A Murray Murray Christmas!


The holidays have been so enjoyable this year: Maybe it’s the tree in my living room, with its blinking lights and presents—or maybe it’s all the (free) alcohol I’ve been drinking at holiday parties. The highlight thus far has been Deitch Projects’ Candy & Chaos extravaganza, held in a big Williamsburg warehouse on December 12 and 13. A few hundred hipsters traipsed through the pouring rain to help themselves to free cookies, wine, and booze.

If that weren’t enough, visitors could wander over to the, um, “Petting Zoo,” which featured “animals” (actually grown men and women dressed in fur-like accoutrements on all fours). You could really pet the animals, though some of them didn’t look very nice, and you could even feed them Fruit Loops. If you looked closely, you saw some semi-famous celebs hiding under costumes—the giant, yellow funky chicken was photographer Jeremiah Clancy, otherwise known as Peanuts of Fischerspooner fame. And the giant Gingerbread Man roaming around terrorizing the guests? Why that was none other than Casey Spooner.

Like any good holiday party, there had to be a Santa Claus. Of course, most Santas aren’t drag kings in disguise, but then, wouldn’t you rather sit on Murray Hill‘s lap than the old, white dude at the mall? I picked pervy Murray—who posed for pictures and charged $2 for a signed Polaroid. Mine reads: “To the cutest snowflake in the world! XO Murray.”

The main event was a bona fide holiday extravaganza, complete with the history of Christmas as told by the master of ceremonies and party mastermind, Adam Dugas. Then there were performances galore: A human-snowflake pyramid brought down the house; Lizzie Yoder (another FS girl) sang “Let It Snow”—twice; songstress Angela DiCarlo, dressed in a bright-pink ’50s-esque ensemble, belted out “There’s Always Tomorrow” (from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer TV special) and, more curiously, “I Want It Now,” the bratty Veruca Salt ditty from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; and the Cracked Nut Dancers did a hopping Russian footstool dance to a Tchaikovsky number (and repeated it after one girl whined “My scarf came off!”).

It was a very wholesome show, except for the part where Jennifer Lynn, the same girl who lost her scarf, lost the rest of her dress for her rendition of “Santa Baby.” She was butt-ass naked save for a giant red bow on top of her head. Santa Murray, can I have her for Xmas?

Soon there will be no reason whatsoever to travel above 14th Street. Yet another new bar-cum-restaurant-cum-lounge is opening in February at 217 Bowery across from the Pioneer Bar. The joint—to be called Mission—will be a swanky one, says one of its six (!) owners, Nicholas Cohen, formerly of Shine. The other bosses come from East Side standbys Leopard Lounge/Sin Sin, Ryan’s Irish Pub, the Thirsty Scholar, and River Town Lounge. The 4500-square-foot space will have two floors, a tapas menu, and a varied musical agenda, featuring international and local DJs spinning “soul, funk, acid jazz, gospel, and rock,” says Cohen. While nothing is solid as of yet, Cohen says to expect DJs like Stretch Armstrong and Mateo of Fun Lovin’ Criminals, and says that celebs like Parker Posey and Joan Rivers are already inquiring about throwing parties.

Hip-hop gets official. November will be formally celebrated as Hip Hop History Month in the state of New York from here on out, thanks to State Senator Pedro Espada Jr. The South Bronx senator sponsored the resolution, working in conjunction with Afrika Bambaataa, who has been on a campaign to get hip-hop recognized for donkey’s years. More surprising: The resolution was passed unanimously with nary a peep from Democrats or Republicans!

Which lovely triad of ladies is turning into a very lesbionic girl group? One of the luscious singers is a well-known sapphic sister, a second gal isn’t really “out” but she’s a full-on dyke diva, and the third member recently explored her bi side with a certain raunchy singer notorious for hitting the switch.

A certain diminutive pop singer was recently reported as having a new beau who happens to be the flamboyant frontman for a certain New York band. But what is so very confusing is that the frontman is said to be as gay as a three-dollar bill, and is rumored to have had a thang with Michael Stipe of R.E.M. back in the day. And of course he’s really hot. Dammit all to hell.

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