Publisher Scott Stedman, former Director of Sales Steve Hoyt and Editor-in-Chief Jonny Diamond
On tonight’s episode of Parks and Recreation, Amy Poehler’s Leslie Knope is faced with an unspecified ethical conundrum as she tries to advance her political career by taking part in a casual, all-male outing. A more pressing matter, though, is that the series as a whole will try once more to prove what it hasn’t been able to over its first three episodes: that it’s anything more than an unnecessary, lesser version of The Office.
Parks and Recreation has been called a spinoff of The Office, but technically, it’s not. The shows share no characters or storylines, just creators and writers who seem to be hoping they can get through life with just one good idea, even if it wasn’t their idea to begin with. The shows are exactly the same: mockumentaries about office life—one at a paper company and the other in the bureaucratic nightmare of a small-town government agency. Logic would dictate that Parks and Recreation is set in far more fertile territory for comedy, but it hasn’t proven true quite yet, and it has a lot to do with the few things it doesn’t have in common with The Office.
Splash! at Klompching Gallery, 111 Front St, suite 206 (between Washington and Adam Sts), 6-8pm
Regina Granne and Elisabeth Munro Smith at A.I.R. Gallery, 111 Front St, Suite 228 (between Washington and Adam Sts), 6-8pm
Miya Ando at Michael Ingbar Gallery, 568 Broadway, B101 (at Prince St), 6-8pm
A buzz-oozing new show goes into previews tonight at the Barrow Group Studio Theater, all about the early history of America's gay rights movement during the straight-laced 50s. The Temperamentals focuses on two men afflicted with two of that period's greatest phobias: homosexuality and communism. (Well, only one of them is a commy, but the other is from Eastern Europe so close enough.) In case you haven't seen Todd Haynes' Far From Heaven, such deviance from the norm didn't go over well in those days, and yet, as The Temperamentals recounts, Rudi Gernreich (played by Michael Urie) and Harry Hay (played by Thomas Jay Ryan) managed to start the country's first gay rights group. As we enter a summer of gay marriages throughout more and more of the country (yay!), don't miss this early chapter in American gay rights history.
So, Carlos Slim gave the NY Times a gajillion dollars. And then Arthur Sulzburger Jr. writes a fawning profile of Carlos Slim for TIME's Hot 100 People bullshit or whatever. This is why it's so easy to gin up outrage at the liberal media elites. Damn it. You're pissing in our pool, Punch, or Pinch, or Pancho, or whatever.
The south side of Williamsburg (where I hang my hat) has been blessed in the past year with several new dining options. The area north of Broadway and south of Metropolitan Avenue ("NoBroadSoMet?" Somebody make that name happen) was, for a while, just a stretch of bodegas and bars between the bustling Bedford Avenue and the Michelin star constellation on Broadway (Peter Luger, Dressler, Diner and Marlow & Sons are are Brooklyn's unofficial spokesrestaurants whenever a magazine declares it safe to eat here now). The best NoBroadSoMet (you'll get used to it, I promise) has to offer, after the jump.
There's a website you should see if you're: a) a hopeless romantic b) a fan of the Magnetic Fields c) a cartoonist or d) human. A group of mostly London-based artists have set out to translate all 69 tracks of the Magnetic Fields' colossal concept album, 69 Love Songs into graphic vignettes. It's aptly titled How Fucking Romantic, and it's been up and running for less than a month now, so lots of songs are still up for grabs. We might have to go get an art degree and learn to draw real good just to claim "Come Back From San Francisco." It makes us feel so warm and sad inside.
Here's one of our early favorite. The song is "Yeah! Oh Yeah!" and you can listen to it right here.
— Lauren Beck
While Camus' novel is among the most notable 20th-century literary appropriations of plague (as metaphor, as impetus for existential crisis resolution, as actual event, as invariably eternal associative context through which to reflect on how much it must suck to sit in bed all day counting peas), there is also a rather notable 14th-century appropriation that bears mentioning here, Boccaccio's Decameron.
And for making this joke:
My favorite joke about swine flu that I made up yesterday (and that many others have probably already thought about as well):(more showing off after the jump)
Swine flu! And boy are their arms tired!
Apparently, the New York Times only wants you to read one of these three columns. Should you choose to oblige them, it is here.
I recommend reading this one instead, though, while you picture Joe Biden on a train, pretending to be surprised that he ran into Arlen Specter again, even though we all know he followed him there.
Well, it appears the Brookyln Vegan comment wars about this year’s “8 NYC Bands You Need to Hear” feature are beginning to fizzle, and it was a good showing by everyone this time around. There were the standard posts decrying the magazine’s utter irrelevance, and there was just as much anti-hipster whining as we’ve come to expect and adore. But there were some new developments this year, as well. For one, with the exception of a few very subtle jabs, I was barely called a racist at all, which is pretty cool. And not a single commenter complained that I had just chosen all my friends’ bands. This year’s main gripe seemed to be that every member of every band we chose had a sizable trust fund. After the jump, read some of our favorite comments.
I’m still not completely into the swing of this whole TV blogging thing, which is why I failed to realize it was even my job to write about Golden Girl Bea Arthur’s passing over the weekend. There’s an excellent piece by Troy Patterson over at Slate today, examining Arthur’s role in a show that has seen its popularity resurge in recent years. One paragraph sums it up nicely:
Just to make sure we're on the same page here, let's go over what happened on American Idol a few minutes ago. There are five people left, and Ryan had the first four stand in pairs on either side of the stage. Then he asked Adam Lambert to go stand with whatever group he thought he belonged. Adam proceeded to complain, jokingly, ha ha ha, that Ryan had put him in an awkward position. He said something like "well, based just on last night," and chose to stand next to Alison and Danny, then apologized to Chris and Matt, the group he didn't choose. A moment later, Ryan dragged him over toward the other side of the stage, announcing that Adam chose the wrong group, and that tonight's bottom three wouldbe Adam, Chris and Matt.
So, basically, Adam looks like a diiiiiiick because the way the exchange between him and Ryan went down, it was obvious that he assumed he was safe. I knew I didn't like him, and now I know why. Dude is totally presumptuous and smug.
Then Kara kept talking about how every time she sees him, her mouth falls open. Everyone laughed.Update: Now I'm actually getting worried. If Adam Lambert gets sent home, it's because photos recently surfaced of him kissing a man, and, in case you haven't heard, Americans sorta hate gay dudes.
Update: Phew. Matt's going home. Again. And he's crying. Again. Adam gets to stick around for another week before being gay-bashed by the entire nation.
Are one-day exhibitions the art world's response to the speakeasy trend still holding New York bar culture by the throat? Probably not, because we don't feel guilty when enjoying a delightfully ephemeral exhibition (don't ask about our sad addiction to Earl Grey-infused gin, though). One such one-time-only art event takes place tonight at Bushwick's Pocket Utopia gallery, where a two-week residency by three artists (Silvina Arismendi, Mauricio Limon, and the collaborative team of Martin y Sicilia) culminates in a reception and party from 6 to 10pm. Just don't embarrass us by getting so drunk that you start talking to Martin y Sicilia's artworks, seen at right.
I know it’s a bit late in the day for an American Idol recap, but you’ll have to bear with me here, since I’m home sick with something that I now trust is not swine flu, since I’m pretty sure swine flu can’t be cured with the nasal spray my doctor just prescribed. Anyway, I was just going to skip it and pick things up tomorrow, after tonight’s results show, but there’s something I need to tell the show’s producers right away.
Coming close, but not quite, to knocking Swine Flu down a peg, stories about President Obama's First 100 Days are everywhere. Obviously, we couldn't resist, so we took a look at how the international press views our little experiment in post-racial harmony. And we thought we'd examine what else can happen in 100 days (in some cases, a lot, in some, not so much.)
In his one-man show Killadelphia... or The City of Numbers — running today through Friday at the Gerald W. Lynch Theater — Sean Christopher Lewis asks why Philadelphia suffered a wave of murders in the summer of 2008, and what lasting effects that experience is having on the city. After that, though, New York-based Lewis leaves the Mid-Atlantic for the summer, heading to Toronto and Michigan for festivals, workshops and new projects. Don't take it from me, though, read our interview with Lewis in which he dishes on past projects great and gaudy, his favorite New York theaters and the plays he's hoping to catch.
Israeli Deputy Health Minister Yakov Litzman, an ultra-orthodox Jew, recently suggested changing the name of Swine Flu to Mexican Flu, to avoid offending the sensibilities of religious Israelis. This suggestion has not been taken to heart. But to help Mr. Litzman with his anti-pork rebranding campaign, we came up with the following suggestions:
Bacon: British Salt Chews
Pork rinds: Puffed Fatnuts
Porky Pig: Pablo the Curly Clown
The Arkansas Razorbacks: The Arkansas Chasers
Silk from a sow’s ear: Silk from an unattractive farm animal’s ear
Porkbarrel spending: Louisiana spending
Hog (for a Harley): Grumbler
Porky’s (the film): Fatty’s Downhome Ladyshack
Ham (for an actor): Cheeseslice
The Three Little Pigs: The Three Little Symbolic Characters
Pig: Pink Dog
Richard Hamilton: Dick Smith
To pig out: To schnarf down
Hogtown (Toronto’s sobriquet): Boringsville
I’ve always admired Christopher Durang’s work. A monologue in one of his short plays, Naomi in The Living Room, was one of the first things that really drew me to the stage, though I didn’t start writing until a few years later.
When you’re young — or I guess I should speak for myself — when I was young, I assumed that everyone important that I admired was dead, because death seemed to confer genius upon individuals who would otherwise be merely human, having to muddle through the messiness of actual life like the rest of us. So, as I’ve grown up and readjusted my sense of chronology somewhat, I’m interested to find that some of those people that I admired as a kid are not only not dead, but continuing to do interesting things. Chris Durang is one of them. So, I was excited to get over to the Public and see his new show.
Does the image at right look familiar? That would be Roxy Paine's public installation that sprang to life fully grown (like Benjamin Button) in Madison Square Park in 2007, and featured a spectacular, iconic, majestic and somehow tragic pair of stainless steel trees whose outstretched branches barely touched while invisible cosmic forces tugged them apart. Yesterday, the native New Yorker took root in another of the city's high-profile installation venues: the Metropolitan Museum rooftop. After Jeff Koons' post-Pop, faux-ironic exhibition up there last year, Paine promises a significantly darker vision. The piece, entitled Maelstrom, features an ensemble of massive steel branches strewn in a 130-foot trail across the roof. Whether it's a meditation on environmental ruin, cultural placelessness or the marginalization of America's steel workers, we suggest seeing it before tourists make tree forts in Paine's branches.
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