By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
To be fair, the party organizers had the good sense to hire a lot of half-naked women dressed in Vegas showgirl costumes and Day-Glo plumes to distract the patrons. Unfortunately, I missed sword swallower NATASHA, who is in the Guinness Book of World Records, but a performance by our favorite hula hooper (OK, we don't know of any other hula hoopers), SATURNZ RETURNS, almost made up for the two lost hours of my life. She was helped along by a completely unrecognizable, out-of-drag MISS UNDERSTOOD. Of course, now that I've said all this, one of my favorite publicists, CLAIRE O'CONNOR, who reps for the spot, is probably never gonna speak to me again.
The next night, I nourished my underfed soul with good music, courtesy of SWAYZAK, at the Canal Room. All the usual techno suspects were there, including an ever dapper JOHN SELWAY, an increasingly neurotic ULYSSES, and our doppelgänger at Time Out, BRUCE TANTUM (we may not look alike but we sport the same bad attitude). As what's left of my hearing suffered from the badly EQ'ed sound system, I begged Halcyon's SHAWN SCHWARTZ to please, please, please open a proper venue. Unfortunately, considering that after six years as an entrepreneur, he just got business cards made up, we won't be getting Halcyon the Club anytime soon.
Also hanging out was PETER WOHELSKI, who revealed that his longtime lady, LYNNE SULTAN, just threw her son, BRADLEY WEINSTEIN, a bar mitzvah. Who cares, you ask? Well, Bradley's bar mitzvah was better than yours, or anyone else you know, because at his party, MR. C (formerly the SHAMEN, currently The End's tech-house auteur) spun a featured acid-house set, alternating with another DJ who played more typical fare. And he even made a special mix CD to give to the kids. Some techno-heads were in attendance, including MATTER:/FORM's ELAN ACKERMAN and DJ THREE, to witness Mr. C play for a bunch of 12-year-olds. Afterward, he played for a (barely) more mature audience at the Sullivan Room.
Burlesque babe JULIE ATLAS MUZ is one tough broad. At one of the performances of her experimental dance show at P.S.122, I Am the Moon and You Are the Man on Me, she cracked her head on a pillar and later needed seven stitches. But during the show, attended by her Polish-Ukrainian mother, she had no idea how badly she'd hurt herself until the end, when she spreads white paint on her nude body. "I looked at my hands, and they were covered in blood. I finished the show punk rock-style," she says proudly. Before the performance, her mom had admonished her for the part when Muz places the stars 'n' stripes in her most private parts. "Why do you have to put the flag of our free and beautiful country in your ass?" she asked, not unreasonably. But, afterward, Muz says that her mom "told the cast and crew that she thought the show was beautiful." Flag and stitches and all.