the curious musings of debutante icons

Jubilee Jamboree – Diamond Edition

nikki awesome — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 19:25:26 +0000

I suppose I could chalk it up to the impending excitement and overall anticipation preambling the diamond jubilee of HRH Queen Elizabeth II, coming off the Madonna Superbowl and the first (hopefully last) snowfall in London all winter, but I found myself lodged in a cycle of spontaneous destruction over the past few days. Luckily there were photos taken.

Following coming up on the radars of East London (a momentary blip) last Thursday, I headed back into the land of reason and sensible things (aka Central London) and met with a jewelry designer with whom I began planning a collection I’ve had in the works. Get ready to be surprised, or in some cases, not-so-surprised when details are finalized and molds are cast for manufacturing – we’re looking at silver, gold and rose gold for some gorgeous little off-the-wall (and off-the-chain) accessories that will make your BFF seethe with jealousy when she realizes they ain’t break-apart and she doesn’t get to keep half. More on this as contracts are signed and swoons are sighed et cetera.

What should one probably avoid doing at midnight on a Thursday? I for one would advise against showing up in the lobby of the BBC, attempting to reclaim a snowglobe from Helsinki from a journalist giving you the runaround, pretending he has silly things like ‘making up news stories’ to attend to. Also, if you’ve realized you’ve forgotten this handy advice, do not begin taking photos of the ticker as Don Cornelius headlines fly by with the Dow Jones and the FTSE. Why? Oh, because security will show up and make a big fuss about it, at which point you’ll have to explain what it is you’re doing there, and that you’re simply trying to get a photo of Don Cornelius’ name on the ticker for your twitter account. And then, because it’s England you’ll have to explain Don Cornelius to a very confused looking pair of security guards who wear the ‘Oh, Great, Another One’ expression. You’ll have to do an impression, too, in the lobby of the BBC, of the ‘Souuuuuulllll Trainnnnnnnnn’ soundbyte that made him at all recognizable to the security guards, who get very fed up and are about to ask you to leave and you remind them that it’s Black History Month, which is very surprising to them, as it’s Black History Month in October in England. That’s when your journo friend comes into the lobby and has to fill out a badge so you can try not to get stuck in the slow-moving robotic revolving door.

On your way in, definitely no not try and perversely touch a Dalek. Do not, also, split your lip trying to kiss one. However, if you’ve come this far, then it’s fine to take fashion photography with the blood. Involve a Vietnam war helmet wherever possible.

Play all the chess you want and be all intellectual, but when it turns out you’ve run out of things to drink, steer well clear of that bottle of Sake. It’s not to be mixed with Coca-Cola. It will make you feel as though the fairy liquid logo has broken into your soul as you fetal it out (like ‘feel it out’, but more horrifying like rebirth into a hellish alternate reality comprised of freezingness and acid reflux) on the couch. Look especially attractive to workmen coming over to remove a dishwasher at a truly unrealistic time in the day (which is pretty much any time ever following Sake and Coke), because they totally fancy a grey complexion that matches the walls in the ‘Wait a minute, it wasn’t so bachelory in here last night…’ flat. You look fucking fantastic in those wet look leggings that leave little to the imagination, though.

When averting your eyes from the scene of the crime and making a break for it (with your snowglobe still intact one hopes – whether it is a metaphoric or literal snowglobe at this point), do ensure you’re wearing the most scandalous, walk-of-shame outfit as one can possibly wear (or walk-of-same, as you did wear this in the daytime yesterday and it was no big deal in Central), and that you are walking through MummyDaddiesville so everybody slows down to take it in.

At this point it is IMPERATIVE that your 5 inch stilettos maintain your full attention as you sashay down the high street. Don’t pay any attention to the stares and wolf whistles from the traffic slowing as it passes you. Until you completely cause a Mercedes Benz to crash into a BT (or equivalent) work-van. At that point, make the international sign for “YESSSSS” as made famous by Kevin McAllister in Home Alone.

Congratulations, you are now ready to take on the world and all it has to offer, and your engine has been primed for the diamond jubilee celebrations. Send messages to the Queen congratulating her on her reign, and try to get them published by Buckingham Palace. Don’t resist the temptation to flatter your way into the OBE you never earned, but you earned, you know?

All this living don’t come for free, who knows that better than a Monarch with 60 years under her belt? Presumably, she’s proud and wants my phone number because I’m an inspiration to her, like in my dream the other night (this happened right after Prince Harry was to use an inverted Washington Monument to dig his own grave – analysis please?) then I’ll BFF my way into OBE like WTF.

Video by JDRW5

Troll-Killing Sans Kindness

nikki awesome — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 14:46:27 +0000

I first started watching this woman’s ridiculous vlogs at the insistance of the internet, and I can’t. even. handle.

Without going through the many points she’s made (because it’s so not even worth someone like me deigning to explain the idiocy of someone like that… if you want to see what an utter twat this woman is just watch the video above, or basically any of her videos at all), I ‘d like to send an open letter to lil’ miss ‘why do people even post everything on the internet – why can’t people keep it in their homes like it’s the 1950′s!?’

Dear Trisha,

I seriously almost vomited watching your videos. Thanks! :) In the first few seconds, I thought Meh, she’s really young, and dumb, and thinks she’s gonna be a superstar in LA blah blah blah. And then I heard your gross, outdated views on politics, feminism, race-relations, LIFE, et cetera.

Here’s the thing, babygirl. You actually speak so much about what men like, but I doubt (though I’m beyond certain you’ve ‘been with’ many guys – not hating, just being real) that you have ever been with a MAN.

Any man with self-respect and an ounce of intelligence would back away slowly from your wonk-stare and inane rambling, having risk-assessed the 100% probability of gaining STI’s and some ‘take me away and marry me out of living in a bedsit’ vibe. This is based on your look and the way you speak in the videos you post - so don’t get all pouty and ‘why does the internet pick on meeeee??’

Now, I know you’re going to chalk it up to be being a ‘hater’, and like you said in your video, “haters hate because they wish they had something you have”, which I’ll let slide. Sure, tweak that dose of Oprealism all you like to ‘gain self-confidence’ or whatever it is you’re bound to do to discredit valid commentary your drivel has spawned, and potentially your biggest chance to confront the one-dimensional, manufactured image you’re trying to pass off as unique, interesting and worth a follow (and woah, potentially actually become someone unique, interesting-ish and worth a MEH)

You, like, ‘used to be super-insecure’? No way!!!

Thanks for all the tips on how to have confidence and feel really great even if I’m confronted with reverse racism in a T.G.I. Fridays (because I’m so beautiful, and have the courage to date a black dude. Oh I mean, African American Man. Whatever. Cause he’s all ‘Dark Chocolate’ and all). Thanks for explaining to me that I can proudly wear dresses from the ‘used’ section of the drive-through combination knocking shop/pizza hut. I can totally ‘Express Myself’ and ‘My Sexuality” and “Inner Beauty” now. But really, though? ‘HATER’? HA! What do you have that I don’t? It’s certainly not a brain, sex appeal, a following, interesting opinions, well-thought-out ideas, talent….ummm do you want me to continue? ’Haters’ are ‘hating’ on you because you look and sound like a complete moron, who has the audacity to publicly discredit civil rights movements, feminism, et cetera… do you even get that?

No, you probably don’t. But I suspect you don’t actually care about the discussions your idiocy has started, never mind the fact that you don’t actually seem capable of a dialogue about these subjects you’ve never researched and have ranted about online. I imagine you probably think you’ve been quite clever, picking hot-button topics to ‘discuss’ in an attempt to boost your badly-branded acting/singing/stripping career…… Troll by name, troll by nature, hm?

So. Question time. And real’s gonna hurt, so get the baby-wipes and canned-tan ready for the imminent repair job.

Do you actually think you’re going to be an actress? Really? Like in the way that Meryl Streep is an actress? (Let’s all pause for a minute just to imagine your Oscar speech for the portrayal of Pamela Anderson’s hefty stand-in in the feature length production of “The Pamela Anderson/Tommy Lee Sex Tape“) Do you honestly think there’s a shortage of LA Bimbo Bitches on the next season of Rock Of Love and that’s what ‘acting’ is? Do you maybe mean an actress in an ‘adult movie’ context? Because I really cannot take you seriously with this. Do you wish it was the 1950′s because your only shot is a ‘shot’ (and I think we all know what kind…) on the casting couch? Ever heard the expression ‘dime a dozen’? I’m christening you with ‘nickel a thousand’.

Do you really think a ‘MAN’ (as I mentioned above — which is like, upstairs from this paragraph, ‘kay? — I doubt you’ve ever encountered) wants to be represented by a woman he’d like to marry (LOL LOL LOL) in the way that you have represented yourself all over the internet?

Oh, and this man, who is totally tolerant, loving and respectful of your “career” and “opinions” is obviously going to be some kind of millionaire, naturally, to financially support you with your no-job and 6-10 babies. He’s going to be a really ambitious man just swooning over you and how gorgeous and beautiful and intelligent you are, yeah? Are you actually stupid enough to think that a man who would prefer a woman who keeps her silly ol’ LADY opinions to herself and makes sure the ‘house is pretty and the kids are pretty’ is going to be the type of man who isn’t possibly a complete sexist dick himself (match made in heaven, if only he doesn’t beat you in the face when you’re outta line, right)?

You bang on about being a Catholic and a Republican – and you’ve said you’d thought you might want to go into politics yourself (as the entire universe just barfed in its’ mouth). ”Women shouldn’t be in politics because they are bad drivers”? FUCKING HELL! I’m sputtering sentence fragments, you’re so dumb! Check a few other ‘ladies’ with political aspiration: Idnira Ghandi! Aung San Suu Jyi! Elizabeth I! (No, Sarah Palin does not make anything close to the cut.) Are you that self hating, with that little self-confidence that you’re pleased to be spouting that woman-bashing dogmatic rubbish?

I imagine you think those kind of ‘political’ views may, in fact endear you to one of those Mitt Romney types that you’re gonna vote for ‘because he’s cute’. Mitt Romney thinks abortion should be criminalized (well you know, except for the bad pregnancies like from rape or incest). You go on about how you don’t have babies and (OMG) you had to download some pictures of ‘mixed-race kids’ to your sidekick ‘for work’ – because it would make you more money with the ethnically diverse clientele who visit the strip club in the daytime, and have ‘a thing’ for being lied to with ‘yeah, I guess I do look really good since I just gave birth six weeks ago’. Maybe you won’t even have to bother downloading those pictures if hot-stuff-Romney gets elected, because he’ll probably outlaw the damn morning-after pill as well as ban abortion, and you strike me as the proactive, safe sex type who insists on using condoms every time – insert massive eyeroll here. The bad news is you might have more competition in the daytime strip olympics from other ‘moms’, as you mentioned, because with the economy the way it is and more babies and less money in the social funding kitty… Uh-Oh! He also feels strongly that there is a ‘cesspool of pornography’ in America today, and I’m pretty sure stripping doesn’t qualify as child’s-birthday-entertainer, so you might be out of a job, kitten. Two jobs if you count famous superstar actress in the always-classy adult film industry. Mitt Romney also doesn’t believe in LGBTQ rights, so why don’t you talk to all your cool, drag queen friends about that while you’re spouting off feel-good RuPaul quotes. Work!

I actually feel a bit sorry for you, because you’re clearly desperate for attention, massively insecure and a byproduct of some shitty small town. Evidence? EVERYTHING YOU POST. Look, I didn’t wake up this morning wanting to be a complete bitch, and I’m sure you don’t wake up each morning thinking “I want to portray myself in a pathetic, self-hating, insecure-masquerading-as-open-book-confidence fashion and then be fayyyyymouuuus forevvvverrr!” I’m sure it makes you feel like a goddess to have people responding to the nonsense you spew, to feel like you have started some internet sensation, but you know what? So has this guy:

So don’t feel too special. LA is big but it ain’t that big and getting a name for yourself (particularly in West Hollywood) as an uneducated, racist, right-wing, self-hating barf-bag version of a blow-up doll is not going to do your ‘career’ any favors.

You said you can put your whole fist in your mouth. For the love of God, DO IT ALREADY.

Love and Kisses,

NikkiAwesome

Social Suicide Earns The Death Penalty

nikki awesome — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 13:27:25 +0000

At least 70% of being an artist of any description is absorbing everything around you, so that when you produce something (and hopefully a ‘relevant something’) it will be a creative mishmash of pop- and social- and controversi- and IWasDrunk-cultures with at least some degree of depth, and not just some “MEH”, paint-by-numbers, Lego house reproduction of the successful art you’ve seen or heard before.

So, if you follow the subtext, this semi-explains my absence from blogging – I’ve been observing-sans-reporting and percolating so as to slam dunk some sounds all over you for 2012. Yes, I know you’re all fed up with hearing this over and over and over and over (like a monkey with a miniature cymbal), but obviously when one creates something new and exciting, it’s far more new and exciting than the last creation, and therefore all the previously-deemed-appropriate hourly agonizations resulting in a final product five minutes ago are rendered immediately obsolete.

It also takes a while to extrapolate high-energy joyful disappointment (or ‘disco music for cutters’, if you will) and package it appropriately in a manner that doesn’t reek of self-indulgent musical masturbation, or that if it does at least it’s intentional. (Unintentional self-indulgent musical masturbation = Going to the acoustic show of a girlfriend’s boyfriend only to be ‘shushed’ as he waxes poetic about granola and how hard it is being a white twentysomething with a goatee. And she’s all ‘Isn’t he so soulful? His lyrics are like, so deep.’ while he’s all ‘pot makes me think about….the universe, man‘. Fucking hippies.)

Anyhow, did you really think I would abandon you? It’s been four years of madness, audience – one would think you’d have gotten the whole ‘she likes to be listened to, whatever the random misdirected discourse-for-one is’ thing by now. I shan’t be leaving anytime soon (barring total death or any other romantically tragic complications) so stay tuned, and if you’re really that desperate, (PLUG PLUG PLUG) you should start following me on Twitter already, where you get the bonus realtime NikkiAwesome bonus, and you won’t have to bitch so much in real life, ’cause I’ll be all over that for you. You can spend your time saying “omg yeah totally” while going about your day-to-day as a positive and happy person. Perhaps small woodland creatures will flock to your new positive outlook in charming, Disneylike fashion. Really, I should be charging for this, is what I’m getting at.

So, to summarize the above: Yes, I was gone, but I was brain-baking some wicked treats for you and they’re piping hot and you’ll be all ‘thanks for that’, so chill with the complainy comments already! We will soon be once again deconstructing hideous attempts at ‘fashion’, enraging conservatives, inappropriately encountering the rat race in far too many daylight sequins, and taunting pot-smoking, hackysack-playing hippies (but you can’t get wifi on a didgeridoo though, so they’ll never see it, without your help in spreading the message) .

Today’s topic is IN 2012, WHAT SOCIAL INAPPROPRIATENESS SHOULD BE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH?

Now, I realize that this is a controversial topic, particularly as everyone all over the internerd is getting all ‘uppity politically correct tsk-tsker’ after a few blogs have come out to say ‘THIS is why you shouldn’t do this or say that”. I don’t actually have that much of an issue with attempting to be a bit more sensitive with the way one speaks/writes so as not to piss everyone off and scandalize the anonymous millions with ‘um wow, you’re actually totally racist/sexist/whateverist’. HOWEVER – that being said, I’m more than a bit disappointed that rather than open a dialogue to debate evolving ‘socially OK’ language and the WHY’s behind the move toward one thing and away from another, more often than not the ‘offender’ is bullied into submission and a defensive position, afraid of appearing as though they ARE racist/sexist/whatever (even though they probably are) and not really ‘getting’ the reasons behind it. This just leads to closet discrimination, people. Rather than chastise someone into aligning with your point-of-view (because that always works, right), try explaining. And explaining again. Or hit them with a chair. But fuck off with the tsk-tsking and judgement, as it makes thou no better!

So, back to my topic.

SOCIALLY INAPPROPRIATE ACTIVITIES TO BE HERETOFORE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH

Rerecording Motown classics *badly and selling them on iTunes for the same price as the original (limbs should be removed prior to public disemboweling to the sweet sounds of the original recording of Stop! In The Name Of Love)

Riding a fucking unicycle. Really? Was the Penny Farthing rental agency all out of appropriately douchebaggy bikes? Are you for serious? You’re so ‘zany’.

Body glitter on part-time substitute teachers bussing in from the suburbs to linger for happy hour in the financial district and hope for the apparition of a husband. Just get a third cat and dress it up like a baby already!

The whole ‘lets do the girlfriend/boyfriend experience’ thing and then DISAPPEARING – when you could probably just be honest/not totally cowardly and say ‘im not really feeling it’, rather than letting the other person deal with the #HUHWHAT of figuring out why you picked them to be a complete cock to.

The selling or purchasing of items that are a total ‘FUCK OFF’. I was told that in Camden, there is a stall that sells pre-crookeded top hats. While it suffices to say that Camden is hideous and vile and THAT EXPLAINS THAT, #Seriously!? Are you the goddamn Artful Dodger or something? Fashion JAIL.

I HEART WHATEVER CITY shirts – when wearing them in the city you’re claiming to love. I’m just not feeling it. Maybe not DEATH, but certain maiming. Unless there’s sequinage involved. Then immediate death, obviously.

This blog entry is getting a little ‘too wordy’, already. So Imma leave it here and I’m happy to recieve your submissions, which I will take to parliament and everyone will applaud when I deliver them on a broadcast with the Queen and she’s all ‘here’s your OBE and such’ and I become a ‘Lady’ and there’s a montage of me doing country-house things for offensively wealthy people and having staff and whatever. Fade. Credits.

LOVE!

Let’s Demo This Bitch.

nikki awesome — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 01:47:21 +0000

I’ve been absent, and you’ve been lonely. Face it. We all know it’s true. But SHHHHHH let’s none of us acknowledge it. It’s better this way.

I’ve been making noise in my bedroom that i’d like to share with you. Lets kiss and make up already.

Find the demos up (one day at a time) on my Soundcloud account. I’ll post the set once it’s all up.

Frosted Like A Boss.

nikki awesome — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 23:04:02 +0000

Nikki Awesome For Cake Follies

What’s more fun than eating cupcakes? Wearing them, obviously. Headed to West London to theeee George Bone’s Tattoo parlour which was kind of gothey/tattooey paradise full of skulls and Jesus paraphernalia. George totally looks like a more lifelike and realistic version of Johnny Rotten, totally dope dude who let me wander pantsless in his establishment while he colored in a massive python all over some man. Rather thrilling.

Me + Cake Follies creative genius Miss Follies showed up, inciting loads of stare-achtung! from passers-by, including causing a small child on a scooter to collide with a telephone pole. The day was clearly on an upswing from the woozy haze of insomnia-hangover it started out as, and Bitchface Awesome rocked cupcake after cupcake in not-so-rapid succession. Delectable!

Check the pics, and hit up Cake Follies on FB. Get Frosted!

Click to view slideshow.

Sunshine, Lollipops, Rainbows, Taxidermy.

nikki awesome — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 17:05:11 +0000

Nikki Awesome Clonazepam Eyes

Busy busy busy for the past little while, shedding skin and bursting into flames, phoenix-style, for the 52nd coming.

It’s been a ludicrous few weeks, peppered with insanity and et ceteras, parties, dress-up, moving, beautifying, winning and taking the cash prizes, then quitting while still ahead. Satisfying dot com.

I have a few projects on the go at the minute, which is why you’ve been lacking my love of late, but I promise to nerd it up for you again like days of yesteryear. Choons being expunged from my soul and vomited into about-to-be-lost hard drives across the globe, several screenplays taking sweet sweet time traveling to their final destination; under the noses of Hollywood fatcats and other suitably suitable individuals. Photoshoots actually happening, which I know many of you have been missing. Recently I have been working recently with London Cakemaster Cake Follies, who has developed some intensely delicious vintage-inspired cupcakes which will be featured very shortly all over the everywhere. Will have pics up soon, honeys!

Have been enjoying the return of my BFF/partner in drame, insomnia. Although the non-sleeping is awesomely frustrating, it does make for an altered hyperreality I do occasionally enjoy, in which absolutely everything is massively hilarious and unimportant. Though if you read my twitter/fanpages you’ll know one of my waking night-terrors is to have Clonazepam Eyes in a photoshoot. (Although a horrifying concept, developing true Clonazepam Eyes would likely make me the ideal photographic companion for Jonathan Rhys Meyers, who suffers from the opposite affliction, Cocaine Eyes. We could cancel each other’s cray-cray out. By doing sexytimes.) Anyway, We (le Royal We, N’est-ce pas) managed to struggle through it with the help of a billion RedBulls and, as far as I know, the Clozanepam Eyes stayed home. (Please burn all pictures and videos of actual life, however, where they are sure to run rampantly through my social affairs like Tyler Durden contact lenses.)

The only other detriment to normalness is the super-weird dreams (typically kept at bay by sleeping with baby bottles of Veuve), which have resurfaced and developed priority access to the front of the line in my non-sleeping brainium. Latest #WTFs include being followed by a camera crew as if on a reality show, but the camera lenses are tucked into taxidermied wolves’ heads. Also dreamt a hyper-realistic and hostile conversation in which I announced my quitting being vegetarian, and promptly tucked into a raw chicken breast. Exceptionally uncomfortable, particularly as I have been a vegetarian for 900 years. If anyone of you happens to be a terribly clever Freudian analyst, do make yourself known. I will pay your fees in all kinds of crazy. You’ll make a mill writing about me in Awkward Psychology Weekly. Think about it. Fame dot com.

Annnnnyway. A demain, mes cheries.

*evaporation*

John Steinberg, As I Knew Him.

nikki awesome — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 08:19:48 +0000

I first met John Steinberg in the autumn of1999, when I was a posh punk ex-raver with a mowhawk and a Chanel scarf tied to obstruct my barely-there velcro corset. I was a high school dropout who had had the good fortune to find myself in the Toronto fashion-show circut, working with some of Canada’s most well-known backstage arists.

Although his reputation had preceded him, and I certainly knew him from his enormous media backlog, I was stunned to encounter this hilarious, down-to-earth, fabulous personality. In my experience, prior to that, most successful and talented creatives had tended to be reclusive or arrogant, and always reluctant to pass on the tricks that served them well. Ever the eager beaver, I sat in the front row while John presented a class full of misfits and droputs with slides of Cleopatra, photos of African headdresses and Victorian silhouettes, and finished by creating, in practically no time, an elaborate Marie Antionette-type hairstyle on a live model. It was nothing out of the ordinary for John, as his love of theatrics and costume were as deeply ingrained in him as his love of teaching and learning.

As I followed a twisting, turning, emotionally trying career path, his salon on King Street was like a piping hot apple pie in a cartoon window, luring me towards it. I finally got up the courage to apply with him, and though I didn’t know it then, he was in fine (typically hilarious) form as he pretended not to know anything about my interview, but watched carefully as I coloured and cut models’ hair in front of him. As he flicked through my portfolio I was aghast thinking that someone as talented and well-known as John Steinberg was flipping casually through the (admittedly) lesser-quality shots I had worked so hard to produce. Improbably, I got the job, and was working with him by the end of the week.

John claimed to ‘employ the unemployable’, which he always said cheekily, resigned to it happily, and the Associates I worked with, for the most part, played the part of employable unemployables to the best of our abilities. Although it was constantly busy and at times, frustrating, John was always ready with a terrible, terrible joke, often at his own expense (and sometimes at yours), and always up for dress-up, arriving to work sometimes in a velvet smoking jacket and opera scarf, and sometimes in pyjama pants. Halloween was a major occassion, and if you really wanted to disappoint him, you didn’t dress up at all. Day to day, I sported a black vinyl dominatrix butcher’s apron he’d gotten me as a present – strictly because he knew me so well. We would laugh daily at the stupidest things, talk sex, politics, heartbreak and religion – all of the things they teach you never to talk about in a hair salon, and attend the legendary John Steinberg and Associates art openings in salon once a month. It was a fantastic time of my life that I miss regularly and would not have left had I not been at the crossroads of ‘do I go and try to make something happen with my music career or not?’

John was the most caring employer, the most genuine person, the most humble – truly humble – individual, though being a typical Leo he often played that part down, and I don’t imagine too many people have seen him truly blush – barring those of us present at Stephen’s summer Christmas party the year we all found out quite a lot about each other during a particularly truthful and daring truth or dare game! He was also incredibly generous, sharing everything he could with his staff and friends. Whether it was Mexican Christmas or simply providing time and money towards educational pursuits, musical careers or being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to slap your ass, John lived to give strength, support, and a creative and mildly insane outlook on life, which brought him many friends and admirers in his professional and personal life – which let’s face it, were seriously intertwined, as he could not resist lending his hair-expertise to those in critical need, nor could he help being a truly amazing friend to those he encountered professionally - if they didn’t already have the jealous-goggles on. It was not only because of his extrordinary talent, but also because of his hilarious and humble personality that John was so well known and well respected, and regardless of his workload, always worked with care and diligence to create beauty, used humour to deter criticism and negativity, encouraged emotional and spiritual growth in himself and in others, and would share of his vast experiences freely, always ready to help others in any way he could.

My heart breaks for Hayley and his family, as well as for his extended family and friends, as no one could ever meet John without falling just a little bit in love with him; with the evil little gleam in his eye as he said something particularly hideous/hilarious/hideous, with his sense of humor, sense of occasion, sense of fashion, his unabashed love of beauty, his profound sense of respect even for the most socially awkward and frustrating individuals (including myself), his charity work for Princess Margaret’s, his ability to bring the most random, yet totally fascinating people into a room and have them get along. His jerked tofu, his Mexican toys and treats, his pervy handshake and camp attitude balanced by his sensitivity, his sincerity, his massive amount of knowledge and ability to take the mick out of himself will make him someone I will miss forever and someone who will never be replaced.

You are one of a kind, my friend. And so I say to you…

”So there I was…. Completely surrounded….”

Much Love,

Nikki xx

Angst Dot Com

nikki awesome — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 20:59:43 +0000

It’s been ever so long since I’d last written, but clearly I have been busy with all sorts (as usual). Don’t worry, you can now expect a return to your regularly schedules rants and semi-semifrequently updated je ne sais quois and whatnot.

We’ll start with a brief foray into my Teen_Dream (total hotmail spam porn handle or what!?), a tiny sub-spectrum of music I’ve been writing while feeling ever so moody (oh that dark, dark business one has to love). It’s semi emotronic (what does that even mean? I class it as moody/introspective with drum machines and synth. Not happy with that? Send an SASE plus 49.00 GBP for a long-winded version of SUCK IT), kind of a bit more soundtracky and certainly vocal/lyrics driven (which makes all the sense in the world as I have written and produced 100% of it myself and simply would ne’er dream of claiming clever instrumentalness/production values).

I’ve been writing mostly at my kitchen table (in an ever-so fancy carved Regency style, silk-covered, mahogany armchair – overlooking the hustle/bustle of central London in its ever-dour grey attire. Are you there with me?!) for the past year or so and I know most of my fans/critics don’t know that I do in fact actually write not only my own lyrics but often my own music as well. typically sharing it only with close friends.

Well, internet, get ready to feel special. We’re on close-friend level now. Yeah I know. Save the hugs for later when it’s not so embarrassing. Now it’s yours for the listening.

Basically I was looking for an outlet for all of my failed-at-art-school angst and a forum for my need to create aural montages of dying vampires, wax fruit melting in still life, busy highways, and the time-lapsed self-portraits of Dorian Gray. I hope it does the trick. By the way, you could always run it with the ending of Soylent Green. That works for me too.

Enjoy, and no cutting!

Love.

The Totally Awesome Guide To Touring London (For Dicks)

nikki awesome — Fri, 20 May 2011 12:11:33 +0000

I’ve been semi-internet-absent for the past few weeks – mostly as all of my friends are finding their way towards the UK for the great summer migration… pre-high-season and what-have-you. Holy Shit, I’ve gone hyphen-crazy.

Basically I have now turned into one of those asshole residents of a big city that has gotten over the “Omg I Can See Big Ben”-ness of it all and have turned into a massive bitchface (the only face to travel with) when commuting around the city. I don’t mean to be so mean. But it happens. Maybe you’re actually not aware of you being a big dumb touristy douche (it happens) because nobody’s toldyou. So. Here’s a handy hint-sheet you can print out and tuck into your foldable London Underground map to diffuse my ire.

When traveling on an escalator, WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT will make you a lot more popular with the 8,000 commuters behind you who actually could give a shit about the 55 posters for ‘LEND ME A TENOR’ and ‘GREASE’. MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!
When the escalator reaches its final destination, contrary to popular belief, this is NOT the best time to stop and stare blankly at the numerous wondrous things in front of you. Yes, there is a big long hallway, and I’m sure it’s hard to decide which way to go IN THE ONE DIRECTION EVERYONE IS WALKING, but seeing as moonwalking back DOWN the UP escalator is kinda dicey, maybe just pull over to the side while you figure out the difference between a 20p piece and a 5p to get that can of Tango you can’t get in the States.
Arrived at the top of the stairs to street level at Oxford Circus? RE-READ RULE 2.
You can’t seriously expect everyone in London to stop because you want a goddamn picture with Big Ben in the background, so don’t get all tongue clicky and teeth-kissy about it when people need to get by.
Ask directions. Totally OK. However, don’t ask for directions, become overwhelmed, get taken over to a map where you can be shown where to go and then get all “oh well *IIIII could look at a MAP”. No, no, you couldn’t.
The “pip-pip cheerio, ‘ave a spot of tea, guv’na?” is about as funny as being constantly asked of you say Aboot, or for my American friends “YALL have a NAHCE DAYYYYYY” or whatever. If you want to complain about how the French are dicks that look at you funny and the British presume you are a cunt then keep on truckin’ with that old ass hilarity.
Your friends that live in London love it when you visit, but WHY THE FUCK do I want to go to goddamn TopShop in Oxford Circus in rush hour so you can debate for like 3 hours on a pair of shitty overpriced sunglasses that were coolhunted by 50-year-olds using their tween daughter’s BFF’s like culture-vultures? Barforama.
The I heart London shirt with the sparkles on it? yeah, You’re gonna get mugged.
Everything you want to buy in the form of Mini Big Bens, baby double decker buses et cetera are like 95 times cheaper off the main roads. just hold it down till you get to district 2, ok? and do you REALLY wanna be walking around the Tower of London carrying all that shit?
Reread this list. Memorize it. THEN book your overpriced flight.

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah I’m a dick. So what. Newsflash.

Many of you asked me what I did for the Royal Wedding, presuming that I would, of course, be ziplining onto the “kiss balcony” just in time to kick that crazy little girl out of the way and usurp her place of “this is so borrrrring” glory. (ps she was called a bridesmaid, is it just me or do you picture her playing the ‘zany best friend’ in every Wedding-themed RomCom until the of time?) I digress. Massively. I stayed in with a delectable hangover and watched like 100 hours of it on the telly – which saved me from tourist commute hellishness… Although I love dressing up in costume, there’s something about being in the vicinity of Union Jacked-up Baby Boomers, wasted on 15-minutes-of-fame and the constant lurking threat that they may well be photographed looking like a complete knob, with me, looking irate/sheepish/murderous in the background. So I blamed the terror threat and wrote non-wedding-related songs instead. (I know right? I expected better of myself.)

LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU

Royal Wedding-Gate

nikki awesome — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 12:04:33 +0000

Officially blocked on Twitter (yet again) but here’s my live-tweeting from before I was cut off.

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nikki awesome

@hrhnikkiawesome London, UK

singer-snogwriter. intentional international typoist. bio-curious? accept me as your sovereign.http://myspace.com/theroyalsocietyx

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The choirboys totally have army-issue glasses. Bless, NHS.#royalwedding