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from CNA's web site,

Sandy Summers, eat your heart out...

Of this week's Bird items, the one closest to my evil lil' cardiac muscle is the victory over the forces of political correctness by "Dr. Jon" Basso owner of Tempe's Heart Attack Grill, where artery clogging ground round is served up by hot waitresses in skimpy "nurse" attire. Read all about how AG Terry Goddard's legal beagles initially did a knee-jerk over the matter, sending letters to the saucy burger joint at the behest of the AZ Nursing Board, demanding the grill quit using the term "nurse." But after the New Times and 20/20's John Stossel simultaneously bitch-slapped this lame attempt at enforcing speech codes, both the AG's office and the AZ Nursing Board turned tail faster than a Gambel's quail at the sound of buckshot. The matter's been officially dropped, and Dr. Jon's sails are plenty full from all the free PR.

The ginormous loser in all this is not the AG's office, or the AZ Nursing Board. Instead it's this tiny Maryland organization called the Center for Nursing Advocacy. This pesky little enemy of free speech is run from the comfy home of one Sandy Summers, who keeps house and tends to the needs of the Center while her more liberal-than-thou hubby Harry Jacobs Summers toils as an attorney for the Federal Election Commission. In his spare time, Summers -- who, uh, like a big ol' '70s-era lefty wuss, took his wife's surname --advises the CNA on legal matters. The Center is all about garnering publicity, because in reality, they have few actual members. CNA needs to seem to be more influential than it actually is so that the Summers can continue their little game of glomming on to some cause, announcing a letter-writing campaign, garnering press coverage, and then, if they luck out, getting their "target" to accede to their demands. They declare victory, and hopefully sucker in a couple more paying "members" in the process. After all, gotta keep the Summers' kids in Nikes!

Most of the time, however, the Summers' "campaigns" are humongo duds, like their aborted attempt to protest the Emmy Awards this year -- cancelled for lack of interest, or their futile lambasting of such popular prime time shows as House or Grey's Anatomy . They apparently would like nothing more than veto-power over the scripts for all such shows, something they will never, ever get.

CNA's latest crash and burn has been its campaign against the Heart Attack Grill's sexy nurse theme, that theme being CNA's ultimate bete noir. As mentioned, this battle is essentially over because the AG's office refuses to act, and CNA's activities have garnered a backlash in favor of Heart Attack Grill, even on CNA's own message board. CNA's most recent post on their website reads "Our campaign to convince the Heart Attack Grill in Tempe, Arizona, to discontinue its use of 'naughty nurse' uniforms has received wide press coverage." What CNA doesn't tell you is that this press coverage has essentially portrayed the Heart Attack Grill as harmless fun and those opposing it as killjoys.

The CNA site is, however, a good source of soft-core erotica, featuring -- you guessed it, naughty nurses! Woo-hoo! The images are there to give examples of the sort of stuff CNA targets, and they offer a lot of examples, like the one above from some video game.

In previous e-missives, I've told Harry that he and his wife are PC dinosaurs, ready for the La Brea Tar Pits of history. Their tired, alter kocker view of sex and sexual images belongs in a womyn's studies class circa 1979. In time, CNA will whither and die, and Sandy will have to get a real job (sniff). Maybe she can go back to nursing (she used to be one), though to judge by that haggard mug of hers, a sexy nurse she will never be.

Sadly, they've already reproduced...

Harry Jacobs Summers: "Summers" is Sandy's surname.

Sandy Summers: Sexy like Nurse Ratched.

Photograph from Pink Box (Abrams Books). � Joan Sinclair

Another satisfied customer...

This past Sunday afternoon prior to climbing in the car for the six hour trek back to P-town, I enjoyed a satisfying nosh at Little Tokyo's Curry House at Weller Court, then waddled over to the Kinokinuya Japanese book store, one of my must-stops whenever I'm in La-la Land.

Bought a couple of calendars for the coming year, and a tome or two, including this monograph Pink Box, by San Francisco photographer/lawyer Joan Sinclair. The folio documents Japan's floating world, so to speak, of fuzoku, the commercial sex industry. The Japanese, being mostly non-practicing Buddhists and Shinto by tradition, are blissfully free of that odious Christian concept of sin. Particularly as it applies to their own sex lives. As a result, Japan's red-light districts are honeycombed hideouts of ecstasy, with seemingly endless menus of kink.

Joan Sinclair is a woman after my own heart. Intrigued by the so-called "pink" realm of fuzoku during her sojourn in a Tokyo suburb as an English teacher, she returned to Japan eight years later to document a sexual demimonde mostly off-limits to curious foreign women, unless those curious foreign gals are seeking employment. She persisted against the suspicions of hostesses and brothel owners, and the cultural barricades set in her path by same. The result is one part photojournalism, one part E.J. Bellocq.

Sinclair's book exposes fukozu's gleeful cosplay (costume play) where women dress as nurses, manga characters, elevator attendants, secretaries, police officers, etc., often in surroundings made to mimic lifts, doctor's offices, classrooms, subway compartments, and so on. Fellas can "make out" with a girl in a movie theater setting, or literally be babied by a "mommy" in waiting. They can live out the film Pillow Book and write traditional Japanese calligraphy on beautiful nude femmes, or play in a tub filled with green gel and various nubile attendants.

For the ladies, there are "host bars," with hot boys lighting their ciggies and making them feel special. Geeky salary men can stop off while heading home to "fall in love" for an hour or so with a pair of fat chicks. Of if you need a work out, a dominatrix will wrestle or box you in a regulation boxing ring. There seems to be something for everyone. Infinite variety. Regulated by the government and run with a firm hand by the yakuza.

"I think men are universally perverted," observes one customer in the book. "It's just that in Japan we do something about it."

Thus speaks an older and far wiser culture...

(Read more about Joan Sinclair's book at her site www.pinkboxjapan.com.)

PS: Here ends the El Lay "travelogue," at least till the next time I'm visiting the City of Angels.

Santa feels your pain...

The problem with Xmas, as I see it, is that I'd rather just keep my money and buy myself whatever the fuck I want. But we're not allowed to do that. Even if you're born Jewish, Muslim, agnostic or atheist, your chances of escaping the clutches of this insidious holiday are quite low if you reside anywhere in the Western world. I mean, how many Jews do you know who don't observe Xmas? Even the frickin' Japanese in Japan go through the motions, though if you asked them what it was all about, they'd probably confess their belief it's just an excuse to wrap and give gifts, which is like sex for them.

Neither will your friends or family let you overlook the season. If you have enough dolo, you might be able to skip work and hole up somewhere with a keg of Jim Beam, a mound of blow, and a massive porno collection. But most of us have to work, so that's out. Feigning your own death might be worth it, but alas, this only works once a decade. The second time you do it, folks are quick to guess that you're not really dead.

So how does one endure all of that disgusting egg nog, the fruit cake, the perv playing Santa at work, and the enforced convivialness of Xmas parties and family get-togethers? Lots of the aforementioned bourbon will help. As well as a heart the color of obsidian. But I also look to dark humor and twisted Xmas songs, such as the these three, to be found on YouTube. They are the greatest anti-Xmas songs ever. Yahweh knows, we could use more of them. But here are the ones that always work for me, like a bar of Ex-Lax after consuming a big ol' box o' bran: They'll clean ya right out. Should you know of others, let me know, and I'll add more before December 25.

1) FEAR/Lee Ving, singing "Fuck Christmas":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GkRsNllqmI&mode=related&search=

2) The Kinks/Ray Davies, singing "Father Christmas":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rg4OZ1BI7KM

3) The Pogues/Shane MacGowan & Kirsty MacColl, singing "Fairytale of New York":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vl5hRPu2_eQ

The cursed arm of Claude de Lorraine...

All photos by Megumi Akiyama.

Pickled punks: They go great with pastrami and a lil' mustard.

Embalmed clown Achile Chatouilleu, under glass, for your protection.

The skull of the world's smallest Freemason...

Behold!

The "Barnum of Burbank Boulevard." The Nostradumbass of North Hollywood. El Lay's Willy Wonka of Weirdness. Such are but a few of the titles that my bro Carl Crew labors under as the Grand Poobah of the California Institute of Abnormalarts, an odditorium/ performance art venue near Lankershim and Burbank Boulevards in North Hollywood, CA. For several years now, Crew -- a former mortician and an actor/director/producer well-known for his tres creepy portrayal of killer-cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer in Jeffrey Dahmer: The Secret Life-- has run the CIA along with his creative and business collaborator Robert Ferguson. Not only does the CIA host such mind-boggling, one-of-a-kind acts as Girly Freak Show and crippled, demented performer/cineaste Shaye St. John, the CIA is also an X-Files-esque funhouse/sideshow museum featuring animatronic ghouls, vintage sideshow banners, two-headed pickled punks, the cursed/whithered arm of long-dead French nobleman Claude de Lorraine, the mummified body of alligator boy, the skull of the world's smallest Freemason, and -- its piece de resistance -- the embalmed corpse of American clown Achile Chatouilleu, encased in glass lest the poisons the Chatouilleu corpse was preserved in lay low his viewers.

I've written about Carl several times, but I haven't seen him since moving to PHX, so I stopped by last night, and was impressed with the fact the CIA now serves beer, wine and sake (see, it was a speakeasy back in the day). Also dug the many new exhibits, like alligator boy (more like alligator man to judge from its size). The CIA is a not-to-be-missed LA attraction if you're in town. People flock to Ripley's in Hollywood, but their money would be better spent here, where they'd really see some wikkid shit.

Dan, before he gained 300 pounds and started freelancing...

I've always hated Thanksgiving. Turkey flesh is bland and makes you fart. Football bores the crap out of me, unless the camera's focused on the cheerleaders. And usually everything is closed, so you're forced to stay home with your family. This is, in turn, why strip-club owners always say the day after T-day is the most lucrative one for them in the calendar. There's only so much of that family horseshit a grown man can take.

I'll be heading to La-la Land for a couple of days, but I'll post from there, pissing my bitter lemon juice into the bottomless pit of the blogosphere, so to speak. Hopefully, I'll be able to hook up with some of my old LA pals, including Dan Kapelovitz, my erstwhile editor at Hustler magazine, one of the many places I scribbled for back in my freelancing years. Alas, Kapelovitz no longer works for that great American hero Larry Flynt. I vividly remember the first time I visited him at LFP's swank Beverly Hills offices. It was "pizza day," and all of these editorialistas -- both male and female -- were munching on pepperoni slices, standing around watching lesbian, midget-wrestling porn on a communal TV. (Those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end...)

Dan now freelances himself, sometimes for the LA Weekly, which the New Times currently owns, and he also busies himself with such side projects as The Partridge Family Temple, an LA-based cult that worships the early '70s musical clan. Danny Bonaduce is aware of the cult and is said to be truly frightened of them. Swedish TV recently profiled the cult in a documentary that you can watch on Kapelovitz's website, here: www.kapelovitz.com. There, you'll also be able to read a selection of Kapelovitz's wacky articles for various rags, including exposes of the Raelians, Christian headbangers, the mysterious demise of French porn star Lolo Ferrari, exorcist evangelist Bob Larson, and one of the last interviews ever with the late Rodney Dangerfield. A little reading material for the holidays...an antidote to breathing in all of that gobbler-inspired flatulence.

Not Kathy Shayna Shocket...

Did Kathy Shayna Shocket survive the Repugnant's editorial bloodbath? That's what I wondered after I read her 11/20 society column. Sources high up on the Republic food chain had informed me that Shocket was part of last week's Gannett layoff-fest, where 31 employees were let go, including 7-to-8 editorialistas. In my 11/14 post Slaughter in the Newsroom, I mentioned by name three victims of the corporate axe: Mike Cronin, Peter Madrid, and Kathy Shayna Shocket. But here was Shocket's byline, so what be the dilly?

I immediately e-mailed Shocket, and received this speedy reply:

"why would you think id been let go? Still covering society as i always had
and with our magazine as i always had"

(Note: She had not responded to previous phone calls.)

I e-mailed again and asked her if she was still on staff or had been downgraded to freelance, but she's yet to e-mail me back. I assume the mag she's talking about here is AZ Society.

I rechecked with my most upper echelon source at the Republic, and this person confirmed that Shocket was out. Indeed, when I called the Republic switchboard, and asked after Cronin, Madrid and Shocket, I was told they no longer worked for the Republic. A call to publisher John Zidich, aka "ZeeDick" was not returned.

I then buzzed the most knowledgeable society maven I know, Bill Dougherty, publisher of Trends magazine, "the oldest, continuously published society and lifestyle publication in Arizona." Dougherty'd heard Shocket was out as well, but didn't know for sure. He described Shocket as aloof, a real ice queen.

"The other society reporters in town, we all get along," explained Dougherty. "Kathy's always been the outsider. She's extremely jealous of anyone doing the same thing she does, and socialized very little with the rest of us."

Recently Shocket moderated an event at Temple Beth Israel between now Congressman Harry Mitchell and a representative of JD Hayworth which turned into a real free-for-all after Hayworth's rep stated that Hayworth was actually a "more observant Jew" than those in attendance, despite Hayworthless being a big ol' goofy goyisher. Whole thing turned into a heckling match, and many walked out. The brouhaha made the blogosphere, specifically Daily Kos.

If anyone knows Shocket's real status at the Repugnant, holla atcha boy. Currently, her situtation recalls that of Mike the Headless chicken (pictured), the Fruita, Colorado rooster who had his head lopped off by a farmer in 1945, but then lived 18 MONTHS after the fact. How long will Shocket last? Stay tuned...

RELATED--Slaughter in the Newsroom & The Republic's newsroom runs red with blood...and ink.

Altman, on the set of The Gingerbread Man.

I feel a little odd mourning the loss of director Robert Altman. I mean, the guy lived eight decades and a year, and was incredibly prolific during his life, churning out film after film -- many actual celluloid masterpieces (MASH, McCabe and Mrs Miller, Nashville), with quite a few boners sprinkled amongst them (The Gingerbread Man, Dr. T and the Women, Ready to Wear). He certainly got laid more often and puffed more cheeba than I ever will. (Hey, I know when to throw in the towel.) Finally, it's not like we ever played the ponies together. Though, when I was doing heavy freelancing in L.A. and would've been hard-pressed to find Phoenix on a blank map, I did get to interview and spy on him a handful of times.

(One product of this was a profile I did for Salon.com way back when, which you can read here if you want: Brilliant Careers: Robert Altman.)

I wasn't gay for the guy or anything, but I loved his movies, his persona, and his fuck-you 'tude toward the world. He was the sort of Mephistophelean character in a broad-brimmed hat, who, if he'd said, "Steve, why don't you come work for me a while," I would've dropped everything to follow him. He was a cynic's cynic, with a touch of poetry about him. In short, he was the kind of man I still want to be when I grow up. (Not that he ever really grew up himself.) His mischievousness and willingness to tweak, insult, and at last deliver the fabled perfumed ice pick to the kidneys, in film as in life, is what I admire. Most men are eventually beaten down by their circumstances, but Altman always returned to beat 'em back, and deliver a coup de grace while he was at it.

What was my favorite film of his? That's a toughie. Altman made films back when Elliott Gould was actually cool. (Yes, there was a time.) And I guess that's why my faves are of that era of the '70s when legends roamed our blue orb. I can always watch Nashville, MASH, McCabe and Mrs Miller, Three Women, A Wedding, and That Cold Day in the Park (an early classic from 1969).

Never liked Brewster McCloud, Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or California Split. But I sorta dug Quintet, because it was so weird, and Popeye, believe it or not, for the same reason. Also his play-movies were superb, especially Phillip Baker Hall as Richard Nixon in the one-man Secret Honor and the plaintive, heart-rending ensemble effort Come Back to the Five and Dime Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean. I saw Vincent and Theo after its theatrical release in London (it was first a four-hour made-for-European TV flick), and still the thought of it sets off a buzzing in my head born of hearing Gabriel Yared's make-your-skin-crawl score for the first time.

The Player and Short Cuts are entertaining, but more fare for the masses than anything. Prior to ever interviewing Altman, I shook his hand at a New York screening for Short Cuts , where, inexplicably, he'd come to say hello to the first paying audience in Manny-Hanny for the film. Of his later work, I always had a soft spot for Kansas City, particularly for Jennifer Jason Leigh's performance as a peroxide-haired gun moll. But my all-time fave Altman flick? The Long Goodbye with Raymond Chandler's hard-boiled post-war noir updated to 1973, casting a devil-may-care Elliott Gould as detective Phillip Marlowe. Altman adds a major plot twist to the end, finally sobering Gould's smirking shamus, and revealing at last the shibboleth of male friendships, perhaps all friendships.

When I think back on Altman's films, they remind me that life is far more than the dross set before us, the crap we're told to make the best of, and so I'm gonna miss the old man and mourn him in my own way -- by going home ce soir, opening up a bottle of Maker's Mark, and watching MASH for the umpteenth-thousandth time.

In the middle (presumably) the MILFy-hot Lisa Allen MacPherson...

All pics by Lilia Menconi

AG Terry Goddard entering as I'm being escorted out by Chagolla.

Right this way, ladies undergarments, fifth floor...

Who'd expect Joe Arpaio, supposedly the "toughest sheriff in the nation," to turn all yella-belly when the New Times comes around? That's just what happened today when this fearless Feathered Bastard attempted to cover a press conference given by "Sheriff Alzheimer's" (as we occasionally call our dodderin' Deputy Dawg) and Attorney General Terry Goddard concerning a 25-count indictment against Maricopa County schools superintendent Sandra Dowling. Bully for them. Dowling seems as crooked as the Rio Grande, and my main point in attending the conference was to write an attaboy of sorts about Alzheimer's discovering -- seemingly for the first time -- the twin evils of white collar crime and corruption. Sure, I might've pointed out that Uncle Joe'd do well to investigate similar malfeasance in his own jail system, but that's beside the point. I would've still given Beelzebubba his due.

When I first heard on KTAR that a press conference was planned, I roped in my photographic accomplice Lilia Menconi, and made like a horn-eared fruit bat outta Transylvania for Alzheimer's offices on the 19th floor of the Wells Fargo tower in downtown PHX. Lilia and I were buzzed in, and headed down a corridor toward the press conference, when we were immediately cock-blocked, so to speak, by Alzheimer's media henchman Lt. Paul Chagolla, who looks like he should be busy brutalizing detainees in Tent City, or workin' as a 'roid-addled rent-a-cop for some mall on the West Side. (Not implying that he takes 'roids or has ever mindlessly beaten the crap outta anyone. Just that he has the look.)

Chagolla asked us where we were from, we told him, and he told us we'd have to amscray 'cause the Sheriff's office was "in litigation" with the New Times, and this was a "secure area." He then began backing us up toward the door we came from, where I saw a line of men entering. Thinking they were fellow members of the fourth estate, I yelled to 'em, "Take good notes! We're from the New Times and we're being kicked out." That's when, of all people, AG Terry Goddard extended a hand, smiled and said something like, "Well, that's too bad." He seemed earnest, actually. So I said, "Oh, Mr. Goddard, can we come in with you?" To which, he replied, "If it were my office, I'd let you in."

Terry, you sure know how to sweet-talk a fella. Look at me, I'm all giddy!

Chagolla kept easing us out, telling us that he'd told New Times reporter Sarah Fenske why he would not allow her entry. I told him Ms. Fenske was not my boss, just a colleague. But he figured since he'd forbidden one NT reporter, he'd forbidden them all. Chagolla was joined outside the elevators by this gal in pigtails who I believe is Joe's communications director Lisa Allen-McPherson, the woman who dared former NT staffer John Dougherty to sue the Sheriff's office for public records they refused to give up. The NT has so done, and that's the "litigation" Chagolla was using as an excuse to keep me out of the press conference. I reckon the message is, "If you try to get public records out of us, we'll bar you from all of our press conferences."

(BTW, I have to admit, McPherson looks pretty hot for her age, whatever that is. I mean, I'd go there, if she were up for it. As long as she doesn't have some sorta weird cop fetish and makes me dress up like Officer Barbrady from South Park.)

I gave Chagolla my card, and asked if he would tell the Sheriff I was outside. This he declined to do, trying to get us to leave by holding open an elevator, and motioning for us to get in. Eventually, he gave up on this. I asked him if he was a public servant, and he said yes. So, like a smart-ass, I said, "Glad to meet you, I'm a member of the press, and I'd like to cover your press conference." He told me we weren't invited, and only members of the press who were invited could come. He stared at me with those cop eyes of his for a while, I guess trying to intimidate me (or maybe he just does that with everyone). But when he figured out I wasn't going to leave right away, he gave up on the stare-down and scuttled back into the office with others on their way into the press conference.

When I got back to the New Times, I shot off this short note to Chagolla, which I include below. I actually do believe Alzheimer's might have let me in, as he and I have bantered back and forth at different events in the past. But in this case, his underlings turned chickenshit on his behalf. Hell, maybe he knows all about it. Or maybe they kept him in the dark, afraid of what he might say if I started doing my Stuttering John impersonation.

Nice to meet you today, Paul, though, of course I found the circumstances quite unfortunate. I've reported on the Sheriff a couple of times, as you know. And he's always asked me, "Why don't you ever write anything good about me?" Here was my chance, and now you've messed that up. Should I see him out and about again, I'll just have to tell him that he missed his opportunity for some positive press from me because you guys seem scared as the dickens of the New Times being present. Very silly, sir. Very silly, indeed.

Give my regards to the Sheriff. We got some lovely photos of you escorting me out, and I'll be posting them online shortly.

Catherine King channelling Cousin Itt...

Ya think Jerome Du Bois' mom was named Blanche? The PHX art-fart gadfly's capacity for self-delusion is equal to that of Tennessee Williams' most famous character, and like Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire, Jerome's creeping up there in mileage. For a while now, the artistic, literary and business efforts of Jerome and spouse Catherine King have been met with sneers by local scenesters, because, well, her art bites and he's a pompous dweeb. In retaliation against those here in P-town who fail to genuflect before their genius, Du Bois hammers away at his enemies in his endlessly stultifying blog The Tears of Things. Yet according to a recent statement issued from deep inside Castle Du Bois, Jerome wants to say goodbye to all that:

Properly speaking, The Tears of Things is not a blog anymore. We no longer reach out into the wider world. It's just a record for us, and a time-capsule witness for the future. Since nobody ever responds to anything we post, why should we care if we have readers?

We started out as an art and local culture blog, but we got weary of standing up for high standards against the vicious attacks by local trolls. To paraphrase Leonard Cohen, we love the city, but we just can't stand the scene. The misogynists and whores (and we mean that literally) can have it. Maybe it will be reclaimed by better people in the future.

Currently the Du Bois-King duo devote themselves to their "art," and their ponderous musings on Muslims, monotheism, and why everyone in P-town sucks but them. Thing is, Du Bois' simplistic digital images are the sorts of things third graders could do with a laptop, blindfolded, and one arm handcuffed to a chair. King's photos are just really, really bad. She offers up several pictures of cats called "spirit photography," poorly taken on purpose, apparently, so as to make it seem as if there are ectoplasmic spheres about. Instead it just looks like she needs to wipe down her lens.

Du Bois takes up the camera for his "Portraits of Catherine" series, featuring King standing in a backyard, wearing vintage-lookin' duds, and always covering her face in some way. That "bag that head" trick is done for good reason. With her squirrel's nest of gray hair falling all over the place, she sorta resembles the creepy chick from The Ring, though that fearsome celluloid ghost was dead sexy by comparison. Perhaps Cousin Itt from The Addams Family is a better doppelganger. I include one of the "Portraits of Catherine" as an example. There's a buttload more on Du Bois' site, if you're a masochist.

(I wonder if some of these are actually of Jerome. In some cases, the body looks a little too mannish. But then, that's been known to happen post-menopause. So who knows?)

Du Bois and King still show themselves in public, attempting to portray themselves as hipper than thou, but that's only if you equate hipness with a certain morbid freakishness. These oddball alter kockers were spotted arm-in-arm together at the opening for the Phoenix Art Musem's expansion, dressed in matching black, leather-n-lace cowboy duds, each with long gray locks worn down: Maybe what Stevie Nicks will look like in 10 years if she stops coloring her hair and becomes a bag lady.

Anyone know how these people actually make a living? Trust fund, real estate, welfare? Give me a call, if you know. I'd love to find out.

The wild and crazy Rachel Bess...

The Bird knows all, sees all. The minions of The Bird are perched everywhere, scribbling notes, observing all social interactions in the PHX as potential fodder for the next column. Of course, it all flows through my massive bird-brain, and no boob is left unscathed by the tenacious mental talons of this Feathered Bastard. Last night, at Rachel Bess' 3rd Friday opening at Modified Arts, she was overheard kvetching about a spate of e-mails we've exchanged concerning the knocking she got in The Bird's most recent column re: her dull Dr. Sketchy franchise. So I figured it's best to let everyone here in P-town take a peek and experience for themselves the unapologetic lameness Bess advocates. It's quite illuminating, especially her diss of such great artists as Francis Bacon. Also ads some insight on why Bess' work is generally, ahem, "good for Phoenix." I like her, but she exhibits an extremely pedestrian imagination, both in her paintings and in her correspondence. At the end of the day, she's just not very interesting, and her art, as you can see on her website, reflects this.

Bess confesses to some confusion about how The Bird works, so let me explain this to those who've never read an items column before, don't know the difference between W.R. Hearst and a flag pole, and think Walter Winchell was the guy who started the donut chain. The Bird column is reported by myself and other journalists here at the NT, though if someone else does an item for me, I usually add to the reporting, check the facts, then write through it in my inimitable Bird style. The column is written in the third person, with the foul fowl acting as a literary device. Does anyone really think a bird is writing the column? This isn't a difficult concept for most non-Bessians to grok. The byline, "From the beak of The Bird, to the ear of Stephen Lemons," is fanciful shorthand for how the column is produced.

Lilia Menconi did the reporting on "Art School Confidential," and was chosen for the assignment because she's the New Times' art chick. She did a bang-up job, and gave me a more detailed report than I expected. Bess cannot assail the facts. She just doesn't like my style or the words I use.

I've met Rachel many times, and have seen her art on several occasions. In person, she's not the most expressive individual in the world, which is why I made the now-infamous "Zoolander" crack. Check out the painting "Jewels of the Rocks" on Bess' site. Looks like a self-portrait, and you might notice she's, uh, frowning. Maybe "Wednesday Addams" would've been a better reference than "Zoolander."

Anyway, enjoy! Hopefully this will encourage Dr. Sketchy's organizers to add some Tabasco to that art taco. You know, like, cut off an ear or something. Hey, don't look at me that way! It could happen...

SL

>>> "Rachel Bess" 11/16/2006 2:41 PM >>> To: Lilia Menconi

Lilia-

I'm confused about the Dr. Sketchy's article. I know Stephen and he's
never even attended any of our events so it's a little concerning reading
his supposed first person account. I'm not sure if that was some kind of
tongue in cheek way of saying that the event isn't for pervs, or just a
straight up trashing of the event, but attacking the model personally and
making fun of her cup size was nothing short of completely out of line and
rude. Amy was holding difficult poses with lots of costuming and everyone
else seemed to think she did a fantastic job of holding them. And the bit
about me looking like zoolander, what does that even mean? Am I supposed
to be cute and smiley while I'm concentrating on drawing a model?
I realize that the NT makes it their job to write a lot of "spicy"
articles, because that's what people expect, and if you came to our event
and truly thought it was awful then that's totally your right to write
that. But it makes me sad to read such low blows about our model who went
to such great lengths to set herself apart from regular life drawing
models, and since you were the one that was actually there I'm curious if
that article had your stamp of approval on it.
Thanks,
Rachel Bess.

Thursday - November 16, 2006 4:00 PM, Stephen.Lemons@newtimes.com
To: Rachel Bess

Hey Rachel,

Got your letter. The Bird is an items column, with three or four items per week. Usually I report one or two of the items, and two others here report the rest. I was thinking of reporting Dr. Sketchy myself, but as Lilia has taken life drawing classes before and is pretty expert on the art scene, I let her do it. The reporting was hers, the opinions are mine. And I stand behind both.

Down to the brass tacks of the opinions you don't like. Well, first off, by comparison to what the Crabapple website promises, your event is lame, banal in the extreme. Why is this important? Because, at least in theory, you're offering an alternative to art-school life drawing classes. Allow me to quote the main Dr. Sketchy site:

"Founded in 2005 by artists Molly Crabapple and A.V. Phibes, Dr. Sketchy's asked a simple question. Why can't drawing naked people be sexy?"

What you provided was a less-than-sexy model in an atmosphere that was stiffer and more boring than a college life-drawing class. At an actual life-drawing class, the models may not be attractive, but then that's not the point in college. Here, you attempt some blend of the "burlesque" and a life-drawing class. The fact that you fail miserably should be of more concern to you than how the item was reported. If you read accounts on Crabapple's site, people drink, engage in wacky contests, and the models tend to be hot. No one drinks at your event, the model was homely, and you seem incapable of mustering enthusiasm even for the drawing, shrugging, "Well, I guess it's time to do the drawing." People don't socialize and have a good time there, and it really begs the question of why even bother.

A little truth in advertising is what I'm suggesting. Even Steph is quoted as saying that the PHX Dr. Sketchy is boring and that nothing exciting ever happens there. So what do you expect? Come on, you know the reporting was accurate. And even if you don't like my choice of words, I suspect you may secretly agree with them. You'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to...

Sin.,

Stephen Lemons
602-229-8426

Thursday - November 16, 2006 10:52 PM, "Rachel Bess"
To: Stephen Lemons

Stephen-
I'm not attempting to enter into some bitter argument over the piece, as
I'm well aware that ultimately it's your column and you can say whatever
the heck you want, I'm just afraid that you missed the point.

You are correct, we claim and are offering an alternative to standard life
drawing classes. What separates us from them, is that our models are
chosen because they are interesting. Frequently, when we have our
burlesque-style models, interesting does take the form of sexy. Past
models have included Burlesque headliner Lolita Haze, Scandalesque
performer Pyra Sutra, and fetish model Diabolica Robotica and we have a
Suicide Girl lined up for January (I have enclosed jpgs so you can judge
for yourself). The burlesque girls do essentially a stop motion version of
their act, and it is something that I think most would consider sexy. As
for Amy Austin, (who was modeling for our Halloween event) when she was
applying all the fake peeling skin, blacking out her teeth, making her
eyes look sunken in etc, I don't think she was aiming for a Hustler sort
of look, but she was quite theatric, wonderful to draw and did an amazing
job. If you personally find her unattractive in general (I assume that you
know her, or at least what she looks like when she's not made up like
someone back from the dead), that's just something we'll have to agree to
disagree about, as most everyone I know thinks she's gorgeous even though
she doesn't have giant fake tits.

As for the lack of liquor, well there's nothing we can do about AZ laws,
and we've never made any claim to have any booze nor contests, though the
participants seem to be pretty pleased at the "lame-ass" FREE raffle, when
they go home with anything from a $12 pencil set to a $60 table-top easel.
And many people do gather next door at Bikini afterwards for a little
post-drawing libation and it can be quite the social event, which I am
proud to say Dr. Sketchy's itself is not. It's not supposed to be about
drinking and gabbing it up with folks, it's about drawing interesting
models. Which brings me to my last point, me. I, and any of the other
folks that help put this together, am extremely happy to be there. At the
same time we know that the event is about enabling people to draw models
that are out of the ordinary, not about us, so it seems a little foolish
for me to run around the room cheering or cracking jokes or whatever
you/Lilia wished me to be doing. People could be spending that time doing
what they'came to do, draw. And we've met on many occasions, so I think
you've proabably been around me enough to judge that I'm generally a very
pleasant person and I do smile quite a bit more than once a decade.
Thanks for your time.
Rachel.

Thursday - November 16, 2006 11:57 PM, Stephen.Lemons@newtimes.com
To: rachel@rachelbess.com

I hear what you're saying, Rachel. But compare what you're doing to accounts of what's going on in other cities. As for the lack of booze, are you saying that if people BYOB'd, that would be verboten? (I know full nudity without the booze would be OK, according to Steph.) You mean that if someone brought in a flask, and you locked the door behind the crowd, there would be police officers waiting to pounce? I find that hard to believe. Christ, go to modified on ANY night of the week. Where do you think all of those empty beer cans in the parking lot come from? If you're afraid of getting caught, just be discreet about it. Or do it in someone's house.

FYI, we had limited space, so I was not able to use the quotes from participants on how your model was 1) unprofessional; 2) couldn't hold a pose; 3) couldn't regain a pose after a break. I mean, if it's all about the sketching, and not about the fun, then shouldn't these be legitimate issues for you? One guy we were going to quote mentioned he's had the same problem on other nights, as he's been to them all! Or so he said.

I think lack of imagination is a big problem in this town. People think WAY too small. When it comes to something like your Dr. Sketchy, yes, it should be a little less severe. Or maybe you should call it "Rachel Bess' Boring Ass Art School" and leave that "anti-art" pretense out of it. What the hell is the matter with you artists anyway? Don't you know how to take a fucking risk? What's the point of being an artist if you're going to do EXACTLY the same lame, boring shit they do in art school?

Oh, I forgot, Amy Austin dressed up for Halloween! Wow, you crazy artists...Sounds like a regular demi-monde you've got going on over there. Sheesh. Rachel, have you ever read a biography of an artist? Go get one of Francis Bacon, Egon Schiele, Picasso, you name it. Try kicking it up a notch, for Chrissakes. Kick yourself in the pants, and make it better. Or don't. It's up to you. I say all this as someone who likes you. I'm trying to challenge you. Unless this was just an off night. But based on what Steph told Lilia, this was par for the course.

SL

>>> "Rachel Bess" 11/17/06 12:05 PM >>>
To: Stephen Lemons

Stephen-

If someone wants to bring a "thirstbuster" to our event, I'm not going to
stop them, but due to the numerous tickets other galleries/venues have
gotten for liquor, I'm not about to say, "Hey, bring a flask!" If people
really want to drink, they can figure out how to do it discreetly.

We have considered doing some separate gritty house-party style events
with a different model in every room, djs, liquor and who knows what else.
If you know of anyone with a house that's fit to accomodate something like
that, and they're willing, please let me know. We certainly don't have
anything against full-nudity, it just didn't happen last time. But I would
pose the question to you, would full-frontal and booze really make this a
more risky event? I suggest to you that it wouldn't. These days I can see
nudity anywhere I want, I can drink any time I want. If that was what we
were after I would invite some buddies over, hire an escort, down some
shots and go to town. We're providing an alternative event for people who
love life drawing. We're trying to steer clear of people who show up so
they can give themselves something to think about when they return home to
a lonely bed. As for Steph saying it was boring, her comment was taken out
of context, Lilia was digging around about pervs and Steph said it would
be boring for them. We do welcome suggestions from every participant at
all of our events, so if you wanted to come out to the event and see for
yourself what it was about, we would certainly welcome your thoughts.

As for being inspired by ingenious artists of history- the ones you
mentioned had lives full of turmoil brought on by perversity, pederasty,
constant philandering and/or dealing with homosexuality. They make a for a
juicy read and great art, but I wouldn't want to start an event inspired
by that.

Although I do feel that many of your printed comments were meant to be
cruel for the purpose of riling up readers rather than an actual critique
of the event, I do appreciate you trying to light a fire under me in your
own special way. I still feel strongly that it's important to actually
attend an event to write such an opinionated piece about it. As I said
before, you would certainly be welcome to attend an event, draw, and then
make suggestions on how to make it even better.

At this point I want to spend my energy making great paintings and doing
my best to help put on an interesting life drawing event. So I welcome a
response but beyond that I think we'll just have to agree to disagree.
Thanks again for your time,
Rachel.

Friday - November 17, 2006 12:47 PM, Stephen.Lemons@newtimes.com
To: Rachel Bess

I don't think Steph's comments were taken out of context. She's acknowledged saying the same thing to others here. As for the edginess factor, that's something this whole Dr. Sketchy shtick is aiming to serve up. As far as I can tell, you haven't pulled it off yet. But when you think you're getting close, I'd be happy to swing on by and write something up about it. In person this time. Of course, I don't draw, so I'd prolly sit there reading the paper. Lilia does draw, which made her a perfect reporter for this event, added to the fact she's our main art writer. Her description was spot-on. Your objection seems to be that my language is too colorful. The accuracy of the piece, however, is unassailable.

I'm not interested in seeing that fella Strange nekkid on any level, so I'll hold out for the Suicide Gal. Unless YOU decide to model for Dr. Sketchy at some point, in which case, I'll be sure to make a bee-line. Provided you bare all, and I can sneak in a flask of Wild Turkey, natch.

This quote from you is a little troublesome:

"As for being inspired by ingenious artists of history- the ones you
mentioned had lives full of turmoil brought on by perversity, pederasty,
constant philandering and/or dealing with homosexuality. They make a for a
juicy read and great art, but I wouldn't want to start an event inspired
by that."

Why the heck not? Sounds like just what Phoenix needs. You might even produce some "great art" while you're at it...Heaven forbid, eh?

Thanks much for the letters. I do appreciate you, Rachel, and I do like reading your letters far more than your fiance's (hubby's?). You and Matt are together, right? Or maybe I'm mistaken.

Cheerio,

SL

Banned by the CNA! Not really. There's a ton more like this on the CNA website...

Below is another e-mail from Harry Summers of the Center for Nursing Advocacy, and my response to him. Harry's married to Sandy Summers, the executive director of the Maryland-based, self-appointed watchdog org. When he's not working as a "litigation attorney with the Federal Election Commission," he advises his wife's pro-censorship group, which has a total of four persons listed as staff, including, of course, Harry and Sandy.

As an added bonus, I incude here another one of the many images CNA is out to censor. There are tons on the CNA website. Seems in the Summers' delusional little world, the only folks who should be allowed to publish these, ahem, arousing pics, are the Summers themselves. Remember, this comes out of the current kerfuffle over Tempe's Heart Attack Grill, and the item on it in the recent Bird column, "Nursing Grudge," 11/9/06.

Please note: I wrote the "you may not work for the government" line before I found out that Summers does indeed work for the Feds. Obviously, they're not giving Harry enough to do these days...

SL

>>> Harry Summers 11/17/06 7:43 AM >>>

Hi Stephen,

it seems like you're dying to make this about "feminism" and
censorship, which I guess helps you fit us into that little box
you've been polishing. I think the death of "feminism" has been
greatly exaggerated by a few reactionary blowhards, which the
somewhat desperate, wishful tone of your stuff suggests. and of
course, we're not state actors or even powerful economic ones, so we
can't engage in "censorship" any more than you can.

but that's pretty much irrelevant. you insist on confusing criticism
of nursing images with criticism of sexual images. we really--
really--don't care about blood, gore, or sex, and no careful look at
what we've said on the site or elsewhere would suggest that we do. I
could give examples of raw media we've praised, or sanitized things
we've trashed, but what's the point? you've found your theme, and we
wouldn't want to complicate it with facts or understanding.

of course in any discussion of nursing there will be gender issues.
but nothing you've written suggests that you know or care anything
about nursing or what we're actually trying to do. the naughty nurse
is a small part of what we look at, but the larger issue is what
society knows and thinks about nursing, how that affects the
profession, and how it affects whether people live or die. I'm still
waiting to hear why that doesn't matter.

I marvel at your confident speculation about our personal motives.
if I were to indulge in that kind of thing, I might suggest that the
world is easy when you're just playing around with it.

Harry

my response of today, 11/17/06

You may not work for the government, Harry, but CNA is harassing and intimidating business people, attempting to get them to comply with CNA's wishes in altering or eliminating certain visuals. That's censorship in my book. In fact, CNA offers examples on its website where it has "successes"; i.e., where some corporate entity has very stupidly decided to comply with rules laid down by a husband-wife team in Maryland.

You say you're "not state actors or even powerful economic ones," and I would indeed argue that's why any and every business should ignore your threats of letter-writing campaigns, etc. As for your startling assertion that you're not concerned with sex or sexual imagery, that's a serious non sequitur, boyo. Just on the first page of your site, there are: posts about "sexy/scary 'naughty nurse' imagery" in an ad campaign for Saw III; blue-nosed finger-wagging at the "half-dressed female 'nurses'" of Tempe's Heart Attack Grill; kvetching about a Schick advertisement featuring an "injured male skateboarder" being tended to by "three naughty 'nurses'; and so on, ad nauseam. Click on the "campaigns" link on your site, and there's a lot more along this line, as you know.

Censorship and the control of sexual imagery is at the heart of your little organization. And yes, it does harken back to the excesses of extremist feminism and political correctness. However, CNA is a lot more cynical than the righteous bra-burners of yore, who actually believed in their own cause. CNA only wants to garner attention for its niche in the advocacy-exploitation game. It does this by concocting "campaigns" and insisting demands be met. This gets CNA into the public eye and gives it more fodder for its site. It may also help bring in some really gullible donors, and encourage equally gullible patrons to hire your spouse as a speaker.

Hey, you never did answer my question on how much moolah your wife rakes in per speech? No biggie. You've gotta keep the two kiddies in Nikes, right?

SL

RELATED-- Camille Paglia, this one's for you... and Soft-core Sexy Nurses

The Great Camille Paglia: Feminazi slayer, diva and intellectual nonpareil.

Below find some recent correspondence between myself and the Maryland-based Center for Nursing Advocacy's Senior SOLE Advisor Harry Jacobs Summers, hubby of Executive Director Sandy Summers. For all intents and purposes, it looks like the Summers ARE the CNA. The CNA basically spends all of its time shrilly squawking about images of "sexy nurses," while ironically posting said sexy images all over its site. Clear as mother's milk? Thought so. Lately, they've been decrying Tempe's Heart Attack Grill for its sexist use of waitresses in -- you guessed it -- naughty nurse outfits. Why do such pathetic advocacy groups exist? So that people like the Summers have something to do. And maybe to score a few speaking fees for Sandy while they're at it. How much of an honorarium do you normally get, Sandy? Come on, you can tell us.

BTW, I dedicate this exchange to Camille Paglia, author of Sexual Personae, the brave woman who single-handedly defeated the Goliath of extremist feminism in the '90s. Please note that Summers' first response appeared on my initial post regarding the subject, and that is linked here and below.

From: hsummers@nursingadvocacy.org November 16, 2006 @ 10:23 am

Feathered Bastard (Stephen Lemons) attacks the Center for Nursing
Advocacy and its efforts to persuade the Heart Attack Grill to stop
using "naughty nurse" imagery. The Center has argued that the global
media's constant use of such imagery is one factor in the deadly nursing
shortage, which stems in large part from a lack of resources and the
respect it takes to get them.

But there is little substance in the misogynistic rant Lemons posts in
response. Instead, there are tired schoolyard insults, such as the
cutting-edge "feminazis," and lazy distortions about what the Center
really does.

Lemons, who writes about food and culture, claims to find it "ironic"
that the Center posts examples of the imagery it analyzes. But that
makes it much easier for both supporters and skeptics to see what the
Center is talking about. Of course those images themselves attract many
people to the Center's site--and they are just the people the Center
wants to be confronted with its arguments. Contrary to Lemons' apparent
belief, the Center takes no position on sexual imagery in general. Spank
those feathers any way you wish, Mr. Bastard! Nor does the Center care
if the Grill does more short-term business as a result of the media
attention the Center has drawn to it.

Of course, the Center would like the Grill and others to stop
effectively spitting in the faces of the nurses who may some day save
their lives. But it can only ask such public speakers to consider the
effects when they tell the world that nurses are brainless bimbos,
handmaidens, or angels. Under Lemons' logic, no one should ever ask
media speakers to avoid ethnic or gender slurs, or to stop telling lies,
because that would be "thought control." The Center would settle for
just thought.

But the Center is tempted to encourage Lemons to keep slanging those who
are trying to improve public understanding of nursing. That might help
the Center get its issues media attention that is, as Lemons complains,
"out of all proportion" to the group's membership.

On Nov 16, 2006, at 12:53 PM, Stephen Lemons wrote:

Thanks for the e-mail. Just posted it to the blog. Lemme know when you
guys plan to go after kids' Halloween costumes. Garp's mom would be
proud...

>>> Harry Summers 11/16/06 8:28 PM >>>

but no more proud than the people of Dr. Stockmann's town would be of
you!

I also find your belief that light-hearted media has no effect on
what people think fascinating, given your career. I suppose kids in
particular, since you mention them, could not possibly be affected by
anything society tells them about nurses, or, by the same token, by
anything at all. it certainly sets my mind at ease about the rugrats.

even so, your Male Nurse Action Figure is on the way.

and my last reply...

That's always the excuse of those preaching censorship, isn't it? The kids. There's more blood, gore and sex in the Bible or Shakespeare, Mr. Summers, than there is in anything your wife rails against. But let's be honest, you don't give a rat's a-hole about "the kids." What you care about is getting publicity for your tiny team of pseudo-prudes, and making sure your wife pulls in the speaking gigs. Hey, knock yourself out. This battle was fought and won in the '90s by one Camille Paglia. She so trampled over Stalinist feminists, and to such a degree, there's nothing left but a few aged hairlips out there with yellowed photos of Gloria Steinem taped to their mantelpieces. Sniff. My heart bleeds for you and your wife, Mr. Summers, it really does. The dustbin of history is surely a musty place to live out your days.

Nice Ibsen reference, though. I'll give you that. They make you read that in college?

SL

RELATED--Soft-core Sexy Nurses

The GrossCost of livin': $150 mil.

As far as I'm concerned, former House Speaker Jeff Groscost, whom the Bird disses in death this week, deserved to be wearing stripes, eating green baloney and wondering if he was gonna have to take it up the poot pipe from his cell-mate Randy when he croaked November 3. The guy cost AZ taxpayers $150 million in the Y2K alt-fuels scam, and he would have GrossCost us upwards of a cool billion if he'd had his druthers and the conversion incentives for monster trucks and Urban Assault Vehicles had continued. He worked for his buds in the natural gas industry before the legislation was passed, got help from them in writing the law, and then went back to work for them after Mesa Mormons became so pissed at the Republi-con artist that they did the unthinkable -- threw his ass out of office in favor of a friggin' DEMOCRAT! The guy was a cheap, corrupt hornswaggler. If he'd pulled that shit in California, he absolutely would've ended up the backdoor bitch of Cellblock Three. But guess what? This is Arizona, baby. You practically have to kill someone while a public servant to catch an indictment. Manet Reno, uh, I mean, Manet Napolitano declined to prosecute the bastard while she was AZ AG, saying he was just incompetent, not corrupt. Bull patties! Manet laid off him for the same reason she didn't go after the FLDS in Colorado City: she may look and act like a bull dyke, but she's absolutely got no huevos when it comes to messin' with Mormons of any stripe, whether they're swindling AZ out of millions or marrying their 14-year-old nieces.

So now the guy keels over at the age of 45 and everyone, including Manet and John "Manchurian Candidate" McCain, is trying to French kiss his corpse. Yeah, I know the "rule" about not speaking ill of the dead, but tough titty in this case. Allow me to cop a line from Willy S.'s Julius Caesar: "The evil that men do lives after them. The good is oft interred with their bones." Groscost's influence on events while alive was nefarious, and he should forever be remembered for the major fuckups he made. Was the guy a good father and a faithful husband? I don't know, and I don't care. Leave it in the grave. While breathing, Groscost did plenty to ensure that his name will live in infamy. All the posthumous sphincter-smoochers in the world won't change that.