Gloomy, The Naughty Adult Bear

Judging by the referrals on my site meter, a lot of people are getting to my page because they are looking for pictures or information about Gloomy, The Naughty Adult Bear. Since I sometimes pretend to myself that I am providing a service, here is a good page from Wikipedia about the Gloomy toy series and his creator, Mori Chack.

From his press release: Gloomy, an abandoned little bear, is rescued by Pitty (the little boy). At first, he is cute and cuddly, but becomes more wild as he grows up. Since bears do not become attached to people like dogs by nature, Gloomy attacks Pitty even though he is the owner. So Gloomy has blood on him from biting and/or scratching Pitty.

The moral: wild animals are dangerous, even when they are cute and/or pink. I'll bet you didn't know that a hippo will take your arm off if it gets a chance. I met a guy who was pulled out of a boat in Africa and badly maimed by the cutest, fattest hippo ever. Hippopotamus means "river horse" in Greek, but you absolutely should not ride him.

Many celebrities exhibit the same behaivor, appearing cute and harmless but lashing out when cornered, like Mel Gibson, Peter Buck, and that crazy guy from Seinfeld.

Some of the other search results for my site are for nude lolitas. I have no information for you, but when they grow up, they might also be dangerous.

Postscript: I have gotten a hit from "foot sex", which I can assure you I don't know anything about. If anything, my feet are qualified to cure people of fetishism.

Tivo Alert: There is a stupendous doc about Robyn Hitchcock and Peter Buck recording Robyn's most recent album with the Venus 3- It aired on Sundance on Dec 31, and included footage from this most recent Thanksgiving. My, what a modern world it is! Look for it!

Happy Holidays from Hazel and Chico!

Bye-Bye, Baiji.

One of my favorite weird animals appears to have checked out, after 30 million years of rocking freshwater rivers in China, which means they watched us stand up and walk 3 million years ago. There were 7 spotted in 1998, but this year, the Yangtze river dolphin appears to be extinct. I am sorry to see us lose our first whale species to human pollution, fishing, and sonic interference.
Douglas Adams, who unfortunately is also extinct, wrote extensively about about this dolphin in his book on endangered species, Last Chance To See, and imagines a happy ending for them in the fourth book in the Hitchhiker series, "So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish!"

Here is the bottlecap of Baiji dolphin beer, where our friend is immortalized as a delicious light lager.

Every time I have been in China, I try to pour a bottle of molasses or maple syrup into the murky Yangtze as a special dolphin treat, and as a tribute to my fallen homies. It may not have been as helpful as I thought.

He's called Baiji when he's at home. The Chinese believe the Yangtze river dolphin to be an incarnation of a drowned princess. Although she did not drown, I think they look a lot like Princess Diana.

Sure, they're frequently albino. Sure, they have small, strange-looking eyes, and are mostly blind from knocking around in the murky, polluted river for the last thousand years. Sure, they think that dead aliens are in our blood, screwing up our life and relationships. Are they really so different from Edgar Winter? And yet, he survives.

Crispin Lovers

Danny Glover's eccentric white cousin, Crispin, was in town at the Clinton Street Theatre last weekend, presenting the oddest film I've seen for awhile, called What is It? It deals with Crispin's rejection of the censorship involved in corporate backing, and his continuing interest in the "aesthetic of discomfort." Almost all of the actors in the film have Down's Syndrome, and although both Shirley Temple and a minstrel performer are in it, there is zero tap dancing, which I consider a tease. Crispin is on tour presenting his movie, which for various reasons is unreleasable, alongside his slide show presentations and readings from some of his books.

The evening started oddly when Crispin headed out onto the stage and immediately fell off the one-foot drop at the Clinton Street, hard. The audience held its breath, but when the actor sprung up and started reading from Ratcatching, we laughed in relief that he had executed a pratfall. Later, when he told us that he had really fallen and hurt his elbow, we felt badly. We didn't know any better. We're just an audience.

All in all, it was kind of nice being in a small room with Crispin and letting him make a world. He's interested in Victorian novels, cut-ups, madness, films, sex, and animal skinning. Here's a reading from the event from an unpublished book, Round My House.

For no reason, I'd like to point out one of my favorite Crispin trivia facts- He was George McFly in the first Back to the Future movie, but declined to be in the rest of the series. When the director opted to make up another actor in prosthetics to imitate the appearance of the original George, Crispin successfully sued for trademark violation. No matter what the pod people think, you can't steal another person's face without their permission, both written and verbal.

The Emo Clause

The Emo Clause is: in order to tell if you will get any presents this year, you have to hang a soaking-wet woolen sock full of coleslaw on the living room mantel, and watch as the mayonnaise sauce drippings form a portrait on your shiny wooden parquet. If you've been a good boy or girl, you'll see the lovable mug of Ernest Borgnine . If you've been bad, Nina Hagen's visage will let you know your friends have been steering you wrong.

Emo is making a rare Oregon appearance in January, and as a star of this caliber, you have probably guessed that he'll be performing at Joker's Bar and Grill in Bend, OR.

Please let me know if you would like to hop into a middle-aged Volvo on January 24th and go see the man ripped off by Hot Topic in live person, and we'll make an evening of it, or as long as it takes us to post bail.

Postscript: I wrote Emo's agent to inquire after a gig in Portland proper so we can hold our heads high in front of Bend, but apparently the "big" comedy club in town balks at paying anyone much more than fifty bucks and free nachos.

The Return of the Prodigal Famous?

So, after a busy weekend of karaoke, drinking, and baby visiting, I was settling in on a rainy Sunday night to suck the sap from Comcast: On Demand, and was shocked and amazed to find a program titled "(Not Even Close To) The Best of The Famous Mysterious Actor Show." Further internet research reveals that Famous is starting up again on Comcast 14, with a program airing at 11PM on Saturday the 25th, and he is taping shows with Super Atomic Television at the far-flung but glamorous Red Room on 82nd and Russell on Wednesdays. Also, evidently Famous is obsessed with, and will kick your ass at, Guitar Hero. Naturally, since I am a huge fan, friends of friends of the show, and am on the email distribution list, I hadn't heard crap about any of this.
If someone has more information than that, please write me. Oh, and I stole the picture from my friend Andy. NYAH!

Postscript: I had the pleasure of meeting the illustrious Chris Formerly Known as Intern Chris at the Saturday gig at Nine Muses, and he told me he didn't think that Team Famous was making whole episodes, but that they would be taping segments to insert into Super Atomic Television programs.

More Postscript: I had the unique honor of making the acquaintance of Famous producer J.D. Fisher recently, and he confirmed rumors that Team Famous will be moving on to "another" project. I don't think he saw me crying, because I sprayed Mace in his eyes and ran away.

Youtubed!

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 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.

D. He overlooked the fact that I am between 125 and 150 pounds lighter than Leigh.

And that's the unkindest cut of all.

Why must the interweb prefer destruction to creation?

Public Service Announcement

PLEASE DON'T MILK THE PUPPIES!

Ground Control To Capsule Toys

Here is the bank of capsule toy machines in Singapore, with a child pretending to fight a cutout robot. They are the sophisticated, collectible cousins of the machines that sell useless crap in American supermarkets. The uselessness of the toys is not different, nor their intevitable fate as something unpleasant to step on in the dark, but the marketing and interest is much different. There are some "rare" toys that are more desirable, and entire sets can be bought at stores at huge markups, just to keep from having to pump dollar coins into the machines. There is a large box next to the arcade of toy machines to collect empty capsules for reuse. Here are some of the most special displays.

Sure, every kid wants a trinket of Dig Dug, a game from when his parents were in elementary school.

"How can you think that the sound of a dog barking is How How?" This is one of the capsule toys that doubles as a cell-phone trinket, for the 8 year old that wants to distinguish himself apart from just having a Nelly ringtone.

Please note some of the things the frogs say as they are driving their vehicles: "I love surfing!" and "I am No. 1!" That's what it is to be an American.

Why would a child want an auto-matically sliced wooly Mammoth steak?

A capsule machine from my favorite weird Sanrio imitator, San-X. That bunny is also a mummy, or possibly he's just horribly injured.

This one is a panda machine operated by another, tiny panda, and it reads "Let's try to find our future!" If my future involves evil dual Panda overlords, I don't want to find it.

Little boys still like sex, right?

When lucky dragons attack! Holy Shit!

Step right up and get your Golden Dinosaur!

Jack Skelling-ton's career keeps on going in Asia, just like Roy Clark's does in Branson, MO.

What's more fun (or delicious) than Melty Blood? Nothing!

Something about the tired, half-lidded expressions on these little floating dogs in pots makes me think that they have lost their homes in a hurricane, and will soon be embroiled in a fiasco of failed insurance policies and a troubled government emergency system. Or not.

This is the other kind of Strange Fruit, that has nothing to do with lynching or racism, but is just a little bear that might occasionally be born in a banana skin.

Muscle Swing! It's big gay wrestlers.

This one was so mysterious that I had to plunk three dollar coins in. What was it? Am I really gonna get a hunched-over, vomiting cellphone charm?

And that's exactly what I got. This one is vomiting up a tiny Flying V guitar, which makes him the "Rock" Hackman. If you are what you eat, surely you are what you later vomit up.

Bizarre small-world postscript: A friend was in Tokyo a week later, and met Hackman's designer, who sent me another Hackman capsule. She explained that Hackman comes in twos, because when you are sick, your friend will come to your aid. Now I have more than I could ever want or need.

Brushstrokes in Singapore

Singapore Brushstrokes

There is this Lichtenstein sculpture garden in Singapore that is a relative of another garden installed in Philadelphia in 1996. Here is a view of a Lichtenstein sculpture from my hotel room in Singapore. It's probably a half mile away. Look for the little blue and white thing in the courtyard.



Here it is on super-supreme-robot optical zoom.




Here it is up close and personal.

Closer.

Closer still.

And here is my hotel room as seen from the sculpture, again on super-zoom. It's the one with the open drapes.

I am in Singapore, I have a camera and some free time. I like art.

It's convenient to me that they have art right outside the mall. People seem to ignore it, because there's two Lacoste stores within a mile, and everybody wants to go there. Also, if you are not used to being in ninety degree weather with 80 percent humidity in November, being outside where the sculpture is could kill you. I risked death, but as you can tell, it was hell on my hair.

There is sometimes a kind of paradoxical high level/low quality of service. I was in a drugstore, looking for hair products, and a well-dressed lady followed me around, letting me know that she was there to fulfill my every whim and passing fancy- however, it became clear that this was not the case when a furry hippopotamus change purse caught my eye that had to be un-Swif-tacked from the display, and when I asked her about it she deflated and resisted, and then finally turned around dejectedly to get scissors. So, she was playing Watch The Giant Freaky American To See If She Steals Something And We Can Cut Her Hands Off. I am not sure what kind of criminal mastermind I would have to be to say, I can go into a crowded store in a country with very severe criminal punishment policies, where I could be fined for spitting on the sidewalk and chewing gum in public, and where I am a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than anyone else, and steal this hippopotamus change purse with impunity. But I'm not even close to that level.

Update: Portland has acquired a Lichtenstein brushstroke, and we stuck it in front of our modern art museum:

Hooray for us!

OnLeigh You

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. Some of my alternative answers were:

I'm wearing a new garment that combines traits of Christian and Conservative Muslim faiths, and I'm calling it a Sex Burqua.

I'm a clown in the Federal Witness Protection Program.

I'm a member of the Gorgeous Ladies of Mexican Wrestling, GLOMW.

Probably the high point of the weekend's activities for me was when we ran a costumed 5K this morning, and when traversing a bum-populated overpass, several urban campers favored us with a rendition of "The Eye of The Tiger", by Survivor.

Our final count for Halloween was THREE costume contests won, one of which Thom had to pull off solo, and one of which we won despite having already left the bar.
Hooray!

Postscript: If you're interested in being Leigh Bowery this Halloween, two very nice costumes are available! Write me!

Farin Urlaub - Sumisu

For the Halloween season, enjoy this German pop song about the Smiths, set to a video about Nosferatu. And Morrissey. So, it's a German song about a British band, and the title is "Smiths" in Japanese. Welcome to the new world order. You know, the British invented Goth, but the Germans have really perfected it.

Postscript

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.

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.

Marathon Effort!

On Sunday, I’m either going to run 26.2 miles, or else I’m going to die trying. I could potentially win, if something really awful happened to everyone else. The thing that is so great about running is that it feels so good to stop. Nothing feels as good as stopping running, and I'm looking forward to that as much as anything else. I have been training for this race for 8 months, which is three months longer than I spent preparing to get married.

I discovered today that any interested parties can keep track of my progress on their telephone by signing up for updates on this website: http://www.wigglewireless.com - click on the Portland Marathon link. We can enjoy the day together- you get up, flip through the paper, note that I'm on mile five, have breakfast in bed with your European lover, laughing together about the amount of time it took me to get to mile 12, bathe, get dressed, complete a 500 piece puzzle and watch two movies and note that I have finally finished and know that I am out there somewhere, cursing and wearing a Mylar blanket.

My running bib number is 261, which you'll need if you want to get updates- if it behooves you to drop me an encouraging line or give me advice on what else should be Vaselined, please do, but please don't write me about your friend who started a marathon as a healthy and productive member of society but later fell across the finishline on two bloody stumps.

Crystal Pepsi, The Soft Drink Sasquatch

Everyone has the story about the dowager aunt with the hard candies molded to the shape of the crystal bowl, but I ran into something else altogether when I had dinner at a friend's father's house on the weekend. His oddly specific brand of hospitality involves keeping many different brands of soda on hand so as to be able to quench a myriad of thirsts. I was rooting deep in the Amana CoolMaster and I found this little beaut- off the market for 13 years, but chilled and ready. I was shocked into silence, as if I had found the carbonated Holy Grail, and could only mouth to others present "It's a Crystal Motherfucking Pepsi."

Of course, no-one wanted it, not anymore than anyone wanted it when it hit the market in the first place, in 1992. And thus, it survives. In Lake Oswego.

Laurie Anderson at PICA's TBA

I am hella-looking forward to seeing the Queen of Performance Art and half of the Coolest New York Downtown Couple, Laurie Anderson, performing in Portland tonight as part of the 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 sadly, 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.

O Canada!

I almost don't want to mention my "Labour" day weekend in Canada for fear that others will think I'm all snobby and too good for them. I mentioned to someone in Portland that I was headed to Vancouver, and they said, oh yeah? Five minutes up 1-5? Yeah, I hear they've got a big Wal-Mart there, and I said CANADA, man-child!

I like any kind of international travel I can do in our Volvo.

I was there for the Vancouver International Tap Festival, but I tell cool people that I was there for A Scooter Rally Called George, which was simultaneously occurring.

Tap dancing is fun, and affords one the opportunity to step really hard on one's own foot that rarely comes up in day to day life. Also, you can make a lot of noise with your feet. I enjoyed classes from Jazz-Tap clown prince Josh Hilberman, although he cost me a toenail and caused me to interact with 10 year old tap prodigies, who may be the most annoying persons in the world. If there's anything worse than children, it's really cute and talented children.

Spouse and I attended a gothnight called Blender, where they were blending some $8 drinks (thank goodness that Tylenol with codeine is OTC) with pop and old-school goth music. I met a pair of girls named Sarah and Jessica, and if they shared a boyfriend called Parker, I would remember their names forever.

This is the mad, mad world of downtown parking. You have to be able to count, tell time, and know what day it is while you're parallel parking, which is not as difficult as figuring out how much you're paying for gas in liters and loonies. Eventually, we just left the car with a dozen Loonies stuck in the windshield to ward off parking ticket fairies. I kind of like getting a ticket in Canada, because that means I have something to put my gum in when I'm done chewing it. We were near the "hip" walk-around-shopping-and-looking-at-hookers-area, Gastown, named for the founder Gassy Jack, whom I don't want to know any more about. There is a steam clock there, which is like a steam locomotive, but stationary.

We tried to go out for the evening from our hotel on East Hastings, and we learned that in Vancouver, there's no such thing as a neighborhood bar. We got dressed up like cancer patients going to Prom and traipsed up and down the block, and finally asked the hotel clark about local drinking establishments, and she said, no, this is a residential zone, and all the bars are downtown, and I asked, then why does everyone I interact with seem drunk? She remarked that there was a liquor store down the street, so people frequently enjoy their own portable bars, also known as "jackets".

But I'm the one with the drinking problem.

In The Bowery

Dear Reader;

We have started making plans for Halloween, and I wanted to emotionally prepare you for it. Last year, I made my husband dress as a girl for the Strawberry Switchblade costumes, but this year we are both dressing as the (male) costumer and performance artist Leigh Bowery. Here is my working sketch for our costumes:

Leigh was a larger-than-life Australian who relocated to London in the 80's. His club Taboo was the subject of the Boy George-starring musical that was a big hit in the West End, but tanked in the States and cost Rosie O'Donnell the equivalent of a month of tongue baths from young, attractive coeds putting themselves through beauty college.

Canadians interested in anagrams might call the play Aboot.

Leigh was constantly changing up his "look", and influenced Michael Alig (Party Monster), Damien Hirst, and a young Alexander McQueen- although the last two have not yet killed anyone. Michael most noticeably lifted the Polka-Dot Man look from Leigh. Leigh's cast-aside material has been used to craft entire personas and careers for other people. Leigh's band, Minty, had an extremely dirty song as a hit in the Netherlands , "Useless Man."

The photographer Fergus Greer did a book of portraits of Leigh over six years called Leigh Bowery Looks.

Leigh is also one of Lucien Freud's most best-known portrait sitters.

There's a great film that documents some of his projects and his attempts to elevate life to an art, Legends of Leigh Bowery.

This is a shot from the excellent UK sci-fi comedy show Spaced, in which Little Britain's David Walliams portrays a Leigh Bowery-type character called Vulva. Strangely, when Boy George vacated the West End stage, the other half of Little Britain, Matt Lucas, took over as Leigh.

If anyone in Portland is stuck for a costume and would like to choose a Leigh look and join us for Halloween, let me know! It'll be fun. Probably.

I think this is the linkiest post ever.