You know, the Sunday night bash hosted by Kenny Kenny and Susanne Bartsch at Greenhouse.
Judging from last night there, it’s hotter, zippier, and loonier than ever.
Bartsch was in Japan, but Kenny presided over the crowd in a sylph-like outfit, with light silver chains hanging from his face a la Memoirs of a Geisha meets The Garden of Allah.
The crowd was a mix of hot guys and unselfconscious clubbies, like a short guy in a thong who kept telling people it was his birthday and they should buy him a tequila shot, or a transsexual who kept insisting to me that she lives in “midtown,” though it turned out she’s actually from HK like everyone else.
Photographer Steven Meisel was perched on a banquette up on the area that’s used as the stage, but he left because the light was too bright; a photographer must always have the proper illumination, I guess.
And on came the show:
A drag queen who stood there and bled from the mouth as a one-note punk remix of “Call Me Maybe” blared.
The crowd was dumbfounded, which takes a lot.
“That was very San Francisco,” noted Kenny. “I’ve never been there, but it was very San Francisco.”
Then came Leo Gugu, the performer who’d injured his one remaining testicle recently by pole dancing too hard.
Leo was out of the hospital and ready to perform–slowly–but it turned out he’d only brought a YouTube link to sing along to, and that wasn’t usable.
Good. He should rest more.
“Help!” a male in the crowd said, grabbing me. “That guy over there is trying to make out with me.”
I vowed to protect him, but I had my own problems–a little creature was all over me, drunkenly begging me to let him buy me “a lemonade” so I could teach him journalism and personally inspire him.
I pawned him off on the first guy, but then the first guy’s partner surfaced and…
Oh, lawdie, I was certainly never bored.
I’m going to have to stop by this place more often.