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11:47 AM
Omigod! Dr. and Mrs. Eek just got their first bit of fan mail ever: I really like the way you put your page together. It is really cool how upbeat you are. I am from Terre Haute too. I work at a local If I work this right, Doc and the Missus might get into some nasty cyberkink. I'll see what I can eke out. Oh: contrary to popular opinion, Mississippi was fun. Of course, it helps to have grown up there.... More on that later.
8:24 AM
Okay, guys...off to spend some quality time with the 'rents. Smell ya' later (i.e. tomorrow). P.S. Jonno, tomorrow's garbage day.
6:32 AM
It's a holiday, right? Then why have I spent the better part of the morning catching up on bills, work, and side projects? Sheesh...I need a real vacation. Well, I gotta wash my face and shuffle over to the grocery store--seems I picked up the wrong kinda sausage for Jonno's stuffing (take that any way you like).... There's a reason I'm not the cook around here. Happy TD, kids! xo Richard
11:02 AM
So Pamie came up with a great idea--she's running an online Secret Santa for her readers. I figure, why not share the wealth? Ergo, I present to you the Sturtle.com Secret Santa. (Let it never be said that I'm above outright thievery.) Here's how it'll work: 1. Set up an Amazon.com wish list with all the goodies you want for Chris-kwaanz-ukah. Be sure to keep at least a few items in the $10-$15 range. This may surprise you, but ain't all of us loaded over here. 2. Send me your Amazon screen name, your Amazon email address, and the url of your wish list by December 4th. 3. I'll work some magic and pair you up with a name I've pulled from a glamorous Easter bonnet! (Or a dog-eaten baseball cap. Whichever I find first.) 4. I'll send you an email with the name of your Secret Sturtle--er, Secret Santa--along with the link to her/his wish list. 5. Spread the holiday joy, ya' big dummy! And sign up for Pamie's list, too, if you're so inclined. Just for fun, I'll be sure to post all the participants and their respective wish lists--just in case some of you are feeling extra generous this season. Sound like a plan? Then start sending!
7:05 PM
Okay, well, I think this la nina thing is finally over. For the past three years, New Orleans' winters have been unseasonably warm, but now, in mid-November, we're about to hit the freezing mark. That's not a bad thing--it just means I'll have to be borrowing from Jonno's winter wardrobe a little more frequently than I've done in the past. And I'd better start planning a warmer Mardi Gras costume...
8:07 AM
I hope you know that Jonno and I talk about you all the time--especially those of you we've never met in person. We'll be sitting on opposite sides of the living room, talking about how so-and-so must be feeling randy, or how someone's in a particularly chipper mood, or how you-know-who is so pensive these days or thingummy's a bit angry or whatchamadoodle's feeling homicidal or Miss Thing's just a mess. You're like our very own real-time version of The Sims. Or tamagotchi. Or sea-monkeys. You're like porn with out the messy clean-up.
4:24 PM
For all three of you (including my boyfriend) who haven't had a chance to read the much-ballyhooed article...
6:14 AM
Actually, watching Can't Stop the Music wasn't as painful as I feared--it's too ridiculously stupid to induce anything as honest as pain. I put it in that strange category of film that includes Showgirls and Shock Treatment: movies that are cognizant of their camp value but which ultimately aren't campy. The directors are trying make the films do too much at once, leaving the viewer (i.e. me) irritated, not entertained. I had a much different experience Friday evening while watching a TV documentary on the Beatles. The black-and-white footage was fine, non-descript, archival. But things crossed over into technicolor around the same time I was born. The clothes the band was wearing, even the quality of the film, pointed to a time I can just barely remember, before I'd even started elementary school. I get the same feeling when I visit my mom and flip through her stacks of Fox Photo pics. I can't really remember specific events, but I remember the general feeling of being alive then: the color of our living room carpet, a few of my favorite shirts, the face of our babysitter (whom I secretly loved) and the feel of riding to Macdonald's in her convertible. It's an indefinable sensation; it's like having a vague idea of something that happened, but never remembering specifics--always being right on the edge of recollection. If I could pin it down to a particular image or event, that would probably be fine--at least it'd be closure. But this kind of nebulousness makes me nauseous, like I've been punched in the gut.
9:23 AM
Many things scare me--notably Beanie Babies, scrambled eggs, and my inexplicable fascination with Lawrence Welk. But nothing--I mean nothing--scares me quite as much as middle America's anti-intellectual streak. Case in point: when Southern Baptists et al. decide that the bible isn't open to any sort of interpretation whatsoever, that's pretty friggin' creepy--not to mention blatantly ignorant of the fact that the bible's been translated squillions of times from one language to another. I mean, that's an indisputable fact, right? So which one deserves the literal interpretation? When I ask my mom questions like that, and she gets flabbergasted, doesn't know what to say. Blind faith, that's her motto. On the other hand, my father--whom I'd written off for so long as an alien from another planet--is pretty laid-back and relativistic about it. I used to think the reluctance to exert--even distrust of--mental muscle was just part-and-parcel of conservatism. But you know what? It's not. Hasidic Jews, for example, are pretty damn conservative, but they also have a long history of intellectual engagement with the Torah.... Of course, that's not to say that I'm an intellectual myself; personally, I think I'm a little too ADD to wear that particular hat.... But I worry when the opinions, or even questions, of bona fide thinkin' folks are attacked. This "Thought for Today" has been brought to you by the letter "S" (for stupid) and "D" (for dumbass) and the leadership of the Republican Party.
10:01 AM
Good News: Amazon finally shipped out my order for The Secret History--not that Donna Tartt bit of pop-novel trash, but some real smut: Procopius' scandalous, Jacqueline Susann-esque recounting of the reign of Justinian I and his courtesan-turned-queen Theodora. Bad News: There appear to be no plans to release Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains on video or DVD anytime soon. Good News: The world is full of stupid people who have been put here for our amusement. Bad News: It will take a very, very long time for all of them to die out. Good News: Porn Addiction is at Epidemic Proportions! Bad News: Nobody told me about Pornography Awareness Week. I miss out on all the fun stuff... Good News (or possibly Bad): Yes, I've finally broken down and become a cellphonophile Bad News (definitely Bad): I mistakenly puchased a single-band phone--which isn't so bad when I'm tooling around New Orleans, but on those inevitable trips back to Mississippi for the holidays... I mean, I could be squealing like a pig and no one could hear me send.
7:14 AM
Oy, does that bring back memories. Thanks, John, for reminding me what it's like to stumble through a club at 4am feeling like the world's largest boneless chicken...
6:19 AM
...Okay...I'm surrounded again... Must..resist..urge...to...lobotomize...all...artists...
3:00 PM
Looking for a way to kill time 'till the election's finally over? This is much more diverting than Highlights magazine.
4:53 PM
Wow. It looks like quite a few folks are getting ready to ditch their weblogs--mostly because they say they don't have the time or energy to maintain them.... That's kinda sad. Okay, yes, there is an unwritten mandate that "true" webloggers have to post something at least every couple of days...but, um, what's gonna happen if you don't? So you're busy, so you go a couple of weeks without posting. That's life. I mean, Jason and Meg and Halcyon aren't going to come screeching to your house, batter down your door, confiscate your Playstation and your 17 cats, and cart you off to Blogger Penitentiary (although, that's kind of a funny image). We're quasi-intelligent folks here, and we know you have a life. We can wait. In fact, I'd guess that most of us would rather hold out a couple of weeks for you to share something insightful or funny or just plain honest than slog through pages and pages of insipid, sentence-long posts pointing to other people's content. Bottom line: I'm bummed that these voices I've grown fond of hearing, these people I've never met but whom I've grown to adore, are gonna be signing off. I'm sure they'll probably still keep their sites up and running, but I dunno.... What can I say? I like the personal stuff. Can I offer just a bit of unsolicited advice? Remove the time/date stamp from your weblog. Spend less time reading angsty teen sites maintained by kids with nothing better to do than sit around and post all day. Kick back and have a drink. And when you feel the need to share something, all the better.
9:00 AM
Oh, happy day! I'd almost forgotten: US presidents elected in "0" years (e.g. 1940, 1960, 2000) never serve their full term! In some cases--like Reagan--that just means they go into surgery for a couple of hours and temporarily give the VP the keys to the White House. In other cases...well, we all know about Rose Kennedy's all-black wardrobe, don't we? ...Not that I'd wish any ill will on anyone, mind you, but despite his Regan-era ethics, I think I'd probably feel more comfortable with Cheney in the Ovum Office than little Georgie-Porgie. Oh, and in case any of you were wondering, the video shoot for The Scooby Witch Project went really well this weekend--largely thanks to Jason's impeccable portrayal of Velma/Heather. The snot speech? Spectacular... Frankly, I think the video segments will be the highlight of the show. Hope a couple of you can make it...
8:24 AM
8:40 AM
1. The election--as stomach-churningly indecisive as it's been--is completely out of my hands. And yours, too--unless you're a Florida state election official...in which case, we should talk... 2. I finally (re)discovered the joys of shaving with an electric razor. I tried an electric razor once when I was about 17, and it was such an awful experience, I never looked back. But last night at the photo shoot for Scooby/Gilligan, when I found myself miles (well, blocks) away from the comfort of my own Atra, electric was the only option--and such a pleasant surprise. I know, it's not quite as butch as lathering up and scraping off, but then again, who's ever accused me of being butch? 3. Um, hello? It's Friday.... Sheesh....
8:30 AM
Hooray! One of my favorite Texas Chainsaw 90210/Scooby Witch Project/Gilligan's Island Survivor cast members started his own little weblog, thus giving me something else to read while I'm trying to take my mind off this goddamn nerve-wracking election....
6:46 AM
For goddess' sake, please get out and vote. Unless you're planning to vote for Bush--you guys can sleep in all day.
6:29 AM
Note to self: Eat a sizeable meal before consuming sizeable amounts of vodka. Note to Linda and Jodi: Sorry I flaked at the Decadence Ball last night. When I get that sleepy/tipsy, I have to leave--sometimes without saying goodbye to friends :-( I left you in good hands, though, so I'll hope you made it back to the hotel in time to pack up and head to the airport...
12:43 PM
Interesting theory (via Tom), but I think I disagree.... I mean, if "The number one thing that correlates with a region's high-tech success is the concentration of gay people living there," New Orleans would be a freaky-style tech Mecca. Seriously, we've got more fags and dykes than you can shake a stick at--in fact, I'd venture to say we've got almost as many as Austin, which is a bonafide locus for high-tech industry. It's probably more directly related to the education of the region's workforce...which would explain the relative lack of Starbucks and e-companies in the fair Crescent City.
4:31 PM
Ever since I discovered alternative music (which in my day meant Haircut 100 and the soundtrack to Breaking Glass, not the Pearl Jam-wannabe crap rock flooding the "alternative" airwaves these days), I've been a collector. Buttons, posters, t-shirts: if they represented something or someone that was important to me, I'd buy it. Now, I guess there's nothing wrong with that. I mean, I've always been collecting something--books, for example. On vacations, my mother and father did everything in their power to steer me away from Waldenbooks and B. Dalton, but eventually I'd find 'em. Four hours later, they'd have to drag me out of the store--me and the 25 pounds of Newberry Award-winning novels I'd just purchased. The same went for Atari games, D&D paraphernalia, and all things Snoopy. But my urge to pocket everything that was even marginally related to Alison Moyet or the Cocteau Twins was different from my bibliophilia. In these cases, the urge to collect stemmed from the overwhelming fear that these artists/groups didn't really exist outside my room. Sure, I had physical evidence that they did--an album cover, complete with contact information for copyrights and agents--but the music's unique sound and the effect it had on me were so special, so particular, so personal that I thought I'd made it all up in my head. Maybe it has something to do with being gay in the small-town South. I often felt isolated, so maybe I bonded with music created by people who were so completely different from everyone I knew (I mean, there were no Anabellas in Mississippi) that...well, this is going to sound really hokey and completely queer, but it was almost like they were my friends. Since I could never see them or talk to them, though, I collected everything I could about them--kinda the same way Catholics do with relics--and I learned to be satisfied with that.  Sometimes I feel the same way toward myself. If my name is mentioned in passing in a program or a newspaper article, I save the whole damn thing. My father's attic is piled high with photos and passed notes and school notebooks--anything to document that I Was Here.
2:37 PM
I've been smoking too much. Normally I'm that rare breed known as the "social smoker." Like social drinkers and drug users, social smokers can go for weeks without a cigarette, but when that special moment comes, we start jonesing for nicotine as though we've smoked three packs of Luckies a day for the last 50 years. In my case, that "special moment" is when I'm having a drink. So a couple of times a week, I'll have a few cigarettes, and that's it. I usually go through a pack or two a month. I haven't been a "normal" smoker for over 10 years. So why am I suddenly craving my beloved American Spirits throughout the goddamn day? I survive by not thinking about things. I mean, I've always considered myself the curious type, and the years I spent in grad school are among the happiest in my life--mostly because of the intellectual stimulation they afforded me. But when it comes to other things, daily things--like the upcoming election, for instance--I simply refuse to focus. Somewhere deep inside I've got an optimist streak that convinces me that whatever happens, things'll turn out all right. It's kinda like that quote from the Edie Sedgewick biography that The Ginger Man used to use in their ads: "And when the bills would mount up, she'd stuff them all into a big envelope and take a dozen people to The Ginger Man for drinks." Yeah, it's irresponsible, but I guess that's just the way I am.... I hate buying clothes. Just ask Jonno. Practically all the clothes I wear to work are his. All the dress clothes in our closet are his. Even the underwear and socks--his. Bottom line: I hate spending money on things that wear out so quickly--either because they get washed and faded and ugly or because I get tired of wearing them. This applies especially to shoes. I much prefer hitting Goodwill a couple of times a year at $50 a pop and replentishing my supply of t-shirt and jeans. Oh, yeah, a couple of other things:
8:08 AM
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