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Monday, March 31, 2003
places i've been
the Sigur Ros concertThis is going to sound really faggoty (then again, I'm a faggot, so go figure), but it was jaw-droppingly beautiful, a perfect synthesis of the visual and the sonic. Good lighting, great projections, and that voice--coming out of one who looks for all the world like any old bi-curious Ninth Ward boy. Even standing for two hours shoulder-to-shoulder in a House of Blues packed with people I didn't know, I was stunned and weepy. And I wasn't the only one: while they were playing, you could have heard a cigarette drop. No, it wasn't the Matthew Barney show, or even the Barney Frank show, but it was still better than the icy-cool demeanor of Barney's, and way better than Barney on Ice.
my backyardYes, I've been digging again. This time, I'm serious. I've rented a dumpster and everything. About six inches below the level of my last efforts, I found what looks to be an old well (an educated guess, based on info from the previous owner). I've found more detritus, too--mostly kitchen stuff, since the kitchen used to be in the back, separated from the main house.
On a related note, the cute cajun boy two doors down told me he remembers talking to Miss Dolly, the woman who lived in the house before the previous owner--and who Jonno's been prone to see lately. He verified that Miss Dolly was a madam, but according to him, the brothel she ran wasn't in the Quarter, it was our house. Apparently, she and her girls kept all the sailors coming through the Port of New Orleans very happy indeed. I wonder if I'll find some old sheepskins in the course of my excavations....
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
The 50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers
#50: Naomi Campbell, model
The quintessential don’t-you-know-who-I-am celebrity has made headlines for her Mansonesque behavior toward bellhops, assistants and other people with real jobs. It’s easy to hate models; we’d all like to make a living getting fucked in speedboats and staying hooked on other peoples’ heroin. But a model who’s an ungrateful asshole to boot actually deserves the inevitable cruel fate of her lot: an early middle age of sagging tits, Botox, secret Rogaine treatments and fat stockbroker boyfriends with hairy backs.
-- New York Press
And it gets better...
Still, I think the list is missing a couple of people. Like, where's that asshole Midtown chorus boy who stalked me for two months, then pretended we'd never met when I finally called him on it? Where's the part-time dj/full-time schmuck who dumped me like a hot rock 'cause I wasn't a freaking hairdresser? Where's that homeless guy/drug dealer who used to yell and spit at me every time I traversed 2nd and B? Where's Chip Duckett?!
Saturday, March 22, 2003
I'm beginning to feel left out. Everyone's typing and talking and singing and shouting about war, and here I am, devoting the lion's share of my energies to what must, at the very least, be called frivolous theatre. I know I should probably do more discussing and protesting and petitioning and letter writing, but to be honest, I'm a little overwhelmed. I mean, how did it come to this? How did we go from September the 11th to war with Iraq? Even the terminology--at least the stuff being handed down from the military--confuses me. Iraqi Freedom? If we're going to start freeing the world's disenfranchised (which sounds a little like commie-pinko rhetoric, if you ask me), why not start with Sudan or Myanmar? And what the hell's "Shock and Awe"? I thought they were saying "Shokinaw," which, I assumed, was a town in Michigan....
But back to the stuff that really matters: our show. Last night, opening night, the energy was spectacular. We had a full house of boozy spectators, ready to whoop it up like an audience of shills. I couldn't have asked for more auspicious circumstances--especially since two of the city's big critics were there. So you can imagine my chagrin when a man in the audience chose to have a heart attack two-thirds of the way through the first act.
At first, I didn't know what was going on. I just heard a lot of people getting up, moving their chairs. I thought someone might have seen a mouse or a palmetto bug or something--not uncommon, in the Quarter. But the noise grew louder and became more frenzied, so I stepped out of the tech booth and looked down, and there was a man, sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by a couple of people who were, as the saying goes, doctors in the house. Moments later, someone called for the house lights, and the show came to a big fat screeching halt. We waited ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive, for the stretcher to be wheeled up and down the theater stairs, and for everyone to take their seats after the man was dragged out. And then we tried to pick up where we'd been interrupted.
By and large, the rest of the play went fine. There were a couple of dropped lines and one minor sound cue that went missing, but nothing that anyone would notice. And as it turns out, heart attack man hadn't actually had a heart attack at all, just a bout of dizziness brought on by high blood pressure... Still, we couldn't help feeling as though we'd been seriously upstaged. Light a candle to Saint Genesius that tonight goes a little smoother.
Friday, March 21, 2003
Sorry for the long silences, kids, but I'm in production, and we open tonight! Y'all come now, y'hear?
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
So he insists it's a parody site, but for the life of me, I can't find the tell-tale wink. From where I sit, the webmaster's all-too-familiar, redneck-style Francophobia, combined with crappy--but not too crappy--page design, adds up to an earnest effort to spread idiocy to the wired masses. Perhaps the guy should pull that tongue out of his cheek a bit. Or perhaps contemporary aesthetics are to blame, since irony (though not, unfortunately, Alanis Morissette) has gone the way of the Dodo.
Whatever. Even if it's a poorly executed exercise in "discussion making" (whatever that is), you can still send similar letters to numerous other freakazoid popsicle stands along the infosuperhighway.
Sent to the friendly--if daft--folks at the Freedom Quarter Union:
I'm so proud so see so many of my fellow New Orleanians criticizing the French for their reluctance to support war with Iraq. After all, we helped them over half a century ago--shouldn't they be indebted to us for the rest of their lives? How dare they question the means and motives of a man we very nearly elected to serve as president of our country--even if those motives are entirely suspect! How dare they think for themselves during this time of excruciatingly complex global politics! Why can't the French be more like Americans, willing to follow blindly the greatest malaprop on the planet into a ghastly war that may or may not (probably not) lead to increased national security? Why shouldn't we, the people of New Orleans, act foolishly over this international incident that will probably be forgotten in another 12 months--even if it means we're forced to live with the consequences for the rest of our lives?
You and your fellow protesters are a credit to New Orleans and its extraordinary public school system.
Perhaps some of you would also like to drop them a line let them know how you feel? (Link provided on the condition that you feel the same way I do.)
Monday, March 10, 2003
Lick me. Go ahead, I give you permission. You wanna taste of forearm? My sleeve is rolled up just for you, baby. (Well, there's also the fact that I can't stand the feel of a shirtsleeve on my wrist, but whatever.) Someone can get at the back of my neck. And if any of you are kinda fetishy, you can lap at my left ankle where the elastic in my crew sock has gone south....
Well, how do you like it? How's that bouquet? ...Really? Funny, I figured you'd say that.
Bitter.
Thursday, March 06, 2003
As for Carnival:
Yes, it was all very fabulous.
Yes, I'm glad the tourists (w)hor(d)es are gone--for the most part.
Yes, I gained about 30 pounds from boozing it up and eating lots of doughnuts.
Yes, I know I have to 409 the dryer to clean up all the scarlet dye that spun out of my costume.
Yes, I'm somewhat happy to return to work.
Yes, I wish I had a Tums.
As for everything else:
Yes, I think Ben Affleck is on a long slow death-spiral down the stony end.
Yes, looking at Carrot Top, I often regret that I never took up the blowgun.
Yes, given the chance, I think I could probably take Anna Nicole Smith in a game of badminton.
Yes, I sometimes wish I were raised in something other than the oh-so-ascetic cult of the Southern Baptist.
Yes, my office is surprisingly neat and orderly, considering what I've been through lately.
Yes, I realize that the color sage can get monotonous.
Yes, I've run out of things to say.
Monday, March 03, 2003
All right, two costumes down, one to go. Let's go down the checklist for tomorrow:
__ A varied assortment of wigs to accomodate late minute fluctuations in sartorial theme? Check.
__ A pair of knee-high lace-ups, with insole, to protect my fragile little footsies from guttersludge? Check.
__ A splendid array of accessories--including masks, handbags, jewelery, and parasols--to complete the ensemble? Check.
__ A minimum of two choices of outerwear, suitable for any costume choice? Check. Sorta.
__ A can't-fail forecast for fabulous weather? Not on your goddamn life.
Yo, if you're in the 504, drop by the house for bloody marys at 10am, followed by the long, glittery walk to Canal Street to see Rex with St. Anne. And for you other area coders...well, try to have a nice day.
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