David Lynch, Opium, the Weather and a Giant Pigeon

I was barley awake when I took a picture the other morning. It really encapsulated the way that I would end up feeling the entire day (like there was a giant, wet pigeon following me). I am not sure why, but I am sure this has something to do with being an artist. Yes, I am both a business professional AND an artist.

The surreal image, totally pure and unedited, makes the pigeon appear to be gigantic and standing in the street below my window. It made me think of perspectives and how, like opinions and assholes, everyone has one. I took the picture because I was thinking about how often, as part of my life involves me being a performance artist, I am “pigeonholed”. I was also excited to see the pigeon on my windowsill, yet sad for it being forced to sit in the cold, windy rain and wait out the weather. Clearly I was having a very philosophical morning. And to be completely honest, I didn’t notice that the pigeon looked like some sort of “Japanese movie monster” bird in the street until someone later mentioned so on Facebook, where I post all of my pre-8am “Good Morning, Brooklyn!” photos. The perspective from my window made it seem like there was a giant bird outside of my apartment when all I was intending was to take a picture of the bird on my windowsill.

Thinking about perspectives in turn reminded me of a conversation with a friend the night before the pigeon appeared which revealed that David Lynch delivers the Los Angeles weather every morning from his home. Thrilled by this news, and after some investigation, it seems he has been religiously doing so for a few years now. My natural – and simultaneous – reaction: jealousy that I had not thought of it first paired with inspiration to do something even more simple/bizarre. (More on that in 2010.) After voraciously reviewing every clip I could find of him on the almighty Internet, I began to think of how many times David Lynch has been or is currently completely misunderstood by his peers, audience, lovers, friends, neighbors, mother and mailman. It happens to me, too, because of the Sunday Show. I have been called names not worth repeating by people not worth mentioning who have never even seen my show. I will not judge those people, but I will admit that that sort of ignorance deeply rattles my soul. It’s a truly strange existence when you create and share something so intimate, surreal, fantastic and raw because eventually you are immediately identified with all of the dark and twisted intricacies involved with those pieces or projects. Even if, on most days, you’re just a normal person who just happens to be commandeering a concept that makes people laugh, think, smile and break away from their ordinary lives, even if only for 90 minutes at a time.

For Lynch, it seems like most days he is totally normal. Coffee, cigarettes and pretty much the same weather report every day. But then some days he reports the weather with a bizarre twist, living up to the reputation with which he has been saddled as the director of some pretty amazing, albeit twisted projects. It just goes to show that you should never solely judge a person by their art, even if you think you can or should because you have set up google alerts or follow them on Twitter. No matter how much you study, will never know firsthand if those occasional fits of the bizarre you see – from me, from David Lynch – are actually the emergence of deep-rooted darkness in the artist or only taking place to keep you entertained and believing that in order to make something so eccentric, so edgy, so provoking, one MUST be somehow off kilter. I’m not telling if Lynch doesn’t. And that pigeon certainly isn’t talking, but he desperately wishes you to stop trying to put me in his hole.

David Lynch Daily Weather Report from 2005

David Lynch Daily Weather Report from 2006

David Lynch Daily BIZARRE Weather Report

And just because you probably have never seen this commercial for Opium, it’s a gem. This man is a genius, even though I am sure people fail to understand his mind. Maybe you’re just supposed to enjoy the work, not analyze the person making it. (Yes, I prefer this.)

Sayonara, Twitter!

I have always thought that Twitter is ridiculous. It serves a purpose for a lot of mobile businesses and artists, but it also frightens me how addictive it can be to otherwise normal people. And how nothing, really, is sacred when people experience something and immediately think about sharing that bit of information with their world. This recent NY Times article about Protocols is also worth a read. And the video below made me happy because it means I am not alone in my fascination with Twitter’s dark side.

Since I create and wear costumes while often acting as a dead person in public, I tend to confuse certain people. Public desire to label and file me away as any one thing is convenient for many but confusing. It is true that I hate being called a “burlesque dancer”, one commonly misused label that I constantly strive to separate myself from. If anything, call me a performance artist because that is what I am. This pigeonholing also really annoys Madonna who once said “I think of myself as a performance artist. I hate being called a pop star. I hate that.” Mind you this is not because of shame, insecurity or fear but for the sake of my sanity. I am also a producer and a writer. So one might assume that I would be thrilled by the advent of a platform like Twitter in which I can share, through writing 140 characters, all of the self-indulgent, intimate morsels of my life with the hungry, nosy world.

I never really understood the point of Twitter and basically shunned the concept. After being interviewed about the MTA Service Specialist project receiving a cease-and-desist from the MTA’s lawyers, TJ Rosenthal of East Village Radio’s TJ AND THE TUX, roped me in and created an account for me. I was reluctant but on the heels of a 5am interview on Good Day New York and a sleepless, nervous night. And that is how it all started. Soon, my ex boyfriend’s mother requested to follow me. And then my own mother. And then Britney Spears. It was then I knew that I was getting in too deep.

This is another good video.

When I decided to transform myself into Courtney Love for the October edition of the Sunday Show, I thought it might be best to step into her shoes. I started using my Twitter. And sadly, just when I was getting into the random blurts of insanity, Courtney went and deleted her account. So, as a method actor, I followed suit and set forth to delete my account, too. I barely used it and don’t really understand the CULTural phenomenon associated with it, so this was not a big loss to me.

In the process of my disengagement, I did find out about some features the site provides which I never used. None of which, I believed, could win me back.

When I visited the site intending to permanently depart, the hot topics featured scared me. Much like when leaving a less-than-stellar relationship (why would his mother want to follow me after all of this time, anyway?) or putting back that second helping of cupcakes, I knew that I was making the right decision. I mean, the KKK? What is wrong with you people?

So I eventually approach the final stages of breaking up with Twitter. I am faced with a tearful cartoon bird asking if I am sure I want to leave. Yes, little bird. I am sure. Do people really want to know what I ate for dinner? Will I really stop what I am doing to share what I ate for dinner with thousands of people I don’t even know? And why do they care? Are they just waiting for me to divulge some secret information on there, like who I went to the museum with on Sunday or what panties I decided to put on this morning?

I took a screen shot of my last Twitter feed (including musings from Moby and Samantha Ronson) and, with a few clicks, became one step closer to Courtney. (This feels better than one might initially imagine.) The Sunday Show on October 25th was an incredible success. And today, I am still alive, well and free from “the tweets”. Of course, I can’t completely free myself from the Twittersphere as I have a hit show on my hands and an audience that loves to know what is happening behind the scenes. This being said, you can follow THE SUNDAY SHOW on Twitter @sundayshownyc. However to follow me, you can kick it old school and…send a text.

Dizzy Swank Wins the Lap Dance.

From Cleopatra, no less!

Censorship in Fantasia?

I love and was so deeply inspired as a young girl by the magic of Fantasia.

What if watching this omitted clip as a young and impressionable artist was the one thing that would have made me normal and boring?

Thanks a lot, Disney.

OCTOBER 25th: HALLOWEEN COMES EARLY AT THE SUNDAY SHOW!

Trick, treat…it doesn’t matter when you’re dead. In October all the glitter, fire, death and magic of The Sunday Show are delivered to New York City like never before: When (g)host Courtney Love makes a very public attempt to conjure the spirit of her late husband Kurt Cobain, all hell – literally – breaks loose. Featuring performances by world-renowned extreme(ly hot) juggler Marcus Monroe, the fire-hooping “razor blade in your apple” Justina Flash and bad-to-the-bone, original burlesque pieces by the ghoulish, gorgeous and incredibly talented B.B. Heart, Misty Lux and Leta Le Noir. This cutting-edge, rotating collective is dedicated to the exploration of life, freedom, lust, death and the American Way in what the New York Post calls a “Bacchanalian strip-show-cum-sideshow by way of a speakeasy…” and an experiment in interactive, indulgent and totally uncensored live entertainment.

October 25th, 2009
10pm
www.sundayshownyc.com
The Slipper Room
167 Orchard Street, NYC