Tuesday, May 25, 2010

um, no thanks.

i don't care if they flavor the ogre-load with mint or strawberries or gold flakes--i'm still going to pass.


wow. just...wow.

check this out. via.

this is a digital media group that projects 3D images onto buildings--among other things. This video is amazing.

Projection on Buildings from NuFormer Projection on Vimeo.

Friday, May 21, 2010

shining city review

We got a really nice write-up in the Coloradoan (Stacy Nick wrote it) yesterday on Shining City. Although for some reason i think i look like a murderer in the pic they chose to run. :)

Check it:

Conor McPherson's "Shining City" is a haunting ghost story.

But this tale is more psychological than supernatural (although there are elements of the beyond too).

In openstage etc's production, the play begins with a ghost story told by widower John (played by Joe Vader); his audience is Ian, a newly licensed therapist who, up until recently, was a priest. In Ian's cramped Dublin office - equipped with little more than a couple of chairs, a hot plate and a broken door buzzer - John relays the story of his wife, Mari's, recent passing in a car accident and the multiple sightings he's had of her since.

A multitude of questions are running through John's mind - not the least of which include what Mari's ghost wants. The couple's communication had been disintegrating for years (partially the result of being unable to have children): just before Mari's accident the couple had a violent falling out.

Everyone in "Shining City" is struggling to connect with someone, anyone. When he couldn't connect with his wife, John tells of a failed attempt at an affair with another woman; Ian left the church for his girlfriend, Neasa, and their daughter, but then abruptly ends their relationship.

A string of unrest also trails throughout the play - no one is where they think they should be. "You go searching," John says. "Not searching, I wasn't going anywhere searching for anything, but I think I was always slightly waiting, you know?"

The waiting leads each of the cast members to shady connections - John tells of a disastrous trip to a brothel, Neasa admits to a one-time affair (the result, she says, of feeling trapped in Ian's parents' home), even Ian - after splitting from Neasa - finds himself living in his office and seeking comfort on the streets of Dublin.

McPherson is a master of dialogue - every phrase is fraught with meaning and each pause carries the story further, rather than delaying it. The familiarity and awkwardness of each conversation gives the audience the feeling that they are voyeurs witnessing a moment not meant for their eyes. It's a feeling that is amplified by the talented cast.

Joe Vader may be best known for his business success (he's the Joe of Fort Collins bar Lucky Joe's) but his performance as John is stunningly deft; he adroitly handling purposefully awkward dialogue scattered with pauses and "You knows." Kurt Brighton also turns in a strong performance as Ian, conveying a quietness that screams more and more loudly as the story continues.

While they only have a limited time on stage, Lorraine Larocque (as Neasa) and Caleb Gilbert (as Laurence) both make a big impact. Wielding an impeccable Irish brogue, Larocque completely inhabits the role of a desperate woman watching her life slip through her fingers. Gilbert is unsettlingly good as a homeless man looking to make money any way he has to.

Kudos also must go to co-directors Matthew G. Smith and Emelie Borelio for letting the play's subtle nuances command the audience's attention; rather than attempting to insert any manufactured drama, they allow every moment to unfold in its own time, as it should.

Without giving away the ending, "Shining City" will leave you with more questions than answers, but in a contemplative, rather than an empty, way.

In fact, "Shining City" shines more from what it doesn't say than what it does.

the sound of a voice

Here's my Denver Post review of The Sound of a Voice, playing at the Paragon Theatre.

There's a special kind of loneliness in those who have been burned by love repeatedly. We all know someone like this: They are armed with a distinct wariness, sometimes bitter, sometimes eternally hopeful, just cautious.

But with the deck so severely stacked in expectation of a negative outcome, when they do finally reach out it almost inevitably leads to disappointment.

The push and pull created from the battle between fearfulness and desperation for human contact is the backdrop for David Henry Hwang's gorgeous, stark play "The Sound of a Voice," presented by Paragon Theatre.

Inspired by Japanese folklore and Noh theatre, Hwang's story revolves around a wandering samurai (Dale Li) who comes upon a woman (Sheila Ivy Traister) who lives alone in a cottage deep in the forest. She offers him food and a place to stay, saying that visitors are rare.

The man and woman are both so restrained, so choked up and self-silencing with fear of what might happen should they open themselves to another that they aren't even able to provide their true names, wishing to retain their mystery and aloofness. The man even says, "If I gave you a name it would only be made up."

Indeed, Hwang invests the entire piece with an air of inscrutability, of otherworldliness, a sense that we are looking in on a sphere that is not our own, perhaps a world that has been created by the mere fact of these two people coming together.

Adding to this sense of unreality are several moments reminiscent of Pinter or Beckett: The woman avers that she hasn't left her home in a long time, but that she knows the area and that the nearest village is a two-day walk. The man counters that the place he came from is ". . . a new village. It wasn't there in those days."

Given the title of the play, it's apparent that sounds and especially human sounds are going to figure largely in the story. Both characters are comforted by sounds; the sound of a waterfall or pouring tea — even the sound of the man's breathing in the next room will comfort the woman, she says.

But in the night, the man hears her softly playing the shakuhachi, a Japanese flute (played by Michael Andrew Doherty). When he asks her about it the next day, she says she plays only for her own pleasure and is embarrassed at the idea of playing for him. She eventually relents, though, signaling that she may be letting down her guard a bit.

The circuitous dance of intimacy and turning away from that intimacy continues in this vein.

But at the root of it, Hwang seems to be saying that, ultimately, our natural state is to be alone, and that we will always be alone despite brief, shining, respites spent withanother.

Director Warren Sherrill has put together a stunningly beautiful yet stark show. The emotional layers upon layers are all revealed eventually; we get to see depths in this story that in lesser hands would likely go unexplored.

Li brings a sweet bluster to the samurai character, conveying the loneliness that often hides beneath arrogance, as well as his fear of being hurt — or bested. Li also manages to convey his reluctance to admit to that fear.

And Traister's portrayal of the woman is riveting. Even beneath the demure, traditionally subservient exterior, Traister slowly reveals more and more assertiveness. As the woman's own desires come out, first in a trickle, then eventually a flood, her mincing, tiny steps and shy, bowed head give way to something entirely new and powerful, and it's a beautiful and frightening thing to witness.

Also of note are dancers Kim Robards and Gregory Gonzalez performing short interludes between scenes as "spirits," illustrating the growing intimacy between the man and woman. They add to the alien, shadowy nature of this world we are being allowed to see.

After all, that's what love is in a way: a new, private world carved out of the old when two people become one.

And perhaps worlds are destroyed when one becomes two again, as the laws of emotional entropy tell us it one day must.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

confused, gassy dog

and now, ladies and gentlemen, the lowest of the low-brow:
a dog confused by a fart machine.
if you've ever seen a dog look toward its own ass when it farts as though it isn't sure where that sound came from, this video takes that to the next level.
meta-fart humor, if you will. :)

Monday, May 17, 2010

dear teabaggers:

This is what government oppression looks like. The video below is what it looks like when government ACTUALLY takes over.

You are a pack of spoiled, whining idiots and you deserve the shit that your corporate leaders dump on you day after day as they gleefully destroy your air, your water, your land and your food.

You are not independent.

You are not courageous.

You are slaves.

You are tools of the largest, most powerful corporations in the world, and you are pawns in their game.

The protester in this video was courageous. He was speaking out against a government that clearly has the power, the means and the desire to murder its own citizens when they disagree with it.

You people are not only morons, you are posers. You pretend to a bravery that you cannot possess or even understand. You know only the courage of the bully, the courage of the mob.

You should take a deep breath and watch this.

Then you should shut the fuck up about government takeovers and fascist presidents because you have no idea what you are talking about.



Sunday, May 16, 2010

mazzy star

I love this band so much. I got to interview Hope Sandoval once, and she was kind of distant and pretentious, but her voice and their music is just amazing.
Fade Into You, acoustic version, with pretty good sound.

Glenn Beck: Plagiarist

I thought I had posted this before, but I couldn't find it. This is Dave Foley (with a brief appearance by Kevin McDonald) of Kids in the Hall in a sketch circa 1990.

One must assume that a young and impressionable Glenn Beck (assuming he wasn't wasted on vicodin and gin at the time) internalized this awesomely paranoid, fear-mongering persona and later regurgitated it as his own.

A few weeks ago, Keith Olbermann had Foley on his show to comment on the sketch and its similarities to Beck's wackadoo persona.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

magnets: WTF, yo?

Hot on the heels of this post re: Insane Clown Posse and their puzzlement with, well with pretty much everything, one of my recent favorite sites, fakescience posted this gem the other day.

Check them out--they are hilarious.

Friday, May 14, 2010

pat buchanan is not a nazi anti-semite.


Probably not anyway. He just thinks there would be too many Jews on the Supreme Court if Kagan is confirmed.

Thanks for straightening that out for us, Pat.

If Kagan is confirmed, Jews, who represent less than 2 percent of the U.S. population, will have 33 percent of the Supreme Court seats.

Is this the Democrats' idea of diversity?

Also, Pat Bormann--er, I mean Buchanan--gives us a handy-dandy race calculator so we can parse the color and ethnicity of recent Justices:

Not since Thurgood Marshall, 43 years ago, has a Democratic president chosen an African-American. The lone sitting black justice is Clarence Thomas, nominated by George H. W. Bush. And Thomas was made to run a gauntlet by Senate liberals.

Indeed, of the last seven justices nominated by Democrats JFK, LBJ, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, one was black, Marshall; one was Puerto Rican, Sonia Sotomayor. The other five were Jews: Arthur Goldberg, Abe Fortas, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Stephen Breyer and Elena Kagan.

Once again, thanks, Pat! Whew--hardly a privileged white male in the bunch! Now we know why this country has been going off the rails for so long: the Coloreds, the Puerto Rickans and the dang Jews!

What's next? Will white straight men of privilege be forced to wear gold W's on their chests?

Poor, poor WASPys. Sucks being a minority, don't it?

This photo is not shopped in any way. This is Pat innocently waving to a friend while attending a neighborhood watch meeting.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

now that's acting

via via

Sir Ian McKellan, still in costume for a production of 'Waiting for Godot' was taking a break from rehearsal outside a stage door at a theater in Melbourne, Australia. He is shown here being given a dollar by a kindly passer-by.

"During the dress rehearsal of Godot, I crouched by the stage door of the Comedy Theatre, getting some air, my bowler hat at my feet (and) seeing an unkempt old man down on his luck, a passer-by said, 'Need some help, brother?' and put a dollar in my hat."

He says he saved the dollar in his dressing room as a 'lucky talisman.'

pop-culture tell-all books

Cracked had one of their photoshop contests in which people were invited to create book covers for tell-all books as written by pop culture and fictional characters. Here's some of my favorites but more at the link below.

(And yes, sarah palin is clearly a fictional character.)

more here: cracked.

Monday, May 10, 2010

running is the shiz-nit

Following a tech week fraught with more than the usual amount of excess drama, an incandescent after-party following the opening of ‘Shining City’ on Saturday night, then a brutal, largely immobile Sunday, the sounds of the NBA playoffs on the TV broken only by low moans and my feeble, whimpering pleas for some merciful god or other to grant me the sweet release of death, I vowed to excise the twin toxins of Aggravation and Alcohol from my body today with a run.

Now, given the self-abuse (and not the fun, spanky, Biblical kind either) that I’ve endured over the past week, I wasn’t counting on much, especially given that I am just coming off a 6-8 week layoff from running prescribed by an orthopedic surgeon.

(Sidebar: I went in and told him my knee was fucked up, and that I was running a lot. His diagnosis in paraphrase: ‘Dude, your knee is fucked up. You’re running too much. Take some time off.’ So long $400.)

But at any rate, he did tell me it was a cartilage problem likely due to the impact of running, and that time would take care of it, so at least it wasn’t anything more serious. So, last week I did a trial run/walk (not trail, trial) of about 2 miles that went pretty well, despite my legs and lungs not being all that excited about the entire proposition.

And today, given the excesses of the last week, I was really only hoping for a mile or two, punctuated with much walking (and likely some more moaning and whimpering, to be truthful.)

But people, let me tell you, I knocked out 3.5 miles or so of the finest running I’ve done in months. And the capper: NO KNEE PAIN WHATSOEVER!!!

Sorry; I know this is the pinnacle of lame, narcissistic blogging--perhaps aside from the people who FB about recent meals...I mean, WTF? Are you going to tell us about the result of said meals in 24-36 hours too? Consistency? Color? Firmness? I don’t really care about either end of your digestive tract.

But anyway.

It makes me so goddamn happy when I can run--the buzz afterwards anyway. It’s downright vital to my mental well-being. The rest of the afternoon I was grinning from ear-to-ear, flirting with women in Safeway, chatting up neighbors, etc. I’m a goddamn ball of frickin’ sunshine, I tells ya. Misanthropic Kurt loses some of his power when I can run.

Thanks for tolerating this self-indulgent crapola, but I’m really just so stoked that I don’t care how stupid this might sound to some.

Peace. :)

small minds

oh snap, Eleanor!

sooty, you're my hero too.


fake science

This is from a tumblerblog called Fake Science. They create 'educational' posters to fake-explain science concepts that are too hard. :)

Many more at fakescience.

bad days

To paraphrase Tom Waits:

I knew a guy once who had a bad day, and he just ignored it. Figured it would go away on its own. But the problem with bad days is they're like weeds. You get one, then up sprout another and another--and before you know it you've got a bad week. Ignore them a little longer, and suddenly you're in a bad month. String a few of those together and, well, you've got yourself a bad year, brother. And nobody wants that. So the only thing to do with a bad day is you gotta choke it, you just choke that sumbitch right down to nothing. Stomp and grind it right back down to where it came from before it gets out of hand.

Friday, May 7, 2010

florida: tropical paradise? or america's wang?

Hot on the fabulous high heels of this story, another cautionary tale demonstrating the growing body of evidence that the loudest anti-gay activists are the most closeted, now we hear tell that Florida's legislature was unable to pass an anti-bestiality law.

So, what up Florida? Are y'all just a bunch of freaky-deaky, self-hating sex weirdos?

As Vic Chesnutt says:

Florida, Florida
It's the redneck riviera
Florida, Florida
There's no more pathetic place
In America.


ADDENDUM: Turns out the above-mentioned rentboy is talking to the press. His client, Mr. Rekers was apparently a fan of something called 'the long stroke.'

I don't want to know either.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

juggalos make me laugh

All of these seem to have stemmed from Insane Clown Posse's unintentionally hilarious new video, here.

In addition to being amazed at the miracle of magnets and giraffes...well, just watch it. If you can.

Now it really gets funny when you see things like this. (Both vids via funnyordie.)

And I also learned a lot from this Cracked piece, a Juggalo text book.

Enjoy all of the above with a Faygo.

Monday, May 3, 2010

art history


zombie awareness month

Did you know that May is Zombie Awareness Month? We must remain ever-vigilant, people.

Gray Ribbon

Supporters of Zombie Awareness Month wear a gray ribbon to signify the undead shadows that lurk behind our modern light of day. From May 1 through May 31, Zombie Research Society Members and friends take this small step to acknowledge the coming danger.

pick two

yeah. pretty much says it all.