On Beth (COVER SHOT):
Mini-Dress with Matching Cuffs by Abigail Adams (www.abigailadamsdesign.com)
Necklace by Tarina Tarantino (www.tarinatarantino.com)
Shoes by Abaeté for Payless
Switchblade Comb: “Bartering” Scam by Yours Truly
It was during that moment when my chest turns into an open space, an interminable length of time when it seems like a panel of chain-link fence gets peeled back, lies in wait for a surge of emotions to slip inside.
Then. Just as my mouth rearranged itself around the poem’s final words— “A wad/of cold sheets/on my bed”—it was then, when I no longer recognized my voice but rather the blink of silence following. That’s when I noticed him.
I’m sure I stood frozen in some exaggerated pose, arms akimbo or even more likely, right hand extended with a copy of Cottonmouth Kisses still perched in the air, armor to shield me from what would or wouldn’t happen next. Applause. The immediacy of approval every performer yearns for, even and especially those who claim they don’t.
Then came the clamor of acclamation, the sounds of hands clapping, of slurred hurrahs and a high-pitched whistle. My cue to step from the stage not really a stage in this home not exactly a “home” as I knew it, but a geodesic dome.
For a hot second, our eyes met. His: dark, with a sparkle that followed when I looked away. Not as in “tracers,” the stuff of flash-backs, symptoms from drugs with consonants for names.
More like: as I navigated my way to Pedro, Wash and Richard—the few people I knew at this hormone-charged salon with “Boys” as its motif—the text of my body was besieged with active verbs and question marks.
Would I dare to venture upstairs with him?
Despite its cred as the white-hot center of Where Art Lives, I recognized this dome from another context. Recently I’d seen The Hole, a skin flick in which the final scene culminates in a luscious free-for-all on the top floor.
I’d heard whispers of a similar scenario happening in medias res, and as much as I tried to listen to the performer who followed me, it was. I was. Hard. With that beautiful boy, little more than an arm’s reach away.
My imagination is active; though my physique at the time? Puffy, post-speed flab that rendered me uncomfortable in the flesh I inhabited.
And my skin? Remained clothed, not “ho”ed out, as I wish it would’ve been.
I didn’t even introduce myself to that spiky-haired little number, let alone coax him into my own take on the Triple-X.
Thin and long-limbed: same as the memory I have of him, stretched-out. Three? Four? Has it been five years since then?
All this time, and I still see his caramel-hued complexion screened in my mind. A story of me, a beautiful boy, and what might have been. Really not so much a story, as it is.
(Never mind the clichés of “better late…” nor excuses placing blame on technology. Here’s a different take–first-person and personal–and it’s happening NOW. // Said another way? It’s as current as that waft of air just inhaled, as immediate as a favorite fable. There are news feeds, and then there is that which feeds itself. And so this story goes, its entrance grand and by way of royal proclamation):
A diverse smattering of “Dorothy”s rockin’ blue-and-white gingham,
Camera flashes going POP! ~pop!~ POW!
(Massive thanks again, L.A. Times!)
A seven-story tall hot air balloon, flames lapping at the mouth of the nylon envelope
buoyant and bursting with color: its print
that of the classic Oz line-up
(Scarecrow, Tin-Man, Dorothy, Lion–and of course, little Toto!)
An outpouring of music, lyrics weaving their way through
the well-dressed crowd’s heightened conversations
“Did you see Kristen Cavallari?”” // actually, nope: I didn’t…but thanks all the same //
Syncopation and scents of appetizers in-the-making
A supreme delight: olfactory artistry
And in lieu of a red carpet?
True to the advice given by Glenda, the Good Witch–
yellow
was the hue to be followed…
It wasn’t until the soirée was winding down a bit
that the thought entered my thick skull
I had a camera of my own in my trusty black rubber “murse.”
And what better interrobang to provide that impetus than the devastating beauty
Debi Mazar
Actress and current model in the Double T’s “My Pretty” catalog
(She plays the Wicked Witch to Kelly Osborne’s take on That Girl From Kansas)
Ms. Mazar, I discovered, has another endeavor among her list of accolades:
Turns out Miss Thing “gets a little Bloggy” on her own…
Even better? The site is by no means what came to mind when she shared the news with me…
How nice it is to genuinely be ‘taken aback’ by anything!
(Yes, SERIOUSLY—being jaded is as played-out as ‘Millennial Entitlement,’
amateur scenotypes [Mickey Mouse ears or down-market "I'm-So-Sweet" photo shoots involving cupcakes? DNW]
or–in my case–the mini-top hat. 2007 was 2007 for a reason, “kthanx.”)
A COOKING SITE?
Considering her main profession doesn’t often associate women with food,
To find out she [GASP!] not only eats, but also enjoys preparing the dishes?
Here are some of the fine folks who came out to celebrate
that I’m now a year closer to the ol’ dirt nap…
Realizing that I’ve been — ahem — under a bit of stress as of late, Jessicka took it upon herself to organize a dinner at
one of my favorite local eateries, Casita Del Campo:
Swish Hips Earn Tips:
Rawk Chicks Lisa Leveredge and Jessicka
None other than Miss Lenora Claire was there
Totes lettin’ us have it with the twins!
[ Which I'm not mad about...ain't mad about at all... ]
Wordsmith Brendan Mullen of Lexicon Devil, We Got The Neutron Bomb,
and Live at the Masque: Nightmare in Punk Alley fame
Kim Sosore and William Mills — i.e.,
Just about the cutest damn couple in town
whereas
only half of this duo is “lookin’ good”…
and that half of which I speak
by no means is myself!
[ Beneath my grip is the beautiful journalist
known as Caroline Ryder ]
Of course,
I feel it imperative to announce :
NOT A SINGLE MARGARITA WAS SLURPED AT THIS DINNER…
Jessicka Addams. Lisa Leveredge.
Proof/Pudding?
Mmm Hrmm…
Yeah, right.
Damn shame I can’t blame my own bad behavior
on anything other than…
Luis Payne of Hairroin Salon!
[ Now, there's an exclamation point
that wants to be an interrobang "when it grows up". . . ]
And speaking of the ol’ “!?” —
I should move on to THE PARTY, fer F’s sake!
However, before I clack a single syllable into the keyboard,
I want to give a Huge-Ass Honkin’
Load of THANKS
to my pals
Yes, I wore the soles off my 20-e Doc’s many an eve
dancing to the 12″ mix of Ministry’s “Everyday is Halloween”
in back-alley nightclubs where I was years away from years from
being ‘of age’ to attend in the first place
(translation: the main thing that made it fun–
or at least that’s how it seems, looking back)
back in ancient history, also known as
my bereaved degenerate youth
I’ve been revisiting some of the more
dynamic moments from what could aptly be filed away in memory
as ‘The Clintagious Chronicles’ due to
the current book project on which I’ve been working
Degeneracy: A Love Letter.
// R.I.P., oh Long Lost Love…despite the toxic goulash of highlights,
lowlifes and embarrassingly awkward good times, how
exhilarating it seems your freedom was //
Whatever the case, here’s a recent update “from the set,”
featuring the inimitable beauty of actress/model Mageina Tovah
in the first of her two looks for the day:
Copious detail/commentary is provided on the clip’s YouTube page,
Sleep-deprived, eyes feel like my corneas have been fried by my monitor,
just spent something like a nine-hour span working on what
less than 15 minutes after my marathon of fingerprints
I’m already thinking was a lame concept to develop.
But enough with the waaaahmbulantastic “tl;dr”—
lemme get this outta the way instead:
MASSIVE CONGRATS to that dang adorable Liz McGrath ♥—
who’s not only one of my favorite visual artists, but also the lead singer of Miss Derringer.
Because I adore the poopsmear outta her, I can’t help but give a big HOLLAH over their front page feature
in Spinner this week. I’m not an aol person, but allegedly this is the most downloaded site for music on-line…
Whatever the case, “Black Tears” is bitchen—& seeing a friend succeed makes me happy, indeed.
Nightcrawlers, Style Fiends, Socialites & Scene Queens:
File this one under MUST, as it’s an unexpected diversion from all those clubs you’re Sooo Over, or an early-evening option that’s workable if you have to break your slumber early Sunday morn.
For you die-hards, however? Get In Outfit, &
consider this your Starting Point for making the proverbial ‘Rounds’:
Cocktails & Cute Art—With An Even Cuter Crowd!
Just in case you missed the memo: Hairroin is the white-hot epicenter of WIN
The most innovative crew of Scissormeisters in town,
Who are ON the IT before it’s even begun…
Owner Janine Jarman is one of five contestants in this year’s Oh Shit. What’s it called? NAHA? Is that right?
National Competition / Vegas This Year / Category: Avant Garde
Out of hundreds of applicants, it’s now down to the Final Five.
I’m telling you, & I’m telling you now:
HOME SKILLET HAD SOME ISSUES THAT SERIOUSLY NEEDED
TO GET THE F-BOMB WORKED ON OUT.
— o u t —
With my O.G. Bitches, D.J. Adrian
& The Mysterious D at the decks,
slingin’ siiiick-ass mixes of tracks
that normally wouldn’t rub shoulders with each other…
let alone get layered-up & thrown down
Keep it Fully D.L. re: my headshrinker, but I think
burning down the floor did more good than an obscenely-priced office visit.
Maybe two of them, even.
[ & above ]
Hey—CHECK IT:
Blogster Aman of Aman-About-Town
Really Is…& I ain’t mad about it!
