The Sookie Stackhouse Experience

HBO has been gearing up for their new series premiering in September; Trueblood http://www.hbo.com/events/trueblood/ with a lot of crazy guerrilla marketing tactics. Trueblood is based on the Sookie Stackhouse novels by Charlaine Harris. http://www.charlaineharris.com/
The series take place in the south, and Sookie is a poor white waitress working in a roadhouse who happens to be involved with vampires, werewolves and the like. The series stars Anna Paquin as Sookie.

HBO has been putting up posters all over town, then taking them down a few days later. The topics of the posters have run the gamut from promoting Trueblood, the beverage; motto "friends don't let friends drink friends. Vampires drink responsibly." To posters for the Vampire League of America etc., - all of these items are obvs part of the series.

Yesterday, HBO made their interns stand outside their HQ on 42nd Street and 6th avenue and give out promotional items. They carried petitions that were either pro- or anti-vampire amendments, wore tees that either proclaimed them as members of the American Vampire League or their opposition Fellowship of the Sun.

I'm walking by and have to stop. I've read the series, have friends who read the series and of course must get free crap to give out to friends and keep. Some of the interns don't know what it's all about. They were told to stand outside, get signatures for petitions and give away said crap. So, me being me, (read overally helpful) explain the novels to them. They start telling me stories about crazy people who have berated them for being pro vampire!

I decide to take a photo of the petitioners to send to friends (see above photo). They were very funny and cool about it. Right after I take the photo, two people, a young man and a woman run over and start screaming, "What amendment? Oh god, they're real!"
Me, being stupid again, start to go into the spiel about the novels and marketing of the TV series Below is the exchange.


"No," I say,"this is an HBO series based on the books of Charlaine Harris...blah blah blah"
The guy says, "Oh they're real! It's real."
The woman looks at me and says"Well you know, it's all based on fact."
I look at her, "I said NOVEL which means fiction."
"I heard you."
Guy"Well it's all based on blood rituals"
"You know, you're both incredibly stupid."
"You just called us stupid."
"I take it back, you're both morons"
I actually clutched my head and left!!!


Of course later, I realized I should have said that my ancestors were from the Carpathian Mountains (true) and to guess my age.

DAMN!

Seen on the B train in the afternoon.

Tacky purple sequined 80's after five dress worn with cheap lavender mules to shop in.

Lazy

I haven't accomplished one thing today. Oh, I have my to do list and it's long. But I've been lolling about on the couch watching Mumford, 10 Things I Hate About You and soaked in the tub for an hour and read a book. Now I feel like napping! All that hard work.

I really do need to get it in gear....

Yesterday April and I went over to the 125th Street Shopping area to get pedicures. Lovely, relaxing, a bit of gossip and then the rain came. And it poured, poured, poured down all around. What's normally a 15- 20 minute walk home became a three hour ordeal as we leaped from huddling under one awning then to another as they started to seriously leak.

At one point the rain stopped and we were able to get around a corner. It started again almost immediately, so we huddled in the doorway of a shoe store. Well that figures!

Eventually it all died down to a drizzle and we slid home, we both were wearing flip flops. I had to peel my jeans off my legs; they were that soaked.

Ouch

Another weekend of debauchery has passed and I am still having trouble with heels.

you'd think with all the time I spend wearing them I'd get the hang of teetering, but no. Sadly no.

Friday night a bunch of us met up at the White Rabbit in the LES http://www.whiterabbitnyc.com
to celebrate the end of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society Date Auction. Oooh boy! Get a bunch of gorgeous, smart, sexy urbane New Yorkers together and we all became hard drinking, hard flirting, screaming fools.

Ever get into a drunken debate over the future of the Art World? Don't recomend it. Try saying dystopic after three vodka gimlets and get back to me on that. Got twirled around, dragged someone by their Tee, pretended to read the menu without my glasses, sat on the bar....well, you get the gist.

Saturday morning was painful.


Was supposed to go with Nadja out to the Hamptons for a Black Tie Gala, and her car decided to not cooperate. Ended up going bar hopping with someone I met at Friday night's party. Laughed my ass off repeatedly, got my heel caught in my dress, could not find my drink in one the bars we went to - in my defense it was really, really dark - and ate big fat steak fries at 3 am..


Sunday morning wasn't pleasant either.


Have created my own drink; Vodka gimlet made with lemon flavored vodka, fresh squeezed lime juice, then shaken. Lovely.

Tuesday night was Yelp Gay Night, so a bunch of people met up at Beige. We terrorized the waitress and at one point I loudly sang the good-bye song from The Sound of Music. You know, "so long, farewell..." I should not sing.

More insanity this weekend.

It's almost July

my, my, my time flies by when you're wobbling around on heels!

Was it Blake who said the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Anyway, I really did mean to write about the insanity that occurred after the Verino event, but things, as always kept happening.

So tonight when I'm in the midst of doing a thousand other things, I reckon I'd stop here and at least write something to prove that I am still alive and kicking.

To recap

• Went with a slew of people to Stone Rose for drinks after the afore mentioned event. One guy, who shall remain nameless simply because I don't remember his name, promptly threw up on a banquette immediately upon entering the bar. Thankfully, I was far away and didn't see the waterfall.

• Went to the cocktail party for the Life Ball at the W Hotel. They had herring as an appetizer. I have nothing against herring, I just prefer it in cream sauce.

• Went to another event with the inimitable Nadja at another W Hotel, this time Union Square, had lots of lovely wine and met really nice people. Had a lot of laughs and ate some wretched Indian food after.
  

The spot used to be one of my fav places to go, and the service has become glacially slow.

Also met someone who was rather interesting, but also really drunk...
why do I attract drunk men? It must have something to do with the glass of champagne in my hand, no? So, drunk guy calls me three weeks later after the event, and I have no recollection of him at all. Then again, he said it was a different event than the one that I attended, diff hotel name etc., and truth to tell, in New York City, three weeks is a year anywhere else.

• Went to Lauren's housewarming party, she has roof access and at one point all the smokers were crowded under a tiny umbrella while lightening flashed over our heads. Most of the time all of us were tucked into her spacious living room eating and drinking a few too many brown beers. At one point we discussed the myriad ways you could eat peeps. Highly informative if a tad disgusting.

• A little late in the game, I added myself to the Yelp Leukemia & Lymphoma date auction.

Sadly I was bought for wholesale prices. Next year, I'll be one of the people at the starting gate.

• Realized belatedly and rather sadly, that music, which was such a compelling force in my life for so many years - I was a DJ and then a rock writer for gawd's sake, has become just one of those ancillary objects in my life. I've always been emotionally tied to music; it affects you physically, emotionally and psychologically. And yet at this juncture, I don't know who's hot, who's not etc., but I can tell you that you can get a super good copy of hot pink Jimmy Choo pink patent leather peep toes at Payless for $17.99. I guess when the focus of your writing (which is my life) changes, so does everything else. Which leads me to

• What is it about writing, journalism, whatever you want to call the field or what it is that I do, so tied directly to my soul? Setting words down in an coherent order, painting a mental picture for someone, telling a tale, passing information on to other people, people I don't even know, is part of my soul. I can no longer think of not writing than I could no longer think of breathing. It just is part of who I am.

I don't think my job, my vocation defines me, but if I could no longer write articles, it would be as if I'd see the world in greyscale.

• And once again, I guest lectured for Rosemary Ponzo's stylist to be class at FIT. This time around I didn't scare the students- no, it wasn't intentional- this time I walked with them through the Met Museum and talked about the superhero comic book/movie exhibit. I talked about the history of the comics, why certain colors are used for heroes and villians, how you can use color for psychological cuing when styling a film or TV show etc., and found out later that the students didn't get it. Huh? Oh well, I'll go back to terrorizing them next semester.
  

something to share

While I am still recovering from the Roberto Verrino event the other night, I thought I would share this little video with you about the upcoming Sex And The City movie; check out the tables of shoes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvS9vjF8x3A

Steinnun Fall 08

Really excellent tailoring and detail work. The basket weave effect by the hem is wonderful. Great empire waist and the color just pops at you.

This is definitely going to brighten up a winter's day.

Designed by Steinunn and presented in Milan.

Object of my desire

I am so lusting after this bike. It's a limited edition Cynthia Rowley with hand painted flowers on the frame.

I'd add a wicker basket big enough to hold the wonder dog.

Brrring-brrrring!

Aftermath

Last night was crazy; eight people, most near strangers having dinner at Primehouse http://eater.com/archives/2007/10/the_dish_primehouse_new_york.php
Primehouse is a large stunningly decorated- black and white, mirrors -nouveau steakhouse on Park South.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, making chit chat as we drink and get to know each other . The centerpiece of this dinner party are two people I know who I've introduced. The other six are witnesses to their first date. After two hours at the bar, we finally decide to get a table. There's much dancing on who will sit next to whom, and it ends up boy-girl-boy-girl.

We're laughing loudly, there's innumerable smoke breaks, someone orders bottle of champagne, a bottle of white appears, then something else, who can look at the menu with all this glorious chatter?

My across the table dinner partner is Dan, whom I've met before. He recently lost his grandmother, and I have recently (not as recently as Dan) lost my mother. I move over to his side of the table and we talk about non-party topics. I scoot back, everyone is playing musical chairs; one moment we're all sitting, the next... this is what happens when you get a bunch of social butterflies. Andrea brought the comic book she's working on. I impatiently wait until R's done viewing it so I can look. Oh, it's breathtaking, the artwork, the story line, it's amazing. Andrea mentions that she created a comic book so, "that all her friends can live there and have fantastical adventures."

Around 10 we finally order. The width of my steak is wider than my head. I look at it confusedly, I'm supposed to eat this? In one meal?

After dinner, it's decided that we're all going dancing. Colin's driver is woken up and the SUV is pulled around, 180 people pile in. No, not that many, but it did feel like a clown car. Blaine, who's been drinking champagne since brunch time is curled up around me, playing with my hands and crooning, "I'm the word, I'm superbr, I'm hot, I'm hot...baby if you want to find you, you gotta google me,"http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=76423635

over and over, and over, and over again.

We finally pull up to this club without a name somewhere in the L.E. S. hey, I was in the very backseat, what the hell do I know? Us back seat people were discussing different types of vodka.

We walk into the club. It's kinda small with white floors, a large bar, a raised area with a few tables and a stripper pole in a recessed niche. Hmmm, dancing!

A bunch of us danced, drank and flirtede. I left before the drama started and was home by 2:30am.

The next day, I crawl out of bed and stumble into the living room. My feet hurt because of the high heels, I can't turn my neck and my arms are sore-damn stripper pole-after downing advil, my cell rings.

"Hey PJ, I'm in my bedroom, where are you?"

"Hey Michelle! I'm in the living room, you wanna come out?"

After not seeing the roomie for, oh I don't know three or four days, we sit on the couch and re-connect. She tells me about one of her dates, "so we're walking through the park and talking. Finally,he puts one hand around my waist. Then he takes my hand. My waist is happy, my hand is happy, but he still hasn't kissed me!"

The good, the bad....you figure it out

Tonight I'm attending an impromptu dinner party. The hair has been professionally blown out, the nails have been done and accessories have been bought.

Why is it that if you get your hair done it only takes a half hour? You do it yourself, it's over an hour and you've poked yourself in the eye repeatedly? Forget about doing your own nails- I can barely draw in between the lines.

Two of the party are interested in each other, I think the rest of us are just a buffer if things go south. I'm hoping that it all goes well.

So that's the good, fun and nice social news of the day.

Here's the bad, not so good, shitty news of the day.

I've just destroyed a nascent friendship with someone who I thought was rather cool. Perhaps a little obsessive- not in a good way- but funny and kindhearted.

What did I do? I blurted something out that I swore (to myself) that I would never tell her. Whoops doesn't even cover it. How about fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I think that's a bit better, but doesn't really hit the depths of idiocy that I plunged myself into last night. There's not a thing I can do to rectify it either.

Last night as the snow is flinging itself around us, fucking up our hair, making our maquillage look like Tammy Faye's, we stand in a street talking. Well, I'm being talked at anyway. When I try to explain myself, I realize that I'm not being listened to, then again, if someone is angry with you, they're not going to listen to you because they're boiling over with emotions.
I then say a few things;

"Do not ascribe any emotions that I'm not feeling to me."

"Why don't you just admit what's really going on."

"This is a no win situation, I'm going home."

And you know what, I am positive I sounded like a bitch. And you know what, when someone is telling you that you ought to be feeling X, or you did something because you were feeling guilty (which I wasn't), you get bitchy.

I can be a bitch, I've been called one, also arrogant and a few other choice things. Yup, I can be that. I can and am usually the one who will take that 3 am phone call, who will meet you in the pouring rain at the cafe to hold your hand while you spill your guts out. I am a lot of things.

What I'm not is a one dimensional paper doll. Just because I may say or do one thing, don't expect me to follow the party line. I follow my own.

Speaking of following my own road, one night not too long ago I'm having drinks with someone, who apropos to nothing, turns to me and says, "I can't read you." I smile and keep drinking.

Of course you can't read me. I have no idea what your agenda is, I have no idea why you are seeking out my friendship, I have no idea what you want from me. The days when I babbled my heart's desires to almost total strangers has long since passed. Much like purple eye shadow. It's great for 12 year olds and that's about it.

You have to remember that we each view reality, if that's what it is, through our own filters of experience and emotion. And according to the ex-friend I am filled with self-importance.

If self-importance is being comfortable in your own skin, of knowing your worth, if it's having a good sense of self-esteem, than I am self-important.

As for the friendship I wrecked, what can you do? I did something very stupid and nothing in the world will fix what I've done. The onus is on me. I take responsibility for my great and stupid acts.

That anger thing

I'm pissed off; I don't want to use a euphemism, and I don't want to put it delicately, but I'm pissed on so many levels.

I'm trying to decide whether or not I am angrier at myself or the other person in this equation.

I just can't stand liars.

Conundrum

If i stay home to work, I find something else to do. If I go out, I worry about not doing all the piled up work. When I attempt working during the day, all I want to do is nap.

What to do, what to do, what to do???

And now for something serious

I'm not usually serious here, or really anywhere for that matter. There's a lot of stuff that I keep locked away in my brain; not to be used for public consumption.

But, this is something that I decided that I wanted to share, to say out loud. Who knows, maybe it will help some one, some where...

I have BDD; that's Body Dysmorphic Disorder. It's considered to be an outgrowth for people who have dealt with an eating disorder. It doesn't matter if you were bulimic, anorexic or anything that comes under the eating disorder umbrella, if you've struggled with it, there's a chance that you'll develop BDD. Not everyone who's had an eating disorder gets it, and I think, but I haven't done research on this, but I do think it's possible to have BDD without having to pass the prerequisite course. Having struggled with anorexia for years, I'm pretty much over it now, but I've got the side effect.

What is it? It's the inability to see oneself in a true light. A lot of people with BDD obsess over a particular body part; thighs, waist, hips. In their mind, the body part is grotesquely huge and out of proportion. It's another way to hate your body.

Me? I look in the mirror, acknowledge that it's me and that's just about it. For years I have stumbled around not knowing if I was pretty, ugly, coyote ugly (you gnaw your arm off in the middle of the night to escape), stunning or average. Had a dim idea of how I looked physically, but wasn't always sure.

It's like I've spent most of my life stumbling around in the dark. Now here's the weird part, it's fashion week, I'm up early stumbling around trying to get ready to go back to the tents and look at more clothes, I'm exhausted from lack of sleep and not coordinated at all.

Tripping over 10,000 pairs of shoes that are strewn across my bedroom floor, I glance at the floor length mirror in my bedroom. I stop. I blink. I walk closer and look again.

For the first time ever, I recognize myself. For the first time I finally see what the rest of the world sees when they look at me.

I'm a freaking knockout.

And I have a pair of shoes and a rolodex that I stubbed my toe on to thank for that relevation.

Weird, huh?

I'm baaaaaaaack!

I'm back. I can't swear that I am going to post everyday or not, but I'm here, live as it were on the net.

Since I write for a living, there are days when I feel like I'm going to explode if I write one more thing....hence the silence.

Quick Update-

Ivan is practically engaged- he's living with E in the Slope- haven't heard from him in a looong time.
Albert moved to Mamaroneck- is also living with his intended
Diana and Isa the wonderdog are still hanging in there
James and Tanitha are engaged.
My dog still hides when I try to groom her.

I've switched from covering music/entertainment to covering fashion and beauty. I will occasionally do something music related, only if the spirit moves me. Am going to be interviewing Sasha of Sasha and Digweed soon.

Am still living where I live.
Am now blonde and loving it.
Am still single.
Am currently looking for a new Shifu.
Am still addicted to shoes.

See, nothing changes!

Free Vodka

Went to the party for Patrica Field at Capitale last night - lots of free vodka. Got the brilliant idea (at the time) to ask for a vodka gimlet in a tall glass; this equals two drinks in one.

Today it doesn't feel like it was a brilliant idea.

Ran into Michael Musto at one point, "Michael," I said, " A straight woman couldn't get laid here if she ran up a flag and screamed."

He laughed.

Very sleepy--murderous thoughts about last night's shoes....will continue in a more coherent manner tomorrow

Am off to a thing tonight, and as usual dragging poor Ivan with me. It's a show at Rothko--we'll be checking out a few bands and the open bar. It's very important in my line of work to know about up and coming bands the buzz, etc., Free drinks don't hurt either.

Met Andrew Cuomo yesterday. Very tall, good handshake, direct eye-contact. Seems like a nice man.

Am almost done reading "Fast Food Nation," and "Sarah Churchill Duchess of Marlborough," but still have to get through John Locke's book. It's on my bedside table, I've been switching between that and "Fast Food." I started reading "An Essay Concerning Human Understanding," while reading the bio about the Duchess because she was a fan of his, and I wanted to more fully understand her mindset. I am such a geek.

Still trying to figure out the correlations between that and my current audio obsession, Gabriel and Dresden's "Bloom" CD. It's their debut CD and indiscribably delicious. The type of aural soundscape that you must dive into and are reluctant to leave. Dance music that isn't dance, trance that rocks and beats that sing through your bones.

I opened up my email this morning and found a note from the same reader who dropped the other note;

"PJ,

I read you blog entry today with much interest. Today I found you more interesting. No gloomy dead cat commentary. No Queer Eye for the Straight Guy sightings. Apparently you were energized by my e-mail. If so, that’s great.

I feel like a muse. PJ, are there male muses? Or – pun intended – can one be an e-male muses? I like puns. Many people don’t. I heard a fine author on c-span a few weeks ago say that he dislikes puns. Puns, like Jacob Cohen from Babylon, NY, a.k.a. Rodney Dangerfield, get no respect. Good old Jacob died on Tuesday.

So your distorted word was “whee.” And you say a discreet whee.

You write, anyone who knows you knows that there are guys attracted to a petite redhead who has problems with spatial dynamics. Tell me about you and spatial dynamics. I’d like to know more. Next blog? An e-mail?

Do know about spatial dynamically challenged woman, but I too like petite. This brings me back to puns – specifically homonyms. While there is no we, I know you are petite, that is you are wee and you recently experienced a discreet whee. Oui?

nycxxxx44"


It's nice to greet the morning with a laugh. It's sad about Rodney Dangerfield, he was a very funny, clever man. My mom told me once, that somehow through the New York single scene, a friend of a friend once tried to fix Mom and Rodney up. I asked what happened, she said that they talked on the phone, but she wasn't that impressed with him.

Looking back, I realize that this was right before she had gotten sick and when I thought I had all the time in the world to ask her about her life.

On a lighter note, I attempted to watch the debate last night. Three seconds into it, I started screaming at Cheney and had to leave before I started throwing things at the set.

A Vice President (I forget who, how appropo) was once quoted as saying that "The Vice Presidency isn't worth a spittoon full of warm spit." So, on that note, I did think it was funny that the VP's and VP's to be were arguing on TV. Traditionally, the VP goes to functions that the President can't make, patiently waits to step in if the President is incapacitated, and not much else. Except Cheney. Bush 2.0 is the only president who doubles as a ventriloquist's dummy, and yeah, we know who's putting words in his mouth, and pulling the strings - Cheney.

I love how Cheney discreetly mentions he's for gay rights this election. Lest we all forget, one of his daughters is gay and was the head of a gay PAC. When Cheney was elected, she was oh so discreetly paid off and flew into the woodwork. Now, when it's politically expedient, he remembers her.

Rather than go on and on about the present administration, I'm going to stop as I'm in a good mood right now and don't want to lose it. I've got an entire day to get through and want to greet it smiling.

Oh boy!

I got an email from a reader of this blog that I felt like sharing with you.

"'What in the world is one to make of today's entry? I, like you, am a New Yorker. But your so-called weekend in one word which is not a word but rather is nonsense. And if anything PJ it is two words. And more importantly, it says nothing to me about our town - New York.

PJ, please explain. Either explain to me by return e-mail or in you blog. I will be reading.

nycXXXX44"

First of all, I'm delighted to get mail, so if you've been thinking about dropping me a line, go ahead. Half the time, I'm playing around here when I should be doing work, but aren't most writers great procrastinators? When I'm writing, the only time I've ever gotten mail was from my Op Eds for the New York Post. I have to say that the hate mail was fun to read. Not that I like being castigated, but the atrocious grammar and wacky assumptions were hilarious. That really was the only time I've ever gotten reader feedback from my work.

About the word I used to describe the weekend, it was the extremely elongated version of the word, "whee." That word is usually used to describe good things or something fun. I was trying to be discreet.

When I started this blog, I made a promise to myself and in print as well, that there were just certain things I would not or could not write about. I do want to live and while I can hint about certain frustrations in being a freelance writer, there's no way in hell that I'm going to name names. Same goes for my private life. Oh yeah, I can be a dating fool. Anyone who knows me, or has read this blog knows that there are guys out there who are attracted to a petite redhead who has problems with spatial dynamics. So I will write about some of my adventures. The things that my friend Ivan and I get up to sometimes can be downright silly. We become two 17 year old boys, bitching about guitars, me seriously mooning over basses, and have been known to run around Tower Records and push all the heavy metal CDs into prominence.

Back to Saturday night--I'll give the very bare bones--the very bare bones

Went to CBGB's to check out The Exit and a few other bands that were playing that night. The Exit were performing to promote the release of their New CD, "Home For An Island." I did catch part of Asobi Seksu's set and liked them. Female lead singer, plays keyboards--Raveonettes meets Blondie with nice guitar work. Exit reminds me of early U2. I'm talking from the "Boy," "October," and "War" era, before they got schmaltzy--and just to shake things up a bit, they've got some chord changes that you swore were early Police. Yeah, yeah, I know there are only so many chords to go around, but I would watch the grouping.

If you were there and saw a small woman all in black wearing silver and white boots - that was me. Anyway....something unexpected and nice happened. That's all you're going to get out from me.

Wanna do me a favor...check out my interview with Sonic Youth at UGO.com. You'll be able to watch and read it. In a few days, you should be able to watch my interview with Two Gallants and read my inerterview with the extremely swoony Gabriel and Dresden there as well.

Okay...go! Go there now!

Weekend in one word

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!