The Reluctant Receptionist

you probably already know this, because i love this story and i tell almost everyone, but cory and i met when i was 17 years old at a summer camp for the arts in oklahoma. this place has been going on for years, and i think that it’s one of the best things about growing up queer in oklahoma, as long as you’re an artist or musician. you know, artsy. you audition for a panel of judges; the auditions are really stringent because if you get in you pay something absurd like 125 dollars. (i’m sure it’s more now since i was there eleven years ago.) anyway, if you get in you get to spend two weeks at summer camp spending all day working on your field of choice with really gifted teachers, then at night you visit the other disciplines. in between all of that, at least when i went eleven and twelve years ago, you get the freedom to hang out with other kids like you, which mean punk queer outcast queeny black latino white artisit musician actors. you (used to be able to) chain smoke cigarettes, you shit-talk, you fall in love. and for many people that go there, myself included, it’s the first time that you get to be around other people like you. it’s the first time that you see a world that’s bigger than where you came from, where you’re not weird because you’re skinny and jewish-looking and queer.

obviously, i look back at the two years i spent there with just a little bit of fondness. and it’s not nostalgia, because i’ve always felt like this. when i was 17, i couldn’t wait to go back. and when i aged out of the program at 18, i knew that i’d never again get to experience something like it. this isn’t to say that adult life doesn’t have its own treats, it’s to say that i look back on those summers (could they really have just been two weeks each?) as some of the most exciting, new, wonderful times of my life. and it was in that context that i met cory, who i had developed a crazy camp crush on and became what i like to call “my first camp boyfriend ever.” cory was everything i was missing in ponca city: he seemed terribly urbane, jaded, funny, dirty, irreverent. he smoked before i started smoking, and i thought it was very dangerous. in a sexy way. after camp, cory and i fell out of touch. i knew that he’d planned to move to nyc, but i never spoke to him again until i ran into him at a bar in norman in 2004, when i was living in baltimore. i gave him my email and never heard from him. (apparently, he was drunk and lost my email. and felt bad about it.)

when i moved to astoria in 2006, i ran into him, and learned that he was living down the street from me. i always say that cory and i were meant to be friends, but it just took us 10 years to make it happen. i said, “you might not remember me, but you were my first camp boyfriend ever.” he said, “robert. m. i am taking you out to dinner.” and i’ve seen him several times a week since then.

i bring all this up because cory just got word that he gets to go back to that camp this summer as a counselor. he gets to facilitate what will be for many teenagers the best two weeks of their young lives. and i am jealous of every bit of it. i’m jealous that he gets to go to oklahoma in the summer, jealous that he gets to guide these kids, jealous that he gets to spend two weeks with other grown-up oklahoma artists. we were supposed to go together, but i couldn’t take the time off work. maybe someday; for now, i hope he takes a lot of pictures.

phong and i have been going out like crazy lately, and it’s proven two things to me:

1. i am, in fact, still a poor person even though i think i can party like the evil lovechild of britney spears circa two years ago and lindsay lohan circa now;
2. i am no longer 22 years old, which means that i can no longer go out and party until 1 o’clock in the morning and still get through a workday unscathed. i don’t know if i could ever really do that, but it’s definitely a little more painful at ahem 29.

it’s totally been worth it, though, because we’ve had a rocker of a weekend and week, sort of partying like there’s no tomorrow since holy week hell starts tonight. that’s right, ladies and germs, it’s holy week. rehearsal, maundy thursday, good friday, and easter morning will all take place between now and sunday morning. luckily, unlike all those poor episcopalian souls, we don’t have an easter vigil service. (for those of you who don’t know, easter vigil means you go and sing a 3 hour service until like midnight and then you have to be at church at 9 o’clock the next morning. some churches even have a feast after the vigil, which means you’re at church til like 2 a.m. no thanks!) also luckily, cory is having us over for easter brunch after the service, which last year turned into easter all-day-drinking-and-eating-fest, much like thanksgiving part two.

so about the rocker of our weekend: we went out for my birthday saturday, which was a riot. the greatest group of people came out, and they represented my most favorite people in new york city. they were all from different groups and some had never met each other, and it made me feel really warm and fuzzy to know that they were all meeting and hanging out. everyone should get a chance to collect all their friends in one place just so that they can look around and realize for a few minutes how lucky they actually are.

sunday night, we went to bingo at the toolbox, where we stayed out WAY too late but also each won (phong, in fact, won twice). we’ve also been there enough finally that the mean lesbian named barbara has warmed up to us and was giving phong pointers on bingo. we are in like flint. flynn? in like flynn? whatever.

monday night was musical mondays at splash, which i thoroughly enjoyed for about an hour and then i completely lost my hearing because it was louder than a rock concert and the queen behind me kept doing all this choreography (not the actual choreography he was watching on screen, mind you, which might have been impressive, but choreography he made up that looked like the dancing beyonce refused to do for her “irreplaceable” video.) and bumping into me. but still, we got to see austin and josh and sing along to best little whorehouse in texas.

last night we got on the list for a foot fetish party that austin’s friend hosts at the eagle. now say what you will, but i love the eagle. it’s got cheap(ish), really cold beer, friendly bartenders, and the best music in nyc. no, we’re not foot fetishists, but i’m open-minded and can appreciate peoples’ kinks. oh, also? it meant free foot massages. phong was concerned that we were using peoples’ fetishes for personal gain, but i reminded him that we were actually performing a service. right? right.

if you don’t already love dolly parton, watch this video. if you do, your heart might explode. at the end, she tears up. i’ve never seen dolly cry before, and i wish i could give her a hug.

in what continues to be a completely insane, red-letter week in the robert camp, my interview with tori amos went live on rollingstone.com last night, and was linked from the main page! so i’m definitely ending the week on a high note. the article can be found here, and i’ve also cut and pasted it below. i have to say a HUGE thank you to my friend caryn for making this happen—and for making my teenage dream of chatting with tori a reality. things happen, people. never give up.

Tori Amos on New “Sin,” Old Songs: “I Don’t Agree that Music Is Disposable”

4/2/09, 5:02 pm EST

Photo: West/WireImage

At her recent standing-room-only performance at this year’s South by Southwest Festival in Austin, Tori Amos premiered songs from her tenth studio album, Abnormally Attracted to Sin, due May 19th. It’s her first studio LP since 2007’s American Doll Posse, and the record finds the singer-pianist exploring familiar territory: power in all its guises, be it sexual, monetary or political. “Before, we used to think power was if you had a job and you had money,” she says. “And if that’s our definition of success, then very few people have it — the money part anyway. So [I’m] redefining what it means, because power is also an aphrodisiac.”

Working once again with her husband, engineer Mark Hawley, Amos says that the album’s production is key. “Sound is an instrument,” she explains. “It’s not just, ‘Let’s jam.’ ” But visuals were central to the record, too: the LP will be accompanied by a series of 16 “visualettes,” short films that Amos largely funded herself that were directed by Christian Lamb. The footage, captured during Amos’ world tour in support for American Doll Posse, actually inspired the songs that would become Abnormally Attracted to Sin.

“I’d see montages of our life on the road,” she says, “and I’d shut off the music, realizing this music is not the underscoring for what I’m seeing at all.” Near the end of the tour, she started writing the songs because she knew that Lamb’s films “needed another story. I said, I wanna give people something that says my favorite thing: If it’s too loud, turn it up. I wanna give people creative worlds to walk into so that they are getting a sensory overload. You give people treasures, not ‘How can I cut all the costs?’ ” Though the project took money out of her pocket, it was important to Amos, she says, because “people are just putting out the worst. And I don’t agree that music is disposable.”

Her own music certainly has staying power — especially for the die-hard fans that pack her shows hoping to hear early cuts. “I’m a different person,” she says, “but the songs, the faces, the life experience or the fantasies that you assign to certain songs in order for you to perform them, and to let them live in you, change. So when I perform them now, if I do ‘Winter’ or ‘Silent All These Years’ [both from Amos’ platinum debut, Little Earthquakes], I’ve surprised myself what stories, what photographs come up in my mind. And that’s why I do insert the catalog, because I don’t see it as my past, I see the songs as timeless for me. It’s just my perception that needs to change.”

Amos’ new music will be her first to come out on Universal Music. She landed the new deal after stumbling into a label rep while she was at lunch — with other, smaller distribution companies. The rep passed her table, said hello and took a phone call from “my boss’ boss,” Amos recalls: Doug Morris, the Chairman and CEO of Universal Music Group. As Amos was finishing lunch, she noticed the woman still outside the restaurant, pacing and talking on her cell. “And in that moment, my life flashed before my eyes,” she says. “I thought, Doug Morris. He’s right there. We haven’t talked in 14 years. I miss Doug Morris. We didn’t always agree, but he’s still passionate about music.

“I put all my mother’s training of manners and everything I know to be right and good in the world, and I walked up and I looked at this woman who I’d barely met and interrupted her call, and said, ‘Would you send Doug my love?’ And she looked at me and said, ‘Right now?’ I said, ‘Now would be good.’ ”

well, folks, i’m 29 today. it’s impossible to say if i’m where i thought i would be at 29, because honestly i’m not sure i ever had a real idea of where i thought i’d be. i mean, i knew that i’d be in new york (or would’ve died trying); i hoped that i’d be in a happy, stable relationship; and i guess that somewhere in the back of my mind i thought i’d be making a living singing. i have the first two down pat, and i think that those are probably the most important. and i’m working on the third, as you all know, as hard as i can.

if there’s been a highlight to my birthday (so far, i should say, as i’ve spent most of the day at work and am going to dinner at walter’s after choir and going to celebrate on saturday night) besides the le creuset pot that amanda and phong got me (YES, i am that gay, and YES i am that excited), it’s been all the well-wishes from friends that i’ve gotten. i woke up this morning to a voicemail from robin and an email from dad. as the day’s progressed i’ve been flooded with emails, texts, g-chats, and facebook messages. it’s made me feel very special and very loved, indeed. i’m totally excited for my birthday party saturday, which we’re having at the phoenix. all of my favorite people in new york are coming out to celebrate, and i’m looking forward to it most of all because it’s just such a great group of people all smushed in the same room. all these people from different aspects of my life, all coming together. it’s gonna be fun.

and so i have one more year until i’m 30. 30 is the age, it’s always struck me, when you’re actually an adult. when you’ve grown out of all the vestiges of kid-dom; when you can’t be all that crazy anymore because there might actually be some consequences. but as i’ve gotten older, i’ve started to realize that that’s kind of a childish way of looking at things. yeah, i’m older now, but there’s always going to be a grain inside me that’s always me. no matter how i change, i’ll always have my fucked-up sense of humor; i’ll always be moved in some way by things that moved me when i was 16. i think that finding a way to find joy and excitement in those things the way that you did when you were a teenager is the key to—dear god, shoot me for saying this—staying young. as i’ve started to slough off some of the hangups of my teenage years and early adulthood—caring so much what people think of me, for one, and being increasingly able to see the bigger picture—i’ve almost gotten to the point where i can get back to being me. over the last couple of years, i’ve had experiences (live shows of tori and bjork, last spring’s trip to san francisco, dancing my ass off in clubs, the hundred laughs a day i share with phong) that have snapped me out of my day job tie-wearing dress-shoe subway commute 8-hour-a-day-at-a-computer drudgery and reminded me this life is a brief, wonderful, joyful thing.

my grandpa is 94 years old and going into a nursing home as soon as he’s released from the hospital. but you know what? he lived a crazy life with his wife, who he still crazy loves. 29 is 29. with any luck, i’ll make it to 30. and then 94.

in the midst of some difficult shit that’s been going down (most notably, my grandparents’ failing health and my father’s emotionally and physically exhausting quest to get everything squared away), and in the midst of all the opera craziness and day job stuff, a couple of really awesome things happened last week, and i’d like to share them with you.

first, my friend caryn, a music journalist, contacted me out of the clear blue sky at the end of last week. i thought that she was going to RSVP to my birthday party, but it was something even better: she asked if i could make it to a hotel in midtown in the next forty-five minutes in order to interview tori amos. now, if you know me at all, you know that tori used to be my end-all-be-all. she was (is?) the only artist whose every release i own; she’s one of very few i’ve stuck with through thick and thin; and one of the only i’ll move heaven and earth to see live every time she’s performing in a town near me. i’ve written many words about this woman on this blog alone, about how her music helped me get through growing up in a small town, how it helped me get through college in a small town. it got me through my first heart-wrenching breakup at 18, and every one since then. tori was the link that connected me with alyson, one of my best friends and the mother of my erstwhile godson. tori was the link that connected me with cory, who i’m still so close to 12 years and 1000 miles later. my point is, um, tori amos.

and i got to interview her. i got to sit on a couch with her, just the two of us in a room, for 30 minutes. we talked about music and recording and touring and boys for pele. we talked about singing and growing up. it was literally like a dream i’ve had, where i’m hanging out with one of my heroes (because, let’s face it, i don’t have many heroes. but tori is one of them.), and if i didn’t have it on tape i’d think that i dreamed the whole thing. but i didn’t dream it: i listened to the recording again yesterday, and sent a draft of the news blurb i wrote about it to caryn this morning. what else can i say? i’ve been smiling about it since it happened, and i’m going to be smiling about it for a long time. i met one of my heroes. and i didn’t just meet her, i got to talk to her, one-on-one.

the other thing that happened was that i got to sing at weill recital hall, which is part of carnegie hall. i sang a total of two lines in this opera that no one ever does, but you know what? 30 years from now, when i’m some fucking insurance salesman, i can tell my kids (who will be teenagers and sick of hearing their dad talk) that i sang at carnegie hall. and that’s a pretty good feeling.

i somehow got out of rehearsal for the next couple of nights (including last night), and i had forgotten how fun it can be to have a life. go out to dinner for crazy filipino food? sure, why not! go to a church choir rehearsal!? wait, i do that every wednesday. my point is, dear reader(s), that life is slowly but surely getting back to normal after the crazy whirlwind that was fledermaus/rhymes with opera tour.

part of that getting back to normal bit has me absolutely pining for summer. i think about getting my friends together to all go lay out at boypier, eating al fresco (a conversation the other night at dinner: “eating outside. is that really all that ‘al fresco’ means?” “yes.” “huh. i always wondered.” me using the term “al fresco” is kind of a joke, in the same vein as over-pronouncing BOEUF BOURGUIGNON, making myself sound like a smelly french chef. it’s entered my lexicon to the point that i don’t notice it anymore, and people who don’t know me may think that i’m either terribly pretentious or completely crazy. i am, in fact, completely crazy. so they’d be right on at least one count.), days in central park. of course, all of these things don’t really take into account the amount of time that i spend at a desk in an office, but honestly even though my job keeps me busy, i feel so much more like i have a life of my own. it’s probably because my commute is so easy (being nonexistent, i mean), but i feel more like i have more time to myself to do what i want to do than i have since grad school. the nights yawn and stretch (and try to come to life) in front of me, with plenty of time for the gym and dinner and television and video games.

have i just grown used to the grind? maybe. i think that for a while my aversion to the regimented schedule i often find myself in was a kind of bucking the system, trying to keep myself from joining the drones of office workers. after all, i was a musician, a difficult, moody artist who couldn’t be bothered to work a 9 to 5 job like every other person out there. i resented having to. maybe it’s getting older, seeing that every single person i know, even the uber-successful singers, have to make a living somehow. maybe it’s because this is such a cherry day job. who knows; i’m just going to go with it.

i didn’t expect to get caught up in logo’s “rupaul’s drag race” the way that i did. i’m not really one for reality television. sure, i’ve watched literally every episode of “project runway” and most episodes of “make me a supermodel” (sidenote: perry from season one has moved to our neighborhood, and i’ve now seen him three times outside my gym. i wish it was my true love from season one, ben the cop, but i’ll settle for perry. maybe he’ll start wearing tank tops when it gets warm.), but i’m generally suspect of reality shows, the way that producers and editors choose who wins and choose who you’ll hate. but there was just something about drag race that totally resonated with me.

for one, rupaul herself resonated. i’ve always loved rupaul, not least because she forced herself into the mainstream when the mainstream was anything but gay friendly. i mean, the queen had a music video that actually got airplay. and this was before ellen, will and grace, and the backlash to prop 8. before matthew shepherd. i mean, she was a trailblazer. i’d be remiss if i failed to mention that she’s also hysterical. i have now started hollering “CAMEROOOON!” for no reason whatsoever. i was falling off the couch last night when they replayed her telling one of the queens, “there are still too many snakes on this motherfuckin’ plane,” referring to her “tuck.” when the girls do their runway walks, she reads them all in the style of a caller of the old new yew york/harlem drag balls, and it’s easily my favorite part of the program.

so many people have never even heard of these balls, and it’s such an important part of queer history. rupaul will holler “house of labeija!” “extravaganza!” she’s referencing all of these old-school drag houses, some of which are defunct because all of their members died of aids (or were the victims of hate crimes) a decade ago. one of the challenges for the girls was to walk representing “executive realness,” which is one of the exact categories from the old balls in the 80s. and when they did, she read them from her seat up front, just like they would have been read 20 years ago.

so more than anything else, for me, rupaul’s drag race helped bring back to light something that we’d almost forgotten. cory has been researching these drag houses because he, like a lot of people watching the drag race, had never heard about them. cory’s drag house? the house of slots, because he, penny slots, is the mother. my drag name in the house of slots? what else: lucy slots.

CAMEROON!

i made a valliant effort to avoid catching whatever it was that sidelined phong late last week, and i’m not convinced that i’ve caught whatever it was he had. he had nasal symptoms, a fever of like 101, and was barfy (but didn’t barf). i woke up today with a scratchy throat and a general malaise, coupled with a weirdly itchy/runny nose, so i’m thinking that just as i succeeded in sharing a bed with a sicko and not getting sick, i also succeeded in catching a total stranger’s illness. which is worse? i’m going with stranger, although i do hate being barfy. then again, i sang for a total of about 7 hours yesterday, 4 of which was at a screamy, accomplish-nothing rehearsal for this opera in which i’m singing three lines (and the chorus…which i of course found out a week ago). i’m sorry, four lines. i sing four lines. although the last two lines i sing are “que donc!?” and “romeo!” so i count those as one. so maybe my throat is scratchy from overuse and my allergies are kicking in. long story short: i want to go home and play mariokart on wii with phong, which is what i spent my lunchbreak doing.

besides the two days of rehearsal, we had a relatively quiet weekend. we went out friday night in hell’s kitchen with our friends jorge and michael, who were visiting from baltimore. phong went home early because he was feeling like shit, but jorge, michael, and i ventured out to the eagle. it was so funny, because i always take out of town visitors to hell’s kitchen, assuming they’ll want something loungey and fancy. i was so pleasantly surprised when michael was like, “this is nice, but can we go somewhere darker and dirtier?” i was like, the eagle it is. and it was packed because black party was the next night. bears and beers. that’s a good friday night in my book.

except for rehearsal, we spent most of saturday recovering (me from going out, phong from his mystery illness). we went out to dinner with sean, cory, courtenay, and their friend hillary, then came home and watched burn after reading, which i can only recommend if you like weird, rambly films.

yesterday, after the aforementioned 7 hours of singing we went out to dinner (mexican a second night in a row, and good mexican at that—i have basically died and gone to heaven, and phong has died and gone to hell. which is almost certainly backwards from what will actually happen.) for austin’s birthday and then continued the party at the phoenix. i always forget how much i love the phoenix until i go there. it’s got such a great jukebox; there’s no scene; the bartenders aren’t bitchy; and they were running a special on two dollar domestic drafts.

looking back on it, it was a big weekend. but aren’t they always? yes. basically.

it’s a relatively warm day in new york city today, meaning that it’s 55 degrees instead of our usual 15 below. seriously, i know that it’s going to make me sound like a cranky old woman, but this winter has been especially brutal. is it because i’m getting older? maybe i’ve just been busier than in winters past, which means that i’m forced to walk around in it more. that’s the thing about winter in new york. sure, it may be colder in rochester or indiana (i know for a fact that it’s colder in indiana, and when i graduated i swore that i’d never spend another winter there.), but in those places you have cars to get in. even if you drive an ‘83 mustang with no functioning heater, at least the windows block the wind. here in nyc we’re just out in it. anyway, i’ve digressed so far that i can no longer see my starting point. let’s just say that winter here sucks, and that i’ve been looking forward to spring more than i have any year in recent memory.

the thing about spring is that i find myself just wanting to get out. i find it harder and harder to fight down the urge to get out of the city, specifically to california. i don’t know why, but i have been absolutely dying to get back to the bay area for the past few weeks, and it’s now gotten to the point where i’m listening to pet sounds and so much for the afterglow and reading long feature stories in the san francisco bay guardian. it’s been a long, difficult, cold three months since the last time i got out of new york for any extended period of time (i don’t count my 15-hour trip to philadelphia last weekend, though i should count my wonderful two-day trip to durham the weekend before that) and i increasingly find myself needing a break. not necessarily a vacation, but definitely a change of pace.

i know, i know. bitch, moan. i’m busy singing and working at a day job that i like. we’re busy every night of the week with rehearsals or activities with friends, and that’s nothing to complain about. still, i fantasize about being able to walk somewhere with my shoes off, the cool grass between my toes, and look up at a blue sky and take in a deep breath of clean air. that doesn’t work so well in manhattan.