ELMO KEEP

As it was, however, in my fanciful attempt at getting myself organized, I had, among other errors, set the call to speakerphone, something I was afraid to rectify in case I accidentally hung up altogether. So Gene Simmons’ voice was booming like God’s, bouncing off the white walls and hardwood floor, reverberating around the enormous conference room where I sat in a white vinyl chair at the enormous white round table (where a single person was always an aberration of its symmetry), and the sun was steadily rising at the windows, filling the room with horrible, horrible light and I felt as though I were inside a giant microwave, being roasted, being roasted by Gene Simmons; and the disembodied, booming voice carried up through the atrium drew curious people from upstairs in the office who came to gawk quizzically at me, caged animal, through the glass, making Who the fuck are you talking to? gestures while I gestured back with wide eyes, shaking my head: I have no idea what is happening!

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A lenghty piece in which I attempt to explain how I came to love KISS is now up on the Awl. It also got a link in the New York Times.

Who doesn’t love lists? Noone! End of year wrap-up lists, particularly. Like this one, soon to run in the Brag’s bumper Xmas Spectacularly Spectacular Edition.

I had several surreal experiences this year, all of which will forever nestle in the warm, fuzzy folds of my memory. I don’t know which was weirder: walking into a room I thought was empty at Andy Summer’s photo exhibition only to find him standing in there on his own (lucky I had two drinks with me.) Maybe it was nearly treading on Patti Smith at her aftershow where we ate oysters after midnight while we gazed at Luna Park. I was proud to have pressed Henry Rollins on his hatred for Bono, not so proud to have incurred Gene Simmons’ wrath to the point where he spat water in my face. I think playfully, but maybe it wasn’t. Gene, I’m sorry I was unprepared. Anyway, maybe it was The Great Facebook Wars? That was pretty weird.

But that minor indignity aside, it was clearly the year of the Gene. Something happened there I can’t quite explain beyond the psychotic need I now feel to drag everyone I know with me to see KISS, should they ever return. Otherwise I’ll be real out of pocket flying to wherever it is in the world I have to go, to make sure that I see them again before I die.

2008, how I’ve loved you. Thankyou for stopping by, you spoiled me so.