That Gum You Like Is Going to Come Back In Style

If there's anything to look forward to in 2017, it's the revival of Twin Peaks, the backwards talking little people, cherry pie and damn fine coffee, Log Lady fever dream that David Lynch spit out in the early '90s that's coming to Showtime this May (not to be confused with the shitshow going on in Washington, DC today, which feels more Twilight Zone/Apocalypse Now than Twin Peaks anyway).  One day it's 1990 and you're watching the reveal of Laura Palmer's killer with the stripper you picked up at the seedy Dupont Circle club that was upstairs from Burrito Brothers before both the club and Burrito Brothers closed and the show went off the rails and was cancelled, and the next day you have white hairs on your taint and you're old, but I still can't fucking wait to reunite with Ed of Ed's Gas Farm and his wife Nadine with the eye patch and the greased drape chords or Laura Palmer's screechy mother played by the amazing Grace Zabriskie. Sadly no Donna Hayward, because collagen hasn't made it's way to Twin Peaks yet and there's no other way to explain Lara Flynn Boyle's fucked up face (you can’t just go into the plumbing aisle at Home Depot, pick up something in a tube and inject into your face. That’s not okay.), but Mädchen Amick will be back as Shelly Johnson, and there must be something in that Double R Diner coffee because she hasn't aged a day!

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Louise Sorel is someone you wouldn't know unless you were my mother or you spent the late 80's watching the greatest daytime soap opera in the history of soap operas, Santa Barbara, like we did.  If that's the case you'd be very familiar with the eccentric villainess Augusta Lockridge, who framed a man for murder to protect wrongly suspected son Warren, served daughter Laken's pet pigeon to the family as hors d'ourves as revenge for dating Ted Capwell, whose family she held a grudge against, faked a kidnapping and used the ransom money to keep the family mansion, and had an affair with sister Julia's rapist Dash Nichols, and you'd understand that meeting her portrayer would be a big deal for me.  We got a good laugh out of the fact that, although I traveled all the way to LA to meet her, she's an Upper East Side neighbor, and we agreed that next time we'd skip the TSA pat-down and have dinner and drinks at Scalinatella.  Hold the pigeon.

Shine Bright Like a Diamond

I know you've all been missing me terribly the last few weeks, waiting patiently for updates of my glamorous holidays sunning my nipples in Barbados or St. Barts or working a Chanel ski suit in Aspen, and while I'd love to tell you about swimming in the med with Naomi and Kate or that dinner in Lake Como with George and Amal, the truth is that the flu kicked my ass for two weeks and pretty much fucked my holidays right in the ass without lube or whispering sweet nothings in my ear afterwards.  So instead of some reality star or has been actress clinging to her last few seconds of fame with a show about strippers, let's start 2017 off right with international icon of glamour and my personal role model, Alexis Morell Carrington Colby Dexter Rowan herself, Joan Collins.  Dripping glamour in spite of the champagne and caviar bloat, she can still take your man, take your company and everything you love without even trying.

I Try

I've been a fan of Macy Gray's crazy ass since I first heard I Try while day-drinking with this girl Sherry that I used to know on the balcony of an amazing apartment that we rented on Jackson Square during Southern Decadence a million years ago before she voted for #notmypresident and I had to cut her out of my life like a cancer, so I wasn't even a little surprised this morning to see Macy, half asleep/half stoned, struggling to count out the correct fare for her Uber driver then promptly dropping her keys as she tumbled out of the car arriving at Good Day New York to promote her annual New Years eve show at The Iridium, which I will not be attending because (1) it's in Times Square and you won't catch me there on a regular night, let alone New Years Eve and (2) I'm old, and my ass has a hard time staying awake past 11PM these days without stimulants.

Is This the Cocksucker Residence?

Forget The Godfather or Casablanca, and fuck that selfish Scarlett O'Hara.  If you recognize the title of this post you're obviously familiar with one of the greatest scenes in cinematic history, Beverly Sutphin's obscenity filled phony phone call terrorizing Dottie Hinkle in John Waters' masterpiece (and my favorite film of all time) Serial Mom.  I don't know why this film was overlooked by the academy because Kathleen Turner saying "pussy willows" still makes my ears pucker, and she and Mink Stole should have scored Best Actress nominations from this scene alone!  While Kathleen went on to Broadway acclaim and the role of Chandler's father on Friends, Mink went on to even greater stardom in But I'm a Cheerleader, Eating Out and Eating Out 2: Sloppy Seconds, which explains why she was performing her one woman cabaret act last night at The Cutting Room in NYC.

How Did You GET Here?

I can't tell you how many times I danced to Nobody's Supposed to Be Here shirtless on a box at a circuit party back in the day.  Really, I can't.  I was high.  And if you've ever been on the dancefloor with me you know that it's like I'm possessed, on the floor and speaking in tongues, so you'll have to excuse me.

What I CAN tell you is that on top of being incredibly talented, singer Deborah Cox was super nice this morning while promoting her Broadway-bound musical version of The Bodyguard, and she didn't even throw me a side eye me when I told her that story.  I bet she hears that from all the queens.

Sexual Chocolate

This picture would be so much better if Shemar Moore was holding his bare peen instead of doing that hang loose shit with his hands.  If you aren't familiar with this hot piece, you haven't been watching Criminal Minds for the last eleven years, didn't get sucked into watching The Young and the Restless at your grandmother's house when you were too sick to go to school (I don't know why Drucilla was always so bitchy, she was getting some good dick, P.S., by the way!) and never subscribed to the bastion of mail order glamour, the International Male catalogue, where he regularly showed off his chonies in fishnet shirts, pleather tank tops and tan through speedos that didn't live up to my expectations their claims.