12.08.03
TODAY'S INTERVIEWEE IS NONE OTHER THAN MICHAEL J. BOVA, recently of New York City. Our history is long and lovingly sordid, so briefly, we went to high school together, we took a lot of acid together, leading to a 'sabbatical' from college together, sometime after which we lived in Olympia, Washington together. He's driven me from sea to shining sea, and he's lent me his own sister's bed for several of my luckier nights (sans sister). But don't take it from me. With further ado, here are a sampling of testimonials from some satisified customers:

Caryn, 09/28/2003:
i don't know what to say about bova, except that i fell in love with him the instant i met him. if i could be a boy i would like to be bova, complete with the enormous cock. if i make a trillion dollars, will you be my pool boy and tell me more stories about your family?

Emmeline, 08/05/2003:
This man puts the art in smart, and the SM too -- so consider yourself warned, and lucky to know him if you do.

Constance, 08/04/2003:
once i got a spiral perm because it was the 80s and i somehow felt i needed more volume. of course i cried, and mike called me "chaka con" and sang the little song, which made me cry harder, but then i laughed because it was funny, and it was funny because it was true. mike's not afraid to speak the truth about important things like hair and dish out just that kind of tough love. can't wait for him to blow into nyc in his mad chariot and tell it like it is to a town that sorely needs it.

Stalin, 08/15/2003:
We are becoming increasingly disturbed by Michael's decadence.

HK: Will you submit? to a quick and dirty email interview?

Bova: you've got it. I'm so fucking bored at work today. I was in the same room as Bruce on friday--he's got a nice ass and a pleasant disposition.

HK: Bruce who?

Bova: fucking springsteen! Everyone just calls him 'Bruce' down here.

HK: ack! did you tell him i love him? did he sing a song?

Bova: sorry, you didn't come up. He was drinking warm tea and tequila--he's performing down here and I had some business with his people. Where's the damn interview? hahaha

HK: this is the interview. so, tell everyone about Asbury Park, huh? And speaking of Bruce, check out today's Pearls Before Swine.

Bova: Well, suffice to say, when I moved across the country from Olympiblah to NYC, I dreamt I'd have reason to go to Asbury Park, let alone work here. It's 1/3 Fags and Lezzbertarians, 1/3 hockey hair and 1/3 crack whores--occasionally you run into a cracked out fag with a mullet, but generally it's like England before the deconstruction of the class system, "A place for everyone and everyone in their place."

That, however does not tell the whole story--you see, Asbury Park was The Place on the Shore for years and then it found crack. Never have I seen a place with such an obviously grand-damme-on-the-skids story before. These formerly gorgeous buildings on the beach, surrealist architecture and all, just crumbling into the sea. There's a condemed hotel on the shore called The Empres (the other 's' fell off). On the first floor however, there is a super shwanky gay dance club called, funnily enough 'Paradise.' We're talking fishtanks and leather banquettes, people.

On my right renovated luxury condos, on my left--a torched Lincoln Town Car. AP is hauling itself out of the morass--one Jewish real estate mogul by one rich faggot by one more dead crackhead at a time. Oh and then there's Bistro Ole--don't get me started on their delicious shredded beef and plantains.

HK: It's funny how the two meanings of decadence are 1, marked by decayor decline and 2, characterized by or appealing to self-indulgence. Ain't it? So anyway, by all accounts your transition from the chilly, yet moist and familiar womb of Oly to chilly, masculine New York City has gone very well. Could you describe for the people come interesting differences in your bicoastal lifestyles?

Bova: Jesus--where do I begin.

In Oly my roommates paid my mortgage, I made $33k last year talking about butt-sex to meth addicts and drinks are one dollar. I was astronaut rich and had a bevy of fine, half dead cars for me and my loved ones to drive. My dealer would ride by on his bike, let himself in through the kitchen door (when I sold the house I had to get the locks replaced because I could find no keys) drop the goods on my kitchen table and pick up his payment from the week before. Most of my socializing took place at Ben Moore's and at late night dance parties in numerous sweaty basements listening to all your favorite indie bands and making out with folks. I also knew EVERYONE and that got o l d.

So for the last few years, I had to devise new and dangerous strategies to feel anything other than physical, emotional and spiritual numbness. Blackout drinking every night, bombastic sex with strangers at private sex parties, fucking married men, pissing off my neighbors and stealing cars. I also slept alone in the back yard in the rain after crying myself to sleep a couple times. I've referred to it as "a very fragrant rut with organic food everywhere" and, more succinctly, the "lo-fi blah-hole." It's lovely, just don't stay too long. Talk about decadence...

Once in NYC, the demands of big-city life altered my 'lifestyle' considerably. I still call myself a 'sexed-up faux-dive jet-setter' pursuing a rich life of genteel poverty. I have to be scrappier here as the money doesn't go so far. Whatever--no matter what I make, I'll always spend all of it until it's gone then go hunt and gather some more. The main diff is that people are fucking real here--I never have to go to the same place twice if I don't want to and no one looks at me like I just shat on their baby when I cuss profusely in casual conversation. Not living in a constantly, obsessively, feverishly reevaluated post-post-modern tableau really helps you LIVE, don't you think?

Basically, everyone out there thought I was a PAB (punk-ass-bitch) and folks here thought I was 'woo-woo' until the cosmic novacaine wore off.

HK: But....won't you miss the woo-woo a little bit?

Bova: I'll always be comfortable in the country and ready to drive into the hills if things get TOO fucking fascist here--If I can't bounce to another country. I'll always know how to build a fire and appreciate nature, especially in the form of shredded beef and plantains. But no--I won't miss having my privilege questioned every fucking minute and I won't miss always having to use 'I' statements and I won't miss the pressure to tell people their 'art' is 'great' when really it's smug, ill-conceived, ill-crafted crap. Irony will never be enough to overcome basic mediocrity, even in Olympia. That's what the 'woo-woo' translated to out there. Now as for 'woo-hoo!' bring it on.

HK: Gotcha. Ok, here's your chance to take this interview in a whole new direction. Say anything.

Bova: Hmmm--well, after more than a decade of wild butt-sex and butt-sex advocacy, my first hemmerhoid appeared over the weekend. (ARGH!). My friend Kristi had a really large one that she name 'mocha moon pie.' I sincerely hope mine aborts before I feel compelled to name it and/or buy it a car seat. But that's not what I want to talk about-- I want to talk about my recent transformation into a genuinely happy, if not always nice, person.

I used to think that happiness and hope were the province of the weak, the ill-informed, the retarded. Anyone who ever stepped foot in a car with me before I turned 24 knows that I drove with a fairly dedicated death-wish. I can't quite explain how it's happened but I no longer feel that way. I'm still a punk-ass-bitch and feel the institutionalized stupidity of our culture like a wet coat made of hair all the time. I just don't have to wear it--I'm not instantly incensed and repulsed by soccer moms in Escalades blabbing on the phone while their kids get their brains zapped out by the on-board infotainment system. Fuck 'em. By all accounts my family was those people growing up--I'm lucky. My folks love fags now. My dad quit the church and is reading the Koran and playing the banjo and my mom has a fat, poor, ugly, transexual friend. (So do I but this is my MOM!) My sister buys fresh milk right out of the cow in Vermont and helps educate heroin-addicted mothers. No one would ever have thought these things were possible just a few short years ago. I have brains, looks, talent and fucking terrifically fucking fantastic people in my life. What's not to love?

I love my lovely life of loveliness and love. There. I said it.

HK: Well put my friend. I think that's what we've all got in common here, more or less. Thanks for joining us today, and for your thoughtful answers to my hard hitting questions. Any parting thoughts for our readers?

Bova: This isn't as related to my hemmer as it might seem but I have to say, always, always ALWAYS use lube, people.

That and I think your're all just wonderful. Thanks JM.

Thank you, Mr. Bova.