Tarhearted.

ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG.

Goodbye, Farah.

I'm glad your pain is gone and am hoping that if there are angels they're copying your hair. You were truly gorgeous, inside and out.

I SMELL CRAZY.

I had an incredibly stressful day yesterday and (like a lady) I decided to take a piping hot bath, give myself a facial, and go to bed with a book. All that was missing was the candlelight and Feist album!

Anyway, I was lying there in the bath when I noticed that my hippie soap bottle was covered in craziness. Actually, that's not quite true. I'm sensitive to aesthetics and I work in Marketing for a living, so if an ad is chock full of copy to the point where it's jumbled or "busy" it's as if I don't see it. It's a sort of willful ignorance. I guess the warm water relaxed me enough to actually give the bottle a look-see though, because I spent a full five minutes wondering what the fuck I was reading. "The earth is god's spaceship." Say what? This is some heaven's gate shit. I could have spent ten or twenty minutes reading it.

Today I followed up with some research. Who is the Dr. Bronner and how does he make his magical soap? The Straight Dope clears it up:

Bronner is an 85-year old (as of 1993) German immigrant who hangs out in Escondido, California. He's not an MD or strictly speaking a rabbi, but claims he's got the equivalent of a PhD in chemistry, which I guess makes him a master chemist. He's also not your average soap maker. Whereas Messrs. Procter and Gamble dream (well, dreamt) of enzymes and long-chain fatty acids, Bronner dreams of world peace.

Bronner wants to convince mankind of the virtues of the "All-One-God-Faith," which, together with the "Moral ABC," his answer to the Ten Commandments, will unite the human race. The details of this can be a bit hard to follow. For example: "Replace half-true Socialist-fluoride poison & tax-slavery with full-truth, work-speech-press & profitsharing Socialaction! All-One! So, help build 4 billion Hannibal wind-power plants, charging 96 billion battery-banks, powering every car-factory-farm-home-monorail & pump, watering Babylon-roof-gardens & 800 billion Israel-Milorganite fruit trees, guarded by Swiss 6000 year Universal Military Training," etc.

Talking to the doc on the phone is the audio equivalent of reading one of his labels. He can be pretty linear when he wants to be, but eventually always veers off into a rap about the Essene rabbis and whatnot, delivered in a nutty-professor German accent. Believe me, it's an experience.

Bronner has had an eventful life. The son of a Jewish German soap maker, he emigrated to the U.S. and pleaded with his father to do the same when the Nazis came to power. The old man refused. One day Bronner got a postcard with the words, "You were right. --Your loving father." He never heard from his parents again.

Initially settling in the midwest, Bronner married the illegitimate daughter of a nun, who eventually became suicidal and died in a mental hospital. (He says she was tortured by the hospital guards.) He also began devising his plan for world peace. Fittingly, he took to the soapbox to promote it. One of his listeners, Fred Walcher, was so inspired that in 1945 he had himself crucified in Chicago in order to publicize the plan. (He survived.)

Later Bronner was arrested while trying to promote his plan at the University of Chicago and was committed to a mental hospital. He escaped three times, finally fleeing to California in 1947. He's been there cranking out soap and soap labels ever since.

Despite his eccentricities, Dr. Bronner has built his soap company into a prosperous concern, mostly by sheer force of personality. In the early days he would set up a table at health food conventions. If a dealer strayed within ten feet, Bronner would pounce and not let go until he'd gotten an order.

But things didn't really take off until he was discovered by the counterculture during the 60s. With the aid of his sons Jim and Ralph, who handle production and sales, he currently sells some 400,000 gallons of liquid soap and 600,000 pounds of bar soap a year. He says he's now worth $6 million--not bad, he notes drily, for somebody who's supposedly nuts.

Amazing. Dr. Bronner also has his own birth control method for you lady readers:

Bronner's birth control method involves using lemon juice and Vaseline as a spermicide.

I love you, Dr. Bronner!

IN A 90'S KIND OF WORLD.

I performed this opening theme for The Boyfriend last night (minus the ugly jeans) and it made me realize how much I miss the nineties.

There's an episode of My So-Called life in which ever angst-ridden Angela has an inner monologue about how weird it is that her generation doesn't have a Kennedy assasination; a universe altering moment during which everybody remembers exactly what they were doing. I remember feeling that way too. Before 9/11 the closest I came was the OJ Simpson verdict.

It really was a simpler time. Formative things I loved and now miss:

-120 minutes on MTV

-thrift store shopping at Value Village in Seattle

-My So-Called Life

-riot grrl

-the Empire Records soundtrack (shut up! I loved it)

-the Wicca craze that took over my junor high

-the CK1 television spots in which bored teenage models stood in front of ugly wood paneling and were told to take off their shirts or jeans or whatever. They got pulled very quickly.

-OK Soda, which I heard was a marketing experiment. Is that true? We use to call 1 (800) I-Feel-OK about eight-hundred times I day.

Okay, I just looked it up on Wikipedioa and now I'm obsessed with OK Soda. Very interesting marketing history by the same genius behind New Coke and Fruitopia.

P.S.-Never forget.

CHECKING IN.

Only have time to say a quick "hey".

Thanks, Katie!

THAT VOODOO YOU DO.

As much as I obsess over the occult (witchcraft, voodoo dolls, ouija boards, crystals) I do so from a kitschy perspective. I'm a pretty staunch atheist- I don't even believe in Jesus so I'm sure as hell not going to believe in this madness. I think the whole thing is silly and entertaining, but it also makes me giddy, much as it did people of the early 20th century who hosted seances in their parlors as soon as dinner parties. It's campy, fun and aesthetically pleasing!

That said, sometimes I'm reminded why I shouldn't dismiss coo-coo spirituality so quickly. I was watching New York 1 this morning when I was treated to a story about a little girl in Queens whose mother and grandmother set fire to her during a Voodoo ritual meant meant to drive out evil spirits.

The mother initially told police that she was boiling water when she was startled, causing her to spill the hot water on the little girl. The truth is much, much worse. The mother, grandmother, and a friend named Sketch (obviously) performed a ritual they referred to as Loa. A circle of rum is poured around and on the head of the person from whom the spirits are being driven and lit on fire.

The grandmother eventually poured water on the burning girl, but not before she was covered in second and third degree burns. Instead of taking her to an emergency room they gave her a bath and sent her to bed. It was a full twenty-four hours before the girl was taken to a hospital where she is now in an induced coma under treatment for her burns.

My condolences to this little girl. Here's hoping someday we've put an end to religious abuse.

I'm reminded of a recent entry on one of my favorite theater blogs, Parabasis, questioning whether or not Christian Scientists had a right to deny their children medical attention because it was against their religion.

Short answer: NO.

I HEART SMUT.

I just bought 16 sleazy paperbacks from the 50's and 60's to begin working on my next project: to weave some of the stories together for a late night theater sex comedy soap opera. It may be a pipe dream, but these books will be fun to read nonetheless.

I Wanna Destroy You is having a staged reading next week.

MilkMilkLemonade is getting its first full-production in the Fall.

Up With (Some) People in the Samuel French Festival.

Save Yourself for You in the EstroGenius Festival.

Everything is coming up Conkel at the moment! Let's see how long that lasts.

I'm trying to get some gay pulp titles but they're SO expensive on Ebay. I lost every bid I went in on. I can't justify spending over fifty bucks on vintage porn lit right now. Apparently the gays are way more into their sexy literary history than the straights.

I managed two get two readily available gay titles: Song of the Loon and Lord Dismiss Us, respectively. I'd love to know about any smut resources I may have missed.

THE WICKER MAN, THE SENTINEL, AND THE GLAMOROUS OCCULT.

I've been meaning to write about two wonderful movies I saw recently. These are both movies I had absolutely no excuse for not having seen before. The first of the two, The Wicker Man (the original, not that Nick Cage shit), I've wanted to see for years and just got around to. The second film, The Sentinel, I'd literally never heard of despite my well-documented affection for glamorous Satanism (See: Rosemary's Baby).

The Wicker Man (1973) concerns a police detective who travels to an island off the coast of Scotland to search for a missing girl. He soon learns the island has abandoned Christianity for a pagan earth-centered rituals and comes to suspect that the girl is alive and being prepared for ritual sacrifice. In reality, the truth is much more sinister.

This movie, although having some genuinely creepy moments, is awesomely Renaissance Fairish and had the boyfriend and I using the descriptor "bonny" for days, as in the Olde English "bonny", meaning nice or good. As in the theme song of this film is called "Cornrigs are Bonny."

We both found the movie hilarious. It has GOT to be masturbation material for more than one larper and/or Wiccan (the religion that snubs fashion), as well it should be. It totally makes me wish I was a sorcerer. Also, it contains crazy musical numbers. Check out some highlights. There are also two, yes two, naked slut dance routines, one of which uses wood paneling as a percussion instrument.

God, I love the occult.

Speaking of, The Sentinel (1977) is also awesome and has found a home in my personal cannon of glamorous New York occultists movies (see again: Rosemary's Baby). A fashion model moves into a house inhabited (on the top floor) by a blind priest. She begins having strange physical problems, has trouble sleeping at night, and has some nasty flashbacks of her attempted suicide. She complains to the real estate agent of the noise caused by her strange neighbors, but finds out that the house is only occupied by the priest and herself, and ultimately discovers that she has been put in the house for a reason.

One of the highlights is a young Beverly D' Angelo playing a lesbian ballerina ghost who masturbates on camera. So chic! I have to take away point though for the films use of burn victims and the deformed as extras meant to be denizens of hell. I don't know why exactly, but it really bugged me.

Incidentally the film takes place in Brooklyn Heights, where the boyfriend works. I had him walk by the address the movie gives to make sure it was actually filmed here. Tada! Photographic evidence:

If this building is really the gat to hell, then I'm happy to call it home.

OBAMA DOESN'T CARE ABOUT GAY PEOPLE.

After the outrage following the Obama administration's vile brief with The Department of Justice, it looks like the man is ready to throw us gay wads a bone:

From CNN: President Barack Obama will sign a memorandum Wednesday granting some benefits to same-sex partners of federal employees, two senior administration officials said. Read the rest...

Well, that's nice. Except all of us who don't work for the government deserve some equality to, no? Also, because it's a "memorandum" instead on an "executive order" I believe that means it's null and void once he leaves office and doesn't include health insurance benefits either.

You know what? Thanks, but no thanks. During you're campaign you promised a repeal of DOMA and DADT, the passage on ENDA, and some sort of federally recognized marriage equality (even if it's of the bootleg, second-class citizen variety.) So I'll take those as promised, okay? Terrific.

No, I don't want to wait, thanks. Frankly, I'm tired of supposed allies asking for me to hush up and be quiet lest I endanger such-and-such, like healthcare reform (which we're totes not getting anyway, so suck it poor folks.) I've already waited too long. And people shouldn't have to wait for equality in America. This ain't he KFC.

This feels like when I asked for a Transformer for Christmas and recieved a Gobot. Or, later, after discovering punk, asked for Patti Smith CDs and received Patty Smythe CDs instead.

Not the same.

Patti Smith:

Patty Smyth:

See the difference?

And shame on the gay betrayers sticking with the Democratic party. (I'm looking at you Barney Frank.) No more money or votes for Democrats until we see real action. The time has come.

I WANNA DESTROY YOU.

I've been crazy hard at work writing my new play, which has its first reading next week even though it doesn't have a second act yet!

With that in mind, come hear:

Youngblood Presents

I Wanna Destroy You
a play by Joshua Conkel
Directed by Meg Sturiano

June 24th at 7pm
Located @Seaport! (210 Front Street)
FREE!

A comedy about fashion, burn victims, aspirations, and token gay friends.

(@SEAPORT! is located at 210 Front Street, in the South Street Seaport--A/C to Broadway/Nassau, 2/3/4/5/J/M/Z to Fulton Street. Walk down Fulton Street to the Seaport, turn left before The Gap and the BODIES exhibit-- @SEAPORT! is half a block down on the left.)

RAINDROPS KEEP FALLING ON MY HEAD.

I didn't move three thousand miles away from Seattle to just to be rained on all of the time. Thanks for nothing, New York!

I've got a serious case of the blues. I've got a staged reading of a new play I haven't even written half of on June 24th and I'm seriously freaking out about it. That said, all I wan to do is go home and watch The Apple which, remarkably, I haven't watched in over a year. There once was a time when I had to watch certain scenes every morning before work, just to get through the day.

The Apple was my hard stuff! Here. Let's watch "Coming". It'll make us feel better:

I haven't discovered a movie like that, one so glamorous and tacky that it consumes me, in a couple of years now.

I need this movie's strength today. I call upon the powers of Catherine Mary Stewart!

CMS, I invoke thee!