Living with Legends: Hotel Chelsea Blog

Blogging For The Man (and The Woman)

A couple of weeks back Hotelchatter.com introduced a new feature called Hotel Blog Watch.  Blog watch will review corporate hotel blogs to see if they have anything worthwhile to report.  While they gave Legends credit for being one of the first Hotel blogs to hit the scene, they once again erroneously reported that our blog is sponsored by Stanley Bard. Don't we wish!  Show us the money, Stanley.  Yesterday they straightened out the record.

In other corporate blog news, Ed now has a column over on that big corporate blog The Huffington Post. So he'll be writing for Arianna Huffington now in addition to blogging for Stanley Bard.

An Unreasonable Man Stops by The Chelsea

The unreaonable man writes: "I checked in and left my bag there a few minutes ago. The Chelsea is a place with “character”, and plenty of it...  That means, in Real Estate language, that it is a dump. But a dump with a lot of history... I was of course immediately suckered into taking not the $285 room, but the $325 apartment, oh and that is for two people, and that is per person… it’s a seller’s market."   Wow, am I reading this right?  $750.00 per night, plus tax, to stay at the Chelsea. Now let's see, for that amount of money you can stay at any of the following: Four Seasons, The Peninsula, Ritz-Carlton, The Lowell, The Carlyle, The Pierre, and Jumeirah Essex House. I hope at least they got the Britney Spears suite.
Where are you from?
My name is Michael Willems, and I am from Toronto, Canada. Actually, I am from Holland, grew up in Holland and the UK, have worked in 30 countries worldwide over the past 25 years, and am now Canadian. Not surprisingly considering that history, I consider myself a citizen of the world.
What do you do?
Two things. Well, many things: I do not derive my identity from just my job, thank God. Having said that, my day job is Chief Technology Officer of an international technology company. But my second life, my passion, is photography. I have been making photographs for several decades; now digitally. I am never without a heavy camera slung from my shoulder. I like expressing what I see around me and sharing it. See a few Chelsea pictures here: http://www.willems.ca/gallery/thumbnails.php?album=24
What inspired you to stay at the Hotel Chelsea?
Oh.. clearly, the history. The feeling of being in the presence of greats. But also, the artistic creative atmosphere.
Do you think the Hotel has a creative spirit?
God, yes! Only look at the hallways is enough to see that.
What's your favorite Hotel Chelsea Story?
All of them. My *least* favourite though is Sid Vicious
What's the best/worst thing that has happened to you at the Chelsea?
The best: checking in
The worst: checking out

Bohemian Booty Still Hot

     We’re constantly looking for ways in which Stanley Bard might improve service here at the Hotel Chelsea, and hopefully also make piles of dough for him to roll around in like Scrooge McDuck in his McMansion in the wilds of New Jersey.  A recent article in the New York Times suggests Guest Galleries and Megasuites, but I think we’ve already got the former, and as for the latter Stanley can just bust down a wall and throw out an artist or two when a yuppie needs to expand.
     But what’s really going to pack the tourists in are these new Peek-a-boo baths. The concept is simple: “At the Hotel on Rivington…the floor to ceiling windows allow neighbors on Delancy Street to spy into the shower.” And when you’re not busy displaying your own wares, the hotel supplies binoculars so you can size up the assets of others.
     Sheer Genius. The best ideas are always the simplest.  We’ve mentioned this trend before, and suggested that here at the Chelsea Hotel you can just climb up the airshaft and ogle Bohemian Booty to your hearts desire. What we can’t understand is why Stanley Bard has yet to advertise this amenity.
     But word is slowly starting to leak out.  A guy who has been staying here recently encountered a woman in the lobby:
    “…I know all about this place! I stayed here 15 years ago and I know all about the

     perverts in the walls! They would be on the balconies and the fire escapes when I was    

    changing'! They was filmin’ me in the shower, these fucking pervert tenants you got here!

    I know about the passage ways in the walls…and the peepholes!”
Sure as hell tops the Rivington! There are those among us – and I pity them—who would call this woman crazy.  I call her a visionary, in the truest, Madison Avenue, sense of the term.  Instead of throwing her out – which is apparently what happened to the woman the day in question – Stanley should hire her as his publicist.  Passage ways and peepholes! What semi-adventurous tourist could pass that up?  Peek-a-boo! (Ed Hamilton)

Job Opportunity for All of the "Bad Girls" in the Building

BURLESQUE ROOM WILL BE HAVING TALENT SCOUTS ON WEDNESDAY, JUNE 28th AT SERENA @ 9PM.  Doors Open @ 7pm. Are You A "BAD GIRL"?  We want to audition you for a NEW NATIONAL TV SHOW that we are casting for a major cable network.  (via Craigslist.com)

WHO PUT THE F.U. IN FUN?

Our old Chelsea Hotel-mate Blair Wear (alter ego, Blair Bauer) is showing her hand painted, one-of-a-kind clothes and accessories as part of a show in the East Village.  Titled “In a Girl’s World,” it’s billed as an All Female Urban Art Exhibition.  We went to the press party for the show on Thursday at the Showroom Gallery.  In the front room stoned hipsters posed and milled about, as a D.J. spun tunes that couldn’t even be heard above the din of conversation.
        There were a couple of good artists showing in the front room.  I liked Queen Andrea’s Bratz-inspired buxom child-like women in rainbow colors, though I was dubious as to the wisdom of trying to contain her wild style graffiti in a canvas.  Toofly (I kept saying it like “too-flea” but now I get it: Too fly, as in “Too Fly to Die!”) drew buxom cartoon women as well, though hers had a harder take-no-shit kind of edge.  Both these artists seemed heavily influenced by Japanese cartoon arts such as Manga, though they added their own distinctly American touches.

            Things were a bit livelier in the back room, where Blair had strategically set up shop near the liquor.  Blair had designed the room to look like a psychotic cross between a day-glow gas station rest room and a psychedelic tenement slum, complete with clotheslines draped with her “dirty” laundry, an explosion of graffiti on the walls, and even a hot pink tampon machine.  (The machine took quarters and a girl tried to put a dime in it and clogged it up.  “I thought you were my friend!” Blair joked.)  Blair had outfitted the bar girls in hand-painted wife beaters, and an underwear model pranced around.  It was a funhouse atmosphere back there, and people seemed more excited, perhaps due to the surroundings.  Or maybe it was Blair’s bubbly personality.  Or the liquor.

            Heavy on the pink, as always, Blair’s airbrush graffiti work is more free style than the other artists, more the bathroom graffiti style, “grafilthy” as they used to call it in Playboy.  Her cartoons are based on American comics; no Manga or anime for her--more like D.C. and Marvel.  And her creations have a literate, playful wit.  She hand paints her bras and panties and wife-beaters with clever, risqué slogans, such as: “Did you buy your breath at the ass store?”; “Who pissed in your slimfast?” “The Grim Reep Her”; and “Do you have some sort of sickness, woman?”

            Seeing graffiti out of its natural setting in the grunge of the city tends to expose it’s poverty as art.  The mood of the front room reflected this: the room, and the art, were ultimately rather uninteresting.  Graffiti really doesn’t belong on the walls of a gallery, it’s made to be an integral part of the filthy brick or concrete on which it’s painted, and Blair’s transformation of the gallery into a lavatory was inspired.  She brought the streets—even if they turned out to be cartoon streets--to the gallery.

            “Life is too short to be stiff!” Blair says when uptight critics pose questions about the meaning of her art.  “Lighten up a little and have fun!”

            Completing the carnival atmosphere of the back room, you could pick up a Blair Wear fun pack for a mere $10.  Somehow, one of them ended up in my possession, so I must have stolen it.  I’m opening it right now (I’m sure there will be an F.U. in there for my snide dig at its price).  Let’s see: a piece of Double Bubble, a space man, a finger puppet, a mastodon, a length of measuring tape, a skull ring, a Blair Wear tattoo, and, best of all, a bunch of hot pink Blair Wear trading cards with fun facts on the back (Sample: A Flamingo’s eye is larger than its brain!)  I wish I’d stolen two!

            Even better is the hot pink tampon, a bargain at a quarter, which advises me: Of all the girls in  the world he chose you, now drink the shake! The exhibit continues until July 5.   (Photo: After all these years, Blair’s tampon stands poised to clog the third floor toilet once again.)

LIKE APPLE PIE

There’s a large, shady garden on top of the Hotel Chelsea, complete with flowers, bushes, and fully grown trees, one of which has taken root in the roof itself, sending its roots down into the apartment below.  The garden is surrounded by a brick wall, insulating this idyllic retreat from the swelter and commotion of the city below.  Over the top of the wall you can see the top of the empire state building and the other tall buildings uptown.

On the evening of last year's Gay Pride Parade, a couple of the Chelsea people, two men who lived together in one of the hotel’s more lavish suites, gave a party in the garden.  They had hung some rainbow-colored balloons, but besides that it was just the usual Chelsea party, with, by and large, the usual Chelsea denizens.

The gay guys of the Chelsea Hotel are not the buff Chelsea Boys you hear so much about.  Any actual, self-respecting Chelsea Boy wouldn’t be caught dead here.  The Chelsea Hotel boys are more flamboyant, artistic, fabulous; whatever their age, they dress more like old time gays, in lavender jackets, cravats, fedoras, things like that.  There were even a couple of drag queens, Chelsea Girls.  One man, tall and thin, with a lined, weathered face, wore a pink seersucker suit.

The lesbians at the party were, by and large, girls next door (looking like boys next door), in jeans and t-shirts, though one of them wore a retro polka dot dress and had a beehive hairdo.

There was lots of liquor, and lots of food: one table filled with fancy, catered appetizer platters, another with potato salad and coleslaw, and burgers and hotdogs to throw on the grill.  My girlfriend and I talked to our friends, got drunk, and then, as the sun was setting, slipped away from the party to explore other areas of the roof, higher levels toward the rear, where the purple sky, and Greenwich Village, it’s streets alive with the gay pride revelers, spread out before us in a panorama.

When we came back, everyone was finishing up their food, and it was time for the desert.  A heavy-set, husky woman, butch, in flannel shirt with hacked-off blond hair, brought out a platter containing the dinner’s piece de resistance: three cakes in the shape of round, white tits, C-cups, approximately, with delicate pink nipples set enticingly on top. Smiling, she showed the cakes around the crowd proudly.  The tits were coated with a glazed, hard shell of icing, making the confection seem more like candy, rather than cake.  They looked mouth watering, almost too pretty to touch.

Finally, after everybody had had a good look at them, they were placed upon a table, a knife was produced, and everyone gathered around as the blond butch dyke cut into them.

And, lo and behold, they were green inside!  The tits were filled with a green gel of some sort.  Everybody was surprised.  “Oh, they must be Irish tits!” the guy in the seersucker exclaimed.

The blond woman glared at him, and looked him up and down in disgust.  “These are American Tits,” she said, crossly.

            The man in the seersucker was too frightened to say anything.  He just stood there for an uncomfortable moment with his mouth agape.

Finally, as the woman turned her attention back to the cake, the seersucker turned away, and, making his escape, rolled his eyes and remarked in a low voice, “Yeah, tits on a plate, real American!” (Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton)

All Tomorrow's Parties: June 26 - July 2, 2006

Monday, June 26, 8:00 - 3:00 p.m.
After all of that marching yesterday you may be in the mood for a message.  Check your clothes, grab a cocktail, and give or get a message.  It happens each and every Monday.
Serena's in the basement of the Hotel Chelsea, 222 W. 23rd St., NY NY

Tuesday, June 27, 8:00 p.m.
Tonight's your last chance to catch Penny Arcade in a limited performance of BDFW. Penny performed in "A Quite Evening with Sid & Nancy," which was staged here at the hotel in 1989.  Parkside Lounge, 317 East Houston, NY NY

Tuesday, June 27, 10:30 p.m.
Susanne Bartsch and Kenny Kenny invite you to Happy Valley Tuesdays. DJ Tommie Sunshine. SHOW: JONTE DANCE TROUPE Hosts: Sophia Lamar, Miranda Moondust, Kim Aviance, Theodora and Amanda Lepore.
14 East 27th St., NY NY

Wednesday, June 28, various times
The much praised documentary "Leonard Cohen I'm your Man," is now showing in a limited engagement run. The film takes places primarily during a Leonard Cohen tribute concert. Cohen does talk about his time at the Chelsea Hotel, "everybody was there," he says. Just like now! He also expresses regret at having identified Janis Joplin as the woman in his famous song, "Chelsea Hotel." The film's website. The director's blog. Film Forum, 209 West Houston, NY NY

Thursday, June 29, 11:00 - 12:00 a.m.
Gerald Busby interviews poet Maggie Paley on his weekly Internet radio show, Collaborations.

Saturday, July 1, 9:00 - 5:00
A signed copy of William Burroughs's White Subway is among the many volumes to be sold at the Friend of the C.H. Booth Library Annual Book Sale. According to the library,  “[A]n edition of 1000 copies of which twenty five, perfect bound, have been signed and numbered by the author.”  Signed on title.  Considerable underlining and marginal comment, most in pencil but some in ink.  $200.00. A 1894 volume of Pudd’nhead Wilson by former Hotel Chelsea guest, Samuel Clemens is also for sale.
Friends of the C.H. Booth Library Annual Book Sale, Reed Intermediate School, 3Trades Lane, Newton, CT.

If you have an event you would like to have posted on All Tomorrow's Parties please e-mail info to chelblog@yahoo.com

Chelsea Hotel News Roundup

Time to round up the news.

Victor Bockris tells us why Keith Richards climbed a palm tree.

David Remfry was elected a member of the Royal Academy of Arts at a General Assembly meeting of Royal Academicians on 2 June 2006.

Bailey Bartsch Barton makes it into Michael Musto's Village Voice column.

Sally Singer comments on the popularity of longer shorts this season.

Sparkle Hayter highly recommends "Iran Awakening From Prison to Peace Prize: One Woman's Struggle at the Crossroads of History," which she recently reviewed.

Michael Rips and his family were featured in Travel+Leisure.

Ed Hamilton had a short story published in the June issue of No Umbrella.

Dereck Walcott was honored by Oxford University.

Herbert Gentry at the Parish Gallery

For those of us who weren’t able to make the opening of  "Six of Six," a group show which features five paintings by Herbert Gentry, Washington D.C. photographer and blog reader, Elvert Barnes, has come to our rescue.  Upon learning about the exhibit, he stopped by the Parish Gallery and took a few photos of Mr. Gentry’s paintings, including the photo on the left. Mr. Gentry’s work is on display until July 18. 

Not surprisingly, while at the exhibit, Elvert ran into another fellow, Fred Rotondaro, who was eager to share his memories of the Chelsea Hotel. "Immediately, Mr. Rotondaro would reflect on his memories of the Chelsea Hotel, when in the 60's he attended NYU and if my memories serves me correctly dated several girls who stayed at the Hotel Chelsea. Or, perhaps, it was more that, when dating several girls he and they would visit the hotel together."  We're waiting for Elvert to get the rest of the story!

Storme Delarverié Takes To The Stage Again

           June is Gay Pride month.  In New York, as in cities across the country, gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, transsexuals, and their friends will be marching in support of tolerance and diversity.  It was in this spirit that my girlfriend and I attended Kings and Queens of New York City: A Drag Summit at the Bruno Walter Auditorium of the New York Public Library.  Besides the—in retrospect predictable—obstruction of our sightlines (see photo), it was an enjoyable and interesting afternoon.
            Sadly, the summit took place against the backdrop of the recent beating of drag superstar Kevin Aviance as he left a club in the East Village. As one of the panelists pointed out, this sort of thing happens all the time to members of the LGBT community; the only reason this incident made the news is because Aviance is famous.
            Though the word “summit” connotes the lofty and unapproachable, the event was anything but that.  And in fact it allowed the daytime people in the audience an all too rare opportunity to come into contact with the human face of drag.  The moderator, Joe E. Jeffries of New York University, presented a slideshow on the history of drag from the ancient Greeks to the present (highlight: the governor of  New York from 1702-1708, Lord Cornwall, was rumored to have dressed in drag), and then introduced the panelists.  The luminaries on the panel included the drag kings Stormé Delarverié, Murray Hill, and DIYAA, and the drag queens Flawless Sabrina, Sade Pendavis, and Taylor Mac.  The discussion was punctuated by performances by DIYAA, Taylor Mac, and, in what proved to be the highlight of the afternoon, a moving rendition of John Lennon’s “Imagine” by the powerfully-voiced diva Sade Pendavis.
            The Chelsea Hotel connection is Stormé Delarverié, a husky 86-year-old former cross-dressing torch singer and one of the sweetest old ladies you’re ever likely to meet—though one you’d sure as hell better not cross.  In the lobby of the Chelsea before the summit, Debbie Martin spoke with her, explaining that our blog readers wanted to hear her story.
         “I’ve got a story!” Stormé exclaimed, “I chopped off my hair, put on men’s clothes, and joined the Jewel Box Review!”  The Jewel Box Review was a multi-racial drag revue that toured the country in the fifties, sixties and seventies.  The only female member of the troupe, Stormé served as stage manager, musical arranger, emcee and “mother” of the troupe for fourteen years.

            “But you’re an important activist, too,” Debbie reminded her.  “Could you tell us about your role in the Stonewall rebellion?”

            “They ask me, why do you want to be a target like that?” Stormé said, referring to her leadership role in the gay rights struggle.  “They’ll stab you in the back, they’ll hit you, they’ll shoot you.”  She paused to reflect and then said, “But honey, they’re all dead, and I’m still here!”

            All of the panelists had tales of struggle and violence--ironic and troubling in the lives of such gentle people--but they had overcome this adversity, in part, by transforming themselves.  DIYAA said she had chosen to wear men’s clothes because of the feeling of power they gave her.

            As the teenage thugs were beating Kevin Aviance, one of the things they reportedly yelled at him was, “You’re not diesel!”  In the question and answer session of the summit, someone asked if anyone understood this remark.  All of the panelists on stage were mystified.  They were all a bit too old—as was I—to get the reference.  But a younger woman in the audience stood up to explain that what they were referring to was in fact the Diesel clothing brand.  They were saying, in effect, that Aviance wasn’t butch enough to wear the brand of clothing he was wearing at the time, a brand that for these young men signified a certain macho lifestyle.  And how ridiculous to be beaten because of a brand!  Even more so than a hate crime, this was a crime of ignorance and stupidity.

            It’s tempting to say that these were just kids who didn’t know any better.  But am I the only one who notices a disturbing parallel between these young men’s defense of the integrity of a brand—a corporate brand that can take care of itself--and the conservatives renewed interest in banning same sex marriage via a constitutional amendment?  These teenagers didn’t come by their ideas in a vacuum.

            Still, the fact that the Drag Summit took place at a public library is not insignificant.  Outside of the ignorant and backward, and the politicians who seek to exploit these people, drag and homosexuality are becoming increasingly understood and accepted.  Nonconformity is rightly seen as something not to fear but to celebrate.  As Flawless Sabrina says, “If you’re not living an alternative life style these days, you’re in danger of becoming a mystery guest in your own life.”

Ed Hamilton