book note

I just returned from the public library and re-checked out a book I had checked out a few weeks ago. It's Call Me by Your Name by Andre Aciman. I'd read about it at
Band of Thebes and it sounded interesting. I like Proust. Aciman is a Proust scholar. His novel is very Proustian.
(that's a lot of Proust for one post)
Anyway, I read a few chapters before having to return it. My two week allotment was up and I hadn't finished it. It's hard for me to read when reading is kind of my job.

Of course, I skimmed through it and read all of the dirty bits before I dropped it back in the slot.

I'm no fool.

But even the dirty bits are kind of Proustian. That's not a complaint, just a comment.
But I'm giving it a try again.
It's actually beautifully written, but a bit tough going at times, and sad in general.

It's about a young man and the affair he has with an older (24 or so) man, a guest of his parents'. It's set in the Italian Riviera sometime (I like to imagine) in the 80's. I'm not sure why.
Lord knows I can totally relate.
I know I spent many a summer on the Italian Riviera flirting with handsome literary types in their 20s. (In my mind)

Birmanie

I've been reading about what's happened in Burma (dammit, I'm going to call it by its rightful name, I don't care) and its history since the Cyclone hit, and it seems that "Myanmar" is but a name forced on it by an evil junta.
Plus, I've always liked that name "Burma" It reminds me of rubies...and Birmanie (how it was listed prettily on the French maps in my French textbooks)....oh, and Burma-shave signs along the highway.

I read in the paper that its junta keeps refusing to accept foreign aid
in the aftermath of the storm.

Anyway, it sounds eerily similar to our own goverment's refusal to accept foreign aid here during Katrina. Actually, the whole thing brings up bad memories for me.

I didn't know to whom to donate, but I knew it wouldn't be the Red Cross. They are nothing but corrupt and useless to those in need. I know this all too well.

I don't know if my money will make it to help the people there, but I donated anyway.
It only seems right.

easy, breezy, covergirl!

One of the many things I love about Gawker are the photos they occasionally choose for their Gawker Stalker section (like a tilde for Tilda Swinton, or a pair of silicone breasts for, well, that could serve for any number of people, couldn't it?)

Anyway, while there the other night, I noticed a photo of this person, on whom I've had something of a crush for the past five or so years (that's another clue by the way)
Can you guess who he is?

Hollywood!

This is a photo from my front door a few minutes ago.
I just got home a few minutes ago and snapped this photo. I didn't want to be too obvious, since there are lots of hollywood types around and I don't want to look like too much of a rube, you know.

Actually, even though I had to park a good ways away, my walk was made more pleasant by a number of cute men imported from...well, somewhere other than around here, that's for sure.

Some are set decorators. They're rummaging around boxes in the front of my home. A few look like extras, very cute extras, filling out forms on the curb. A few are caterers, they've pitched a tent across the street. The directors, lighting men, gaffers (whatever that is, I'm sure they're here) are all around too. I even see a lesbian script girl (or is that "person" walking by too.

I woke this morning to the sound of hammers and the hum of 18 wheelers. It was 5 am. By the time I left at 6:30, the street had been closed.
I got home to find that they seem to be filming in the house across the street. They've built a backdrop about 10 feet tall in front of the windows, with fake plants, presumably to give a natural look when filmed from inside. They've spot lit the other side of the house, to flood it with light. I suppose they're filming inside.

I have not, as of yet, seen any stars.

I have, however, figured out what the movie is. I had asked online, and was doubtful of the answer I received, but I now think I was told correctly.
There's a clue in the picture above. I'll give you a hint: "Miami Jail."


Oh, ok, here's the answer.

Read more here...with pictures!


(I did not, repeat, not, take this picture.)

Ok, if you'll all excuse me, I have some stalking to do:

front yard, back lot

Last week, I had actually completely forgotten about this past weekend being the second weekend of Jazzfest. I went to a movie with my friend (and neighbor) Velinda who asked me, "so, what are you going to do tomorrow?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, you won't be able to go home again, you know." She said.
"Tomorrow? You mean it's starting again tomorrow?" I say, peeved.
"Yes, I'm going out of town. I'll be having a facial." she says blithely.

Her school actually gave them four days off because of the parking situation. My school? No such luck.
But Friday I left a bit early, the weather was threatening and I figured that there might be a chance of my parking. I was optimistic. Surely no one will be out there in this sort of weather, at this time, right?

Thankfully, I had packed again just in case.
I got back home to find the same mayhem of meter maids, flurries of orange tickets, and hordes of birkenstock, hat wearing tourists. I had to get out.

So, I drove directly over the bridge, and spent the last weekend again with my mother. Again.
Despite the fact that she's not feeling well, she still managed to make me take her to nearly every retail establishment on the West bank. She's a trooper.
I, however, am not. I need a vacation.

I just got home now, and was miraculously able to park right in front of my apartment.
The last of the tourists were wandering by. I notice a sign tacked up on the tree in front of my front door.



Seems like there will be a film crew in the neighborhood. They've been before, but never this close. Literally on my front step. I walked about the neighborhood but noticed that my block, in fact, my building, is the only one with the signs.

Across the street, in the alley, guarded by a very bored looking security guard are some huge spot lights. I guess he'll be there all night?



While taking the picture, a gaggle of nurses fresh from the Jazzfest, giddily gathered around.
"Oh wow...look over here!!" the blond exclaims. "They're filming a movie!"
"I wonder what it is?" her brunette friend asks a bit drunkenly. "Something with Brad Pitt maybe?"
They all giggle.
"You ought to look that up online," another one says. "We could be extras!"
"But they don't need nurses." The brunette says disappointedly.
"We wouldn't have to be nurses in the film, silly." The blonde laughs.

I guess I'd better make some alternate plans for Tuesday, but I definitely will try to get home first. I want to see what it is. I hope it's a nursing movie, just to prove that snotty blonde wrong.

Random Thoughts of Disco

Frontier Psychiatrist reminds me that an affordable copy of "The Last Days of Disco" is still not readily available.
That's a shame.

I really only ever see movies in a theater, since I have neither VCR nor DVD player, so I've only seen it once, way back at the end of the last century, when it first came out.

It's amazing that I remember it at all. I do remember being excited about it, since it was among the first films to look at a period I actually fondly remembered (Middle school). I'd like to see it again, actually, but the best I can do is youtube. So here's a clip:



Chloe looks so lovely here, really, doesn't she? It's almost enough to make one forget that whole "The Brown Bunny" nastiness.

And Robert Sean Leonard...well, he's just dreamy.

I like that they got the transition from the 70's to the 80's almost right...the slight "hardening up" of the time. There seemed to be a distinct shift then in the atmosphere in my recollection, of people cutting hair, dressing more neatly, becoming more conservative, at least in looks.

Disco wasn't all polyester and platforms. It was really (in my mind at least) more Chic than KC and the Sunshine Band, if that makes any sense.

Anyway, in my very cursory searching of the Internet, I see that the film has an "official" website. Whatever that means.
You'll be treated to an never ending loop of what sounds like "Let's all Chant," which never quite climaxes. Typical.

Oh, random "Last Days of Disco" fact number 2 (or maybe 3?)
I remember about a year after the film came out, I was in a heated (delusional) email correspondence with a freshly minted English professor. I even drove up to Baton Rouge to meet him. He confessed quite needlessly his former ecstasy addiction, from which he had recovered, and his love of "bland spaces" (like BR) from which he was not, unfortunately, seeking recovery.

He was cute and a bit dour.

I made the mistake of mentioning a former friend of mine in his program and he freaked a bit, that he would be found out as a "gay."

Anyway, back to my oh-so random "point." His email address was something to the effect of "Loyal Scottie." I wondered if he were Scottish, or just some sort of dog fancier (which would have halted the correspondence right then and there, thank you very much. Sorry), so I asked...politely, of course.
Thankfully, he claimed that his friends had given him the nickname after a character in the film, the cute earnest one.

I never did do a fact check on that. I'd like to see the film again, just for that.

He met someone else "in the tomato aisle" and that was that.
Long story. Or maybe not.
ahem
Anyway, he was a wonderful writer, he was.

tourism

Friday morning, I thought ahead.
I've had two years' worth of experience, after all. Friday morning, I packed some clothes (just in case) and headed off to work. I came home around four, and surely enough, there was nowhere to park...nowhere...anywhere near my apartment...or even not nearby.

My neighborhood, and all adjacent neighborhoods were flooded with tourists' cars. It's the first weekend of the Jazz Fest. I couldn't afford to go, (50 dollars?), but even if I could, I wouldn't have been able to. I couldn't even get home.
I don't even really live that close to the fairgrounds. It's a good way away, but not far enough away to escape the parking problems.

Friday afternoon, as I had last year, I drove to my mother's and decided to spend a few hours there until the crowds dissipated. While there, however, the rains came torrentially, and I was flooded in. There was water in a few houses not too far off.
It's been raining all weekend. You'd think that would keep the crowds away, but it doesn't seem to have.

So what was supposed to be a few hours turned into the weekend, a "vacation," as it were, in the suburbs. It was one long endless trip to BigLots/Target/Dollar Tree, and lots of bad suburban food.

I've just gotten home now. The tourists are still wandering the neighborhood in the rain, looking for their cars.

Just to rub it in, I check my email before heading to bed and get this note from (my perpetually pessimistic) friend Mark:

When I was flying back to Toronto this morning, guess
who was in line in front of me to board the plane: Tim
Gunn of Project Runway.
He was sitting in seat 1A in business class,
was wearing a suit (dark with white stripe, but not
all that appealing, frankly). That was my only brush
with celebrity. Of course all the men of NYC ignored
me, not that there were all that many appealing ones
that I came into contact with. The most fascinating
one to me was one of the ushers at the Broadhurst
Theater. Will give you the full recap of the trip
later.

Tim Gunn!
Xanadu!
Just to rub it in further, here's the photo he sent, outside the theater after having seen it:

Bastard.

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, even Thelma Ritter?

"They can get you in East Hampton for wearing red shoes on a Thursday"

Thom of Fabulon graciously pointed me to (yet another) Grey Gardens fashion spread, this one from Harper's Bazaar.
(Thanks again!)

I've seen a number over the years. In fact, on the dvd, there are interviews, I believe, with both John Bartlett and (the ever lovable) Todd Oldham about its influence on their work.

The photos are by Terry Richardson, it seems, and are pretty good.
(I have to wonder however, if the Edies would have ever had such a plaid herculon couch. Somehow I doubt it.)

I like this one below. Aside from the nice replication of Little Edie's VMI dance, you can actually see the clothes. This is one of my pet peeves with fashion photography nowadays: I hate when you can't see the clothes clearly for all the tricky posing).

"Seven Dating Rules to Ditch"

Whenever I check my email, microsoft uses its infinite wisdom to hand pick articles that their robots have determined must be in my best interest. The one staring pathetically at me beneath my empty email box is titled
"Seven Dating Rules to Ditch." Here's a handy synopsis:

Rule #1: Never date a co-worker

"Obviously, there are plenty of good reasons to be cautious if you’ve fallen for someone you’ll be running into every day at the office coffee pot. But unless your company handbook forbids relationships between employees, there’s no reason why you should abandon any hope of romance..."

Hmmm...Not applicable to me , well, unless I wanted to date elderly religious fanatics perhaps.

Rule #2: Always wait for the third (or fourth... or fifth) date to have sex

"OK, so we’ve all heard a relationship is doomed if you sleep together too soon. But sometimes our feelings just get the best of us, and that doesn’t necessarily mean it will amount to nothing more than a fling. Rather than sticking to some rigid, “no sex until date six” rule, trust your gut and enjoy the moment if it feels right for both of you..."

I think she's probably on to something here, but I'm all I'm aiming for is a second date most of the time, let alone to "sleep together." Sheesh.

Rule #3: Rebound relationships never last

"Give yourself time, they always say. While it’s healthy to mourn a relationship’s passing, that doesn’t mean you should ignore anyone great you meet while you recoup. “Not all breakups are the same,” explains Brent Atkinson, Ph.D., of The Couples Clinic (www.thecouplesclinic.com), adding that some couples have mentally broken up months before things become official..."

Ok, I can see that this might be true. Still, I've never seen it happen in real life.

Rule #4: Never date a friend’s ex

"Your friends’ exes are usually off-limits when it comes to dating… but what if you felt a genuine connection with a friend’s old flame? This scenario can create a delicate situation for everyone involved, but according to Dennie Hughes, author of Dateworthy, there are ways to make it work. If you alert your pal to your feelings before acting on them, your friendship doesn’t necessarily need to suffer..."

I think the key is probably time. If your friend has moved on, it's probably fair game, but still...

Rule #5: Only date one person at a time

"Every so often, the stars align, and several new prospects come along at one time. But contrary to popular wisdom, you don’t have to settle for just one person. Hughes notes that playing the field is the smartest way to find what you’re really looking for....”

Finally a rule I can get completely behind. Eggs, baskets...you know the rest.

Rule #6: Wait for your date to say “I love you” first

"Saying the L-word for the first time is a huge turning point in any relationship, so it’s no wonder why most people say you should wait for your partner to take the lead..."

Another one I can get behind. All terribly hypothetical, of course.

Rule #7: Couples who are in love spend all their free time together

"One of the perks of being in a relationship is always having a standing date to do anything, from going dancing to washing your car. But that doesn’t mean you and your partner have to be joined at the hip. Spending time apart is actually a secret of happy couples, according to Hughes..."

Well, this one is just so obviously stupid, it has to be "broken." But then again, there are any number of people I've seen who've made that mistake, the mistake of spending all their free time together. This is something I wouldn't want to do ever, no matter what. As co dependent as I can be, even I know this is bad.

Anyway, what would you add, (other than not listening to dating advice at all) to this list?

Read the unabridged, full-of-anecdotal-evidence article by Lisa Cericola, the self proclaimed 'queen of rebound relationships' here