Ranting Details

Triptych: Gun Assistant

Did a photo shoot today in the East Village (pictures coming soon) and was lucky enough to have the phenomenal Michael "Big Guns" Lowney as my assistant/stand in while my model was flirting with passerby traffic! 

Umm...BIP/BON?

Where is BIP/BON?  It's in Time Out New York, that's where!!!

What is BIP/BON?  It's a reminder.  One year ago, shortly after being diagnosed with Chronic Epstein Barr Virus, I was sitting on the floor of my dark apartment doing breathing exercises in an effort to find stability in a shifting world.  I was at risk of losing my job as a professional dancer, my friends were becoming unused numbers in my phonebook, and most days I did little more than walk to a park bench to read a book, growing weaker with each page turn until I sauntered home.  I couldn’t believe a twenty-two-year-old stared back at me when I looked in the mirror; I felt like I’d aged at least that many years in the previous six months.  Despite all of the pain and confusion, with each inhale and exhale I visualized breathing in the positive, then breathing out the negative, and felt tears race down my cheeks as I shifted perspective; no matter how negative a situation may seem, there is always something positive to hold onto...even if that something is an acronym.  You know, like LMFAO or NASA.  Neither of which should be used along with BIP/BON.  It is nothing to laugh my fucking ass off about.  

When is BIP/BON?  It's anytime, as is evidenced by the totally candid photos below of complete strangers who felt so compelled by the logo emblazoned on their chest that they had to strut through Soho and start writhing against bricks.  It's a good thing I was walking by with a camera. 

Don't you want one? (Sexy models not included.) Just think what a great conversation starter you’ll have at that holiday party when someone looks at your shirt and asks, “What the hell is BIP/BON?!”  It's your new mantra; that's what it is. 

BUY YOUR BIP/BON SHIRT TODAY!!!!!

 

 

TIME OUT NEW YORK BLURB AFTER THE JUMP!!!

Baby Death Gets a Burger

When standing in line for a burger at Shake Shack (the Madison Square Park staple) there is little to do but listen to your stomach.  Each step forward through the course of an hour (which is a typical wait time) finds conversation dwindling, as salivation overtakes social grace.  That is exactly where I found myself yesterday evening, as Lauren, Michael and I decided to treat ourselves to a late night burger and shake. 

Just as we were about to board the subway I decided that the light outside was too good for me to forgo taking pictures, so I ran back to my apartment and grabbed my camera case.  Not only were we coming up with creative children's book titles ("Baby Death Gets a Burger," the first in a new "Curious George"-like adventure series featuring a baby grim reaper doing grownup activities), but we also managed to turn the park into an episode of "America's Next Top Model."  Damn these gorgeous people!

 

(This was one of my first time taking close portraits as well!  Very fun, but also challenging.) 

(Dreaming of burgers and shakes...and Baby Death.)

("But I want an Oompa-Loompa a burger now!")

("Never mind, I want to shoot a Gossip Girl ad.")

("Do you think the people care that we're repeatedly using a flash while standing in line?")

("Just wait until they check out Ranting Details, then they'll wish we had taken MORE!")

("True.  They'll see I can sing my ass off AND do American Apparel ads.")

("Whatever happened to Matt?!")

("I'm EATING MY BURGER!!!!")

("We ate so fast that we turned into fuzzy blobs!")

("Oh, nevermind.  We're still giving it. But what about Lauren?")

("Oh, she's giving "Sex and the City" poster for us.")

("I certainly am.")

("But now it's time to go home and collapse."  It's hard for them to eat burgers AND be beautiful.)

M&M Take Manhattan

Michael Lowney and I tried to start a jump-roping club on the first grade playground at Paxson Elementary.  We were going to charge people some exorbitant fee (was it $25?) to basically stand by us and whip a rope around their heads during recess.  Needless to say...it didn't take off.  But a few of our far fetched dreams from first grade are becoming a reality.  Sixteen years after we first met, Michael is moving to the playground known as New York City. 

It's literally impossible for me to remember how we became best friends; we just were.  I was a bowl-cut sporting transplant from Los Angeles, and he was a Missoulian from down the block who rocked a lisp as confidently as I walked around in bright purple Converse. The universe decided that was a brilliant combination and before I knew it we were locker buddies.  Soon after, our collaborations began. 

It started as an afternoon playing “Aladdin” with our friend Libby Zinke.  She would soon get the boot, but for the time being she was the Jasmine to my Aladdin; Michael played Raja… the tiger.  (I swear I wasn't the bossy one.)  Yet regardless of what role we were playing, something just felt right. 

Paxson Elementary was good to us, but after a year it was time for my family to move out of the school district and Michael and I were torn apart.  Somehow, the change of schools did nothing but bring our friendship closer together. 

Weekends were no longer Saturday and Sunday, but MattMichael Theater days.  The doorbell would ring, and we would fly down the basement stairs.  Blankets became wings that we duct-taped to the ceiling and the boom box was our portable orchestra pit.  The space may have been small, but to Michael and me we were already on Broadway.  From that point on, New York seemed inevitable. 

The years passed, and furniture that once supported our bodies began to creak.  Walls closed in around us like a taut Chinese finger trap and our voices couldn’t sing the parts quite like they used to.  The MattMichael Theater shut its doors on the eve of our thirteenth birthdays.  Until then life had been a constant creative exploration and as the self-consciousness that comes with puberty suddenly cradled us in its arm, we looked at each other and questioned what was next. 

Fortunately, there was a video camera nearby.  Our microscopic theater suddenly opened up and we could run around the neighborhood creating soap operas or murder mysteries that kept our creative energy going.  We got less greedy about the parts, and even let in a few other friends to help balance the raging testosterone “films.” 

Before I knew it, North Carolina School of the Arts beckoned and the change of schools was a bit wider than a school district.  As Southern humidity replaced dry Montana, it became apparent that nothing would ever replace Michael.  Not being able to experience high school with him was painful, but any moment I returned home it was as if I’d just waved goodbye the night before.  Before long, high school was over and Michael moved on to Michigan as I made a home for myself in New York. 

Ann Arbor became a welcome respite from the draining pace of the city.  From my very first visit three years ago, I felt like an adopted member of the class.  So as I sat in the audience at yesterday’s University of Michigan Senior Musical Theater Showcase (with all of New York’s agents in attendance) I was a bit emotional.

(Michael (sitting on the floor) with members of the UMich class of '08.)

All of my friends have evolved so much in the past three years.  Timid was never a word I associated with them, but they took the stage yesterday with such confidence and grace that it made their past selves look timid in comparison.  Standing in the center was Michael, my first grade buddy.  The jeans were tighter, the muscles bigger, and the lisp was no more, but to me he was the same person he was sixteen years ago: a person that inspires me.   

A few minutes into the program, Michael took the stage with two other friends of mine, Derek Krantz, and Garen McRoberts for the fantastic number “Leading Men Don’t Dance.”  Sitting beside my sister, I could feel both of us reminiscing about the gangly, clumsy Michael from the basement.  Effortless notes escaped from his mouth, and I watched as all of the agents around me scanned his headshot and resume.  The number progressed and he delivered the line: “What do you think we are, the corps de ballet?”  His eyes caught mine for a moment and I thought to myself, “My god, we’re here.”  I can’t help but wonder- is it time to start the jump rope club again?

(Trying to look glam with the beauties Lauren, Jess and Michael, after the show yesterday.)

A Little Video Gushing

Anyone who has been reading the Rant for a while knows that I tend to gush when it comes to my friends at University of Michigan.  With graduation just around the corner, I couldn't be more proud or excited that they are making the journey to New York in May.  Until then, I have a few YouTube videos that were just posted to tide me over. 

First up are two of my best friends, Michael Lowney and Jessica Hershberg, singing the glorious duet "Say It Somehow" from one of my favorite musicals The Light in the Piazza. 

Next is Max Kumungai singing "Muddy Water" from Big River, which he performed a full production of earlier this year in Ann Arbor.  Gives me chills every time!

Introducing...

During my last week in New York, my dear friends Michael Lowney and Max Kumangai-McGee came to visit and be my roommates.  As much as I'd like to give myself credit for being the sole reason for their vacation, in truth, they were there to take the much anticipated headshots. 

There is no rite of passage, save graduation, as meaningful (and scary) for a senior in the performing arts than getting their headshots done.  If ever there was a signal that professional life was about to begin, it's in the 8x10 glossy with sultry eyes peering out.  The countdown to graduation is in full swing for my friends in the senior class at the University of Michigan, and on top of being elated at the prospect of them moving to NYC next year, I'm proud of each and every one of them. 

Even though I know he will kill me (even though he'll secretly love it) for posting this, I couldn't resist sharing a little bit of Michael's headshot love.  Since I was wardrobe consultant for the photos, I am claiming some right to them, and therefore sharing one with you today.  Michael and I have been best friends since first grade, and these headshots are, yet another, moment where I feel like a proud parent.  I know, at least for me, without Michael as my basement show producing companion for my entire adolescence, I wouldn't have developed my love for performing (or have insane amounts of blackmail video footage).  I imagine it won't be long until you see this picture in a Playbill, but until then...

(Michael Lowney: Future Broadway Star)

 

You Know You're In Montana When...

You know you're in Montana when you decide to waste your time in Target trying on cowboy hats.  Then you look around and realize that you fit in more when you are joking around than when you are dressed as your normal self.

(Another satisfied customer shopping for some...Billy Ray Cyrus?)

Road Trip It

One of the most extraordinary things about visiting Montana is the vast, open scenery that meets the eye.  Even though I've spent a huge amount of my life here, I never tire of the big sky, and mountains that loom over Missoula.  The scenery surrounding the valley of Missoula is like a quaint hill compared to what covers the hundreds of miles throughout the state.  On Sunday afternoon I had the opportunity to take a road trip with my friends Patrick, Leah and Michael to Helena (the state capitol) for the night.

When I bought my camera a few months ago, I anticipated my arrival to Montana for the chance to photograph some of the luscious scenery.  Snow capped mountains, clouds the size of East Coast states, and more cows than New York has rats (okay, not quite), were just a few of the reasons I packed my camera in my backpack for the two hour trip.  As bad pop music blasted,  my finger ignited the shutter while I poked my head in every direction, attempting to capture a frame of the beauty that is Montana. 

Our  timing for the trip couldn't have been more perfect.  We wound through the final pass just as the sun was setting in the late afternoon.  I finally have a camera that can capture beautiful shots, even while the car is zooming through the mountains, so I took advantage of the rare opportunity to capture a Montana sunset.  There was some gorgeous back-lighting, which proved difficult to photograph, but I think I got some exciting shots.

(I see a moo cow named Caroline!  Moo-moo, moo-moo.)

(So many different types of clouds.   Here we have a marble slab cloud.)

(Here we have the rare cotton-candy-tornado cloud.)

(This, somehow, is typical in Montana.)

The events got even more exciting once we reached Helena.  Leah's brother (Decemberists lead singer Colin Meloy) wasn't able to join the family for game night, but her sister Meile Meloy (a famous writer) and Meile's husband Ian (a writer for The Simpsons for the past twelve years) were there to compete in a heated game of running Pictionary.  It was more physical activity than I've endured in the past four months, and I seem to have survived rather well.

(Michael shows off his new emo haircut and it's many styling possibilities.)

(While I sit and wonder what "The Man Store" sells.  Not boyfriends.  Razors?  Condoms?  Bean-o?)

Before I knew it, it was time to travel back to Montana for Christmas Eve festivities.  I managed to snap a few more shots before the trip was up.  This is just the beginning...

(Playing with the passing scenery.)

(Where's Heath or Jake?)

(A rather un-wintery portion of landscape.)

 

Oh, Blog

I've been a bit consumed over the past few days with these two sassy boys to your left.  After a brief trip to Ann Arbor last week, the lovely Michael and Max have blessed me with their presence in NYC this week.  Due to roaming around the LES with the boys, going to see some shows, writing final papers for class, and most unfortunately, catching a horrible cold/flu (on top of my friend Eppy) I'm having a bit of blog delay at the moment.  There's much to catch up on...most importantly sleep.  It's 8:30 which for this sick boy means bedtime.  Sorry!

Zing Me To The Moon

Ann Arbor is a fantastic city.  A mere forty minutes away from the armpit known as Detroit, it's an artistically fruitful environment with charming boutiques and restaurants on almost every corner.  Chief among those unique Ann Arbor restaurants is the sandwich shop Zingerman's, which is about as close to a tourist destination as there is. 

My first trip to the behemoth sandwich shop, which seems like a cleaner and trendier version of NYC's Carnegie Deli, was a bit overwhelming.  I believe we went on a Saturday afternoon, where the line snaking through the cramped deli counters pushed me up against windows hiding slabs of meat and barrels of mac and cheese.  It was well worth braving the crowd.  The sandwiches are big enough to feed the Big Friendly Giant, which means I can successfully make it through about a quarter of mine. 

Last week, my wife on Facebook Jessica, my brother because we grew up doing musicals together Michael and I, took a walk through the winter snow to stuff some Zing in our bellies. 

(Feed me.)

(Love.)

(Nah, let's shoot a JC Penney ad!)

(She just found out I'm GAY.)

(Top model jump.  Very difficult after gorging at Zingerman's.)