SHAVINGS FROM MY HEAD

    Every year around Oscar time, I’m often compared (by the women at work—god bless them) to Robert Verdi. To them, this is a logical pairing—two big queens that shave their heads and work in fashion. Naturally I consider him to be a bigger queen. But, I suppose to a straight woman, we are one in the same: shiny, colorful homos with opinions about mode.

So whenever I hear, “Hey you remind me of that guy…you know…the one from….”

“Fashion Police?”, I add briskly—to quickly move away from the red carpet comparison.

Said comparative usually occurs around the office color-copier within days of the Oscars, because Mr. Verdi has emerged again, featuring a pair of over-sized sunglasses stuck to his head (his signature), and with microphone in hand, gets busy with the big queen task at hand: scrutinizing Hollywood stars and their red carpet catastrophes. 

 Once my co-worker has moved past the, you’re-two-gay-men-with-shaved-heads, and I’ve renewed my mental reminder to n-e-v-e-r wear sunglasses on my head indoors, we get down to the gowns.

Past years have gone something like this:

“So….who was your favorite?”

I know she is expecting big-fashion-queen-statements, each accompanied by a magnificent sweeping gesture. (Think Kay Thompson in Funny Face—Toooo the women of America..noooo…make it to the women e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e! )

You get the drift.

Thus, in the name of good employee relations, I pony up—disregarding my copy machine obligations.

“Well”, I begin, elevating my index finger to my chin and raising my eyes to the (unfinished, industrial ceiling) of “the design center”/my office, followed by a long pause.

“I l-o-v-e-d Hilary Swank’s navy sheath!”

Before I’ve even embarked on my inventory of additional favorites, (which decreases every year) I‘m met with dissolution, and then served a vacant stare.

Here I should note that, loving a dress with long sleeves, a high neck and no slit, (the color is debatable—since most women consider navy a slimming color) is like asking her to compare me, to say, Brad Pitt—as opposed to Robert Verdi.

 My love for understated clothes is unrequited in today’s red carpet world, and these copy-machine Q and A’s are generally followed by equally minimal dialogue—as I am unwilling to offer accolades for some flashy, cleavage-promoting, cake topper-of-a-gown. 

Akin to those bad judgment booty-calls—upon discovering that the blowjob wasn’t worth it, or that I’m no Robert Verdi—my copy machine co-worker begins plotting her escape.

She pinches out a polite, “Really?”, followed by a bogus search for a missing, nonexistent photocopy.

“Yeah” I counter—knowing I’ve already lost her.

I try to regain her interest, issuing a signature Fashion Police citation regarding the accessories and hair, but it doesn’t help. Understated has lost again. And like the aforementioned bad booty-call, she dismisses me with a wave of her paper and disappears into the maze of cubicles.

Left alone, I swear that next year I’m going to blank the Academy.

Yet…here we go again.

So stay tuned for part two…..my-er, Oscar Weinners from this year. I’m praying for lots of tailored, elegant, lady-like clothes in shades of brown and navy…

If you’ve been following The Awfully BIG Adventures of MiniMe, then you know I’m attracted to things that address…ummm, playing with scale.

Last week I attended the opening of an exhibit called Curiouser & Curiouser—a show inspired by Alice in Wonderland—at the Nucleus Gallery. Prior to discovering an amazing collaborative display of artwork, I had to find my way to Alhambra.

Somewhere w-a-y on the other side of Los Angeles, as I made my way along the 10 freeway, I felt akin to Alice…like I’d fallen into a dark rabbit hole and would never find my way.

But….eventually I made it, and was able to interview artist (and friend) Neysa Bove’ who contributed to the exhibition.

MM: Neysa great to see you!

NB: Hi MiniMe. Glad you could make the show. You’re looking awfully shiny this evening.

MM: Thanks Neysa. You’re looking as cute as ever. So, are you excited to be part of this wonderful wonderland collaborative?

NB: Yes. To be showing with so many artists from around the globe. It’s great! Inspiring!

MM: Your work looks fantastic. Was it difficult to get into “Alice” mode for this show?

NB: Actually, the theme of the show fits great with my style, my work. I like to work with a lot of pastel, pastry colors and well, it was perfect for the theme of this show.

MM: Beautiful! Well, great to see you….keep up the good work!

NB: Good seeing you as well. Keep it little.

Nucleus Gallery exhibits both local artists and artists from abroad, and catering to an international customer base, they offer an extensive collection of original contemporary, illustrated, graphic, commercial, and narrative art – all of which are carefully catalogued on their website. With the opening of Alice in Wonderland this weekend, you might want to check it out @ www.gallerynucleus.com. I bought two things—one BIG and one small….

                                                                                      Neysa In Wonderful

Targeted Love

The fourteenth of February, had become something strange…

…like his heart had been placed, on the firing range.

He wondered and he questioned: Can my affections attach?

Would there ever be another…

                           …..to become his love match?

Should I take another shot, at an interesting buck?

And hope for a hit, to improve on my luck?

Now a year had elapsed, while he thought that he might…

…start reviewing new men, for their bark or their bite.

With the hopes that his heart, might emerge from its tomb…

…he took another shot, from his circular room.

As he searched for a match, just like Noah for his Ark….

…twas’ dogs he loved more, for their bite and their bark!

So the fourteenth of February, now became something stranger…

 …had his heart been attacked? Would it always feel danger?

Whenever Valentine’s Day approaches, the television seems to kick it into overdrive, airing nonstop movies devoted to love. I just finished watching Sleepless in Seattle—the modern day twist on the Deborah Kerr, Cary Grant movie An Affair to Remember (a classic—in case you’ve been living under a rock).

Over the last week the E channel has played it about a million times.

Like slowing down to survey the aftermath of a horrific car accident, it always seems to pull me in.

Once it’s over, while the soundtrack plays, accompanied by the scroll of credits, I’m always inspired—even when single and Valentine’s Day looming—to stay in the game, hold to my empire state of mind and believe in an elevated version of love. Then, while I’m wondering what wonderful version of love will happen next, I’m slapped back to reality with a whore-a-scope view of relationships: Keeping Up with the Kardashians. (or as I refer to “it” Creeping up with the Kardashians) 

And then I’m left with this: When it comes to relationships, especially around Valentine’s Day, is better to rely on a replica when demonstrating the realities of romance? Which fake is better? An affair with old Hollywood or today’s fake boobs on the tube?

Their relationship had always been competitive.

For as long as Elaine could remember, whenever the pair came together things became unbalanced, out of proportion.

One could only focus on the little details, while the other was eternally consumed with BIG thoughts.

But…there was one thing she knew they both loved, one thing that could lure them together: potato chips! Whenever the occasion arose for consumption of the starchy crisps, nothing, no matter how big or how small, could restrain the duo. 

 Remembering the iconic slogan, Betcha can’t eat just one, Elaine dangled the bag of Lays sour cream and onion potato chips in front of the feuding pair.

“Go ahead try one” she coaxed, hoping for the best.

 Maybe it would finally crack their rivalry, she thought. Or perhaps it would instigate more crummy behavior—producing a shattered aftermath. But somewhere at the bottom of their crunchy demeanor, Elaine figured she had to chip in…

…because a life ruffled has a lot of ridges!

The (what I thought was a) simple question  still begs….and perhaps there are NOT 100 things every gay man should do in his lifetime? I’m keeping the list up with the hopes of reaching my goal….and shall continue adding to it as things stream in…

….but at this point, it appears that I may have to write something different.

Still, any thoughts/additions to the Homo Bucket List are greatly appreciated. (see below/previous post)…

Tina Pop

   As I type this—after an early, covert trip to the 24-hour CVS for nail polish remover and a tussle with the foil seal on the Advil bottle—my Sally Hansen-Flirt- #12-stained-fingers are the final residue of last evening: Factory 54—the twenty-year reunion of a friend’s twentieth birthday. In gay-speak…he turned forty. The evening was driven by the theme and all attendees were expected to arrive in accordance. For weeks I raked my shiny little head for how and or who I should be. My aspiration: someone who’d been part of the Andy/Studio crowd, but not the obvious choices: Liza, Halston, Liz, Calvin, Brooke… and then, like walking through parted throngs and past the velvet ropes, I remembered her quiet elegance.

Andy Darling

It was a gray, blistery afternoon in New York City—the kind that can challenge ones desire to continue residence—but I remained unfazed as I sashayed through the doors of the Carlyle Hotel and shook the weather off my nearly-floor-length Perry Ellis coat. It was during the impressionable years of my burgeoning design career that I was offered a ticket to a Hanae Mori fashion show and I went dressed accordingly: all black clothing. After taking my seat atop one of those elegant, yet ridiculously uncomfortable gold chairs, I scanned the crowd while simultaneously filing away garment details from their attire. Just as I’d begun to lose interest, she appeared: signature red lips and slicked back hair, black turtle neck and pants—all wrapped in a trench-coat and cinched into a tiny waist. She was the Asian version of Audrey Hepburn. After she’d made her way through the seated, gossipy crowd, offering a nod here and a smile there, Tina Chow took her rightful place in the front row and happily across the runway from me…who was not in the front row. If questioned, with regards to the fashion show, I could recount nothing more than a blur of oversized chiffon flowers, because I spent the entire time starring at her.

A few years later she was dead.

Andy's Angels--Farrah meets Tina

So…in honor of Tina I set out to become the (sort of) woman I am not. At first, I decided to go with Tina Mao—combining the two Warhol muses’ so that I could capitalize on my shaved head. But while in the early stages of conception, I was graciously awarded a cropped black wig. So I improvised and became Tina Chow Mane, with the plan to attend as a performance piece and, when the wig became annoying, transition from Chow-Mane to Mao. My partner in crime, another NYC insider, was Pat Cleveland-Ohio.

All seemed to effortlessly come together. Tina Warhol t-shirt…check. Asian smoking jacket…check. False eyelashes…check.

And then I made a grave error in judgment: Wouldn’t it be the perfect touch to have her signature dark nails, I wondered—resulting in my first visit to CVS. (Which, sidebar, while par oozing the isles, brought with it another supermodel from the pack: Cherry Halls—which I happily “passed around” throughout the evening)

A Runway Reunion--Ohio State of mind n' Me

The pictures, like underground film out-takes, reveal a lot! The only other thing I can say is this: my memory of Tina Chow shall remain elegantly in tact forever and I’ve had more than enough of my fifteen minutes of fame….

     ….but unfortunately, my nails shall remain stained indefinitely.   

Nail Gunzzzz fired for the LAST time!

here’s my shot at being Warhol. It’s Pat Cleveland-Ohio getting ready. I’m calling it Ohio No-She-Didn’

Balls out, balls up…

…or tucked into an athletic cup.

High balls, balls that sag…

…and sometimes get used as a gag.

They might be pitched when playing the field…

…or clowned with,

                           when emotions yield.

There is a lot you can do with the likes of one.

But playing with two…

…makes ones desire more fun.

Ebony N' MiniMe

   In the spring of 1968, small clumps of buttery crocuses burst onto the landscape of our yard, while feather duster-like clusters of violet hydrangeas—ones my mother favored for her massive arrangements—began to form on their bushes in unity. All obvious, albeit beautiful displays of escape from a winter-filled exile. It was that same spring that my eight-year old head bloomed with dreams that integrated other boys. And as vividly as I can recall their vital push into my everyday existence, like being present at the funeral of someone well-liked, I can also recall the stench of death that grew alongside those flowery thoughts. For as vibrant as those hydrangea plumes were, there was also a palpable unhappiness that spring over the difference of color and the conflict of segregation.

                                                                                      *******************************

 “Lock your door,” my Aunt Regina advised, as we drove around Dupont Circle in her VW bus before heading up Connecticut Avenue toward home. Up and away from the shouting and overturned cars. Away from the fires and broken storefront windows. Away, it seemed, from angry urban outbursts, away from a retaliation to hate and prejudice and back to the safety of Chevy Chase. Back to the all-white world of manicured shrubs and pedigreed educations, back to the blooming crocuses and bursting hydrangea bushes. Back to accepted color.

It was not long after that prejudice-laden spring, the spring Martin Luther King was shot, that I learned another facet of black culture: I learned to pass. I quickly discovered that although I too had a dream that was diverse, it was also an unacceptable elementary school aspiration. If I talked about my dream, it brought with it hate and prejudice, taunting and bullying, whispers and slurs. Even in elementary terms, what was paramount was taught in black and white, illustrated with chalk against a blackboard. I learned to be a quiet observer.

 I learned to pass for straight.

                                                                                        ****************************

 Many years passed—decades really—before I sincerely considered there might be a realization to my dream. It had a different angle, a more worldly perspective, but it was still the same “brightly colored” dream—now, unfortunately, deeply rooted within (the right-wing views of) the American dream. I was forty-eight before I ever spoke of my dream aloud. Subsequently I wrote columns about my dream—the dream of my people. I congregated with others who shared the same dream, picketing, yelling and marching toward the hope of realization.  I even attended friends’ (realized, but not always) variations of that dream. So much time had passed and yet my dream had remained as simple—albeit flowery in execution—as it had always been: to be married to another man. Maybe he would be Black, or Hispanic, or White, but a man.

                                                                                 *********************************

 So on this day of remembrance, the fiftieth in my life, from one ordinary, everyday little queen, to the King: it is because of you, forty-two years later that I am still able to dream. And along with all those years of colorful, elaborate, covert dreams, today I shall dream out loud in a great big cyber-world—where anyone, like it or not, can equally observe my dream…..

 …and from this day forward:

Let freedom ring in black and white newsprint in the wedding section of the Sunday Times.

Let freedom ring in a band of gold on my left hand.

Let freedom ring with me in a white tux, my husband in a black one….

…..and a string of bridesmen—each clutching tasteful bouquets of violet hydrangeas.

This is another tale from The BIG life of MiniMe. This one is @ Sea. A Story that includes One Princess (the Coral Princess cruise ship—a close relation to the Love Boat), eleven queens (10 couples and Me), sixteen days at sea, nine destination points, and w-a-y too much food. 

Plane…but never simple

Off we go…here I am @ LAX—headed for Miami, where I’ll board the ship headed into the Caribbean. First stop Aruba, then a few stops in Columbia, through the Panama Canal, a couple of stops in Costa Rica and back up through Mexico with three stops before home. My traveling companions are all coupled: several close friends and an extended gaggle of queens—men who know men who know other men…who all travel together.

I’ve just gotten through the nightmare known as check in and security. Since I was flying coach, I got all New York and stuck myself in the First Class line with my friends Tom and Ed—two elegant older men. I pretended to be a member of their staff, diminished to coach by my cheap employers. Works every time. The check-in lady even checked my bags for free! 

…here T and E and (Mini) Me at the Miami airport. E booked us this huge limo! Suddenly I feel v-e-r-y small. Hummm…I wonder what life would be like driving around in one of these every day. A worthwhile wish?..or maybe I’m just being plastic. 

…that’s the shoreline of Florida in the back. Out on the balcony for departure. Out to sea to see new things in the great BIG world….

…after a few days at sea…just chillin’ with a brewski….

…first stop Aruba. It was Christmas Day and NOTHING was opened—so I just took a few pictures. That’s the boat behind me. Pretty big huh?…

…here I am in Cartagena Columbia. When we got off the boat, these lovely (dancing) ladies were there to greet us. They let me take a photo with them. I thought their colorful outfits matched my shirt perfectly….

…here I am in front of a church in the Old City (section) of Cartagena. There was a wedding that day and I lost my friends just after taking this photo. I think they were getting annoyed with all my picture taking…

…just chillin’ and drinking and working on my tan around the pool. A plastic tan never fades….

…here we were going through the Panama Canal. Very cool. I learned that the canal is often called the biggest ditch or the World’s Greatest Shortcut! Construction of the Canal started in 1904 and took ten years to build! The first ship sailed through on August 15, 19914! They are building a second one now…go figure. It took all day to go through. 

…here I am after the most amazing day and my favorite of the trip! We spent the day horseback riding up in the hills and then we all zip-lined back down through the mountains—stopping at a few waterfalls to swim. Amazing. Heading back to the boat. Don’t I look happy?…

…a little snorkeling off the coast of Mexico. Good times, except my head kept filling up with water….go figure. My bathingsuit is vintage….cute right?

….and last, but not least…a farewell drink, our final day at sea. Back in L.A. tomorrow. Gonna miss this boat, the adventure and all that time with friends. I read 5 books and ate nonstop—I think I gained about 10 pounds…my molded washboard abs are gone! An amazing excursion! Stay tuned for more adventures from The BIG life of MiniMe