Pump your guns and meet me at the ice cream truck — I need help carrying all the sugar cones we'll need for the sticky-sweet mess this week's becoming. Folsom Street Fair parties, a great new club opening, some Detroit takeover ... forget the vanilla and go directly to Rocky Road, sprinkles.
With ALF as mascot and gonzo indie-electro party boy DJ Richie Panic titillating a bucketload of omnisexual hipsters, this weekly gig isn't some rote sausage fest. You'll still make out, though. Hard.Read more »
SUPER EGO Apparently, I've lost Hunky Beau to Angry Birds. So while my future husband obsessively slingshot virtual squawking auks at ovokleptic pigs (via popular iPhone gaming app), I went on a massive party binge. To each one's own, slur I!Read more »
It's impossible for me to think of Big Freedia without exploding into happy feathers. As the fierce national face of New Orleans' bounce music movement (along with her drag daughter, Sissy Nobby), Freedia's been shoehorned into several media narratives that don't necessarily do her justice — popular performer who bridges a supposed gap between flamboyant gayness and macho rap, evidence that original regional roots music is still being generated in our monocultural-seeming musical world, post-Katrina beat-healer of ravished communities, anthropological curiosity. Read more »
FALL ARTS/ SUPER EGO What does the immediate future of nightlife hold? "Cloud" DJs, quantum trannies, Hovaround races, de-friending parties, cocktail holography, xylophones? Honey. I just rolled in from a night at Aunt Charlie's in the TL. Answer hazy, ask again later — maybe after I score some hot hangover grits from Eddie's on Diviz. In the meanwhile, here's all tomorrow's parties I want to see your pretty game face at.
"What you doin' talking all night? If you have so much to say, why don't you call a hotline? The time to talk is not right now. It's time to dance, my friend. Share some of that energy you got on your lips, in your feet."Read more »
SUPER EGO I just zoomed in from Guerneville on the back of Hunky Beau's cherry red motorcycle, losing a few wigs along the way, oh well. Guerneville, for the uninitiated, is the supergayish resort town located about 100 miles north of here along the Russian River. It's like the Riviera, but with more fish smell and meth shacks.Read more »
SUPER EGOOh, Andy Warhol, your profile Polaroid is, like, 10 days old. We need immediate updation! Curious, though, how we seem to be moving away from digital club photography as mere virtual portraiture suitable for Facebook framing — and more toward an experimental hyperrealism that treats Clubland as a given medium. What better place to try out new effects than on the dance floor? Cabbage patch that F-stop! Here are three photogs who really caught my eye this year, and added a new dimension to club flash.
What the HTML will happen when "cloud computing" renders our desktop monoliths obsolete? I drool at the thought, while thoughts are still my own, of the coming retro fashion movement, enshrining the clumsy keyboards and monstrous monitors of yesteryear: boxy eggshell skirts, CPU tower heels, flat-screen kneepads, air can earrings, novelty glasses of scratched and sneezed-on anti-glare shields, flash drive panties, Ethernet cologne, USBriefs, "laptop ass," "modem face," brominated flame retardant blush, tantium base, phthalate plasticizer mascara ... Read more »
SUPER EGO A couple of Friday evenings ago, Hunky Beau and I went out on a bourgeois love date in SoMa. It was there that I was reminded that, along with loquats, plums, figs, and fat guys on the Internet pretending they're in armed militias, we are in the midst of bachelorette season. Children, be warned!Read more »