Glass Shallot by Adam Baer | Adambaer.com

extremely original facebook-status updates from my network, posted during tonight's debate

In Chronological Order, from the most recent:

1. Mr. V "is mad that Joe the plumber just charged me 250,000 to unclug a drain."
    COMMENT: "I want his publicist. Dude's gonna be on Entourage next week."
2. MS. X "is watching the debate. thank you dvr. thank you."
2. MS. Y "thinks an angry old man sitting across the table from world leaders is NOT something I want."
3. MS. A "wouldn't call Palin a "role model" for this woman."
4. MR. C "is wondering if anyone knows a good plumber."
    COMMENT: "Plumbers do not pay taxes. They get paid in cash. And like waiters, they do not declare and pay taxes on a good portion of their independent income. Most plumbers make more than teachers, police, or fireman. So the candidates should have picked a teacher or lumberjack or barrista as an example"
5. MS. A "pro-choice doesn't mean pro-abortion, a-hole."
6. MS. F "thinks Obama is a class act."
7. MS. T "is thinking McCain doesn't know he's on split-screen."
8. MS. E "thinks McCain looks and sounds desperate"
9. MS. F " is amazed at Obama's restraint."
10. MS. F "wants to know what the Great Society was... I must not have been paying attention in American history."
11. MS. F "thinks McCain is really grasping..."
12. MS. G "is debate."
13. MR. V "is not going to hold back when watching the debates."
14. MS. J "knows her autistic kid is in good hands with Sarah because she 'understands special-needs children.'"

10 days since updating anything on Facebook, and I have to say, I feel such so clogged with  unexpressed emotion, I just don't know what to do...

worried about your moral footprint this week? new blogs to check out.

You don't have to be of the Hebraic persuasion to admire the new raucous gripe blog, Don't Judge Me. For those musically inclined, the Shallot is also digging Cassette from My Ex and, as if it needs any help, Smith magazine's new six-word memoirs project. Shallot, however, continues to write long--at least, for the printed the page.

Oh, My Word: Omaha's "Whatevs" Disaster. News as it Breaks.

The news is slowly creeping out of Nebraska Methodist Hospital. But apparently three ordinarily healthy septuagenarian Omaha librarians are still in critical care after suffering simultaneous cardiac arrests this morning when they were struck by news so grammatically and linguistically abominable that they could not maintain homeostasis. Margaret Dubrovic, 71, head librarian at Omaha's central library system, was reportedly enjoying a routine morning when her latest copy of The New Yorker magazine arrived in the mail. Allegedly, Dubrovic looked forward with great verve to the arrival of her private subscription copy and had been rumored to read half of the entire periodical well before the end of morning on delivery days with friends and co-librarians Betsy O'Neill, 74, and Edith Cooper, 76, both of whom also suffered cardiac arrests. But this morning the group happened upon what junior librarian Thomas DeBouef, 23, could only call "literary blasphemy of the highest proportions." The insidious word "whatevs," a slang term for "whatever" used by the so-called Britney Generation and the blog whatevs.org, apparently found its way into music critic Sasha Frere-Jones's recent review of the latest Coldplay album. And while the estimable writer had likely used the term in the most tongue-in-cheek manner, it even appeared as a one-word sentence--capitalized, of course. "He didn't have to go that far," said DeBouef, whose grandfather Eli, 89, also works in the library as a volunteer and suffered minor whiplash from today's events. "There's no doubt in my mind that the act of literally seeing such a word, if you can call it that, printed in the magazine these ladies have held so dear to their literary hearts for so many years caused their simultaneous tragedies. It's a damn shame." Of course, one Generation X reporter cannot help but wonder, in the words of character Carrie Bradshaw from the HBO show "Sex and the City," what septuagenarian librarians were hoping for from a review of a Coldplay album in the first place. "They weren't as shocked as many of their friends were that The New Yorker had taken to reviewing popular music so substantively over the last few years," added Debouef.  "They rather liked Coldplay, and as the article said, they often played the album 'Parachutes' during their afternoon tea sessions as a means to relax from the stress of their jobs." For now, however, the implicit danger posed by a simple unsubstantiated slang term such as "whatevs" is all an entire community can cling to for some explanation as to why their best librarians are on leave from the city's hottest reading room. More news as it breaks. In the meantime, get better, girls.

do you "get it?"

Have you seen the funniest copywriting ad on the Internet? Here it is:

"You’re a Copywriter who gets it, and you wonder why other people don’t. You understand that meaning comes not from the words, but the experience. You don’t write copy, you start conversations. You understand the transformational power of a network. And you think about connections – between brand and consumer, between consumer and consumer, between websites, emails, banners, TV, print, and direct mail. You have ideas. You have talent. You work hard. You play hard. And you’re the next Copywriter at [company name redacted] – Los Angeles."

Since when did meaning "come not" from "the words?" If that's true, the meaning of this ad is that professional copywriting is a joke (no surprise), because "the experience" of this ad is that  non-sequiturs and cliches produce money, and that it's easy to please corporate parrots who just "want to get onto the same page" and "reach out" to you so they can make more money off mind-"loving" members of our fair society.

Vaya con dios, wannabe copywriters!

yvette siegert: benching books from times square with zeal

Yvette Siegert, the young and exceedingly talented Columbia instructor, poet, and New Yorker editorial staff member, has finally been given a public forum in the form of, yes, a blog. New Yorker blogs may be obvious references, but what you should know about Siegert, the author of The Book Bench, is that she's not only a voracious and reliable book-scene correspondent; she's eminently qualified to tell us the backstories behind the books while remaining highly literate in the world literature field and so damn likable that you would never go wrong following her advice about what to read. Way to go, New Yorker! You've got a blogger who will literally change the way the magazine reaches the online book world and the readers to whom it caters. See The Book Bench as soon as possible, and watch for much, much more from Shallot friend Siegert.

the new crop

It’s true: The Shallot will no longer live a bi-coastal American life for the next thirty days. Rather, we intend to get bi-continental on your brain. That is, I will be stationed in Italy through the end of June, but I also will soon ask a guest editor to introduce herself. Your host will be a talented LA writer with far-reaching cultural interests and just the right amount of skepticism. While she pens bi-weekly dispatches and more quippy additions, I may chime in with observations about: travel, America's political profile abroad, food, international arts and culture, and the only European country I grew to love in my early twenties. It’s an interesting time to visit, in the wake of reviewing Umberto Eco and certain health conditions, considering, as I often do, the slowing down (if not the eradication) of my digital life in favor of returning to a more natural existence. But then where would the Shallot exist if I turned off the laptop? If the blog has done one thing for me all these years—aside from providing a waystation for my work (from literary to vapid, draw your own conclusions)—it has allowed me to put some parts of myself out into the ether that other vehicles just wouldn’t allow. I have too many stories (fiction and non)--to say nothing of the momentary surge of short ideas I wish to share--that I should have submitted, should have pitched, should have marketed, perhaps, if I had cared more over the years about making myself “known,” as I grow less confident about the so-called market for such work. Alas, I left music performance for a similar reason: I just don’t care to “perform” for an audience. Blogging, when it’s best for me, is about practicing some (casual) element of my craft for a small group of eyes, largely composed of people I know or have grown to know. Or will get to know. Or should know.  I’m not sure how the forthcoming guest editor feels about the form. But I do know she’s doing bang-up work on her site while diving in with lots of energy into this world we call publishing. Give her some of the love (and by love, I also mean good-spirited bile) that you’ve given me, and she will likely respond in kind, engendering the brand of dialogue that the Shallot enjoyed in its earlier, more active years. If I jump in now and again, and I will, it may even be in photo or video form. But I will also be at work on a long-term project as well as travel articles, so let’s make a date to reconvene in a short while and enjoy some new Shalloteering in the meantime. Cheers.

Stop Mattel from Scrabulous Facebook Raid!

[Cross-published on The Huffington Post]

Though I've somehow ended up as a professional writer, I never enjoyed Scrabble as a kid. I found it too wonky, or maybe I just had too small an attention span—when I had free time from music or words, I preferred to let my mind rest. Figuring out the exact place to drop a word like "fanworts" so that I could "achieve a righteous bingo," as my school's Scrabble fanatics liked to say, didn't seem like fun to me. I preferred smashing tennis balls. Or figuring out my taste in film.

But then, a few months ago, I began writing an article about social networks, which led, of course, to joining Facebook. I don't blame anyone else for what ensued. But yes, like most of America, I became quickly obsessed with the devilish social network, rife with time-wasting "apps," especially because I had a lot of time on the road, in isolation. Far be it for me to read more than I had to read for work: I could figure out what German philosopher I think like—well, according to whatever college sophomore created the personality quiz of the day (these were and reamin hardly trustworthy exams of one's values, but that's what's kind of fun about them--OK, not fun, but pleasantly distracting).

But with Facebook came a more virtuous diversion: Scrabulous, an interactive way to play a "scrabble"-like word game--a take on the form--with your "friends" wherein you were also given a list of all the geeky two-letter words acceptable to the dictionary and a game board that wouldn't allow you to throw down an invalid word. As well as a way to look some words up should your vocab need a little jumpstart. In fact, you could even throw down a word you didn't know as long as it worked. Say, "amu": the name I gave myself as a toddler. Apparently, "amu" is a word, according to Scrabulous dictionaries, which are close but a little looser than Scrabble dictionaries. I use "amu" all the time now. And I still haven't bothered looking it up. I've also used the word "speedo" much to my editor-friend's chagrin. And I'm not cheating. This is the scrabble-like variation for me, I decided. I can play this. I can use it to reconnect with true, far-flung friends. And I can win at it! [S]crabble--the form, not the product--is finally fun for me.

But today I learned of an extremely sad if predictable piece of news. Reuters is reporting that Mattel, the corporation that has the rights to Scrabble, the product, outside the U.S. and Canada, has asked Facebook to remove its Scrabulous application. Hasbro, Inc., the company that holds the U.S. and Canadian rights wasn't mentioned in the story. But I'm sure they won't be far behind.

Surely, the makers of Scrabulous, which can be played over the Internet or through e-mail—i.e. you don't need to use Facebook to play it—were aware of the inevitability of such a problem. But I don't see how it can't be rectified much in the same way that a thousand companies make Tetris-like clones. Does a company that owns the rights to Scrabble own the rights to the idea of the word game?

According to Wikipedia—purveyor of all accurate information (ahem)—Scrabble is also known as: "Alfapet, Funworder, Skip-A-Cross, Spelofun and Palabras Cruzadas" throughout the world. In fact, when Alfred Mosher Butts invented the game in 1938, he created a challenge based on another: an older word-related game he had fashioned called "Lexico." It was then sold to a Connecticut lawyer, then to other game manufacturers. (Parker Brothers rejected the game!). And it's even been a daytime gameshow hosted by none other than Chuck Woolery.

My point? It's part of popular culture, a recipe that can be reinterpreted like a pot pie. And now no one can own the idea of the game. Maybe certain companies own the rights to Scrabble's name and certain words for techniques used in that official game product. But at this point in time, this word game we're discussing should be considered a public-domain challenge. Much in the way a crossword puzzle isn't owned by anyone. [S]crabble is a form—it has become a form. It isn't just something you can buy. And you can't claim ownership to a form. Well, you could try, but that just wouldn't be cool. Intellectual property here is a rather vague matter, and I'm glad in this instance.

Expectedly, upon hearing this news, many of my friends contacted me, including one prominent computer software executive: What are you going to do now? she asked. She knew of my obsession. My answer? Create a Facebook group promoting a new way to play and to fight Mattel. Scrabulous has certainly brought me a lot of time-killing joy over the last few months. But it's also given me a whole new and improved way to procrastinate, which is part and parcel of the writer's trade. In the past, when I was trying to avoid work, I'd watch a film, play a sport, or sit by my pool listening to music. I might even sit and do nothing. And that's not the same as meditate. I'd rarely engage my mind in anything productive. But Scrabulous has given me a way to procrastinate that makes me a better thinker and writer. I can now drop "fanwort," "luteolin," or any of my recent lucky bingos into conversation and yes, my current writing assignments. I also think it's sharpening my logic at a time when the Internet and even some of my work is dismantling it.

Sure, I'm the most unlikely Scrabble devotee you're ever going to meet. But that's exactly why the scrabble-challenge-loving community should heed my call. It's the form we love, and the online version of this game only builds love for that. In fact, I now want to play the official board game with friends when I have free time. I'm more likely to purchase a fancy, branded Scrabble set. But if Scrabulous leaves Facebook—leaving me to answer one more ridiculous personality quiz (let's be honest: these aren't making me happier or smarter) or to send one more virtually hatching egg gift to a person I see every day--I may not want to continue this new love affair with word games. It's that tenuous, this love affair. It's hanging by a virtual string.

Left to my own devices by the demise of Facebook Scrabulous, I may just retreat to the procrastination of yesteryear and rarely desire to do anything that a lazy writer didn't used to do when he was trying to avoid the next assignment. I may turn to some far-less self-improving activity. I may look for answers in the (pomegranate juice) bottle. In public conversations. Or in a Wii!  So let's band together and fight. If we don't, it will be a longstanding shame. For my readers, Scrabble, and for thousands of other virtually social, procrastinating writers me.

some real new year's bubbly

In the current issue of Nextbook, Emily Barton's essay from the forthcoming anthology "Brooklyn Was Mine," takes us into a forgotten world of true Brooklyn seltzer-love, introducing us to Eli, the seltzer man. Finding this old-world, high-end delivery service that puts store-bought seltzer to shame, she writes:

Eli’s seltzer is more expensive than the kind we got in the store, so we don’t drink it with the same abandon, and the taste is different: saltier, more metallic, sharper. Learning to control the pressure was trickier than we’d expected; we had a few days of wet countertop before we mastered it. Even with soy milk, it makes phenomenal egg creams. But more important, we like having the crates and bottles in our kitchen, a tie to this city’s past. I like the connection to my father’s childhood, my aunts’ and uncle’s childhoods, and a world that was based around neighborhoods, where you knew the people who lived next door and ran the shop around the corner.

No beverage was more prominent in the home of my Sheepshead Bay grandparents than true, high-end seltzer (without the high-end price), and for the record, my Long Island born father still romances about properly carbonated egg creams. I used to even think as a little kid that seltzer was a specifically Jewish drink. But upon visiting my wife's Abruzzo-born Italian family in Bay Ridge last week, guess what I was served? One hint: It wasn't Pellegrino.

Why Glass Shallot?

Because we spit out "club soda" with verve!

oh, please offer us some...intelligent variety

I had a funny discussion the other day with another New Yorker living in LA. He said he felt like an "expat" here: a "big fish living in a small pond," in his telling--at least when it comes to meeting people who think beyond headlines. I didn't exactly agree or make the statement, but it wasn't the first time I heard it. Luckily, I've met tons of brilliant people in my new fair city. But I've sought a lot of them out. You don't always converse with new ones in line at El Pollo Loco. But my tales of serendipitous philosophical chicken-joint communion will have to wait.

Funnily, another friend just pointed out that Variety, Hollywood's glory trade mag (Ari Gold once called it the "school paper" on Entourage), linked to my Sweeney Todd piece earlier in December. The blog's quote? "Adam Baer claims that 'Tim Burton "re-invents the movie musical" with 'Sweeney Todd.' Really?'"

I had to laugh when I saw that. Did the blogger even realize that the actual subhead of the article--written by someone other than me--made it very clear that "re-inventing the movie musical" is what the filmmakers claim, and that I simply reported what they had to say? Probably not, because short-order blogs and especially movie-trade blogs meant for D-people aren't exactly the most accurate places to get your news.

Read the story that I wrote carefully. There's hardly any criticism in the piece, save for a very careful statement that reads: " [Sweeney's] as entertaining, artistic and efficient as anyone could make a 'Sweeney Todd' film that might appeal to a broad swath of moviegoers." While I believe the movie is entertaining and a great shot at creating a Hollywood movie version of Sweeney, save for a lot of the singing, I don't go beyond that point. I'm not hired to be a critic here. And I'm actually pleased with that fact.  So argue away with each other. I'm not jumping into the fray as a film or music critic on this one.

And that's the way it was supposed to be. I was paid to tell other peoples' stories in this case. Additionally, I write that:  "The key, therefore, was not to produce a performance film like Ingmar Bergman's "The Magic Flute" but to create an original movie genre: a consciously present-day spoke-sung music-film with younger actors, no traditional singers and a cinema-grotesquerie style, full of viscous slashes of blood." But this isn't my opinion. It's implied that the "key" belongs to the filmmakers.  This is the opinion of those interviewed--see forthcoming Steven Sondheim quote. It's factual reportage.

In Sondheim's words: "You can't just adapt stage musicals for the screen. You have to re-create them."

If I had been hired to critique the film, I might have printed all kinds of comments that discuss this recreation of genre and what Sweeney means to music and film. But I wasn't. And I'm not going to do it here and undermine my story. I stand by it. And if its sub-headline should read that the filmmakers' claim they've created a new genre--and if I should go on to give you those opinions--well, that doesn't mean I'm making the critical statement.

Frankly, after a childhood of conservatory composition, mainstream movie-loving, and a decade of criticism, I don't think Sweeney re-invents the movie musical; I think it adds new elements to it as filmic entertainment.  As I wrote: " Sweeney's new Burtonesque world is a visceral, inflated experience only film can provide."

But please, Variety blog, read between the lines before misquoting reporters on critical statements they, personally, haven't made. This sort of reaction to a story about Sweeney Todd is exactly what worried me when I learned such a meaningful and complex piece of music-theater was going to be fed to the multiplex crowd--and those who blog for those who feed them. Perhaps I should have asked the producers if they were worried about how the insider movie press would handle the movie and the primary press it might inspire--as opposed to how audiences across America would handle it. Happily, I left a midwestern theater the other day after seeing the movie in its completed version to find goth teenagers singing "Nothing's Gonna Harm You..." Sondheim doesn't need anyone's help connecting to any brand of audience.

upright citizen regresses further

After having seen numerous shows at the Upright Citizens Brigade theaters in both NY and LA, I have to say, it's pretty sad knowing that Amy Poehler, one of the founders, is so far along in her career, and that the other three guys, who can be funny, aren't. One of the things that strikes you when you first see a UCB long-form improv show--especially a free one--is how many very young college kids come out for it. And how well, these aging middle agers--the three guys who founded the troupe with Amy--play to them (Amy is always somewhere else, though I have caught her a number of times, and she's delivered the goods, ratcheting up a performance as long as coked up Seth Myers isn't a guest, or worse, the unfunny Horacio Sanz). Now, from Joystiq, however, is a video from the chief UCB man-child Matt Besser, doing shtick on gamers. I'm not offended. I'm not a gamer. But Besser, man, come on: You don't have to keep skewing young to get a laugh. As the sharpest tool in the UCB box, it should be evident that hitting the right comedic note by now is no longer just indulging the USC freshmen. Hell, look at Conan. He's found a way to stay college-funny but age, brilliantly. For now, that is.

[via Joystiq]