Bad Advice

So This is What I've Been Up To!

I'm sure you've been wondering. . . .

Well, since Mabel died I've been a little depressed. There are various crappy things happening around me, so I haven't been very motivated to write unless someone's writing me a check when I'm done. But the mood is starting to lift a little bit. We got a little kitten named Mitzi, after my friend's loathed sister-in-law (bad person, great name!). That's lightened the mood a little. The photo is of me and Mitzi (I sometimes call her Mitzer Ebb) pretending to look at Spyro's browser history. I say pretending, because really—I don't wanna know what's on there. It's just better that way.

I also recently decided to become a world-famous modern dancer and so volunteered to be part of the Michael Clark residency at the Whitney Biennial!

While I've sung in public—and on the radio—before, I've never unleashed my dance moves, so I'm certain this will be a big treat for everyone! Adorable dancers from NYU are teaching us moves right out there in the open at the Whitney! So if you stop by one afternoon, you might see me. If you're my friend, just write and I'll give you my schedule. Here's a photo of what you might see if you stop by:

101 Things I love, #96

I'm not particularly interested in weddings (or Kate Moss), yet I adore Kate Moss and Jamie Hince's wedding photos. They'll be published in the September issue of Vogue (hi, Conde!), which I always buy because it's just so fucking huge. Moss and Hince are such a glam couple and I imagine the what-to-wear pressure of being an invited guest must've been off the charts, though I'll bet Keith Richards didn't care. I know there was another big wedding in England this year (snore), but this one actually looked like fun.

Old Punks Either Die or Get Completely Self-Important

If you haven't seen this, it bears watching. Henry Rollins—someone I used to get major punk-rock swoonies over—is such a humor-impaired douchebag in this clip. Not only does he completely patronize his date, Shirin Neshat, he assumes that everyone in the store is staring at him and laughing because he's such an old fart. Well, Hank, if they weren't before, they sure are now.

And with his date . . . oy. I've been the novelty date before and poor Neshat is his. Showing off his Iranian lady freedom fighter so all can see that Henry is a friend to the ladies—especially those of color. "We are on A DATE" he crows as she cringes and giggles nervously. Yeah, right.

I interviewed Henry back when I still adored him. Next to Ben Folds (whom I nicknamed "Ben Fuckface," because I'm so mature), he was the biggest jerk I've ever interviewed. He was completely humorless and refused to make eye contact. All he wanted to talk about was free jazz. Aside from sports, I can't think of a less interesting topic—or one I know less about. A wise woman once told me, "you always pay for free jazz." She was so right.

Anyway, I started to realize what I was dealing with about 30 minutes in, so I decided to take the tact of being really annoying. For example, his lack of eye contact was really bugging me, so I twisted off the sofa (we were sitting side by side) until I only had 1/4 of one cheek left on the seat and sort of forced my face into his so he'd have to look in my eyes. He sure didn't care for that. I asked him if he was gay, dating Madonna, or both. (Neither, he insisted.) Then I asked him about his books and wondered if he had an editor (surprise, surprise, he doesn't). When he assured me he didn't—that it was all him—I pointedly implied he needed one. Which he does. Every writer does.

Interviewing Henry Rollins was the reason I was so nervous to interview Joe Strummer. I'd really loved Black Flag and Henry Rollins turned out to be a dickbag. Since I idolized Strummer, I knew if he were cruel, I'd actually be crushed. So my palms were sweaty clutching that little tape recorder that day. Luckily, my worries were unfounded and Strummer was a doll. Your heroes don't always disappoint you.

Radio! Radio!

This morning I hauled my carcass out to Roberta's in Bushwick to do a radio show with my old pal, Mike Edison. Right off the bat, we disagreed about how we met. Mike recalled meeting me through an old friend of mine he used to date. But our actual meeting pre-dated that—we'd actually first met when his old band, Killdozer, drove up to Worcester and Boston to play a few shows with Reagan Youth. I'd been seeing Reagan Youth's lead singer, the late Dave Insurgent, who'd invited me along. Despite what having a foot-high mohawk might imply, I was very shy back then, so I'm sure I didn't say much. I was pretty overwhelmed being in a van load of loud boys.

So anyway, yeah, I've known Mike forever and earlier this year he hired me to write a book called The Complete Book of Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n' Roll Lists. Yay, Mike! Mike's co-host was Patrick Martins, who owns Heritage Foods and is a super nice guy. The other guest was Ron Silver—not the actor. Ron owns Bubby's! I love Bubby's! He's a very nice guy too. Though he did tell us we were trashy, he insisted he meant it in a nice way. We talked about food, dating, restaurants, bad tippers, and a whole bunch more, including salmonella (though I didn't have much to say on that topic).

You can listen to the show here.

Separated at the meth lab?

Doesn't Daisy of Love look an awful lot like a slightly less herpetic Christy from Intervention?

My Secret Boyfriend Ate Dinner with the Prez Last Night!

My pal Julie is a White House reporter and so every year she goes to the big White House Correspondents Dinner. There are always celebs in attendance, but this year, because Hollywood actually likes this president, there were tons. Those handsome bitches from Gossip Girl were there. Also, Kate Winslet! Padma Lakshmi! John Cusack! Wanda Sykes! But the only one I really cared about was the Belz.

I know how to pick my favors and so even though I'd had an unsettling makeout dream featuring Chuck Bass only nights earlier (call me Mary Kay LeTourneau), I asked her to please, please, please, get me a photo of Richard Belzer. And boy, did she deliver:
Not only did she get me a shot of him in his Nehru best, she was also quick-witted enough to snag a photo of his footwear. Go, Belz:
What a snazzy dresser!

I also saw on Gawker that blogger Ana (pronounce it "ah-nah," please) Marie Cox was there, leg-humping all the celebs. How the hell did she get invited after her idiotic diatribe of less than a month ago, which suggested we abolish the White House press corps? Did the people who issue invites not read that piece?

Happy Birthday, John Waters!

Mr. John Waters is, hand's down, my favorite filmmaker of all time, and in unrelated news, today is his 63rd birthday! He's also on a very short list of writers who never fail to crack my ass up. Even though I've had my (signed, hardcover) copy of Crackpot for approximately, one billion years, I still go back and re-read it ever few months. "101 Things I Hate" makes me laugh every single time.

I can't remember the first John Waters movie I saw, but the first one I owned was Polyester (in Odorama!). My mom used to marvel that Divine was more feminine than her and I still remember channeling my inner Lulu and pummeling my belly while screaming, "I'm going to have an ABORTION!" when I got mad at her. (My mom, not Divine.) I also adore Female Trouble and Pecker. But really, why choose just one or three—they're all great.

In recent years, Waters has been doing art and comedy shows. He currently has a show up at the Boesky Gallery in NYC and another one at Gagosian in LA. Unfortunately, plans for his Christmas kids' movie, Fruitcake, have been scrapped. Bah humbug!

I am willing to bathe in the blood of virgins

This photo of Madge from DListed is astonishing. The woman is 50, ferchrissakes. She looks 25. I know she's had some dramatic (and no doubt pricey) plastic surgery procedure, but unlike most plastic surgery you see coming out of Hollywood, her doctor did a great job. She doesn't have trout mouth or that creepy pulled-eye syndrome. She just looks young and gorgeous.

I'm generally all for aging gracefully, but this is making me rethink that position. Gwynnie continues to annoy me though. She is the ugh in smug.

The Belz!

Last night was a little something my friend Ms. Ziss dubbed "the most important night of my life." I was in the same room with my No. 1 heart throb, Mr. Richard Belzer.

It was an event for the upcoming PBS series, "Make 'Em Laugh," a history of American comedy. The companion book was designed by my ex-employer, Grammy Award-winning graphic designer, Roger Gorman. (He hates when I tell people about his Grammy, but if I had won one I would've made a blingy necklace out of it and never removed it from my person.)

Belzer hosted and he was hilarious, no shock there. Swoon. What was surprising was that he came out onstage with his two dogs, Django and Bebe. That's Bebe in the picture. They scampered around the stage at the 92nd Street Y for a while until Belzer's wife (boo! though she's very pretty and seemed like a nice person. whatever. that's me being charitable.) called them down and they joined her in the audience.

Along with the director and writers of the book and series, Amy Sedaris was also there. She narrated the series and from the clips we saw did a great job. I have mixed feelings on Ms. Sedaris. I think she's hilarious, but I also think she's one of those cutesy women who don't like other women. Maybe this was because she didn't particularly like me when I interviewed her during Strangers with Candy and I'm projecting that dislike onto femaledom as a whole. I mean, I'm fan-freaking-tastic—what's not to like?

Stephen Colbert, however, was extremely charming and so funny I nearly peed my pants talking to him. Or maybe that was just moistness caused by his extreme hotness. Mrow. But Sedaris? Nah. Was not liking me one bit. In a blatent attempt at suckuppery, I'd even brought along baked goods to the interview. Baked goods that a competent baker—meaning, not me—had made! Another friend of mine is convinced she doesn't like lesbians, but I'm thinking she's just happier surrounded by fawning men.

Then again, if I were always surrounded by fawning men I guess I'd favor them too. So there you go.

All in all, a very fun night out. Even though I came home not with the Belz on my arm, but the usual Large Hungry Greek. I hate to see a big man cry, so maybe it's better that way. Sigh.

Frankie Say NO!

First doggie restaurants, now models . . .  If Perez is to be believed (and why wouldn't I believe him?), Agyness Deyn used some of her model-money to buy a loft in Williamsburg. Is this a rumour? Like how every two years I hear the Salvation Army on Bedford is turning into a McDonalds? Or the one about Gwyneth Paltrow moving into the Edge? Or any of the countless other unfounded nonsensical things I hear every week about my neighborhood? We have no shortage of stickbug-skinny, boney-butt, gorgeous model types running around so I have to think she'll blend in quite seamlessly.