Movie stars talking about weird sex things is more threatening than when normal people do it

Well a few months after the last post my mum died which was a whole brouhaha so I have fallen behind in kulturefukking. Also in that time a few of my friends have gotten all famous and shit and nowadays everybody sort of knows everybody and everything gets back to everybody and since I am not Kathy Griffin my commentary on absurd weirdos who dictate the parameters of taste and culture and status is more dangerous and more potentially backlashy to my own life as a performer and writer and oh who cares.

I went to this Garden Party at a movie stars rental house in Canada for a barbecue. Her and her boyfriend told us about all the loud crazy sex they were having and their naked vacations and called everyone "hot" even the obviously not so hot people, and dropped some poly sounding hints and bi swinger hints and I was really just there for the Mexican Corn and roast chicken in foil things from the grill. If it is your new random acquaintance telling you stuff about genitala you can sort of openly eyeball to your friends or shut it down with one GROSS. But when it is a major movie star --yeah i know you wanna know and if it weren't a girl i would tell you and that is all you are getting out of me because this applies to everyone.-- If it is a major movie star who has a lot of status and fans and shit A. you feel inferior because you are not a major movie star and maybe they are doing something right and you are doing something wrong and perhaps their weird sex weirdness is part of their success so why don't you accept that they are cooler than you and B. math happens like how bad do I want to be invited to places where major movie stars serve lemonade in their garden and smoke in barefeet. Does that make me better than other people to have the access?

All very disturbing because this mental negotiation would never ever take place if some random was telling you gross sex things out of context while serving cottage cheese in lettuce cups. The whole celebrity thing is just dirty dirty dirty. It's how people get caught with their pants down literally.

PARTY CRASH TIP #710: If you are the plus one to a private dinner soiree in a garden held by major movie stars you are consenting to potentially shithead politics, weird sex stories and long winded vacation stories also possibly including weird sex which you must smile at and act inferior to or you will break the hierarchy and the world will end.

Anna Wintour has great hair always but is it eternal?

Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you think there is a great pool of collective source from which we all shimmer forth and manifest as these variously rotund creatures dancing the tarantella until we return to that all knowing all encompassing place? I wonder if these things matter to Anna Wintour. I wonder if she has time to think about THE BIG QUESTIONS. Because man her hair is always perfect. I saw her at a Donna Karan trunk show, I saw her tonight sitting in the same box as me at the Public theater-- immediately noticed her awesome snakeskin like coat and sparkly perfectly sized necklace which was a cluster of colored crystals over a very cool black and white a line dress. The hair was PERFECT. that bob. the body, the shape the shine. Does she have a blowout every goddam day? and the nails! and the shoes?! how the fuck long does it take to just get dressed. and then go work a long day and then see a show and hob knob with David Byrne. Did she listen to the Talking Heads? Does she know the lyrics to burning down the house as I do-- bopping slightly off tempo in my room imagining him in that suit made of astro turf in the big screen version of the doco i saw as a teenager. Her entourage of one coiffed gay also had perfect i mean perfect nails. Do they think about the intersection of different religions and how cultural hegemony can ruin a minority teenagers life? I mean other than when someone at a podium at a benefit is talking about that and using big words and hosting the celebrity auction? The reason I am asking is: if I were to attempt to have perfect hair and press all my clothes and shine everything and get facials and alla that all the time, would i still have time to read Rumi and feel my heart open at sacred music and write and go to rehrearsal rooms? Is it one or the other-- coz the math isnt adding up in favor of me having that divine, glowing sheen of perfection to create a barrier between me and everything messy in the world.

In Hollywood Stars Throw tributes to themselves

First of all it's been awhile. Twitter and Facebook and websites and oh my GOD who the hell has time to blog properly or document all their stuff. People who aren't out there busy doing it mostly. Observers. Or bored people. Or people who don't sleep? hats off to those who can properly journal online AND do interesting things. I twitter play by plays of parties and adventures here KATE'S TWITTER FEED . But long form is way better.

Ok so the meat of this thing is that I went to another Hollywood soiree last night and it was a doozy. Let me early interject this: I am jealous of everyone who was there for having fabulous mansions and children with names like Milo and Cooper and Homer and Dakota and Harry which translate as "My parents are cool and edgy and hip" at the bake sales and after school fundraisers.  I am jealous of them for getting free shit all the time from new brands and for having the luxury of actually practicing the arts which we all love without feeling the shame of financial cliff hanging and choruses of moronic disapproval from zoftig casting assistants with bizarre brunette  blunt cuts, square black glasses and puffy cheeks who wear scarves and too many rings. I will freely admit I am jealous but that doesnt mean that a room full of famous people congratulating each other for being famous isn't ridiculous.

When Michele and I get to the party which is Camryn Manheim's birthday "Wake Up I'm 50" party there is an army of aforementioned Bettys in their blunt cuts and mismatched formal blacks holding clip boards at the door to this women's center in Santa Monica that looks like a hall for a Bartmitzvah. Only later does the party planner acumen reveal itself when we move from the main ballroom crowded with round tables with fruit centerpieces and a giant carved ice vodka bar to the upstairs where a charity casino is set up for guests.  But on first arrival we are rudely rebuffed at the door, my name as well as my fake name that Michele literally mentions to me as we climb the short stack of marble stairs "You are STACY somethingsomething" she croaks as one of the blunt cuts swoops.  Not on the list either. I go, um yeah hi this is Michele Balan, she is the comedian who is invited AND entertaining Camryn on the stage tonight so uhm whaddya gonna do. Betty Blunt cut says Well SHE (michele) can stay but we can't let anyone in I am sure you understand the list is very tight bla bla bla. I roll my smoky eyeshadow and shift on my Prada Boots and say MIchele where's the chick who booked you. We sort it out. I swish in under the glare of a blonde one whose black button down barely covers the muffin top. I have had the decency to wear two layers of spanx tonight which means although I will not be peeing for 7 hours I at least look Smooth.

Inside the first person we see is Kathy Najimy who acts really weird. She is nice-ISH to Michele and they sort of remember how they know each other or not, her eyes start glazing when michele introduces me, I joke  "We are friends on facebook" and she doesnt laugh. Then clears her throat and kind of wanders away without saying much more. Note to self un-friend Najimy. (Later in the night she accosts Alan Cumming and says "Why oh Why are you so MAD at me?" which has alan gesticulating over her shoulder at me doing the crazy finger next to temple twirl and mouthing "I dont know what's happening". I uncomfortably perch at a high bar table and consider my first glass of Syrah. Michele asks if I wanna do the red carpet which only gets a guffaw from me. I look great in my vintage Dolce muu muu but everyone can bite me.

Michele goes out finds Camryn and they do some pitctures while I sip and consider the room. A banquet hall, large buffet, and an auditorium stage that has been semi set up like a court slash comedy central roast with a big red velvet throne stage left and a drop down screen that reads something pithy about it being Queen Camryn's Court of 50-ness or something.  There are chinese lanterns hanging way way way up high left over from someones barbat mitzvah and the pre-party pre-show music is 80s hair metal which calms me down. I tweet. I think about being happy to be there.

Teri Hatcher is flitting around in a knit mini skirt and matching tube top which shows off her large fake tits and too small thighs. Jennifer Love Hewitt has a look on her face like she is repeating the word "luminoussss luminoussss" in her mind over and over as she cocks her head and flashes her eyes at no one.  Michele and I try to sit at a table close enough to the stage but far enough away not to invade and immediately get kicked off by a chattering blonde pulled tight into a pink party dress who claims This is Reserved for the MOM SQUAD and points at a sharpie pencilled napkin that says reserved.  So we go one over.  Place is pretty empty still so we decide to buffet it up. Prime rib vegetables shrimp cocktail and meatballs. nice.

As we eat two gay guys who looked strained and entitled amble over with an old lady in a furn coat. Real old. walker and dentures and old school jewellery on a manicured arthritic hand.  This is Evelyn she's the surrogate Grandmother. I dont know WTF they are talking about because I am the plus one at this party, but I say oh the Blood Relative table is over there and they say no there are not enuf seats can she sit here and I obviously am not gonna be the one who says no to grandma surrogate or not. Nor refuse to talk to her. Evelyn is 94, her last boyfriend died 4 days before he 80th birthday. He was an artist she tells me. Carved peoples names into tomb stones. And he owned his own quarry. They met at B'nai Brith 5 years after she was widowed form the first husband who went to dental school but never practiced. She makes a great lemon meringue pie and brisket. The peaks on her meringue are legendary. The videos for this party were shot in her guest house. Camryn's web designer lives in her guest house. Her duaghter is 61 and dances and used to have a theater in burbank where she produced musicals. Evelyn loves the Good Wife on TV which is right when Alan came in and sat at our table and she said He's my new boyfriend.  This is what you learn where you go to a party and don't know anyone. The ones who came alone or need a yarn will talk to you. Good thing I am also a writer.

True Blooders Bill and Sookie lurked by the bar waiting for people to recognize them. Im sure it worked out for them but I was sitting house left so I didnt see. Sheri O teri bounced about and was realllllllly happy to see kathy najimy and ricki lake who was inexplicably dressed like Liza Minelli in a balck chiffon mumuu thing and a fedora. She had 6 non famous but well groomed gays with her, two of whom i poached for the night.

There was a point where all the arriving guests and man there were a lot of famous ones, all were standing around the room, getting up and down swooshing over and craning necks for hugs and waves and it seemed like everyone was congratulating each other for being famous.

The show was 3 hours. Tributes speeches funny dances comedy videos a story read entirely in latin by the nerdy smart brother a song by Milo to his mom Caroline Rhea hosting it like a friars roast slash telethon. Michele killed. Thank god. Jason Alexander was laughing hard during her pussy combover bit and Debra Messing was slapping her handsome husbands leg.

I am now so bored with this account I cant really go on so lemme skip to the end. After the show we ambled upstairs to the casino room. The dealers were soft to the point of cheating in our favor and teaching us to play the game. I got on a blackjack roll with Messing and we bonded over high fiving each other on double downs and playing skee ball style for little tickets that redeemed for swag. On the last hand I bet it all then gave my winnings to my famous new friend who agreed to redeem while smiling pretty and being gracious so we could get double the prizes and it TOTALLY worked. I missed out on the engraved juice squeezer from Patron but did pick up some random jewellery a leather day planner some tea and lemon sachets and a plaid shirt. Which is pretty standard swag and very very good for a birthday party! I didnt feel included or excluded nor did I feel like more or less of an actor.

It was a party and for once I just partied.

Party Crash Tip #976 Stand next to the most famous person you can during the conferring of swag lootbags or gift bags. Nobody wants to look like an ungenerous nudge in front of Debra Messing.

Being in a movie is a good way to crash a glam party

Well this is a no-brainer but you can fine tune your fun nevertheless. Obviously the bigger your part, the better the fun factor, the glamor of who will actually talk to you at the after party, and the size of posse you can bring with you. My first feature film of any significance came last month and starred the outrageously talented Anne Heche who has a rep for being a Crazy Pants (remember the book, the wandering around etc) but who is a consummate pro, rocked her thespian self and because of that-- who gives a crap what alternate personas she may or may not have. A. she likes to have a good time. B. She was a dynamo of excellent acting, and her passion for being truthful in the craft made my Juilliard trained self have to jump back, and learn from a 20 year in the biz kinda pro just how to take charge of character and arc. Anyhoo back to the party.  It would behoove you to hang at the party with the most high status person on set which of course is the director and star but you have to have out in the ground work to make a friendship happen if you want to achieve that.

Anne and Kate officially friends at this pt.

Friend/party crash tip #878 Acting normal around famous people who you are working with is a good start, refraining from taking pics until you are SURE it is a friend pic not a fan pic is also key. Don't even pull out the cell phone if you are not entirely sure that you are a friend because a. you will ruin the friendship and b. you will immediately be relegated to the status of whack fan.  This is really more about basic friend skills. Do not pretend the famous person is not famous because that is just as stupid and annoying as unnecessary flattery by platitude like "I have always loved your work" that is the past kiddo. stay in the present. That is your common experience. Get interested in the work, get interested in lunch and if there is chemistry it will reveal itself. if there isn't, you didn't act like a tool.

The after party for this movie took place in the east village and involved an open bar, great snacks and quite cute swag bags for cast and crew. I got there a little late and it was pretty packed.  The front bar was still open but i wasnt really drinking. I attacked the gourmet mini cupcake table pretty hard. For a small party this had the good elements. High end junk food, free booze and gift bags that didn't blow. And had chocolate inside. I invited 4 people, two of whom were friends of mine who are making a totally guerilla indie film and are 10 years younger than me.

Party Crash Domino effect tip #531: If you have the power, push your plus one list to include an up and coming talented person you enjoy because a. they will appreciate the free stuff and need it more than your rich friends and b. you are likely to karmically get invited to their after parties when they scam their indie film into the Tribeca Film Festival and the tables of fortune turn to reveal the next ben and matt aka. your former boy toy turned struggling writer actor pal.

FREE TIX TO THE KNICKS means I eat cotton candy

The funny thing is when I asked all my friends hey guys anyone want free tickets to the Knicks opening night at Madison Square Garden I was met with blank stares. Is that SPORTS? said cabaret chanteuse and international avant garde diva Meow Meow....A mix of horror and incredulousness crossing her brow as she wondered WHY i would even have such a thing as tickets to a sports arena. Extraordinarily busy composer cum Music Director for "Messiah Rocks" (which we are still taunting him about gently), Lance goes "Is that basketball?" And Michael who is recognized now ANYWHERE he goes because of teh Emmys and the notoriously badassed characters he plays was like ummmmmmmm, Is it like a long sporting event.  You would think I was speaking swahili to missionaries inviting them to a tongue clucking choir rehearsal or some carving of the ox ceremony. Bemused, mildly interested that I, one of their kind, might even suggest such a thing.  I explained myself "Ok look its FREE. I have a hookup at the Garden and think of the spectacle! we can watch normal people watching sports it will be like looking at exotic fish in an aquarium". The point is, kulturefukkers, we really don't understand nor have patience for nor get into the whole sports "thing" other than as odd tourists gaping at both teams equally and examining the relationship of their outfits to the arena music to the dancing girls at half time.  I never know who to vote barrack cheer for because I dont give a crap and whomever is looking more athletic like is who i am likely to scream for. Randomly. Like a halfwit with an armful of pink cotton candy, a diet coke and fistfuls of popcorn a flyin out of my mouth as i scream DEFENSE DEFENSE looking nervously around to make sure that is what the hoi poloi are saying. These are hundred dollar tickets peeps.  I went, I saw, I cheered the wrong team and got sugar shock and bought a cat in the hat type of hat. I got the Juilliard violin virtuoso slash rock n roll electric violinist who has played symphonies and then changed shoes and played for Jay Z to come along.  It was fascinating.  And we also bought t shirts.  To wear like normal people.

Party Crash Tip Number 45: If tickets are FREE to something you are not into, say a sports thingy bring the least likely person you can find to said thingy and enjoy the tourist like quality the thingy takes on. Buy a shirt or hat to prove you were there and use it as a couture accessory.

male cougars not so great

At the poolside fashion show I attended with Lisa Ann last month, i noticed that male cougars are not nearly as sexy or appealing as female ones. They are kinda scary in their white pants and shag hairdos. Plus, botox is idiotic on men. Everyone looks like Kenny Rogers or a collectors dinner plate. It is not supposed to be smooth and silky on a dude. It being the face.  Like ever.  Barry Manilow has turned into Linda Rondstadt and Kenny is Kate Smith and Elton John is Dame Edna now.  I protest botox on all dudes at all times. That's all.

crashing a stand up show is harder than it looks

The good news is that stand up comics are actually very very generous to each other about stage time past a certain level. (if you don't suck or look like you don't suck.) so there is a thing where you can say "I am a comic" and get into most comedy clubs for free sometimes even your friend gets in too.  You have to be ready for them then to say hey you wanna do 5? ten? headline? so if you indeed arent a comic, that can be awkward. OR if you are one and you have just finished a meditation retreat in the backwoods of Western Australia that involved 2 hours of didgeridoo playing right over your FACE and big gongs clanging to clear your inner child of resentment and create compassion towards the parents who made you so depressed comedy seemed like a good idea, you might wanna rethink this technique. I didn't. And it wasn't pretty tonight at the Little Creatures Brewery in Fremantle by the ocean where i perpetrated shrill incomprehensible comedy on a very beer-soaked audience who mercifully were too drunk to really gice two shits.

Party Crash Tip #5: If it is a comedy club say "I'm a comic from " (insert exotic far away place or city here).  This gets you in. but you might have to perform.

Tiffany in Beverly Hills Party for Dogs and Rich Ladies

A wonderful party crash opportunity came through a friend of mine who moonlights as a publicist here and PR person for events.


Party crash tip #3 : Have friends who are publicists/PR people and do them favors. Lend them your car. Write copy for them when they are in a crunch.  Invite them to stuff.

So it was a pretty fab party outside Tiffany on Rodeo drive given by the Amanda Foundation, red carpet was for cast members of True Blood, and also showing up were the Mayor of L.A. and Bill Maher who I guess are into dog adoption rescue thingys. It's a pretty popular cause here in LA, the Ace of Hearts Foundation also rescues dogs on the day they are euthanized and all have a ton of celeb support.  This one had a costume contest for dogs (it's halloween) a silent auction, an open bar (love that even though I dont drink much I support free cosmos in skull shaped shot glasses and sake) a buffet of seafood, veg dishes and sweets.  Pretty nice spread. I bid on (and won) a juvederm treatment from a bev hills doc and brought my cousin Tommy from Jakarta who takes pictures for some Italian Fashion mag. The best was talking to some very intensely botoxed real housewives lookin chicks holding their little pooches dressed like princesses and cowboys.  The winner was a pomeranian who lit up like liberace on opening night at the MGM Grand. He is on the extreme left of the picture with all the white ladies holding their dogs on a stage.

Going to this kind of thing makes me feel rich. And poor all at the same time. However I did get an excellent discount on my next round of face injectables which only seems right when you spend half your time living in holly-weird.

The land of dreams and glitz

This is a madonna street vent box on Melrose and Highland. It kind of epitomizes how I feel today wandering around scrounging for change to buy food this week, paying for tires with my bartender tip money for my 85 jag because the 1981 ones are still on there!!  aware that I am about to be paid handsomely for some shows in a few days, aware that i have a gorgeous new laptop and 3 creditors calling me. Preparing a grant application and 3 tv pitches. And a free trip to hawaii in december. Honey Hollywood really really is poverty jet set even when you are "making it"

Lisa Ann gets an award and I see David Hasslehoff's shoes

That is David Hasslehoff's white patent shoe!!!!

We went to this Torrid event-- Torrid is a line of "cool" clothes for plus sizers. Lisa Ann who created the show I exec produce "Dance Your Ass Off" on oxygen was getting an image maker award and I thought oh yeah, a few free hors d'oeuvres maybe some lip gloss in a swag bag, a typical Hollywood event. Plus I got to chill with three of the BEST dancers we had on DYAO (Pinky, Shayla and MAra all who totally rock) and Julian had a night off so we went to the quad/lawn of FITM for the event. There was a runway set up for a cute fashion show. Turns out Torrid wasnt fucking around. they had Brooke Hogan do the preshow yes i know, i know, but that shit aint cheap, and then they had the Hoff present an award to his own kid (the one who posted the drunky video of him on youtube channeling elvis eating a burger and mumbling megalomaniacally about how great he is--LOVES IT) and there was a singer chick whose name I can't remember 9sorry publicists) but who gave me a little Rihanna vibe and was pretty ovah ("ovah: what the kool kids now say instead of fierce or off the hook. It is OVAH. this look is OVAH. it will be OVAH") anyhoo. Here is David Hasslehoff. He looked a little man-o-rexic.



Party Crash Tip #7: Sometimes say yes to what might look like a party with your friend just coz why the hell not, and look forward to the mini pizzas. You might get a Hasslehoff sighting as a bonus. Or a coupon for a free massage in the swag bag.
Lisa Ann wowed em in this vintage dress

And finally a lil Brooke Hogan in da house...I appreciated that her ultra cougar mom was there with her asymetrical haircut on a boy prey, and her car driver brother Nick also there cheering her on. She was a big Lisa fan so that's all good too.


I haven't had anything particularly cunty to say lately, so I hope that doesn't mean that I am going to start actually getting invited to parties. I suggest if you are a kulturefuk fan that you read these like the Torah. Start at the end, (the earliest blogs) and end up here on the front one. Otherwise I might be giving you too much hollyweird bullshit cheese factor just because I am too busy to record my actual cunty reactions on the night of the events right now and have to back track. Takes the edge out a little. but not totally.This one is the Hoffs daughter who posted his burger-eating shame video. Nice goin kid. Everyone is accountable! She had on some Fendi shoes that were OVAH.

Fireceness at Soho House ALL SUMMER LONG

Who the fricking frik has time to blog? I mean really??!!!
I am so super duper behind I am gonna have to backtrack to august now. SHIT.
OK so real fast here are some pics from the couture runways we did at Soho House every wednesday night. Next year bigger and BETTER. I ended up hosting the last few coz, well, ya know. That first pic is me with drag legend and ex-con Flotilla DeBarge and our music Director slash genius in residence Lance Hornewho happens to be my favorite emmy winning composer in an Alexander McQueen suit. we did not pay retail. What am I crazy?
From the Calypso Show model Ash who herself is an extremely good party crasher






PARTY CRASH TIP #98: Be a model






(all walk for Diane Von Furstenberg on the rooftop runway)


Tiffany valentine is on fire on the runway!




PARTY CRASH TIP #99: You have to sort of be aware what couture looks like at a bare minimum. Sometimes clothes SAVE you. I was crashing a Junior Vasquez birthday party at the now dead and gone Tunnel in 1999 (the kind which STARTS at 6am-- seriously) and the door bitch was giving my friend grief and we were listed under HER name. So i sidle up, and go really are you sure? and He/she goes is that Dolce? And I was like, uhm, yeah I just got it . (strange mumu outfit that looks way better on the rack than it does on me but definitely 90s Dolce and Gabbana.) and I shit you not he she goes, "That is fierce. Ok, anyone wearing Dolce gets in." and in we went. SO YA NEVA know. I did not pay retail for that either. I resent retail and I also resent fake bargains.
Know the difference and lap it up when you see a bargain.

this one is me talking backtage to Brady Mc Donald principal dancer with Mark Morris Group and Javi Ninja of legendary house of Ninja who performed the preshow for Ungaro.



PARTY CRASH TIP #89 Bring cool people. Guess what cool people are often not snobby. Benny and Javi Ninja are uber cool scenesters in NYC and Benny is notorious from his vogue career and America's Next Top MOdel. Javi is just plain wildly talented. Brady is my old classmate from Juilliard and one of the top modern dancers in the world. I promise you, if you swaggered up to them in the correct manner, knew something or someone in common and had cool things to offer them (sobe party tix, hookup to a photographer, invite to a weird poetry reading where they could perform etc) they would not act like dicks. Even if you bought them a drink and said whoo let's dance they would be into it. Bribery works. Friendliness works. Appreciating what people do works. And THEN. Bring them to whatever thing you are crashing or only marginally invited to and let THEM do the sweet talking. OR just stand there looking cool while you convince door bitchery to let you in.

this is brady and javi on stage. the song was smooth criminal it was fabulousss.

I got more. I spent a few weeks chilling with those ninja boys and re-firing up my friendship with Brady. The other thing about being fearless about talking to those you think are cooler than you is then when it sticks (and honey dont even sweat it -- you WILL get blown off often-- but it is worth it for the times it sticks, for when it does, your world of ideas and colors and friends and experiences opens up and it keeps opening and opening the more you say yes to things that are new and interesting and challenging and intimidating. Risk being told no. A lot. a hundred nos are nothing. One yes is a doorway to parts of you (and parties) you never knew existed.

That SOBE lizard makes me DANCE! Part 1 SOBE Friday party in the West Village

This photo is me at the party
Dude, this one was off the chain. Every Friday this summer there is a party thrown by genius promoters and apparently sponsored by SOBE that made me sit down like I did 10 years ago at Pat Field's birthday and say THIS PARTY IS IT!! CAN I LIVE HERE?? Leda had the hookup as she so often does and got us on a list. Which we werent on when we got there but she totally fixed and we walked right on in to a giant warehouse with movie screens and these gorgeous classic cars being wiped down by short short wearing models.

party Crash tip #9 You have to know someone who has the hookup and hang with them all the time until you earn the status of automatic plus one.

Party Crash Tip #10 even if you do hang with the person with the hookup you need to know the name of the hookup's hookup who put you on the list in the first place and prefereably have their phone number for when the list holder says ummmm no, who are you with. Acting cool, and indifferent with a sliver of indignant usually gets the job done at this point. Drop the name, act like you could give a shit if you do go in, make the call and leave a voice mail. Like, hey i thought you had put us on the list we are outside. If your shoes are nice, usually this is enough to get you in.



The sliders came out then sushi (not pretend sushi which is avocado and cucumber only--no the real kind with fish and everything!) and then some kinda dumpling thing that was delicious. I just sat and looked at the car polishers asses and admired the lamborghini they had somehow gotten into this party. It was an indoor drive in for Spike Lee's joint. Upstairs there were free manicures and pedicures on the roof and a bar pouring sobe mixed drinks all night long like the Diddy-- Ciroc and agave lemonade and pink lemonade mmmm-- and the crowd all looked like the wandered in out of a maxwell video or a commercial for brandy (drink not DUI singer) or some rich people in brooklyn party for angela robinson. You get the idea, lots of hats, and spats and dreds. I looked kinda dorky in black suit with yellow rosary but I passed. DJ Mos was spinning the the door guy Mel, a giant gorgeous movie sar looking bouncer in black suit with earpiece, who knew all about all the parties here. They had Robin Thicke up in here last week. They had cool DJ's. I have to admit if i actually wanna stop eating sliders and dance at 2pm that DJ is BANGIN. This is why we all need sponsors.

Diane Von Furstenberg at Skinny Dip SOHO HOUSE hotness

This was a hot show. First of all who knew that bird kites fromo china town plus bamboo planting poles from 27th st equalled fabulousness sailing down the runway before the models. Me and Leda that's who! I gotta tell you her electrical tape zebra stripes and feather headdress madness was pure couture genius. How oh how do we pull this shit together week after week for a box of tic tacs and a metrocard? The crowd was pretty sexxy i have to say and Michael and Carrie only got slightly paparazzied which of course is totally against the secret handshake NO PHOTOs policy at the house , which i totally get because some people , ahem maybe even people i know quite well, do not need their photo taken at random parties when they are off the grid and lookin at models on rooftops. So yeah, sato and the girls did another pretty brilliant modern dance slash lion king puppet slash performance art turn as pre-show with the fire eating Miss TiffanyValentine cavorting in her teeny tiny little nyphette of an outfit. And then the DVF gorgeousness descended. I like staging fashion shows. I like the drama of the clothes being surrounded by actual drama. We also had on that night the synchro swimmers in the 4 foot pool which is ridiculous but seriously elevates the show. And burlesque of Danger Dame Veronica Varlow doing a really vintage looking sexxy sexxy fan dance. I of course never get to have any fun at these my night mostly consists of running back and forth saying whre the fuck is the sound in the back speakers and who ate the model's food (and oxymoron) and ok, zebra birds, GO! Its like running a drama camp by the pool on the roof. and there is drama. and it is camp.

Soho House Wednesday Nights Skinny Dipping in couture

( Leda's amazing butoh flower girls at our Juliette Longuet runway.)


Sometimes the best way to get into the party is to actually throw it. If you have been living the kulturefuk lifestyle and actually paying attention to the litterati and the glitterati you start to have an idea of what feels like a good time. Lance and I went to a Pat Field Party JUST BEFORE Sep 11 at the Sub Mercer lounge. Leda was in a white pantsuit. So was lance. I was in black. Jimmy James was there. Hors D'oeuvres on little trays and champagne everywhere and the space was GORGEOUS. Drag queens rubbing elbows with editors. Fashion freaks and uptown girls. It was heaven. There were plastic beds and lucite lamps and spontaneous performances that no one could see and a heavenly DJ. Lance and I said if we could LIVE at this party we would. So fast forward 8 years later and we are throwing Wed night parties at the poolside of the Soho House outdoor deck under the name Skinny Dip... (Sato! on the runway)

Somehow I found synchro swimmers willing to do shallow water choreography to Lady Gaga. Somehow we managed to make the pool lounges into a runway and had models walking in Jill Stuart's new collection to a remix of the remixes of Dinah Washington and Nina Simone I heard on Virgin's playlist.

Party Crash tip #56: Sometimes the best way to crash an a-list party is to throw one, and entice other a-listers to show up by giving them the gift of seeing through kulturefuk eyes-- a hybrid of trash and panache, a uptown meets downtown experience. Hardly anyone can resist the thrill of meeting at that party.

Somehow we got Maine to be in full body paint and do a Kali number where she lights her nipples on fire at the end. And somehow we got Lea DeLaria to jam with Justin Bond's band. It was a good party. I didn't really attend it but I was there. Holding beach balls and hula hoops. Cleaning up non toxic neon from the faux heart Maine pierced in her number. Stay tuned to see if it is more fun to throw it than to crash it. I am sort of thrilled to be puppet mastering, especially because the Skinny Dip runway is hosting some major talent: Malandrino, DVF, Williamson. And there is drag. And glow in the dark hulahoops. And tap dancing. Seriously, I would jizz if I was actually just sitting at the party. But for now it's a slight reversal of the usual voyeuristic cultural tourism that defines my existence as queen of the poverty jet set. I'm letting the guest list be the tourists while we party by throwing a party.


(on stage with the first look at the Ungaro show.)

Feeding the homeless with James Brown's widow

See interesting things always happen when you kind of just go with the flow in Los Angeles or New York. The first step is usually to say yes and just keep saying yes to see how it all unfolds like a giant snake of improbable sights and sounds wrapping itself around your otherwise sedantary habitual nature. Or is that just me. So on one of these nights when I actually said yes (it helps to have friends who ALWAYS say yes-- Lance being on the forefront of those but I can think of others--it's a requirement to be in the inner sanctum chez Rigg) I ended up at the Viper Room to see Tomi Rae Brown's chick rock band Godmother play a set. Not too crazy since we are pitching a reality show for Tomi and a documentary on the late James Brown and have often enjoyed her edgy throaty power rock vocals in the process. So they play the gig, and I am in a booth with Lance who is visiting some musical theater friends, and Julian and Andrea who decided to drive me there so I could drink. Which I didn't. Lance did, and took a shot from between the breasts of sexy female bassist Beth Ami who obliged with a full titty dunk into his eye that rivals only the Nicole Sheridan puss flash we had in the elevator at the porn awards a couple of years ago.

party Crash tip number 17: Sometimes you don't actually want to crash a party or be part of the party at all. If the host looks like a homeless person, excuse yourself and make your friends go with you. Even if they are drunk.

So it was one of those things where everyone afterwards goes whaddyYOU wanna do no whaddyYOUUUUU wanna do for fifteen minutes in the parking lot. Some dude from Indian Casinos out west gave me his card which I lost. Lance flitted away, the band starts to flit away, Beth Ami has mold in her kitchen and is at a hotel with family, drummer Athena has to return to her Scorpion (drummer James Kottak-- it's a family biz) and I am like wait am I Tomi's ride? She's hungry. They leave me holding the bag so to speak and she goes CMON, WE"RE GOING TO THE RAINBOW. Which is across the street which seems totally like, whatever, but she points to some dude that has been sniffing around us for the whole time and says that dude is a sax player he is gonna buy us dinner. I go, are you sure? She goes yeah yeah he loves me he wants to show off and buy us dinner. And then she lurches across Sunset. I spot check Julian and Andrea who are yessers, sometimes and they shrug ok. The roadie whose name I forget is following too. Everyone is talking about Tequila and Pizza and Tomi keeps saying they know me there, My picture is on the wall. And as we slither into a booth there it is, fuscia hair and all next to a grinning James Brown. So we order the pizza and Tomi Rae is poking my sunglasses through a kind of hilarious drunken aria of laughing and cracking word-play jokes. She's got a mind for puns and a bod for sin apparently. It's a little disorganized and I say to the roadie, "Dude will you drive her back?"and he is like hells yeah. So I go when did you start working with them and he goes "Tonight" we met on the plane. Visions of Rufis and tattoo ink dance through my mind and I go "You know what it's cool I got her." Seeing as I am the Exec and all.

Long story short the meal ends with Julian's eyes rolling back in his head from making small talk with drunk people, I got the tattoo of James Brown crushed into my shoulder by Tomi Rae who is leaning and lolling through interesting stories, but still. Photo is me having my glasses knocked off my face close to end of meal by an exuberant Tomi Rae Brown. The check comes. The sax player who is supposed to be the ringleader of this extravaganza and who has drunk 3 shots of tequila, throws a buck on the table. A buck. Julian laughs. Tomi goes, hey he's buying. Sax player who is as I suspected actually creepy homeless dude says well this is all i got for richer or for poorer. Like that is supposed to be funny. Julian throws down a 20 for him and andrea. Roadie has like 10. Bill is 150. I pull out my amex card thinking, poverty jet set don't like getting stuck with the check, even if I do get a candid shot of James' Brown's widow drooling on my shoulder. I can still taste the flappy tomoatoes and soggy crust under the layer of white cheese and am not at all happy that THIS is the meal i am paying a buck fifty for. I mean at LEAST Beso. Katsuya. Something.

As we leave, a group of cougars in a pink convertible go Hey Tomi!!! She whispers to me, they all want to fuck me. They are Beverly Hills lesbians they throw parties and wanna do me. I am shocked particularly because they have the long silk wrapped nails of the idle rich/hookers/check out chicks in Queens. And plenty of inectables in their nasal labial area. Hardly dykey looking predators on the outside.

I consider how much money it would take to entice me to be the meat in that Real Housewives sandwich, particularly because I have just fed the homeless who is now saying to Tomi "how you gonna leave without giving a brother your number"....

We drive her to Beth Ami's house where she is tip toeing around the kitchen mold to get to her bedroom, and she flops open her suitcase for the weekend which contains a crazy hat, a devil mask, a bra and a hairbrush. That's it? I say incredulous at how packing light can be so eclectic. "Yeah" she says "I thought I might need this stuff."

That makes perfect sense to me.

FIRE IN QUEENS NEW YORK

Wind can either blow out the candles and you get your wish, or fan the flames of a burning building. Outside the All Saints Church on 46th st in Queens, a crowd stands watching a building burn. No one really talks. No one is smiling. People are taking pictures to bring home to their apartments which hopefully are not on fire. The top floor windows are all melting. There are black clouds of smoke all over the neighborhood which reflect the early evening sun and make the sidewalk look very very bright. I am watching everyone watch. Firetrucks all up and down Skillman ave. A shitsu in the window of a limo looks at the people. The firefighters are stomping around in the top floor windows you can see a think layer of orange on the ceilings above them. Everyone watches and waits thinking it could be me. The statue of St Francis of Assisi is small and covered in soot in the courtyard.

PERFORMANCE ART I DRAW THE LINE AT SALMONELLA

Quick fast blog here. I was doing a 3 song set for a friend in downtown LA opening her art show of GORGEOUS paintings of America in disrepair taken from a cross country road trip she made in search of buildings and things that had been abandoned. Gorgeous. LA has a nice scene of "happenings" that spring up randomly especially at art galleries and fire pits. For this one I became accidental MC. It was mostly performance artists. So lemme just break one down for you. She puts on a video of nature and deers and stuff. She goes around in a cape with a red riding hood basket and hands out fistfuls of raw hamburger meat. She drops cape, and is nude with big bush. She affixes a fox tail to her ass and dances around in front of the nature video. There is some ironic music playing cant remember because I am too busy gagging from the smell of raw meat all around. I have successfully avoided it by wandering out of reach everytime her weirdness approached. At this point in the story lance was like "Yeah, So?" To which I reply, "i know not that big a deal." More naked dancing and she actually picks up a taxidermied fox carcass thing and starts waltzing with it as the crowd of about 30 hold their meat. Yeah, so? Then the music changes a little and she one by one goes up to each person and eats the raw hamburger out of their hands. Sorry. That's my limit.

Crashing Bishop Tutu's party makes me donate my last c-note

I wonder if I keep outing myself as the ultimate party crasher if I'm gonna start getting cock blocked at the velvet rope. Gives a scammer pause that's for sure. I'm hoping kulturefuk will fly under the radar for another year or so, so i can continue to chronicle the pursuit of free shit, and the infiltration of tony snobby exclusive parties for all of you who dream that one day you will have a use for that armani suit in tasteful earth tones that can fit in anywhere.

Party Crashing Tip #34. Do not wear outlandish colors to any event you are not actually invited to. Standing out is a total buzz kill. Especially if you dont know what the host or organizers look like you are an instant sitting duck if you draw the eye. Wear a subdued extremely expensive looking outfit. Do not wear anything with swirls or chartreuse or orange or pink unless part of your gambit is to see how long it takes to get kicked out. A tasteful conservative sexy look without, again, standing out too much is your meal ticket. If you look TOO HOT you will again get too much attention which is danger. This is not your moment to be the belle of the ball. This is your moment to pick up a drink like you've been there for hours, make a friend instantly who can make you look like you belong and entrench yourself in the party so that when you do get the raised eyebrow it's too late coz everyone feels like you belong there. See photo of Rachel and I in appropriate party crash attire with random dude who looks like a film maker

So when my hookup said -- "Come to a luncheon for Bishop Tutu which Elizabeth Taylor will attend," I donned a black dress with tiny dots, low heels and a coat and made Rachel do the same, and we pulled up to the valet in Pasadena all business. We breezed past the check in desk with some story about working for the charity, then immediately found some blank nametags, everyone had them, and quickly filled in our names.
Party Crash tip #35: Always bring a black blue and red pen for such occasions.
Long story short No Tutu. No Taylor. Rainn Wilson of The Office hosted the auction (with much less aplomb then La Stone in the previous blog) and there was a band and catering which wasn't too outlandish (good thing too since it was a charity event for an outreach to Africa organization called GAIA). Chuck of Chuck and BUck, or was it Buck, hmmm the weird one ok? That guy was there and then a lot of doctors and the guy who invented something which i cant remember right now, I think some kind of med thing like aspirin. Or the defibrillator. There were no gift bags and I actually donated a hundred bucks to the thing which is not supposed to happen on a free party crash situation. But kids need school. And Africa needs help. And I can't always expect Sharon Stone to take her shoes off and make a difference. You know? This pic is us in appropriate attire in an inappropriate photo op in mansion bathroom

Sharon Stone can sell me the Brooklyn Bridge

One of the events I was ushered into last month was the L.A. women's night awards which the LGBT center puts on. Michele Balan (In pic with me and Jane Lynch of all the gay movies and the L word) had extra tickets to the dinner and gala and I am never one to turn down a 300 ticket to any red carpet event if there are going to be gift bags involved. Or a Linda Perry sighting. And this had both. We bulshitted on the red carpet and I made some spanish girl laugh as media maker and very very popular lesbian Fitz interviewed us for her I dunno what, and then inside saw the LA's finest in dresses and formal khakis, bierkenstocks and Shane from the L word get ups. The dinner was an awards ceremony and as Linda Perry who I find so freaking talented it makes my eyes get dry and itchy if I think of how lame I am compared to her, was gonna get one and sing. She ROCKED it. We were at the table with Poppi Champlain of Girl Bar who sang voulez vous douchez avec moi at the Dinah with me and Sandra Valls earlier this year, and when Westenhofer got up to start the auction in her all white getup (Michele said she looked like a tampon-she kinda did) not much was crackin. So Sharon Stone who was an award recipient for the work she has done with Amfar, after one limp wristed kinda bidding session thaat yielded like 2000 for a cruise on Olivia or some shit, Sharon fricking Stone jumps up from her gala table (she has a lot of lesbians working for her--maybe she likes the attention, maybe she likes the dyke drama maybe she likes herbal tea and wallet chains) anyways, she jumps up, reaches a well pilades'ed arm up towards the heavens GRABS the mic out of westenhofers hand and proceeds to take over the entire auction. She barks "this is pathetic even for lesbians! Do you or do you NOT want equal rights, marriage, and the same freedoms that straight people enjoy. Do you really want me, who ordained myself as a minister just so I could marry my gay friends to each other, to be your only option. Do you want my kids to see your unions as viable and real lawful affirmations of love? or what!!!???" And then she proceeds to literally yank the dollars out of peoples wallets with an intense auction of all the remaining items, one of which she pulled 20k for, the other 10k.

Lisa Ann tells me that she once saw Stone rip the shoes off her own feet at a private auction and say "there are only 3 pairs of these in the world. the bidding starts at 10 thousand dollars" Now I got a lotta gay friends who HATE when lgbt orgs give awards to the straight pretty people. But as a half time straight pretty person and full time queer culture vulture, I have to say lighten the fuck up. SHe is a gay icon, she raises hundreds of thousands of dollars and puts her time to making all of our lives better. I hear she is a handful at home. So fucking what. The bitch can call an auction. And she became a minister and she shows up to events. She ain't the problem. She is not taking nothing from nobody. She's trying to live a good life. We are all in this together. And any ism and obia hurts everyone. I agree that lgbt orgs need to be a little less uncle tom-y and sentimental about the straight pretty people who take up the cause. But stone made me think about making more money so I could give more away. To anyone who needs it. As long as I get a gift bag at the end of the night. (I gave mine away by the way, so there!)

Phyllis Diller Art Party part 2 w/Scott Thompson and Lisa Ann

So I went BACK to phyllis Diller's house this week because a)her assistant Karla is my friend and it is fun to see her and b) who wouldnt. I was picking up a piece of artwork I bought for my friend Lea De Laria who is gonna shit a brick when she sees it--dedicated to her and all. I brought Michele Balan (who ironically is in a jets and sharks feud with Lea and I stay out of that shit because mean old dykes need to leave their cute perky token asian friend out of the hate!! No haters!) Anyhoo, This time, Ms Diller was all dressed in yellow head to toe like a delightful canary in giant round yellow sunglasses and a bucket hat and yellow beads over her yellow shirt (note to self extreme color coordination looks like an OUTFIT in all caps). She told us tons of jokes. Like: An irishman is leaving a bar and.....It could happen! She also said pussy and fuck A LOT. So did I. What will happen when i turn 91 what words will i use the most? Sphincter and enema maybe. Or collaratura. I like that word. We drank pink champagne, apparently the same brand that Debbie Reynolds likes, -- Diller told us that DR carries her own bottle of Zinfandel around, the non fizzy kind, coz she likes nothing else and I drank my whole glass which is imprudent coz I am asian, I dont usually drink and I was driving. But excuse me if La Diller is in the champers then so am I honey. We talked about burlesque and the new show I am pitching, and she said she liked Dancing With the Stars because there was a band and there was dancing. It sounded smarter and hipper when she said it. Then she showed us where c1 and c2 were broken form a night fall and then we looked at her amazing and glorious and beautiful walls of art. Michele took home two pictures. Seriously, Phil Dil's art muscles are STRONG right now she is PROLIFIC. I am unfortunately going to miss her art party on may 18th, legendary especially amongst fags because she hosts a viewing, people buy, get photos and signatures and tour the house. Gorgeous.

Party Crash tip #71: Be nice nice nice to personal assistants. In fact be friends with them because they are unsung heroes in the entertainment industry. Be generous with hookups and reciprocate invitations. Then you too can get invited to art parties at mansions

Party Crash tip #70: Show up with your own celebrities. No one will care how much champagne you consume or how awkward you are if you're the one with the notables on your arm. Although i sometimes don't like this one. You become visible without actually being seen. Sometimes better to slide on in alone, or with fabulous nobodies. Then you don't have to explain why you are colleagues with actual famous people who will pity you in that moment even though you are the ring leader.

Party Crash Tip #69: Buy some art. Or donate to the cause the party holder is passionate about. You become and instant colleague.


This is the 3rd time I've been and the longest we spent one on one chatting. The first time I think she actually spoke to me one on one, and man, we had that perfect kind of formal, lovely visit. Michele said it was the highlight of her trip to L.A. and I kinda believe it because we just chilled. SOme fun Diller facts. Dont hug her. She dont like it. She started comedy career at 37. Her kitchen is all red with a checkered floor. Everything even the fridge is red. There is a big ass portrait of Bob Hope in the living room. She laughs super duper loud. She has a room full of wigs and boas. She loves to cook. There is a bluebird bathroom in the front.

Apologies to Von Teese

So in the spirit of not being a bitch ass bitch head from bitch world,and for the five people i know who actually read this online diary I keep, Apparently Von Teese is not a crow perching on a tombstone all the time as I reported two entries ago and actually is smart and funny and cool most of the time according to my burlesque superstar acquaintances. Is she nice to people she doesn't know or who she thinks are not famous? Remains to be seen. Am watching you ex-Manson. Believing in your gothic power to conjure goodwill and fun through your serious soigne all black style. Because I was schooled and I am not one to rebut a wagging finger from a twirling tassle wearer who definitely knows better than me. So, sorry if you were just feeling shy, or quiet, or PMS'y and it came off to the untrained eye as cunty. Believe me, cunty is my screen saving mode a lot of the time so I understand. But, you know, clap for your friends, so they don't have to explain to me that the cool you is lurking under the surly slash pretty exterior. I still however think LA is bullshit compared to NY. That I do not retract.
peace. k.

Food at rich white people conferences is worth lying for

After my weekend of burlesque viewing and late night peppermint schnapps parties with trannies, I went to the Four Seasons resort to attend the 5 course banquet for the Amex luxury summit in full "Brand Consultant to the Entertainment Industry" drag. You know, that is actually what I do. I actually do product placement, branding, ad writing, image making and generate tons of images and copies centered either around shows or pitches. So you know, I wasnt exactly LYING. Not exactly. I mean I did have a room key. And a pair of prada shoes. And I once had an actual job that paid money. So you know fuck off rich people hand over the silver ware and the filet mignon. God don't like selfish expense account holders. Pay it forward. Whack a mole. Gimme some etc etc.

Unfortunately I sat awkwardly this time at the banquet table without a nametag, trying to explain myself to the hoteliers and the luxury brand marketers and CEO's of wall street venture capital firms. I had a sip of chardonnay, "yes I think the philanthropy co-branding of a product is an important trend" pinot noir "international sales in Asia are actually looking for american cultural product and vice versa", cabernet "a year overseas broadens the mind" , and then coffee and diet coke "chef driven restaurants are the way to go in LA". It was a little tiny bit dicey since one of the sponsor execs you know who organized the entire conference was actually at our table, eyeballing me. Over and over like pepe le pew and the girl skunk, but less amorously. No I was not on the golf course nor did I attend the philanthropy and luxury consumer workshops. I did however sit by the pool cabanas and drink a smoothie with a lot of precision and skill. The 5 courses were pretty fuckin good though, and like anytime I am grifting I do math (coz I am asian !) and I think i ingested a good 2-3 hundred bucks of tres chic food and drink and gift bag stuff in one day. All for 10 bucks in gas and parking.

Party Crash Tip #33: Do something boring to show solidarity with the actual attendees. If you are going to crash rich people conferences, my retrospective advice is to go do at least one tedious activity, like attend a seminar or do 6am yoga because then you will automatically bond with attendees over said tedium. Merely floating in the pool and showing up at the 5 course meal makes you seem, I dunno more suspiciously poor. Although, everyone there was wayyy too polite to say anything really. White people are afraid of confrontation, especially if you look confident and calm.

Party Crash tip #32 Show up late for buffets. It is also a good idea to waltz into buffet situations on the late side, after the prelim check ins, and leave before dessert. Less likely to get stopped by toolbag holding a clip board.

I do recommend crashing one such event at least once in your life. The food and wine are excellent and not paying makes it easier to critique the flavors the chef puts on the plate because you are not doing math at the same time. Also it is good to learn how people think you think within these little corporate cultures.

New York Tranny Freak legends trump LA losers.

Another wonderful weekend to ring in Spring Fever. Beginning Thursday night Weimar New York the sensation of the Spiegel Tent and home show of such NYC legends as Justin Bond (kiki of kiki and herb) who did me the honor of demonstrating a porn kiss after the last show, Meow Meow (transcendent cyber cabaret star) Julie Atlas Muz (well deserved winner of Ms. Exotic World Burlesque championship in Vegas) Tigger (Mr. Burlesque world, and ditto) and Taylor Mac (you have to see to believe the totally bizarre and stunningly beautiful juxtaposition of Mac in full androgynous retro alien clown drag singing about the war to a ukelele. I can't explain it, but it is truly a sight to behold. So lemme see. On Thursday I did the show and Tigger did his signature naked splits at the end of a number where he dressed up as a french lesbian and danced to a parisian electroclash mix about loving Harley Davidsons. Julie Atlas Muz got inside a giant acrylic baloon and stripped naked to Moon River before busting through it. Here's a link coz you gotta see this. Taylor played a song and everyone cried. Penny Arcade, one of the foremost performance artists in America (look her up all ye pretenders to the avant garde) ranted about how much she loves LA and hates the vagina monologues. my vagina is not wearing a hat either penny, kudos. Well maybe a snood. But not a rainhat. I did a quick number from chinkorama and Lance played piano all night and sang one of his songs. There were Pixie harlots, a gypsy like troupe of gogo dancers who also strut in 8 inch stilettos and outrageous only in New York Fuck you gowns and grotesque accessories designed by soon to be unbelievably famous Machine Dazzle (also of the Dazzle dancers.) Friday, shake and repeat. Followed by the cast descending on the 101 cafe in hollywood and being totally stared down in their glitter sequins and the ocassional tassle-less nipple popping out over chai lattes and egg white scrambles. Saturday, prince showed up but alas too late. We did go to an after party in the hills at one of the producers' houses, a transparent blonde with delicate features whose ethereal dandy style seemed to fit his occupation as model slash novelist. I bought it. He looked like a tallish blonde cat, quiet in a crumpled 1000 dollar suit and tussled locks in his Hollywood studio with a giant pink neon sign that read "Optimism is the product of sheer terror " or something like that.

Dita Von Teese was there, perched on a chair like a crow on a tombstone, waiting to be noticed in her little 40s black suit and tilted fedora with feather and ultra red lips. I was kinda like F-You Von Teese. Your fake german name doesn't hide that you were the dork goth girl at school writing insuffereable poems between bouts of cutting and sulking with no friends. In this room of NYC performance artistes and history makers, and your friends, you certainly could afford to, I dunno, like, clap after they spontaneously bring down the house, r i dunno buy a ticket to their show or at least get a little happy to see em in an after show performances which was requested for you and your cunty LA dilettante poser friends. Did I mention she pissed me off sitting there and NOT clapping or smiling or like even talking. F you!

Saturday we drove to the other producers pad in Malibu and ate chicken and salad overlooking the ocean for no particular reason but it seemed logical. Sunday post show there was a lot of naked Pixie Harlots jumping off the rail at the beverlywood motel (ew!) into the slightly grimy pool leaving a trail of glitter and sweat that I am sure will clog the drains for awhile. Justin told a delightful story about getting bj's from his neighbor and 69'ing in snowsuits when they were mere boys, and Julie read a poem I wrote out loud before passing out on a cocktail of courvoisier and peppermint schnapps. It was like all the best things about college keggers with the added bonus of being old enough to know better and young enough not to care.

I cant really relate how everything sacred and profane about new york is so different than the LA sacred and profane. I think in LA there is no sacred profane. Perhaps no sacred, because Fear is such a motivator. And as I looked into the shifty eyes of Von Teese whose income I would venture to say is much much more than any of the fabulous and one of a kind pixie harlots, and whose parasitical international fame (at the moment) trumps the sublimely talented and edgy Atlas Muz, and the rest of the LA zombies in their crumpled D+G vintage sort of leaned into things and tried to look cool before returning to their snacky brand new luxury cars to return home and look for photos of themselves on TMZ and gawker like desperate freshman pledging the sorority that is Hollywood, --I saw, beautifully, genuinely, grimily, joyfully the unabashed exuberance of my new vaudevillian friends from NY, sharing their music and their sometimes awkward raw talents, cheering each other on and debating the finer points of tassle gluing and german crooning, and i saw that OPTIMISM. Right there in front of me, slightly sweaty, probably broke as hell; stuffed into suitcases at the Grody Beverlywood where the pool could give you a rash; bummed like a cigarette from Penny Arcade who said, "hey kid, i'm 57 and I'm just getting started on this new thing"; in Lance's feverish banging on the piano behind an increasingly frantic Justin Bond singing about shaving asses in a studio just behind the Magic Castle; in Julie Atlas Muz's current obsession with growing the longest pubic hair in the world; in Earl dax, the producers' accidental trip and fall into a kiddy pool at the club and crying and then sayin "well I needed to cool off anyways". In all of it. optimism. Life. Terror, is actually just terror. I see it every day in H-Wood wearing designer shades and saying nonsense things into its bluetooth. Taking meetings and pretending to feel good about having a parking space. and It is why I will leave soon enough. But optimism, you can't buy it or schmooze it or find it in newsprint. You can live it. Love it. And be it. Because art is supposed to be fun. Life is supposed to be fun. And lemme tell you, kids. If ya ever have a chance to follow around a group of New York gypsy performance artists, do it do it do it. You'll never feel poor again.

Party crash tip #23: Follow the cool people back to their hotel. Just keep talking and acting like you are having a great time. Offer to drive or buy more beer. Offer anything you think they need, pay for a cab, buy cigs and say you will bring them over. Just keep moving and assume you are going. Don't make the amateurish mistake of ASKING "Hey can I come with you guys?" unless they are making out with each other. IN which case you just keep following without a word until you get a cold stare or are actually told to go. Most times you can just keep going and waltz right into the hotel, and who KNOWs who you will meet then.

SAG Swag Swindle

i wont tell you how i got there but I will tell you this. I'm in one of those swag parties we always read about in InStyle Magazine you know where celebrities get a giant duffel bag of free shit from companies anxious for the publicity and the "As seen on" tag to add to their brand. This one wasnt too swanky..It was at the Beverly HIlls Hyatt in the Penthouse. Omarosa was there showing her tit job and The Haitian from HEROS and that's all a I saw from current TV besides my friend. These obviously are list only affairs but since I was on crutches still I looked like pathetic enough a friend to get in and who is gonna say no to a handicapped asian girl in a town with no pity. Here's a tip Hollywood style. Everyone wants to believe everything especially good things. About half way through our perusal of the tables which really were more like booths at a local artists fair--bedazzled hats, fruit elixirs made in santa monica, bottle cap jewellery, t-shirts with silk screens and home made baby blankets, -- I realized that I didnt have to skulk in the background at all. I became the super producer I really am and started talking to all the merchants about product placement in all my shows.--Suddenly without a bracelet I was now getting the golden key. Too bad there werent some couture sunglasses or blinged out sidekicks. The best thing I got in my swag was a Poo Pourri collection of toilet sprays that literally make your shit not stink. And some high end body lotion from one of Fred Seagal's exclusive lines MOR, which by the way is to DIE for it's so luxurious......And the packaging is outrageously gorgeous too.

Visiting Phyllis Diller (Who Brought The Gook?)

Sometimes you gotta just sit back and let the big personalities rule. Which is a funny thing for me to say coz usually I am the bigmouth wisecracking fag hag slash hostess slash idiot savant with no filter for the profane and bizarre running comentary on present action. But This time I brought comedy icons Lisa Ann, Scott Thompson, as well as Pier Carlo, Lance, and Julian, a veritable menagerie of Diller fans slash art world heavy hitters and witty party guests. The last time I went a- Diller art collecting it was a lo key affair, with us gingerly walking through the halls of her incredible Brentwood home looking at her gallery of oils, pastels, watercolor acrylics and mixed media...the extensive collection of work by a prolific artist who clearly LOVES to paint. And super duper cool assistant slash cali-girl with the party vibe Karla showed us the wig room full of wigs and boas, the famous red kitchen and the parlour with the giant portrait of Bobe Hope who was Dillers BFF and the kind of colleague and pal and listener we all dream of having. (You all know who you are.)

I personally am a fan of her portraits and bold brushstrokes. Lance loves the pictures of shoes and faces painted on sheet music. Julian liked the abstracts. My mom bought two of the "prettier" pieces with florals and feminine pastels. After my first visit there, I read her autobiography in one sitting and felt my life like a ball of energ in my hand realizing that the story we will tell the career we will have, the way we serve ourselves and our art cannot be predicted but it can be planned. The Phyllis didnt even set foot on a stage until she was 37. And like me she struggled with finding the right opener. And it struck me that there must have been one of those AHA moments that Oprah puts in the mag, where she just said FUCK IT I am talented I'm just gonna keep on doing this. And then her concert piano career. And now her visual art life. All coming and going from the same place in the heart. And me playwright comic writer actor songwriter singer rapper I suddenly make sense to myself. Having said all that, I gotta tell you, it was Scott and Lisa who kept her interested. Whenever I had gone over it was done in two seconds of autographing and pleasantries where I used my best SAT vocabulary to show her "I get it" "I got art in me too". But my homies had STORIES. About cock fights in the Phillipines, and performing pregnant at the Comic Strip and having lots of wild kids and doing shows with the BIG NAMES. And jokes. They all had jokes. Diller even said to Scott at one point jeez he's funnier than me! Which I will remind him of everytime he may doubt his genius.

Me on the otherhand, I sat back, not unlike the time I met Milton Berle at the Friars club and basically heard him tell me that chicks arent funny and character comedy isnt funny and to keep my day job. He did make a great joke about this stripper i saw in harlem who shot ice cubes out of her ass as part of her act. POOPSICLES he said without even pausing for a thought beat. I also stole my "wrong number" joke from him as payback for him screaming "NOT FUNNY" at every name I threw out (Whoopi Goldberg, Lily Tomlin, Tracey Ullman) and every joke I attempted to tell while sinking deeper and deeper into my seat at the Friars while his assistant who was dressed like some valet from a black and white Jimmy Stewart movie in a high waisted grey suit and spats over his black shoes kept saying in that weird 40s voice "Heya Miltie! Remember that Harold Arlen Song-- that was a ripper huh! Howzabout we get you a copy for the phonograph..."etc. I kept eyeballing him and thinking DUDE, What the hell? You're wearing your pants over your man boobs and Sammy Davis Junior wants his shoes back. Who the hell are you? DO you talk like this when you are hanging out with your friends from college? Do you have friends? It was so weird and sycophantic and like the guy was maybe 30. Who fucks that guy? Gypsy Rose Lee fan club members? Anyhow, back to La Diller. She demonstrated her cock fighting chair by straddling it and opening up the cash and tobacco compartment.
Scott thought she was hitting on him. He said "I think she likes me like a mannnnnn. Like you know the way a woman likes a mannnn" And looked very butch and proud as he said it before giggling. Then she made us all drink Fa-Bu-Lous champagne and best of all me and Lisa were invited in to see her personal wardrobe-- not the wig room, but her actual room full of clothes, gowns, furs, shoes, and a flock of pink hat boxes fluttering above our head like gorgeous exotic birds. Stuff to know about visiting Phyllis Diller: Dont hug or touch her. She dont like the fake air kisses or weird celeb-specific hugging from strangers. Don't bring her a bunch of crap presents. She has an room full of upholstery she bought from a store going out of business and a garage full of art frames which are too enormous for her pictures. Lisa suggested putting them in the attic to which Diller goes : Where would I put the spaghetti? She's a pack rat she says because she had NOTHING when she was a kid. No clothes. No toys. "I played with boxes" she said. "Stuck the cat in there and said you live there."
I sat back and let it all happen, Glad to be amongst my cool friends who can talk and make Phyllis Diller laugh. And even though I felt like that other time with Milton Berle, where the big star American pioneer of comedy was looking at me going "who broght the gook?" or "Do you work for me? Why arent you cleaning something?" "let the funny people talk"...Somehow, even in my self imposed shame spiral of being less talentedcoolwittyworldlyfunnysmartassed than the pros, I was glad to be alive, glad to be mixing french champagne with my wellbutrin, glad that my pals are hilarious, glad that I had enough money to own two Phyllis Diller portraits, glad that Karla is so cool, glad that Scott Thompson was at a cock fight and could talk about how he thinks eating a dog is no different than eating a burger, glad that Lisa knows all the gals from the Comic Strip days and glad that I was there to watch everyone laugh and buy art and crack jokes about Jesus. "he was an annoying Kid," said Diller" I know him and he was always whining..."Note taken.

LA Lesbians and Kato Kaelin as Jesus

Last night i randomly ended up on the set of the L word on one of their last days of shooting. They were doing a party scene so a lot of the series regulars were there and I have to tell you that not unlike actual real L.A. Lezzes, the cast of the show was pretty slammin in their cocktail dresses and stilettos. Jennifer Beals is totally rad in person. I of course skulked in the background despite my on set friend saying "Like, Just go up to them and be like HI YOU DONT KNOW ME BUT I AM A BIG FAN OF YOUR WORK" I almost did it just so I could bask in the lameness of that kind of moment. And if I wasnt kinda working in this dumb ass town I totally would have. And taken a cell phone picture. And asked them to autograph a napkin or something equally tacky. I wonder why Tv lesbians wear wayyyyyy better clothes than real ones. Even the hot ones. Seriously. There are barely any label whoring lesbians. Although I had a nice guess the designer moment with creator director Ilene Chaiken's boots (PRADA, I guessed Cole Hahn.) I realize this document lacks my usual social commentary, but seriously visiting the set of a show is super boring. I mean really really boring. Did I mention the boredom? You can only stare at monitors that dont belong to you for so long.

The second installment of lala lesbian sighting came today at my gym where WorkOut pseudo celeb trainer Jackie Warner was apparently working on her shoulders and chest. Delts? Traps? whatever. A bitch was in a shame spiral on the reclining bike watching Jackie fuckin work those lean muscles and hoping she would not look anywhere near where said embarassed and fat bitch was sweating to the oldies wondering if it will ever actually make a dent in the cookie and cake pillow i have decided to moat myself in with. She was dressed like a hot guy, baggy abercrombie shorts, cool t shirt, cool running shoes, cool gym bag. Pretty face but the rest was like a swaggering cute guy who may have played lacrosse in college and had a ton of girlfriends swooning when he played guitar. Oh the andgrogynous enigma. In any other town she would have faded like a person you call "that guy over there" but with the amount of hair product she was rockin, the perfect arch of threaded eyebrows, the very expensive casual look she had on her, it was def another hot l.a. lesbian sighting.


And to cap the day, I was playing a born again christian, a very zealous one with a very wet lisp, in Hollywood Hellhouse: a recreation of the christian youth group hellhouses that pop up on halloween in towns across america where dancing is still only semi legal and pro choice rallys are bombed and gay people are called "the queers" (which in academic circles is a compliment-- but in those towns most people dont read. Or at least past high school they dont read anything but labels. And yes I do mean that in two ways.) Anyhoo, the hellhouse is a freaky haunted house depicting scenes of SIN like a harry potter game which incites a young man to murder his sister. A rave which ends in a date rape. A slumber party which incites girl on girl kissing.
And a hospital ward filled with botched abortions and AIDS victims who are compared to devil worshippers. Gruesome stuff. One of my favorite actors Harry Dean Stanton poked his head into the abortion room and politely asked to be shown the way out, wishing to ahem, terminate his hellhouse experience early. He missed Kato Kaelin's dynamic turn as Jesus on the cross in a room decorated with clouds, angels and fluffy wallpaper.

Kato Kaelin as Jesus. Me in a shame spiral at the gym because Jackie Warner has a perfect upper body. Standing on a rooftop in the Hollywood Hills with an entire crew looking at me thinking "what is SHE doing here?"
Welcome to Hollywood.

fag hag marathon of LIFE

Don’t be jealous. I think I should have won some kind of lgbtqq award for my marathon of fag haggery 2 weeks ago.

It started with a roadtrip to lovely Las Vegas to see Liza Minelli at the Luxor hotel. We went not once but twice and let me tell you I don’t give a shit what anyone says, that woman can deliver a song. Celebutante chanteuse Meow Meow wept and wept during Liza’s rendition of Charles Asnavour (sp?) and I screamed like a lil bitch when she started doin New York New York the way only Liza, fab eyelashes, punky hair, sparkly see through leggings and boots could do. Rumor has it she is still livin the studio 54 good life if ya know what I mean, but the woman looked great for someone with 2 hip replacements and a possible lifelong buzzkilling hangover. I knw I am now a true fag because I refuse to tell you the gory details of how in the second show she was ahem, sniffling a lot, and maybe forgetting the odd punch line and oh I dunno wobbling, but listen. Any pop star of today WISHES they could wobble out a song the way Miss Liza did so fuck em coz she tore it upppp. I also liked how when her dazzle dancer and current BF of my new york Gay Husband took back a bunch of merch and ticket stubs for her to sign for souvenirs raffle items and conversations starters, she signed every surface in the bag including a business card for a window tinting service that fell out of my wallet. We framed it. Vegas rulz. We saw a titty show after that and then played slots for 2 hours. The game was “Keeping up with the Joneses” and considering I had to play to stay awake while Julian napped in a hotel room so we could drive back to LA without actually paying for another night in a hotel—it was memorial day and there was nothing frugal about that, the game was apt. Also i felt the ass of a centurion at caesars which is pretty gay too.

I also somehow got given a giant Hello Kitty piñata as a souvenir. Now hear this. Do not give me knick knacks as gifts ever. Especially giant ones. My ex, Ben can testify how mad it made me when he gave me a lifesize Elvis thing made of cardboard that said hello lil lady. At least giant knick knacks come with a story. Or a good photo. But don’t do it because they are usually too big to ebay.

Next stop on the fagathon was Drag Queen Bingo in Hollywood hosted by Rosario the maid from Will N Grace. Nuff said.

After that I hosted an entire afternoon of gays at the Queens Pride Rally in New York. My co host was called Jiggly Caliente and she was both jiggly and caliente. Also Filipina/o which was fun for the asian jokes. I unfortunately got no photos of this but did find a nice old queen dressed as wonder woman. Don’t be jealous.

ALSO if that weren’t enough, I went to the premiere of Ru Paul’s Starr Booty a vagilicious romp mostly about drag queens selling their “pussies” and making camp references to fun old movies while singing about their hot pussies and giving bj’s. I touched Ru’s blonde hair and sat next to Lady Bunny. Again DBJ. Finally as the final two installments that I think give me enough fag hag cred that you all should send me a years supply of poppers and glo sticks, I did some queer based comedy for a French tv station and then went on the only commercial gay radio station in the WORLD, that is Proud FM which I am proud to say is in my hometown of Toronto Canada.
Where I had THE BEST TIME EVER with my friends. We graduated from high school a longgg time ago. Lets just say more than 10 years ago but less than 100. we all looked smoking hot and apparently we all still like hangin out, avoiding real work, smoking wacky things, playing pool and video games, and splitting a check with no arguments, ever. I love my high school friends oh yes I do. And one of them is a gay so there you go. You cant see him though coz he is hiding behind kate s. Two weeks of all faghaggery all the time. Sigh. Thank god for little queens.
Here's a clip of my fag hag humor