Pride Parade

We went to the San Francisco Pride Parade on Sunday, and had a blast. Here are some photos I took.

Until next time: be who you are, give love generously and peace out!

She Did It!

On Friday, Carrie defended her dissertation. On Saturday, she graduated from Stanford with a doctor of philosophy. On Sunday, her adviser "hooded" her.

I'm incredibly proud of my "dirt doctor."

(Photo by Jann, Dr. Nielsen Sr.)

Honest Abe in Oregon

Last weekend I was in Ashland, Oregon, where I saw five plays* at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in two-and-a-half days. It was heaven.

Since we’re moving to Gettysburg, I decided to take a six-CD, 12-lecture course on Abraham Lincoln with me (from the library). As luck would have it, the teacher, Professor Allen S. Guelzo, is from Gettysburg College, where Carrie will be next year.

Surprisingly, there was a statue of our 16th president in Ashland, at the entrance to the wonderful Lithia Park. Sadly, though, he was headless.

Vandals had beheaded the Great Emancipator. Fear not though, compatriot, a new head is on the way, according to a man at the visitors booth. The kindly gentleman also told me a tale that proves there are silly civic controversies everywhere (even outside Palo Alto).

Apparently, there was apparently an uproar when the populace learned that the replacement head (and the backup, just-in-case-this-atrocity-ever-occurs-again head) are coming from – Horrors! – Japan!

I also learned more local folklore: The statue in the plaza near the park of a soldier holding a rifle used to – long ago – face the other way. But the ladies in the brothel on the second floor of the downtown establishments complained the soldier was peering into their windows, watching them with their clients. The prostitutes made enough noise, they eventually convinced the town fathers (surely they were men then) to rotate the statue.

There he stands, a few paces from the headless Lincoln.

I’ve posted a number of photos from my trip on my Flickr page. Check them out here.

Also, wish Carrie good luck – she’s defending her dissertation on Friday. I’ll try to post about that next weekend, which also happens to be graduation

Until then: Learn about Lincoln, hear funny tales from old men and see An Inconvenient Truth.

*Intimate Apparel, Bus Stop, The Importance of Being Earnest, Up and A Winter’s Tale

The Singularity Summit

I caught two speakers at Saturday’s Singularity Summit at Stanford University. Both tried to convince the audience of the importance of the topic. Singularity, in this context, refers to the point when science and technology bring “humanity beyond its boundary of intelligence,” according to the conference Web site.

The first speaker I heard, Eliezer Yudkowsky, argued that Artificial Intelligence has been the victim of “ethnic stereotyping.” Science fiction movies and novels depict robots plotting to kill out their creator, man. But, Yudkowsky said, those storylines presume the robots will have the motivation to kill humans.

Maybe they’ll be more interested in curing cancer. Or creating a giant cheesecake.

Nevertheless, Yudkowsky firmly believes AI, with its ever-increasing intelligence, will alter “the fate of the world.”

“In a hundred million years, no one’s going to care about who won the World Series, but they’ll remember the first AI,” Yudkowsky said. He ended with a call to action to those attending the one-day conference. His plea: give money to his nonprofit, the Singularity Institute for Artificial Intelligence.

“This matter does require your action and attention, not just your applause.”

The second speaker was author Bill McKibben (“End of Nature,” “The Hundred Dollar Holiday”), who acknowledged that his role was to play the flat-earth believer in a room of techno-Columbuses.

(Ironically, McKibben appeared at the summit thanks to technology – he wasn’t present but rather appeared via a realistic 3-D image using a Teleportec.)

McKibben argued the quest for endless technological advances is only valuable if the end result makes us happier, not if it helps us live forever. Life only has value if it ends, he said.

A survey of the major works of the singularity field, according to McKibben, shows only a tangential interest in helping people live more fulfilling lives. Singularity’s leaders, he said, primarily seek answers to such pseudo-philosophical inquiries as, What is it like to peer into “the naked soul of man.”

“Forgive me,” he said, but such queries sound “like sentiments shared outside a Phish concert.”

More profound questions for McKibben: “Can I give you a hand with that?” and “Do you think you could ever love me too?”

Until next time: Avoid the deadly robots, call your mother and lend a hand.

(P.S. Adam and Christa visited last week. Here are some photos from their trip.)

California Ovation

With our time in California runnning out, I'm finding myself signing up for things left and right, especially some classes I've always wanted to take. It's kind of a new take on the classic "What would you do if you knew you were going to die in three months?"

Here's a *partial* list:
*dinner and a play at the Magic Theatre with Pulitzer Prize winner Paula Vogel;
*the Singularity Summit at Stanford University;
*a weekend playwriting class with the Playwrights Foundation;
*a four-day moviemaking class at the Bay Area Video Coalition; and
*a weeklong trip through Northern California, ending at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland.

I'll write about each of them as they come and go ...

Until then: Get high, fly low and tread lightly on your neighbor.

Great Expectations

Whenever a play I'm acting in is ending, especially an enjoyable one, I think about a quote from the Mary Tyler Moore show, something about how when a pig flies, you don't complain that it's a bit wobbly and crash lands. You think, 'Wow, a pig has flown."

The sentiment perfectly fits "Expecting Isabel," the snappy, energetic play (with its outstanding cast), which concluded it four-week run last night at the Bus Barn Stage Company in Los Altos.

The play concerned a New Yawk couple, Nick and Miranda, and their various and sundry attempts to have a child, whether through insemination or adoption. As with the rest of the six-member ensemble, I played a number of characters: Nick's slovenly Italian brother, a jock, a junkie, a sanitation worker, a surly Denny's waiter, Miranda's priggish boss, a doctor and one-half of a gay couple trying to adopt.

Due the large number of scene changes and costumes, backstage was well-organized chaos (as well-organized as chaos can be, anyway). I had a "cheat sheet" to help me schedule my 11 costume changes and various furniture moving. By the end, we were all acting as a well-oiled machine (as I predicted during our final dress rehearsal), which was good -- because the lead actress fractured her wrist before the final weekend.

Despite everything, the run was surprisingly smooth. One fun exception: Last night, during the final scene of Nick's crazy Italian family, my "sister" (Marilet Martinez) and I accidentally dropped a sandwich. I didn't notice it immediately (she had to nudge me because, being "pregnant," she couldn't pick it up herself) and the scene had to pause while the five of us on stage reacted to the fall, all in perfect character. Since my character was a bit of a goof, I picked up the sandwich and slapped it back on her plate. The audience, which of course had noticed the slip, laughed in appreciation. Nick (Tom Gough) then improved a line about how what genetics is telling us is that we all "make mistakes." Indeed. A perfect ending to a wonderful experience.

The show is likely to be my last in the San Francisco Bay Area. I had a good run -- Malvolio in Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night," a Neil Simon comedy, a Chekhov tragicomedy, a Steve Martin comedy "Picasso at the Lapin Agile," "The Last Night of Ballyhoo" by the writer of "Driving Miss Daisy," and a tender new play from San Francisco playwright Ian Walker, "A Beautiful Home for the Incurable." Most were fun and received good reviews (A Beautiful Home, Ballyhoo and Picasso), with the notable exception of Chekhov's "The Cherry Orchard," which was called "the pits."

My biggest fear about Adams County, Pennsylvania will be that it will lack this diverse theatre scene, filled with wonderful folks like my new friend Dickleweed -- ahem, Marilet -- and the rest of my second Italian family.

Photos I took of rehearsals

Until next time: Keep the faith, fight the power and rave on.