After my love affair with NYC in the fall, and then the slight abandonment issues we went thru during my stint in LA, we have had a rocky patch over the last month but I feel that we are pulling thru, we are gaining strength daily and are definitely back on the right track.
She has offered up another weird and wonderful day for me- from Sunday morning castings to random naked contortionists at MOMA- apparently art… but basically a Frenchman staring at his balls for half an hour in front of a crowed of people. My nerves prickled when they took my ticket and said ‘we ask that you don’t leave during the performance’ (yeah hardly a positive opening) then they slip in that its an hour long. I take my seat and realise I am staring at a blank stage with a table and chair and I man dressed in black. (Never a good sign, especially when you have been dragged to as many friends ‘experimental performances’ as I have, not to mention the 'interesting' shows with 'avantgarde' theatre companies, i have since learned avantgarde translates as 'run the other way', i have devised myself over the years and dragged my poor, loyal and suffering family and friends to) at which point I am suddenly beyond nervous, I am now in a cold sweat, sat right in the centre front, with the curator (whom has personally invited us!) seated right next to me, there is NO escape. I manage to entertain myself thru the first half hour of this strange Frenchman walking round the stage making robot noises, by a number of different means: first I have a little doze, but its one of those stressful involuntary ones where your eyes will just not stay open and you know you are supposed to be awake and your head keeps flopping embarrassingly forward… then I start scrutinizing the ceiling…hmmm interesting the way those concrete blocks are all the same size and white… next I start trying to read the squiggly notes the journo next to me is writing, in shorthand in Dutch! Then I start to imagine how interesting it would be to watch Hubby watching the Frenchman, (the pain he would go thru, would make Guantanamo seem like summer camp) which is a really bad idea as it starts me giggling…I take a glance at my companion, and inflicter of this torture ,Shaz, who gives me a quick ‘don’t you dare start’ look and refuses even a glance back in my direction (case she catches the giggling epidemic that has seized my body)for the rest of the entire show, during which I go thru a vast and painful range of emotions, the worst of which is the realization by the end that I am actually transfixed by this lanky naked frog with his bum in the air. Ah for art!
We then head back down town for a quick sushi before hot footing it to the Angelika for a bit of commercial entertainment…Ah, No, we choose Blue Valentine! I should have been warned by the conversation at brunch when someone was talking about Lady Gaga and Leighton Meester and Shaz asks “who is this Lady Easter?”.. anyway we happily buy our tickets for the 7:45 viewing, head into the theatre and are mistified that the movie has already started and its only 7:44… we watch the whole miserable thing (or so we think) I did think the story lacked clarification and was very worried when I was having to ask ‘Lady Easter’ for story tips…anyway we get thru without slitting our wrists. And are just leaving when I say ‘I am very angry that they should start the film early (it didn’t occur to me that everyone else seemed to have been there on time) so we decide to complain at which point we are told we were in the wrong viewing and had missed the first 45 mins…so we decide to go back in and watch the first half, which I have to say is probably the best way to watch this movie as you can leave feeling only half like topping yourself instead of fully determined to do so. And just as I think we are on the home run and the evening couldn’t really get any more bizarre we walk passed the palm reader who of course beckons us in and tells me I am going to have 4 children!!!!!!
NYC, you gotta love her.
Rxxx
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