S.R. Wild: Artist and Graphic Designer

One Hell of a Meat Show

Last night I went to the Spielpalast Cabaret. It was fantastically sexy. Once again, the ladies (and fellas) put on a great show and the band was amazing. It was worth every penny. I highly recommended going. There are three more shows this week: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

A couple friends came to town from New York to see the show. When they arrived, we went to Pho Dang for dinner — Vietnamese food, yum. We thought we had plenty of time, but when we returned to my hovel, I checked the tickets and they said the show started a 7:30. It was 7:08! We quickly put on our dapper attire and walked as fast as we could to City Hall. We arrived at 7:31, only to find a long line.

We finally went inside, but there wasn’t any room on the main floor so we had to sit in the balcony. The lights dimmed and I quivered in burlesque anticipation. The show began and I was transported to another time, filled with vises and sexual innuendos. My foot uncontrollable tapped to the music. I was sweating a bit — I don’t know if it was from the hot room or the dames.

After the first act, we were able to snag a table on the main floor. The show is much better when seen from there, you feel like you’re part of it. (My one suggestion is to get there early and get a table.) The second act was much stronger than the first, but that could have been due to the better view.

After the show — I wish it never ended — we went to a bar across the street for cocktails. As you may know, I rarely drink, but it was a special occasion. After a few drinks we went to another bar and then home.

It was a lovely night. It felt great to dress up and unwind with some old fashioned debauchery. I really needed the break. I should get out more.

When I woke up this morning… er, afternoon, my companions were gone. For a moment I thought the entire night was just a wonderful dream. Then I saw a note on my table, underneath my sock garters (I haven’t figured out what the last line says):

I didn’t take any photographs of the show (apparently there was a big sign that said “No Photos” that I didn’t see). However, I did take some here and there during the night:

Beside Myself

I trudged through the frozen muck for a mile, crept down unlit streets, and arrived at an empty train yard. I found an unmarked door and went inside to a candlelit basement. It was the Spielpalast Cabaret fundraiser.

I briefly conversed with friends, acquaintances, and strangers (no eye contact equals no interest, move on) but spent most of the night lurking in the corner. I played roulette, repeatedly betting on odd; I won a lot of money then lost it. I saw a human cockfight and a striptease.

I trudged back home. The muck was more solid and the streets were lit this time. When I arrived home I was beside myself and tried to photograph it. It gave me an idea for a bipolar self-portrait.

I rarely go out anymore unless I can dress up and don’t have to drink to enjoy it (I have a two drink maximum).

Halloween at the G-spot

Here’s some photos from last night’s Halloween shindig at Lisa G’s.

Sorry, we don’t do happy.

After kissing a dirty truck stop hooker, I’d rinse my mouth out with bleach too.

I don’t know if you’d call it dancing, but there was a lot of it.

Found Onion

This Saturday has the potential to be the greatest day ever. Not only am I going to The Third Annual State of the Onion Address, before that, I’m going to see Found Magazine‘s There Goes the Neighborhood Tour. Wow, Found Magazine and The Onion on the same night. My pleasure circuits might overload.

More Comic Book Party

Check out more photos from last weekend’s extravaganza on Pat’s Picasa thingamajig. There’s one of me hidden in there (don’t ask what I’m doing or what I was).

Comic Book Party

Here are some photos from last night.

I Need A Costume

I’m going to a comic book themed shindig next week and I have nothing to wear. I need a comic book (or graphic novel) inspired hero or villain costume. I know very little about comic books. So far I’ve thought of R. Crumb, Mister Happy, and Harvey Pekar. Any Suggestions?

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