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Friday, June 30, 2006
Either I've been very good or very bad. Or the moon is in the seventh house. Or something.
I say that because in the past 24 hours, I have been offered or invited to apply for three--count 'em, three--different positions. Which is odd because no one's ever coming knocking at my door like that. Ever.
I have officially been headhunted.
How this happened, I don't know. I mean, yeah, I understand there's a labor shortage, but honestly, I can think of a dozen people in New Orleans who would feel right at home in these jobs--people who, unlike me, lost their jobs in the wake of the storm. Not that I'm complaining, mind you--hell, I'm flattered--but it seems more than a little weird. Did someone replace the "KICK ME" sign that's usually on my back with one that reads "READY TO MOVE ON"?
Monday, June 26, 2006
In the wake of today's flooding, part of me wants to express sympathy for the citizens of Washington, DC. I mean, apart from the politicians, they're not a terribly well-to-do bunch.
Another part of me wants to call up FEMA headquarters and scream, "How's it feel NOW, bitch? Oh, you're wet? Oh, your building's flooded? Oh, your life's work is ruined? Well, sugar, you just sit tight--I'm sure someone from the Federal Emergency Management Agency is gonna be right there to make things all better..."
Saturday, June 24, 2006
I know it looks like I've been slacking off this week, but in fact, I've been working my wee fingers to the bone, penning ingratiating speeches for colleagues and spirited semi-defenses of trashy pop tartlettes for gay porn websites. See?
I'm taking tonight off, though. My friends over at Press Street have just published a book featuring the work of many additional friends--and a couple of noteworthy enemies--and tonight, they're gonna party like it's $19.99. (Though actually it's only $15, with proceeds to benefit the group's literacy project.) Join us in the heart of the Upper 9th Ward for food, beer, sangria, and, of course, readings. And cheapskates, you'll be happy to know it's all free.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Last September, Andrei Codrescu made some pronouncements in the New York Times--dire, short-sighted, self-pitying pronouncements that I found to be in poor taste. Offensive, even. In fact, change "in poor taste" to "grounds for a public ass-whipping in front of St. Louis Cathedral," and you'll come close to knowing how I felt about the whole thing.
Nine months later, Andrei seems to have changed his tune. No more gloom and doom, no more despair. Maybe he's a little wistful, but that's about all. It's not a complete retraction of his previous statements, but clearly the man understands that the New Orleans he loved and cherished before the storm is alive and kicking today--though it's admittedly a little bruised, and the kicks aren't quite so high.
Well, lemme tell ya: that pisses me off. I mean, I may be a theatre fag, but if there's one thing I hate, it's a drama queen--especially a drama queen with an audience. I mean, to give an interview to the Times in which he basically says "It's all over," and now suddenly he's all, like, "Oh, we're gonna be okay after all"? I'm sorry, but at the very least, that's irresponsible, and at worst...well, I already mentioned the bit about smacking him around, didn't I?
Ironically, Andrei's from Romania, the country that gave the world Transylvania and Vlad the Impaler. Frankly, I'd expect him to be a bit more sanguine.
Friday, June 16, 2006
I can now die a happy man.
You know how there are those things in your life--objects, songs, whatever--that are special and unique and nearly irreplaceable? They're sorta like mementos, except mementos sit on a dusty shelf in your bedroom, and the kind of thing I'm talking about lives. It's that unbelievable album you found in a bargain bin at some grungy, indie music store when you got lost in New York one summer afternoon. It's that photo someone gave you back in high school, the one you thought you lost, the one that captured you and your best friend in poses that summed up your relationship to a T. It's that video you recorded off the public access channel, the one that's gotten grubby with age, but you can still see and hear that New Age burnout talking about the conversation she had with her vagina over dinner. Surely you must have something like that in your life.
Well, for me, that something is a videotape of a woman named Carol, subsequently dubbed "Carol Peril".
The Carol Peril tape--allegedly found in a Wal-Mart parking lot in the wilds of North Carolina--was brought to my attention by my friend Zod. He and his friends used to watch it before, during, and after the consumption of large amounts of controlled substances. Now I understand why.
Basically, if Gray Gardens were shot in a trailer park, the Carol Peril tape is what you'd get--only Carol's revolutionary costumes are much, much scarier. Carol is now deceased, but she inspired many in her time--including our lil' ol' theatre company, which penned Grenadine McGunkle's Double-Wide Christmas after watching Carol at one too many holiday parties.
Anyway, long story short (I know: too late), someone recently posted the Carol vid on YouTube. I've borrowed it and reposted it to my own account, just in case he gets second thoughts about the ethical ramifications of sharing Carol with the entire world.
And now, my life is truly complete.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
On my mind at 8:30am:
1. The whole six-degrees-of-separation thing is starting to make me a little nervous. I mean, Bob Saget belongs to my personal network, for chrissakes. Can I file some sort of grievance with my (alleged) friends who put him there?
2. I saw X-Men: The Last Stand a couple of weeks ago, and I've all but forgotten it. The only thing I can remember now is seeing Omahyra Mota in that fishnet costume and thinking, "Damn! Prince is looking good these days."
3. Where the hell is this chick now?
Monday, June 12, 2006
THREE MUCH-APPRECIATED YOUTUBE DISTRACTIONS
DURING THIS WEEK OF OTHERWISE UNGODLY AMOUNTS
OF BUSY WORK AND SLEEPLESSNESS AND CHAUFFEURING
1. Jon Stewart, taking William Bennett to the mat on the subject of gay marriage. Seriously, Jon: when you decide to jump the fence, I'll be lurking in the crabgrass, ready to break your fall. (Link courtesy of Arianna "Aeolian Windbag" Huffington.)
2. News that plans are in the works for an American movie version of the chilling Japanese hipster novel Battle Royale, about a fight to the death among several dozen high school students (which was subsequently made into a moderately chilling Japanese movie featuring, among others, that chick who played Gogo in Kill Bill, Volume 1).
3.Oh... Oh... Oh... Oh, by the way bitch? Fuck you!
Friday, June 09, 2006
It started a couple of weeks ago when I opened the back door to let out the hounds for their morning run. The Kit-Cat clock on the wall (a gift from a friend who recently departed for less storm-prone parts) read only 6:00 or so, and it was already kinda warm in my un-air-conditioned kitchen. But that didn't even begin to hint at the climatological slap in the face I got when the door popped open and the dogs flew out: a slimy, cloying blanket of mugginess and heat coupled with the shock of oh-my-god-how-quickly-we-forget-what-summer-is-like-down-here.
Now, I grew up in this climate. I've spent 30-some-odd years getting used to it. I like it--well, in the sense that I prefer a hot summer to a cold winter. When it gets like this, I do a pretty good job adjusting, slowing down, staying indoors during the noon hours, switching from scotch to vodka (or maybe Pernod). Still.... I mean, is it just me, or does the heat seem more oppressive this time around? Am I the only one asking myself, like, holy crap, can I put myself through this again?
I know I go through this every year, and every year my body does a little more acclimating, and suddenly, the weather isn't as awful as it seemed. This year, though, I'm thinking there's something tied to hurricane season, something emotional--kind of a sense-memory, like Proust, but without the floppy hair. For him, a waft of perfume or the taste of a madeleine brought back fond memories of childhood. For me, the feel of 95 degrees and 90% humidity on a bright, cloudless day dredges memories of touring a beautiful, glass-walled museum in Lafayette, Louisiana on August 28, 2005 and watching bands of storm clouds pass overhead on an otherwise bright, cloudless day and feeling sick to my stomach, like someone had just kicked me in the gut, and instinctively saying Hail Marys for the better part of an hour even though I'm not religious, much less Catholic.
Am I the only one?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Dear Jesse Jackson:
Hi.
How are things? You doing okay? I'm just wondering because I haven't heard anything out of you in a while. I guess you've been busy. Or maybe you got sick? I bet it was allergies--all that pollen in the air. Or one of those summer colds? They're the worst.
Anyway, I just wanted to follow up on some stuff you were saying a few months ago--like how you were going to challenge the outcome of our mayoral election regardless of the winner.... Um, how's that going, by the way?
I'm just a little worried because...oh, how to put this delicately?...well, I'm starting to think you've backed off the issue, and that's kinda frustrating. You see, I have a problem with people who say they're standing up for civil rights, who insist they won't stop fighting until justice has been served, but suddenly back down when their candidate gets elected.
Now, if you wanna stand up for principles, if you want to fight for some larger cause, that's great. More power to you. But if you say those kinds of things, and instead you really mean "vote for my candidate," that's not taking any kind of moral high ground. That's not laudable. That's just run-of-the-mill campaigning.
I gotta be honest here, Jesse: I wasn't your biggest fan before the election, but I'd always listen to what you had to say. You come across as a thoughtful and compassionate kind of guy, but apparently you're not as thoughtful as I'd imagined. If you were, you might have raised a bushy eyebrow or two when if became clear that some of Nagin's biggest supporters were Uptown white conservatives--the kind who hate, hate, hate progressive social agendas like your own. You might've noticed that these folks were voting for Nagin in droves to help keep Landrieu out of office, 'cause they were sore afraid that Mitch would be the type to take people like you seriously. You might've paid less attention to the color of Ray Nagin's skin and more attention to the fact that Mitch drew rainbow-style support from both white and black voters. In fact, many would argue that Landrieu is blacker than Nagin will ever be.
But clearly you didn't care about all that. Pigmentation was all that interested you. Well, Mr. Jackson, we have enough of that attitude around here without you stoking the fire, so perhaps you just oughtta leave us well enough alone. Don't call us, we'll call you.
Sincerely (OMG, you have no idea how sincerely),
Richard
P.S. I should make it clear that I'm not contesting the election, Jesse. I'm totally willing to abide by the decisions made by the majority--even when they're wrong.
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