Ginger's follies, foibles and fixations.
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| You Listen to Me, Mr. Kick-Ass Ginger's follies, foibles and fixations. |
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Friday, July 25, 2003 Coming Soon: The Friday Five 1. If your life were a movie, what would the title be? Gingerrox! 2. What songs would be on the soundtrack? At least these: The Beatles "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," Stevie Wonder "I Wish," The Who "Won't Get Fooled Again," ABBA "Dancing Queen," Gary Numan "Cars," Talking Heads, "Memories Can't Wait," Oingo Boingo "On the Outside," "Sweet Transvestite," Laurie Anderson "O Superman," Alice Cooper "Is it my Body?," Pink Floyd "Run Like Hell," The The "This is the Day," David Bowie "Life on Mars?," David Bowie/Queen "Under Pressure," Ministry "Breathe," Peter Gabriel "Passion," XTC "1000 Umbrellas," Madonna "Express Yourself," Faith No More "Falling to Pieces," Nirvana "Sifting" or "Negative Creep" or "School," Alice in Chains "Right Turn," Liz Phair "Fuck and Run," Wally Pleasant "She's in Love with a Geek," Roosevelt Franklin "Circus Daze" or "Sharks Live in the Water," Metallica "Master of Puppets," Mercury Rev "Yerself is Steam," Infinite Monkeys "Metamonkey" or "Future Dog," Pigeonhed "Battle Flag," Peter Parker "Braille," House of Large Sizes "Mean & Hateful," Hanson "Weird." And, oh, so many more. 3. Would it be a live-action film or animated? Why? It would be rotoscoped, like Waking Life, because my life is either too interesting or too boring to shoot normally. 4. Casting: who would play you, members of your family, friends, etc? Mom: Sally Field Dad: Jerry Garcia Stepdad: Willy Wonka Sister: Lauren Ambrose Me: Wendy Testaburger 5. Describe the movie preview/trailer. A lot of quick cuts, explosions, a hip, electronic soundtrack, and cute little kitties. posted by Ginger | 4:18 AM MOB 5: a cute dog, but no bingo I went to MOB 5 tonight with Mr. & Mrs. Boss. What I noticed this time were the little ways in which people can take the same set of straightforward "rules" and interpret them differently. For instance, I wanted to get to the designated bar by 6:30 or so (the invitation said to get there by 6:55) so that there would be time to have a drink and relax before receiving further instructions. Mr. Boss was more of the idea that we should arrive at the bar at the time stated, and when we got there at around 6:45 he considered that "early." Then, after our cocktails, he wanted to leave right away (even though we had 15 minutes before the MOB was to start), while I wanted to hang back to avoid a "mob on their way to a mob" situation. These things weren't 'bad,' nor did it cause any conflict, but it did show that if two people can't read the same set of instructions and agree how to follow them, imagine the ways that two hundred people will follow those same instructions. Small variations combined with unsynchronized watches means the MOB will always be a little rough around the edges. I don't think that leads to ruin -- it just means you can't control everything, so it's not worth sweating a minute here or there. Back at the bar, I started playing Hipster Bingo. I ticked off old-school Pumas, old-school vans, and the ubiquitous chunky-plastic-frame glasses before we left. I don't think the bartendress had been tipped off, she seemed surprised to be flooded with drink orders for fifteen minutes. I hope she made a lot of tips. Since all the mobsters were coming from bars west of Central Park at the same time, the parade of hipsters was hard to miss. "Where did all these people come from?" one befuddled local wondered. The MOB had made its impact already! The three of us got to Central Park West a couple of minutes early, so we grabbed a bench so I could bandage my blistered feet (a sad fact: when it's hot, I don't wear socks and no matter what kind of sandals I wear, I blister. By the end of summer my feet are hamburger). And just as we were about to get back up and join the streams of people STILL headed for the MOB site, an adorable French bulldog came up and decided he was my BEST FRIEND. Though I do not consider myself a dog person, my love of animals in general allows me to dote on any friendly beast, and I've always had sort of a thing for bulldogs. Elvis was a darling as he boosted himself on his tippy toes and put his front paws on my lap. His owner asked what was drawing the crowds and Mr. Boss filled him in on MOB lore as I made kissy-faces at Elvis. I tried to get a picture (tick "blogger with a digital camera" off the Bingo card), but the pooch was camera-shy. The MOB waits for no one, or no dog, so we trekked the last few feet up a ridge which overlooked CPW. We were instructed to stand and stare straight ahead, but really there was just a lot of mingling, shuffling and chatting. Then, though my watch said it was still a few minutes before we were supposed to start, people started in with semi-realistic bird calls. Not more than 30 seconds later, the air was filled with a cacophony of questionable not-quite-birdlike sounds. This was still several minutes before this was supposed to happen, but when in a MOB, do as the MOB does. My bird call of choice: "Mine!? Mine!?" Per the instructions (though early), the bird calls were punctuated with squawks of "bird noise!" then "Nature! Get your nature here!" then finally chants of "Na-ture! Na-ture!" and wild cheering. The mob was supposed to last eight minutes, but I don't think it went that long. This post on Fancy Robot argues that this MOB was low on spectators, prompting the question "If a MOB assembles inexplicably, and there's nobody around to not explain it, is it still inexplicable?" But actually I saw quite a few observers. Several people walked by on CPW, and what looked like a tour bus actually paused right in front of the MOB site for most of it. I don't know if they could hear the bird calls or see us through those tinted windows, but I hoped so. Perhaps that was the lost busload of Maryland tourists from MOB 4! As happened last time (MOB 3), I was consumed with gleeful joyousness. There was nothing particularly meaningful about what we were doing, but just to go out and do something absurd and inspired is a hilarious, fun, goofy thing. It tickles. I don't think it matters so much if nobody sees it - it is fun for its own sake. And as an added bonus: no cops. Sure, it would be fun to have a large audience, but in a way it's less charming if it becomes (I'll say this again) a Big Event. I always liked the idea of maybe 15-20 people saying to their friends "I don't know what was up but there were like two hundred people yelling 'nature!' in the park tonight...." However, with all the media attention MOBs have been getting the past week, I'm surprised that not everybody has heard of it by now. As we dispersed (quite rapidly, it appeared, though we streamed away from the site in much the same way we streamed toward it), I ticked off "high school sports t-shirt" and "ironic trucker cap," and a good-looking guy peering over my shoulder volunteered to be the "grandpa (over-30 hipster)." Alas, not enough for Bingo. In the rest of the Blogiverse... cheesebikini? seems to be overwhelmed with hits right now, or something, but likely Sean will have good comprehensive coverage in the coming hours. I'm guessing the explosion of hits and the constant references to his site as the "unofficial official" source of all things MOB over the last few weeks may have come as a bit of a surprise to his server. Satan's Laundromat has some good photos (none of me, thank god - most photos seem to be taken from the far left side of the MOB while I was over on the far right with the Bosses). While you're over there, check out Mike's images of the neighborhood represented by his, and my, City Councilman James E. Davis, who was tragically slain yesterday at City Hall. I'm sad to say that I know more about Mr. Davis now that he's no longer alive than I did when he represented me. More MOBbing: Transcribed instructions and photos at: Fred's Journal Another good write up at: Strange Radiation (purty site design too) A brief summary and photos: Glowlab More photos: Moist and Tasty So, what does one do after a MOB? I joined the Bosses at the uptown version of Fez for a party thrown by their friend who I had never met and am unlikely to ever see again. There I discovered my new favorite summer beverage: the Frozen Cosmopolitan. it's like a Cosmo Icee, it even comes out of one of those steel machines. Oh. My. God it was good - especially since we've had bone-crushing humidity (alternating with mood-squashing rain) all goddamn week. Oh, and. This afternoon a car crashed into a sushi restaurant across the street and half a block down from where I work. I don't know if anyone was injured, but I don't think so. My co-worker just happened to have the news on the TV in our office (since her theatre group was featured on the 5pm news), and when they announced the location of the accident, we all looked at each other and said "is that our building?" This just goes to prove that CARS ARE OUT TO KILL YOU and you should always order in for lunch. posted by Ginger | 12:04 AM Thursday, July 24, 2003 Hipster Bingo I'll be bringing this to the MOB tonight. It seems the perfect opportunity to play. [Thanks to Dan for the link!] posted by Ginger | 5:41 PM Sunday, July 20, 2003 The Angel Project It's a beautiful Sunday here in NYC and as such was a perfect day to take in the Lincoln Center Festival-sponsored "solitary journey" through Manhattan called "The Angel Project." To tell you too much of what happened would mar the experience for anyone who might want to see it before it closes July 27 -- and if it's at all possible, I highly recommend that you do. The $90 price tag may seem daunting (these are the benefits of being in school - student discount, baby!), I am amazed they could afford to do this without charging 200 bucks a pop. It's a truly breathtaking experience. If you were thinking about getting a ticket or two to a Broadway musical -- or, you know, eating for a week -- invest your dough in this show instead. The Broadway musical will always be there, and you could probably stand to lose a couple pounds, right? First, you buy a ticket with a time on it (instead of row and seat numbers) and you make your way to Roosevelt Island, in the middle of the East River. Ideally, the directions say, you should take the Roosevelt Island Tramway. There are bus and subway options as well, but the tram is way more fun. It is also, by the way, the only place in town that still accepts subway tokens - in fact, it doesn't accept anything else. On the island you are shuttled solo and (mostly) silently to a location where you are treated to spectacular views of midtown Manhattan. There I was given a quick debriefing and a Metrocard. After forgetting to ask about restroom availability on the journey, I was on my way to the first site. I don't want to give away too many specifics, but from the very first, this "show" was a revelation. It opens up in layers--layers that are less a directorial design than the gradual disassembling of the barriers we create to navigate the overabundant stimuli of city life. I spent a lot of time at the first site, and at first I thought it was nothing but a nice view. And then I noticed little things around me. Wait - was that part of the installation? Or there just by chance? It was surprisingly difficult to shake the instinct to give a quick glance and turn away, to take in the surface and move on. It took some force of will to walk into the space, to really look around. I was about to leave when I noticed a door I hadn't even seen before - I had simply ignored what was right in front of me. I knew on some level that many other people had opened this door too, but at that moment it felt like my own discovery, and that is part of the magic. Standing in what at first seemed an empty space gradually, layer by layer, opened into a collage of small, meaningful (and perhaps not-so-meaningful) details. From then on, everything seemed part of the show. From the David Lynch-ish surreality of the subway (the woman with the bouffant and too much makeup, the nut barking nonsense syllables to nobody) to the tourists in midtown (elastic-waist shorts - with pantyhose??), all made me feel as if I was a silent observer of humanity, just like those Angels perched on rooftops in Wings of Desire, a motif this show references a great deal. To call "The Angel Project" a "walking tour" seems too trite for its emotional and psychological impact. A "journey" might sound pretentious, but it's closer to the truth. After the first site, I felt I had to touch everything, turn the pages in books, leaf through papers, climb steps, open cabinets and doors. More often than expected -- considering the sheer number of doors, hallways, books, cabinets and desk drawers to try -- something would be there, another layer uncovered. And each one was like a secret just for me. Other times I thought I had seen everything in a space, and then turned around to see a whole other universe right behind me. Sure, I wondered at times how often the "angels" (often "sleeping" or staring blankly, always mute) got bathroom breaks or how some of them managed to keep their limbs from falling asleep, I was so entranced by the performance it didn't matter. Who cares how Peter Pan flies across the stage? Though often you don't see the actors' faces, when you do they can engage you in surprising ways. On one floor full of empty cubicles -- indicating either the death of a business or the birth of one -- I decided to veer off to an odd corner to look out the window, and in an otherwise empty, dreary office stood a lone "angel," staring down at his shoes. As I turned away from the window and walked back past the office, the "angel" slowly raised his head and met my eyes with a stricken, sad expression just as I walked out of frame - it was perfectly timed, cinematic. After finding this audition notice, I'm curious where these folks came from. The instructions say this "journey" takes about 2-3 hours, depending on your pace. I figured I would linger and so planned on three hours, which turned out to be spot-on. But I still felt that I missed things. I find myself wishing I had stayed long enough to pull open ALL of the drawers, to look out ALL the windows, to have looked closer at that glass of what I assumed to be Holy Water? But perhaps that is the point as well - it is not possible to examine every alternative, to have every possible experience. Every person who sees "The Angel Project" will have their own unique journey, and as obvious as that might seem, it's also something of a miracle. posted by Ginger | 7:27 PM You, or Someone You Love, a Paul Simon Fan? If so, please buy Matthew's crap. posted by Ginger | 6:58 PM |
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