Sunday, May 31, 2015


“Trust women” was Dr George Tiller’s motto. Dr. Tiller dedicated his life to providing women with health care. This weekend was the 6t year anniversary of his murder by anti abortion terrorists. I knew about him, but it was not until tonight that I ever heard his motto.

Trust women. It blows my mind that we live in a world where that is not the case, where certain men think they know better than a woman about what she needs.

There is a current story on the internet right now about a guy posting a photo of a woman breast feeding her child (breast feeding is a federally protected right, posting a photo of a minor without permission in illegal) and writing a shaming rant. Excruciating. We still have such a long way to go.

I love men. Men are great. The breed of men out there who still think that they have some say over women’s bodies need to grow up, and surrender. I am sorry is you are afraid and weak, but that doesn’t give you permission to try to dominate. It is hard to be on the losing team and on the wrong side of history, but we all have challenges we have to face with dignity, it is am opportunity to grow our character, to act right, to be our best. Deal with your pain. No one has the right to go around hurting others just because they feel insecure.

I want to live in a world where women are in charge of their bodies. We should not need to say trust women, or respect women, because it should be a given. In the meantime, I am loving Dr. Tillman’s motto, which shows his sensitivity and wisdom. Trust women, a mind-blowing concept, and yes, of course. Thank you Dr. Tillman. Peace to your family and loved one’s on this anniversary. 

speaking of which , in 1975 the UN declared that year "international woman's year"....

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Catching throw up in my hands is a good thing but don’t jinx me.

Yep, I caught throw up in my hands 6 nights ago and it was a good thing because it meant that I did not have the change the sheets for a third time.

My baby had a stomach bug over a week ago and threw up all night, which I wrote about when he was 12 hours throw-up-free.  In a matter of minutes after posting the blog I went to check on him and he was sitting up in the bed looking at me like in a horror film and I said “are you ok?” and he did not answer but instead threw up all over the bed again. I exhaustedly changed the entire bed and washed everything for the second time. Two nights later I wrote a silly post saying how my stomach did not feel good and how a hated throw up. I mean throw up just sucks. I could never imagine how anyone could choose to do a drug that actually made them throw up? How? Why?

Anyway, my baby had been throw up free for 48 hours at he time of posting but an hour later I was in the bed with him and he threw up again. This time I just put out my hands and caught it. I managed to spare the sheets which was so delightful. I did not care about the throw up in my hands, but I did think about the girl in church I wrote about who caught throw up in her hands.

so I am not a superstitious person or anything,
but I really did not want to blog about throw up again. It seemed like writing about it made it happen. Silly, but why take a chance? I just needed to stay away from the subject for a few days.

He threw up again tonight after being throw up free for 6 days. The truth is that his virus is a tough bug that takes a while to go away. The other kids who got it had a similar trajectory, I was kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to vomit again. Now that he did, I feel abit relieved, able to blog freely, and I am hoping that it is all over for real. I still do not feel 100% and it may make its way around the family and whatever but no use in being suspicious or trying to avoid the truth, I caught throw up in my bare hands. I hope you don’t have to.

Friday, May 29, 2015

more underwear

I write everyday to connect with people, to be in a productive meditative state and to have a creative outlet. But more importantly I write to be of service and help anyone who might benefit from these words and experiences. By telling my stories I hope to help someone feel less alone in the world. Feeling alone is prison. Know that others share your experience is the gateway to healing and self empathy and freedom.

So if you read this post you can imagine how thrilled I was to see my neighbor’s underwear lying on the steps outside her back door. I felt so less alone in the world, so less of a spaz. I am not the only person who opens their front door to find their underwear lying in the bright desert sun, not the only one who drops their underwear in the street after the gym or before doing the wash or whenever the hell. Hallelujah!

Thursday, May 28, 2015

The naked dress

Oh man people, you are taking me back… In the early 90’s there was a store on 9th street, I think, called Suzy Wong’s, I believe. If anyone remembers better, please let me know. Suzy was a curvy asian woman with spiky platinum hair, if the person working in the shop was actually Suzy, and I think she was. She made cool clothes. One day I saw her walking by in this tight pink dress with delicate silver pattern on it. She wore it with a pair of flip-flops and she looked badass. I went to the store the next day and bought the same dress.

The dress was made out of swim suit material, which was perfect for me because it meant that I could be out and about in it and hop into a swimming pool or fountain ala La Dolce Vida, with ease, which I did indeed do on a regular basis. I loved that dress and wore it in to the ground. It looked great with pumas or stilettos, day or night.

As I mentioned the dress was pink with a delicate silver pattern on it, quite remarkable. The problem with the dress was that it seemed to match my exact skin tone and at a short distance it looked like I was not wearing any clothes at all. Despite everything I was into, I was not into people thinking I was walking around naked. I did not love the attention, cars screeching to a stop, guys yelling out windows at me. It did not stop me from wearing the dress that I so loved but often I covered it with a beat up leopard skin (fake) coat until I got to my destination. Once I got to the parties everything was fine because the scenes I hung around didn’t blink an eye at the sight of a woman dancing with her keys around her neck and nothing else on.

Photo by Maria Del Greco

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Photographer Mary Ellen Mark passed away on Monday.

I have my own Mary Ellen Mark story, which I had forgotten about till looking at her stunning body of work today. I met MEM once in an abortion clinic. I accompanied my girlfriend when she needed an abortion. We were both 19 or 20. I sat in the waiting room and MEM approached me and introduced herself and said she was doing a piece on young girls getting abortions. I told her that I was not getting one but I knew who she was. I happened to be in college and was a photography major. The film Streetwise had come out recently. I told her that people often told me that I looked like the girl Tiny who was on the poster for the film. I indeed did look like her and had the air of an at-risk youth, despite my college scholarship to NYU. That was why MEM approached me.

MEM asked me what I thought of the film and I told her the truth, that I did not see it because I had heard from someone that Tiny had been filmed at the gyn without knowing it. (I had been told that by a girl who was sleeping with my boyfriend. We had an open relationship. I had mentioned wanting to see the film and like MEM’s work and the girl involved with my boyfriend said that they had filmed this girl Tiny without telling her. I decided not to see the film because of that.)

Anyway MEM told me that that was not accurate. That Tiny was aware of everything and consented to everything and that the film makers would not have filmed her without full consent. So I said that I would go see the film. She took my address and shortly after I received one of the posters in the mail, signed. I hung on my wall for years.

That was it. Mary Ellen Mark was in the streets and in the trenches, calm cool and collected, communicating and shooting, walking the walk, the real deal all the way. She made an amazing body of work and will be missed. Peace to her family and friends.

There is one image in particular in the slide show that gives me chills because it is of a boy that looks just like my son will look when he gets a little older. The photograph shows this boy with a friend who is holding a gun, about to tuck it into his coat. I plan to raise my boy in a different world that that and pray I succeed.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Girl groups and me and Joey Ramone and Jayne County, sigh.

I love poppy melody with longing and emotion. I love mid calf pointed toe leather boots and dark hair beehives and eyeliner, I love a great Phil Spector production. Girl groups are so fantastic.

Phil is a mess and the history is dark but the work that remains is brilliant.

Darleen Love ghost sang a bunch of songs and one or two became a hit. She asked Spector for her own career and recorded another song with him and then heard it on the radio listed as someone else. She left the business because it was too brutal and one day she was working as a maid. She was in the middle of cleaning a toilet when she heard herself on the radio and she remembered who she was and what she was supposed to be doing and launched her come back. Her voice still thrills me and kills me.

Once, years later I played guitar with Joey Ramone during a short set of about 5 songs. One of the songs he did was Love’s “Christmas, Baby Please Come Home” a masterpiece. My band Fur had broken up and a friend invited me to play the gig as a kind gesture to remind me how I loved music. Of course I wore a dark beehive and pointed toe, mid calf, black leather boots. During the Love song I got to sing unrehearsed background vocals while sharing the mic with Jayne County. Dreams really do come true. From what I understand, we did not sound perfect, but I was never a perfectionist. It was all brilliant to me.

not Love, but so great....

Monday, May 25, 2015

Electric lady and the secret rivers that flow below manhattan island

I was in Electric Lady studio, the recording studio Jimi Hendrix built, on 8th street in NYC twice. Once when the Clash walked by, Joe Strummer holding a boom box on his shoulder blasting Radio Clash, and we got to follow them in for a few minutes before leaving, and once when a friend’s band was recording there. When you walk in the street level entrance you go down stairs to the underground studio.

There is a secret river that flows below the island of manhattan. I cannot tell you how dear that river is to me, it is so magical and wonderful. You can access the river from the underground Electric Lady. There is a cellar door that can be opened where you can actually see the river. The day I was there they tried to open it for me but, to my great disappointment, they could not find the key. Had they I would be temped to jump in and swin away under the rock of the island and see what I could find. Still, I was able to stand by the locked metal door and hear it rushing by. That was the thrill of a lifetime.

There is a building on 5th avenue, right off of Washington square Park, the address might be 2 5th avenue, and they have a Lucite pipe in the lobby that runs down to the water and when the river is high, its water splashes up into the pipe and you can watch it teasing you. One day, dear river, one day we will formally meet.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Appreciate just how good you have it, dollfaces out there!

No desire to write. I was under the weather all day. On the verge of the stomach virus my son had for 2 days. My husband and I had the luxury of getting a sitter this morning and sleeping in till noon. A rare moment in rock history. The drag was that I woke achy and with some feeling of maybe getting the bug. The beauty is that my husband was around and I could sleep in, as it would be ridiculously impossible to be sick on a day when I needed to be the mommy all day. Life is like that, bodies are like that, people are like that, they know when there is an opening. Of course it was the only day I could be sick and thus I was. I did not plan it, think about it, make it happen, it just did. So I ate gentle and was determined all day to beat this bug. The worse thing in the world I can imagine is throwing up. Oh, the horror. The blessing is that feeling not myself gives me such gratitude for my healthy body that I have almost all of the time. Thank you thank you thank you. Appreciate just how good you have it, dollfaces out there!

Saturday, May 23, 2015

“Kill me ‘cause I’m Bri-ish.”

Claudette was an African American girl with a shaved head who hung out on the hardcore scene. I saw her face in the Bad Brains 1982 video that has had me captivated for days now and was reminded of her. She used to hang out with Leon and Lisa (I think that was her name. I think she got pregnant and went away. I am not sure) in their dark overcoats  and plaid pants and boots with a bottle of beer in hand. In New York you used to be allowed to drink on the street if your beer was in a paper bag. I was not friends with them but I saw them everywhere. Claudette had amphetamine eyes, lined in black pencil with dilated pupils almost like a Margaret Keene painting. She had great working class clothes, flannels and trousers and stylish old man items that I do not know where she got them from. I remember her having an affected fake british accent for a spell. We were all teenagers trying on different personalities and such, figuring it out. Who could resist hearing an X-Ray Spex record and not want an accent like Poly Styrene? Leon and Claudette and Lisa were inseparable, always laughing , clowning, having fun, not taking very much serious. One day someone gave Claudette shit about her accent and I will never forget her glancing at them with disgust, as if anyone could stop her from having fun and saying “Kill me ‘cause I’m Bri-ish.” Accent intact as she walked away. I loved people watching all the misfits who found eachother and who reinvented them selves in our beautiful scene.

Friday, May 22, 2015

My baby threw up all night last night from 3am to 9am.

I woke to throw up in my hair at 3am. I changed the sheets and bed clothes of me and him and put my hair in a pony tail. I changed the pillow cases and knew that I would have to change them again in the morning. Cleaning up throw up is really hard and my disorganized brain makes it harder. A little got on the mattress cover so I put a cloth between the mattress cover and the and new sheet, and one between the mattress cover and the mattress. I also put another sheet on the top of the bed, so any residue would stay off of the clean sheet. That was the best I could figure out at 3am. After that he threw up every five minutes for the first hour, every fifteen for the second. We tried going back to sleep at that point and he threw up every half hour for the 3rd hour, so I would doze and hear the retching and get the bucket and wipe his face and rinse the bucket and go back to sleep for a bit. It was mostly bile and dry heaves at this point. He threw up every hour after that so I got a few 50 minute segments of sleep and then it was wake up time. Then I washed his hair and mine and got rid of all the mildly or possibly affected linens and did the wash. He stopped throwing up at 9am. The only other time I got woken up by being thrown up on was when my daughter did it a few years ago. That was a rite of passage, this was just the drudgery (trudgery?) of motherhood/parenthood. He is fine. We survived. Tonight I could do nothing so I spent over an hour on line, first reading about someone’s journey through a really difficult time. Not like my silly night, but a truly difficult time. Here is the link for the curious. It reminded me of stuff I wrote about during my trial. He quotes Viktor Frankl, like I did,at that time, ah the beacon of light. It was great to be reminded and to also know that things can pass. Then I looked at all of Chloe Dzubilo’s artwork. Here is the link:
The work is brilliant and amazing. Thank you for letting me part of it and thank you to all the writers and artists out there for sharing and expressing yourself and letting me see it and feel your journey. I really love life and being human and knowing you all. This is all I got to write tonight. My home does not smell like throw up anymore, horray. I am done. 

Updte, i am live editing this. I walked into the room to check on him and he was sitting up and i said whats wrong and felt around, but everything was dry and then he threw up all over them bed.  and me as i tried to get him off the bed. Oh hell....not sure what to do.. more cleaning...

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Bad Brains 1982 CBGB’s- cool overload

So I watched the Bad Brains live at CBGB’s from 1982 movie. I had glanced at it yesterday when I wrote about seeing them that year at Irving Plaza and then I cold not stop watching. There is not much I can say. The film is right there online and you can see it all for yourself.  

Even if is all there to be seen, I tend to geek out on this band and rave about them every once in a while. I rarely if ever listen to hardcore anymore. It has very little to do with my life and where I am at right now. Once in a blue moon a story will come up or I will check out something online and get transported back to a time that seems like many lifetimes ago. I am rarely impressed. But this particular band and this show was at the peak of the hardcore scene and it never ceases to blow my mind. Things changed pretty fast from this point. But this moment in time tells an amazing story.

So there’s the way I knew most of the people at the show that night, many by name, Polly, Jaenette, Claudette, Leon, Maria, John W, Bubby, Poss, Dave Insurgent, Jimmy G, Russel, and many others just by face. These kids were akin to kids I went to High school with. We passed each other everyday in the hall, so to speak. We all knew one another, whether we were friends or not. It is remarkable that such a radically brilliant act had such a tight knit fan base of family basically. They were our band. Look at the way people sing the lyrics. Look at the way HR hands over the mike and gives kids space in Right Brigade. Look at the way he lets everyone be included but can still command the space. I cannot think of any other band that was so plugged in and generous. The deahead scene maybe (?) but they were so sprawling and this is so intimate.

Then there is HR the man. Holy hell, Batman. Where do I begin: that vocal thing he does where he screeches high and demonic and then drops down into himself “how low”, (demonic), “can a punk get,” (dropping iiiiiin); the way he dances, the headshake, the finger snaps, the hip sways, the arm swing, you are killin’ me; the way he looks and smiles, his face, his body, come on; the way he dresses, in a cotton button down and tube socks and trousers and looks more bloody cool than anyone I can think of. Where and how did all of this originate? Such intelligence, presence and style, in another world he would be, should be, the godfather: Tastemaker, rock star; inventor, pioneer, possessed soul giving it away for free. The whole band is mind blowing and deserved as much credit, Dr Know, Darryl, Earl. What were they thinking, how did they come to be? They are simply an anomaly.

I love watching this. I remember how hot is was in our NYC December long underwear and over coats and hats. I loved that we were called “girls and boys”. I love seeing the gang, all those familiar faces, Polly and Jae and Claudette and watching Leon dance. Beautiful Leon, so true and hip. I love that some people were in on it, people I know and can talk about it with, people who knew about this and how stellar and shocking it was, it makes me feel less alone in the world. That was a time, boy, that was a time.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again. The first one through the wall gets bloodied, not always getting their due. It is sad but true. But some of us know better. Thank you Bad Brains for everything.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

bad brains, minor threat, 1982 and the changing of the guard

the lady in chains...

I went to see Minor Threat and the Bad Brains at Irving Plaza when I was 15. Wow, was that a historical show. I will never forget entering the club with this guy Chris that I asked if I could go with, because I really wanted to be there and I did not want to go alone and I did not know anyone else who was going. The foyer of the space was tiled or marble, the stairs were hard stone. The sound of hardcore records being spun was mad and muddy. I was tapped into the adrenaline of all these kids waiting. We were chomping at the bit for the show to start, for life to start. The energy in the room was on overload, the air was electric, humid with sweat and body heat. Before we went upstairs to the room, I remember being part of a conversation where a girl, I feel like it was Jenny, was saying that straight edge was pointless. She said “why go on a diet if you are skinny?” Everyone thought her analogy was profound. I was thrilled and terrified.

Then there was a woman in the lobby that I will never forget. She was older than all of us teens. She was from the older school of punk. She did not have short messed up hair, hers was set in some cool version of a 50’s hairstyle. And she wore a tight skirt, it might have been leopard skin, and sexy stiletto heels. Her style was definitely not just 50’s bombshell, she had that unmistakable punk edge. Most vividly, I remember that she had chains on her body. I think she had metal cuffs around her ankles, above her pumps, that had chains attached that went up to her wrists or her waist or something. She was radically out of place in the sea of hardcore teens, and also pretty amazing bravely commanding her space as she walked in tiny steps in her very tight skirt and heels. I couldn't stop staring and wondering. And yes, I appreciated her style even though I was now into this whole other thing of boots and overcoats and short hair.

The bands need no description. It was 1982 and they were the most amazing bands on the planet at that time.

months later…I was here too:

the whole show..

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

guy at the farmer’s market with a beard wearing a housedress

There was a guy at the farmer’s market with a beard and glasses wearing a housedress. My daughter thought it was funny. She was with a friend and they thought it was very funny to see a guy in a dress, not because of any cues I was giving them, they just did. I wanted to try to teach her to respect how other people choose to look.

So I said that if we notice how someone looks we should say hi to them. I told her that Allen Ginsberg said “Pay attention to the vivid,” that he meant that you should pay attention to what ever you were visually interested in. And if our attention is attracted to someone we can tell them we think they look cool. And she said, “Or we don’t have to say anything.” Yep, or we don’t have t say anything.

The truth is I thought the guy looked really cool, radical actually, his large unwaxed brown body in a polyester housedress and great horn-rimmed glasses on his cool face. I miss creative dressers and revolutionary stylists. Los Angeles is lacking in that department and he was a breath of fresh air. I should have been the one to tell him how cool he looked. But he knew anyway.
I remember the first time I heard this song, in my bedroom at my parents house on college radio WNYU

Monday, May 18, 2015

read between the lines

T & K were these art collectors I knew when I worked at a gallery in Soho in college. They used to  buy tons of art and commission special pieces in custom colors. The artists in the community they hung around would make them these crazy custom pieces and make lots of money The T &K would throw them big parties. This went on for a while and everyone was happy and getting what they wanted.

Then one day it came out that T & K had embezzled all of the money they used to throw the parties and pay for the art. They went to jail. The bank auctioned off their collection at Sotheby’s, the custom creations brought in only a small fraction of their original prices.

It blew my mind that they were taking such great risks and paid such a great price just to collect contemporary art and to throw parties and be popular on the art scene. But I realized that the real drive behind the actions to feel special. They could have collected anything or hung out on any scene and done the same thing. It wasn’t about the art. They just wanted to feel the adrenaline and be popular and have things and be special.

That reminds me that few things are about what we are seeing on the surface. Fights are rarely about the issue at hand and love is rarely about what we are looking at on the surface. Go deeper to get to the real source.

Sunday, May 17, 2015

My two $3000 beds

Cleopatra was a prostitute I met once. I was in her apartment for a few minutes. Her bed was amazing. It was made out of that white glossy plastic material they made those cube tables out of, is that formica? Or just glossy plastic? Anyway the bed was a giant cube and on the 4 sides there were large circular cut outs so you could move in and out of the cube onto the mattress. The openings dipped just below the mattress so you could make the bed with ease. The mattress filled the cube wall to wall. The circular openings were rimmed in silver metal so the edges were smooth. It was brilliant. Then to contrast the white gloss she had purple satin sheets, so vivid and inviting. Her bed made me want a great bed.

I searched like mad for purple satin sheets but all I could ever find was eggplant, which was a whole different vibe. I settled for pink satin, not sateen, but real satin.

I bought my first real bed with illegally earned cash. I went to macy’s because they were having a mattress sale. The bed that felt the absolute best was priced at $3000 in 1991, marked down to $1000. I paid cash. Then I paid a guy $1000 to hand make me an iron frame so I could hang curtains on all four sides. It was not exactly Cleopatra’s but it was great. When I moved to los angeles, I left the the 10 year old mattress with a friend. She still has it and when I lay on it, to this day over 20 years later, it still feels unbelievably good.

A couple of years ago, I used legally earned money and bought another $3000 mattress, organic. This mattress is unbelievably comfortable and neither me or my husband sweat at night because there are no synthetics in it. A great bed is one of the best investments you can make. You spend 1/3 of your life in it.

Oh and the pink satin sheets which I slept on till they shredded became the material I made my fin out of for the 2000 Coney Island Mermaid Parade.  Someone just send me some photos of it, which brought it all back to me….

I think I need to post one more by UXA 

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Has Johnny Thunders really been gone for 24 years?

When Johnny Thunder’s died in 1991 (could it really be 24 years ago last month?) there was a memorial concert at The Marquee Club in NYC. A bunch of bands played, I don’t remember who, except Walter Lure fronting the Heartbreakers. What was interesting was that Johnny’s family was there. Johnny had an ex wife and a bunch of kids which seemed so at odds with his public persona, which was so very feral, so undomestic. The dichotomy reminded me of the character in Dog Day Afternoon, aside from Johnny looking like Pacino. Of course, his family were there, he just seemed so familyless, so alone, as he would say.

The other interesting thing was that David Johansen sang a couple of Dolls songs with some of those guys, something he had not done in a very long time, intentionally I believe, due to personal reasons. I was hanging out in the balcony, liking some guy who wound up being a real drag. Anyway, the band starts playing a Dolls song, Personality Crisis, and David Johansen opened his mouth and it was just shocking to hear that sound come out, so iconic and strong. He sounded like no one else can. He sounded like the records. It was really emotional given all the circumstances.

It always bugged me that sometimes the only thing that brings us back together with the people who were so important in our lives but we just can’t find peace with while they are alive, is death. I wish there was a way around that but sometimes there just isn’t. 

Big deal, I’m still alone.... 

Friday, May 15, 2015

Frankenstein and the blind man

You were like Frankenstein and I was your blind man. I did not know anything about you, so I did not know your reputation for being such a monster.  I just liked you and accepted you, as is,

It wasn’t your fault, someone definitely made you become like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, but eventually it became your problem, because our past is ultimately no one’s problem but our own. It was your problem because you didn’t do anything about how you were.

You were not used to someone being nice to you or liking you without strings, the way I did. I just liked you. I wasn’t privy to any of the baggage. We had a nice run. We drank tea just like in the movie. You gave me a lot because you had no one else to give to. Not material stuff, but knowledge, experience, help, even warmth.

It was hard for you, you always had something to prove. I did too but you were even more competitive. Always suspicious, you could never you’re your guard down. It got exhausting. You were always looking over your shoulder, carrying a gun just to go on the subway. Like what was going to happen, jeez? Just like my father who always carried a knife. Whoever messed you up did a really fucking good job. Man, the damage runs so deep. Sorry it was all so hard for you.

You tried to tell me a million times who you were, but I did not believe you until I finally got it. Eventually, we grew apart. It was like I got my sight back, but you never stopped being the monster. It was so exhausting to listen to your having it all and your pathological lies. The dark part of you got stronger and stronger and was unbearable. I wanted to keep liking you but I was moving pretty fast in the other direction. Life dances on. I really truly wish the best for you and I hope that the world is treating you well. Thanks for everything. 

studio version:

Thursday, May 14, 2015

my first serious date

Oh man, I had always played it safe and hung around guys I knew through friends and family. I went on a date to the beach once with a guy I just met, but a cousin came along with another guy. I went on a bunch of double dates and kissed a few stranger when out with friends, etc, pretty safe stuff. Then I met the guy who would become my first real boyfriend that I slept with and said I love you to all that stuff. (You all know him.) This was how it started...

I met him at a Black Flag gig and we made out and felt around in the rain outside the club and he took my number. He was in this cool band Heart Attack that I had not seen but knew about. I was sixteen and he was year younger than me. He invited me to come to his next show and to sleep over. I lied to my mother and said I was going to sleep over at a friend’s house. That might have been enough or we might have had someone pretend to be my friend’s mom on the phone to confirm things, me and my sister had done that before. I felt guilty lying but I knew that I had to do this, really wanted to, and was not going to not do it.

He picked me up in a car in Times Square outside some store we said we would meet at, old Times Square raging with porno theatre’s as they were called back then. Jeez, I might as well be saying outside burlesque joints, but as antiquated as that sounds, people were having live sex on stage in those prime days of nyc decadence. That neighborhood was hardcore. I am pretty sure the girl driving was this girl Betty, who years later was in the Cycle Sluts. She was with some guy named Anthony, I think, in the front seat and my guy sat in the back with me. Her car had something written on the bumper about an ass or a butt, something funny, but I cannot remember what. Forgive me if I am way off here.

Anyway, I had on a new dark red lipstick that was making a mess, because we were making out for most of the ride. I could not think of a thing to say and kissing was easier than a conversation. It was pouring rain and my hair was wet and a mess and I wore a black trenchy raincoat and black bondage pants. He had on grey old man pants and a black rain coat too. It was thrilling and terrifying as we drove to New Jersey to some small club that booked hardcore and I met his band and attended my first sound check. I never said a word to Betty. Betty and I ran in the same circles for years and rarely talked- hardcore, then Lismar, then whatever rock clubs. It might have been decades before she was just cool and approached me and said hi and referred to our long silent history. She was terrific looking and had great hair like Brigitte Bardot, my idol. I was just shy, weird, without a lot to say, and thus, anti-social.

Anyway, I watched the fast angry intensity of this guy and his band and was thrilled to be on the inside. We went back to his apartment, his mom’s place in Queens, and we listened to records and did stuff in his bed. I forget what the playlist was that night, anything from UXA to the Adolescence to Sam Cooke to Buddy Holly. (UXA, a band I have not thought of in 30 years, with singer De De Troit, pronounce Dee Detroit, So fucking kueewl!) I slept in my heavy eyeliner because I did not have any with me to wear the next day and would not be caught dead with it. Somehow I got back to Manhattan the next day in my damp clothes and my smudged face. I was tres disheveled and on my way to the life I wanted.

The nest day my mom saw the hickies on my neck and got really mad at me for lying. Like a typical awful teenager, a just shouted back at her with attitude that "I DID NOT LIE, I DID SLEEP AT MY FRIEND’S HOUSE". Nobody was going to get in my way, I knew what the fuck I was doing.

Sorry, mom. Oh man, I will have a teenage daughter in less that a decade. God help us all. Anyway, it all worked out. wow hearing this brings me back to the smell of his building, visceral.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

older guys

At fourteen I was just starting to blossom, just starting to like guys and be ready to get near one. I was starving to be free and know everything about the world. I gravitated towards anyone with more access than me, so I was always around older people, often my sister or my cousin and their friends. I got to stay out late and go places because I was with them. Sometimes I was just around strangers accidentally.

I wound up being around a lot of guys 3-7 years older than my 14 years. Here are some of them (some of the names are fake because I can’t remember them and a few are changed to protect the guilty):

John had a foot fetish and would take off my shoe and hold my foot and compliment it repeatedly. He once put a pair of handcuffs on me but my wrist was so skinny I was able to slip out of them.

Joe loved to pick me up in the air and kissed me when his girlfriend wasn’t looking.

Mike lay on the bed with me and tickled me.

Ricky had me wait in the car while he did illegal deals.

Carl was so cool, took me to see great bands, bought me drinks, and gave me coke once.

Vinny stayed up all night with me talking about Patti Smith.

Lenny invited me to see his band at Max’s, so I went.

A lot of them looked out for me in their limited ways.

I was lucky to have been there then and lucky to be here now.