So last month the most romantic thing in the world happened to me. I’d gone to the World of Wonder Christmas Rollerskating party at the Moonlight Rollerway dressed in appropriate winter wonderland gear and was skating around by myself. Drag queens were in abundance. RuPaul was the DJ. And I saw this cutie leaning over the edge so I smacked him on the ass as I rolled by. A few revolutions later and this cutie skates by me and our eyes lock and he just grabs my hand without a word and then we’re skating and holding hands like it’s nothing at all and THAT’S CRAZY isn’t it? Did he know I was the ass smacker? (Later I learned, no.)

We form a train with other skaters, take turns swinging each other out on the turns. THEN RUPAUL PUTS ON XANADU, one of my most favorite songs EVER and the BEST song to skate to IN THE UNIVERSE! So the cutie and I who haven’t said a word between us other than “whoa!” and “wheee!” grab hands AND SKATE TOGETHER TO XANADU IN A CINEMATIC MOMENT OF EXQUISITE GAYNESS! We haven’t reached the first chorus and I’m thinking DREAMS DO COME TRUE when another skater zooms by the cutie causing him to release my hand as he falls forward. I fall backwards and land on my hand and elbow. (Later I’d be told I hadn’t learned how to fall. Metaphoric AND true.)

I get off the ice, I mean rollerskating rink, and the cutie rushes over and sits with me while I go into shock and nearly vomit. He gets me a bag of ice from somewhere and a couple pills. I tell him he doesn’t have to drug me to have his way with me. And I press the ice to my wrist which I’m holding on top of my head to keep the swelling down. I tell him I think he should kiss me and he does, and does, and undoes my shirt buttons, and people are giving us some extra room and I say ok you need to stop cause you’re causing swelling somewhere else now. I start shivering and I ask him if he could go get my hat and scarf that I tossed on a bench on the other side of the rink. He goes and gets them AND THEN PUTS THEM ON AND GOES BACK TO ROLLERSKATING, which was not how that was supposed to go.

The next morning x-rays showed my wrist was not broken but severely sprained. Over a month later my elbow still hurts enough I scheduled an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. But I did get the guy’s name, Matt Alber. He’s a singer and here he is performing his mega romantic song “End of the World” in his MEGA ROMANTIC video that’s been misting eyes of grown gay men since it was released a few days ago.

This was my first of a series of music video jobs where I was a one man art department. Not that there was much to on this aside from the velvet curtain, renting some lamps you never see, and aiming a fan at the stripper girls that got cut from the final edit because MTv said it was no longer acceptable to feature girls dancing on poles. (Side note: The girl, unaware of my presence lying on the floor aiming the fan at her, kicked her chair off the stage which flew legs-first towards me shattering the fan sending the blades flying across the set and everyone thought I’d been horribly injured.) 

Also the fight you see with the guys was real; this was filmed at Three of Clubs in Hollywood; and the fire was my thing and here’s how you do it: Spray-paint a sheet of plywood flat black and let dry. Squirt it with charcoal lighter fluid (it burns the right speed), flip it over onto two sawhorses and light the fluid on the underside. Film the whole thing by shooting into a mirror placed at an angle under the plywood. This lets you keep the camera a safe distance from the fire. Just watch for drips onto the mirror. After doing this a few times the board will start to burn so you have to watch that. And let it cool before reapplying lighter fluid. When the video ran on Beavis and Butthead they were mostly interested in the fire.

It started with just rubbing the butt but he liked it more the harder I got so now I just smack his but like I’m violently playing bongos and he goes into orgasmic fits and falls off my lap. We do this like 3 times a day. 

I half expected this memoir about a contemporary art curator to be dry, academic, and full of art world nonsense I was supposed to accept. But given the cover photo was of the author, Marcia Tucker, on a motorcycle in the desert. How stuffy could she be? Turns out, not at all.

In 1968, during an interview for the position of curator at the Whitney, after enduring too many sexist questions, she responds with a rant about why they shouldn’t hire a woman. “…once a month I’ll go crazy and no one will be able to reason with me,…and of course I’ll get pregnant within the year so your investment in me will have been completely wasted.” Regardless, she’s hired as the museum’s first female curator.

Years later she’d start The New Museum, which is an amazing accomplishment. I can’t imagine thinking, “You know, I have no money and no property, but I want to start a major contemporary art museum in New York City.” AND THEN DO IT.

I appreciated her constant challenging and questioning the status quo of everything related to art, museums, and running a non-profit. Genius example: Asking her 10  year-old daughter to write a guide for the show “Bad Girls” a show so controversial the NEA demanded their name be taken off it.

And then, after 20 years of curating shows at one of the most well respected contemporary art museums in the world, at 60, she starts taking classes in stand up comedy, loves them, and starts performing. Show me another art curator/stand up comic. This was a woman who lived passionately. Totally sucks that she died two years ago. I hate hearing about great people who just left the party.