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the royal flush

by Charlie Finch  


Defying Gravity

Zipper Madness


Scotch Fest

Gary Indiana

Resentment, a comedy

Dominick Dunne

Another City, Not My Own

Napack helicopters over Hong Kong

Tom Krens
   "Foster asked Linda Tripp to pick up lunch for him in the White House mess. She brought a cheeseburger, French Fries and a coke to his office, and, she noted, as he opened a newspaper while seated at his couch, he removed the onions as he always did.

"At about 1 p.m. Foster came out of his office. He told Tripp that there were still some M&Ms on the tray if she wanted them. He said, "I'll be back," and then left."
            -- Chris Ruddy, The Strange Death of Vincent Foster

Mondo Flusho!

A friend passed through L.A. over the weekend -- the hottest, wildest rumor there: that Hillary's lesbian lover is a stewardess on Air Force One, who does double-duty spying on Bill!

This middle-aged Dada curatorial couple, with an old art-world pedigree, were known for their teeny car and taste for the whip -- with the boy on the bottom and wifey cracking the cat o' nine.

Why, when they rented that Hamptons shack from legendary dealer Gracie Mansion a few years back, they got the boot when Gracie discovered them mid-whippin'!

Alas, the B&D duo have split up -- he's left their Brooklyn pad for the Chelsea Hotel (right near S&M club Justine's!) and she sez, with a 24-year-old femme art student -- SoHo Lewinsky, perhaps?

He admits he likes a whippin', that he's in the Chelsea, but denies there's a girl. Just like big Bill!

What's the hottest news in art-world hair?

Why, Roberta and Jerry's personal salon, of course! Spotted at Matt Mullican's dull Brooke Alexander do, Roberta's now a swept-curl redhead, a regular Scarlet O'Hara, whilst Jerry has added conspicuous blonde highlights to his "crew cut."

Way fab.

Most of the "gossip" one reads in Liz Smith or the odious New York Times Style Section is white, obnoxious propaganda -- an extra-strength tissue of lies.

Typical is the lit-world brouhaha re: Gary Indiana's scathing trashing of Dominick Donne's Another City, Not My Own in the Los Angeles Times.

Because Indiana satirizes Dunne in the persona of "Fawbus Kennedy" in his Menendez Brothers novel Resentment, Dominick complained long and loud to Liz Smith and the New York Times editors that the L.A. Times should have disqualified the little phallus of malice.

So what's the truth here? Simply that Dunne is allegedly deeply closeted, that he allegedly left his wife in the early '70s for an actor in The Boys in the Band, the breakthrough gay buddy flick which Dunne produced.

Indiana wrote the book on the closet in his remarkable play, Roy Cohn/Jack Smith -- he's a grand lexicologist in the alphabet city of gay liberation.

Who can blame him if he seethes at a celebrated litterateur like Dunne, who seems to have it both ways?

Conversely, Dunne told the New York Times that Indiana was sympathetic to the grotesque Menendez Brothers in Resentment -- Gary indeed goes over the top with a super-gross gay rape and murder sequence that culminates the book.

There's also a geriatric subtext here -- Indiana just spent two years dealing with implacable New Hampshire medical authorities, trying to save his desperately ill mother, who unfortunately died as the Dunne fiasco hit critical mass, leaving Gary devastated.

As the 72-year-old Dunne has reached the autumn of a splendid late writing career, he's also a convenient sponge for Gary's existential rage.

But Gary's not backing off -- in this week's New York Observer, he calls Dunne a capon!

Used to be yellow dwarf Knight Landesman who made the rounds of gallery openings for Artforum -- but now he's disappeared, replaced by the duo of bankrolling bon vivant Tony Korner and newly demoustached associate publisher Charlie Guarino. The two were spotted yet again at Sean Kelly's "Scott's Fest" scotch-tasting, an event so whitebread perverse we can't tell you about it!

Whither doth Knight fall?

"Mama told me not to come"
            -- Randy Newman

That's right, Eastern mama sez hold it in!

Like his fellow Boston University alumnus Howard Stern, Jonathan Napack is velcro for controversy.

After being sacked as "Art Diarist" by the New York Observer for alienating powerful figures at the Metropolitan Museum, Napack celebrated by subsequently getting fired by Art + Auction and the Art Newspaper.

But Napack didn't care -- his heart was in Hong Kong, and soon his body went there, too.

While financial disasters, toxic flu strains and the Red Chinese government fibrillated around him, Napack took a junket to Myanmar (formerly Burma), often described as the world's most secretive state, tasted the prostitutes of Guangxu at government expense, and bopped around Bangkok with this box of double-strength condoms.

A long-standing member of the "church," horny New York males who fetishize anything Asian, Eastern delights so enervated young Napack that he's floated back to New York to pen a profile of chief Google Doogle Tom Krens for the New Yorker -- in conjunction with this week's "China 5,000" festivities. Napack will report that Krens shrewdly manipulated the envy of the Chinese government towards the Metropolitan Museum's Taiwan show last year, and decided to show the Met up. There will be war on Fifth Avenue.

Dust off a bar stool in the Sutton Place Nipponese B-bars!

CHARLIE FINCH is the New York editor of Coagula Art Journal and has coauthored the forthcoming Most Art Sucks from Smart Art Press.