Here are a few paintings I’m still working on. One is a look at violence by police, focusing on institutionalized racism. The other is a picture of the CEO of McDonalds eating a cheeseburger in front of a starving child. I hope to get the child one done in the next week. It takes time waiting for the oil paint to dry, and it takes many layers of glazing, so hopefully soon.
SING, SING A SONG
Santa Fe Reporter May 16, 2007 | Gomez, Gabe We all have that one friend who, for some inconceivable reason, loves karaoke. We’ve all been dragged to that one bar on a random weekday night to witness off-key renditions of “Love Shack.” And so here it is, Friday night and I’m bowing to the request of SFR Editor Julia Goldberg by sitting at the Silver Starlight Lounge and Cabaret at RainbowVision retirement village-”for the next 50 years,” the sign on the street reads.
We’re listening to the kernels of pop culture explode over us like terrible fireworks. I must admit, the older I get, the more karaoke appeals’to me. Why else would I choose to entertain myself by watching other people not interpret, not create, but wrench their favorite songs into unrecognizable lumps like stale Play-Doh? Santa Fe is ground zero for selfinvolved and deluded idealism, so it makes sense that karaoke is king here. So as the rapists, robbers and punk-ass gangbangers systematically take over Santa Fe, why not try something different? Nero played the fiddle when Rome was burning, after all, so I might as well join the party. go to site cold sore remedies
It must be a cold day in May if I agree to be taken to a retirement community for karaoke. Sweet God almighty, I’m in my prime! I should be swinging from the rafters, digging through the underbelly of the local music scene for juicy tidbits, rubbing elbows with musicians and doing lines of coke in hot tubs at extravagant parties. I should be checking out one of the local blues gigs or indie shows, perhaps shaking my ass at a dance party with yet another new DJ on the scene or sitting with the wannabe yuppie scum like me at the Drive-By Truckers gig-sipping Campari at Tiny’s-but no! I’m here at the Silver Starlight Lounge, a shiny gay Utopia by the highway, with twinkle lights on the ceiling, packed with nonlocking retirees getting heated to Neil Diamond.” It’s not the riotous excursion I had secretly hoped for, nor is it the geriatric pet parade I expected. The place is packed with couples, singles and large groups spilling over the songbooks. The digs are nice and the feeling one encounters at the Silver Starlight Lounge is that of a club resort. The RainbowVision condo community is modest adobe chic, with strip mall inklings, but the lounge, located at the center of the complex, is inviting.
The lounge layout is small, to be sure, but it’s the kind of place that is never too busy, I suspect, to wrestle toward the bar, which has all the top-shelf goodies and low-rung, headache-inducing hooch. There are essentially two levels to the lounge: the aforementioned central bar area and the adjoining Garbo Dining Room overlooking the bar and stage. To our left is the Capote Library, which hosts a variety of gay-oriented literature and, as my editor noted, Bill Clinton’s autobiography. Ursula Coyote, Santa Fe’s karaoke queen, lights the place up with a ginormous screen spelling out the lyrics for the singers and antsy audience members willing to chime in with a harmony. website cold sore remedies
One by one, the singers pass slips of paper to Coyote, like bettors to a bookie. Once their names are called, all bets are off. The title of the song appears on the screen before the music begins and a subtle feeling of “oh, shit” comes rumbling forth in anticipation. The singer stands, with a microphone in hand, awaiting the cue, and then it starts. Here is where the appeal of karaoke lives in all of us. The same rubbernecking instinct we hold for car crashes overcomes civility in hopes that someone will royally screw the pooch beyond embarrassment. There are, however, those who relish these two-minute stints on stage a little too much.
Jimmy the Carrot has a tuxedo-ish outfit, trendy glasses and an itch to perform. Why a carrot? “Because it’s good for the eyes,” he announces before ripping into Digital Underground’s “The Humpty Dance.” The Carrot comes,complete with an entourage that, from every indication, adores the ground he walks on. He too is sitting in the Garbo Dining Room. After referring to our table as “the press,” the impossibly fabulous Carrot holds court awaiting his next turn. In the meantime, three very happy and presumably wasted young women eviscerate Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” while dry humping in unison.
‘Believe it or not, the Silver Starlight Lounge is becoming a Friday night party destination, which is why I find Santa Fe so irrevocably endearing. We’ll do anything once, and if it has even a modicum of interest or irony, we’re on it like white on rice. On paper, karaoke at a retirement village has as much appeal as three-hour lecture on cold sore remedies, but in reality, Ursula Coyote, in some alchemical way, has made the drive out to RainbowVision actually interesting. So if you’re bitching and moaning about being bored on a Friday night, you have no one to blame but yourself. And, although karaoke may not be the nippest thing to do in town, I double-dog dare you to find something that actually is. Who are we kidding? We’re all a bunch of dorky outcasts to some extent, so we might as well swing for the fences and sing it like we just don’t care.
[Author Affiliation] BY GABE GOMEZ email@example.com Gomez, Gabe