Yesterday, I had many people over making a music video for my friend Rocco aka Katastrophe, directed by Amos Mac, both dear tranchildren of mine. Pleasant Gehman – who is a regular at my house but hadn’t been for awhile came over with Kristina Nekiya and it was like burlesue/bellydance home week.

I haven’t danced in forever, and I am gearing up to do so again on Saturday, so all my props and costumes and pasties were out along with some super old double sided tape that I think might still stick if i hit it with the Bic lighter. I don’t feel like rehearsing my numbers, but Plez and Kristina agreed that those dances stay in your body for years, and all you have to do is hear the music and go. I think this is true, at least i am hoping it is. I think it is. I hate rehearsing. I want to go straight to shooting!

We shot a bunch of cool stuff all over the house, which is a nice place to shoot in general although it gets haunted house dark this late in the year at like 4pm so you are constantly fighting the loss of light. I have some mysterious splinter in my palm from either my new burlesque fans or from going outside but I am not sure where the wood is buried within the bloodline of the wound and I am not feeling like pulling it out, as I am cool like that, and will let foreign bodies lie in my skin until I get lockjaw.

In one scene i put a baseball sized meatball in my mouth as rocco rapped over a massive mixing bowl of spaghetti. It was just too large for my face and my lips were fairly dry and it hurt a lot. Then I had this giant ball of meat in my face and I couldn’t exactly spit it out and i was trying to complete the joke of having it in my mouth for the length of 2 or 3 takes. At one point I started slightly panicking and I couldn’t breathe but I was also laughing at myself for trying to make a joke about looking like a hawaiian pig cooked with an apple in its mouth so since panic+laughter=tears, my eyes really started to well up.

I thought i might pass out and that it would be the stupidest reason for me to be hospitalized – having to go to the emergency room to have the meatball removed, almost as embarrassing as when people put coke bottles and light bulbs up their ass and cannot retrieve them. At least the coke bottle and light bulbs were shoved up there for sexual reasons, not a giant meatball for the purposes of a joke, so really my excuse is a lot dumber.

I was able to pull the meatball out after Amos called cut, but they had to use the giant bowl of spaghetti and meatballs later for a prop, and every time I looked at the mess I got scared. My mouth started to ache as if it was reliving what had happened early in the day, and the pain receptors were reminding me not to do it again. I have some soreness all over my mouth from the experience and I am not sure how to treat this particular skin anomaly, as it isn’t acne which can be obliterated by my friend Dr Hauschka and it isn’t dryness that my fancier once a day visitor la Mer takes care of. There isn’t a cream that controls the effects of taking a joke too far, except maybe vaseline.

Here’s the final video!