Ranting Details

Birthday Bash

(Warning: Intense brain fog today...please forgive any issues with this post!)

I can't believe that it's already been a year.  This past Wednesday I celebrated my 22nd birthday and it was a bittersweet occasion.  The unfortunate fact of the matter is that my birthday now acts as a reminder of the last time I felt healthy.  Things went downhill rather quickly after I turned 21 in Minneapolis last year, and it wasn't even a month before I succumbed to the trials of Epstein Barr Virus.  I knew that this celebration was going to be emotional, but it also ended up being a wonderful in unexpected ways 

The day started out a bit boring; some apartment cleaning, a minor breakdown, and lounging around saving up energy for the night's festivities.  However, it wasn't long until Carson and our friend Melissa showed up to put a smile on my face and treat me to my first pedicure ever.  There's nothing like letting a random woman cut your toenails and gasp at your calluses; confidence booster indeed.  As pleasant as that experience was, it was all in preparation for the required footwear of the evening: bowling shoes. 

The guest list for the night was an eclectic assortment of my friends, many who had never hung out before.  I always get a bit nervous when mixing groups, but from the moment we arrived at Bowlmor, it was clear that everyone was in the mood to mingle. 

(All pictures by Timur Civan.) 

(My one and only girlfriend Ashley catches up with Carson as I loom in the background.  I make a good hat.)

(Carson looks grumpy that I chose to enter the picture.  Tough.  Just enjoying a crazy night out with my special celebratory birthday drink: Coca-Cola!  Craziness, indeed.)

(Not sure what I made Marcelo laugh about.  Obviously I'm hilarious.)

(The fabulous Erin picks out a ball that is bigger than her entire body.)

(Alec knows that the black light is the perfect opportunity to show off his pearly whites.)

(Julio gives bowling lessons to the onlookers.)

(Thinking about getting back together?  No, just talking about how fierce we looked in our prom photo.)

(Be careful...Melissa will eat your face.)

(Feeling my generous heart?  Or smearing beer on my chest?)

(Melissa celebrates the fact that she is wearing grey and white stripes...just like Carson and me!)

(Marcelo and Julio celebrating a strike?  Or the fact that Britney Spears has a new anime music video out? )

(Carson gets the coolest shot of the night and proves that she MIGHT be a speed skater.  Look at that form!)

(It's possible that my leg is asleep in this picture.  Or made of wood.  That being said, I did beat everyone .  That's right...blogger AND bowling champion.)

(Hence the Evita pose.)

Lazy Post Of The Day: Incredible (Not Hillary) Duffy

My dad recently returned to the United States after a few months in Ireland, which meant exciting foreign gifts!  Along with some fantastic postcards and an amazing shirt, he brought Carson and me a pair of new CD's.  There's nothing I like more than a new music discovery, and I've found my new obsession: Duffy.  Now, before you go and dismiss her because of the terrible name, take a chance and listen to her incredible first single, Mercy, below.  It's a bit Amy Winehouse 2.0, which can only mean that it's going to blow up when it hits the states in a few months.  Let's hope she avoids the tabloid drama of that other British 60's throwback.  You heard it on the RANT first...or am I terribly late coming to the Duffy train? 

He's Not That Innocent

What the hell is a “hair harp?” That was the question on my mind when I sat down at Nico Muhly’s show Skin, Bone, Hair at The Kitchen Friday night.  Scanning the program with my guests Erin and Alec, we wondered what we were in for, as the set that greeted us suggested an atypical evening.  Yet it was the inclusion of “human hair harp” under the instrument list that had us especially confused. 

An email exchange earlier in the day warned me that the proceedings were going to be strange.  Nico piqued my interest with his admission that “the point of [the] whole show is to horrify people into not thinking I’m so nice.”  It’s not as if Nico (who I wrote about for Movmnt) has an Oprah like reputation, but a barrage of press throughout the past year has consistently heralded him as the young composer to watch.  If they’re going to watch, you may as well give them something to talk about. 

When we made our way into the theater we were greeted by a set that looked more like a fantasy torture den than somewhere to play music.  A collection of ropes that stretched out to create a spider-web like structure were cluttered with various skulls and bones sheltering a percussion set up.  Directly in front of that was a white horse draped with a saddle made of hair.  Centered upstage was a raised platform with three women laying down, long hair cascading off the edge.  The title began to make sense. 

(Nico (second in from left) takes a box on the bizarre set.)

The lights came down and a series of musicians made their way onto stage.  Their faces were coated with a layer of white paint, presenting them as ghostly creatures that fit perfectly into Icelandic artist Hrafnhildur Arnadottir’s upside down fantasy design. 

Last to arrive was Nico, donning maestro coattails capped off by a ghostly face and tussled hair.  To say what followed was mesmerizing is an understatement.  From the moment Nico sat down at the piano, boxed in by a set of computers and smaller keyboards on either side, every level of the evening transfixed me.      

My only previous experience with Nico’s music was the ballet he did for ABT, his CD on iTunes, and a variety of files he was kind enough to send me off of his upcoming album.  All were pleasures to listen to, but it was seeing him in action that made me fully appreciate his creations. 

Skin, Bone, Hair is a collection of four movements for four musicians.  After a brief introduction, there is an extended percussion solo (It’s About Time), a pair of viola etudes (Hair Passacaglia) and the meeting of the instruments in the 15-minute final piece (The Only Tune). 

What made the evening fascinating to me was the inability to categorize the type of music that made up the four movements.  Most mesmerizing of all was the percussion solo that had an air of surprise to the performance that seemed delightfully improvised.  The inclusion of folk singer Sam Amidon added an aura of pop relevance to The Only Tune, while other moments sounded purely classical. 

Yet even in the classical sections, there were odd moments.  At one point Nico started violently combing a fellow musician’s hair underneath a microphone, which added a scraping whisper while he plunked out keys on the piano.  Minutes before, he had knelt down beside the violist and shaken his fingers through the women’s hair at the back of the stage, essentially playing the rhythms of the music through this “human hair harp”.  The music began to get more violent and he took the women’s hair between his fingers and ratted it in time with the notes of her viola.

(Erin attacks the steed.  Typical.)

Of all the performers, Nico had the most unique physicality that was unable to be harnessed despite being seated behind a piano.   Perhaps most intriguing is that he possesses talent and a look in his eyes that reaches far beyond his 27 years, while also maintaining a childlike fascination with the proceedings.  With his hands folded on his lap, he would close his eyes and get lost in the other musicians’ performances, only to search and release a key with the determination of a typewriter letter that immediately settles back into place.   

I couldn’t ever decide where to focus throughout the 45-minute program.  Watching the musicians play was both a sonic and physical dance that overwhelmed my senses.  Nico may have to do something a little more startling (perhaps bite the head off a bat on stage) to prove he’s not quite so nice, but it was still refreshing to hear something that wasn’t quite what people have come to expect of him.  It was the type of evening that renewed my faith in the arts, and showed that there are worthwhile evenings to be had at the theater for under $100.   

(The lovely Alec and Erin pose for the blogarazzi.)

Friendly Reminder

It's Tuesday, which could only mean that it's time for you to head over to the Ranting Wear store and pick up your shirt!  BUY NOW! 

Sascha's All Over Your Newsstand

A familiar face hits newsstands this week in none other than Newsweek Magazine!  Sascha Radetsky, ABT Soloist and friend, makes his publishing debut with a fantastic article about the stigma associated with male dancers.  I couldn't be more proud of his incredibly articulate article and hope that it's just the beginning of his writing career.  When I made it to the end of the article, all I could think was "damn, I wish I had written that!"  The ultimate compliment from one writer to another.  Congrats Sascha!  Check it out for yourself and pick up a copy on newsstands now. 

Side note: How killer is that photograph?!  Taken by  Nathan Perkel.

Picture of the Day: 03/10/08

(Buddha in the battlefield.  Sums up the tranquility I've tried to achieve over the past year.)

Welcome to the Circus

The taxi line at LaGuardia airport can be a circus.  Then again, the destination it’s taking you to is the biggest circus on Earth: New York City.  For the first time since I’ve lived here, I didn’t have to wait in the taxi line when I arrived last weekend.  Perhaps I should have. 

When I reached the bottom of the escalator I was greeted by my sister Carson and her friend Timur, who had generously offered to pick me up.  There was no banner or promise of a limousine, but I felt special nonetheless.  After hoisting my luggage off the conveyor belt we journeyed out to the windy night and I officially arrived back in New York City.

I’d also arrived back to New York City traffic.  We crept our way across the bridge, and caught up about the past few months.  A key mix up led us back to my sister’s place to pick up a spare set while Timur and I stayed in the car and drooled over his new camera (which puts mine to shame).  After buckling up again we headed down Park and that’s when my welcome parade attacked. 

Even though I’ve never driven anywhere other than a parking lot, I’m well aware that green means go, and red means stop.  Apparently not everyone has been clued into this fact.  Right as we crossed 96th street, with a light as green as that infamous Jolly Giant, a car turned left and we crashed into them, creating a perfect “T.”  My name includes a pair of “T’s” but I was 95% certain it wasn’t a parade for my arrival. Had we crashed into Dolly Parton singing on a float, it would have been another story.

There’s nothing that reminds you of New York hospitality quite like being stuck smack in the middle of a crowded intersection at 11 on a Friday night.  Car horns started blaring, there were a few mumbled shouts, and all the while I was sitting in the car, stunned and pretty sure the honks weren’t because of “blog recognition.”  A quick call to 911 let us know that we could move out of the street as long as we were able to.  Despite leaving a major dent in the side of the other car, everyone was fine so we proceeded to pull the cars off to safety. 

Safety also meant about an hour of boredom waiting for paperwork to be filled out by the police.  Meanwhile, I scanned the radio stations so I could krump in the front seat to "Don't Stop the Music," by Rhianna.  I’m still unsure whether it was my krumping or “protocol” that attracted one of the cops to ask for our information.  Whichever it was, it was only moments before he looked at Carson’s ID and informed us that he was a Great Falls, Montana native!  Three Montanans in Manhattan!?  I think I found the name for my new sitcom. 

After the paperwork was finished we resumed our journey to my apartment downtown.  Having not eaten since five PM, by one AM I was craving a slice of NY pizza.  A quick journey to the corner pizzeria reminded me of the beauty of the city that doesn’t sleep.  It also reminded me of the absurdity. 

By this point in the night, our adrenaline from the accident had dissipated and we fell silent.  I turned to look over my right shoulder just in time to see a man collide full force with the glass door that opens onto the street.  Drunken confusion had led him to believe there was not a pane between him and food, and his collision sounded like a wet towel being thrown into the wall at full force.  It even left a grease mask imprint of his face on the window that only moments ago had been so clear as to trick him into believing it wasn’t there.  Welcome to the circus, indeed. 

Apologies

Just a little note to say that I promise some new bloggage is coming soon.  My return to NYC has been busy with lots of meetings, both professional and with friends, so my spare time has been spent resting instead of writing. 

Also if anyone is having trouble connecting to the website, you need to use the updated rantingdetails.com link instead of the old blogspot one.  Pass along the word please!  Hope all is well. 

Lazy Post Of The Day: One Shot Wonder?

In the world of music videos Feist is an anomaly.  MTV favors seizure inducing editing in most of what they air so it's a wonder that Feist's videos (like the incredible "1,2,3,4") have made such an impact.  Now it seems that a pop queen is following the indie songstress' footsteps.  Janet Jackson, usually the number one promoter of video editing as over done as her vocal processing, has debuted her new video "Rock With U" that is all *gasp* one shot. 

It's no question that Janet has fallen from the peaks of pop stardom (however unfairly) since her infamous half time jewelry show.  On top of her poor choice at that event, her music has been enjoyable, but a bit monotonous after 1997's "Velvet Rope."  Still, it's nice to see the focus back on the dancing because no pop star has the sharpness with her technique like Janet.  I just with the choreography were a bit better although I do like it.  Some of her backup dancers are incredible.  Check it out and leave your thoughts below! 

Matt Murphy from Missoula, Montana

I never thought I’d be here. 

When I planned my trip almost four months ago, I never expected to make it the entire way through.  Three months in Missoula sounded almost as frightening and foreign as joining the army but I decided to attempt it anyway.  The last time I spent an extended amount of time there was before I left for North Carolina School of the Arts when I was fourteen and barely had facial hair.  Needless to say, things are different than they were then.  Also needless to say, things don’t always go according to plan.  Some higher power had other things in mind for me, and sent me for a little R&R with my wonderful family after months of dealing with EBV. 

My experience in Missoula was, for lack of a better cliché, gone in the blink of an eye.  What at first seemed like a marathon seemed more like a sprint in hindsight.  Before I knew it I became accustomed to the laid back nature of living beneath the shadow of mountains.  The streets never had more than a handful of people on them, and kind words were given as abundantly as silence from strangers in New York; I reveled in it. 

Despite the comfort that Montana brought it was also a disappointment.   After two healers, and an elimination diet, I was left with minimal improvements in health and stumped doctors.  Montana was supposed to be a time of rapid rejuvenation.  Instead it drove in the fact that this virus is going to run on its own time and I have to grin and bear it to a certain extent.

In other ways, Montana was more of a success than I ever could have imagined.  A few weeks before I left I wandered into my room after an evening with Jes and Anya and wrote down a few simple words, “These girls are going to teach me something.”  I walked into my time in Missoula with a comfortable, but minimal, association with them.  I left with two new lifetime friends.   

(The lovely ladies out for my final dinner at the best pizza place in the world.)

That shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to me considering how comfortable I felt with them immediately.  In my time with Gillian (who I’ve known since I was 10), Jes and Anya, I felt myself wrapped up in creative energy that comforted me in what I thought was an inconsolable period of my life.  They, along with a select few from around the globe, have shown me how to be comfortable with myself, proud of the person I am, but always strive for more no matter what obstacles slam into me.   

Even though I was aware of my attachment to Montana, I didn’t realize the extent of it until I was at the airport.  Climbing the stairs behind security, I peered out and saw my mom with a smile on my face as I began my ascent.  Even though there was a smile on my face, there were tears welling up in my eyes while I went to board the plane for New York.

(Looking slightly cross-eyed with Gillian on the eve of my departure.)

The New York that I returned to is not the New York that I left.  With my arrival comes the beginning of the most uncertain period of my life to date.   Comforts that I used to have, with my job and even my relationships with friends, have shifted and it’s the start of something new.  No choice but to be excited and bring a part of my Montana experience with me for the ride.

(How could I leave this face?  I even got her to smile for the camera.)