A Love-Hate Relationship: Homeland vs. The Affair

 The last few Sundays, I’ve been having a love-hate relationship with Showtime. I love Homeland. I hate The Affair.

I’ve recently become acquainted with the term “hate-fucking.” Is there such a thing as hate-watching?

Let’s start with Homeland.

I didn’t watch the first few seasons of Homeland, but I decided to give this season a try because I’d heard such good things about it. (A previous attempt at trying to watch last season didn’t work because the plot was already too far along for me to catch up.)

This season started great and got better. And it was also a new story line, so if you missed the first few seasons, like I did, you could start from scratch.

This season’s arc had Carrie (Claire Danes), a bipolar CIA agent, pursuing the Osama Bin Laden-like character Haissam Haqqani in Pakistan. Along the way, she has a make-believe affair with Haqqani’s young nephew, a slowly simmering attraction to her hot fellow agent Peter Quinn (Rupert Friend), and has to deal with a bunch of backstabbing coworkers that make your typical office politics look like a walk in the park.

While the season finale was relatively subdued compared to the rest of the season (Carrie returns home to the United States while Quinn, after swearing he wouldn’t, returns to Pakistan), there were some moments that were so suspenseful, it was truly difficult to watch.

And I haven’t even gotten into the sadomasochistic relationship between the U.S. Ambassador Martha Boyd (Laila Robbins) and her traitorous husband or their double-dealing Pakistani counterparts.

Really, a plot summary couldn’t possibly do the series justice.

Let’s just say that by the end of the season, I needed some of Carrie’s bipolar medication!

Now let’s talk about The Affair.

What started for me as a harmless bit of real estate porn turned into…well…just porn!

Holy crap! Dominic West was naked more often on this series than Lena Dunham in Girls! (Not that I’m complaining…)

But the histrionics were ratcheted up so high, it was more like watching a soap opera than the True Detectives-like mystery they were aiming for. (How creepy was that Fiona Apple song at the beginning?)

Noah and Helen Soloway (Mr. West and Maura Tierney), a Brooklyn couple (he’s a teacher and writer, she runs a home furnishings store) are vacationing with their family in Montauk when Noah is drawn to a young waitress (Alison Bailey, played by Ruth Wilson) at a seafood restaurant.

They immediately begin a torrid affair, but this is no ordinary affair. You see, Alison’s young son died several years ago and she and her husband are still in mourning. Meanwhile, Noah has to deal with his rich in-laws who are constantly belittling him.

While the series shows the very real devastation infidelity can wreak on a marriage, Noah and Alison are so self-destructive that after a while you’re like, “Oh, well, I guess they’re gonna fuck again.”

OK, so we know that—in America—sex is a greater taboo than violence and infidelity a more serious crime than murder. But if you’re going to have a morality tale about infidelity, go big or go home. I’m talking Fatal Attraction.

That movie was more believable for being a one-night-stand gone wrong than the long, drawn-out Affair. And Glenn Close (as Alex Forrest) was so deliciously evil, she practically verged on camp. (As much as I loved Cher in Moonstruck, I still think Ms. Close deserved the Oscar that year.)

In the Affair season finale, when Noah is finally arrested for a murder we never saw him commit, all you can do is yawn.

P.S. The Comeback is a bit of a disappointment this season, too. I guess the first season (nine years ago) set the bar so high (and reality TV set the bar for humiliation so low) that it was hard to top. (I also think that the show-within-the-show, Room and Bored, added a much-needed dimension.) This week’s episode, where Valerie wears a wire to the restaurant where she and her husband are trying to repair their relationship, approached some of the cringeworthy-ness that made the first season so good.

Sometimes I think, this isn’t a comedy about show business, it’s a documentary.

White Riot

“White riot — I wanna riot

White riot — a riot of my own.”

—The Clash

When I looked at the front page of today’s New York Times, I was so furious, I felt like I was having a heart attack.

The lead story was about how, in a move that was typical of what’s been happening in this country lately, House Republicans snuck in a last-minute giveaway to banks in next year’s budget before leaving for vacation, and the only member of Congress who spoke out against it was Nancy Pelosi.¹ Even Obama caved in to Republicans! (Again! Roll over, Obama!)

Right next to that story was an article about how "the share of prime-age men...who are not working has more than tripled since the late 1960s...."²

That’s right! The same people who voted to bail out the banks six years ago voted to allow them to continue doing the very same things that necessitated their bailout in the first place! They also threw in a measure increasing by tenfold the amount of money people are allowed to contribute to political parties.

The same people who refused to extend unemployment benefits five times last year, voted to give banks a major loophole, thereby increasing the chances of another financial collapse and another bailout at taxpayer expense.

And, of course, none of the parties responsible for the financial collapse were ever prosecuted. (Why should be we surprised, though, when just the day before the Times reported on the C.I.A.’s involvement in and cover-up of torture. None of the people responsible for that were ever prosecuted, either.)

But I digress.

Meanwhile, the front page of the New York Post was all about Hollywood producer Scott Rudin calling Angelina Jolie a “minimally talented spoiled brat.” (This from a man whose own ego is so huge he goes through 50 assistants a year.³ Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!)

People went to work, as usual. The subway droned on with its Orwellian announcements about giving up your seat to the elderly and “if you see something, say something.” (I mean, really, if you need a subway announcement to lecture adults about manners, you’ve already lost the battle.)

The operating principle in this country (if not the world) today seems to be "How much can we squeeze people before they literally riot?" Not figuratively riot, but burn buildings and cars riot.

In the past few weeks, we’ve seen the black community (along with supporters of other races) justifiably angry about the killings of young black men by white police officers.

What I want to know is, Where’s our riot? 

Granted, the financial collapse affected everyone—white and black—but the difference is that so-called “white collar” criminals are rarely punished, while blacks are sometimes killed over minor offenses.

Where’s our outrage?

I think the problem is that people simply don't know how bad things are. Everyone’s working so many hours, they don’t have time to read the newspaper. And the TV news is about as substantive as Entertainment Tonight.

Meanwhile, the moneyed powers that run this country (if not the world) continue to get richer and more powerful.

I’m surprised shows like Real Time with Bill Maher, Moyers & Company, The Daily Show or The Colbert Report—anything that questions the existing power structure--are even allowed to air, considering that six corporations control 90% of the media in America.⁵

Think I’m being alarmist?

Recently, there was an article in the Times about how Russian oligarchs are scooping up stakes in media companies.⁶

But we’re special because we’re America.

Yeah, right!

1 http://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/12/us/congress-spending-bill.html?_r=0

2 http://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/12/upshot/unemployment-the-vanishing-male-worker-how-america-fell-behind.html

3 http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/leaked-sony-emails-reveal-angelina-jolie-called-a-minimally

4 http://gawker.com/5663946/scott-rudin

5 http://www.businessinsider.com/these-6-corporations-control-90-of-the-media-in-america-2012-6

6 http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/27/world/oligarchs-of-eastern-europe-scoop-up-stakes-in-media-companies.html

Hand to Mouth: My Story

I recently started reading Hand to Mouth: Living in Bootstrap America, Linda Tirado’s book about her experience with poverty. While my experience may not be as bad as hers, my experience may actually be more common.

Like 20% of the US workforce¹, I’m a temp/contract/project-based/freelance worker (not by choice, I would hasten to add, but because those are the only jobs available). Partly as a result of this, I’ve been unemployed for half of the past two years.

I also have no company-provided health insurance and no paid time off.

Last year, I made so little money, I qualified for Medicaid. Some people would be thrilled to have health insurance. I’m embarrassed I qualified for Medicaid. (The only problem with Medicaid, of course, is that many doctors and dentists don’t accept it.)

As we head into Thanksgiving and the holiday season, I’m grateful to be working (for the time being), but I could very easily be unemployed again by Christmas.

That’s because full-time, “permanent” jobs are disappearing. Forget about retirement, I’m struggling to stay employed until I reach retirement age!

Last year, I made numerous press appearances on behalf of the long-term unemployed. But despite my many efforts (which included writing letters to Congress and posting over 5,000 tweets), unemployment benefits were not extended and the entire issue has disappeared from the headlines.

In light of the new Republican majority in the Senate, I feel that this issue is more important than ever.

Not only are full-time, “permanent” jobs disappearing, it’s becoming harder than ever to get the few that remain. It’s no longer enough to just submit to a job interview. There’s now often a phone interview that precedes the actual job interview, and several follow-up interviews after that.

But that’s not all.

Background checks are also now a normal part of the hiring process. And for a recent job, I not only had to go through a background check, I also had to submit to a drug test and be fingerprinted!

And Republicans say the unemployed are lazy.

As Ms. Tirado points out in her book, when you’re living “hand to mouth” (or paycheck to paycheck, like 25 million Americans²), there’s no margin for error. I recently went into a panic because I thought I was going to need a dental implant. In fact, whenever I have a medical problem of any kind, I’m more worried about the cost than the health implications. (I once got out of a taxi on my way to a hospital emergency room and walked because it was stuck in traffic! Needless to say, I didn’t even consider paying $500 for an ambulance, even though I had insurance at the time.)

The root cause of all this, of course, is globalization, a force way beyond the control of any individual worker (or perhaps even any individual country). But isn’t there something our government could be doing to ease the pain of globalization on the middle-class? And rather than using their earnings to buy back their own stock or move their corporate headquarters overseas (so they don’t have to pay taxes), couldn’t companies use that money to create jobs or give people a raise?

Instead, our government has been silent (which is not surprising considering they’re bought by the very corporations that are causing this problem) and companies are sitting on record profits.

The other reason jobs are disappearing is because companies simply don’t want to pay for health insurance. In fact, I would argue that this is now the only reason the temp industry even exists: to eliminate any legal obligation companies might have toward their temporary employees. (It’s not like they’re actually finding people jobs!)

That’s why we need a single-payer system. Not just because every other civilized country in the world has one, but because it’s ridiculous to expect a for-profit enterprise (and that includes health insurance companies) to do anything that’s not in their own self-interest.

So as we head into this holiday season, you know what I’d really like for Christmas?

A full-time, “permanent” job with benefits.

Happy Thanksgiving.

1 http://nypost.com/2014/06/14/temp-to-hire-boom-diminishing-job-security-benefits-for-millions/

2 http://money.cnn.com/2014/04/25/news/economy/middle-class-paycheck/

Birdman Doesn’t Fly

 I had high hopes for Birdman, coming as it does with a well-known director (Alejandro Iñárritu, of 21 Grams and Babel), a first-rate cast (Michael Keaton, Edward Norton, and Emma Stone, among others) and a premise that really interests me: a formerly successful, aging movie star questioning the career and life choices he’s made.

In Birdman, Michael Keaton plays the former star of an action movie franchise featuring the titular character, who tries to stage a career comeback by starring in, directing and producing a play based on the book What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by the well-known writer Raymond Carver. During previews, one of the actors in the play’s cast is injured by a stage light and is replaced by Edward Norton’s character, a somewhat pompous, overly serious theater actor. The play appears headed for disaster when a theater critic for a New York Times-like newspaper threatens to “kill” the play. But then there’s a last-minute plot twist involving social media that turns the play into an unexpected hit.

The acting here is good (particularly a low-key, slimmed-down Zach Galafinakis as Michael Keaton’s lawyer), but I was distracted by such things as the camera work and the actor’s appearances (“Why is the skin around Michael Keaton’s ears so pulled back? Did he have a face lift?” “Edward Norton has a hot ass!” “Emma Stone has a beautiful face and her eyes are really green!”). The film appears to have been shot in one continuous take. I realize this is a major technical achievement, but it distances the audience from the movie, and even people who aren’t film school graduates might sense that there’s something “wrong.” Also, weird events happen throughout the movie for no apparent reason. (Keaton has the ability to move objects just by pointing at them, a drummer mysteriously appears in various places playing the movie’s percussive soundtrack, a homeless-looking man appears on the street reciting Shakespeare). I don’t know if Iñárritu is trying to create an atmosphere of “magical realism,” but this is distracting, too. We’re led to believe the film is taking place in the “real world,” not the world of superheroes, where we’re used to people flying around. Although Keaton’s Birdman character is referenced throughout the film, he’s not really a part of the main action. He mainly appears as a voiceover, narrating Keaton’s inner doubts.

The screenplay is also a weird mixture of high-brow and low-brow, dropping names like Roland Barthes while at the same time indulging in adolescent sexual humor.

Birdman comes with a critic-proof device: the character of the aforementioned theater critic about whom several digs are made of the “those who can’t do criticize” variety. That’s a bit disingenuous. Who goes to a movie (or in the case of this movie, a play) not wanting to like it?

Perhaps what the makers of this movie didn’t consider is that some people love the art form they’re critiquing so much that they’re truly disappointed when something doesn’t live up to their expectations.

The Sad Demise of Dojo, the Deplorable Rise of Brunch, and the Death of Mom-and-Pop Stores in Manhattan

 This afternoon I was supposed to have lunch with a friend of mine and his husband at Veselka, the last Ukrainian restaurant standing (and, therefore, also the last affordable restaurant standing) in the East Village. This being 2pm on a Sunday, the restaurant was full and the line was out the door. Having just read David Shaftel’s brilliant op-ed piece in the New York Times, “Brunch Is for Jerks,”¹ I turned to my friend Ivan and said, “I am not contributing to this madness known as 'Sunday brunch in Manhattan,' ” and suggested we go to Dojo, another vestige of the affordable East Village we both knew and loved. (The remaining Dojo is actually on West Fourth and Mercer Streets, but the original location—now closed—was on Saint Mark’s Place.)

Those of you of a certain age may remember Dojo as a ridiculously cheap restaurant with a Japanese flavor, famous for their carrot ginger dressing and their status as a de facto cafeteria for nearby NYU students. A few months ago, the owners of Dojo, in their infinite wisdom, decided to “renovate” and those of us who remembered the old Dojo held our collective breaths, fearing that either they would never reopen again or, if they did reopen, they would raise their prices to accommodate their higher aspirations (and renovation costs).

I’m sorry to report that my last two visits to Dojo since they reopened have been disappointing in the extreme. Gone are the wide-open spaces that made the place feel like a cafeteria physically as well as price-wise, replaced by wooden dividers that make you feel like a caged veal. While the prices have not risen substantially, something is seriously amiss in the kitchen. The last time I had breakfast there (I had suggested it to my friend Owen as a nicer alternative to the Washington Square Diner), the food was barely adequate and Owen vowed never to return for breakfast. This time, returning for lunch, was a horror show. My friend Ivan ordered a steak sandwich which, in both of our estimations, resembled Steak-umms more than actual steak, and I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with French fries, which are still repeating on me several hours later.

Now, to be fair, Dojo never claimed to be a four-star restaurant and the service was always leisurely, at best. But this food was barely edible. I took one look at Ivan’s steak sandwich, which I had planned on sharing with him, and said, “I’m not touching that!”

It seems to me that Dojo spent all their money on renovations and then actually lowered the quality of their food to make up the cost!

I feel sorry for the (constantly rotating) wait staff that has to put up with these conditions (as well as the owners), but it seems like a catch-22 situation. The owners of such restaurants are struggling to stay in business, so they either have to renovate and (usually) raise their prices and/or cut their costs (which often means cutting their quality, as well). Then, when they cut their quality, they get even fewer customers, so it becomes a vicious cycle, until they eventually close for good.

Basically, if you’re not either very expensive or part of a chain, you can’t afford to do business in Manhattan anymore. In fact, there are some chains (and I would include high-end luxury retailers in this category) whose stores function solely as 3-D advertisements for their brand. Is anyone really buying $10,000 dresses at the Chanel store in Soho (or any of their other stores, for that matter, considering the only people who can afford them get them for free)? It doesn’t matter, because they make most of their money on perfume. This is why so many designers go out of business, unless they’re also in the business of selling underwear (hello, Calvin Klein!).

Right now there’s an entire chain of stores called Organic Avenue that sprang up literally overnight, with locations in every neighborhood in Manhattan. Yet every time I pass one of their stores, it’s completely empty!

I’m afraid that restaurants like Dojo—not fancy, but affordable—are not long for this city and will soon join the dustbin of retail history, along with all the other mom-and-pop drugstores, coffee shops and diners that have already gone out of business.

1 http://www.nytimes.com/2014/10/11/opinion/sunday/brunch-is-for-jerks.html?smid=tw-share&_r=0

Bedbug and the Angry Itch

 The most imaginative piece of theater in New York right now is happening in a church basement on West 71^st Street. I’m speaking of the musical Bedbugs, and you must run like a commuter fleeing from a bedbug-infested N train to see it.

I’d forgotten how much fun camp done well can be and this show hits the nail on the head on several counts.

The plot, such as it is, involves the recent infestation of New York City by bedbugs and one scientist’s quest to wipe them out and simultaneously avenge the death-by-bedbug of her mother. Somehow, a character based on the self-parodying singer Celine Dion (here called Dionne Salon) also figures into the plot, to hilarious effect.

The cast is uniformly excellent, but there are some standouts in my mind. Barry Shafrin as a protypical hipster has every mannerism down pat, from the constant scowl on his face to his non-stop staring at his iPhone to such utterances as “I’m allergic to sincerity!” and “I don’t even ironically like Dionne Salon!”

That brings us to Brian Charles Rooney as the aforementioned Dionne Salon. I didn’t even realize that a man was playing this role until I looked at the program during intermission. It was only then that I noticed his uncharacteristically (for a woman) large hands, but then I wondered, “How does he sing so high?” His impersonation is spot-on, from her annoying habit of pronouncing the word “love” as “lurve” to her diaphanous gown waving in a fake breeze.

Chris Hall as lead bedbug Cimex bring a Rocky Horror-like swagger to his role. (It’s no surprise to learn that he played Rocky and is also in an 80’s tribute band.)

Grace McLean as the scientist Carly has an admirable set of pipes and makes a wonderful transition from nerdy scientist to sex-bomb leading lady.

I don’t know how large the budget for this off-Broadway show is, but you certainly see every penny onstage. The four-piece band does a pitch-perfect rendition of the show’s 80’s-sounding score by Paul Leschen and Fred Sauter. The costumes (particularly for the bedbugs) are way over the top and match anything Disney could pull off. The staging makes the most of this unusually shaped space, including a chirpy morning news reporter who sticks her head through a TV set to simulate a live broadcast.

If I wanted to quibble, I’d say the first act seemed a little long (even though it was only an hour). But you’ll be having so much fun, you won’t care.

Just bring insecticide. (I kid!)

How to Survive Being a Middle-Aged Gay Man in New York

 Yesterday I found out on Facebook that a man I know who was about my age and was a fixture at a certain gay bar I frequent passed away. While the cause of his death is still unknown, it was suggested to me that he may have taken his own life because he was very unhappy. (He had recently broken up with a boyfriend and was also unemployed.) I did not know this man very well (he was more of an acquaintance than a friend), but it got me thinking.

Middle-aged gay men in New York face a unique set of pressures.

First of all, there’s the economic pressure faced by everyone who lives in New York City, the most expensive city in America and one of the most expensive cities in the world. Add to that the difficulty of finding a job in this economy, which still has not recovered from the recession that started six years ago. I would also argue that there is rampant age discrimination going on in the workplace that’s not being prosecuted because it’s almost impossible to prove. (But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening.)

Secondly, there’s the ageism in our society in general which, I would argue, is even worse in the gay community. This is compounded by the gay community’s emphasis on looks, which borders on body fascism. Granted, our entire culture is now consumed with appearances, but the gay community may have started this trend (a fact which does not make me proud to be a gay man).

Third, there’s the rampant promiscuity in the gay community. (Yes, I know some gays are in committed relationships or even married, but they’re the minority). Again, this is not unique to the gay community, but we practically invented “hooking up.”

I don’t want to sound anti-sex, but try finding a boyfriend in this environment!

And all of this is happening in an atmosphere of total silence. Sure, the recent suicide of Robin Williams cast the media’s attention on depression for about a week, but then they moved on to the next crisis. (War? Ebola? Take your pick!)

And this situation is further exacerbated by social media, which not only has had the ironic effect of making us more isolated, but serves to magnify the highs and lows of the human condition: everyone’s life is either perfect or they’re dying. What you don’t see is the mundane reality that constitutes 95% of most people’s lives: going to work, cooking, doing the laundry, watching TV, etc.

It’s no wonder that the suicide rate is highest among white men in my age group.¹ And it’s also no wonder that the rate of substance abuse is higher among gay men.²

Also, let’s not forget that my generation saw dozens of their friends and lovers die during the peak years of the AIDS crisis. We weren’t even supposed to live this long!

I’m not a psychiatrist. This is just my opinion based on my feelings and what I’ve observed in other middle-aged gay men in New York. It’s a tragedy when anyone dies before his time, but suicide represents a level of depression that’s incomprehensible to me.

I’ve joked a lot about the alienation I feel as a gay man in my act, but when someone kills himself because of that alienation, it’s no joke.

A few years ago, there was a gay psychiatrist who wrote a book about how to survive middle age as a gay man and he killed himself!³ That would be funny if it wasn’t true.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I suspect it has something to do with paying more attention to our relationships in real life (as in, not on the Internet), not isolating ourselves and not being afraid to talk about our feelings.

I wish I had the opportunity to ask my acquaintance how he was feeling and that he had the courage to tell me the truth.

1 http://qz.com/248247/suicides-are-surprisingly-high-among-middle-aged-men-in-the-us/

2 http://www.cdc.gov/msmhealth/substance-abuse.htm

3 http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/01/fashion/the-life-and-death-of-the-therapist-bob-bergeron.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0