ROLLING ON THE CARPET WITH THIS YEAR'S GIRL
So Dave's blog disappeared overnight. Or rather, Dave disappeared from his domain name, which was promptly taken over by a ridiculously teenaged girl. Like, super teenaged That, or Dave's sense of humor is even more nuanced that I had thought. I'm feeling a little like eulogizing it because it was literally the second thing I checked online at work. It went like this: 1) Pitchfork 2) Dave and Adam's blogs, and 3) Pander zine distro. Now I guess I'll have to find some more obsessive online recounts of personal life to keep up with. Maybe I'll just continue to read this girl's blog, which strikes me as an acceptably creepy alternative. Nuanced humor! Can't beat it!
Tonight I'm dressing and making up Adam, Josh, and Dave in drag for Hedwig and the Angry Inch. (It bears mentioning that the Dave I'll be making up is not the abovementioned Dave, who wants absolutely nothing to do with cosmetics in any form, even if, as his friend Andy mentioned, people can't even tell if you paint your toes, Dave. Indeed.) Nevertheless, I love dressing up, and having three people on which to experiment . . . . oh, it's just too much. Adam and I will be hitting the drugstore after work for Wet 'n Wild cosmetics galore. I'm actually having a little bit of performance anxiety; after all, Adam said they were looking for a "performative guru," and while I have no doubt that I am just such a lady, I don't have a set gameplan yet. I mean, I can make myself up for sure, but I know squat about makeup for other skintones and what have you. I guess the PERIODIC TABLE OF GLAM has always contained the same things: liquid eyeliner, eyelash curlers, red lipstick, white eyeshadow, blood red blush, bronzer, platinum hair dye, brassieres, glitter, sunglasses, go-go boots, chapeaus, Chanel nail polish, tiny dogs, hotpants, fake bamboo bangles, airbrushing, Debbie Harry, pencil thin eyebrows, bobbed hair, heart-shaped moles, rollerskates, peach schnapps, screaming. So we'll just work on that theme and see what happens, I suppose.
COME WITH ME, MY GLAMAZONS!
So Dave's blog disappeared overnight. Or rather, Dave disappeared from his domain name, which was promptly taken over by a ridiculously teenaged girl. Like, super teenaged That, or Dave's sense of humor is even more nuanced that I had thought. I'm feeling a little like eulogizing it because it was literally the second thing I checked online at work. It went like this: 1) Pitchfork 2) Dave and Adam's blogs, and 3) Pander zine distro. Now I guess I'll have to find some more obsessive online recounts of personal life to keep up with. Maybe I'll just continue to read this girl's blog, which strikes me as an acceptably creepy alternative. Nuanced humor! Can't beat it!
Tonight I'm dressing and making up Adam, Josh, and Dave in drag for Hedwig and the Angry Inch. (It bears mentioning that the Dave I'll be making up is not the abovementioned Dave, who wants absolutely nothing to do with cosmetics in any form, even if, as his friend Andy mentioned, people can't even tell if you paint your toes, Dave. Indeed.) Nevertheless, I love dressing up, and having three people on which to experiment . . . . oh, it's just too much. Adam and I will be hitting the drugstore after work for Wet 'n Wild cosmetics galore. I'm actually having a little bit of performance anxiety; after all, Adam said they were looking for a "performative guru," and while I have no doubt that I am just such a lady, I don't have a set gameplan yet. I mean, I can make myself up for sure, but I know squat about makeup for other skintones and what have you. I guess the PERIODIC TABLE OF GLAM has always contained the same things: liquid eyeliner, eyelash curlers, red lipstick, white eyeshadow, blood red blush, bronzer, platinum hair dye, brassieres, glitter, sunglasses, go-go boots, chapeaus, Chanel nail polish, tiny dogs, hotpants, fake bamboo bangles, airbrushing, Debbie Harry, pencil thin eyebrows, bobbed hair, heart-shaped moles, rollerskates, peach schnapps, screaming. So we'll just work on that theme and see what happens, I suppose.
COME WITH ME, MY GLAMAZONS!
<< Home