See more at Ring My Bell.
HELLO? WHERE AM I? IS THIS THING ON? I’m not a well woman, you know. It seems I’m sunburned. Yep. Singed to a crisp! Red like a lobster! Strange, as I haven’t been seen in direct sunlight for over a decade. But there you go. And here I am. And STILL I’m just exhausted from last weekend’s shenanigans. OMG. I’m still trying to piece it all together. I remember Friday morning, getting breakfast before the big Ring My Bell marathon began (sushi and vodka, hmmm, maybe that’s where it started). And I can tell you that right from the start the energy in the storefront was UP, the phones were ringing OFF THE HOOK, and I managed a happy-happy-peppy-perky conversation with the hundreds, NO THOUSANDS, of fabulous people who called in to show their support. There were many highlights: AND I’M TALKING TO YOU, MISTER RYAN WORKMAN! Did you see him perform? When he did his little “Ryan Unplugged” set? OMG WASN’T HE JUST THE CUTEST THING EVER? Well, I could just put him in my pocket and keep him there forever- he was THAT ADORABLE! Someone called in to say that he sounded like “the beating wings of a thousand angels”. …I thought I heard the beating SOMETHING-elses of a thousand FAGGOTS, but that’s just me. After that, the floodgates just opened up: the hot, three-month-old beer started flowing, the UKULADY showed up, as did many friends and homeless people and various immigrants and guest stars including: Dylan Vox, Lenora Claire, Mary Ann Heagerty, Andrew Schneider, and the hip new artist PLASTIC GOD. Then there was Moye! YAY MOYE! (For those of you too young to remember: Moye once worked at the WOW offices, but that was way back in the long, long ago.) And, oh, were you there when Michael Alig called, and we had that fun little chat about life in his latest prison unit? Is anybody editing any of it so we can post it? Somebody? Anybody? [Ed note: You can watch the whole first hour, which we call “Episode 1,” by clicking on the image at the top of this page]
Anyway, as the night wore on, and my voice wore out, the band Marie Catastrophe stopped by to perform and to just generally add to the Warholian chaos that was beginning to take over. People continued to wander in from off the street, TMZ stopped by to film, and even LA WEEKLY came by to write an article. I had a few outfit changes. Then drank some whisky. Thairin was telling some of the local callers to come on by, so I proceeded to molest as many of them as I could (hello FLUFFYBOOTS!)…. OH YEAH, and I talked and talked and talked some more on the phone, trying to drum up as much support for my book as I could. BUY THE BOOK! BUY THE BOOK! BUY THE BOOK!
After 17-and-a-half continuous hours, there was suddenly a problem with the transmission. We had no picture. No video. No ME. And unless someone could wake up Tom Wolf and get him over here, it wasn’t going to be fixed. So that was it, then. Now I felt a little weird about cutting it short, as the phones were still ringing, and the boys were still cute, and I could still put subject to verb and all…. But then I remembered that sleep was nice, too, and that was the deciding factor. So I went home and went to bed. BUT IT DOESN’T END THERE! OH NO! No rest for the wicked! I had a brunch date that I couldn’t break, then cut to: THE HELLO RAVER, HELLO KITTY RAVE, SATURDAY NIGHT. In Compton. Or Inglewood. Or SOMEWHERE where an old queen wearing a BIG pearl necklace and a shaving foam glop for a wig is not the norm…. THAT’S where I ended up…. Here, look: