Still recovering from the weekend. On Friday night, I went out with the Soft Butch crew. Cassandra has a new job at a bar so we went to visit her. We bounced around the East Village trying to get people to dance in bars but they were shy. Cassandra found Shoshoni, Jennifer and I smoking in a bathroom. Disco nights.
Met up with Pico and Steven V. at Ruff Club, where we had our picture taken.
Saturday, Cuddles and I went out in the East Village. I felt like an explorer. The next day, walking to the train through Tompkins Square Park in my Sunday morning finery (smeared leftover Saturday night club outfit), I felt really conspicuous. For some reason, buying eggplants at the farmer's market seemed to fix this. Rather than 'hustler' I looked like I had a purpose. Hustler goes to market. There are layers to these kinds of drag. My Soft Butch nickname is Mapplethorpe. Think on that. Feeling particularly inspired, but not yet active. Haven't committed these phrases to songs, yet. Working on a new rock-opera / performance piece. It's going to be called Ferocious, and it's about my imaginary ex-boyfriend Scott Panther. Rather, Scott The Panther. You'll see.
Monday morning found this anonymous description of me on the Internet:
"I'd hit him from the back. I mean, I'd have to double-bag it, but whatevs.
Even if his music's boring, he still looks like he's got an ass I should tap
before it collapses. Probably screams like a white lady in bed though."
My buddy Steven V. notes that this means my ass is like:
a) sub prime mortgages
b) a mine in Utah
c) a bridge in Minnesota
Confessions of a Namer