Well, a few hours later, I got it–and loved it. To put it simply, the show tells the story of the Youth’s cultural awakening from middle class Black Los Angeles to the hazy lazy languish of Amsterdam to the harsh riot-world of Berlin. And that’s really reducing the show to it’s basics. In reality, it deals with so much more–the existential search for the “real” in a world of illusions, the disconnect between your past (and the loving parent, or parents, involved in it) and the new persona you’re trying to fashion, callous self-isolation in the name of art versus true loving connection, and all those great things. And it’s funny. Like really funny. Not in a bad slapstick Broadway sort of way, but in a thinking-person, unpretentious, “hey that was a fantastic reference” sort of guffaws.

Take this example, from the (ironic and awesome) song “Merci beaucoup, M. Godard,” which happens right as the Youth takes off to Europe, land of intellectuals, ladies with libidos, and real! high! art!: “Naked girls at breakfast tables/Talking Hegel and Camus/While men dressed up in Galouises smoke quote Marx right back at you/All this might seem obscure that would depend on/Who you are/Fellini, Truffaut, Pasolini, and don’t forget Monsieur Godard/Can you dig it?” Okay, maybe this is only funny to me because I have fallen down the trap of “let’s romanticize Europe” (and I fell hard, may I add), but who with vaguely arty life ambitions hasn’t had idealized version of some super-chic, super-intellectual other life in a land far, far away?

Stew himself played the role of a interacting narrator who is part of the story and propels it forward. What a stage presence. And the music–it’s a fantastic mixture of rock, gospel, funk, pop, and everything in between. A song will start out in one place and then take you to two more places musically that you never saw coming before it’s through (which can be a bad thing, but in this place, it’s a good thing).

Honestly, there are a select few theatrical experiences that really stick in my mind clearly (I see a lot of shows after all), but here I am raving about a show that closed up shop two years ago, still clearly remembering that feeling of awe and pure elation that seeing something truly unique, groundbreaking, and different gives you. If your interest is piqued, pick up the film that Spike Lee made of the show (I haven’t actually had a chance to check it out, but this is a show that you should see visually, as the performances really were spectacular by the small cast) or check out the cast recording, which was taped live. Stew and Heidi Rodewald are also premiering a new conceptual concert called “Making It” this weekend at St. Ann’s Warehouse, and if you can snag tickets to the extremely short run (I think it’s something like six performances), I recommend seeing the man in action, because he is a force to be reckoned with.

you see your gypsy....

One of the joys of Fleetwood Mac’s catalogue is the diversity of songwriting styles that each of the different members brought to the group. Stevie Nicks made her name off of her witch-woman pop with her ethereal voice. Lindsey Buckingham brought the bluegrass meets power chord element. And Christine McVie wrote some incredibly smooth tracks that brought a little bit more of the funk. Mix it all together and what do you get? No, not a disjointed effort as one might expect, but a fully-realized album that brings together a diversity of musical styles to create a comprehensively listenable work.

There’s the positivity and piano jangle of “Don’t Stop”:

There’s the ultimate drivingly catchy pop anthem about independence and love’s loss that captures the sentiment of “I’ve Been Up For Forty Eight Hours Writing A Paper About Proto-Feminism In Shakespeare, My Personal Life Is Falling Apart, I Have No Idea What I’m Doing With My Future, But I’m Going To Be Fine” (and one of my favorite Guitar Hero levels!):

There’s the underrated acoustic gem “Never Going Back Again” with an almost melancholic guitar twang that gets me every time:

And, okay, this last one might not be from Rumours, but come on, it is Stevie at her most Stevie-esque, flowy skirts and smooth as butter voice and references to nostalgic gypsydom and all. I like to turn it on loud and walk around the East Village late at night while wearing my big vintage faux fur coat:

And let’s not kid ourselves, we all know Lindsey Buckingham definitely deserves a spot in the highly competitive Seventies White Boy Afro Hall of Fame:

The Hair That Defined A Decade

Procrastination is so much better with the right soundtrack.

My documentary short is tentatively titled “My Big Fat Greek Folk Dancing Competition.” It’s about a competitive Greek folk dancing competition that hits the West Coast every year with thousands of Greeks in attendance to compete in FOLK DANCING. That’s right. Folk Dancing. Much hilarity (and awesome performances) ensue. It’s also a way for me to reckon with my Greek past, something I both love dearly and try to avoid on many an occasion.

Proof I used to be a Greek folk dancer:

Check out the blog, which I update with the frequency that I used to give this thing: http://kalamatiano.wordpress.com

Yes, this is how I feel on this very day, the first real day of quite possibly my favorite season in New York. No, I cannot be out and about in my plaid skirt and boots and tights and leather jacket, frolicking in the crisp breezes. Why? Because I have caught my first cold since the Debilitating Awful Weekend Trip To Russia Where Wow It Is Really Freezing Here Induced Cold Of October 2008.

So instead, it’s orange juice, soup, and Winona Ryder and Ethan Hawke. Reality Bites is always the best cure.

Yes indeed, this is the “DOH!” face I make after realizing I haven’t blogged in what seems like eons (but is, in fact, something like three months).

I’ve been back in New York for a good three weeks now, busy with starting up school, already neglecting my reading, holding down a legit internship, and trying to enjoy the last shreds of sunshine that the summer hath bequeathed me. I still haven’t moved all of my boxes out of my storage unit, that’s how busy I’ve been. Also, we’re having a bit of an Internet crisis in my room, which means that we’ve become a tag team of Wireless Pirates who are very adept at stealing your internetz (thank you, linksys, for always being there when I need you), but that also means that there are many times when we’re without the joys of the World Wide Web.

I should be back in full blogging swing by next week, which is EXCITING as I’ve got a great slew of posts planned. So stay tuned, and I shall not let you down when you’re in need of a fawning ode to Ernest Hemingway’s drinks of choice, diatribes on Chuck Bass’ sartorial choices, and random YouTube links to peruse instead of actually being productive.

ahhh, the rustic outdoors.

See that beautiful, picturesque photograph above, teeming with rustic wooden cabins, the air filled with the fresh pine scent that has inspired a million car air fresheners before it?

That is where I will be spending the next eight weeks of my summer. I will be doing something that amuses, and even surprises, many of my closest friend: directing the drama program at a small girls’ sleepaway camp in the Maine woods that, according to certain sources, is in the inspiration for the camp in The Parent Trap. Yes, I know. And I get paid to do this kind of stuff.

Unfortunately, what I gain in East Coast Preppiness Run Rampant Amidst The Serene Outdoors (Can We Please Play Croquet Mummy?), I lose in access to the interwebs and creature comforts. There is no electricity in the cabins. Ouch. The sacrifices we make.

Thus, I will not be updating this blog for quite some time. But I do promise tales of Summer Camp Glory to rival those of Wet Hot American Summer (well, I hope) when I return at the end of August.

If you’d like written correspondence from me, or to write me a letter or two, please email me at encrush@gmail.com.

HAPPY SUMMER!

But then someone directed me towards Scanwiches. Yes, one magical human being cuts sandwiches in half so that the inside contents are displayed, scans them, and then posts them to the Web, with a description of where the sandwich is from and what is inside, all in beautiful high resolution quality. A new sandwich. Every day.

My beloved banh mih in all its Scanwich glory. Those carrots make all the difference I swear. Yum.

And thus inspired by Scanwich and its goal of providing “scans of sandwiches for education and delight,” I will embark on a quest of Photoritto, in which I will take photographs of burritos. I’m currently based in lovely Sacramento, CA visiting the family for a month or so, which means one thing: Mexican food, and lots of it. Cheap, delicious, authentic Mexican food. So stay tuned for your chance to join me on my caloric quest to judge, and possibly discover, some of Sacramento’s best burritos.

Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, who directed Tautou in (surprise) Amelie, the roughly 2 minute, 22 second clip features Tautou riding an opulent Orient Express, only to wash up in Istanbul with a Billie Holiday soundtrack, a gorgeous black jumpsuit that I wish I had the body to pull off, and the same mysterious man.

Commercials like this make me want to dive into a pool of womanly delights (and invest in some serious couture).  However, the moment I’m about to spray myself with copious amounts of flowery, musky fragrance, I find myself cringing. I put down the perfume bottle and, instead, find a way to make myself more “like the guys.” Why am I so afraid to let my inner girl show?

I’ve had problems reconciling the different aspects of my personality for years. I blame it on all the community theater I did as a child. For me, life has always been a series of playing different roles. One second I can be a classic student of English literature, in a prim button-down and modest plaid skirt and listening to a playlist consisting solely of The Kinks with a dash of Simon and Garfunkel. The next second, I could change my entire persona with a pair of skinny jeans and Converse high-tops and turn into a Ramone. Two minutes later, I was a French sophisticate in a beret with a glass of vin rouge, ready with commentary and analysis on my favorite Godard films. By the end of the evening, I would morph into one of my favorite roles, 1975 Disco Queen, in a vintage polyester minidress with dance moves stolen from Saturday Night Fever.

By the time my second year of college had rolled around, I’d settled into a pretty regular persona that was, to borrow words from a friend of mine, “lightly misogynistic.” I wore vaguely androgynous clothing from that retailer of overpriced basics, American Apparel, and I listened to music that was Pitchfork (a largely male-run Web site) approved. Though I had a large number of close female friends, I was always the most “manly” of the group: I viewed love and lust as most males do, I liked male-approved things, and, most importantly, I really genuinely enjoyed beer.

I was never particularly “girly” to begin with. Actually, the manufactured image of giggling, boy-crazy, Bebe shopping, lacy lingerie wearing girlhood that I saw in Seventeen magazine made me sick to my stomach.  But still, Girly Eleni had to disappear for this new, semi-hipster approved version to prosper.

I was also convinced that I had to choose just one “persona” to adopt constantly. Why be twenty things when you can just be one? It’s a lot easier to manage, at least mentally.

But every time I turn on a Sofia Coppola film or spend a little bit too long in the dressing room at Topshop, I remind myself that it’s OK to indulge in the girly side of myself every now and then. It won’t diminish my adopted “masculinity.” And, more importantly, it’s okay to a bunch of different things all at once.

So bring on the cupcakes, and the frilly blouses, and the champagne, and the high heels. Hell, throw in some red lipstick. It’s time to be a lady.

“Love Messages From Overseas”–LEONCIE

This is Leoncie. She is from Iceland. She is an Indian Princess. She plays all of her own instruments. She directs her own (fantastically cheesy) music videos. According to her YouTube page, her music is a “lovely range of Aggressive and yet Sensual Melodies that touch your soul.” Other fine titles in her repertoire include “Love in a Pub,” “Sex Crazy Cop,” and “Man! Let’s Have Fun.” The best part about all of this is that she is completely serious. No touch of irony whatsoever. She is who she is, tight sparkly spandex and all, and she celebrates it with gusto.

And what was the only video that got a thunderous round of applause at Scandinavia House? No, not the critically lauded indie darlings. Yes, it was Leoncie.

she's icy and spicy.

I recommend “Sex Crazy Cop” if only for its refrain of “ooooh, cheap sex.”

See more of Leoncie’s talent at her YouTube page.

Courtney Nichols would like you to know one thing: she is a fruit fly, not a fag hag. She’s felt a natural draw to the gay community since her childhood in Monterey, Calif., where her nanny virtually “raised her around drag queens.” About a year ago, she launched fruitflylife.com as a space to hash out her place between the gay and straight worlds. Now, her web site mixes gay pop culture with personal anecdotes, all told from a hip, honest, and exuberant point of view. This year, she was the first straight female ever hired by Out magazine. Now, the 20-year-old Lower East Sider is prepping to graduate from The New School with a degree in Arts in Context. Come fall, she’ll head out west to attend her own personal Harvard, the San Francisco Art Institute.

Okay, give me the Courtney Nichols bio in brief.

Essentially, I was raised with the notion to fuck the system up. That’s why I moved to New York.

What’s the difference between a “fag hag” and a “fruit fly”?

A fag hag follows her gays. A fruit fly leads her gays.

You’re an editorial intern at Out. What do you like to write most about?

I try to write about genres of music that the gay community doesn’t necessarily listen to. I’m not going to write about Katy Perry’s of the world or house music of the world. Even though I love those genres, there’s too much of that on gay sites.

What genres don’t gays listen to?

The term that William [Brennan, a close friend] and I made up is “game disco.” And we say that because there’s an ironic disco flair to it that their listeners do not understand, and “game” in the sense that their beats are very related to video games. So bands like Lotus and Disco Biscuits. Even Thievery Corporation is part of that.

You have a very distinctive sense of style. What “phase” are you in right now?

I just came out of my Fran Drescher The Nanny phase. Very tight St. John. Throughout my life I was a goth for a while, I’ve been punk, I’ve been purely Frenchie from Grease. I had the pink hair and everything. I would love to go through an Eva Peron phase.

Do you like to hang out in the neighborhood or do you go elsewhere?

I love Apotheke for drinks. And then I love my really hoity toity meals at Public in Soho with wine pairings. But other than that, I am totally content with going to Greenpoint and getting a taco for fifty cents.

You used to reside in Williamsburg. How did you like living in Brooklyn?

I really enjoy Brooklyn. However, I am a firm advocate that those people who think that Brooklyn is better than Manhattan are, in the words of Elle Woods, seriously disturbed.

What are you going to miss most about New York?

I will miss the skyline most of all.  I still get that Liza Minnelli New York, New York sensation when I drive over the bridge and see the Chrysler building.

Are you ever going to move back to New York?

I am leaving New York loving New York. I want to come back. I want to live a lot of places, though.

Visit Fruit Fly Life at http://www.fruitflylife.com