Aug 30, 2009
Last night, in an effort to get my mind off of things, I took myself to see "Taking Woodstock". I was the only person in the theater on a Saturday night, so sad.
The movie itself was all right, but a bit disappointing. I think my main complaint is about Demetri Martin, the lead, who just bored me to tears. He's the weakest link to be sure. I especially loved the meeting he has with a couple of hippies in their van.
The movie didn't really take off until the actual concert part. The best parts were then, and Ang Lee, I think, did a great job with some of the visual effects. It was really beautiful at times.
I have only the vaguest memories of hippies. My parents were in their late twenties during the summer of love, and pretty square. I don't know many people of that generation, I don't think.
I remember once visiting a younger cousin of my mother. She lived somewhere near Pensacola. We stopped by on the way to a family vacation. I was very young. She had been a hippie, at least that's what my mother said, disdainfully.
She lived unmarried, near the beach, in an old moldy smelling house with her children, and lots of cats, making macrame and smoking pot and reading tarot. The whole place seemed dark, smokey and gloomy. Hippiedom by then was hopelessly passe, and it all just seemed kind of sad to me, even at that age.
It was nice to see it on the screen as it might have been, fresh and vital and exciting.
The then newly built Huey Long, spotlighted in the beginning of the film, is famously narrow and scary. I remember the driving instructor in high school having used it as part of our final exam.
One of my later teachers once told the class that the bridge was the reason she'd become a nun. As a girl she'd been riding in the back seat of her parents' car, in the rain with a train running alongside the car. Right then and there she swore to God that if He got her safely over, she'd go into the convent...so she did. Can't say I blame her.
Aug 29, 2009
Aug 26, 2009
I was just a toddler really, maybe three. Next door lived some older girls, sisters, nine or ten, dazzlingly sophisticated to me. Their mother still had ratted hair, though it had been out of style for at least five years by then. Their father was skinny and wore pomade.
They had barbies and easy bake ovens. I wanted to be like them.
One day, a hot summer day, I remember the girls were having a terrible fight. One of them was standing on the hood of their parents' car, hurling old 45s at the older sister's head. The sunlight gleamed off the flying vinyl. Their mother's prized 45s crashed to the ground in a hail of black plastic. I shudder to think what awaited those girls after that. Somehow I think those barbies might have been baked in that Easy Bake oven.
Who knows. Who cares, really?
What I remember most about that day is that after they'd been summoned in by their bellowing mother, I picked up the one 45 that had not been broken. It was old and scratched, but when I took it home, it still played. It was the second record I ever owned (and it was stolen from the trash).
It was New Orleans' own Dixie Cups singing "Chapel of Love".
It's all so prophetic.
Aug 25, 2009
It's hard to tell.
She is French. Of that much I'm sure.
And very tan.
Later that night, while throwing out my trash, I came upon a little treasure trove of hers. Jackpot! Among the items I
1. one clock radio, slightly smeared with lipstick.2. Two perfect, unused tubes of French depilatory cream, or is that crème?
What's her deal? (uh...qu'est-ce c'est la dealieaux?)
Anyway, that's what I'm wondering.
Aug 24, 2009
Reading Jill's post about The Happy Hooker (complete with Xaviera Hollander comment!) at her fabulous site, Stella's Roar, I'm reminded of my own reading of that famous classic, on the floor of my parent's bedroom. I must have been nine or so when I found my father's cache of books in the same drawer with his ammo.
Guess which I was more intrigued by.
Actually, the fact that my father had naughty books was not in the least surprising.
The fact that he had books at all was, however.
In fact I still can't quite believe it.
Aug 23, 2009
Speaking of finding love in 90 days...
a few weeks ago I bought myself some 600 thread count Egyptian sheets as a birthday present to myself. I just put them on the bed.
Come 5:30 tomorrow morning it's going to be hell getting out of bed, that's all I know. I might just have to drag them to work with me.
Aug 22, 2009
Why? Because I've been meaning to read it for nearly a decade now and never have.
Quote: "Overhead a gang of the local flying vermin took off from unseen perch, swooped, and seemed to be zeroing in on Archie's car roof---only to perform, at the last moment, an impressive U-turn, moving as one with the elegance of a curve ball and landing on the Hussein Ishmael, a celebrated halal butchers."
Prediction: won't finish. My tolerance for plot is at an all time low.
Why? Because I'm curious as to just how badly being an only child has fucked me up.
"The only child is destined to take care of his parents in later life, which can be a real burden...."
Prediction: won't read. Too boring. Too much information about Barbra Steisand and Laura Bush. Too many pictures of Nixon.
Why? Pretty pictures help calm me down.
Prediction: Nirvana like calm mixed with the frustration of being very poor.
Why? I'm a nerd.
"The old Macedonian general Polyperchon, who championed the cause of the boy king Alexander IV--and died deserted by everyone, including his own son, before the fourth century came to an end---used to dance at banquets, tipsy with too much wine. He would dance nonstop, wearing a saffron colored tunic and embroidered slippers."
Prediction: already half finished reading this, boring as it is.
Why? I'm pathetic and it didn't cost anything, except my dignity to check it out.
"Discovering and Using Your Diamond Self: Exercises----
(Total time 45 minutes)
You now have all the information on creating and using your Diamond Self. The Inner Work exercises will help you hone these skills.
Exercise 1: Rediscovering your authentic self:
Find a photo of yourself as a toddler....gflhflaelhalrhw3rhohyknnioljjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
(oh, sorry, I fell asleep there at the keyboard.)
Prediction: I'll skim it and take a nap.
Aug 21, 2009
Here's his bio:
Bio I'm 28. I live with my 73-year-old dad. He is awesome. I just write down shit that he says."
"Your mother made a batch of meatballs last night. Some are for
are for me, but more are for me. Remember that. More.
hours ago from web
brought his baby over
this morning. He told me it could stand. It couldn't
stand for shit. Just sat
there. Big let down."11:35 AM
Aug 20th from web
Mrs. Dash. The bitch can
make spices... Jesus, Joni (my mom) it's a joke. I
was making a joke! Mrs. Dash
isn't even real dammit!"11:28 AM
Aug 19th from web
"The dog is
not bored, it's a
fucking dog. It's not like he's waiting for me to give him
a fucking rubix cube.
He's a god damned dog."12:43 PM
Aug 18th from web
"My flight lands at 9:30 on
Sunday...You want to
watch what? What the fuck is mad men? I'm a mad man if you
don't pick me the
hell up."4:42 PM
Aug 15th from web
"When I used
to live in Los
Angeles, I used to step in human feces a lot."11:13 AM
Aug 5th from web
"I didn't live
to be 73 years old
so I could eat kale. Don't fix me your breakfast and
pretend you're fixing
Aug 3rd from web
Aug 20, 2009
(Yeah, that sounded better in my head than it does here. )
Anyway, she's from Vietnam and asked if I'd ever had a pitaya.
(insert your own joke here)
I thought she was mispronouncing "papaya" and said, "sure."
Turns out I was wrong.
After hearing of the joys of jackfruit and the ecstasies of the durian and the rapture of the breadfruit, she told me she'd bring me a cutting of a pitaya plant, so today she did.
The fruit, she said, is especially delicious.
It's sometimes called a "dragonfruit" I see.
And so am I!
(ok, again that sounded better in my head than it does here...but, whatever, I'm leaving it.)
It's a strange cactus looking thing, but she insists that it can be trained to grow up into the waterfall shape you see down there.
We'll see how long it takes for me to kill it.
Aug 19, 2009
"Gizmodo writes: 'NOAH (New Orleans Arcology Habitat) is a massive, 1200-foot city within a building that's hurricane-proof and can actually float (don't worry, it's tethered to something or other). Conceptualized through a mind trust of three architectural firms, green (wind, solar and water) energies would help power the structure's 20,000 residences, 1,000,000 square feet of commercial space, school, hospital and, just for fun, 3 casinos.'"
By way of towleroad
Aug 16, 2009
Thankfully, Julie offered to drive, since my parallel parking skills are notoriously bad. On the way to the restaurant we took a bit of a detour, by accident, and I caught glimpse of a fabulous ass parading down the sidewalk in coochie cutters and a baby blue tube top. She was walking far too well in high heels to be a biological woman. I could tell that much.
Surely enough, when she turned around to flirt, I could see the adam's apple gleaming in the street light. Trailing behind her were two young thug types, practically panting. Can't say I blame them. She had it going on.
(actual dining room)
It was a four course meal of Julia-inspired dishes. We all had the Veal Orloff, which I'd never had before. I had heard of it centuries ago, by way of Julia herself no doubt, but never had had it.
(not a very accurate approximation at all)
It was wonderful, much better looking than this. Most of us had crepes with cheese and ham as the appetizer. Marhsall and Julie had the liver mousse, which was described as "like wet cat food" more than once.
Oddly, that didn't seem to be a complaint. I had a salad of butter lettuce and a lemon/almond tart for dessert.
All in all, a lovely meal.
As an added treat, we got to see local part-time resident Harry Shearer on his way out of the restaurant.
(as I would have liked him to look, but he didn't)
Julie had parked in a dubious parking spot, but near a fabulous trove of trash. I couldn't help but get excited. As I've mentioned before, I'm an inveterate trash thief. When I got a bit too excited, she had to calm me down with a stern warning, "I'm not letting you get fleas in my car!" So I didn't pick up anything...well, much.
There was a black tuxedo jacket on the top of the boxes, a mildewed print, a few dogeared copies of Details, some gold bullion fringe, a pair of thigh high leatherette boots, lots of bamboo, some sequins, a bulletin board with photos of various young men mugging for the camera....and strewn all over the ground were pages of very mediocre Czech porn.
I'm no Hercule Poirot or anything, but it looked to me like some young gayling had been evicted from his garret apartment and all of his fabulousness was now out on the street. Sad, but nothing one hasn't seen before.
Aug 15, 2009
"When “forgetting” to wear a shirt under your T.J. Maxx motorcycle
jacket has failed you, one surefire way to get attention is to be literally the
largest thing in the room, so no matter how hard everyone tries, they just can’t
ignore you. You may have singlehandedly destroyed the ozone layer with the
amount of hairspray it took to achieve this feat, but when your gravitational
pull causes the birth of an entire new solar system orbiting around your giant
hair, people will get over it."
Pretty redheaded male models stolen from Morphosis by way of Jill's fabulous Stella's Roar
Vagina bike taxi from Finland
Stolen from the ever wonderful sturle
Aug 13, 2009
1.I'm shameless thief: that quote up there, blog ideas, pictures online, stuff from the trash, cast off boyfriends. My dumpster diving is legendary. Add to this two other related traits: I'm cheap and I'm poor.
2.I'm ornery. I don't often follow these meme rules, or any rules, but then I'm ornery enough to follow them to the letter every now and then, just to keep you on your toes.
3.I'm a killer. (Ok, maybe it was only squirrel hunting, but I have a gun, and I can use it...well, sorta). Remember, as I've mentioned here before, I have an entire branch of family in jail currently.
4.I'm envious. I envy other people's houses, their style, their blogs, their writing skills, and especially their relationships....the list goes on and on and on.
5.I'm insecure enough to desire flattery and attention. I'm a leo, what can I say?
6.I'm still a bit naive, though I prefer to think of it as "idealistic." See multiple examples filed under "dating".
7.I have the musical tastes of a 60 year old black woman, which actually works out perfectly.
Aug 10, 2009
Aug 9, 2009
I signed up to Twitter a while back because one of my regularly read blogs (Michael's wonderful Pipedreams) sort of went to an all twitterific format a while back, and I wanted to keep abreast of his wit. It's addictive.
He also writes some of the best twitter comments I've read, by the way, (even if half of them I don't quite understand).
Then, of course, more and more of my friends went to twittering....and well, one has to keep up, I suppose.
But it's hard.
The trouble is, that I never quite know what to twit.
I freeze up.
The point of twitter is to keep it short and current, and that's never been my forte, especially the short part. So mostly I'm a twitter voyeur.
Every time I'm tempted to put something up there, I hesitate. I can't think of anything witty. And it's never succinct, and my mundane life seems even more mundane than most.
What am I going to write? "In bed, reading twitters from wittier people than I. Eating too many Pepperidge Far..."
And then the letter limit will probably cut me off.
I mean even here I've wasted how many characters? just to tell you all that I have nothing to say. It's hopeless.
Aug 8, 2009
Just got back from seeing "Julie and Julia" with Julie, Carlos and Marshall. I can't say I liked the movie really. It was pretty much a snooze, but let's focus on the good parts, shall we?
1. food porn.
2. Meryl as Julia. Perfect.
3. Stanley Tucci. Oh my goodness. Bon Appetit indeed. Of course, I've bored you all at least twice before with my crush on this man, but I can't help it.
Ok, so that's all I got, sorry....except some gratuitous pictures.
Aug 6, 2009
Aug 5, 2009
I think I've developed a little crush on Sofie Allsop from the HGTV's The Unsellables.
I usually hate these real estate shows. They're like being trapped in a chastity belt and watching porn, but I find myself watching this one, just for her and that accent.
Add to that the news that she "has a degree in medieval history from Edinburgh University" and I'm all starry eyed.
Here's the only clip I could find of her talking (all too little), alas.
Aug 4, 2009
but you have to keep in mind some of the challenges I faced when I first moved in:
Nothing can be bigger or wider than 24 inches….(the width of the stairwell)
No holes may be put in walls (as per lease)
No walls may be painted (as per lease)
Everything must be portable. (as per Katrina)
Curtains must be at least 99 inches long.
Entrance to horrible kitchen must be covered somehow
Two ghastly 1970s window units must be dealt with
Irremovable ugly “ye olde colonial” “chandelier” must also be dealt with somehow
Bathroom is 5 feet by 5 feet (handy for using the toilet and washing your hands at the same time)
All items must be purchased in the few stores open post-Katrina.
(in which at least three separate salesmen told me that any furniture I bought "would take a minimum of a month or longer to arrive.")
You must purchase :
1. a bed,
2. box spring and mattress,
3. bedding, comforter, sheets,
6. a dining table and chairs,
8. a sofa,
9. a coffee table, and side tables,
10. a television,
11. microwave, toaster, pots, pans, cutlery,
12. dress 7 windows,
Oh, and all four rooms must be furnished for under 1500 dollars and within three weeks.
Aug 3, 2009
"But how do you know you're gay? Why don't you just try women?"
(trans. Let's get back to me.)
Gay single male friend:
"Just give up. Puh-lease. It's all hopeless."
(trans. just get drunk.)
Single female friend who's found God:
"I think it's just not in God's plan. Maybe He wants something else for you."
(trans. God hates fags?)
Straight female friend in unhappy relationship:
"But how do you know you're gay? Why don't you just try women?
(trans. you could marry me!)
Straight married male friend:
(trans.: Gee, I've never not been in a happy relationship or rejected. Sorry. Sounds bad.)
Apparently this post from two years ago or so brings more folks here than just about any other.
Though I'm kind of happy about that, since it's one of my favorite songs of the 21st century. I guess it's taken only five or so years to get any interest.
Or maybe there's a retro-electroclash movement going on I don't know about. Who knows. Either way, it's a great song.
Aug 2, 2009
Petrolane, 1352 Jefferson Highway
from the wonderful reginonal modernism photostream.