In 2000 Christine wrote an “advice” column as an entertainment feature for Los Angeles/San Francisco underground ‘zine 1000 Punks! Magazine for a handful of issues. Targeted at rock musicians and their fans, “Mistress Trixie’s” mixture of humor and brutal candor was inspired by her friend syndicated columnist Cintra Wilson’s San Francisco Examiner weekly feature, “Cintra Wilson Feels Your Pain.”
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In her infinite wisdom, the editrix of this rag has asked me to answer questions from all you poor lovelorn pukes out there, and try to help you come to grips with whatever your little neurosis is. Tinseltown Trixie wants you to understand she is not Punk or Pop, although she can be very trashy at times. So pick up your pens or boot up and send your snivelings to me, care of 1000 Punks! ‘zine. |
Dear Trixie,
I am drummer in a rock band, and I have a real tough situation that only you can help me with. In November of last year we replaced our singer with this new girl from Van Nuys. She is really beautiful. Even better, she’s also very sweet and doesn’t have an attitude. Not three weeks after joining the band, she started dating the guitar player but they broke up a couple of weeks ago. It obviously wasn’t a nasty split-up with serious bad feelings, because she didn’t quit the group or anything.
The thing is, she started coming on to me last week, and I have to tell you, I am sorely tempted to take her up on it. I mean, this girl could be a fashion model or something. But I’m afraid if I start going with her it will make our guitarist jealous. He’s been my buddy for three years, and I don’t want to chance wrecking our friendship. And what if this girl turns out to be some kind of tramp? Help me, Trixie!
– Burbank Billy
Dear Billy,
Ms. Trixie has to set you straight on something before she shoulders the unenviable task of dealing with your dilemma. Why is it that when a guy plays hide the salami with anything in a dress, he’s a stud, but when a woman is sexually active, she’s a tramp? Answer me that to my satisfaction, and I’ll let you lick my boots for free. But I digress.
Let me tell you something: relationships and work mix well only rarely. It doesn’t matter if the job is a band or whatever. Unless you’ve got something really strong going on with that special somebody, the time will come when you’ll want to shove them headfirst into a foodprocessor. The fight could be at a rehearsal (if you’re lucky) or at a gig in front of an indeterminate number of strangers. (Of course, you might be able to sell it as part of the act, but it still won’t be fun to live through.)
Then there’s your buddy. Friends, good friends, are harder to come by than parking places in West Hollywood on Saturday night. If you want to stay buddies, steer clear of this woman like she’s Chernobyl. You don’t need it and your band certainly doesn’t. My advice would be to quietly tell her that you’re as flattered as if you’d been nominated for a Grammy, but No Thanks.
But … I might be completely wrong and she could be your total soulmate sent to you from heaven above. You’ll have to be the judge of that, and you won’t find that out overnight. Is she worth the risk of maybe losing the band and/or your friend? Only you can answer that. If you’re really interested, talk with her and tell her what’s on your mind. That would be a good start.
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Dear Trixie,
I am a washed-up-never-was-has-been rocker who has recently relocated to the Hollywood area to take his last shot at superstardom. After 14 years of touring and recording, I’m now pushing my mid–30’s, I’ve lost all my hair and am much thicker around the midsection. I have always made enemies to get attention and up until now, it has worked somewhat. Problem is, most people around Hollywood just don’t give enough of a hoot to even acknowledge my antics, let alone get angry about them. It seems as if they’ve seen it all before.
I was a medium–sized fish in a small pond up north and now I’m trying to get a rise out of people here. I’ve even donned a chicken suit on occasion, but nothing seems to be working. Should I resort to making friends instead of enemies? I’ve never tried it before, and I’m reluctant to dive into untested waters. TRIXIE, I NEED YOUR HELP!
Signed, Last Chance Losin’
Dear Chance,
Making friends is definitely preferable to making enemies, especially in a business where the odds of success are only slightly better than a snowcone’s longevity in Hell. Any unsigned artist — especially a bald rocker wannabe of considerable girth — cannot afford to alienate potential allies. To be certain, you can afford to piss off people only after they are crowding around to kiss your ass. Until then, unless you’d like to permanently gig for the venue staff (because everybody splits when you hit the stage) you’d best brush up on your social skills.
With regard to the Hollywood habitants, you may well be right they’ve seen it all, but you’re badly mistaken if you think they don’t notice your monkeyshines. What is Hollywood famous for? Duh… acting, my dear Chance, acting. This is a town where people learn to keep their cool and gloss over disgruntlements. I’ve seen women who smile so much you’d think their head was in danger of detaching at the jawline, but their eyes tell a different story, oh yes.
And some folks love to nurse resentments, storing them up like precious treasure, ready to reach into their mental filing cabinet whenever the opportunity arises to fuck over somebody who, in their minds, richly deserves it. And while a few people are perceptive enough to realize that such energetic attempts to garner attention are a sign of insecurity, most will just be pissed off. Sure, they’ll remember you, probably in much the same way they’d recall a bad case of herpes.
With regard to your chicken suit, I find it incredibly fascinating. I am assuming that onstage is the only place you garb yourself en poulet, but if you wear your feathered finery elsewhere (like in the bedroom), Miss Trixie would be endlessly amused to hear about that. Nothing grabs my readers (or me) better than a new kink.
To answer your plea for help, I would strongly suggest dipping your toe into the wading pool of cordial comportment. You never know when the next friend you make just happens to be bosom buddies with a highwire A&R dude or a player in a supporting act for a big-draw band that needs an opener for their next national tour. And maybe not. At least you won’t have to worry about some musician you pissed off detuning your axe while your back is turned right before you hit the stage. Life is about risk, and you may find this risk well worth it.
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