daily 411 |
Sunday, September 16, 2001
Clarity. I got all my hair cut off this afternoon and then took lunch to my crush's and spent the afternoon reading magazines and smoking while he rearranged his apartment. After a few hours, I had enough of being enamored by every little thing he was doing, from framing a picture of his finishing a marathon to painstakingly cleaning and dusting every shelf and each book he was placing on it. So I congratulated him on his new arrangement, left and walked to the subway. When I got off the train, I had a text message from him that I had left a book at his place. So I replied that I was stoned and would he be freaked if I asked him out again. And he replied: "friends! i'm stoned too.". So now my mind can relax.
Two fabulous stories from Minneapolis. First: Last night my idol went to get his haircut at the Hair Police. The chick that was to cut his hair was busy weaving some poor balding white trash girl's head, so he said "Oh, I see you're still busy, so I'm going to go grab something to eat, do you want anything?" So she wanted falafel or whatever, and he went downstairs to the Falafel Factory. So he's standing there ordering, and the guy behind the counter turns around to get his food, and these two ghetto black guys some into the store and take all the tips out of the tip jar. And my idol said, "Oh no you don't! Excuse me, this guy just took the tips out of your jar." And the falafel man said, "d jar is empty!", turned to the black guys and said, "Didjew tek d money?" My idol, totally expecting to get his ass kicked, walked out of the store, and there were two cops on the corner and he said, "You'd better go in there, because there's about to be a huge Lyndale incident." And a few minutes later, 4 police cruisers pulled up, all ready to fight a war. From the window of the hair police,the hair-weaving chick asked, "What's with all the cops?" And my idol replied, "I just started a riot," and she said, "You're not from here, are you?". "No, I'm a poor country girl from a hog farm in southern Ohio". Second: Who threw meat at me? When my idol lived in Chicago he had a ghetto grocery store in his neighborhood, where most people shoplifted whatever wasn't nailed down. So his friends were standing in line, in front of a short, fat Mexican woman, who was busting at the seams with canned food and meat and whatever she could grab, and in her cart were a few single rolls of 79¢ Scott tissue. She moved a bit, and a ham hock or something fell out of her coat, and she turned around and screamed, "Who threw meat at me?", thereby saving herself from prosecution. Friday, September 14, 2001
It's been raining all night. I don't know if that's good or bad for the rescue workers. Sparky has posted some old pictures of the World Trade Center, and I followed suit. Check them out. Thursday, September 13, 2001
I'm two days late. But I haven't been home since Monday as I was fearful of exploding subways and didn't want to walk 8 miles home. Tuesday was supposed to be the primary elections here, so I got up at 6, went to the gym and then stopped by my office around 8:30 to figure out where I needed to go vote. A few minutes later, a guy in my office said a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I immediately ran to the conference room and saw a huge hole in the side of the north tower. A few other people had shown up by then, and we were all trying to figure out how it could have happened since all the flight paths into the city go over Brooklyn. We figured it was a small plane or something and then we saw the second plane come from out of nowhere and slam into the south tower. We all screamed, some started crying, but I think we all had the realization that the city was being attacked. I called dewdrop, who lives down by the seaport, to make sure he and his roommate were okay, and he told me they were going to walk over and investigate and I said like hell you are! And I called my crush in the office who was at a doctor's appointment, but I didn't know where, and he said he was uptown. I made more calls for awhile, then went back to the window and watched the buildings burn, and then the south tower fell down. It was so unreal. I've seen the countless angles of footage on television of everything, but what I witnessed from a mile away will forever be burned into my brain. And after the second plane crashed, I was telling everyone how structually stable the buildings were and how they were designed to withstand the (accidental) force of a 747. It was unbelievable that in a matter of seconds, both buildings had collapsed. We spent the rest of the afternoon trying to make phone calls and listening to the radio for more news. I spent the night at my crush's apartment, and we watched the news and drank and smoked all night. I pretty much lost it when I saw footage of people jumping to their deaths. Insane. I'm still in a daze, and really had to force myself to get on the train to come home as the A line runs through the world trade center, and I still don't understand why it's running, as it seems that more buildings could collapse and crush the train. I realize that this posting isn't as exciting and action-packed as some, but this is all written in retrospect and I really wish I hadn't witnessed anything. My thought are with everyone in the country. This affects us all, not just those who live in the city and are pretty much on edge, waiting for the next disaster, but everyone in every part of the country. Peace. Sunday, September 09, 2001
 Prolapsed ass. That was the culmination of my four days in Minneapolis. I saw things I never thought I would ever see. I had a fabulous time. And as you all know, this was my first time meeting my idol, as we've only spoken and emailed each other practically every day since mid-June. Minneapolis is beautiful. There was a great exhibit of Alice Neel and a fierce show of Japanese anime-inspired art. Then it was on to the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, where we saw a piece by Chris Larson, which one spectator, wearing the requisite pressed Dockers khakis, mandals with socks, and corporate logo golf shirt, commented to his wife, "This is really weird. Let's go see that DayGass guy." I also got to see one of my favorite paintings by Magritte, that I hadn't seen since the show in 1993 at the Menil Collection. I was pretty impressed that Minneapolis has two great places for the arts. We went to one of the two gay bars in the city (an untapped market for anyone who is interested), called 'Jet Set', that was pulled straight out of the pages of wallpaper magazine, but you couldn't smoke in the bar, so there was a large crowd outside the bar smoking, but not drinking, and inside people were drinking, but not smoking, and I don't remember there being any music. It was sort of like a gallery opening without any art. The other place is called the Saloon, and apparently is similar to a VFW lodge. We also went hiking and rock climbing on the bank of the Mississippi River (I didn't realize it went that far up, nor did I realize that St. Paul was the other city of the Twin Cities and is the capital. Well, I knew it, it just didn't click, much like my realization the day before I left that Frank Gehry's first museum, the Weisman Art Museum, at the University of Minnesota.)I'm feeling rather off today, a little down. I woke up, made breakfast, chatted for awhile, then went back to sleep and woke up at 2! Then I finally decided to attempt to rollerblade to the park. I made it without incident, although I almost crashed into a couple of Hasidic women and their babies as I was trying to slow down on a slight hill. Then I napped for awhile, stopped by the excuse for a grocery store and came home. Last night, roommate and I went to Excelsior for their second anniversary party. It was pretty crowded and all, but boy do the freaks come out at night. Thursday, September 06, 2001
Anne Heche is a loon. Or should I call her Celestia? I hoped that you caught the interview last night with Barbara Walters. I was watching South Park when dewdrop called to tell me to watch Anne. She is insane. I wish I could have been in the same room as Ellen. I hope she was writing some new material. Back from Minneapolis and do I have stories to tell. But I'm waiting until the photos are back. Thursday, August 30, 2001
I fell like such a lame-ass. I'd forgotten I'd been meaning to respond to Sparky's call to be a 14-year old, so here are my responses: I have: butterflies in my stomach When was the last time you... Last book you read: Swann's Way by Proust Wednesday, August 29, 2001
Butterflies are free to fly. Just a few things this gorgeous morning in the ghetto: First: I don't know what Sandy is going to do. Her show sounded like it was going to be great, and it was refreshing last night to see that she didn't overuse the words 'fresh' or 'intimate', and I thought that the nodding girl looked a little bit better with her hair down, but she still needs to go. Boy George is such an amazing person, and his time was completely wasted last night. In the end, the show is all about Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, even if it means crooning to one of the biggest stars on the planet while he tries not to walk off the stage, in an attempt to get him to sing the words to a song he doesn't know. I am looking forward to Culture Club's cover of 'Crystal Blue Persuasion'. Second: Madonna on HBO. Actually enjoyed it more than being at the concert, mostly because I could see and wasn't spending $100 to do so. Camera should have pulled back some, as you could count the wrinkles on her face. A cross between Debby Harry and Ellen de Generes. Don't get me wrong, me lovey the Madonna, but I don't expect that she'll tour again, unless it's a la Babs. Third: Off to Minneapolis on Friday to spend the holiday with my idol and his posse. I was told that if I want every guy in the city to go after me, I am to wear either Birkenstocks or Tevas with socks, khaki shorts that go to my knees, either an oversized t-shirt with sleeves that come down to my elbows or an oxford shirt buttoned all the way to the neck with the sleeves buttoned down. He didn't mention a belt, but I think that a brown braided leather belt would pull the whole thing together nicely. Friday, August 24, 2001
 Pork. The other white meat.This morning's Walkman selection was a classic tape that I've had since high school, and if you do the math, you'll realize that I've had the tape for almost half of my life. Catching Up with Depeche Mode. And as I was listening to it, the music took me back to my room and the smell of patchouli incense. And one night after the State Swimming Meet. The whole team spent the night at Chris Greenberg's house. They had a guest bungalow in the back, so we all camped there. I think we watched some corny-ass Swedish porno or something. So we were all sitting around listening to music, maybe drinking beer, and then Somebody came on, and this guy Rudy (he was the band drum major), was lip-synching and doing some sort of dramatic performance that involved slowly coming down the stairs, oh-so-intensely, like the episode of the Carol Burnett show where she was Nora Desmond. Monday, August 20, 2001
He apolgized. And I've found a roommate. It's so tremendous when the weekend actually turns out to be fantastic rather than the usual bugger it is. Spent most of the weekend hanging out with dew drop, watching TV at his place, lunch in the park where the monument to the mand who bought Manhattan for beads or whatever, more TV, a little gym, a little margarita, a little trip to the ghetto, a bit of basil, some Mizrahi, and bed. Had the best sleep, woke up and had donuts and hung out as he packed for his Big Vacation to Rio. Very jealous am I. So today at the office was pretty uneventful as has been in the past few weeks. Fab and I aren't even emailing each other back in forth as we did back in the day. It's hard not to take it personally. But I'm going to back off and let him simmer and stew or whatever the fuck it is he's doing. I think Pebbles put it best when she sang: 'To be, or not to be, that is the question, it don't take no street degree. You've lied your last lie and I've cried my last cry, I'm out the door babe! There's other fish in the sea.' I did get the Exciting News that I will be doing the apartment of a certain Makeup Star and her husband, a Regular Character on that Critically-Acclaimed hospital drama series. It's fucking huge! They're combining two apartments on Park Avenue. Unfortunately, of course, it's not my Own job, but through the office. Revenge is sweet, though. A couple of months ago, one of my former employers was gloating to me that they were doing this apartment. Fuckers. At that office, one of my bosses coincidentally had dinner with Danny Elfman. And that afternoon he had to ask us who Danny Elfman was. Idiot. Then they ended up doing Danny's apartment and my boss thought he was such Hot Shit for hanging with Danny, when, in fact, he was a lame-ass poseur. And I didn't get to work on the project, most likely, as my suspicions felt, my boss was afraid of working on it with me, as the apartment we had currently been working on, was fucked up due to his own idiocy and I was having to do my best at damage control. He was one of the reasons I quit. Long story short, they overcharged Danny a couple of percentage points more than the usually charged for work of that scope. So that put me over the edge and I quit. A few months later, someone I worked with there was telling me all sorts of gossip and how much of an idiot my boss was, and things turned into Interesting Circumstances. That probably made absolutely no sense to anyone but me. Whatever. Kissing Saffy's cousin again. Friday, August 17, 2001
Damn it all. The unending quest to resolve my Big Crush at the office has come to a head. I have never in my life met someone who is so fucking crabby yet intoxicatingly charming. I've had crabby motherfuckers before (Daniel) and charming ones before (your name here), but the combination is absolutely mind-fucking. So for my own sanity, I'm laying low for awhile. Much crazy-making, though. In other news, I've decide to rent out the Spar Oom. It's pretty small, though, like 6 by 9 or so, but it has a closet. I've had smaller rooms. Some chick was supposed to come by this morning, but didn't show up on time so I left. Then dew drop and I were talking about it last night and he said no girls. It's true. I can't live with women. I've only been able to live with 2 women before, but they kick ass. So if you interested in living in the ghetto, let me know. Tuesday, August 14, 2001
 W.W.N.O.H.D.? My new motto. "What Would Neely O'Hara Do?" If we could all be just a little bit more like Neely, the world would be such a better place. Feeling down? Pop a pill, have a drink, sit back, light up, relax, chill out, take a load off, and breathe deeply. Sparkle, Neely! Sparkle!Have I told the story about the Time I Dated the Bible-Thumper? I was training new teachers for TPR, and this one guy in the group was SO CUTE. And each day he got cuter and cuter, and then one day he wore a suit and that put me over the edge. So on the last day of training, I took everyone out for drinks, and stayed out with him until all hours. Adam. Harvard grad, from Alabama, talked a mile a minute, sang aloud on the street, loads of fun. We went out a few times and one night, while he was in bed with me, I noticed he had a little bracelet on that said WWJD? and I asked him what it meant and he said guess, so I said World Wrestling Junior Dancers and he said What Would Jesus Do? and I said Yikes. Then he started talking about being Southern Baptist and how he was a sinner by being in my bed blah blah blah blah blah. Too bad. He really was a good kid. Just brainwashed. And he went to Harvard! You would think he would have opened his eyes. It's so nice to have someone to vent to. Had a great talk last night with the only person here aside from my girls whom I can be completely vulnerable to. So I came to the Great Conclusion that nothing really matters. Love is all you need. Everything I give you all comes back to me. Sunday, August 12, 2001
i don't like sundays Dropped sis and the nephew off this morning, walked about, called about a date and was denied, went to see America's Sweethearts (nothing like a corny Julia Roberts movie to beat the mad reds), went to the gym and ran TWO MILES!!!, hung out with Sparky, and we discussed the Perils of Being Born With Brains and Beauty Yet Paradoxically Being Without Current Boyfriends, and reminisced about the silliness of high school dress codes. When I was a junior in high school, I turned the system upside down when I made the decision to Wear a Turtleneck. Our dress code strictly said that sweaters must be worn with a collared shirt (I just almost put 'collard'). So the Dean called me in and just stared and me and I said "It's a turtleneck!" The System ground to a dead halt as the dean mused over the consequences of the turtleneck, which, technically a sweater, could not, for sake of denying the garment its very euonym, be worn with a collared shirt. So I was sent home. And the next day, everyone was wearing turtlenecks. Coming soon.....The Time I Wore a Pair of Differently-Colored Sperry Top-Siders. So now I'm home, having kissed Saffie's cousin, watching Le Journal French news, where the latest in Millee is the closing down oflocal Mc Donald's 'por causee de menace'. There's a WTO protest being held in town and the workers closed the store down. Or something like that. And I did my yearly Ritual of the Emptying of the Filofax, where I remove the previous year's pages and file them away. My Filofax year runs from birthday to birthday, so by removing the pages, I exorcise the past year. So you'd think I'd be over everything after tonight, yes? Fuck no. I remember everything. As a Wise Queen once said, "You can look at the past, just don't stare." Saturday, August 11, 2001
I rise! I rise! I rise! Took my sister and nephew to the planetarium this afternoon. It's pretty damn cool and all, the most annoying thing being the little progarm narrated by Tom Hanks (gag! The most obnoxious moment is during a part where our galaxy is shown from 100 light years away and Earth is circled and is a tiny blue speck amidst millions of starts and Tom says something like "Everyone you have ever met or heard of is from there. When I see it like this it always get to me."). I went with MP when it first opened last year and there's another little show called Big Bang that used to be narrated by Jodie Foster. It was a pretty senseless display of lights and sound. And I'd heard that it was being redone, so it was redone, with Miss I Know Why the Caged Bird Singsherself narrating. And it's sickeningly humorous in that she's talkingabout the beginnings of life in the same tone in which she does the voiceover for the United Negro College Fund. Or maybe it's just me. Earlier in the morning, we went to the Statue of Liberty, probably the LEAST favorite thing I can think of doing on a Saturday. But the entertainment value of seeing Middle America, comfortable shoes, fanny packs, water bottles, videocameras, I heart NY T-shirts, ice chests full of food and all is worth it. And the hundreds of foreigners all packing on to the fucking ferry to go see something inside the base of the statue. You used to be able to walk right in. But now, for the preservation of the park and your safety and other bullshit, you have to STAND IN LINE FOR 2 HOURS just to get in! And you know what's inside? Not a goddamn thing except ANOTHER LINE to take an elevator up to the viewing platform since you can't go up in the crown unless you got on the first ferry at 8 am. Why people will spend 5 hours out of their day to crawl inside some old woman's body is beyond me. Friday, August 10, 2001
Where does the time go? In minutes the months grace us with old thoughts, tender time. I remember rubbing your neck and wondering how it really made you feel, kissing you on the cheek as the lights went to black (amazed at my own confidence). I could've loved you a million times but I never let myself,so these feelings continue to well up in me from time to time. So began a letter I received. Not. Words of wisdom from Sandy. So I just realized that I didn't give any 411 on my barfday. Ended up having dinner at Leshko's with Michael and Liza. Fabulous time. Fabulous sloe gin fizzes. Highlight of the evening: Three queens come in and sit in the banquette next to us. One is being overly pissy, lugging around a  Stephen Sprouse Louis Vuitton bag. The three of us get up to leave, and Michael mutters under his breath "Grab the bag!". That queen's eyes got wider than a whore's pussy and he grabbed the bag as fast as he could. Silliness. Then it was off to Beauty Bar where we met up with Liza's sorority girls. And their fraternity friends. Scary. Straight boys are such a science project. I just remembered that I did write about this. I was sick dammit!What else... PLEASE tell me you watched Shrub last night give his little stem-cell speech!!! If you missed it, they had him in front of a blue screen with a background of a pond and birds flying about. I guess it was supposed to be Texas. You know how the weatherpeople always seem to have a little halo around their bodies when they're in front of the weather map? It looked like Dubya was a cartoon character. There was a black line all around his silhouette. I was kissing Saffy's cousin last night, so maybe it was funnier to me. Sunday, August 05, 2001
six shots last night. It happens every once in awhile. Sometimes it is good to spend the extra $15 to take a taxi home. Then of course, I have the fear of being in the taxi, the car in front stopping suddenly, gangstas get out of thecar and come over and shoot me and the driver. But six shots. And no cops. In the ghetto.... I saw more straight guys in their natural habitat than I have in awhile. Friday night's barfday ended up at Beauty Bar, where I witnessed the tail end of an almost fight. Something to do with Irish guys, some other guy and girl. One guy got thrown out and the other stood there with his arms crossed, as if he were ready to kick the guy's ass should he ever show up again. I came to the conclusion that that is what makes them straight. The fighting thing, the taste for violence, the desire to beat crap out of someone. Get two queens in a bar to fight and about all they'll do is throw a drink in the other's face or read them or make fun of their last season's Gucci. Then I'm walking up Park Avenue with three former sorority sisters, after seeing Bat Boy, which you must run to go see, and remember, I HATE musicals, all gorgeous and wearing halter tops (them, not me), and we pass the new W Hotel, and a line of bridge and tunnel, up pastthose cheezy restaurants on Park, Crab City or whatever and that steak place, and this group of overly testosteroned guys in too-tight polo shirts, gold chains and Cavariccis is gathered outside, and they all leer and drool, and I'm waiting for them to say something to the girls, and I give them a good hard stare/curse, walk a few more blocks and come across another pack of cigar-smoking fucks walking down the streets with their girlfriends, all eyes on the halter tops. Unbelievable. Do you know what it feels like for a girl? |
