GROUPIES BLEIBEN NICHT ZUM FRUHSTUCK
Europes handsomest man Ulrich Ziemons took me for a farewell breakfast at Avallon Café in Mehringdamn along with junior film programmer Nadja Talmi. It was raining catalunas and trogladites outside, but the three of us had an enchanting morning whooping it up royally.
The day before I met up with Joel Gibb the babydiaper of the Hidden Cameras and we mixed some new songs with Felix Knoke of Der Spiegel Online who is also in our new art music project Tenderloin. Both Felix and Joel were ragging on the recent Berlin Music Festival that they felt was badly organized. The police even closed the festivities at one point before headliner Fat Boy Slim performed, as there was an overcrowding issue that seemed like it was going to turn into the same disaster that befell the Love Parade a few weeks ago in another town in Germany.
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I was feeling a bit melancholy leaving Berlin for Los Angeles where I will give a performative lecture at a UCLA art conference at Royce Hall room 314 6:30pm on Saturday Oct 9th. While I’m gone I will miss a rare Berlin appearance by the famed writer Juan Goyti Solo, the gay Spanish writer who lived most of his life in Paris with his late wife, but is now residing in Marakesh. After recording with Joel and Felix, Joel and I hung out in Neu Koelln observing the Hermannplatz street life. We ran into the creative director of Dior Homme Kris Van Assche who was in Berlin looking for inspiration. From what I observed it seems that Mr. Van Assche has found said inspiration in the lush titty cavity and bubble buttedness of bevy of striking Turkish and Arab youth clad in tight white pants and Gobi Desert scarfs.
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Its been four years since I left Hell A. I have a bunch of meetings with some museum and folk, plus seeing old friends, family and acquaintances.
I left Wednesday morning on Delta/Air France from Berlin to Paris. The French air traffic controllers were doing a work slowdown or something, as my flight to Paris was delayed by an hour. I hate air travel.
France is on the verge of a general strike which will mean total chaos. I am glad that I will be returning to Berlin next month via transfers in Amsterdam. I boarded for the second time one of those new Airbus 300 planes for the long, tedious flight from Paris to Los Angeles. There wasn’t one empty seat, and no eye candy just fugly men and crying brats and lots of people with colds sneezing and coughing and spreading their germs in a rabid fashion.
My old pal Hector Martinez who is a top executive with the insurance company Afleck picked me up at the airport. I didn’t recognize the new downtown LA skyline with all these new buildings. At Hector’s Silverlake compound in the hills his lover Ericla cooked us a nice dinner. I wanted to stay up as long as I could to help with the jet lag so Hector drove me through Hollywood which I didn’t recognize. Hollywoodland has now become so piss eleganza with this upscale style that seems very Miami Vice—the movie remake with Colin Farrell not the 80s TV show starring Don Johnson.
In the morning Hector dropped me off at Dr. Doyle’s flat where I will be staying for awhile as she is off in Europe writing. I love Dr. Doyle’s courtyard apartment in the heart of Silverlake. Julie Tolentino came by to take me to luncheon at Astro Family, the 50s style greasy spoon that I love so much. That place hasn’t changed a bit. Julie and I had a blast hanging out for hours drinking cup after cup of coffee and gossiping like middle school Cholitas. Julie will be leaving for London soon to conduct some workshops with Ron Athey at Queen Mary College where Ron is an artist in residence.
While at Astro we bumped into Glen Meadmore picking up takeout. Glen came back with me to eat his meal and we wound up calling up Big Dicque Sneaky Pete Tomlinson, our drummer from PME and having a little reunion of sorts. Sneaky sells real estate and is married to Silverlake fashion stylist Houston, and he has a cute six year old kid. I have known Sneaky Pete since he was fresh of the boat with the Navy and came into Retail Slut on Melrose Avenue looking for a job. I told him to go to Cowboys and Poodles up the street and Paul “Whitey” Glynn hired the fresh faced big peniled beauty immediately, and he started having a wild love affair with Leslie Beatty who worked at CowPoo’s and was my first Clitoris Turner in my performance art group The Afro Sisters.
The weather is lovely not too hot not too cold, and from Dr. Doyle’s back window I have a divine view of the Hollywood Sign and the Griffith Park Observatory.