The party scar

When I was a Sophemore in college, I lived in a big four story house with 14 roommates, one was a drug dealer in the basement we called monkey man, another was a 50 year old coke fiend with a penchant for homeless girls, and yet another was a schizophrenic in the attic who we discovered had been collecting pee in jars. I love talking about this period of my life if for nothing more than the great stories.

Cornish College of the Arts always had a big blowout party at the end of each year that may have been considered the Graduation Party, but everyone really ended up going, not just the Seniors. When you live in a really big house with several people who go to the same school, the choice of venue for throwing a big party becomes instantly clear: We would be throwing the Party that year! Preperations were easy, lock a few doors to bedrooms, warn the other inhabitants, buy some liquor and open the door. My friend Jen Morrell and I began drinking around 5 pm that day, and it would be another good 10-12 hours before my face would hit the pillow.

Let me describe my friend Jen.... imagine a short pretty girl from Alaska with long red hair and a trenchcoat down to her toes that she wore every single day. Now I want you to imagine a 6'3" white guy walking arm in arm with her and sharing a cup of basically just Vodka.... We wandered from room to room, floor to floor, chatting up a storm and laughing our way through the place. When the midnight hour appraoched we were in the kitchen mixing some more drinks for people when the kitchen counter collapsed under the weight of an idiotic lighting designer who thought he could be a stripper for the night. Sadly, there went half the liquor supply.

When Jen and I returned to the basement for a bit of mingling, we both managed to fall to the ground in quick succession blacking out, coming to and seeing carpet in front of our face, and realizing we both had not spilled a drop. We were pros at this apparently. So much laughing ensued as we tried to get back to our feet, I realized the night was drawing to a close. Around five AM I walked into my room, locked the door behind me, took off all my clothes, and then stared down my narrow room at my bed......spinning in a soft haze on the other side of the room. I took a few steps, giggled to myself as I was never one to get the spins, and then started to think how funny it would be if I chose to lean into it as I ran toward my bed..... Next thing I knew I was falling. I came to a stop with a bang, snap and a thud at the foot of my bed. OUCH! This must really hurt, I thought, thankfull I couldn't feel a thing. I reached my hand around feeling my back where there seemed to be some sort of wet spot..... my hand returned for inspection covered in blood. I laughed, crawled up on my bed and fell asleep lying on my back. I didn't realize at the time but I had snapped the corner of my desk off with that fall, melamine coated desks against bare skin are never a pleasant combo.

The next morning...... The. Worst. Hangover. Ever...... I never want to feel that bad again. I remembered my stupidity, saw dried blood and kind of started to freak. I promptly sat up in bed. When you rip off a scab that has fused your body to the bed you are lying in, I discovered you really can screech like a little girl whose dolly has just been thrown into the chipper shredder. I hit the bathroom and inspected the gash. The worst of it had fused back together thankfully, but I really should have gotten stitches that day. The place was a disaster.... puke on carpets covered with plates, potted plants broken in heaps, glass pushed into a sticky pile in the corner after the counter snapped..... a few bodies passed out here and there.... Me with a new gash turning quickly into the scar it is now, and the pounding of my head that would not subside for another 4 days..... Ahhh undergrad!

I miss my costume building days...

Last night was a seam ripping fest in my livingroom as I took out the side seams of my friend Mark's Burningman outifts. The memories of sweating away in those costume shops over the years, flooded back to me. I love all the tense bitchy moments when a designer would lose it, or the fun and evil moments where everyone collectively bitched about them after they left. It was like a smoker's circle in there, but we would also take smoke breaks......it was a small slice of heaven.

When I first started in the cotume shop, I had only touched a sewing machine once. Within minutes, I relaized I didn't even know what a presser foot was and therefore had stitched my entire costume in high school for Psuedolous in " A Funny Thing..." with the damn thing up. I remember pushing the fabric through really fast trying to hold it all flat and not get my fingers hit with the needle. It was a nightmare, but thank god it was a tunic of thin berlap and not something more complicated. Stupidly this was my first story to share with the class, we were discussing our past experiences with sewing so the teacher could place us on tasks. A month later, our costume shop supervisor Christine gave me something to do that I thought would be impossible, putting the snot elastic into the arm and leg seams of unitards with the surger. I guess all that hell fighting with the presser foot up taught me to keep a good tension easily because I was declared the new pro of dance fabrics. Cornish Dance Theater became a big project each semester as I got better at sewing, and was a really big challenge for all of us. Later in that class I made several costumes for what was called "Mother's Tea," an event where we would model full costumes designed, built and worn by ourselves.... all set to music with tea, family, friends and sandwiches. It was always a highlight of the year. I made myself into a funky swingdancer from the 40's complete with check patterned highwaisted pants. I also made myself a smoking jacket and lounge pants from the 20's and then the biggest project of them all: My Kilt. I ordered the family tartan from Scotland, and the whole thing was about 80 hours of hand sewing.... I topped it off with black wool vest lined in satin and accessorized the rest with a fun "prop" sporran I fashioned out of some leather, a few rabbit pelts and some balsa wood cleverly painted to resemble metal. These project were always soooo much work, but it was amazing some of the things people made. I'll never forget your Marie Antoinette costume Samber with the giant slice of lodged in your wig!

Since I got myself a new sewing machine as a little present to myself, I am going to have to up the ante and start using the damn thing. I need to think up some fun ideas for burning man before I go that I can whip up on this thing. This fun project for Mark will inaugurate it and there couldn't be a more bizarre and fun way. Both the Bavarian Goddess and Rainbow Bright costume alterations will be done by tomorrow mid-day hopefully as there is much more to do and I still need a damn mountain bike. Anybody out there got one they want to get rid of or sell off cheap? Let me know y'all.

The stitching of the tent tarp and the penis casings will be the next challenges awaiting a needle. With the already escalating cost of the "Penis Topiaries" you may remember me mentioning, we are making a small ammendment and turning them into Cacti! Imagine 2 eight foot tall cacti cock and balls that are blacklight sensitive and kinda sway with the wind. It'll be fun, and hopefully close to finished by the time the weekend is done. Anyone need anything stitched? Up for a stitch and bitch?