Good morning!

So today is Bazaar Bizarre Los Angeles 2006!

Yikes I can’t believe it’s here already. How fucking cliché right? But it’s true. I have had the usual spate of “flakes” canceling last minute. Like last minute as in the literal day before the event.

I dunno I was talking to my since-preschool gal pal Jenny late last night and I was saying how I am so sick of the “flakiness” cop out. I don’t understand why in LA if you’re some asshole who doesn’t follow through on commitments, you’re considered “flaky.” It’s like this “oops, my bad” kinda care free attitude that people actually accept, myself included, for some reason. Well no more Mr. nice guy. You can’t just act like you’re some dizzy blonde or something. I think it’s time to call a spade a spade.

Wait - is that a racist colloquialism? I should look that up before I use it huh? What I mean to say is that we should avoid the use of forgiving euphemism when we should just call assholes assholes

WorldWideWords.com had this to say on the “spade” issue:
“An oddity is that to call a spade a spade is a mistranslation. The original was a line that the classical Greek writer Plutarch wrote some 2000 years ago about the Macedonians. He intended much the same idea—suggesting that the Macedonians were too crude and unsubtle a people to do anything other than use blunt words—but he used the word scathe, variously a trough, basin, bowl, or boat. It seems the medieval scholar Erasmus misread it when translating the line into Latin and Nicholas Udall copied him when making his 1542 English version. The phrase has been in the language ever since.
If Erasmus had got it right, we might now be telling people to call a trough a trough, and Sacramento would have been spared the recent fuss.”

So I guess the answer is both yes and no. So I guess a culturally sensitive paranoia is what you get when you earn a degree in Gender Studies.

Ok my parents just got to my apartment so it’s time to pack up.

See you at Bazaar Bizarre. Remember, it starts at 11. All the relevant event info is waiting for you at BazBiz.org

Oops… I guess posting this 2 weeks later kinda defeats the purpose of live blogging, but here you go, from December 2nd:

So I believe I’m doing what they call “live blogging” from the BazBiz bake sale outside Pull My Daisy and Bingo’s Craft Emporium here on sunset in Silverlake. I have to say I feel like it’s something of a bust. I am always super ambivalent about my old neighborhood anyway. I mean I loved living here, being right in “the scene” as it were, but I have to say that Silverlake has more than its fair share of real pricks. Needless to say there are a ton of hot guys walking by, but its not like they give me the time of day. Plus, try selling baked sweets in a town where people are obsessed with carbs. I think we’ve raised $63 for BazBiz, which is ok. I mean that will pay for some decorations.

Behind me in the window of Bingo’s Craft Emporium, BazBiz vendor and sexy lady extraordinaire Linda Santiman is crafting her adorable bears. BCE will be featuring live crafting, sorta like a craft peep show, now through Christmas. Proprietress Sarah tells me that she is looking for crafty folks to stop in and do their thing. I may take a turn in the spotlight myself. My lesbian potholders have been practically weaving themselves since I discovered the minor miracle of the afghan hook.

If you’re interested in being a go-go crafter here in the window, contact Jovita at Bingo’s Craft Emporium. She’ll be able to hook you up with a time slot. As of right now the schedule’s pretty open, and the setting is trés casual. Nothing formal at all. Just bring your yarn, needles, felt, glue, what have you, and get down to it. Take it from me; it’s always nice to have a change of scenery if you do a lot of the same thing again and again. I believe BCE will be up and running Thursday Sunday until December 14th, and then daily until Christmas. Jovita’s email is jovita@flydolly.com.

Thanks to Lisa Okamoto, Robert Mahar, Tony, Lori Petitti, her nephew Tony, and Thea Saks. And of course how could I forget Sarah, Jovita and Pull My Daisy/Bingo’s

Ok my battery is about to die a painful death, so I should pick this up once I get back to BazBiz HQ.



Ok I am back: BazBiz bake sale day 2.

Shit, that was quick. Batteries should really last longer. Oh well.

Hasta Pasta!

So I suppose it’s way past time I blogged again, but I have been working like a fiend on the website, which was in dire need of an update. Make sure to bookmark it at the new, easier to use URL, BazBiz.org. Bazaarbizarre.org is still the actual domain, but the BazBiz redirect is much shorter and easier to spell to Oprah and Ellen on the phone.

So where were we? O yeah; Martha: The Aftermath. So I get whisked up to the mini-line for us “special” folks at the signing table. Martha emerges to a blitzkrieg of paparazzi. I have to say that I had never truly witnessed anything like that. I mean you see it on TV, but in person it’s a lot more dazzling, like my smile. So Martha does the pose-pose with her oversized home keeping bible and takes a seat. To her left is the cross-eyed Cruella who dictated “the rules” while we were first in line, dressed in a crisp turquoise cotton shirt, like a watered-down Ina Garten. On Martha’s right was a suited career gal with a bad perm and a worse brooch who actually managed to make the color pink unappealing to me. – amazing.

Just as the procession is about to begin, some crazy dude (literally) who I saw earlier in the café and thought was cute despite his “client” (aka crazy-person) fashion, busts through Martha’s handlers with some homemade cardboard sign. Something apocalyptic or some such. I couldn’t make it out but I did see the word “Martha” in a schizoid scrawl. He was quickly done away with by the handsome woman in pink, with lots of “thank you sir” and “alright now.” I felt bad for the guy, cuz obviously he had waited as long as me to meet ms. Martha, and she didn’t even comment on his handcrafted sign. I mean honestly, if there’s one thing she should know, it’s that a gift you make yourself means the most.

My big moment arrives and I approach the queen. This is where is all goes south. I open my mouth to say hello to Martha, but surprise, I don’t hear what I’m saying cuz the chatty Barefoot Cuntessa is buzzing in her ear. Still babbling, she grabs my book and shoves it under Martha’s nose. Martha proceeds to “sign” my book, only she printed her name half-heartedly. Meanwhile, I attempt to give her the BazBiz book bundle that I brought, but an iron claw grabs my wrist. The claw’s owner is none other than our pink lady. She scolds me, barking that Martha will only be signing her new book. Before I can explain that my book is actually a gift for the guest of honor, my book is tossed to who knows where, and I am shoved out of the whole scene.

“Nonplussed” is prolly the only word that describes my feelings about the whole scene. Either that or “fucking pissed.” I heard the same complaint regarding the talkative turquoise flunky echoed ad nauseum by exiting signees. I managed to find my one Borders ally, Dee, who was really friendly and assured me she’d find my book and make sure it found its way to Martha.

Now I am not naïve. I understand that these affairs are in-and-out setups. Martha is not really there to actually meet her fans, but to sell her book. I mean shit, she’s gotta eat right? At first I was merely annoyed with the whole proceeding, but consoled myself with the fact that I was here not to meet an idol, but to accomplish a mission, and no matter how imperfectly, mission accomplished. However, I have to say that there were a lot of Martha fans that had been waiting since the ass-crack of dawn to meet their hero. So for some borders store manager hanger-on to effectively steal all of those moments by not shutting up and allowing paying customers to have five seconds to say hello is just fucked up. The more I think about it the angrier I get. Part of me thinks Martha or one of her handlers really should have known better than to allow that sort of jack-assery. Where did things get so twisted that the consumer is there for the artiste and not the other way around? Never mind the radical concept of customer service…

So yeah I am feeling less Marthusiastic than usual these days. In an odd coincidence, the producer from her TV show had pledged to let me know no later than the day before if they would be sending a camera crew to BazBiz. I have called her every day since the signing and have yet to get a call back. Shit, I hope they don’t read this blog.

Ok, onto happier topics… shall I rant about TV as usual? Okay!

Now I’m quite fond of Mo’nique (The Parkers, Soul Plane, Phat Girlz). I think she is, in her own words, FAT (fabulous and thick), and I believe she would be the first to embrace her ghetto-fabulosity. I caught her on BET’s “BLACKbuster Theater” (I love it) in a flick entitled Hair Show. The movie was pretty good, actually, but I do have to point out two alcoholic moments. One: in a club scene, Mo’nique orders a “passion fruit Alizé martini.” I am by no means martini connoisseur – I don’t even like em unless they are girlified like a Lemon Drop or Cosmo. However, I am fairly certain that a cocktail composed mainly of a beverage I saw used as a tranny trophy during a Voguing ball at a San Fernando Road warehouse in Glendale should not be considered a Martini, even by its loosest definition. Two: in a later scene, this uppity lady macks on a pimpin’ salon stylist by obnoxiously correcting his grammar in an effort to impress upon him the importance of “class.” In the same breath, she orders Hypnotiq at the bar. Klassy!

Code brown! I am watching The Nanny on my TiVo as I write this, and I had to pause on an ad for a Lifetime movie called A Father for Christmas. Some dude kidnaps his baby who is sposed to be up for adoption or something. The thing is, that in one shot, the mom gets up from her hospital bed and there is a big brown stain on the ass of her robe. Ewww!

So Bazaar Bizarre LA 2006 is rapidly approaching. We’re at defcon 1, terror alert: yarn! I am excited, but could definitely use an extra month. There is one tasty morsel on the horizon before BazBiz: our bake sale this Saturday, December 2. We’re gonna be set up outside Pull My Daisy (3908 W Sunset) between 11am and 3pm. Make sure to come check us out!

Shit! I gotta scoot… more soon ☺

At the moment I am sitting in the café at Borders in Century City, awaiting Martha Stewart’s book signing. Borders is lame for almost never having my book on the shelf, but awesome Barnes & Noble always does. So I haven’t written in a while huh? It’s all part of my master plan to make you want me more. Anyway I have had a zany string of events the last couple of days.

I think it started Wednesday as I was loading laundry into the old Subaru lez-mobile. So if you can visualize it, I was leaning on the passenger side with my left hand propped on the roof, holding my keys. My right was on the rear passenger door handle. By some kinda hoodoo anti-miracle, I dropped my keys as I was closing the door. The door happened to close right on my keys, shattering my window. I couldn’t believe it. One second the window is there, the next I am being showered in safety glass pellets. Crazy huh? And the best part is that I had this extra couple hundred bucks I didn’t really want, so in a way it was lucky, right? I still had to drop off my laundry, now also covered in glass, and as I was leaving the fluff n fold to go back home and call glass repair places, Michael McDonald of Mad TV walked past my car. Of course my faggoty iPod was blasting a bongo-laden Peggy Lee rendition of “I enjoy being a girl.” He started laughing and said hello. It’s as if he could tell I was gay. Crazy…

I kinda wish it had been Michael McDonald the soulfully white singer-songwriter who did that “you can reach me by aero plane” number with Anita Baker (who I wish had been Anita Bryant). He looks like Paula Deen’s Husband. Anyway, that was my Wednesday brush with fame.

Back at Chez Grégoire, I made some calls and got a quote for $120 from a mobile guy who was to come to my building at 9am yesterday (Thursday). He calls Thursday morning to inform me that he doesn’t have the correct glass after all and that he needs to order it. I then called another place, which said they’d do it in under an hour if I brought the car in, and they did indeed have the correct glass in stock, and they would even match the $120 quote. So I am already off to a late start on a packed day, but at least I have a plan.

I get to the glass place at 11 and am greeted sheepishly by Veronica who helped me on the phone. Veronica then informed me that as the tech was carrying my glass from storage to my car, he dropped and broke it… and that was the one and only piece that fit my lez-baru. No prob – a new piece would arrive at 2. I killed a lovely few hours exploring what I discovered to be what I can only describe as the Auto Glass District. I was propositioned from the sidewalk with cheap auto glass by a shady gent who could just as easily have been offering me smack. Do people say smack? I’m such a rube when it comes to drug etiquette and custom.

I ended up wandering into a very sketchy neighborhood searching for an AutoZone cuz my dykey Outback has been leaking tranny fluid. Upon exiting the Zone, I caught this squirrelly dude mere inches away from reaching into my car through the broken glass window. He saw me and recoiled, but then had the nerve to ask me for a dollar. I thought that was pretty nervy and kinda rad, but Of course I didn’t give him a dime – I never do. It’s Just like with the grifter-in-residence at my post office (where I saw Ron Perlman fighting with an ATM the other day): he “holds the door” for everyone even though the door is already propped open. He has a skateboard and a cell phone. He should be able to turn that into something lucrative with a little initiative.

Driving on, I found myself in Alhambra. Did you know there is an Electric Avenue in Alhambra? I wondered if it was the same avenue that inspired the song, but I never really got a sense of Eddie Grant being from somewhere like Alhambra, and Alhambra’s Electric Avenue didn’t strike me as being the kind of place one would “rock down to” and then “take it higher.” Of course who knows, it could be one of those things like when you aren’t from LA and you hear Snoop rapping about the LBC and you thing it must be some kinda gangland war zone, but then you actually go to Long Beach and it’s real boring and has bad gay bars with names like “Ripples” and “choices.” I went on a bad gay date to the Hooters there and then to see Freddy vs. Jason. Hooters grilled cheese platter was surprisingly good, although our server’s nude hose made me cringe. Back to gay bar names though.

My favorite homo bars are always have names made up of a pluralized abstract: Choices, Attitudes, Angles, Ripples, and so forth. I dream of a demimonde where the fag bars are named things like “Mistakes” and “Excuses” and “Issues.” Ok, back to my harried day.

So the glass finally arrives and they replace the window. I have to say they did a pretty speedy job (once they finally started working) and gave me 50 bucks off for the hassle. It was GTO Glass on Mission St. if you’re curious.

From there I am off to do the errands I had been planning. Mind you it’s now 3:30, when I was originally sposed to be outta there at noon. So the rest is kinda boring, just a string of errands. FYI they now carry caskets at Costco. I think you could be born, live on samples, grow old and die inside that place. I might just move into a Costco. I like their food court. Snack suggestion: get the soft serve vanilla frozen yogurt and use a churro as a spoon – delish! By the time I get home parking is impossible, and I sit in my car inhaling exhaust for an hour before a space opens up. I make several trips unloading the Outback and stowing Costco purchases. It’s now midnight and I still have to prep for Martha.

A couple weeks ago I got an email from one Mary Forrest (super nice) who is a producer on Martha Stewart’s show and/or magazine. I am not quite sure. She wanted to talk to me about BazBiz. We have several convos, and she informs me that the Martha’s considering sending a camera crew to the LA BazBiz. I was sposed to get confirmation Thursday, but TV people are always late. So I remember last minute that the big M is in town doing a book signing at Borders. I managed to put together an impromptu BazBiz package for her before bed: a signed copy of my book Bazaar Bizarre (please buy), a nice note, press pages, and some photos of this pillow on which I’d busted my ass, which was apparently just tossed aside by some sycophantic underling when it arrived (express mail, thank you very much) at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia HQ.

I got to bed about 1:30 AM and was up by 5:30 to truck my ass to Century City. I landed in line at about 6:45. I know it’s pretty schemey, but I got out the old cane and made sure to limp a lot. I made a nice new friend during the 2.5-hour wait and overheard a frightening Martha clone talking to the other clones about how she and her friends all have myspace pages for their cats and they all blog as their cats. As a true blue cat fancier, I never suspected that a fondness for felines could go so far as to make my anus pucker.

The store opened at 9 and I bought Martha’s new Homekeeping Handbook. I think 744 pages of domestic instructions is a bit bossy, if you ask me. That or a little OCD, but hey I love Martha. She’s been a big inspiration to a lot of other BazBiz crafters including me. Once I got the book I had to get this wristband that marked me as one of the chosen who will meet her and have her book signed. A second line has formed outside for position for the actual signing, which I find a bit odd since the wristband guarantees that your book gets signed. I so did not get my ass up that early to stand in line twice. I busted out the sad brown eyes, hobbled over to an employee and asked about the line. She insisted that I relax in the café and allow her to whisk me to the front of the line when the signing starts.

What can I say? My brain tumor has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving.

It’s now 11:21 and Martha is slated to make her entrance at noon. I shall do a post-signing blog later. You didn’t really think you’d get away without hearing my kvetch about TV did you?

Ok you cant be a stuck up right wing snob and NOT learn proper fucking English. I am actually ok with patois and even incorrect grammar to some extent, but if you’re gonna be a bitch about stuff? I mean you think you’re so great right? Use a freaking dictionary! So this Christian Texas freak mom was on wife swap this week, and I think her attitude, values and intellect can be summarized in one quote:

“They live in squander.”

Squander? Geezus H. Louise, that’s almost as bad as when my ex boss Jana and ex pseudo boyfriend say “in lieu of” when they mean “in light of.” Breakups and bad job situations are sad, but I guess the silver lining is that now I get to say…

“IN LIEU OF” MEANS “INSTEAD OF” NOT “IN LIGHT OF!”

Can u tell I have some vocab issues? I spose that makes me a stuck up snob in my own special way. The difference is that I rule, and this is my blog, dammit! Plus I remember learning the shit in Mrs. Cyr’s 5th grade class, and she wasn’t even a good teacher. What’s their excuse?

Well when baseball mom Shannon decrees no more black clothes, wee mohawked Carson retorts with a mocking “Life is all flowers and sausages.” Fucking brilliant!
Ok let’s just get all the ranting and TV reportage out of the way. Dancing with the stars was kinda good this week. Mario and his dimples were incredible as expected. Thankfully his Russian partner Karina’s huge penis was irradiated away by Chernobyl, so it didn’t get in the way of their routine. Boring Monique Coleman tried to let loose in a fierce fuchsia plumage getup, but she applied way too much body grease and took crumping advice from a character named Tommy the Clown. She went all crazy and was all over the map. Judge Len said she was “all cheese and no burger.” Amen, Len. To be filed under “gayer than gay” was Joey Lawrence’s routine in white linen to the George Michael classic “Father Figure.” I hated the prancing and dancing, but Joey’s undulating was nice, and honestly I think he prolly designed the costumes. Emmit’s dancing was muddy, and Jerry was insane but funny and sweet. The group disco routine was a mess and was way more 80s than disco. Joey was popping and locking which was kinda cute but anachronistic. It was embarrassing the way that those big choreographed all-star, all-shill network promo spots make you cringe. The finale was the interview with Sara Evans as to why she dropped out. I thought she was just boring and frumpy with a bad stylist, but it turns out she’s a total republican white bred nightmare. I didn’t know that her husband was running for congress; that’s why tom delay was urging repubs to support her on DWTS. Kinda makes his Internet self-porno-portraits seem more appropriate. Whatever waning sympathy I had for Sara’s mommed-out style went out the window when she said of her DWTS partner “even though he’s Albanian, he has a sense of humor.” Clearly he has lived in the states for a long time and gave her this priceless look as if to say, “I’m as American as you are, you crazy cracker.”

As for project runway, of course Jeffery wins, and that’s fine with me. I love Laura, but whatever. Speaking of project runway designers, we already have one that’s gonna be sewing at Swap-O-Rama-Rama come December. I am trying to contact more PRunway designers, so if you know any, send em my way!

BazBiz shit is really shaping up now. I am amazed at the enthusiasm I’m getting from the volunteer base this year, which is so crucial cuz last year we didn’t have any volunteers to speak of, and it made the day a lot more difficult than usual. I am also pumped about the whole Makitakit area because I am signing up some cool businesses to do stations. Blue rooster art supply just down the street from my place is gonna be doing a collage station, which will rule. I think I mentioned before that Craft magazine is doing a Gocco greeting card station and there will also be a DIY custom gift-wrap station. I’m “in talks” with a few other potential participants, but I am always scouting for more, so if you have a business or know of once who might be able to set up something fun and crafty and hands-on for our guests, lemme know! (greg@bazaarbizarre.org)

The vendor gallery is being updated daily now as info is finalized, and new pages are being added to the site. I am so slow when it comes to web stuff. I wish I were more of a whiz kid, but I am doing the best I can.

Holy lineup changes! TiVo has just informed me that my beloved channel 78, Turner Classic Movies, has been replaced with the fucking Golf Channel and has been removed from my service tier with about 8 other channels? DAMN YOU TIME-WARNER!

I just peed and it smelled like movie theater popcorn. I dunno if it was the odd air freshener in the Burbank Public Library men’s room, some kinda neurological fallout from last year’s brain surgery, or a harbinger of dread disease. I hope it was number one (so to speak).

Ok so I haven’t written in about a week at least. I am having DSL woes at home, and they will continue until Monday I’m afraid. Just when I am getting one issue tidied up, another comes along. I think they call that “life” or something. Ok here are this installment’s pet peeves:

1) The project runway reunion special featured a montage of Tim Gunn’s “strange vocabulary.” Included were the words “mitigate” and “consternation.” How fucking embarrassing. I am glad our culture has become so entrenched in mediocrity that verbal staples are now considered brainy or even exotic. Perhaps I should say, “We don’t talk good.”

2) I was working the other night and watching one of my work/craft movies: George Cukor’s “The Women.” Joan Fontaine is so goddamn warbly in that flick I can’t stand it. Her quivery quavering quailing was driving me nuts. Every one of her lines sounds as if it was delivered from a Magic Fingers vibrating bed. “Oh, Mary… I’m going to have a baby.” Oh, Mary indeed.

3) My friend Mary Jo and I watched cycle one of America’s Next Top Model on DVD. Problems: the smart, gorgeous Elyse lost cuz she was too smart, everyone had Bold and Beautiful hair after their makeovers, colored contacts were spinning out of control and Jay Manuel wore a shirt that was simultaneously see-thru and furry. I especially loved the ultra low-budget Best Western conference room in which they shot the judging scenes. I swear it’s the one where I spent a night on my book tour last year - at the end of an off ramp in queens by JFK. You can see the window heater behind the sheers and pukey velveteen draping. The ceiling is real low and it’s so tiny that all the girls have to just step forward and then back into the pile as they make it to the next round while the camera operator goes all shaky handheld way too close up cuz there’s no room for a tripod.

4) I was sitting on my second hand Ikea Klippan sofa, when I heard a big crunch and my ass dropped about six inches. I flipped the loveseat over and the shit was literally held together with staples! What should I expect from Ikea though right? Anyway I got busy with my dykey 18-volt cordless Black and Decker “Firestorm” power drill and some long wood screws and I fixed that mess right up. Now if I could just find a slipcover pattern for that particular model. I think there was actually a message board thread about my exact sofa and slipcovers on craftster.org. I think there is also a site called “Ikea Hacks” or something where folks submit post-purchase Ikea mods.

Ok that’s enough pet peeves for now. Onto happy stuff…

I wanna give a b-day shout to my main mama Lori Petitti of Hip Line Media (hiplinemedia.com). In addition to being my awesome friend, she is one of the amazing coordinators of BazBiz LA. She’s a crafter, ex-stuntwoman, and is now training to be a Pilates instructor. Don’t you love overachievers? Happy birthday, Lori – we love you!

Another BazBiz cohort, Leah Kramer, is in town and we’re having din-din tonight. You prolly know her cuz of her infamous mega site craftster.org. She’s also kinda the Boston version of me – only way more responsible. Maybe it is I who am the lazy zaftig male version of her? Hrmmm… anyway, she rules and I am psyched to see her.

BazBiz 06 is totally shaping up. Instead of just one DIY crafting table, we’re having a whole DIY area in the balcony featuring different stations where guests can get hands-on and make a little something to bring home. I call it “Makitakit” (as in “make it, take it”). I was thinking something like “Makitakit Island” with a tiki theme and all, but it’s not really an island… if anything it’s the opposite… what’s the opposite of an island? A land-donut? Some kinda racetrack? I’m working on that one still. Our trusty sponsor Craft magazine (craftzine.com) will be running their very own Gocco greeting card print shop featuring editor-in-chief Carla Sinclair. Now I know I have referred to Gocco as “the trucker hat of the art world,” but that’s cuz of its ubiquity, not cuz it sucks (like trucker hats do).

Have you seen the first issue of Craft? It’s amazing. I am gonna make the “Catnip Castle” for Tron and Jett.

Also making its Los Angeles debut is Swap-O-Rama-Rama (swaporamarama.org). Bring a bag of clothes you were gonna give to Goodwill or something, add 'em to the pile, and you get to rummage through all of the duds your fellow donors have brought. When you find what you want (and as much as you want), you can keep it as is or transform it with the help of onsite designers. I’m jazzed cuz we have confirmed at least one Project Runway contestant who will be helping out with the sewing for a couple hours. You’ll also be able to screen-print your newfound treasures. Admission to Swap-O-Rama-Rama is $5.00 when you donate clothes and $10.00 when you don’t. I know you have clothes you need to ditch, so just fill up a grocery bag with a few things. FYI, admission for Swap-O-Rama-Rama is it’s own independent thing.

Ok I am about to be overrun by Burbank school urchins, so a move I shall bust.

“The one with the dimples” is how my mother describes Mario Lopez. She’s right; those darling divots are to die for. If you’re awesome like me, you’ll know that I am talking about Dancing With The Stars, which is one of my favorite shows. I know all I seem to do is talk about TV on this thing, but I promise I do other stuff. Truth is that while I am clacking away at the computer organizing Bazaar Bizarre for the world to enjoy, the TV is on, so it really tends to inflect my conversational range. But I digress. I love DWTS so much cuz it’s a nice show about nice people doing nice things. It’s a welcome change to witness such a meritocratic cultural moment.

It’s odd cuz in a way that’s what BazBiz is about. I mean it’s a curated show that highlights, in my humble curatorial opinion, the real beauty of hard work. Wow I am totally spinning now on this idea, but first lemme wrap up DWTS. Monique what’s-her-face from High school musical: sucky. She is such a frigid excuse for a “diva,” which I think is now acceptable social code for a Black woman with attitude. She totally lacks attitude or any connection to her milquetoast partner. Emit smith? Too cute for the Paso Doblé. I mean he should be fierce, but he’s just adorable. Ms. Vivica is my favorite, and she really butched it up this week. One of the judges even suggested letting some femininity back in. Keep yo head up, girl… but don’t cut me! Sara Evans… frump city. I think the dowdy poofy tops she wears are sposed to conceal her big mom-boobs. She sucks. Mom-boobs rule, but she’s stinky. Joe(y) Lawrence is so cute I cant stand it, and the judges love him. I think, however, that all of his outfits could benefit from nipple and bun cutouts (I’m dying for “buns” to once again become part of the American lexicon). For an 80s has-been joke, he’s bringing it – dignity style! Mario Lopez, apple of my mother’s eye, really threw down his week. The way he sez “Paso Doblé” makes me melt. Like when ethnic newscasters really let er rip with the accent as they sign off. Like they talk all super whitey, but then return to the old country when they say their name. I so dig that.

Ok so back to how BazBiz is like Dancing With The Stars. It’s a showcase not only of creativity, but also of hard work. I used to think I knew a thing or two about art. I realize that I don’t. That’s why I love crafts. While the art universe seems to be spinning out of control with this “anything is art” kind of moment, crafts really demand stick-to-itiveness. I mean you can be the most super ironic hipster asshole, but if you’re not willing to put in some hours and elbow grease, you’re never gonna be good at crafts. So there’s all this validation of “street” stuff happening right now in art, and that’s great. Listen, if anyone’s rooting for unheard voices, it’s me, but if I go to one more opening where some trust fund prick pressed “print” on his inkjet or silk-screened something on a skateboard and wants me to pay a small fortune, I’m gonna cut a bitch. I know I sound all ignorant and ranty, and I promise you that I am shocked to see these words appearing before me on the computer screen, but I just get to this point where enough is enough. Like I said, I dunno shit about art anymore. Maybe I never did.

I think you could certainly make the argument that my love of the ultimately quantifiable stitch represents a rather shortsighted, narrow, modernist – even phallic – view of aesthetics. Perhaps I am turning into an old curmudgeon because I have the hobbies of an 80 year old. Why then the huge crafting boom? I think it’s because there is something unquantifiably enjoyable about the trajectory or “journey” of a craft project. Yeah, the finished sweater or sampler is nice, but it was also fun knitting on the subway, or just going into your robo-zen stitching mode after punching keys all day at some dumb job. I think mebbe why I’m grooving on DWTS so much is cuz you know that they have to work really hard to do what they’re doing.

I am so rambling…

I think that perhaps I have finally answered for myself – albeit in a roundabout way – the question “what is the difference between art and craft?” Art has its place and always will. I know you wont believe me, but I really do love art. There’s something enjoyable to the mystery there: the allure of being among the few who are able to “get it” is definitely powerful. However, crafts seem to bring out another side of expression that’s all about being inclusive rather than exclusive. Crafts seem to find their appeal in familiarity, tradition. Think, for example, of how tactile craft is as opposed to art – I mean it’s often about literally warm and fuzzy things!

Wow all that free flowing between ideas has me spent. Time for a Caesar salad with anchovies.

So I’m watching Mildred Pierce for the zillionth time. It’s one of my work/craft movies – you know, the kind you have seen so many times you don’t have to look at the screen to “watch” it. I mean how else can you really watch a flick when you’re stitching or knitting. For me these also include Aliens, Pillow Talk, Rear Window, Vertigo, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The Women, Gypsy, Auntie Mame, The Sound of Music, Working Girl, All About Eve, Carrie, Sleeping Beauty, Oklahoma, and… I dunno that’s all I can think of at the moment. I am watching a work movie and working like a busy little beaver. Ooo, Ann Blyth just made a knitting reference! What a perfect moment of Jungian synchronicity! Anyway it’s been a busy week, which is good, cuz when I have too much time I don’t work nearly hard enough. Oh wait--

“Get out, Veda. Get your things out of this house before I throw them into the street and you with them. Get out before I kill you!”

Man, Veda is such a bitch, but Mildred is such a doormat. Who do you root for? So getting back to my busy weekend: let me start by saying rabbit-rabbit. You have to say that on the first of each month for good luck. Of course, it only works if you’re the first to say it. I think if you’re the first one you know of, it still works. I need the good luck; trust me. My dad gets really competitive about the whole rabbit-rabbit thing, cept he sez it in Armenian to trick me: “nabasdagh-nabasdagh.”

BazBiz seems to be gaining new steam. I’m trying out this fancy new mailing list software. You may be reading this blog because of its last installment. Looks pretty fancy, but it took me quite a while to cobble together a couple simple announcements. Presentation is crucial though. I am sure it’ll get simpler each time. As long as we’re on the subject, drop me a line if you think you might like to volunteer and become part of the BazBiz Borg. Drop me a line at greg@bazaarbizarre.org and use “volunteer” as the subject line.

Do you watch America’s Next Top Model? Every time ANTM starts a new season or “cycle” as they term it, I’m hesitant to recommit. I always doubt my own emotional wherewithal to once again invest in 13 unknown hopefuls. Of course within 45 minutes I’m hooked. It doesn’t seem like there’s much “top” in Top Model anymore. This year the winning-spread is in Seventeen magazine. Is it me or is that on a significantly lower tier than Elle? Gilles Bensimon has jumped ship apparently. Seems like each season becomes more and more “down-market” to use a Tyra term. Anyway I like the weird twins that look like less irritating versions of D-list star of “The Craft” Robin Tunney (awful in Hollywoodland). The thing about ANTM that’s becoming the least tolerable, though, is the liturgical recitation of the prizes and processes.

Have you ever been to a 12-step meeting? Yall may know I’m a fuller-figured gal, and in the last year I went to a few Overeaters Anonymous meetings at the suggestion of a friend who found OA helpful. In OA, like any 12-step meeting, there is a bunch of this same kinda recitation of steps, promises, prayers, principals, slogans, and so forth. Now the “meat” of the meetings – the sharing and encouragement – was fine and even helpful, but I could not endure the culty repetitive droning. I mean once a week was enough to make me quit and some of these bitches go to multiple meetings every day? That’s what it feels like at the end of every episode of Top Model now. At least I can TiVo thru the boring crap.

I saw another celeb, and he was with the celeb I saw in my last entry! Michael Rappaport is that redhead dude from that hideous FOX show The War at Home and classic films like Higher Education. Anyway, he pulled up next to me on Los Feliz boulevard in a beamer, and seated in the passenger’s seat was that dude from Adventures in Babysitting! The one who lives in my building. Wild. My friend Paul claims I am often mistaken, but I have had really good luck at star sightings. Well “star” is prolly too strong a word, but “personality” might suffice. In a town like Los Angeles, I don’t think I actually see more than anyone else, but I just happen to recognize more. I mean consider the caliber of actor I usually spot: 9 outta 10 times I only know them from a guest role on Golden Girls. The other day (also on Los Feliz, curiously) I scoped Neil Patrick Harris of Doogie Howser fame, but Paul rebuffed my sighting.

My friend Josh (who’s a featured crafter in my book Bazaar Bizarre – which you should buy) pointed out something astounding to me the other day. You have to check out Americancraftsinstitute.org cuz apparently all us crafters are missing out on untold riches. The testimonials are pretty cool. Thanks for the heads-up, Josh!

Ok, I’m feeling clacked-out (clacking = typing). Mildred just walked out into the Los Angeles morning and the rest of her life so I need to pop in another DVD and do the dishes.

Before I go, however, I will leave you with this piece of crafty advice: if the best promo giveaway you can come up with is either a “fabric pendant” or a paperclip with a tacky pony bead on a ribbon, you may not have the most promising career in crafts ahead of you. In fact, I really hope that this compulsion for every single person who has ever picked up a crochet hook to instantly make a career of crafts fades, which I know is very odd coming from a queen who encourages crafty commerce. I just think a few people are trying too hard to make something work that just isn’t gonna happen – and I don’t want some huge craft backlash because of more than a few failed enterprises. Just remember that it’s totally ok to craft for your own enjoyment – I’m certainly not making any kind of living off of the crafts I make. Once upon a time I was this hot-shit violist. I got accepted to the best music school in the country, and thought if you did something “for fun” you were a total scrub. It took a long time, and it was a hard lesson to learn, but you’re really gonna end up hating something if you try and force a career out of it. I think if your love of crafting begins to infect others to the point where simple gift giving isn’t enough, then maybe you’ve got something you could work with. However, contrary to what Americancraftsinstitute.org would have you believe, learning a craft in order to cash in on some craze just ain't gonna pan out if your heart isn’t in it.

God, why do all these things end so depressingly? Well, it’s cloudy out, so I guess it fits.

So today was a real red letter Los Angeles day. Not to say it was great or anything, just fairly remarkable. I woke up super early and called Mom at like 3am. I always call home super early cuz of both the time difference and cuz things get pretty hectic at Der Ananian HQ back east. So we chatted a bit about my niece Ashley’s 3rd birthday party this past weekend. I’m sorry I missed it. Mostly cuz I dig cake. The topic turned to television and Dancing With the Stars – have you seen it? Oh my god… so good! What’s remarkable about the show is that it’s a nice show about nice people doing a nice thing. There’s no eating of pig testicles or backstabbing or alliances. It makes me miss my ballroom dancing classes in junior high. Long story short: (1) Joey Lawrence = really hot, really buff and has gay eyebrows despite his absent wife; (2) Mario Lopez can shake it fierce and is my mom’s fave – also gay twinkly eyes (but pretty, not the scary reptilian WeHo crow’s feet type) and a very suspicious headband during the rehearsal footage (Mom calls him “the one with the dimples”); (3) NFL legend Emmitt Smith is the cutest cuddliest guy with a great smile and the bitch can dance. The audience gave him a standing ovation, which made me feel warm and fuzzy. I was surprised at first, but then I thought about how you have to memorize playbooks for football and how that’s kinda like giant choreography. Anyway he is my new favorite teddy bear.

Speaking of teddy bears, you should download the single of the week on iTunes: “Yours to Keep” by Teddybears (formerly Teddybears STHLM). Very freaking catchy. I dunno how much longer it’ll be up, but it’s a free download. I’ve had it on repeat all weekend.

Remember our last chat when I promised you sex dwarves? Musta been a psychic flash. Get this: I am late for a doc’s appointment, but nothing irreparable, when I stop short and tap the bumper of the car in front of me. So the driver gets out, and he’s a little person… a dwarf! Can one say “dwarf” anymore? (Dwarfism.org says “midget” is a definite no-no, but “dwarf” is widely – but not universally – acceptable)

Anyway I’ve had dwarves on the brain since seeing Tod Browning’s 1932 shocker Freaks this weekend. Pretty amazing flick. Also saw Casablanca for the first time, but no dwarves, he/she’s, pinheads or bearded ladies there. So yeah, the dwarf in the giant SUV was part one of my LA day. Only later did I wonder how on earth he reached the pedals and saw over the dash. I am gonna have to do a little research thereupon. I don’t know that he was a sex dwarf, but he was kinda cute. I kinda wanted to pick him up – literally, that is, like off the ground. I have heard there is a sex dwarf that’s the maitre d’ at the Black Angus in West Covina. My knitting buddy Kari told me she- or a friend of hers – saw him at some club and he was sporting a ten-inch cock… swinging the shit around on stage! I wonder if he still works at Black Angus. Been a while since I had steak… or “steak” for that matter. Mmm… dwarf steak. Makes me remember a mad crush I had on an Armenian rockabilly half-dwarf back in Bloomington. Ah, unrequited midwestern punk rock love…

My only other dwarf story is that of a family at the waspy church I went to as a kid: South Acton Congregational Church or “SACC” for short (dirty). The family was comprised of a “standard” sized husband, a dwarf wife, and two adopted Columbian kids – so diverse for the early 1980s. The mom died which was really sad, but the dad turns around and marries her twin dwarf sister! I really didn’t know how to process that one. I wonder how the kids took it. Speaking as an adopted child myself, I can attest to the identity crises that you endure. Throw an identical twin replacement dwarf mom into the mix and you’ve got an after school special. I remember both mom 1 and mom 2 had a thing for shawls over turtlenecks.

So after my dwarf encounter and doctor’s appointment in Westwood, I’m heading north on the 405 to get to the 101 when who should pull up on my driver’s side in a black SUV but the Governator himself – Arnold Freaking Schwarzenegger! He was smoking a cigar. There was another scary black SUV following close, and those bitches had a fucking full-on machine gun on the dash. Eek!

So I finish up my errands and make it back to Horton Hall – my trusty and adorable apartment building. It’s then that I spy actor Anthony Rapp strolling out from beneath the awning nearly arm in arm with a delicately featured Asian companion of the male persuasion. Who is Anthony Rapp you ask? He was the raunchy best friend in my favorite pre-teen movie: Adventures in Babysitting. It looks like I have a genuine D or maybe even C-List celebrity living in my building. Mama’s movin' on up!

Anyway, I last saw Monsieur Rapp guest starring on Law & Order SVU. I love that goddamn show. I love Mariska Hargitay, but I don’t bring it up anymore cuz Sean and Aldo are forever harassing me cuz once I said that she was “astonishingly beautiful” and they don’t agree. Please, bitches, you know you wish you looked that good.

So now I just have to meet Elisabeth Shue, and I will have met the entire principal cast of Adventures In Babysitting. A dubious goal to be certain, but I was born too late to meet the casts of All About Eve, The Women, Gypsy and Auntie Mame. I will never forget her lip-syncing to “Then He Kissed Me” by The Crystals. Man, those opening credits left such an impression on me… I tried so hard to do it just like her, but my hair was never bouncy enough, though I think my boobs are bigger. My band Prettypony covered that song for our very first basement show in Bloomington, Indiana. If Ms. Shue only ever made AIB and Soapdish, I’d be content. In fact, I’d prefer that’s all she made. Her other movies are so stinky. Hollow man? Yikes…

So that was my LA day. Now I gotta run cuz my stories are on.

Xo
Greg

Ok so I think I must be the worst blogger ever. This is my second entry in like what... a month? I think the longer I let it go, the guiltier I feel about it, which makes me not wanna face it, like when you stop opening your mail after a while… yikes! Of course you prolly never do that cuz you’re normal. Ok so now I am back on the blog horse! Hyaah! (Man I sure do love mounting things)

Last time I actually started to write an entry to this thing I was still in Maine with my family. We went to a charmingly mid-priced ovum-themed eatery called Eggspectations. Only later did I discover it’s a Canadian chain. Of course, who would else would concoct such whimsy? Maine is a liminal space where a garcon can bust out some French-Canadian trickery on your unsuspecting ass.

Apparently the Old Orchard Beach chamber of commerce was hosting some sort of ultra hot sexy dad stud festival while I was there. Everywhere I turned I was blinded by the thick, dark, and hairy middle-aged light. That was a nice perk. Thanks, OOBCOC!

So when I got back to LA I was delighted to find my car missing. I thought it had been stolen, but it turns out my neighbors reported it blocking their driveway, which I thought was really sweet of them. I dunno about you, but nothing says “welcome home” to me quite like a 600 dollar impound fee. The experience was enhanced by the lovely gent behind the Plexiglas who, in response to my statement that I’d been traveling for my grandmother’s funeral, informed me that there was “a rush on dead grannies” that week. That’s the kind of personal service you just don’t see anymore.

I’m trying to catch up on all my BazBiz duties now that I’ve returned and settled into autumn (well… soon). This is a kind of tricky time for the organization of Bazaar Bizarre because I wanna keep up the momentum and excitement, but it’s easy to get bogged down in a lot of problem solving that’s not quite as glamorous as poring over all the vendor applications. We’re about to plunge into the publicity phase of the operation. The way it seems to work, and lemme know if you have some helpful advice, is that there is a very narrow window of time in which you need to establish your PR strategy and media presence. It reminds me a lot of when I was booking tours for my old band Prettypony. First, you have to wait and wait and wait. It always seems to be too soon for articles, demo tapes, bookings, calendar listings, and what have you. Then suddenly… bam! It’s too late! Somehow you have missed all the deadlines for submissions. After over a decade of experience in the booking biz, I seem to be only slightly better at this game of hurry up wait… or would it be wait and hurry up?

Aside from the PR shuffle, we have to tackle the assemblage of all the vendor information and photos and listings. There’s a lot of web stuff that goes into this stage, which is kind of a dicey proposition because I am certainly no web mistress. It’s so important because it’s here that we’re really delivering what we’ve promised our vendors. I mean the whole idea is to set the best possible stage for the vendors, and try to eliminate and/or address as many obstacles as possible. I mean why else should people pay to participate in something like Bazaar Bizarre?

So that’s the precipice upon which I am standing this Sunday evening: trying to position myself to take the best possible bite out of the opportunities at my feet. Every year you make mistakes and you learn things and you wanna do your best to improve the experience for everyone – patrons, vendors, volunteers and organizers…

Wow… so what serious-ass tangent did I just wander off on? I mean I know I’m usually a laugh-a-minute gal, but I do have a couple deep thoughts rattling around in my post-tumor skull. I love making yall giggle at work, but I spose I really should take this time to shed some light on what goes on behind the scenes.

Next time I promise it’ll be all mud wrestling and sex-dwarves.

Xo
Greg

Ps: I am still trying to figure out how you insert all the pics and links into these blog entries. More bells and whistles to come!

“It was a day like any other…”

That’s how all those gritty, hard-nosed PI film noir narrations start, right? Well that’s kinda how I feel about this blog. I kept holding off cuz I wanted to make this very organized, eloquent entrance into the world of bloggery. But then that’s not very bloggy, is it? Also, I really hate blogs for the most part, so I thought, “Why would anyone wanna read mine?” That’s when I remembered how hard I rock. So here goes…

So yeah this is called BazBizBlog, and there will be lots of stuff about Bazaar Bizarre (the events, my book, and so forth) but it’s also just kinda my little breath of the ether in which I can rant and rave and babble, as is my wont.

So at this very moment, my lovelies, I am in a Panera Bread in Portland, Maine. I came home to Massachusetts from Los Angeles for my Grandma’s funeral this week. She passed away somewhat suddenly, so shit’s kinda gloomy with the fam. As it turns out, my folks had planned this big family trip to OOB (Old Orchard Beach), ME for this very week. I had bowed out of the original trip, but I think my Grandma musta had other plans, cuz her timing is pretty spot-on. It’s not like super swell or anything to come home for a funeral, but it is nice seeing the family. I got to meet the newest Der Ananian, Stephanie, this week, too. She, her sister Ashley and my sis-in-law Jen will be joining us in Maine later today. It’s rainy out and my folks are mall walking nearby. I am trying hard to nurse my 4-dollar lemonade as slowly as possible so they don’t boot me. But hey, if they don’t want people hanging out blogging and looking at copious amounts of donkey porn, they shouldn’t advertise “free wi-fi.”

I have been working on sorting out all the applications, vendors, fees, and questions for this year’s Bazaar Bizarre. Just in case you don’t already have it marked in your Swarovski-encrusted Blackberry, the dates are as follows: Cleveland is gonna be Saturday December 2nd, while Boston & LA will be Saturday December 16th. You really should come. Anyway I am on the verge of pulling out what little hair I have (buzzed, not balding) trying to get all this shit figured out. As my best friend and punk-rock-nurse Shannon LaBoskey likes to point out, I am something of a gadget queen, and I love to automate any task I can. So of course in the interest of simplifying the process of curating and administrating BazBiz, I inevitably end up with many headaches. However, I am convinced that I am only partially responsible for the hassles. I get it that not everybody wants to be as techie as I am, but hey – I make the rules, so I guess they have to be. Of course, wishing doesn’t make it so. Good thing I don’t really enjoy just sitting around on the beach, so I can spend this “vacation” working on shit. Needless to say as a fuller-figured gal I am less than jazzed at the thought of prancing around on the sand in my Speedo. I do love prancing though.

Ok so there is a freaking huge line in Panera Bread and the crystal meth smile of gayer-than-gay cashier, Chad, is starting to crack. I better bust a move on outta here and find my folks at the Portland Mall.

Smell ya later, suckers.

Welcome to BazBizBlog!