It was gorgeous. Surreal and familiar.
I had a good trip. At once both relaxing and not relaxing. I always think that when I go home to California that it will be like a vacation, but it's not. Not really. I guess when I would go home during breaks in college I would stay for usually a month, at least. That was more of a vacation. I was there for a week, but you have to figure a day on either end for traveling, so, five days.
Every time I go to CA I have this awful thing of trying to figure out who it's realistic for me to visit with, and I have to make pretty elaborate plans, because I don't have much time, or free time, to hang out while I'm here. I kind of try to stagger who I get to see and when and it always sucks because inevitably I end up feeling like I can't be as good of a friend to everyone all the time forever simultaneously, as well as spend time with my family (who flew me out there). It's hard. It's a struggle. I feel bad. Anyway I did get to see some of my friends this trip. Including the lovely and talented Danielle Conover aka Arizona aka Betsy Heavens aka Princess Christmas. Who I haven't seen in a long time.
Remember how she made this COOKIE PILL video I was so obsessed with?
We went to El Farolito and got really good Mission burritos and horchata and it made me very happy. I haven't had good Mission burritos in so long! She’s getting ready to go to Thailand with her partner Dan in their fantastic clown therapy program CLOWN ZERO. We used to be in a band together called BANG! BANG! INDIANS!, a kind of High Gothic Country Band. I remember that everyone in the band had nicknames, and she was Betsy Heavens, the lead singer. I don't remember what my nickname was! I think probably Billy. We had a lovely viola player named Candy Corn, and we added a keyboardist named the Duchess at one point, who was maybe my favorite person ever (she played keyboards and screamed throughout our set, it was really cool). I miss Danielle! It was so good to catch up. The holidays are weird.
I hung out a little bit with my original homegirl Cotton, who's begun singing in a new band called Alabaster Choad. They're really good. They're kind of like a noise-band, but really 70s, prog-rock-y, melodic and smart. It's hard to describe, in a way that things that are new are hard to describe. Here's a video of Alabaster Choad performing "Suck A Cop's Cock" and "Crushed By Crap":
I went to their band practice on Tuesday night. They’re playing a show on New Year’s Eve, and I really wish I could go. Seeing them practice was great, though. I’ve known Cotton for eleven years, and always admired her work. She’s definitely been a hugely inspiring force in my life and has turned me on to so many things I’ve later come to love: the Upsetters (Blackboard Jungle might be my favorite record of all time?), Sun Ra, etc. She’s really into classic Soul and R&B, though, lately, and has the best record collection, so I always love listening to records when I go to her house.
After the band practice we hoofed over to Aunt Charlie's for the High Fantasy party. Such cute boys! Such great drag performances! I feel like drag kind of sucks sometimes, and so I avoid going out to see it. Nothing against RuPaul or her Drag Race at all, but, I think that sometimes really high-gloss drag reminds me why I became interested in punk subculture. i feel like the handful of times in the last couple years when I've seen sort of under-the-radar or otherwise somehow fishier drag in San Francisco, it's been really inspiring. Myles Cooper and Alex Penney have a really good party, and the vibe is cute.
And crowded! So many boys! And girls! And betweenness and beyonders! A highlight of the night was seeing a motley crue of fagots dancing increasingly crazier in the middle of the dance floor, regardless of the song/genre, throwing their hands up in what I do hope was chemical ecstasy. There was, like, a fashion-y one in billowing fake work shirts, a punk boy, a sort of goth burning mannish kid with headwraps and long tie dyed caftans. Boys with big chain necklaces and huge silver hoops (through one ear). Bejewelled baseball caps and fingernails to match. It made me happy to see everyone joyous.
And last call is at 2:00am! Which seems, you know, so provincial. Cotton and I cut up with the girls afterward for a while and had a great time.
This flight was long, I made my second connection but only barely. I'm exhausted. I feel excited to be back in New York.
Thinking a lot about what my end of the year looks like. For next time.
I still need to exactly figure out what I'm gonna do tomorrow night!
I feel like I might be getting a cold but I still want to go out and party and I am going to!
Reading this Gertrude Stein book about war, called Wars I Have Seen. It's about growing up during war(s). It’s so weird to think that many young people in America think of ourselves as not, really, having grown up during wartime. Because it wasn’t a war over here. It sort of was, though. Maybe growing up not during a wartime is the same as growing up during wartime, because there's always war somewhere. That's not really true.
Makes me think about this song, "War" by Charming Hostess. I've always loved this song, and I don't necessarily dig a capella music as such.
Do you know this band? They're really rad.
I've been having really deep conversations with my friends lately, you guys. It's weird, maybe it's not new. Maybe I’m just paying attention more than usual. I remember a couple of weeks ago feeling really distinctly that I could not connect with other people. Maybe I just need to pay more attention (I think that’s probably part of how to connect with other people). I don’t know, it feels good to listen.
An image from Robert Bittenbender’s MFA thesis show at Cooper Union, which I went to last week. Really beautiful images. This is maybe my favorite. It makes me think about haircuts.
Sometimes when I type the word ‘haircut,’ I accidentally type ‘haircute.’
Colin’s darling charming room-mate Ruth made him a cake in the shape of his favorite food, Chinese Chicken Salad. The cake really, really looked like Chinese Chicken Salad. Does that sound gross? It wasn’t! It was delicious. I ate it with my fingers. I don’t know if we were supposed to be doing that, but I saw Lauren D. do it and I figured if I did it right after she did, then nobody would yell at me/get me in trouble because then they’d be getting her in troubs too. So, you know. No one would ever do that.
Friday we went to an xmas party at Gio and Neil's house on the LES. So many familiar (and new) queer faces. They made this punch, and it had booze in it. No drugs or roofies or anything weird. Probably a lot of juice and gin. But so anyways I was drinking it, and then thinking "Why do I do this to myself? Drink the punch? Why not just make my own drink, like a grown-up, where I can decide how much and what kind I want to drink?" But I like to be part of the communal experience. The punch was great don't get me wrong. I'm just saying it was strong. Strong punch which I had two and a half glasses of. I wasn't even thirsty! I was just waiting for the bathroom and the bathroom line was by the punch bowl. When in Rome. Never been there.
I wish this photo weren’t so blurry, for a couple of reasons. One, this is a photo of Claire who momentarily stole Gio’s hat at the party and was running around doing an impression of him. Except it was kind of a weird impression because she has one of those accents (Australian) which makes everything sound totally insane to me. Insane and charming, but yes. The main reason I wish this photo weren’t so blurry is because it’s a photo of the decoration Gio and Neil put up for their Xmas party: they covered the walls with gold foil, then used black electrical tape to make an inverted cross. Merry Christmas! Hail Satan!
We talked a lot about aliens that night, but not enough! I could go on forever. Again, listening mostly, not talking. I don’t have to pretend to be an expert in everything. With regard to aliens, for example, I know I’ll never be the best. I’m content to listen. If you ever want to tell me your theories about alien life, I’m all ears. (Mostly).
Saturday, Perfect Little Daniel and I had B0DYH1GH band practice. We're going to perform at the next PUSSY FAGGOT on January 7th, as part of AMERICAN REALNESS. (Check out the flier! That's a blurry photo of me by Ves Pitts.) Anyway, B0DYH1GH hasn't played in a minute, and we're really fantastic, and only getting better. We're going to put out a mixtape featuring some demos of our gorgeous tunes (as well as some hits by our friends and favorites). Hopefully the mixtape will be ready by 1/7. We're sort of taking our time, because everything has to be perfect. But the nice thing about this band I'm in B0DYH1GH, as opposed to other projcts I've done or bands I've played with, is that everything we touch turns to gold, we're incapable of failure, and don't have to try. We're naturally perfect.
Anyway we had band practice in the afternoon, after a long break since our last practice, and I gotta say-- we've still got it! After running through our set-list (our old fans won't be disappointed!) we decided to write a new little ditty, which I'm really excited about. I think we sound really brit-pop. Like, I think our new song sounds like a britpop jam. If you sent me and PLD back in time to London in 1993, and you sent us with our weaves and dresses and firecrackers, this is the song we'd write. That's basically what we did. Anyway we finished band practice and then there was Sister Pico's Birthday Party! Full of fun and friends! My deer long lost best frend Bobo made a cameo!
Here's a photo of her in PLD's room! Three of my absolute favorite dark curly-haired vixens who inspire me and make me happy on the regular!
(L-R): Jiddy No-No, Bobo, and Lola
I feel like: if you want to know what I think is cool, what my whole trip is about, all you have to do is look at that photo. I exist for groovy women.
Ugh. Have so much fun when around those girls. Let alone all of our friends together forever. Such a fun night! A lot of really beautiful people and good snacks.
After the party I went to the city to see an Xmas Pageant, hosted by Little Miss Maxine Bernstein, in a fetching red little tuxedo. Murphy Maxwell sang a very extra special festive Christmas song. We'd all known that Murphy Brown Maxwell is a talented performer and film-maker, but did you know she can sing? She can, like, really, actually sing like a real singer like on the radio! So she sang this Christmas number, wearing her dressed-down leather child heavy metal Christian Death street look, while a video of baby cows, goats, sheep, etc. being born played behind her.
So understated and Christmas-y. Really getting into the Holiday spirit. Bradley & CoCo, NYC's newest best burning brightest (often featuring flames) burlesque duo did a very cute routine involving corsets. That was rad!
Gio performing at the Xmas pageant in a pink tutu. I kept making this joke of calling him Gio Black Swan Peter. Nobody thought it was funny. Or, nobody thought it was as funny as I thought it was. Definitely in my top 20 jokes of 2011. Right after Gio Black Hot Chili Peter. I’m a fucking comic genius, and nobody gets me. Story of my life. Ballad of a Ladyman.
Then on Sunday I had a Best Friends Day with my Best Friend, Bobo!
Here’s a picture of her sitting in my room, knitting this thread that (you can sort of only barely see it) looks just like her own hair. So adorable.
I’ve missed Bobo so much while she’s in Seattle in grad school. I was glad to have a day to wander around the city with her. We did so much fucking walking. We came home and watched Bamboozled and ordered sandwiches from Hana Food.
Last night I went to the annual Hanukkah party that my deer friend and ex-room mate Juhneefuh throws, at her palatial and gorgeous apartment in Clinton Hill. One of the many reasons I look forward to about this party is the fact that Juhneefuh lives with my fantasy boyfriend, the wonderful four (!!!) year-old kitty named Quinn, who was born in the apartment I still live in. I love Quinn very much, and can’t wait to see him. Here’s a photo of Quinn the last time I saw him, when I went to Juhneefuh’s house to get a massage.
"Hey! Get offa there! It’s my turn!"
Also the second biggest reason I was excited for the party (the second biggest non-human being reason) is because of a traditional food called latkes. Maybe you’ve heard of them? I grated the potatoes and ate two latkes. I liked having to work for them.
Tonight I'm going to another holiday party and tomorrow I'm going to California. I can't wait.
I know so many people with dark hair. It's great!
I'm not complaining.
In the old days, when I was a kid, within my lifetime, this would be an obscene question to ask. Is This Ad Relevant To You? How dare you! It would be appalling to discuss the producer-consumer relationship, to call attention to the imagination of the consumer. To wake up the zombie, the seduced, pull the baby pacifiers out of our mouths. Now, they keep us awake. Engaged. Ready.
"What is there inside in one that makes one know all about war. You ask questions now why in Russia do not the Germans surrender when they are surrounded. And there is no answer except that perhaps they are afraid to. Perhaps. What is there inside one that makes one know all about war. Death starts history and fears. And that begins very soon and dies out little by little or not at all or all."
- Gertrude Stein, Wars I Have Seen
A post-mortem on a couple of the points:
- Isn't that Robyn song "Dancing On My Own" a straight-woman-as-gay-male fantasy? Isn't that the concept? I'm not judging, honestly, I just want to clarify. Isn't that what's happening?
- Maybe I'm just too behind the times. I thought kids wanted to have authentic experiences. Maybe everybody wants to see a movie of someone watching TV though. Maybe we can't tell the difference between the real and the simulacra of culture and identity. Maybe there's not a difference? I wish I had paid more attention during my senior year of college. I studied this shit. Sort of.
- I have nothing against private parties. I've been to a few myself. The problem, I guess, is to act like the exclusivity and snobbery of the in-crowd is somehow incidental. Acting as if it isn't the entire point, which, make no mistake, it totally is. The problem comes from acting as if the people doing the excluding aren't in positions of power. I think it's awful to position yourself as a force for progressive, inclusive change, and to do this as a marketing gimmick. AGAIN: I think maybe I'm expecting too much of a glossy fashion magazine. (Vogue Italia, with its anti-Pope rants and monthly "Black" and "Curvy" sections, while tokenism duh, suddenly seems, like, super radical now, huh?) The only acceptable reason, to my mind, for privileged people to have an exclusive space is to discuss about how to dismantle that privilege. Which almost never happens. This is purely theoretical. I'm thinking a lot about articles about Private Privileged New York "Queer" culture, it keeps coming up. Power perpetuates itself by remaining invisible.
ANYWAY. Enough of that. I had a really great weekend.
Hey look here's a video of me reading a David Wojnarowicz piece at the symposium on AIDs and Literature at the New School last week:
Saturday I shot a scene in Lonely Christopher's new movie MOM, playing a nurse to a character played by:
MINK STOLE! I love her. It was so nice to get to see her again, since doing that play at La MaMa last month. I never, ever, ever in a million years thought that I would be in an indie movie (or whatever) and in one with her, or that we'd be paling around. I am absolutely stupefied, and although I only had one line (which I fucked up very badly) everyone was patient and we had a blast. It was a magickal day. Oof.
Yesterday I got a manicure and a haircut and a bagel. But not in that order.
Things are pretty alright. Alright? Alright.
Like, I get that I am in a bad mood, and that it's affecting my ability to concentrate. And I am trying to resist the seductive pull of the Bad Mood. Trying to just let it be a feeling, and not attach too much significance to it. Trying to just let it pass or whatever. One of the ways I am thinking about doing this is through self-soothing. By trying to be really nice to myself, even though I totally don't want to. I want to be mean. I'm angry. Such a fucked-up paradox; right when the impulse is to freak out and go away and pull back from other people, this is probably the moment when you could use some connection. I know, I know. Now is a good time to stay. I don't want to, though. I'm gonna. It just sucks. I feel shitty (again) and don't really know why. Not much to say. I don't want to talk about it.
Anyways. I had a really cool time on Tuesday night, doing this reading at the New School. So happy that For the Birds invited me to come. It was really great to read with Cynthia and Cindy. DORIS was really influential to me when I was in high school, not just in terms of starting a zine, but influential in how I write and think about writing. It was such a trip to see Cindy actually reading it. DORIS always seemed to private or individual. Like a one-person radio show. It was nice to be reminded of the things which i admire so much about that zine, about the language in it. After the reading I told her how much I enjoyed her reading and we traded zines.
The crowd was mostly younger crust-punk kids. I was so intimidated! I feel like I've gotten too comfortable reading for literary fags (or illiterate fags, for that matter). It was a nice challenge. I think the kids were afraid to laugh at first. Maybe the first section of my story just needs to be shorter. Anyway they seemed to get into it. During the parts of the story that are really graphic (and pretty funny) some of the boys in the back chuckled. I'm pretty sure they were straight but I appreciate the support. A fair number of people told me they liked it, afterward, and bought zines. I felt really vindicated and real.
I used to be a punk. That used to be my community. That's kind of where I got this whole chip on my shoulder about talking to people (artists, musicians, people you don't know) who's work you liked or didn't like or just wanted to talk about. I think coming of age in a punk culture context was really good for me. It encouraged me to take risks, in terms of making my voice heard. By making my voice heard I mean making art/zines/music, and also take risks making my voice heard in terms of going up to people to talk to them, to write fan letters, to try to connect. A lot of the really special and treasured moments in my life have come from me writing fan letters, sending e-mails to strangers, saying hi to people I didn't know before. Being brave. "Brave". It's not that I think I'm so special or have any special right to insert myself into the conversation. It's not that I think that anybody wants to hear my voice, that my voice "needs" to be heard. It's more the feeling that nobody's voice, really, is so special or unique. That we don't have to be so precious about it. That grabbing the mic or whatever, asking your favorite band what their song is about, writing a poem and reading it to a room full of strangers, these are manageable. Maybe not as magickal and rare as you think when you're an audience member. Maybe just as magickal but also quotidian.
I often feel really at a loss, these days. Not to be dramatic, you guys. But like you know how some people just know what they want to do with their lives, and then their life is spent overcoming the obstacles, or refining their practice, all in service of some great need? Do people even really DO that? Anyways, I don't know. I'm not so hung-up on one particular trip. I feel like this is either (both) a sign of emotional maturity (I can make do, I guess, if I had to) or total laziness and self-hatred (I don't really want to make any big choices). Anyway Mercury's Retrograde I'm not jumping into anything.
My point is, I find as I get older that my expectations are less and less important to me. Not important... less interesting. I'm less fascinated by my capacities. It's not as enthralling as it used to be. At one point, in this here blog, I wrote that I make art about feelings and the capacity we have to feel a feeling. How stupid! I think, really, I make art about grappling with expectations.
Been thinking so much about cognitive dissonance. How can something be both good and bad? How can people be good and also evil? Maybe this is basic and everyone else gets it, but I really struggle with this and always have. This, I think, is what the "art" I make is actually about. I write a zine called Scorcher which is about sex and sexual desire as a setting. I write about how something really specific ("sex") can be exploded, over and over, into a general space. A lot of times in college I made these little one-man musicals which were about performing really intimate emotional rituals. How can something be personally significant and also be significant, or legible, to a crowd of strangers at a punk show? My big piece Lover, Ferocious is also about this, kinda. It's about how you can love someone and know they love you, and also recognize that they couldn't love you, could kill you, etc.
(SIDENOTE: the guy I based "Lover, Ferocious" off of dumped me a long time ago, but right after he dumped me, he started going out with the receptionist at the temp agency I worked for, and I dreaded having to speak to this receptionist so much that it kind of motivated me to get a real job).
The piece I made this past summer, Teach Frankenstein to Dance is also about cognitive dissonance. How something can be great and awful at the same time. It's an awful performance piece, but I also think it was kind of great.
Is it any wonder that the words "awful" and "also" sound so similar? Especially when your mouth is full?
I'm just thinking a lot about myself these days, I guess. I can never decide if my fundamental problem is that I'm too self-absorbed or if it's something else. I keep coming back to these experiences of like, meeting people in New York, bigshot famous people who ostensibly are interested in the same things I am, and I'd want to, like, talk about these things, and they have another agenda.
My friend X was telling me about how this trendy new artist, this young genius who doesn't make a lot of money, but comes from money and makes art, so it seems like he's really successful, hit on him through the internet. The Artist wrote my buddy X to tell him he'd be in town soon and couldn't wait to take him out. My buddy X seemed to think that this augured well for his own artistic career. I felt like this is actually the Artist trying to bank on his so-called Success At Art as a way of getting laid. I told my friend X that the Artist had also made a similar overture to me online, that same week (which is true). My buddy X' eyes fell. Clearly heartbroken. Anything offered to me as well as him must therefore be less valuable.
Maybe I'm being pessimistic? It's almost lunch time.
But then the weekend comes, and I don't want to sleep because there's so much fun to be had, and I figure I'll use the work week as the time to catch up on my sleep. But then that never happens, and I progressively turn into a zombie (albeit a very productive and popular one) and find myself on Sunday afternoon, nearly comatose, comparing two identical pairs of black socks, one in each hand, looking back and forth between them in the harsh fluorescent light at Uniqlo, trying to decide if they are the same color. They were. I bought both. The very tiny last bit of my focus was spent up buying socks yesterday afternoon. If you know me well enough to see me without my shoes on (many people do) you probably know how badly I’ve needed new socks.
Anyway this weekend was rad. Saturday was this fantastic symposium on AIDS and Literature at the New School, organized by the inimitable Dale Peck. I was so honored to be included in the event. It was totally surreal to be on a panel with, say, Amy Scholder, and be discussing the books I had read in high school which began to teach me about AIDS, about queer identity in America, about culture, about life, and then realize that basically all of the books I am talking about, so many of the touchstones in my, let’s say, “journey” have been published by her. It’s nuts. So many really amazing people involved in the event. Including, of course, the Grand Supreme Diva Herself, Miss Larry Kramer. It was so insane. He was very sweet, of course, and read from his new book in-progress, about the American psyche, history, identity. It’s like he’s speaking through a loudspeaker. I felt very humbled and thrilled to be part of the event.
Afterward I hustled myself over to Public Assembly where I was go-go dancing at QxBxRx. It's the second-to-last party. I'm very sad about this. I've been go-go dancing at this party for almost five years. That is significant. My feelings about go-go dancing, which I've never, really, written anything about, are kind of still forming. I keep talking about how this means that I will have to retire from go-go dancing but I'm not entirely sure that's true. But mostly true. I really wanted to be a go-go dancer in the first place because of the kids I saw dancing at the Rated X Panty Party at Opaline on Ave. A in the summer of 2005 (remember?) who seemed like they were having so much fun. And then, of course, because Lady Miss Kier had been a go-go dancer, much for the same reasons I was, I think: you get to dance at nightclubs and get paid for it. Such an awesome experience. Really trippy. So anyways second-to-last QxBxRx was fun. Stayed up too late but what's new?
The two big new pieces of information today are that I'm doing this really amazing reading tomorrow in NYC! At the New School! at 8pm! It's FREE!
Such an honor to be opening for Cindy. DORIS has meant a lot to me for a very long time. I'll be reading my new story, RINGO, which is going to be in the newest issue of birdsong. So please come to the reading tomorrow night!
Okay, and the last thing I wanted to write about is (duh) Erin Markey. She's in San Francisco doing her show "The Dardy Family Home Movies by Stephen Sondheim by Erin Markey". It's a fantastic show, and I hope a lot of people get to see it. Erin was recently the topic of a really amazing essay by Michelle Tea. It feels really vindicating, somehow, to see someone as brilliant and articulate as Tea pay such close attention to Erin's work. I'm really excited by the prospect of Erin becoming a household name, and I want to run around high-fiving everyone. Michelle Tea really gets Erin, and is able to convey her genius effectively She navigates the synergy of Erin's multiple aesthetics and tactics, and gives her the credit she deserves. Erin's a genius, the essay is genius, it's great.
There's also a really cute interview with Erin in the SF Bay Guardian. Slightly less effusive, it does give a good sense of Erin's sly sense of humor, and her intelligence, and makes me want to go see the show. This interview really struck me, though, for another reason. Not just because I know Erin (bragging: I totally do).
In 1998, when I was 14, I read an issue of the SF Bay Guardian that had features of Beth Lisick and Miranda July, and it introduced their work. I ended up going to see July perform at what had been an abandoned movie theater in Berkeley (MeMe America, Tracy from Tracy +the Plastics' first band, opened). I went with my mom. July was, I think, maybe 24 years old. I thought that was so fucking old. Anyway it really blew my mind, and Miranda July's early records absolutely changed the direction and course of my life and made me want to be a performer, really, apart from doing theater in school. It was very inspiring. Beth Lisick I also mention because I was, after reading the Guardian piece, obsessed with her band, the Beth Lisick Ordeal, and really loved their CD, Pass. I still think she's genius and I got a chance to meet her last year when she came to NY and did a performance with (duh) Erin.
Anyway. The point is that I hope more young isolated queerdos are reading their free weeklies and finding out about people like Erin and getting the inspiration and permission they need.
TRANSMISSIONS: THE LITERATURE OF AIDS
Saturday, December 03, 2011
11:00 a.m. - 9:00 p.m.
Tischman Auditorium, Alvin Johnson/J. M. Kaplan Hall, 66 West 12th Street.
The School of Writing in conjunction with the publishing collective Mischief and Mayhem marks the 30th anniversary of the start of the AIDS epidemic with a one-day symposium featuring two panels. The event also features a screening of Dan Fishback's thirtynothing and David Wojnarowicz's A Fire in the Belly; excerpts from the ACT UP Oral History Project and selections from the Visual AIDS' Broadside series and Archive Project which will be on display. The day will close with a reading.
Organized by Dale Peck, the event features panelists and readings from: Rabih Alameddine, Michael Denneny, Gary Indiana, Zia Jaffrey, John Kelley, Larry Kramer, Jennie Livingston, Amy Scholder, Max Steele, John Weir, and Edmund White.
Facebook event (if you're into that sort of thing) with full schedule of events HERE.
*UPDATED* The panels and readings will take place in Tischman auditorium, which is the New School's main auditorium at 66 W. 12th St., on the first floor. The reception, however, will still be in Wollman Hall, because we can't have food or drink in or around Tischman. The videos and artwork will also remain in Wollman.
Kind of overwhelmed and intimidated by the other folks that are part of this symposium! Kind of an all-star cast. Really excited, and honored to be included, of course. After the symposium, I'm going to go-go dance at QxBxRx, at Public Assembly.
Public Assembly | Back Room | 70 North 6th St | Williamsburg
10PM | 21+ | $7 cover | Free Booze 10:30-11:30PM
QxBxRx (Queers Beers & Rears) presents...
Resident DJs/Hosts GO-KARFF, SIR LOINS & A.MARTINI spin punk, garage, indie, dance and more! Plus QBR Go-go Boys Max & Johnny!
For more info, check out www.facebook.com/qxbxrx
Okay so that's this weekend. NEXT WEEK there's an amazing reading, also at the New School:
Tuesday December 6th, 8-10PM
The New School , 6 E 16th St. - Room 1107
For The Birds Collective & MFA Collective Works present:
a zine reading w/
Cindy Crabb (Doris and Support zines)
Cynthia Schemmer (Habits of Being)
Max Steele (Scorcher)
8pm // open to the public // donations accepted
zine tabling by the readers and For The Birds
Cindy - dorisdorisdoris.com
Max - fagcity.blogspot.com
Cynthia - habitbeing.blogspot.com
Doris is totally my favorite zine in the whole world, and has been for like fifteen years? Sounds about right. I am so pumped.
Hey also remember this Moloko jam?
I sort of treated the weekend as an opportunity to 100% indulge myself, and not judge the impulse to only rest and do things that feel good. But despite my big idea to just chill out and not judge, I do feel kinda guilty. I have a lot of work I need to be doing. Or, there're so many good places to put my intention and energy besides Just Feeling Good All The Time. I was kind of a slacker this weekend. But it's the holidays! Anyway, it is what it is. I'm getting back to work, I swear. I'm having some ideas, and just in the nick of time, too! I have some events next weekend. I'm very excited. Going to put up a new blog post about THOSE in JUST A SECOND. But first, some other little bits:
Remember how I did a reading at PPOW with Brontez Purnell, Kat Case and Joseph Whitt a couple weeks ago? Those lovely kids from Lambda Literary wrote a nice little blog post about it, which you can see here. It was such a nice reading event, I'm glad so many people came. I've gotten a lot of postive feedback from people about it, and at least two strangers have stopped me at other events around town to ask me specific questions about the language in the piece I read, which is totally nuts, because I often don't know what they're talking about. But really flattering, because it's like... people listened! They came! And they listened! It feels like a magick trick. I hope it always feels this way for me. Anyway, the reading got me really stoked to do more writing and reading and organizing, in a way I haven't been stoked for a while, so... Do you want to do a reading? Throw a party together? let's do it!
Oh hey, also, check out this video I just finally saw. I don't think I've posted this before. Who's that girl in the front right-hand side?
Lyndsy Welgos + Fatima Al Qadiri - Yelwa
They let me keep that white shirt-dress garment. That was a really fun video to make.
Okay! Back to work! Blog post with next week's events coming right up! Everyone be cool!
Anyway. feeling really positive and good about just about everyone. Even people who bug me out, I am feeling very tender and protective of. For example, recently, a girlfriend and I were complaining about a mutual friend for whom, let's say, winter has come early. Frosty the Snowgirl has emerged well in advance of the snow this year. This chick is bugging! She's being rude, and mean to us. Maybe unintentionally. So my girlfriend was asking me, you know, if I'd noticed it too, or if it was just her. I told her no, that I noticed it as well. The Snowgirl in question is a sweetheart but I dunno, has said some kind of creepy things about me to other people, for some reason? Anyway, I was telling my girlfriend that Frosty the Snowgirl's little attitude problem is exactly like anybody's attitude problem: she's bummed out. And when people are bummed out they take it out on other people. And rather than getting all butt-hurt about my precious sensitive feelings, the logical response to getting static from a normally loved-one seems to be: empathy. let's hug it out. I don't know.
I also feel so genuinely proud and excited about my friends. So lucky to know everyone. Last Friday I went to a private showing of Erin Markey's new piece: The Dardy Family Home Movies by Stephen Sondheim by Erin Markey. It was kind of mind-blowing. So lovely to see such an intimate showing, for a hand-picked crowd, for one. For two: Erin's a genius. Her show is beautiful, and hilarious, and heartwarming. It definitely gave me a lot to think about. After the showing, a bunch of us retired to Lady Rimalower's house for her signature Italian-inflected cooking. We ate a bunch of ice cream and I started to pass out around midnight.
Saturday, I woke up to some tremendous news: my original homegirl La JohnJoseph just got her art funded by the UK government! She won a nice big grant, and absolutely deserves it. I've long been a fan of JJ's work, of course, and am thrilled to see it get some support from the higher-ups. It means that he'll have an easier time producing and creating new work, and that more people will get to see it. And I am just so happy. I wanted to run around high-fiving everyone. This is very good news. You should be excited. Good.
Perfect Little Daniel came over and we went through some of our B0DYH1GH demos, for an upcoming mixtape we're going to put out soon. I don't want to give away even the title (which is really, really good, you guys), but get excited! It's going to be wonderful.
Later on Saturday, we went to NYU's MFA open studios to see dear heart Sam McKinnis' new work. He's so dreamy, and so are his paintings. I especially loved a new piece consisting of fingerpainted gold pigment paint with the words "TEENAGE KUNST" scrawled across it. It sort of reminded me of a more luxe version of Kim Gordon's recent "noise paintings".
After the NYU open house, we high-tailed it down to the New Museum to see LA genius Wu Tsang's new piece Full Body Quotation in the glamorous New Museum Sky Room. I was hipped to the piece because my buddy (and new neighbor) Nicholas Gorham made yet another star turn performing in it. The piece is based off of material from Jennie Livingston's groundbreaking documentary Paris is Burning, which seems to be having a very strange renaissance these days. Maybe that's the wrong word-- it never really went away, but people seem to be looking at the work, the community it documents, and the themes of queer viewership and the white gaze in seemingly new ways. I like that. The piece was really interesting, a bit brief, a lot of fun. After a tiny disco nap, went to Hey Queen! in Brooklyn. Always such a fun dance party. Thee Irish Horse was the performer that night, and he sang a very beautiful, heartfelt rendition of "Maybe" from the hit musical and motion-picture Annie. Zan from Little Victory was the DJ that night, and as Thee Irish Horse sang, I could see that Zan was living. for. it., and afterward, when we all met up again at Metro for some nice warm PBRs, copped to being a total Annie geek. I knew it! When are we going to hear Little Victory's punk rock cover of "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile"?
Sunday I got a haircut at Seagull Salon. I'd been long, long, long overdo for a haircut, and my friend Craig from Cubist Literature just started working there, and booked me an appointment. I really like my new haircut! It's made a big difference! My stylist also reminded me of dearly-missed Jeffery Self. Sometimes I miss Jeffery and wish he could come to all the NYC parties I am at, but then when I miss him I just look at the videos on his blog. It's a poor substitute for hanging out, but it's close!
After my haircut, I had a girls' night date with Miss Jiddy No-No. We ate gluten-free snacks (ginger snaps, dipped -ill-advisedly- in guacamole) and invented a new cocktail of French grapefruit soda and red wine. We didn't name the cocktail though (I know!) so I'm gonna call it a Jiddy. We watched The Craft, which I never get tired of seeing, and I was compelled by the similarities between the cultural significance of The Craft and Paris is Burning among certain neoliberal white queers. Like, movies which stand in for knowledge of cultures. Hmm. Anyway, a lovely Sunday night.
Last night I went uptown to my favorite neighborhood, the Upper East Side, to visit Walter Cessna. We took some photos:
I dunno why I look angry. I wasn't angry. I was having a blast! Walter is always too much fun to hang out with. I got to choose music for part of our shoot, and I played this Pram song which, for some reason, I've been really obsessed with.
It's all I want to listen to. Like, over and over and over again.
I feel good. So much better than I had been feeling. Things come and go, it's true.
Last week I did a reading at PPOW Gallery with Joseph Whitt, Kat Case, and Brontez Purnell. It was organized by Jamie Sterns, who runs the Hostess Project and Create Art Today. It was such a really special night. I read a new piece, called RINGO, which I was kind of nervous about. It went well! I think. People seemed to be into it, I didn’t feel like an abject failure or anything. I derived a certain amount of power-feeling from the pants I was wearing:
Thanks Naruki for taking this photo!
Saturday was my favorite dance party in NYC, JUDY! The theme was PSYCHIC MALL. It was so great! Miss Lady Cole Escola Honey Girl opened the show, doing a psychick séance (and I helped!)
Here’s a video of Bridget Everett performing:
Sorry it’s kinda sucky, I made it on my phone.
Right after she finished the song, as the crowd was busting into rapturous applause and screams of ecstasy, she shouted "YOU MOTHER LOVES YOU!" What a fucking genius. Perfect Little Daniel, Cole, Bridget and Mx Justin Vivian Bond and I all rode the subway home from JUDY!. Can I say that that was probably the highlight of my weekend? I got a really awesome sandwich when I got off of the train. That's part of the highlight.
The play I was in closed this weekend. It's bittersweet; because on one hand I am sad that it's over. People seemed to like the show, which is cool. A lot of people came to see the show, which is wonderful. Often times I feel like I am only ever performing for secret, private audiences of hand-picked individuals. Friends I've had to bribe or beg to come to stuff. But people bought tickets! And, really, the main thing I loved about being in this play was getting to work with such amazing people: Joseph Keckler, Erin Markey, Mink Stole, Everett Quinton, Regina Bartkoff, Trystan Trazon, Liz Piccoli, Jonathan Warman, Allison Carrol and Adam Weinstock. And to get to do a funky, un-heard of psychedelic play at La MaMa! What a treat. I am sad that it is over. But I am also excited about what comes next. What comes next is, obviously, whatever the fuck I want.
I'm thinking of making a dance. A short, one-song dance. My friend Miriam (who was in Richert Schnorr's dance band GRAPHIC GLORY which I performed with) just moved back to town, after a brief European sojourn, and I am excited to get her roped into helping me make this dance. Whether or not she wants to. Okay. The dance is about aging. Sort of. It's about kids. I'm gonna not talk about it until I've made it. Alright.
Hey thinking of aging dancers: This Yvonne Rainer versus Marina Abramovic thing, eh? I think Yvonne Rainer is pretty much in the right, for a number of reasons. I want to go on record, however, as saying that she's in the right because she's gay and Marina is is not. And that is all that matters to me. Or, that's the most important thing that matters to me. I might or might not be telling the truth. I don't have time to stop and think about this!
I just recently finished reading Larry Kramer's brilliant book, Faggots.
I'd been putting it off for a really long time. Almost as long as I have been a queer person (like, 12 years). I guess I had all these preconceptions about Kramer and his book and his whole generation. I felt like he was too obsessed with masculinity, and I felt like the book would be self-hating and I wouldn't be able to take the negativity, that the negativity would rub off on me, and I'm so insecure anyways I thought it would bum me out.
So anyway my friend Matty sent me a copy of the book, in a big box of other great queer gems (Acker, Genet, etc.) well over a year and a half ago, and I finally read it. And it was great! His masculinity thing, I think I can sort of make peace with as a stylistic/fashion thing. I get it; it's rooted in the place and time. Okay. The self-hating thing? No. It wasn't self-hating. It's sort of about how to be critical of people you love. It's a book about how to ask really hard questions. And the way, Kramer suggests, to put yourself in a position to ask these questions, is through generosity. He's so generous and empathetic to this Fred Lemish narrator. It really inspired me. I definitely wrote my most recent story (RINGO) before reading the book, and finished it afterward, and notice a real influence. I think that reading Faggots made me a more patient writer, and a more sympathetic thinker. I feel like I know a lot of Fred Lemishes, and I usually have no patience for them, and this book is making me want to work to be more patient, more understanding, and connect more. I definitely think all people (queer and not) should read it. I promised to lend my copy to my friend Austin, so you'll have to get your own (or bug him for it).
Also been totally obsessed with Mariah Carey's Unplugged e.p.
And not just because it's Mariah Carey and she's a really good singer. There's a good deal of context for this release, which is worth knowing about, I think. Basically, the MTV Unplugged session was suggested for Mariah because up until that point, people had been saying that she was a studio artist, and couldn't really sing live, so they released this recording to silence the haters. I think that's just great. Because, really, the winner here is the fans. And that's who ought to win. In the way between Mariah Carey and her critics.
Okay and speaking of needless extravagance, I kind of really, really want one of the new COMME des GARÇONS champion rings. Are these tacky? Are they prohibitively tacky? I've been thinking a little bit about jewelry. I kind of agree with bell hooks; men who wear jewelry are awful. But I also feel like I don't want to be a man, you know?
LIVE FREE. STRONG WILL. I love the idea of there being CdG slogans. Because, you know, obviously, these are translated from Japanese. At least once. It's also nice to know, I guess, exactly what Kanye West will be wearing in six months. He will be wearing these rings. So, if you want to be like Kanye (and I kind of do, one could do much worse) then wear these rings. I have such a deep-seated hatred for marketing and advertising that I think I am intellectually well-equipped to me an ad man. So much wasted potential. This gives me strength.
50% because I want to be able to eat whatever I want, and 50% because I am tired of dealing with negativity. But I feel like, you know, maybe the very people I think this about think the same thing about me. Maybe we're all quitters. That's okay. I'm just really into this video because it's, like, PROCESSING done by people who our culture does not think are that articulate or intellectual. Like, see? They can do it! You can do it!
Naomi's been listening politely but manages to get to the real matter at hand: Naomi. She stays constantly on-message. She's really into empiricism, it seems like. She knows. She knows, and she is the only one who knows, and is untroubled by this gap. She has faith that despite the fact that she is the sole custodian of her own experience and feelings, that she'll be able to communicate them. And she's right! Such a genius.
Fuck. Don't you feel it? I love the astrology connection, too. (Tyra and Naomi's mom are both December 4th Sagittariaus. Naomi is a Gemini, born on May 22nd). And they get back to down to business.
I mean, I obviously look like them.
I resent being put-upon. I feel like, especially recently but also in general, I'm so often called on to witness, validate, soothe, support. It feels like a real drag sometimes. Like I'm only in the room to say "No" when someone says "Does this look bad on me?" Like I exist solely to be a mirror. Why do I resent this so fucking much? I always have.
For me, the ideal expression of intimacy and affection is not asked for; not demanded. I am allowed to lavish praise on the object of my admiration at my own speed, unbidden. Perhaps this is why I historically am so attracted to people, places, things which I can never really lay claim to. They can never demand it.
Maybe I don't want what's real. And what's wrong with that? Isn't it okay to admit it? What I want is a fantasy? Who can fault me for this.
What irks me is that I don't make these same demands. The reason I resent it so much, the validation, the patting on the back, the cooing, the nannying, is because I don't actually ask anyone to do it for me. Because I don't feel like I deserve to ask for it. I don't feel like, really, anybody deserves to be able to ask for it or demand it. I have this very weird idea in my head (I want to say it's a Californian thing, since I think it's also in Joan Didion's bones) that if you have to ask for something then you don't deserve it.
I'd qualify this by saying that if you have to ask for it, you'd better make it such that the asking is in fact the pleasurable part. Asking for what you want is one of life's great joys. Not getting what you want is also a typically human experience. I guess you can't have one without the other.
I think I am trying to engineer a situation in which I can control my own feelings, my falsely managing my expectations, so that I won't be disappointed when I don't get my way (which happens all the time, and I'm still disappointed every time). It takes an extraordinary amount of energy to come up (and maintain) with this scheme. broadly speaking, the scheme is: be really down on yourself so that no one else can do it for you. It doesn't work, and it is exhausting.
Understanding this rationally does very little to help change it.
And again, complaining! How unattractive. Is there anything more important in life than being attractive? Isn't being attractive synonymous with happiness? I don't mean to the sexual object, I mean to yourself. Shouldn't you feel like your life is exciting, fulfilling, attractive?
Being so down on yourself is basically the inverse of this. But still a form of morbid self-obsession. I feel like I get a lot of shade and anger from people for my so-called narcissism. Which is frustrating, because I always want to make the distinction that my narcissism as such is really a tremendous amount of time and energy spent attacking myself, not celebrating it. But it's still time and energy spent thinking about myself.
It makes it hard to take this criticism seriously, too, because the people who get down on me for being narcissistic (as such) are generally insecure, and seem to think that my energy would be better spent thinking about them. So that they don't have to. No, that outfit doesn't make you look weird. You look really good. I would want to fuck you.
It's Monday and I am in a bad mood. I feel like I can't do anything right. Like all I get is negative feedback. I'm really tired of everybody telling me how bad I am, or how wrong I am. Or how my thoughts and feelings would be better spent on them.
And so we go back, back, back to the fire of making art work to invent a world in which everyone isn't criticizing you, in which you do not deserve constant fear and pain, in which you do not worry. Imagining a world in which the question of deserving was a moot point, because everyone deserves, just for being alive, to be happy.
Wouldn't that world be great?
The Tennessee Williams show I am in, NOW THE CATS WITH JEWELLED CLAWS, is running this weekend and next at La MaMa. It's a really fun and weird show to do. We're getting some interesting and positive press about it, which is kind of a mind-fuck. But it's good! You should come see it. The star of the play is, of course, Mink Stole. It's such an honor to get to work with her, duh. She's a really really good actress, which is always amazing to work with (people who are really good at what they do) but she's also a really fun and funny person. Check out this recent video interview she just did, where she mentions the show, and a couple other tidbits:
AWESOME. So come to the play.
Also, next Wednesday 11/9/11 I will be doing a reading at PPOW Gallery with Brontez Purnell, Joseph Whitt and Kat Case. It's going to be free, and wonderful. Here's the flier:
Facebook event info HERE.
Writing a new CONFESSIONS OF A NAMER story to read at the event. Super excited as always to be reading with Joseph Whitt and Brontez. Brontez, as you may know, is going to be on the Sister Spit tour this year, reading with such luminaries as Justin Vivian Bond, Erin Markey and Dorothy Allison. Yes, really. How fucking awesome is that? And Bronny is in town this weekend playing shows with his amazing band the Younger Lovers. I'm seeing them tonight at QxBxRx at Glasslands after we perform the play at La MaMa.
Alright! Back to Saturday Cartoons.
I mean: GOSH, right? She's totally my hero.
So glad that I brought back the Diamanda Galás book, The Shit of God the last time I went home to California. I've been thinking a lot about this text piece today. I remember reading it when I was in high school and it really blew my mind. It seems today perhaps apropos, a bit:
CRITICAL KNOWLEDGE:Genius, no? Diamanda's voice is so encouraging and open. She is unafraid of force, to acknowledge power, to depict it/embody it. How nice.
The Taming of A Music Critic
I held that hairless brainpan down and said, “Bitch, take it like a man.” “Oh, god, stop it !”, he whined. I said, “Take it bitch.” Bitch squealed, glasses and bald head, pancake ass heaving… “Take it peanut dick,” I screamed, his hiney splitting in pain, sweat pouring from his anus. “Repeat after me Sandie,” I yelled, “Diamanda is a great genius. Diamanda is a great genius,” while I cornholed his flat buttocks, laughing. “Oh my god, Diamanda,” he pleaded.
“Say it, say it bitch! Give me that bald head, bitch,” while I urinated in his mouth. “Take that genius, take that elixir, bitch… take it all down. Take that godhead. Sandie. Corndog loves his mother, doesn’t she?”, I laughed, my fuck-stick thrusting. “Can you feel it?” Blood spurting from his anus, peanut heaved again. “What does the good music critic say? Repeat after me… ‘Diamanda is a great genius. When may I kiss her ass?’ ““Diamanda is a great genius, when may I kiss your ass?”
Yes! You’ve got it, literatus, polly purebred, while I split his ass and god rushed from my loins, and I vomitted, and the skies opened wide, and the squinny lips of the literatus shook silently and he could suddenly hear again, his piglet brain too tired to spend its time in understanding… and he could finally HEAR the voice of god and her angels, while the rivers of blood poured from his grateful anus. And a pregnant and magical silence descended upon us at the Death of Good Reason and the Rebirth of Beauty, and then we knew that we could finally hear again.
-- Diamanda Galás
Hey let's check back in with Lydia. This is an interview, from Italy, a few months prior to the other video. Lydia seems to have much less patience in this clip, and I like it a lot.
I learned quite a few things from this video, including how she pronounces BOZULICH. Hmm! Also, I wish I could see her perform Queen of Siam. Dang.
We had escaped, but I wasn’t so sure that we were safe. I suspected that the old man we were with had secretly been infected by this nature-virus, and that it was only a matter of time before he’d reveal himself as the Green Man, or something. One among us was describing the warning signs, or symptoms, of infection. I only remember two of the warning signs or symptoms, and there were a few, but the two that I remember hearing right before I woke up were:
- A desire to grow plants from your chest; and
I remember wondering “Does that mean that if you give birth, then you are infected? Or does that mean that your baby is infected?” Then I realized, of course, that it’s both. I think also, that eating dirt was one of the signs or symptoms. I was very scared. I woke up and both my arms and legs were tingling and numb. I had fallen asleep with my limbs crossed, muscles flexed tight.
I think I had this nightmare for a bunch of reasons. Yesterday I conflated the words “rib cage” and “rib cave” and it made me think of that Rasputina song “Cage in a Cave”
Anything having to do with caves makes me think of skeletons. Also cave-related, I was thinking yesterday about my buddy Stevie Hanley’s new work. When I visited Berlin last summer, I saw a some of his gorgeous cave paintings. As in, paintings of caves, not paintings inside of caves, natch. You can see some of Stevie’s beautiful work here.
Last night I was listening to Water Cuts My Hands, which might be my favorite Mecca Normal album, last night. In one of the songs, Jean smith screams “Night-mare! Night-MARE!” over and over again. I was writing a story about insulting someone to their face and calling their face a soccer field. I don’t know. I was in a bad mood before bed last night. Scared/scary. It’s just nature. It’s scary and it’s just nature. Also it was Halloween.
My wonderful friend Dan Fishback just closed a run of his genius new show THIRTYNOTHING at Dixon Place this month. As part of the run, each Sunday he had a complementary event series, and I was invited to participate in the most recent event: "October 23rd: THIRTYEVERYTHING - In the final event of the thirtynothing series, gay artists who have died of AIDS will be remembered with stories and performances by their surviving friends and admiring descendants. Presenters include: Jack Waters & Peter Cramer, Glenn Marla, Sur Rodney (Sur), Max Steele, Ethan Shoshan, Max Stein and Eric Rhein."
I was really struggling to come up with a way to address the AIDS generation, and the sense of scope and immense, abstract loss which people my age deal with. I felt like there is probably no one "right way" to do a piece about AIDS, and I was also thinking a lot about iconography, and how you can really ache for something to be a final, complete and "correct" interpretation or statement, but at the same time know (in the back of your head) that it can never be.
I guess I've also been thinking a lot about style. And the uses of style. And how, like, what's the most Billy Cheer way of saying David Wojnarowicz? Working, of course, under the assumption that I have a right to say that name. Here's what I came up with. (EDITED-- I took it away cuz it's getting published)
Friday's show was also good. There was press there, which I wish I didn't know about. I never want to be reviewed, basically ever. I'm far too neurotic and insecure to deal with it. So, you know. Screwed up my courage.
(That is my favorite Team Dresch song, likely yours too if you're reading this).
So even in front of press (people literally sitting at the edge of stage, with little white notebooks, taking notes), I fucked up my lines. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but I did, and I kind of beat myself up about it. A little flub. What can you do. Other than that, Friday's show was very good. It's such a trip to do something performance-wise more than once, and have, like, friends come to see it. Theater is weird.
Friday night after the play I met up with Perfect Little Daniel and Ryan at this awesome cover show at death By Audio. Jess Paps' new band HEAVENS GATE had done a Raincoats set, which I unfortunately missed. I heard it was wonderful. I saw Little Victory do their B-52s set, however, which was AWESOME. I had no idea I liked the b-52s so much! Zan looked great in a big dark beehive hairdo, giving me some postmortem Amy Winehouse effects. But what doesn't, these days? Little Victory just got a nice shout out in the Huffington Post last week, much0-deserved. I've been singing this band's praises since they started (not to brag/just to brag) and I hope they become a really fucking huge deal. They're fantastic and everyone should listen to them. After the show we went to Metropolitan and saw lovely Michael Cavadias, who is the Friday Night DJane there. Ran into a long-ago ex of mine, a functional Republican ("fiscal conservative" - I don't want to get into it), who swore up and down that it would not snow on Saturday. He seemed to think I was really silly for thinking that it would snow on Saturday.
The vindication of the actual thundering snowstorm was not enough to make up for how unpleasant it was when it did, of course, snow all day on Saturday. Ptrck and PLD and I met up with a sundry crew to discuss a sort-of secret project potentially involving elements of reality and media. All I can say is that on Saturday, we got free brunch and Irish coffees from a major media network. After this fantastic introduction, I went home to recuperate before that night's performance. Saturday's show was good, but not great. The crowd was small and quiet, which actually did make me feel better, cuz I had more space (psychically and physically) to expand. There was more press in the house. More stress in the house. I came home to pre-game for a party with the boys, but I got too tired.
I felt like I just didn't want to have any fun. You know? Like, going to a party didn't sound like it would be fun for me. Not too many things do, these days. I gotta say. I do not know what is wrong with me. Could just be another case of the Mondays. But nothing is cheering me up!
Very often feel just like this video. Angry, slow, sad. Pretty.
Anyway. I begged off on Saturday night. I bought some snacks (Kefir- the champagne of yogurts), ate some xanax, and watched Charlie Rose interview Jill Abramson. I slept.
Sunday, the boys and Erin Markey and I all went uptown to continue work on this secret project. Again, without revealing too much, I will say that there was an awesome snack table in the green room:
Nothing wholesome. Just the way I like it.
Much fun. Bridget Everett was also in the house, bringing a touch of glamour to the whole secret affair. Erin and I had to scoot downtown to get to our show last night, the official opening night. The house was packed! It was a really stellar crowd, and the energy was high, and I think I personally did the best show I did all weekend last night. More press. It never ends.
Cute baby cast party after the show. Miss Geraldine Winnifred Visco, the downtown diva herself, came to our show, and snapped this picture of me with Joseph and Erin at the party:
Gerry told me to make that face. I swear. It wasn't my idea.
After the cast party I skipped down to Participant Inc. to see MX Justin Vivian Bond's art opening "The Fall Of The House Of Whimsy". As a devoted MXJVB fan, and former guest to the old Second Ave House of Whimsy parties, it was such a treat to see the show. it's up until December at Participant, and definitely worth checking out.
Tonight is officially Halloween. I am not going out. I am staying in. I feel exhausted.
There's plenty to be scared of already. I'm not, but if I was, there'd be plenty.