And finally…part 4 of my Blogher experience (as lifted directly from my journal). Parts 1, 2 and 3 are here. I swear I’m almost finished, y’all.
Walked to a public party at the Volstead. Hid in the bathroom, as usual. Was invaded by a group of women putting on impromptu KISS make-up. The usual. I left with them because you know that pretty much everything that happens at a party after people randomly put on KISS makeup is going to be anticlimactic.
I'm with the band. Sort of.
Then I walked to another public party for SexIs where women were encouraged to decorate dildos. Then I looked out the window and wondered to myself what must be going on at the exclusive private parties and I hoped for the sake of the attendees that it was the exact same thing as the public parties but with more swag.
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My inner thighs are chaffed from walking so much. And from being fat.
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Went to the panel I was speaking at 10 minutes before it started and there were like 6 people there. Tweeted “My session starts in 10 minutes and it’s fucking PACKED” along with a picture of the audience:
Also, the chick at the back was just there to check the microphones.
A number of people complimented me on a full house of bloggers who must also be ninjas but most of them just tweeted back stuff like “Of course it’s packed! You’re a rock star!” because I guess those people don’t know how to open my pictures. 15 minutes later though it was fairly full and I think it went really well but all I can really remember from the session is someone in the audience not being able to remember the name of an esoteric gay p0rn star that she didn’t want to name her son after and another woman in the audience helpfully yelling it out to her. I’ve found my tribe, y’all.
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(Photo by Justin Hackworth)
Just intentionally crossed a do-not-cross police line on purpose, so I can totally cross that off my life list now. Except that that wasn’t actually on my life list. But it is now because it makes me feel like I accomplished something if I can check something off of a list. Except that I haven’t actually written my life list yet so now I technically feel worse about myself than before. I should start a life-list in reverse order and just write down shit I already did so that I’m always done with it. Like “Button a shirt: Check“. ”Don’t murder kittens: Check“. ”Get gingivitis: Check.” Oh my God, I am awesome at this.
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In airport security heading home. Apparently this is a problem:
Huh.
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Handed the chick in the airport bookstore a copy of the Twilight Bree Tanner book and a copy of True Blood and asked her which one was less awful. She was all “Well, they’re both pretty bad”. I went with True Blood because the cover had more stuff on it. Then I clarified to the clerk that I own many, many non-stupid books. She totally didn’t believe me. (Note to self: When my memoirs come out, put lots of stuff on the cover. Stuff like naked vampires. Also, meet some naked vampires so I can put them in my memoirs.)
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I was mentioned in the London Times but my name was misspelled so I’m not sure if that counts as being mentioned as all. Victor says he understands because the same thing happens to him everyday when the newspapers write about him but use the wrong name and write about shit that never actually happened to him. Victor is very good at keeping me grounded. And by “grounded” I mean “stabby”.
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The end.
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I’ll stop now.
Part 1 and part 2 of my Blogher summary are done. Part 3 starts now:
I was asked to do a cooking competition at Blogher and I would have said no except that they said that I could create whatever I wanted and that the judge would be Padma from Top Chef so of course I was all “I’m in”. Everyone I was competing against in my heat made stuff like “stuffed artichoke areola some-thing-or-another” but I figured if I’m going to do this I should totally carb-load the sandwich because Padma needs to eat something, y’all.
I'm the one playing on my phone.
My sandwich ingredients were white bread, ham, chocolate fudge, gummi bears, m&m’s, whipped cream, more chocolate fudge (for bonding), caramel corn and packets of sweet-and-low stolen from the hotel.
This was "organic chocolate fudge" so I *technically* this sandwich is considered health food.
Padma looked horrified and not in a good way and I explained that this was a sandwich I made for my daughter all the time and that my kid really likes it although she does have severe diabetes but that I still make it for her because I believe in “tough love” and then Padma looked a little appalled and she was all “Your daughter is diabetic…and you’re making this?” and I’m all “Yep” and then I squirted some whipped cream directly into my mouth to get me to stop talking because at that point even I wanted me to shut up but I overshot and sparklets of whipped cream shot onto Padma and she looked unpleased.
Girl on left is trying to distance herself from me. Girl on right has given up. I offered everyone whip-its and no one wanted them. Probably because they thought I was talking about dogs instead of whipped-cream. I would NEVER offer people dogs in a cooking competition. Because I'm a professional.
You can tell that no one knows me here because they gave me a knife.
Then the sandwiches went for judging and when Padma picked mine up she was all “I’m gonna need a wet wipe” and I turned to the girl next to me and I was all “Hell yeah. My sandwich is so sexy she’s gonna need a wet wipe” and the girl next to me was all “I don’t think that’s what she means” and I decided to ignore her because it’s pretty obvious that she was just trying to psyche me out.
I think the guy on the left was doing the wave for my sandwich. It was that awesome. Also, the girl on the right needs to learn how to hide her emotions better.
But then Padma refused to eat my sandwich and I was all “FUCKING SHENANIGANS!” but she totally ignored me. But the other judges were all kids so I figured I was totally winning but then the votes were tallied and then Padma called out who was moving on to the next heat and it was EVERYBODY IN THE COMPETITION BUT ME. I shit you not.
The aftermath. (Technically it was less of a sandwich and more like a chocolate stew that had bread and ham in it.)
And I was all “WTF? I was robbed” but then I was like “Wait, where would they get a bunch of kid judges at an adult conference?” and I decided they were most likely stolen from an orphanage and the orphans probably just weren’t used to that level of love in a sandwich. Also, I may have given them all diabetes and I think giving diseases to orphans probably counts against you on your sandwich score card and probably in life in general.
PS. All of this is on video, y’all.
PPS. Photos taken by Karen, then vandalized by me.
PPPS. This is the worst picture of me in the history of the world but I’m including it because it kind of sums up the whole day:
This is my "cooking face". It's also why I don't cook. Also, this is exactly how you should always look when you're standing next to a supermodel anyway because no matter what, you're going to look like shit comparatively so you might as well go all out.
Part 4 of Blogher still to come. Someone get me some ritalin.
This is part 2 of my Blogher experience as recorded in my journal and I would recommend that you read part one first so that this part would make sense but honestly I don’t think that’s going to help either way.
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Me: Take a right on Houston Street.
Everyone else in New York: You mean “Howston Street?”
me: No, I don’t fucking mean “Howston Street”. It’s pronounced Houston. I’m FROM there.
Everyone else in New York: We know but we’ve been mispronouncing it for years just to fuck with you people. Oh look! It’s the Empeer State Bwilding.
me: Let me out of this taxi.
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You know what should be on the job description of taxi drivers? Knowing where shit is. It’s Times Square, dude. Eventually someone’s gonna want to go there. Program that shit into your GPS.
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This is what happens when I try to call Kristen of Mommy Needs a Cocktail to come sit with me because I can’t leave my room:
Actually, mommy is just fine. But thanks for asking.
I totally want to show this to everybody but I can’t because I can’t leave my room. Thanks, anxiety disorder. You’re ruining it for everyone.
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Went to the Voices of the Year Gala and there was a naked picture of me in the lobby, which sounds kinda sexy until I mention that I was holding a plunger and that it’s named “Psycho”. Hard to argue with that one. Then I sat in a corner with an antique Smith-Corona typing psychic poetry for people because I was promised free drinks. The poems were really less poems and more just extra sentences in case you needed one and started out with stuff like “Your eyes explode like roman candles in a starry night. Also? Nice boobs” and by the end of the night they had degenerated into “I’m tooo drun_k to tyype. MY fin_ggers hurrt. Wheres the comma?”
I can't tweet on this thing for shit.
Also, my friend Jordan came to ask if I needed anything and I said I’d like a cocktail but she’s Mormon so she’s never ordered a drink before so the bartender just gave her soda water and she was all “No, add something alcoholic” and he’s all “What kind of alcohol?” and she’s like “I don’t know. The alcoholic kind” and I don’t know what he put in it but from the taste I’m assuming it was rubbing alcohol but I pretended like it was really delicious because if that shit keeps her out of heaven I wanted her to at least feel like it was worth it. And this is why you don’t let Mormons get cocktails for you. Because they aren’t good at it and also because God might think you’re forcing them to sin and then you end up in hell, which is probably filled with a giant bar but only Mormons are allowed to mix the drinks so you end up drinking turpentine-coladas for eternity and also your hair is made of snakes.
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Went to the New York Library with Alice so that we could hunt for ghosts but it took awhile to get in because we couldn’t figure out how doors work. True story. Then we got in and they searched our bags because I guess there are a lot of shootings that go down in the library? We asked a librarian where we needed to go to see where Ghostbusters was filmed and she seemed flustered and told us that most people want to know where the Sex and the City scenes were shot.
me: How gauche. We’re much too sophisticated for that. Where was Slimer captured?
Librarian: I…let me look that up for you.
me: Have you ever seen any ghosts in the library?
Librarian: Well, I only work from 1 to 4 on Thursdays and Fridays.
me: Ah. So maybe they work on different hours.
Alice: Actually, I looked this place up on the internet and couldn’t find anything about this place being haunted.
me: No, I’m fairly certain Ghostbusters was a documentary.
Then we explored the library and we didn’t see any ghosts but we did see the “Quiet Zone” which was unnerving and looks like a lot of people in time-out. Then we considered how sad it was that no one had ever been murdered there because that would make the building so much more fascinating and we thought about murdering someone in the bathroom just to help out the library but we decided not to because it’s illegal and also because we both have poor upper-body strength. Then I took a picture of Alice in the library and we totally got a ghost in the picture who was so real that you couldn’t even tell that she was a ghost.
So yeah, it was pretty bad-ass.
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Went to a hipster hotel coffee bar because I needed a diet coke. Barista with mutton-chops and a beret was all “Oh. We don’t do that here” like I’d just asked if I where they do the illegal dog fights. Then I pointed out that there was “soda” on the menu and he was all “That’s sparkling Italian soda. We don’t do diet coke” and I just stood there staring at him and Alice gave me this look like “Is there going to be a problem here? Because I will run away if so” and Mutton-Chops was all “You want the sparkling Italian soda. Trust me” and I was all “Are you trying to save me from being too pedestrian? Because I don’t need your pity“. But then I paid $5 for a sparkling Italian soda because I was thirsty. BUT THEN(!) Alice and I were wandering the halls of the hipster hotel and there was a cart fucking FILLED with diet cokes and I was all “You have GOT to be shitting me” and so I stole them because seriously? Not cool, hipsters. But then it turns out that you have to have an old-fashioned bottle opener to open the damn things so I ended up just staring at them for two days like they were installation art. Which is probably what hipsters do with them too, now that I think about it.
You win this round, Mutton-Chops.
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Part 3 comes out tomorrow unless I get distracted by somethi
Last week I was at the Blogher conference and it’s too complicated to write about so instead I’m just going to re-write the notes I jotted in my journal while I was there because I’m really tired and I believe in phoning it in. Also, if this is the first time you’re reading me you should skip this post and read the one before it or just find a less offensive blog.
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I’m not allowed on a plane unchaperoned so I spent the night at Chookooloonks‘ (aka Karen) house where I was serenaded with live ukulele music and we exchanged stories of passing out in ditches. Then I went to wash my hair but I forgot to bring shampoo so I used her “Uncle Funky’s Daughter Shampoo For Kinky Curly Hair” which is not really made for white girls but when I came out of the bathroom I told Karen that it was awesome because I felt very multi-cultural and also now I know what it feels like to be black. Except without all the history and repression. Then my hair dried and it looked exactly the same as before, which was disappointing but I’m pretty sure I was changed inside forever, like the day you lose your virginity except better because no cops came and it didn’t happen in a truck. Then Karen gave me the “Girl, you are not right” look which looks a lot like the “Girl, you need a sandwich” face and so I agreed because either way she was right and I really wanted a sandwich.
It's basically this look but with more raised eyebrow.
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Landed in LaGuardia airport. Hey, you know what would be a good idea? If you didn’t put the runway on a pier IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN. Or if maybe the captain came on and said something like “Oh, by the way, it’s about to look like we’re crashing into the water but at the last second the runway will appear and we’ve never had any giant squid reach out their tentacles to grab us even though we look EXACTLY LIKE A FISHING LURE SKIMMING THE SURFACE. No worries. Stop crying, girl in row 8.” That would have been helpful. But it didn’t happen, probably because they totally had been grabbed by a squid tentacle before and now they can’t legally make that disclaimer and then I may have hyperventilated a little and then Karen gave me that look again which was weird because I totally wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich and she’s usually very intuitive about that sort of thing.
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I’ve been in New York for one hour and already I’m being detained by the NYPD. Apparently it’s illegal to get a pedicab the way we did which was by stabbing the people about to get in the cab and then forcing the cab driver to commit robberies for us. Kidding. Actually we were just standing in an illegal place to hail a cab and so we got pulled over directly in front of a hotel full of bloggers. I tweeted that if you looked outside the hotel right now you could see Laura and I being detained for 20 minutes by the NYPD but no one did, probably because everyone inside was too busy doing opium and pulling used kidneys out of murdered hookers. Way to pick your battles, NYPD. Also, last time I was out of town with Laura we almost got arrested as well so I blame her. It’s pretty much the worst tradition ever.
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My friend Grace just asked me how many drink tickets I got. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She pulled out the perforated badge sheet that should have had drink tickets printed on it and it was entirely blank. Awesome. Blogher thinks I’m an alcoholic.
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Went to the Social Luxe party and got snubbed by everyone I’ve ever met. Except that I’m almost sure that it was just because I looked so different in my phony-tail. Or maybe they’re just assholes. Probably the first one. Then I won the “Funniest Blog” award and when I went on stage everyone was all “Huh” and that’s kind of what I thought too. Then I think I got fitted for lingerie but I’m not sure if that was part of the party or if I was just being molested so I just went with it. And that’s basically how Blogher is. Also, FYI? The award is a glass paperweight and if you go through security with it on the way home they will assume you have a bomb and they will bring out security and then when they finally pull it out and read it they’ll say “What’s a blog?” and that’s how you know you’re in the real world again.
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Called Victor to tell him I won an award.
Victor: Awesome. I already have a trophy for you at home.
me: Is it “World’s Greatest Grampa”?
Victor: I scratched out the “Grampa”.
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Hosted the annual People’s Party with a bottle of screw-top wine that I stole from the mini-bar. As usual, I went to the actual party for 1.9 minutes then spent the entire rest of the night hiding in the bathroom. It was a lot like a normal party except that people make you wear their shoes so they can swallow them and someone makes an art installation of play-doh on the sink but you don’t even notice it because a group of girls dressed in full Girl Genius costume just came to pour drinks. The bathrooms of Blogher are a lot like Burning Man, but with slightly less nudity.
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Back in the hotel room. Just stuck my head out of the bathroom to clarify to my roomate that I’m using an electric toothbrush in here and not a vibrator. She looked less relieved than I expected. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people after 10 PM.
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Part two comes tomorrow. I need a nap.
So, week before last I went to Marfa, Texas with some friends to cheer on our friend John who brought us out for his book launch. And I plan on writing about all of it but I probably won’t because I’m irresponsible so instead I just put it all up on flickr but it doesn’t really do justice to how completely awesome and weird the whole tour was. Case in point? The Chinati Foundation.
Apparently this place was a series of museum buildings founded by a minimalist artist named Donald Judd and I was looking forward to meeting him but it turns out he’s been dead since 1994. So we were off to a bad start to begin with. Our guide was an adorable young girl named…something. I forget. If I was a real journalist I’d write this shit down but I’m not so let’s call her “Choochie” because it’s a fun name. Choochie did not love us. And by “us” I mean “me”.
We went to the first building, which was a gift shop and there was a cool light fixture on the wall but I couldn’t tell if it was art or if they just got lazy when they were installing their lights. I stared at it and attempted to look intrigued and bemused at the same time since I didn’t know which one was right and I wanted to take a picture of it but I was afraid that the guides watching us would be all “Why the fuck is she taking a picture of our light bulbs?” so I asked Katie to stand by it so that if it wasn’t art I could just pretend I wanted a picture of Katie. Then Katie whispered “Oh. Is this art?” and I was all “I have no fucking idea.” Then it all went downhill quickly.
*Spoiler alert* ~ It's art.
Then Choochie took us to the first building and outside there were these cement blocks in a field and I thought that they must be pissed that it was fucking up the landscape but turns out that was the first art installation. It was also the point when I started to suspect these people were just fucking with me.
"Yes, it's *supposed* to look that way."
We went inside the largest building to see hundreds of…squares? Ovens? I don’t know. It looked a lot like Ikea. I nodded thoughtfully and tried to pretend that I totally understood the point of this and I asked Choochie if there was a reason for all the ovens and she was all “They aren’t ovens. They are unique variations on a perfect shape created to an exact specification” and I was all “Oh. So, the art is all about how precisely this Judd guy made ovens?” and then she explained that he didn’t actually make any of them. He just had other people do it. Which seems like cheating. And I must have said that out loud because Choochie’s eyebrows shot up but honestly I bet the people who actually made those ovens were pissed. Then another guide came over her walkie-talkie and was all “Guys? There’s a dead fox outside building 3″ and I was all “Is that part of the art exhibit?” and Choochie was all “No. It’s not art. It’s just sad” and I was all “Well, agree to disagree.” Then she walked away to contemplate my artistic vision or maybe to find a shovel.
Now I'm hungry for hibachi shrimp.
Then we went to another building that was supposed to be about…math…I think? But basically it was a room full of shelves. With nothing on them.
No shit, y'all.
And everyone else went around looking meaningfully at the shelves and Choochie looked like we should be impressed but I suspected that someone had actually stolen the real art and she was just trying to save face and after about 2 minutes I was all “Okay, I’m just going to say it, Choochie. Your art is missing. It’s like there used to be art on these shelves and then they took the art away and left the empty shelves here to test people to see if they get that the art is missing.” Then Choochie just stared at me and I was all “I win, right?” and she paused like 10 seconds before telling me that they weren’t shelves at all and I was all “Dude. I saw these exact same shelves in Ikea last month” and she was like “I don’t think so” but if I was the Chinati Foundation I’d maybe check out Ikea because I think they’re using the same people who made your shelves and the ovens and you could probably get them way cheaper. I tried to explain that to Choochie but she didn’t seem to want to hear it so I stopped talking because I could see her wide-eyed artistic idealism being crushed by my logic. But seriously, she should check that shit out because all that’s missing is a gerbera daisy in a white vase and you totally have the Ikea catalog cover. Also, this post was not sponsored by Ikea. Or the Chinati Foundation. This is probably already clear.
Then we went into another building that was empty except for a bunch of lights bulbs way at the end of the room. And then the next building had the same thing. At the third building I asked if it was the same thing because I was kind of tired of walking and she said it wasn’t the same and so I went inside and she was right because these lights were slightly more blue. Totally worth it. I tried to pretend that I saw the difference but then gave up and I was all “You know what would be awesome? If we MADE some art in this place” and I got everyone to get in front of the lights and do some performance art and everyone loved it except Choochie who was not having it and then I felt bad again so I was all “Okay, I’m really trying here. What’s this supposed to symbolize?” and Choochie was like”It doesn’t symbolize anything. It just ‘is’.” And that’s when I realized that Choochie had drunk the kool-aid or that more like she’d just given up on trying to educate me. It was a smart call.
"Defiled" is an ugly word. I'd like to think we *enhanced* the art.
Then things started to feel kind of surreal and I started seeing art that didn’t even exist like “Ooh grass!” and Choochie’s just glaring off into space like she wants Donald Judd to appear and rescue her from me and then I remembered the time that I’d worked at a guide at a museum when they were doing a Persian rug exhibit and all the people were like “Why is the carpet on the walls? Where’s the real art?” and then I felt sorry for her so I decided to stop talking.
But then (just when I’d given up on ever understanding modern art) she took us to the last building, which had what Choochie referred to as “the barge” in it and it was basically a small mountain of foam covered with sheets of canvas that you could lay on. Which was awesome. There were also TV’s mounted on each side of the barge and they played a loop of this very artistic movie that I’m pretty sure was actually porn. True story. Our guide clarified that it was “an artistic movie with erotic undertones”. Exactly like Boogie Nights. Then we left and on the way out I told her that I was sorry for making her day hell but that I really appreciated her patience and I was all “The porn barge was totally my favorite part” Then she got quiet and I think she walked into the other room to cry, probably because she was so moved that I’d finally been touched by the art.
Porn, Laura, me, Katherine, Nancy, Monica, Katie, Porn. (Porn not shown.)
Best day ever. Thanks, Choochie.
