Yesterday (and today, still) a 10 alarm blaze ripped through a warehouse in Brooklyn. All day my boss kept saying "Do you smell smoke? Is something burning?" Yeah, Greenpoint. Our office is 2 blocks from Ground Zero in lower Manhattan, so when I stepped outside to head home, the haze of smoke and acrid air that wafted from the Brooklyn waterfront was a surreal reminder of 9/11 in the worst way.
A few days ago I was a few short blocks away from the conflagration at Galapagos, to cheer on my new band mates, The Lesbian Overtones. I sat in the audience, an apprentice Overtone, still.
I had hopes of writing a profound blog entry on the virutes of the theater vs. film vs. TV, inspired by meeting the great playwright and "Law & Order" veteran Eric Overmeyer last week, but the flames of terrorist memories have overwhelmed my thoughts. It doesn't help that a few blocks away the Tribeca Film Festival ushered in the first major motion picture depicting that day, Flight 93. Over at NewFest, we had films dealing with the terrorist attacks about a year later, I think because the Indie world moves at a faster pace emotionally and technically than the studio world. Theater used to serve that need and purpose in the cultural landscape, but now it's the blog/vlog/TV/film world filling that void, and not in as satisfying a way, unfortunately. My audience is small and intangible in my immediate blogosphere, not unlike off-off Broadway...
