That time Parker Posey wrote me a letter

Hey Daniel. 

Boyohboyohboyohboy ..... 

Aren't you glad you talked to me when talking was easy for me? 

It seems like our phone call was back in the day, but it was only weeks ago. 

I've been talking non stop for to Press, and just recently (today) have I been able to walk around my apt., and CLEAN--whereas this past week, I've been looking at trash and papers and tapes, and just STARING. 

Looking to do something, but not knowing WHAT exactly. 

Should I listen to a tape or a CD? 

Let me just STARE at it and feel overwhelmed. 

Things in my home, seemed foreign to me. 

And before I knew it, I had to go outside and talk about myself some more. 

Catching a cab, thinking, "all I had to do was EMPTY that ashtray!" BUT ... Now, I'm fine. :) 

The foreign objects are back to being things in my home. 

And “overwhelming” is just a word, anyway. 

And I'm gonna enjoy myself, because everyone is telling me to, and because I Should. 

***My life is changing, but that's what it's supposed to do, right? 

Picture on the deck, please don't say I live in Chelsea, just write "down town." 

People have started saying hello to me on the street. 

I like a friendly hello, but um ..... my deck is something I want private. 

I sent a picture, 'cause I'm nice.  

Vampillia victory

Japan’s sickest, freak-thrash orchestra triumphs at SXSW

DAYTIME DRAMA: Geath brings the house down at Rabbit’s on East Sixth Street. [Photo: Kusner.]

By DANIEL KUSNER | March 19, 2011

AUSTIN — South by Southwest victimizes clueless bands. Those out-of-town acts who pilgrimage to Texas’ capital to fork over lodging, meal and parking expenses.

What do these visitors get? Often, a barely attended showcase minus a decent soundcheck. And performing without earning a dime.

But rockstar touring sure sounds fun. One day, these unpaid musicians’ grandkids will hear that their ancestors once gigged at the same puny clubs as Kanye West... Or Moby...

Smart bands, however, are pimps and make SXSW work for them. They befriend promoters and other out-of-town acts to launch indie tours.

Some get press. And some score record deals (aka The Delusional SXSW Dream).

Other acts grab the balls of South-by with talent and mind-blowing stunts.

Like Vampillia — a “brutal orchestra” from Japan’s Honshu Island — a punk-kabuki, dozen-member ensemble.

Their new album, “Alchemic Heart,” dramatically shifts: from thrash riffs that build into a Metallica-conducted symphony, to spare plink-plink-plink pianissimo melodies that mash into Watusi sambas and clap-along waltzes, which then erupt into crescendos that’d make Queen, Smashing Pumpkins and Rush scream, “What the fuck?”

It’s noisy but tight. 

Vampillia deserve more than a passing glance because their kinetic antics are disciplined. They choreograph chaos with stylish surprises.

I first caught them on Friday afternoon at Rabbit’s Lounge on East Sixth Street. The last-minute showcase billed itself as an “earthquake fundraiser” but incorrectly spelled the gig’s only Japanese act.

QUAKE UP! Vampillia at an “earthquake fundraiser.” T-girl guitarist Velladon, right. [Photo: Kusner.]

The band has three guitarists, a bassist, twin drummers, a pianist, as well as three vocal leads: “Geath” is the sadomasochistic face-painted frontman; “Death” looks like an Asian mafia-lord and growls like a basso profundo; and “Velladon” is the gorgeous T-girl, who wishes she was a coloratura.

On Saturday, they conquered Congress Avenue’s Hideout Theatre.

But before playing the Hideout (a raked, velvet-curtain venue), Vampillia marauded Sixth Street to drum up more fans.

GRABBING SOUTH-BY: Vampillia drums up support on Sixth Street. [Photo: Kusner.]

The glam-gal drummer passed out handbills while accompanying two scene-stealing teammates.

The trio screamed at Sixth Streeters, “We are Vampillia! We from Japan! Come to The Hideout at 11 p.m.”

Mummy-wrapped in cellophane, Geath frothed on the asphalt, “I’m so sorry. So sorry,” as the masked guitarist chain-whipped Geath to slam-dance for beats spilling from nearby clubs.

SLAVE TO THE RHYTHM: Vampillia pimps SXSW 2011. [Photo: Kusner.]

Onstage, Vampillia was all business.

Their showcases were horrific operas. Soundtracks for a recently destroyed country on the brink of nuclear meltdown.

But Vampillia manipulated SXSW.

Their freaky, daredevil exploits baited Austin into polished performances. Which is a Texas-sized triumph since these Japanese musicians can barely understand English.

Vampillia in Texas — 2nd gallery.

Austin: Congress Avenue, circa 1900

From the site SepiaTown, which provides an overlay of historic photos of major cities. Not much Lone Star history. Found this photo of the Congress Avenue Trolley, circa 1900, the same year Galeveston was hit by a powerful hurricane that killed 8,000.

In the early 1900s the Texas Oil Boom took hold creating tremendous economic opportunities in Southeast Texas and North Texas. The growth generated by this boom largely passed by Austin at first, with the city slipping from 4th largest to 10th largest in Texas between 1880 and 1920.

Parker Posey recalls taking first bite of Big Apple

Parker on her fire escape, looking serious. (Via, SPREAD Vol. 3).

In the mid-’90s, while Parker Posey was shooting "Suburbia," we hung out in Austin a few times.

We first "met" at the Dobie Theater when she was in Texas shooting "Waiting for Guffman"

Then I interviewed her for the magazine I published, SPREAD.

Parker was such a sweetie.

For my editorial purposes, she had a picture taken of herself on her apartment "patio" (a folding chair on the scaffolding outside of her window) in Greenwich Village.

Tonite in Brooklyn, both Parker and David Rakoff read their "My First New York" essays, which are excerpted in New York magazine.

From Parker's essay

We climbed the fire escape to smoke cigarettes and take pictures of ourselves in the sunset looking serious. And we played Ping-Pong and pool somewhere in the West Village and drank beer and ate burgers at the Corner Bistro. Sasha liked the Clash and I liked the Jam, and the Beastie Boys were just beginning. A cute guy offered to buy the jeans I was wearing for a hundred dollars, and I almost took him up on it, but then I thought, What would I wear? He said they were for his girlfriend. Now I think he was hitting on me.

That time I interviewed DAVID SEDARIS

American in Paris
David Sedaris takes his boyfriend’s cock out of his mouth to answer the phone

STAR TALKER: Sedaris received a fax from George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch. “They wanted me to be the voice of a creature for the new Star Wars movie — like Yoda’s cousin or something. But I’m not an actor. And I don’t want to be a wookie or a little gremlin or anything like that.”

By DANIEL KUSNER | June 30, 2000

On the Fourth of July, don’t expect David Sedaris to be waving an American flag. The essayist and NPR commentator will be at his home in France.

He’ll probably spend the day cleaning his oven and smoking cigarettes in a country where one can inhale nicotine practically anywhere — even in hospital waiting rooms.

“I come back to the U.S. And people think America invented freedom. They think that France is a dictatorship or something,” Sedaris says during a recent phone interview. “In terms of freedom and quality of life, we’re pretty low on the totem pole, I think. Just this whole thing about people stamping their little feet and saying things like, ‘I don’t like cigarette smoke. So you can’t smoke cigarettes anywhere, anymore.’ Or, ‘I don’t have a family. So you can’t say ‘family room’ in your advertisements because that hurts my feelings.’”

It’s modern-day PC whining — especially from what he calls “ridiculous anti-smoking Nazis” — that gets under Sedaris’ skin.

Last week, he was in Austin to promote his latest essay collection,  “Me Talk Pretty One Day,” (Little Brown, $23).

 

More than 1,000 fans showed up, and Sedaris signed books for nearly three hours.

“But I made a mistake on a radio interview. I announced that the store made arrangements so I could smoke. Some listener called the police. And the store was going to have to pay a $2,000 fine if I lit a cigarette. I should have never have said anything on the radio,” he says.

“So [during the book signing] I went to the bathroom and smoked half a cigarette there.”

North Texans shouldn’t feel left out that Sedaris won’t be stopping in Big D during his most-recent publicity tour.

DAVID IN BIG D: Sedaris at the McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photos Bryan Amman.]

Last March, he kicked off his speaking tour at The Dallas Museum of Art. That standing-room-only DMA crowd was mostly comprised of middle-class heterosexuals.

Although, Sedaris is gay and constantly references his boyfriend, Hugh, it seems his work easily transcends just the “gay market.” When one thinks of Sedaris, the first thought probably isn’t, “Oh yeah. He’s that gay writer.”

“I’ve just always insisted that me saying ‘my boyfriend’ is no different than saying ‘my girlfriend.’ If I were writing a story that said, 'The phone rang. And so I took Hugh’s cock out of my mouth," People might be like, ‘What?’ It’s not like I’m holding back or anything — I just don’t write like that,” he says while exhaling. “It doesn’t make any difference that I’m gay.”

Sedaris’ latest collection reveals that he’s been going through a lot of changes.

One of his favorite activities used to be drinking until he was shit-faced.

Even though he says he wrote at least half of ‘Me Talk Pretty One Day’ drunk, Sedaris is now exploring moderation.

“I haven’t had a drink in over a year now. I didn’t want to be professional about it. I didn’t want to go to horrible meetings or anything. I just stopped,” he says. “I think everybody has a little time when their books do well. But it’s not going to last for long. So I thought that it will be a lot easier to deal with if I say, ‘Okay, I’m washed up.’ But if I say I’m a washed-up drunk, that will make it even harder. I just wanted to remove the word ‘drunk’ from that sentence. So it would make it a little easier to deal with.”

Since the publication of his last book, ‘Naked,’ Sedaris has come to grips with encroaching fame and meshing with Hollywood.

Last week, while Sedaris was in California, he received a mysterious fax from George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch.

“They wanted me to be the voice of a creature for the new Star Wars movie — like Yoda’s cousin or something. But I’m not an actor. And I don’t want to be a wookie or a little gremlin or anything like that,” he says.

He’s also receives offers to develop TV sitcoms. But Sedaris isn’t about to give up his creative freedom.

“I just feel like I’m so lucky to do whatever I want to do. So I don’t want to throw that away and go work for somebody else. I’ve never worked for anybody else writing. Never,” he insists.

Sedaris, who says he’s a fast typist but only uses one finger, recounts a piece he wrote for The New York Times about his favorite TV show, “Cops.”

He returned to France before his editors could get in touch with him about rewrites. And the Times changed Sedaris’ vocabulary.

“They used the word ‘hooker.’ I would never in a million years use the word ‘hooker.’ I would have used the word ‘prostitute’ because it has a clinical feeling to it. We’re talking about someone who is missing the entire top row of her front teeth and is wearing a Ghostbusters T-shirt. It’s more interesting to refer to her as ‘a prostitute’ — to give her the dignity of that title rather than to call her ‘a hooker.’”

"And it just made me so mad. I just felt like I had been robbed,” he explains. “Besides, The New York Times pays shit.”

Sedaris, 41, doesn’t have any plans to move back to the U.S. anytime soon.

He was in his 30s when he first got published.

Throughout most of his adult life, he worked odd jobs housecleaning or painting while he wrote on the side.

But as his career took off, he started getting hired to clean immaculate houses just so his clients could have lunch with him. It ruined a career that helped keep him grounded.

He’s relatively unknown in France and hasn’t quite mastered the language, which gives him the necessary everyday battles that fuels his writing.

“In Paris, the only attention I get is negative attention, which is the way it should be. What’s good about going to France is it seems that I write better from a vantage point where I’m not getting my way. When I left New York, I pretty much was getting my way.

“And in France, it’s perfect. Because I can sill have lots of money and go shopping. But the second I leave my door, my life is a struggle,” he continues.

While on tour, Sedaris manages to have fun.

During book signings, he’s started wearing an external catheter called The Stadium Pal, which is like a self-adhesive condom with a rubber tube.

“You wear it and urine collects in a bag that you strap to your ankle called The Freedom Leg Bag. It’s designed so that guys can go to football games and drink all they want and never have to go to the bathroom. Like you’re free from the bathroom line,” he explains.

Sedaris wants to use experience so he can write about it.

“I thought it would be funny to pee in my pants while I was in front of people,” he laughs.

When asked about his relationship, Sedaris says he’s in love.

“I say I’m in love with him because I haven’t seen him in a while, and we talk on the phone. Sometimes you love somebody and you’re not necessarily in love with them. To love someone is enough for me,” he explains.

He says his relationship with Hugh is approaching 10 years and that he’s never cheated on his boyfriend.

Is there any chance of them getting married?

“That is so queer,” he says. “I could never do that.”

POST-POSTCARD: From Sedaris to Yours Truly.

SEDARIS IN BIG D: David at McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photo: Bryan Amann.]

SEDARIS IN BIG D: David at McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photo: Bryan Amann.]

SEDARIS IN BIG D: David at McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photo: Bryan Amann.]

SEDARIS IN BIG D: David at McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photo: Bryan Amann.]

SEDARIS IN BIG D: David at McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photo: Bryan Amann.]

SEDARIS IN BIG D: David at McKinney Avenue Contemporary. [Photo: Bryan Amann.]

‘FROZEN LULLABIES’ by Radio Hairdo at Cactus Cafe, Austin. Feb. 26, 1991

Almost 15 minutes

In 1991 — during a Zellweger undergrad semester — I was a Texas rockstar. For about 15 minutes.

My name first appeared in the Dallas Observer on April 11, 1991.

Well, almost. “Kusner” was spelled “Kossner.”

That semester, The Daily Texan profiled my Austin band.

ON THE DAILY: Feb 12, 1991.

Just like Walter Cronkite’s profile about Gertrude Stein.

March 22, 1935.

FUN FACT

In 1935, Wally, Gert and Alice enjoyed a three-way at The Austin Motel. Afterward, Cronkite raced for the morning deadline.

"The prince of verbal swat and the traveling companion Alice B. Toklas.”

That Daily Texan “B-day girl” headline transformed me into an androgynous figure.

In Don Graham’s American Lit, a wry classmate observed, “Kusner flounces around campus like a silky haired Michael Hutchence.”

Inside the Cactus Cafe, my Austin band, Radio Hairdo, waltzed through Texas with “Frozen Lullabies.”

My ’90s magazine, SPREAD, enjoyed a three-way inside The Austin Motel. 

When Poe sang, “A rose is a rose is a rose...”

HI THERE, GERTRUDE: Miss Poe Not Out for Show, But Knows What She Knows

40 ACRES TREND: Jimmy Fallon and Matthew McConaughey in burnt orange.