Where the hell were you smutty-smutsters? Has the chill frozen your crotches; barely-covered by hip-hugging, crack-baring, low-rising pants? Why was a PHENOMENAL evening of performances greeted with the (albeit warm and glowing) crowd of loose matchsticks from Monday night. I am talking off-the-hook kinds of smart Smut. And there were like, 12 people there until 9:45 (also known as "a quarter 'till titties").
It was an all-boy night, and leave it to me to be in rare reject form. Monday night was my descent into the bird flu (how could I be betrayed by that wonderful, proletarian, common-man meat chicken? How?) and as my friend and gay father, Regie Cabico would say, laughter was scattered like loose pearls hitting marble. Everyone's got to have their study-sessions, where the pajama bottoms, glasses and scrunchies are on... and you're just trying shit out. I was doing all sorts of spatterings of race material I rarely do, just to see if anyone connected. Not so much. Shit is tired, apparently. Or at least people tend to tune out if you go through the front gate with that stuff. Best to sneak around back so people see the real shit when those burglar deterrant light sensors go off. Managed to bitch about the dentist (Vicodin--cause there's always pain) and swing back around to my favorite story about ghetto pre-teens on the train.
As Mr. Flaxen Curls Justin Swain was waiting for his posse to show up, the illustrious Bob Powers agreed to read first. I think he's the first man I've met with a sexy lisp. Mostly we want to kick these people in the teeth. For a guy like Bob, you kinda just want to give him a hand-job.
He read his tales from men who have watched their wives have sex with other men and have loved it and hated it, as well as his testimonial from a man who has had sex with another man's wife while that man watched (and of course, spread a web of genetal worts to unsuspecting couples, like any adoptee would). I first saw these stories on his site from his WYSIWYG Talent Show performance. I was squealing with laughter with my headphones plugged into my computer while, I am sure, the phone I was supposed to answer at work rang several times, and lots of happy young gay interns at my office were cheering about yet another thing they did sooooo well!
Then Bob matched his fantastic tweed jacket and salmon dress-shirt with a warm and fuzzy tale of work-related love at the company picnic. In addition to being hilarious, much like the threesome testimonials, it was actually fairly sexy, in the way that water-slides and whipping wet hair back, and de-snotting flooded noses and big wet boners is sexy. Which, when you think about it, really kind of is.
Speaking of noses, Justin Swain filled us all in, shortly thereafter, about his big honkin' nose-fetish. Proof again that you don't have to try hard for a man's affections. Guys like openings. Whatever you've got, they've thought about getting inside... Particularly if you've got a powerful nasal blow, and you expand fantastically in a dreamscape to 50 feet tall. He also shared the most amazing break-up revenge story ever, involving one of those "crazy times on coke" and getting naked and slicing off his own dick before he ever made it to the bedroom where his girlfriend was fucking his best friend. It went from cute angsty boy in A-Ha Video to one of those teen-awareness assembly "Junkie"-type plays that show you just what a "bad trip" can be. Although, this was much more raw and virulent than all of that, and I was impressed that some dude who had just come to see the show before (and incidentally I blindly hit on from the stage) came and performed, and was one of the highlights of the evening as well.
Incidentally, my friend Michael Creighton who went to Emerson, believes this curly blonde to be a classmate who revealed his schlong-dong accidentally during a play and turned out massive audiences for the next evening (as though he were going to incorporate that into his performance in Inherit the Wind or Glengarry Glen Ross or the Crucible or whatever fucking play he was doing). Brilliant.
Last, but never least, was Jeffrey D, singing some dirty songs I hadn't heard. He started with the New York Titty song (not the name of it, but I have always wanted a T-Shirt that said this, so I thought I would just slip the phrase into the collective unconscious and see if I can't find the shirt on St. Marks in a few months), which is always a crowd pleaser... and fortunately for him, by this time, he had a bit of a crowd. He commented on the fact that he came to perform at a reading series, and performed songs, even though he has a new book out. Since he neglected to shill his book, for love of the rock, I am going to do it for him. Cause he brought it. So make sure you read I, An Actress: The Autobiography of Karen Jamey. Cause it will tickle you in a clever and probably creepy way.
He also did a fantastic stripper song, featuring my favorite line of the evening "make this boner expire." I love the thought of an epitaph reading "Here lies the boner of Jeffrey D... not for long! --or-- he is risen! --or-- finally buried in his mother just as he dreamed! Okay, that's not nice. I am sure his mother is a wonderful lady. And I know him to be the kind of man of taste and decorum who would fantasize about other's mothers before his own. This, of course, was all wrapped up with the "let me see your pussy" song, on which he will probably collaborate with Ween and Lenny Kravitz for a club edit... once he moves to LA that is.
What is up with that? Both Jeffrey D. and Justin Swain are moving to LA. Who does that kind of shit anymore? I mean, I hear tale, again from Mr. R. Cabico, that there is an underground arts scene in LA. And yeah, I've seen a cool band there or two. But unless you are finally ready to sell it, which is what it is good for, it doesn't necessarily seem the place for that underground community. Although, who am I to say. I felt like NY was played out before I got here, and after being here 5 years, I am realizing that I am just playing it. And it's fun. I think that LA can and will experience it's own, nouveau rennaissance, once all that restless youth comes down off the latte and realizes that the pace makes people too lazy to go anywhere else, but not too lazy to do something different. That damn place has been needing something different (and not the well-recycled "same") for decades.
It was an all-boy night, and leave it to me to be in rare reject form. Monday night was my descent into the bird flu (how could I be betrayed by that wonderful, proletarian, common-man meat chicken? How?) and as my friend and gay father, Regie Cabico would say, laughter was scattered like loose pearls hitting marble. Everyone's got to have their study-sessions, where the pajama bottoms, glasses and scrunchies are on... and you're just trying shit out. I was doing all sorts of spatterings of race material I rarely do, just to see if anyone connected. Not so much. Shit is tired, apparently. Or at least people tend to tune out if you go through the front gate with that stuff. Best to sneak around back so people see the real shit when those burglar deterrant light sensors go off. Managed to bitch about the dentist (Vicodin--cause there's always pain) and swing back around to my favorite story about ghetto pre-teens on the train.
As Mr. Flaxen Curls Justin Swain was waiting for his posse to show up, the illustrious Bob Powers agreed to read first. I think he's the first man I've met with a sexy lisp. Mostly we want to kick these people in the teeth. For a guy like Bob, you kinda just want to give him a hand-job.
He read his tales from men who have watched their wives have sex with other men and have loved it and hated it, as well as his testimonial from a man who has had sex with another man's wife while that man watched (and of course, spread a web of genetal worts to unsuspecting couples, like any adoptee would). I first saw these stories on his site from his WYSIWYG Talent Show performance. I was squealing with laughter with my headphones plugged into my computer while, I am sure, the phone I was supposed to answer at work rang several times, and lots of happy young gay interns at my office were cheering about yet another thing they did sooooo well!
Then Bob matched his fantastic tweed jacket and salmon dress-shirt with a warm and fuzzy tale of work-related love at the company picnic. In addition to being hilarious, much like the threesome testimonials, it was actually fairly sexy, in the way that water-slides and whipping wet hair back, and de-snotting flooded noses and big wet boners is sexy. Which, when you think about it, really kind of is.
Speaking of noses, Justin Swain filled us all in, shortly thereafter, about his big honkin' nose-fetish. Proof again that you don't have to try hard for a man's affections. Guys like openings. Whatever you've got, they've thought about getting inside... Particularly if you've got a powerful nasal blow, and you expand fantastically in a dreamscape to 50 feet tall. He also shared the most amazing break-up revenge story ever, involving one of those "crazy times on coke" and getting naked and slicing off his own dick before he ever made it to the bedroom where his girlfriend was fucking his best friend. It went from cute angsty boy in A-Ha Video to one of those teen-awareness assembly "Junkie"-type plays that show you just what a "bad trip" can be. Although, this was much more raw and virulent than all of that, and I was impressed that some dude who had just come to see the show before (and incidentally I blindly hit on from the stage) came and performed, and was one of the highlights of the evening as well.
Incidentally, my friend Michael Creighton who went to Emerson, believes this curly blonde to be a classmate who revealed his schlong-dong accidentally during a play and turned out massive audiences for the next evening (as though he were going to incorporate that into his performance in Inherit the Wind or Glengarry Glen Ross or the Crucible or whatever fucking play he was doing). Brilliant.
Last, but never least, was Jeffrey D, singing some dirty songs I hadn't heard. He started with the New York Titty song (not the name of it, but I have always wanted a T-Shirt that said this, so I thought I would just slip the phrase into the collective unconscious and see if I can't find the shirt on St. Marks in a few months), which is always a crowd pleaser... and fortunately for him, by this time, he had a bit of a crowd. He commented on the fact that he came to perform at a reading series, and performed songs, even though he has a new book out. Since he neglected to shill his book, for love of the rock, I am going to do it for him. Cause he brought it. So make sure you read I, An Actress: The Autobiography of Karen Jamey. Cause it will tickle you in a clever and probably creepy way.
He also did a fantastic stripper song, featuring my favorite line of the evening "make this boner expire." I love the thought of an epitaph reading "Here lies the boner of Jeffrey D... not for long! --or-- he is risen! --or-- finally buried in his mother just as he dreamed! Okay, that's not nice. I am sure his mother is a wonderful lady. And I know him to be the kind of man of taste and decorum who would fantasize about other's mothers before his own. This, of course, was all wrapped up with the "let me see your pussy" song, on which he will probably collaborate with Ween and Lenny Kravitz for a club edit... once he moves to LA that is.
What is up with that? Both Jeffrey D. and Justin Swain are moving to LA. Who does that kind of shit anymore? I mean, I hear tale, again from Mr. R. Cabico, that there is an underground arts scene in LA. And yeah, I've seen a cool band there or two. But unless you are finally ready to sell it, which is what it is good for, it doesn't necessarily seem the place for that underground community. Although, who am I to say. I felt like NY was played out before I got here, and after being here 5 years, I am realizing that I am just playing it. And it's fun. I think that LA can and will experience it's own, nouveau rennaissance, once all that restless youth comes down off the latte and realizes that the pace makes people too lazy to go anywhere else, but not too lazy to do something different. That damn place has been needing something different (and not the well-recycled "same") for decades.
posted by DesTheRay at 8:16 AM
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