That's why my best friend says anyway. I disagree. Reading is fun! Right? I read a lot, and I have some good recommendations for you. I'll dedicate this post to just one book though.
I tore through James St. James' Disco Bloodbath in a few days. I had already seen the movie based on it starring Macauley Culkin and Seth Green: Party Monster. Oh you've seen it? Crazy goodness, right? It's all about the wild New York club scene from the late 80s to early 90s. And murder. Delicious murder. I always enjoyed the movie, but the book just did me in. It. Was. Fantastic. I don't think I've ever been so entertained by a book. It's not that it was so laugh-out-loud funny, it was just crafted so well. I read it on the iPad and made good use of the highlight function. I must have highlighted a total of 3 pages of text. I need to get to work memorizing it. I thought it might be fun to share with you the best of the highlighted portions. The euphemisms and dragtalk will spin your head, so pay attention. The first is a great quote from Party Monster the movie that I just had to include:
"It doesn't matter what you look like. I mean, if you have a hunchback, just throw a little glitter on it, honey. Go dancing."
Another time, Musto and I were posed in our corner of the Palladium bathroom with our force fields UP. We were saying deply superficial things to each other, and looking very soigné doing so. Nobody would have dared to approach us. We were that good.
"Oops! Anal Leakage! Gotta go!"
"Sometimes I kidnap leettle children and SET THEM ON FIRE!"
Futuristic Geisha Gangsters (what a fantastic look! oh this is me writing, not JSJ)
Just your average, typical trailer-park trannie from Austin, Texas.
Ida stripped naked and pulled a full string of LIT CHRISTMAS BULBS, one at a time, out of her ass.
It wasn't all sequins and cocktails, kids.
Speaking from experience, there are people who have too much space between their ears, and given the time, do nothing but free fall forever inside their heads.
So let it be noted. So let it be done.
There was a spirited debate over who it would be more fun to fuck: Macauley Culkin or Emmanuel Lewis.
Everybody enjoys a good overdose.
Gone the way of Stacy Q and men in pearls.
"I know. Apparently Valerie Harper got all the different ways to tie them from her personal secretary. My favorite is the turban style with the big ball in front. Makes my nose look smaller."
For almost nine months in 1990, I wore a bloody wedding own and glued flies to my face. Some say I was a bit touched that year, and to be sure, there was a slightly unbalanced look about me then. I just like to think I was being fashion forward.
But, I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a bag of cocaine today.
"Let him have his moment."
"Gurgle snerf."
Drug addicts are funny that way. Just spinning around, lost in their own little world. Doing so much, accomplishing so little.
When it's right, you can feel it from the tip of your heel to the top of your wig.
Hmmm. . . yes. . . why, by cracky! I think she's right.
I only weighed about twenty-seven pounds. . . but those were SOME TWENTY-SEVEN POUNDS, I tell you! Each and every one of them STYLISH TO A FAULT! TWENTY-SEVEN pounds of fabulosity!
This was without a doubt the lowest, saddest moment of my life. Friendless in Poughkeepsie. Dancing alone on bloody stumps. At least I looked amazing. I'll give me that much.
"He looks just like Brooke Shields in Pretty Baby." And he did. A sexy little baby.
She picked up the plate of glass from the glass-top table and held it high over her head (where she got the strength and the balance to do it, I'll never know) but she stood there, for about ten or fifteen minutes (or so it seemed at the time), with the glass gleaming wickedly in her eye and that terrifying expressions on her ugly old mug of pure lesbian rage unbound.
Michael began having crack seizures. Just for the attention, I was convinced of that. Always at the MOST INAPPROPRIATE TIMES.
For better or worse, we were all family by this stage of the game, and like all families we were capable of monstrous acts of cruelty to each other.
(I guess this a quote from Stanislaw Lee): "I give you bitter pills, in a sugar coating. The pills are harmless--the poison's in the sugar."
But before the cutrain falls, let me leave you with one question--ponder it as the events unfold, then riddle me this:
If one day, Mother Teresa was out weed whacking and accidentally chopped off Hitler's head--WOULD THAT NECESSARILY BE SUCH A BAD THING?
I mean. . . if a person commits a crime, and no one cares--can we all just adjust our lip liner?
If letters had eyebrows, these would be arched.
Evil must be baked at 650 degrees.
LET'S TALK ILL OF THE DEAD, SHALL WE?
Funny, that no matter where you are in the world, there's always someone eager to help you destroy yourself.
I mean, who blessed this unholy union of tack and greed, anyway?
Why, oh why, must we always go through pigs to get our truffles?
And when I looked in the mirror for comfort? Why there was some strange leathery old faggot staring back at me with yellow, rheumy eyes.
Prunella Turkeyneck!
I kick a palm frond from my path, then reflect how nicely it would look rising out of my wig--did I have a couple dozen bobby pins tucked into my clutch?
