After reading some dish I wrote about the Murder City Devils, my landlord called advising me to go easy on the adorable little moppets. Seems (gulp) one of them (I am NOT saying which) is my next-door neighbor. On top of that, last week I ran into not one, but TWO artists from the Henry Art Gallery bash, dished in this space last week, in my laundry room! (I am SO relieved my editor cut the SNIDE remark I made about local artists from the Henry piece!). NEW POLICY: From now on, gossip will be limited to people who do not have access to my mail and underwear.
The Ackerley Media Group's 25th an-niversary party was absolutely gala -- MILES of crab legs, MOUNTAINS of sushi, and VALLEYS of clever canapés. And the guest list: Simply every big name in local radio broadcasting (KJR FM's Gary Bryan and Christy Lynn, KUBE's Julie Pilat, Kristie Hinchman, and the enigmatic T-man, et al.), members of the Sonics and Seattle Storm, and topping it all off, the "Sonic Dance Team" (read: cheerleaders) clad in belly-baring Roller Boogie meets Battlestar Galactica getups. Guest performer Natalie Cole made a dramatic entrance, running face first (wham!) into the stage scrim, where she flopped about like a dolphin in a tuna net. (But what a trooper; "Route 66" never sounded so fresh and original.) As usual, the catering staff was far more interesting than the crowd. I am simply obsessed with caterers. Love them. I just want to give them a big hug and say, "What is your story, babe? Are you a struggling painter? A misunderstood musician? Were you abused?" and set them up in a garret somewhere, and bankroll their careers.
Stranger Personals
It warms my cockles the way Seattle's creative community bands together. Last week, artists came together to raise money for burned-out performers Kevin Kent and Mik Kuhlman, whose Vashon Island home recently burned down. Anyone who is ANYONE attended the benefit at Re-bar, either as an entertainer or audience member (with the exception of comedy guru Peggy Platt, who assures me that she mailed the unfortunate pair a personal check). Although I have a sneaky suspicion that the duo were fully insured and that the benefit simply provided them with drinking money, it was a FABULOUS night of entertainment, capped by the singular talents of the ravishing Miss Dina Martina.
Libel laws. They make a career as a gossip monger an absolute NIGHTMARE. For instance: If a very sincere informant were to write me claiming to have seen (hypothetically, now) THE MAYOR or THE GOVERNOR or WASHINGTON STATE SENATOR SLADE GORTON renting multi-racial GAY PORN at an adult bookstore in Washington D.C., libel laws would demand I generalize the story to the point of unrecognizable absurdity. The story would lose all its punch. So what's the point?
And Sunday brought brunch with performance artist Tim Miller. You know, the compulsively naked "I-pissed-off-Jesse-Helms-in-the-late-'80s-by-exposing-my-hose!" Tim Miller? Knowing I was going to miss his show Glory Box, I met the celebrated promosexual over pancakes and polenta at the Open Circle Theater benefit brunch, hoping that Mr. Miller would grace us with a little impromptu stripping. I mean, I'd hate to be the only person in the country who hasn't seen his penis! Unfortunately, he was a perfect gentleman. Absolutely charming. Damn it.
I am watching you. Try to be interesting. Send gossip to adrian@thestranger.com.
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