currently, my activities have mirrored the approval matrix in NYmag, filled with highbrow brilliance and lowbrow despicability and everywhere in-between.
while i don't have a super cool chart, i'll qualify the events of my days along this matrix:
at the bottom of the lowbrow despicable is the current new york weather. what the hell, global warming?! currently it "feels like 5 degrees" in manhattan. if this kind of weather were an illegal offense (and it should be), it would be like the current weather is to manhattan as madoff is to every wealthy jew in south beach: taking us for all we're worth, and leaving us shivering.
at the top of the highbrow brilliance is sanaz ghajarrahimi's production of romeo and juliet:
the show, happening this weekend at the access theater, is a fascinating new exploration of the story mostly through movement. i'd recommend it to anyone looking for an hour and a half sexy, full, and vibrant version of the beloved tale of star-cross'd lovers.
next is the highbrow brilliant-yet-made-me-feel-despicable, in the form of the film synecdoche, new york.
i am a huge fan of charlie kaufman, jon brion, and philip seymour hoffman, so the prospect of the three working together harmoniously tickled me pink. the first half of the film, i felt like it was an eternal sunshine-y romp: a mix of genres, but mostly a comedy about some hypochondriac guy who might at some point actually die. but somewhere mid-movie the genre radically changed and i started to feel confused and lost and sad and alone. this was, i suppose, sort of the purpose of the film. and i suppose i felt exactly what the main character was feeling. one of my friends remarked as we left the theatre, "i just didn't see the point," and i guess that is kaufman's conclusion of the film in a nutshell. we strive for brilliance, beauty and originality in a world plagued with inauthenticity and ugliness... but at the same time in striving for authenticity we make ourselves different versions of ourselves, and therefore inauthentic. (not to mention that we miss out on the beauty of reality by trying to constantly recreate its gritty ugliness.) it's dizzying even trying to put it into words, but kaufman somehow manages to put it on the screen. i think his use of chronology and his exploration of the underbelly of human passion and loneliness are painfully and brilliantly unique and honest.
next up we have the highbrow despicable, in the form of the club bungalow 8.
fascinated by the reference made to said club in an episode of our beloved sex and the city, my lady friends and i ventured to the far west with an invitation to an exclusive party. (no, we didn't have a key, but i WISH we had needed one to get in!) warned of the scrutiny we would face upon trying to enter, and told how busy it would be, we arrived super early and super sultry. we were the first to arrive. i suppose we were lowbrow brilliant for that. however our host(esse)s, the fabulous malik so chic and cameron nico, were highbrow brilliant in their sasha fierce finest.
we did, however, get a photo taken of us by a hipster photoblogger, which has always been a life goal of mine. (note to self: check that off the list.)
after rocking out to the best dance music ever (re: beyoncé & britney) and paying WAY too much for drinks, we decided to head home for some ray's pizza (lowbrow brilliant.) & late night girl talk (both the dj and the activity... both highbrow brilliant.)