Tuesday, June 19, 2007
New Yorkin'
I am a New Yorker. These activities prove it.
Bjorkestra
Gus and I met a couple of friends at the Highline Ballroom to see Travis Sullivan's Bjorkestra on Friday night. Before I mention the show, a note on the venue: What the fuck?
Gus bought will-call tickets. When we arrived and Gus presented proper identification, we were denied our tickets, as they had been given away to another man by the same name moments ago. The guy in the will-call booth spent a few minutes floundering about in a confused state (understandable), but then made it seem like the mix-up was our fault (not understandable) and attempted to rectify the problem by entering the dark, crowded venue to seek out Bizarro Gustavo (what the fuck?). I realize they're not hiring mensas to work the door at music venues, but everyone knows you don't just walk into a concert and find someone, even if they're looking to be found. The guy ended up letting us in like he was doing us some huge favor, saying for his own assurance, "We'll get him on the way out." I'm sure you will, tough guy.
The Bjorkesta, as our friend pointed out, was more like a Dorkestra, consisting of a large brass section of band nerds, some other dudes, and a quirky lead singer all dedicated to remaking Bjork songs. The singer tried really hard to be as quirky as Bjork, but of course she fell short. A for effort though. She entertained me enough that I can say I enjoyed the performance. And much like when you hear an orchestral rendition of the score from your favorite video game, it's hard not to appreciate the symphonic beauty of the familiar.
Most of the songs they played were from Post, which is probably Bjork's most fun album. There were a few from Homogenic, which I also like. Vespertine and Medulla are kind of like the red-headed stepchildren of Bjork's discography, acknowledged but largely ignored. There's definitely a lot more to play with on her new album, Volta, and the band sounded like they were planning to remake some of those songs in the future.
The Bloomberg Summer Party
Gus and I arrived early because we thought it was going to rain. It did, but we somehow stayed until the end anyway. Like last year, I'll make a list of what was there:
- A carousel
- A giant black butterfly
- A fountain with three women posing as statues shooting water from their hands
- Kangaroos
- ICEskating (topping last year's rollerskating)
- Volleyball
- Giant chess, checkers, and Connect 4 (sneaky move, Mike)
- Some weird game involving water balloons
- Baby buffalo
- Racecars
- Pool, ping-pong, and shuffleboard
- Basketball-playing unicyclists
- Henna tattoo artists
- Llamas
- A scent-making station
- A tall, spinning teacup ride
- Dancing and dance lessons
- Free glowy thingies
- A hat-making station
- A pirate ship
- Pirates
- Every kind of food imaginable, except sushi, which is okay with me
This time, we took some pictures, which includes this gem of Gus, a kangaroo, and someone's unzipped fly:
I had a lot of fun, and toward the end of the evening I invented a new dance called the "Crash into Steve and Megan on the Dancefloor." Everyone will be doing it this fall. I suppose Steve and Megan should invest in some protective gear.
Stand-Up Comedy
One of our friends from comedy class invited us to see him perform at a new night at the Comedy Village. The lineup was much larger than I expected, and he was one of the last few people to perform. That was okay because many of the folks before him got at least a laugh or two out of me, some of them more.
The last performer was this sad sack of shit and he was NOT okay. Now I'm sure you're thinking, Wow, he must have said something really offensive, or if you've seen my stand-up, you're thinking, Who the hell are you to criticize someone else's routine? You're justified in thinking either or both... until I tell you about this guy's bit.
Awful. I hope he was drunk. But this wasn't a free open-mic night. Gus and I paid 15 dollars each to watch this shit, and I want to say there was a drink minimum too.
Anyway, his entire 20-minute bit (the average one was about five) consisted of what a loser he is because he got third place on the first season of Last Comic Standing telling jokes about mundane shit like food. Meanwhile, wars are taking place, this country is in the crapper, and he's living the high life somewhere on the Upper West Side. He could have done something really great with his life, but now he's grappling with being a has-been that never was.
So that's the theme and for 20 minutes it doesn't stray. Other than it not being funny, here are my issues:
1. Gus and I were sitting with a girl from our comedy class who had also come to see our friend perform. She whispered that the guy was from the aforementioned tv show, I asked which season, etc. Unfortunately, after light laughter from his first joke, the place was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He calls us out, our friend says sorry, and I want to say, "You wouldn't have heard us if your jokes were funny!" But I didn't. I made the mistake of waiting for it to get funny.
2. If you're upset with the turn your life as a comedian has taken, why continue? The guy obviously didn't write any material before he came, so it's not like he's continually investing effort. Being a comedian also keeps your days relatively free, so there's plenty of time to explore other opportunities.
3. A lot of people in New York do work hard and aren't living in a nice apartment on the Upper West Side, which he felt it necessary to describe in detail. There's no point in rubbing it in while speaking publicly unless you can make it really funny, and he didn't even approach sort of funny.
4. This happened on a new night at a lesser-known comedy theater. You could tell a lot of the comics there were green and had made an effort to get some friends come watch them. It's an embarrassment to the club and the other performers when a more seasoned comedian books a show and can't crawl out from under his rock of self-defeat for five seconds to spit out a few funny lines.
I have more gripes, but this list will suffice. It kills me that guys like this get work. Die in a fire.
