2008-02 Vital Source Mag – February 2008
Less is more
The Grandeur of God: Photographs by Don Doll, S.J. Haggerty Museum of Art (Marquette University) – 13th & Clybourn January 31 – April 13, 2008 The Patrick and Beatrice Haggerty Museum of Art on the campus of Marquette University is an old friend. I was there when it opened in 1984, and each spring and summer I often trek to 13th & Clybourn to review exhibitions and soak up the serenity of the Green Ash Grove on the north side of the museum. Despite the ongoing construction of the Marquette Interchange project, there’s handy free parking and a few moments of peace to be had. The Kahler-designed Haggerty has been described (endlessly) as a “jewel,” and though it lacks lake views, wings rising and falling on cue, vast marbled halls or a café, it’s a beauty. The Haggerty and the Milwaukee Art Museum both announced the hire of executive directors recently: Walter Mason and Daniel Keegan, respectively. Mason will fill the void left by Dr. Curtis Carter, who resigned in 2006 after guiding the Haggerty for over twenty years. Dr. Carter is currently entrenched in Marquette’s Department of Philosophy, but a 2007 oil portrait of him remains at the Haggerty. He’s smiling. I approached The Grandeur of God, a photography exhibition (now – April 13), with a load of baggage, for I don’t believe in a “higher power,” only in the ability of humans to overcome problems. Additionally, I feared being snookered into sentimentality by photographer and educator Don Doll, S.J., who has lived and worked at Creighton University in Omaha since 1969. The exhibition includes photographs of his work with Native Americans, plus panoramas along the Lewis and Clark trail, which he retraced in a 2003 trip from St. Louis to the Pacific Ocean. And more. Much more. As I headed west on Wisconsin Avenue toward the Haggerty, I thought about other images included in the show. Would they prove to be a promo for the Jesuits’ global mission, which is also a part of Marquette University’s overall mission? Doll’s photographs have been featured in National Geographic; his book, Vision Quest, was published by Random House’s Crowns Publisher in 1994, and even though he was born in 1937 and for many decades has been sheltered by Creighton University where he is professor of photojournalism, an image on his website shows him dressed like a guy straight out of GQ. He joined the video revolution a decade ago, and in 2006 was named Nebraska Artist of the Year by that state’s Arts Council. His work hangs in the prestigious Joslyn Museum in Omaha, a museum where I had my first “art experience” at age eight. A local photographer told me recently that the best way to understand art is to have “no understanding” of it prior to viewing. I was already on overload. A few years back, museums everywhere were in the throes of honoring Lewis and Clark’s bicentennial. An article in The New York Times (January 23, 2005) went […]
Feb 7th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Faith Healer
A scene from Friel’s play Faith Healer, as perfomed by Next Act Theatre. Irish playwright Brian Friel casts a piercing glance into the heart of truth and belief in his three-part drama Faith Healer. Three characters played by three remarkably talented actors speak four conflicting monologues in a thoroughly satisfying script. Next Act Theatre stages this fascinating drama on the intimate stage of the Off-Broadway Theatre through the end of the month. Jonathan Smoots opens the play speaking arcane names of ancient villages buried in the antiquity of the British Isles, creating an air of fantasy. Smoots plays Frank, the title character — a man somewhat uneasily saddled with his profession. Smoots, until now largely relegated to supporting roles, here has presence and a great deal of flair at center stage. The charismatic actor embraces the stage lights with a deep, friendly Irish accent. He tells of his shaky journey from village to village — speaking of his mistress and his agent with sunny tones shaded by a clever uncertainty of his own capabilities. He’s right there in front of us, but even as he speaks simple words as clear as day, there’s an air of mystery about him. Smoots’ deft performance includes a spot-on Irish brogue that shifts to perfect Cockney when the character does an impression of his agent. Smoots shows a casually impressive flair for moving between accents without slowing down, dropping a line or fading out of character. The fact that any classically trained actor with two decades of local stage experience should be able to do this doesn’t make it any less impressive. The second character to take the stage is the faith healer’s mistress Grace. Mary MacDonald Kerr strikes a sharp figure in the role of the educated solicitor who somehow fell in with a man who took her away from a respectable middle-class life. Kerr shows a shrewd strength that is a lot of fun to watch. More than simply contradicting some of the details of Grace’s life with Frank, Kerr renders a completely new dimension to the character that builds on what the first monologue explored. She draws attention to Grace with an understated integrity, working out her story with every word she speaks. The final character to take the stage is Frank’s agent Teddy. Next Act Producing Artistic Director David Cecsarini plays the witty Cockney gentleman who handles Frank’s business affairs as a friend and promoter. He speaks about his experiences with Frank peppered with tales of other acts he’s managed. It’s the more heavily comic end of the play and Cecsarini handles it expertly. His third perspective adds respectable depth to the rest of what’s been said onstage, setting it for one last encounter with Frank. Smoots’ final moments on stage end in a beautiful silhouette brilliantly painted by Lighting Designer Jason Fassl. The lights fade. The applause sounds out. Faith Healer‘s themes reverberate through the evening. VS Next Act’s production of Faith Healer runs now through March 2 at […]
Feb 7th, 2008 by Russ Bickerstaff
Video Games Live! at the Riverside Theater
When entertainment industry icon Tommy Tallarico met fellow composer Jack Wall while assigned to collaborate on the video game Evil Dead: Hail to the King back in 2000, the two shared their dream – to bring video game music to a larger audience and bring it into its own as a veritable art form. “In Japan for many years they put on a show, not just a symphonic concert of music but a hybrid of entertainment,” says Tommy Tallarico. Their friendship and partnership developed into Mystical Stone Entertainment, which teamed up with Clear Channel in July 2005 to hold the first major video game music concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. The overwhelming response prompted Clear Channel to order up an ill-fated tour, which they soon dropped. That was a big mistake for Clear Channel; it allowed the original team to regain control of the promotion and tone of what is now a famous world tour that played 29 dates last year, including a historic and huge three-day run in Brazil. In 2008 the tour includes 60 dates (in 2009, at least 200), one of which is Milwaukee, Wisconsin on March 1. “I get parents coming up to me after the show or emailing me saying, ‘I finally get it now. I get why my kid is into these games – they have these sweeping storylines and graphics and sound’,” says Tallarico. The show has found great success with renowned orchestras internationally after some measure of convincing music directors that the repertoire was more than just boops and beeps – music directors who might not buy the argument that the theme music from Pac-Man (which debuted stateside 28 years ago) is as much a part of the music lexicon as Ira Gershwin and Cole Porter. “The biggest challenge is convincing people,” states Tallarico. “Gamers get it. But it’s a small industry in the symphony world and so one concert master will tell another about it and the word of mouth spread.” But behemoths like the National Symphony in Washington D.C. or London Symphony Orchestra aside, most city symphonies have been looking for ways to bring younger audiences into the concert hall seats. With Video Games Live, each show’s set list is different, and the program is always trying out new gimmicks on stage. Tallarico and Wall’s team create an event that takes on the air of Cirque du Soleil or the Blue Man Group at times with full-scale Tron cycles, big screen displays coordinated with the music and audience participation or giveaways. Milwaukee’s performance will be tailored around the Pabst venue’s capabilities. Each city is emailed the sheet music and sent mp3s showing how the themes from Mario, Zelda, Metroid, Castlevania, Gauntlet and Earthworm Jim will be translated for epic scale with horns, strings and percussion. Some arrangements are symphonic interpretations while other more modern fare like Advent Rising (which Tallarico composed) and Halo already have their compositions set from the original. The response even from non-video game […]
Feb 5th, 2008 by Brian Jacobson
The line forms here
The line: the beginning of possibilities, the basis of all art, begins at Inova/Kenilworth in an adventurous and well-balanced exhibit, which I reviewed in two prior features this week (Read part one and part two). If this prelude to spring forecasts what’s on the Kenilworth horizon, those who moan about our “dismal” art scene are perhaps looking in all the wrong places. It wasn’t too long ago that if you yearned to view art, the choices were narrow: museums and a few privately owned galleries, plus exhibitions at universities. Now that we have a tide of technology, a tsunami of art experience is readily available via the internet. Locals can peruse Susceptible to Images, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel art critic Mary Louise Schumacher’s varied offerings, MKE, OnMilwaukee and any number of blogs and logs encouraging virtual space wanderers. There are seductive sites with excellent hi-res images and mountains of information, so why leave your cave when you can tour plopped in front of a computer, maybe with some wine and cheese? Parking space abounds, and you can Google and YouTube forever in your underwear. In effect, your home becomes your gallery, devoid of overzealous gallerists rushing forth to gush, “Isn’t this gorgeous!” Online touring makes me anxious and a nagging fear lurks, neurotic perhaps, that eventually the hi-tech will white-out the experience of standing in front of a work of art and exercising the brain. The Inova/Kenilworth show is a reminder of everything computer content lacks. Yes, the irony is that you are reading this at vitalsourcemag.com. It’s my hope that it will prod you into action. During my third and final visit, I duly noted that 160 souls attended the opening reception, and I spoke at length with a 21-year-old UWM senior, Nicholas Teeple. He just started as a “gallery guard” and is enrolled in DIVAS, the university’s digital imaging, video, animation and sound program. He hasn’t taken any courses in drawing, and remarked that the computer “doesn’t lend itself to drawing and perhaps makes it less relevant, I guess.” I asked him how he intended to use a degree from a program he believes is challenging, rewarding and “full of potential.” He is particularly interested in time-based media, in the “blossoming” video and mash-up culture, and down the road may get into performance and installation art. We talked about the anxiety/paranoia content of the exhibition. “By the way,” he asked, “just who are you writing this for?” For a moment, I thought maybe he was paranoid. “Fear-mongering is just another form of control,” he said as we discussed the show’s overall theme. “It’s a form of control embraced by the media.” Claire Pentecost, one of the two artists I was there to review, has 14 pieces in the exhibition, ranging in size from 64” x 52” unframed giclee prints to framed 10”x 8” palladium prints. She teaches drawing, critical theory and interdisciplinary seminars and the School of the Art Institute in Chicago and refers to her photographs as “extracted;” […]
Feb 4th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Twelfth Night
Alexis McGuinness and Molly Rhode in Milwaukee Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night Milwaukee Shakespeare’s impressively staged production of Twelfth Night only played for seven performances, a briefly realized event manifesting just long enough to register a reaction before its disappearance. Shakespeare’s quintessential gender-bending comedy came to the stage of the Sharon Lynne Wilson Center with a distinctly 20th century feel. Noele Stollmack’s set vaguely suggested a financial institution designed by Ikea, with minimalist stairs, platforms and bars. It provided a remarkable background for the production, and with some exquisite lighting, also by Stollmack, this production of Twelfth Night was a real pleasure to watch. The costuming by Mara Blumenfeld paired perfectly with the set, and with simple sports coats, secret service outfits, loud pinstripes and lace trim, the costuming promoted a greater period ambiguity. Brian J. Gill played a solidly charismatic Orsino, Duke of Illyria, who employs the services of a young man named Cesario – actually a disguised woman named Viola, played here by Alexis McGuinness. Viola loves Orsino, but is unable to show her love through the disguise, and unwittingly, Orsino dispatches Viola to woo Olivia — a countess played with subtlety by Molly Rhode. The plan backfires when Olivia falls for Cesario, who is of course only following the directions of the man she loves. The production fails to capture the full intricacies of the complex dynamic between Olivia, Viola and Orsino, but other aspects of the play more than made up the difference. It was a bit unexpected, for instance, to see the central action of the play upstaged by Mark H. Dold in the role of Olivia’s servant Malvolio. Dold, who has worked extensively in television, made Malvolio’s every detail sparkle with wit early on in the play. He carries himself with remarkable poise — a servant with exceptional aspirations who secretly pines for the woman he serves. His performance exemplified this production’s fascinating unevenness: the meat of the play seemed lost in exquisitely captured details from the periphery of the story. A considerably distracting subplot featured Viola’s brother Sebastian (Kevin Rich) and his good friend Antonio (Todd Denning). Rich was brilliant in the relatively marginal role, and Denning’s interaction with him carried a great deal of weight. There’s a bond between the two men that gets lost in the action of the play – perhaps because Shakespeare never found direct resolution between the characters. Under the direction of Paula Suozzi, that relationship received a well-executed resolution here that brilliantly shows a happy ending for some isn’t a happy ending for everyone. VS Milwaukee Shakespeare’s production of Twelfth Night closed February 3. Its production of Cymbeline opens March 22 for a considerably longer run at the Broadway Theatre Center Studio Theatre. For tickets or more info call 414-2917800 or visit Milwaukee Shakes online.
Feb 4th, 2008 by Russ Bickerstaff
Guitar Hero
Growing up in a small, semi-rural town where broomball and shining deer were considered high entertainment (if you’re unfamiliar with these provincial pastimes, please, don’t ask), I was keenly aware of a strange, terrifying sub-set of my peers. No, not the girls who harbored abnormal crushes on Channel 12’s Jerry Taft, or even the kids who looked like circus animals (my graduating class alone had three pandas), but something much more puzzling, much more insidious: 13-year-olds with facial hair. For the most part, these freaks of nature were farm kids who drank at least four cartons of milk during lunch, had nicknames like “Goatsy” or “Yummers” and were almost always excellent bowlers. So enamored were these mutants with their precious little dirt-staches that they never once shaved them, instead opting to savor each scraggly whisker for years on end as if it were manna from heaven. Of course, much like a farmer’s field, if you fail to cultivate the land (or, in this case, your upper lip), you deprive your crops the chance to flourish and grow, leaving you with nothing but dirt. And that’s exactly what happened here: all throughout high school, these redneck goons sported the same ill-formed, uncultivated facial hair. Occasionally running into them now during drunken jaunts back to my hometown, I always take a certain amount of pleasure in seeing these grown men still rocking straight-up peach fuzz. I bring up this disturbing phenomenon because I harbor something of an ill-formed mustache myself: my sub-standard guitar playing (in the realm of facial hair, I still remain as smooth and ridiculous as a baby bird). Technically, I’ve been playing guitar for nearly half my life; this statement is entirely misleading, however, when you consider that in my case, “playing” roughly translates to “learning some basic chords when you’re 16 and strumming them to death for the next decade-and-a-half.” Perhaps it was my early frustration with never figuring out that goddamn opening riff to “Come As You Are” (something most eight-year-olds could probably lick in ten minutes) but after a while, I simply gave up. This piss-poor attitude was recently thrown into sharp relief when local tunesmiths The Danger asked me to fill in for their recently departed lead guitarist. It was understood this emergency substitution would be for a single show at the Cactus Club (opening for the criminally underappreciated Dark Horse Project), and that we would only have a few weeks to rehearse. It was also understood that I would be expected to play some of the leads – nothing complicated, I was assured – but leads nonetheless. Would I do it? After carefully considering my utter lack of time, energy or talent, I immediately said yes.(A side note: if The Danger happens to be playing near a venue near you, do yourself a favor and check them out; it’s nice to hear a band that doesn’t rely on chamber-pop chanting or lyrics about robots and zombies to get their point across.) Rehearsals went well, […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Matt Wild
The fine art of persuasion
In fourth grade, the children at Roosevelt Elementary are taught how to write a persuasive letter. My nine-year-old, Emma, has been faithfully practicing this skill. Here’s a case in point. Recently, our cat Lucius decided to exhibit his displeasure with the humans by peeing on the floor next to where I was standing. It was a short-lived habit, occurring about two times. But in my frustration of the moment, I was overheard saying that I couldn’t keep a cat that wouldn’t use his litter box. Here is Emma’s written response to that comment. Had I been seriously inclined to drop the cat at the Humane Society I’m not sure it would have changed my mind, but in terms of sheer persuasive skills, Emma clearly found catharsis in this process of careful manipulation and has developed it into an art form. May it be a guide to all of us. You’ve got to fight for what you believe in.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Lucky Tomaszek
Allison Moorer
Elegance: if there could ever be such a thing as a one-word review, that would be it for Mockingbird. On her sixth studio recording Allison Moorer set out to record a selection of songs that she hoped would make listeners treasure, encourage and pay attention to the female songwriter. It’s a fairly ambitious undertaking, and with Mockingbird, a resounding success. Allison puts her stamp on virtually every song, spanning an impressive spectrum. Moorer and producer Buddy Miller bring overdriven drums, an acoustic guitar and some subtly delayed piano to life on “Ring of Fire,” re-imagining the entire context of this important lyric while losing none of its strength. From there, she moves easily onto “Dancing Barefoot,” the Patti Smith gem, polishing it to a gleam. There’s a bit of rocking on this one: The Joni Mitchell favorite “Both Sides Now” is gorgeous and emotive under Moorer’s own blue light. But she saves the best for last: her version of Cat Power’s “Where Is My Love” is stunning and powerful. It’s haunting. It’s captivating. And it’s so real. Moorer doesn’t just play these songs, she appreciates them in earnest. Music of this magnitude elevates its listeners. I could’ve typed the first word of this review 100 times and left it at that. It’s just that good.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Troy Butero
Cat Power
Everyone loved her 15 seconds of “How Can I Tell You” in that diamonds commercial. That’s just too bad, since a full-length version isn’t on Jukebox, Chan Marshall’s second CD of cover songs since 2000. Backed by the Dirty Delta Blues band, Marshall keeps things sparse as usual and swaths the songs with her signature rasp. Also typical is her inclusion of another Dylan tune, “I Believe in You.” By now, Marshall has the icon’s panache down pat. “A Song to Bobby,” the only new song on the disc, even details a humbled admiration of the songwriter. Homage is one reason to cover a song, but are there others? That thought recurs when song choice seems mismatched (“Aretha, Sing One For Me”) and when justice isn’t paid to the classics. “Theme from New York, New York,” Hank Williams’ “Ramblin’ Man,” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” — all songs of rebellion and conviction originally — are neutered by Marshall’s lethargy. (“Silver Stallion,” however, canters along appropriately in this sleepy state.) “Metal Heart,” written during a restless night in 1999 for Cat Power’s Moon Pix and revised for Jukebox, invigorates the album; it’s the strongest and most expressive of the twelve tracks. It is her own, and she sings it like she owns it — an important dynamic missing from the rest. There isn’t a jukebox on earth that could compile a better A-to-Z of music appreciation, but this record has nothing to say. Use your Jukebox quarters for laundry instead.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Amber Herzog
The Beat goes on
In a music career that has come full circle, Dave Wakeling has been on the right path from the very beginning. As a young man, he and his collaborators realized there was something magical in the “feet, hearts and mind” formula that came to define his group The English Beat. At the band’s apex they were surrounded by the royalty of the UK punk-era ska scene: The Selecter, Madness, The Specials and Elvis Costello. Originally dubbed The Beat, the band added the word “English” to their name stateside to avoid confusion with American power pop group the Paul Collins Beat. Signing to then-prestigious I.R.S. Records in 1981, Wakeling’s band found a measure of success in America with three solid albums and a string of wildly infectious dance floor-friendly singles. But before the roller-coaster ride really took off, Wakeling and his Birmingham buddies had already learned some valuable lessons. “We used to run parties with punk and ska DJs,” he said. “Each DJ alone would tire the dancers out, but the mix of punk and reggae equaled a full night of energy. What if you could get the both into the same songs? It was our punk-y reggae party. Boy George, members of UB40, the Au Pairs and Dexy’s Midnight Runners all came to the parties. Birmingham was going through one of its musical renaissances.” Falling under the spell of Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath in their early 20s, Wakeling and Andy Cox (English Beat guitarist) both “were fierce music fans” and “very lucky in terms of time and geography.” Live shows were a priority, and Wakeling reels off a list of defining music moments that includes two Bob Marley concerts, seeing Van Morrison, the death of Tim Buckley and seeing the Buzzcocks. “The songs were catchy, two-and-a-half or three minutes long. [It was] the same for the Undertones and Wire, who used the hook and the art-form of the pop song.” The music made a lasting impression on them, but ultimately The Beat made their mark with their own hybrid of ska, punk, soul, reggae and Nigerian highlife. According to Wakeling, “After you’d been dancing awhile the lyrics hit even harder – it was like your mind was more open. We paired the beat with lyrics that were somewhat heavy. Life is ambiguous. It’s not all happy or sad.” In a lineup notable for both its racial integration and near mash-up style influences, the original six member band consisted of Dave Wakeling on vocals and guitar, Andy Cox on guitar, David Steele on bass, Everett Morton on drums, Ranking Roger on vocals and toasting and ska sax legend Papa Saxa. The Beat sound was born, but it needed to be heard. “Our bass player, said ‘One gig is worth a thousand rehearsals.’” Armed with a half dozen original tunes and a few covers, the band knocked out its first gig, opening for the Dum Dum Boys. It was shortly after the Three Mile Island nuclear accident and the band was […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Blaine Schultz
Drive-By Truckers
A departed band member can make the advent of a new album nerve-wracking rather than exciting for an ardent fan, but the absence of Jason Isbell, Drive-By Truckers’ singer of seven years, brings out a return to roots, as well as new directions. Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, the band’s eighth album, features contributions from band members who normally play the wallflower (bassist Shonna Tucker penned three shimmering beauties) paired with crunchier contributions from Patterson Hood, Mike Cooley and John Neff, with ‘icing on the cake’ keyboards by legendary Spooner Oldham. Southern rock had a glaring exterior when Lynyrd Skynyrd brought it to the mainstream, but today, one regularly hears the signature layered guitars, pedal steel, lazy drums and pretty keys channeling crusty stories of booze, drugs and hardships of alt-country on commercial radio. On Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, the Truckers juxtapose their personal brand of southern rock against established tradition. Their soft songs shine bright as the lights on a country wedding dance floor, while the gritty, raucous snarlers make the slow dancers shake their sleepy feet. Stories paste this album’s nineteen songs together. Cooley’s country-washed songs add humor with “Lisa’s Birthday” and “Bob,” the tale of a man whose mom is the only one “she lets call him Robert” and who “has always had more dogs than he ever had friends.” Hood pens staunch southern rock with such vigor and drama it draws goose bumps. “The Man I Shot” is chilling, a strong contrast to Tucker’s gentle writing and Cooley’s ‘aw, shucks’ style. Hood’s slower ballads veer into Eagles territory at times, which can either please – in the case of the amazing “Daddy Needs a Drink,” made stellar by heart-wrenching pedal steel – or annoy, as on “The Home Front,” which is lite rock at best. Brighter Than Creation’s Dark is an album to be traveled through, soaking in all the odd twists and turns, corners and dips. There are some bumpy spots, but the unexpected beauty will sink the listener like a stone, and the buoyant humor will lift the mood and ease the listener into reality, as the best stories often do.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
You don’t get a medal for showing up
At VITAL, our new year begins in February. I’d like to thank everyone once again for their support. It used to be a thrill just to write the rent check that proved we weren’t just a home office vanity project; as we’ve matured, though, my view of this whole endeavor has evolved. I have a thousand examples, but it all comes down to one idea, perfectly put by Thomas Jefferson: “I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.” I now understand that our willingness to work our asses off is ultimately the reason we’re still here, far more than any visionary thinking or single lucky break. I was born in the ‘60s and influenced by both my grandparents’ work ethic and my father’s disdain for it (to be fair, he got over it later in life). Some of my peers joined Generation X. The rest of us went to work. Mine is the generation that brought about both the ubiquity of cocaine-derived drugs and many of the amazing technological advances that shape our world. The two extremes are actually closely related, both born of an inherent relentlessness, a desire to always move at the greatest possible speed, freed from barriers – of fatigue, social awkwardness, geography, even time itself. I’m not saying this is an entirely wonderful way to look at life; the socio-cultural fallout may not be fully measured in my lifetime. Even so, the ‘80s and ‘90s were a gas, a wild ride followed by a hard crash when the middle class economy slowed way down in the first years of the 21st century. But even before that I think there was collective pause, fueled in part by the regret of our parents, now missing the grandkids a thousand miles away, who saw what had become of their latchkey, Kraft dinner-consuming, Alex P. Keaton-channeling offspring. We had it all, but we traded too much to get it. The solution was clear: the next generation would be cared for with a vengeance. Sometime in the late 20th century, the desire to give one’s children “more” took on a new meaning: with the highest percentage of “affluent” Americans in our history, the trappings of attainment took on a nurturing mantle. It was the dawn of the age of the Soccer Mom, the bicycle helmet and the mentality that reasoning was a viable parenting philosophy. I admit it; I was initially swept into the new world order. My kid had a sticker chart that he filled up by performing such amazing feats as picking up his clothes and saying thank you. He actually earned toys for meeting the minimum expectations of socialization! But eventually, I saw what I, his teachers, his soccer coach and the rest of his network of support had wrought: a kid who expected to be rewarded for taking out the garbage. He’s a good boy: naturally nice, smart and funny. On the surface, he looks like […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Jon Anne Willow
