Saturday, November 29, 2008

Huzzah With A 'Z'--Liza's Back!

Here's something to be thankful for--it's a Liza Minelli slide show!

Apparently La Liza is making a triumphant, temporarily drug-free return to the Gay White Way. The headline for the article--"Comeback With A 'Z'" is a bit of a stretch, however. Come on NY Times. "Liza With A 'Z'" made sense--because THERE IS A Z IN HER NAME. Now, "Huzzah With A 'Z!'--Liza Is Back!"? That's a headline.

Look how awesome she looks. She is a parkly be-sequinned wax effigial delight!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008


In the ongoing episode of "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom" that is my life at Felt Up HQ, I discovered today that mere feet from my ancient, decrepit house is a giant complex of red ant hills, so advanced that they rival the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Those ants are busy bees, let me tell you. They are all hard at work making those pyramids ever-larger in preparation for taking over the yard, then the block, and then THE WORLD.

I made a little film of the ant hills in action. I did a terrible job. Suffice it to say that everything you see that isn't a leaf or my foot is ANTS. It's a bit boring, and I'm no Marlin Perkins, but you'll get the jist. There is also a wee treat for lovers of a certain breed of dog at the very end (I didn't realize the camera was still rolling when I walked away):

Phoenix Rising From The Asses

Oh, dear God.

Normally I get excited when a favorite star of mine goes over the edge into the Abyss Of Craaaazy, but this is not one of those times. Joaquin Phoenix has apparently retired from acting so he can start a music career.

Digest that for a moment.

Now, get ready to barf it all up, because according to People magazine:
Last week Phoenix, who played Johnny Cash in the biopic Walk the Line and his pal Casey Affleck hit Culver City night spot Carbon for their funk night where Phoenix surprised the crowd with a rap performance which Affleck recorded.

Well, I shouldn't be too surprised, as Joaquin is a well-known kooky kookerton who grew up in a religious sex cult. And I will reserve judgment on his new musical career until I hear the evidence, but let me tell you, "rapping at funk night" is not a good sign.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


There has been a lot of chitter-chattering lately about the wee profile of the wee musician Prince Rogers Nelson in this week's New Yorker, because when asked about his newfound Jehovah's Witness-y thoughts on gay marriage and abortion, Prince replied:
You've got the Republicans, and basically they want to live according to [the Bible], but there's the problem of interpretation, and you've got some churches, some people, basically doing things and saying it comes from here, but it doesn't. And then on the opposite end of the spectrum you've got blue, you've got the Democrats, and they're, like, 'You can do whatever you want.' Gay marriage, whatever. But neither of them is right...God came to earth and saw people sticking it wherever and doing it with whatever, and he just cleared it all out. He was, like, 'Enough.'
At first I thought Prince was surely leading up to a whole "Blue + Red= PURPLE" segue and then Wendy and Lisa would appear and they'd all strip down to '80s lingerie and launch into a barbershop quartet version of "Purple Rain" while Charlie Murphy played tambourine, and all would be right in the world; but alas, 'twas not to be. This quote was taken by just about everyone to mean that he is anti-gay and anti-whatnot and now the internet is all, "Not PRINCE! Say it ain't so! He of the be-velvet-and-ermine-robed-and-platform-shoed personal style and pansexual musical explorations? Why, it simply makes no sense!"

Now Prince is denying the story, saying he was misquoted, while the New Yorker stands by its quotes, according to Wired magazine.

But the more interesting part of the interview to me was when he was asked about his conversion experience. His response made me giggle:
I don't really see it as a conversion...More, you know it's a realization. It's like Morpheus and Neo in 'The Matrix.'
Oh, Prince, I know just what you mean.

The New Yorker notes that Prince, who was interviewed in his L.A. mansion "in yoga pants and a big sweater, wearing platform flip-flops over white socks, like a geisha," also
attends meetings at a local Kingdom Hall, and, like his fellow-witnesses, he leaves his gated community from time to time to knock on doors and proselytize. "Sometimes people act surprised, but mostly they're really cool about it, " he said.
Can you imagine opening your door and having the following thoughts go through your head in rapid succession: "Oh, crap, it's a Jehovah's Witness! Boo! How do I get out of this? Hang on. This tiny person wearing platform flipflops and yoga pants seems to bear a strong resemblance to Little Richard...OH MY GOD IT'S PRINCE. PRINCE IS TRYING TO CONVERT ME. If I say yes will he play "Sexy Motherfu**er" at my birthday party? PRIIIIIIIINCE!"

A perfect example of mixed emotions if there ever was one...

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Amy Winehouse Makes A Withdrawal From The Perm Bank

Even though I don't blog about celeb gossip (or anything at all) very much anymore, I do keep up with all the non-news happenings and goings-on and lesbian affairs with celebrity djs and whatnot. I usually just can't muster the energy to write about them, that's all, especially now that Britney Spears has settled herself down. Once that bald hair was re-grown, my interest in gossip waned. WANED, I say. It's simply too magnificent an act to follow. It's all downhill from here, people.

But of course I have been following the ups-n-downs of Amy Winehouse for what seems like an eternity, and lately the biggest change in her life (besides the recent release of her nogoodnik cad husband Blake from prison) is that she has ditched her trademark ginormous beehive hairdo and gotten a Rizzo-style curly perm:

Now, like most women of a certain age, I am all for a tight perm on almost anyone besides myself, and I do think that in theory this 'do is could be fetching. However, without resorting to cruelty, I must say that her facial features and scraggly, mesh-and-acid-washed-denim-clad body are not being done any favors by that hairdo, which is just another in the endless series of tragedies that have befallen Ms. Winehouse of late, let me tell you.

Then today, Janet Charlton posted this photo heralding that the "beehive's back!"; unfortunately, the hive's triumphant return to Amy's head was somewhat marred by her unusual decision to simply plunk the ratty ole hive hairpiece on top of the curly Rizzo hair:

An improvement, yes, but it does make her seem even crazier, which I had thought was impossible, and somewhat poodle-esque, and not in a good way. Perhaps the addition of one of her patented Rosie The Riveter doo-rags or 1940s washerwoman headscarves would ease the transition from wig to perm, like one of those strips of plastic used to transition from hardwood flooring to tile. Something.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Sheena Was A Stockbroker

Why, hello. I didn't see you there. Yes, it's me, your long-lost Felt Up blogette. I am compelled to blog again today. There's no rhyme or reason to it, believe me. Sometimes I am swayed by my Muse, like today, and sometimes I hit the snooze button on the Muse over and over until it shuts the hell up.

Today I wanted to point your attention to a sale I read about on The Village Voice website--an auction at Christie's of punk memorabilia. Take a look-see, and weep! Weep as you realize that all those fliers of Black Flag and the Big Boys are probably the only valuable thing you've ever owned, and were destroyed years ago when a box of papers got wet during a move to California! Cry bitter tears as you realize your Misfits orginal-pressing single of "She" was stolen from your record collection during a house party! And of course, sob uncontrollably as you see punk anti-commercialism sold to the highest bidder--and realize you won't get one red cent!

This auction comes hot on the heels of an existential crisis after experiencing the shocking transformation of CBGBs in NYC. The venerable punk club was finally evicted a while back in the face of escalating Manhattan real estate prices, but I had no idea what had become of the place. I was in New York recently and walking along The Bowery, and felt certain that I was within a block or two of CBs, and then I found myself inside this giant fancy-but-trying-to-be-cool men's clothing store blood went cold as I noticed the framed swatches of graffiti and torn fliers and filth on the walls. A menswear designer named John Varvatos has transformed CBGBs into a high-end boutique, but in his attempt to preserve some remnants of the space, to pay homage to the punk spirit embodied there, I think he actually made it much, much worse than if, say, a Baja Fresh or Dunkin' Donuts had just moved in and gutted the place. Varvatos sells very expensive, almost entirely black-colored, hilariously ridiculous "cool" men's clothing, and in this store, he puts his military-esque $3500 coats right next to vintage rock t-shirts and used amps and old vinyl. Gag. To give you an example of the insanity, a vintage Iggy Pop t-shirt was marked $750. Iggy Pop himself probably can't afford that shirt!

On the one hand, it's cool that what used to be considered a bunch of scumbag loser lowlifes are now enshrined as high culture; on the other hand, it sucks. The whole thing is oddly depressing to me, although I'm not sure why. Oh, wait, yes I do: BECAUSE MY ENTIRE EARLY '80S FLIER COLLECTION TURNED TO MUSH IN 1990!