Mushaboom

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Beauty Lies in the Eye

I didn't really get to say everything I wanted to in this 100-word blurb on Mike Daisey. Mainly, I'd like to reiterate here that Mike Daisey is the most ingenious guy in theatre right now, at least in my opinion. Sure, he is slightly lacking in the rugged good looks of Liev Schreiber, but the fact that he maintains the challenging crossover of acting and writing is absolutely astounding. Even more impressive is that he improvises most of his monologues while using the verve of a sweaty, overzealous southern preacher man.

So that's another 100 words, approximately.

The Reminder

Poor Mary High, in town visiting for this year’s cruddiest weekend, decided that she would move to New York were it not for the weather. St. Patrick’s Day was just plain sloppy. We started with the parade up on 86^th street, then ambled our way downtown -- skipping Midtown -- Chelsea, East Village, West Village, Lower East Side, for at least twelve solid hours of reveling. There was a German pub, with bagpipes for entertainment, a Mexican fiesta, and two overcrowded Irish pubs, of course. It really is exhausting, going through all of that. By the end of it, we (or maybe I’m just speaking for myself) were like walking train wrecks after trudging through the snow to have a beer with every single person in New York.

Digital Love

So apparently my esteemed peer, Adam Frucci, was deemed Cool Geek of the Week last week, which is a pretty big deal in these parts. When asked to comment, Mr. Frucci, modest as ever, states, "It was embarrassing and I regret agreeing to it."


Cool Geek of the Week? I say Cool Geek of the Year!

Everybody Hertz

Is There Anyone Else Outside?

Souvenirs Young America is the band of an old high school chum of mine and I see them play almost every time they’re in NYC, mostly because I like to support my friend’s band but also because the music isn’t half bad. Last night, however, they split the bill in the basement of Lit Lounge with Aughra, which is music like I have never seen before, or heard for that matter.

Well, no, that’s not exactly true. Aughra plays ponderous aural volumes in the same vein as Mogwai and countless other ambient electronic bands that rely mostly on atmosphere and style, as opposed to lyrics. What sets Aughra apart, though, is the actual presentation of sound. Aughra is just one dude who sets up camp in a tent on stage. This gives a Wizard-behind-the-curtain effect of mystery, adding to the ruminant melodies of whatever instruments the artist is manipulating. It was kind of like watching Prince’s halftime show, but way cooler.

Brass Buttons

Last night was the premiere of Eric Bogosian's Talk Radio, starring Liev Schreiber, who is absolutely dynamite. Here, watch the Times gush all over it:

"With "Talk Radio" Mr. Schreiber, who won a Tony two years ago for his performance in "Glengarry Glen Ross," confirms his status as the finest American theater actor of his generation, a man capable of presenting clouded, complicated minds with searing clarity. His performance here is unnervingly physical as Barry's malaise of the soul translates into all manner of bodily discomforts."

And now I will nerd out about the after party . Okay, so we get to Bobby Flay's restaurant, and there's this red carpet set up, but it's not for us, of course. We had to stand on the side, and wait for all the starlets to filter in, which took a while due to all the paparazzi and the fact that they had to maneuver through a revolving door.

Here's a rundown of the people in attendance: Naomi Watts, two of the Sex & the City chicks, Bernadette Peters, Alan Alda, Paul Haggis, Brian Dennehey, Anna Paquin, Mcauley Culkin's little brother, Chris Noth, and a whole lot of people from Law & Order and the Wire.

Inside, we somehow ended up sitting next to Anna Paquin and the Culkin kid who, quite frankly, seem like total dimwits. Finally, Naomi Watts -- looking smashing in a turquoise maternity number -- complimented my dress and I went home.

Both Sides Now

Sorry, blahg, it's been a while, I know. The thing is, when I started this little project a year ago, with the good intention of posting daily, I was stuck in a cubicle with a lot of extra time on my hands. Now that I have a job that I kind of care about, it's more difficult to wax poetic about my New York adventures on a daily basis.

Well, there have certainly been a few blahg-worthy expeditions that have fallen through the cracks lately due to a lack of time. There was a tell-tale encounter with two homeless chaps in Hell's Kitchen, a successful run from SoHo to Lincoln Center in twenty minutes flat (take the V to West 4, transfer to the C, speed walk from there), and a David Mamet play that left much to be desired by way of entertainment.

And then, when I finally did get around to posting, all that materialized was a stream of consciousness spoof on the perils of turning twenty-five, which somehow landed me a chop on Gawker. This resulted in my own mother accusing me of being a closet alcoholic, my best friend questioning my grammar skills, my fellow giving me the third degree about potential suitors, and scores of uppity crackers crawling through the monitor telling me how to live out the remainder of my 20's.

So I will try to step it up a notch from now on, as I remember the promise I made to Toby Shuster of Jerusalem, and those of you who are still stuck in cubicles, living vicariously through the ramblings of an old rube like myself.