Over the long weekend, we took the opportunity to take in a spooky, sinister goth nite at Hive at Lola’s room, and we dressed appropriately as a chubby French Maid doll and a transvestite military man. Walking up to the bar, I wondered- Aren’t I getting a little old for this shit? If the reader has an opinion, I would kindly ask them to keep it to themselves.
Me and my bike, making snow angels.
I sent this essay in to a contest for to promote bike commuting, and it was not good enough to win a prize, but it’s plenty good enough to annoy you people with.
Mental Health: I am the last sane person at my office, because I never have to worry about the over-capacity parking lot. Whenever I arrive, I put my bike in the same bike room. And if the racks were full, I could lock my bike to another bike, or I could chain it to a railing. If I were really stuck, I could put it in my office. Try that with a Jeep, and you’ll find you can’t. My tinkling laugh rings out when co-workers run into meetings panting they had to park and walk from Vancouver.
I am guaranteed an hour and a half of quiet “me” time a day, when I am not annoyed by the horrible, grating chitchat of friends and loved ones. If you are a friend or spouse, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about the others.
Continued Education:
I can pull a blown tube, replace it, and put the tire back on the wheel while standing. It’s like the world’s slowest, lamest magic trick. I can trigger the signal at stop lights by rolling over the mysterious tar circles. The motorists think it’s magic, or that the light turning green has something to do with elves. br /br
Fitness: I have calf muscles that could cut diamonds, or at least slice bread, or definitely spread butter on bread. Unfortunately, that makes for really greasy, buttery calves.
In closing, go ahead and ride a bike, because who wants to live forever anyway?
This will be the last time I will mention our dang Leigh Bowery costumes. Probably.
I put a short film of a dance routine I did on Halloween on Youtube, but I hesitated to post about it, because it’s not really the film I wanted (due to the shaky-cam, tight-zoom effect) but in retrospect, it *is* the best one-minute tap routine in a Leigh Bowery costume ever done to a mashup of “Baby Got Back.”
Or else, certainly it’s in the top ten.
Yesterday, I got a Youtube comment asking if that was really Leigh Bowery. I told my new friend no, it was just little me, and my friend complimented my costume, and I felt all warm inside. However, shortly after that, I got a Youtube comment from an alert viewer pointing out that he didn’t really believe that it was Leigh, and believes the film to be: A HOAX. He noted astutely that:
A. The costume is not as fancy/decorated as it should have been. Shitty, shitty costume.
B. The dancing is graceless, like a drunken elephant in toe shoes. Nothing like Leigh.
C. It could be Leigh at 5 AM in an afterhours bar, snockered out of his mind- but in general, he’s calling a Bravo Sierra on this!
I wrote my esteemed viewer to thank him for his interest and to note that I never intended to pass the movie off as the genuine article, and had re-titled the movie Tribute to Leigh Bowery to avoid this kind of confusion in the future, and did not point out clues that he missed:
A. In both the notes and in the comments I say “This is me, dressed as Leigh Bowery.”
Also, I put the record date on the submit, which is 12 years and 9 months after Leigh took off for parts unknown.
B. Although “Baby Got Back” was released in 1992, 2 years before we lost Leigh, the Benny Benassi mash-up by DJ Tripp was just released in April 2005, and the one minute remix of that version was done over Labor Day weekend of this year. (Thank you, Kid Whatever!)
C. Although Leigh was gifted in many different artforms, I don’t believe that tap dance was ever on his list of interests. He overlooked the fact that I am between 125 and 150 pounds lighter than Leigh. And that’s the unkindest cut of all.
Well, if you recall, I threatened that we were dressing as deceased lifestyle artist Leigh Bowery for Halloween, and here are how the outfits turned out. They are a simple combination of 15 yards of fabric, four gloves, 500 pink paillettes, including those that have dropped off in my glittery wake, and a replica WWI helmet.
They are great to drink and dance in, but terrible to eat, negotiate cramped parties, and do rifle practice in. After 6 clubs and parties, a total of 6 people identified our artist, which was 5 more than we expected. I was somewhat surprised that when I ran into friends and acquaintances, I was recognized as myself with 100% accuracy.
Apparently, my voice is distinctive, as is my propensity for yelling. However, two of my friends said that talking to me in the mask for extended periods of time was “creepy.”
I found that answering the question “What are you?” with the actual answer, “Leigh Bowery“, was tedious after awhile, because if we were not recognized immediately, giving the answer did not help the observer.
Our final count for Halloween was THREE costume contests won, one of which Ryan had to pull off solo, and one of which we won despite having already left the bar.
Hooray!
*Please note: I have replaced my former spouse’s name with Ryan Gosling’s in all posts, because someone searched for him and wound up here and screw that. Yes, I am extremely mature.
FAQ’s on my first Portland Marathon:
Q1. Did the St. Johns’ Bridge suck?
A1. Maybe for babies. It wasn’t nearly as rough as the Golden Gate bridge.
Q2. What deep thoughts did you have at mile 15?
A2. If someone had told me a year ago that I would want to stop at mile 15 and fill my socks with Vaseline, I would have called ’em crazy, but there I was.
Q3. What was the best thing you saw all day?
A3. In industrial Northwest, a baby stroller with an English Bulldog puppy in it. That actually might be the best thing I’ve seen, ever.
Q4. Can you finish a long race without getting black toenails?
A4. Evidently not, no.
Q5. What was your super-secret 256K playlist on your $12 mp3 player?
A5. You can see it here, if you want to. When I was finishing, “Positive Vibrations” came up, and it was helpful, because I was just starting to think that time had stopped and that I would be trapped in the 25th mile in a Groundhog’s Day manner.
Q6. What business did you most enjoy running past?
A6. The adult video store, Fat Cobra.
Q7. What kind of time did you finish in?
A7. I finished ten minutes under my estimated time at 5:20. I am happy with it. No, really, I am!
Q8. What deep thoughts did you have at Mile 23?
A8. Words that can be formed out of the letters in Portland: Art, Pot, Port, Land, Pardon, Patrol, Patron, Portal, Adopt, Adorn, Apron, Plant, Polar, Nodal, Opal, Drop, Pod, LARP, Lap, Pal, Rot, Tan, Nor, Toad, Rapt, Pond. Best Anagram: Pant Lord.
Q9. Did you hit “The Wall?”
A9. No, I just ran slowly for 5 hours, walked for twenty minutes, ate some cookies and went home.
Q10. What was the most Portland-y thing you saw?
A10. A runner in my pace group was not wearing shoes or a shirt, and had his timing chip taped around his ankle. His feet were uglier than most people’s.
Q11. Can encouraging spectators pronounce “Badinia?”
A11. No, but it was nice of them to try.
Here is a picture of me and Hazel, after one of us ran a marathon and the other slept in and chewed on an artificial squirrel.
I am looking forward to seeing the Queen of Performance Art and half of the Coolest New York Downtown Couple, a Laurie Anderson, performing in Portland tonight as part of PICA’s TBA festival. I have been a fan of hers since before I knew who she was, after I caught the last third of a performance of “Babydoll” on SNL in 1986, and carried the voice around in my head for two years until I was at a friend’s house listening to “Sharkey’s Day” from “Mister Heartbreak.” I met her once in Houston, TX, in 1992 at a pro-Dem art event, where she sat coolly on a picnic blanket in a baseball cap and I gibbered to her like an idiot.
And yet, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about meeting Paris Hilton.
P.S. It was a lovely show! Spouse was surprised that we were on the front row, because evidently did not understand the level of my Laurie worship and ninja ticket-buying skills. She has stripped down from previous shows to storytelling and violin playing, with a minimum of extra clutter. She dressed like a little Buddhist monk and told stories about her stint as N.A.S.A.’s first (and last) artist in residence, and about the 10 day walks she’s taken with her rat terrier, and about space and time and nature and owls and Thomas Pynchon.
When I got to the Boiler Room for five minutes of open mike time, I sat down at a table with two other gentlemen. One of them was kind of familiar. I assumed it was someone I had seen do stand-up. He was drinking a three-olive Martini, which I thought was a little Pearl District for Old Town. I was sitting with Oscar winner Gus Van Sant, his suitcases, and his PA. He was talking moviemaking with his compatriot.
I was excited that the man behind a Drugstore Cowboy might see my five minutes of stand-up. Maybe he’d be impressed by a joke I was telling in German. Maybe he’d write a fantasy biography of my life, casting Nick Cave as my husband, and change my life forever.
When our long-suffering emcee Kevin Michael-Moore launched into a version of The Girl From Ipanema where said girl is legally blind, my new famous friend found his legs and left, his companion carrying his bags.
It was clear after his departure that every other comic had also noticed who it was, and had prepared a joke for him. Instead, we just told them to each other, like usual.