Christmas in Paris

As Christmas rolls by, I try to make the time-appropriate blog entry have some sort of meaning or relevance to that holiday, even if it means going out of my way to rack my brain for the most remote issue or topic...much as I do for July 4.  Well, this is this year’s feeble attempt at a seasonally appropriate blog entry.

 We celebrated Christmas in Paris from 1979 to 1989 – whoa, covered the 80s there.  1978 was the last Christmas spent in our house in Gaithersburg before moving to Paris, and by December 1990 we were back in that same house again. 

 The weather in Paris is much milder than Washington, DC area.  In summer, it rarely exceeds 90 degrees Fahrenheit, and in winter it rarely drops below freezing (though it does get cold) and almost never snows.  About the only thing I don’t like about snow is having to drive through heavy amounts of it on the roads.  Given that, in Paris, we almost never had to drive within the city itself and could get by either walking or taking the Metro, I’d say that ends up being the worst of both worlds in terms of cold weather: cold enough to be unpleasant but not cold enough for snow. 

 The news report which came on brought back memories: they said that in Paris for the holiday seasons, the city will be lit up with extravagant lighting arrangements (by that I take it they mean, MORE extravagant and elaborate than in prior years).  For my part, I do recall plenty of that when I was there, particularly lights in the trees around Ave. Matignon and the Champs Elysees, and the Eiffel Tower itself lit up.  What I remember most of all, in that regard, were the elaborate window displays at the Galeries Lafayette.  Fortunately, once we moved into Paris proper in 1984, we were now within walking distance of that immense department store.  They really knocked themselves out: fantastic window displays, with GI Joe, Smurfs, Legos, Barbie, you name it.  And not merely the stationary mannequins you’d usually see most of the year: this stuff actually MOVED (Kim Cattrall NOT included).  In fact, my dad would refer to them as “moving windows”, and us precocious little kids would correct him, “Dad, the windows themselves aren’t moving!”

 There were also chestnut sellers on the street, but I’m not a big fan of that type of nut.  Fortunately the heat was certainly enjoyable, if not the food.

 Another major deal was midnight mass.  When we were living in the US we would always go to Christmas mass on Christmas morning, which I do NOT remember fondly.  We’d have to interrupt playing with the toys to go to church, of all places.  Not fun (what does church and God have to do with Christmas?  Jesus didn’t bring me all that stuff, Santa did.  Come on!)   In Paris we went to St. Joseph’s, and one year my dad decided to try this midnight mass thing.  If we went at midnight at Christmas Eve, we’d be off the hook for mass the next morning.  Great idea!  We went with that from then on.  More recently we went back to Christmas morning mass, but the midnight mass memories from Paris are still there.  One year we braved St. Augustine’s, the church down the street from us, which didn’t seem to have heat – which is probably why we only went ONE year. 

 Actually, St. Joseph’s started out as one of these more traditional churches in the cross format with old style statues and creaky wooden pews – old enough that you couldn’t tell if the church dated from 1850 or 1920.  Then they tore the place down and redid everything as one of these ultramodern IKEA churches, spread out more like a fan (Nissan Pavilion seating – minus the mosh pit and mixing desk) with the quasi-abstract sign of the cross imagery.  Sooner or later I imagine even St Peters will get the IKEA treatment.

 Oh yeah.  I might as well throw this in.  I remember back in the 70s, while still in the US, we’d get the Sears catalog, the holiday edition as I recall.  And it would have all sorts of totally cool NFL stuff.  What we liked the most, and what we did order, were those jackets with the leather sleeves.  Of course I got the Minnesota Vikings one; at the time they still had the older “Vikings” script with the large V, instead of the newer one that’s kind of a stencil design.  Much of the currently available Vikings merchandise is still available with that logo.  They don’t sell those jackets anymore, though.  Of course my brother got the Steelers jacket, in black and yellow.  I don’t really know or understand why we should associate football, of all sports (if any) with Christmas.  Maybe it’s because NFL-related gear tended to be on our Santa’s list even back then – also because unlike baseball, for which the season ends in October before any real snow comes to the US, football reaches its peak during Christmas time.

 Hopefully everyone, everywhere – even Paris – will have a Merry Christmas this year.  Joyeux Noel!

Devil, Sin and the Jungle

  Here are three books set in Chicago, two are contemporary and one written back in 1905 – but all covering late 19^th and early 20^th century Chicago.  They complement each other fairly well, I found, so I felt that reviewing them together was appropriate.

 Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson.  This is a non-fiction account of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair.  It focuses on two major characters, Daniel Burnham, a prominent Chicago architect who organized the fair, and HH Holmes, a serial killer operating in the Chicago era at the same time as the fair.  The obstacles Burnham had to overcome, and all the innovations introduced at the fair – the Ferris Wheel being the most obvious – made this impossible to put down.  Plus I seem to have a fascination with late 19^th century USA.  The juxtaposition and interweaving, chronologically, of the two stories, was remarkable.  I don’t know if a book about either topic on its own would have been nearly as compelling.  Supposedly they will be making a movie version of this in 2009.

   In an attempt to answer France’s stunning 1889 World’s Fair, at which the Eiffel Tower was debuted, the big shots in the US finally turned to Chicago for their own 1893 attempt.  They built an entire city – the White City – and stuffed it full of all sorts of marvellous wonders.  The Ferris Wheel was one; Wild Bill Hickok’s western show was another; Krupp, the German arms manufacturer, had its own hall of martial products to show off.  Belly dancing got its first major demonstration in the US – and the famous belly dancing tune (childhood lyrics: “there’s a place in France where the naked ladies dance”) was also invented.  Gustav Eiffel himself proposed to contribute to the Fair, but the organizers felt it would defeat the purpose of “out Eiffeling Eiffel” if Eiffel himself was responsible for doing so – so the first Ferris Wheel served that purpose; but the Ferris Wheel is no longer there, while the Eiffel Tower still stands in Paris.  Products such as the zipper, Cracker Jack, and Shredded Wheat (slammed as “shredded doormat”) made their debuts.  Pabst beer won a blue ribbon award, forever changing its name.  The fair attracted celebrities and royalty from all over the world.  Finally, close to the end of the fair in October 1893, the attendance records shot up dramatically, completely blitzing the ones set in Paris.

 Sin in the Second City, by Karen Abbott.  Although a good complement to Devil in the White City, it’s by another author entirely and has no intention of being any sort of sequel or companion thereto.  This is about Chicago’s brothels at the turn of the century (the events in question take place about 15 years after those in Devil), with a particular focus on the Everleigh Club, the most expensive and most exclusive. 

   The book seems to be neutral between the brothels and the crusading religious zealots who ultimately succeeded in shutting down not only the Everleigh Club itself, but Chicago’s entire brothel system by late 1912.  Apparently the Mann Act, originally designed to prevent the unscrupulous panderers from kidnapping immigrant girls and trading them to brothels, has long since been warped beyond recognition to cover other behavior.  But it also gave teeth to federal efforts to shut down brothels around the country.

   On one hand, these panderers were obnoxious: they tricked girls who had no intention of becoming prostitutes into that lifestyle, after drugging them and gang-raping them, clearly women who were involuntarily “recruited” into the profession.  Once they were traumatized by the experience, most had little choice, after having been “shamed” and “disgraced” against their will, but to remain as prostitutes.  Very few men would accept them as wives, so returning to respectable society was not really an option for them.  Many of them committed suicide.

   On the other hand, the Everleigh Club, the top, premiere brothel not only in Chicago but arguably in the country, had no need to resort to such tactics.  By raising their standards well above the other brothels and charging the most, the Everleigh sisters, Minna and Ada, could afford to be selective, so there was actually a waiting list of girls applying to work there.  All their “employees” were experienced and recruited from other brothels; although they weren’t head-hunters, as they didn’t recruit madams, they did cherry pick many of the top earners at competing brothels.  The most intriguing example was Suzy Poon Tang, a stunning harlot from Shanghai, who had a rose tattooed below her navel.  She was a bit too charming: the customer for whom they had recruited her ended up marrying her after her first night with him at the Everleigh Club.

   But because the sisters were so provocative and defiant of the authorities and reformers, they embarrassed the mayor (Carter Harrison II, son of the famous Carter Harrison Sr assassinated as the 1893 World’s Fair drew to a close) to the point where they had to be made an example of, and shut down.  Once the Everleigh Club was closed – permanently – it was a short time before the entire Levee district (as Chicago’s top red-light district was called) was shut down as well. 

   There are some oblique references to the 1893 World’s Fair, and also to an up-and-coming crook by the name of Al Capone.  Overall, an extremely fascinating book, yet another “can’t put it down” one.

I’ve never been to Chicago, but both Devil & Sin inspire a modest desire to visit, but for one major problem: 90% of the “White City” (the 1893 Worlds Fairgrounds) is now long gone, with only one building surviving.  Oddly, the grounds are now partially taken over by Soldier Field, home of the Bears.  The huge, first, Ferris Wheel is, of course, long gone, as are all the other buildings, the Island, and the gateway.  There is little point in visiting Chicago solely based on the 1893 World’s Fair.  Likewise, not only is the Everleigh Club long closed, the building itself was demolished in 1933, and the entire neighborhood is now completely razed and is now the grounds of a housing project.  So neither book lends itself to nostalgic tourism as of 2008.  

The Jungle, Upton Sinclair. This is the original 1905 version, not the 1906 version which actually got published.  In 1988 someone tracked down the original manuscripts as the book was serialized in socialist newspapers; Sinclair had to edit it down in 1906 to get published by a normal, capitalist publisher.  As originally written, it’s a widespread condemnation of capitalist society overall, merely focusing on the Chicago packers as one example.  It is VERY cynical and depressing. 

This is a fictional story about a small family from Lithuania trying to survive in early 20^th century Chicago.  They face perpetually uncertain job security, bitter cold, a deceitful mortgage holder (they ended up with a lease with option to buy, not a mortgage), and countless other heinous injustices perpetrated by a cold, heartless, deceitful capitalist system.  To give one example of the many obnoxiously unfair things which happen: Jurgis’ wife is blackmailed by her boss into having an affair with him.  When Jurgis finds out, he attacks the boss, is thrown in jail, and loses his job during his brief jail sentence.  They have absolutely no safety net: no disability insurance, no unemployment insurance, no health insurance, and are subject to layoffs and arbitrary termination at will.  Practically every representative of the capitalist system is portrayed as callous, uncaring, ruthless, and deceitful.  By Lewis’ analysis, even Friedrich Engels – an enlightened, compassionate capitalist – should not exist. 

            Since it takes place in Chicago around the same time as Sin and the Second City, some of the same issues pop up: Jurgis’ cousin Marija becomes a prostitute at a brothel in the Levee, there is a brief discussion of the “white slave trade” (kidnapping girls and doping and raping them, then selling them off to brothels) etc., which is more interesting here because Sinclair was writing contemporaneously.  And since Jurgis finds himself homeless and tramping briefly, even parts coincide with Orwell’s Down & Out in Paris and London, though he’s not tramping through London.

            Again, as originally published it was targeted at the meat packers.  Sure enough, the packers themselves have enough substantive crimes on their plate, well beyond their ruthless personnel practices (shared by the other firms in the book).  Due to payoffs to the Federal meat inspectors, countless unsavory practices occur, not the least of which are various human body parts – or even entire unlucky workers – getting mixed in with the meat.  Rotten meat and diseased animals are used anyway, simply surreptitiously mixed in along with the more wholesome and healthy meat. 

            Of course the book caused a scandal when it came out.  Theodore Roosevelt, upon learning the truth about the payoffs of the inspectors, spearheaded the movement which resulted in the Food & Drug Administration.  But a general hatred of capitalism, and an open revolution against the system, never materialized – even during the height of the Great Depression, when public dissatisfaction with the system was at its peak.  As it was, the other Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, managed to co-opt the socialists with his New Deal, so much so that the socialists were reluctant to run their own candidate against him.  Ultimately they did so to avoid giving the impression that they endorsed him, and thereby discrediting him.  The Communist Party-USA (CP-USA) had orders from Stalin to support FDR’s election efforts behind the scenes. 

            Despite my own views, I found the book extremely informative and compelling.  I cannot, however, track down the silent version of the film done ages ago – maybe someday it will turn up. 

Bacamarte - Último Entardecer

Great song ("The Last Sunset") - the best from the album. Too bad there is really no video, just a still shot of the album cover.

Premiata Forneria Marconi PFM - Celebration - Live TV, 1974

Italian progressive music - enjoy!

Moody Blues - Nights in White Satin Isle Of Wight Festival

One of their best songs (aka Knights of White Satan), the closing track on "Days of Future Passed", performed live at the 1970 version of the festival on August 30, on the same night as Free, Donovan, Pentangle, Jethro Tull, Jimi Hendrix, Joan Baez, Leonard Cohen, Richie Havens, and Hawkwind (who were in another tent). Enjoy!

Progressive Rock Fantastic Four

With one concession to an established and well-known progressive band, The Moody Blues, I’ll bring up another 4 bands which fit this genre.  I have Julia to thank for referring the Moody Blues to me, Jim for Bacamarte, Leonard for Museo Rosenbach, and both Jim & Leonard for PFM.

 Moody Blues.  At this point I have their top album, Days of Future Passed, albeit in the quadraphonic version (deluxe), along with the next two, In Search of the Lost Chord and On The Threshold of A Dream, also in quad versions.  Pretentious? Sure. But still damn good and effective.  Days is a concept album loosely starting with morning and continuing to the evening, almost like “Dance of the Hours” from Fantasia.  They managed to snag an early Mellotron [early synthesizer with pretaped loops of various instruments] for 90% off (£300 instead of £3.000) and went off from there, leaving the commercial R&B sound they had before and developing something new.  In Search and Threshold aren’t quite as good – inevitable that they would fall short of the high standard set by Days – but are still excellent. 

 Years ago I sent a mix of songs to my friend Jean, including “Breach of Lease” by Bloodrock.  His reaction?  “Psychedelic homo-wimps.”  Hmm…coming from a guy whose top band is Pink Floyd?  And I know he had Piper At the Gates of Dawn.  Syd, Nick, Richard and Roger don’t look like they’d bludgeon you to death in a dark alley, more like redecorate your house or give you a makeover.  He clearly hadn’t seen a Bloodrock album cover, as these guys looked as menacing as Lynyrd Skynyrd (by Dark Side, though Floyd looked less “swooshy” and more simply grimy, particularly Gilmour’s greasy hair pulled back behind his ears, but still no match for the tough gangs from Florida or Texas).   However, looking at the Moody Blues, that image does come to mind.  With the exception of Graeme Edge, whose beard makes him look like he’s channeling the Three Musketeers, the others look as though they stepped right off the stage of a Charles Dickens play.  They probably shopped for clothes at the same stores as 1967 era Pink Floyd.

 Having said that, and even with the Mellotron, the Moody Blues still seem to give some sort of strength and force to the songs. “Lovely to See You” is a knockout song despite its lame name – and appears to be the Scorpions’ inspiration for “Loving You Sunday Morning”.   “Ride My See-Saw”, “Peak Hour”, and even melancholy songs such as “Never Came the Day” have a backbone to them.  Just when you write them off as fops, they smack you on the side of the head – like Larks Tongues in Aspic following right after Islands (King Crimson).  As David Wells put it in the liner notes to the Live At the BBC 1967-70 album, “the Moodies’ combination of memorable melodies and counterculture-friendly experimentalism meant that they managed the neat trick of appealing to both the psychedelic/progressive underground and the traditional, more conservative pop audience.”

 Bacamarte.  From Brazil, of all places, and they only have two albums, Depois do Fim and Sete Cidades, both of which are almost impossible to find, long out of print.  The lyrics are in Portuguese.  The singer on the first album, Jane Duboc, now slags Bacamarte as some poor relation and is now doing TV theme songs.  The primary creative focus of the band is Mario Neto, the guitarist, who was the one responsible for forming the band in the early 70s and putting out the second album.  My Brazilian avogado metaleiro friend Leonard has met and spoke with Mr Paul, the percussionist, who now works at a photo lab in downtown Rio de Janeiro.  Overall it sounds like an impressive synthesis of King Crimson, Jethro Tull and Uriah Heep.  Depois was, like Days, yet another album which inspired multiple listenings.  

 Museo Rosenbach.  One of the little-known branch of Italian progressive rock bands. I have Zarathustra, their 1973 album, which has an odd album cover even including Mussolini.  They broke up shortly after, then reformed much more recently.  The lyrics are in Italian, are inspired by Nietzsche (would the title be a giveaway?) and the musicianship is clearly top class.

 PFM.  Also from Italy, coming from the same scene as Museo Rosenbach, PFM (Premiata Forneria Marconi, Award-Winning Marconi Bakery) seem to be the most long-lived and prolific band of this genre, with the most success outside Italy, and even putting out albums in English.  In fact, they briefly had King Crimson lyricist Peter Sinfield (who was behind In The Court of the Crimson King) writing lyrics at their early stage.  I have Photos of Ghosts and When The World Became the World, both albums in English. 

 The Moody Blues predate Crimson, while the other three were clearly influenced by them; yet they all add something unique to the mix and don’t simply give us an Italian or Brazilian copy.  You can also hear elements of this in more recent bands such as Opeth.

Eva Longoria does a little footjob

Way back when Gabrielle was still banging the lawnboy John....just a little example of her naughtiness, caught by Susan.

Sex And The City vs. Desperate Housewives

Now I’m entering dangerous territory, a GUY discussing two shows almost certainly, almost exclusively, written for, and targeted at, WOMEN.  No, I do NOT watch soap operas, but I make an exception for DH.  Why?  I don’t know.  I suppose it’s because “Dallas” ruined me, yet DH is more irreverent and loopy than most soap operas.  So let’s talk about the two of them.

 Sex And The City.  This started out on HBO from 1998 to 2004 (six seasons), then got syndicated to basic cable, and was recently turned into a movie with all four of the main characters.  I’ve only briefly had HBO, so most of my earlier experience watching this was chez Leila, who loved it.  I saw the movie with her as well, and was probably one of 5 men in a movie theater packed with women. 

 It takes place in Manhattan, but none of the characters have a New York accent.  They talk about sex, their relationships, their lives, etc. all the things that women who don’t live in Manhattan do.  They talk about having children, but Miranda is the only one who gets married and has any children.  As a matter of fact, they view children as something “other women” have, who live in big houses in Connecticut.  And for that matter, the suburbs might as well be another planet.  They live for shopping, for cocktails, for parties, for the single life in trendy, fashionable Manhattan. 

And of course, it’s fashionable, trendy New York City, so Carrie has a gay friend, what’s-his-name.  I’ve noticed in a fair amount of these movies and TV shows, every trendy, single woman has to have a gay male friend.  His primary role seems to be to give her advice about men from a man’s perspective, without the bias of being a straight guy who might actually be interested in her.  He’s also supposed to pass judgment on the various men who she dates, and when the “right one” comes along – as the plot decided – he’s supposed to say something provocative like, “you go, girl!” or “if you don’t take him home, I certainly will!”  What’s funny is that I never see men seeking out lesbian women as sources of information on straight women, so why should women consider gay men a reliable source on straight men?  To me, gay men have a different way of thinking than straight men, closer to ...women! Not completely the same, something like half-way, but sufficiently different to make their analysis somewhat flawed.  Anyhow.

 Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) is the columnist who narrates the damn thing.  Eventually, after various different boyfriends – she was never promiscuous – she ended up with “Mr Big” (Chris Noth), whose name doesn’t seem to be mentioned until the movie.  Nor is it clear what the hell he does for a living, except that it’s important and well-paid.  She herself is fairly normal, well-adjusted, and has no particular defects or hangups.  She’s likeable, I suppose, but I don’t consider SJP particularly attractive.

 Samantha (Kim Catrall) (GRRRR) is the publicist with a naughty mouth and even naughtier mind.  She is by far the most promiscuous, attractive, and exciting of the 4 – and by far my favorite. 

 Charlotte (Kristin Davis) is an art gallery owner, previously married to a man played by Kyle MacLachlan, who I recall had some “performance” issues due to Charlotte’s squeaky clean persona.  She is very cute, but also somehow the “innocent, naive” girl of the bunch, although she is not a virgin.

 Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) is my least favorite.  In addition to being the least attractive, she is about as much fun as a dead rock.  She’s the hyperintelligent, hyperserious, overachieving corporate lawyer.  She hooked up with the RADAR kind of guy and they have a baby.  ZZZ.

 Desperate Housewives.  This is much more recent, starting, and continuing, on network TV – ABC.  It takes place in suburban California (Fairview) and is narrated by Mary Alice Young, who killed herself before the series started, and her full story was only revealed much, much later.  Typically you find that SOMEONE is hiding something at some point, and the creepy people turn out to be (A) misunderstood but good or (B) MUCH creepier than you ever imagined.  Here’s the irony – there seems to be more fucked-up stuff going on behind closed doors in suburban California than there is in Manhattan, New York City. 

By the way – what is with Chicago??? The way they describe it, the city is Sodom or Gomorrah.  “Remember Chicago” seems to be invoked with the same menace as The Alamo, Pearl Harbor, or Auschwitz.  Bad things happen in Chicago.

Bree Van de Kamp (Marcia Cross).  The red-headed supermom.  I loved it when Rex (late husband) complained in the first episode, “I can’t live in this...detergent commerical.”  She has two kids, Andrew (still gay, but no longer a total fuckup) and Danielle, now married – formerly referred to at school as “Van de Tramp”.  She’s now married to Orson Hodge – played by Kyle MacLachlan (!) (I still think of him as Paul Atreides, aka “Muah D’hib” from “Dune”).  She’s still trying to be perfect, and annoyingly so.

Susan Meyer (Teri Hatcher).  I love her hair, although she acts pretty stupid most of the time.  She’s actually pretty normal, except that to her immense shame, she can’t cook to save her life.  As of week 2 of season five, she’s currently in some torrid affair with the housepainter, after her relationship with plumber/ex-con Mike Delfino ended – we STILL don’t know why.  Her ex, Karl (a lawyer) still comes by now and then to taunt her or show off his latest twinkie girlfriend 15 years younger than Susan.  I guess daughter Julie is off somewhere, as she was pretty damn smart and probably didn’t need 5 years to finish college.  Son MJ – I guess they stuck with “Maynard” (come on, listen to Tool) but fixed the issue by calling him MJ – still lives with her, with Mike taking him for weekend visitation so she can bang the paintboy.  For his part, Mike lost his memory for some time, and it took till season 4 for the romance between them to finally result in a wedding.

Lynette Scavo (Felicity Huffman).  Married to Tom, who now runs a pizza place; he bears a slight resemblence to Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age.  She’s had to quit her Type A personality ad agency job to look after the kids – Penny, Parker, Preston and Porter.  She survived cancer and getting shot, so she’s a tough bitch.  For his part Tom had a love child, Kayla, with some white trash bitch, but now the white trash bitch is gone (shot dead in a supermarket), and Kayla is gone too, thank God (we knew it couldn’t last, her name doesn’t start with P).  After starting out with the same type of job Lynette originally had, then switching with her to be Mr. Mom (because Lynette cost him his job) he finally followed his dream and opened a pizza restaurant.

Gabrielle Solis (Eva Longoria Parker).  I suppose I should hate her, being so high maintenance, but she is still my favorite.  Now Carlos is blind and she has two kids – when she swore she’d never have them.  No more modeling in New York, no more Maserati.  But even with extra pounds and less makeup and glamour, she is still the dazzling little bunny.  This couple started off rich and arrogant, and went downhill since then: Carlos ended up in jail, Gabby had an affair with John, the gardener, then Carlos ended up blind.  But they have each other, and now two chubby little girls who may never end up as models. 

Edie Britt (Nicolette Sheridan).  Blah.  She’s the odd one out, the predator bitch realtor who never had a husband of her own, she just tried to steal the men of other women.  She had hooked up with Mike Delfino when he had amnesia, had a more recent and substantial relationship with Carlos, and now has a creepy husband (guy with really weird eyes who was in “Band of Brothers”).  I really don’t find her attractive, nearly as much as Gabrielle.

Katherine Mayfair (Dana Delaney).  The new kid on the block since season 4, the closest thing Bree has to any serious competition.  In fact, they’re partners in a catering firm, partly to keep each other’s ambitions in check.  She survived a murderous ex-husband, Wayne Davis (played by Gary Cole, best known as Bill Lumbergh from “Office Space” – “Uh, yeah, Katherine, I’m going to like, kill you, m’kay?”) and is now doing fine.  I always thought Dana Delaney was stunning, ever since “China Beach”.

“Desperate”?  “Housewives”?  To me “desperate” in this context would mean “sexually frustrated” or “dissatisfied with her husband or life for whatever reason”.  “Housewife” is simply “wife who stays at home, with or without children”.  I suppose a housewife can work from home.  Do these really apply?

Edie is a realtor and worked for herself – she’s not even a housewife (until now).  She was not so much desperate as predatory.  Even now I don’t see her desperation.  Susan doesn’t appear to be desperate, as it’s Julie who encourages her to be more active socially – partially out of concern for her mother’s well-being, but also so she herself can start having a social life.  The only desperation I saw was more exasperation over Mike’s incessant tendency to keep secrets from her and test her trust. Nominally she’s self-employed as an illustrator of children’s books, but I haven’t seen any evidence that her career is active during the show, which by now seems to span 9 years, 5 of which is the gap between seasons 4 and 5.  But she never refers to Karl as paying her any spousal support – or, for that matter, Mike.  If you don’t work, your ex-husband doesn’t support you, and you’re not sitting on a ton of money, what is your source of support?  Typical TV land unreality.   But she is a “housewife”.  Bree was not only a housewife, but prided herself at being what she considered the perfect housewife.  Desperate? Hard to tell.  She wanted to win back Rex, was never in love with the creepy pharmacist George, and eventually fell in love with Orson, and got back together with him after some extended estrangement.  If anything it was Rex who was desperate.  Lynette was “desperate” so long as she was a housewife, but this was the latter definition, frustrated at trying to raise 3 uncooperative boys and a baby girl while Tom was at work having all the fun and traveling all the time.  But when she went back to work after getting Tom fired, and they switched roles, she was no longer desperate and no longer a housewife.  With Tom & Lynette both running the pizza parlor, she’s no longer a housewife, and does not appear desperate.  Katherine was a housewife, but “desperate” doesn’t seem to scan: more like terrorized by ex-husband Wayne and trying to keep her past from her daughter.  Thanks to Mike, she’s no longer desperate.  Gabrielle is the one who truly fits the description: bored and lonely because Carlos was off all the time wheeling and dealing with the Japanese boss, so she started an affair with John.  She briefly tried working when Carlos was in jail, could quit when she married Victor Long, but seems to be a housewife now taking care of blind Carlos and looking after their two chubby daughters. Best to call the show “Desperate Housewife”.  Since she’s dead when the series began, Mary Alice doesn’t really qualify, but she was a housewife, and desperate enough to commit suicide. 

Around the world.  Now there are international versions of the show, including no less than 3 Latin American variants.  The Brazilian version, “Donas de Casa Desesperadas”, keeps the name Gabrielle Solis, changes Susan to Suzana, but completely changes the names of Bree, Lynette, and Edie.

Bicha alert.  In season 4 Wisteria Lane welcomed (?) its gay male pair, Bob & Lee.  Bob seems normal enough, but I suppose after “Will and Grace”, gays are sufficiently well represented on network TV that we are now presented with, drum roll please, a NEGATIVE portrayal of a gay man.  Lee comes off as a super smart-ass, arrogant, contemptuous of those around him he perceives as not being as culturally sophisticated as he is, particularly towards women.  He also epitomizes the effeminate mannerisms we usually associate with gay men. I also noticed that while Mike, Tom, and Carlos sometimes hang out together – though far less often and regularly than the women with their card games – I didn’t see them hang out with Bob or Lee, nor are either of them part of Blue Odyssey, the band the guys put together.  There appears to be a limit to our acceptance of gays: as Mr. Garrison would put it, “simply because you tolerate something doesn’t mean you have to like it!”