“It’s a
survival mechanism,” says Horo about her Down Under attitude. “Sometimes when
I’m sitting in a cab and the taxi driver’s honking and swearing, I just feel
like laughing and going, ‘This is crazy. This is amazing.’ Like, how passionate
are these people? The passion may not be one that’s nice, but it’s still
passion.”

Passion
is a familiar feeling for Horo, who started Sherlock’s Daughter in Sydney,
Australia, in 2008 with a MySpace page, a prayer and some creative inspiration
from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

“I was reading Sherlock Holmes at the time and thought
Sherlock’s Daughter would be great,” Horo says. “I played a couple songs to
Graeme [Pillemer, a friend and fellow musician], and he really loved them and
asked if he could help me play them. Then he played them to somebody else, and
suddenly I had this beautiful group of boys around me helping me play the
music.” In Horo’s telling, Sherlock’s start sounds somewhat like an indie-rock
version of Snow White, though Horo herself is less damsel in distress than driving force
behind bandmates Pillemer, Tim Maybury and Will Russell, forever pushing the
band and the boundaries of their music to the experimental brink.

“What I love doing as a musician and as a writer is taking
a very generic song, verse-chorus-verse-chorus-end, and chopping it up into
something completely different,” says Horo, trying to explain the kind of
tribal trance music, driven more by beat than melody, that accompanies her
child-like vocals and lends an otherworldly feel to the band’s first EP,
released this past spring. “The thing I really love about Sherlock’s Daughter
is that we’re all really into the idea of experimenting with music. We’re not
specific about a genre that we like. In Australia, what gets played on the
radio is quite specific, I think, and we’re not such obvious pop that it was
easy for us. We still had some amazing shows, but then coming over here, you’ve
got so many more bands that are similar that it was easier. I think
influence-wise, it’s probably made us feel more confident or made us feel a bit
better about what we do because we’re not so alone in it.”

But even in the mélange of New York’s indie-music scene,
Sherlock’s Daughter stands out with an enviable indie-rock résumé. Since coming
stateside in an attempt to gain acceptance to College Music Journal’s annual
music marathon almost two years ago—a wager that wound up paying off—the band
has performed at the South By Southwest music festival in Austin, Texas; held
residencies at both Knitting Factory and Pianos (it started a second,
month-long residency at the Lower East Side bar Aug. 3), booked gigs with the
likes of Temper Trap, School of Seven Bells, Freelance Whales, Metric and
Warpaint; toured with The Charlatans; and caught the attention of Sonic Youth.
In fact, Thurston Moore mentioned them in an interview with National Public
Radio, and producer John Agnello worked with them on their debut album.

“We had a list of dream producers and he was the first
one,” Horo says. “Just randomly, I emailed him and asked if he’d be interested
in doing an album. He emailed back, which was amazing. We’re all big fans of
Sonic Youth. He came to our show and saw us play, and it all just went on from
there.”

The resulting untitled album is “a physical representation
of the journey we’ve had for the past three years as a band,” Horo says. “For
me, when I hear the songs, I don’t hear the songs. I hear the moment that that
song was conceived. As far as an album’s concerned, we’re all really happy with
it. Now we’re excited that we’re finally ready to let it go,” though it’s
unclear when exactly that will be. The band is currently shopping it around to
record labels and hoping for a release date of early next year.

Picking through her salad and sipping green tea, Horo
takes a philosophical attitude toward what the future holds for Sherlock’s
Daughter. 

“There are certain elements in life I live by,” she says.
“It’s not blind faith, but you just kind of have this faith that everything’s
going to work out and you trust in it. It’s like moving to Australia and
dropping everything and saying, ‘OK, this is my next step,’ or meeting the guys
and starting Sherlock’s Daughter. There’s a synchronicity in life that I think
that, if you’re open to it, you start seeing it and you start following it,
then everything just starts to fit in.”

Sherlock’s Daughter

Aug.
10, 17, 24, Pianos, 158 Ludlow St. (at Stanton St.), www.pianosnyc.com; 10, $8.

“I don’t go
into these situations trying to cause a riot,” Zand says. “I’m not trying by
any means to get in trouble to get attention. If anything, everything that I’ve
found attractive in New York in a sense [is] dying, so I feel like it’s my
responsibility to keep that alive.”

Zand’s latest attempt at resuscitation is his role as
Helicon in Caligula Maximus, a rowdy
romp of a show at the House of Yes in Williamsburg. Loosely based on the 1979
film Caligula, which film critic
Roger Ebert called “sickening, utterly worthless, shameful trash” when he
reviewed it in 1980, it starred Peter O’Toole, Malcolm McDowell and Helen
Mirren, and became a kitsch example of the era’s decadence in all its camp and
dildo decorations. This staged interpretation, written by Alfred Preisser and
Randy Weiner, exists at the intersection of nightclub and circus. Acrobatic
troupe Lady Circus and celebrities of the city’s underground scene, including
burlesque performer Stormy Leather and Jamin Ruhren—better known as drag queen
Acid Betty— join Zand on stage in this debauched disco of a musical.

“It being a ’70s-themed show, which is really what it is,
it’s interesting bring my energy to that,” Zand says, seated cross-legged on a
red velvet couch before a performance at the House of Yes. “It’s a really
interesting dichotomy. I am playing another character, but I’m playing it
through my eyes. I knew nothing about the film or the storyline until I read
the script. Originally one of the owners of The Box [Weiner], who is also one
of the writers of the show, approached me to play Caligula’s role. Then I met
with the director [Jen Bender], who said, ‘You have this dark side to you, this
captivating aura, why don’t you take all of that and put it into playing
Helicon?’”

Zand’s dark side has been directing him for quite some time.
Raised in Wilmington, N.C., by his Persian family, Zand left town at 17 on “the
first ticket I could… like a bat from hell” to model in Europe. However, it
wasn’t until arriving in New York in 2007 that Zand says he felt at home and
finally able to express himself fully; a theme he finds reflective in the
experimental nature of Caligula Maximus.

“I’m always attracted to underground and freedom of
expression. That’s always something that’s important to me, and the show is
that way. It’s got nudity, and obviously a show like this wouldn’t fly on
Broadway or an uptight type of environment, so that was really cool to me that
it allowed room for creativity without limit.” So much so that Zand was allowed
to heavily influence Helicon’s costumes, he explains. It would be hard not to
take his advice; the guy’s got style. At the moment, Zand is wearing a
rhinestone headdress atop his onyx pompadour, a necklace of black gemstones and
gun metal cascading down his bare chest, barely grazing the top of his black
demi-corset. He pauses occasionally during the interview to readjust a
calf-length, hooded black coat draped over his shoulders, and even without the
studded ankle boots he’s wearing, he’s tall and broad in stature, though he
emanates an air of androgyny thanks to crimson lips and feather false
eyelashes.

“The outfits I wear are all creations I’ve made along with
Anna Evans, who’s my partner. I provided all my own pieces. Every day, Kayvon
is hair done, makeup, extravagant clothing or no clothing. In my home it’s the
same way with my girlfriend and I. I call us a lesbian couple because I wear
more make-up than she does.” This lifestyle includes three dogs, four white
doves and a pet piranha alongside racks of costumes and clothing in a
two-bedroom apartment in Alphabet City.

“My life as an artist isn’t separated from my personal life,
and that’s why sometimes I call myself a lifestyle artist, because it’s not a
persona. This,” says Zand, running a hand across his bare chest and corset, “is
definitely more Kayvon channeling Helicon. But [it’s] definitely something I’ve
worn out to go get coffee.”

Zand, who’s used to overseeing an entire performance from
start to finish, including building his own sets, says being part of someone
else’s project has required an adjustment period. “At first it was a bit of a
challenge, more so from the musical standpoint,” he says, referring to an
element of Caligula Maximus that
requires him to rap. “I told them the only way I would rap is if I was a
bi-polar motherfucker, so they said, ‘Be a bi-polar motherfucker.’” The advice
seemed to work, as shortly after taking the stage, Zand revealed his new-found
rap skills while pelvic-thrusting a spear at the crowd and breaking character
to compliment the décolletage of a few onlookers. “Your bosoms are lovely.”

Zand is an admirer of dark art, with inspirations as varied
as Tim Burton, Rachmaninoff, Alfred Hitchcock and Marilyn Manson—not to mention
Queen Elizabeth I and Henry VIII. “For me, darkness isn’t just about being
violent. Intelligence is very important. I relate to people who carry
themselves with some type of class, and I definitely got that from Helicon’s
character. I drew a lot of inspiration from watching old Disney movies [and
characters] like Maleficent.”

Zand describes his own live show Disgraceland as the birth of his performance art, and as “if
Marilyn Manson were to impregnate Elvis Presley, this would be their love
child.”

It was an underground effort Zand performed at places such
as Webster Hall, Greenhouse and Don Hill’s during the past year, but one Zand
says he won’t reprise. Only a handful of handmade CDs exist of its music.
However, playing Helicon means Zand’s stepped down his live performance
schedule over the past few months. For now, he’s concentrating on Caligula
Maximus, which runs through April 17, and
working on music for a new live show titled Black Diamond, which he says will be inspired by the 1980s and is
a follow-up to Disgraceland that
Zand expects to debut this summer. “Last year I scared the shit out of
everyone. This year I want to make everyone dance and fuck.”

Caligula Maximus, through April 17, The House of Yes, 342 Maujer St. (betw.
Waterbury St. & Morgan Ave.), Brooklyn; $20.

I’d ended my first serious relationship just before summer began and had never navigated the casual sex scene before. Because of this, I let summer pass almost completely without making a pass at Scott. It wasn’t until a co-worker’s end-of-summer party that Scott, whose ivory smile I’d become more than a little infatuated with, seemed to usher me in a now-or-never way out onto the balcony.

Carrying cold beers and a newly found backbone, I slipped out onto the balcony where our conversation came as easily as ever. I’d just begun unbuttoning Scott’s shirt in my imagination when something he said snapped me out of my soft-core reverie.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” he asked.

That you too fantasize about balcony sex?

I thought to myself before deciding now was not the time for such an overshare. “Sure,” I said instead.

“What would you say if I told you people pay me to have sex with them?” All the Natural Light in the world could not have prepared me for Scott’s question, but I figured beer was about my only sanctuary at the moment, so I took another swig, considered making a joke about leaving my wallet in the car and ultimately cleared my throat before saying “Okaaay.”

“I’m a prostitute,” he clarified, just in case my understanding of the definition of sex for money was imprecise. Call me curious, but I hadn’t come across many 22-year-old college students who sold themselves, so I gave him the green light to continue—or more or less gave him a nod to go on while I regained my composure. Unbeknownst to me, I’d opened up Scott’s Pandora’s Box of prostitution.

“I mainly sleep with older women,” he said, seemingly excited to get it off his chest.

“Mainly?” I replied, understanding this to mean I was free from solicitation.

“And men sometimes, but I just let them go down on me, so I’m not gay or anything.”

Thanks for the clarification, I thought, because the prostitute part didn’t poohpooh my plans or anything.

“That’s who I’ve just been texting,” he explained with the kind of manic laugh that is often the result of one-too-many rounds at the beer-pong table. “One of my regulars. He promised me a plasma TV if I let him suck me off later.”

Scott said it so matter-of-factly that I found myself with a sudden case of Stockholm Syndrome, nodding my head as if his confessions over the last five minutes were of the typical kind you hear in any collegiate conversation, and not the unexpected confessions of the guy who went from the summer crush I’d planned on getting it on with to a part-time prostitute in the period of an hour.

In terms of part-time jobs, prostitution was never one I remembered seeing on the list available at the student union. Turns out Scott got turned on to sex work while cruising local gay bars and letting guys buy him drinks. He realized the same ingenuity he applied in the classroom translated well to turning tricks, and, as they say, the rest is history.

As quickly as he confessed his secret life, our conversation was over. Scott stood up and returned to the party, and I remained planted in my plastic lawn chair. I never saw Scott again. Like summer flings, summer confessions come without strings attached, it seems, and summer was over. We both went back to our respective studies the following week.

I’d kept Scott’s secret until now. Not that he asked me to, or even seemed scared about it getting out.

With stories about prostitutes permeating pop culture at present, it reminded me of Scott. If we can have a former madam run for governor and homophobes hiring rentboys, why should Scott be any different? He was running for president of his fraternity that fall, after all.

“A lot of films and television shows were leaving New York City and faking New York in different parts of the world,” Oliver explains during a recent phone interview.

Flash forward to today and you’ll find not only is New York’s film industry on an upswing, it’s the city’s second largest job-generating sector, employing 100,000 New Yorkers, bringing in an estimated $5 billion a year to the city of New York and supporting approximately 4,000 ancillary businesses. According to Oliver, all estimates are on the conservative side.

“Now that we’ve been successful at bringing the industry back to New York, there are more job opportunities,” Oliver says. “So we want young people or older people who have maybe been thinking about working in film or television or commercial production to understand that there are lots of different opportunities for them and that we want to help them make those connections.”

That’s why this past July, the city announced the creation of a new entity, the Mayor’s Office of Media and Entertainment (MOME); Oliver was named as its commissioner. She now oversees the Office of Film, Theatre and Broadcasting as well as NYC Media— the city’s official TV, radio and online network—and the newly developed Office of Digital Coordination.

“We’re busier than ever with film and television production in the history of our agency,” Oliver says. “The goal now is to make the connection between New Yorkers and the thriving film and television industry. The mission of the agency is attraction and retention and celebrating the city of New York and all that it is. Every time that a film or television show films here, it’s advertising that we can’t buy. It’s to our best interest to work closely with production and promote the city globally in a way that we just can’t.”

Absorbing the city government’s media and entertainment offices under a single umbrella allows Oliver’s office to make it easier for the entertainment industry to take advantage of the opportunities available to production projects in New York. It also allows Oliver’s office to serve as an outlet for New Yorkers, especially younger residents looking to enter into the industry, to easily access employment and educational information, Oliver says, making MOME a one-stop-shop of sorts for information on all aspects of film production in the five boroughs, from permit acquisitions to employment placement.

“Our strategy has been to revitalize the film and television industry in New York, and we’ve been successful with that in the last few years, so whether that be young people who are just coming out of school or people who want to re-enter the industry, we’re hoping to make that connection,” Oliver says. “If we’ve done our job and brought the industry back to New York and created job opportunities, we want to ensure people have an opportunity to enter this expanding industry and that they thrive there. Every step of the way, we’re trying to make their experience as seamless as possible through our staff at the mayor’s office.”

“We’re busier than ever with film and television production in the
history of our agency,” Commissioner Oliver says. “The goal now is to
make the connection between New Yorkers and the thriving film and
television industry.”

Implementing this new, streamlined strategy at MOME feels like familiar territory for Oliver, as it is a philosophy she says came from her days at Bloomberg Radio and Television, having worked for the company for a decade during the ’90s before leaving her general manager position in 2002 to become commissioner when Bloomberg was elected mayor. Oliver also worked as a radio and television reporter and producer prior to working for Bloomberg The Company, with careers at both CNBC and the Financial News Network. She’s also served as a journalism instructor at New York University. And it’s this wealth of previous career experience in media and entertainment that Oliver says she calls upon now to carry out her duties as commissioner.

“I’ve had a lot of practical experience working in television productions, and I think it’s certainly advantageous having practical experience as opposed to theoretical experience,” Oliver explains. “My past experiences in the field and as a journalist and a producer have helped me have an appreciation for our customers’ needs and what they’re doing day to day. We’re using media and technology to sell the brand of New York City in multiple ways.”

This multi-faceted implementation of media and technology includes a laundry list of initiative and incentive programs, overseen by Oliver and her office, to entice filmmakers back to the city and ensure New Yorkers are benefiting from the influx of job opportunities available to the young and aspiring interested in entering the entertainment industry of New York.

A FEW OF THE CITY’S REEL-WORLD OPPORTUNITIES

‘MADE IN NY’ PRODUCTION ASSISTANT TRAINING PROGRAM

Launched in 2006 and
developed in conjunction with the non-profit organization Brooklyn
Workforce Innovations, the “Made In NY” P.A. training program is a free
four-week, full-time course offering entry-level production assistant
job training, followed by two years of job placement geared toward
low-income and unemployed residents of New York City.

“It’s been a
phenomenally successful program,” Oliver says. “We’re very proud of this
program. It’s very exciting. We’ve trained over 220 young people and
helped place them in paid positions over a two-year period, and they’ve
taken in earnings of somewhere north of $4 million.”

The
program is now in its 20th cycle, and graduates of the programs have
gone on to assist with production around the city, including 30 Rock, Saturday Night Live, Gossip Girl and Sex and the City. In
addition to the training program, a “Made In NY” PA Film Festival is
held annually toward the beginning of the year to highlight original
projects written, filmed and directed by training program graduates.

‘MADE IN NY’ MENTORSHIP PROGRAM

A pilot program launched
in conjunction with IFP, the mentorship program builds mentor
relationships between entertainment industry professionals and persons
of color, women, veterans and the economically disadvantaged, in an
attempt to increase retention rates and career growth within the
entertainment industry in the city.

Fellowships are
awarded to 15 individuals every cycle, which includes monthly workshops
and position placements on productions in the city.

‘MADE
IN NY’ INCENTIVE PROGRAM

MOME makes producing projects all the more
enticing by offering a 5 percent refundable tax credit from the city of
New York, and a 1 percent marketing partnership to film and television
productions that shoot at least 75 percent of their footage in the city.

Productions
that meet the “Made In NY” criteria receive a stamp of approval logo
and are eligible for certain discounts and concierge services in the
city, as well as the option for a “Made In NY” cultural benefit. Recent
“Made In NY” productions include Howl and institutional New York television shows like Saturday Night Live and Law & Order: Criminal Intent.

REEL JOBS PROGRAM

Reel Jobs works as
MOME’s own online employment search website on which individuals can
post job opportunity listings free of charge and employers can search
for entertainment industry employees. MOME publishes Reel Jobs every
Monday in both a downloadable format and in hard copy, which can be
picked up at their office at 1697 Broadway on weekdays. MOME accepts job
listings via email only, with a submission deadline of noon on
Thursdays. All listings run for one week.

CAREER PANELS

Because nobody
gives better advice on New York’s entertainment industry than the
individuals it’s comprised of, MOME created career panels to place
students and interested New Yorkers in direct contact with NYC-based
industry professionals who will, according to Commissioner Oliver,
“foster a sense of community here and have them work with people who are
skilled and knowledgeable about what it takes to work in the city of
New York.”

Career
panels are held in cultural institutions in all five boroughs; previous
panels have covered diverse topics, including “Writing for Film and
Television,” “Women In Entertainment: Behind the Scenes,”
“African-American Perspectives” and “Careers in Post-Production.”

BLUEPRINT FOR THE ARTS: THE MOVING IMAGE

Because it’s never too
early for New Yorkers to gain a better understanding of the
entertainment industry, MOME created—in conjunction with the Department
of Education, OFTB and the Tribeca Film Institute—a firstof-its-kind
curriculum for New York public school students, from elementary school
through high school graduation.

Published in October 2009, Blueprint is
billed as a guide for studying film, television and animation as a
sequential course of study focused on building students’ knowledge and
skill sets for eventual entry into the city’s entertainment industry if
they so desire.

“Sid Vicious may well have been a lot of things,” says author and filmmaker Alan G. Parker. “He may well have been a heroin addict. He may well have not been the world’s most talented bass player. But I don’t think he was a murderer.”

After three books, countless conspiracy theories and almost 30 years of research, Parker believes with his latest documentary, Who Killed Nancy?, he’s close to answering that question. Parker’s spent the last 26 years attempting to exonerate Vicious, culminating with Who Killed Nancy?, opening at Cinema Village July 30.  

“The Chelsea now is a nice little bohemian hotel,” says Parker. “Back in the ’70s, it was a rat range full of heroin addicts. [The police] were attending to something in the Chelsea almost every day, so I kind of think to be fair to them, it was just the death of another junkie. I’m not even sure they spent too much time investigating. They just thought, a junkie died, so what? Stick her on the pile. There’ll be another one tomorrow.”

Parker spent years trying to get Vicious’ story to the public, but funding woes stymied Who Killed Nancy? After six years, Peace Art Entertainment is releasing the film. Its 89 minutes offer unrated insight into the lives of Spungen, 20 at the time of her death, and Vicious, 21 at his, stemming from the time of the couple’s first meeting to Vicious’ death February 2, 1979. Parker interviewed 182 people for the project, including Sex Pistol Glen Matlock, photographer Peter Kodick, who bought the heroin that killed Vicious, and Chelsea Hotel resident Neon Leon, one of the last to see Spungen alive.

Compiled of Japanime-esque animations, reenactments and original footage of the couple, set to a soundtrack Vicious’ punk-rock roots could be proud of, Who Killed Nancy? offers not only insight into what occurred the days leading to Spungen’s death but also an alternative account of what happened the night she died.

 “It was quite well documented there was a big party in room 100 of the Chelsea Hotel, and it’s also quite well documented that quite a lot of ne’er-do-wells showed up at the party. I kind of think with the amount of money gone missing, and that Nancy was killed in such a brutal way, there’s got to be third party involvement.”

Specifically, an unidentified suspect known only as “Michael,” whose presence the night of Nancy’s death was corroborated by partygoers and hotel guests as the last seen in room 100—aside from Vicious— before Spungen’s body was discovered.

Regardless of their punk-rock martyrdom, in earnest Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen were addicts so out of it at their peaks that to this day it’s unclear what occurred the final moments of their downward spiral. Parker says we love them for it.

“They’ve become the James Dean and Marilyn Monroe of their own generation, haven’t they pretty much?”

And it’s that ubiquity that keeps us intrigued about exactly who did indeed kill Nancy, a question that for now Parker is OK to put to rest.

“Way back in ’84, I was approached by Sid’s mother to do a book about Sid Vicious, obviously. With no crystal ball in one hand, I had no way of knowing that 20-odd-years later I’d be putting a film together about the same guy,” says Parker. “Sid. Well, God bless him. But now I think we’ve shook hands and parted at the crossroads.”

Dana was tall, blond,
beautiful and as Midwestern as they come. Her only flaw was an obsession
with both Major League Baseball and her boyfriend Matt. And where most
twentysomething girls with an unhealthy attachment to boyfriends could
be considered obnoxious, Dana was different. Her inability to leave
Matt’s side— he had a tendency to cheat on her when she did—was
something she kept clear of our apartment from the first night I met
her.

We’d been
paired randomly as roommates in our dorm our sophomore year and when I’d
asked her if she was seeing anyone in an attempt to make small talk,
she immediately stamped out any ideas I had of being overly exposed to
her relationship.

“Yeah
I have a boyfriend, but don’t worry, he won’t be staying over,” she
offered without explanation.

I’d never have asked for such an arrangement but after
meeting Matt, I was more than grateful for the offer. If I had to
describe him in one word, it would be obnoxious. Two words: obnoxious
asshole. The kind of guy so self-absorbed that he doesn’t bother to
delineate between a smile and a sneer as long as it means someone’s
looking. And I never understood what Dana saw in him, as his physical
appearance was as unappealing as his attitude. Secretly I suspected his
appeal centered somewhere around his abilities in the bedroom. She
wouldn’t be the first to exchange a few character flaws for a good fuck,
and who was I to fault her? Not that she ever talked about it or I ever
asked, in accordance with our apartment’s don’t ask, don’t tell policy.
I’d never so much as heard a peep out of Dana’s bedroom in the three
years we were roommates, but that all changed the last summer we lived
together.

Apparently
weeks of sleeping in sweat at Matt’s apartment had finally gotten to
the two of them, because they came seeking solace in our
air-conditioning one night in July. I’d heard them on the stairs as I
lay in bed enjoying my regular routine of falling asleep to a DVD
playing on my computer. Thinking nothing of it, I went back to watching
my stories before the noise on my laptop was replaced by something
louder in the room next to mine.

Like a jackhammer breaking concrete, the sound of the
headboard banging against the wall adjacent to mine made me freeze. And
as I heard what seemed to be him masturbating with her vagina, I
couldn’t help but feel sympathy pains centered somewhere below my belly
button; I was certain at that very moment Matt was impaling Dana’s
ovaries with his penis.

It wasn’t anywhere near the realm of rough sex either. Rather, it
bypassed the forceful and seemed to proceed directly to terrible. Sex
so terrible it should never be inflicted on someone else’s ears let
alone their body. I wasn’t sure if I should rescue her or just plug my
ears and pray for it to stop. I went with the latter and fortunately it
was over about three minutes later.

As the shock of what I’d just heard began to wear off
and I regained my senses, I went back to watching the screen and
resolved to pretend I’d slept through the entire thing.

Unfortunately those plans
were shot to shit when I realized I needed to retrieve a credit card
from my purse—if I didn’t pay my phone bill, the thing would be shut
off— and the bag was downstairs in our living room. All the carpet in
the world wasn’t going to mask the sound of me tiptoeing down the
stairs. My only hope was that their three-minute sexcapade had somehow
knocked them both unconscious—Dana from the pain of poor execution and
Matt from the sheer exhaustion of effort.

As stealthily as humanly possible, I snuck
downstairs, grabbed my wallet and made it back to my bedroom with the
kind of moves that could rival Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. But
it was all in vain, as the muffled voices from Dana’s bedroom let me
know that they had heard me; a point that was confirmed the next morning
when Matt left before the sun could think about rising.

Even in the face of
overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I decided to stick to my original
plan. When I saw Dana in our living room later that afternoon, I faked
amnesia, selective hearing loss and anything else I thought could
convince her I’d never heard a sound of her sadly lamentable sex life.
As I made my way through the awkward silence to the sofa and sat down, I
did my best to wipe any remnants of trauma from my face, turned to her
and asked the only question I knew to be a safe topic of discussion.

“How ’bout them
Yankees?”

devoted to honoring the
best and worst in book trailers, but that would be selling it short—or,
rather, long—as the ceremony was over in less than 45 minutes.

The Moby Awards are the
brainchild of Dennis Johnson, publisher of the Dumbo-based
Melville House books. Johnson created the awards as a tongueand-cheek
homage to the infiltration of the film industry into the book publishing
business, and while the atmosphere at The Griffin was formal, featuring
writer types in bow ties sipping on champagne, the ceremony itself was
not.

Winners were
selected by the MobyLives Academy, whose members included book industry
bigwigs like Colin Robinson of OR Books and Carolyn Kellogg, lead
book blogger for the Los Angeles Times, who participated in the
ceremony via Skype.

Awards
were given out in categories including Best Cameo in a Book Trailer and
Best Performance By An Author, as well as for the Best Indie Book
Trailer (the award went to Kathryn Regina for I Am In The Air
Right Now) and Best Big Budget Trailer (Maurice Gee for Going
West).

Those
who should be ashamed of their Internet offerings were honored too. Like
Patricia Rockwell, who won an award for the Least Likely Trailer
to Sell the Book for her book Sounds of Murder. Other honors
were given in categories including Most Annoying

Music (New Year At the
Pier by April Halprin Wayland), Bloodiest Book trailer
(Killer by Dave Zeltserman) and Biggest Waste of Conglomerate
Money (Level 26: Dark Origins by Anthony Zuiker).

Author Dennis Cass summed
up the night’s sentiments best in an excerpt from the trailer for his
book Head Case, in which he says, “Twenty years ago when I
decided to be a writer, a big part of the dream was being able to put
little videos on the Internet.”

Satirical surmises like that are largely why he won
the Best Performance by an Author award in the first place. Cass
couldn’t be there Thursday night, but phoned in his acceptance speech.

In fact, not a single
winner was on hand to accept his award, a handsome golden statue in the
shape of a whale.

Not
that this stopped anyone from presenting. Like John Wray, who
happened to be handing out the Best Cameo In A Book Trailer Award, for
which his book Lowboy was nominated. “What happens if I win?”
Wray pondered at the presenter’s podium. “Do I touch myself
inappropriately?” Luckily he didn’t have to—at least not for our sake.
Wray announced the winner to be The Hangover star Zach
Galifianakis, who appeared in the Lowboy trailer. Hollywood’s
takeover of publishing, it seemed, was complete.

Mix two parts alcohol
and one part half-naked Brooklynites writhing around in a wrestling ring and
what you wind up with is one hell of a Cinco De Mayo celebration, which is what
I found at the Cinco De Mayo Party last Wednesday at Monster Island Basement.

It was not, to say the
least, your typical way to celebrate Mexico’s military victory over France back
in 1862, which has largely become an excuse for Americans to drink tequila and
saunter around in sombreros. Translation: There wasn’t a margarita in sight.
The crowd was treated to a guacamole contest hosted by Junglaya, however, as well as Mariachi music, a Mexican hat dance
and music by Borrowed Eyes, which
all added to the Mexican motif. And what the night lacked in tequila, it more
than made up for in entertainment, which is what event coordinator Rachel Nelson was going for in the
first place.

“Everybody has a Cinco De
Mayo party with beer and margaritas, but we wanted to do something that was a
little more exciting,” said Nelson, sipping on a cold can of Presidente from a
cooler behind the makeshift bar.

Nelson says she enlisted
the help of a buxom blond wrestler by the name of Amazon Annie, a celebrity in the wrestling world, who was just back
from showcasing her talents on a Japanese wrestling show, to turn the
Williamsburg warehouse into a wresting ring where scantily-clad competitors
manhandled each other to the enthusiastic coaxing of the crowd. But the novelty
wore off quickly. After a half hour of watching women in bikinis beat the shit
out of men in Mexican wrestling masks, the event became a little less Lucha
Libre and a little more S&M. Not that the crowd was complaining. Luckily
things turned around when the emcee took back the microphone from a
particularly angry pixie, who was screaming for a rematch, to introduce Amazon
Annie as the main event. I quickly realized Annie wasn’t as innocent as her
name implied.

“She’s got arms of iron.
She’s got legs of steel. She’s 6-foot-tall. She’s got sex appeal… She’s
Amazon Annie!” And without further ado, out came Annie, clad only in a
leopard-print singlet and the distinctive look of blood lust on her face. She
entered the ring to the enthusiasm of onlookers and adamant admires alike. “I
love you, Annie!” screamed one guy wielding a sign that expressed the same
sentiment.

“Did you hear that?”
Annie asked. “He loves me,” she said almost sweetly before crippling any idea
he had of an affectionate exchange. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick his ass.
I’m not here for loving, I’m here for fighting!” And with that the Amazon threw
down the microphone and gave the crowd what the were waiting for, when she
began throwing an old man around the ring like a rag doll and dominating him in
a way that made me think he enjoyed it. It was all over way too soon for the
crowd, the old man and apparently Annie, because before she’d even celebrated
her first victory, she was in search for another victim (or rather willing
participant). While I jotted down notes for a day down the road, in case I ever
decided to become a Dominatrix myself, quite possibly the skinniest, and
stupidest man I’ve ever seen sidled up to the ring and answered Amazon Annie’s
call for more carnage.

It didn’t take him long
after entering the ring to second guess his decision. And while I couldn’t
quite tell if his screams were ones of pain or pleasure, I decided not to stick
around long enough to find out. I took his cries as my cue to exit.

And while Urie, who won the
Best Lead Actor award for his work in The Tempermentals, didn’t
say if he meant happy or homosexual, they both work, because being gay,
in either sense of the term, took top honors at the award ceremony
Sunday night at Terminal 5.

The Lortel Awards are to Off-Broadway what the
Tonys are to Broadway, give or take a couple zeroes at the end of each
ceremony’s budget. The delightful event, which doubled as a benefit for
The Actor’s Fund, was not without its stars, however. Alan Menken entertained
with a medley from Little Shop of Horrors; Nina Arianda, Vanda
in Venus in Fur, nabbed an Outstanding Lead Actress nomination (Judith Ivey won);
and Hugh Dancy and Laurie Metcalf skipped the shutter
clicks of photographers outside the event but showed up in time to
present the evening’s first award: Outstanding Featured Actor, which
went to Adam James for his role in The Pride. James “oh
shit-”ted his way through his acceptance speech saying: “I’m not nearly
drunk enough to make this speech,” before proceeding to do so anyway.

Two people who were
apparently drunk enough for their speeches were Anthony LaPaglia and
Justin Bartha. LaPaglia and Bartha, who fittingly starred in
last year’s hit The Hangover, currently co-star in the Broadway
revival of Lend Me a Tenor and joked about being bombed while
stumbling through their presentation of one of the last
awards—Outstanding Play— which went to The Orphans’ Home Cycle.

The group around my
table wasn’t sure the intoxication admission was entirely in jest
however. “He’s drunk,” gasped the fellow to my left of LaPaglia’s
inability to read his lines. But his friend quickly slurred an
admonishment for his outburst and pointed out the obvious: “Everyone’s
drunk. We’ve been drinking since 6 o’clock.”