YEA we are #ChicagoFire
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Guy Van Swearingen, Michael Shannon, Karen Aldridge, Rich Cotovsky and Mierka Girten put on the most frenzied piece of theatre I’ve ever seen last night. Buy a ticket to Ionesco’s A Victim of Duty, directed by Shira Piven, at @aredorchidtheatre and brace yourselves.
I had the great honor of speaking at @concert4america last year about my experience as a refugee. Please watch their re-airing this Sunday at 9pm ET/6pm PT and if you can, donate to help families suffering at the border. #keepfamiliestogether
Back home! What a trip. And I couldn’t have done it without my two best friends.
Look, I won’t lie. The @bela_vista_hotel_spa_ resort was overwhelming. We had too much fun in the sun at our poolside cabana. We ate too many Michelin stars at their in-house @vistarestaurante. We got pampered into unconsciousness at the @spa.loccitane. If you’re looking for a similar experience, head to the southern tip of Portugal, to Portimaõ, where everyone smiles, where the octopus is fresh, and see Jorge, Filipa, Armando and Miguel at the resort. But be forewarned. You’ll never want to leave.
Thank you to the wonderful staff at the Bastille @hotel_boutet for making our stay in the sexy 11th arrondisement so irresistible. We had the time of our lives! Special shout outs to Gale, Wagner, and my guy Virgile for their hospitality.
Minju, black and blue, sans shoes, at the Pompidou
My reputation precedes me 📸 @madi.minju
View from a bush
Enchanté you fucking creeps
Au revoir Strasbourg!
Fire and brimstone
We interrupt our regularly scheduled traveling...
The endless search
Story time- I was (admittedly) stoned one night during college, in the basement of our family home, watching Sphere on HBO. The raging thunderstorm outside did little to affect the aural smorgasbord of deep sea sci-fi; on the contrary, it was convenient lo-fi surround sound. So, when water started seeping into the room (through the basement door, from a neglected drain) I was momentarily astounded by the level of cinematic immersion. After the stark realization that the house was, indeed, flooding, I hazily stumbled up to my parents’ room on the second floor. Rousing from sleep, my Dad rushed me outside (we’re both in our underwear) and propped a ladder to the roof. “The drainage pipes are clogged. Let’s go.” And so we climbed (again, we’re both in our underwear) and amidst the storm, plunged ourselves into the suffocating, fetid pipes, removing leaves, sticks, and twirly helicopter tree things by the armload, the slick roof offering an honest sense of danger. When we’d finished, and the crisis was averted, we threw up our arms in mutual victory and bellowed, two punch drunk pugilists simultaneously winning the heavyweight bout. We’d conquered the beast. There was a lightning crack and everything. It was awesome. • This was the moment the myth became the man for me. Happy Father’s Dad Sashulka. Make sure to periodically check the pipes in Florida.