Monday, March 29, 2010

Lethal Homes and Gardens


Updated, courtesy of Periodically Anachronistic. Read more about it there.


glare them into an early grave with your killer shades!

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Sex-a-Tonic



Caption: "You'll get more out of your sex-a-tonic exercises if you do them with a partner."

I'm sure.

Friday, March 26, 2010

It's Friday Night Again ...





PS. Thank you Kat Griffin, for that dedication to me and "The Philly Dog." I hope my junkyard canine dance partner isn't pining for me tomorrow night ...

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Jim



I just found out that my dear friend, Jim Marshall the photographer died. Jim was very generous to me and gave me four signed prints of his photos. He also drove drunk, carried a gun, and told me I "looked like a Chinese hooker" when I wore pink glittery shoes to lunch at The Cliff House. R.I.P., my friend. There's an interview with us somewhere ... he tricked me into meeting him at the bar at the Royalton, not telling me he was being interviewed. "Look pretty!" he growled. "I always do!" I snarled back. As soon as I got there, he put his arm around me and nuzzled me throughout the interview. When it came out, he was, of course, "with an attractive blonde on his lap." (I was blonde back in those days.) What a character.
He gave me free reign of his prints, letting me "shop" in his house. Can you imagine?

(Shown: two of the four.)

Friday, March 19, 2010

For Alex, From Tav


Let us raise our glasses to a fallen comrade. And ask ourselves did we celebrate this man in life as we do now in death? Ah yes, we embraced our comrade and drew him close to our hearts and minds... as close as he would allow. Sure he touched us literally and he touched us profoundly: as an artist with lyrical intensity, as a person with camaraderie granted and camaraderie rebuffed. Such are the complexities of the artist and of the person. We realize it's not so easy to be friends with an artist, especially a gifted one. His smile often twisted into a leer, even when he was amused by your bonhomie and by your adulation. Be careful of tendencies: OK we’ve created it; now let’s deconstruct it. Godhead on the one hand, destroying angel on the other… Lord help you if you were caught in between. His tones were golden, and he knew that... better than anyone. Was he resentful because he had given so much, and had received less than the key to the temple of abiding good fortune and fame immemorial? Was he content in his rickety 18th cottage on the edge of the French Quarter surrounded by his guitars and aquatints and a cognoscenti of musicians who celebrated him as we do now? Did he draw all that he could take from his talents? Did he quaff draughts of indolence? The answers mean little, and the questions even less. What matters is that those whom he touched, were touched immutably. His legacy is of the mind, of the soul, of earthly pleasure, and of just and lost causes. He left us that redeeming spark of wit and flame to keep us going when were hovering down in the foxhole of doubt and uncertainty and dodging the adverse missives of Lady Luck... comforted in thinking that Alex would have liked that, or he would have appreciated this, or he would have been elated by this or that, or let’s do it the way Alex does it. His opinion, his taste, his love is what matters in the end. The last time I saw Alex was in Paris visiting in his posh suite at Hotel George le Cinq. He was pleased with his rooms, and we stayed up late while he merrily tutored me with the unending music lesson that had been on-going since I met him some twenty-five years before... the lesson that never seemed to quite 'take', and which I understood little better than the first time he drilled me. He would say Tav, somebody's got to keep the rhythm. And now I wonder, as the last grain of sand has sped through the hourglass, who... will keep the rhythm? Raise our glasses to console the living for the loss of a comrade fallen in the snow, which in its chill and whiteness is purifying, rather than fallen in the desert, which is barren.


- Tav Falco

photo: Ebet Roberts

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

We said ...

we were going to go to the gym, but it just didn't happen. The flowers were blooming all over at the Sunset Marquis today and the pool was just gorgeous. Besides, when you get woken up by a quake at 4am, you do have to recuperate poolside.


Oh wait! I did get interviewed somewhere in there by the fabulous Karen Krizanovich. I discussed Sylvia of Hollywood, body sculpting, Rosa Klebb, and Brazilian waxing. Life is grand, isn't it?

In Lethal Dreams


I was in a giant beauty salon. This is nothing unusual; I have beauty salon dreams often. Sometimes they are anxiety-producing (like the one where I was in a long hallway and there were lots of doors and I had to wait, not knowing who my stylist was - imagine the disappointment when my drab, blue-smocked woman came out, scissors in hand. I wouldn't let her anywhere near me.)

Anyway, back to last night. I was in a large complex, being moved from room to room with my cape on. As I stood in the doorway, I turned around to see a gigantic box of Clairol red hair coloring over the sink. Anyway, I went through the door and there were three men sitting in chairs: Felix in Hollywood and two others! I said, "Oh, don't let me disturb your little 'boy-party,'" but then I realized they were dabbing their eyes with tissues and I felt bad.

Diet Pills + Jerry Lewis

Skip to 4:00, once you get to Bennett "Ride the Wild" Cerf:

ps. Happy Birthday, Jer!

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Two Easy Pieces


Oh hell, I'm not gonna bother blacking my eyes out on this one, it's blurry enough as it is. Another Friday night on Hollywood Boulevard.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Lethal Parties

There's always one girl who's chicken!

From one of my new favorites.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

I'm V-Dazzled

Well, we got a really interesting question this morning at Slap and Tickle. Which led me to this video.

"Enjoy!"

Friday, March 05, 2010

My Friday Night

I just love when my French pals visit. Sure, the neighbors complain, but screw 'em.




If You Insist, Bob

Head over to Shaker Heights. Do not pass go, do not collect $100, but collect your love whip. Hint:



Who knew it would be a Bob Conrad week?

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Well, I'd prefer it alive, please


Artist: Bradshaw Crandell, 1937.

Ankh + Conrad = Wild, Wild Chest!


please - not in front of my pills!


Thanks, PZ!

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

Tuesday, March 02, 2010

Der Hund von Baskerville

Other Lethal Viewing

American Gangster. If only for the screengrabs alone:

Note that the Centric channel (formerly BET) also shows Soul Train, so set your DVRs accordingly.