JOHANN MATTHESON, German composer born (d. 1764) Mattheson became well known as a writer on music and may have been lovers with Georg Friederick Handel. Mattheson and Handel went to Lübeck, together in the hope that one might succeed the celebrated, but aged, D. Buxtehude as town organist; unfortunately the appointment also entailed marriage with Buxtehude's daughter and as neither wished to undertake this responsibility they both returned to Hamburg.
DAVID WEISSMAN American filmmaker born; A screenwriter and director, his film credits include The Family Man, Evolution, and When in Rome. Weissman co-directed the 2002 documentary The Cockettes. His most recent project is the brilliant and bracing HIV-AIDS documentary entitled, We Were Here: Voices from the AIDS Years. Weissman currently lives in San Francisco.
The inimitable Robert Patrick…on life:
I don't like life much. I prefer art. I am interested to discuss it. My favorite artists are Plato, Bach, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Shaw, D.W. Griffith, Noel Coward, Vermeer, S.J. Perelman, Cole Porter, Euripides, Auden,Jean Kerr, Federico Fellini, Dorothy Parker, Chekov, Marilyn Monroe, Vladimir Nabokov, Walt Disney, Brancusi, Wilde, Pollock, Tennesse Williams, Hitchcock, Dali, Ayn Rand, Alfred Bester, Gwen Verdon & Bob Fosse, Gore Vidal, Picasso, Emily Dickinson, Barbra Streisand, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Georgia O'Keeffe, Christopher Fry, Doric Wilson, Lanford Wilson, Billy Wilder, Johnny Mathis, Tchelitchew, Mary Renault, Eartha Kitt, Paul Cadmus, A.E. Housman, Al Capp, Sappho, Catullus, and Billie Holiday.
I am a 70-year old, single, Gay Libran writer and ghostwriter living in Los Angeles strictly for the sunshine. I abide in good-natured despair about the failure of the ideals of the 60's revolution.
I see the western world at present in terms of the theories of Christopher Lasch ("The Culture of Narcissus") and Alice Miller ("The Drama of the Gifted Child"). I'm not sure anything can be done about the mess our wasteland is in, but I do regard the collapse of our civilization as a fascinating opportunity for a writer to discern the structure of the culture crumbling around him. I regard myself as a refugee from the apocalypse, striving to keep alight a small campfire of human humor in an increasingly dreary darkness.
I am not committed to any particular cause, nor am I apt to be convertible to yours. In the interminable struggles for status and identity which pass for "parties" in our culture, I haven't yet found a side I'd care to take. The password to my fireside is, "I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me."
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