Updates updates updates...

It came to my attention today that I've left y'all hanging in regards to a few things...here's the latest 411, whether you're interested or not:

1. Do it for Johnny: Haylar headed to Texas on Valentine's Day to enlist the help of Robert Rodriguez with the Johnny quest. If all went as planned, he was at the red carpet last night with a truck and a huge banner to get JD's attention. Haven't heard the results yet, but will shamelessly namedrop at the first opportunity.

2. Da Vinci Code: Finished it awhile back...not wonderfully written by any means, but an incredibly clever story which raises a ton of questions that are worth digging into. I already thought that Catholicism was bullshit, so Dan Brown's vaguely sophomoric style was relatively easily overlooked. Also finished The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold...now see Dan, THAT's how you write a story. Gorgeous.

3. Dating Moratorium: Officially over. That's all I have to say about that.

4. CBass: From this day forward, Law & Order's favorite rock vixen will be known as Coco. Just so you know.

5. Tsunami: The death toll is at roughly 250,000 and still rising. Your contributions are still welcomed. Benefits are still taking place all over the country. Please go. My David is not home yet, but he did email me & should be back in late March/early April. Photos (of the bruises I'll be leaving on him) to follow.

6. The Drag Citizen/Drew Blood/Banana Fish Zero show on 2/18: Nothing short of spec-fucking-tacular. DC's best show thus far, without question. Check out the video if you don't believe me. Drew Blood was rad...I bet all the assholes that made fun of that guy in high school for practicing piano all the time feel pretty stupid now that Drew's sleeping with their girlfriends. And call me a sucker for the anthematic sing-along, but over a week later, I'm still walking around singing "Fire" under my breath. Damn you, John Law...damn you all to hell. (But I hafta say...shit bitch, you is fine!)

So there you go. Take care of yourselves, and each other.

I am...somebody. Okay, not really.

So I stood in the window of the TRL studio at MTV today with my sunglasses on, tryin' to look all fly and convince the tourists down in Times Square that I was somebody famous. Same window where Eminem stood & looked out at 30,000 crowding the streets...

It, um, didn't work. Yeah. Oh well. Goddamn midwesterners. I still got my picture taken in the same photo booth that every celebrity known to man (INCLUDING RICKY MARTIN, THANK YOU) has been in at one time or t'other.

Thanks Stephanie and Nick, for the opportunity to assert my non-rockstarness. It was pretty dope anyway.

Gone-zo

I had some stuff I wanted to write about today...It'll have to wait until tomorrow, however, in deference to the passing of one of the last great American writers. Loved, hated, disregarded, over-revered...whatever the perception of him, Hunter S. Thompson was inarguably an original.

"We had two bags of grass, 75 pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine and a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers. Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls..."

You lived a hell of a lot longer than anyone thought you would, you crazy bastard. Once again, one final time, you gave yourself license to do whatever the fuck you felt like. And once again, like always, there's really no arguing with you about it. I'd tell you to rest in peace, but I doubt that's what you'd want to do anyway. Peace would be all too commonplace and boring, not to mention that it couldn't possibly involve the kind of firepower you're accustomed to. Instead, I'll just say thanks and drink my next one to you. And maybe the one after that as well.

Friday night and I need a fight

Come see Drag Citizen and Banana Fish Zero tonight at the damn Continental.
Because I said so, that's why.

As your reward, I caught you a delicious bass.

Uh-oh...

Somebody figgered out how ta put da pitchers in da bloggy blog...
Oh man, you guys are in for it now. (And save your comments about my being a slow learner. It's nothing I haven't heard from my mom for the last 32 years, so blow me.)

Anyhoo...when I read this earth-shattering, nipple-tingling news today, I couldn't help but reminisce about the old days (okay, last winter.) They were the days when I still occasionally showed up at places like Avalon...days when I still drank too much to realize that my boyfriend was a giant douche...days when I found myself kickin' it with Tommy Lee...

No, my hand was NOT on his ass, thankyouverymuch.

Can't wait to go to the show and be all like, "Tommy, how ARE you darling? Remember that time at Avalon when you were dating Pink and she was all like 'eeeeehhh' and we talked about how much Longwave sucked and...hahahahahah...good times! I missed you too pumpkin! Now stop touchin' my boobies...Well, okay, you can keep touching 'em. Hee hee!"

All I have to say is...

I couldn't give less of a fuck about The Gates. Really.
(Note: For those of you not in NYC, please disregard.)

Of COURSE I'm bitter

Yeah. Goddamn right. Valentine's Day. Whatever.

Elvis put it best, as usual:
"But if I've done something wrong there's no ifs and buts
'Cos I love you just as much as I hate your guts."

It's almost four months after the fact, and it still hurts like hell and pisses me off all at the same time. In spite of the faith I try to hold that at any given time things are exactly as they should be, I can't help but feel like in this case, this one time, it should just be different. I don't know if there was ever even a possibility that it could have turned out any other way. But the very thought of the potential existence of that possibility is absolutely killing me, and thus must be extinguished post-haste. I deserve more. And better. Soon.

Those of you that have the elusive "it": Congratulations. Sincerely. Don't fuck it up.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Shit Bitch, You Fine!

No really, you are. At least this bear thinks so. I would instantly marry someone who brought that home to me as a V-Day (or any other day) gift. (George: take the hint, honey. It's time.)

Sexy Magazines tonight at the Knitting Factory! They may not be real Magazines, but they are, in fact, Sexy. In like Flynn am I.

Two...wait, no, THREE simple things that make me happy:
1. Getting a FABULOUS new haircut and color from Joseph at Xena's Beauty Company (thanks love!)
2. Wearing new panties that are both comfortable and cute. Mmm hmmmm.
3. Beating the hell outta a buncha smarty future-lawyer type boys in BOTH games we bowled (that's right...sit down, bitchez!)

See, it doesn't take much. I'm easily pleased and/or amused. My ex would maybe argue that, but he's an idiot anyway.

Behave this weekend, monkeys! Or don't. Whatever blows yer dress up.

Kevin Bacon and a non-Indian, with a hint of gay porn (for flavor)

I'll make this quick, as I REALLY have to pee:

Baby Dayliner, Mercury Lounge, tomorrow night (2/11) at 11:30. Go. If Kevin Bacon was eight inches taller had maybe six ounces of soul, he'd be almost as cool as Baby D. (Okay, no he wouldn't.)

Ward Churchill. Dude, come on. I'm not saying you don't have the right to speak your mind, or even that you're completely wrong in your assertations about 9/11. But if you want to make a point and get people to actually LISTEN to you, you might wanna try NOT bein' a complete asshole about it. The victims of 9/11 are "Little Eichmanns"? How exactly did you expect people to react to that, man? This little gem, coupled with the well-established facts that a) you are NOT EVEN A NATIVE AMERICAN, HELLO, and b) even AIM is over your shit, leads me to believe that you need serious help and should have a sock shoved in your mouth until such time that you agree to see a psychiatrist. (Note: I interviewed this man in 1992 when I was a student at CU, which is part of the reason I feel a need to comment about this debacle. I was writing a paper on civil disobedience. We spoke at great length about a lot of stuff, including AIM, Columbus Day, and racism in general. He was a great interview and interesting to talk to, but it was clear even then that he was nuts.)

Yours truly was interviewed this week for a column in Playgirl, thanks to up-and-coming superstar journalist Alexis Tirado. The issue comes out in July. Be sure'n get a copy fer yer mom...I'm sure your gay uncle has a subscription, so he's covered.

And Happy Birthday To You, Justin Lubatkin, my friend whom I rarely ever see, mostly because I'm an asshole, not because I don't love you.

Some wonking and whatnot

Okay. So between some irritating technical difficulties, an overly busy schedule, and the hormonally-driven crap-ass attitude I've had for the past few days, no bloggy-bloggy action. I'm still pissed off for no solid reason (other than the gnawing certainty that I'll die alone in a trailer in Missouri with 67 cats, of course), but there's stuff to be said, so I'm making the effort.
Ahem...here goes:

On the Johnny Depp front...good news...Giovanni Agnelli, Hollywood-type and avid Haylarphile, spent $5,000.00 on Executive Producer credit for Do it for Johnny. Seems he hadn't yet picked up a birthday gift for his dear friend Farrah Fawcett, so he jumped on eBay and bid on one of the auctions rather than running to the Prada store for yet another handbag. (Note to self: Make friends with this Agnelli dude before next birthday.) Rumor has it that LaVerne Difazio herself is interested in the project and may contribute as well. The press releases are rolling in...check the site for details, and of course I'll keep posting updates, starfucker that I am.

Anyway...It occurred to me recently that if somebody hasn't already made a porno entitled "Bangs of New York," somebody oughta.

It also occurred to me that since David turned up safe, I've thought and thus blogged quite a bit less about the tsunami and its victims. How self-absorbed of me. That said, there's a big ol' all-day tsunami benefit called On the Rocks this coming Sunday, 2/13, at Arlene's Crappy Grocery on the LES. Expect appearances by a veritable shitload of NYC's best bands, including Drag Citizen, Joker Five Speed, and the Sex Slaves. Good chance to meet yours truly, if you're so inclined...I'll be the belligerently drunk girl standing in the huge puddle of Eric 13-inspired drool. Hot, I know. (It's shocking that he's not my boyfriend already, me being all cool and whatnot. What is he thinking? Drool is cool. Drool roolz. Yeah...)

Oh well...so I can't have Eric. At least this guy is back on the market...

Moving right along...the Giraffes show last week at the soon-to-be-sadly-defunct Luna Lounge was, of course, excellent. By about three songs in, however, I realized that their shows will never be quite the same for me, or for anyone who loves those monkeys. Gurn will be Gurn. Wouldn't have it any other way. But a couple of heart attacks later, it makes me nervous as hell watching him do what he does onstage. Of course, if I expressed this to him directly, I'd expect something like "Huff gas, pipsqueak!" in return. And Damien might headbutt me. Last time that happened, I wasn't right for days. (Okay, a week. And a half.) So I won't say anything. I'll just keep going to shows, quietly vacillating between fretting and rocking out. Meh.

And I know y'all were expecting me to make some sort of snarky, profanity-laden tirade in regards to Dubya's State of the Union address last week, but you know...it wouldn't be anything I haven't said before. All I can say is that I'd be SO much happier with the state of things if I were a Fascist. Too bad for me.

Maybe if I finally do some laundry tonight I'll be less cranky tomorrow. I doubt it...but since the worst that can come of it is some clean panties, well...

Johnny Updates, Giraffes, and a Whore

Well kids...Miss Damnation spent most of the weekend in bed, sick as a dawg (feel free to send OJ, green tea, and DVD porn.) I logged in yesterday morning hoping to find numerous reports of Johnny Depp sightings around the city and/or news that the Do it for Johnny auctions on eBay had raked in a bazillion dollars...but no such luck, on either front. My blog took more hits than Whitney Houston when Bobby's on a bender, but no reports of direct John-tact. And sadly, all three of the auctions stalled out short of the reserve prices. Sigh...

All is not lost, however...CBass came through, as always...she apparently had a conversation with a lovely waitress from PJ Clarke's over the weekend, who reported that the elusive Gilbert Grape shows up there pretty regular-like. You can bet that I'll be checking that joint out, and I encourage you to do the same. (For Johnny...Do it for Johnny...) And the auctions have been re-opened on eBay with no reserve price, so those of us with jack crapola to offer in the cash department may now participate (and hopefully drive up the bidding so that Haylar and Darcy make enough money to continue with the documentary.) And, this just in...H & D will be on Denver's own 9 News tomorrow morning at 10 AM MST, talking about the project and displaying the Depp guitar. Tune in, my D-town homies!
This WILL happen...oh yes, it will. It's just a matter of when...

In other news, The Giraffes are fucking back and cheaper than ever...free, actually...this Thursday, February 3, at 7:30 PM at the Luna Lounge. I recommend getting there early so you can get close enough for Aaron to spit something on you. I'm working on ideas for the perfect post-myocardial infarction gift for little Gurn...your ideas welcome (and clearly, the wronger the better. wait...is "wronger" a word? hmmm...is now, bitchez.)

And last but nowhere vaguely resembling least...Happy Still-in-your-Twenties Birthday to the Lovely and Talented Charles, Princess of PR, Champeen of All Things That Are in Fact or May Possibly Be Even the Slightest Bit Gay, and One Snappy Fuckin' Dresser to Boot! Helen hearts you. (Whore.)