Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Two Girls and a Cow Skull

Oh my God! How did my modeling pictures get up here?! This is SO embarrassing, I am such an idiot!

The ebullient and talented (not to mention patient) Kelsey Bennett took these photos about a month ago. It was right after Easter actually, because I showed up on set resembling a late- career Orson Welles after the weekend, where the only words I uttered for four days, between mouthfuls, were, "Mom, just pour the food on to me." I was charged with the task of hoisting myself into a teeny tiny sparkly pink Spandex Barbie dress, a most flattering ensemble for the zoftig and future diabetic. The real star of the shoot was the cow carcass, who looked like a ghost with hollow eyes, whose scent I still slightly carry. But I didn't appreciate the superior behavior of Cow Skull. He got pretty testy after a while, demanding his own dressing room and specialized craft service. Green M and Ms and Voss water? Diva.


Monday, May 18, 2009

Go West, Young Man

Sometimes you wake up on a Sunday morning in a somewhat familiar bed, sometimes you wake up and see your pillowcase smeared with mascara and McFlurry, and sometimes you wake up so happy that it's not Saturday night any longer, and sometimes, if you're really lucky, you wake up at an intersection of all those scenarios. Yesterday, I woke up in the spindly arms of ADG aka "Hoochie Cooch" after another powerhouse night of stroking one another's hair and crying and realizing, yes, it's true, now everyone really hates me.

But not this Sunday, no, because we took the Sabbath by the balls and marched on up to the MOMA, which stands for Millionaires Only Meditate on Art, because that shit cost like 50 bucks to get through the doors! So in a moment of unprecedented grace and stealth, we got past the security guards with a disarming concoction of jive talk, bait and switch, lookie loo, general affability, and pathos (ADG told the guy checking tickets that she peed her pants and had to clean up in the bathroom). We were stealing culture!

And we found ourselves in good company because the current photo exhibit "Into the Sunset" features portraits of infamous bandits and rugged outlaws synonymous with the old west. The whole exhibit deals with that kind of California iconoclasm, mashing up different photographers' ideas of the West, spanning across several centuries. There are cholas, housing subdivisions, Hell's Angels, open roads, ragged mountains, hippies, cowboys and Indians, porn stars, surfers, roadside attractions, and all the other sad, beautiful things that make America great, and I love America! Exhibit highlights that will induce unbridled patriotism come from Edward Weston, Dorthea Lange (Okie Get Down!), and Lee Friedlander. So stop weeping and having your friends braid your hair and turn off For the Love of Ray J and pee your pants and go to the MOMA and get patriotic, philistine ignorami quasi- literate readership. It's pictures, for cryin' out loud, even less work than reading this rubbish. Pretend you're lurking on Facebook, you're used to that. The exhibit closes June 8th, mention Paloma Zenaida at the ticket counter and get a 10% off your next McFlurry.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Don't Be Tardy for the Party!

You can judge a city's economic solvency by the state of its homosexuals. Walking up Seventh Avenue in Chelsea on Tuesday evening, I saw some tired looking gays, I mean SAD queens. Their once- potent muscles drooping, sallow, pallid complexions. I even saw a man wearing a denim OUTFIT (jean jacket and jean pants, slightly contrasting shades) and I thought, "Where the hell am I? This sure looks like a recession to me, Tim Geitner!" But all is not lost in the world, because 'Lil Joe threw a Real Housewives party for all the girls in celebration of the New York casts' reunion and the New Jersey casts' premier, one door closing, one giant anus opening.

I pulled a total Kelly, and was the first housewife at the party, with nary a bottle of anything, faux pas upon faux pas. We were instructed to dress up as out fave Housewife, but only Pup (far right) was up to the task. Here he is, dressed up as Simon, on whom he harbors a major crush.
Dan (in plaid, so butch) took the joke quite literally, unable to differentiate that Pup isn't Simon, he only dressed up like Simon. He flounced about all evening with his wrists akimbo, making demands such as: "Darling, freshen my drink. Mama doesn't like to be parched at a party!"

Dan admonished pseudo- Simon: "Girl, your apartment renovation is so gay it looks like the dressing room at Diva's on Polk Street!"

Pup was so embarrassed, he hadn't meant to take his costume that far, but if it walks like a Simon, and talks like a Simon....

Anyway, we watched, we drank SkinnyGirl Margaritas, we barfed. I shushed people the whole time, because I'm on Team Zarin.

Fags and and the women who love them, or hags. Two girls for every boy!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Fort Greene: A Magical Land

Nestled in the bosom of Brooklyn, far far away from the riffraff and hustle bustle of Atlantic Avenue, lies a wondrous village of delightful delis and handsome interracial couples. This past Saturday was a magical day, where I had the distinct pleasure of taking a circuitous meandering through the brownstones and many wonders that this village contains.

The day commenced with a heightened level of experience, as I discovered a new key to unlocking the doors of perception. After depriving myself of all carbohydrates for seven straight days in an act of self- mutilation, I woke up on Saturday morning with a most remarkable hangover, cured only by Challah bread French Toast. I sat in a diner booth on Fourth Avenue with only my shame as company and consumed three thick slices in under sixty seconds. I was so full that I reached a new state of consciousness. I was actually hallucinating.

And so began my journey to this neighborhood that is but a ten minute walk from my residence yet worlds and worlds away. My first encounter was with a troupe of Vaudeville Players pictured here. The dark haired lady at right is the Hoochie Coochie girl, and the other three performed a rousing rendition of "Hooligan's Troubles." Then the fair- haired bicycle beauty performed the astonishing feat of riding through a double loop- the- loop apparatus, while keeping the contents of her basket intact! Amazing! Then the whole gang danced the Shimmy- Sha- Wobble and I just knew it was going to be a great day.

The family who lives in the blue house came outside and tried to adopt me. But I had to politely decline. "Sorry guys, I already belong to a healthy, functional family that nurtures the individual while simultaneously cultivating a loving collective unit."

The townspeople heard of my visit, so they just threw together a haphazard block party in my honor.

Even my legs are less white in Fort Greene.

Here are some trinkets the humble peasants tried to bestow upon me, but I would not be so bold as to accept, because....

... they presented me with the crown jewel! A unicorn and a vulture sharing the same page! Somehow, they managed to distill my essence and hand- illustrate a bizarre children's alphabet book and age it so as to look antique. Those villagers sure know how to treat a girl. On any day, I am either unicorn or vulture or both, but on that special day I was unicorn through and through. Thanks Fort Greene! I'll never forget you.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Upon the Ocassion of My 42nd Birthday

I celebrated my 42nd birthday last week (that's right, I work out) and received many exceptional gifts, so remarkable in fact that YOU (mom) must see them.

1. A Friendship Collage
In the throwback of junior high, with scissors and glue, my best girlfriend Pup composed an homage on his bedroom floor to our enduring non- sexual love affair starring Barbie and Ken and Marc Jacobs and Rachel Zoe ("That's us when we're old!"). The Golden Gate bridge is a tribute to the town where I found Pup cage dancing at the Bar on Castro, slathered in whipped cream and lube, and saved him from a life of purse snatching and NAMBLA conventions. The Brooklyn Bridge means that he doesn't know or love me well enough to know that I do not take the Brooklyn Bridge to get home.

Another most amazing gift I received was given by my friend Eric, and it arrived on my doorstep in an ominous box almost identical to the one Brad Pitt receives at the end of Seven containing a human head. Instead, I was delighted to find this Rembrandt self- portrait immortalized in the medium of Etch- a- Sketch. Eric has a haircut like Frederick Douglass, the vocabulary of Merriam Webster, the rhetorical skills of Patrick Henry, and the manners of Slavoj Zizek crossed with an angry lynx. In junior high school, our peers elected us to share the yearbook superlative of "Most Individualistic," which is the prize awarded to the most bellicose assholes. (If anyone is in possession of the Forest Grove Middle School Yearbook Class of '97, please contact me.) I admire Eric very much, and will now quote him at length:

"Enclosed is a paraphrase of one of Rembrandt's self- portraits from 1659 (a capital year so far as his self- portraits are concerned). I hope you like it as much as I do: this is the first Etch- A- Sketch ever fixed and as you'll see, everything that could go wrong during the process of fixing short of effacement or spontaneous combustion went wrong. The mishap with superglue to fix the dials and the ensuing mishap with the plastic- warping 'super glue remover' notwithstanding the picture still reads well, up close and at a distance." I agree!

And my colleagues got me a Snuggie. They are trying to get me in trouble at the office for wearing it at my desk, a la Liz Lemon. And my BFFFFF (my best friend foreverforeverforeverforever I love her so much!!) Pecas gave me a card that sings Celine Dion because we love Celine Dion, especially the song "All By Myself." I think 42 will be my year! Fine in '09!