Redeye - Sucking it all up February 17 2005

I have a confession: I am fascinated by the ouroboros. You know, the ancient cross-cultural symbol of renewal represented by a serpent eating its own tail. I like it because much about pop culture is cyclical, and because it represents satisfying the ultimate curiosity: sucking your own dick. Don't front, you've attempted it. But since I can't suck my own dick (literally), and this column don't write itself (figuratively), I'll tell you about this week's cycles of leaving the house to relieve curiosities of different sorts.

Our first cycle will likely be remembered as one of the most apropos coincidences of several decades: Fat Tuesday and Chinese New Year's Eve fell on the same day, Feb. 8.

The junction of the nation's most public celebration of the breast (Mardi Gras) and the celebration of one of my favorite things to crow about (Year of the Cock) called for only one appropriate commemoration: a trip to a strip club to say out with the old, in with the nude. And I fervently promoted the idea to anyone who would listen, which led to this salute to Cock rock:

RedEye: It's Fat Tuesday, plus the Chinese New Year. So it's Mardi Gras plus Cock at midnight. Can you beat that?

Catrinarina: I'm sure I could beat it. And I'm sure other people are going to want to beat it, too. But being with someone else while beating it is sooooo much better!

Black and Blue Balls

Now here's a yearly cycle of dread as much as delight: Valentine's Day. This pre-Valentine's weekend featured a trio of events targeting those in the city lookin' to "ball."

On Fri., Feb. 11, local record label International Hits sponsored the Winter Formal at the Earl. A host of bar regulars, irregulars and luminary local musicians - Roy Owens Jr., Brooks Meeks, Anna Kramer, Mike Geier and Roger Ruzow, among others - rocked leisure suits, ruffles and lamé to rock out to hits from 1970-1980.

What's most interesting is observing the initial traces of what a friend accurately described as "ironic mimesis," or tongue-in-creek mimicry that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. For example, crowning the "king" and "queen" of the event seemed like a spoof of the head cheerleader and quarterback at a prom - likely unpopular people in high school for many of those attending. But if you peer underneath, you realize it's much more a gesture embodying actual affirmation of popularity.

I'm not saying the Winter Formal wasn't badass. From Kim from Criminal Records to Cletus of Cletus and His City Cousins, WRAS-FM 88.5's Marc "Pedro" Crifasi to representatives of Degenerate Press, a packed crowd was jamming to the band's renditions, including "The Gambler," "Refugee," "Sister Golden Hair" and "Reeling in the Years."

Then on Sat., Feb. 12, sassy lassy Heather and I slipped into some indie business casual to attend the indie/retro "formal wear" requested by the Black Heart Ball, held at the Masquerade and thrown by promoters Preston Craig, DJDJ and the Costume Party.

I give it up to all three, but especially DJDJ for tugging those white suspenders and heartstrings on the dancefloor, and to the Costume Party for the duo's (hopefully) self-aware name. Hipsterism is basically a striptease: It's all costumes and poses. But there is no sex in the champagne room. No matter what phat jam by Blur, the Rapture or the Smiths gets played, it's never quite so hot in here that anyone will take off all their clothes. They spent too much time matching boots with that vintage cocktail dress. Fuck, I wish I had stock in MAC and Aveda.

Sometimes it appears that many hipsters are dimensional in the sense a Mobius Strip is - caught in a self-absorbed closed loop quickly revealed as the same within as without. You're threatening to become the new goths! But I luv ya.

I can't keep my eye on every jigglin' ass, so a little spy we'll call Nia gave me some insight into the Bert Show's Q100 Bitter Ball, held at Vision on Sat., Feb. 12. Some 3,000-odd people apparently attended, and some were overly distressed about what an unabashed meat market it was, to the point people were given numbers that would allow other attendees to send them personalized solicitations along a "Love Ticker."

How much you want to believe that for all the hookin' up that likely came to fruition, a sizeable bunch of dudes ended up standing in the parking lot with their proverbial dicks in their hands, wishing they were an ouroboros?

Keep one RedEye open. And send all comments, questions, observations and invitations to redeye@creativeloafing.com.??