Are You Interested?

Not to brag or anything, but Facebook's handy dandy "Are You Interested" feature for the pathetic and desperate* lets me* know that :

"Clarence", here,

"40 in Plain Dealing, LA is interested in YOU!"

Such a dilemma.
I mean, which do I click?

Yes (anonymous)
Yes (let them know)
Skip

Why isn't there an "all of the above" button?

"Will it mix with Dr. Pepper?"

Today, being rainy and miserable, I stayed in and watched one of my favorite movies of all time,
Auntie Mame. Did I mention I was gay? I don't know if you caught that or not.
Anyway, this is not about the movie. I'm sure you've all seen it, and if you haven't, why are you reading this and not watching it now?
I mean seriously?

No, this post is about me, dammit. Me!
Namely, one of my great fantasies....to be able to redecorate according to my whims, or to signal new life changes. Of course I live in an apartment about the size of Agnes Gooch's bathroom, so that's a bit difficult, but still it's a dream.



The chinese-ish early decor, slightly scary. Actually, I have a screen very much like hers here.

I love this sofa of hers, though it's hard to see. What I like most is her mix of old and new.

I also love how her costumes mirror the decor. One day, I'd like to achieve that too. Maybe I'll reupholster in worn, stained t-shirt material.

After her adoption of little Patrick, things get much more sedate. I love this look, especially those purple lamps..and I kind of hate purple. Go figure. It's kind of a 50s idea of Art Deco.

Mame's bedroom, not my favorite, but I love that headboard.

This is her classical phase. It's nice, but let's talk about Brian O' Bannion here.
Yowza. Even as a little kid my hormones perked up when he and his brogue appeared on screen.

The famous scene when she entertains the Upsons. And she's gone all avant garde.

Jul Ullu's (sp?) moving furniture. The furniture is not my favorite here, but I love this scene.

So funny. And shows perfectly how the decor moves the plot along.

At the end, she's redecorated in a sort of Buddhist/Shangri-La theme. This looks like it could be in a magazine today, doesn't it?

Anyway, that's one of my fantasies, being able to redecorate the way Mame does.

As it is, I do change up the throw pillows every couple of months.

This month, they're green.

thought for the day

*this picture just never fails to cheer me up.

thrift

I just got back from another trip to the thrift store. Among my purchases were these:

The soundtrack to The Runaways, which I'd really liked when I first saw it.

$2.00

This:

$2.00
I dare you not to buy this. Come on, I dare you.


"America's Greatest Hits", for my trip.
($1.25)
I've already mentioned down there how Lite Rock and Florida go hand in hand (in the sunset...on the beach) in my mind.


I think I love this song of theirs most.

(By the way, I'd never realized this line until I'd really listened:
"Sorry boy, but I've been hit by purple rain"
I wonder if Prince stole the idea from them. Wouldn't doubt it. Oh, also, speaking of Prince, what did I see there but a girl in raspberry beret. No kidding. Short shorts and a beret? Who wears that?)

Lastly, a black trench coat (London Fog). Like I said, it's like 2000 degrees around here, but it was pristine, in perfect condition ....and only 10 dollars. Now that I'm looking at it, it seems too big, but whatever...it was 10 dollars and in perfect condition. On my way to the register I'm thinking, "Now, really, when will I ever need a trench coat?" and almost put it up.

Then...like clockwork, the New-Orleans-after-noon monsoon came. It came down hard. In a few minutes we were all flooded in, huddled at the exit. The electricity went off for a short time. Eventually, (because I really had to pee) I decided to brave it. I put on my new too long trench coat over my shorts, t-shirt and sandals and ran out into the blinding rain, water up to my calves.


Now I'm home drying off, listening to this ^, ok, so maybe trying to listen. and hoping the power would please just go out again. god.

crush

Tonight I went to the newly reopened The Theatres at Canal Place . They've been reopened for a while, but I hadn't been there yet.
I have to say the whole experience was a bit much. Nice, but a bit much. Gone are the toilets that don't flush and the popcorn salt shakers you put on yourself. Now there are (what I like to think of as) stewardesses with iphone like pads instead of paper who take your martini order and bring out tapas in the middle of the film.

Actually, the whole process very like being in a posh airport lounge, the theater being the plane. Except you don't get to go anywhere. The chairs are nice, however.

Anyway, that's not what this post is about. It's about Rebecca Hall.
I saw Please Give, about which I knew nothing, except that Catherine Keener was in it, and it featured lots of midcentury modern furniture. That was enough to get me there....shelling out big bucks to sit in the airport lounge and eat a 13 dollar Manchego cheese flatbread.

The movie was actually pretty good. I think the less you know about a movie the better it usually is. That's probably true of life too, but what do I know.

But let me get back to Rebecca Hall. I'd first seen her in Vicki Cristina Barcelona and loved her there too. She was clearly the plain underdog in that movie, up against Penelope and Scarlett, but that's what I liked about her most. She plays another wall-flower type here, but it's not quite typecasting, I don't think.
I always root for the underdog.

Anyway, I can't figure out what I like about her, but I just do.

just cause

"oh, that crazy indian!"

thought for the day

r.i.p.

arcane westbankering

As a born and bred Wanker, I can't help but love this*(filmed next to my childhood subdivision).

*the very definition of "something only a weirdo like Jason would care about"

Boring list of things done in the past 24 hours

So, it's exactly a month today to my next birthday. Feeling a bit blue, I decided to just loaf around today. By the way, I'm constantly amazed at how many people of working age you see about on a Thursday at 2 in the afternoon, just doing nothing. What's the deal? I mean, really?

Anyway, here's a boring list of boring things done in the last 24 hours or so....randomly ordered:

1.Watched part of Terms of Endearment which I'd never seen. How'd that happen? Wondered to myself: "where is Debra Winger now anyway?
What happened? She was so great."
Too lazy to find out.

2. Left the movie playing to have a bloody Mary with Dave (by which I mean I had a bloody Mary, and he had a much less embarrassing beer).

3.Got told by a drunk, hand on my arm: "I got laid more in shtrait bars than in the fag bars." Thankfully, we were at a fag bar.

4. Left.

5. Got lost in the quarter at eleven, looking for where I had parked my car. Passed it three times. I spooked a homeless man by walking past him too often.

6. Got up early and took a walk in the 2,000 degree heat to get an iced
coffee. Saw a group of Bel Ami-porn stars Czech exchange
students nestled together there in a circle, earnestly watching the World Cup on
a laptop. I could only tell they were Czech, by the flag on one of their shirts. I looked it up. Debra Winger's career can
wait.
I didn't get a photo of the boys, but I did of these houses on
the way back to the car. Sorry.



7.Petted some neighbor's cat. Her right ear is split about 3 fourths the way down,
I notice. I wonder what happened? She has no collar, but is well fed. She's
aggressively affectionate. Rushes up from under the house to greet me
whenever we meet.


8. Went to the library. Got caught in yet another
flooding New Orleans noontime rain. Since I couldn't leave, I stayed inside and
read a few short stories: Raymond Carver.



9. Checked out Pam Grier's new autobiography:

Read the best part, about her finding out from her doctor that she
had cocaine residue in her vagina when she was dating Richard Pryor.

10. Got distracted from my reading. At the table across from me was yet
another eastern European youngster (what's the
deal?). This one Russian, chatting by Skype with what looked
like his girlfriend...or hopefully, his sister (not a great looker,
she....sorry, but true.)

11. Went to the Dollar General. Was asked if I worked there. Always flattering. Got a deal on some Mexican pots (That sentence would sound so much cooler without that "s" on it wouldn't it? But then when have I ever been cool?)

12. Planted some Salvia (which I misread as Saliva, but still bought)

13. Went to Target. Bought a diet coke and a cookie.

14. Went to Chik-Fil-A, chatted with a former student who works there.

15. Came home, finished watching Terms of Endearment (I won't even mention
why I'm watching it....I'm embarrassed), but it's pretty good, actually. Had a
bit of a cry, but not much. Yes, it's true.

16. Saw a double rainbow,first in years.

voodoo drums (part 4)

Tonight, on my way to Whole Foods, I happened upon a whole bunch of white people dressed in white.
No, it wasn't a KKK rally, it was the annual St. John's Eve voodoo ceremony. I walked over and took a picture before the crowd came.
I didn't linger, since the double fudge cookies were calling, but I've been every other year I've lived here in the hood. Apparently, I live in a hotbed of voodoo tradition.

I quickly snapped this photo. (See, white white white)

I did not take this video, by the way...but it's nice to hear the drums.

just so you know

If I see or hear the word "Kardashian" ever again, I may just have to kill one.

(see how klever I am, I used a "k"?)

Anyway, if you need me, I'll be loading my gun.


(by the way, I refuse to file this under the "celebrities" tag)

thought for the day

Suburban New Orleans: two haiku

In line, McDonalds,
dainty Vietnamese girl
on Iphone with friend:


"Shit, where y'all be at?
Bitches agga-vatin' me."
(violent teeth suck)

thought for the day

Father's Day and the City

Today Carlos and I saw Sex and the City 2 (Electric Boogaloo). It was his second time.

You can imagine how packed it was for father's day. I'm surprised we could even get a ticket. *(insert sarcasm here)

The movie was, well, a dog. In its defense, after the first part (that gay wedding! I mean really, wtf? Even a Deus Ex Minelli couldn't save that), it did get a tiny bit better.
But..uh...that's not saying much.

Actually, I think I might have suffered some ocular damage from compulsive eyerolling for 146 straight minutes.

I'd read this review a while back which summed it up perfectly:

"This is an entirely inappropriate length for what is essentially a home video of gay men playing with giant Barbie dolls."
rest here

Actually, I think that's why I decided to see it. Turns out, that's not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

(btw, I found this pic via here today after I noticed he'd (the owner) had started following my own little tumblr blog. I thought it was genius. )

thought for the (father's) day

thought for the day

I think Emily might be right*

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

*ahem

thought for the day

practice makes a mess

The other day, on a whim, being bored, I bought some small cheap canvases (5 dollars for 3).
I haven't painted anything in so long, I need to get back into practice. I'm horrified at how bad I've gotten. This one here is product of my past few three hours'. I need to work some more on it, but I need to leave it alone first. The acrylics are frustrating to work with, but so much cleaner than oil.
Note the really nice old frame I bought for two dollars (!) at Goodwill.
Good solid wood too.

Anyway, the past few days I've done a few small practice paintings like this, men's faces, because they're something I've never painted before. You all know how I love a naked woman.
Some are of people I know, some, (like this boy with a rose tattoo), alas, whom I don't.

The Feast day of St. Paul of the Lynde

I'm a bit late, but I'm decorating the Center Square now.
How will you celebrate?


Thanks to post apocalyptic bohemian for reminding us all

overheard: 8 pm (last night)

Guest to host:

"What they call that in Vietmuhnese? You know, that fruit? They white, and they serve it on a branch? Oh, and they be tastin' like cum? No, I mean it. I ain't shittin'! "

Vietnamese host:

"...."

Guest:

"I think they call it 'knock knock' or something like that? What they call that? I want to get some more."

Host:

"...."

Me: "uh...so. What's this we're watching again, Wall-e? Is it good...."

thought for the day

bad pictures from a boring walk

As a variation for my exercise I took a walk by the lake this evening. I was going out near there anyway for a party.

Bad picture number one. It was very hot and humid and had just rained.

I'm talking New-Orleans-in-August-hot.

But in June.

There are very few people out there. It's a shame. I guess it's still recovering post Katrina or something....only a few people fishing and crabbing, but not like it once was.

You can barely make out the sailboats in the distance.

Tara, from the levee.

One of the old shelters. The delicious smell of boiling crawfish (and the desperate need to pee) lured me here. I was thwarted in both. I happened on a family get together and a locked bathroom door (no number two-ing allowed there, bud).

Though I'm sure the family would probably have let me have some of their crawfish....probably wouldn't have minded me peeing in the bushes either,

I kept walking

Lastly, I found myself at the Vietnamese church. Isn't it festive? Note the watermark on the gate. Then my camera's battery went dead, or maybe, like me, it just passed out from the humidity.

Power

I almost wish youtube didn't put the artist's name on the video, because I wonder if
it would be obvious.

From my 16 year old closet again

What do you do when you're a bored sexually frustrated 16 year old gay boy in the suburbs with a love of naked women and no money?

You try to paint yourself a (botched up) Titian (and giggle at the name)...and begin a love affair with him that still lasts.

what do these guys have in common?

Don't cheat by going here
I said, don't cheat.

Sheesh.

rerun rear window

I have long wondered about my neighbors to the rear. The kitchen is all of twenty feet from my head now. I can see directly into the bathroom (which has never been used from my experience) and the kitchen, which often is, always at odd hours.
Occasionally I've seen the resident. He always seems to forget to close the microwave. It annoys me. I want to reach over and shut it.
Yes, I'm a sick man, but then you know this already.

"Voyeur" is such an ugly word, isn't it? I mean just because it's French and all, doesn't make it any better.
I'm just curious about people, that's all. Is that so wrong?
(Don't answer)

Anyway, if you don't want people looking in, get some freaking curtains, people!
Hell, I have two separate sets of blinds, curtains and brown paper on my windows.

Besides, I don't look often, only every now and then, and it's even less frequently that I ever see anyone there anyway.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...

Despite this, I've seen enough of the occupants to construct a fantasy life for them. Not that this is that special. I can do this for someone I'm behind in the grocery checkout line.

One half of the couple is an early twenty-something blond boy. He's of medium height and of a slightly slender wrestler's build. The other is a taller, dark-haired boy of about the same age, but thinner.

The blond I see fairly often. The brunet not so much. I imagine them to be waiters at one of the nicer restaurants. That would explain the odd hours. I've long speculated that they are gay.

There are clues: the full range of organic Australian hair products on the bathroom window sill, the well equipped and decorated kitchen, the curtains.

But this is just circumstantial evidence, I know.

Tonight, out of boredom, I peek through the double set of blinds and catch sight of them cooking. The two of them are together in the kitchen. The window is open in fact, letting out the heat. The blond is cooking. The brunet is having a drink.

Of course I watch.

The brunet downs another swallow of what seems like a margarita. (God, I'd love a margarita right about now, in fact). He says something animatedly. The blond is stirring a pot. Then the brunet clutches at his t-shirt, as if grabbing imaginary pearls.

Ding ding ding.

A few minutes later the blond (in a sleeveless shirt, by the way...ding) steps away from the pot for a drink of his own, and the two of them share a very quick hug.
Ding Ding Ding DONG.
Game over.

I think that question is pretty well settled now...and somehow suddenly, I have less interest now in spying.

I go back to eating my sad little drive-through hamburger alone.

Where's Grace Kelly when you need her? Or, hell, Thelma Ritter?

name dropping and radish eating

Tonight I went to a birthday party for a twenty two year old.

We were crammed into a tiny little suburban apartment doing karaoke to Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack.
Let me tell you, I killed on the Roberta, baby, but you knew that already, right?
But there was nothing to eat there but chicken wings and radishes.
Wtf?
That ain't right.

Too hungry and too sober, we ended up much later at some gay bar drinking "Peanut butter and jelly" shots (I still don't even know what that is) eating eating burgers at 4 am.

I mean really, who the hell has a party and serves radishes??
But I digress...

Dennis, his friends Corey and Arthur and I made our escape from the radishes early with the excuse of seeing Barbara Lynn at Rock n Bowl:





We didn't get to see much of her show, but we did get to meet Irma Thomas. We also saw Mr. Helen Mirren (Taylor Hackford) himself, but then nothing as exciting as Irma.

The crowd was very small, but as always there, filled with white straight people.
I'm talking painfully white and painfully straight.


Being bored, Dennis and I immediately scoped the place out for any possible gays.
We could only find one. The hottest, gayest one was the one
right next to me.
"Look at that one right next to you, the one in the green," Dennis tells me.

And with a bit of consultation, we realized it was none other than Peter Sarsgaard himself.




Yes indeed.

"good morning, time to get up!"

"How about seasonal gourds?"

too wrong...too funny.


by way of sissydude

Miss Cleo speaks

I went down to the psychic's house in the ever reliable New Orleans-in-June noon rain. I got there early, so I took an impromptu tour of the Ninth Ward. I hadn't been down there in a year or so.

I noticed a new Waffle House in Chalmette.
That probably is the best news of the entire experience.

She couldn't have been friendlier. She seemed relieved that I didn't have questions about demonic possession or foreclosure, and only was asking for boring old "romantic" advice.
She was genuinely thrilled about that.

She told me all about some of her other clients, many of whom are really just "plain crazy", and how she can spot them. She seemed to have a really level head.
The gist of what she told me was that I ought to be concentrating on my career right now, whatever my "career" is. She wasn't quite sure how that should play itself out, but she encouraged writing.
Bo-ring.
Anyway, she also informed me that I'd been a member of the Praetorian Guard in Ancient Rome.
Mmm...hmm
Yeah.

Her: "That's where you get your being so methodical from. It's a carry over from when you were in th Pppp Guard, in Rome....
Me: "Praetorian?"
"Yeah, that's it!"

Otherwise she recommended I go to "more gallery openings" and to "get out more"...and recommended a few books.
Bo-ring.

Some of what she told me gave me some clarity, but not much.

Thankfully I didn't have terribly high hopes. She spent an hour and a half chatting with me while it poured outside, but only charged me for 30 minutes, which I thought was really nice.

Actually, she seemed like she'd have been happy for me to hang around longer, but I really had to pee and I didn't want to impose on her to use her bathroom.

Afterwards I went with Dennis and some of his friends to Phillip's for their gay happy hour. I needed a drink. It's full of college-age gays....and only a few older people.
Of these, whom do I see there?

None other than this guy who'd sort of stood me up a while back.
wtf?
I hid behind the post.
He was there with a friend of his, whom I had met before Katrina no less...someone who once told me I had a westbank accent.
Assholes!

Anyway, they're probably both right, but I don't want to hear it.

I had three drinks (made with some sort of sweet tea vodka) and left.

This is why I should probably never go out. This is why I should probably move from this terrible place.

The psychic, however, says I won't.
She's probably right about that. Hell, maybe I was a member of the Praetorian Guard too. What do I know?

Rue

God bless her....she's still bringing me joy.

by way of dlisted, of course

I'm a flake

So, tomorrow I'm going to see a psychic.
Yes, I'm that kind of person, I suppose.
Horrifying.

I saw one once before, right after Katrina. I needed some guidance after losing everything.
She was also an astrologer. She was so nice and friendly and only charged me half the amount she normally did.

She didn't seem to predict anything that's come true......but in retrospect, maybe some of it did. I've been wondering about that for the past year actually.

She did do a really good job of summing up my personality, and she knew her astrology. I know enough about the subject to see that she wasn't bullshitting me, so it wasn't completely a waste of money.

Some friends of mine went to this new psychic (the one I'll be going to tomorrow) a few months back, and at least one raved about her. The others (one a psychiatrist) were less impressed.
Hopefully she won't tell me anything bad. If she's really a psychic, she ought to be able to tell that I don't want to hear anything bad, right?

What's certain is that this time tomorrow I'll be shelling out my hard earned money to have someone listen to me. It's cheaper than therapy, that's how I figure it.

Hell, I need some hope around here...even if it's false...
even if I have to buy it myself

the post card post

The other day at the book fair, I found these old postcards. None of them had been sent. I wonder why? I'd seen similar ones in an antique store for much more. Each was about a dollar.
I love how every building is labeled on this one.



This one, was only 50 cents. Poor Baton Rouge.

These came together. I loved the one of the Blue Room. The Roosevelt is where we welcomed in
this past new year.

Today, at my local Goodwill, I found a frame for them, one from the 40s (?), it seems. So, in less than 10 minutes, and for one dollar. I have yet another thing cluttering up the wall of my kitchen.