THE GO SPIRIT

Waking very early this morning, hearing the usual early, early noises of the garbage trucks grinding, I thought about JC. He needs the extra hour of sleep.

After an eight-hour-day of rehearsals for Shakespeare in the Park, he shopped, brought home three large bags of groceries, and after dinner, lugged our large garbage bag downstairs to the street.

I crept downstairs and turned on my computer, thinking about what I wanted to write about today.

I did my usual morning promenade around my studio theater. It used to be "DanceHouse," my school, where I taught. Before those days, the floor was rented by a guy who played the drums whom I desperately wanted to evict -- the noise was intolerable. (Actually, that's why we bought the building with my mother's financial help -- it's a five-story brownstone in the heart of Manhattan. Back in those days, we lived on the top floor. Now, we occupy the two top floors.)

"Maybe I'll write about JC," I thought as I donned my work "uniform." JC's and my in-the-world clothes are racks in the theater tech room, which was DanceHouse's dressing room that my students used. JC built a steel table for our sound and lighting equipment that can be rolled into the theater. Our two story "home/offices/theater " is about 4,400 square feet, the size of a 14 room mansion. It's in the center of Manhattan, in Chelsea, which is definitely an IN neighborhood, with great restaurants, clothing stores and a California "Trader Joe's" grocery two blocks away.

JC, the "legendary actor" marches out every day, to shop, or to audition, to do a benefit, to get something fixed (or get Phil, our Super to fix it). Then JC is off to rehearsal for his current job, and the PR stuff his employer needs him to do. JC never says NO to any interviews, including unimportant radio and small-town local TV shows. He says YES. He re-schedules, jumps through hoops to be available for out-of-town relatives, old friends, as well as meetings with agents, producers, directors -- that's him -- what a spirit he has!

I love the chiseled look of him, offstage and onstage -- his cheekbones, the strong-boned look of him -- a handsome husband is nice to have, but JC's go-and-do-it spirit inspires me.

Okay, in a different sort of way I'm a go person too -- I like to go further, go faster, and sometimes sort of adventurously, even dangerously just go. But wow -- JC's GO spirit -- I live with an amazing go-Go-GO guy.

SUICIDE

I wrote about painter Mark Rothko last May because one of his paintings sold for $72 million.

Rothko, in 1970, slit his wrists and ended his life just as he was finally, after years of struggle, successful in terms of the art world's approval of his work, and earning money.

Money and approval -- Rothko was actually achieving both -- why did he choose to end his life?

It's on my mind. It's another no-no-don't-open this subject, that I need to open because we don't exchange with our friends, relatives and dearest ones the deeply, sometimes even frighteningly negative thoughts that occur to us.

You can mention that you are not working well, and even admit --"I've been confused." You can toss off "I'm feeling cranky today." Females moan, "I've got PMT," and guys groan about "Not getting it up," but with whom do you discuss a wave of heaviness, a sense that life isn't worth living?

Even if the thought goes away, it can return, and you, more than likely, deal with it privately.

Suicide, suicidal despair, a feeling that whatever you do is bound to fail, the blues -- the singing of the blues by Robert Johnson, or any of the other great blues singers -- you can listen and ache but no no -- don't say, speak, convey, or show it, when death, not living, ending your life, is on your mind.

People END their lives for many reasons, often reasons that have to do with a doomful portending thing -- an illness, a something that's going to happen and can't be stopped, and the person doesn't want to wait for it, or suffer.

When the poet, William Ernest Henley, whose leg had been amputated because of tuberculosis, learned that his other leg needed to be amputated, he wrote "Invictus," a poem about his unconquerable soul. (It's an often-quoted poem; also the poem and the title of a recent movie about Nelson Mandela.)

I memorized it -- it was a vow I made when I was five-years-old. I wanted to be a dancer "till death do me part," and a friend of my mother's was going to look me over, and tell my mother if investing in dance lessons for me was a good idea.

Child Emily's favorite part of the poem was --"No matter how straight the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, the captain of my soul." And my vision of "artist" is still the young child's vision of himself/herself alone, under the sky, no parent nearby. a sense of loneness -- no one in charge, no one protecting or in control of me but me.

What I'm feeling strongly about successful artists, (like Rothko, whose "White Ceiling" painting sold for millions last year), and striving, young, unknown artists who feel they are failing, -- they end their lives in order to continue to be the boss, the controller, the person in charge.

I think NON artists (if that's you -- if the shoe fits, put it on) -- you guys who work to earn money in order to support yourself and your family -- I sense that you feel the same way. Maybe the artist has more freedom to think "I don't have to do this -- I want to quit," but I have learned from my own thoughts about suicide, that suicide -- implementing the killing of yourself is rage, anger -- is a way of punishing, hurting, creating pain for someone you blame for how you are feeling.

Think about it -- dig into this thought for moment: You are making others suffer. If the feeling of wanting to die becomes that strong, open your mouth and share it with someone. Actually killing yourself should not be an option. It's irrevocable. It's a wasteful, stupid thing to do.

OPRAH WINFREY REVISITED

Love her, love her not? She's in the news, apparently mending fences with some of her famous ex-friends -- Whoopi Goldberg, Roseanne Barr, Rosie O'Donnell, and Iyanla Vanzant, a spiritual teacher, author with whom I am not familiar.

Perhaps Oprah's worried about her new network, OWN. When OWN launched in January, it had more than a million prime time viewers -- it's now down to about 275,000.

Oprah will figure out something -- a new gimmick -- or she'll discover a fascinating new face. Aside from the fact that books she praises become best-sellers, that movies she likes often become smash hits, her guests (if they're not already names), very often become BIG names.

At the moment she's being criticized because most of the high-profile programs on OWN are led by white people: Dr. Phil McGraw, Suze Orman, Peter Walsh, Cristina Ferrare, Dr. Laura Berman, Randall Sullivan, Dr. Indre Viskontas, along with shows starring Shania Twain, Rosie O’Donnell, and Sarah Ferguson, scheduled to debut later this year.

Is her not catering to black audiences hurting her? If it is, I'm sure that Oprah Winfrey will find a way to cater to blacks without turning off whites.

Actually, I'm not really interested in OWN, or how Oprah will find ways to make herself more of a success than she already is. She's a phenomenon, a super celebrity, an opinion maker, a lovable, likable personality, BUT ...

I don't watch her.

Never? No, never. I have never seen an Oprah Winfrey show. I can't sit through them. I get restless. I change the channel.

Oprah has never been one of my heroines -- my list includes Hillary, Michelle Obama, Nancy Pelosi, Madeline Albright, Christiane Amanpour; Carol Burnett, Amelia Earhart, Whoopi Goldberg; Germaine Greer, Anita Hill, Mahalia Jackson, Rachel Maddow, Dinah Shore, Joan Rivers.

No name on my list is there because she is or was a performer. Yes, Oprah does many, many good deeds, but more than anything she is a star performer. And very astute. Though she allows her people to reveal bits about her private life, I'm not sure who Oprah Winfrey is.

Wait a minute -- Oprah's up-front, never pretentious -- she talks to the audience and her guests, looks them in the eyes -- admits when she is wrong. She even laughs at herself. We've seen her struggles with her weight -- see the wide variety of clothes, hairdos, grooming -- Oprah Winfrey lets us into her life ... sort of ...

Well, maybe ... well ... maybe not.

Harpo, Inc., founded in 1988 by Oprah Winfrey, is her production facility in Chicago, controlling her entertainment interests -- talk shows, her magazines -- never read them. And I've tried to watch Dr Oz," but he annoys me -- I think he promotes himself too much. I tune in Dr. Phil occasionally, but he's preachy, and too humbly sincere about what he's promoting.

I guess I don't watch Oprah because ... well, she makes me feel small and unimportant. Maybe because I think of FAME as a huge bright green lawn, a stadium, a playing field surrounded by spotlights and a huge audience in the bleachers.

Wending my way to the center of that field, a few times in my life, I've always felt like a lost child.

I got off the lawn! Would I like to do what Oprah's doing? Be like her?

No. she's big business. She's an unstoppable power,

I'd rather be me.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

"Newsweek-beast" implies a hungry curious new news critter -- a sharp-eyed animal looking for prey.

I used to read Time, US News & World Report, and Newsweek. And before that, there was Life, Look, The Villager, The Village Voice, The Sunday Times, and The New Yorker. I never got attached to New York Magazine and I had a subscription to MS Magazine, and bought a copies of others -- too many magazines to list here.

My favorite was US News & World Report because ... because ... well, I wasn't sure, but I sensed that what I was reading was NOT politically slanted news. (Alas, it's an on-line magazine nowadays, and it's hard to access.)

The Sunday Times, back then, was already too large and too hard to read. I didn't want to sort through so many-many pages. I particularly, did NOT want to keep up with all the latest, distracting dance and theater news. I just wanted a sense of what was happening in the world.

A friend of mine said just a few weeks ago, "Forget Newsweek, Em, nobody reads it anymore," and quoted numbers that proved how hugely it's readership has dropped. Lo and behold, THAT week, my Newsweek arrived -- a fat issue, full of interesting articles, announcing plans for further expansion, and the new, impressive names on its expanded roster of columnists.

The Daily Beast's "cheat sheets," twice-a-day news scoops arrive on my computer -- summaries about flare-ups, rebellions, politics, scandal, murder, death, disaster. What I'm getting is an event ping-pong that comes at me so fast that I often miss and cannot respond to the balls.

Dammit, I want to be IN THE KNOW! Yes, it's an old-fashioned phrase, but I just want to know the names, places, events, in all the categories of news, even sports. The "cheat sheets" show what's IN -- but the sheet is jam-packed with gossip and rumor. It's stuffing me with snacks -- unsaturated fats, cholesterol, indigestible roughage -- all mushed together.

Okay, hurray -- online the Newsweek-Beast lets me view a full article without clicking around, which one has to do on Time Magazine -- time-consumingly. I like to be able to search and browse through various articles when I'm writing a post, and the online setup of the magazine is
still excellent.


Gee, maybe the name made me nervous. It wasn't summarized cheat sheet garbage and scandal news -- everything I read was chock-full of details and background. Hmm.

Could the new Newsweek-Beast end up being my favorite magazine?

THRILLING MOMENTS (video)

As usual, John is somewhat taken aback by the subject -- since Emily doesn't tell him what they're going to chat about, before they turn on the camera.

He reveals that he was NOT thrilled by what everyone thought would thrill him-- Alan Lerner hiring him to play the lead in "On a Clear Day." He was just challenged and totally focused on the work -- in fact, he learned the show and was onstage performing it after one week of rehearsal.

Thrill ... the Cullums agree, is what your friends, and loving relatives, feel when something wonderful happens for a professional performer.

What truly thrilled John Cullum and Emily Frankel was the opening night of "Cyrano" in Boston. Emily had written and adapted the play for John and it was exciting, a big break when Arthur Storch directed the play at Syracuse University. and at Atlanta's Alliance Theater. But the high point, the thrill was the audience response, when their "Cyrano" opened at Boston's Colonial Theater. Then the rave reviews, the doors that opened for them both, because of Emily's adaptation.

As the Cullums chat and recall the trivial things that came with their success, we learn that Boston was John Cullum's "good luck" town," because "On a Clear Day," "Shenandoah," and "On the Twentieth Century," as well as "Cyrano" had their premiere performances at the gracious grand Colonial Theater.

ME TARZAN, YOU JANE

As I'm writing about this film, my fingers are fumbling, not sure what keys to press. It's a film you ought to see.

It's a story that's already perfectly told by actress Maureen O'Sullivan and actor Johnny Weissmuller, who were directed by "One Take Woody," W.S. Van Dyke II, a brilliant, bold, remarkable director who co-produced, and created the script from Edgar Rice Burrough's various manuscripts.

I can't spend my time reciting credits when all I want to do is drool over the romance, but golly, I have to mention the amazing scenes with hippopotamuses, alligators, Weissmuller wrestling with lions and tigers, and soaring -- oh my -- the way Johnny soars through the air with Maureen in his arms!

And I have to hallelujah the plot -- what a love story -- we love her, we love him we want them to get together, stay together, be together forever -- yes we do!

I recently blogged about "My Fair Lady" as my favorite film because of what it mean to me as an artist and friend of Alan Jay Lerner -- seeing him coming into his own, being in his prime, being able to be the very best that he could be.

There's nothing about this Tarzan film, made in 1932, that I'm involved with personally except the characters -- Maureen so touching, beautiful in a non-cliche way, so tender, and such fun. She created a Jane who is uniquely feminine and brave -- fearlessly able to be a woman and face incredible dangers, and be utterly, deliciously, feminine in all the cliche ways, but Jane is never CLICHE.

Johnny, similarly, is perfect -- not so handsome that you disbelieve his masculine, almost dumb, stubborn persistence.

Here are four short previews:

ME TARZAN YOU JANE -- a couple of minutes that got me hooked even though I was already riveted by an earlier scene.


SWIMMING -- fun that took me back to what "fun" felt like to me when I was very young.


THE PIGMYS -- just a peek at the beginning of the climax that creates a life-or-death dilemma for all the characters whom we love.


RIVER MENACE -- the dangerous attempt to get Jane's father on his way to where he desperately wants to go.


With what's going on in the real world of 2011 -- all the things that are jabbing, attacking, nagging at us every day -- if you need a rest, and are in the mood to spend a couple of hours with this man and woman, hoping -- childishly hoping -- that they'll get together, be together, be together forever ... well, this film is IT ... a great story, wonderfully told in film.

YOUR PRIVACY

It's a big deal -- privacy -- "that state in which one is not observed, not disturbed by others, where you have freedom from public attention."

<=== This Time Magazine cover story by Joel Stein received 5000 "likes" on Facebook, and 2000 tweets. I'll bet Joel S. is thrilled.

Joel is 39, and nice-looking. I call him "Joel," though I don't know him, but, because he's told me so much about himself, I feel as if he's a personal pal. Undoubtedly a lot of his readers feel the same way -- that's why Joel Stein is getting to be a name as a columnist.

Joel has a rambling, jabbery, amusing tongue-in-cheek writing style. In his stream of conscious prose, he tells about wanting to be famous, his wife, their kid, his sex life, dreams, possessions, his personal schedule, purchases, shopping, his confusions, angers, fears -- this guy talk/writes uninhibitedly about anything and everything that crosses his mind.

(I can't help thinking that the current to-do about privacy has been bolstered by what Joel himself does as a writer.)

He began as a writer-researcher for Martha Stewart, became sports editor for Time Out New York, and joined Time Magazine in 1997. It's not a hugely impressive resume -- he appears on the "I Love the '80s" TV show -- he's co-produced three TV pilots -- he's taught "humor in writing" at Princeton University.

He moved to LA for a while and wrote a few attention getting articles for the Los Angeles Times. In January, 2006, his column, "Warriors and Wusses," stated uninhibitedly, "It's a cop-out to oppose a war and yet claim to support the soldiers fighting." And he didn't support our troops in Iraq. The article won him quite a bit of attention and fans.

Two years later, another Joel Stein column, in the Los Angeles Times, "How Jewish is Hollywood," created a furor. Mentioning that the Anti-Defamation League poll showed 22% of Americans believe that "the movie and television industries are pretty much run by Jews," Joel wrote, "The poll just shows how dumb America has gotten. Jews totally run Hollywood." Boom-ditty boom -- this column bothered a lot of people and also won him fans.

Last July, in a Time Magazine column, Joel wrote about his personal discomfort with the immigration of Indians and what they've done to his hometown, Edison, New Jersey. It upset the Senator from New Jersey and many New Jersey-ites -- and certainly increased his readership -- no doubt about it -- Joe has a big talent for shocking, bothering, and attracting folks.

I was a faithful Joel Stein column reader till he wrote, at length, about his two day vacation. Joel turned off his laptop, un-plugged the Internet, TV, iPods, GPS, and was astounded, shocked, by how much he wanted to check his email, and be twittering and Facebooking throughout the day. When his vacation was over, Joel thanked God for technology, and swore he'd never voluntarily disconnect again.

Finding myself ho-humming, I stopped reading his twice monthly column in Time. It's too much him-him-him, and his sentences often have to be re-read a couple of times in order to find a verb.

Okay -- re: Joel's "Your Data for Sale" cover story -- there's plenty of information that relates to our concerns with "privacy." Now I know that there are ten major data mining companies. That's scary. Matt Fertik, the CEO of Reputation.com, within three hours of Joel's phone call to him, had Joel Stein's social security number. That's scary.

Joel's article tells us that mined data about us is sold for two-fifths of a cent to advertisers. Most data is collected from your laptop or your cell phone, by tracking cookies and the apps you download. It's cheering to know that Senator John Kerry is trying to pass a law to protect Internet users, and to learn that the Federal Trade Commission wants to get browsers to provide a do-not-track option for their subscribers.

Yes, we have been losing control of some personal data, but it's the monster-under-the-bed syndrome. It can be fixed by checking under the bed. You can undo what you've permitted on Facebook in your account privacy options. (Joel says Facebook doesn't bother selling private information -- most advertisers have FB accounts and can just access your profile.)

Yes, Google is hurting you -- your searches, online purchases, data you've entered in gmail, You Tube, blogger, picasa, buzz, calendar, and maps, creates privacy problems, but you can pay Fertik, at Reputation.com $8.25 per month and he'll clean things up for you.

Has Joel, who naked-izes himself constantly, created a brave-new-world baloney furor? I think he probably has. He suggests that you protect yourself on Facebook by mixing in some false facts, doing it inconsistently -- it'll confuse and incapacitate the privacy invaders.

I say if you are vomiting private stuff on Facebook and you're tweeting intimate thought -- slow down. Say less. Fix your privacy settings but restrain yourself. You can tweet and have sexy fun facebooking, shopping, info searching, but if you're feeling naked -- well -- put on some clothes.

Or just shut up.