Zoinks! How’d it get so hot all of a sudden? I’ve entered that odd liminal stage–a roughly two-week stretch during which I feel continually uncomfortable as my body adjusts to the heat. Sweating, increasing my fluid intake, and hopefully losing a few pounds: that’s what I’m up to for the next little while.
In other news, the Old Farmer’s Almanac says Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were sentenced to death by a US Federal court fifty years ago today.
My To-Do List
1. Get coffee.
2. Kill all artists.
3. Figure out how to run the #$@%*& light board at the #*$&@ theatre before the show opens day after tomorrow.
4. Organize the numerous stacks of papers looming over my desk before I’m consumed by an avalanche of bills, news clippings, and pornographic magazines.
5. Lay in the sun. Don’t get up for a while.
6. Walk the dogs
7. Kiss my boyfriend goodbye as he jets off to the land of hills and cute boys and good Mexican food.
8. Get coffee.
9. Plan an elaborate suicide ritual of operatic proportions. File it away for future reference.
10. Eat more bran.
A Small Recounting, Followed by Brief Notes on Drag
I have this policy of always saying “yes.”
Richard, would you mind helping me out with my mid-term paper?
Yes.
Richard, would you mind lending me your truck next week so I can move back in with my mother?
Yes, indeed.
Richard, would you mind volunteering for a massive literary festival the same weekend you’re supposed to be shuttling visiting artists around town and loading in your own show, which opens in less than a week?
What part of “Yes” didn’t you understand?
Good lord. So, the past three days have been a big fat blur–not a waste, now, just a blur. In the end, I got to see some fan-TAS-tic dance, and had a fun time with quite a few folks of the lesbian persuasion at last night’s King of Fools party.
[Related note for further reflection: as far as costumes go, drag queens have it far easier than drag kings. Female drag is all about glamour and wigs and makeup and stuff–masking, essentially. Male drag, on the other hand…well, it’s hard to even conceive as drag because it’s presumed to be so “natural.” If being masculine is the opposite of being glamorous and “artificial,” then drag kings have the cards stacked against ’em. All they’ve got to work with is a vat of hair gel and a fake beard… But their music is so much better–hello? when’s the last time you saw a drag queen perform to Devo?–I guess it doesn’t really matter…]
More search engine realness:
town whore homepage site
they really were looking for me!free rikki lake porn
as if she’d be able to charge for it…homosexual venus williams
what a wonderful idea!fashion runways and drug
i had no idea that i had anything so glamorous on my lil’ ol’ homespun site.mother son incest pic
maybe i shouldn’t have posted that family album.french maid latex
who’s the lame-ass breeder who submitted this one? speak up, ya’ tired piece–i know you’re out there…
So yesterday I made another trip to my favorite Chinese food shack and received another dose of light-soul-radio nostalgia: anyone remember Gwen Guthrie‘s “Ain’t Nothin’ Goin’ on but the Rent?” Well, I didn’t either, ’till I heard the refrain “You got to have a J-O-B if you want to be with me…” Suddenly, it’s 1989 and I’m at the Bourbon Pub at 4am, and the place is packed with holdovers from Sunday night tea-dance, and as soon as the dj plays the first few bars of the song, everyone rushes the dance floor, and the poppers come out, and the ethyl, and the song sounds like creepy old-skool disco, but none of us really care. We’re just happy to have found a spot where we can be young and gay and appreciated.
* * *
In other news, does anyone really care that there’s going to be a Big Brother 2? More to the point, did anyone watch the first one? If I’m going to get bogged down in realiTV, it’ll be something marginally more-interesting, like Fox’s ill-fated American High, which has been bought by PBS and recast in a slightly more erudite mold. I guess The 1900 House paid off…
Forgive me, eBay, for I have sinned…
I feel really bad. Well, kinda. I’m about to flake on an auction–first time ever.
See, Flynn and I were bidding on some electrical equipment, and we found some stuff at a reasonable price right before the auction was set to close, so we bid on it and we won. And okay, so the seller only listed money orders and cashier’s checks as viable forms of payment–we figured he’d use PayPal, too. I mean, who doesn’t?
Well, I start corresponding with the guy, and he’s all, “no PayPal,” and when I asked him if he’d be willing to do it via escrow just so we could check out the equipment before paying for it in full, he said he wasn’t “down” with escrow.
No, really, I’m quoting: “I’m not down with escrow.”
Of course, that makes me a little nervous: (a) he doesn’t want to leave any sort of trail related to the sale of the documents, (b) he doesn’t have much in the way of eBay feedback (and what little he has is from being a buyer), and (c) when I asked him a couple of questions about the equipment, he didn’t sound too knowledgeable. Sounds to me like he’s trying to fence some stuff….
So I think I’m going to flake on him. I know, it’s pretty irresponsible, but hey, I’ve got better things to do that waste a couple hundred bucks on a hot sound board.
Saudi Arabia issues Islamic edict banning Pokemon. A Saudi official, speaking on condition of anonymity, says that the government hopes children will return to Islam’s time-honored childhood traditions: zealous rage, female genital mutilation, and the decorative arts, including the creation of china, silverware, and cabbage-rose wallpaper.
But will I have my very own fatwa tomorrow? That’s the question…
My, how the world sucks ass today–all because a bunch of nitwit, low-rent printers won’t return my phone calls. I could provide a link to their company website, but I’ll be nice. For the moment.
In other, far less frustrating news, the house is coming along well. The rewiring’s done, the roofing will be finished tomorrow, and they hang the sheetrock on Friday and Saturday. After that, it’s mostly piddly crap: painting the walls, sanding the floors and the stairs, installing the bathtub and the kitchen cabinets. Things are looking up.
And we got our houseguest for the weekend. I found out about his arrival too late to warn him, but for the rest of our soon-to-be visitors (you know who you are), might I suggest you bring: (a) walking shoes, (b) sunscreen, (c) clean linens, and (d) Extra-Strength Claritin (unless your allergies are somehow immune to the quadruple whammy of 1 cat, 2 dogs, 12,000 cubic feet of cigarette smoke, and innumerable mold spores)?
Three Bile-Inducing Character Traits
Incompetence
Inability to communicate
Inability to think for oneself
Three Reasons to Hate Macs
crash
CrasH
CRASH
