Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Happy Jew Year!

The Downtown Dorothy Parker herself, Sharyn Jackson, one of my all time favourite Jews and maker of incredible pastries. Yummy!

Monday, December 29, 2008


I love magic, but sadly have a very hard time finding it on the island on which I am currently exiled. So, I thought I would compile a list of my favourite magical things so that I may feel the Holy Spirit through me once more. They are, in no particular order:

Ming tea (the blossom opens up in hot water)
That MGMT record
Roses (the bar) in Berlin
Max Steele's zine Scorcher
Kristahn's faux queen drag closet
Lanvin's embroidered copper derby shoes
The unicorn tapestries
York Minster
Stevie's butt
Justin Bond's version of The Twenty Second Century
The redwoods
And this video (mainly because of the music box soundtrack)

Bottom of the cup

Hot, milky tea with two sugars, barely even warm, barely even tea really, more of a soup of milk in a very large cup on my grandparent's couch on a Saturday afternoon. My feet barely grazing the carpet, dangling down from a mountain of cushions. Sometimes I fall asleep as my grandmother knits and sings to herself quietly, and solves the blocks of the crossword puzzle that stump my grandfather.

"Seven across, 9 letters, that's 'sanctuary', Jack."

I dream dreams saturated by the sounds of Saturday afternoon soccer pouring in from the television set as my grandfather whistles along with his team, makes sandwiches, answers the phone, attends to the easy warm business of domestic, married, retired life on the fourteenth floor of a tower block looking over the Mersey, leading out into the langorous Irish Sea.

When I wake up, bleary-eyed, relieved, my grandmother sings Good Morning Sunshine though it's the middle of the afternoon, and there's more tea waiting for me on the table. I pad across the carpet, thickly, calmly. I kneel on the chair and stare out over Liverpool's vista, counting the Churches, confident that the pretyt ones are Catholic. I look for my house, where my sisters are probably squabbling over a dolly, where my Mother is undoubtedly steaming cabbage and screaming at her husband amongst it all.

I can't find my house, I don't see it, this doesn't worry me, I take to the sea. I press my palms to the cermaic surface, unconciously testing the temperature. The tea is warm, dreamy, sleepy and I have a whole plate of biscuits too, two of each kind from the tin; two digestives, two chocolate digestives, two shortbreads, two rich tea and even a blue ribbon too.

"9 down is 'impenetrability'."

Enjoying my hoarde of biscuits, my buttery, sugary treats, I splash them about in my tea, like Gene Kelly with his umbrella in the puddles of a musical. As I come to the end of it, draining the blue mug to the last opalescent drops, I am startled, genuinely scared, to see someone looking back at me, scowling, staring directly at me, right into my eyes from the bottom of my cup. Looking at me from I don't know where, another world, another existence, I can't say but he's looking at me hungrily, deliberately and I am convinced immediately that I must not tell anyone what I can see, that I have discovered this face, or else I will be in terrible trouble.

I think I make a pact, silently, with this face, I think that we are bound up in something now, though I don't know why he chose me. Why he chose to appear to me out of all the children in the world, but I do know he's a dark power, black magic, pagan, heathen, witchcraft, Faust in a tea cup. Slowly, I lift my eyes away and up, I break from his gaze, and panicked I acknowledge that as long as I never meet his eyes again he can have no power over me. I swear to myself and Our Lady that I'll never, never look down at the bottom of my cup, ever again and I ask her to keep all of us safe from the Devil.

"Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Hail Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

"Seventeen down, nine letters, that's 'salvation'."

Saturday, December 27, 2008

New York Magazine explains my appeal, brilliantly.

We like Ves Pitt’s she-man because she-he looks like a woman dressing as a man dressing as a woman, or like Cindy Sherman dressing as David Bowie dressing as Cindy Sherman. And also, there’s something incredibly compelling about a glitter mustache. Must we have a better reason? Pitts is on view at Christopher Henry Gallery through January 11.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

My God, I miss New York.

Walking after midnight with Meow Meow.

Time Out London

Bored this festive season? You needn't be.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Things I meant to tell you over the phone.

1. I had a dream last night that Gordon Brown (the British Prime Minister) was a very ill killer whale and also my best friend.

2. My Mother convinced herself that she had the beginnings of a moustache and persuaded me to wax it for her with a veet home wax kit.

3. I have written three chapters of my novel Everything Must Go (working title).

4. I discovered Gay Romeo in Berlin and am roughly as successful with that as I was with manhunt. Which is to say not very.

5. I snapped my sunglasses and they're really expensive to replace. I found them in Chicago for $1.99, but it later transpired that they were original wayfarers from the '60s.

6. My five year old sister told me yesterday; "I never used to like you, but now we can all be friends together."

7. Seven is the Holy Sex.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Who's That Girl?

I am seemingly on some sort of list trip, so humour me.





Hilary Duff

Go figure.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Six times Oscar nominated character actress

Was there anybody Thelma Ritter didn't work with?

Monday, December 15, 2008

If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.

Just saying.

Your candle burnt out long before, your legend ever will.

Every so often I run away from my life, leaving the stages of the world's art capitals behind me in favour of the loving arms of my family and their solid charms. I come over all "Substitute for Love" when I get off the train and see my little sisters in their pyjamas, all sleepy and excited, telling me about seeing Santa. I get home and the dog climbs all over me, and my nieces scream with all of the commotion. It's magic.

This emotion lasts for roughly twenty minutes before all spirals out of control, descends into chaos and I dive under the table, shaking like a speed addict without a fix.

I have a lot of time to contemplate things and brush up on my favourite topics, namely Beyonce videos and Elizabeth the First. Why is it that there are so many adaptations of this particular queen's life? I mean, I think she's fierce, but usually my taste's don't exactly match up with popular taste. There's never been a TV mini-series dedicated to Paul Cezanne has there? Anyway, here are a few of my personal favourites from the hallowed list of Elizabethan impersonators, you know, just for kicks.

Miranda Richardson in the notorious BBC series "Blackadder".

Quentin Crisp in Sally Potter's "Orlando".

Anne-Marie Duff in the TV mini-series "The Virgin Queen".

Cate Blanchet in the movie "The Golden Age".

Helen Mirren in her Emmy award winning role in "Elizabeth I".

Celebrity Blonde in BoyfriendRobotique's "Red Heads of History Solve a Murder Mystery".

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Learn it!

Knowledge I have gained in Germany this week:

When it comes to music, Pagans are as bad as Mormons.

A little bit of acid is healthier for you than a spoonful of wormwood.

Radiators actually heat by convection.

To entertain yourself, all you need is a wobbly table and an overactive imagination.


Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Live from Berlin!

My dear afflicted Californian friend, Stevie is hosting me this week in his really very lovely Berlin appartment, he`s established here. We are preparing a ceremony to present on Friday at Studio Saint Saint, Berlin´s only gallery owned and operated by transvestites. I love this city.

People beat each other up on the subway, everything is covered in grafitti and every building functions as a gallery, an appartment, a store and a cookery school. Plus it`s wildly cheap, rents seem to be around 250-300 Euros (ie $320-388) a month. Peaches, Bruce La Bruce and Vaginal Creme Davies live here. I bought two pairs of earrrings and a scarf today.

"I´m not a moody guy...but such a life I´ve never known."

Monday, December 1, 2008


Interview currently features the superlative Max Steele, looking like a Pink Narcissus /Peter Berlin/Fassbinder hybrid, and I for one am buying a million copies and giving them to everyone I know as Christmas presents. I tried that once previously, with Other Voices, Other Rooms actually.