05 July 2006

defrosting, reanimating, emerging from the spiritual hangover - whatever

this weekend was so great and relaxing that i'm loathe to blog about it, reducing it to little bullet points and links, just another list, a few more theatre recommendations (or un-), a music mention, and a lot of praise for bodies of water and the breezes they provide. because, really, as proved by an email sent to john earlier today, it all can be boiled down to this:

fantastic weekend. the australia project (bunch of short plays about, for some reason, australia) friday night, macbeth cancellation line saturday (but what a lame, lame production), devil wears prada sunday, moma & concert (psapp & jose gonzalez) monday, and then fantastic belle & sebastian in the (not-hot, breezy, uncrowded) park yesterday, plus fireworks in battery park. and plenty of time parked on the couch with the kittens in between. i even half-cleaned my room. and the bathroom.
it also can be condensed to a four-day-long sigh of pleasureful relaxation. when i was little my dad wrote a letter (letters? none, and just talked big game?) to the white house proposing that the fourth of july be reformatted to "liberty weekend," with the holiday observed on the first monday of the month. next year, when the fourth's on a wednesday, this will seem like a great idea. but i have loved these four days off like whoa. thank you, tuesday.

even though blogging about the weekend somehow invalidates the blurry relaxingness of it, i have opinions, and if i don't share them with you, you won't know how to form your own. so. here goes.

the australia project. i've never really felt like the mythology of the america-australia relationship was something that i needed to explore, but sure, why not. i loved singing 'waltzing mathilda' with my aussie camp counselors when i was eight. i'm game. we caught program three, which included some incredibly terrible plays, a little mediocrity, and two wonderful pieces, by elizabeth meriwether and courtney baron. (rocco at what blows has been championing elizabeth meriwether for a little while. i continue to see that he has excellent taste.)

macbeth in the park. when i was a wee freshman in college i asm'ed (that's assistant stage managed) a brilliant, strange production of this show. maybe i'm biased, maybe the choices from that production will always seem right to me. or maybe this production is just LAME. obviously talented actors doing bad, senseless things. every time someone yelled or cried i was like, wait, why are you crying. gorgeous set, and i'm always moved to see 1200 or so motley new yorkers seeing theatre likes it's an event, the way people see sports. but this was bad. (oh, weird sisters, why do you suck so much. moises. why.) possibly not even worth the wait in line. the production just really does not work. what should be a hot, chemistrific duo is weak and baffling. what should be an accelerating run-up to a bloody, dramatic climax is a choreographed slo-mo modern dance interpretation. liev scriber is fantastic with a sword, and you can tell he's good, but what he's doing is not. disappointing all around.

dada. love the movement. the art, not so much.

the devil wears prada. [i'm too lazy to link. you know what this is. you know these actors.] superfun. meryl streep deserves at least an oscar nomination. stanley tucci is fantastic. anne hathaway is kinda bleh but obscenely beautiful. the movie's message - you can either be powerful and successful, or you can be true to yourself - didn't sit too well with me, but that's about five minutes from the whole thing, which is a whole thing of fun and snark and you should go see it.

psapp. fucking fantastic and strange and fantastic. if anyone wants to buy me shirts from their website, i would not object.

the bowery ballroom's air conditioning. totally out of control and needs to calm the heck down.

belle & sebastian. they have my heart, and always will. (especially stevie. sigh. i have never loved a boy for his body language more.)

well, now i'm all in a chilled-air british haze of reminiscence and longing for scottish rockstars who'll never be mine. as good a place to end as any.

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