Glass House benefit; Good Good loft dance party
Friday night:
Dance party
Agnes, Andrea, Cool-Girl-Whose-Name-I-Forgot and I were dancing. I think Fenula, Kellie and Sto were periodically joining us. I stopped dancing so I could get a drink. I had only been dancing a few minutes and I was already wheezing (because I'm now an unhealthy reject from a Dickens' novel). At the bar, some guy came up and slurred, "Yer the maac, maan. All those women dancing with you. How you do that?"
"It's not what you think," I say as I smile, "None of them are giving me the sex, and it's just fun with friends."
"So you're kinda like a fag hag?"
[So it's going to be like that.] "They are, sure. But more importantly," [At this point I grab his shoulder and give him a friendly 'fuck you' shake.] "If we could turn on the 'gay switch,' I'd fucking do it and so should you. Our lives would be fucking easier."
I pated him on the shoulder and said, "Ain't that right."
He looked at me with glassy eyes and said, "Those girls look boring anyway."
"Shit. I'd take the Pepsi Challenge on them over you any fucking day."
He went away.
When Agnes dances, she totally spazs out and becomes a physically kaleidoscopic version of the music. Years ago, she was at the same loft pictured here, at a late night party, and she started dancing. Two of the roommates saw her and talked about her dancing for years. One roommate based her entire dancing style around what she saw of Agnes Dance.
Agnes' dancing is aggressive and flailing, but unique and still rhythmic. Imagine Bjork and David Byrne fucking, and now imagine a cracked out Bill T. Jones break-dancing and you'll get a rough idea of Agnes Dance. That night, in the middle of flips, a Shun-Di donkey kick, and jerking strobe motions, she jumped onto me, seized my stomach with her thighs, panda-style, leaned all the way back and proceeded to lash about. Immediately after, she climbed over me until she was on my shoulders, and flailed around until I lost my balance and we toppled onto the floor.
Saturday night:
Benefit for Clovis Books at The Glass House.
My friend Angela staged a benefit for Clovis Books, a great bookstore that Anglea, Aaron and myself all worked at. The store has hit hard times, and Angela is keeping hope alive. She had the benefit at The Glass House, my friend Brooke's space. The space is "an experiential community art space" and is one of the last places around here that has the early punk D.I.Y. communal spirit of pre-Yuppie, pre-Hipster, pre-condo Williamsburg.
When I wandered inside, I was shocked. The place had totally transformed. The bar had moved; the stage had moved; and giant stalagtites and stalacmites of colorful junk had sprouted everywhere. It was as if a love-shild of Poison Ivy and Robert Rauschenberg created crazed meth-fueled installations, and left them in their trail like an art world Johnny Appleseed.
