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.

Left my heart in S.F. but my signal splitter in Oakland

We are back from a splendid event in Oakland, CA, involving some wonderfully genial and good-looking people in love, and their family and marriage vows and a dysfunctional photo booth and lots of liquor and cake. I played dance music on four Ipods, two turntables, and a laptop, which makes me feel a combination of shame and indignance- while playing MP3's does not have the street-level credibility of playing records, I also did not want to schlep 500 records on an airplane. Pictured is a hilarious Ipod "mixer" that I got to use.

Because the groom works for a popular "rock and roll" group, a large percentage of that band attended. I had hoped that the presence of celebrities would generate gossip fodder, but in fact everyone was nice and appeared to have a great time. I had difficulty distinguishing band members from their friends and crew, because they were not wearing the eyeliner from their MTV videos, but were resplendent in suits and Vans. There is not a one of them I could not lift, if afforded the opportunity. A blog reader wrote to ask if they are as old as he has heard, but since Mr. Armstrong has exactly one year on myself, I will say that they are glowing with youth and vitality. Or at least, their wives and girlfriends were.
The only downturn the trip took was when I went looking for the Charmed house, so that I could take my own photo in front of something from the dumbest show I have ever loved, and discovered that although the show is set in San Francisco, the house is actually located in Los Angeles. Those lying witches! Here is my extremely realistic photo.

A Helpful Reminder