of course. I don't have the medical need. And, I'd never be able to figure out all that medical/science-y stuff. (Damn it, Jim; I'm a sonneteer, not a doctor.)

  But, if you could drop it off to someone at Sloan Kettering in New York City, I'd really appreciate it.

  PS: This would square us for that whole never giving me a BB gun thing.

Those Who Cannot Remember the Past

This is my entry in the 2012 Short Short Fiction Contest sponsored by Esquire magazine and the Aspen Writers' Foundation. The story had to be exactly 79 words - to celebrate the 79th anniversary of Esquire.

I have included the photograph - a still taken from a 2011 YouTube video of an Occupy Wall Street march - that inspired the story.

When I saw the blonde woman toast the protesters, I immediately thought about the attitude and words attributed to Marie Antoinette - "Let them eat cake!"

I recalled the warning of George Santayana - "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." I thought about last year's protests and uprisings in Greece, London, Rome, and throughout the Middle East. And, I thought, if it can happen there, it could happen here as well.

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Those Who Cannot Remember the Past

By Bud Koenemund

  The insatiate gathered above Wall Street, on gilded balconies overlooking the rabble – the indebted; those without jobs; those left homeless by the housing bubble – the self-proclaimed 99 percent. They laughed, took pictures, and mocked the people; toasting the disaffected with champagne. They were among the elite in a world of margins and algorithms; puts and calls; dollars and cents. But, insular in their greed, they could not feel the heat of a fire whose glow already lit the horizon.

Healing

For New York City - December 2001

A multi-ethnic mass of humanity
on the street; scurrying, bumping, jostling
without even a mumbled apology.
Bodies rushing everywhere; and nowhere.
People from around the world; here now
the artists and the crackpots,
the addicts and their crack-pipes,
and half-naked cowboys in Times Square.

Visitors craning their necks, looking skyward,
walking slowly along the broad sidewalks
taking countless pictures of the Big City;
holding hands tightly as if it will swallow them up!
They take in the fantasy-like glimmering
beauty filled with blazing neon signs
hiding the dark reality underneath
with their glowing sensuality.

I feel so perfectly at home here
in this place of bold, black strokes
and colorful, wildly psychedelic metaphors
here at the crossroads of the universe;
where even the wildest of dreams
can come amazingly true.
A place where I can find myself
and become lost in the crowd.

The power of this city radiates
up and down the wide Avenues of legend,
across the Streets of lore,
and through every building in between.
No place in the world can compare
to all of its glitz and glamour,
or to the always exciting hint of danger
hiding just under the surface.

The real strength of this great city
rests not in its buildings, but in its people!
It lies in their diversity and their character,
in their determination and their resolve!
It is the weird, and the wonderfully strange,
as well as the everyday normal people
that make this city what it is.
I love this City!

We Are Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On: A Review of "The Tempest"

Scene: Exterior - Broadway, New York City, two weeks before Christmas.

Four friends and I have set off on a quest to see Julie Taymor's interpretation of William Shakespeare's The Tempest. I've been looking forward to this day for months -- I took a vacation day from work so that I could see this film on opening night -- so we're driving 30+ miles, into New York City, on a Friday night, this close to Christmas. The potential for disaster is dangerously high.

The risk, however, is more than worth the reward. See, I'm a bit of a Shakespeare fanatic. I read the plays, I see all the movies, and I see the plays performed on the stage whenever I can. I know -- and celebrate -- William Shakespeare's birthday, I know the names of the three conspirators in Henry V (Act 2, Prologue), and I remember the name of Mercutio's brother in Romeo and Juliet. I quote Shakespeare to my four-year-old niece. Oh, and I bought her a copy of The Complete Works before she was even born.

Two of my former college professors -- one with a Master's degree and one with a Ph. D. -- have invited me into their classrooms for a day or more to teach their students about The Bard. This is, of course, an honor. An honor I could not accept (it's a long story), but an honor nonetheless.

I respect both professors, but if Dr. Nancy Hazelton -- a true Shakespearean scholar -- told me that William Shakespeare was the son of an illiterate glover, who smoked cannabis, and wrote the majority of his sonnets for a man, I'd take every word as gospel. (Wait...what?!?) If I have a question about Will or the Elizabethan theater, I go to Dr. H. So, when she asked for my review of The Tempest, I again held it a high honor.

Truthfully, I'm still wrestling with my feelings toward the movie. I want to like it, I really, really want to like it. And, overall, I do. The film was beautiful. The setting (Hawaii) was perfect. The actors were -- with one exception -- terrific. Helen Mirren did a wonderful job with the "Our revels now are ended" speech. (I doubted her not.) The film was a big step up from Titus.

That being said, I had several problems (three small, two large) with the film:

1. Although I realize Trinculo is one of the "low comedy" characters, I think Russell Brand was a poor choice to play that part. His accent -- compared to those of the others -- was jarring. I don't know how to explain it other than to say that he just didn't seem to "fit" the part.
My view on this point has softened somewhat in the past three weeks. I thought back to Kenneth Branagh's casting of Alicia Silverstone and Matthew Lillard in Love's Labours Lost, and realized that Taymor was probably trying to pull in the younger, "Katy Perry" crowd by casting Brand. (Brand is, for those who don't know, engaged to singer Katy Perry.)

2. Being a Romantic, I think the moment Miranda and Ferdinand first meet could have been extended a bit. I would've liked one of those cinematic "Their eyes meet and everything around them stops for a few moments" type of shots.

3. In a few places, most notably the shipwreck scene (Act 1, Scene 1), the music made the dialogue nearly unintelligible. That scene should be loud (men shouting, howling wind, thunder, crashing waves, breaking timber), but the music threatened to drown (small pun intended) much of that.

4. The masque (Act 4, Scene 1) was very short, and it resembled a cut scene from Taymor's Across the Universe. It consisted of computer generated graphics that resembled a geometry exam on LSD. (James I, who loved masques -- hence their inclusion in many plays once he became king -- would not have approved.)

5. My major complaint about the film is the epilogue. The epilogue was presented as a song (a very slow song) which played over the closing credits. If I hadn't known that an epilogue was coming, I would have missed it. When the credits began before the epilogue was presented, I stayed in my seat thinking perhaps Taymor was going to do something like Branagh did in As You Like It. Sadly, that was not to be.
I was a bit shocked. I mean, that epilogue wasn't just the end of the play, it was Will's farewell to the stage. It should have been a bit tongue-in-cheek ("Yes, I'm out here begging you to clap for the play"), and contain a little bit of sentiment for those of us -- 400 years down the road -- who know that Will is done writing (at least by himself).

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

- William Shakespeare, The Tempest