Realizing her despondency had reached fever pitch, Mona calmed down and put some clothes on. Guns and nudity don't mix, she reminded herself. Especially on an empty stomach.
Met Breuer, Upper East Side. NYC.
Ridiculous in the Mile High City
"…intelligence can be eaten."
Ladies and gentleman, there are many ridiculous things going on in Denver. And while the Mile High City’s ridiculousness may not be in the overt form that we see in our beloved New York City, Denver’s ridiculousness is found through experiences that are often so amazing they can only be described by one word: ridiculous.
When I speak of Denver’s ridiculousness I don’t mean the famous Colorado things you’ve heard about (legal weed, Bronco fever, epic mountain experiences, Mesa freaking Verde), I mean the lesser known events that come together to help form one ridiculous city visit. Of course, Bronco gear is always in style. On a recent Friday, I found myself in the Mile High City and wisely decided to give myself over to the wave of ridiculousness. Herewith, two experiences I wish you could have joined me for, but as usual, I was there for you. There to witness the ridiculous.
"Ludicrous?" I think you mean ridiculous.
The world’s largest carved ruby. In all its ridiculous glory.
My main mission on a trip out West—and in life—is smothered burritos. But one must fill the limited time in between burrito consumption opportunities with something and this trip, epic ridiculousness was found at the Museum of Contemporary Art’s Mark Mothersbaugh: Myopic exhibit. The MCA has come a long way since its Sakura Square days and its prime downtown location coupled with a layout that lends itself perfectly to a one-artist show, especially one as prolific as Mothersbaugh, make this a perfect stop for those with limited time and short attention spans who want to see some ridiculous art. I could tell you how insane this show was, from Mothersbaugh’s formative college years to Devo and beyond—way, way beyond. I could tell you of the mutations, the rugs, the epic musical machines and the room of 30,000 postcards, but in true Ridiculous in the City fashion, I’ve provided a sampling of visual proof.
This is a rug. The man makes rugs.
Sadly, Mothersbaugh’s time at the MCA is fleeting, but its ridiculous will live in infamy.
Now, it’s Friday night in Denver and somewhere someone is rocking. On this particular night, that rocking is taking place at the Gothic Theater and it’s safe to say I am totally unprepared for what I’m about to witness. Enter Itchy-O Marching Band. A 32-member assault of drums, guitars, synthesizers, dancers and various performers weaving through the crowd puts on a show that you literally can’t take your eyes off.
The audience is absorbed into the wave of pounding sound so completely that when it’s over you feel sad, like the sickest thing you’ve ever seen in your life has gone away. It has. The Taiko drummers were the hottest things I’ve seen in a long time. Epically rocking ridiculousness at its best.
Dollar bills y'all.
With the glow of Itchy-O upon me, I spill out onto the street and curse Denver for shutting down at 2 a.m. It’s off to bed with visions of Chinese dogs and air raid sirens dancing in my head. My last memory is a tip jar on the bar with the sticker “I heart vagina.”
A healthy dose of Mile High ridiculousness behind me, I return to NYC, but I wont soon forget what I’ve seen.
Self portrait with Devo.
"I don’t know, Al. After all we did for humanity, now we’re hanging on a chain link fence watching traffic go by. It’s ridiculous."
West Village, NYC.
"Okay Wendy, I’m thinking of a number between one and ten."
Nolita, NYC.
The Great Equalizer
“What is it?” June asked the man.
“What do you think it is?” he replied. Having fielded this question before he now preferred to let the viewer do the mental work.
“A circle.”
“Yes.”
“A planet or a wheel maybe?”
“Okay.”
“A hole? A hole of nothingness?”
And here we go again. He smiled a sarcastic smile.
June’s eyes were fixed upon the piece. “A space that has no beginning and no end. Both full of something and full of nothing.”
“That’s interesting,” he responded, checking his watch as he felt the familiar rumble of hunger move through his stomach.
“A comment about the great void. About the void that exists between perception and reality.”
“Uh huh.” The Doors of Perception, how original.
“The space wherein the material world ceases to be and everything we think we know, every possession we have, every item has no meaning and we are all back to square one, back to zero. The same. Like babies in utero with no concept of what lies ahead. Like old men just before death who know what’s behind them. Like sold out shows, out of stock shoes, empty shelves at the grocery store… The great equalizer.”
Empty shelves at the grocery store? He took a step back and gazed up at the painting.
“What is it really though?” June asked again, her mind reeling with thoughts of humanity, life and death, globalization, capitalism, society, the material world, Madonna, fingerless gloves, the lace shoelaces in her old, white high-top sneakers, groceries.
“It’s a circle,” he replied.
It seems my fear that rigorous pantyhose testing standards have diminished was unwarranted.
Frieze Art Fair, NYC.
I knew Lenin was a metal head.
La Brea Avenue, Los Angeles.
The all potato diet had come to seem like eating plastic.
MALBA, Buenos Aires.
Finger Sandwich Friday:
This can be yours for $8,000.
Midtown, NYC.
He had taken the suggestion to “grow a set” quite literally.
Met Museum, NYC.
I had begun to worry that I was back where I started, that everything had come full circle… Then I looked up.
17th Street, NYC.
Another thinly veiled cry for help on the streets of Manhattan.
Sixth Avenue, NYC
Neck Face, the Butt Head of a new generation.
Jay Street, Brooklyn
Madison Avenue, NYC.