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Musing #36: Broadway, Hollywood, the Genie and My Lifetime’s 1968

Welcome, dearest readers, to Part IIB of Musing #34: Yo, Broadway! Stop with the Hollywood.

Mere weeks after I posted Part I, this aspect of it was rendered painful to read:

WORK OF ART YEAR OF      FILM/SHOW APPROVAL? WHY OR WHY NOT
Aladdin 1992 2014 NO BELONGS ON ICE, NOT ON STAGE! And there is only one Genie.                                                                       

There’s nothing left that hasn’t been said/written/Tweeted about Robin Williams. But I’ve found myself utterly incapable of completing the long-promised apologia of the chart that alludes to him ever since the loss of him. Thus, I’m opting to explain that incapacity instead.

It’s my column, and I’ll switch if I want to.

I’m a wizard of snark and fundamentally a very angry person (arguably, irrationally so). Therefore, trust me when I say it’s hardcore that I’ve reached the extent to which I can spew venom at the unimportant (at least, for now, in a public forum). I promise I won’t neuter my narrative voice going forward, those of you who dig the bite. (Love you guys!) I’m just temporarily squelching the urge to hurl it at innocent strangers who make others happy, in deference to a stage and screen genius who made everyone but himself happy.

genie-within-you

I’m a student of history, and I’ve thought of 9/11 as my generation’s Pearl Harbor since the moment the South Tower fell at my feet; long before I had any idea what was actually going on. It just felt like Pearl Harbor (for which I was, obviously, not around) in the moment. And I can’t help but feel that 2014 is my generation’s 1968 (for which I was also, obviously, not around).

Everything is so bleak and violent. It’s more than one ghastly morning on the American coast (not that it was ever exclusively that). It’s infinite, worldwide strife…with a nightmarish epicenter in the center of America. And it just seems unreasonably petty to be bitching right now about that which brings people joy…even if I find it to be unpardonably lame.

I do prefer, emphatically, when the arc of dramatic adaptation flows decidedly westward. But I just can’t launch any more inconsequential hate into the ether until something wonderful happens in the consequential realm. I’ve got productive things to do with my time, my brain and my acid tongue.

This isn’t a cop-out. I swear.

It’s 100% sincere, and I worked very hard on this post.

Read about the above-referenced “productive things” next month in Musing #37: Thirty-Five in Los Angeles.

(NOTE: Read this in preparation: Musing #13: My Birthday Was a 2×4 to the Face!)

Until then, “Damn the worldwide strife, I’ll quit bitching for a month!”

Stacy, Curmudgeon on Sabbatical
@IvyLawEditor

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  1. Musing #35: Yo, Broadway! Stop with the Hollywood. (Part IIA of II) - Work Life Balance Protection Agency | Work Life Balance Protection Agency - […] So tune in next month for Musing #36: Yo, Broadway! Stop with the Hollywood. (Part IIB of II). […]

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