Tryptophan and kinky science


Another much-dreaded holiday (requiring visits with extended family whom you’d rather not admit you’re related to) has come to a close. You’re probably still reeling from the tryptophan, that particularly potent sedative chemical found in turkey.

Thanksgiving Eve has long been referred to as “The Biggest Bar Night of the Year,” mostly because the majority of the bar populace is busy frantically imbibing mass quantities of alcohol as they fret over the barrage of questions they’ll receive from relatives the following day: “When are you going to get a real haircut?” and “You can’t play around in a silly rock and roll band forever, dear” and, of course, “Son, when are you going to stop wearing women’s pants?”

But I digress. This year’s pre-Thanksgiving festivities were no exception, with major venues such as the Magic Stick so crammed it was impossible to avoid carelessly wielded cigarettes and the requisite beer bath on your feet. The Gore Gore Girls and the Murder City Wrecks packed the place, while one scenester, so overwrought by the thought of his impending holiday familial doom, was overheard sobbing into his drink at the bar, “My parents just don’t understand me, man! I just can’t wait to move out.”

My sources tell me he’s 32.


On to your faithful bar reportings:

Friday night, still struggling in the grasp of a tryptophan coma, I managed to drag myself out to the birthday celebration of Dee Sparkles of the Drag Strippers, at the home he shares with his diva-licious wife, Karen Neal of Queen Bee.

For those of you who ever wondered what the home of this fabulously glam couple looks like — well, it was just as I had imagined: lots of leopard print, collector’s-edition rock posters, and one hell of a jam space.

Mr. Sparkles ended up with an interesting collection of birthday booty (that’s pirate-speak for treasure, pervert) including a set of pink swimming goggles and a children’s umbrella decorated with scenes of an anime cat, dressed in ’20s gangster duds, robbing a bank.

This was quite the local rocker party. Members of many noted local bands popped in and out to say hello and scarf up the free food; spotted throughout the evening were assorted members of the host couple’s bands, as well as Johnny Unstoppable from Peter Torque, Dan of Detektive Riot, EsQuire, Eric Outlaw from Negative Conductor, Tabatha Predovich of Radium, Mark Burger of the Motor City Burgers and Danielle Arsenal from Crud.

Everybody’s favorite eccentric tall guy, Jeremy Harvey, also turned up to say hello and dish out a few of his famously rough-but-friendly greetings.


Saturday evening, it was off to yet another party, this time at the home of punk rock karaoke DJ extraordinaire TopKat, and his lovely fiancee, Goldie Adore, who is currently cultivating her green thumb with a set of Venus’s-Flytrap plants. This was yet another cozy home full of fascinating decor and knickknacks — including TopKat’s impressive collection of vinyl and Miss Adore’s enormous array of clothing.

Upon arrival, I encountered a bizarre metal spherical thingamajig on the table in the dining room; I assumed it was just another one of the couple’s unique collectibles. But, no! It was part of one of the most interesting party tricks I’ve ever encountered, performed by Meghann Hopkins, or as I dubbed her, “Mistress Science.” Hopkins used to work at the Detroit Science Center, where she first developed her fascination with electric currents, and also got to deliver a shock to bratty little children as part of the demonstrations at the center — lucky her. Anyhoo, Hopkins was hooked, and eventually bought a conductive metal orb from a scientific equipment-supply company, which she lugged along for the evening to amuse the party guests.

Decked out in a white lab coat atop a slinky black dress, black fishnets and black stompy knee-high boots, Hopkins resembled every eighth-grade boy’s fantasy version of a science teacher. She climbed up on a milk crate and placed her hands on the conductor, which caused her multicolored ponytails to stand straight up (she also got an unfortunate shock on the derriere when she accidentally backed into some metal blinds — yee-ouch).

But the fun didn’t stop there. She then recruited Noir Leather owner Keith Howarth to hit the juice; Howarth got the same hair-standing-straight-up treatment, while Hopkins tossed Styrofoam peanuts in the air, which immediately clung to the electricity emanating from the fetish-store owner’s forehead.

Next, we started a human shock chain, where party goers like Candy Sprinkles and DJ SPAG linked hands, carrying the electrical current through their bodies and using the chain to shock unsuspecting victims who were on their way to the john.

After getting zapped four different times, my assorted facial piercings were zinging and I decided it was time to make a quick getaway before my hair stood straight up — but not before commenting to Miss Adore that she’d have to hire a fire-breather for her next party to top this electrifying experience.


Many warm wishes and congratulations to super scenesters Kim Leitz and Eddie McCauley of Hemigod, who will soon be tying the knot. And while we’re on the warm-and-fuzzy tip, congrats and Cuban cigars go to Grumpybat and Amelia of Lansing, who are now the proud parents of a healthy baby boy, Sebastian Gaige Collins.

Sarah Klein is the sparkly devil. Send gossip, hot tips and desperate pleas for attention to [email protected], or call the tip line at 313-962-5281. Press * then dial