So, I’m performing in this REALLY AWESOME performance art/dance piece this weekend at Dance Theatre Workshop in Chelsea.  Although the rehearsal process was somewhat nightmarish , I have to admit, the final product is a stunning  collaboration of visual and movement elements, that is really quite haunting. I’m  only in the corps de ballet, if you will, although its really NOT a ballet at all, so when I say its awesome, ITS NOT JUST BECAUSE IM IN IT!

Heres the info:

ZOE SCOFIELD AND JUNIPER SHUEY (Thursday) In their piece “the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t,” these two Seattle-based artists have created a multidisciplinary production that includes New York dancers from Barnard College. (Through Feb. 14.) At 7:30 p.m., Dance Theater Workshop, 219 West 19th Street, Chelsea, (212) 924-0077, dtw.org; $10 on -line tickets. $26; $15 for students at the door and 65+.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/06/arts/dance/06dance.html?_r=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwNyshyuZos&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OdGT2AYIu8&feature=related

OH how I wish I wish I could see this exhibit! If you are in LA right now, do it! Yoshitomo Nara is probably my favorite contemporary artist right now- his drawings and paintings are so simple, but so honest, and the Blum & Poe Gallery looks cool too.

Thanks to Avery and Ilana who found this on Kanye West’s new blog. And thanks to England for Cadbury chocolate and staying hilarious.

Venice Beach

Vegas

This post is coming after quite a hiatus, I realize, but I am back, this time with photos as evidence!  Since my last post about le cirque, I  took my first American road trip. Yes it’s true, I’ve been to more countries than I can count, but I had hardly seen any of my own. Albeit brief, my road trip with Carly and her parents,  from Boulder through Vegas and Yosemite, to Los Angeles ( with a lovely interlude in Ojai at Geneveive’s) was, to say the least, quite a ride. In only a week I saw mountains, canyons, casino’s, a valley, and the ocean. Highlights include Yosemite National Park, The Getty Museum, and Venice Beach- where photo opps abound. Thanks to Carly, Tracy and Howard Blitz for inviting me, and For Genevieve Waltcher and Paddy for hosting me in Ojai. My domestic dip into the states has given me quite a thirst for more. Surprise surprise!

On August 7th, my mom and I drove out to Newark, NJ to see the premier of Cirque du Soleil’s newest show Saltimbanco. This being my 5th journey into the world of Cirque du Soleil, I’m no stranger to this phenomenon, which is the brainchild of former street performers Guy Laliberte and Daniel Gauthier. Although I haven’t seen anything that quite competes with their last show “Quidam” that came through Randall’s Island a few years ago, I am always overwhelmed by the ability of the show’s creators to transport me into another world entirely. From the clowns, who come out before the show starts to play seriously funny pranks on the crowd, to the use of unintelligible made up language, the show is universally accessible because the story is delivered through the acts themselves. The theme of Saltimabanco was the metropolis and all of the quirks and eccentricities that one can find in any large city, but when I watch Cirque du Soleil, I always feel as if I have landed on a different planet. I laughed with the beat-boxing clown as he swam through an imaginary closet of sewage. I teared up at the sheer capability of the human body during the Spanish rope duet and double trapeze. And then, when it was all over, I stepped back into the real world with a refreshed sense of wonder.

Without further ado, here is my first tip for the weary and wanderlusting:

The Murakami Exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum.

I couldn’t afford to go to Japan this spring, but I could afford the Brooklyn Museum’s student price of 8 dolla to see the 2 floor exhibit. Despite the obnoxious comments by Brooklyn’s bitchiest art snobs -one woman, while looking at statues of anime women with huge boobs, wings, and guns, responded to my friend’s “that’s awesome” with “Some people say the stupidest SHIT!”- it still managed to be a stint in a magical world.  Murakami is one of the most influential Asian  artists today, and it’s easy to see why.  With a Louis Vuitton store in a hallway bridging two of the main exhibit rooms, Murakami fuses art, fashion,  commercialism, and the Japanese psyche,  all the while making you giggle with pleasure at each of his “superflat” characters. I’m dying to get to Japan, but until the dollar gets stronger that’s not really likely to happen any time soon. Meanwhile, I was happy to escape to Murakami’s  Tokyooklyn for the day, and complete the experience by crawling into bed with “Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World” a book by my favorite author of the same name, Haruki Murakami, for some whimsical mind bending reading to compliment my day.

Now that I’m home, a lot of people have been asking me what the best part of my travels was. I probably said different things to each person who asked me, depending on what memories were easily accessible at a particular moment, which has to do with a lot of things: who I’m with, what we were just talking about, where we are sitting, my level of comfort at a particular moment and my willingness to recount a particular story for the thousandth time (see scorpion encounter).

Most of the time, however, I remember to mention the very awesome experiences I had while couchsurfing. I don’t know what it is about couchsurfing, but people certainly respond to the idea with strong opinions… at least I did. After the third couch I surfed, which was in a cave in Bhalil, in the Moroccan hillside about an hour outside of Fes, I think I even said to Eric that couchsurfing had “renewed my faith in humanity”. Of course in the aftermath I find myself thinking “well now, really Jules, I don’t know about all that,” but in the moment I was truly overwhelmed by the efficacy of the couchsurfing project and overjoyed that such sharing between strangers even exists in today’s world.

And it’s really easy. You make a profile, pick a place, find someone with an available couch (or bed, or floor), email them, and stay for free!!!! Members are encouraged to write reviews for each person they stay with, and reviews cannot be deleted off of a member profile, so you get a pretty good idea of the type of people who are hosting. Of course, there are people with bad reviews. I don’t feel like I should have to say this, but there are people who have multiple bad reviews, which clearly means, don’t stay with those creepers.

I surfed four couches in one month, and I only had wonderful experiences with my hosts. What with the rising cost of hostels everywhere, and tourist traps tailored just for backpackers, couchsurfing gave me an automatic “in” with the locals, who usually had great suggestions for non touristy things to do as well as advice for how not to get ripped off. If you’re lucky, your hosts might even show you around themselves, or take you and your boyfriend out for tapas at their favorite spot. Do it: http://www.couchsurfing.com/

After my ten hour journey home from Germany, I was practically running for the door of the plane. I AM HOMMMME! It was a great six months away, but I got butterflies as we flew over the GW bridge headed for Newark Airport and I was anxious to just BE THERE ALREADY. I guess I looked a little too anxious… because as soon as I had approached the customs officer, I was being escorted at the pride and joy of America, Homeland Security, where I was detained for two hours and then questioned. It might have had to do with the fact that I was traveling with my reportedly “lost” passport, which my parents found and mistook for my current valid passport that I accidentally sent home a few weeks ago. Yes, that must be it. Germany apparently didn’t care that much about the status of my passport and when I inquired about whether or not I could fly, the Federal Police told me “we do not care, it is the problem of the United States.” How correct they were. Once seated in the Homeland Security detention area (all too reminiscent of the DMV) I fidgeted as I sat among the other ethnic looking “guests”, feeling guilty about my American status while the officers made all the Arab men fill out piles of paper work, and spoke gruffly to the Spanish speaking detainees. I was able to help some French girls communicate by translating for them, and chatted up a mother of four. Not a traumatizing experience all in all, but it was the last place I wanted to be after my journey. Two hours later I was in the bosom of my homeland. Secure.