The much ballyhooed NYC update!!!
New York City sucked on me softly, like a maple sugar candy, until all my cash dissolved, but the world was left with such a sweet taste; a post-York film that still coats my entire body like a child's sugar-encased quivering tongue.
It all started on a dark night in Vancouver, me suckling on an award-winning Dragon's Breath martini in the casual opulence in the main lobby bar of the Hotel Vancouver on Thanksgiving Day. There I was picked up by the ever-gracious Fenris23 and angelvanilla and skirted away to their house where we enjoyed some Kill Bill 2, and had possibly the worst experience with Greek delivery in the history of the universe. And the food wasn't great either. By Zeus my bad, for it was my insistence on the foodstuffs of that ancient sodomy-loving land.
Then up incredibly early to catch my flight to the capital of the nation - Ottawa. I saw former Premier Mike Harcourt on the plane in first class; one often sees politicians on flights to Ottawa I've noticed. I was pleased to see that there's a brand new terminal, and the previous one, which had sucked like an old boot, was gone. I had the breeziest time getting to my gate (thanks to a friendly-for once US Customs!) and awaited my imminent arrival to that most gargantuan of cities.
Upon New York arrival in LaGuardia (an American airport that sucks like an old boot - albeit an old boot with a gourmet bread shop) I was whisked away by a large bus (where I heard a Jewish rabbinical student flirt with a University of Toronto doctoral student of civil engineering) to Grand Central Station, whereupon I was shuttled to the glamorous Hotel Westin, [photos] conveniently located in the heart of Times Square. I would stay there two nights, there was a tad bit of housing confusion, but I was supported by several helpful parties including SPECTRE Entertainment, UnnecessaryZ, and Legionnaire.
Upon arrival at the Westin, I helped punch holes in laminates for Spectre's party and drink lots of American beer, even slicing open my hand while trying to open one of the bottles. Like all American beer it gave me a gentle buzz that would never quite proceed into drunkenness no matter what the quantity consumed. (I would soon switch over to that ol' ace in my sleeve - hard liquor)
After a few mere hours there we went to our first party - the Syndicate party at Downtime. The party was generally staid, but I met many promoters I've been speaking with for years, and it wasn't entirely wasted - free stuff, drinks, and lengthy uber-grope three man makeout session (of which I was only a viewer!) made the party not a complete bust. (I would later find out through the rumor mill one of the guys, an MD like myself, got sucked off in the girl's washroom [by a guy silly] later on in the night). Trashy glamorous NYC, such fun!
We then strategically retreated to Greenwich Village to drink at the trendy hole in the wall Max Fisch's, where much music gossip, drinks, and amusing antics were shared. Well ok, I didn't share my drink.
I awoke to a sunny shiny NYC morning, well ok, afternoon, and we hustled our asses down to the Javitz Centre, where the conference was to take place, conveniently located around such monuments as fuck-all. A massive non-central building.
After picking up my CMJ pass, chatting with more promoters, revisiting fabulous NYC pizza [I'm sure that only in New York can you have a slice of pizza with French fries on it] and the friendly fellows at Absolutely Kosher records I was able to witness the trans-Atlantic awesome that was Holly Golightly, as well as a handful of other bands (the Prosaics, etc) that weren't bad. Holly can belt it with the gusto of a Cajun alligator wrestler, and with as much sass.
After that a short cab ride to the Fanatic party, with more free alcohol that would be the hallmark of the trip, held at Serena. UnnecessaryZ made an appearance and we had some drinks and I talked to this gorgeous NYC native who had the coolest white rapier print shirt that I ever did see. I should have asked for her number. le sigh Instead of hot sex with a stylish NYC native to the tunes of I'm waiting for the man by the Velvet Underground, I went for a pizza date with UnnecessaryZ, on the way there we saw this weird ambulance with a monkey strapped to it. [photo] Z walked me to the Coral Room where I'd see the first (and best) music showcase of the whole trip. The marquee was a golden lineup consisting of such bands as - Windsor for the Derby, Antony & the Johnsons, Br: Danielson (who has a fortunate tendency to perform dressed as a tree and had Sufjan Stevens sitting in with the band), Damien Jurado and a rockin' unit formerly known as Songs: Ohia and now known as Magnolia Electric Company. I met the people from Secretly Canadian records, and had a gay fellow fan of Antony flirt with me. Did I mention the Coral Room is a bosssome aquatic themed bar that has giant fishtanks in which live mermaids swim for one's viewing pleasure? I didn't? My bad.
I also had the pleasure of chatting with Antony, who has the most beautiful voice I've ever heard from anyone, the only person I can even think who could give him a run for his money is Diamanda Galas. [whom I would see 6 days later] He loved my white suit, cheese ring, NYC skyline tie, and snakeskin loafers. Sometimes there's no substitute for style.
After the Coral Room I met up with some promoter friends at this sleazy bar known as the Dark Room (?) across from Max Fisch's. It was a weird time - there was a very coked-out vibe in the air - with people taking far too many trips to the bathroom for my liking. I returned to the Westin, where a party was happening in the hotel room. I drank some beer, chatted, watched some of the US presidential debates and not so promptly crashed.
I woke up late or early, I can't recall and stumbled around Times Square, catching naked cowboys, eating pizza, watching indoor ferris wheels, and gobbling up Ben & Jerry's (Blueberry flavor - unavailable in Canada!) at a Ben & Jerry's Emporium. I then took a long walk down Broadway to this little club where the hip-hop meet and greet party was. Saw DJ Z-Trip, Jazzy Jay & Grandmaster Cash (from the Zulu Nation) totally rip it up (Mix Master Mike called in sick) and that was great, Prince Paul and Dan the Automator also dropped into the party, and I also got to meet Immortal Technique and some other luminaries.
The meet and greet was an ocean of free swag and during some bored downtime I played with the inside of one of my new hats.
Then it was on to the party bus! As I said then (and was told by hot girls was the quote of the night) Any decision that makes you not on the party bus is the WRONG DECISION! We gobbled up tons of free beer (including some weird kind in cans shaped like bottles with a non-screwoff bottle top - see photos) and grabbed hold of the ceiling bar & danced.. as well as were generally goofy. The girls on the first leg of that bus trip really made it worthwhile.. they were aces.
We took at pit stop at this amazing underground hall called the Hiro Ballroom, that had crazy oriental style. Not only did I soak up free drinks, I saw two fab bands play (one of which being the Brazilian Girls) The dcor was insanely bosssome.. and I got in a few good shots with Immortal Technique and his crew. Not only that - I scored the best matchbooks ever! They have full color Japanese erotic prints on them. A perfect accessory for my glamboyant self. And I go through them so slow as I don't smoke.
[IMG]http://suicidegirls.com/media/members/3/87/46873/26798/305911.jpg[IMG]
I think one of my greatest flaws is that I take myself far too seriously.
Then back on the party bus, since I was afraid of getting lost at a stop I just stayed on the bus (wouldn't Ken Kesey be proud?) until are final destination of par-tay. I can't remember the name of the place, although they had kicking tunes, and nice dcor. The bathroom however had been, ahem, overused, toilet overflowing with muck, so I jumped in the place next door to use the facilities and I found a mirrored shiny chandeliered excretory paradise.
I then hogged it back to the Westin, grabbed my gear, and made off to Legionnaire's (thanks dude, I owe you one, or two) and dragged my [now bizarrely heavy] gear up a zillion flights of stairs (ok, four maybe) to his tasty apartment. Crashed heavily there - like a meteorite, then off to meet that most fabulous of fab females - PresidentNumber2. While I was kind of hoping she'd show up wearing only plastic wrap and a cake, she was properly attired for the Guggenheim.
We paid a hefty sum to browse the artifacts of dead Aztecs, fisting their statues and making hot sweet sweaty love in a room full of gloomy war masks. Masks are sooo sexy.
There's some other inside joke (about snakes?) that I'm at a total loss to remember that we also made up. We also checked out some crazy modern art.. I saw an amazing Egon Schiele that totally blew my mind, as well as some groovy Modigliani's.
Our day of fun continued with spotting a boy being carried in luggage, walking through lovely central park, eating burgers at a hole in the wall joint (note the choking sign!), and then had some of the best ever strawberry shortcake. Prez claimed it would leave me sexually satisfied for a week; it was delicious incarnate, but could not stop my Romantic sperm from their rage, rage against the dying of the light. We parted ways, but not before I snapped one of the Prez parting her nostrils. Sorry Prez.. it was too gold not to post! And you'd know about that, Aztec goldminer that you are. NIPPLES!
The bevy of shows that night included the Fog, Subtle (Doseone from Clouddead), We Ragazzi, & Hella. The drummer from Hella hands are so fast that I must believe he's a superspeed alien from another planet, on drugs. The most amazing drummer I've ever seen. No pictures though as my camera battery died.
In between those two shows I stopped at the legendary Katz's Delicatessen and treated myself to a reuben. Now previously if someone had told me - Lemonkid - there is such a thing as a perfect sandwich in the world.. I'd have scoffed at them for their idealism twixt with lies. But let me tell you folks - it can be done. After my first heavenly bite I knew that Jesus had descended from heaven on the back of a holy white pig then shorn them both to pieces to create the godlike mixture of bread and meat that I held before me. Katz's pseudo-ratty cheap diner dcor appealed to my basest small town nature, as did the friendly chefs with huge sides of meat that they rapidly destroyed with the sharpest and most deadly of kitchen knives to produce my sandwich before me. Send a salami to your boy in the army! - the Three Wise Men
After that night's adventure I wandered over to the bar the Three Cups whereupon I ran into my man UnnecessaryZ, Siv, and some other NYC SGers whose names currently escape me. It was quite the inebriated bunch we had, and we jetted NYC style (yellow cab) back to Z's castle where he reigns as the King Queen of Queens. His brother was saucer eyed and slack jawed when we arrived and just before I pulled a knife to do him in because I thought he was going to make me a snack in Romero Dawn of the Dead fashion he mumbled some unintelligible words back at us that I was drunkenly clueless enough to label intelligible and thus preventing a disco bloodbath of the highest caliber. We crashed hard - like a JG Ballard book, or a David Bowie song off of Low, although it wasn't in a car and no one fucked anyone else's scars. (to my knowledge anyways - I hope I wasn't left out)
We woke beleagured, Z and Siv a bit more than myself; they were playing a deadly game of not getting wretchedly ill and embarrassing their entire nation in front of a liquor soaked Canadian audience of one.. fortunately for them they survived. We stumbled in a zombie-like stupor to a train car full of heroic lunch where we shot the shit and each ate to their own capacity. I had a sandwich more Heroic than the Justice League of America - and I can't remember what anyone else ate - except that there's photos of Siv and I with lemons to mark le occasion.
I then returned to Z's Fortress of Follytude, Siv ran off after catching a bit more rest, and Z and I matched off mano-el-mano in a game of Halo. Unfortunately for me if you were to rank skill levels at Halo mine would be a notch below menschen (never having played) and Z's would be at the level of I dunno.. Arcane Solar Deity. (and maybe a notch below Scopitone - ouch! That was below the belt, eh?) So my bullet ridden corpse was left to respawn while Z hunted me down again and again. Though I was able to toast him on a bare handful of occasions. Since Z was tired out from repeatedly killing me - I ran off to the final handful of shows I was to enjoy in the fair city of NYC. The fanatic showcase was a blast culminating in a completely Dionysian performance by my soul brother synth-lounge hero - Gary Wilson. He was wild, his band the Blind Dates cranked it, and I had fun fun fun til your daddy takes the baby powder away. I ever managed to score a brief chat with Gary (who I'd interviewed the week earlier) and caught this debauched photo. To round off the night and the whole New York experience I hit the Pussycat Lounge a (notorious?) strip club on Greenwich St. While the strippers were attractive (unusual), their performances were decidedly lackluster (usual), especially considering the music was pretty rockin' (unusual). The situation did little to relieve my already considerable sexual frustration, (usual) so I went upstairs to dance at the SPECTRE party, which was why I was there in the first place. (unusual) The party was a lot of fun, even though there weren't enough people to dance with.
I then got half-lost on the subway and my route was all messed up due to some tunnels being worked on, so I hopped in a magic yellow cab in Times Square, and out to Queens to grab my gear before hitting my ridiculously early flight. I didn't know it was considered obligatory to heftily tip the cabby, as it's not where I come from, and got quite the talking to, which didn't guilt me into tipping him further. I used the I'm Canadian excuse. Hahaha. I then grabbed my shit from a friendly Z, being sure to leave a fluffy towel for his upcoming tour of hitchhiking around the galaxy (I was sure he'd already he a book that said don't panic) and cabbing off to the airport. The airport ride was much cheaper than expected so I tipped the man extra extra.
Once home I crashed like a Japanese plane on a pleasure flight to Pearl Harbour for several hours. The following morn I tried to save my day as much as possible (impossible) and hit Peter Brotzmann Trio who were playing in town that very night. This month has held some of the best musical experiences of my entire life and this night of ecstatic cacophonous free jazz by a living legend surely did not disappoint. Being the jet-setting glamboyant international man of dysentery that I am - I couldn't leave it at that! Oh no! I had to fly over to Vancouver the next day to see Diamanda Galas perform at the Vogue, again one of the best shows in my entire life, and a treat - considering her whole US tour was cancelled and she only did a show in Vancouver and Mexico City. I didn't realize she had such a gay following - the first 10 people in line were myself, two cute boys from Abbotsford and Harrison Hot Springs (Abbotsford guy - call me!), as well as a gothy couple from California (!) who must be Diamanda's biggest fans - one guy had two tattoos of her! There was also a nice older couple of guys who were big into music, one managed to make the Tom Waits show!, and were pleasant to talk to. I just regret I had no hot people to make out with following the show.
I crashed at the ever-gracious Fenris23 and angelvanilla's place and ran off in the morning before they awoke to return to slumbery Victoria.
Quite the adventure, no? All I need now is to meet someone cool I can make out with in homemade blanket forts while eating pumpkin pie and listening to bizarro music. If you know someone - have them drop me a line.
That was exhausting. And I bet you didn't even read the whole thing.
Mahalo.
Lemonkid.
New York City sucked on me softly, like a maple sugar candy, until all my cash dissolved, but the world was left with such a sweet taste; a post-York film that still coats my entire body like a child's sugar-encased quivering tongue.
It all started on a dark night in Vancouver, me suckling on an award-winning Dragon's Breath martini in the casual opulence in the main lobby bar of the Hotel Vancouver on Thanksgiving Day. There I was picked up by the ever-gracious Fenris23 and angelvanilla and skirted away to their house where we enjoyed some Kill Bill 2, and had possibly the worst experience with Greek delivery in the history of the universe. And the food wasn't great either. By Zeus my bad, for it was my insistence on the foodstuffs of that ancient sodomy-loving land.
Then up incredibly early to catch my flight to the capital of the nation - Ottawa. I saw former Premier Mike Harcourt on the plane in first class; one often sees politicians on flights to Ottawa I've noticed. I was pleased to see that there's a brand new terminal, and the previous one, which had sucked like an old boot, was gone. I had the breeziest time getting to my gate (thanks to a friendly-for once US Customs!) and awaited my imminent arrival to that most gargantuan of cities.
Upon New York arrival in LaGuardia (an American airport that sucks like an old boot - albeit an old boot with a gourmet bread shop) I was whisked away by a large bus (where I heard a Jewish rabbinical student flirt with a University of Toronto doctoral student of civil engineering) to Grand Central Station, whereupon I was shuttled to the glamorous Hotel Westin, [photos] conveniently located in the heart of Times Square. I would stay there two nights, there was a tad bit of housing confusion, but I was supported by several helpful parties including SPECTRE Entertainment, UnnecessaryZ, and Legionnaire.
Upon arrival at the Westin, I helped punch holes in laminates for Spectre's party and drink lots of American beer, even slicing open my hand while trying to open one of the bottles. Like all American beer it gave me a gentle buzz that would never quite proceed into drunkenness no matter what the quantity consumed. (I would soon switch over to that ol' ace in my sleeve - hard liquor)
After a few mere hours there we went to our first party - the Syndicate party at Downtime. The party was generally staid, but I met many promoters I've been speaking with for years, and it wasn't entirely wasted - free stuff, drinks, and lengthy uber-grope three man makeout session (of which I was only a viewer!) made the party not a complete bust. (I would later find out through the rumor mill one of the guys, an MD like myself, got sucked off in the girl's washroom [by a guy silly] later on in the night). Trashy glamorous NYC, such fun!
We then strategically retreated to Greenwich Village to drink at the trendy hole in the wall Max Fisch's, where much music gossip, drinks, and amusing antics were shared. Well ok, I didn't share my drink.
I awoke to a sunny shiny NYC morning, well ok, afternoon, and we hustled our asses down to the Javitz Centre, where the conference was to take place, conveniently located around such monuments as fuck-all. A massive non-central building.
After picking up my CMJ pass, chatting with more promoters, revisiting fabulous NYC pizza [I'm sure that only in New York can you have a slice of pizza with French fries on it] and the friendly fellows at Absolutely Kosher records I was able to witness the trans-Atlantic awesome that was Holly Golightly, as well as a handful of other bands (the Prosaics, etc) that weren't bad. Holly can belt it with the gusto of a Cajun alligator wrestler, and with as much sass.
After that a short cab ride to the Fanatic party, with more free alcohol that would be the hallmark of the trip, held at Serena. UnnecessaryZ made an appearance and we had some drinks and I talked to this gorgeous NYC native who had the coolest white rapier print shirt that I ever did see. I should have asked for her number. le sigh Instead of hot sex with a stylish NYC native to the tunes of I'm waiting for the man by the Velvet Underground, I went for a pizza date with UnnecessaryZ, on the way there we saw this weird ambulance with a monkey strapped to it. [photo] Z walked me to the Coral Room where I'd see the first (and best) music showcase of the whole trip. The marquee was a golden lineup consisting of such bands as - Windsor for the Derby, Antony & the Johnsons, Br: Danielson (who has a fortunate tendency to perform dressed as a tree and had Sufjan Stevens sitting in with the band), Damien Jurado and a rockin' unit formerly known as Songs: Ohia and now known as Magnolia Electric Company. I met the people from Secretly Canadian records, and had a gay fellow fan of Antony flirt with me. Did I mention the Coral Room is a bosssome aquatic themed bar that has giant fishtanks in which live mermaids swim for one's viewing pleasure? I didn't? My bad.
I also had the pleasure of chatting with Antony, who has the most beautiful voice I've ever heard from anyone, the only person I can even think who could give him a run for his money is Diamanda Galas. [whom I would see 6 days later] He loved my white suit, cheese ring, NYC skyline tie, and snakeskin loafers. Sometimes there's no substitute for style.
After the Coral Room I met up with some promoter friends at this sleazy bar known as the Dark Room (?) across from Max Fisch's. It was a weird time - there was a very coked-out vibe in the air - with people taking far too many trips to the bathroom for my liking. I returned to the Westin, where a party was happening in the hotel room. I drank some beer, chatted, watched some of the US presidential debates and not so promptly crashed.
I woke up late or early, I can't recall and stumbled around Times Square, catching naked cowboys, eating pizza, watching indoor ferris wheels, and gobbling up Ben & Jerry's (Blueberry flavor - unavailable in Canada!) at a Ben & Jerry's Emporium. I then took a long walk down Broadway to this little club where the hip-hop meet and greet party was. Saw DJ Z-Trip, Jazzy Jay & Grandmaster Cash (from the Zulu Nation) totally rip it up (Mix Master Mike called in sick) and that was great, Prince Paul and Dan the Automator also dropped into the party, and I also got to meet Immortal Technique and some other luminaries.
The meet and greet was an ocean of free swag and during some bored downtime I played with the inside of one of my new hats.
Then it was on to the party bus! As I said then (and was told by hot girls was the quote of the night) Any decision that makes you not on the party bus is the WRONG DECISION! We gobbled up tons of free beer (including some weird kind in cans shaped like bottles with a non-screwoff bottle top - see photos) and grabbed hold of the ceiling bar & danced.. as well as were generally goofy. The girls on the first leg of that bus trip really made it worthwhile.. they were aces.
We took at pit stop at this amazing underground hall called the Hiro Ballroom, that had crazy oriental style. Not only did I soak up free drinks, I saw two fab bands play (one of which being the Brazilian Girls) The dcor was insanely bosssome.. and I got in a few good shots with Immortal Technique and his crew. Not only that - I scored the best matchbooks ever! They have full color Japanese erotic prints on them. A perfect accessory for my glamboyant self. And I go through them so slow as I don't smoke.
[IMG]http://suicidegirls.com/media/members/3/87/46873/26798/305911.jpg[IMG]
I think one of my greatest flaws is that I take myself far too seriously.
Then back on the party bus, since I was afraid of getting lost at a stop I just stayed on the bus (wouldn't Ken Kesey be proud?) until are final destination of par-tay. I can't remember the name of the place, although they had kicking tunes, and nice dcor. The bathroom however had been, ahem, overused, toilet overflowing with muck, so I jumped in the place next door to use the facilities and I found a mirrored shiny chandeliered excretory paradise.
I then hogged it back to the Westin, grabbed my gear, and made off to Legionnaire's (thanks dude, I owe you one, or two) and dragged my [now bizarrely heavy] gear up a zillion flights of stairs (ok, four maybe) to his tasty apartment. Crashed heavily there - like a meteorite, then off to meet that most fabulous of fab females - PresidentNumber2. While I was kind of hoping she'd show up wearing only plastic wrap and a cake, she was properly attired for the Guggenheim.
We paid a hefty sum to browse the artifacts of dead Aztecs, fisting their statues and making hot sweet sweaty love in a room full of gloomy war masks. Masks are sooo sexy.
There's some other inside joke (about snakes?) that I'm at a total loss to remember that we also made up. We also checked out some crazy modern art.. I saw an amazing Egon Schiele that totally blew my mind, as well as some groovy Modigliani's.
Our day of fun continued with spotting a boy being carried in luggage, walking through lovely central park, eating burgers at a hole in the wall joint (note the choking sign!), and then had some of the best ever strawberry shortcake. Prez claimed it would leave me sexually satisfied for a week; it was delicious incarnate, but could not stop my Romantic sperm from their rage, rage against the dying of the light. We parted ways, but not before I snapped one of the Prez parting her nostrils. Sorry Prez.. it was too gold not to post! And you'd know about that, Aztec goldminer that you are. NIPPLES!
The bevy of shows that night included the Fog, Subtle (Doseone from Clouddead), We Ragazzi, & Hella. The drummer from Hella hands are so fast that I must believe he's a superspeed alien from another planet, on drugs. The most amazing drummer I've ever seen. No pictures though as my camera battery died.
In between those two shows I stopped at the legendary Katz's Delicatessen and treated myself to a reuben. Now previously if someone had told me - Lemonkid - there is such a thing as a perfect sandwich in the world.. I'd have scoffed at them for their idealism twixt with lies. But let me tell you folks - it can be done. After my first heavenly bite I knew that Jesus had descended from heaven on the back of a holy white pig then shorn them both to pieces to create the godlike mixture of bread and meat that I held before me. Katz's pseudo-ratty cheap diner dcor appealed to my basest small town nature, as did the friendly chefs with huge sides of meat that they rapidly destroyed with the sharpest and most deadly of kitchen knives to produce my sandwich before me. Send a salami to your boy in the army! - the Three Wise Men
After that night's adventure I wandered over to the bar the Three Cups whereupon I ran into my man UnnecessaryZ, Siv, and some other NYC SGers whose names currently escape me. It was quite the inebriated bunch we had, and we jetted NYC style (yellow cab) back to Z's castle where he reigns as the King Queen of Queens. His brother was saucer eyed and slack jawed when we arrived and just before I pulled a knife to do him in because I thought he was going to make me a snack in Romero Dawn of the Dead fashion he mumbled some unintelligible words back at us that I was drunkenly clueless enough to label intelligible and thus preventing a disco bloodbath of the highest caliber. We crashed hard - like a JG Ballard book, or a David Bowie song off of Low, although it wasn't in a car and no one fucked anyone else's scars. (to my knowledge anyways - I hope I wasn't left out)
We woke beleagured, Z and Siv a bit more than myself; they were playing a deadly game of not getting wretchedly ill and embarrassing their entire nation in front of a liquor soaked Canadian audience of one.. fortunately for them they survived. We stumbled in a zombie-like stupor to a train car full of heroic lunch where we shot the shit and each ate to their own capacity. I had a sandwich more Heroic than the Justice League of America - and I can't remember what anyone else ate - except that there's photos of Siv and I with lemons to mark le occasion.
I then returned to Z's Fortress of Follytude, Siv ran off after catching a bit more rest, and Z and I matched off mano-el-mano in a game of Halo. Unfortunately for me if you were to rank skill levels at Halo mine would be a notch below menschen (never having played) and Z's would be at the level of I dunno.. Arcane Solar Deity. (and maybe a notch below Scopitone - ouch! That was below the belt, eh?) So my bullet ridden corpse was left to respawn while Z hunted me down again and again. Though I was able to toast him on a bare handful of occasions. Since Z was tired out from repeatedly killing me - I ran off to the final handful of shows I was to enjoy in the fair city of NYC. The fanatic showcase was a blast culminating in a completely Dionysian performance by my soul brother synth-lounge hero - Gary Wilson. He was wild, his band the Blind Dates cranked it, and I had fun fun fun til your daddy takes the baby powder away. I ever managed to score a brief chat with Gary (who I'd interviewed the week earlier) and caught this debauched photo. To round off the night and the whole New York experience I hit the Pussycat Lounge a (notorious?) strip club on Greenwich St. While the strippers were attractive (unusual), their performances were decidedly lackluster (usual), especially considering the music was pretty rockin' (unusual). The situation did little to relieve my already considerable sexual frustration, (usual) so I went upstairs to dance at the SPECTRE party, which was why I was there in the first place. (unusual) The party was a lot of fun, even though there weren't enough people to dance with.
I then got half-lost on the subway and my route was all messed up due to some tunnels being worked on, so I hopped in a magic yellow cab in Times Square, and out to Queens to grab my gear before hitting my ridiculously early flight. I didn't know it was considered obligatory to heftily tip the cabby, as it's not where I come from, and got quite the talking to, which didn't guilt me into tipping him further. I used the I'm Canadian excuse. Hahaha. I then grabbed my shit from a friendly Z, being sure to leave a fluffy towel for his upcoming tour of hitchhiking around the galaxy (I was sure he'd already he a book that said don't panic) and cabbing off to the airport. The airport ride was much cheaper than expected so I tipped the man extra extra.
Once home I crashed like a Japanese plane on a pleasure flight to Pearl Harbour for several hours. The following morn I tried to save my day as much as possible (impossible) and hit Peter Brotzmann Trio who were playing in town that very night. This month has held some of the best musical experiences of my entire life and this night of ecstatic cacophonous free jazz by a living legend surely did not disappoint. Being the jet-setting glamboyant international man of dysentery that I am - I couldn't leave it at that! Oh no! I had to fly over to Vancouver the next day to see Diamanda Galas perform at the Vogue, again one of the best shows in my entire life, and a treat - considering her whole US tour was cancelled and she only did a show in Vancouver and Mexico City. I didn't realize she had such a gay following - the first 10 people in line were myself, two cute boys from Abbotsford and Harrison Hot Springs (Abbotsford guy - call me!), as well as a gothy couple from California (!) who must be Diamanda's biggest fans - one guy had two tattoos of her! There was also a nice older couple of guys who were big into music, one managed to make the Tom Waits show!, and were pleasant to talk to. I just regret I had no hot people to make out with following the show.
I crashed at the ever-gracious Fenris23 and angelvanilla's place and ran off in the morning before they awoke to return to slumbery Victoria.
Quite the adventure, no? All I need now is to meet someone cool I can make out with in homemade blanket forts while eating pumpkin pie and listening to bizarro music. If you know someone - have them drop me a line.
That was exhausting. And I bet you didn't even read the whole thing.
Mahalo.
Lemonkid.
VIEW 25 of 53 COMMENTS
A friend of mine used to hawk merchandise for secretly Canadian, they're good people.
I've always wanted to see NY. Why did you pick LA for the NHS thingy?