Hair Part II

Once again, not my version of the musical sequel to “Hair” in which Claude rises from the dead to find his hippie friends have turned into yuppies - My hair. If you actually care you can read part one so the story has “fluidity”.

When high school was over I had found the hairstyle that suited me most- "The Caesar". However, the expense of 150$ haircuts was weighing on my pockets and I began to cut my hair myself. People, this is NEVER a good idea. Sure you can do the front fine and maybe the sides but definitely not the back. I gave myself so many bad haircuts it makes me cringe; it is also why in almost all photos from freshman year of college I am wearing flat caps backwards. The final straw for home hair cuts came when I gave myself what I like to call “The Corky St. Claire”. Yes, the gay community theater director created by Christopher Guest in “Waiting for Guffman”- I had that freaking hairdo- for a moment. After a month of this disaster the “straight” guy I was pining over told me I looked like a Dodo bird. I was crushed. He then came out to me. I was ecstatic. I threw up and then shaved my head.

When you shave your head you get treated like a person who gained a lot of weight suddenly and people pretend not to notice (I only know this as I had that experience as well). You get a lot of “Oh MY! Well at least you have a nice face and a normal shaped head…” as they look away in fear. I was “hardcore” at the time and did not care. I had dropped out of musical theater and was now attending art school. I was free to finally go nuts and do whatever I wanted without worrying about casting or needing it to be manageable. Everyone had fucked up hair in art school- in fact I think it is a requirement. There were so many options open to me now I didn’t even know were to start other than noting to myself “GROW YOUR HAIR BACK”. Thankfully it grows very fast.

I knew that I could maintain a low cost buzz cut with clippers and that style looked OK but was so pedestrian for art school. I was becoming more interested in alternative scenes at the time, attending rock shows, going to Goth nights and actively partaking in counter culture. The only question was how to express my inner person on top of my head like everyone else so I would be unique… like everyone else? I decided to bleach and dye my hair. It started innocent enough with a punky bleach kit from Newbury Comics. 45 minutes of agonizing scalp torture later and I had a nice yellow white hue on my head. It was pretty hip, especially when the roots came in. I however could not let it be. Every season I had to have something new about me, whether it was the way I dressed, my music, or my hair, it was always SOMETHING. Soon I was sporting bright purple hair, then blue, then pink (it was an accident). Soon my head hurt so much I couldn’t think and my hair was like straw; I had to call it quits. I decided since my soul was now black from the Goth scene my hair should be too and I went with blue-black like superman.

Note: This is not a good color for someone who is prone to put too many products in their hair; it highlights all the flakey weird shirt that happens when gel dries.

Note 2: NEVER dye your hair “purple black” it looks like mulled wine old lady hair when you do.

I settled into the color after a few months and I was off to England where bad haircut number… whatever… happened. I had grown my hair over the summer a little bit and was looking forward to a year of hot British boys with even hotter accents. I knew I had to get a new look for my solo life. I wanted to wait to cut my hair until I got to London where I had visions of fantastic outlandish haircuts existing everywhere. I mean, it is the home of the Sex Pistols, Siouxsie Sue, Morrissey, people with GREAT hair. I thought any expensive place would do as long as it looked cool (still had not learned the cost/quality lesson). I walked into a hip saloon in Soho and was greeted with excitement over being an American (obviously this was before the war in Iraq). I was hooked up with a bleached out older gay man who tanned too much and was wearing all black. My dream hair at the time was the “Edward Scissorhands”. I knew that was not possible with my hair so I thought that if I told him “spiky, cool and edgy” it would get me close. It did not.

I was spun around in the chair in the dramatic “look at you now!” fashion reserved for make over shows and I cried. Yup, I really cried this time. There before my eyes was my head- buzzed to the scalp on the sides, with a messy pile on top sculpted into a peak in the middle of my head. How could he have done this to me! As I continued to blubber he tried to comfort me with tea and kept saying “It’s the HEIGHT of LONDON FASHION! All the cute boys have it, trust me, you go out tonight and you will see- Its called the pile up or faux hawk if you will- look Daniel has it” ; a waif of a boy dressed in bright colors with limp wrists traipsed out from the back room with a broom. I sobbed.

This was 1999. The Faux Hawk had not hit ANYWHERE in the USA. It would not surface for at least another three years on any indie rocker, New York fag or hipster. In retrospect I now consider this a “cool” haircut that I got WAYYYYY before anyone else (yeah I am that petty). However at the time being ahead of fashion was not what I had in mind, I wanted to just be in fashion, not defining it. The funny thing is I eventually took to this haircut and kept it for a little while. The hairdresser turned out to be right and it got me laid like nobodies business.

Over the course of my year in England I started going to Toni & Guy’s hair school for discount cutting edge hair cuts. I was given three cuts; “Monkey Boy” or as they referred to it the “Vidal Sassoon Coif”- but don’t tell Vidal. The “Fuck Up”- which resulted from a student cutting my hair who had coke nostrils and was so frazzeled they couldn’t finish - the teacher ‘Made do” with what I had left (which was buzzer tracks and a front bouffant, I wore a hat for a month – thank god my hair grows quickly) Finally- “The Mess” which sounds like a bad thing but it was not. It was essentially a choppy cut mullet that I just put tons of wax in so my hair stood on its short ends. It worked really well with my hair texture and curl. I finally got my “spiky & edgy” hair cut.

When I came back to the states all the boys were growing their hair getting ready for the next big rage on cute indie boys, the 70’s shag hair. I knew inside I could never have this hair as I had already seen its cascading curls on my shoulders and triangle head. This however did not stop me from growth spurt number 2. I grew it out again and it looked AWFUL growing out this time (I mean WORSE than high school if at all possible). I recently found some old videos of me acting ridiculous for an installation project and was horrified when I saw this pasted down parted, long in the back short in the front grown out mullet mess on my head. That combined with my confused clothing aesthetic (black jelly bracelets, orange polyester shirt, grey flash dance sweater, spiky belt and tight black jeans) was enough for me to chuck that video across the room and then laugh at my poor choices.

When my hair did finally reach my chin, I knew how to care for it. Sure I often slept with a stocking on my head to flatten it and still played with it every night in the mirror. However I gave into the curl and was very careful with it. I became the person who every woman came up to and asked about my hair. I heard things like “Oh my god it’s like Nicole Kidman’s hair!” or “How the did you get it so shiny” (umm Vaseline and olive oil treatments - gross but it worked) and even “I wish I had hair like that” which usually came from my mother. It really was pretty, girl pretty, but still pretty.

The season changed- I got impatient and got it cut again. This time I was willing to shell out money and went to a Jean Pierre David on Newbury Street. I was sat in front of a Latina woman with brown lip liner and white pink lips. I made the mistake of not having a picture and the other big no no of “what do you think?” Well she thought “Latino Pop Star”. Basically it was short on the sides with lots of curls on the top, dripping onto my forehead. I looked like I was ready to hop on stage at the Latin Grammy’s (I was also into tanning at the time, don’t ask). It was actually a good haircut when I relaxed on the product, but that was rare as I was still a product whore, ruining pillow case after pillow case.

Well patient reader, another season came and yes another look. From this point forward the hair is a blurry mystery. History repeated itself, I fell back on old tricks, buzzed, shaved, even had a faux hawk again. I eventually settled on a haircut that was very similar to “the mess” cut that I got in London. This time given to me by a fantastic hairdresser at “Frenchy’s” in Burbank California(yes as in the character from “Grease”- the place was all pink and black and the girls who worked there were rockabilly pink ladies… of COURSE I got my hair cut there). This very fitting cut lasted me until last summer where I once again repeated the growth. Stupid, stupid growth. Once again when it was cut everyone applauded and told me how great I looked and how the long hair didn’t suite me. (This was after two haircuts- the first I freaked out when I left the Salon- no crying, I bring a hat now. I was given my middle school “George Michael/ Wham” bouffant again, she even had me under the fucking dryer! I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I quickly hopped into another salon down the block and had it fixed.)

Now I wear my hair pretty much the same, subtle changes here and there but it is the same short haircut. I carry a picture of myself with the haircut at its best for whenever I am faced with a new hairdresser. It must be a good one because no one has fucked it up yet (well excluding the incident with break ups and haircuts- see blog). I have also learned that “thinning” only makes me look like I am losing my hair. It does not prevent the inevitable poof that happens with curly hair; it just rips your hair out and makes it grow in funny. It also does not work for someone who piled on product like no tomorrow in an attempt to control the uncontrollable. It merely exacerbates the situation.

This brings me to my final hair realization- product use. My head supplies enough natural oil that I do not need to load on the products causing clogged pores, itchy scalp and ruined sheets. My friends gently started telling me my hair looked greasy. I have one friend who referred to my hair as “Extra Crispy or Original recipe” depending on how much goo I piled on. Then one day my best friend (the very one who first encouraged me to grow my hair long) asked me why the hell I put so much shit in my hair. I did not know the answer. Enough taunting and a few days on a vacation when I ran out of product taught me that I really did not need to put stuff in my hair nor wash it everyday (sorry but its true, you really aren’t supposed to. I wet it but I only “wash” it every few days). I must admit this realization was the hardest and I still struggle with it on the days I wash my hair.

Hair is a very strange thing. It expresses a lot about someone; people make assumptions about personalities, lifestyle and interests based on it. It can be a source of rebellion or conformity. People grow it on weird parts of their bodies while “training” it not to grow on others. Men mourn its loss on their heads and grow it on their backs. Women style it to no end and it can drastically change the way someone looks. Trends and time periods are defined by it! It is amazing when you talk with people about their hair because everyone has at least one “what was I thinking” story- it’s a common bond. I have learned to like my hair despite the struggles, the growing amount of grays and the strange blonde highlights on the side of my head. It’s my hair, all mine. I thank my body everyday for deciding not to turn on me and make it all fall out. I can assure you when that day comes I will look at my past hair pictures, realize the fun we had, and say goodbye forever, shaving it off... hopefully I won’t be fat, adding insult to injury when I hear “OH MY! Umm well you have a nice face…”

When people tell you things about yourself

This past Christmas I attempted to patch a rocky relationship with my Aunt. She was a very significant figure in my life during middle school when I had no friends and then she just got "weird" as my sister and I like to say. She and my mother have not been speaking for almost two years and as a result I hardly see her. Its a long story that has very little to do with this blog but lets put it this way- Italians can hold grudges and add to that competitive sisters, you have yourself a match made in hell. I digress...

While visiting my Aunt for a Christmas lunch we had run out of things to talk about and resorted to the etiquette low of "remember when" ( I had no idea that was a conversation low until recently when I read an article about the art of conversation). It started very amusing with "oh and you were in that play where you had to wear tights and an oversize shirt" or "Oh yeah Auntie I remember I saw you asleep in the audience during that show" (bless the woman for even coming to all the horrible children's shows I did). Things began to get a little ugly from her side when she started to bring up things I had forgotten as a child.

Apparently when I was about 4 she had taken me with her to a friends house who had a boy a few years older than I. He was stocky in build and sort of a bully. While the two adults were having tea we were sent to play in the yard and around the house. My Aunt informed me that an hour later they found me screaming in a tiny locked closet. When they opened the door there I stood, crying and in a puddle having peed my pants. They all laughed at me as I cried from fear of the dark and closed spaces. Funny right?

She laughed and laughed about this story like it was the funniest thing since Britney Spears tried to stage her come back. I sat there, mortified and slightly horrified that she found it so funny. I did not remember this event at all. I had sufficiently blocked it out by stuffing it down and replacing it with other horrific bully stories (like when I was held down by one kid and had my eyelids pulled open by another so a he could spit a loogie in my eye, yes my eyeball, yes a snotty wad of spit in there- or when I was tied to a tree and whipped with a rope- OR the time I was beaten with a red bat in a shack in order to be part of a "club" the bullies were forming- anyway you get the point.)

I thought of this today as I was sitting at my desk trying to complete two more tasks before I went to the bathroom. I always do this. I avoid going to the bathroom for as long as possible. My office is like a closet, my job like a bully and it got me thinking about this gem of a story...

Its amazing when someone tells you something you completely forgot and think " You bitch! That shit screwed me up pretty good!" while they laugh and laugh and laugh at your misfortune. Good times.

PS- She did apologize for telling the story with such joy and guffawing-However seeing as I am half Italian, the damage was done and the grudge born.

Hair (Part I)

No, this is not about the musical I saw with my dad that I sat uncomfortably through as everyone got naked and my dad whispered "Jesus Christ" under his breath. This is about my very own hair and the trials that it entails.

I was born with light blond hair that grew into beautiful locks of gold. It was amazing, and then cut off so I looked less like a girl and more like a boy (proof is in the Super 8 footage of my first haircut. My face is that of a girl on Top Model about to cry when they cut off all her hair). My hair stayed light, soft and straight until I was 12. Then, one of my most hated words in the English language set in PUBERTY (that even gives me a shudder to write that word). My hair started to get darker and darker. No amount of “Sun In” was bringing the blonde back; slowly the highlights faded and became plain old brown. Then one morning I woke up and realized not only was I not blond but my soft hair was now coarse and quickly becoming wiry. Soon enough I had a full on white boy fro. I was in deep denial.

All throughout middle school I would wake up extra early to shower so I could spend 15 minutes blow drying my hair straight. It was a chore but I happily did it. My Sister did it, my Mom did it and even my Dad did it. Our house was filled with the whirl of blow dryers and shouts of “Are you DONE YET” from 6:45 until 7:15. Each school year I would try and come up with a new way to hide the shameful curl.

-In sixth grade I sported a "Zach Morris/ Wham" puffed hairdo that when people tried to touch it I would freak out and back away (no wonder everyone called me a pansy).

-In seventh grade I gave up on the poof and just tried to keep the damn out of control mess straight with lots of spray and gel thanks to my father’s abundant supply of ozone destroying Aquanet.

-In eighth grade I tried the "thinning" method. My hairdresser, Meryl, would attack my dry hair with sheers going from the scalp to the end essentially ripping out some of my hair to keep it from getting "big" (I would fall victim too this stupid method for the next 15 years of my life). I gave up on styling it at this point because I was chubby, had acne, braces & a chin strap; it was the least of my problems.

Finally after freshman year my braces had come off, I was sent to a dermatologist and my very best friend convinced me to give up all the fuss and let my hair "BE". I was given a teen make over (which is a whole other story) and went to school for the first time without blowing it dry and a full head of curls. I was happy. Happiness as a teenager is such a fleeting thing so of course it didn’t last. I got some looks and was asked what happened to my hair by several curious classmates. My replies of "this is how my hair is naturally" did not go over as well as I thought it would (much like when I said "better safe than sorry" in my earlier years). My hair had “come out”. The peak of my hair's expulsion from the dark occurred during the class all physically inept people dread most - GYM.

I was sitting on the bleachers with some girls chatting away avoiding any physical activity. I noticed the bitchy female gym teacher glaring my way and tried to avoid eye contact. I didn’t want to have to play shirts and skins “crab ball” and was trying to make it seem like I was more interested in “deck tennis” (aka sitting in the bleachers purposely losing rounds in the tournament). It was too late, she was walking towards me. My face got hot with guilt and all the girls around me began to hush. We were all worried she was going to ask us to doing something "sporty".

"Randy..." she approached

"Um yes Mrs. Cowell" I meekly replied.

"I just wanted to say I LOVE your hair!" Her voice boomed.

"Oh, well thanks" I was surprised- the first compliment, granted from a female gym teacher but I would take it where I could get it.

"What did you do to it?! Did you get a perm?!" she asked excitedly as her hands extended forward for a touch.

Laughter. I felt like Carrie yet again.

"Ummmm no Mrs. Cowell, this is how my hair is naturally, I was straightening it before"- I backed away from her hardened dry hands as they slowly approached my luscious locks.

Dumb ass! Admitting I worked at my hair as a boy in high school was almost worse than singing and dancing on stage in front of jocks... almost.

I was shamed into submission with hair talk for another year until the very same friend who suggested I let it “be” had another idea …

It was 1994 and grunge was at the "height of fashion". My head was filled with fantasy's of Eddie Veder raping me, I possessed four discount Van Heusen flannels I washed over and over to make them look used (it just ran the shitty dye), I sported Doc Martins with pride and was filled with angst. It was suggested as the ultimate teenage rebellion I grow my hair long. This friend of mine had a penchant for shaggy haired dirty boys and thought the look would suit me. I wanted to have sex with shaggy haired dirty boys so I immediately began growing out the mess.

It took a year. A year of awful mullet head, hats and down the middle parts pasted to my forehead. After months of pulling my hair down my face to see how long it was it reached my shoulders. It was a shining example of my love for Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and all things that looked like they were picked out of the trash.

The thing about a gay boy and long hair is you can spend hours practicing hairstyles-- on yourself! I would sit in front of the mirror doing the Marsha Brady 100 strokes a night, style it into French twists, French braids, regular braids, pig tails, the Bjork "Big Time Sensuality" hairdo, Princess Leah's- you name it I did it on my own head and quite well! I would even put on hair shows for my best friend (much to her delight)when I visited her. The problem of course was I could not figure out how to wear my hair as a GUY. I usually just pulled it back in a pony tail and called it a day. I was not the best at caring for it as I did not understand the amount of time long curly hair consumed to make it look effortless. However when I pulled it out of the ponytail, it had a nice straight sheen to it and I could let it flow free (God I wanted straight hair). This fantasy would abruptly end when the wind blew, the sheet of hair broke and I had triangle head. It was a curse and a blessing all in one. Curse because it was girls hair, blessing because without those locks I never would have played the "most poetic" (aka GAY) Romeo in Romeo and Juliet at the Boston Public Theater (I also happened to look good in the costume).

I soon decided that shoulder length was too much to care for and was not a good look for an “actor”. I had auditions for college coming up and needed to feel attractive and clean, not dirty and downtrodden. After my senior photo was taken I decided to cut it. This time however I had so much hair to work with I wanted to go to a curly hair specialist. I begged my mom to take me to a salon in Boston where they understood how to work with curly hair. I wanted to avoid the hair ripping thinning process and finally have an easy care hair do. My mom was having a hair crisis at the time herself so she set us both up with appointments at an expensive salon on Newbury Street.

Going into a Salon where you are not familiar with the hairdresser and saying “Go Nuts” is really not a good idea. I thought if you were paying top dollar for a hair cut you were getting the best. I still did not grasp the idea that “just because it’s expensive doesn’t always mean it’s good”. I was set up with a slim, young black man wearing tight jeans and a 70’s style shirt open to his navel named Corey. I sat in the chair and explained my hair history thus far. When asked what I wanted I said “whatever you think would suit me best”.

What did Corey think would look best? A Cosmo Kramer- yes the beloved wacky neighbor from the wildly popular Sienfeld with curly hair that stood up on end. Now this was not the “typical” Kramer cut it was more along the lines of the “moussed” Kramer (remember that episode, it’s the one were Elaine is moving into Jerry’s Building and Kramer discovers the joys of mousse). It was still up in the front but the curls were overly shiny and in tact, sliding down the side of his head. When I was spun around to look in the mirror I did not speak, my Mom spoke for me “He loves it!” I was given products galore to maintain the frizz and keep the curl in tact which brought the grand total to $150.

Being the influential teenager I was I kept this style for a total of two months. We have some really great Christmas photos where I look like I just stuck my finger in an electrical socket and then poured grease on my head. I was told by my acting teacher it was a much more “casting friendly” hair style. I was not that pleased. I felt like it made my pubescent face look fat. I also thought it was not stylish enough for the young man who wrote the fashion column in the daily bulletin. I needed to change.

After seeing a few of the above said photos I was horrified. It was worse than I thought. I immediately took my Christmas money, called up Corey and made another appointment. This time I went in with a plan. This time, I had a picture.

George Clooney was on ER and hitting it big time. He was handsome, dashing and he had that killer haircut. The “Caesar” had hit America. It was the “must have” of the hair season. I too HAD to have it. I arrived at the salon and was greeted by Corey with a kiss on the cheek and I handed him the photo- “THAT is what I want”.

It was a good haircut for me. When it grew out a little the curl would make me look like a roman statue head. I was even told I looked like “Mahk Antneee” by a grocery store clerk. I was happy, truly happy. I found the haircut that worked best for me. It was effortless, wind proof, water proof and required very little product (even though I still piled it on, old habits die hard).

Then I grew restless….

Xanadu, ONJ and Broadway

Sunday night, 7 pm, 1980 something I am on the floor in my underroos starring up at the bright colored puppets of Fragle Rock. They sing some songs, the doozers build some things out of radish crystals that the Fraggles eat and I am loving it. Usually when the end is near on the show I would get a feeling of dread and worry, fun time was going to be over and it was time for bed (took me years to realize the beauty of sleep). However this time it was different, this time there was a special treat- Olivia Newton John had her "Physical" tour being broadcast on HBO. I loved Olivia, and I loved the song "physical" because I thought it was about aerobics, my mom taught aerobics and lets face it- I was a mommas boy(my fondest memory- me watching her shout out 'WINDMILL' and all the women doing the "wweeeoooooo" as they kicked their legs up and over). I was allowed to stay up for the first part of her concert then it was off to bed. Dreams of skipping rope and dancing ensued.

Olivia Newton John was my first crush. Now I say "Crush" but really it was a crush in the way a gay boy crushes out- I wanted to be her. I loved her saccharine sweet voice, her spunky personality, her non-offensive all American (yet Australian) looks. I loved that she loved to work out and created soft dance hits with her angelic voice ( I had no idea how dirty "physical" was until three years ago when I put it on a mix for a friend, I mean she is BEGGING for it in the song) . She was just the image of perfection- then along came Madonna and it was so long ONJ.

I often forget that she was my first love and foray into Pop music however when I hear certain songs of hers again (Magic, Suddenly, Physical, Hopelessly Devoted etc.) I feel like I am four again in the back of my mom's blue Oldsmobile with leather seating getting butterflies in my stomach. In fact even writing about her now I am smiling and feel giddy... I am also listening to Xanadu, the failed movie that was intended to launch her big time into movies (it didn't) about a muse who inspires a Santa Monica artist to open a Roller Disco to save "ART". The combo of ELO's rich and full 80's rock orchestrations with the sweet voice of the Australian Beauty- what could be better? Ummm let me see... let me see... a STAGE SHOW OF COURSE! And one where they roller skate damn it!

Well it finally happened.

I have an amazing friend who likes to indulge my gayest of gay sides and takes me to shows, movies, anything campy and ridiculous where I can honestly enjoy myself without judgment. Last week over coffee he casually asked me if I wanted to see XANADU on Broadway. I had walked past the sign two weeks earlier and said "holy shit I want to see that" under my breath lest any business men hear me.

"OH MY GOD TOTALLY!! I LOVE OLIVIA NEWTON JOHN!" my falsetto voice rang out. My face lit up and butterflies fluttered in (I knew full well she would not be in it but her spirit would be there). He was surprised at my reaction and said "Really? All right- a little Xanadu and dinner next Saturday". It was all I could talk about all week long. My Broadway actor friends made fun of me saying it was supposed to be terrible. People in my office kept saying "I know you are gay but I had no idea you were THAT GAY" to which I would reply "Have to believe we are magic" in my out of tune singing voice (because lets be honest- the gays ARE magic)

Saturday night I got dressed in my best attire despite the 85 degree weather with 100% humidity for a night at the theater- Nobody dresses up for it anymore but I don't care. I like to honor actors giving it their all by giving it my all as an audience member and to me that means dressing up. (Its all about respect you t-shirt & jeans wearing tourists who have ruined the art of dressing for the theater.) While yes I was stopped in the street and told "You must be hot!" I didn't freaking care, besides with all the old people going to theater these days they blast the AC almost like a preservative so no one has a heart attack during the show.

We arrived at the theater and realized, yes, we indeed were the demographic this was targeting- gay men, big woman, fans of the movie and people who love rainbows and roller skates all lined up and humming songs. The theater was tiny- the Helen Hayes. The set was that of a Greek theater and at first I was disappointed, I thought it would be all "Starlight Express", the other roller musical, with ramps and fancy lights etc. It was pretty stripped down. There were seats on the the stage, a rock band in the back and a tacky ass projection of a bad chalk drawing on the stage being reflected in the giant mirror above the stage. This is the very mural the young, dumb artist is working on when the muses spring to life and come out of the floor- the COOLEST most campy opening I have seen since Hairspray's bed trick for "Good Morning Baltimore".

The leading man, Sonny played by James Carpinello- who has a hot ass body with 1% body fat but no comic timing or real zip on stage (other than the zip of his rippeling leg muscles), starts the show off with a monolgue that leaves a lot to be desired. The problem- I could not tell if it was his character or him that was so bad, which ultimately left me not caring about him and just hoping his shirt would come off (it didn't). Thankfully this was soon forgotten when the most amazing comedic ensemble rode up in an elevator through the floor to "I'm Alive" through the chalk mural- I could not stop laughing. They even had the neon outlines in the projections on the floor of the "drawing" just like the movie. The muses, a mixture of effeminate hot men and character women with their beautiful leader Clio aka Kira ( Kerry Butler, who was beautiful, sunny, and hilarious) rise up and save Sonny from doom (in the plot line yes, but also from his own performace). They plan everything in faux Greek/Shakespearean/ Victorian - oh hell lets just call it fancy unison theater speak, as to how they can help this poor California artist. Clio decided she must go down to help him however she must not create art or fall in love. But how? how? She must have a disguise... that disguise- Leg warmers, roller skates and an Australian accent (the leg warmers end up being the thing that saves her life) Brilliant! The audience went nuts. I knew this show was going to rule the second Kerry Butler rolls on stage in her awesome skates with clear green flowered wheels, pink roller plates (the axles if you will), white boots, leg warmers and barret to the side of her flowing blonde hair.

The cheesy jokes, the outlandish dialogue all worked because the actors were all so amazingly committed and having a good time. Its rare to see EVERYONE and I mean EVERYONE in a cast enjoying themselves. Kerry Butler was better than I could have imagined. She had that ONJ feeling right down to her breathy "look at me" in the beginning of "Suddenly" (which includes Sonny and her dancing around with a phone booth in skates- yes people its true and it was pretty awesome). All her pop vocal nuances that sited ONJ were dead on without feeling like a Karaoke version or impersonation but an homage and a genuine comedic performance. Her Australian accent was HILARIOUS accenting all the words like "Unleeeeees" (as she rolls down a ramp with one foot out approaching Sonny) and "Mate" to give it that extra funny kick. The highlight to her hijinx is in the final number ("Xanadu") when she rolls downstage to a high wind fan being held up by a muse and blows her hair around with "sexy face" ala ONJ- I almost peed my pants it was so damn funny. It takes a lot to get me to laugh out loud and feel it all the way to the core- My friend Sonia is one of the few people who can do this- Kerry Butler, now you too.

The plot is different from the movie a bit from what I understand (only seen clips of it) but it worked very well. The two added jealous, villainous sister muses, Mary Testa and Jackie Hoffman (muse of tradgedy and epic respectively), bring the laughs and the vocal goods during songs like "Evil Woman" & "Strange Magic" both deserved a standing ovation for their comic genius. The dancers were amazing, and for such a small space they really were doing tough choreography. Andre Ward had one of the funniest moments in the show where he is Hermes delivering news to Clio in a very upright and straightforward manner when she goes on and on about her problems he sashays his cape away and says "Bitch- I don't know you" and storms off like a diva. Once again sheer comic grace.

YES- there is a ride on a cut out horse, Pegasus, to bring Clio to Zeus where she swoops gently through the cut out clouds and fog machines. YES Clash of the Titans comes to mind when on Mt. Olympus. YES there is some great tap dancing. Finally YES- there is a roller disco finale with tricks galore and awesome spandex and shorts costumes. (James Carpinello redeems himself with his skating abilities and his short shorts- very hot).

Now this show won't last - as was stated by the amazingly talented Jackie Hoffman in the show "This is like Children's Theater for 40 year old gay people" - and tourists don't like that nor get it but I sure did. All the sly references like how the show was ending (only an hour and a half no intermission) and "They only just hit the barricade across the street for the first time" (referencing its neighbor Les Miz) were lost on many but not those they targeted. We all laughed with aplomb because WE all got the jokes and that always makes a spectator feel special and more involved in a production of this sort.

This show feels like an over the top, rediculous breath of fresh air and while it may seem like a campy sketch comedy rendition of a muscial it KNOWS what it is and the sincerity of the performers make it work. Just when you are about to shift your numb butt in your seat the show is over and you are still laughing. I encourage anyone who Loves ONJ, Loves ELO, Loves 80s cheese, loves ROLLER SKATES and wants to laugh and have a good time to go and see this show- support these actors and give them the respect they deserve for truly taking you to a magical funny place, "Xanadu". (and dress up damn it!)

Two Quotes From "Crazy" Women

First off- its June, whore-ay. Humidity is upon us and that means my hair will suck. Oh well... I'm also trying to post a new story once a week- but for now...

I read today that Tammy Faye has given up her ten year battle with Cancer and is in pain 100% of the time. Now back to me- I have been in extreme pain and unable to walk in the past so I can not imagine what THAT kind of pain is like and only hope she has some good weed and painkillers on hand (because holy water won't do much for nausea and pain). If I were a praying person (OK fine I sort of pray every night- its more like a meditation thing and I will never speak of it again) I would pray she goes in her sleep and free from pain- I really mean that and there is no snarkiness intended. I saw "The Eyes of Tammy Faye" and it shed a whole new light on her. Anyway she offered up this gem

"Today I want you to remember: You can't go forward, looking in the rear view mirror, yesterday is gone, you cannot put a broken egg back together again so don't spend your energy trying." – Tammy Faye


Another quote going around in my head lately is from America's favorite former socialite turned reclusive cat lady, Big Edie Beale. Yes Big Edie, not the scarf wearing fabulously delusional dancing little Edie.

When Little Edie complains about being "given" the chance to do things Big Edie bites back with

"Everything is great that you didn't do..."- Big Edie

Too True. Which proves these woman were intelligent, aware, and ahead of their time- just a little misunderstood and with a love of raccoons, cats, and squalor to boot.

Anyway... ENJOY!