Ok, shot some video at Bobbie’s Bordello this past Saturday. The line up was Nelson Lugo hosting, Katie Kakes doing Go-Go, with performances by Rosie La Rouge, Cherry Pitz, Rubie Fizz, Kissy Wishes, and Jenny C’est Quoi. The place was dark and I am new at the camera, but you get an idea of the energy of the evening, so enjoy!
This is a video I have posted before of me performing with The BTK Band at the Stonewall Inn. There is a disclaimer: the kid in the story was not actually Shane Clarke, that was another guy at my high school, but the guy who plays a role in this story was named Shane. I was improving this and I reached for a Shane in my head and came up with the wrong one and had to stick with it. So, Shane Clarke, sorry about that, and Shane Whatsyername, you were a dick.
This is the training video for a movie coming out in November called Ninja Assassin. This alone should guarantee asses in seats. I am not even going to bother with a plot description because, honestly, after seeing this, who really cares?
I was in a slow motion car accident once. My girlfriend at the time, Christy, was behind the wheel. We were in her pick-up truck. St. Louis, where we lived had been hit by a massive snow storm. The storm had arrived one night as we were entertaining our friend Bryan. The three of us sat there in our second floor apartment watching snow flakes the size of our hands descend on our Southside neighborhood. Bryan crashed on the couch and we woke up the next morning to find that some four feet of snow had fallen and, since the plows could not get down our tight residential street, there would be no getting out. So we waited another day and the next morning we all piled in the truck to try to get our friend home in time for work. About halfway down the block we hit a slide. We were doing five miles an hour and Christy did everything right, braking and cranking the wheel in just the way you are always taught when it comes to dealing with these things. No use. The road curved just slightly which meant that we could see the Toyota we were going to hit for a good five minutes before we plowed into its side. I got out and went up to the apartment the car was parked in front of to tell the resident that we had just smashed their car. It was early in the morning and the cute little red head who answered the door had still been asleep. As she stood there in a tiny little pair of panties waiting to find out who I was and what I wanted, I looked at her bare thighs and some part of my back brain, totally disregarding the circumstances, thought “Win.”
birdofparadise
That was how Hotsy Totsy went last night. We hit technical difficulties right from the start and by the second act, they had come together to render us belly up with a full house. Joe the Shark scrambled to right the situation, Joel Jeske and Cherry were thrown into improvise mode, trying to keep the audience from abandoning us, the performers all sat backstage waiting patiently to see if we could jury rig some way for the show to go on. We did, but the script was thrown out of order and all the sound cues arrived way off the mark.
Everything had been done everything right. A fantastic list of talent had been assembled with a brilliant
Joel Jeske
host and a great script, everyone had shown up on time, rehearsed, and got things moving on time. But, none of that could prevent us from having to watch the show do a slow slide into a Toyota.
BUT! The audience stayed. And they laughed. And all the girls got up and did great bits and were sexy as all hell. The crowd loved the show and they stuck around afterward to say so. They had come, gotten drunk, laughed, and saw hot girls do sexy things. Everyone in the audience counted it as a great night, even if the producers felt like they were killing themselves to make it happen with no cooperation from the universe, and that is, in live theater, all that matters in the end.
The moral is, as long as there is a hot girl in her panties at the end of it all… Win.
Because everything should end with Sexy Girls in their Panties.
So in the interest of ending things the way everything should end I will leave you with the girls of Original Cyn…
Apparently this guy calls himself the wolf whisperer. I call him a dick. If you make a high pitched noise in a canine’s ear, they howl. No one teaches them to do this. Especially, not some half-wit in need of a shave and a real job. Sadly, I guarantee you there are women who fall for this schtick.
If there is any justice, this guy will eventually suffer the same fate as the prick in “Grizzly Man” and be eaten by the animals he has dedicated his life to irritating and intruding upon.
I spent the first five years in New York doing much of nothing. I did go to some acting studio classes, did some short films that would never see the light of day, wrote a screenplay that I knew was doomed right from the start. But mainly I worked a clerical job at Columbia University and played Tetris while waiting for my life to finally burn up on re-entry. That was kind of the sad thing, I didn’t even have the energy to fuck up my own life, I let others do it for me. And those that did were mainly going about their business, entirely unaware that I had placed my soul on the tracks ahead of their oncoming train, then walked off to buy beer. I found myself listing at work, my boss looking for a reason to fire me. My dalliance in screenwriting had left me with a movie still in pre-production which I knew was getting worse and worse, quality wise, every second. My inability to stand up for the work and the people who had invested their faith in me had set fire to bridges I really did value and I was left with Hollywood players who were waiting for me to be too difficult to deal with, so they could cut me loose. On top of that, I was involved in an off again on again relationship where all we agreed about was that we really liked the sex and we both thought she needed intensive, long-term psychological treatment. All the while I am living in a place so small that I have back and shoulder pain from the position the limited space forces me to sleep in. I was in one of those places where you call up your ex-girlfriend to cry because she is the only one who remembers when you had both hope and potential. I was lucky that my ex was actually very patient for that crap.
I was involved in a very healthy relationship at the time, it was going somewhere.
But I assign no romance to self-destruction. I come by it honestly, through plain old stupidity. And when I have found myself having crashed my car into an abandoned house at the end of a dead end street, it is not the glory of my beautiful nihilism that concerns me, it is how I can keep moving so that I don’t become that particular cliche. But, sometimes you must clear the rubble before you can rebuild.
So, I quit my job, took my name off the movie, and called up the unbalanced sex freak and said, “Promise me you will never come back.” (She was nuts, but she could be trusted to honor a promise.) I started from scratch.
There have been many glorious results from this decision, but in this post we will only deal with two. First my brand spanking new marriage to a woman who truly shares my struggles and dreams and who has been a true collaborator for me and the first major thing we ever collaborated on: My solo show Monster in The Wood.
The wedding was small, really just family, so don’t feel bad that you weren’t invited. Instead please accept this invitation: I am performing Monsters this weekend, Friday and Saturday nights, at 7:00, at The Creek in Long Island City. Please, come down and check it out, it is ten dollars at the door, and it is a true life comedy about violent death. How often does someone offer you that?
So,I managed to get married and it was almost perfect, no disasters, but my family is still in town and they love nothing better than going down to Chinatown and haggling. My sister made a small Asian man weep in the middle of his knock off bag stall. It was heartbreaking. She just kind of stood over him with this mildly contented smile on her face, like a lion digesting a fresh kill.
So to counter balance the gore and brutality (and to buy time until I can focus on getting legitimate posts back up on the blog) I bring you - PICTURES OF CUTE ANIMALS!
Contented kitty
Baby Giraffe
Baby fuckin' AARDVARK!
BABY PANDA
Alien brain leach
"Cute little weiner dogs" will rip your throat out and feed you your own intestines.
This thing is so poisonous it can kill a full grown man in under thirty seconds. You bleed out through your eye sockets.
Cuddly basket of death.
THEY'VE GOTTEN FREE OF THE FUCKING BASKET! RUN, YOU FOOL, RUN!
Baby pandas eat their mothers.
Its us against them and if you don't want to end up like this poor asshole I suggest you buy a big gun and barricade the fucking door.
Regular readers will notice that there was no Criminal Profile this week. I also entirely failed to recap a couple of shows including my own, which was brilliant. Why? Why am I entirely lax in the only job I have at this moment? I am unemployed. If the unemployed can’t keep their blogs going, surely this signals the collapse of the Internets as we know them. And once the blogosphere goes, almost certainly will civilization follow.
WELL, I feel I have a pretty good excuse. I am getting married on Sunday. Yes! Married on Sunday. My brain currently has the consistency of melted butter and that is before my family arrives. So, hopefully, it will not be too long after the affair is concluded and I am all wedded up, toasted at the reception, and gotten busy in the honeymoon suite, I will be back on track and everyone who is waiting on a booking schedule, or a show concept, or a script, or a performance, or a web posting, or a review, or a plug, will be able to get all of these things from someone who can think past the Month of May.
Not all of the Family was Invited
By the way, this is the wedding for the Moms. This is why you have not received an invite. The real… er, burlesque wedding will be in August and everyone is invited to that one.
One word on the Creek, before I go off and resume the freak out that comes from dealing with any family event (the sublimation of homicidal tendencies is a discipline not unlike Jujitsu), I have to say that everyone who came down and did Stories at The Creek on Tuesday night were amazing. Burke Heffner, Jennifer Glick, Adam Wade, Juliet Wayne, Cyndi, and Peter Aguero along with our mystery guest, Sarah Peters, by all accounts were brilliant. Then we all headed down stairs to the bar for drinks. This show is getting to be a better and better party every time we put it up and I am really proud of that. The storytellers bring their best stuff to our shows, for which I am truly honored, and the after show festivities always leave us feeling like we have the best friends, colleagues, fans, and supporters any artist could ask for.
What do you want, weddings make me sentimental, fuck off.
I love the look on Veronica Varlow’s face in the still frame.
By the way, tonight is the premiere of Michelle Carlo’s Get Lit at the Belleville, corner of 5th and 5th in Park Slope in Brooklyn, 8 o’clock. I will be there. Hey! Here’s an idea! You should come down and buy me my last beers as a bachelor! I know, I’m too good to you.
slaughterman-australia Photograph by Michael O’Brien
Here’s an idea. Instead of waiting for Halloween, when everyone would see it coming, why not put up a haunted house in the summer? Take people out of their pretty, golden sunsets by the Hudson and toss them into a black hole of gore and twisted psychology. This is the basic idea behind A Midsummer’s Nightmare, a black walled bloodfest being put up by The Vortex Theater Company at the Sanford Meisner Theater (164 Eleventh Avenue, between 22/23).
its coming
The problem with reviewing a Haunted House is that such a thing relies on shock and surprise pretty much from the start and since I am recommending the experience, I am loath to give anything away. Let’s just say this: The company does a great job at creating a completely altered environment from the minute you step away from the ticket counter, having you stand on an X before you are brought into an ante-chamber for survival instructions and preparations. They also offer you one dollar, brace yourself shots which you pay for at the ticket desk. Never breaking that facade is one of the most effective techniques.
One other thing that I found very effective and think the creators could stand to elaborate on; early into the proceedings you are brought into a kind of Gitmo or Abu Ghraib style set-up, this was good and felt like something running deeper than just a fear of entrails and psychos. Fear based entertainment relies on what gets you individually (and it should be said that at A Midsummer’s Nightmare, every ticket holder must go in alone) and that will be drastically different for each person, some it will be body violation and for others it will be isolation and claustrophobia, etc. And Nightmare does try to get a wide swath of possible fears and paranoia. And this might be one that is effective for me more than others. But I thing that the Gitmo style section might strike on something roiling around in the American subconscious right now and my instinct is that they should, maybe carry that slightly further into the maze than they do.
Anyway, as I say, recommended, click the “its coming” photo to go to their website for ticket info and directions. Have a good time and don’t worry, the show takes about ten minutes, so that lovely sunset will still be there when you have to run outside and vomit.
I once heard someone say that they thought the sexiest part of a person is the mind. And I thought they should be dragged behind a car for that level of pretension. But then Jenny C’est Quoi arrived on the scene with an array of brilliant costumes and inspired acts, from Barbie to the Angler Fish (complete with light-up head piece) to the bawdy Irish bar-room poet, and, well, lets just say the only thing that brain is competeing with is the packaging it comes in. Yes, she is a one woman death match of sexiness and she is the winner.
Here’s Jenny C’est Quoi:
Where did you come from and why?
I believe that I arrived in New York because I was born within spitting distance of the city on the other side of the Hudson River. And then ripped away. Far, far away. We spent some time in Detroit and Dubai and then eventually I endured 12 years of mental water boarding by being forced through my teens and college years in North Carolina. You can still see Jenny claw marks up the eastern corridor from Raleigh to Brooklyn.
How did you decide you wanted to be a burlesque..dancer? performer? artist? trickster?
When I acquired the far-reaching reputation as “the girl who tries to start naked parties,” I figured it was time to find some more like-minded friends. I improvised for five years but you haven’t known the pain of self doubt until you’ve been publicly judged by a bunch of snarky, overweight, socially awkward New York comedians.
Plus, oh my gosh, burlesque is so much sparklier.
When taking off your clothes in front of observers what body part do you most enjoy revealing?
My waist.
Jenny C
What was the first aspect of what you do that you felt you truly mastered?
Making people laugh. The first time I felt truly comfortable was at this party gig in Williamsburg. I was like–holy crap, they’re laughing, they totally get it. Jenny wins!
What part still eludes you?
Projecting sexy and feeling comfortable sexy. “Oh, you like that? Looks soft, huh? Aren’t I a pretty peacock? Doesn’t it just make you want to lic–ha, just kidding buddy. Wink, wink. No, seriously, let’s get a mother-fucking beer. You douchebags want a beer?”
What did you think you’d be when you grew up and why?
In chronological order:
1. A Chinese waitress.
2. A paleontologist.
3. A veterinarian.
4. A fashion designer.
5. A progressive Middle East policy maker.
6. A graphic designer.
7. A creative director.
At some point in the future you are the victim of an assassination, who does it and why?
So–fact–I’ve always honestly wanted assassination to be the way I go in the end. And like, that’s a pretty creepy thing for an eleven-year-old to say, but it’s seriously the best way to go. Straight up pre-meditated murder is so pedestrian. I used to want to go the standard route of assassination by political adversary–preferably of an oppressive right-wing-type association–for my years of progressive policy making in the Middle East. But I’m getting older. I’d settle for something less impressive. Like crazed fan? Creative rival? Dramatic landlord?
Pogue MaJenny
Who was the second person you had sex with and did you handle it well?
It ended up being an improviser I met at an out-of-town show. We rented a hotel room, and had sex twice. Then in the shower I made a comment about the show but he misconstrued it and thought I was talking about the doing it. It was awkward.
We dated for four years.
Have you ever killed an animal?
The Classic Jenny C
I have a closet devoted to fur coats… heh… oops.
Are you close to your family and has it always been that way?
Super close. They’re brilliant. My dad went on a bodybuilding competition circuit the year he turned fifty and we go out snowboarding every year to try and best each other on the terrain park. He always wins. I always have less bruises. My mom is a toenail polish, J.Crew, Joy of Cooking kind of mom. When she gets drunk, she calls to tell me she’s so proud of me. I told her my agency won a big account and she started crying. She’s the sweetest single-member fan club you’ll ever meet. And my little sister just finished her first year of college and I think we get each other now. She’s surprised me a lot this year.
Do you have any fetishes and is there a favorite porn site that services it?
I guess I can’t classify this as a true fetish, because a) It can’t possibly exist and b) I don’t think it would get me all hot and bothered. But since I was really young, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of being set into a jello mold. Or seeing other people set into a jello mold. Like canned fruit salad. I think there’s something just horrifyingly erotic and scientific about a contorted human being–a moment frozen in gelatinous time.
There are a few “jello wrestling” videos out there, but come on, the jello isn’t even that solid. Also, I have found no clips featuring Bill Cosby.
What question do you wish had been asked on this questionnaire and what is the answer?
Last three New Years Resolutions:
2009: Make up for wasted time in high school and college. Party like it’s going out of style.
2008: Stop being so judgemental
2007: You’re an adult, quit biting your nails.
