Sunday, May 31, 2009

From Rags to Bitchin' (Meme of Fame 3/7)

Bleeding Heart, acrylic on canvas, 24" x 48"
private collection, Lafayette, Colorado

OK, for starters, this time I have an excuse for not posting in a while, not visiting your blogs, and not responding to your generous blog comments. My sister had a total hip replacement and I flew to visit her and my mother. She's coming along, but what an ordeal! The surgeon delicately described the situation in the vicinity of her pelvic bones as "a train wreck," but he does avow she is on her way to being far better off than before the procedure. Yes, the indicators are this is the case. Please nonetheless send healing energy in this direction:

What we're aiming for is for things to stay in place long enough for Donna to heal, regain some strength, and be back on her feet (literally.) I have faith. She's tough and determined.

I am now going to pick up where I left off in the Meme of Fame series, although in today's installment I have altered the name of the (somewhat) famous party so as to avoid litigation.

Kevin L, Marty Award Winner, Best New Menswear Designer on the West Coast. Purchased a series of small male nudes from our San Francisco gallery, along with one in-your-face, larger-than-life, male nude. Kevin was up for the fashion award when he bought these. Confided in me he was pretty sure he would win and wanted his house to look fabulous for the celebration party. He won. The house looked fabulous. The revelers adored the colossal painting of the naked man.

Then things began to reverse themselves. Kevin's clothing company's earnings began shrinking. Kevin had an artistic soul which yearned for an outlet other than sweater vests. Kevin himself crashed and burned out at the age of 30. Put his house on the market, told me he wanted out of the "rag trade" and to move back home to southern California and pursue a career in photography. His real estate agent said the big naked man had to go before he began parading prospective buyers through the house. Kevin asked me to buy the painting back. I refused. Where the hell would I hang such a thing? In the children's playroom? I advised Kevin to store the painting until his house was sold, then haul it to the new location. (I'd been trying to get rid of that thing for better than a year. It was a beautifully accomplished painting, yes, but the market for male nudes is limited, let alone six-foot-tall male nudes.) Enough time had lapsed since the transaction that Kevin didn't have a leg to stand on. He pitched a hissy fit, tried to read me The Wright Act. I stood my ground, much to his annoyance. He stalked out of the gallery and I've never seen him since. His parting words: "Your shoes are fabulous, but your attitude is sheer frump." *

And for the record, Keven did re-invent himself as a photographer, and he still does a little fashion designing too. I've seen his stuff in the big department stores and it does have flair. If I were a man, I would wear it. Truth be told, I have worn it. I've been known to rifle through Bennie's side of the closet, searching for his one shirt by Kevin. It's, if you can imagine such a thing, inspired by bowling shirts AND the paper cutouts of Henri Matisse. High-brow culture meets low-brow culture. And the buttons are to die for. Kevin, he always had a way with buttons.

*Not really. I made that up. But, God, I wish he'd said that. How I wish he'd said that.

Friday, May 15, 2009

13 Easy Steps to a New You

Self Portrait
mixed media on canvas

private collection, Richmond, Virginia

Ever look in the mirror and hate what you see? Ever feel like re-inventing yourself? Maybe as a rock star, movie star, or porn star? Come on. Admit it. You've always dreamed of being a spy.

Or a country western singer.

You know, deep down, who you are. Deep inside your restless soul a NASCAR driver is revving the engine.

It's really not that difficult to take on a whole new identity. No, I'm not talking about internet fraud. Or the Witness Protection Program. I'm talking about actual transformation of body, mind, and soul. Last month I stumbled on some powerful tools of transformation at Akelamalu's place. I've been trying them out, and they really, really work. I feel obliged to pass them on. Take them. Please.

Here you go: 13 safe, affordable, and highly effective ways to become The New You. (Just respond to the prompts in parentheses, and, like that, you're starring in a soap opera!) If you need to, bend the rules, alter the prompts. That's the name of this game.

1. My rock star name.
(first pet, current car):
Fluffy Lexus.
Hey, that sounds more like my porn star name. Purrrrrrrrrrr.

2. My gangsta name.
(favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe):
Moose Tracks Stiletto.

That's no gangsta name, sucka. That's a gangster name. But I'm down with it.

3. My Native American name.
(favorite color, favorite animal):
Cadmium Red Deep Dog.

Now that be the shiznit of gangsta names.

4. My soap opera name.
(middle name, city where I was born):
Gail Albertville.
Gosh darn, that sounds so innocuous. I was hoping to be the hot villainess everyone loves to hate. If I take my last name and pair that with the second name of the next to the last city I've lived, then count back three cities prior to that, and plug that one in the middle, we get:
Merideth Montgomery Francisco
That's more like it.

5. My Star Wars name.
(the first 3 letters of my last name, first 2 of my first name):
Or, we could take the name of my first crush, then pair that with something that's always above my head, plus an action I performed this morning with my dog Trudy. And we have:
Luke Skywalker

6. My Superhero name.
(my second favorite color, favorite drink):

Teallatte is the nemesis of Moose Tracks Stiletto.

7. My NASCAR name.
(first names of my grandfathers):
Tom Lewis.

Second names would have worked better:
Newton Powell.
Or maiden names of my grandmothers would've been best:
Carter Lackey.
Never mind. That's my country western singer name.
What about the second name of my husband and the second name of his father and the second name of his father?:
Joe Joe Thomas.
Or, better yet, let's skip this identity altogether. Who the hell said I wanted to be a NASCAR driver?

8. My dancer name.
(the name of my favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy):
White Diamonds Godiva.
What do you take me for? A lap dancer?

9. My TV weather anchor name.
(my 5th grade teacher's last name, a major city that starts with the same letter):
Kilcrease Kissimmee.
Roll over, Rob Marciano.

10. My spy name.
(my favorite season/holiday, flower):
Autumn Iris Christmas Rose.
I'm a double agent.

11. My cartoon name
(favorite fruit, article of clothing I'm wearing right now):
Pineapple Pantyhose.
Sponge Bob Square Pants' main squeeze.

12. My movie (or porn) star name
(current pet, laundry detergent of choice):
Trudy (2x ultra) All

13. My hippie name
(what I ate for breakfast, my favorite tree):
Moons-over-My-Hammy Sweetgum
...only if I was conceived in a Motel 6 next door to a Denny's in Tampa...
I wasn't, but...
Plain-Nonfat-Yogurt-with-Fresh-Strawberries-and-Organic-Almonds Eucalyptus a bitch to remember. Soooooo... inner (Southern) child will always answer to:
Grits Magnolia.
Handy. It's also my prize-fighter name.