Apr 30, 2010
It's odd, but I'm more than a little embarrassed to admit my faith. I'd be less embarrassed to write about my sex life...but then there isn't any.
Truth be told, I'm a very idiosyncratic Catholic.
Actually I'm verging on paganism, as Catholicism is at its best, I think. Even more embarrassingly, there's a good admixture of "new agery" in there too. Good god, what a flake...but whatever. It works for me.
I've been fortunate enough to have completely agnostic parents. My mother hated the church. I don't think my father ever has set foot in one.
Had I been raised by religious people, I'd probably be a Satanist by now, or is that Satinist?
I've also been fortunate enough to meet some incredibly goodhearted and open minded nuns and priests, who've kept me from having a completely negative view of the church. Oh, it's negative all right, but just not completely soured...uh...yet.
Anyway, my "faith", if that's even the right word for it, is less Catholic than catholic, if you get my drift.
Way back in high school, I remember reading a short story by Henry James, "The Altar of the Dead". I really didn't much like the story, to tell you the truth. James can be painful to read, but still the story resonated with me and still does. I still don't like it, however. It doesn't really matter if I like a story. Somemtimes they still leave a mark, you know?
I often feel like the protagonist, who constantly lights candles for his dead friends. For me, some are dead, but most are not, and some are simply lost. But whatever the case I pray for them all.
Most of my friends, however, or at least a good number, are atheists...and I never know what to do. Is it proper etiquette to admit to praying for them? It seems rude of me. I still do it, of course, even if they don't know it. Sorry, I can't help it.
Prayer is no more bizarre to me than meditation, really just the same thing, so I figure even if it doesn't work, it can't hurt, right?
Apr 29, 2010
Tonight I went to see David Sedaris with Carlos, Marshall and Jason. I've been a fan of his for years, but then I'm hardly alone there. His reading was just as funny as you'd expect, but relaxed. I don't think I'd ever seen quite so many white people in my life.
Anyway, I don't know if you're like me. God, I hope you aren't. But I sometimes get in my head an obsession. You know, after reading about something in a book, I'll have to see it, or even eat it. That's how you find yourself trying to bake madeleines at
1 a.m. Oh, not a good idea to try to craft makeshift madeleine pans out of used aluminum foil either, just so you know.
Anyway, after reading about Hugh, David's partner, over and over, I became obsessed with finding a photo of him. It was well nigh impossible, but I'm not one to shy away from a challenge....and a while back I finally succeeded. (see above)
It's pretty cute too, I think. Now I can put a face to the stories, not that it really mattered after all.
Kinda hard to tell with the weed wafting over from the Jazz Fest but seems"A pungent fuel smell is wafting over much of the New Orleans area, and residents curious about its source have been jamming government phone lines for information"
Apr 28, 2010
"It takes 7 seconds for food to pass from mouth to stomach. A human hair can hold 3 kg. The length of the penis is three times the length of the thumb. The femur is as hard as concrete. A woman's heart beats faster than a man's. Women blink twice as much as men. We use 300 muscles just to keep our balance when we stand. The woman has read this entire text. The man is still looking at his thumb."
Apr 27, 2010
I'm making myself try to actually learn the lyrics, so I don't have to hum really loud faux "frawnch" in the car.
It's not working.
I think I might just get some gold eyeshadow and a rose instead.
Apr 25, 2010
2.Saw part of the World Trade Center, with a quote from George Bush, who apparently spoke fluent French in 2001.
3.Willingly let someone commandeer my camera to take photos of whatever he wanted. Apparently he wanted to take photos of lots of white boys.
4.Watched what seemed to be a pretty brazen hookup at the Sierra Club booth, between plaid boy one and plaid boy two. Maybe they'll both pretend to be lumberjacks.
5. Watched a "I'm gone be 76 year old" woman in a gold sequined dress belt out a song about "flipping it over" and hittin' it good" (I paraphrase)
She was hot.
9.Watched this hippy (above) and this hippy (below) watch a 76 year old woman sing about flipping it over and turning it out.
10.Decided Sarge here probably needed to be flipped over and turned out by a 76 year old black woman.
11.Watched Michael's friend manage to go from taking a distant photo of one (presumably) straight guy (below), to, getting him to take a picture with me (redacted), to, three or so hours later, upon reencountering him on the street, having a long, lingering conversation with him and getting a phone number (?).
12.Stepped back in awe of such skills.
13.Watched total strangers oblige and take a picture with a pervert (me)...for a bigger pervert(?) (him).
14.Watched Michael's friend's Grindr contact's live-streaming masturbation video minutes after seeing him on the street.
16.Was ambushed by wannabe performers, Guy in Pink Hat With Girls. The one in the white glasses was clearly the star. She gave an impromptu, very unasked for, miniature washboard performance on the curb. Even the washboard sounded like she'd been smoking.
17.Photographed model-in-his-own-head watching Capoeira. Every move he made was as if he were posing for a Calvin Klein ad, c. 1999.
18.Envied these tattoos that looked like nylon seams, but were not.
19.Feared gaining weight by simply coming into contact with huge bread bowls filled with crawfish and cream concoction.
20.Successfully avoided eating fried bacon on a toothpick, with shrimp somewhere inside.
21.Envied (?) a Burt Reynolds t-shirt on straight tourist from New Orleans, like me, only not.
22.Envied a K and B t-shirt on a gay tourist from New Orleans....like me, only better.
23.Fell victim to eating a mediocre meat pie.
24.Fell victim to Michael's evil plan: "So, how old do you think he is?" (he asks me, in regard to his friend). "Ummm...39? I said, tentatively rounding down.
The answer was 32 and there is no way out of that hole ever. Never.
25.Made clover chains while sitting in the grass, the idea of which seemed to spread. Gave mine to this adorable little girl.
Michael gave his little one to a full grown woman, who later asked to have his baby. Coincidence? I think not.
26. Watched as a "bear" stripper, stripped (counterintuitively)
starting out in skimpier underwear than he ended up.
27. Watched someone (Michael) eat chicken salad (on avocado) in a Mexican restaurant.
28.Failed miserably in resisting the lure of duck-fat fried fries with aioli.
30.Went to a gay bar which had switched up its regular gayzak to cajun music.
31.Learned by way of the very charming Dave the trick to two stepping: "Imagine your right foot is nailed to a plank on the floor" (I paraphrase)
33.Saw this French Canadian band live. 34. Moshed a bit...in French.
35. Vacated mosh pit when huge kilt wearing man bounded in, reaking of a "hummus"-like BO (as Michael maintains).
Apr 22, 2010
"Hey, ain't today Earth day!?"
(student, to teacher)
"Oooo! No kiddin?
I'm going to Popeyes!!!"
(other student suddenly, more excitedly)
"Girl, what dat gotta do wit de Eart?"
"Uh. I dunno...but I'm still goin' to Popeyes."
Apr 21, 2010
Our beloved Mean Dirty Pirate
reminded me of my (not so) sainted godmother, who would just have a absolute conniption every time my cousins and I would run off after an armadillo.
"Lord have mercy! Get away from that there. Right now! Y'all gone get the lepre from that maudit thing, I swear!"
She was convinced that we'd get leprosy from it. I think she thought it could spray leprosy out of some sort of anal gland, like a skunk...or a cobra or something.
Actually, I think there was an honest-to-God leper colony up somewhere near Baton Rouge, I remember reading about, on an old plantation. She had all the books on Father Damien. I remember reading one. She had a fascination with leprosy...and "Dark Shadows", oh, and The Weekly World News (always kept handy on the toilet tank). I miss her.
Ask the Cook Cookie at Doing Hard Time in Shaker Heights reminds me of something else from my past, equally as rare and scary as an armadillo, the hair curler.
Where, oh, where have they gone? Actually, I saw a woman a few weeks ago on the street...in curlers...classic pink ones of course. (My mother had pale jade nylon ones. Posh.)
I have to admit it warmed the cockles of my little heart to see her. I can't lie.
But I don't need to see that again any time soon, thank you.
Even as a young
queer boy, I remember being mortified by seeing women out in public in rollers, at the grocery, at a restaurant, everywhere.
I used to wonder, just what fabulous place IS she getting ready for then, if not the supermarket or the mall or dinner?
I mean really...it seemed like they were perpetually getting ready for some never-to-happen event. Perpetually waiting. Hopefully they'd have perfectly curled hair in the casket, but who knows.
This, I decided, even then, is no way to live a life.
Take out the curlers, goddammit...and catch an armadillo. That's how we should all be living life, right?
Apr 18, 2010
Anyway, the other day I went over again and took my sad little camera. I'm honestly the worst photographer in the world, but I do like to pretend to be a tourist sometimes, and then it becomes a handy prop.
I love the big old urns in the front of the building. They're identical. The only difference is that the one on the right is facing the opposite of the one on the left.
I was suprised to see a number of huge Joan Mitchells in the entrance hall. They really don't photograph well at all. In person they were wonderful.
The exhibit is one of African American art, this painting was one of my favorites (and the only one I could find a photo of online). It's kind of Matisse-y.
There were a number of really nice works there. I might go back again this week in fact, if I'm not dead tired after work on Wednesday. (the only day now that it's free, sadly, it seems.)
The dated looking side gate....very 1988 in my mind, but still kind of fun.
Apr 17, 2010
She's selling wigs and extentions, natch....
human hair...probably Solange's....in a newly renovated post Katrina strip mall, nestled between crack motels.
Sorry for the poor quality of this photo. I was lucky (?) enough to have the camera in my car while stopped at the light.
Apr 15, 2010
I'm hoping to get away next weekend to Lafayette, to visit my friend Michael, and the Festival International, during which the city is overrun with Francophones.
What I'll miss, however, is Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, (noted francophones, I'm sure) who are just fabulous. Love her. Love them.
Unfortunately, they're playing during the week, and as much as I'd be willing to play hookie, my recent illness dissuades me from taking off any more time.
Anyway, every time I type "Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings" I find my fingers being compelled to type "Sharon Stone and the Gap Band".
Apr 13, 2010
Call me 'cootuh'. Dat's what my friends call me. 'Hey, cootuh!'"
"Uh...'cause I don't want to. And I'm not your friend."
"Awww...come awn. Do it! Call me Cootuh!"
"Why do they call you that anyway?"
"Uh...I dunno. Dey juss do."
(her, still beaming)
"You should ask....now go sit down."
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 11, 2010
Pre-show there was even a raffle, like they'd do back in the 30s and 40s, or so the owner's son (who had to rush upstairs to turn on the film) said, when they'd give away dishes and the like. I won a dollar, which was nice, but I would have rathered some dishes.
Anyway....the movie left me with lots of food for thought, but I'll begin with the superficial.
That's probably for the best right now.
I'm going to try to leave dear old Audrey out of the post altogether, if that's possible, and focus on very random stuff I'd never noticed before.
1. Where, oh where does O.J. Berman (Holly's "agent") get such huge bed pillows. I wish I could have found a photo of them. His are huge and almost square. (insert too easy double entendre here). I have but a queen (insert even easier double entendre here) bed, but my little queen pillows float around on it like rafts on the Pacific.
Oh, and there were reclining beds in 1961?! Why don't we all have one by now....with jetpacks?
And he has a fabulous lamp, with a gilded sheaf of wheat base, much like this table, a twin of which I saw in an shop in Houston last year for an exorbitant amount of money (but still want)
2. Patricia Neal. Need I say more? I mean seriously. She's too fabulous. I want to be her when I grow up.
Or at least have her come and "decorate my apartment," if you know what I mean. ('cause I don't)
Of course, Audrey is the style icon and all, but I think Pat's clothes are every bit as stylish.
She is a very "stylish girl" after all.
3. Under Holly's bathtub settee,
I noticed one of my long standing wants, a zebra rug. I'd never noticed it before.
4. Lastly, George. Cute. I know, but honestly, I'd never really noticed before. He's not my "type", whatever the hell that means, but he was awfully cute. Even I have to admit.
My friend Mark up in Toronto, who keeps up on these things (you know: madams, New Orleans) more than I do sent me this this. The old brothel is practically in my hood.
I have to say, however, I'd want better decor in my brothel. I mean god bless her and all, but those Priscilla curtains are killing me.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but everytime that evil David Vitter sends me spam (how did his minions ever get my email?) I retrieve it from the junk folder and send it back with something like "resign!" or "diaper!" in the subject heading. I know it's a waste of time, but it's something.
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 9, 2010
Isn't it beautiful?
Pain perdu, however, is what we always called French toast around here.
Jellied Sheepshead, I think I'll pass on. We used to have abundance of sheepshead, however, back at the fishing camp. "Trash fish", my father always claimed. We never ate them.
Calas have been making a renaissance around here it seems. I had one not too long ago, but still am not a fan. Still, it's good to see it being resurrected.
But seriously, how can a recipe for Fried Chicken that begins with :
"Be sure to get a young chicken. It may be large; but it should not be more than six or eight months old" possibly be bad?