Ranting Details

Day Trip (Part Three: Finale Ultimo)

(All photos by Matthew Murphy (MM).  All photos by Timur Civan (TC).)

The gods timed our road trip perfectly.  Just as we were leaving the beauty of Beacon, NY the sun began to set.  We reversed our way down the winding roads as we headed back to the main highway and the high-rises of New York City.

(Look how excited Carson was to escape the beauty of Beacon! City lover. MM)

(Not as excited as these people.  They were so desperate to leave Beacon that they decided to pack up and walk to NYC. MM)

(Look how freakin patriotic I am.  I took time out of my busy schedule to photograph the flag.  I'm almost as manipulative patriotic as Kristy Lee (Vote For Me!) Cook singing "Proud To Be An American" on American Idol this week. MM)

("Timur, I need to warn you, those trees MAY attack us.  They taught me that in driver's ed." MM)

In an effort to keep our drive symmetrical, we pulled off at a scenic turnout on the way back as well.  This time, instead of views of Manhattan from afar, we looked out over an incredible lake as the sun went down.

(I'm going to build a studio apartment right in the middle of that. MM)

(And this can be my chair/dining room table/bed/computer.  Multi-functional AND authentic. MM)

(Clothing will be optional in my lake studio.  Who needs a shirt when you can wear these as nipple tassles?! MM)

(Carson got tired of shopping for my new lake apartment, and started scouting out other locations. MM)

(Go, Carson, Go! MM)

(Why, I think that might be an entrance to that hot new club, "Tunnel." MM)

(I was easily distracted by the trees on our journey to the tunnel. MM)

(Carson and Timur could not be distracted. MM)

(Abstract art?  Or water stains? MM)

(I got distracted by some ice.  Hard water.  Trippy. MM)

(Timur captured my fascination with the wall from his point of view. TC)

(While I captured it from mine. MM)

(Shit.  That's not by the railroad tracks.  MM)

Before I knew it, my Dia Day had come to a close.  We returned to the city and decided to cap the night off with a little Pinkberry before I collapsed in my bed.

(Mess with the color on your camera enough and you can even make Pinkberry look funny. MM)

(I think his ear MIGHT be radioactive.  I knew something funny happened on the railroad tracks.  MM)

Lazy Post Of The Day: Winning the Lottery

I'm about a week behind in blogging my life...blame Sir Nicholas, who has been in town the past week keeping me company.   We tried to win a few lottery tickets to the fantastic new show In the Heights yesterday, but were passed over in favor of screaming spring breakers collecting Playbills like trading cards.  To fill the void of seeing the show, I've been watching this press clip repeatedly over the past week.  Like I said before, it's not a perfect show, but it's the most fun I've had in a long time.  GRAB TICKETS NOW!  Here is a clip from the number "96,000" which takes place as news of a neighbors lottery win creates a frenzy in Washington Heights.  LOVE IT!  BUY TICKETS!

Day Trip (Part Two: Dying in Dia)

(NOTE: All photos by Timur Civan (TC), all photos by Matthew Murphy (MM))

The car started winding along a two-lane highway and I feared my predictions were right: Carson and Timur were taking me to be put in prison in Beacon, New York.  If there’s ever a place someone needs to go when they’re low, it’s to a correctional facility to see how much lower they can get.

The trees passed, and houses the size of apartment buildings loomed on mountains all around us.  The scenery brought a comfort that disappears in places like New York City; sometimes I forget how invigorating nature can be.  As we made our way through a collection of small towns, I started to think that my REAL prediction was correct: we were on our way to Dia:Beacon, the minimalist museum in Beacon, New York. 

It wasn’t long before that idea was verified.  After a few more turns, we pulled into the parking lot and I bounded out of the car.  Carson and Timur had been raving about the museum since they took a trip there a few months ago, and I couldn’t wait to experience it myself. 

(Even the entrance was cool looking. MM)

We entered into a small café attached to the gift shop, which gave no hint of the vast space we were about to see.  After purchasing our tickets, we wandered through a small door and let the fun begin. 

Dia is a collection of minimalist art housed in what is basically the minimalist version of the Lourve; it’s a hollowed out factory, which is such a mind-blowing space that it’s hard to focus on the art.  Fortunately, a lot of minimalist art is created with the idea of how it interacts with a given space.  This made for a unique experience observing 20th century masters like Andy Warhol, Donald Judd, Bruce Nauman, Louise Bourgeois, and Richard Serra. 

The first gallery space we entered (about the size of a football field in comparison to NYC gallery space) was a room full of multi-colored Warhol prints that hung side-to-side to create a panoramic rainbow view.  My jaw didn’t leave the hardwood floor for two hours. 

Room after room brought new things to ponder.  Minimalist artists have never been at the top of my list, but the way the gallery spaces were lit, combined with the stark contrast of the art to the pristine white walls put much of it in a new light for me.  Even something as strange as a piece of string extending floor to ceiling became an exploratory adventure.

(One of the gallery spaces.)

One of the most exciting things about the space was that we had it mostly to ourselves.  There were so many different rooms that it almost felt like its own self contained city.  It seemed like the space must have been a couple of city blocks in size. 

We went in knowing we had less than two hours before the museum closed, but that didn’t keep us from taking our time.  In fact, after walking miles around the gallery space, we decided to take a moment to rest…inside the Richard Serra sculptures.

(The way the light fell through the windows against the Serra sculptures was incredible. MM)

Even though photography was prohibited, we knew that we could get away with it enclosed in Serra’s warped oxidized steel masterpieces.  Timur and I whipped out our cameras and began snapping away.  After ten minutes of resting against the cold concrete floor, we decided to continue on and see the rest of the work.

(Carson was the first to hit the floor...that hair gets heavy. TC)

(It wasn't long before I followed. TC)

(Serra meets Dia: My view from the floor.  MM)

(We finally got off the floor and wound our way out of Serra's world...MM)

(And into another sculpture. MM)

(Time to go. MM)

(Even outside at the museum was gorgeous.  We had a few minutes to spare so we decided to do an outdoor photoshoot. MM)

(Which meant Carson got to pose a bit more. MM)

(Because she still didn't have a camera.  TC)

(So only I could capture the hipster nap. MM)

("Where to now?!" TC)

(Little did I know the day was far from over! TC)

Day Trip (Part One: Driving Mr. Murphy)

One of the best parts about having such a horrendous year is that I've gotten the chance to see what an incredible group of friends I have.  Even though I knew how lucky I was to have them in my life long before my EBV highs and lows, this year has solidified my relationships with many people.   It seems like my birthday was a chance for all of them to rally and shower me with love; it has been overwhelming.

Of all the people who already hold a solidified place in my life, my sister takes the cake.  Carson and I have been close for as long as I can remember, but living in New York together (a dream since we were kids) has allowed us to experience each others lives like never before.

A few weeks ago she told me that she and Timur had planned a surprise birthday day trip for me.  As the day came closer, I started getting more and more hints about where the mystery location was.  Even though I was almost positive I'd guessed the location, I had to wait until this past Saturday to know for sure.  We loaded in Timur's car (armed with bags of candy, and hours of tacky pop music) and headed out of the city.  All the ingredients were there, but we added something special to the mix: instead of just ONE blog photographer, we had TWO!  Timur and I were armed with dueling cameras, and each photo will have a TC (Timur Civan) or MM (Matthew Murphy) to show who took it. 

(Timur beckons us out the door. MM)

(After a quick junk food stock up, we zoomed across the GW Bridge.  Even though I love my friends, they can't force me to love Swedish Fish...guess I'm on my own.  MM)

(We'd only been in the car about thirty minutes, but Carson was already a bit car crazy when we made our first pit stop.  The "scenic turnout" proved true to its name and the weather couldn't have been more gorgeous. MM)

(Sometimes I get so excited by the sun that I almost explode.  Sometimes people see how white my skin is in the sun and almost explode. TC)

(What do you do when you see a child almost falling off a rocky ledge?  Take pictures, of course. MM)

(She recovered like a gymnast on the balance beam...champ. MM)

(Timur and I got snap happy taking pictures of each other taking pictures.  TRIPPY.  TC)

(Carson felt left out, so she pulled out her invisible camera.  It's as big as Wonder Woman's invisible jet. TC)

(And then, like Wonder Woman, she ATTACKS!  TC)

(Before she started voguing for our paparazzi shoot.  Notice my lens attacking her head.  TC)

(Her hair will eat you. MM)

(Or it will at least eat Timur.  It's like a Chia pet: grows before your eyes.  MM)

(Tell us what you see Carson...other than freakishly blue sky.  TC)

(Perhaps a man peeing off the rocks?  Or is he just stretching?  MM)

(If I shake it fast enough, will it explode? TC)

(No, but I bet it would look hot as a pair of sunglasses if I glued it to my face! TC)

(Silly rabbit.  We decided to get back in the car before that girl in the background attacked me. She crazy. TC)

(It wasn't long before the high rises were replaced by beautiful trees.  I wondered where they were kidnapping taking me to...MM)

To be continued...

Picture of the Day: 3/22/08

(Spotted Frank Gehry's building for the first time while I was driving down the West Side Highway tonight.  Managed to snap a picture while we were stopped at a light. It was the perfect end to an even more perfect day.  Just you wait...)

10 Things I Hate About "Young Frankenstein"

My plan was to avoid seeing Young Frankenstein.  I saw The Producers with the original stars, but had no interest in YF (other than the cast).  If there was one show I was going to avoid in the 2007-08 season it was the new Mel Brooks juggernaut.  I was going to stick to my ground.  Oops.  All it took was an email from my friend Abby offering a ticket for Tuesday night's performance to get me in the theater.  Hey, I'm easy.

I usually relish the chance to write detailed reviews of the theater I go to in New York.  However, I can't bring myself to spend the time writing anything formal for something as bombastic and juvenile as Young Frankenstein.  Instead, I present to you "10 Things I Hate About Young Frankenstein."

10 Things I Hate About Young Frankenstein

1)    It’s The Producers with a monster.   Even down to the Swedish bombshell: Ula/Inga.
2)    All of the actors are underused.
3)    Mel Brooks insists on playing every (predictable) joke (at least) three times.  I haven't even seen the movie and I knew what was coming. 
4)    Megan Mullally disappears for an entire act.
5)    The songs aren’t even remotely memorable.  Now, I’m not one to believe that a song needs to be playing in your head as you leave the theater, but it’s nice if at least ONE number makes an impact.  Feeling sick does not count as an impact.
6)    Everyone else in the audience (except for my lovely date Abby) seemed to love it.
7)    There is no plot.  Nothing is at stake.  Doctor goes to Transylvania.  He makes a monster.  The monster gets out.  Then Dracula shows up.  What?!
8)    There are back-flips, and a kick-line.  In other words: Susan Stroman.
9)    It goes on for 2.5 hours.
10)     When in doubt, write a penis joke.
11)     It’s officially called “The New Mel Brooks Musical Young Frankenstein.”
12)     I hate it because I couldn’t get away with hating EVERYTHING about it: Christopher Fitzgerald is fantastic as the doctor’s assistant Igor.  And you have to give credit to the cast who was committed to the material.
13)     I hate it because I haven’t been to a show where there are more than ten reasons to hate it in a LONG time.

(Abby sums it up nicely.)

Triggers

I wrote this last night (kind of "stream of consciousness") and decided to share it.  It's here unedited from how it came out of my fingertips.  And a sidenote, that my mother pointed out, I do wash my face.  Have just been using something different since I got back to the city.  Leave it to the mothers of the world to point things like that out.   

Tonight I ran out of face wash.  To be honest, I sometimes forget to wash my face now that I’m on medication for my skin.  Whereas it used to be part of my routine, it’s now become something like flossing- a habit I should keep up but sometimes neglect. 

I don’t know why I decided I needed to wash my face tonight.  Perhaps it was the filth I saw at the theater that made me want to rinse myself to a purer form.  Whatever it was, I didn’t mean to ask for all of this when I reached for the bottle. 

I didn’t have any of my normal face-wash left after traveling.  Tucked in the corner of an otherwise barren shelf in my bathroom was an old bottle of a cleanser called “Purity.”  It was one of the few decent items in our Met gift bag a few years back, and something that all the dancers started to use as makeup remover.

As I rubbed the cream colored wash between my even paler fingers, I looked into the mirror and saw a face covered with stubble.  I never kept this much stubble on my face when I was dancing.  I haven’t shaved in almost a year.  I just trim. 

I brought the face-wash up to my cheeks and started to rub it in circles.  I was suddenly transported back into the Met dressing room, to my old life.  The smell reminded me of performing.  The feeling as it touched my skin (unlike any other face wash I’ve used) removed me from my body and pushed me further in.  The more I rubbed it in circles, the thinner it became.  And I couldn’t stop smelling it.  I reached for the bottle and pushed out a second (and completely unnecessary) serving onto the ridges of my fingers.  I repeated. 

I bent over and began to rinse my face with water.  Usually, when I was performing, the water would start to flood back into the bowl mixed with my make-up.  Bruises would rinse off, or whatever bizarre makeup the evening’s ballet had called for would just swirl into the bowl.  Tonight there was no makeup, just milky water.  I felt paralyzed.

A Little Video Gushing

Anyone who has been reading the Rant for a while knows that I tend to gush when it comes to my friends at University of Michigan.  With graduation just around the corner, I couldn't be more proud or excited that they are making the journey to New York in May.  Until then, I have a few YouTube videos that were just posted to tide me over. 

First up are two of my best friends, Michael Lowney and Jessica Hershberg, singing the glorious duet "Say It Somehow" from one of my favorite musicals The Light in the Piazza. 

Next is Max Kumungai singing "Muddy Water" from Big River, which he performed a full production of earlier this year in Ann Arbor.  Gives me chills every time!

Fantastic 'Heights'

Halfway through the first act of the explosive new musical, In the Heights, one of the characters reminisces that she “used to think [she] was on top of the world, when the world was a subway map.”  Washington Heights is the neighborhood she refers to, and even though the theater is in midtown the audience is transported towards the upper tip of Manhattan for two and a half hours. In the Heights is one of the most original new musicals to hit Broadway in years; the cast and creators deserve to be on top of the world. 

It doesn’t take half an act to realize the charm of this love letter to the struggles Manhattan’s under-heard Latino population; in fact it doesn’t take half a minute.  A graffiti artist comes center stage as the lights go down and the energy doesn’t stop for the entire evening.  He lets out a shot of aerosol mist before breaking through it with choreography that looks more reminiscent of subway break dancing than typical Broadway pizzazz. 

That’s not to say that the Broadway sensibilities are absent from the show.  One of the most accomplished aspects of the production is the merger of different musical styles.  When leading actor (and composer) Linn Manuel-Miranda takes center stage, rapping about the struggles of workers making their living driving cars, or selling coffee, it seems as at home on Broadway stage as it would be on MTV.   He plows through verses, hands scratching invisible turntables, as a hybrid Broadway/hip-hop beat eggs him on.  It isn’t long until a third musical style comes in: Latin.  Syncopation pulses through the theater and smiles begin to spread across the faces of the diverse audience.  That is all within the five-minute opening number. 

What follows is not perfect by any means.  The show attempts to be the latest Rent in the way it weaves stories of people from a particular NYC neighborhood.  But where Rent had La Boheme as a solid guide for character development and plot arcs, In the Heights falls short.  There are so many lead characters that the material fails to devote enough time to any one of them for the audience to connect emotionally. At times the show feels more reminiscent of a song-cycle than a typical book musical.    Events are often rushed by placing the story within a 3-day frame.  Instead of getting insight into the individual characters, we get insight into their collective experience in a neighborhood on the brink of change.

It is with the idea of a collective experience that the creators succeed so winningly.  The musical numbers come in rapid succession (sometimes not leaving time for adequate plot development) and have a fresh sound that hasn’t been heard before on Broadway.  As characters make their way through the set, which replicates a corner on 181st street, they give voice to a population that is rarely heard on Broadway.  They tell stories of the hope to escape the neighborhood they call home and jump-start their lives, and fear that the neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.  As the stories overlap, they begin to realize that so much of what they need is right there: family, support, diversity and love.  One needn’t be Latino to connect with the universal themes that make the show such a joy. 

There are many other aspects that add to the joyous activities happening at the Richard Rodgers Theater.  The large cast breezes through number after number that keeps the audience cheering.  Some of the smaller numbers, particularly for the parents of a young girl (played by Priscilla Lopez and Carlos Gomez) seem heavy handed in an effort to add emotional weight to the evening.  The large group numbers allow things really soar. 

Throughout all of this is the constant pleasure of watching Andy Blankenbuehler’s choreography.  He utilizes the cultural crossroads of hip-hop, Latin, and Broadway to create show stopping numbers that are not only visually pleasing, but character driven.  It’s rare these days to see choreography be as integral a part of a Broadway show as it is here.  It’s executed flawlessly by the multi-talented cast. 

In the Heights has the potential to be a massive hit.  Word of mouth is deservedly strong coming from their Off-Broadway run last summer, and if the producers can work the right angles it could be a cross-cultural success.  All I know is that it’s a pleasure spending two and a half hours at the top of the subway map (even if you’re really in the middle). 

Lazy Post Of The Day: Hot Santogold

True to the fact that my body can't handle much activity, I have been sick in bed the past two days with the flu.  I knew that I was risking it with my double feature of bowling and karaoke on my birthday, but it's frustrating nonetheless. 

The city is full of people afflicted with various colds and flus at the moment.  Add my compromised immune system into the mix and you've got a recipe for disaster.  It's always difficult to sort out my barrage of symptoms that I deal with on a daily basis.  Who would have thought that getting the flu could actually be a comfort?  The only thing I think when new symptoms come into the mix is "It's not the Epstein Barr, you just have something on top of it." 

I've spent my time on the couch working on upcoming articles and scouring the internet.  I recently came across these two videos that I wanted to share.  The first is by Santogold, who is being heralded as one of the most promising new artists of 2008.  Her sound is similar to M.I.A, and the video is surreal but oddly engaging. 

Next on the list is the fantastic group Hot Chip.  I've often heard them described as Radiohead on acid (is that redundant?) and I can see what people mean.  The electronic pop quartet of British fellows' new CD, "Made in the Dark" is phenomenal, as is their video for the first single "Ready For the Floor."

Also, if anyone knows of any way to get in touch with music video director Patrick Daughters, please email me at rantingdetails@yahoo.com.