Dallas Watcher's Club

I forgot to link to it here, BUT I wrote an article on Erica Jong and Fear of Flying (which is celebrating it's 40th anniversary) for Lambda Literary's site. Check it out HERE. I'm pretty proud of it, and so glad for the opportunity to write about one of my favorite books.

At the house we rented, we didn't have internet or cell phone reception, but there was a fireplace and a DVD set of the first two seasons of "Dallas". I had never seen it before. I was entranced. I don't think I would have ever watched it were it not for those circumstances, but there was something really dreamy about it.

Apparently, I'm really good at building wood fires. I was so good at building fires at the house. It did seem as though I could make the wood burst into flame by touching it. I have some kind of theory about how to turn and arrange the logs and kindling in order to make them burn. Probably it's not a secret. My friends are fantastic cooks; we ate very well and drank a lot. We visited distillery and took a tour, I understood nothing about the process. The barrel room was warm and dark and smelled fantastic, of ripe whiskey. The barrels were stacked to the ceiling and I found myself hugging one of the barrels. It felt great. In the morning, we'd listen to music and cook epick breakfasts. At night we'd build a fire and eat a huge meal and watch "Dallas" and I'd pass out on the floor, without meaning to, and miss a bunch of episodes.

It was just so fantastic. I'm glad to be back in New York, though. This month is a little less hectic, performance wise. It's more hectic socially, which is good. I'm determined! To get my shit together.

I'm on the host committee for this party to benefit Bradford Nordeen's film screening and performance / happening series Dirty Looks. it's going to be on Monday 12/9 and so much fun.

In January 2014, DL will relaunch our website as a national publishing platform for writing around queer experimental media. Dance through this winter night in support of our new project with some of the most exciting performers and luminaries our queer city has to offer.

8PM: M Lamar (performance), VIP Toast | open bar
9PM: Bottoms (performance), DJ Sets by Colin Self, Amber Valentine & D'hana Perry, Visuals by Josef Kraska.

Host Committee: Chris Bogia, Shannon Michael Cane, Brian Droitcour, Patrick Duffy, Glen Fogel, Greg Garry, Gordon Hall, Barbara Hammer, Pati Hertling, Juliana Huxtable, Jamillah James, Rich Juzwiak, Ted Kerr, Matthew Lyons, Sam McKinniss, Carlos Motta, Hunter O’Hanion. MM Serra, Max Steele, Matt Wolf.

8PM M Lamar + VIP Toast $50
9PM Bottoms + Dancing $10-20 sliding scale

All proceeds support the design of our online publishing platform and the performers.

The fb event, with different levels of tickets, is HERE.

Last week my favorite popstar Alexander Geist released his new single, "A Woman's Right to Choose". The gorgeous video is below:

Alexander's newest single "A Woman's Right to Choose" is available NOW with a special ltd edition poster by Sophie Iremonger from New Pangea.

ALSO, Ultimate Fantasy Boyfriend Brontez aka Younger Lovers has a new record coming out, and has a video for that gem as well:

The Younger Lovers' new album "Sugar In My Pocket" is available for pre-order from Southpaw Here.

In other news, I've been so obsessed with Scott Weiland right now. His solo album, god. I want to do a performance that's just reviews of that record. Spoiled Alert. And early Stone Temple Pilots. It's just so noodly. So deeply self-indulgent. On every level: musically, logically, aesthetically, contextually. Everything about it is kind of awful. There's something really bad about it. Part of me wonders at this fascination. Why do I sometimes want to eat only junk food? Why do I love smoking cigarettes? What is this death drive, this insatiable hunger for abjection? Why do I love awful things? I sometimes think maybe it's because on some level I think I don't deserve better. That's a very scary thought, so I want to go with it. I like to imagine that Scott's noodly junkie half-efforts are really meant for me. Are meant to really blow my mind. Like, this is what is for me. This is my claim. Okay then, let's take stock of it. Let's listen totally seriously to this music and pretend it's for us. For me. Like, the thing of looking for something-- looking at something awful and kind of hoping to find something transcendent in it. But not expecting to. But understanding that it's awful and will probably not be transcendent. Poor Scotty Weiland is of a dying breed. Like a dinosaur, the indulgent noodle rock god. I love noodles. Probably Courtney Love is the last of the great rock star noodles. I am, I gotta say, obsessed with Pasta sometimes.

It's like with other dinosaurs; we think we have a favorite, but we actually don't understand them very well. Brontosauruses didn't actually exist. Same with rock stars. But we can still put them in museums, listen to their records, worship them like gods. Hey there, mockingbird girl.

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