Whadda couple of days

Wow, that was a busy weekend.

Working!

Oh man, I am so stoked. I have started painting again, and it is great. I am totally blaming it on turning 30; somehow, something has just 'clicked' with me and the oil paint, and what I'm producing is finally kind of matching up with my visions:I started this one as an exercise in painting 'the light of the eyes', though it has sort of turned into an exercise in 'sharing a tiny apartment with a giant scary doll head'.

All done in a 48-hour period! I am pretty pleased.

New & Improved!

Everything is about to change!*

*Regarding my internet presence. My genius girlfriend is working on an awesome new layout for my portfolio homepage, which will link to this blog... so I will probably be wiping some of the more "blah blah blah emotions emotions" entries in the next couple of days. In other words: Save humiliating pageviews while you still can!**

**Not really. Please don't.

Structure & choas

I've finally created a go-to pricing structure for my portraits. Parts of it feel so technical and arbitrary, but it's a necessary step in the Quest for Officialness.

Want a flower behind your daughter's ear? $25.00. Oh, the background needs to be striped wallpaper? That'll be an extra $70.00. Oh, I'm sorry, you wanted a dog somewhere in this mess? $200.00 extra, non-negotiable.

I will still be doing inebriated pen sketches on cocktail napkins gratis.

Brown.

I spent the first part of my life in this car. I think my sibling's resentment of me was planted when, on the 17-hour journeys to Salt Lake City, UT, they were forced to squeeze in the back seat with the large Igloo cooler while I luxuriated in a custom-made bed in the rear of the station wagon. I can't help it that my parents loved me best.

Oh, therapy.

Therapy is such a "me, me, me, blah blah blah me" deal. I tire of hearing my own voice droning on about the same issues I've had forever. My therapy lady, B., says I'm awesome and doing good work though, so I'll just trust her on that.

Digesting New York

I'm living my pretty normal life, day-to-day, since I got back from my Boston/New York trip. I had feared (feared!) New York City for YEARS, and finally worked up the chutzpah to visit. I spent most of the time navigating the city by myself based on some skeletal instructions extracted from my host each morning, and I did a pretty good job. I managed to find my way to A.) the Museum of Natural History, B.) MoMA, C.) PS1, D.) the Whitney, and E.) Islip, Long Island without getting super-lost or crying too much. By day 4 in NYC, though, I was totally overloaded with no space for contextualization, and I was kind of lonely. So I headed back to Boston to chill the heck out for a day or so.

I'm thinking that trip must have affected me in some deep, rhythm-altering way. Right? To spend years both terrified and obsessed with something, than to finally experience it... that has to epically change a person, right? But in trying to shake out the verbiage of these life lessons I've supposedly learned, I can only conclude:

1. New York is really big.

I need to go back lots more. I need to write about it lots more. I fell in love with so many things, so many artists, so many tiny little weird private things that I might not ever share. I like, but am still trepidatious about, New York at this point. I bought one of those "I heart New York" t-shirts though because, well, where else can you find a shirt for $3.00?

Personals

We all break up. But do we all post online personals? Let's be secretly honest about it.

I do, and I get some hilarious, brutal, and insane responses. It's amazing to cast your net out and see who's out there, lurking in the shadows.

That said, I'm staying in tonight to do laundry!

Oh Yeah!

I'm leaving for Boston and NYC on Friday night!!!

Woo HOO!

Sometimes the Snow Comes Down in March

There is much to be done. I have had my head up my ass for awhile, being generally self-indulgent and narcissistic.

Tonight I'm going to figure out all of my computer/video equipment issues; I'm going to clean the kitchen floor; I'm going to start making papier mache dove heads; I'm going to flesh out my art website; I'm going to settle on 30th birthday plans; I'm going to post another edited video to my Youtube bizness.

So, still narcissistic, but a little more productive.

It is now

This morning, this beautiful sun-filled birdsong morning, I realized that My Spring has arrived. Portland got one last dab of snow last week, and now we have entered the Prime. The magnolia tree in front of my house is beginning to fill its furry little bursting pods with embryonic flowers, and will soon look like this:I want onion rings.

Yes, I can do anything.

On Sunday, I skiied. For the first time. Ever. I ended up like this a lot, but only after I sped very very fast down the mountain with mind-shattering velocity:
There were secret flasks, sheer cliff faces and dense, chairlift-swallowing fog; a panic attack, German beer in a mountain hut, and 26 bushels of PURE KICK-ASS.

I'm pretty much obsessed with the whole experience now, and am making people look at my big purple leg bruise and feel my gigantic muscles: Which may be against the rules of being a Manager, but that's why I'm an anarchist.

GREAT SHOW, AWESOME JOB

Saw an incredible show tonight, compliments of friend tex. Swayed and rocked and giggled and drank black tea to the glorious sounds of Karl Blau and (Olympia band!) LAKE.
Totally smitten with the rythms of the universe right now, AND I want to get my ass in a band. STAT.

Can I just say?

I love my painting class. Our professor, each week without fail, brings us strudel and juice:


That's worth the tuition right there, honey!

And also

I am finding my center again. My center is covered in paint splotches and doesn't give a damn if anyone thinks I'm charming.

Playing catch-up to my own Awesome

Today I'm recovering from a painful fall at Gay Skate last night, adding six bruises to my already-estimable collection.

I've been a busy little honeybee for the last few weeks. My social calendar (in stunning contrast to my life as a bored 12-year-old) has experienced the recent phenomenon of filling up like a bucket under a waterfall, without me batting an eyelash.

Tonight, post-painting class, I help celebrate the final contract signing on good pal KT's Very First Home. We're all going to drink champagne in her furniture-free, mid-century bungalow in east Portland, feeling vaguely jealous of her home buying prowess and well-paying nursing job. I was taking random stabs at being a homeowner last year, going so far as to tour a few decrepit inner-city buildings with concrete yards, but the spirit (and winning lottery ticket) never quite found me. I think I still need to live on a few hippie queer communes before I'm ready to buy a 2-bedroom ranch in the suburbs.

Tomorrow, Rachael has made good on her promise to find something unique and abnormal for us to do on our happy hour friend date: The Oregon Council for the Humanities "Think & Drink" at Rontom's, with featured speaker John Frohnmayer. Frohnmayer was the chairman for the National Endowment for the Arts '89-'92 under Bush Sr., and ran for the US Senate last year as an Independent. I have lots of loud opinions on the N.E.A. and I tend to find that politicians are funnier when I'm drunk on rye whiskey & soda, so it will be an entertaining afternoon.

EDIT: Lovers are playing at some big arty shindig at Holocene, so that will be stop of the evening #2, with fewer old white men.

Friday is the veritable and life-affirming Cabaret with a Q at the Q Center (69 SE Taylor), the very last one to occur at the SE location before they move up to their new digs in the Mississippi neighborhood. G.G. the Delightful is allowing me to sing TWO songs that night, despite my ongoing problem with controlling the VOLUME OF MY VOICE. I scream my way through "Suddenly Seymour" as though popping a blood vessel in my forehead were the point of the entire evening.

Saturday afternoon is a work party for the relocation of the aforementioned Q Center, then upon nightfall R & myself (and maybe DJ Wizbang) are going to see Angela Davis give a lecture at Reed College. I'm anxious to hear her talk about the Prison Industrial Complex and the alternate universe where we're able to eradicate incarceration; it will be an absolutely riveting night (if we're able to nab seats), and I will have to go out dancing afterwards to deal with all the spazz energy that will no doubt ensue.
I love my friends, I love my life, I love you. Over and out for now.

"I just shouted OH MY GOD at my work desk"

Just wanted to make sure everyone knew about the Cakewreck blog, where you can find treasures like this:

Burning all 3 ends of my candle

It's been a hell of a week. I have not been on the best behavior. But I have LIVED. And harrassed strangers at the nickel arcade after single-handedly polishing off a bottle of cheap shiraz. Ha ha... ha? Maybe grandma mel needs to dry out for a little bit. Or not. It is V-Day weekend, after all.

Last night was the best "Hole in my Soul" EVER. Shannon and Casey (a.k.a. Beyonda) are like DJ clockwork. Their sets commingled with eachother perfectly, and an intense energy was vibrating in the air... I have NEVER seen Rotture that packed by 11 p.m. Everybody on the dance floor was clapping very fast all together at one point during one of Shannon's songs, and I just started bawling like a toddler. It was beautiful. I'm super proud and super happy for the woman, and I think it's so exciting that the two of them are working together, finally. It's been a long time coming.

Tonight I get to see Bitch & Lovers at the Mississippi Pizza Pub. I used to live with one of the hotties from Lovers, and can't wait to see them play. It's gonna be wicked fun. I think I even get to have a cocktail beforehand.

Saturn Return Performativity

Well, it's official.


I'll be dusting off the old Jazz Hands and performing a piece with Cattitudes, one of Portland's premiere ironic/non-ironic post-drag troupes.We'll be up in Seattle on April 3rd and 4th, as part of a Prince-themed show led by the Von Foxies (Miss Exotic World Best Troupe 2007!). It will be rad, and I am totally stoked, so you should definitely check that shizz out.

High on Art

Balloon Tank by Hans Hermert

I was joking with someone about how part of My Life at the Party Store involves indulging various artist's conceit that they are the First Person Ever to incorporate balloons into art.

Though I enjoyed the truthful snarkiness of this comment, it's stimulated me to research and compile a list of all the artists I can find who have, in fact, incorporated balloons into their art, and what they have to say about it.

So begins a new project for the day, with results to be posted as a blog edit later on.

Saturday well spent

Today I spent most of the day inside, getting some stuff done.

Then, Nancy's birthday evening. Went to pirate-themed blacklight mini-golf downtown, got bored fast, moved everyone to my favorite locale for Long Island Iced Teas, Republic Cafe in Chinatown. Ordered two. Ran into Ricky Lee a.k.a. Elvis, who is now motorized-scooter-bound, at the bar.

Spun out with the remains of the day. Barely functional. A good, good thing.

Home sweet Homo

This evening I traveled across the Columbia River to my exotic hometown of Vancouver, WA. , on a videographer's mission. My father directed a local production of Noel Coward's Fallen Angels, and asked me to tape it. Done and done!

After spending 45 minutes on I-5, hungry as sin, and the play starting in 45 minutes, I plopped into Little Italy Trattoria (where they have real powdered parmesan cheese to sprinkle on your food) for some pasta and $4 wine. Got crabby about DV tapes, drank a little more, ran through Esther Short Park to the theater. On time and in style!

Now, the Old Slocum House Theater is not just any theater. It's also a house. Built in 1849, it was moved to its current location in 1966 and the old parlor and dining room were converted into an intimate 60-seat theater. With chandeliers and everything. I grew up in this theater, as my dad had started doing shows there shortly before I was born. A typical day as a child was school, babysitter, McDonald's, Slocum House.

The house/theater was originally situated like so: props & sets in the basement; theater, lobby, and kitchen on the main floor; dressing rooms, costume storage, and rehearsal rooms on the second floor. Sometimes, when I was left to my own devices during particularly harrowing rehearsals for Chekhov plays, I would sneak into the third floor, which was an attic space that led to the widow's walk. I would have to carefully sneak across the floor, pull down the attic stairs, climb up soundlessly, and close the stairs behind me. About ten years ago the third floor kind of collapsed into the building, which I'm pretty sure is my fault.

The play was funny and good, everyone did a great job. It's really a crap shoot with the community theater productions. I'm fairly unwilling to seriously consider how many 3-hour chunks of my life I will never get back. But this is one three-hour chunk I'm happy to have spent. Awesome show, great job guys!

Then I came home to try and download all that video, and was faced (metaphorically) with this:


So now I'm going to drink some illegal Codeine cough syrup, pass out, and pretend like none of this ever happened. JUST LIKE A REAL ACTRESS.

Waving Hello Again

It's been so long, and I forgot I even had this blog. Here it is, still loving me after so many months of neglect.

I've flown on two different buying/business trips in the last month (January), and boy are my arms (and legs and feet and brain cells) tired. It will be awhile (at least four more days) until I'm ready to see the inside of an airplane cabin again.

I purchased somewhere around $500,000 in costume & wig-related merchandise for my store, including three (3) models of the Big Gay Tinky-Winky seen to the left. I'm taking a big chance on you, Portland... I'm trusting that you are, in fact, the middle-school-humoured drunks that I've assumed you to be for all these years. I've done all of this for you.

It really was a great couple of shows. It puts me in an alternate universe where rubbing elbows with gold-chained lotharios from New Jersey and accepting free Drambuie on the rocks all makes Good Business Sense. It's magical. So I stay in my fancy hotel room, get some complimentary slippers, meet some Canadian costume store owners, then come back to Portland to live my life. Nothing too traumatic or skeevy, and I've built a shit-ton of character.

The first trip was to Fabulous Las Vegas, NV, which becomes slightly less fabulous when it's your third trip there in twelve months. I sometimes long for the days of late 2007, when I had not yet set foot in Sin City, and it remained a glittering mystery in the Western desert.


No Tom Jones concert at the MGM or 42-oz. daiquiris for me this time around; it was strictly business. With a Star Trek-themed opening banquet. JEALOUS?

I know. The life of the Party Store Manager.


Trip #2 was to Houston, TX. Yep, Houston, TX. I felt like a special princess whose life-long dream was finally coming true. Lucky for me, to add to the already tumbling heap of excitement I had over this trip, a friend was able to hook me up with some valuable Texas "do's" & "dont's". I'm not sure if I listened properly or followed through, but I had a great time. Mostly based on room service with beer, and grind-dancing on the president of one of the Major Costume Companies. To "Single Ladies".

Thank you and Goodnight! I'll be here all week! More to come.