What It Is

Kate Moss appearing as a hologram in an Alexander McQueen show in 2006.

I probably couldn’t afford so much as a button off a McQueen gown, but this makes me so, so sad.

Time for a little rant to ring in the New Year:

Notice I say “New Year”  and not “New Decade”. Who ever said it was okay to count to 10 this way?

All you culture vultures, pundits and wags who are preparing to sign off on the first decade of the 21st century- not so fast! Let’s be serious about this from now on and count properly. All you party goers who are preparing for your big, decade-ending night on the town- I got sour news for you, Jack- you’re a year early!

Ask any first grader  to count to 10, and she will start at 1 and finish at 10.

No one, in fact, ever counts to 10 by starting at 0 and working their way up to 9. It’s just wrong.

Listen to the Tattooed Lady, and enjoy the last year of the decade. Decade. From the root deca. It means 10.

Maybe I’ll even make my own Top 10 of the Decade list. Next year.

But why end the year on such a curmudgeonly note?

Even though my natural inclination is to pray for the endless 80s nostalgia to be over, I have to admit it produced some very amazing works. This is one of them. Ladies and gentlemen, Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit”, live ‘84 extended version:

“Rockit” was performed in a 3-minute version at the ‘84 Grammys and turned millions of kids on to turntablism, as documented in the awesome film Scratch, one of my favorite documentaries. Anyway, a lot of people think this was the first time scratching was used in DJing and that’s not true. But “Rockit” brought mainstream cred to the turntable-as-instrument, and showed a tough, avant-garde side of Herbie Hancock. Also, the way he comes through the crowd to the stage with his keyboard, taking his time before playing the song’s signature riff… And then the solo at the end… Herbie love for the year’s end! Happy 2010, everyone!

My grrl Amanda Palmer posted this video on YouTube the other day, articulating her feelings about pop music, women and so forth.

The song is charming (posted with permission):

But I don’t happen to be down with the idea that pop music is art just because it’s self-expression. I believe that some pop music is art, but most pop music is business, and when you sell a bunch of records in a world that worships $$$, you can call yourself an artist or a monster or whatever the hell you want. I’ve seen Donald Trump quoted claiming that he’s an artist; Madonna was inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame in 2008, the first year she was eligible, while the Stooges are being inducted in 2009, after being turned down 7 times! 7 times!!! They’ve been eligible for 16 fuckin’ years, and one of them didn’t even live to see the day (guitarist Ron Asheton began the 2009 rock ‘n’ roll death count last January 6). Anyway,  here’s the response I emailed to her. Enjoy!
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So I went to take a look at today’s headlines when I noticed an item on the T Magazine Style Blog titled Notes from the Velvet Underground. “Oh, goody,” I said to myself. “I wonder what the style news is on the great VU.” I thought it might be a guide on where to buy great striped sailor shirts- I saw a girl looking hot in one on the street in the freezing cold last night in Soho. But I was horrified by what I read. Horrified!

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I know I shouldn’t say so myself, but I have the coolest birthdate. Ever. No sh*t.

What makes it so much cooler than, say, your birthday?

Well, I will tell you.

My birthday is 6/23/1966. I was born at 11:23pm- which I only recently (yeah, at my advanced age!) realized is also known as 23:23.

That’s 6/23/66 23:23 for those of you just tuning in. Two days before Rosemary’s baby; 3 6s, 3 23s.

3 is my all-time favorite number, the only one whose multiples always add up to a number divisible by 3. In other words, if you can divide a number by 3, you can also add up that number’s integers and the sum of those integers will also be a number divisible by 3. 3 is always 3! Once I told a good friend of mine that 3 was my favorite number, to which he replied that he preferred pi. Dude, pi is also 3, just with some extra sauce.

The photo, though it’s hard to tell, is a Chocolate Bomb, my chosen birthday dessert indulgence. It is comprised of chocolate sponge cake, milk chocolate pudding and dark chocolate pudding, combined in an unholy, decadent combo that is comforting and silky and almost a religious experience. I was indirectly involved in the creation of the Chocolate Bomb when I gave a friend a Chocolate Trifle as a birthday present. He suggested the lovely folks at Sugar Sweet Sunshine make something similar. And now they do, every day.

There was also champagne, dinner…  and a perfect, delectable Loved One. 43, yum!