BIGOT OF THE WEEK

P.W. Botha kicked the bucket today. He was one of those old, stuffy white guys who led South Africa during the apartheid era and was totally pissed off when apartheid ended cuz it meant that he'd have to retire rather than order more executions and assassinations.

This sounds like somebody totally would have dressed up as for Halloween this year, dammit! Given my track record for contemporary evil costumes (Kim Jong Il in 2003, Lynndie England in 2004, Snickers in 2005), Botha would have been perfect. Oh well. Hopefully, Hugh Heffner's kiddie porn collection will be uncovered tomorrow and tonight's costume will once again be relevant and timely.

SHOES, SHOES, SHOES, GAY!

Not as funny as Kelly's first video, Shoes, but still worth a watch.

BIGGEST GOSSIP EVER: BARRY WHITE GONE WILD

Weekend gossip from my dj spot: when I got there, these two big dudes were hanging out looking very sleazy. So my first thought was Halloween costumes, cuz these guys were dressed like A Night at the Roxbury. But I think they might have been for real. Anyway, one passes me a $5 bill and requests Barry White. So I'm like, duh. That's easy. So after one song he's like, play another one. And then another.

Ten minutes later, the other one comes over and is like, "you didn't play my fourth Barry White request. Here" and tosses me ANOTHER fiver. So I'm like, ummmm, no. This isn't the Barry White request hour and tossed his $5 back at him.

Later on, this group of 15 women came in wearing veils and headbands and I was like, ugh, those are the worst costumes ever! But then I figured out that they weren't really dressed up at all. It was a bachelorette party. Oops.

MAYORAL MUSIC

As some of my readers may know, I was tapped to DJ for the mayor of New York City last year after one of his event planners heard my sweet rhythms spun at a bar. Last night, I completed my fifth event for Mikey Bloomberg, though my first inside his official residence, Gracie Mansion.



I got there pretty early to set up, which took maybe 20 minutes. This is the main event room where lots of sponsors and participants of next week's NYC Marathon would gather later on. One of the organizers kept yelling at all the workers because apparently you're not allowed to wheel ANYTHING over the carpet even though its way beat up and probably as old as
Manhattan.


I gave myself a little tour because I had nothing else to do and didn't want to sit and read while everyone else was totally panicking over preparations. Gracie Mansion feels like a museum full of history and antiques that are hard to place when you feel like you're snooping around.



Once the party started, it filled up pretty quickly. I was given very strict instructions NOT to play rap music. So I didn't. Instead I played lots of 60s bubblegum pop that the crowd seemed to love.


Ummmm, hi. If you get invited to a party at Gracie Mansion, would think, oh, I'm going to bring my dog along with me? Does this dog not look like the most miserable animal alive at that moment? And I'm pretty sure Gracie has a No Dogs Allowed policy, considering I got yelled at when I leaned against the wall for one second.


These were the only kids at the party. I'm sure their daddykins is some bigwig marathon organizer or owns ING Direct, the Marathon sponsor. They were cute but I got all nervous that they were going to fuck with my mixers and accidentally play Lil Kim in the middle of my Tommy Roe set.


Finally the mayor came out and thanked everyone and made some jokes and gave his usual shout outs. One shout out went to this dude in attendance who was 105. Bloomberg was like, "I've been trying to set him up with my mother. She's 92 and likes older men." I thought that was funny. Then I closed it out with the Tom Tom Club's Genius of Love and everyone want bananas.

MY BIG, FAT GAY OPENING

On Tuesday, I attended the biggest gay bar opening ever...BIG LUG!


And when I say biggest, I'm not exaggerating. Big Lug used to be a Tuesday night party at Nowhere Bar for gay fatties and the men who love them. Now it's an all-week affair at the space where Route 85a used to be (and where I used to DJ).

Ludo, Matt and I rocked up at 11 to a huuuuuge line. Literally. This picture doesn't really do it justice but I couldn't stop thinking, "since when are there this many fat gay men in New York City?" And who knew they all went out late on Tuesdays? I tried sweet talking the bouncer but being, er, small and slender, he didn't really give me the time of day. Ludo and Matt are at the back of the line.


Twenty minutes later, we entered to find a packed (read: claustrophobic) party. I kept thinking how unfortunate it would be if a fire were to break out because there was no way I was getting past any of those fatties. Then Matt was like, "You should open a hot dog stand outside. You'd make a KILLING!"


This is the lovely view I had from a seat I finally found toward the back of the bar. From there, I watched fatty love unfold before my eyes. I wasn't in a drinking mood so I mostly talked to Ludo and watched fat guys like the one pictured above walk past me and ogle the crowd.


We left Matt at the bar to work his magic on the other big luggers. You should have heard them drool when he told them that he owns a bakery. Talk about a pick-up line.

BIGOT OF THE WEEK

This week's biggest bigot was supposed to be the Malawi dad who's been hating on Madonna for adopting the child he put up for adoption, but I can't find a picture of him. Instead, I present my favorite bigot ever, Lucile Scott. Lucile and I worked together in magazines. She once confused Chennai, the fourth largest city in India, with China. When I pointed this out to her, she said "Chennai, China...same difference." That is why she was awarded that poster in the background and this week's title. Congrats Lulu!

BIGGEST GOSSIP EVER: JERSEY GIRLS GONE WILD

This week's biggest gossip ever comes from my Saturday night DJ gig, which was a bit slow this week save for three Jersey girls who were sitting next to the booth. I had these girls jamming on some early 90s hip hop, especially the type made with a Roland 808 a la Ghosttown DJs' My Boo and INOJ's Love You Down.

So toward the end of the evening, this one girl is like, PLEASE PLAY MARIAH! WE'RE HER BIGGEST FANS! So me being a secret Mariah fan, I'm like, sure, why not. These girls go on to explain, "No, we really are her biggest fans. We waited outside for 27 hours just to meet her," so I'm thinking, that's dedication. Then they're like, "We paid $1400 for two front row tickets to see her at Madison Square Garden!!!" and I'm like, you win. You really are her biggest fans.

Oh, and this one girl was like, could you give me a shout out when you play that Mariah song and I was like, ummmmm, this is a small lounge. With no microphone. And like, 10 people here. Sorry.

HYPOCHONDRIA

So I was trying to update at least once a day but I've fallen a bit behind. Friday I got really sick with a super soar throat, so naturally, I was like, STREP THROAT! GONORRHEA! But I think it turned out to be the cold that both my roommates had earlier this week. Duh.

Can you believe New York Magazine lists Kim Jong Il as a suggested Halloween costume. Oh, and they also say don't recycle previous Halloween costumes. So much for my Kim Jong and Snickers back up costume. I've been Snickers for like, the past seven Halloweens. Seriously.

END OF THE ROUTE

Three years ago, I scored my first DJ residency at a small basement bar in the East Village called Route 85a (pictured above). The party was on a Wednesday and whenever I played Jaan Pehechaan Ho, bartender Zoe (also pictured above) would take her top off and dance around like a lunatic.

I had a farewell drink there last night, as the bar will soon become Big Lug, a gay bar for fatties and their admirers. I can't say I'm sad to see this place go, being that last night was the first time I set foot inside since I quit three years ago. Nothing much had changed either. It's a great space though and former Dick's bartender Carmine will reign as bar maiden once again. Sadly, there's no pool table. Yet.

P.S. - As an added extra, here's the incredible video/film clip of Jaan Pehechaan Ho. How does she do that?!!

ME SO CORNY

Today I inteviewed at a temp agency for DJs. Well, not really, but its this place that places DJs in various corporate events around the city, like Marc Jacobs in-store events. Obviously I'm hoping to get some free clothes out of the deal, or at least some DJ recognition and money to pay for the new cd/dvd drive that broke THE MORNING OF MY DJ INTERVIEW. See, I had to bring a mix cd to the place so I was shit out of luck when my computer was like, ummmm, no. Luckily, good friend and youtube superstar Matt saved the day with his computer.

P.S. - The interview went well and I ate grilled corn at Cafe Habana afterwards, which made everything great again.

FOUND: SHANGRI-LA(S)

My family used to tune into the local oldies station because it was the only music the four of us could agree on. This created a soft spot in my musical tastes for tunes I never lived through. Recently, I've taken a renewed interested in girl groups of the late 50s and 60s, such as the the Shangri-La's. The La's hit it big with "Leader of the Pack" and a few other jams, but this cd which I received in the mail today thanks to lala.com (best website ev-er) showcases the hidden talent of four overly dramatic teens, ages 15 and 17.

Did you know that Mary Weiss, lead singer of the Shangri-La's, has a new cd coming out. Like, 40 years later?!! Read the interview here.

BIGGEST GOSSIP EVER: BK GIRLS GONE WILD

This Saturday, a group of Brooklyn kids (and I do mean kids cuz they were like, 20) partied at my usual DJ spot. So the hostess comes over and asks me to play the dancehall song du jour, Tony Matterhorn's Dutty Wine. Now I'm expecting some serious dutty wining, a dance where you "bend yuh back and lift ya head up," spin your head like a helicopter and shake your ass.

So I look over and instead of the traditional dutty wine, this big black girl in a low cut dress is completely bent over and just shaking her ass for a dude who is grinding up on her. So after a few minutes, she comes up for air and her tig ol' bitties are COMPLETELY HANGING OUT OF HER DRESS. FOR LIKE, FIVE MINUTES. My friends Craig and Celeste were like, "Oh my god!" and then five minutes later we looked over and she was still rockin' double nips. I love my job.

BIGOT OF THE WEEK

Who: Kim Jong Il, Great Leader of North Korea

Why: For hating on his own peeps and sending them off to gulags to die in sweatboxes if they're not into his hair and shit. I'm serious. I read this amazing book called The Aquariums of Pyongyang and it changed my life. I dressed up as Lil' Kim Jong three years ago for Halloween and no one had a clue who I was (sadly, no pictures were taken either). Now he's dropping bombs like he just ate Indian food so I might have to rock the costume yet again. Yay or nay?

Oh. OH.

My friend Mike moved to Beirut in September to get a Masters in something. I'm not even sure he knows what kind of degree he's getting, but he figured it'd be better than slaving away at a job in New York for another year. Then that whole war thing happened, but Mike is determined to make it in the Middle East, even if it means dressing in drag and performing his favorite Haifa or Dana numbers. Come home soon. Alive.

MY DESTINY?

So I'm getting a bit carried away with the youtube posts, but I DID buy, ummmm, three pairs of sneakers in the past five days. But that's IT. I swear. And I'm going to resell one pair even though I purchased my size. (insert Kelly's 'Shoes' joke here)

WHEN IT RAINS

And while we're on the topic of Flavor Flav gems, check out this unedited brawl from Season 1. I wonder where Rain is now. (Hannukah note: I kind of really want the Flavor of Love DVD boxed set.)

PUMPKINS AND FARM ANIMALS

Last night, that "bobble head bitch that's just good for TV," aka New York from Flavor of Love 2 (as her opponent Delishis described her) was booted off the finale. Again. Lucky for us, she'll have her own show soon enough called the Flavorette. Check out this article on her spin-off, along with this amazing quote on when Pumpkin spat at her:

"It was real, and it was a bad moment," says New York. "To me, that person is a farm animal, she was bred, she was born in a stable of some sort."

And for your viewing pleasure, I present the greatest moment in TV history:

BUZZ WORTHY?

So two, maybe three weeks ago, I attended a DJ showcase at Irving Plaza. Afterwards, I headed over to a cozy little bar called Kabin where my friend Christine was DJing. Sounds seemed a bit out of whack, but that's because I had just had my eardrums blown away by two dance music DJs.

Fast forward to right now and my hearing is still a bit off. Now being the neurotic hypochondriac that I am, I'm thinking my hearing will never be the same again. Then I'm like, maybe its sinuses. Maybe its the weather. Maybe things really are ringing all the time (disclosure: I didn't really hearing ringing till tonight). Or maybe I just need a little more time and it will go away. Pray for me.

ROOTS

At the request of a not-so-near and dear friend who now lives 2,571 miles away in San Francisco, I present to you twerking.blogspot.com. My biographical details aren't all that relevant to anyone reading this, but I'd like to kick this off with some birthplace trivia.

I hail from the same Long Island town as three well-known women:

Specimen A - Debbie Gibson. Debbie hit it big with her hit pop album Out of the Blue in 1987. What you don't know is that Debbie and I had the same theatre teacher. He was completely obsessed with her and would take us on field trips to see her Broadway productions. Luckily, I only had to suffer through her stint Les Miserable, which made me tres miserable.

Specimen B - Amy Fisher. Amy shot Mary Jo Buttafuoco in the head at point blank range in 1992 cuz Amy was banging Mr. Buttafuoco (aka "Jo-weeeee") and wanted to marry him. Apparently I attended a pre-kindergarten class with one of the Buttafuoco kids. Cops found Amy's gun in the sewer directly across from my childhood house but I've never had an Amy sighting despite growing up five blocks away from me.

Specimen C - Lindsay Lohan. Okay. I don't have any good stories about Lindsay because she's six years younger than me. I know, I know -- Debbie and Amy aren't exactly my age either, but I have a little more respect for them because they're, ummm, trashier? Not really. Then again, Rumors will always redeem Lindsay in my book and on my turntables.


Now that you're familiar with where I come from, you're familiar with me. Any questions?