emilyrems.com

Rems Floor Tom, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Royal Pink is kicking out the jams tonight at 10 PM at Niagara - Ave. A @ 7th St. NYC. We’re part of the Antagonist Art Party, and the jam is free so come on down and get loose to our prodigeous set which is now up to an incredible eight songs!

As ushe, I’m nauseous with nerves, so I was psyched that today is the day my shrink chose to come back from maternity leave. I was in the brown leather chair bright and early at 9 AM ready to spill my guts, which I did, but I guess a lot of bad feelings had been building up while she was away, because they all came gushing out and then I had to leave and go straight to work with puffy red cry face.

Then to top it off, she left the office at the same time I did, so we said goodbye in the elevator, and then I went to the deli on the corner and two seconds later she was there too getting coffee. I don’t know why, but seeing the shrink outside of her Designated Shrink Zone is super spooky. I hate it, so I ignored her and she quickly got on her cell phone. I wonder if seeing patients in the world is weird for shrinks too, or just for us crazy folk. After all, there’s more of us crazy folk then there are of them. We’re fucking everywhere.

Dark Shadows Cast, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

I’m still in way over my head for Mickey Avalon, but so far this week my attention has been totally dominated by Dark Shadows, the awes ’60s occult soap opera that has begun arriving at my door courtesy of LCF’s Netflix que. We haven’t been getting it in order, so right now I’m embroiled somewhere in the 1968 season’s saga of the witchy Angelique’s return to Colinwood and her endless schemes to torment poor vampire Barnabas with her relentless curses. Needless to say I’m breathless with anticipation wondering how he’ll fare. It’s easy to love the show for cheese reasons like it’s blinding (and often green) mod wardrobe pieces, the endearing way people flub their lines every few minutes, the equally endearing way the boom mic makes a special guest appearance in every other shot, and the terrifying propensity for the flimsy set to sway when a door is slammed and when people run. These of course, were the reasons I wanted to watch it in the first place, but despite myself, I’ve gotten totally sucked into it’s circuitous story lines and even may be harboring a small crush on ole Barnabus despite his agrresive use of rouge, his Hitler Hairdo, and the unfortunate fact that the actor who played him now resides in Canada of his own free will. As a joke, I was bragging last night that next year I’m totally down for going to the annual Dark Shadows Festival. But I may actually not be joking. If I do decide to go, I wonder if anyone will even admit to knowing me upon my return…

Borsht, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

I’ve always been Jewy, but last night I crossed over into a heretofore undiscovered realm of cranky-old-Jew-ness when, for the first time, I deemed it appropriate to consume a giant bowl of cold Borsht for dinner. I’ve documented the remaining dregs that I couldn’t quite finish here for posterity to discourage any naysayers who may be tempted to deny that I am, in fact, now elderly. The minute that sweet, ruby-red soup started sliding down my throat (and off my spoon, and down the front of my shirt), I was seized with the urge to write an angry letter to my local newspaper, argue over the price of produce at the market, and drive all over town looking for the absolute lowest gas price (odd since I don’t have a car.) So there you have it. I am now old. And I’ve got the Borsht-stained shirt to prove it. Gay gezunt areit!

Mickey Avalon, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

My fave album of the month is totes MICKEY AVALON’s self-titled debut. If I don’t get my fix at least once a day I’m positively twitchy and must resort to singing the best track, “Jane Fonda” to myself whilst bouncing up and down. I didn’t think it was possible for my obsession with him to deepen, but I just read an incredible feature on him in LA Weekly and am now more entranced than ever. Think I can convince my parents to let me play his super-fly tracks about gay hustlin’ in LA at Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow? Maybe if I point out that he’s Jewish…

Michael Richards is a douchebag, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

OK - so I’m not naive. I know that tons of people are still totally fucking racist. But I HAD thought that it was deemed distinctly NOT OK to show your racist colors in public. I know if I were a racist piece of shit, I would hide my prejudice under the counter like a ’50s stroke mag, for fear of societal persecution. So why is this stuff suddenly falling so trippingly off people’s tongues in public? Like, was anybody even the slightest bit surprised to discover that Mel Gibson is Anti-Semetic? Hardly. We were all surprised, however, that he was so willing to shout about it in public. Which makes Michael Richards’ little stunt at the Laugh Factory so unfathomable. As far as I know, he wasn’t even drunk. Just a little provocation from some hecklers, and the ugliest kind of racial bigotry easily come spewing out of him. Not on the street, mind you. But in front of 300 people with cameras rolling. Then he goes on Letterman to inarticulately and half-assedly apologize for making a mistake. Like it was a wrong answer on a math test or a dent he made in someone’s car. Again, I’m not surprised that someone could still be so racist in this day and age, but I am surprised at how EASY these people find it to blow up their own spots.

I was just contemplating this idea this morning when I walked into the deli downstairs from my office and inadvertantly walked into a potentially dangerous altercation between a crazy yelling dude and the entire staff and clientele of the deli. He somehow felt wronged. Said one of “those mexicans” in the back had threatened him with a knife - and then started going all racial on everyone in the place. The funny part was, the deli just happened to be full of peeps hailing from most continents of the world, so the guy had his hands full trying to racially insult everyone. By the end he was mostly bouncing back and forth between calling the Mexicans rapists and telling the Korean owners to go back to their own country, while a couple of big black dudes waiting for breakfast sandwiches closed rank in front of him before he could get further into the store.

So I guess my Thanksgiving wish this holiday season is simple: Racists of the world - we know y’all are out there, and we don’t expect your ignorant asses to change, but please, have some fucking sense and keep your ugliness to yourself.

Graffiti @ 2nd & 2nd, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Here’s my Nightmare du Jour - My dream this morning started with me waking up in bed, so I really had no idea I was dreaming. I got up and LCF sat up too and put a hand on my belly and said he was worried. He said he read that if you sleep too much on your stomach, you can get tumors, and that he said he could feel tumors when he touched my stomach, so he wanted to take me to the hospital. We got dressed and walked to the nearest hospital, and when I got there the ER was in chaos, but in the masses of people I saw my mom walking around with a clipboard. I ran over to her and tried to tell her what was wrong, and how scared I was, but she said she was too busy working at her new job in the hospital to talk and walked away. I turned and saw my dad sitting at a nearby table waiting for my mom to get off work, so I tried to tell him what was wrong, but he just said that I should tell my mom. Then I went to the triage nurse and told her what was wrong, and when I told her my name, she said she knew my mom so she would bump me to the front of the line. I had to wait outside in the cold for them to call my name because the ER was too full, and when I looked around, I saw that I was surrounded by pregnant teenage girls, standing around shivering, so I was suddenly afraid that I was pregnant too and didn’t know it. When they called my name, a lady doctor led me over to a weird contraption that was a treadmill on the bottom and a red metal photo booth on top. She made me get on and start running much faster than I felt comfortable with. Through my panting and wheezing, I tried to tell her that I was there because I thought I had tumors, or might be pregnant, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She just kept staring at the little slot in the photo booth waiting for some kind of results to pop out. After a few minutes of me running, a whole bunch of pictures started popping out of the slot - pictures of friends and lovers and babies, people I had never seen before in my life, kept popping out of the photo booth slot as I ran. The doctor examined each picture and shook her head, saying “This isn’t right.” I tried to tell her that I couldn’t run any more, and that I couldn’t breathe, but when I tried no words came out. Then I passed out. When I woke up, I was really waking up in my bed, out of breath and covered in sweat.

LadiesRockCamp 1.JPG, originally uploaded by Willie Mae Rock Camp for Girls.

Check me out - I’m now the poster girl for Ladies Rock Camp, or at least I’m the opening photo in their flickr photo stream. You can tell by the unmitigated glee on my face that I didn’t have to carry or set up these drums. If only I lived in a lovely alternate universe in which a small army of stylish and wildly talented riot grrrls with a van went everywhere I went before I got there, and set up black cherry-colored drums in anticipation of my arrival like those dreamy volunteers did at rock camp. In that world, all the clouds would be made of cotton candy, and the Colbert Report would magically be on the “cardio theater” screen every time I dragged myself to the gym. Commercial free - natch.

EODM 11/15/06, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Ray Ban had a party last night at Irving Plaza featuring the Eagles of Death Metal, so LCF and I were all over it. We sloshed our way through what felt like hours of free drinkies and fancy tiny food on fancy tiny trays passed around by fancy tiny ladies, and fended off the very physical advances of a suave, self-proclaimed “hedonist” dude who kept grinding against us while we danced and very subtlely screamed in my face “I want both of you!” while waiting for the rock to begin. When the Eagles (sans Josh) took the stage, we were all liquored up and front row center for all of hottie frontman Jesse Hughes’ macho mustachioed antics. Unforch, the sound at Irving sucks, and even though we were as close as any human could get to the stage we couldn’t hear the vocals. AT ALL. I kept reading Jesse’s fuzzy lips and checking the set list on the floor by his big black motorcycle boots to see what song they were playing because the show was completely Karaoke style. At one point, Jesse asked the crowd how we were all doing, as LCF yelled up to him that the vocals really needed to be louder, and Jesse kind of sneered down at him and said they’d try to fix that up or something. but nothing ever happened.

Which leads me to a rock ettiquette question. Is it OK to mention technical issues to a performer whilst s/he is on stage? We didn’t interrupt the set or anything. LCF totes waited for a banter moment to shout it out, but Jesse seemed a little peeved and totally ignored it. I know if something like that were going on with my band, I would want to know about it. But maybe any comments like that once the show has begun are hard to remedy. I wonder if there is a “Miss Manners” for rock shows I can consult…

skullhead, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Think you’re goth, punk??? Check out the TATTOO this Canadian dude got on his face! As far as distracting the public from his sadly receding hairline goes, I think he’s doing a genius job, but how many times a day do you suppose this guy has to answer the question, “Gosh! Did it hurt?” Hopefully, he has an appropriately maudlin comeback already picked out, like, “The pain of the flesh is nothing compared to the pain that I feel in my SOUL.” Or perhaps he just opts for gouging those people’s eyes out with his thumbs. One thing is for certain, his family pictures around the X-mas tree are gonna RULE this year. Big ups to Jennigirl for bringing this fine specimen of gothliness to my attench. Not just because he looks insane, but because this photo further confirms my geographically biased assertion that all Canadians are fucking crazy.

LES Cougar, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

I hardly ever think about the fact that I’m four years older than LCF, but yesterday, in passing, he made some comment about having a “thing” for older women, and I got all bent out of shape about it until I realized that he meant me. Since when am I an older woman?? I’m 17 4-evs!!!!

RP’s First Panties, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Royal Pink’s gig at Alphabet Lounge on Saturday was notable for many reasons.
1. The harsh reality of what it means to play a venue with no drum setup at all became abundantly clear when my valiant mentor Caryn and I, aided by LCF, dragged everything to Alphabet City from Bushwick. Even more troublesome than getting it there was tryng to load an entire kit out through a knot of bachelorettes dancing dreadfully in the middle of the club to Belinda Carlisle’s “Heaven is a Place On Earth.”

2. Our set was so hot, we got panties thrown at us for the first time (pictured above). They are striped, and of the ladies thong variety. Nice.

3. Lots of rad peeps came, including recent Lt. Gov. candidate Alison Duncan, intern Lauren, Errin’s mamma, and my excellent friend Ian, Who surprised me with a pretty purse with the giant desert-bleached jaw bone of some large deceased animal inside. He says he found the bone in Utah in a part of the desert that used to be a nuclear testing site. I hope merely owning it doesn’t make my ovaries shrivel up and turn black or something.

4. Last but certainly not least - we got paid! Royal Pink got paid! Money! For the first time evs! To rock out! We had no idea this was even part of the equation, so when the door chick handed over the bills, we started jumping up and down and shrieking in a manner that put the bachelorette party to shame.

5. To cap off the evening’s festivity, while we were waiting for the car service outside the club to load up the drums, a super-extra-crazy dude started trying to menace all the people and cars on the corner of 6th and C by screaming “Leave Me Alone!!!” over and over and over, and occasionally switching his screams up so he was yelling “I am the wolf!” instead. At first I thought it was hilarious watching the guy scream in hipsters’ faces that they should leave him alone when everyone was obviously staying as far away from him as possible, but it got less funny when he came over to us. We just turned our backs and he moved quickly on, but Caryn, whipped out her Leatherman and was brandishing it impressively just in case he returned. Eventually someone called the cops, and Alphabet City was made safe for drunk NYU freshmen once more.

Jesus’ Taco, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Last night in Royal Pink’s darkest, hungriest, mid-practice hour of need, four ravenous punk rock girls were saved. Not by Jesus. But instead, by his taco. It was indeed a divine visitation. And saints be praised - they’re open 24 hours!

Box o’ Pain, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

By now it should come as no surprise that I respond most to art that is sad. Not globally sad, like Schindler’s List, or stuff like that. Everyday sad. Clautrophobic personal stories of despair and loneliness grab me tight, and I obsess over them for ages, so it may be quite some time before I get over Grey Gardens. The music was fine, and the staging and sets were lovely, but the acting was un-fucking-believable. I’ve never been to a musical of any kind before where, by the time the rapturous standing ovation rolled around, both the star and the audience were choking back tears of cathartic grief. Riding home on the subway alone, I was as blue as a Billie Holiday song, only not as pretty. When I got home I collapsed in bed next to my love and squeezed him extra tight, as if doing so could somehow keep the duty-bound nightmare of isolation and broken dreams I had just witnessed at bay. But the ghost of Little Edie Beale swirled through me all night long, and getting back to work this morning was a long hard slog. Maybe it’s because my Grandpa let me know without a hint of irony once I turned 27 that I was officially a spinster, but stories of older women fending for themselves without any comfort or companionship always hit close to home. I feel like it could so easily happen to me.

grey gardens, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

I’m so excited. And I just can’t hide it. I’m about to lose control. And I think I like it. This is because in a scant few hours, I will be making my way uptown in the pouring rain to see Grey Gardens on Broadway with Joe!!!! Most shows I’ve seen on Broadway in the last few years have been totally trite and boring and disappointing, but I have very high hopes for this one. It’s based on one of my most obsessively beloved documentaries evs, and stars Christine Ebersole, who, judging by the photo above, has the art of channeling the vivacious Little Edie down to a science. C’mon Grey Gardens! If anyone can restore my faith in the Great White Way, you can!

Kitten under the table, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

When you go to a restaurant, and you feel something weird moving around under the table, and you bend down and see this lurking beneath the tablecloth, is it cute, grounds for a health code violation, or both?

Also, in more exciting gym news, not only does the staff at my new gym like eating fried chicken at the front desk, but they’ve also of late demonstrated a shameless propensity for chain smoking out front. Here’s to good health!

Can You Smell Me?, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Since Halloween all I’ve done is go to work, practice with my band, throw a few punches trying to grocery shop at Trader Joe’s, and work on my novel for NaNoWriMo. Alot. As of this blog entry my word count is 10772. Not bad considering I’ve had to do it all before work and over the weekend. But because of this madcap fictional romp, all pretext of personal hygene has fallen by the wayside. In my mad rush to get to work early to write, showering has become way passe. So to answer this inquisitve mural’s question - Yes. I’m sure you can.

I’m So Sure, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

I know I bitch a lot on this blog about the ads in my neighborhood, but seriously, doesn’t anybody read these things before they drop a bundle to ruin my surroundings with them? At least this one made us laugh. Last time I checked, the nicest guys were the ones who tried not to finish fast.

Er + LCF2, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

As promised, LCF and I helped our friend Alison and her political peeps carry the Green Party banner in the Village Halloween Parade last night. The treck uptown was wild and chaotic as drunken revelers kept running around us and getting tangled up in our giant banner all the way up 6th Ave. There were many excellent drag queens in attendance, as well as many slutty versions of traditionally not-necessarily-slutty characters like mental patients, corrections officers, babies, and baristas sported by NYU undergrad girls. I think my favorite outfit of the night was one such young co-ed who was completely in normal street clothes, and had a box for the Plan B morning-after pill hanging around her neck. I think that pretty much says it all, though from where I was standing it kinda looked like Plan A to me. Throughout the evening, Japanese tourists kept stopping LCF and I to have their pictures taken with us, which to us, was the most supreme complement. After all - we’re huge in Japan.

In other news, today marks the beginning of National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo, and I am actually in it to win it this year. I’m not sure if I’ll make it to the finish line, which would mean starting today and completing 50,000 words of a novel by the end of November, but I’ve always been a sucker for a swift and severe deadline, so we’ll just have to see how it goes. For anyone wishing to jump in last-minute stylie, you can find out how to join me and thousands of other creative kamikazes on our insane quest at the NaNoWriMo website. Cheers!