Although I watched part of it through the majestic glass and wood doors of old Roble Gym, I could not have been more impressed with Aleta Hayes and Chocolate Heads at Stanford.
Earlier, Terry and I ran into Aleta in town and I took this back-lit shot of her that seems to be proving Doppler and Einstein and Anne Wintour or sometone all at once.
There is a rumor that the troop will be appearing some time soon in Mexico. Also I thought the lighting and backdrop was cool. They created a redshift blueshift motif (regarding the Big Band Theory and expanding universe) that reminded me of my campaign to update Old Glory with something a little more funky.
chocolate heads and bodies at roble post show
Here is a post-show photo of Aleta Hayes (in black dress, with back to us) and three of her lovelies, plus the overzealous house manager. You know you have arrived when they let you, as part of the post show celebration, jump around on the Marley floor in heels, as Aleta did. The event gave way to one of my favorite types of fantasies: what if Stanford decides that for the next five year period they will only give out dance degrees, they convert all resources and $16 billion endowment management to producing the well-rounded artist as choreographer and dancer? (I wrote a similar treatise when Lisa Allette Brooks applied to grad school here and I said in my reference – she wanted to go to South Africa and make a film about AIDS — she got rejected at Stanford Film but went to Botswana with Yale anthro — and she’s a Stanford ’96 b.a. or b.s. — that AIDS is so severe a challenge that Stanford could and should do nothing but produce documentarians concerned with World Health.).
This is a weird segue perhaps a disservice to the very serviceable and frankly awesome Ms. Aleta but here I am telling ghosts of Leland Stanford et al what to do with their money — I did post somewhere apropos of the lame Peter Thiel Fellows — those that pay kids to drop out of college — that I have $20 each to first ten students who write me for textbook relief. Or I have — and this actually happened today, $12 for Girl Scout cookies, three boxes in two lots at $4 each. I think James Franco is the anti-Thiel in that he is over-subscribed in crazy ways to several college programs.
I am trying to recruit for Chocolate Heads a Brazilian-German male dancer I met at JCC named Yannick, furthering rumor has its.
One of the dancers was a radiology resident at Stanford so Terry knew some of the other people crammed into Roble. I actually spent most of the show in the ante-room trying to hold a spot for the late-arriving Ms. Davis who was at her shift until 8 and rushed over in a commandeered helicopter. I met a grad student in drama and had ideas of how to collab with her. I get thousands of ideas and actually do a fraction of them. I am poor man’s James Franco melted in a microwave then buried in muck for twenty or so years and dig me out. But I did, and again apologies for stealing AH’s “ahhs” here, get mistaken for an actual monologist while doing my “Harbaugh-gina” bit via a karaoke foodtruck at Eric Finale’s first Rockage, where I was actually the doorman, sidedoorman even.
Plastic Alto with Mark Weiss 