SUNDAY IS FOR SPONTANEITY, SOMETIMES CALLED IMPATIENCE
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Yesterday, at my father’s wedding
This morning, after deciding I looked too shaggy at my father’s wedding
Unintended, but comfy nonetheless
I hadn’t really wanted to go this short, but I accidentally gave myself a New Iberia Haircut (as Dave et al call it), and this seemed like the only way to fix matters. But whatever: as long as I have hair, it’ll grow back, right?
Ass-kissing has its rewards: I casually mentioned Chriso’s band last Friday, and one week later, I got an Ex-Boyfriends t-shirt in the mail!
Next, I run a blind item about Kinoki foot pads.
Bad news: Our housemate made a complete ass of himself at French Quarter Fest.
Good news: The high point of his ass-foolery was dancing onstage. With Chris freakin’ Owens.
Best news ever: It was totally captured on video:
I’m not ordinarily a jealous man, but Chris Owens? Damn….
Believe it or not, I’ve never been a Madonna fan. I mean, yeah, “Everybody” was kinda cute in a minimalist way, and I’ve shaken a tailfeather to some of her other songs at clubs, but I’ve never actually bought anything–unless you count that one Jellybean Benitez single where she sang background vocals, though that seems like a stretch.
My reluctance to embrace Madonna/Esther/the MG has always been an enigma–to my friends and also to me. But today, I learned that my aversion, like her love, is totally justified. In an article that’s not even really about her, I found this:
After recently sitting close enough to Madonna at a restaurant in Mayfair to see the svelte star’s lunch of a single boiled egg, I wonder if the saying Blondes have more fun is really true.
Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m not a picky eater. I’ll eat nearly anything you put in front of me–vegetable, animal, and occasionally, mineral. But there are two things I simply cannot stomach: a Japanese pickled plum and a hard-boiled egg. (NB: Jonno shares my egg hang-up. In fact, it was one of the things over which we bonded early in our relationship. We celebrate 11 years next week, so, you know, take it for what you will.)
Even worse: not only is Madonna eating the damn thing–in public!–but it’s the only thing she’s eating. That just seems reckless and masochistic. Either the botox has rendered her totally insane, or she’s not from this planet at all.
IF YOU GO AWAY
A brief duet with my eldest dog, Gaston
http://www.seeqpod.net/cache/seeqpodSlimlineEmbed.swf
GASTON: (Following ME to the front door) If you go away on this summer day, then you might as well take the sun away!
ME: (Crouching to stroke GASTON’s graying head) Aw! Poor baby! I’ll be back in just a bit. You be a good boy–
GASTON: All the birds that fly in the summer sky–
ME: Well technically it’s still spring. Not that you’d notice in that bigass fur coat of yours, but whatever.
GASTON: When our love was new and our hearts were high, when the day was young and the night was long–
ME: Um, I don’t know exactly what you’re implying, but do you mind keeping your voice down?
GASTON: And the moon stood still for the night bird’s song.
ME: (Standing to unlock the door) Sweetheart, you know how I feel about birds.
GASTON: If you go away, if you go away, if you go away…. (Sobs)
ME: (Crouching again) Oh, don’t cry, Gaston. I’ll be right–
GASTON: (Squirming from my grasp and running excitedly up and down the hall) But if you stay, I’ll make you a day like no day has been, or will be again!
ME: Atta boy! That’s a good boy! Who’s a good boy?!
GASTON: We’ll sail the sun, we’ll ride on the rain, We’ll talk to the trees and worship the wind.
ME: Okaaay, easy does it, kiddo….
GASTON: Then if you go, I’ll understand. Leave me just enough love to fill up my hand. If you go away, if you go away, if you go away….
ME: You’re starting to freak me out, Gaston. Just a little.
GASTON: If you go away, as I know you will, you must tell the world to stop turning till you return again–if you ever do–for what good is love without loving you?
ME: Has Jonno been letting you watch AMC while I’m at work? ‘Cause you’re sounding a lot like Glenn Close right now, and with your digestive problems–
GASTON: Can I tell you now, as you turn to go? I’ll be dying slowly till the next hello…. If you go away, if you go away, if you go away….
ME: Wow. Bravo. I think living in a house with a couple of drama queens has really rubbed off on you, Miss Bernhardt–
GASTON: (Again with the excitement and the galloping and subsequent wheezing) But if you stay, I’ll make you a night like no night has been, or will be again!
ME: Does that mean you’ll quit farting in bed?
GASTON: I’ll sail on your smile, I’ll ride on your touch, I’ll talk to your eyes that I love so much.
ME: Well, thanks. What a nice thing to say! I’d been thinking about Lasik so I could lose the glasses, but then all that Kathy Griffin conflamma went down–
GASTON: But if you go, I won’t cry, though the good is gone from the word “goodbye”! If you go away, if you go away, if you go away….
ME: Gaston, I’m just running to the corner store for more dog food. I’ll be back in five–
GASTON: If you go away, as I know you must–
ME: Dude, did you hear what I just said?
GASTON: There’ll be nothing left in the world to trust. Just an empty room, full of empty space, like the empty look I see on your face–
ME: Are you saying you aren’t going to hop right up on the sofa and shed your heart out as soon as I’m out the door?
GASTON: Laisse-moi devenir l’ombre de ton ombre–
ME: Wait…what?
GASTON: L’ombre de ta main–
ME: So all those times I’ve spoken to you in French to keep my vocab fresh–you’ve understood?
GASTON: L’ombre de ton chien
ME: Um, you are my dog.
GASTON: If you go away, if you go away, if you go away….
ME: Oh my god…. You can talk!
ZOMG: Jenny Holzer is Twittering! Or someone is Twittering on her behalf!
Also: Monday! Is! For! Exclamations!
David J:
If you are reading this, please send me an email as soon as possible. I have important news. Not tragic or awful or life-changing, but important.
To the rest of you:
There is something to be said for acquiring an easy-to-remember email address and committing to it for the rest of your life. Which is not to say that you can never have another email account, but please leave a forwarding address.
That, in the words of Mr. Hodgman, is all.
Apparently these are the top search terms bringing folks like you to sturtle.com:
Funny, Jocelyn Wildenstein usually shows up, too. Could the infamous Cat Lady be losing her appeal?
FRIDAY IS FOR PICTURES
THURSDAY IS FOR MUSIC
When it comes to music, I’m kinda OCD. I’ll listen to new songs nonstop for a day or a week or maybe a little longer; then I’ll file them away and wait patiently for another obsession to come rolling by.
That’s where I found myself a couple of days ago: at the bottom of the sonic shame spiral. I’d been listening to the same five tracks for over a week, too focused on ALT-CLICKing and CRTL-Ving the bags from people’s eyes to bother changing my playlist. Then one of my co-workers began singing along from the next room, and I thought “Oh, maybe this is bad.”
The same afternoon, I stumbled across that curious item about Fraulein Lagerfeld playing DJ on Grand Theft Auto. And the next morning, by some strange alignment of stars, all of my musically inclined friends had flooded my inbox with mixes of one variety or another. So I’m pretty sure the Universe or Jeebus or Satan or Tura Satana is telling me to spruce up my aural environment. And really: who am I to argue with Tura Satana?
All of which leads me to my music list for today:
My sister has proven herself the superior sibling in all matters of taste. Her latest radio show features ditties from Bongwater, Motorhead, and sis herself. Which will come in handy when I’m doing all those Rock & Republic ads that I never do.
DJ Dupuy was my partner in the tech booth for Trannyshack. Thanks to Andy (and Jonno), I am having a seriously hard time getting that Hercules and Love Affair thing out of my head.
Around the corner from Andy lies Chriso and his band, Ex-Boyfriends, whose latest album is the only thing motivating my fat ass on the treadmill these days.
I’m lip-synchingly familiar with the Róisín Murphy track “You Know Me Better”, but Jocko just alerted me to the video. Which I’ll watch ad infinitum when my computer decides to cooperate. Or when I stitch it together from the fragments I find on the sidewalk below my window.
Last (and least) my own personal mixes–one new, one old. Yeah, it’s all stuff I already own, but in kind of a weird order. Just to, you know, mix it up.
sturtle [dot] com 