Category Archives: Uncategorized

Here Come Cowboys

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Me and my pal Violet went to see the Psychedelic Furs last night. And what else can I say but it was Captain Awesome. We were right up front, kissing distance from the legendary band, and they sounded great!

The assembled fans, on the other hand, were a hideous nightmare of wattles and male pattern baldness, and lousy haircuts. People just don’t take a cue from their idols anymore. They are content to shuffle about, mouth-breathing and unkempt, watching Richard Butler slink around in slim trousers. You can’t help it if you are old and decrepit. But you can help looking it. Surely there is something better than an old man sweater lurking in your closet. I consider it an affront to show up to a rock show looking like a substitute teacher, and a poor way of paying tribute to a band that you love.

Where, oh where have all the Beautiful People gone? These halls always used to be filled with such sullen and pretty faces. Tonight I am going to stay in with Jarvis Cocker and Kitty Dukakis.

Guten Tag, Berlin

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For your viewing pleasure here in the Vomitorium, treat this is one of my newer paintings. I have sold it to the Ladengalerie in Berlin for the next exhibition in 2005. So if you want to see it, tadalafil get on a plane to Tegel. I promised the Kids in Germany that I would report to them once a week-ish in a language they can understand. Humorless and efficient? No, German!

Ich bit seit einer Woche wieder hier in Boston und wollte sagen das es richtig schön war, wieder bei Euch zu sein, auch wenn nur kurz. Es läuft prima bei dem neuen Job- das Büro is wahnsinnig cool, viel feiner und hübscher als das alte (Ich habe einen neuen windows xp mit einem flachem LCD Bildschirm- geil, wahr?). Ich habe auch schon angefangen einen Galerie hier zu suchen für die Ausstellung 2005 und werde berichten wenn was davon geworden ist. Mein Zimmer ensteht noch eine Explosion aus dem Gepäck. Ich habe zu viel zu tun gehabt, um mich darum kümmern zu können. Zwei Wörter: David Bowie.

Unter dieser Meldung kann man auf Comments klicken und nachrichten lassen. Also, ihr könnten meine viele Fehler beim schreiben merken oder mir einfach sagen wie toll ich bin!

Bis Bald!

Ad infinitum PANTS

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This is the picture of Mr. Bowie, view Emperor of the Pants, ed that hangs right next to my computer. He is my maestro. The concert was wonderful, apart from the fact that the bulk of the crowd justify the use of the word “bulk”. Oh what an unfashionable lot! There was not an avant-garde brow on display, no Edie Sedgewicks or Candy Darlings. Even a Mandy Moore would have been nice. Well, no.

But the music is of course what transports us, what drives us screaming to our feet, arms flailing, and tears in our eyes when he plays Quicksand or Five Years. Hell, he could play the Alley Cat and with a wave of the hand, I am finished.

We are still sifting through Volumes of entries for the lucky person who gets to come along and see Lambchop have a seizure.

-xo

What day is it? Thursday again!

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I got to thinking about how good Mr. B manages to look these days. I am sure he has a whole team to work on him, drugs like a NASCAR pit crew. I was racking my brain as to how I could emulate all this good grooming, and it hit me: botox! I already work out, have a more than competent hairstylist, and I’d like to think I’m not a terrible slouch in the fashion department. But I am starting to wrinkle a bit, and that one stubborn wrinkle between my eyes really bugs me.

This idea got my home dermatology juices flowing, so I looked up how to make botox. You really can find anything on the internet. It turns out it’s mostly denatured alcohol, salt, and egg white. You can approximate the paralytic effect of the toxin with pyrethrin, which is a common pesticide ingredient! Thus began the bathroom chemistry. It looked pretty gross, but I dabbed some on with a cotton ball and waited a few minutes. It burned like a sonofabitch for a bit, but eventually the whole area went numb! Unfortunately there was no discernable visual change, so I figured you really do have to inject it, it’s not going to get through to the muscle otherwise.

I have a syringe that I scammed off my diabetic pal. I use it to refill my one nice fountain pen, and I figured “if that moron can inject herself every single day, surely I can master this.” I spent the rest of the afternoon practicing on an orange, with an Allure Magazine spread on botox for reference. Not too hard really. I braced my elbow on the toothbrush holder in the bathroom for steadiness and gave the wrinkle a poke. And… it hurt. A lot. The end result is a giant weeping sore. Bugger. I don’t think I’ll be going out this weekend, unless Mr. H makes me go to a doctor. I am half-tempted to post a picture and get everyone’s best amateur medical evaluations. So far I’ve just been spritzing on tea tree oil, like every fifteen minutes.

-xxoo

Pants descending a staircase

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Lamby and I had a delirious time doing the Frug with Mr. Bowie last night. That man is the epitome of “well-preserved.” A work of art. I wish I could say the same for the crowd. Everyone else apparently trucked in from Worcester. It is quite possible that they were expecting a Monster Truck show. It is also quite possible that they were all a bunch of randy bi-sexual drug addicts 30 years ago, as they sat stolidly through newer material but popped up like weebles for “Ziggy Stardust.”

I am adopting a new world view, a real seismic shift for me. It is tentatively titled “What Would David Bowie Do?”

Example:

Me: I don’t feel like going to the gym today.

Me: *snaps rubber band on wrist* What Would David Bowie Do?

Me: Houseboy, summon my personal trainer, and my cosmetic dentist, just for the hell of it!

This is sure to work wonders. Let’s try that again.

Me: I don’t have enough money

Me: *snaps rubber band on wrist* What Would David Bowie Do?

Me: I know, I’ll IPO!

To that end, I’m going to start selling Vomitola.net email addresses and premium memberships at $100 a pop. Look for Lambchop and I at the next show in June, waving a glittery pink banner reading “PANTS.” You could join us!

-xxoo

Rear window

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We walked around this weekend. We saw a lot of things! We met some hooligans. It was fun. We did not take a shower that day, yet still went out to dinner. At dinner I saw a girl wearing a sweatshirt and red high-heeled Converse sneakers. I felt less bad about not bathing. If I had a camera phone, I could have snapped a pic to show my stylist. She simply does not believe me when I tell her these things.

Today Lambchop returns, and tomorrow we’re going to see The Man in the Pants.

-xxoo

Das ist Playboy

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That’s what he said when I held up an enormous pair of vintage sunglasses. When Viktor says it looks good, it goes into my pocket. I love the fleamarket on the Akunerplatz in Berlin’s Prenzlauerberg. I love the rows of stands with all the shiny clothes and mod furniture, I love the fashionable people that get dressed up to browse and haggle there. But most of all I love Viktor, the fashion guy. He’s gorgeous, stylish, and delivers a snarky running commentary, “oh, that looks SO GOOD on you”. I have been buying things from him for years, and harboring a massive “he doesn’t know I’m alive” kind of crush. I can only share his stage for the length of time it takes for him to look me over, help me with a zipper, tell me I look fabulous and trade my admiration for 12 euros and a beautiful dress. Then I no longer have an excuse to remain, so I can only steal a glance at his gray eyes, and the fringe of long hair sweeping into them, and go.

Tomorrow morning I catch an early plane back to Boston. Ciao Berlin, ciao Viktor!

Yes, of course I realize he is gay! Shut up.

-xo

Get a haircut and get a real job

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Yesterday I got the haircut. That’s a start, right? I have 1/2 inch long bangs. I said “I feel suburban,” and my stylist rubbed her hands together with glee at the butchery that would take place. I like it. She asked if people really wear sweatshirts all the time out here, and I said “Oh, but they do!” and she had an involuntary spasm and cut off three inches of hair.

I am starting to see real muscle definition from my escapades at the gymnasium. This is incredibly exciting.

The man upstairs with the piano has enlisted a singing companion. Two days ago, this woman caterwauled “You make me feeeeeel like a natural….wooooomannnnn…..” for three hours straight. Further impetus to get a job that entails leaving the house, as this is no longer charming. I am updating my resume, right after my power nap. I have officially quit freelance and must simply wrap up what I already have going on.

-xxoo

Public Works

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I was sitting in a cafe in Mitte with an old friend and a girl came to our table with an entry form for a contest in the Kulturbrauerei (culture brewery). It’s a group of studios, galleries, and spaces where things happen. At any rate, they are building a word in giant steel letters that will adorn the plaza, and are handing out flyers to people who do nothing but sit in cafes all day thinking up words to be cast in giant steel letters. Naturally, we entered Vomitola! We will no doubt soon become a landmark in Berlin’s Underground art culture!

Plus, I stole her pen.

-xo