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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Fri 12/13/2002
La ultima Ves
Question: write entry or sleep?
Answer: Sleep.
Question: write entry or actually leave the house and do things?
Answer: Things.
Question: write entry or work on the application for a promotion to a position that you will more than likely not get and you aren't even sure you want in the first place?
Answer: Where is that dang resume of mine anyway?
These questions are in fact answers as to why there was no entry last week, and why this one is up so late, and why this one is so dang long as well. Not that anybody cared, but anyway, here's the entry:
The last time I went to a Debbie Allen children�s play, only to see her understudy:
Pearl, a modern take on Sleeping Beauty has been playing at the Geffin, and John and I made it out there to see it a couple of weeks back. In this version, the Queen is a crazed pop star named Queen who is obsessed with popularity and youth. She quickly grows to despise her stepdaughter Pearl, an innocent teenager who sings with a pure voice. Throw in a very hunky and often shirtless circus performer named Charm, a computer program with attitude instead of a magic mirror, seven child actors playing �dwowns,� and loads �n loads of other kids acting and dancing, and you�ll pretty much get the gist of the show.
A friend of ours saw it when it first opened and hated it. Too much dancing among other things. Of course, with Debbie Allen�s name plastered over everything, how could there have not been nonstop dancing and singing?
It was fairly nice, and fairly sweet, maybe not entirely worth the full admission price, but by no means worth hating. I really should talk to Sue to find out what exactly about the show bugged her so much.
The last time I was at a dvd discount store:
I was wandering around thinking that I should be looking for gifts instead of looking at things for me, when I noticed two, white, fortyish guys talking to each other a few aisles over. I thought, �probably a gay couple.�
A while latter, I was standing near one of the men, when the other rushed up excitedly. The store had a copy of a Janet Jackson concert they had been looking everywhere for. YAY!!!! I looked up at the two very happy men, and noticed that besides the concert, they were also holding some I Love Lucy DVDs. I thought, �yup, definitely a gay couple.�
The last special effects laden live action kids flick I saw:
I went to the movies with the intention of seeing the new Bond movie, but apparently everyone else did as well, which is how I ended up seeing the new Harry Potter flick. Not a problem since I was planning on eventually seeing it anyway.
People have been talking about which movie was better, the first or the second. I�m not sure, and truthfully, I don�t care. For me the more interesting question is how the folks in charge of the franchise will deal with their young stars racing through puberty ahead of schedule. It may be a bit hard to explain in the next movie why 13 year old Potter has a constant five o'clock shadow.
The last time I got "the look" from a food service worker:
His smile may have been bright, his service may have been eager, and perhaps just a bit extra friendly, but I spent the entire time thinking "does he realize how OLD I am?"
A certain someone reading this will no doubt assume that this storyette is further proof that I am cute. It is not. It is proof that teenage boys have wacky taste in men.
The last animated kids flick I saw which has been deemed a financial failure for not having grossed hundreds of millions of dollars:
Kristen and I saw the Imax version of Treasure Planetdown at the Irvine Spectrum (Huge open air mall with a vague Moroccan Bazaar motif and impossibly poor parking design). I�m not sure Imaxing the movie was necessary. It was all pretty and such, but did it really help the movie going experience? Probably not. A fart joke is a fart joke regardless of the screen size.
I didn't laugh at the fart jokes. Nearly everyone else did. Conversely, Kristen and I were the only ones chuckling at the Captain's witty banter, or the goofy Doctor�s clumsy Freudian slips. Seems that disney overestimated the number of parents/adults who would appreciate humor a bit above the level of a silly/annoying blob, or a farting alien slug.
The last art show opening thingie in Altadena that I attended:
The event was crowded and consisted of drinks, smokes, food, and from the odor, smokes. Also art, more art, y mas art, and lot's o' funky arty folks. They were talking the art talk and walking the art walk. It was interesting, and I got to talk to an old friend for a couple minutes, but ultimately I did not stay too long.
As an aside, there was a suspension photograph hanging on the wall (no, not a pun), and it gave me the willies.
The last time I was at a party were copious amounts of tamales were mass produced and mass consumed:
Each year Carm & Rickie invite family and friends to a big tamale party. The catch being that once you get there, you are immediately put to work to make the tamales that you will be eating later. Imagine a party with an assembly line of guests working the hojas, masa, and meat filling and you'll get the picture. Common consensus was that my masa spreading technique was only marginal, but not marginal enough to get me out of helping.
When we were released from the work crew, we were allowed to eat our wares. The tamales were good, not as good as my mom's mind you (heresy!), but still good. They were the traditional lardy kind, so John wasn't able to actually eat any of the things he worked on.
After we were done eating, we partook in the traditional Mexican tradition of loud karaoke. Carm's family is big on the karaoke, and we all got to hear some very good versions of Patsy Cline and Aretha Franklin standards.
Reese & �Kiko were at the party as well. They are the competitive sports dyke couple who spent most of a pool party racing each other and doing laps that I mentioned a while back. Reese brought her motorcycle to the tamale party. A BMW something or another (obviously I'm not into bikes), with a custom extra low seat because Reese is a small one.
So there was a group of women gathered around the motorcycle, and John, and Me. John's only comment about the bike was that it was a pretty shade of blue, which made me burst out laughing, not only because it was such a nelly thing to say, but because I had been thinking the exact same thing.
The last funky section of a funky dream that I can recall:
I was unwrapping a present when I was a bit shocked to discover that someone had given me a book titled The Lazy Top and the Ugly Assed Bottom. I think it was an S&M romantic comedy cum fairy tale, but I don't really remember that part of the dream anymore.
The last time I hung up Christmas icicle lights along the eaves of the "in-laws" house:
Hanging the exterior lights used to be John's dad's job, but because of various health concerns, he can no longer do it, so the job has fallen on the "kids." Of the various siblings available that day, the lone one NOT afraid of heights was conveniently missing, so it fell to me to put up the lights while trying not to fall off of the dang roof.
John and I got into an argument over the helpfulness of saying "no to your left. five inches to your LEFT. Your other LEFT!" which amused John's mom to no end. She thought we were being cute.
So, no more hanging lights for me. NUNCA MAS. (Yes. I am aware that if the site is still up next year I will write about doing this again, grrr...)
more later,
nico
Escuchando:
Best of Bowie collection, which may be why my favorite song of the moment is Golden Years
Mirando:
el y ella
Leyendo:
I've been flipping through Pad, contemplating naughty porno lampshades.
Quero:
for someone to do all of my holiday shopping for me.
<<inherent difficulties::::holiday agnst and a thing about farts>>