Great Names: an ongoing list
I’m obsessed with this song from Adrienne’s latest mix. This Darcy Clay killed himself days before he was meant to appear at an anti-suicide rally. LOVING IT.
I’ve successfully imported my Blogspot to this here Tumblr and I hope to start Tumblring with some frequency.
Sam and I are headed to CT this weekend for Rachel and Alex’s commitment ceremony. I’m expecting to get silly and eat too much Indian food. I can’t wait (despite the fact that I am missing my bestie’s bday party)! I’ll eat an extra dosa for you, Adrienne.
Every so often I like to query my friends about how they’d spend a dream day. Time travel, teleportation and magic all exist in this fantasy realm. Usually I get a bevy of diverse responses to this semi-annual CFE, but this round was marked by low turnout and strikingly similar fantasy scenarios by 50% of participants.
wake up with the dawn in a woodsy lodge, full of energy. do yoga and enjoy it, then eat a light, oatmeal breakfast. then it’s hiking time, and i hike in the brisk air up a hill in a woods:
upon my return, i have a business lunch (croque monsieur) with a surprise guest: an editor who wants me to write a book for money.
then it’s pool/spa time. it’s raining cats and dogs, but it makes the pool (pictured here) that much cozier!
after that, i get a call from someone who wants me to make and star in a movie. so i’ve got that going for me too. then it’s time for dinner outside at dumont with my best girlz—burgers, ladies, am i right?—then we jam the night away, dancing, loving and whatnotting!
I would time travel back to November 25th, 1976 to the Winter Ballroom in San Francisco and play tambourine in The Band’s final farewell concert and then use my sexual mind control powers to bang Levon Helm & Rick Danko immediately after. Then I’d teleport every single person who participated in the concert (with the exception of Van Morrison and Michael McClure) to Mexico where we’d party for three consecutive days on the beach. Over those three days I’d become Eric Clapton’s number one girl and we’d get hitched and live a life of wealth, excess and sexual healing together forever. I’d also become Emmylou Harris’s best friend. Joan Baez would feel left out, but, you know, that’s how it goes. I can’t be best friends with EVERYONE. This game is kind of depressing.
It’s 1972 Los Angeles. I am 25 years old, a size 4, and working on the McGovern campaign. I go to a campaign event, some fancy dinner, and meet Warren Beatty. He asks me if I want to see his mansion. We go back to his place, get high, and bang each other.
I wake up in my pied-à-terre in Paris. My boyfriend Javier Bardem and I decided to fly out last night to go a party.
There are croissants and great coffee waiting for us when we rise. Before we get out of bed Javier insists on giving me head. Who can say no? That happens, then we eat the croissants in bathrobes on the balcony. With every bite of croissant, I lose a pound. I eat two croissants and at ten bites each I am at my goal weight. Looking fabulous, I leave the apartment and Javier to hang out with my best pals in mid 1980s New York. We go shopping and buy everything we want. I see a cheap townhouse in the West Village for sale and buy it. It’s a great price and I have a feeling the value will appreciate.
We meet up with my other friends Jeff Koons, Jenny Holzer, Karen Finley, Dara Birnbaum and Nan Goldin to go to a performance at The Kitchen. Then it’s contemporary times again and, thanks to my intimate involvement with the art scene in the 80s (what was really mere minutes ago), I am a famous artist. I head to my opening at Gagosian. The work looks great and the turnout is spectacular. My best friends and I head to my West Village townhouse to have dinner. Tom Colicchio is hard at work cooking. I tell him to take a break and come upstairs for a minute. We fuck. Back downstairs, dinner is being served when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Javier come to surprise me! What a sweetie. We finish dinner and then head to a party that’s playing all the best music. We dance all night and do a few drugs nothing major. Then we sleep deeply.
Last night I had too many drinks and I got home and was like shiiiiiiiiiz I have work in like 8 hours. Has the same thing ever happened to you? I bet it has! Here is my fool-proof Hangover Prevention Method (HPM). First you can do your normal nightly routine if you are able. If you aren’t able, skip it! Then take two Excedrin Migraine and two 4 hour Sudafed with a full glass of water. You should sleep sitting upright as much as possible (this is mostly only if it’s allergy season or if you have a cold, but sometimes it’s good to do regardless). You will wake up in the middle of the night, say like 2am, and have a really bad headache. You take one or two more Excedrin Migraine. Then go back to sleep. You will wake up again at about 5:30am and you’ll say, ‘please no headache’ and luckily you won’t have one. Then you can just slumber until 7:30 and you will be mostly ok!
When you head to work after this, you’ll be functioning at about 85%. A smooth ride with no dramatically terrible people will help you relax and get back to “neutral.” Unfortunately this morning Lady Luck was mad at me. This guy was leaning on the doors next to me and listening to his headphones loudly. Every time we were between stations, he would turn to face the door, look at his reflection and start playing air upright bass! EVERY SINGLE TIME. Like, dude get a fucking life and stop grazing my arm with yours b/c you want to admire yourself and practice strumming an air instrument. You are lame at life.
If you see a Curves bar, you should eat it.
Definitely don’t buy one, but if you have one lying around at work or on the street it is not a bad idea to, well, eat it! They contain almost no nutritional value, but also only 100 cals. No guilt! Chow down sistahs!
I think we have different definitions of FUN.
That’s right. Fuck fucking Crumbs assy bake shop. I hate your too big cupcakes. They’re too sweet and there’s too much frosting. Fuck all your funky flavors and shitty cookies. You blow. Also fuck your dumbshit M.Yoo doppelganger manager who overcharged me for my espresso this morning. You can’t charge people for a cup and ice. It’s included in the price, asshole. “Here have this coffee, but if you don’t want to hold it in your hands that’ll be 50 cents extra.” You are a stupid idiot bitch.