BLOG HAS MOVED!

Hiya folks. This blog is now officially under my married name (trumpets sound):

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Aubergine Cafe

Sunnyside Gardens is a charming little secret. I have no authority to call it anyone's "best-kept secret," but I give myself authority to sing its praises nonetheless. Wedged between yuppie Long Island City and eclectic Jackson Heights, Sunnyside is no more than a forgotten stop off the finicky 7 local train for most Flushing-bound commuters. But for a year now it has been my home, and a sweet one at that. And Sunnyside Gardens, a quiet, haven-like neighborhood nook within Sunnyside, is home to many attractions I have only begun to tap into...including the tiny, bizarre Stray Vintage shop, the guarded, gated playground that supposedly boasts outdoor Shakespeare for youngsters, and of course Aubergine Cafe.

I went to Aubergine soon after moving here, the result of an exploratory trip into the heart of the neighborhood, and I was pleased beyond measure. With its old brick interior, quaint wooden furniture, and delicious ice coffee, the cafe is a perfect summer brunch spot. Twice now I've eaten their smoked salmon sandwich - perfect light layers of cream cheese, lox, cucumber and fresh lettuce, and it's both satisfying and energizing. Displays of yummy muffins and cakes call out to you after dining, and I haven't had anything there I didn't like. The lighting inside is low, relying mostly on daylight streaming in from front windows, allowing for a cozy, cave atmosphere toward the back of the room. I was there just the other day with a friend who lives in Jackson Heights, home to amazing eclectic cuisine from anywhere and everywhere, but even she complained that the only thing she was missing was a nice, quiet cafe like Aubergine. It's quite simply a great, feel-good place to go.

Rock Band at The Village Pour House

Hello, Friends. You may be pleased to know that I’m not dead. At least I hope you’re pleased. I’m still kicking…and reading and writing more than I have in five years, thanks to the stimulating Department of English at Hunter College. But I won’t bore you with my musings on postcolonial theory, modernist literary motifs, or the politics of vernacular. I’ll save that shiznit for another day. However, I will say that four months is too long without posting, and I blame higher education. Blogging and school should go together like PB & bananas, but sometimes, as my friend Mohan would say, it’s just bananas. Okay, enough of this jargon! On to the good stuff!

Last night, I finally took the opportunity to try out Almost Famous Tuesdays, aka Rock Band Night at The Village Pourhouse on 11th & 3rd. (I feel I must mention that I love this neighborhood, and everything I do has brought me to the same five-block radius lately. More on that later.) From 7pm on, geeks and fun folks drink, mingle, and strut their stuff in front of flat screen monitors streaming Rock Band Live, rocking out with friends and strangers alike. The format is almost the same as American-style karaoke, minus the stupid song numbers, and with the addition of specifying which instrument each person in your party will be playing. And if your group doesn’t make a whole band, the host will find someone in the crowd to play with you, be it one of the die-hards, or even a newbie like me. It was really a ton of fun. Plus, what I really loved was the lack of snobbery around the game. There are people up there barely making it through a bass part on Easy mode, playing alongside people shredding the plastic guitar on Super-Crazy-Hard (or whatever the most difficult mode is). Sometimes NYC karaoke can feel like a competition, but not so at Rock Band Night. It’s just plain fun.

My only critique is that the other half of the bar room is filled with different flat screens streaming sports, and a folding table for rowdy Beer Pong, which makes the crowd a little strange – half gamers and half jocks. But it doesn’t feel segregated, just odd. And then of course there’s the fact that the really hardcore Rock Banders like to play the heavy metal cuz it’s more of a challenge, but then you have to sit there and listen to heavy metal while you attempt to continue the mild conversation you started when someone was playing Alanis Morisette. Still, they mix it up pretty well. And after the two free drinks they give you from 6 to 7, the first couple you pay for settle you into a nice little Rock Band fog.

So big thanks to Steph and Joey, for introducing me to what is sure to become a new Tuesday tradition, and maybe I'll drag some more people out to become almost famous, too.

Broken Embraces (Los Abratos Rotos)

I finally saw Almodovar's latest Cannes favorite, Broken Embraces, this past Sunday, but thus far haven't been willing to let it loose from the spin cycle in my head. However, now that Penelope Cruz's face in that gorgeous platinum pinup wig is popping up more and more all over town, I want to set the record straight: this is not Penelope's movie. This movie belongs to a one Blanca Portillo (pictured above). Even though the obvious main character of the movie is the filmmaker turned blind writer Harry Caine (Almodovar's first heterosexual male lead?), it is Caine's assistant and companion, Judit, played by Portillo, who is really the heart and soul of this surprisingly straightforward and subtle masterpiece. (Well, straightforward and subtle for Almodovar. I guess scenes like the hanging-from-a-clothing-rack oral sex scene in High Heels and the fantastically ridiculous shrinking man scene from Talk to Her have caused me to always anticipate something over-the-top from the Spanish maestro. I only wish I could give you links to these videos.)

Reviewers have said that this is a film about films, but I think it's more general than that. After a very illuminating discussion with C. (who always says what I can't seem to say), I believe the movie is about art and artistic integrity. What happens to an artist when his greatest tool and greatest muse are taken from him? What happens to an artist when his art is seized and bastardized? He is no longer himself; he is changed. To cripple an artist, one must not stop at destroying his life, one must cripple his art. These are the ideas at the heart of Broken Embraces, and it is artistic integrity that is at stake for Harry Caine, not just his life, his work, his loved ones, or his eyesight. In fact, I think the movie valiantly defends integrity in all forms, forcing the characters to prove their loyalties and their own value not just to those around them, but more importantly to themselves. Harry's assistant, Judit, is a prime example of this as she struggles with jealousy, motherhood, loyalty, and buried memories, all from the shadows of the men she supports and adores. She is not an artist, but she is committed to Harry's art, and to that integrity that proves to be so difficult to maintain. She is profoundly human, and painful, and Portillo lets her shine as the paradoxical heroine; pivotal, yet restricted to the sidelines. Like the ultimate appreciator of art, she feels just as passionately, but is without the same kind of release.

Lluis Hamar is also excellent as Caine. He is incredibly natural for an Almodovar actor, masculine and stoic, yet brimming with passion. And don't fret, Penelope is there, too, as a beautiful, aspiring actress. But her character is very mysterious. It's as if she is behind a veil; her character is never fully fleshed out, living only in snippets of the past. She is a curious enigma, much like the film her character stars in. Yes, this movie also features the classic film-within-the-film that Almodovar loves, but with a very mature and interesting twist: the film inside the film is unfinished, broken, like the "broken embraces" of Caine and his lover represented in torn photographs locked in Caine's closet. Yet this scattered quality of the inner story somehow helps make the outside framework more complete. It's a wonderful hodgepodge.

Anyway, I really liked this movie. I have to admit that it didn't really move me as much as my favorite Almodovar installments, like Talk To Her, but I still give it two high heels up!

Simon Lovell's Strange & Unusual Hobbies

Good day, ladies and gents. Sadly, my weekend plans to see Almodovar's Broken Embraces continue to be thwarted by unprecedented crowds, difficult schedules, and unexpected naps. Luckily, the longer I put it off, the more that warm, lovely, tingly feeling of anticipation grows. However, though I did not make it to the movies over my Thanksgiving break, I am not without a Wednesday review! I was fortunate enough to be personally invited (through C.) to the hilarious and titillating Saturday night magic show of the well-known sleight-of-hand artist, Simon Lovell.


Simon Lovell's one-man show, Strange & Unusual Hobbies, is small, in that there are no large-scale illusions, and the Soho Playhouse is a tiny venue. Nevertheless, by 6:00 the house can pack quite a crowd, and once the lights are low, Simon delivers big laughs and amazing effects that make you forget you're inside a tiny black box theater. He frames his show as the story of his life, starting out as a young prankster, graduating into a full-fledged criminal, and ultimately ending up as a humble performer. Sharing his perfect bottom-dealing, second-dealing, and other seamless card cheats, he proves why he is a big name in close-up magic. Simon himself is the real show, though, sipping a gigantic glass of white wine throughout the performance and making odd remarks about his mother. His odd British humor is off-color and crude, yet he comes across as incredibly sweet. He is a fascinating contradiction, riding a thin line between foul-mouthed creepster and self-deprecating charmer. It's a strange dichotomy, but it works...just don't bring the kids to this one. Seriously, though, if you want to see some of the most amazing sleight-of-hand right out of the movies (he plays Ed Norton's hands in Rounders) right in front of your face, you've got to see Simon's show. And afterward, he probably won't say no to another drink at the bar.

All in all, I give Simon Lovell two false thumbs up. It's a totally fun thing to do in Soho on a Saturday evening.

This is just an intro to a DVD and doesn't really do him justice, but it's just to give you a taste.

MOMA + Marionettes

I had visitors to the city over the weekend, so of course it was a Museum Saturday. Yay museums! Although it's always funny to me how everyone I know, without fail, ends up wanting to go to MOMA. I love MOMA, don't get me wrong. But with so many museums to choose from, I think it's interesting that my friends and fam are so consistent.

Unfortunately, we went a day too early for the new Tim Burton exhibit, so C. and I will have to go back soon. However, I loved seeing the Bauhaus exhibit, currently featured on the 6th floor. It was awesome. Bauhaus ("house of building") was a German school and style in the early 20th c. focused on a sort of blend between art and architecture. The pieces all feature both creative expression and ultra functionality, or some mixture of the two. Until this weekend, I actually had no idea how much we are experiencing a resurgence of this style today. I mean, we saw 90 yr. old furniture right out of this year's IKEA and CB2 catalogs, photography and sketch art right out of Anthropologie or Urban Outfitters. My favorite piece was a large "lighting tool," about 3 ft. tall, that looked like a giant cheese grater/execution block. It was actually a machine designed to spin and reflect light in interesting ways, to be captured on film. Crazy.

NOTE TO SELF: Bauhaus Chess set for C.'s next birthday.

All in all, I give the Bauhaus exhibit three sharp, sheet metal stacking tables up. Way to go, MOMA.

* * *

I add this next bit only out of sheer compulsion: I should really say nothing about the marionettes. But alas, I can't have thrown away the evening for nothing.

After the museum and a hearty dinner, my guests and I went to see the Czech-American Marionette Theater at La Mama, a cute venue, after reading a nice review in the Times. We were excited, expecting something zany and impressive a la Being John Malkovich, but these expectations were far too high. Although endearing, the marionettes themselves turned out to look about 6 inches tall (officially I think they were 8), and we could barely see them. Tiny binoculars were passed out to amend this situation, but the theater wasn't prepared for the full house that a Times review brings, and we had to share them. The production was Twelfth Night, a play I love dearly but have seen a number of times (including just this summer in the park), and was performed by three people working various marionettes each. There was some sort of confusing cookware theme to the scenery, as the characters seemed to be shuffling about in frying pans and wielding utensils. In fact, Malvolio was actually locked away in a pasta container in the fourth act, rather than a dungeon. Two out of the three actors were pretty good, but the third, the original Czech puppetmaster, made no effort to change his voice from one character to the next, causing even more confusion. As I say, it was endearing and creative, and the puppetmasters were skillful and mostly adept at their renditions, but in the end it was pretty much a snooze. Too bad - I just wanted so much for it to be good!

All in all, I give the CAMT's production of Twelfth Night two minuscule, wooden thumbs down.

Almodovar

There are few things in life I enjoy more than a good movie marathon. As a kid, I had a habit of hosting awkward marathons in honor of small character actors (Austin Pendleton, Barry Gordon) and sometimes certain directors. Sadly, only my dad and I would attend these momentous occasions. *ahem* And although my tastes have transformed over the years, I still have a tendency toward movie-overkill. I was a freshman in college when I discovered Almodovar.

I kicked the obsession off with the cult classic, All About My Mother (everyone's favorite but mine), and in the course of about two months I watched every Almodovar film available at the UCSC Media Center, almost his entire canon. And that list is long, my friends. I relished every saucy character, every absurd plot, the kitschy set designs, the red red lipsticks, the slurred spanish, and the brash, unapologetic manner in which Almodovar heaves his indecency at his audience while deftly nurturing gut-wrenching vulnerability in every film. I was especially delighted by how much his earlier female characters irked me. Some are weak, some fiery, but all are emotional wrecks. They wear their bruised hearts on their sleeves, revealing this bizarre mixture of feminine vigor, explosive sexuality, self-destructive extremity, co-dependency, and above all, total dysfunction. Hyperbole? Absolutely not. I couldn't match the scope of their verve with words if I wanted to. Check out Gloria in What Have I Done to Deserve This?, or Marina in Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! Locas, totally locas.

Of course, what I also love about Almodovar is how much his work grows and changes. Although each film alone could inspire an entire doctoral thesis on anything from rape culture and mass media to sexual dysfunction and mourning, I can't help but feel that they are all little working parts of this big, juicy, pulsing organism that is constantly maturing. And my god, lately he is carving away the real meat of the thing. Talk to Her in '02, Bad Education in '04, and Volver in '06 reveal much more heart and soul than his previous work, the themes less melodramatic and more tragic, the characters richer. Penelope Cruz's powerhouse, Raimunda from Volver, is the most breathtaking female lead of the whole canon, indeed maybe EVER! Okay, that may be hyperbole. But I love, love, love her.

Anyway, this is my long-winded way of saying that I can't freaking wait to see the new Almodovar flick, Broken Embraces. It's already out in NYC and needless to say I'm coming undone over it. Marathon, anyone?