Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Gee Your Nail Looks Terrific (Or, A Long Time Coming)

So, mid-summer evidently means writing once a week.

Don't even know why I bothered to write that sentence when it's only serving as an intro to a video so I don't have to write anything...

Here's a salute to anyone who's ever had their nails done in a major city...or anyone who's been obsessed (as I have) with the exterior signage of Nail Salons in New York (LaFine Nail is my favorite neighborhood spot...).


special thanks to LuAnn and Joyce for providing the source...

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Heaven's Gate (Or, The Eyes Had It)

Here's to the memory of Tammy Faye Bakker. It's hard to believe I'd be mourning the death of a televangelist, but anyone who's seen the excellent (and hilarious) documentary The Eyes of Tammy Faye knows that despite her semi-checkered past, the woman was truly a good Christian through and through.

Never thought I'd say something like that either - but when a Christian leader actually embodies what Christianity is about, it's worth noting.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Rehashish (Or, A Remix)

I was reading a post on my friend Tarek's blog last night, and I was inspired to comment some. As I commented and commented, I realized this blog of mine has been in a sort of summer languish mode for a while now. While I should have invested some energy in writing here last night, I spent a little time pondering the phrase "Prada Meinhof" - a rehash mash-up of that famed Italian brand and Germany's oddly glamorous Baader Meinhof Group, a left-wing terrorist group that raised way more than Hell in the 1970s and 80s.

Anyway, below is my comment/story on the phrase. I'd say it's a remix of what I wrote last night...but, um, it's not.

I'm already hearing the sadistically well-dressed bastions at Condé Nast using this ("Prada Meinhof") as the headline for a story on terrorist glamour.

Once upon a time...when I freelanced at aforementioned publisher, I was criticized for having a shaved head. My reply:

"It's convict chic."

Had I been a more jaded individual, I would have said:

"It's cancer chic."

Had I been a more psychic individual prone to oxymorons, I would have said:

"It's future-Britney chic."

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Strange Magic (Or, You Know What You Know Where)

I find it both hard and exhilarating to write this....

Xanadu on Broadway is a fucking brilliant, hilarious good time.

I saw the show on Sunday with my friend Patty...and I was doubled over in laughter the entire 90 minutes. I also proceeded to sing its praises for two solid days after and as friends and loved ones questioned my sanity (well, that happens more often than not I think), I was vindicated by this:

Heaven on Wheels, and in Leg Warmers

The praises I sang were in fact so similar to the Times review above, I was asked twice:

"Um, did you write that review?"

Since my semi-pseudo sanity is somehow slightly intact, I'll let the above review do the talking for me.

And I'll just say this...anything that lets the always brilliant Jackie Hoffman shine is always good in my book. Seeing her perform E.L.O.'s "Evil Woman" is worth the price of admission alone...that and her oddly spot-on impersonation of Ursula Andress in Clash of the Titans.

It has to be seen to be believed...

Friday, July 06, 2007

A Kinsey Moment (Or, Turn to You)

Ok, so I'll try not to turn this into Friday Afternoon Videos...but I thought of this video last night and feel compelled to post it.

Here's the very excellent video for the Go-Gos song "Turn to You".

Belinda Carlisle in drag makes one cute gay boy.

Also, be sure to catch Rob Lowe up in this piece. Jesus, I'd give anything to be a fly on the wall in a restroom stall on this shoot...Belinda and Lowe were probably hoovering white lines like they were doing a Method-Acting audition for Scarface 2: Electric Coke-a-loo.


Slicing Up Eyeballs (Or, Doolittle Summer)

I'm veering off course here...I just looked back at the last week's worth of postings and I realized that most of what I've written recently has to do with haircolor, drinking, camp iconography, and, um, drinking.

So, here's a jam from the summer of 1989: "Debaser" by the Pixies. Their album Doolittle never left my walkman. I was holed up in Chicago (well, Evanston, really) for a summer program and was making videos and short films and was coming to the realization that I was gay through and through.

What "Debaser" had to do with that realization, I do not know. Its references to Un Chien Andalou? Who knows.

I do know my art-fagdom turned a deeper shade of magenta that summer.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Hey Baby, It's the Fourth of July (Or, Umerica)

This July Fourth is a rainy, gray one in New York.

Independence Day has never been up there on my list of "favorite holidays" - sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's boozy. Most of the time, it's hot and sticky and filled with hot dogs and hamburgers and beer and corn on the cob and fireworks.

Hey, wait a minute.

Why the hell isn't this on my list of favorite holidays then? It's just food, booze, and hot explosions. Sounds like a win-win-win situation.

I guess maybe it comes down to this image in my head from a Fourth of July from years past. A friend - a very patriotic friend - held a rooftop party to watch the fireworks over the Charles River in Boston. (Next to St. Patrick's Day, Independence Day is Boston's end-all, be-all holiday.) My friend - I'll call him George - was decked head-to-toe in red, white, and blue. Every fifteen minutes, he would wail "I LOVE AMERICA!!" at the top of his lungs and down another cocktail. Once or twice is cute, but four times an hour for four hours was a bit much to take.

Of course, George was so sauced by the end of it, his patriotic, lovelorn wail sounded like a tuba getting run over by a school bus full of band fags:


George also had to be put to bed early in his party outfit.

Given the state of our country, it's a little hard for me to get that sauced up, that crunked up, that fucked up, that messed up, that slammered, or that hammered over America.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Gym Class (Or, Salon Defectives)

Forgive me for making a gross understatement:

My gym is a junkshow.

I've tried and tried and tried to leave it - but I'm just plain lazy.

Every once in a while though, the gym throws me some major comedy.

And, today, I got a two-for-one deal.

Part one of the deal...see the photograph above - taken this morning.

Apparently, someone needed an aprés-cardio cocktail...in the shower.

Part two of the deal...a man entered the gym's steamroom with a head lathered in some sort of leave-in color conditioner...like he was in the comfort of a hair salon or at home, privately basked in a $10 fry-dye-and-cry Garnier treatment.

Upon seeing this man, my friend Joe exclaimed:

"Check it out. It's the leave-in...you can believe in!"

I hope, for his sake, Mr. Leave-In was the one who drank the airline mini-shooter in the shower.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Doone It and Doone It and Doone It Well (Or, Who's That Cookie?)

You know you're in deep shit when you hear an exclamation like this come from a table full of gay men:

"Poor Judy Garland!"

Or is that typical shit you're in?

My friend Max did exclaim such a thing at a bar once. After a rigorous, five-minute-long analysis of Garland's drug use, our drunken ramblings turned to the topic of her children. I won't rehash the (again, typical) shit said about Liza Minnelli, but this next statement is worth repeating:

"And that other poor daugher of hers. What was her name? Oh yeah, Lorna Doone. God, what a sad life she had."

We were well into reviewing the many splendors of Grease 2 before we realized...

"Wait, Lorna Doone? That's not her name. It's Lorna Luft."

"God, Judy Garland was so hopped up on pills, she gave birth to a fucking cookie."