Category Archives: Uncategorized

My Life Story, by Lambchop

Uncategorized, ,

So the Women’s Art Association of Berlin is putting out a book of the self-portraits of a hundred female Berlin artists. And I have been lucky enough to get a few pages. Here is my biography as it will appear in the book, which is coming out next month-ish, followed by an english translation:

Heather Morgan (1973-?) Malerin, geboren in Staten Island, New York City, ein weiteres fragwürdige Produkt der siebziger Jahre. Als Kind wollte sie Tänzerin werden, studierte sie dann jedoch Malerei in Boston University School for the Arts (B.F.A 1996) und in Yale University School of Art (M.F.A. 1999), verbrachte allerdings die meisten Zeit in verschiedenen Untergrund Musik Szenen. Sie ist ein Teil Dorothy Parker, ein Teil David Bowie. Zurückblickend auf eine lange Irische Familiengeschichte ist sie warscheinlich Wahnsinning. Das heißt, man muß sie auf jeden Fall ernst nehmen, dafür ihr aber nie glauben. Heute lebt, malt und tanzt sie in Berlin.

Heather Morgan (1973-?), born in Staten Island, New York, another questionable product of the seventies. As a child she wanted to be a dancer, but instead studied painting at Boston and Yale University, spending most of her time haunting underground music scenes. Sie is part Dorothy Parker, part David Bowie. Coming from a long line of Irish folk, she is likely insane. That means she should be taken very seriously, but never believed.* Today she lives, paints, and dances in Berlin.

*I just want to add for the kids at home, please don’t take me seriously, either!

Delaware self-aware

Uncategorized, ,

Dear Kitty Winn,

I’m a bright, affable gal, and I’d like to think I have a good outlook on life. The only trouble is the incompetent dugongs who surround me, bleating and secreting their sticky juices of mediocrity. Why can’t I find my peers? I don’t think I really am superior to the entire rest of the rest of the world, but where, oh where, can I find my equals?

Desperate in Delaware

Dear Desperate

Like a girl trying to lick a lolly with the wrapper still on, you are going about this all wrong. A bright little pop like yourself is doomed to be surrounded by grunting, lumpen troglodytes. You’d like to think your outlook on life is good, but you’d be wrong. Abandon all hope of being surrounded by your equals, and take pleasure in that very circumstance. Which sounds more well-adjusted to you: “Ugh, everyone in this room is practically unicellular.” or “Hurrah! I am the smartest person here! May my cynical wit and wide variety of fascinating pursuits enlighten the few that scrabble after my words like so many crumbs, and let the rest be crushed in fearful pain and self doubt!” ?

In other words, quit being such a Negative Nelly. Reality, like Emo, is for twerps.

-Kitty Winn

linky dink

Uncategorized,

I would be remiss in my duty as a blogateer and general observer of trashiness if I did not remind all US readers to watch the freaky Michael Jackson documentary tonight on ABC. Check local listings! I would say that beats Friends with a stick.

In other news, unhealthy I must publicly declare that the editors of the Miss Gothic Massachusetts Pageant web site should shit or get off the pot re: posting an update. People want answers.

And finally, ed for your Daily Show-like moment of zen, you should check out Item #530 over at 665.

xxoo

A broth of a different color!

Uncategorized, , , ,

One of the best parts of my day as an underling for an international soup concern has got to be dealing with the foreign language stuff. Today I had to swap out a picture of a can of soup for…a new can of soup. All the writing is Japanese, and it’s a brimming bowl of yellow liquid. I started tittering at the possibilities. Let’s play “What’s! In! The Can!” shall we? Could it be…Cream of Dog? Tincture of Eel? Extract of Cock? Or, as my office pal suggested, that old standby, Rat Oil. Mmmm!

You’d think there would be exotic products like that, but actually it’s just boring shit like clam chowder and chicken noodle. Ho hum. So much for diversity. I guess I could link to the humorous foreign soup pages, but I’d probably get “canned.” Ahahahahaha. Then how would I pay for my drugs?

Yes, Lambchop, work is a funny thing. You used to make fun of me for wearing sneakers with my suit, but once you tried it you admitted there was no going back. The world of banking was not for me….I could write a novella out of my failed careers. Soda Jerk, Grease Monkey, Exotic Dancer, Roustabout. I really lost the love for the hot $9/hr world of bank tellering when I realized you are behind glass not so much because of the threat of robbery, but because people spit at you!

Sample Workaday Dialogue:

Me: How may I help you today?

Disgruntled Vagrant: I wanna take out all my money

Me: Account number please, and I’ll need 2 forms of ID.

DV: ARGHRRRPHHMMMPHPHHH! Cunt! Whore!

I can’t tell you what was in the briefcase. But just the other day I saw a guy handcuffed to a Louis Vuitton monogrammed case. In the checkout line at Stop n’ Shop. I wouldn’t fool about something that weird.

xxoo

rocks and hard places

Uncategorized, , ,

Today I have to go to the bank and the dentist. I can’t decide which is worse. Having teeth drilled can actually be less painful than sitting in a cloud of imitation Givenchy and watching those horrible french manicure press-on nails clacking over the keyboard, and tapping on the desk and that becoiffed gold braceleted nightmare still has no idea how to do electronic transfers to the united states. My stomach acid increases just thinking about it. Anyway, I was just at the dentist 10 days ago- she only wants to see me again because she likes me. We sit around and talk about how fine it is to be great looking, we talk about the scene in Marathon Man, she looks at my mouth, admires her handiwork and lets me take a bunch of the shiny metal gumball machine rings that she gives to the kiddies.

Licketysplit used to be a bank teller! I remember well the days when she was darting off to copley in a peach colored suit and gold earrings. She would pass me by as i spent my filthy unemployed hours on the slab on newbury street, sipping iced coffee and waiting for something to happen. She would pop by afterwards and regale us with tales of incompetence that made stuffing the mattress with cash seem like sensible financial planning. Say, Lickety, what was in that suitcase anyway?!

smooch

Heartbreak and Halitosis

Uncategorized, , , ,

Dear Kitty Winn:

I was sitting home alone worrying last night, wondering what to do, when it occurred to me that what I needed was help from a purveyor of tawdry advice. After all, I have a terribly tawdry problem. I can’t seem to get over my ex-girlfriend. I’m beginning to annoy my friends, and even my therapist, by talking about her constantly. I’ve tried the usual techniques — moving to another town, drinking heavily, sleeping around like a two-bit whore– but none of them work. It just feels like additional betrayal: I’m not staying true to the girl I love, and the rebound girl knows what’s going on because I call out the wrong names. I just can’t achieve, how you say, release, without thinking of my lost love and the taste of her sweet, sweet anus. What can I do to get her off my mind? Also, can you recommend any good breath mints?

— Darren Hungus

Darren Hungus, I feel for you. I have been consumed with giving your problem the proper attention. It was hardly off my mind while I was watching a 60’s go-go film and having a Charleston Chew. You pose a difficult question, but without a doubt, use Fisherman’s Friend to expunge the foulness of your mouth. Those babies pack a wallop! Oh right, and your ex-girlfriend…clearly you have let the girl of your dreams slip through your fingers and will never ever be happy again ever.

Never ever.

You could endeavor to be satisfied with your lot, but Kitty Winn believes in setting things right! You don’t have a shred of existence without this woman, so you must dedicate your life to having her back. Write her, call her, lurk beneath her window- don’t let the girl have five seconds in which thoughts of you do not intrude. Give her no rest from professions of your unabated love! Praise her back door beauty! Erect a shanty in front of her door, where you live, unshaven, eating little snack foods and denied fresh air solely for a daily glimpse of her angry face in passing. No woman can resist such romantic heroism- you will be plumming her annals and hating her stupid laugh again in no time!

Good Luck,

Kitty Winn

What’s a gal to do?

Uncategorized, ,

Dear Kitty Winn,

I have not been involved with anyone for a looong time. Before I saddle up and head out again, I wanted to know what sort of girls are “In” these days? Sluts? Power Vixens who talk about the books they read? Cute-n-Dumb? Or maybe Innocent Virtue is back? Please clue me in so I don’t have to waste any time “having opinions” when I ought to be pretending I don’t want sex so I can have some.

Thanks!

-liza jane

Dear Liza Jane,

I’ll tell you what’s in: eating disorders! Hoo, had you there, didn’t I? Don’t fret, my gauche gamine, we’ll have you up and humping in no time, and nary a drip drop of yesterday’s lunch need cross your lips. You see, the secret to love is to have an alter ego. It’s kind of like becoming a super hero. First you need a name, then a costume, then some press coverage, preferably in the form of a slavish internet fan site. I will even give you some ideas for free: Lurid Crimson, Cyan Chlamydia, Lulabelle the Liberated Librarian. Soon the young dandies will come flocking to you, drawn in by the many pictures of your painted pout! The more wigs you wear in your photo shoot the better. Really, you have nothing to lose. It’s not like you’re that much to look at in person anyway!

knock ’em dead,

Kitty Winn

Sit right back and you’ll hear a tale…

Uncategorized, , ,

Yes, dear readers, a tale of depravity, rapine, and even VOMITOLA….

I will begin by noting that I am in an upright position today, and rather puffed up with pride about the whole affair. You see, boys and girls, I had what is known in the business as a “sinus and middle ear infection.” That means my head was filled with a noxious goop from stem to stern, and my doctor had a moment of mirth making me try to move my eyes to follow her little light pointer (I turned green and could not oblige, as a simple head moment could have spelled spontaneous spillage!).

So the upshot is that I have a variety of medical miracles at my disposal. I was bucking for an MRI, but I seem to have netted some antibiotics and some anti-nausea stuff which works great except that it puts me to sleep within minutes. So I should have another ten minute window here, do pardon me if I trail off!

And I must say, who knew that 2 days off from work could be so interminably boring? Actually I also left early on Monday as I started dry heaving everytime I looked at the screen. I felt really bad about leaving too, because people had to do some work I was trying to finish. Anyway, I walked home through the Public Garden in kind of a zig-zag pattern. There weren’t any cabs in sight, and I figured barfing in the garden would be nothing new for me, so why despoil the T? I made it all the way up to Louisburg Square. I don’t know how familiar anyone is with that area of Beacon Hill, but it’s sort of a really lame answer to Gramercy Park. There’s about a 30 square foot area of fenced in trees and grass, and some plum parking spots. Only people who live in the nice houses right there may touch the fancy foliage. So of course that’s where the dry heaves took me over!

After that, I teetered back to my house. At least I didn’t get arrested for holding onto the wrought iron PRIVATE fence. An attractive older British fellow asked if I was OK. I wanted to assert that I was not simply a drunken prostitute (a – I was not carrying an umbrella b – we were nowhere NEAR the docks)…but all I could do was mumble something like “mrphhh yeah….”

At any rate, I return triumphantly, er, sort of. At least the room stopped spinning! I think my dr. was disappointed I didn’t have menningitis or something sexier. Thanks to Lambchop for brilliantly holding down the fort in my infirmity. Maybe I should give her Power of Attorney too! Although she’d probably just sign me up for a bunch of magazine subscriptions or government studies.

Also, I exhort you all to make use of the services of Kitty Winn! She’s a firecracker, she’s a pistol, she’s a former Miss Omaha. As you can see, her advice is top-drawer, just like her rack.

xxoo

party baby yum

Uncategorized, ,

These last few weeks have been a serial hangover. Well, what else is there to do but get drunk after going to see a mike leigh film in which you identify with the besotted strumpet? that mike leigh is the cat’s pajamas.

when i was a young slattern of 14 in Jersey City, i used to hang out on the corner in painfully tight jeans playing handball with delivery boys from the butcher shop. they were cute in their bloodstained aprons.

I hope everyone who was sick yesterday is better today.

smooch

Fabulous Golden Issue

Uncategorized, , , ,

Dear Kitty Winn,

I am home sick. The doctor said to drink lots of fluids. But I am getting so tired of my soup recipes. Miso soup, alphabet, broth. ugh! While they are making me feel a little better I think i will vomitola if I look at another hot and sour. Can you recommend a new recipe for me, Miss Kitty Winn?? Please keep in mind I would prefer something vegetarian, and something without miso.

Love,

Sick in So

Dear Sick

My Doctor always recommends the consumption of clear and simple foodstuffs when i am ill- so I opt for things like jell-o and vodka, preferably together, followed by a healthy dose of Manchowder. You will be surprised at how soothing to all parties a good release into your larynx of joy juice can be. It beats a Werthers Original. So take it easy and rest upon your knees. I leave it to you to decide whether accepting a man’s fabulous golden issue is a violation of your vegetarian ethics or not. I suppose it depends on how attractive he is.

get well soon,

Kitty Winn