Wednesday, September 29, 2010


Guess who's DJing London again in October?! (answer: meeeee.) As a special surprise treat, my London hosts from the Dirtbox party out in East London flew in last week to DJ a very special Dirtbox Good Times, which we teamed with our popular poppers and poop theme courtesy of our jungle juicy hostess, Mikey L.

Rainblo (left) was a tad preoccupied with playing with his monkey. And Danny's nipple is almost playing peek-a-boob with us.

Thank GOD Darren (left) is back from his Israeli adventure. He even knows a few more hebrew phrases now too.

Harriet's boob totally cockblocked William's self-suck session early on in the night.

Ms. Mikey and her Jungle Juice PLUS: The Original Room Odorizer. That's what the bottle really says. And it sure odorized the room when someone spilled a bottle near the front door.

Guest babes from Britain Alex (left) and Michael, who managed to play a stellar set despite jetlag (they flew in three hours earlier), trauma (a dude died on their flight over) and being really really high on poppers.

Trent, Jason and Dirtbox-in-New-York groupie bear crew.

Mao (right) can finally breathe again now that fashion week is finally finito, although he's breathing chemical inhalations of "liquid incense" at the moments. That's what the Jungle Juice bottle says too. I kid you not.

Cracky poppers face!

I love the gentlemen who dress up for our weekly Wednesday party in ties and bowties and non-prescription glasses.

The Gayletter boys! Abi (left) and James tend to favor fashion parties over our, ummm, poppers and poop nights in their weekly mailer but they still showed up for some poppers and poop!

Adam, Matt and Ryan (from left), three wholesome American boys ready to cut loose to a Roisin Murphy Royal T remix.

Everyone is abuzz about next week's CHAKAHOLIC Good Time, with guest DJ Eugene Tambourine (left) who came up with the brilliant name for our soon-to-be brilliant Chaka Khan party.

Looks like my boyfriend had one too many YET AGAIN.

Valdez (left) loves to make a request "for old time's sake." And it looks like Ryan's beard (right) is gone till November.

Michael, going for the va-jay-jay at the center of his new anchor tattoo.

Bear tshirt = bear chaser.

Jean and John, boyfriends, party animals, popper queens.

Actually, it looks like Jean couldn't really handle his poppers that night.


Marlon (center) is also a Dirtbox groupie and needs to fly over with me for the week of October 20 - 26th, when I'll be DJing Dirtbox (Oct. 23 at Vogue Fabrics) and the George and Dragon (Oct. 22). Classy!

Even the hottest men on earth like Bryan Z. can party with poppers every now and again.

Frankie, terrorizing everyone and anyone.

Good Times indeed. See you next week folks!

Oh, and if you come from jockstrap night, be sure to bring me a present like this one that Richie R. picked up for me. Thanks Richie! I'll wear it next Wednesday. xo

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


I can't remember if I've seen M.I.A. three or four times now. The first was definitely at her North American debut show at Tribeca's Knitting Factory in early 2005. Her buzzed about mixtape with Diplo, who was on hand that night providing background beats, was nothing short of mind blowing. We forgave her for being a bit shaky on stage, as this was only her fourth or fifth live performance ever. And we were really really excited to hear, dance and singalong to Hombre and everything else she had out at the moment.

After Arular, her debut album, blew up and I maybe saw her again at Knitting Factory, I caught her at McCarren Pool in 2008 on tour for her sophomore effort, Kala. This show felt like a huge homecoming for a friend who had made it and had toured the earth and back and everyone was in it to have a good time. I don't really remember what the songs sounded like or what the stage show looked like but everyone was dancing and loving it. It was a hot summer night and though the African-inspired drum tracks (courtesy of producers Switch and Diplo) took a few listens, they had sunk into the collective conscience out in Brooklyn that night.

Then there was last night's show at Terminal 5. Maya had married a billionaire. Maya had had a baby. Maya had performed at the Grammy's. Maya had a spat with Lynn Hirschberg over a questionable New York Times article. And Maya released her third album, which she was now touring for after a botched summer concert on New York's Governor's Island which only fed to an increasing backlash. So what's to say about last night's concert?

Due to electrical problems, the schedule was delayed over an hour. When M.I.A. made her way onstage, she seemed lackluster. She futzed with a sound effects control panel and sounded out of practice. She barely communicated with the audience and seemed annoyed that her monitors were facing the stage (she kicked them around to face the audience) and that her mic wasn't turned up properly. The tracks from Arular and Kala seemed to get cut off. I still want to love M.I.A., even if she acted bratty and a bit holier than thou at last night's performance. Those earlier tracks are still major, no matter how much she messed them up. When she really came alive was later on in the evening when she got around to "singing" her newer stuff, though she seemed quite out of breath and happy to have the audience sing more of her lyrics than to do it herself.

I came home and read that Casey Spooner of Fischerspooner had tweeted and facebooked, "M.I.A. SUCKED LIVE. She is a terrible uncommitted performance. She is a spoiled brat who has everything at her disposal and does nothing with it. She is a bore," and dozens of comments that said, "Yeah!" After seeing her in concert three times, I agree that she's not the best live but her songs do sound better when played over a big soundsystem. And the visual of her and her amazing dancers and her colorful clothing prints and her art videos in the background should be enough to carry a concert. Casey's right. She needs to make an effort and improve over time. Maybe she chose the wrong people to work with on this album but I still have high hopes for her despite last night's performance. That said, I'm not sure how many more times I'll go and see her live.

Oh, and she didn't even play XXXO live. Or Hombre :(


Stills from the new Duck Sauce video for their song Barbara Streisand. Duck Sauce, of course, is the boiling hot Armand Van Helden and his younger and equally charming counterpart, A-Trak.

I kind of imagine these two walking around all day singing, "I'm conceited, I got a reason," but the truth is that they do have a reason: A-Trak won a slew of DJ competition at age 15, the same age at which Van Helden started DJing and releasing masterpiece after masterpiece all the way up to now.


Wednesday, September 22, 2010


After waiting a year and a day, Banjee badass Ab Soto, an LA-based hip hop singer and dancer, and his dancing crew finally made it to New York City to schmooze, booze and perform at our weekly Wednesday Good Times. Hence, we dubbed the party Banjee Good Times and invited our favorite banjee gurrl, Telfar, to come guest DJ with us.

Ooooooh. Did you say Banjee party? Cuz it ain't a Banjee party till les femmes Ladoshas (Adam, left, and Antonio) show up. Expect a House of Ladosha performance at the next Banjee Good Times, which needs to happen real soon since this one was oh so epic.

Robyn, in the corner once again and dancing on her own.

Mikey and his huge new chest tattoo. If you're lucky, he'll even let you lick it.

My banjee boy look, complete with size 12 Timberlands that made dancing all the more challenging.

Feeling gray-t!

Actually, everyone appears to be wearing some form of black, white or gray aka welcome to the tail end of New York fashion week. Or just New York in general.

No that's not Jiggly Caliente near the bottom left but imma pretend like it is and beg her to do an impromptu Beyonce performance of Creole.

This might just be my most favorite photo of all time.

Adam (center) and Rainblo (left) ruled the roost from atop the television at center stage, cock blocking my view of the banjeeness that was happening out in the very crowded crowd.

Charlie Brown (center), showing off them muscles he's acquired from working those scissors, brushes and blow dryers all these years.

"I wanna kiss you in Paris, hold your hand in Rome AND take you into the bathroom right now."

Chills shot down his spine when a lil' Mary J. Blige came on the system.

But for the most part, I stuck with tunes from the ultimate banjee girl trifecta: Trina, Rasheeda and Jackie-O.

Yikes! Stripes! Fruit striped gum.

I believe that the "Things Go Better With Coke," worn by the handsomeness on the left, is directed at you Mikey (on the right).


Jonathan F. (right) won the "who's he" award of the night, a new category at the weekly Good Times Glammys where people pull me aside and ask about a certain someone in the crowd. You could be next!

Medo (center), after a touch-my-balls and feel-my-ass moment with a stranger. And that stranger was a female.

Treating the pole like the lady she is.

With hang ten, or "cowabunga" enthusiasm, let's take a moment to remind you that the next Good Times features our London DJ friends from the super successful Dirtbox party, who'll be teaming up with our good friend Mikey to give you Dirtbox Poppers and Poop!

The only person to outjew superjew Adam R. (right) was the hasidic dude (left). Live for the hasidic dude. He's giving you hasidic banjee boots by rocking the scraggly beart and NO heavy black coat.

Twosies! No, save twosies for the poppers and poop party please.

Getting into those dollar vodkas and Telfar's unbelievable crunked out set.


Ab (back center, pronounced A.B., though he doesn't abbreviate because technically, A.B. doesn't stand for anything) taught me that dancers like to call choreography "choreo." He also brought the "choreo" in a major way.

Ab, Sagiv (left) and Anthony did three numbers and had the whole place hooting and hollering. You can see a (dark) video of the performance here. Thanks Ab! You really turned it!

Especially with that choreo!

This week was also a week of drink throwing, since I apparently poured some of my drink on Kevin (left. Don't remember. Sorry Kevin!) and two nights later, Ryan threw his drink on some dude at party in a church on Washington Square Park. Sacrilege!

Frank, getting into some Foxy and Lil Kim shit when Telfar and I took it to the old school. And then Telfar took it to the old old school with Total and SWV.

Magsies aka Michael Magnan popped in on the one night he wasn't working at a Suzanne Bartsch party and we were very very very very very happy to see him.

Friends of Ab, since they're throwing major West Coast signage. Or maybe it's just a West Side nyc kinda thang. 10th ave reprazent.

Photographer Kelvin's unintentional bathroom self-portrait.

Bear daddy DJs W. Jeremy (left) and Rich King. Jeremy confirmed that news that we've been waiting for all year: HE'S SINGLE!

Good Times hearts Ab Soto and his banjee dance crew real real hard.

Brian (right) swore to his hairburner fan club that he was NOT rocking a blowout.

Sippin' on some sizz-urp.


Actually, everything turned pretty Harijuku around 230am.

Giving banjee attitude at the door.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUNTY CRAWFORD LADOSHA! Yes, we hired this tranny hooker for you and yes, we will save you your own bottle of poppers next week's Good Times.

Love is a Stranger (showing off her bellybutton).

And of course, once the clock struck 3, it got ruuulll banjee up in hurrrr.

Pop that coochie, boys!

See you next week with our Dirtbox guest DJs Alex and Michael as we invoke a Dirtbox Poppers and Poop party. Twosies!