Confidential, Sunday, March 30, 1997 Had just finished a bowl of Count Chocula (hey, where’s the toy!) and was looking forward to washing it down with a couple dozen shots of vodka, so I headed downtown to attend "Independents Nights" at the Continental about a week ago. This is when they throw all of the chairs into the downstairs boiler room and call it the VIP Lounge. The "Independents," by the way, are the record labels to which the bands, that would be playing this evening, are signed. The "VIP lounge" is conveniently located next to the world-famous Continental bathrooms which were -- for the first time since memory serves -- not flooded with a couple inches of mystery fluid. Which brings me to another point. The stalls in the famous Continental bathrooms are so small, you can’t even pivot. All the basic functions that one performs in there -- peeing and having sex -- are nearly impossible to conduct. Nevertheless, I made it to the club just in time to see Sea Monster. Unfortunately, since they had a half-zillion bands playing on this particular night, Sea Monster only got to do two songs. However, they sounded fabulous. Right at the end of the set, a disturbance of sorts broke out between the bartender Mick, of the band Stitches, and an unidentified flying female. It was your typical confrontation, a disagreement over whether the correct change had been delivered to El Customer. Unfortunately, that took a chunk out of the night. Noel, who mixes the bands and serves drinks simultaneously, had to break himself from both duties to attend to the fiasco. Finally, he convinced the unhappy patron to remove herself, and her healthy set of vocal cords, from the premises and the evening’s events soon resumed. Had I not had a nutritious bowl of Count Chocula sitting comfortably in my belly, I don’t know how I would have dealt with the trauma.
Noel, by the way, had on a lovely flannel shirt that evening which I believe was instrumental in his dialog with the distraught customer. I mean, who could say no to Elmer Fudd. One nice touch to the evening was the inclusion of three large complimentary pizza pies brought in for the customers’ culinary pleasure. I didn’t see a lot of people actually partaking in the pizza, but I did notice that the pies served as excellent ashtrays for smokers of all persuasions.	Speed McQueen
Speed McQueen came on after Sea Monster. Spoke with lead singer Mark Lewis. The band has been touring the country for the past couple of months and according to Lewis, things are going well although, at times, they are a bit challenging. Over all, though, it’s been "an experience" and he’s "having a pretty good time." By the time you read this, the band should be back on tour, so keep an eye out for the boys, they’re worth checking out. Psycho 69 came on after Speed McQueen. The lead singer Supla -- whoa! -- he’s sort of a South American Billy Idol. The band plays a nice brand of speed metal but will soon be returning to their home country of Brazil. Following Psycho 69 was another metal punk group, Slack Jaw, containing a former member of the band Blitspëar. Slack Jaw had a nice full sound and received a good response from the audience. Chatted with some members of Electric Frankenstein, Killer Kowalski, the Independents, Fur, and also Joey Ramone. Everybody seemed to be in a jovial mood -- even club owner Trigger, who’s unprecedented good humor led me to wonder if he hadn’t just received shock treatment. (I asked Trigger the other night if I could get re-entry to the club if I left to get a pack of smokes. He gave me 30 seconds -- and that’s because he likes me.) I think this is a good time to say goodbye before I loose all re-entry privileges to the world-famous Continental Divide. Before I go, however, I’d like to take a moment to repeat the following mantra: "I love the Continental, I shall not complain. I love the Continental, even if Trigger is an ... "

Confidential, Tuesday, March 4, 1997

Went to Don Hills on Tuesday night a couple of weeks ago at promoter Gary Fury's behest to catch some of the local groups. The first band up was the Betty Ford Clinic. Now I wouldn't be so brazen as to say that Betty Ford is the worst band I've ever heard, let's just say that they have a lot of nerve getting up there sounding the way they do.

I attended the show with my friend Cheryl, a co-owner of one of NYC's more illustrious downtown clubs. Cheryl quite obviously had the hots for the bartender, who was a good-looking fellow, but still I had the feeling there was something else that she was attracted to. I asked her what that might be and Cheryl responded by holding her hand in the "he's-this-big" position.

I was not to be outdone. "Well, Cheryl, I just went to bed with someone the other night who was this big," I said, holding my hands in a somewhat wider manner. Of course, it wasn't true but a girl's gotta take liberties now and then. I took a sip of my beer and continued. "And you know, the guy had the nerve to ask me to go down on him. I told him no thanks, I just don't have an appetite right now."

Bombshell came on after the Betty Ford Clinic. Like Betty, Bombshell is a female-fronted band but their music has much more of an edge to it. The lead singer Jynx, formerly of the Waldos, is great to look at and even better to listen to. She led the band through a well-delivered set of punk rock.

Spent the next Tuesday at the Car Wash, which is sort of a disco night that's been happening recently at Coney Island High. The following night was Max's Night and as has been my habit of late, I attended the proceedings. This week Peter Crowley, former and future manager of the original Max's, was the guest DJ. Bumped into a bunch of local legends hanging around, including Philippe and Wild Bill of the Senders, Lenny Kaye, and Von Elmo. I told Von he looked great in his new Elvis Presley hairdo, however, I'm not sure it was the kind of compliment he was interested in hearing.

Almost forget to mention, I left my more familiar habitat of the East Village for the West Side a couple of weeks ago to attend the Hell's Angels benefit at the Lion's Den. Had a great time listening to the DJ spin some of the Angels' favorite bands, including of course AC/DC and Bad Company. I did, however, pass on the invite back to the Angels' "Club House" since I was not in the mood on that particular evening the have sex with 50 or 60 members of the gang.

You know what, I think I should probably do myself a favor and sign off here before I get arrested. Besides, my pencil's running out of lead and my cocktail napkin is beginning to shred. See you soon ...

Confidential, Wednesday, February 5, 1997

Met up with Dee Dee Ramone at Coney Island High's Max's Kansas City night last Wednesday. He looked good, cropped black hair, trim and healthier than I'd seen him in some time. Unfortunately he did seem a bit on the aloof side. Our conversation went something like this ...

Didi: Hey, Dee Dee, got a minute for a quick interview?

Dee Dee: But I’m nobody. What would I say?

Didi: Nobody? You’re not nobody. You’re Dee Dee Ramone. You're loved by thousands, millions ...

Dee Dee: I used to be. But now I don’t do anything.

Didi: You don't have to do anything, Dee Dee. We love you.

Dee Dee: But what would we talk about?

Didi: Hmm. I guess I’d ask you about your new band, the Remains.

Dee Dee: Oh them. They’re not gonna play anymore. We’re too old for that stuff ...

At this point, I gave up and headed back to my rightful place at the bar.

Max’s night has been an interesting experience in general at Coney. The crowd is a mix of neo-punks and the original thing from the old venue who have suddenly come out of the woodwork for the weekly event. Funny thing is, all the originals claim they were twelve years old when Max’s was in stow -- except for Otto Luck, who claims he was eight. For me, it was way before my time, honey, so I can’t tell who’s lying and who's not.

Spoke with my friend Kit, from the band Ultraviolet, who told me a little anecdote about chatting with Sid (Vicious) back in the original Max’s. She said that Sid was being nice as hell for the most part, that is, until Nancy showed up. Sid responded to Nancy's presence by spitting on Kit’s shoes and strolling off with his one true love. We all pretty much know the end to that story all too well ...

Anyway, once again, DJ Jayne County was spinning some classic stuff and looking much like the librarian from Mars, with her granny glasses perched at the tip of her nose and her trademark platinum blonde hairdo looking as unnaturally perfect as ever. I noticed the crowd had thinned a little since the week before when the Independents had delivered a rocking set of tunes to the Coney crowd.

If you don’t know, the Independents are managed by Joey Ramone and the man himself joined the band towards the end of the set for a half-dozen tunes, among them Blitzkrieg Bop. Joey was in fine form and his surprise appearance was a tasty addition to a pretty cool night.

Saw Dee Dee a little while later towards the end of the night. "Sorry I couldn’t talk before but I'm workin'," he said, referring to the fact that he was guest DJ for the evening. He dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out a prescription vial and popped a little orange pill in his mouth. "Want one?" he asked.

"No, thanks. I’ll stay with this," I answered, displaying my Heineken.

Dee Dee then walked away, but not in the direction of the DJ booth. I guess he was still on break. Speaking of which, I think it’s time to take five. One should never work too hard. Not even if you’re the most famous nobody in town.

Confidential, Saturday, January 18, 1997

What turns you on?

For me, it's painting my boyfriend's toenails black while he sleeps. I don’t know why but black toenails on a man just sends me. Unfortunately, he woke up and immediately scraped it off with a razor blade. Men. They can send rockets to the moon but they still haven’t learned how to use nail polish remover.

Thursday morning was a strange one on other accounts. Woke up with my fingers glued together. How’d this come to be? Well, my friend Sandra, a red-head with green eyes, was defying the laws of gravity the night before at the Continental, tottering on her three-inch spikes, when suddenly one of her heels gave in. My friend Micky Leigh (Joey Ramone’s brother and lead singer of Stop) ran out for some Crazy Glue, and let me tell you, that stuff really sticks. I still haven’t quite separated my index finger from my middle digit. Fortunately I have some nail polish remover to remedy the situation and, being a woman, I have the brains to use it instead of a razor blade.

Spent most of the night at Coney Island. It was the premiere of Max’s Kansas City Night, which is slated to take place every Wednesday. What makes it a Max’s night? Good question. Mostly, the music, I guess.

The ever effervescent Jayne County was doing a fine job of spinning some Max’s-style punk for the occasion, and me and my friend Chrissy, a tall brunette, took the liberty of doing the cha-cha to it -- which is not only more fun than moshing but a lot easier on your hairdo.

Speaking of Max’s, bumped into Peter Crowley (former owner of the legendary club), who duly informed me that Max’s will definitely-maybe reopen on 42nd Street sometime in the near-to-very-distant future. Peter just needs to sort out a few minor details like finding a milllion bucks to finance the operation and he'll be set. I wished him luck. Times Square could stand to have some life put back into it before Walt Disney ruins the neighborhood completely.

Bumped into Jesse Malin of D Generation several times. At first, I told him he was looking good. He responded so well that I upped it to "great" the next time I saw him, and then ended the evening with an "absolutely fabulous." Jesse says that D Gen’s in the process of readying themselves for a European tour with opening band H20. Also recently embarked is Speed McQueen who will be doing a two-month tour across the States.

Met up with Jayne County during one of her breaks. She told me next week’s DJ will be Joey Ramone. Spoke with Jayne briefly and then headed over to the Continental where Throwing Rocks was performing a pretty cool blend of pop rock.

While I was attemping to enjoy the music, my friend Hank walked over and decided to hold me a captive audience of his chest tattoo exhibit. Needless to say, it was not a pretty sight. I tried to divert his short attention span away from his body parts by engaging him in conversation.

"So Hank," I said, "I hear you’re getting married."

"Not with a ten-foot pole," he answered, in his thick Brooklyn brogue.

"Well then, how about with an eleven-foot puss--"

Here, I was interrupted by Sandra, who informed me of the unfortunate accident with her shoe, mentioned at the beginning of this piece. If not for the chivalrous efforts of Micky Leigh and the Crazy Glue contingency who knows what would have happened. Anyway, this is Didi Delicious signing off once again till next time. Keep warm, kids. Here in New York it’s cold as a witch’s puss--