Now and then I think, "If they'd but lived long enough for Dr. Taylor's Catarrh Cure in 1867, many of the ancient Ponante relatives would not have expired from Gleet."
This occurred to me when I saw a bunch of porn stars at a comic book store last night.
If women not disinclined to like sex also liked comics thirty years ago, imagine how sane R. Crumb's family might be.
But we shouldn't dwell on it. Think, instead, about Justine Joli frolicing across Melrose Avenue, Dana DeArmond cradling little Aiden Starr's head in a frame of gang signs, and Bobbi Starr goosing the Silver Surfer at last night's launch party for the 2009 Nerdcore calendar.
I know it will raise howls of protest from some, who would wish a Dr. Manhattan-like character to teleport me from the room, but all comic book stores look the same to me, as if each were squeezed from the same tube of Oxy 10. That is not to say that they aren't pleasant places. Melrose Ave's Golden Apple was filled with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the likes of gray-eyed Georgia Jones, who appeared in the calendar as Princess Leia.
But not everyone at the event appeared in the calendar, sadly. Dana DeArmond, here seen arguing a finer point of Captain America's patriotism with her boyfriend, Daniel, would have made a great Athena in a 1977 Battlestar Galactica tribute, but it was not to be.
Ditto for Aiden Starr, whom I've always imagined as a filthy, filthy Jawa. Maybe in 2010 (The Year We Make Contact).
Bobbi Starr compared the movie version of Hellboy 2 to Evil Dead 2, where the sequel was both better and less serious than the original. It was not like Gallagher Too.
As I left, Justine Joli was standing in the middle of the street.
"In my dimension, this is a field," she did not say.
HOLLYWOOD -- It's 90 degrees out, the hills are on fire, and I'm wearing leather pants. I'm walking west on Sunset Blvd. feeling ornery. I've spent 40 minutes looking for parking because valeting my car just to see it being parked within my field of vision strikes me as everything that's wrong with Hollywood. That and the Landmark Forum.
I find parking in a yellow Loading Only spot outside the Crossroads of the World. Little Known Fact: Yellow Loading Only zones equal free parking in Hollywood after 6 p.m. I check my camera. No lens cap. The pictures are going to look as filthy as I feel. I am the Lizard King.
I think: With this hard-hitting observational prose style I should start a blog detailing my two-fisted porn journalist adventures.
I'm walking the two blocks to Boardner's for the launch party of O2: The Surrender of O. I get in and sign a form about the pictures I'll be taking. I don't think the form was meant to be read, as it was handed to me in a dark alcove, so I didn't read it. I just signed it. That's how I live, and how I roll. I roll how I live. It's also how I got a sweet deal on an adjustable rate mortgage.
People are walking out as I'm walking in. You're thinking, "That's a bad sign." Not if you knew these people, pal. It was actually good they were leaving.
Inside it is like the kitchen of a really good party where all the women are wearing assless pants. I stand still (I might have leaned on something) and people appear in my viewfinder.
The first is Ava Rose. Who is not transported with joy when he encounters Ava Rose? A cold, senseless person, that's who. With nipples Xed out with electrical tape and an ass poking out of her Syren latex ensemble (this was the uniform of many attendees), Rose makes me think once again that all I want is what's beyond Thunderdome.
Rose is dancing from Los Angeles to San Francisco at gentlemen's clubs near you (if you live near either of those places).
I am concerned for her psychic well-being.
"Are the house girls nice to you?" I ask. Gyratrices in residence at strip clubs often resent the higher-paid touring "feature" dancers. It's just like the Bolshoi.
"Yes," she says, and she says plenty of other things, too, about Alaska, and Reno, and crime, and the Spearmint Rhino, but I am gazing too deeply into her assless pants to recall any of it.
Then I see both Bobbi Starr and Aiden Starr (no relation).
"Lick her armpit clean!" I demand of Aiden, who is a famous submissive.
"Yes, sir," she does not say.
I talk to a man wearing an ankle-length Cenobite-meets-Matrix jacket. He has just finished reading The Odyssey in the original Greek and tells me that there is a Greek word that means "to burn something down in retaliation." It is my favorite conversation of the night, though I never learn the word.
My next favorite conversation is when a woman tells me she gives the best blowjobs ever and I tell her that no, I don't believe she does.
In any case, a show has started, and Mika Tan is being surprised by the icy hands of Claire Adams.
And then Ava Rose proves that she can delight females as well. Here she asks Bobbi Starr back to her place for crepes and Gram.
Though she was not in O2, Satine Phoenix came dressed for the occasion. Because I posed her in front of candles, I call this photo Wax Dat Azz, in honor of my signature expression around the house.
Finally, Co-Mistresses of Ceremonies Claire Adams and Nina Hartley object to my cutting an ass out of my own pants.
Henri Pachard memorial: "He was one of the greats"
Proud pornographer Ron Sullivan, known professionally as Henri Pachard, was remembered today at a well-attended Buddhist ceremony in the Panorama City section of Los Angeles. Sullivan, who died September 27, succumbed at 69 to a three-year struggle with cancer.
Veteran performer Herschel Savage moderated the two-hour ceremony, held at the Soka Gokkai International Friendship Center. "Ron and (wife) Deloras embraced Buddhism about two years ago," Savage said, shepherding the group of about 200 attendees through a hybrid ritual of chanting, incense burning, and bell ringing combined with a traditional - and often boisterous - wake.
I'd estimate that more than 90 percent of those who attended knew Sullivan from the adult industry, which he'd been a part of since the late 60s in New York. Sullivan directed, wrote, appeared in, or otherwise worked on thousands of adult movies (as well as, as director Jane Waters remembered, in-house documentaries for Colonial Williamsburg). The remaining ten percent appeared to be members of the SGI Center and the family of Deloras, who was Sullivan's fifth wife.
"Ronnie was one of those people who would stand up and say, 'I'm a pornographer,'" said director Freddie Lincoln, looking cool and trim in long white hair and jeans. But Lincoln was representative of most of the guests who, unless they were the children of people who knew Sullivan, all appeared to be older than 35.
Sullivan's was the most recent funeral of men who were integral to this region's fame as Porn Valley: directors Jim Holliday and Clive McLean and performer Jon Dough were all waked within the past five years.
Anyone who harbored fears that the decorum of the tranquil Buddhist ceremony would be shattered by the pornography crowd was quickly proved right.
"I was Ron's penis," said director Paul Thomas, who began as a performer in the 70s. "We started a line of cocaine that didn't end for twenty years. And Ron, I'm still your penis."
But the crowd didn't appear scandalized. As a video montage played, a porn pantheon took the stage to pay tribute to Sullivan. Among them were Nina Hartley and Ernest Greene, Randy Spears, Sullivan's son Jason (a much sought after porn cameraman in his own right), performers TT Boy and Valentino, and former performer and founder of Adult Industry Medical - the de facto Porn Valley STD testing clinic - Sharon Mitchell ("Then I was Ron's vagina").
In the audience were veteran directors Roy Karch, Cass Paley, Jace Rocker, Bud Lee, Rob Spallone, and David Aaron Clark; performers Lynn LeMay, Don Hollywood, and Cameron Cain and Aiden Starr (two exceptions to the Over 35 demographic I saw); agents Mark Spiegler and Derek Hay; and screenwriter/costumer Raven Touchstone, who remembers a time when one could make a living writing porn scripts (hint: it was long ago).
Sullivan was remembered - fondly - by many as a womanizer. Sharon Mitchell said that Sullivan was the first person she called in 1996 when she was attacked by a crazed fan and needed a ride home from the hospital. "And he didn't hit on me," Mitchell said. "He said that he wanted to but he could see I was too fragile."
Another hospital story (as well as numerous video clips) revealed Sullivan's loopy sense of humor.
"I was recovering from an operation and told him that my sides hurt to laugh," Sullivan's younger sister recalled. "We got in the cab and Ron told the driver to go slow and avoid all potholes 'because all ten of her toes have been amputated.'"
Deloras took the racy anecdotes from Sullivan's porn friends in stride, and received glowing tributes herself. "We were all so lucky to have Ron," said Tammy Behan. "But Ron was so lucky to have you."
Sullivan's final years were painful. If the primary theme of the service was what a delightful person he was, the secondary theme was the ugliness of his cancer.
"It was like a fire inside him," Deloras said. "But he doesn't have that body any more."
"I have to admit I'm relieved that he doesn't have to go through this anymore," Sullivan's son Jason said.
For those of us who didn't know Sullivan well, this was a "good funeral." It left us wishing we'd known the departed better.
Director Ernest Greene was one of many who described Sullivan as a mentor.
Greene also said that Sullivan was a great source for the history of the adult business. Even though that history is brief and the business is comparatively small, there isn't really much more than an oral history, whose few remaining interpreters have been reduced by one.
In my own (brief) experience, this has resulted in a reactionary culture of "Don't you know who I am?" among some long-time adult industry personnel, fearing marginalization in an already marginalized business.
But Sullivan was not like that. He was just friendly and supportive.
And humble. David Aaron Clark put this better.
"(Sullivan) never said, 'Don't you know who I am?' He was the guy who you'd be talking to for 45 minutes and then someone else would say, 'Don't you know who he is?'"
It was an uncharacteristically rainy day, so naturally it was a porn screenwriter who said "the heavens are crying." But Deloras Sullivan, who took care of her husband from hale to hollow, was relieved and hopeful, even as she cried.
"He's back," she said.
Update: Toronto-based artist Denise LaFrance painted the 2004 likeness of Sullivan displayed at the top of this story and on the program for Sullivan's memorial. It and several other paintings of adult industry notables appear in LaFrance's upcoming coffee table book "The Golden Heart & Soul of XXX ~ A Celebration of People."
I get e-mails from a company called Adult Talent Managers declaring the availability (and for what services) of their clients for adult films. Today, even though it's Monday, the company announced the achedule of a woman named Friday, who will be in town in August, all 4'11" of her.
Friday does all the standard things, like blowjobs, girl/boy scenes, interracial scenes, etc., but she does it while taking up less vertical space. I feel the same way about Aiden Starr, another efficiency model porn performer whose motto should be "Better Highway."
But one can't look at the French Friday without invoking the name of the Intelligent Designer. That is why I have trademarked the ejaculation "Thank God It's Friday" to differentiate her from, say, Kiki D'aire, whose fans greet her with "Oh Jesus Christ."
I think "Thank God It's Friday" is an interesting way to remember both the performer and the actual day of the week, which is why I coined this slogan. I imagine that, long after the performer Friday has retired from her adult career, people might still say "Thank God it's Friday" when arriving to work on Friday morning, and maybe will even greet friends at their local chain watering hole at the end of a tough week with that statement.
Thus will something I invented for a woman who gives blowjobs for money pass into common English usage. That will be my legacy, my friends.
The initials of Adult Talent Managers, like those of Digital Playground, are shorthand for a specialized service often found in porn movies and in the wild. I think a good marketing ploy for both companies would be to offer their "initial" service across their product line, so every scene with Stoya will be a DP and every scene with Friday involves ATM.
Adult Talent Managers is, by the way, the only agency with the marketing savvy to submit its arrivals for this fantastic advertising service I provide, even though this site is read by dozens of people worldwide.
I sure like that Aiden Starr. Why? I guess it's because she makes me feel tall.
Because she is 4'11", Starr is often cast as a teen, and that is ostensibly why she stars in the movie My Daughter Went Black And Never Came Back.
Unfortunately, Starr's scene (with the performer Julius) mentions nothing about her parents. To whom, then, does the "My" in the title refer? We never see a nervous dad or mom waiting by the telephone, or burning crosses on lawns.
But that doesn't matter. What matters is Starr's wholly improvised scene, which I've reprinted here with the permission of the Writers' Guild of America (West) and the Samuel French Company.
STARR is talking to JULIUS on the phone. Her lascivious intentions are clear.
STARR
I'll text you. I'll text you my address from my cell phone.
I believe this motivation because Starr has often texted me addresses from her cell phone.
When JULIUS arrives, STARR begins verbalizing her curiosity about the forbidden black man, blaming her friends for her uncertainty.
STARR
They kinda said it was a bad idea for me to date you. Because they don't like black guys, and maybe, like, because they feel that there were things about you that I might not know, and some things that are bad about you. That your cock was so big it might split me in half pretty much? I don't know. What do you think about it?
JULIUS is noncommital, but begins fucking STARR, probably just to be polite, because he's already there and everything.
STARR
Do you get dizzy when it gets hard because of all the blood that rushes to it?
JULIUS
Is that a myth that you heard about us?
STARR is electrified by this verbal parrying, and their exertions grow more frenzied. But JULIUS loses control.
STARR
Oh fuck! Did you come in my fucking pussy?
JULIUS
Yes.
STARR
What if I get pregnant? Then everyone's gonna know I fucked a black guy!
I have been at the U.N. Conference on Porn, Sex Work, Erotica, and General Waywardness in Trieste this weekend so I did not have the time to write in depth about last week's XRCO awards. Here is the most comprehensive coverage you could ever read.
The Highlands Nightclub in Hollywood has become the de facto adult industry event location in Los Angeles, hosting several events over the past year. There is inexpensive parking, a bank machine two floors down, easy access to the Guinness Book of World Records Museum across the street, and an excellent view of where I interviewed Joey and Evanka Buttafuoco.
Also, former Digital Playground contract star Adrianna Lynn, now known (again) as Adrenalynn, gave me a visual aid in remembering how to spell her new old name. Adrenalynn is not at liberty to say why her time at Digital Playground was so short and I knew without asking that her reason for leaving involved a lack of access to me.
The XRCO Awards were one of the first reactions to AVN's yearly adult awards, and are determined by a group of critics from around the world. I am one of the voters but I don't know how they are funded; I only know that they are a very homey awards show that people are nevertheless paying more attention to.
That is not to say people really pay attention at adult awards shows, but this year I checked in about midway through the ceremony and saw that three quarters of the people who were seated at the beginning of the show were seated in the middle. This is a higher percentage than graduation rates in the L.A. Unified School District. It is also better odds than the national divorce rate after five years of marriage, as adult award shows tend to take five years.
And I'm not saying that I know who won anything, save for Upload, because I saw some Upload people on the stage, Jenna Haze, because she won one of the first awards and I was turned in that direction, and Suze Randall and Shayla Laveaux, who won Hall of Fame awards and I was making my way to the balcony. I also knew that Not the Bradys XXX got Best Porn Comedy because at one point its publicist and director, Jeff Mullen said to me, "Best Porn Comedy two years in a row, huh? Huh?"
But at no time did I hear the XRCO's genial chairman, Jared Rutter, tell the crowd to shut up, as I've often heard his ousted predecessor, Bill Margold, shriek. The rabble seemed to respect him. So that's something. And when a man can walk into an adult awards show and still see people paying attention 45 minutes into it, well, I'll say the porn business is doing just fine, considering.
It was important for me to move around because I am like a shark. I need to move or I'll die. I am also like the wind. Also: a lone wolf. By those means I saw much and little. I saw Scott Fayner and thought, Didn't he die? He was sitting with married porn graphic artists Jodie Marie and Dave Goodman. I thought: Didn't I give them the meat hammer? You know, for their wedding? Like in Braveheart?
I got a grand idea to photograph every porn star I knew with my shot glass of Jagermeister but the project began and ended with Ava Rose.
Adrianna Nicole refused. I don't know on what grounds. She needs to loosen up more. She needs to know that I won't hurt her. She's so goddamn meek.
I'd been there for three hours when a security guard noticed I didn't have a wristband.
"I just walked in," I told him. We had a conversation in which he repeated everything I'd just said, but changing the pronouns and adding italics and a question mark.
"You just walked in?" he said.
"No one stopped me," I said.
"No one stopped you?" he said.
"I can go get one now," I said, "but I've been here for three hours."
"You've been here for three hours?," etc.
At the front door I told another security guard that I needed a wristband to go back in.
"You need a wristband to go back in?" he said. I'd say the guards were related, but then all security guards look the same to me.
Outside I talked with Ashlynn Brooke, who is from Choctaw, OK.
"I love Oklahoma," she said. "I'd go back and live there if I could. But Tommy loves L.A. too much."
Tommy Gunn and Brooke are dating. I think the world must be peopled.
"Do you cook?" I asked. I don't know why I asked this.
"Do you ever fry anything with another animal, like steak fried steak, or jaguar fried donkey?"
"I could, but I use chicken."
Veronique Vega came by and I asked them to pose like they were in Gia.
Then Sophie Dee happened along, barefoot. She posed in a pile of cigarette butts. She has the most beautiful eyes. I imagine her appearing to Mexican children and the community making a statue out of her.
Before I went back in (now that I was legal), I took a picture of Manuel Ferrara, Flower Tucci, Sunny Lane, and John Stagliano. I complimented Ferrara on his diplomatic handling of Robin Leach's photographer at the AVN Awards red carpet.
"I am a very gentle man," he said.
Earlier in the evening Ferrara had walked by my XBiz colleague Joanne "Cha Cha" Cachapero and she had called out "Manual! Manual!" as if he were some kind of transmission. But maybe that is the way all men seem to Joanne, so hard is her heart.
Back inside I had another idea. My drinks gone, I would take pictures of women leaving the men's room. The first was former performer/current AVN photographer Gia Jordan.
I am embarrassed to admit that I said something that made her respond thusly:
"All Gentiles think I'm Jewish."
"I'm sorry," I said. "So you're Italian?"
"Half."
"And what's the other half?"
"Pakistani."
I bet that courtship was fascinating. She showed me her shoes as she sat on the bar. I think she said they were Mario Rossis.
"Is that good?" I asked, feeling like I knew nothing anymore.
"Yes," she said. "I got them at Goodwill."
Speaking of shoes, Aiden Starr was wearing Dana Dearmond's flip flops, and looked so small that, had she not just walked out of the men's bathroom, I would have popped her in my mouth and blew a bubble with her.
The Highlands was closing for the night. I had worn my wristband for about 15 minutes.
After some internal debate, I went to an afterparty and didn't regret it. I left this year's XRCOs secure in the belief that next year Pirates 2 will have won something.
I think the Doozers will have to build a Geek Retaining Wall around Jandi Lin, because I can see incoming slobber on Dradis.
Lin. tattooed star of David Aaron Clark's No Man's Land: Asian Edition 6 attended a recent Star Trek exhibit aboard Long Beach's Queen Mary with Clark and the sensually elfin Aiden Starr.
Lin knew that the Defiant was on Deep Space Nine and that Harry Kim would never incite mutiny against Tuvok. She executed a flawless "Live long and prosper" gesture and, more importantly, didn't disintegrate when being teleported.
Speaking of Aiden Starr, she stopped by Gram Ponante Towers, Apothecary, Helipad, Dead Letter Office, and Centrifuge the other year and, in the course of a normal conversation, became naked.
I was asking her about a mutual friend over coffee.
"I always, always use condoms when having sex with civilians," she said.
(For the first time, I was glad that we're at war with two countries!)
I don't know what story this picture is supposed to tell us about Aiden Starr and Michelle Aston. Is there labor unrest in the toy shop? Are these elfin sprites angered at our intrusion? All in all, would you say that Michelle Aston's xiphisternum has been good this year, judging from its location (I would)?
Whatever's happening, it definitely explains the unusual magnetism I've been experiencing in the pole(s).
We at Gram Ponante Towers, Reindeererie, and Barrow Downs wish you a delicious Christmas, if you're so inclined, and if you're not, we're taking tomorrow off anyway.
Aiden Starr in my office with a Starbuck's Egg Nog Latte on her ass
My AA sponsor says that I should be more concrete about things, and I chafe at this, you know, as an artist, but I console myself with the understanding that the subject of this post isn't too on the nose (since it's on her ass).
Seriously, if Starbucks doesn't recharge my and Aiden's Starbuckscard for this picture I'll be angry; this should sell more coffee than Diana Krall.
In the center of Boardner's courtyard was a fountain filled with dry ice and a huge candelabra dripping wax. I felt like I was at the freshman dorm for mopey girls, and I wasn't complaining.
Director Zenova Braeden and the Spice Network were celebrating (with dry ice and candles) the release of The Taunting, a movie Braeden describes as "creepy but not gory", which is a remark I resemble. The boxcover features Lystra, looking uncannily like Sadako from Ringu and any of the vengeful Asian ghosts that have threatened the popularity of Asian schoolgirls in Western culture.
Lystra's makeup job scared even her. Roommates Zak Sabbath and Mandy Morbid said that Lystra now places her television on a shelf facing the wall so ghosts won't get out or, if they do, will fall. I don't believe it but it's a nice story, like "alcohol isn't good for you". Still, you can buy the movie that scared young Lystra.
Read more after the gap.
I arrived with Holly Randall, who is working with me on my epic Photograhing the Photographers series. "I go to the same gym as Seal," she explained. That guy uses more fans in his videos than Stevie Nicks.
I sat on the edge of the fountain for a few hours and accumulated a healthy waxy buildup on my jacket. It's important at such parties to remain stationary so that people come to me and so that I am not forced to look down people's dresses but instead deep in their eyes as I ask the probing questions that are my hallmark.
For example, "What's new?" I asked Ryder Skye, staring deep in her eyes and not realizing until I downloaded this picture that she was nearly naked. Skye, in the business since Easter (prior to this she was a dancer and receptionist) has been working in several Wicked movies.
"But a lot of people don't like tattoos for contract stars," she said when I asked if a contract was what she wanted. Then she said that she knew a place that would temporarily airbrush over tattoos for photo sessions.
"Does that hurt?" I asked, thinking only of airbrushing t-shirts, which are dead.
"No," she said. "They use air."
Kimberly Kane and I talked about sadness and woe, and Haley Paige and Chico Wang. I informed her the latter was dead. I asked if she'd heard anything about heer costar from Avenue X, Brian Surewood.
"Still in the clinker," she said. Things are grim lately.
"Haley was the most innocent girl," Kane said.
"Why do the nice girls date assholes?" I asked, the first time such a question occurred to me.
"I don't know," she said, "but we all do."
Zak Sabbath doesn't seem like an asshole, but I asked him why he looks angry in his photos.
"Well, it's either the Gay Prostitute or I Fucked Your Mother look that I cultivate," he said, "so this one is I Fucked Your Mother."
I tried to imagine life with Zak Sabbath as my dad. He'd have more hair products than my mom. It's tough that he feels there are only two looks for male talent to use, but perhaps My Mother Fucked a Gay Prostitute might be a good subtext. I'm going to suggest that the next time I am asked for motivation for the photographic tableaux I create.
I hesitated about showing this photo of Casey Parker. It does not convey how nice it is to see her. Instead it suggests a camera phone photo in which everyone nearby is really drunk. I'm only printing this because Casey is much, much prettier in person. This photo is my fault, and not hers.
There were a lot of people at the party. There was another room and an upstairs, but I didn't go there. I stayed where I was and drank designer water from the open bar. I don't know why I wasn't drinking; I certainly enjoy it. Maybe I was lazy. DVDs of the movie were available at the beginning of the night but they all got taken.
But then I used my mind to manifest Page Morgan. About a minute before she showed up I thought, "I wonder what that Page Morgan is up to?" and there she was. I like Page Morgan because she accepts me for all my complexity, and doesn't shun me for my petty porn feuds. I asked her where she'd been.
"I've been dancing at the Spearmint Rhino three days a week in the afternoon," she said.
I have never met an afternoon stripper before.
"Businessmen come and they hang out," she said. "It's the best job I've ever had."
I like hearing good news from Page Morgan. If she'd told me, "I'm really getting into arson," I would probably feel happy for her.
Other things happened, but I was too jacked up on water to manipulate my camera.
Outside I saw Zenova Braeden herself, and was glad. She was drunk but I was not, so at first I feared we'd be unable to communicate.
"I drink a lot during large adult industry functions," she said. "They're overwhelming."
"I used to drink," I thought, thinking about the previous night. I felt like I wasn't doing my part. Still, I look forward to seeing the movie. I'll watch it with Rodney Moore's Vampires and report back on the turgidifying powers of the supernatural.
I went to Rodney Moore's Vampires party the other night and, in a corner behind the bar, encountered Aiden Starr and Caroline Pierce. The balloon contained something like 30 or 40 souls.
"I met her in Tampa," Starr said of Pierce. "She told me she was an excellent bottom."
"That's nice," I said. But what am I supposed to do with that information? Everyone's a bottom when you're Grams.
Director Rodney Moore is throwing a bash for his new movie Vampires, starring Caroline Pierce, Rebeca Linares, and Aiden Starr. You might say that a porn movie about vampires is old hat, but this one is heterosexual.
The guestlist-only event will be October 13 at Hollywood's Cat Club and will feature appearances by Pierce, Starr, Linares, Veronica Jett, and Claire Dames, whose name isn't as cool as that of Faye Runaway, but it's a good try.
Music will be provided by The Starfuckers, an excellent band I saw at Eddie Van Halen's house. They were fucking awesome.
Contact steviee(at)rodneymoore.com for guest list info.
Now and then I think, "If they'd but lived long enough for Dr. Taylor's Catarrh Cure in 1867, many of the ancient Ponante relatives would not have expired from Gleet."
But we shouldn't dwell on it. Think, instead, about Justine Joli frolicing across Melrose Avenue, Dana DeArmond cradling little Aiden Starr's head in a frame of gang signs, and Bobbi Starr goosing the Silver Surfer at last night's launch party for the 2009 Nerdcore calendar.
I know it will raise howls of protest from some, who would wish a Dr. Manhattan-like character to teleport me from the room, but all comic book stores look the same to me, as if each were squeezed from the same tube of Oxy 10. That is not to say that they aren't pleasant places. Melrose Ave's Golden Apple was filled with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the likes of gray-eyed Georgia Jones, who appeared in the calendar as Princess Leia.
But not everyone at the event appeared in the calendar, sadly. Dana DeArmond, here seen arguing a finer point of Captain America's patriotism with her boyfriend, Daniel, would have made a great Athena in a 1977 Battlestar Galactica tribute, but it was not to be.
Ditto for Aiden Starr, whom I've always imagined as a filthy, filthy Jawa. Maybe in 2010 (The Year We Make Contact).
Bobbi Starr compared the movie version of Hellboy 2 to Evil Dead 2, where the sequel was both better and less serious than the original. It was not like Gallagher Too.
As I left, Justine Joli was standing in the middle of the street.
