Jun 30, 2010
Jun 29, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Jun 28, 2010
The soundtrack to The Runaways, which I'd really liked when I first saw it.
I dare you not to buy this. Come on, I dare you.
"America's Greatest Hits", for my trip.
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.
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.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 26, 2010
with whom we first taught. They'd all left the profession in one way or another.
Here are their fates so far:
Now a nanny (Spanish)*
Principal (11th grade English)
Fired for pedophilia (History)
Retiring, now a housewife (Algebra)
Nervous breakdown from the stress (11 grade English)Disappeared without a trace (Spanish)
Arrested for choking a student (Music)
Mental breakdown from the stress/ current suicide watch (French)Dead of heart attack (high school math)
Dead of heart attack (Biology)
Dead of drug overdose (Algebra)
Dropped dead in class (Middle school math)
So, I'm just about the last one standing it seems.
Wonder how it'll happen for me? I'm thinking it's dropping dead in class while choking a student.
Jun 25, 2010
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"
Jun 24, 2010
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.
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 starsCzech 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
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.
Jun 23, 2010
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.
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 20, 2010
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."
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. )
Jun 17, 2010
The other night at the casino buffet, my mother, indignantly telling me something about one of my cousins and his latest arrest, gesticulated a bit too wildly, and knocked over her glass of tea.
A bit of it splashed on the old man seated alone next to us, earnestly eating his boiled shrimp. My mother apologized profusely....
And an hour or so later, she and I were still spellbound by him.
If you scratch the surface of just about anyone, there's a story. Sometimes you don't even have to scratch.
"I'm ninety five!" he announced proudly, the way little children do upon meeting someone new.
He'd come up to the casino from his home down near the mouth of the river because "I just need to get out sometime, you know?"
I do know.
He lives alone down there. His children (all in their seventies and sixties) have migrated up the river to the suburbs. His wife died a decade or so ago. His daughter had brought him up and dropped him off at the casino so he could hear some zydeco that night. "Ooo cher, I just love me some dancin!"
Inevitably, around here, every conversation drifts to Katrina. It's a touchstone.
With him it didn't take long.
He stayed, against his children's' protestations. As we ate boiled shrimp and potatoes, he cheerfully told us a harrowing tale of when the hurricane passed over the mouth of the river.
Some friends of his and he had hunkered in an old building that had served them as a bunker in Hurricanes Betsy and Camille. They assumed it would be the same. "It wasn't nothin but a cement box. One door in. One door out," he explained. "I didn't want to go in there, but what could you do?"
Eventually, the water came into the building...rapidly.....the water was coming over the levees....and they were forced out into the unknown. Somehow with great difficulty, he and the others managed to get themselves to a pickup truck, which was floating in the currents.
He grabbed onto the back bumper and struggled to hold on for what seemed like an eternity in the night. "One time I tol' em, 'I can't make it. I can't hold on no more.'" But his friends kept him from letting go. One of his younger friends did die that night.
He lost everything that night: his shrimp boat, his house, everything, nearly his life, but he survived. Eventually the coastguard found them, and he was relocated to Abbeville where some nice old cajun woman cooked for them. I think he must fell in love a bit with her or at least her cooking.
"Ooo lawd, it was good!"
Again, despite his children's protestations, he moved back down to lower Plaquemines, where he still lives now. "I paddle my pirogue every day." "Them doctors tell me I ain't got nothing wrong with me. Don't need no medicine at all, no high blood pressure, no nothing." He catches minnows to sell to fishermen. He lives in a little trailer. He paddles his pirogue every day. He comes up every now and then to visit the casino. He dances whenever he gets the chance.
He's happier than most people I've ever met.
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
Then close the valves of her attention
Jun 16, 2010
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.
Jun 14, 2010
The other day while at the library, I checked out some cds. I'm poor like that.
One looked particularly lonely sitting there, an orphan, with a rubber band around its broken jewelcase. I think it was called Time Life's AM Classics: Volume 204 or something like that.
In a month or so, we'll be going out to sunny Florida again, somewhere near Destin I believe.
I'm praying the oil won't beat us, but even if it does, it only seems right to show our solidarity with our brothers and sisters in disaster.
Trips to Florida always demand a certain type of music: Seventies Lite rock. It seems to be the official music of Florida...in my mind at least
Somewhere, I suppose, in the back of my mind, I'm assembling a playlist.
This poor rubberbanded cd had some gems that had been clearly overlooked on Volumes 1-203. There were a number of things I couldn't even bear listening to
(i.e. an atrocity called "Gimme Dat Ding by the Pipkins)...but more than a few that were lovely to hear again ( i.e. Ambrosia's "How Much I Feel")
Of course the classic Going-to-the-Beach-in-Florida song to me is :
Doesn't it make you feel like you're at the beach, sunburned but happy, red Popsicles staining your little tongue....smelling the pot your mother's semi professional macrame-ist cousin is smoking on the deck?
Maybe it's just me.
But, anyway, that's not what this post is about.
This post is about this song, which I'd never heard before. Even better is the homemade video someone made to go with it. It's just as good
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 10, 2010
You try to paint yourself a (botched up) Titian (and giggle at the name)...and begin a love affair with him that still lasts.
Jun 9, 2010
He's an acupuncturist.
We went with her neighbor, who is a client of his.
My mother has no fear of the needles.
"Oh...uh uh...I'm not taking any kind of that weird Chinese herbs stuff! I don't want anything like that in my system. Nooooo!" exclaims the woman with a methadone prescription.
Of course she also once had a major freak out when I was in my 20s and she found a bottle of St. Johns Wort in my cabinet.
Jun 8, 2010
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?
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.
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?
Jun 6, 2010
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.
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.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 4, 2010
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.
Anyway, she also informed me that I'd been a member of the Praetorian Guard in Ancient Rome.
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....
"Yeah, that's it!"
Otherwise she recommended I go to "more gallery openings" and to "get out more"...and recommended a few books.
Some of what she told me gave me some clarity, but not much.
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.
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.
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?