Dumb Vegans

Vegans Sentenced in Baby's Death

By GREG BLUESTEIN, Associated Press Writer

ATLANTA - A vegan couple was sentenced Wednesday to life in prison for the death of their malnourished 6-week-old baby boy, who was fed a diet largely consisting of soy milk and apple juice.

Superior Court Judge L.A. McConnell imposed the sentences on Jade Sanders, 27, and Lamont Thomas, 31. Their son, Crown Shakur, weighed just 3 1/2 pounds when he died of starvation on April 25, 2004.

Defense lawyers said the first-time parents did the best they could while adhering to the lifestyle of vegans, who typically use no animal products. They said Sanders and Thomas did not realize the baby, who was born at home, was in danger until minutes before he died.

Sometimes, vegans are dumb. That's a sad understatement based on the news article above. I get the same hitch in my stomach around dumb vegans that I get around idiot bike riders. That's great that you're doing something helpful for yourself and the environment, but don't be a jerk or an idiot about it.

I'm a vegan...mostly. A true vegan would chastise me for that statement. You either are or you aren't. If someone told me they were a vegetarian except they occasionally ate fish or chicken, I'd say they were NOT a vegetarian. They might be more health conscious than others, but if you eat the animals, you're not a vegetarian. No exceptions.

There are two reasons I'm (mostly) vegan and will always be. It's healthier and the amount of cruelty endured by animals to feed our gullets is beyond inhumane. It's as if Nazi exterminators, instead of being eliminated, were told, "Hey, don't do that stuff to people... Have you considered cows?" The life of a farm factory animal is not a Perdue Chicken commercial. They don't live in a big open barn just hanging out and enjoying life. Almost all the animals that make it to your plate lived in overcrowded unsanitary conditions, were doped up and more-than-likely fed remnant meat (Yes, even today ten years after Mad Cow Disease emerged in the news, herbivore cows are still fed meat waste. That practice was outlawed, but it's poorly regulated. If it saves a buck, it won't go away until it's taken away.) and they died terrified.

Everyday, people shove food in their mouths without knowing anything about it. Many people continue to eat based on habits they developed growing up and never question it. If you buy it at the store, it must be okay, right? People get sick everyday and are dying from obesity, cancer and heart disease and never make the connection between the quality of their health and the many pounds of meat rotting in their colon. That's understandable. A good portion of our health system hasn't connected the dots there, either. My mother had quadruple by-pass surgery. Within a week of having her chest cut open, the hospital served her a bacon cheese burger. The nurse told us that we could bring her McDonald's, if we wanted. "What's important is that she eats, no matter what it is." Sheesh... Apparently, it's their way to insure repeat business.

All right, let me get off my very tall horse. Because what really burns me are vegans, the extreme example being the couple above, that give other vegans a bad name. Some people jump into the diet without doing the very simple homework of nutrition. Just eating Twizzlers may make you a vegan, but a very unhealthy one.

Notice, I don't use the term "lifestyle" when it comes to veganism. I don't consider it a lifestyle. It's a diet. Anyone can do it. Part of the problem I have are vegans who embrace it as a lifestyle and alienate those who do not. There's a very fine organization called EarthSave that I used to do a lot of work with. The monthly potluck dinners they hosted were the best. People brought in amazing food and I always used the opportunity to learn to cook a new dish. What turned me off were people who would say things like...

"You have a cat? I can't eat your food because your utensils may have touched other utensils that touched cat food." - Chill, dude. I washed it.

"Ew, is that a fake leather coat? That promotes wearing leather." - Um, no. It promotes wearing fake leather.

"I don't cut my hair. I let it grow out naturally. I use crystal rocks for deodorant. I breast fed my child until he was sixteen. I make all my own clothes out of hemp. I smell funny on purpose." Okay, these are slightly exaggerated.

Veganism is a healthy choice. It's good for your body and it's good for the environment. But as long as vegans make dumb choices or perpetuate an alienating, condescending hippy persona, it's going to be hard to spread the good word on it.

Saturday Morning Cartoons!

It's Saturday morning! Grab a pillow to sit on. Go get a bowl of Corn Pops.

Don't sit next to your brother. He'll try to fart on your cereal.




And when you're done with that, check out the fun we had at Looptopia. Been a long time since I got my Dada on in front of an audience.

Fry Day

Updates


MOM: Is back in the hospital. The doctors aren't sure what's the matter. She had an attack similar to what she had last week which they thought was caused by an alteration in her prescribed medicine. They kept her overnight. I spoke with her yesterday afternoon. On her way to the hospital, they shoved a tube down her throat to help her breathe which, when removed, caused her voice to be deep and raspy. She actually sounded old to me. She has always sounded older, but she never sounded like an old lady to me before. It was chilling.


ROBOWRITERS: We had our first meeting, last night. It was small group, but they rocked. I was delighted by the level of quality and at how great everyone was at giving constructive, honest feedback. A common thread developed in the criticism. Most of the scenes started out strong and then flattened out into just a string of jokes or events that failed to heighten the situation. This isn't unusual. An interesting issue comes up early and the writer, instead of exploring that theme, abandons it to move on to other jokes that they want to fit in. So, many first drafts of scenes end up feeling more like two or three scenes in one. Usually, the strongest part of the scene is the one that has the most emotional resonance. Get rid of all that excess "funny" stuff and develop the more interesting stuff where the characters are more emotionally invested in an outcome.

Everyone took an assignment to work on for next week. I put together an image, a line of dialogue and a word from the dictionary. Their challenge was to weave them all into a scene, either figuratively or literally. Here's one that was left over. Feel free to use it on your own...


RoboWriter Assignment #10

Write a scene using the following elements….

An image…





A line of dialogue…

“If you give any explanation but the true one, you are a liar and a coward.”

And a word or phrase…

TARTAR SAUCE


You can take these words or images figuratively or literally. It’s up to you.



TODAY: It's a scaled down version of Savage Breast at 2pm at Manifest in the Sculpture Garden next to the Getz Theater... Soiree DADA will take to the street for a brief but glorious time during LOOPTOPIA on Friday, May 11th. Bask in the sunshine of their love at The Plaza at Chase Tower, between 7:15 - 7:45pm... And somewhere in all that. I'll finish my research paper and study for a final exam. Yikes!

RoboWriters Tonight!

Today is one of those days where the hours available don't match the workload. I have to rework the running orders for OLD and for Savage Breast's turn at Columbia's Manifest Arts Festival. I also need to finish up a research paper on theatre in Northern Ireland and prep for tonight's first RoboWriters meeting at The Uptown Writer's Space. I also need to send off a Mother's Day card. I spoke to my mother yesterday. She doesn't have a phone in her room, so whenever my younger brother visits at the nursing home, he calls. She genuinely sounds fine. She likes her room and the food. Go figure.

Last night was another WNEP writer's session for the upcoming Dada show. It was a ton of fun. Some very creative, and slightly insane, people.

Here's a poem I've been working on that we didn't get a chance to read. Most of the material I've brought in so far have been created through mishing and mashing existing texts - cutting and pasting and churning words through translation programs. A very technological approach. I've decided to try a series of more organic poems. The following was originally handwritten while sitting and eating lunch - thus the imagery.

(Mind you, Dada is best if read out loud. So, if no one's around, go for it. If there are people around, even better. An authentic German accent helps...)

GUARDIAN THROAT
by Dada mondo yippeeeeeee

My throat enables the litter of previous bovine to tackle the up of a flip (AHEM)

My throat grabs at the words leaking from my lips. They slip from it's grasp like eels of wet spaghetti.

The
words
drop
to
the
floor.

They splat in small dollops and are eaten by mice who are eaten by cats who die from holes bore into the corners of their stomachs.

My words have edges. They cause paper cuts. My words are deadly. Deadlier than I give them credit to charge what they like at the local five and dime-is-on-our-side

Words that when strained through the rotting jail cell of my teeth include, but are not limited to;

"arugula"

"topiary"

"moist"

and "minuscule."

"Buttocks" used to be problematic.

I can now release it into the wild without thought of provocation or consequence.

Please.

Heed my advice.

Teach your cats well.

Close, But No Cigar

Oedipus Complex
adapted and directed by Frank Galati
Corporate Sponsor Partner Fifth Third Bank
The Goodman Theatre

Side note: I love going to the larger theatrical venues in Chicago. It feels like an event. People are a little more dressed up and there seems to be a slight air of reverence for what we are about to see. There's a decorum, which I appreciate.

(A beef I have with Columbia College is that the students act like they're at a high school football game when they're attending a show. I dig a certain amount of energy and rowdiness if it's for the production and the story being told. Not because your bud's on stage.)

Note note: Oedipus Complex is a retelling of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex through Sigmund Freud, the father of psycho-analysis who dubbed the condition of falling in love with one parent and hating the other as an Oedipal Complex. So, there's a natural connection here worth mining. Plus, both Oedipus and Freud share a common outlook on life - no matter what you do, you're fucked.

The good news is that Oedipus Complex is performed in a full one act that passes rather quickly. I was stunned to look at my watch and see almost two hours had passed. The set is elegant and evokes a sparse Victorian setting. Most everything, from the costumes to the set and the checkered floor, is in black and white, adding an unexpected dream-like quality. There's some very interesting staging and who doesn't love a good eye-gouging?

For all the potential of having Freud and Oedipus on the same stage together, the play falls short. Galati never takes these two iconic characters and makes them his own. He sticks to Sophocles' and Freud's words, thus Freud and Oedipus are stuck in their own scripts, with Freud often showing up in Oedipus's story as a bit player. They never interact as Freud and Oedipus. As a result, it's just Oedipus Rex done in the style of a Victorian melodrama with some cool images. Freud tells us a little bit about his mother and his dreams, but they never pack an emotional punch and seem to exist separate from and unaffected by the Oedipal story. Freud never has anything at stake in telling us this story and his character goes unchanged at the end. So, if you're familiar with Oedipus Rex, you don't leave learning or thinking about anything new.

Storywise, the first third of the production is very slow with lots and lots of dramatic yakking. Galati could really use some editing here. We really don't need the annoying prophet in the wheel chair to almost leave and then wheel back in to tell, Oedipus, again, for the umpteenth time, that he's in for a lot of misery. He already made his point. This actor chose to base his character on a cross between Simon Bar Sinister and Dr. Strangelove with a dash of Mr. Potter. An odd affected performance that grows weary. The production doesn't really kick in until the entrance of the Corinthian Messenger who's there to give Oedipus good news and offer hope to him and his wife (er, mother, Jocasta - theater's first MILF)that the Oracle was wrong. This scene through to the end is full of many twists and turns and inventive staging. Even though I knew better, it had me hoping for a happy ending. That's the best thing I can say about this production. It made me forget a well known story and had me cheering for Ol' Oedie.

As for Freud, he comes across as a quiet, gentle scholar when he was really a jackass. The premise is fraught with possibilities that are tossed aside and is simply used as a way to dress up an old Greek Tragedy. It's worth seeing, but sometimes a Greek Tragedy is just a Greek Tragedy.

Sheldon, the Savage

Last night, my Acting III: Comedy Workshop class performed a sketch revue called Savage Breast at Donny's Skybox at The Second City. I've been around Second City and the Skybox for so long, I sometimes forget what a huge deal this is for people. Students had family and friends - local and from out of town - there. The place was full to capacity. (A huge shout out to Jay Macintosh, the manager of the Skybox, and Jason Flowers, the technical director of the space. These guys went above and beyond to set up the evening and make it work as best as possible for the show. These guys are saints and I would bend over backwards, or forwards, for them.)

Even though it's a student show, I was a little nervous, too. My girlfriend came to the show. Julie's not in theater, but she's an excellent critic. Her input has been very helpful to me in "course correcting" a show or two.

But the person who really makes me nervous is Sheldon Patinkin. Sheldon is the Dean of the Theater Department at Columbia College and one of the founding members of The Second City. He's an artistic consultant to Steppenwolf Theater, as well as an author, playwright and well-respected director. He also knows a lot about vaudeville and has a book coming out on musical theater. He's a walking piece of Chicago theater history and I'm very aware of it.

This semester is my first teaching Comedy Workshop. It's been a lot of fun and taken a lot of my time and energy. We develop a sketch revue through improvisation, writing and performing previews. We do four shows throughout the spring term. And while I've thrown myself in to teaching this class, I've also dropped the ball in keeping Sheldon informed on the class's show times and dates. There have been changes over the semester that I didn't let him know about. The same thing happened tonight. At one time, our show was supposed to be at 7:30pm. John Hildreth, the teacher of Improvisation 2, which performed on a double bill with us, and I decided to change it to 7pm. We told our classes. We told the Skybox personnel. We didn't tell Sheldon. He missed the first twenty minutes of my show.

I was expecting to royally be chewed out by Sheldon. I deserved it. He came in late and had no place to sit. He stood to the side and watched the show. I made an old guy stand through a student show. How bitter and cruel this must be! Oh, and The Fart Scene is up. I know he hates The Fart Scene. I was already planning my "it won't happen, again" spiel and how I'll make sure it doesn't happen in the fall. Unless he fires me. I made him come late and stand watching The Fart Scene. At intermission, I went to look for him. I thought maybe he was upset and split. Nope. He was already backstage, individually congratulating the cast on a job well done. And then he told me the same.

Here's the thing about Sheldon. He cares. The Dean of the Theater doesn't have to go to ALL the student shows. The Dean of Theater at my college certainly didn't bother. I've never known Sheldon to miss any of them (except for the one a month ago where I forgot to tell him we changed the date). He sees a lot of half-assed theater, my friends. I've sat through some of the same shows. Shows that made my skin crawl and my brain try to crack it's way out of my skull to escape the intense boredom emanating from the stage. He's either a glutton for punishment, or he really, really cares about the students and their growth as artists. He asked me specifically about a few of the students who shone very well in the Comedy Workshop show. So, I didn't get yelled at. Instead, he seemed very appreciative of my work. The bastard.

Smoke 'em If You've Got 'em

Daley Says Smoking On Stage Should Be Snuffed

Mayor Richard Daley said Saturday that there should be no exceptions to the city's anti-smoking ordinance or a proposed statewide smoking ban, not even actors in Chicago's bustling theater industry.

…Daley said that if actors wanted to maintain the artistic authenticity of the performance, "they can always use fake ones."

Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune



Use fake ones? Um, no.

I don't smoke. Never could. I tried. I tried hard. I hung out with some sketchy juvenile delinquents when I was thirteen and embarrassed myself immensely trying to keep pace with them on the Marlboro's. I hacked and wheezed my way out of ever being cool with these guys. Even today, I'm unable to smoke. My body just seems to reject the notion of allowing smoke in my lungs. I have dated smokers, lived with smokers and know many smokers. I do not defend them. It's a disgusting habit. Smokers are litter bugs and walking fire hazards. I hate how my clothes smell after spending time in a smokey bar. I support the smoking ban, if only for that last part. But I don't support it on the stage. Smoking is dumb, but that's even dumber.

In 2003, I was fortunate to be involved as an actor in the WNEP production "...Let There Be Light!" It's a play written by Jen Ellison and Dave Stinton based on a documentary by John Huston about WWII soldiers being processed through a mental hospital before being allowed to return home. If these soldiers weren't smokers before the war, they certainly were afterwards. It was a part of the time. The director wanted my character - the Colonel in charge of the hospital (another asshole) - to smoke. I tried. But couldn't even fake it without having a coughing fit. I had better luck with some cheap tiny cigars called Al Capone's that had a pipe tobacco scent. The play stood on it's own, but the aroma and the clouds of smoke hanging over the stage transported us and the audience to a different time and place. We took the play to New York where smoking is banned and it wasn't the same. I can't say that it ruined the play, but it didn't feel right and didn't seem to have the same magical effect.

Use fake ones? If we were doing the play today in Chicago and the grizzled war vets had lit up and the audience smelled herbal tea, we'd be laughed off the stage. Cigarettes, cigars and pipes can all enhance an actor's performance and express many unspoken aspects of their character. If you fake it, it breaks the illusion your audience has invested in.

If theaters need to post warnings, great. Let's do that. We already do it for gunshots and strobe lights. Let the consumer decide if they want to be exposed to the dangers of a smoking actor.