Wednesday, December 08, 2010

We Three Toots (Or, Rewind)

Yes, BV has been neglected and left for dead like a forgotten birthday (ahem). Here are some toots I meant to toot earlier this...uh...year:

Toot #1: The digital drawing below (Suited #47 / Alex) was selected for this year's GLAAD OUTAuction held on November 21...


Toot #2: My ancient Self-Portrait as Nan Goldin was selected for Self Searching: The Art of Self-Portraiture at the PhotoPlace Gallery in Middlebury, Vermont (September 7-October 2)...


Toot #3: And...this very new photograph Conquest was selected for Direct Objects: Still Life as Subject also at the PhotoPlace Gallery.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Smells Like Blank Spirit (Or, Overheard)

GAY MAN: Are you sure those two guys are gay?

WOMAN: Um...yeah. Both are wearing enough cologne to cripple the perfume counter at Saks.

GAY MAN: Gays don't wear cologne like that anymore.

WOMAN: Well, those cunts do.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Out There on the Ice (Or, A Haiku)


It's mildly insane of me...but despite November's cold weather, I haven't been able to give up iced coffee for its hot and (in my opinion) thoroughly useless yet seasonally-appropriate cousin regular coffee.

That said, a romantic haiku:

It's cold baby, cold
I won't dump you like a trick
All I want is ice

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Two Ho Tuesday (Or, Get Some)


Yes, yes, yes.

Ho, ho, ho.

Despite being down for the count with this blog (who's she, anyway?), I felt compelled to share these two hoedowns.

Below: Lykke Li's video for Get Some (hat tip: G) - featuring the best line of any song in recent memory - "I'm a prostitute...and you gon' get some"



And...way below: New York State's new Semi-First Lady Sandra Lee presents her favorite "Oceanbreeze" Tidy Bowl cocktail...inspired by a visit to her local "Aquorium". While Albany will undoubtedly remain corrupt with our new Governor, it will at least be well-lubricated while the not-quite-Mrs. Andrew Cuomo is in the passenger seat.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Like a Tit in Motion (Or, Next to Topless)

Despite being nearly 40, I'm not mature enough to not say the word "tits" at least a hundred times a day.

Not worry feministas...my titslinging is mostly aimed at myself and my own tits.

Case in point...my terse and meaningful review of the Broadway musical Next to Normal:

"This would be very a very engaging piece of theater if only it had more tits...and more guns."

More damaging evidence...I'm currently singing the chorus of the song "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" with tits everywhere:

I can see your areola
Underneath the blazin' sky
I'll be where the titties
Flyin' higher and higher
Gonna see your tit in motion
All I need is a pair of lips
Take me where my tit is lyin'
St. Elmo's Fire

Fortunately, I'm not singing this in an empty apartment with crimped hair...crying about how I can no longer afford my decorator...or my coke problem.

High Lo-Tech (Or, Mo, Mo, Mo)



Mo-Dettes - "White Mice"

Hat Tip: JD

Monday, September 20, 2010

Miss Miscellany (Or, Two Months of Dust)

Yes, there's two months of dust up on this piece...despite much hooting and hollering and squawking and gawking and glittering and littering and toiling and boiling and pumping and dumping and schvitzing and spritzing and rolling and tolling and crying and lying and tearing and leering and jeering and cheering and loosing and goosing and stuffing and puffing and slamming and jamming and clamming and bamming and clogging and jogging and spooging and gurlging and a lot of other miscellaneous gerunds and tings that go ing, I haven't posted anything since July.

Whoops.

I actually doubt what I'm writing right now will end up being an actual post, so I won't apologize or attempt to excuse my hazy laziness.

Two ditties - right quick:

#1

[The scene: driving past a string of 1960s surf motels in Montauk in late June]

PATTY: What does resort motel on that sign mean?

ME: Topless.


#2

[The scene: drinking coffee with my mother]

ME: You're really reading Eat, Pray, Love?

LINDA MARIE: Well, I'm trying to. I'm about halfway done with it.

ME: How is it?

LINDA MARIE: Christ, she needs to get laid already. If Javier Bardem doesn't show up soon, I'm tossing it in the trash.

Thursday, July 08, 2010

The Bunny Ranch (Or, Showpets)

Growing up, I used to kid my younger brother about the deliriously cheesy, unintentionally campy names he chose for his pets. To this day, he gets teased incessantly about the odd collection of monikers he assembled for his guinea pigs, goldfish, kitty cats, and dogs:

Amber
Angel
Bambi
Bimbo
Cassie
Ginger
Peaches
Pretty Boy

Last year, my sister-in-law broke down the list as such:

"Those aren't names for pets...they're names for strippers."

Now, that just makes me mad...at myself.

If I had only realized my brother was running a fuzzy pink brothel of sessy sexy times out of our family room, I could have made my brother's pre-teen life even more miserable.

"Hey Jason, Amber and Bambi have a couple of customers at the door...are Peaches and Pretty Boy done with their donkey show yet? Angel and Bimbo need to start a new round of antibiotics because Cassie's got the Clap with a side of Chlamydia."

Goddammit, did I miss out.

Thursday, July 01, 2010

Even Cowgirls Get the Booze (Or, Dirty Diana)

Ok, two weeks have sputtered by and I didn't even bother to get hot and bothered up in here about how amazing I Am Love is (see previous entry).

Here are a few things to note and file for future reference this first day of July...

File Under: Things You Never Want to Hear Your Mother Say...

"Well, I still look like a cowgirl. I just don't ride like one anymore."

File Under: What to Do When Liquor Stores Are Closed...

New York State's favorite (and, yes, only) grocery store wine, the appropriately fancily named ChateĆ¢u Diana will get you drunk when all else fails...but you will have a headache for two days and a harmless game of dirty Scrabble will turn you (and by you, I mean me) into a raving, possibly-Turrets addled cunt.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I Am Mame (Or, Auntie T)

As ready to wet myself about seeing I Am Love this weekend...I'm equally shits and giggles about knowing the following:

Tilda Swinton and director Luca Guadagnino want to remake Auntie Mame (starring Swinton, naturally).

Just the thought of Tilda in a sari, jodhpurs, and twenty different wigs makes me delirious.


Friday, June 11, 2010

Blinded By The Light (Or, A Haiku)


The print ads for the new series The Real L Word are truly horrifying.

Not because of the lovely L.A. Lesbian ladies...or the nudity of said lovely L.A. Lesbian ladies...or the idiotic misuse of Photoshop on said lovely L.A. Lesbian ladies' lovely lady parts...it's that freakishly well-placed sunburst streaming right out of the middle one's hot pocket.

It's so scary...yet I can't look away.

Ever.

I've even stopped to photograph the damned thing more than once. I wasn't worried about looking like a creep in capturing the suntwat either. I know how so-not-lascivious I must have looked.

I really don't get it. Or, rather, I do get it, but I just can't believe what I'm seeing.

Anyway, here's a haiku (see how obsessed I am) about the fucking thing:

Lesbians beachin'
All that sun pours out a cooch
West coast pussy's bright

Monday, June 07, 2010

Tootie (Or, You Are Here)

Sorry I'm about to toot...

My photograph You are here (above) was selected to be in the show "Photos With Words" at the PhotoPlace Gallery in Middlebury, Vermont - July 20th - August 7th, 2010.

Thursday, June 03, 2010

Biker/Jane (Or, While I'm At It...)

Since I'm blue for Rue, here's to the life of Dennis Hopper...in my mind a fantastic photographer first.

Above - "Biker Couple" - one of my favorite photographs.
Below - Um...that's Jane Fonda with the bow and arrow c. late 1960s Malibu. Enough said.

Blue Rue (Or, And Then There Was One)

I know the world is about to be hit by a tidal wave of grief and remembrance for the passing of Rue McClanahan (otherwise known as Tropical Storm Blanche - a powerful, wild, and wetly luscious blue period originating in South Florida). I was lucky enough to see her up close and personal two years ago at a benefit for the Trevor Project. Rue vamped it up onstage, reading from her (then-forthcoming) autobiography My First Five Husbands...And the Ones That Got Away. She, like her alter-ego Blanche Devereaux, was a true broad.

One of my favorite Blanche ditties:

BLANCHE: Oh, the rain...it reminds me of my first kiss.

DOROTHY: Your first kiss was in the rain?

BLANCHE: No...it was in the shower.

Fuck Sex and the City and those perimenopausal wannabes. Here's to the memory of a woman (and a show) who sexualized the pants and panties off of senior citizenship at a time when our culture was mortified of sex in any form. If only each of us can grow old that vigorously.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Kiss My Who? (Or, Hounds of Love)

Ok, so this shit's a week old.

Last week (see), I was watching the so-called "Lady Gaga" episode of Glee with my friend Pattesia. The kids' performance of "Bad Romance" was excellent..."Poker Face"...was...well...gross and uncomfortable. Anyway, when the episode took that bad turn into KISS territory, I was nothing but perplexed when they sang "Beth".

ME: What horseshit song is this?

PATTESIA: It's that great KISS song "Beth". You really don't know it? It's a great song. It so reminds me of high school. I can't believe you don't know it.

ME: Pardon me, Miss Sexually Active Long Island, but I didn't spend my high school years getting fingerbanged in the backseat of an IROC-Z listening to heavy metal ballads.

PATTESIA: What were you listening to?

ME: I'll have you know, I was swiftly and unchastely deflowered while listening to Kate Bush's "Hounds of Love".

PATTESIA: You...art fag.

ME: Exactly.

Madvertising (Or, MDG)


Yeah, yeah.

No stories, no nothing.

I will say: this is crazy sexy.

That's all.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Gross (Or, Long Overdue Overheard)

Since I've been phototasticicizing instead of coughing up stories, here's a very long overdue set of "I can't believe I just heard that"-icisms:

WOMAN AT BRUNCH: I had sex sober last week and it was gross.

10-YEAR-OLD BOY ON STREET: So what it's Mother's Day. She needs to get off my dick.

TEENAGE GIRL TO HER GROUP OF FRIENDS: Omigod...you are so lucky you're dating Matthew. He's such a good texter.

I'll Tumbl 4 Ya (Or, Dig For Fire)

Yes, it's true.

Lately, I've been getting photo-heavy up in this piece, and the blog is bogged down with imagery.

So, as if I ever needed another distraction, I started a Tumblr photoblog here:

Dig For Fire

So click it, follow it, dig it.

Stories to come.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Hoohaa Shitstain? (Or, Stealth Marketing)


I saw a movie (the fantastic Please Give) the other day with my friend Patty. As we walked into the theater, Patty turned to me and said:

"I love Ice Road Truckers!"

I didn't know what she was talking about. We sat down.

"Have you seen Ice Road Truckers? It's so great!"

I have her a sidelong what-the-fuck? glance. I still had no idea what she was talking about. I felt like she was saying some nonsensical term like "hoohaa shitstain" over and over again.

"Seriously, have you seen Ice Road Truckers? It's a great show!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ice Road Truckers? It's a fantastic new show on the History Channel. There are posters and ads throughout the theater. You should check it out!"

I felt like my friend Patty had been quietly replaced by an overexcited marketing droid sometime between us buying sodas and strolling across that insanely "funky" patterned carpeting all multiplexes are crippled with. I was concerned.

"Why do you keep saying the title over and over and over again? Are you secretly a stealth marketer for whatever-it-is-you-keep-saying?"

"Ice Road Truckers. It's a great show. Ice Road Truckers. Seriously. Check it out!"

I teased Patty endlessly the rest of the afternoon. All I could imagine was her popping up in odd places, slyly and not-so slyly sliding into strangers' lives and dropping references to "Ice Road Truckers" and pumping her marketing impressions quota through the roof .

PATTY AT THE GAP: Those jeans look great on you. You know what else is great? Ice Road Truckers.

PATTY ON FIFTH AVENUE: Yes, I'm sorry I stole your wallet. You know what, I'll give it back if you watch Ice Road Truckers.

PATTY HIJACKING A BUSLOAD OF TOURISTS: On your right you can see some other place that Sex and the City or Law and Order filmed. On your left is one of the former governor's hookers. On Tuesdays you can see Ice Road Truckers at 8pm!

PATTY AT VICTORIA'S SECRET: No, you can't return panties after you've worn them. But you can return to Ice Road Truckers any time you want. It's on the History Channel - check it out!

*Editor's note from Patty herself: "OMG! I literally have tears running down my face from laughing so hard!! I love "ice road truckers" which is on the discovery channel not history, you know in case you wanted to watch it. Also another good show is "whale wars" that is on animal planet and starts this summer :) so be sure to check the listings :)"

I think she just got a salary increase....

Friday, May 07, 2010

Enough With The Photoslop (Or, Carrie Nation)

While I'm sure I'll get some shits and giggles out of Sex and Some Shitty 2: We're Still Whoring Luxury Goods Like It's 2006 when it will inevitably play over and over again on Home Box Office's latest satellite channel HBO-HO, I ain't planning on getting "Carried Away" in the theater this time around. Last time was bad enough...with the "labels and love" poop and the "Louise from St. Louis" crap and the brokedown wedding turd and the Mexican diarrhea. It's bad enough to be accosted daily in the subway by the breathtaking and frightening Photoshop-slop work that's hobbling across all those movie posters (did any of the four actresses actually show up in front of a camera...or were they merely recomposed from shit that retouchers had on file?). And the preview...oh, honey. Dragging out Liza for a performance at a gay wedding?

How. Very. Dare. She.

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

Underachieving Stripper (Or, Just Take Your Top Off Already)

By far one of the funniest exchanges I've heard recently:

"We went to the Slipper Room to see some burlesque. This one woman's striptease act was so bad."

"Why?"

"Well...she kind of forgot to take off her clothes."

***
Last night riding the subway home, I was definitely in the Subway-Car-of-Forgotten-Toys. The woman sitting next to me was mumbling to herself in drunken Spanish and was rocking back and forth violently while holding a tote bag covered in leaping dachshunds. I thought maybe she was having a seizure. I made the mistake of making eye contact...and I got the craziest, shit-eating grin from her in exchange. She winked at me and purred "Que rico." I immediately looked away and hoped the leaping-dachshunds-bag in her lap wasn't shielding a vibrator.

To kick things up a notch, an elderly man and woman sat down across the car. The man pulled his eyeglasses out of his pocket. One of the arms of his glasses unhinged and fell to the ground. The woman lept up and got down on all fours, trying to find the teeny tiny screw that clearly went AWOL. The man yelped: "I LOST THE SCREW, DAMMIT!" and slumped into a pout.

Of course, my new best friend Que Rico had been waiting for this bout of excitement. She also got down on all fours, still clutching the dachshund bag, and helped the woman attempt to find the missing screw.

"Those little screws...they are soo teeny, no?"

"We'll never find it! What will we do!"

"I don't know, honey. You gotta git one of those kits with the other little screws and put another little screw on it."

The man sat, still pouting, while his lady friend and Que Rico went to work. They eventually gave up on the search, but remained on all fours for a moment.

"Oh, I just love your bag."

"Is cute, no?"

"Yes, where did you get it."

"Is mine, ok."

I got off the train before Que Rico got fully loca.

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

40 (Or, A Reprint)


This is from four years ago...I updated the dates, but the rest, despite a new President, is still accurate.

On this day forty years ago, 4 students were murdered by National Guardsmen during a student demonstration at Kent State University protesting the U.S. invasion of Cambodia. Another 9 students were wounded. A total of 67 rounds of ammunition were fired off into a crowd of students.

Of the four students killed, only one was part of the protest, which was mostly non-violent.

Nixon thought of the government santioned violence at Kent State as a potential example - he was looking to quiet the youth resistance movement led partly by the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS). Members of the SDS, disheartened by both the murder of Black Panther leader Fred Hampton and the perceived inefficacy of non-violent protest, later formed the leftist terrorist group Weatherman (later known as the Weather Underground Organization).

I grew up in Kent, Ohio. My parents were both students at Kent State at the time of the killings. My mother was a classmate of Sandra Scheuer, who was killed by a stray bullet on May 4, 1970 when walking on her way to class.

This day every year, I take time to reflect on this event. It was odd to grow up in such a small town that had the ghosts of such symbolic violence. On this day forty years ago, our government was desperate (in the form of the sweaty, paranoid Nixon) to control its youth and to quiet all dissent.

Today, we live in times of great violence, but dissent is on the back burner. Our economy, our media, our hyper referenced and meta lifestyles keep us sated.

On that note, required viewing today: Network and The Weather Underground.

Peace.

Continental Shit Walk (Or, Details)



Monday, May 03, 2010

Masculint Stories (Or, Privacy Please)

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkk. Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Feel it. Come on. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Fuccccccccccccccccccccccck. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. Come on almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Feel it. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Come on. Come on. Come on. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Was I entertaining a gentleman caller recently?

Uh, no.

That extended sweaty gurgle was expelled next to me on a cardio machine at the gym on Friday. I was minding my own business, sweating and stinking up myself, while the straight guy on the machine next to me belched all that unnecessarily erotic talk inches from my ear. Even though I shot him some passive aggressive, come-on-really? looks, he kept heaving and groaning until he finally hit the STOP button and got off.

Sorry. Pun semi-intended.

Anyway, I felt cheap. Cheaper than usual.

He could have at least asked me for my number or slid me a fifty dollar bill.

Another ode to masculintity...

Also on Friday, I witnessed this exchange between two mini-gays in front of a neighborhood bar that needs not be named. They were tugging a Louis Vuitton duffel purse back and forth like it was an Olympic event.

MINI 1: Let go of my bag, bitch!

MINI 2: Don't storm off again.

MINI 1: Leave me be bitch!

MINI 2: Calm down.

MINI 1: Just let me go - and LET GO OF MY BAG! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!

MINI 2: Come on.

MINI 1: This is always how it end up, you not letting me LEAVE YOUR SORRY ASS!

I didn't stay for the rest of the exchange. I hope the bag's OK.

Sunday, May 02, 2010

She's My Wife (Or, Pageant Talk)



If only SNL were always this good...

Below...Pageant Talk's older sister:

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Oh, Billyburg (Or, Smoking)


This morning, I had the completely unfortunate thrill of riding the subway deep into the sweltering, useless ass of Bushwick, Brooklyn (Fuck you very much, FedEx Ground). On the interminable ride back, I was made painfully aware of just how middle-aged I am as the L Train (a.k.a. Fauxhemian Express) plummeted its way through various levels of hipster hell.

See, I'm not impressed by unkempt middle-class girls on the lam reading poetry books and listening to MGMT on their iPods loud enough for the entire car to hear fronting looks that hopelessly read "trying-hard-to-be-depressed-1980s-teen" and not "yeah-I'm-a-cool-girl".

Sorry Becky - you've got about 10 minutes left on this ride before daddy cuts off the cash and it's time for law school.

Anyway, this exchange made my trip:

HIPSTER CHICK: What the fuck is her job, anyway?

FAUXHEMIAN DUDE: She's, like, a model.

HIPSTER CHICK: Yeah...she's, like, really skinny.

FAUXHEMIAN DUDE: Bony.

HIPSTER CHICK: And what the fuck does her boyfriend do?

FAUXHEMIAN DUDE: From what I can tell, all he does is, like, smoke cigarettes outside of bars.

HIPSTER CHICK: Cool.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Love Is Like A Rock (Or, Skinny Little Bitch)


You stepped your heels in broken glass
So I could kick your scrawny ass
And all the drugs and all the burns
What a nasty
What a nasty, nasty piece of work
Oh baby does it hurt
Oh baby just go slower
Oh baby just go lower
Skinny little bitch.

Ladies and gentlemen...Courtney Love has stumbled back into the building.

Hole's new album Nobody's Daughter comes out Tuesday...and Ms. Love is working her whole Hole magic like it was 1994...or 1998. Either way, I'm glad she scraped herself together for something that - at first listen - sounds smoky, messed--up, and excellent.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Property Of (Or, New York Annoyances Part 1,899)


Just before a rain shower last week, I hurried to get my dog out the door to do his bidness. (He loathes the rain.) Anyway, as dark clouds rolled in, Bobo finally whizzed his heart out on the side of a building. Toward the end of said whiz, I could feel the clammy breath of a New-Yorker-In-Need-Of-A-Fight on the back of my neck.

NEEDY UPPITY MAN: Um....could you PLEASE not have your dog PEE on MY BUILDING?

ME: It's going to rain in a minute.

NEEDY UPPITY MAN: CAN'T HE PEE SOMEWHERE ELSE? Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanks.

Yes, there were that many passive aggressive "aaaaaaaaaa"s in his Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanks.

Luckily, the rain came down before I could get into it with her.