Whenever I get that look in my eyes, or hold up my head with my hands, a good friend looks me dead in the eye and says:
“What do you do all day?”
And I have to answer: Theater. I work in a theater all day.
A major goal of my life accomplished before I turned 30. Well, okay, right as I turned 30.
As much as I still need to trim back on the numerous projects I am developing, I can only be this proactive and productive because every day, I walk through and work among the Antaeus library. Every day my main goal is furthering the mission: making classical theater relevant and alive in our community, our lives and our schools.
Every Tuesday and Wednesday nights I am inundated with artists who only want to better their craft, to stretch their classical theater muscles in Los Angeles.
Yeah, I am lucky.
Antaeus allows me the opportunity to learn from the masters, impart my own thoughts and insight, develop my own self as an artist and take risks on programming and audience development.
All that Antaeus demands from me in return is excellence.
Well, okay. In exchange for more perks than I ever thought possible, all I must do is work in a theater all day.
Need I say more? I’m beginning to dream of rehearsal—mostly the incredibly sick feeling I get in my stomach before a rehearsal. The release of any real ‘plan’ and channeling the Shakespeare Zen inside me that will let it flow.
Macbeth RE-EX in the Park
OK, enough new age speak.
Even though it is true………the days we have been the most successful are the ones when the energy of the ensemble dictate our direction. When I adjust our goals based on what I feel they feel. When I truly give up the idea that a “Director” must have all the answers and must be the one speaking most of the time.
Truth be told, this Macbeth RE-EX workshop is really just an extension of how I normally run rehearsals–except I have no time restraints. The Porter rehearsal we run entirely based in sound effects, the Macduff/Malcolm then Hecate/3 Witches is over beer and bruschetta and coffee at an outdoor cafe, in the park we were all a little distracted but when it came down to working the scene, everyone just clinched the focus needed. They just found it. They had it. They allowed everything around us to inform our next choice in rehearsal and with each other. We completely disagreed and ranted a bit. We had a rowdy dinner party while Macbeth went from seeming a little too drunk to downright crazy in front of our eyes. Then the quiet came with Lady MacDuff and no one uttered a word. The poor child of MacDuff was left on the floor of their nest/cage, a place I had always seen as a deep hole in the ground from where Lady MacDuff just stared up at the world, a bit like a hole burrowed into the earth for safekeeping, but where creatures are actually just sitting ducks.
And so I dream about it. And wish we had more than one or two rehearsals a month.
But then, the time within the process is more enriching than any other I have experienced.
She warned me. My mother sent an email after shipping off two boxes of things she ‘would have scrapbooked but obviously won’t get to,” — the next logical conclusion was that I would want all of these ‘things.’
First of all, kudos to Mom for clutter-clearing! Especially these ‘things’: papers of all kinds. These ‘things’ are usually the fire fodder kept in damp boxes and only opened when people consider what to do with them; too often they just get re-boxed, and perhaps labeled in a different way.
Box #1: my first twenty years: report cards, reports, essays, My Sacrament of the Eucharist workbook, the letters my godparents wrote so they could become my godparents, pictures of people I never care to see again, programs of old plays—really, quite a load of ‘things’ that I narrowed down to one little pile to keep. Mostly of baby things and my high school yearbook.
The interesting bits from box #1: how my godfather feels about religion (in that letter to prove he was worthy of being my godparent), the interim reports that said I would have a better grade if I did my homework or showed up for quizzes (then showed an A- average), the very conspicuously missing picture in my Eucharist workbook when they asked for a drawing of me talking to God, but the most interesting thing had to do with my high school yearbook.
I KNOW where most people are now. It’s impossible not to; I know about my high school acquaintance’s kids through facebook; I know their professions through LinkedIn; I know their dirty secrets through myspace and their utterly dreary thoughts through Twitter.
Even stranger, the closer I was to someone in my high school years (with one exception), the less I knew about them. People for whom I occupied my house’s ONE phone line (remember those days) for hours–well, we weren’t even friends on facebook! How can that be?
Perhaps for the same reason why I threw out their love notes and prom pictures without a thought.
Lesson learned from Box #1: It’s OK to block more people’s status updates on my news feeds and thank Lord I haven’t spoken to some others in years.
Now on to Box #2:
Papers. A tour through my twenties via play programs. Most I tossed without a thought. I did appreciate the care with which my mother had stored them. But they just felt like weight dragging me down–old ideas, old mild successes and some pretty large failures, lots of pieces with great memories but the work itself only served to push me into a different place artistically. Or discover a place which I didn’t care to explore again. Which is why they all went into the trash.
Things I kept from Box #2: a baby picture, my actual birth certificate and the program from a Macbeth production I had JUST spoken of two weeks ago.
Clutter-clearing Tip from this Experience: ALWAYS clear your clutter on trash nights. Have the trash cans already out on the curb, if possible. Then there’s no turning back and it’s much more of a clean slate.
And if you DO miss that dear friend to whom you haven’t spoken in years, just search for them on facebook.
In honor of my mother’s birthday (go, Leos!), I am listing many things I believe she taught me. There is no way to make this list all-encompassing. I simply want to show my appreciation. Here goes!
My mother taught me………..
1. I am beautiful.
2. If you’re going to do something, you really should do it as well as you can. It’s not really worth doing otherwise.
3. Directing a play starts with making it an arts and crafts project (if you’ve ever seen my index cards, then you’ll understand this!)
4. If you say something behind someone’s back, be prepared to say it to their face. Don’t back down about it, either – they probably need to hear it.
5. When you need to re-organize yourself or feel out of control, buy a new planner or a new bag. Take the time to really clean out the old planner/bag and make the new one work the way you need it to work for this next stage of life. Amazing how satisfying it will be.
6. Friends are important, but sometimes there are friends to let go.
7. Everyone needs their “time”: sometimes you should throw a party just to celebrate someone’s life.
8. Give gifts that people might actually enjoy.
9. When you like an author, immediately read everything they ever wrote. Very satisfying.
10. Alone time. It’s important.
You can't see me, but I'm there!
11. Lions are beautiful.
12. Sometimes you just want to sit back and watch a week’s worth of General Hospital.
13. Gift shops are the best part of museums. You want to take a piece of art home with you.
14. Sisters are special.
15. Psychic bonds exist.
16. You don’t always have to understand your spouse, but you should always appreciate them.
17. Sometimes you just need a good haircut.
18. A good story is invaluable.
19. If you feel like you need to go outside and take a walk before reacting to something, you should do it.
20. If you feel like you need a hug, you should go for it.
21. Questioning faith just means you are thinking about it. Don’t be afraid of it — the questioning or the faith.
22. Obstacles just mean you have to get more creative.
23. Follow through on promises.
24. Don’t be afraid of what you write. However it comes out is how it was meant.
25. When friends you have let go come back into your life, accept them and hold no grudges.
I’m sure there is more, but you get the idea. My mother gave me the courage to follow what I believed and the encouragement even when she did not understand.
Happy Birthday! Sorry I can’t be there.
I just finished a grant. But that’s not what this post is about.
The grant made me think about 1999, when I traveled through Romania, Bulgaria and Croatia to study theater.
To say it changed my life is the epitomy of minimization.
But I was really thinking about this woman on the plane. Direct lift from my diary:
Wed., 5/26 (continued)
I’m on the plane now and sitting in between two of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. The gentleman to my right is a native Argentinain, though he claims that Buenos Aires is the most European of all the Americas — North, Central & South. He started learning languages at the age of four, and now knows five. He teaches at a university in Germany (I think) and is disgusted that when he enters the amphitheatre (his word) that the students do not say “Good morning” back to him. The three of us got into a heated discussion about how you really cannot blame the children today for their actions. When the only examples they have of life come from music, TV, video games, etc., where else can they turn to? He said that they need a family, and gangs provide that sense of family.
The woman–goodness, I don’t even know her name–and I have been chatting for a good portion of the three hours of the flight so far. She is from Germany originally, but has spent forty-one years in the U.S. Her father was a German colonel, and the only way she could rebel was to marry an American GI. But he charmed her father, so it didn’t end up being much of a rebellion. She had a self-professed American fetish. When she learned English in school, her teacher hated her work, because she snuck in listening to American radio. So when she was called on in her English class, she would use American slang. Now her teacher was an Oxford graduate and he would get sooooo angry that she was slandering the English language. The other children loved it, and egged her on. But the teacher couldn’t give her a bad grade, because she did know her English.
So she married this GI who was quite a charmer–which led to their eventual divorce, actually [from me in 2009: Ah, the hindsight, if only I had paid attention] and he was stationed in Florida, then Mississippi. Man, oh man, did she hate that place. Besides the constants bugs and gators, what she really despised was the blatant racism. She would be walking down the street, and a white man was in front of her, also walking. An 80 year-old woman coming the other way, who was black, had to get off the sidewalk and walk in the street. She would apparently go home raving. They only lived in Mississippi from January until June, when they were then stationed in Illinois (two hours outside of Chicago), her husband would joke that he had to get her out of there because she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.
Then she said that the US had just held the Nuremberg Trials at this time. All she could think was: take care of your own problems.
When she talked about how important it was to vote, she discussed how Hitler got into power because no educated person took him seriously. She believes (as do many) that Hitler fed off the cultural discontent started by Versailles.
Many people have asked her how could you (the German people) have “let the Holocaust happen? Didn’t she know what was going on?” And she had to say no. “You Americans, born and raised,” she said, “don’t understand what it’s like to live under a dictator. As many problems as it has, democracy is still the best government around. But dictators….well, no, we had no idea what was happening. We didn’t know what was going on until bombs started to drop. And I don’t know why they only talk about the Jews who were killed. Anyone who spoke up–priests, men, anybody — were hung from the nearest tree. And that’s when the people started realizing how many trainloads of people were being taken away. And then I was eleven years-old when the war was over. Our teachers were ordered to teach the children collective guilt. We were all, every single German alive, responsible for what happened.”
When I asked her how they could teach that, she answered, “That’s what they were told to teach [I assume as part of the terms of ending WWII] : collective guilt. One of my history teachers, though–he would lock the door during his lessons and explain in more detail.”
I raise my glass to teachers never having to lock the door–to the flawed but great democracy in which we live.
I just realized that I spent all of last week studying up on the Kings of England by watching movies and didn’t even know it.
In chronological order: Becket (Henry II–first man to be called “King of England” instead of just “King of the English”), Robin Hood (King Richard I the Lionhearted and Prince –later King– John Lackland) , Braveheart (King Edward I Longshanks), Medieval Lives(In the episode “The Kings,” discusses how very different Richard I, II & III actually were from the mythology which surrounds them)– and at Antaeus, our Company studies King Richard II on their Company Shakespeare Night.
What I learned that I didn’t know or things I connected:
Prince John is the King John of Shakespeare
Richard II killed his father Henry II so he would become King instead of his younger brother John. Prince John did try to usurp his brother but when King Richard I died without issue, Prince John took over and ended up ruling for quite a while and doing a pretty nice job.
Henry II is the grandson of William the Conqueror, who is always known for the Battle of Hastings in 1066 (that date does stick out from my memory of world history class).
King Edward I Longshanks’s son Edward II was very much as portrayed in Braveheart, wimpy, and his reign was self-proclaimed : disastrous”
I’m learning much more, obviously, the further into this newfound game that I travel. I’ve just spent too long working on classical theater to allow my ignorance of the Kings of England to go any further. You just have to hunker down and really pay attention, like learning a new language, and apply it frequently so you don’t forget. Plus, it’s fascinating to watch or read these stories and connect the dots, understand characters knowing the different versions and the playwrights’ relationship with the King of his time. I think that understanding the source material and all of the versions can really help with character choices. Trying to figure out how to leap into the Henrys and rest of the Richards. Open to suggestions!
Macbeth RE-EXplore is a monthly workshop devoted to RE-EXploring Macbeth from different points-of-view and with no timeline in sight. The idea is to breathe between rehearsals, to allow the outside world to inform our work and characters’ emotional lives, and to re-explore the play from different angles. Where it has been the most successful is when we focus on different scenes — rather than forming our concept and shaping every decision to fit into that concept, we are given the luxury of time which allows for delving deeply into every scene and asking all of the questions that arise.
From our last rehearsal Act iii, Sc i
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
The Porter………………..
Really, the two main things that came out of working on Act 3, scene 1 are these:
The Porter runs the show for the beginning but then is speechless. yet present.
Malcolm and Donalbain are usually so lost in this scene because they barely have any presence onstage at the beginning yet they change the most from beginning to end. I think this scene and their story specifically is so lost because by the time the audience remembers who these characters are, their short scene at the end is over, and they lose the thread.
Which made us wonder if the whole scene is from the perspective of Malcolm and Donalbain.
–We also played more with sound, and just truly found the key to this play. I asked everyone to ‘perform’ the sounds their character hears at different times like a Foley Artist. All of a sudden the scene came completely alive.
One very tricky thing about clearing shared clutter is that sometimes you don’t know how attached your partner is to different items.
For instance:
I have gone through three phases of streamlining my comic books, and it was down to about twenty. Once I confirmed with my guru of all-things-comic Corey Blake that no one would pay more than $1 for mediocre Wonder Woman, or the women of Chaos Comics – poorly written but beautifully drawn, or The Maxx – which defies description, I sat down to say goodbye.
I read a few of them. They were entertaining but I remembered most of the plots. That’s what comes of re-reading twenty sheets over and over and over again over thirty years.
Except I haven’t touched them in at least ten, except to decide whether or not to keep them.
So I have decided to take my husband’s outlook. When texting him to ask whether he wanted his Theatre History Lecture Notes, he said: “Overall, if you have to ask, the answer is no.”
So, as much as I love Evil Ernie, Lady Death or Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, the only comic book that made me pause was Lenore. And so “Lenore: noogies” shall stay in my library.
I am going to out myself here as an Uber Geekazoid and tell everyone that I instigated an “I, Claudius” night with my friends. Two of whom had seen it and read the books, four of whom had not.
Besides the fact that it was a lot of fun, we all really latched onto one line that mentioned “prophetic chickens” — in our world of astrology and fortune cookies and interpreting status messages, this ancient form of answering life’s questions appealed to us. Not in practice, necessarily, although I did linger near the chicken aisle a little longer than usual last week.
While preparing for The Indy Convergence, where I am right now (Hello, Indiana!), I was reading poetry which is part of the project. Here are the first three lines of one Kenneth Patchen poem:
In the footsteps of the walking air Sky’s prophetic chickens weave their cloth of awe And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying
I want to see MY cloth of awe woven by the prophetic chickens!
And here is my tribute to the late poet Kenneth Patchen—his poem “The Artist’s Duty”
So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame To extend all boundaries To fog them in right over the plate To kill only what is ridiculous To establish problem To ignore solutions To listen to no one To omit nothing To contradict everything To generate the free brain To bear no cross To take part in no crucifixion To tinkle a warning when mankind strays To explode upon all parties To wound deeper than the soldier To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all
To verify the irrational To exaggerate all things To inhibit everyone To lubricate each proportion To experience only experience
To set a flame in the high air To exclaim at the commonplace alone To cause the unseen eyes to open
To admire only the abrsurd To be concerned with every profession save his own To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator To lift the flesh above the suffering To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceit
To flash his vengeful badge at every abyss
To HAPPEN
It is the artist’s duty to be alive To drag people into glittering occupations
To blush perpetually in gaping innocence To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence To burrow beneath the subconscious To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason To obey each outrageous inpulse To commit his company to all enchantments.
Kenneth Patchen
Another interesting connections, since at this Convergence, I run a workshop about Social Change Through Art and struggle with many of these questions and ideas. Well, considering these two major coincidences with one poet I had never encountered until 2 weeks ago, I believe my prophetic chicken has come! Patchen must be an artist to whom I pay more attention.
I’ve been utilizing Planned Parenthood’s services since I was a teenager. They have always been the most accessible and helpful channel towards staying safe and preventing pregnancy. The only place I have ever found to be better was a Gay & Lesbian Center in New York who didn’t care what your sexual orientation was and played “Dirty Dancing” in the waiting room; the only reason I term it ‘better” is because I love Jerry Orbach and Patrick Swayze.. This clinic had a sliding scale but Planned Parenthood was always cheaper.
Usually the only drawback to PP is exactly why they are so fantastic: the waiting room was full of teenagers and various women in their twenties, some in distress but most who just can’t afford health care. I hated having to sit there and witness the decline of teenage civility, but always appreciated the fact that if teen girls are sexually active, they have somewhere to go.
Regardless of how monotonous and probing the questions on the questionnaires were – and they have to be completed with EVERY visit – I appreciated how thorough their system was and wondered how many girls in the room had as much if not more experience than I had at their age?
Last Saturday was different. Usually if I arrive between 8:00 & 8:15 a.m. on a Saturday morning, it’s already packed. Boyfriends linger in the waiting room or bring their girl McDonald’s from next door. The television blares but you can’t hear it above the din of conversation and cell phones. People fight with the receptionist and don’t understand why they have to wait for hours just to get some pills.
I arrived at 8:20 a.m.
Quiet. Half the waiting room was full. Everyone had a thick book they were quietly reading. Diverse room but no more of one ethnicity than another. “Saved by the Bell” was on the telly and you could follow it.
But here is the craziest part:
Everyone was my age or older. We watched Zach and Kelly’s friends handle their break-up and got nostalgic.
I was out in one hour and fifteen minutes, a record even for a Saturday morning.
Where have all the teens gone? Where are all the teens going?
Do they have somewhere or are they not as worried about pregnancy and STI’s (called STD’s in my day) as they were before?
I have fond memories of fighting my way through midtown Manhattan, two empty shoulder bags over one arm, and entering the bliss that is called the New York Public Library. I knew the side entrance which had the clearest path to the 3rd floor.
Ah……the 3rd floor. Literature, Drama, Art, Literary Criticisms that made me drool with desire to read, and the ultimate Amazing Research destination: The Picture Collection. It only took two trips to my mecca before I had the routine down, including the less busy times of days, days of the week and what coinage in what quantities was needed for the copy machines.
That’s how I used to research projects, plays, costumes, anything I could grab with my grubby hands, which I was sure to wash thoroughly before entering the collections.
Now I just use Google. There are definitely times when traveling downtown to the Los Angeles Public LIbrary is the only way to obtain the information that I require, but more often than not it’s simply a matter of copy & paste or re-formatting, and Google gives me everything I need.
They even have websites that I can easily create and share Dramaturgy with Directors, Producers, Designers and Actors. For an example of exactly how convenient this can be, just look here http://sites.google.com/site/theroverbyaphrabehn/Home .
Paper is saved, and people can easily find the materials they seek in a format in which we have all become much more comfortable.
My question is: if everyone could just type a keyword and find information as easily as I can, then what is the future of Dramaturgy? (And yes, I am strictly speaking of Dramaturgy in the Research sense, not the Development Sense).
I will be following this topic over the next few months and asking respected artists their thoughts. I look forward to a discussion and comments! I am withholding my thoughts until we hear from others.
moveon.org officially endorsed Barack Obama – who’s about to fall over and die from not surprise — and hosted an intriguing Contest: Create your own commercial about Barack Obama. Now, in full disclosure, I am an Obama supporter and should probably find some of the competition’s commercials to review. Although I heard that Hilary’s asking Chelsea for loans now, so who knows when we’ll see new commercials or even an arm reaching out to the people from beyond the pulpit.
moveon had some excellent guidelines and this next part was especially pertinent. From their website:
Judging Criteria: Both MoveOn.org members and the panel judges will be asked to rate each ad based on three criteria:
Overall Impact: How persuasive, memorable, and moving is it? (50%);
Originality: Did the concepts/ideas/format seem fresh and new? (25%);
Positive Message: Is it consistent with the positive message fueling Obama’s campaign? (25%)
Who can participate: Anyone over 15 years old who is a U.S. citizen or permanent resident alien.
Once I got over the use of the term “resident alien,” which I despise, I took a look at the winners.
The top winner turns out to be a friend of a friend:
Straightforward, softly intense. There’s something I like about it. But was this the best? It absolutely captures the tenor of the Obama campaign, which ultimately tells people to make their own decisions. A lot of voters don’t want that. So, will those people get this ad? Will they get it but ignore it? Will they think about it at all? Artistically, there’s something very meaningful in the pace and the general straightforwardness of it all. So I decided to move on – no pun intended – and watch the rest of the finalists.
I love it for all the same reasons that the Winner attracted me, but this one made me laugh. I do have faith that any Republican who at least laughed at the joke would dream in purple hues that night, since that was such a strong image. I also wonder how many people decide to vote for someone based on an ad they see? That is a topic for another time……
“Hi, Head? This is the Nail. Hold still while I hammer—”
I was amazed they got this to happen, and appreciate the imagery, but I’m not sure it would get people to change their vote.
This one is Campaign Ad Lite. This is what you show the kids when they ask why the big bad GOP bully in the schoolyard says Obama’s a loser. But it is cute. It did make me smile.
Interesting idea but poorly written.
Very cute but wouldn’t change my vote.
That just made me feel kind of icky. What did I say about the GOP bullies?
OK, besides the fact that we could see that coming a mile away, it just didn’t sit right. Maybe because this comparison is inaccurate, at best. Maybe because they touted the race card and Obama’s campaign doesn’t.
(Off topic, I read in an article today about West Virginia’s Primary, and the first time they mentioned Barack Obama, they clarified “If Obama won, he would be the first black President.” I was so happy they brought that to my attention a week after he was essentially declared the presumptive nominee. There was good reason to think we’d forgotten, with West Virginia’s Primary and all.
Great rally cry, but is it an ad? I always think an ad is meant to sell you on an idea. If you would even imagine calling your campaign ad “come together,” then clearly you’re voting for Obama.
My question is: since when does a presidential campaign look like an after-school special? Where’s Viggo Morgenstern playing a druggie? (Look it up.)
Now THIS is an ad. Gives you logical reasoning and sentiment. If all it accomplishes is to make you think of that pleasant music when you think of Obama, it’s planted the seed.
I like this for the same reasons I liked the last one. It gives you nuggets to nibble on and make your own choice. Plus, it directly appeals to the right people who might need a nudge to change their vote.
See, this one goes a step further than the Winner, and I appreciate that. It is extremely effective without being too cutesy or clear. Why didn’t this one win? (Sorry to my friend whose friend created the Winner).
i would have to put this one into the Category of “Confirmer Ad.” It won’t change anyone’s mind, but if anyone was on the fence and their demographic is represented in one of those people, seeing this ad will “Confirm” their vote.
I am going to investigate more of what goes into a campaign ad: what is its ultimate purpose – to convert or confirm?
“i think that’s the first time i realized that the world could end because someone wanted it to”
That’s what I said to my friend when describing how watching “ON THE BEACH” affected me. “ON THE BEACH” is a 1959 film about the survivors of a nuclear war who are only in Australia, and waiting to die. The wind will bring it to them in under a year and they all know it. The government actually gave all of the citizens cyanide in case they wanted to die peacefully and without radiation poisoning.
I remember watching it at a very young ago but can’t remember the circumstances. But it was before junior high and had a profound effect on me. One of the only other movies that affected me this deeply was “DEERHUNTER,” when I saw the POW scenes. I got a very distinct understanding of “TORTURE” from that. Or the very first scene in “LITTLE DORRID,” (yes, it’s Dickens and an incredibly long, boring movie in which my father somehow thought his 8 year-old daughter would be interested. And he was right.) In that very first scene, a woman was giving birth and flies were everywhere. on her water glass, for instance: The flies on everything that I thought should be sanitary. That movie created the concept “POOR” to me, or maybe “DIRT POOR.” I don’t care how little money I’ve ever had at any point in my life, but I will never be dirt poor as that movie explained it to me. The movie “QUILLS” explained “FORBIDDEN” to me. It also reinstated Joaquin Phoenix as sexy after he took such a queasy role in “GLADIATOR.” But on topic…….
It’s just a fascinating idea – when did these abstract concepts become real to us? I’d be very interested to hear what some other people remember as defining moments like this.
Several WGA scribes on sudsers have decided to cross the picket line to keep their jobs.According to several people with knowledge of the situation, a high-ranking writer-producer on CBS’s “The Young and the Restless” has informed the WGA that he plans to go “financial core” — that is, give up full membership in the guild and withhold the dues spent on political activities in order to continue writing during the strike.
BUT THIS?
Ratings for the daypart have been in decline for years, with several sudsers barely hanging on. NBC, for example, has made it clear that “Days of Our Lives” may not be renewed when its license agreement expires. There’s been talk for years about CBS cutting one of its soaps, too.
Days of Our Lives not renewed? What on earth could people
possibly watch if daytime soaps aren’t on. However will our youth learn their loose and lusty ways?
There is one summer when all I remember is my best friend, my sister and her best friend, Soap Operas (usually skipping from one channel to the next so I can almost follow two that were aired at the same time) and Super Mario Brothers. By the end of the summer, two out of the four of us had beaten it.
I just don’t know what will happen to the youth of today if they aren’t able to model their relationships after Luke & Laura.
