Missy | October 29, 2006

Crumbling wall, between 13th & 14th NW, Washington DC

Predictably, DC Halloween parties always feature an array of political and inside-the-beltway themed costumes. You’ve got your Foley pages, your stem cells, your Chavezes and your Ahmadinejads (except, wait, where was Kim Jong Il?) At the Casa de Libertarios party, they took it a step further by theming the whole party around the mocking of a book that I hadn’t even heard of until Saturday. Matt Yglesias, whose costumes get progressively weirder each year, pulled out a reference so obscure (to me) that I needed to look it up. (I also do not watch The Daily Show so maybe I missed the reference for a reason.)

If there’s one thing I miss about DC (aside from the fact that it smells nicer than New York), it’s the concentration of smart. I know of three people working on books directly or tangentially related to philosophy and political theory, and I was introduced to a Supreme Court law clerk. There’s always a trade-off, of course. Living in New York, I may have gotten dumber, but at least my sense of fashion has improved. *

* That depends on whom you ask. My mother, for instance, would probably disagree.

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Missy | October 23, 2006

Closed.

There are always stories to tell about Brooklyn.

The other day I took myself out for a burger and a beer and the Sunday crossword, which prompted four separate conversations while I was there. I met a man–I met a few men, actually, but that’s irrelevant–and his name is John. I’d put him at around 70. He’s a Yankees fan (”I used to park cars at Yankee Stadium for ten years.”) He talked excitedly about The Illusionist (which, quite frankly, I have zero interest in seeing though he called it a delight) and the trick with an orange tree. I’m told it’s a Ricky Jay trick. John actually saw Ricky Jay perform that illusion. I also learned from him–and this came out of a mention of the film Infamous, a title that, whenever I read it in print, I wonder what the heck it is because I’ve forgotten what it is from the last time I read about it–that when Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood first appeared in serial format in the New Yorker, husbands and wives would fight over the new issue for who would get to read the latest installment first, it was that riveting.

Also in Brooklyn this weekend, I woke up on Sunday and went to the neighborhood CVS for some necessities (toilet paper, exfoliant) and was waiting in line behind who I thought was somebody’s nanny with a heroin problem (that’s actually what I thought, not my revisionist-history version given what I’m about to say in my next sentence). That person turned and it was Michelle Williams (and Matilda). Gosh, Michelle is so pretty, but you have no idea how thin she is right now. I don’t mean that in a celebrities-are-always-so-much-smaller-in-person kind of way, nor do I have a habit of coming down on skinny people (I know many who weigh probably a good 20 pounds less than me and who can also probably bench press me, and yes I’m envious). She is frail-looking. I used to see her occasionally in yoga class last year when she was far healthier-looking though, granted, with child at the time.

Say, and I know this is old stuff for many but it’s my own version of a heroin addiction: have you heard this wonderful rock & roll band from Brooklyn?

I decided to pick up a yoga habit again–maybe it was seeing Michelle again after all this time–even though warriors aggravate my right knee. I tried a new teacher, a dude, coincidentally named John and considerably younger than 70 years old, and he’s funny and sort of brainy and when I told him about my knee–normally I forgo any of my physical info because I know my body pretty well and I am never what I would call injured; complainy, sure, but who wants to hear about that?–he offered his and my new mantra, “Shins together, thighs wide”. That’s right, say it with me. He also completely changed my bridge wheel (or, backbend) and I actually had a “Woah!” moment. That never happens to me in yoga. You know what? I don’t always know everything about everything. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that.

*****

A strange thing has been happening lately. I’ve been in a short film, I’ve had the opportunity to write some guest posts (well, a guest post for now that at this writing has yet to be posted) on a blog that is not mine and probably sees 10 times my traffic, and I had someone request the use of one of my photos for a to-be published book in this series. And I didn’t even have to do anything! Well, I mean, I ultimately had to do something, but I didn’t pursue any of these things. I like this life of mine.

*****

And in bigger news, thanks to some good-natured pestering on the part of my friend Lane, I am traveling to DC this weekend, my first visit since I emptied out an apartment and drove 200+ miles northeast without looking back 18 months ago.

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Missy | October 19, 2006

View from my roof at night

Oh, Mets.

Last winter I dated a good man named Mike. He’s the one who keeps satellites in orbit, for those of you with some knowledge of my love life. He’s born & bred Brooklyn, with an accent to match–and an accent that, amusingly, he cannot hear. The relationship ultimately didn’t work out but we remained friends, though we’ve been out of touch lately. That didn’t stop me from texting him during the last inning of Game 7, and this is because he is the biggest Mets fan I know. (But in an endearing, not an offputting way.) He knew–and frequently commented–that this would be a great year for the Mets because he follows all the pre-season trades and news and whatnot. He was right, but what a disappointing ending.

And in other bummers, let’s talk about how much I disliked The Tooth of Crime, a Sam Shepard play. I’d read the play several weeks back, was feeling uneasy but not too uneasy because I don’t read plays well, which is why I am not an actor. This production is a restaging of a famous 1983 production, with Ray Wise (you may know him as Leland Palmer) as Hoss. It’s East Village off-off-Broadway, so I’m not expecting super-awesome production, but I can’t think of one thing I liked about this play. In saying so, I realize I’m sounding a little pissy about it, but I’m very fond of Sam Shepard and all of his talents, which, coupled with Ben Brantley’s enthusiastic reaction I thought would mean this being the can’t-miss performing arts event of the season. Oh, Sam.

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Missy | October 9, 2006

Orange chairs at the curb.

On Friday I made the last minute decision to see Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker and Akram Khan at BAM for the Steve Reich birthday celebration. Reich’s music, in case you are unfamiliar with his work, is largely minimalist and hypnotic, relying on repetition, looping, and subtle shifts in cadence. See, for an obvious example, “Clapping Music” (video with sound). I’m reminded of my babysitter when I was kid; she had one of those old alarm clocks that you wind up and that made an awfully loud ticking sound. I loved that clock, and I loved that ticking. My brain formed different cadences to it. I think we all inherently love rhythm and pattern; it feels good in the body and in the brain. Anyway, you may be familiar with Reich’s “Come Out” (info here), which has been sampled all over the place. (Madvillain comes to mind.)

Spry at 46 years of age, De Keersmaeker gets it–her choreography (which dates back to 1982, when she was 22) sets the pattern in the physical realm. I found it thrilling. (Unfortunately, on my right was some Neanderthal who was visibly and audibly bored out of his gourd the whole time.) I was less impressed with the Khan piece, which seemed to use recycled choreography. The three male dancers, however, were wondrously fluid.

More excitement: Merce is unveiling a new work this week at the Joyce. Though the piece is set to the music of Mikel Rouse, the audience will come with the music selections downloaded on their iPods (or borrow an iPod at the show–does anyone in New York not have one?), and we’ll all shuffle the music so that each hears his own arrangement. I’m wondering what the dancers will hear–are they dancing in silence (with clocks placed strategically)? Or will they, too, be wearing iPods, each hearing a different arrangement of music?

Related: A previous entry on the Cunningham work Ocean. It’s also open class week at the Cunningham studios. Take class at this legendary studio for free!

If you’ve made it this far in this post, congratulations. (Does anybody actually read these things anymore?) As your reward, I have some news to share. This weekend I will make my New York debut in a work by a local choreographer, with other dancers such as Ami, Ivanna, Laura, Hillary, Naoko, and others. The work is part of the Women in Motion program of the Estrogenius Festival, though the piece I’m in was created by a man, Ezra Caldwell, with musical arrangement by Doveman. Except that we won’t be performing live, as it is a short film. And, technically, we’re not even dancing. I’m wondering how well this piece is going to go over; I fear he will have some ’splaining to do. The gist is this: it takes roughly 7.5 seconds for a Nikon F100 to rapid fire an entire roll of 36-exposure film. During that 7.5 seconds, one must go from completely dressed to completely undressed. Before you go all pervy or freak-out or immature on me, I’ll note that this is a task-based exercise and not about being pretty or sexy. There’s simply no time for that, which means that any reaction is very pure. (Hillary finished hers with a characteristic flip of her hair. It’s just this thing that she does; it’s her tic and we all have them.) The question posed is, how quickly and efficiently can a bunch of strong women go from point A to point B? Except that it’s not about running a race, nor is it a competition. How do the paths of least resistence differ from one body and one set of clothes to the next? Is it even possible? (Yes it is, with lots of rehearsal and a willingness to waste film.) It’s not even a “love your body” message because, frankly, once you get past the initial bashfulness in the first rehearsal (and trust me, I was bashful) you forget what it is you’re actually doing (shedding clothes) and the brain shifts to just getting it done. It’s the weirdest thing. Even talking about it with Ezra beforehand (I was prepared to say, “No”, until I said, “Yes”), I didn’t truly get it until I actually did it.

The film will be 36 animated exposures per person, timed according to the pace of the camera with some title cards thrown in to separate the sequences. I’ve seen a couple of Ezra’s sets of negatives thus far and it is gorgeous work. Not that I would expect anything less from him. That said, I am about 100% sure I won’t even be there so if you go, let me know how it is.

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