Jumping Jesus and Hopping Bunnies Galore
It's Easter season, darlings. The day Messiahs such as Tammuz, Mithras, as Jesus were reborn like the sun. Well, in San Francisco, it's time for over the top bunnies and bonnets, and various combinations of the two. As the Easter bunny started with the Saxon goddess, and her hare totem, it's appropriate that you will find probably more pagans and other non Christians than followers of the Bible at the annual Bunny Jam. And as Jesus was a hot, sexy stud, you will find more men with lipstick than straight men celebrating his rising at the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence Easter shindig.
Saturday, all over the city, people's minds were scrambling for last minute sparks of brilliance about how to bring forth some new aspect of strange bunniness never seen before. Some visual bunny joke to embody, and create instant laughter all around them. People don't always understand what the San Francisco art scene is about. Being part of it is not necessarily having pictures hung from the walls of art galleries. It's knowing just the right nuance of how to costume up. What props to wear. What personae to get into. What improvisational monologues will provoke the most response. That is art. And the the main artists are the people who get the lay participants out to these events by providing entertainment that is guaranteed to be delightful, and good grounds for bliss and social connections and insights into one's personality never before encountered. In San Francisco, there are no spectators.
Last time I went, I was crucified Jesus bunny. Yeah.
All evening, the trains and busses were subjected to unexpected far out bunnies.
Bunny Jam is a tradition of pure goofiness, with performers like Nambla the Bunny, and Carrot Lewis, and with Hare Apparent Projections, and the Church of Harentology, you have to be prepared for full on immersion. This year, there were projections from the hilarious video, The Easter Bunny Hates You, in the VJ mix with cartoons and everything rabbity, while a bigger than life bunny danced on stage, with consumate costumite Steven Raspa stepping up onstage to emcee a little show of random bunnies showing off. I was one; I confess. Though no one seeing me there would know, I was Dream Bunny. All in white, including my carefully disintegrating fluffy tail, I wore slightly macabre white satiny white cloth fitted to my face, with eye holes gone off center, a pink nose, and a slit for my mouth that showed my teeth, the obligatory bunny ears, and a gauzy veil over top led to a ghostly, surreal image that was called Felliniesque. My turn at the mike, I asked the question: "Are we all dreaming? All the time?" Think about it.
The Bunny Jam was extra dreamlike with the immersion into the projections, music, bunnies on the balconies, huge stuffed bunnies, and the way things never look quite real when looked at through little holes in cloth. And through a white veil, in the dark. Who would guess how naturally psychedelic the combination could feel.
And just down the street was the Life Size Mousetrap, an ingenius contraption by the Cyclecide crew. Just walking a few blocks from one to the next felt very urban, industrial, dangerous. Bleak. Was it really something we were supposed to do alone? Would anyone be there? Had anyone else made that walk on Jerrold? Somewhere in between the two events was a 1000 dollar egg. I had imagined numerous people scouring it, but no, I saw nothing but the undersides of bridges, uneven concrete, puddles, mud, backs of things, restricted looking areas I wasn't sure I should be tresspassing on....And then, there it was, with bike carnival rides, people tooking around in wacked out bikes, and the usual sexy, hardass punk outfits--interspresed with people in big fluffy ears. Those cyclecide kids possess mechanical talents with junk and wheels that makes any evening with them seem like a very precise and explosive dream.
There was a giant rocking horse someone was riding, while other people stood behind a row of contraptions they set rubber chickens on, and kicked, catapulting them into the air, where the man on the rocking horse caught them.
And little time for real dreaming there was, with Easter Sunday right on its fluffy tail. Time for the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence's 27th Annual Easter. Normally, it's in the park, but considering this has been the rainiest season in all of history, it ended up being in the Recreation Center in the Castro. There's something so lovable about the charitable Sisters, with their beards painted along with everything else on their faces, working with what they have to be what they are not, in the most charming ways. Racy, and humorous, these men in fabulous, colorful, unique nun's outfits, speaking in smooth, syrupy voices, saying the most irreverent things brings sanity to the holiday.
My easter bonnet was a green felt floppy hat with the best brand of large falsies that drag queens wear wrapped around the front of it. Red velvet, black and white spotted shiney cloth, pink and white gauze, many feathers, and lace completed the extravagence of it all. There was something addictive to wearing it in the Castro and having strangers on the street smile and complement me on it. Being gay feels so in, and being in with the in crowd is rewarded with men kissing both cheeks, moving seductively, playing with femininity and boldness, and bonding over the ridiculousness of it all. Like my bunny costume, my bonnet was a big hit, and I felt I had suceeded in being a true part of San Francisco once again, and felt a kind of ownership already of the holidays' repeated events. I was one with Easters, and could wink and speak of it warmly. No more feeling like an outsider, questioning the religions that celebrated dates with pagan stories going back to the beginning of history, but which the Christians were not supposed to know about. And I think most of us felt that bond, that sense of belonging. The creative inspiration to keep dreaming up new ways of reinterpreting our identity through costumery.
The Hunky Jesus contest had more contestants this year than before, so the preliminary run through was too quick for most of us to really get a handle on it. I was happy to see Krishna Bunny pay tribute to the Universal nature of the holiday. There was a very sexy female version of Jesus with a sack cloth, fishnets, and a dangling cigarette. One of the finalists was Blooming Jesus, a woman and her cross, covered in flowers. But it was clear that Jumping Jesus was the crowd pleaser, as he bounced around in the air, boing, boing, looking cut and tanned, with nice hair/crown of thorns combination that worked well together. Well done, Jumping Jesus. He gave many bendovers from all angles to the crowd in appreciation for winning.
Last time I went, I was Stip Tease Hunky Jesus, and I still run into people who remember me from that. I went topless, threw my tutu to the crowd, and did a stigmata strip tease, pulling my arm coverings back slowly, tauntingly, to reveal, and then hide, and then reveal my bloody centers of my palms. Mmm.... Then, I spanked myself with my crown of thorns. Yes, I had many little reminders of that on my buttocks for quite the while. We saviors must suffer for our art.
I felt lost when it was time to leave. I didn't want to take off my bonnet, and didn't want to be thrown to the humorless. I stayed around as long as I could, wandering aimlessly, before finally leaving, and still being cheered up by the many grins and comments on my boobie hat. I could do it. I was bold enough to wear the bonnet home on the Muni. The Castro district was very good to me. But as I put in the usual extra time that using the Muni Trip planner generally takes, because it is so often wrong, I found that the city became less welcoming of it as I took more trains and busses through the residential areas. Some districts, no one laughed at all, and I would get strained, pale, withered looks of disgust. Well, one, anyway. I took off my hat. I stuffed it in my bag. I became normal. The dismal glancer looked relieved. But she didn't win. No, I won't be withered. I am bunny. I am Jesus. I am love.
http://bunnyjam.com/
http://www.cyclecide.com/
http://www.thesisters.org/
Saturday, all over the city, people's minds were scrambling for last minute sparks of brilliance about how to bring forth some new aspect of strange bunniness never seen before. Some visual bunny joke to embody, and create instant laughter all around them. People don't always understand what the San Francisco art scene is about. Being part of it is not necessarily having pictures hung from the walls of art galleries. It's knowing just the right nuance of how to costume up. What props to wear. What personae to get into. What improvisational monologues will provoke the most response. That is art. And the the main artists are the people who get the lay participants out to these events by providing entertainment that is guaranteed to be delightful, and good grounds for bliss and social connections and insights into one's personality never before encountered. In San Francisco, there are no spectators.
Last time I went, I was crucified Jesus bunny. Yeah.
All evening, the trains and busses were subjected to unexpected far out bunnies.
Bunny Jam is a tradition of pure goofiness, with performers like Nambla the Bunny, and Carrot Lewis, and with Hare Apparent Projections, and the Church of Harentology, you have to be prepared for full on immersion. This year, there were projections from the hilarious video, The Easter Bunny Hates You, in the VJ mix with cartoons and everything rabbity, while a bigger than life bunny danced on stage, with consumate costumite Steven Raspa stepping up onstage to emcee a little show of random bunnies showing off. I was one; I confess. Though no one seeing me there would know, I was Dream Bunny. All in white, including my carefully disintegrating fluffy tail, I wore slightly macabre white satiny white cloth fitted to my face, with eye holes gone off center, a pink nose, and a slit for my mouth that showed my teeth, the obligatory bunny ears, and a gauzy veil over top led to a ghostly, surreal image that was called Felliniesque. My turn at the mike, I asked the question: "Are we all dreaming? All the time?" Think about it.
The Bunny Jam was extra dreamlike with the immersion into the projections, music, bunnies on the balconies, huge stuffed bunnies, and the way things never look quite real when looked at through little holes in cloth. And through a white veil, in the dark. Who would guess how naturally psychedelic the combination could feel.
And just down the street was the Life Size Mousetrap, an ingenius contraption by the Cyclecide crew. Just walking a few blocks from one to the next felt very urban, industrial, dangerous. Bleak. Was it really something we were supposed to do alone? Would anyone be there? Had anyone else made that walk on Jerrold? Somewhere in between the two events was a 1000 dollar egg. I had imagined numerous people scouring it, but no, I saw nothing but the undersides of bridges, uneven concrete, puddles, mud, backs of things, restricted looking areas I wasn't sure I should be tresspassing on....And then, there it was, with bike carnival rides, people tooking around in wacked out bikes, and the usual sexy, hardass punk outfits--interspresed with people in big fluffy ears. Those cyclecide kids possess mechanical talents with junk and wheels that makes any evening with them seem like a very precise and explosive dream.
There was a giant rocking horse someone was riding, while other people stood behind a row of contraptions they set rubber chickens on, and kicked, catapulting them into the air, where the man on the rocking horse caught them.
And little time for real dreaming there was, with Easter Sunday right on its fluffy tail. Time for the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence's 27th Annual Easter. Normally, it's in the park, but considering this has been the rainiest season in all of history, it ended up being in the Recreation Center in the Castro. There's something so lovable about the charitable Sisters, with their beards painted along with everything else on their faces, working with what they have to be what they are not, in the most charming ways. Racy, and humorous, these men in fabulous, colorful, unique nun's outfits, speaking in smooth, syrupy voices, saying the most irreverent things brings sanity to the holiday.
My easter bonnet was a green felt floppy hat with the best brand of large falsies that drag queens wear wrapped around the front of it. Red velvet, black and white spotted shiney cloth, pink and white gauze, many feathers, and lace completed the extravagence of it all. There was something addictive to wearing it in the Castro and having strangers on the street smile and complement me on it. Being gay feels so in, and being in with the in crowd is rewarded with men kissing both cheeks, moving seductively, playing with femininity and boldness, and bonding over the ridiculousness of it all. Like my bunny costume, my bonnet was a big hit, and I felt I had suceeded in being a true part of San Francisco once again, and felt a kind of ownership already of the holidays' repeated events. I was one with Easters, and could wink and speak of it warmly. No more feeling like an outsider, questioning the religions that celebrated dates with pagan stories going back to the beginning of history, but which the Christians were not supposed to know about. And I think most of us felt that bond, that sense of belonging. The creative inspiration to keep dreaming up new ways of reinterpreting our identity through costumery.
The Hunky Jesus contest had more contestants this year than before, so the preliminary run through was too quick for most of us to really get a handle on it. I was happy to see Krishna Bunny pay tribute to the Universal nature of the holiday. There was a very sexy female version of Jesus with a sack cloth, fishnets, and a dangling cigarette. One of the finalists was Blooming Jesus, a woman and her cross, covered in flowers. But it was clear that Jumping Jesus was the crowd pleaser, as he bounced around in the air, boing, boing, looking cut and tanned, with nice hair/crown of thorns combination that worked well together. Well done, Jumping Jesus. He gave many bendovers from all angles to the crowd in appreciation for winning.
Last time I went, I was Stip Tease Hunky Jesus, and I still run into people who remember me from that. I went topless, threw my tutu to the crowd, and did a stigmata strip tease, pulling my arm coverings back slowly, tauntingly, to reveal, and then hide, and then reveal my bloody centers of my palms. Mmm.... Then, I spanked myself with my crown of thorns. Yes, I had many little reminders of that on my buttocks for quite the while. We saviors must suffer for our art.
I felt lost when it was time to leave. I didn't want to take off my bonnet, and didn't want to be thrown to the humorless. I stayed around as long as I could, wandering aimlessly, before finally leaving, and still being cheered up by the many grins and comments on my boobie hat. I could do it. I was bold enough to wear the bonnet home on the Muni. The Castro district was very good to me. But as I put in the usual extra time that using the Muni Trip planner generally takes, because it is so often wrong, I found that the city became less welcoming of it as I took more trains and busses through the residential areas. Some districts, no one laughed at all, and I would get strained, pale, withered looks of disgust. Well, one, anyway. I took off my hat. I stuffed it in my bag. I became normal. The dismal glancer looked relieved. But she didn't win. No, I won't be withered. I am bunny. I am Jesus. I am love.
http://bunnyjam.com/
http://www.cyclecide.com/
http://www.thesisters.org/
posted by Tantra Bensko at 8:41 PM
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