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Gainesville is in the grips of Pop Mayhem this week, and in spite of my general avoidance of all things social/nocturnal, I actually got out twice to see shows and old friends. My oldest friend Steve (file photo) had quite a bit of success in a band called Brittle Stars with mutual friends Josh and Dan and a singer named Estelle. I attended their very first show in the summer of 1998, but moved away soon thereafter, missing every other performance until their last, on New Year’s Eve 2000 (i.e., going into 2001) at The Wayward Council on University Avenue. So, I sadly missed the heyday of the Brittle Stars, and to this day have never even heard their album (released on the Shelflife label). So, what nice news to hear that the Brittle Stars would reunite for two shows in Gainesville, going so far as to fly Estelle in from her current home in Tel-Aviv.

On Wednesday evening Brittle Stars played at The Wayward Council (photo gallery), and in spite of that store’s tiny size and poor climate control, it’s really a pleasant place to see music, because there is no separation between the band and the audience. In spite of several years’ hiatus, they sounded much like I remember them, and the show, though only a half hour in length, was charming. In fact, that’s the best word I can think of to describe Brittle Stars. They aren’t a band of sophisticated musicians (though Steve is undoubtedly the most naturally talented guitarist I know), but the music doesn’t demand virtuosity. In fact, on the contrary, it demands subtlety and a kind of endearing simplicity. As though to emphasize the notion that you’re listening to the songs and the feelings they evoke, and not hollow showmanship or pompous affectations, the songs are almost all under three minutes. They start, give you a pretty melody and finish quickly, barely giving you enough time to absorb what you’ve heard before another tune begins. It’s a refreshing contrast to the haughtily ostentatious bands that offer all manner of pomp and pageantry, but little reward, and certainly nothing approaching a genuine song. The Avant-garde is all well in good for a momentary diversion, but in the end I think it demonstrates a certain contempt for the audience.

The Brittle Stars’ second show this week was on Thursday night at Common Grounds, and it was very well attended, even at a vulgar $11 per ticket. The audience was affectionate and the band sounded well. There was even a massive rock-out at the end with the band augmented by a tambourine and Josh’s lovely wife Tanya played bass so Dan could get his guitar on. We saw lots of friends new and old, which was confusing for me, since I recognized faces, but found it hard to recall the context of my memories. Jeff and Sandi deserve credit for driving an unreasonable 12 hours round trip to watch Thursday’s show. I headed home earlier than Miriam, but she stayed and had a marvelous time, which I think boosted her spirits.

Alas, on Monday it’s all back to normal.

I have been deriving a great deal of enjoyment from Miriam’s participation in the Gainesville Roller Rebels. Sure, it is exciting watching fast skating, but another pleasant result of her involvement in the team is that we now have an expanded pool of friends.

Making friends has never been particularly easy for me, since, in general, I hate leaving the house. I have maintained steady, long-lasting relationships with a small number of intimate friends, but several of them have moved away, and, though we communicate and see each other when we can, time with them is still scarce. So, to have access to a team of very nice people who enjoy having fun is a wonderful luxury, especially since I didn’t have to do any of the work of going out and meeting them on my own; they are Miriam’s teammates.

One such teammate came over last night with her beau and we watched a TV show I had never heard of called It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Ruby Typhoon is a fan of the program and has the DVDs, so we ordered pizza and watched five or six episodes in a row, and it was a hilarious delight. What amused me most was how no opportunity to be offensive was wasted. The program involves three buddies who own a dive bar and have assorted misadventures. It seems very low on budget, but rich in laughs.

Last week we had a visit from two other derby girls, Matriarch and Terror A. Part, who insisted that there be arm wrestling.

Meanwhile, I am continuing to take portraits of the GRR girls, and that is fun and I am endlessly impressed with their creativity. Demonomia came last Tuesday, and Ruby Typhoon did her makeup and hair. We use a simple black paper backdrop and I have the most basic flash and white umbrella, but the pictures always turn out very well. Demonomia didn’t have a ton of ideas for poses, but she’s good on skates and very flexible, and her pictures are great. Diamonds and Rust is next in line, and probably more to follow, leading up to the GRR’s first local bout some time in July.

Some time ago–months, at least–I was contacted by a kind member of the faculty of the UF College of Music, Dr. Anthony Offerle, who asked if I’d narrate the Spring Opera Gala, a scholarship fund-raiser held at the University Auditorium (yes, the same “don’t tase me, bro” landmark). He’s been very nice to me in the past, so, of course, I agreed. But as the date approached I got to feeling anxious about it. It wasn’t that I was nervous about the public speaking; that doesn’t bother me at all. Rather, it was the thought that any blunder I might make could reflect badly on him, or embarrass the students performing.

So, with the dress rehearsal Sunday afternoon I was able to get a feel of how the production would go, and it was very helpful. My job was to introduce each of the fifteen or so pieces of music, and the performers thereof. It would be not unlike what I do every day on the radio, only this would be scripted and before a live audience. I wore my charcoal suit, and arrived just before two o’clock in the rain. The auditorium was open and mostly empty but for some crew setting up chairs on stage. But before long we were going through the program, and the students were practicing their entrances and exits. I found myself getting hung up on some awkward phrasing in the text, but I fixed it up before the performance.

I needn’t have feared ruining everything. Aside from speaking a little too fast at the beginning, I didn’t stumble at all, though I did require the use of the script, since there was no way I could have memorized every line. And I found the whole thing to be fun, especially the energy of a live event, and the whirlwind of backstage activity. It’s like a beehive in the wings, and behind the scenes were students getting into costume, and waiting to go on. And some of these students were very talented. There was a Ukrainian pianist named Anastasiya Naplekova who played Liszt’s Rigoletto Paraphrase with an energy and technical brilliance that was astonishing. Then, in the Act III quartet on which Liszt’s transcription is based, the soprano singing Gilda was excellent. The tenor singing the Duke was perhaps overparted for Verdi, but his Tamino in the Act I quintet from Die Zauberflöte was perfect. He’s going to have a career. The drei Damen were well matched vocally. There was a Japanese student named Risa Iguchi who played Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy, a performance made more impressive by the fact that her accompanist was her tiny 15-year old sister, Mona. There were dozens of choristers wearing colorful kimonos twirling parasols waiting to take the stage for a preview of the upcoming Mikado production at the Constans Theater. I even got to introduce a gentleman named Carroll Bailey, a 1936 UF graduate who won a bronze star in WWII, and later wrote an opera called De Soto, the rights to which he has donated to the university. Another high point, so to speak, was the coloratura soprano who sang the Queen of the Night’s Act I aria from The Magic Flute with seeming felicity, even squarely hitting the high F. Amazing.

Dr. Offerle did a really wonderful job organizing the whole affair, and I understand the school raised a lot of money, since tickets to the event were quite expensive, and they found some great sponsorship. The proceeds fund scholarships, and many of the performers are recipients of the self-same scholarships, so, the money is being well-spent. I was glad to be involved.

I once asked a sassy black lady how she was doing and she answered, “I’m too blessed to be stressed.” Perhaps it is a testament to my generally placid existence that I sleep the sleep of the untroubled. But last night I had a dream, I had an awesome dream.

I went to a carwash staffed by cats. They were all black, and several of them had headsets with built-in microphones which they used to communicate with the others. They dipped their paws in buckets of sudsy water and washed the cars, and when they were finished they used their tails to guide the cars out of their parking spaces. Those cats did good work.

As I get older I am finding new ways in which to be crotchety and unpleasant. I am not being difficult on purpose, mind you, but I can be pretty rigidly opposed to things. But I don’t think that I will ever be one of those old people who hates for no reason. Quite the contrary, I am far more socially accepting that I once was, and I am always trying to, if not identify with others’ beliefs, then at least understand where they are coming from. It’s not only the noble thing to do, but it’s also more emotionally healthy for me.

With that in mind I thought I’d examine an area in which I could probably be more sensitive, namely the issue of obesity. An article on ABC News’ website–with the unfortunate title “Study: ‘Weight-ism’ Is Bigger Problem Than Racism”–describes an “accelerated” pattern of discrimination against fat people. Now, to put things in perspective, racism was an institutionalized, systemic and often violent abomination that flourished in the United States, particularly the South, for hundreds of years. It touched the lives of every individual of color in ways that no “weight-ism” ever could. But I cannot deny that in our looks-are-everything society overweight people could easily feel ostracized.

There are several possible reasons for this. Obesity is perceived as a sign of laziness; the poor are disproportionately fat versus the well-off (and nobody likes poor people), etc. But, statistics now seem to show that we’re at about the point where half of Americans are overweight. So what does this say about us? It says, I think, that labels are a refuge for those of us who are unwilling to see people for who they really are.

As for my own role in perpetuating an anti-fat bias, I admit to having used the word “fat” in the past as a general pejorative, even when it was not meant literally. A person might be a “big, fat jerk,” and so on. I also used to call my friends “gayfers.” I don’t know which comedian said this, but I also didn’t “mean ‘gay’ as in ‘homosexual’, I meant it as in ‘retarded’.” I have never been homophobic, nor racist, and I have a profound empathy for the disabled. And I have never consciously discriminated against a fat person in a way I thought might cause harm. I have close friends who are overweight and I love them, so my attitude about them is informed by my appreciation of them as people, not as bodies. I certainly do not love my skinny friends more because they are skinny. But I have been insensitive in my rhetoric, and that’s not nice.