Lines from an unmade art film:

[Joshua, a successful New York journalist and photographer, has returned to the small town in New Mexico where he grew up in order to take care of his mother, Sarah, who recently suffered a stroke. Though he loves his mother, Joshua’s none too thrilled to be back in what he describes to his New York friends as “two blocks east of downtown Nowhere.” He expresses frustration at fact that the local grocery store doesn’t stock decent bagels, and the coffee selection at the local diner isn’t up to par. Yet one night, as he’s relaxing with Sarah on the back patio, watching a breathtakingly beautiful sunset, his mother makes a comment that changes his opinion of everything….]

SARAH: It’s ’cause of those big fires we’ve got such a pretty sunset this evening. You know, on the news the other night, they were talking about the fires and the trouble they cause, and they said that all that smoke can actually cause rain.

JOSHUA: I think you misunderstood them, Mom.

SARAH: It’s true. All that dust and soot gets bundled up, and it sticks together, and makes a cloud–an honest-to-god cloud, with lightning and thunder and everything! A pyrocumu-something or other. And that cloud can cause rain–sometimes enough rain to put out the very fire that caused it… Fires make tornadoes, too… It’s like the whole of nature’s mad about something. Like god’s angry, and he’s got to get down on his belly and kick and scream until it’s all out of him… People are like that, too. When there’s nothing to scream about anymore–good scream or bad scream–it’s no use to keep on living…

[Joshua exchanges a meaningful glance with his mother and reaches for her hand. They watch the sun quietly for a few seconds, then both begins screaming, each laughing and trying to outdo the other. Camera fades to black.]

In other news, I’m alone this weekend while someone‘s in the Apple. Who’s gonna take me out for drinks and keep me company?

You know those people, I’m sure you know those people, maybe you have five or six in your address book, people who can land anywhere, they could land in a bar on Mars and walk out knowing everyone’s life story. Friends who have this uncanny knack of fitting in. I’m in Jackson, Mississippi right now, to attend a wedding for one of those people, one of my best friends in the world, Lesley. We’ve drifted apart a little the past couple of years–thanks to a couple of houses, hers and ours, and my endlessly, needlessly busy work/theatre schedule–but I still think we’re pretty good buddies.

Anywhere, I’ve always admired Lesley for her ability to blend in, to make friends effortlessly. She’s got no pretenses, no time for bullshit, she’s down to earth, cuts to the chase. In short, she rocks.

Me, I’m not like her. Not even close. I’m generally hard to get to know. On occasion, certain people push buttons in me, and with them, I open up immediately, but most of the time, I’m not really good with the chit chat. I have no patience with it. I’m not good at making people feel comfortable. In fact, me, Little Miss Schadenfreude, I enjoy making people feel distinctly uncomfortable. watching them squirm. So there. I shouldn’t be let out of the house.

I’m a creep and Lesley’s not. That’s all I’m trying to say.

Boyfriend: I know you like tropical environments and I know you’re hankering for a vacation, but dude, we are so not going to Guatemala. At least, not to pick up trade.

Today I am a man.

I’ve just stepped out of a meeting–a meeting with four women–about a couple of events coming up. What started out as a fairly sensible meeting quickly devolved into a debate about the proper color of tablecloths and what sort of greeting services we should provide for our guests. Should we meet them and walk them to the venue? No, we want people to be free to move on if they’re ready. Should we provide maps? No, maps are too confusing. Will we need walkie-talkies? Well, maybe. Should we use the headphone attachments? And Shadrach begat Chaim and Chaim begat Asa and Asa begat Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Yadda infinitum. I walked out thinking, “Jeez, woman…”

Now, I know it’s not just women. In fact, I know a lot of men who really dig that kind of thing. But it’s not me. I hate the freakin’ details.

Fuck the kvetching and gimme a wrecking ball.

Fathers’ Day is pretty silly. We all know it’s just a big marketing gimmick driven driven by the seemingly innocuous greeting card industry. We all know it’s not a real holiday, since a real holiday would get us out of at least one day of work. And yet, we buy into it. Like, our parents making us feel guilty about not calling and not visiting isn’t enough, so now we need a full day designated to drive the point home, too.

That doesn’t mean I ignore the holiday. In fact, I thought a lot about Fathers’ Day yesterday. I get along really well with my father–I didn’t when I was younger, but I think we’ve both adapted. Despite some serious differences of personality, by-and-large, I’m becoming him. Unlike my mother, with whom I haven’t spoken in at least two years, my father and I talk all the time. Sometimes we even say “I love you.”

I thought a lot about my grandfather yesterday, too–my father’s father. Growing up, I was probably closer to my grandparents than mom and dad. My grandfather spoiled me rotten, and he taught me a lot, too. All that Little House on the Prairie fishing and hunting and wisdom stuff. It’s corny, but whatever. When he died my sophomore year in college, it was sudden: a heart attack in the middle of the night. He and my grandmother lived half an hour from the nearest hospital. He didn’t have a chance. Thinking of him now is enough to make my eyes water.

Of course, now I have a new father–a biological one. I don’t have any opinion of him. The closest I’ve ever gotten to him is his college graduation photo. I can only hope that he’s somewhere in Beirut, hoping to perhaps one day hear from his son.

And then there’s Jonno. He’s not nearly old enough to be my father, but he’s certainly my daddy: a man I love and who loves me back, without conditions or reservations.

Happy Fathers’ Day.

Design elements I have studiously shunned but which I am now beginning to appreciate and incorporate in Meaningful Ways:

• Arial
• Photoshop’s “lens flare” filter
• Times, Times Roman, New Times Roman
• The <hr> tag
• White text in black text boxes
• Courier

I guess I’m having a little Space 1999 moment. Shoot me now.

Today’s pet peeve: people who use the term “light year” as a unit of measurement for time rather than distance.

E.g.: “Girl, did you see the video booths at the new bath house? They are light years ahead of those dingy old firetraps at the bookstore.”

FOUR BOOKS I WOULD WRITE IF I EVER FOUND THE TIME

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Hun For All and All For Hun:
Tyranny That Works

Given our theoretically democratic political climate, we tend to revere stories of past leaders like Moses, Lincoln, Ghandi who took the time to listen to the wishes, concerns, and advice of their people. Might there not, however, be some admirable quality to be found in some of those autocrats we’re prone to vilify on the spot: Nero, George III, or perhaps Pol Pot? I mean, could Idi Amin have been all bad?

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Nancy Drew and the Case of the Funny Balloon

Nancy Drew and her pals George and Bess discover a strange, slimy balloon at the bottom of a wastebasket in Nancy’s parent’s bathroom. What could it be? Is it a clue? Will it lead them to a mysterious catburglar? No! It’s a condom, silly, and throughout the course of the book, Nancy gets a thorough education in all forms of sexuality from her father, her mother, Hannah the housekeeper, and of course, Togo, the family terrier. A nightstand reader for the 12 year old who’s curious about the hair on her ho-ho.

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Pottery Barndance

Set beneath the flowering chestnut trees of Pennsylvania, this is a story of budding love between two young Amish men. Will they renounce their love, choosing instead to marry appropriate young women from the village and fritter away their days plowing fields and snorting cocaine? Or will Jacob and Isaac escape together by candlelight to sinful Philadelphia, open a flower shop, and furnish their home through online shopping sprees? A bawdy, boxer-ripping romance!

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Katie Couric is a Really Nice Lady

A sort of “day in the life” of America’s perkiest morning show host, from the time she administers her 4am triple-espresso enema booster, through her train ride to the NBC studios (during which she mingles with the common people and repeatedly gives up her seat for the elderly and handicapped), to the good-natured flirting she instigates with her humpy but unavailable co-host Matt Lauer, to her gracious avoidance of advances from the supremely creepy Al Roker, through her countless interviews with Really Boring Schmoes and her long schlep home. She loves homos! She doesn’t get mad when people step on her feet! She’s a semi-aggressive journalist, in a cutesy sort of way! She’s a bonafide Really Nice Lady.

My boyfriend and the Manstress are leaving today at 6:00pm. They are going to Pensacola. There, they will drink alcohol and, I can only assume, socialize with other homosexual men.

This is good.

I say this not because I plan to have a wildly debauched weekend. Nor am I particularly happy to be separated from my one and only. Rather, I’m excited because for the next several days I will have the bulk of the house (upstairs excluded) to myself. That means, once I wake up, I don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else. If I wish go to the backyard at 7:00am and start breaking up concrete (a chore that desperately needs finishing), I can do so. If I wish to paint or sand or mop various areas of the house at the crack of dawn, I can, and no one will shout at me from the bedroom, threatening to rip my legs off. Not that anyone would do that anyway, but you know what I mean…

It’s the secret of our relationship: there are spaces in our togetherness.

A&F said it is not their intention to offend anyone. “The underwear for young girls was created with the intent to be lighthearted and cute,” the company said in a statement. “Any misrepresentation of that is purely in the eye of the beholder.”

— CNN

Yeah, and that bright green, psychedelic-looking thing down at the head shop is meant for tobacco, so get your mind out of the gutter.

Is it just me, or is A&F trying to produce a half-assed, milquetoast equivalent to Benetton’s often truly shocking mid-80s advertising campaigns?