Friday, September 27, 2013


Oh my, I was not all that into this one guy who was crazy about me. His puppy dog eyes would light up at the sight of me and he would come right over, come right up to me without any self-consciousness, like a version of some big dumb dog in a looney tunes cartoon, “I like you, I do, I do.”
There was something about the attention that was hard to take in, but I tried. I was used to guys who played it much cooler, kept their cards closer to the chest. None had worked out so good, so maybe sticking with what I was familiar with wasn’t the best idea. I figured I would try something new, try to date this guy who was unselfconsciously letting me know he really really liked me, even if I was unsure about him.
We hung out a bunch and it was a bit uncomfortable being in unfamiliar territory. It is amazing how so much of what we do is just because it feels like something we recognize. Humans are real creatures of habit.
Then one day the guy called to say he had to travel for work for a while. Oh good, I thought. I could use a break from all this uncomfortable attention.
The funny thing is that while he was gone I started to miss his attention and I started to like him more and more as I thought about him. I will never forget the day he came back. I saw him and I unselfconsciously said hi, in that one word showing him so clearly like a big dumb cartoon dog that really really liked him. “HI, I like you, I do, I do.”
You, dear reader can probably see where this is going and even write the end of this story. Yep, in that very instant he changed, I watched the light in his eyes go out. I knew in the instant that I said hi that the affair was over. He was right there in front of me, but he was a million miles away. Ultimately, he liked people who were not that crazy about him, it is what he was familiar with. As soon as I broke the contract he wanted out. Crazy mother f*er. I should talk.  Life dances on….

Monday, September 23, 2013

Wild in the streets

As a youngster I used to use my cousins baptismal certificate as my “proof” to get into bars and clubs. I was hanging out in bars and clubs at thirteen, not to drink so much as to be where the action was and to see bands. If anyone bothered to proof the tiny skinny thirteen year old I would pull out a torn and frayed photoless piece of paper that said I was 19. It was not a birth certificate even, but a baptismal, a certificate that said my birthday and the day I was baptized into the catholic church. Not me, but my cousin. Sometimes a smart aleck would try to test my knowledge and see if this person listed on the certificate was really me. They would grill me: what year were you born, how old are you know, when is your birthday? I would always answer with the exact information on the certificate. This was my passage into the forbidden world of adults, how could I not have it memorized, did I look stupid? On occasion the door person would think they caught me in a lie, would say my answer was wrong and I would say, no, the date your are looking at is my baptism date, my birthday is below that, and then the heavy set grown up man would humbly look again and see that I was right and let me enter. No one ever turned me away. A few laughed at me, but I rolled my eyes and they let me in. Man we got away with some real bullshit back in the day.
It is funny that anyone even knew what a baptismal certificate was. Could you imagine trying to get on a plane with one? But back then in my beloved working class NYC they were down with it.
I am obsessed with this beautiful video which reminds me of the nyc I grew up in, integrated and sexy, soulful and smart, gritty and beautiful, wild and free. Cultural capital of the world. Parts still are, thank god. Let it loose. 
Wild in the Streets 1973 by legend garland Jeffreys, who just turned 70 and has a new album out. This 45" was probably on the jukebox of the clubs i would use my baptism to get into... God bless new york!

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Adults are assholes

Not all of them but these two were.
Once I was at a park and I was on the swings. I was in 7th grade and I had on a shirt that I had made, a cool white long sleeve t-shirt that I cut open down the back and put back together with a line of 20 or so safety pins and on the front I hand wrote with a marker “PUNK”. I was swinging with my cousin, talking about life and enjoying the day. A younger kid wanted to go on the swings and we did not notice until the mother lost her shit and started aggressively insulting me, saying loud and frenzied, “That T shirt suits you , you are a lousy punk...” etc etc. She really said that to a 12 year old kid who she did not know. When I fianllly understood what was going on, I did indeed stay on the swing longer so that her kid could not get a turn. I get it mothers are fried, but really?
Worse was when I was in 5th or 6th grade and Patricia Dooley asked me to go with her to Stride Right to buy some shoes. She tried on some shoes that were kinda dumb and made a bunch of faces in the mirror and asked me what I thought. I thought they sucked but I said they’re ok. Do you like them? She modeled them again in the mirror making faces that seemed to mean that she did not like them. I was chewing gum and blowing bubbles while I waited for her to make up her mind.
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
“Don’t get them if you don’t want them,” I replied.
She sighed again and went to pay for them (?) and the short balding sales men came up to me, glanced around to make sure no could hear him and raged in my face in a hushed voice “you are so negative, you ‘re blowing black bubbles. Black Bubbles….I hope you blah blah blah” I get it, he had bills to pay and was having a bad day. It was the 70’s and the NY economy was tanking, but really?
If you are reading this I know you do not take out your shit on strange children, but I know that I can still lose it on the wrong person every now and then, so i write this for me and for everyone else, be cool brothers and sisters. xh

Sunday, September 15, 2013

My purpose my calling and my fly

So.... I was walking to pick up my daughter at school and I was thinking grand thought about my reason for being on this planet. I had heard that we all have a purpose and a calling and that they are two different things. I was supposing that my purpose was to show up and do the work for the evolution of my soul. Yes, I kid you not, that was what I came up with. I was trying to figure out my calling on the rest of the 7 minute walk. I saw someone look at me and I did not compute what their vibe was. I did registered a tiny blip of awareness on a low level that something was a bit off.
I continued on my inner and outer journey, getting closer to my destination and my revelation. I was really feeling good, feeling myself in my body and liking my body, having gratitude and acceptance for it and of it, loving life and giving thanks and, yep, the whole nine yards. About six minutes into walking through my neighborhood contemplating all of this I got a second tiny hit of “off energy” from someone. At that point I looked down to notice my fly was full-on open. I was jolted out of contemplation and pulled my zipper up with a gasp. Classic joke as only the universe could pull off. At least I had on underwear.

sing it billy...."i don't feel bad about letting you go i just feel bad about letting you know ...."

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

sept 11

Yesterday I posted a silly blog to lighten the mood but today I do want to take a moment to just reflect on September 11th and honor everyone who went through that tragedy. I want to express respect and love to all of the victims and their families and friends, and the same to all of the heroes and emergency workers, cops and firemen.
This morning I watched footage from that day and the following days and was reminded of the absolute horror of the experience as a new Yorker. The confusion; watching so many worker migrating north, in shock; seeing so many people trying to volunteer their help-turned away because there was an overwhelming amount of people trying to be of service; all of the posters trying to locate missing people; the official death toll starting so low, with so few bodies recovered at first and the ensuing rescue missions which turned into the long long clean up and recovery process, oh my; the trying to construct information as to what was happening and what to do; the chaos.
So many hearts were broken that day, and so many people worked so hard that day. It seemed like things would never be the same again and they never were. it also seemed like things would never go back to normal, that we would live in that perpetual emergency and crisis, but we didn’t.
People are strong and we heal and go on. And that is amazing. Persevere. Honor. Respect. Be kind. Love one another. Peace.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

veggie booty addict

I am an addict, I admit it…
In the early 1990’s when I was a swinging rocker in a band, djing at the greendoor, thinking I looked like Bridgette bardot, as I ran around in my handmade hiphuggers flinging my long blonde hair, no one could touch me, I was high on life and I did not have a problem. Yet. But at some point into the decade things started to fall apart. It was some time when I was working the door at coney island high or later at Niagara, that it all started. As a door girl you do what you can to stay slim and look good, but you get hungry standing there all night….
Yes, it started slow, but became a habit very very fast. I started eating a large bag of veggie booty every night. Every night whether I was working or not. I believed the hype. I thought I had found heaven, something that was delicious and not fattening, because it was puffed, not fried.   Sometimes I would need to leave the house at 2am to go cop. It was crazy, it took over my life. all I did was think about veggie booty I even smelled like veggie booty. I was a mess. Things got so bad that I knew I had to do something about it. And then I managed to stop. cold turkey.
I thought I was cured. I thought I was fine. I never touched the stuff again, never even thought about it for over a decade….until about a month ago. I innocently bought a bag for my daughter. She had had some at party and kept talking about it so I figured I would do something “nice” for her, and not be the strict food mom that I am. A little treat can’t hurt now and then, right?
Well I ate through a few bags last month and once again I am in the eye of the storm and I cannot stop thinking about veggie booty. Today I passed it at erewhon of all places and reached to pick it up but refrained…. God give me the strength.

Thursday, September 5, 2013


The best part of being a band was getting to see parts of the world I might not go to otherwise. When Fur went to Europe we did the traditional England Scotland, Germany, but them we did Eastern Germany, parts of what had been Yugoslavia a mere 4 years prior, the three year old Czech Republic, and then Norway, and Sweden. I recall cresting over ice covered pink mountains in Norway, as the sunset tinted the white snow. It seemed like we were on the very peak of the mountain range and I could almost see the curve of the earth. I smiled and thought “look ma! I’m on top of the world!”
Eastern Europe is a whole different thing, stunning and old, strange and dark, like a stylish junkie, a former beauty with stories no honest man would believe. A man gave me a 5 million dollar bill there, as he told me that the old money was now worthless. I saw a girl with purple hair walking down a dirt road, as an old woman in a black gown walked with a white goat in the other direction crossing her path. There were no western chains of any kind. It was magnificent.
I could go on and on, but what I really wanted to get to was this story: One weekend we stayed on a farm outside of Stockholm in Sweden after a gig in the city. Because we were in a rich country the rooms were warm, well insulated, but the farmhouse we slept in had no bathroom, just an outhouse down the road. A bunch of folk from our tour were drinking moonshine with the promoter who got us the gig and whose farm it was. A few moose wandered by to watch. At some point I was separate, away from everyone else, in the complete dark. I wandered down a road to the outhouse by the light of the moon and I remember so strongly how I felt safe for the very first time. I felt so completely in my body and at peace in nature. I had never felt comfortable being alone in nature before. not sure why but I took that feeling home with me. Such a treasure and a gift, to be so far from home, so alone in a strange land and to feel so ok. i still feel that way.