The Placebo Button

The elevator in my building has a door-close button that does nothing. I learned this the way everyone learns it, which is to say I pressed it for years under the impression that it was speeding up my departure. The button lights up. It makes a small click when pressed. It provides every sensory signal of function. What it does not do is close the door any faster than the door was going to close on its own. The elevators in most American buildings installed since 1990 have door-close buttons wired to nothing, because the Americans with Disabilities Act requires the door to stay open long enough for a person using a wheelchair or walker to enter, and the button that overrides that requirement is accessible only to the fire department with a key.

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Critic as Censor: How the Humanities Sacrificed Art at the Altar of Theory

My beloved friend, mentor, and Columbia University Professor Howard Stein, was fond of saying, “The Enemy of the Arts is the Humanities.” That insight, and advice, has stuck with me over the past 35 years. Now, that phrase is not the glib provocation it may seem. It is a precise diagnosis of an institutional disease, a declaration of war against a century of academic drift that has created a schism between the act of creation and the act of analysis, and we’re here to discuss this with you today. The Arts, in their purest form, are the domain of creation itself, of non-verbal expression, of performance, and of the direct, visceral encounter with an aesthetic object.1 They are a primary, generative impulse. The Humanities, by contrast, have become the domain of secondary analysis, of verbal codification, of research, and, most critically, of the theory of the arts.1 The relationship is not symbiotic; it is parasitic. Over the past half‑century, many university humanities programs, eager to claim scientific gravitas yet wary of prescriptive taste, have privileged metacritical theory over direct aesthetic encounter, often at the expense of studio practice. They have replaced the artwork with the interpretation, the artist with the critic, and beauty with politics. The evidence for this enmity is overwhelming, found in the testimony of artists, the language of critics, and the desperation of shrinking university budgets.

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Collaborators Not Cooperators

We must always wish for collaborators — and not cooperators — because collaborators have a vested interest in a shared success, while cooperators have nothing to lose, but they are always around to suckle on the win.

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Bryan Adams and the Summer of '69 Sexual Position

Filed under the category of TMI — Too Much Information — is rocker Bryan Adam’s recent revelation that his teen anthem, “Summer of ’69” isn’t a nostalgic look back at a quiet, more romantic time in his life, but rather an ode to honor the “69” sexual position.

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Sarah Palin at the Core of Crosshairs

The unraveling of the attempted assassination of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords in Arizona over the weekend warns us against inciting the threat of metaphorical violence in politics to achieve literal ends.  Sarah “Don’t Retreat, Reload” Palin placed herself in the center of the assassin’s intention with her despicable — and clearly terroristic — weaponized “map” of targeted Democrats, that included Gabby Giffords, placed in gun scope crosshairs on her Facebook page.  In the wake of the shooting, the map has been removed.

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Interactive Actors Acting Acted

The New York Times likes to consider itself the “newspaper of record” — and so when they place their foot on the throat of a production to test their muscle — theatre people the world over cringe and hope they don’t get hit with the tainted shrapnel.  The NYTimes recently promoted an interactive “lesson in movie acting” with 14 celebrities “emoting” on their website.

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Writing for Yourself: You are the Center of the Panopticon

Too many writers write for other people.  They write for lovers or lost hope or for an unknown, future, audience they hope will like them — when they should really only be writing for themselves.  Every writer is the core of their confounding world.  We are the center of our Panopticonic lives.

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Living Life One Foot in Front of the Other

It was a cold winter day on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. There were slick patches of ice everywhere, reminding me of my Charlie Brown New Year. I was walking with a friend of mine to the synagogue for the morning prayer and related the story about how I fell the one day and how fearful I was of falling down as a result. My friend is fantastic at offering good advice when it is needed.

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Google Docs: Did You Mean CUNT or CUNY?

This morning, I was editing a file in Google Docs, when I was asked by
the Google Spellcheck — if I meant “CUNT” instead of “CUNY” — and that
was quite a wild wake up call at 4:30am.

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How to Read a Script

We know how to Fix a Script — but we don’t yet know how to properly, and fairly, read one.

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