If you google "sexually deprived bitter women" my blog comes up fifth, not that I fucking goddam resent that. I'll be number one some day.
Ahem.
But I'm wondering if it has anything to do with my sudden, and completely inexplicable, opinion that Tony Blair is a sexy bitch.
Sure looks like I'm not the only one who feels that way.
Here he is, dueting with Shrub on Gay Bar.
Time to give your meat a makeover.
From Vancouver’s favorite street hooker advocate, ex-prostitute, ex-city council council candidate, ex-current-and-future madam, and ex-man, Jamie Lee Hamilton.
MEAT n MIX Hi All,
Just a reminder that next Friday May 26 is our Meat n Mix at the Lotus – 455 Abbott Street. As usual from 6-9pm.
Besides our meat draws, we will have Queen for a day. I have met a wonderful make-up artist named Sam, who is going to demonstrate to us all his hot make-up tips for the summer. We will draw a ticket for the lovely lady who will be Queen for a day as Sam and myself will do a complete make-up/transformation on stage. You will be ready to strut the night away after at one of your fav spots.
Since summer is approaching those new make-up colours need to be explored. Sam will have on hand his brand of Mac, Dior and Estee Lauder. I’ve already ordered a number of his products.
As usual, funds raised for Meat n Mix will go toward One-Woman NGO. Remember there is no charge to come to Meat n Mix. I really hope Colleen shows this time. If anyone has seen Colleen please tell her all work and no play does not make for Queen for a Day!
See you on Friday May 26 in the Mix pub for Makeover Meat n Mix from 6-9pm.
PS all you guys need to attend as well cuz Sam will offer skin care advice for you. Cheers
Jamie Lee
If they'll buy the premise, they'll buy the bit, right?
So Peter's left to go back East to college. To study uh, to study uh, to study paleodentistry with Professor Grizelda at Miskatonic U. It is his keenest ambition to head up the glee club, and we feel certain he will one day achieve this dream, despite the Professor's weird possessiveness.
Meanwhile, back at the Malibu beach shack, Mike, Mickey and Davy get their big break…
on the Johnny Cash show.
Yep, seems Johnny's a real fan of Mike's slick country stylings and is dying to have them on the show. So…here the boys are, performing – well okay, here Mike is, performing Nine Times Blue while Mickey and Davy look on and try to nod as if they're enjoying it. This illusion is assisted, in Davy's case, by the fact that he is as drunk as a skunk, and in Mickey's case by the chemicals used to give him the white-fro and the other ones he apparently ingested shortly before taking the stage.
No doubt this is the key to appreciating country music; I shall make a note of it.
Afterwards, Johnny and the boys hang out and shoot the shit. I think Davy's coming on to Johnny, but then who wouldn't? Watch that leg, buddy! Afterward, they break into "Everybody Loves a Nut." Well, at least 10% of men do.
Then it's time for a word from our sponsors. Oops, no rest for the wicked! Looks like the boys are under contract and the studio's getting it's money's worth out of them!
Bidding Johnny a tearful farewell, particularly on Davy's part, they have to really move tail in the Monkeemobile to get to their next gig, as the warmup act at a Tony Robbins motivational seminar. With go-go dancers. If you doubt, check it out! It's summer break time, so Peter, back home for the holidays, reunites with the band. Ain't it groovy?
The fact that this video is totally out of synch with the audio doesn't actually matter; Davy was never a very good dancer to begin with, and back then they just didn't have the lipsynching technology that's enabled the rise of, say, Britney Spears. Just add lysergic acid until it all makes sense.
Then they hustle off to the studio to help Joan Crawford record a public service announcement about the importance of good housekeeping. No wire hangers! She develops an obsessive crush on Mike, so the boys pretend he's infested with constipation-causing parasites, pretend to be medics from a MASH unit, and evacuate.
Wow, after that don't we all need a good de-lousing or at least a nice Christmas carol?
Remember the eternal truths: Love is all you need, and everybody looks better in a maroon pirate-sleeved shirt.
From Geoffrey Chaucer's blog, right over there on the blogroll.
Dear Mr. Chaucer,
Okay, so there's, like, this guy at school and he is TOTALLY hot and I think he likes me – like, he hasn't SAID anything? But Jamie heard from Marissa that Brooke had overhead him saying that he was completely into me!! And I like totally trust them? Except that this guy used to date M'lyssa and exes are like SO out of bounds, it's so not cool! But then she was all "oh, we're thinking about getting back together too" and the rest of us were just like, "umm, get over yourself?" and she was like "no", and we were like "yeah" and now she's not talking to any of us which is SOOO unreasonable, she is such a drama queen oh my god and she has the fugliest hair, she had it like slicked back yesterday and I was just like "what the hell?"
So anyways, do you think I should go for him???Love,
Hopeless RomanticMa chere Romantique sans Espoir,
Thou knowst wel the oolde clerkes sawe, ‘who shal yeve a loevere any lawe’? And also that fayre couplete of Boethius his Consolation of Philosophie that saith ‘quis legem det amantibus, maior enim lex est amor sibi,’ the whiche on englysshe tonge meneth ‘Who shal yiven loveres a lawe? ffor love ys for ytselfe a gretere lawe.’
Thus, thyn affecioun for thys manne of hotnesse doth surpasse eny bonde or promise thou hast ymade with Marisse. But onlye, I counsel thee, yf yt doth drawe yts source from cupides owen trewe arwe, and yf yt ys sovereine and powirful love (and nat simplye a passynge fancie). So yf yt be trewe and honest love, proceede, wyth litle thoghte for litel boondes yn fikel frendshep yforged. And yet, be nat cruelle aboute Marisses hairestyle, for as Cicero saith: odium ludo non ludatori, the whiche meneth hate nat the playere but the game.
Le Vostre
GC
Mentioned at tonight’s Shebeen Club:
re: Gabriel Byrne has the sexiest voice in the known universe
re: Project Runway
re: Homer’s Odyssey
re: Narnia Raps from NYC, LA, CAM
re: Narnia Rap from Ramadi
re: The Shoeblog of the Manolo
re: Go Fug Yourself on Lindsay Lohan and Sharon Stone at the Oscars
re: Edgar Allan Poe’s Wedding and sorry-ass life (note that when you google “Edgar Allan Poe’s Wedding” our announcement is #1! My hit-whoredom is momentarily satisfied)
re: Christopher Walken is So Fucking Cool
and is even more fucking cool as the Archangel Gabriel in The Prophesy
re: Cthulhu sits out an election: the voters’ loss
re: cowbell
Books brought:
As door prizes:
I Shudder at Your Touch gothic horror erotica
I Shudder Again more of that old gothic horror erotica. Same old same old.
Black Thorn, White Rose erotic retellings of fairy tales, although if you’d read the original French ones you wouldn’t need retellings, baby!
As references:
The Castle of Otranto, by Hugh Walpole. the first Gothic Novella (at least the first one not in German). Gets so caught up in the atmospheric effects of the flapping of raven’s wings in the graveyard and the eerie forboding of shadows in the candlelight that nothing actually ever happens. Like a great-looking date that can’t talk, a restaurant where the vibe is perfect and the food awful. Its chief virtue is that it’s just barely over 100 pages.
The House on the Borderland, by William Hope Hodgson, essentially the first supernatural horror novel in English, The Castle of Otranto being religious rather than supernatural in overtone and this divorcing the horror of the beings from their evil…ie they’re creepy, they’re deadly, but they’re not neccessarily from hell. Far better than TCOO anyway, and a quicker read.
The Gormenghast Trilogy by Mervyn Peake. Great books, I’m sure, if I could ever get through them. Like chewing through a glacier made of Turkish Delight. Historically important, great works of art, exquisitely overwraught, and virtually indigestible. A beach read…if you’re headed to Gitmo.
The Loved Dead and Other Revisions (and other works) by HP
Lovecraft. Cthulhu mythos stuff was discussed, EAP envy (which Lovecraft had in spades)…and the fact that this book contains the single most vivid and compelling tale of necrophilia I’ve ever encountered, and that’s saying something. No, I didn’t read it out over dinner.
Damn, forgot to tell my tale of the old boyfriend of mine who heard about how I was such a fan of “Lovecraft books” and asked to borrow them. A week later he returned them, with a puzzled expression. I asked if he hadn’t liked them and he replied: I thought they were gonna be how-to’s.
A Warning to the Curious by MR James. I put forth my theory that ghost stories are definitively English, while Gothic supernatural horror is particularly American…it was not well-received. Fools! again I say Fools! Ia! Shub Ni-ohfugedaboudit.
The Secret History, by Donna Tartt. I state unequivocally that this, combined with A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, are the two novels which define my generation; this is not good news to anyone who’s read both books. I test my theory that I can recite the first line…The snow was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation. I get about 70% right.
The New Gothic which includes such authors as Jeannette Winterston, whom we all agree is a genius. I quote her: Why have we submitted to a society which makes imagination a privilege when to each of us it comes as a birthright? Unfortunately, the book also includes Joyce Carol Oates, who is obviously paid by the word…and we descend into the crude, embittered remarks of literati who are not paid by the word at JCO’s rates.
Music for this evening:
Lou Reed: The Raven, his rock opera based on Poe
Closed on Account of Rabies, articulating a theory that Poe died not of alcoholism but of rabies. The album is produced by the Genius Hal Willner and featuring Christopher Walken, Gabriel Byrne, Marianne Faithfull, Iggy Pop, Deborah Harry, and Diamanda Galas reading Poe’s works
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: Murder Ballads, which is a collection of songs about murder, either from the point of view of the victim or the point of view of the perpetrator. This plays while we are eating. Bon appetit!
Diamanda Galas: Defixiones/Will and Testament; you either love her or you don’t even recognize it’s music. I, personally, loved the part where she synched up the throbs in her screams with the flashing of the strobes, but that’s just me.
And the menu was: a glass of wine (amontillado was unfortunately not Irish enough for the Shebeen) and The Tell-Tale Artichoke Heart Pasta. Now aren’t you sorry you missed it?
raincoaster 