Friday, December 26, 2008
ME: Look, honey...Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Northanger Abbey...
DREW: BBC. Boring British Cinema...
ME: Which one should I watch first? Emma probably...
DREW: BBC. Boring British Channel...
ME: I really like Sense and Sensibility a lot though. Let's watch that!
DREW: Bonnets. So many bonnets...room is spinning...must lay down...
ME: Hey! Where are you going??
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Anyway, due to a beach-oriented vakay we've got coming up in February with 6 of our friends, I've got to pull it together something fierce. And honestly, it's well overdue. So I'll be on the CHEF'S DIET all January to mid February, and I'm going to take a month off from drinking just for good measure, starting after NYE. I feel it only fair to warn friends ahead of time. Cranky, sober, starving bitch alert! I apologize in advance.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Filling the room with relatives that you've talked into the long drive into 'the city' is not the same as having a packed house.
Tell your drummer that twirling his sticks as often as possible will not fool people into thinking he can play. It just makes him look like a douche.
It is not necessary to play for an hour and a half for your 'full room'. You Aunt Stell is already tired from the drive and it annoys everyone else, especially the headlining act.
And as an addendum to the point, padding out the set with U2 covers is not necessary for gigs at The Annex, Arlenes, Pianos, etc.
And as further addendum, your older brother, his wife, your cousin Joey and his new girlfriend pumping their fists in the air and shouting "YEAH!!" does not constitute the necessity for an encore after your already hour-plus long, padded with covers set.
Please bring more chubby, orange ex-strippers with giant, wonky implants and bad waist length blond extensions. I find them interesting to look at and fun to party with.
Less hair gel is not imperative but would be decidedly more flattering.
Friday, December 12, 2008
ME: Nope. Although at one point I thought I could deal with a little girl. You know, with constant nanny intervention...If we had a girl what would you name her? I like Lily. Or Lucretia. That's good and scary.
ME: You can't name everything Triceratops.
DREW: You're right, it's a boy's name. Okay, Stegasaurus.
DREW: Yep. For a girl. If it's a boy - Dracula.
ME: You're an idiot. You know that, right?
DREW: You're just jealous because I come up with better names than you do.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Storm: Dude, are you coming?
Me: Of course!! I wouldn't miss it, full-on road trip. I just have to figure out which weekend.
Storm: Yay! Just don't come on the 9th, a busload of my most rabid fans are going to be there and they'll totally swarm you once they figure out we're friends.
Me: Ha! Rock star! Okay, I'm thinking the 2nd maybe. I am fully psyched to see you in this part.
Storm: Cool! You'll get to see me play a total slut who sings and dances and cheats on her boyfriend and then has an abortion behind his back.
Me: Shit, that's not such a stretch for us. That's just 1988 all over again.
Storm: Omg, do you realize 1988 is a full 20 years ago! Is that possible? How did that happen??
Me: God we're old.
Me: Damn it...
Sunday, November 30, 2008
My apartment is crammed full of stuff. I am constantly getting free shoes, free bags, and clothing at a discount because of my job. I love to shop and my job is located in a clothing store. You do the math. Drew says I have an import/export business. I bring things in and then get rid of them because my apartment can't support the weight of so much extraneous fashion. I curse when I try to pull something out of my overjammed drawers, then get inspired every six months and put old stuff in bags to give away, throw away, or sell. My closet, however, remains jammed.
My gorgeous friend MARY mentioned in an email that she's working to de-clutter her apt, and it occurred to me that I need to do the same yet again. Books, makeup, lotion, shoes, cds, pet supplies, hats I'll never wear, dvds, magazines, mail that needs to be sorted. Every surface is full and it's stress-making.
I read an article online in which a woman stated that one of the things this global/spiritual shift that's happening is going to change is our practice of wanton consumption and subsequent overload and wasteful disposal. She says we're going to have to start sharing, and that it isn't going to be that much of a hardship because we have too much stuff already.
I also saw a man on TV who collects discarded old computers and cleans them up and puts them together and gives them to people who can't afford them - the elderly, the poor, whomever. I thought that was pretty cool, it always looks so gross to see unloved monitors and hard drives on the street, waiting to be tossed into a pile somewhere where they will sit, not rotting.
These two things, and the state of my overstuffed cracker box apartment, have already made me think that it's time to stop automatically collecting more items and to put more thought into the purchases I am making and freebies I'm grabbing. I desperately want to see some smooth surfaces.
So with these thoughts of overconsumption in mind, the fact that a very sweet-looking young man, trying to get through the holidays with a temp job, WAS TRAMPLED BY PEOPLE BURNING FOR A DISCOUNT AT WAL-MART, seems a great sign that we need to rethink our priorities. Is it really so imperative to get a discount TV that we would do such a thing? It's unthinkable, and yet there it is. What did people imagine when they stepped on something soft? Did they notice or care? There are reports that there were fistfights and that one man was quoted as saying, ""Nobody is going to keep me from a 50 inch plasma TV for $800". Really? Really?? I feel so sad for the dead man's family and friends, how do you recover from such a senseless loss?
It is not lost on me that my salary comes from the buying and selling of unnecessary goods. I love fashion and I love that a person can create a persona for themselves out of garments. I love the high of a perfect new dress, of the designer shoes that make you feel glamourous. But the machine-like drive of goods in/goods out makes me question whether my energy could not be expended more productively elsewhere. I am not sure and I do love my job. I just find myself wishing we were more conscious, so for the most part I content myself with trying to deter the others from buying fur and insisting that everyone in the office recycle. I use a Britta for my water and I carry re-usable cloth bags everywhere now. It's tiny, but it makes me feel better.
I don't have any real answers or comments other than these on such a tragic and pointless event, except to say that I hope that as a nation we can begin to awaken to the fact that we don't need all this stuff, and that we can begin moving into a new era where more thought goes into buying and selling. I know that I'm going to aim for it on a personal level.
DREW: I'm not hungry.
ME: I know that. But you will be later, what time do you want to order food?
DREW: After I wake up.
ME: No, because you'll sleep through and I want to order food before you have to go to work. 6:30? 7?
ME: Okay, I'll wake you up then.
DREW: No, Mary, don't wake me up. I want to sleep.
ME: Well, then how can we order food?
DREW: Can't we just do it when I get up?
ME: No, Andrew, because you won't wake up and I want to eat.
DREW: Damn it, you are difficult.
ME: I'm not being difficult, I'm being totally logical and you are being a pain in the ass.
DREW: I am not the pain in the ass, Mary. You are the pain in the ass. You're a child. You know, if a five year old drank liquor, it would be you.
ME: So 6:30 then? Where do you think you want to order from?
DREW: Get out of this bed.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Much to Drew's chagrin, TCM is showing musicals all day long. Being half a fag, I'm pretty happy about it, but I won't make him watch (for too long) once he's awake. West Side Story was on last night and I was so excited and so happy that it was on and I have a few days off that I did a few of the numbers for the crew. The pets are good sports and will sit on the couch and stare at me "appreciatively" while I sing off-key in a bad puerto rican accent about liking to live in America.
Drew is in the bedroom with a pink satin sleep mask on because I had the shade partially open to read in bed. I tried to get him in a lacey one that says "Dreaming of Paris", but he refused. I plan on photographing him when I get done with this blog. He is equally as amped about this day off as I am, we are both fully on board with any day that celebrates sitting around lazily and eating heartily.
I'm sure I've written about this before, but I have spent many Thanksgivings feeling lonely and far away from family, often while bartending high or drunk in dank bars sparsely populated by other lonely drunks. When I see those nights in my head they look cold and dark indeed. Family-oriented holidays spent alone or lonely suck major ass, and it makes complete sense that the suicide rate is higher around this time of year.
I can think of three friends right off the top of my head that have suffered through painful breakups this year. I can think of other ones who don't get along with their families, who are very far away from them, or who just don't have anyone. I also have friends who are worried sick about money and other ones who are suffering physically. You are all in my thoughts today.
So I don't want to selfishly crow about my full fridge and tolerant boyfriend without saying that my happiness today means that anything is possible for others like me. Everything changes, and if it isn't your day, there are other days. And to my friends who aren't feeling very good today, you can give me a call. If I'm not in the middle of a song and dance number I'll pick up right away. And tomorrow night, if you like, we'll go out and sit in one of those dank bars and talk about it.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Many people (including myself sometimes) have trouble keeping Drew's band sitch straight and every once in a while I'm asked to clarify. He's actually in a lot of bands at the moment. He also hates being online and won't deal with myspace or facebook, except through my page once in a while. So here's the list for those of you who are interested:
BLOODY SOCIAL - these are the fancy lads trailed by models that I often blog about. They get the most face time because I'm always on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to the women they attract.
GOD FIRES MAN - less fancy, more pro, more emo.
NEW RISING SONS - this is a reunion of a band that had a deal on Virgin a few years back, so some of you may remember them.
HARLEY & THE NIGHT - Drew just jumped on board, I haven't seen them play yet, though I do know Harley's a great songwriter.
And lastly, the band he's most famous for is INTO ANOTHER. They're not together anymore but they still have a rabid cult following. And before that in his teens he played with some pretty well-known hardcore outfits, but I'm too lazy to look them up right now.
There, that's all the promo that fucker's getting from me for a while, at least until he takes the laundry down.
I knew it! On top of having crappy taste in clothing and music, they're vicious! Today I am recuperating from a traumatic hipster attack that occurred last night. I may never be the same!
Well, okay, that's an exaggeration, I'll probably survive without extensive therapy. But I do have a very bruised and scabbed elbow and my favorite vintage coat has some scuff marks on it. Lawsuit!
Last night I went out with my two favorite and most gorgeous hookers--HEATHER (who we call Rabbit) and HEIDI. A dangerous trio if ever there was one, things can always go awry with this bunch but that's also where the entertainment lies, it's never dull.
I met the ladies, along with Rabbit's boyfriend Rob and Heidi's boyfriend Jeffrey, at Lucy's, which is a cute little bar on Avenue A that I've never been in before. Lucy is an actual person, an adorable little old lady of Eastern European descent with old school beauty parlor hair who owns the place and works behind the bar. It's warm and the people were cool and it was crowded but not so badly that you couldn't move.
Rob and I immediately got into an argument about how the neighborhood is full of douchebags and NYU students now. He just baited me to watch me spin and I went on my usual rant. Two drinks in and I'm frothing and shouting as he grins and shakes his head. Heidi yells, "Hit him! Hit him!" And Rabbit says, "Go ahead, he's used to it!" So I slapped him. But he's tougher than he looks, or a glutton for punishment, and refused to acquiesce.
Heidi wanted to go to Motor City to see the lovely ANGELA. I was not very excited about this as Motor City, for those of you who don't live in NY, is located on Ludlow Street, which teems with afore-mentioned douchebags and NYU students on the weekends. It's like Bleeker Street used to be, hordes of drunken idiots and the sluts that love them wander from bar to bar, shouting at each other and clogging the sidewalks. Every time I have to walk through it I get completely depressed.
But we went. And I held my arm out expansively to the street as sloppy girls in headbands slammed into us and said to Rob, "Well, how do you like it? You like these people, you want to hang with them on a regular basis? NOW will you admit I'm right?" He still would not admit it but I spared him the slap because we both knew my point had been proven.
And so we listened to rock and drank tequila shots. And then we drank more tequila shots. And Rabbit yelled at random guys that tried to talk to her. And then we got stuck in the bathroom trying to get her corset organized. And then Heidi and I tried to catch up while shouting over the music and around people's heads. And then I bought tequila shots for random strangers. And then I yelled at Rob some more. And then I realized I was totally wasted and had to go home immediately. I hate when I do that to myself, but there it was. I was toast.
Rabbit shoved Rob out the door to get me a cab but it was clear there were none to be had. The street was just teeming with party zombies. The only option was to walk the six blocks home, so I sent Rob back inside. The word "walk" may be too narrow of a term for what was actually going to happen. I could ambulate by teetering and weaving, but walking--kind of out of the question. And it was fucking freezing.
Sigh...just get on with it, Mary...
As I began picking my way through the rabble on high heels, cursing the bitter cold and the collegians standing in the way of me finding a vehicle, a large body slammed into me from behind, completely swiping my feet from underneath me and knocking me hard into the ground.
I was completely dazed by the shock of it, and just sat there confusedly watching a large group of decidedly hipster types scream happily as they ran by me. I was so freaked out (and, oh yes...drunk) that I think it was my intention to sit there for a while. Maybe at some point someone would come out of Motor City and carry me home. Or maybe I'd just live there on the ground. I wasn't sure.
But one ironically bearded young gentleman broke from the pack and came running back. He leaned over me with a very concerned look on his face and said, "I am so, so sorry! Are you okay?" I continued to sit and said, "You fucker! Look at me!" He asked, "What can I do? Please tell me what I can do!" And I said, "Well, goddamnit, you can help me up."
So he did. And then he stood with me for a minute while I collected myself, and then I put my hand in his arm and he walked me to the corner. So I guess, truth be told, some of today's facial hair-challenged youth isn't actually as vicious as I like to pretend they are.
But I still had to get home. And that was still a tedious and interminable walk through the cold, getting slammed this way and that by Saturday night assholes who in my newly vulnerable state seemed more dangerous than before. It was so depressing, and by the time I got into the apartment I felt good and sorry for myself. I loaded the pets onto the bed and burst into drunken weeping and sent Drew (who was working) an overly dramatic text that said, "I got knocked to the ground by frat boys, please come straight home when you're done."
Of course he called right away, freaking out, and I did have the decency to tell him that it really wasn't that bad. He came home directly after work and cleaned and bandaged my wounds while I sniffled piteously. He said, "I told you not to go down there on a Saturday night, Mary." And then he pushed me in the chest into a lying position, where he knew I would pass out immediately. Which I did.
I told Rocket about it on the phone today and he said the same thing nearly happened to him recently and we lamented this latest influx of running gangs of happy, badly dressed youth. We vowed to continue to shake our canes and shout things like, "Slow down, you whippersnappers!" until things turn around in our favor. And maybe I'll call Rob and yell at him again.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Bores are relentless. They turn up year after year and never notice that they are draining the life out of every normal person they latch onto. It's always been a mystery to me that certain people can't feel their effect on people. I can see male eyes glaze over when I ramble about shoes or my cats. I know my mother isn't hearing a word I'm saying when she suddenly interrupts my story with a list she's making in her head. How is it that some people can constantly set off room-wide panic and not be conscious of the fact?
I noticed something at my birthday party when I got three of these idiots in a row. One I had actually invited, never expecting they'd actually show up, the other two just wandered in from Bob Gruen's annual birthday party down the road, where they were no doubt boring the crap out of everyone there. By the time they all made it to me, I had had a cocktail or two, and was in that happy, buzzy state where you're a little removed from reality--not completely drunk, but drunk enough to observe things from a slightly skewed angle.
As each one took his or her turn, I didn't bother to pay any attention to what they were trying to tell me, I just watched their mouths move and marveled at the common denominator: the "I" factor. Each one went on and on about themselves without pausing for a moment to ask questions of or observe anyone around them. Ordinarily at a birthday party you would wish the birthday person a happy birthday, and ask them what they got or how happy they were or whatever before launching into your own twice-told tales.
I noticed with the bores that there was none of that, not even a pretense in that direction. Each one immediately dove headfirst into the "I, me, my" monologue. It was kind of mesmerizing from an anthropological (i.e. drunken) point of view: "HeyRaffhappybirthday. I never come out to parties anymore because you know I have been sick and I just hate everyone here and did I tell you I've started a video company and I am going to interview Jesse and you know I was at the first D Gen gig in 1919 and I always wore my hair like this but people just aren't cool like I've always been and they're very jealous and I was in the hospital for a while because I fractured my ego in five places and I, me, my, blah, blah, blah, BLAH."
And the whole time as I watched their mouths move I just kept thinking, "I hate you. You are a selfish little fucker and I hate you, and I think 90% of the people in this room must feel exactly the same way." On some level they MUST feel that, especially as I am not that subtle of a person, although polite for the most part. But maybe they just don't know how to connect and continue the I conversation in a panicked attempt to hit upon something that someone somewhere will find fascinating. Or maybe they're so fucking lonely from driving people away that once they actually have an audience they can't control their self-obsessed verbal diahrrea because they know it will be some time before they get a listener again.
I don't know. And I know it's a little hypocritical to be writing about it in a blog in which the word "I" is always featured fairly prominently. But these idiots are on my mind today.
This afternoon on my way home from the gym I saw another crashing bore that I've known for 20 years. I actually have some affection for him just because we've weathered as East Village neighbors for so many years, and he is a nice person. He's never been pervy or obnoxious, he's never asked me to do anything for him, he will stop and let you walk away after he gets the bulk of the monologue out. He's not truly awful. He's very well-educated and has a pretty interesting family history, which of course I know all about because he's happy to outline it as many times as you would like. He's just tedious as all hell when you're not in the mood.
This guy, we'll call him Mr. X, was across the street boring the hell out of some other person he'd cornered. I did contemplate waving at him, but he was very engrossed in conversation and I just wanted to run into Duane Reade and get some cough medicine and go home. I'd managed to get myself to the gym but I'm still really sick and just wanted to be home. And he didn't appear to see me.
But they always see you. Because they're lonely and boring and you are interesting and running from them.
I traversed through aisle after aisle to the very back of the store ("Halloween candy...mmm...firming serum...wonder if that one works..."), and found the cough syrup. Of course I couldn't find the specific type I wanted so I crouched down to dig through the bottom shelf in a vain hope that it was hidden there.
I'm not close to the ground for more than a moment when I hear, "Hey Raff." And I look up and there he is, staring down at me expectantly. SIGH...
"Hey, Mr. X." Which I say begrudgingly and which comes out in a croaking rasp as I have no voice at the moment.
"Heyyougotacold? So, I've started a new career as a DJ. I'm playing X & Y on this day and that day and this is my playlist and I'm working on getting into this place and that place and it's really great because I'm bringing stuff that no one has ever heard before and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, BLAH."
Dude. I am sitting on the floor with no makeup on, looking at cough syrup. Wouldn't now be the time to say, "Hey Raff, sorry you're sick. Guess I'll leave you to it, get well soon!"? Oh no, that's impossible, because right now it's all about HIS NEW DJ CAREER. And the horrible realization creeps over me as he's talking that he's not there to shop and that he actually ran across the street and followed me into the store and then wandered the aisles until he found me.
Yet, because I grew up in Northern Michigan, the land of completely dysfunctional, passive-aggressive, non-confrontational, overly-nice but weirdly bitchy underneath it females, and because I really don't hate this particular bore, I took his annoying ramble and even responded here and there, all the while feeling resentful and put upon. And then I went home and vented to Drew, gesticulating wildly while holding my new overpriced firming serum that I totally don't need. And now I'm blogging it.
I have no real answers on how to deal with this phenomenon. I know bores don't generally read other people's blogs and even if they did wouldn't recognize themselves. But they must be stopped. Is the answer to just walk away when someone starts on the monologue? That's hard to do when you've known someone forever and you're, you know, ILL AND SITTING ON THE FLOOR.
It's just so frustrating and invasive, and I felt the same frustration at the party, when there I had people to rescue me. I just nodded a few times to each one of these tediumites as they rambled on about themselves, feeling resentment build as their mouths moved. I shouted in my head: STOP SUCKING MY LIFE ESSENCE, YOU TEDIOUS, HIDEOUS VAMPIRE! And then as soon as there was a fraction of an opening turned to talk to whoever else was standing near me.
One of my favorite life moments ever was when I was cornered by one of these people, who happened to be a spitter as well as a drone. As he talked in the direction of the side of my head my friend BROOKE reached up repeatedly to wipe my face with her cocktail napkin. He never noticed, of course, while she and I were hysterical. I still chuckle about it whenever it comes to mind.
But your friends aren't always there to wipe your face. So I'm open to any suggestions you might have, people...
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Although truthfully I don't mind it that much myself. It's a bit of a relief to have an excuse to be quiet, and I did get to leave work a few hours early today. My favorite channel TCM is showing nonstop black and white scary movies, all the good ones, which is highly comforting after this week's not-yet-finished but incredibly terrifying technicolor rhinestone trip down the rabbit hole that is Patricia Field during Halloween season.
Seriously folks, I'm going to do a plug here: if you are in NY and in the market for a costume, go visit the store, if only for sheer entertainment's sake. And tomorrow I'm going in early to mark the costumes down, so if you've been remiss in getting something now's the time.
I try to stay out of the way of the customers as much as I can, because, well, let's face it, I am not a real people person. But occasionally during this time of year when much of it is about the lingerie department (my domain), I'll spend some time on the floor yelling at the kids that they don't know how to tie a corset and running up and down the stairs finding shoe sizes.
So yesterday I found a very pretty Jamaican girl, not older than 20 or 21, with her mother in the lingerie section and looking confused. I asked the girl what she wanted to be for Halloween and she said, "I'm having a party and I need a costume."
So I gamely said, "Okay. How do you envision yourself?"
Her: "It's a half-naked party."
Me: "All righty. How naked? Like panty and bra naked? Corset and ruffle panty? Slip?"
She pulls out a flyer for a club and on it is a photo of a bodacious black woman in a g-string and nothing else.
Me: "Oookay... Well, we've got plenty of g-strings. What color would you like?"
The Mother: "Tha gerl is pregnant! She can't be wearin' no g-string."
The Girl (rolling her eyes): "Do you have anything that will cover my belly?"
Me: "Hmm...So a high waisted girdle panty perhaps?"
So I dig out a bunch of girdle panties and trot them into the dressing room. And of course run to the front desk to gossip about the pregnant maybe teenage girl with her mom in the dressing room getting ready for the big naked party. Because I'm good like that. I'll gossip about you before you've even left the building.
By the time I got back she had chosen a panty and also found a pair of pink butterfly pasties which didn't fully cover her large nipples on her very large breasts. On the up side, the mother had found a beaded drapey choker to go with the whole thing.
Girl (holding the pasties over her nipples and assessing the mirror: "Do I look pregnant?"
Mother: "Gerl. You ARE pregnant and everybody already knows."
Me: "Ah...that necklace looks fabulous."
Girl: "I don' like it."
Mother: "You need to be wearin' sometin beside a panty! This makes it classy!"
Me: "Yes, it does make it look more like an actual costume."
Mother: "See! Otherwise it's just de panty and dose silly little butterflies."
Girl: "I don' like it.
Me: "It's very Josephine Baker."
(Girl looks at me blankly)
Me: "You know...famous performer in the 20's and 30's, very erotic, appeared almost naked, broke down all kinds of walls for black women..."
(Girl looks at me blankly)
Me: "Banana dance?"
(Girl looks bored)
Mother: "I know who Josephine Baker is. She don' know nothin'. Look at her, she's pregnant and naked. Now lets just get the panties and the necklace and get outta here..."
Girl: "I'm goin' to need some stockin's."
Me: "I'm on it..."
Today a girl wandered in front of me in a long red sequinned gown and said, "Who can I be?"
I croaked out through the laryngitis, "Jessica Rabbit, of course!"
She said: "Who's that?"
Me: "Jessica Rabbit. Roger Rabbit's wife? Sexiest cartoon character ever?"
(Girl looks at me blankly)
Me: "You know, long red hair, long red dress, totally hot?"
(Girl looks confused but perks up when she hears the word "hot")
Me (sighing): "Like Kim Kardashian, but with red hair and a brain."
Girl (flash of recognition in her eyes): "Oh. Cool!"
And that's about the time I decided that I didn't want to try to talk anymore and it was time to go home to overeat pasta and watch Val Lewton movies with the pets.
This is my life as a covergirl. Pray for me tomorrow.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Drew made me promise not to blog some really funny bits (protecting the not so innocent), so I'll just leave you with the text aftermath:
"I just woke up with a peanut/hummus sandwich beside me. Peanut/hummus! Wtf?"
"I woke up today and the dog had clothes on, Elle crashed over, and blocks of cheese were spread around my kitchen."
"I never do tequila again." (Japanese)
"I have no idea who that was and I don't remember getting home. Do you think I had sex with him in the bathroom? What time did I leave?"
"I love you. I'm so goddamn hungover."
I am not necessarily advocating getting trashed, yesterday evening in my hungover state I watched Celebrity Rehab and every time I see Steven Adler I want to move back to Michigan, go on a raw food diet and never touch alcohol again. But it's nice to know that my friends had fun, which was really the point. And I like mixing it up--my swishy co-worker Sushi in a tiny hat (yes Tommy, my life is still being ruled by tiny hats, it's some weird past life curse) making friends take his photo with a Hells Angel, members of Drew's various bands all eyeing each other up suspiciously, and the hot girls I work with assessing the male population from their back table vantage point. It's people stew. The fashion gays I work with hated every awesome rock tune that Poker Chris spun and that brought me great joy because those prissy ladies torture me all day long with soul-crushing mash-ups and Madonna mixes. Queens of the Stone Age, bitches!
Although honestly, that's become a term my Madonna-loving friend Paolo uses all too frequently--"How's my favorite queen of the stone age, Myrtle?"...Sigh...well, at least if one must go down, she can go down having fun. Thanks, everyone!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
And McCain just crabbed it up royally during that last debate. I felt like I was watching someone's angry dad. A man angry that the position that he very obviously feels should be his legacy may go to a younger man, a black man, a man who hasn't served in a war, a man who appears to want to make changes that Mr. McCain does not feel comfortable witnessing.
So now that it actually looks like the right guy might win, the McCain/Palin camp are just throwing all kinds of muddy shit at Obama hoping that something sticks. If it weren't so creepy it might be enjoyable to watch them flail. Although I'm so terrified of the blindness in this country that I'm definitely not counting my chickens before they're duly tallied and not stolen out from underneath their proper owner, as with certain elections of the past. Although to be fair McCain, though crankier, does seem less criminal than W.
Our money system is in complete meltdown, causing other parts of the world to melt down, causing people to question the way things have been and what they should be, forcing people to make changes in their lives, damaging people that just want to live ordinary lives. Meanwhile the corporate creeps that are supposed to be guiding to safety the mega corps they've beached are taking the taxes we paid dearly out of our much smaller paychecks to go on week long luxury spa vacations. Vacations that most of us can only dream about and would never dream of stealing to get.
I get the feeling they just don't know any other way to live. They're so buried in their own entitlement that they really don't see why we should begrudge $440,000 worth of Calgon taking them away from all this icky reality for a short while. I am under the suspicion that most villains don't see themselves as villainous. They just don't wanna share.
And while our manmade issues cause us to wring our hands, our planet shrugs us off in increasing numbers with her giant hurricane sneezes. We are a nasty virus with our overconsumption and drilling and plastic water bottles and landfills and rainforest raping. Whether Cutesy Palin wants to admit it or not, global warming is upon us and unless we make changes in that direction we will be shrugged off of the earth completely. And who can blame her for wanting to shake us?
In the meantime, for the last couple of years my mother and her rowdy gang of new age channelers, psychics, and all around semi-loonies have been predicting the great shift of 2012. I usually believe what my mother tells me, whenever I ask her to check in with the guides for me I invariably get an answer that makes sense. Though my siblings and I do crack a few jokes at her expense, especially when it comes to aliens. I have dubbed her special brand of information dissemination "Momaganda". And sometimes we snicker and tell her a cloud is just a cloud and they can't ALL be camouflaged spaceships (sorry, Mom). But for the most part I know she's on to some deep truths and I'm so grateful that I have someone close that's paying attention to this shit.
So my mother told me the people that choose to remain here would be doing a lot of clearing of old energy, and I have done plenty of that, at times feeling that I was completely losing my mind, other times feeling the lightness of freeing myself from old wounds and fears that I no longer need to carry.
She told me that some of my friends would choose to leave if they felt they weren't ready for what was coming to us on this plane. And indeed, some of my friends have left lately, in most strange and unexpected ways they have just opted out.
Many of the channels she sends me state that we are at the end of the old days, the old ways, just not in the way the God hates fags bible thumpers have lusted after so greedily. There is no lake of fire swallowing us up for our evil acts, at least not yet. But we are very obviously at the end of something.
Although I have been very excited about the idea of a great shift into a higher way of life, I have also been afraid to get too fully immersed for fear of creating some magical fantasy future that will only disappoint me with its non-appearance. Plus, along with the hopeful information, many of those channeling websites come with goofy hippie ladies playing awful new age music in the background. And way too many channelers use an Irish accent for their other entity for my comfort. How can so many otherworldy guides be of Irish descent, when most of the Irish people I am friendly with are cheerfully, but completely out of their fucking minds? So both of these items make me skeptical at times. But, the evidence has become irrefutable, just take a look at the news. We are indeed in the middle of a shift of epic proportions, and whether you have spiritual beliefs or not, the shit is going down.
I have been told many times that part of my contract in this lifetime is to bring deep information to people who would not ordinarily pay attention to its standard messengers. In other words, I am (most humbly) one of the connects between our little rock and roll subculture (or what is left of it) and the new age crew and their crappy music but important information. So I read the channels my mother sends me and weigh out what I feel moves me enough to share with you, and what is better kept to myself and left for others to discover on their own. Most of the time I feel that I am not well-informed enough to speak about either politics OR the shift. I've simply been more vocal about politics lately because it's so dramatic I can't help myself.
This week I've felt very deeply that the predictions are shoring up with what is upon us. So here are some links...
First, a long channel that is chock full of interesting thoughts brought by someone who I believe claims in there somewhere to have listened in on some important meetings while in the shape of a cat. Woo hoo! Bring it on!
FAREWELL TO POWER
This woman does regular "energy alerts" that can tell you what's going on around you in the present. She's very good, just turn the sound down:
WHAT'S UP ON PLANET EARTH
For those of you who haven't heard, there are many predictions about an alien flyover on Tuesday, October 14. This is the most prominent one. Yes, yes, I know the channeler's name is Blossom Goodchild. And yes, I do believe there's a good chance that Blossom is out of her good gourd. But on the off chance that she's not, at least you'll be ready on Tuesday.
MESSAGE FROM FEDERATION OF LIGHT
Okay, that's it. Take it or leave it as you see fit. And for today's palate cleanser, here's a little Diamond Dave. Anyone who thinks Sammy Hagar is a better frontman can kiss my new age ass...
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Painful. Traumatic. Excruciating.
However, I am trying desperately to be less hatey as this juncture in life, so that's the most I'll say on that. I don't agree with her and her presidential candidate, and I hope they're outvoted and disappear. But I will move on to say that Biden's passion and obvious intelligence gave me hope, much as Obama's does every time I hear him speak. And at least somebody up there answered the fucking questions.
But my brain hurts from all this thinking. I was never meant to pay attention to politics. I'm interested in things like shoes and rock stars and hair extensions. This country is ruining my good time, goddamnit. I need some mouthwash for my mind. So just to get back to the things that are really important, like gays and trannies and silly videos with cute dancers, here is a little palate cleanser for you:
Monday, September 22, 2008
Made up my mind this time that I was not going to stress out about who didn't get along with who, and how/if I was going to be a part of any aftershow or backstage hooplah. I knew KEVIN was driving the band to an instore but I didn't send a message to them through him because I didn't want to be another clamoring dick. I figured I'd know someone and something would work itself out. I just set my intention for a happy night and left it to the Universe to sort out the details and the passes. And I bought tickets ahead of time rather than try to finagle guest list, because it's fucking Motorhead and they deserve the money. I had an extra ticket for CID and told her I'd meet her there, VAS checked in and I met her there too.
On my way in the cab I got a text from DANO saying "Kevin mentioned to Lemmy that you're coming to the show and he definitely wants to see you." I got another text from someone else saying, "Lemmy wants you there!" Woo hoo! I was already set and wasn't even out of the cab. Thank you, Universe!
Kevin met us at the door to make sure we got in easily, then ran off to do his job. We went to the back bar and some random guy I've never met bought shots for about 6 of us, and then disappeared when we weren't looking. The Jager Fairy. Although he was pretty big and manly looking, maybe the Jager Genie? In any case he was a nice guy with no agenda and set the tone of the night right from the start.
I'm happy to say the place was jam packed, and the ladies in our group all remarked that we felt VERY popular that evening, with lots of "How you doin's" and drink offers coming at us from all sides. If I'm ever single again I'm going on the road with Motorhead one more time. Truthfully it was probably more quantity than quality, but still--free booze! Constant compliments! Bring it on!
The band was perfect, of course. The new record has a lot of great songs, and the old songs would make me weep if I wasn't so busy jumping up and down and shouting the lyrics. I can't tell you how nice it is to hear the booming bass of Metropolis wash over you when you've spent the last two years up to your eyeballs in socialites and hipsters and models in headbands and mash-up dj's and bad imitations of the already awful Strokes. Motorhead all loud and live like that makes my heart sing, it's a step into the warm comfort of home, it's where I want to live, where I've always wanted to live, where people like us belong.
After the show Kevin came and collected us and spent the next 20 minutes at the backstage door shouting at various security who wanted to bounce us, "This is Raff and Lemmy wants to see her!" It was a zoo and he was tired and wanted to go home, but he had a mission to complete and would not stray from bound duty. Thank you, Kevin.
The tour manager (who is very cool and who I've met before but stupidly always forget his name) came out and bellowed, "Raff and Donna. He only wants to see Raff and Donna right now!" DONNA and I were ushered into Lemmy's dressing room and were granted an audience with the Lemster in his underwear and socks. This was not a shock to either one of us as this is his standard aftershow ensemble and we saw it every night on the road with MH, sometimes accompanied by a towel around his head turban style. Lemmy's a clean man and he likes to take a shower directly after playing and before socializing, he's got good legs and damn it, he likes to show 'em off.
We toasted with some Jack Daniels (of course), Donna gave Lemmy some presents, he gave us tees, and we shot the shit a little. It was really lovely to connect with him in such an intimate setting, and I'm more than grateful for his generosity. He always takes care of his friends. Then Lemmy put his jeans on and Vas (he hadn't known she was outside) and the rest of the crew came in, except for poor Cid who had had her $3000 chain necklace confiscated at the door because it looked "dangerous", and was busy trying to retrieve it.
I got totally silly on Jack and Coke, just like I did the last time I was at a Motorhead show. It always seems like a good idea when it's being offered to you by Lemmy Kilmeister, and then 15 minutes later I'm bouncing off the walls from all the sugar and caffeine. I get very chipper and can't feel that I'm drunk. I don't know how he does it.
There was a pretty funny moment when the dressing room door flew open and Steve Poss waved his arms and yelled, "Raff! HELP! RAAAAAAFFFF!!!" as security dragged him away. Poor Poss, knowing him I wasn't going to get involved in that one.
Lemmy was obviously pretty tired from the show, though. He's not the youngest of men, although he does still deal pretty well. People were talking about afterparties and I leaned in and asked him quietly, "You don't really want to go out, do you?" And he said "No. I'm well shagged from the show. I just want to go back to the hotel." Fair enough, rock star. You've done enough for us tonight.
Vas and I said our goodbyes and Lemmy said, "I love you, you know. You're family."
And that made my year. Thanks again, Lem. I love you forever.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Motorhead is a Roseland tomorrow so you know I'm psyched. Especially since almost everyone I know and like is going. And I definitely need a reality fix after that last dumb night that I blogged about. Bleah. No bottle service and hipster douchebags at Motorhead, thank you very much. I'm pretty sure the masturbater doesn't even know who they are. It's just a nice peaceful dose of high decibel rock and roll. I may even drink a little tequila to celebrate.
In other show news, ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION will be over from England next week to play some shows in the states. The NY show is at DON HILL'S, so I'll be bulletin-ing it all week to get the word out.
Zodiac and the boys were extremely influential to the Sluts and many of our friends back in the day; we stole their idea for silly names and fell in love with the whole tongue-in-cheek biker theme that they perfected. When they played New York for the first time (at L'amour in Brooklyn) the four girls got up on male friends shoulders (thanks MAN RAY!) in a row in front of the stage and lifted up our shirts and flashed them. Suffice to say that forged a strong bond between the bands that remains to this day.
I was briefly engaged to drummer Slam Thunderhide, mostly as a means of tormenting an ex-boyfriend. I met him at the LISMAR LOUNGE the night they played the Cat Club, which was a couple of days after the L'amour show. It went like this:
Slam (speaking very seriously): Do you have a boyfriend?
Me (leaning against the wall, feigning disinterest): Yeah, I got a couple. You interested in joining the team?
The record deal had gone to our heads a bit. I actually was seeing two guys at the time, one was a music producer and the other one was a really cute almost-virgin with hair down to the middle of his back. In any case, I brought Slam home that night and he asked me to marry him a few hours later, completely disregarding the fact that he already had a wife he was not yet divorced from. This is not a testament to any skill on my part, I think we were just drunk and a Cycle Slut/Love Reaction engagement seemed more than appropriate after the L'amour flashing.
The producer told me that upon hearing of my engagement he and the almost-virgin had a drunk night together, bonding over their mutual (and mild) disappointment. But I was busy doing things like waiting with a towel for my rockin' fiancé at the side of the stage when they opened for GnR and flying over to London to hang out with him in VIP rooms. I attended Zodiac's wedding to some random gorgeous model who was very famous at the time and I wore the special Zodiac snake symbol around my neck. Everyone was quite jealous of my jet set rock and roll life and we looked great together in photos.
But of course I made a big mess of everything a few months later by trying to juggle Slam and afore-mentioned on again/off again ex-boyfriend, culminating in a very dramatic evening at the Limelight in which I thought I could be slick and just run back and forth between the two all night. It didn't work so well and they both hated me after that. The ex assaulted me with really bad poetry and Slam got his vengeance when we played Hammerstein Ballroom in London a year later. The few people that were there loathed us, it was a depressing show, and he walked in with a new fiancé on his arm (guess he was really into getting married). I didn't mind too much; he deserved the right to rub it in my face a little.
Anyway, Slam no longer plays in the band, but we still love them. We love them so much that when they contacted me about coming to New York I tried to put together a bill with CSFH and Zodiac for the same date at a larger venue. Unfortunately Highline wanted us to play too early in the night for the type of crowd it would attract, and the ass who books over at Bowery Ballroom would not return my emails or calls. Please feel free to tell the guy (Johnny Beach – I'm so insulted that I'll gladly tell everyone his name) that he's a moron. I have a friend/CSFH fan who works security there who now texts me every time they have a shitty Saturday night, he's still bitching that it's not going to happen. It could have been a fun night and we would have made them a decent sum of money in alcohol sales alone. But the upside is that I get to have a good time instead of stressing out about rehearsals, remembering lyrics and not eating carbs for two weeks. Dude, I am more than happy to be in the audience at this stage of life.
So please, come out next Saturday the 27th for a superrock night. Ronnie Sweetheart's band THE STRIP CLUB DEVILS are opening, so that's more old school New York for you. There may even be some old lady boob-flashing and I'll introduce you to Cobalt Stargazer.
Here's a video for ZM's song Prime Mover, a song that was on constant rotation on the Lismar tape player. Yes, tape player. There was a tiny dinosaur inside it that ran on a wheel. We made mixed tapes and played them over and over again until they shredded. By the way--Man Ray, I think we need to put together a Lismar playlist for our ipods. I'm already picking out Slab and Cult songs in my head.
OH--and on that note, my friend ROB SCHWAGER is looking to find music from that time period that is no longer available through regular channels. Anyone who has any ideas, pass 'em on. I have very small amount which I still need to email to him, so come to think of it, email the shit to me too.
The video is terribly grainy but what do you want from the 80's. There is a fair amount of other ZM videos on youtube if you're curious.
Also, one more show coming up, Drew's band BLOODY SOCIAL is playing Gimme Shelter, a benefit for Rock and Rescue, along with JESSE, Debbie Harry, and Miss Guy, a bunch of others I don't know and Gina Gershon and Adrock from the Beastie Boys hosting, Moby spinning. Should be a fun night and it's for the animals. This image says its at Hiro but I'm pretty sure it's at Highline now. I'm just too lazy to look around for more images.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
ME: You sound happy. What's going on?
DREW: I just got hit on by two grade C hipster model types on the street.
ME: In front of the apartment?
ME: What happened?
DREW: They came running up and one said they saw me walking up and down the street and wanted to know if I wanted to hang out.
ME: Hang out? Those bitches! Right in broad daylight, in front of my house when I'm sick with a cold?
DREW (all pleased with himself): I know! You're mad, aren't you?
ME: Totally mad!
DREW (giggling): And it's not my fault!
ME: Is nowhere sacred, goddamnit? So they both wanted to hang out?
DREW: I think one was just the wing man.
ME: Wing man?? I will kill you, Andrew. So what did you say?
DREW: It's not my fault! I did exactly as instructed and told them I had a girlfriend.
ME: And what did they do?
DREW: They kind of got jumpy and ran away.
ME: They'd better fucking run away. But I'm still mad. I WILL KILL EVERYONE! Do you hear me? I will come downstairs and WREAK UNHOLY VENGEANCE.
DREW: Well, first you'd to have to comb your hair and put some clothes on.
ME: Crap! That's too much work. And Law and Order is on...Hey, do you think you could get some chocolate pudding while you're out?
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Fashion week is upon us. And Pat, along with her long-time design partner David Dalrymple, has designed a line for the Home Shopping Network called Destination Style New York. Last night was the fashion show and it was highly entertaining and theatrical, featuring a mafia funeral tableau and some really cute dresses. You can see some of it here: DESTINATION STYLE
I am not a big one for fashion shows and I never actually go to any of them, even though I could use my job to get into some. I like the clothes but the struggle to get a seat and the hierarchies therein are really uninteresting to me. If I'm going to vie for status placement I'm going to do it at a Motorhead show, I get enough of the gay power struggle every day right at my desk. But I do like to go to Pat's shows because they're never traditional fashion shows, and I'm most definitely going to THE BLONDS show this year. They are so much fun and I missed them last year, when they garnered rave reviews for their over-the-top glamour.
Pat is styling Ugly Betty now, so a few of the actresses from the show showed up--some people I didn't know bc I always forget to watch the show, Judith Light (She's the Boss, He's the Boss? What the hell was that sitcom? I'm too hungover to google it) and the fabulous Vanessa Williams. Vanessa is so gorgeous and has a really nice energy about her. My only issue is that she wore a goofy equestrian ensemble, which I believe may have even featured an ascot.
Pat's personal assistant Ingrid and I stood on the balcony and watched photographers rush and swarm around anyone even remotely famous. Paparazzi events are so bizarre to me, but it's fun to watch from a balcony view. Ingrid actually liked Vanessa's outfit but I said that's because she's preppy and doesn't really know what she's talking about. She said just because I'm in the Encyclopedia of Metal doesn't mean I have to always be a bitch. And then we went back to the bar for more free booze.
So it wouldn't be a Patricia Field event if the downtown maniacs weren't there, and we watched LADY BUNNY and SULTANA sit on each other in a struggle for the chair next to Pat. Sultana is fascinating to me, she is a rotund little Egyptian man with a gorgeous accent who works in an elegant black suit at Tiffanys all day, and then squeezes into gowns and wigs at night.
And of course Bunny is the funniest person alive and shoved her way in front of the cameras and then launched an impromptu lipsynch when an Yma Sumac song came on. She waved her arms and emoted and crawled back and forth on the runway on her hands and knees while we screamed and clapped for more. Even after all these years I can't get enough of Bunny--her antics, her rotten jokes, her blogs, her presence--she is a true star.
But the most delighful moment for me was when Pat went to speak to her styling partner Molly Rogers, who was seated across the runway rather than next to Patricia. Pat sort of flopped onto the runway and showed us all a little panty while spilling her cocktail all over the place. I clapped in delight as she laid there unbothered and still yelling to Molly while people scrambled to wipe things up so that no waifs slipped and died on Pat's vodka. It's these kinds of moments in life that I cherish.
Afterwards we drank more free liquor and I did an interview for HSN pretending to be a viewer and not a PF staff member. Then we collected one of the models who was dancing on the runway by herself as the Edison Ballroom staff swept up and piled chairs in the corners.
She was like a floppy little doll, wearing a t-shirt minidress and actually much prettier in person than in this photo. We just loaded her into the car with us like so much flotsam and headed to Mr. Black, which is where all the gays go on Saturday night. It was hideous, of course, with pumping techno music and more vogueing than any rock chick should ever be forced to endure. Blargh. But it was a PF fashion night after all and they gave us a good table and we watched a skinny black dancer in drag tear up the room with a wild dance, actually hanging from the ceiling at one point. It was really fun to see and MISS TOBELL VON CARTIER introduced us and said he works on Broadway, but I can't remember his name.
Our little model, named Ilona (Elona?), was most definitely not 21 but got into the club immediately, further confirming my belief that if you are young and gorgeous you move through New York swimmingly, just like a shiny little fish. But there are many sharks lurking, and the bouncer told Ingrid he knew the girl was more drunk than the rest of us and that Ingrid was responsible for making sure she didn't get any drunker. Ingrid panicked and said to me, "Dude, I don't even know her!" We like to call each other dude. So I took over, as I always do with these little girls, and pulled Ilona aside and said, "We just got chewed out by the bouncer so you can't get any drunker." And she waved her lithe little bird arms and danced around me on impossibly long legs and said, "I don't drink!" We watched her dance and dance, the absolute embodiment of youthful freedom and perfection, and speculated as to whether she was on drugs or just naturally a little floppy.
ANDRE J introduced me to a friend from Austria named Deiter or Neiner or something equally Sprockets. He had ironic facial hair and was wearing all white--white pants, white shirt, white shoes. And he kept his hand casually draped over Andre's thigh. Andre said, "Dark Lady, he's so cute! But he's straight." I said, "Andre, straight boys don't usually wear all white and drape their hands over other men's legs." And he said, "Really?? You are so wise in the ways of straight boys, Dark Lady..."
Sultana turned to me and said of Ilona, "Dahling, that gerl is stunning. STUNNING." And then asked me if I was a transsexual. Le SIGH...
But I was feeling no pain and said, "Of course, Dahling." And ordered another cocktail with my drink ticket and then got down and crawled around on the floor like Bunny, looking for drunk Ingrid's lost phone so we could stumble the hell out of there. Ah, the glamorous life...
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Hmm...or maybe I'm just overtired because Drew came home drunk from work at 5:30 am and kept me awake all morning, happily snoring and hogging the bed. Occasionally I think I'm being deep when it's actually just crabbiness.
Friday, August 29, 2008
MOTO sits next to me in the office and because she's all tiny and Japanese and perfect looking I call her horrible names: Chippie, Pudding-Chan, Skinny Little Slut, etc. I also threaten to beat her up pretty regularly but she's feisty and has been completely psyched ever since I taught her how to give an indian burn. She tries it on everyone. Moto's desk is a wreck and completely covered in Hello Kitty items--Hello Kitty screensaver (which once brought with it a raging virus), Hello Kitty mouse, mouse pad, ruler, calculator, clock, etc. It's a plastic pink nightmare in which she sits peacefully in her size 0 jeans, slowly munching sweets and snipping with pink Hello Kitty scissors at imaginary split ends in her superlong Japanese hair.
ROCKET was in for a couple of days fixing various computer bugs and she even managed to get a Hello Kitty temporary tattoo on his arm. Unfortunately I forgot to take a picture of it, but he did show it off at the bar that night and found these for her later on:
Moto has this hanging over her desk (along with photos of Kim Kardashian and Ice T's camel-toe queen Coco, with whom she's bizarrely obsessed with, but we'll save that topic for another blog). This brings me great joy every time I look at it:
Moto and I spend many hours "shopping" for ridiculously high ticket items we want in Vogue and Bazaar and Elle and W Magazine. We clip the photos out and tape them to the wall and the other girls give us commentary on the merits of the items we've chosen and point out the items that they too would like to own. We can get away with this because we work in fashion and it kind of looks like we're researching, you know, if you squint. So we found this photo (of which there are many like it) in Elle:
Me: Oooh, my skin is grey but my eyeshadow is tres cunty!
Moto: My bag is sooooo heavy.
Me: It's dark. So dark in the land of beauty.
Moto: I will die soon but my heavy bag is fierce.
You get the picture. Btw, how completely fucked is that photo? This is what the fashion fags and the socialite boys want us to look like, ladies. Beware, beware of this pop culture version of beauty. It hates us.
So I am regularly frustrated by the lack of consciousness in the industry. But today I am so psyched about where I work, and this is the reason. Pat designed this t-shirt to show her support, and then the staff put together their own trampy version of Michelle Obama to feature it:
And it gets better. JULIE, our webmaster, sent out an email featuring the sale of this t-shirt to the entire customer list! Meaning that all of the conservative Sex and the City housewives in the middle of the country who have no idea that Ms. Patricia Field is a crazy New York lesbian with flaming red hair and a most decidedly liberal point of view are now either considering Pat's opinion or angrily typing hate mail.
Either way, I am completely psyched because a stand has been taken. It is so rare that I feel like we're doing anything with a consciousness in the store. And the fact that Julie had the balls to actually hit "send" just pleases me to no end. She doesn't have a tattoo on her and I doubt she's ever seen or even heard Motorhead, but she is totally badass.
I have never been a particularly political person. Frankly, politics usually bore the hell out of me. I'm much more interested in sitting around and cutting out photos of overpriced accessories from bullshit fashion magazines. But lately I feel my heart pumping with hope when I hear Obama or Hillary talking about the fact that we could actually have positive change. How lovely to hear people who don't appear to be lying to me, who can pronounce "nuclear", who seem to actually care about the middle class and the planet. In this time of crisis I can't NOT have an opinion to express. To remain quiet is to accept the evil, and that is just not possible now. Even if we go down with the corporate ship, I'd like to do it with my big fat mouth open (as usual). And I'm so pleased that I work in an environment where my famous boss is not afraid to lose favor with some of her fans by expressing an opinion, and my co-worker is given the freedom to state the case openly.
And lastly, and on that note, my ex and very good friend JESSE MALIN wrote a blog that speaks quite eloquently, so I'm going to paste a bit of it here:
"I just got back from a family trip/writing retreat in southern Florida. My Grandfather, Arthur, is about to turn 90. He has always been kind of the Iggy Pop of the family, working out every day, swimming, dancing and bugging the ladies at the library for new books. He had recently fallen ill and it was pretty devastating but somehow with the magic of the force, the schwartz, pma (he might have invented this), or just the early bird special at China Lane, he emerged from the hospital and returned home while I was down visiting.
Sitting on the terrace in a worn down apartment complex, we spoke about embracing as many minutes as possible in this wild life. Obama came on the TV. Papa was happy and impressed. He spoke of the Candidate's eloquence and spirit and comparisons to JFK and other moments of major change and hope that he had witnessed in his lifetime. Another family member, on the other hand, is afraid that he is a Muslim, anti-semite and too green for the gig (I thought he was black?) Some of this information was passed on from Hollywood actor John Voight in a soundbite to the scared and gullible. Being down in Florida made me feel more sensitive about the needed votes or sometimes it all feels ridiculous and futile like when Gore won the presidency and they fixed it like a corrupt prize fight in a pseudo democracy where Bush would win again.
None-the-less, I feel it is always a lesser of evils game. I don't believe we are truly hopeless. Having Barach Obama's message and image penetrating through the media is a very exciting feeling, whether he wins or not (and I hope he kicks McCain's ass). I've never had so much disgust and embarrassment over a political governmental administration as endured these past 8 years. Watching Bill Clinton introduce the Rolling Stones in "Shine The Light" on my hotel pay per view screen, brought me questioning in a dreamlike reality "did this cool charismatic INTELLIGENT man, who actually likes rock'n roll, really exist as the President of my country, the United States of America? It seems very foggy and surreal. The present reality here is the good ole' U.S. is the worst economy, a soaring unemployment rate, sick gas prices, raping the Earth, lying, Big Brother surveillance, thousands of kids dying in a war that continues on and on, etc. etc. etc. A Rasta man once called it "politrics." Someone else said don't mix music and politics (Billy Bragg made a career of it but he also writes a pretty amazing love song). I do urge my American fans and friends to PLEASE vote this year in this historic election."
Amen, amen. Just make sure that if you're one of those Bottega Veneta models you put a couple of nuts or carrot sticks in your $3965 bag before heading to the polls. We wouldn't want you to faint and accidentally land on the McCain lever.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
WAKE, who also looked pretty damn foxy in HIS new jeans, brought the most amazing chocolate cherry bread, straight out of the oven. Bread AND chocolate in one package? Are you kidding me? It was so good that we gorged on it at Niagara and then sat on my couch in our pajamas the next day tearing and eating it with our hands. So much for no carbs.
I had a conversation that night with the lovely Zoe Manitoba, who has a book deal and is currently in the process of writing a memoir, and she gave me some very interesting pointers as far as finding a book agent, and we're going to have dinner to discuss it as she has very generously offered to help me out in any way she can. This is on the heels of a lunch with STORM in which we promised each other we would get our proposals done by my birthday in October, so of course now I'm completely terrified that I actually have to get something done and am looking for new and larger ways to procrastinate. HELP!! Storm was on the East Coast helping a friend with her dying mother, and of course is already working on and booked for a one woman show which will debut in March of 2009 and is already blowing away the theatre crew she's working with. Sigh... I am surrounded by gorgeous overachievers who are killing my computer gaming, Mean Girls dvd on repeat buzz...
Then on Saturday night Kim did a small trunk sale at THE DRESSING ROOM, which is a very cute designer co-op on Orchard Street. The girl that owns it is super cool and had the genius to cut the store right down the middle, making one half a retail area and the other half a very cosy, sexy little bar. GENIUS. You can get drunk and shop in one locale. Which I promptly did, spending way too much money on this necklace:
Which looks far, FAR better in person than it does here. It's actually very elegant and tough looking, in this photo it just looks goofy and cheap, but I like to give visuals. I was so chipper that I tried to buy Kim the gold version but she's so rough on her jewelry that we ended up passing on it. My mastercard thanks her for her restraint.
And to my absolute delight my beloved friend DENNIS BOROWSKY was bartending at this little bar, so while Kim socialized and tried on designer goods I sat swilling wine and engaged in ANOTHER discussion about writing. It turns out that Dennis has fallen into writing for surf magazines that he likes and had all kinds of interesting info for me from that direction. The Universe is just not letting me go on this one, I think if I don't get it together the next step will be how-to books dropping from the sky and landing on my head. All right, already!
One thing that Dennis suggested is to do a blogspot blog for people who aren't on myspace, he tells me that it will connect me with another set of writers and readers, and act as something to show potential agents. So I've set up that nonsense and I'm just going to copy and paste whatever I write here over there. The link is MISS ANTHROPE'S HOUSE OF HIGH DRAMA, I will try to link to any blogspots that you have, just let me know. I'm still figuring out how to navigate it.
And lastly, an ex-bandmate DANYEAL has set up a page for my first band, back in the olden days of the early 80's. It's SCARECROW. You may recognize the blonde bass player, yes, that is my ex-husband, the inimitable and completely mental CURT FLECK. Please take it with a grain of salt, I had no clue about what I was doing and make no claims other than we looked pretty good in photos. I'm going to dig some out and scan them for him over the next week.
So this is pretty wonderful, I just managed to procrastinate for another afternoon putting all these links into this blog. Woo hoo!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Drew: How's work going?
Me: It's fine. What's going on, honey?
Drew: Been looking for the TV remote for a half an hour. Any ideas on that?
Me: Did you check in the couch?
Me: How about my jean drawer. You know I forget it there sometimes.
Drew: Not there.
Me: How about the secondary jean drawer? The one in the armoire?
Drew: Checking it now...ah...nope.
Me: That is weird.
Drew: Can you look in your purse please?
Me: You think? Okay hang on....checking...Um...Yes, actually. I DID put the TV remote in my purse. It's here. Oops!
Drew: Goddamnit, Mary, will you please eat some fucking carbs already? You're killing me.
Me: Have I mentioned today how handsome you are?
Drew: I'm hanging up now.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Anyway, blah, blah, on the boring details. Just want to give you an idea of how incredibly tedious this diet is. Each meal or snack fills you up for a half an hour and then you're on your own. But I've done it before and it works and kick starts you into a healthier eating pattern, plus it's designed to clean out your liver a bit.
I'm only on day four, which technically is day three because I had two glasses of wine on the first day (not allowed), but I'm already crying about it to anyone who will listen. I'm fucking starving. And I come from a family in which carbs play an important role. My sister said recently, "I have very disturbing news. My son appears to feel indifferent towards pasta." And my eyes widened in horror. There must have been a switch in the hospital!
So I'm pissing and moaning and complaining and crying and I'm weak and cranky and feeling way more sorry for myself than the whole thing warrants. You'd think it was a full on fast the way I'm carrying on. I'm also bitching about not losing any weight, to which Alison pointed out "You've only been on the diet for two days, Mary!" Oh, yeah. That's right. It only FEELS like a month.
So I'm walking home from a day at work in which I discovered all of the deposits entered into my paperwork while I was gone are completely wrong, and in protest of the gays and the suffering they regularly put me through (and you know, because of my weakened state) I spent the last hour and a half being completely unproductive and poring over dlisted.com (yay, Michael K!). I think I came in well over a half an hour late this morning too.
Anyway, I'm bitterly dragging along with my eco-friendly reusable grocery bag full of things like kale and radishes and yet another $10 bottle of unsweetened cranberry juice, and I run into my friend Stephen Sebring. Stephen is a fairly famous photographer who I met years ago because he was friendly with an alcoholic idiot that I dated for a brief and annoying time. Stephen and I are not close, but he and his girlfriend live across the street from me and they're both totally cool and they have the most perfect pomeranian that ever lived. So we usually stop on the street to catch up on what's going on and always their lives are infinitely more productive than mine.
Today I asked Stephen how he was doing and it went something like this. My thoughts are in parenthesis:
Stephen: Well, the baby's two months old now and he's doing great.
Me: Oh my God, has it been that long since I've seen you? It seems like Shoshanna was just pregnant! (I am so fucking hungry.)
Stephen: Yep. And you know, my other baby's been born too, my movie.
Me: You made a movie? (I want pasta.)
Stephen: I've been following Patti Smith around and filming her for 12 years, and then it took me a year to edit. The movie just came out. It was at the MOMA last week.
Me: Are you kidding me? That's amazing! (Clam spaghetti.)
Stephen: It won an award at Sundance, I'm so excited.
Me: That's so great Stephen, really. I'm so happy for you. I'd love to see it. (That place across the street has a really good Fra Diavlo.)
Stephen: It's at the Film Forum, I'm trying to get all my friends to go see it. I think tomorrow night is sold out though.
Me: I will make a point of it, that's absolutely amazing. I'm so impressed. (Omg, focus! What have I done with my life? Nothing! Please don't ask me what I've been doing.)
Stephen: So what have you been doing lately?
Me: Erm...well, I've started a fat flush...
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Later on Cal's true serious nature became more apparent, and he went on to do some interesting work at Pseudo and even CNN, and I know he was very into Burning Man as of late. But I'll always remember him as that funny, adorable kid who looked a bit like Billy.
On a sidenote, and for those of you who lean the same way I do spiritually, my mother has told me to expect more friends to pass as the earth moves towards the shift that's occurring right now. Some people don't feel they're ready to participate here for the shift or have other work to do on the other side. Either way it's just part of the massive change that is going on around us right now. For those of you who don't believe this, it's fine, I'm not trying to sell you. I"m just putting it out there because it certainly seems true in my social scene, and it is confusing, especially when someone as young, healthy and loved as Cal just drops out unexpectedly.
Cal as I met him in 1984, with a girl named Frankie. I love this photo because it captures how we all looked and felt back then. We were all just babies and lived in our own private world...
And Cal recently, with the same sweet smile...
For those of you who haven't heard yet, our friend Cal was found dead in his apt a few days ago.
Its very sad because he was in there for a while before the police and his landlord went in. I have one friend that had been calling him with no answer and thought something might be up, but she's in LA and didn't know who to call to check on it. I understand from digging around online that there is an autopsy and investigation going on to find out what happened. There are reports that he was feeling down, another friend who ran into him recently believes it could have been suicide, but this is all speculation at this point and could be completely false. I just heard from another friend who saw him two weeks ago and says he was smiling. I don't want to put untruths out there, I'm just trying to give the information I have at the moment, since there doesn't seem to be much available.
From what I understand Cal had a rough childhood, I know when I met him he was a runaway. He was very private about his family life, and now people are trying to find contact info for them. If you have any information email MAN RAY, he's got an email from Cal's old roommate who is looking around. And if anyone knows or is putting together a memorial, please let me know. I'd love to pay my respects.
See you on the other side, buddy. xoxo
[UPDATE 8.3.08 6:33 PM: Just talked to Mauricio fom Mao and he tells me that there was no note and the current early opinion is that it was some sort of natural occurrence possibly brought on by past drug abuse (which I've experienced with other friends) rather than self-inflicted. His friends are still trying to locate contact info for his family and if they are unable to locate them are going to set up a memorial fund. Will keep you posted as info comes in.]
[UPDATE 8.5.08: There's a great piece on Cal here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/