Monday morning roundup and rambles

The Times did very well with a headline and story rightfully meant to enrage: a six-year old girl gets bartered for her family's medical expenses.

The Times also fell into the trap, in its obituary of Yvonne Brill, of writing the profile of an accomplished woman with undue emphasis on her personal life.

The Canadian case against Keystone.

I've seen a number of the plays Peter Marks talks about and I don't think they're that great, particularly "Mr. Burns." If it is "brilliant," I must be an idiot.

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I very much enjoyed Mike Daisey's "American Utopias," but it did not need to be as long as it was. Not only was it too long for a play without an intermission, but it was too long, period: it would have benefited from some editing. Same goes for Amy Herzog's "4,000 Miles," which is not a very good play. It's a mediocre play that has its moments, including its very funny and very poignant moments. But it doesn't come together; it doesn't succeed. I think of "4,000 Miles" together with "Bachelorette" and "Motherf*er with the Hat," the latter of which is the best and funniest of the three, in that not one is an excellent play. They are all entertaining, they all have messages that they spray more than they say (and I prefer my theater unaerosoled), and they all have provocative--bordering on shocking--sex-themed discourse. Which makes me wonder whether sex-themed discourse (particularly of the shocking variety) is a crutch, a cheap but amusing substitute for structural and substantive strength.

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The "Mindy's Birthday" episode of The Mindy Project and Laurie Sandell's poignant "Modern Love" essay to which I linked the other day both address the minor indignities of the single life. On the show, Mindy gets a "microwave meals for one" cookbook of some kind, among other 'message' gifts. Sandell writes,

I felt depressed every time I had to check “single” on a form and when I sat down for a fancy meal I’d prepared for one.

I won't say I get depressed, but it does get old. What are these forms implying?? I did get sick of replying to my mortgage broker, every time I refinanced, that, yes, it was still "just me." I reflected shortly after my last breakup (almost a year ago now) how instantly the change in relationship status hit, but it didn't actually bother me. I don't judge myself for my relationship status; nobody I actually care about judges me for my relationship status--except for my mom, but she judges me for so many other things that it's a wash. So why the status-based angst? I'm not talking about the 'legitimate' reasons for wanting to be in a healthy relationship; just that sting of checking 'single.' Why does it sting more than checking an income other than 'over $250,000," which should also bring us back to our realities?