Evan and I went to see David Byrne’s installation on South Street, right on the water. It was a great outing. Even with people plunking away at the organ, making a variety of abrupt sounds all over the building, it was strangely peaceful and you could smell the ocean.
For more information about the piece, go to David Byrne’s website.
The ocean is just beyond these windows…
This video resonates for a few reasons.
1.) I thought it was really powerful when I was 8.
2.) It’s reminiscent of my boyfriend’s general aesthetic.
3.) Jeff Bridges looks a little like my boyfriend in this video.
4.) Phil Collins looks like my ex-boyfriend BJ – and over-acts like him.
5.) One particularly dramatic ex of mine got violently angry whenever he heard Phil Collins. Which at the time seemed funny and now seems a bit drama queen.
6.) I heard a song in which Eminem describes this song tonight and I can’t get it out of my head.
Enough about me. This is a great song.
The only thing funny about this article is the headline and the fact that the motivational speaker is accused of attacking a friend with a John Wayne statue. The rest is a little dark.
An ad agency featured a pretty beautiful crossdresser (named Karis) in an ad for a razor and it wasn’t part of a joke. It is actually… respectful. Fierce.
Update: Apparently the ad will never air in the US. Whoops, I forgot we’re a bunch of baboons throwing feces at each other over here. Just pickup truck ads and reality tv for us, thank you very much! Thank God for the internet.
The obvious bad guy with the blond curly hair is…. my boss! Seriously.
It seems his character is a part of some gang that dresses like the Trench Coat Mafia (cream colored coats rather than black), utilizes the imagery of the Nazis and, um, rollerblades at all times.
The movie’s called “Prayer of The Rollerboys” and it’s not on Netflix. Any copies out there? I’m dying to see it.
Well, she spelled “language” right. That one’s probably tricky. Speaking of tough words to spell, America is a continent you douchebag.
“I still battle with my deeply boring diet of, essentially, yogurt and breakfast cereal and granola bars. I hate dieting. I hate having to do it to be the ‘right’ size. I’m hungry all the time. I think I’m a slender person, but the industry apparently doesn’t. All actresses are hungry all the time, I think.”
– Julianne Moore, to Eve magazine
I can relate. Except that I make 1/100000th of her annual salary. I would happily eat yogurt for millions of dollars. No problem, sign me up.
Some nice collectors had us over, and by “us” I mean like a hundred of us, to their place to see their work.
Two words — good hors d’oeuvres. Wait, is that two words? French baffles me and makes me feel like a moron at every turn.
I also liked the bathroom designed by Matthew Barney. They get to say, “I had Matthew Barney design a room for me to shit in.” And don’t think for a minute that wasn’t part of the impetus for getting a Matthew Barney-designed bathroom.
It was the color of urine. Touche, Mr. Barney.
Then we met up with Gail and Mahmood and the usual stuff transpired.
She had some kind of self defense dagger ring on. He was unharmed.
I think we all see weird shit happen on the street when we are all alone and have no one to tell. The thing is, I’m alllllwaaaaays alone, and always wandering the damn street. So here’s the best one from this week.
Corner of Smith and Dean, across from Bar Tabac. A really cute little girl with long dark hair was leaning against a wall as her father tied her shoe. She had her face painted, presumably from some school fair, and she had a can of pink glitter in her hand. She was sort of waving it around. She then opened the can and poured it all over her very Latino, very much wearing a wife-beater and kaki Dickies, very tough looking dad and his shaved head. There was a moment where she seemed to realize the gravity of what she’d done, then he stood up, wiped what glitter he could off of himself, clenched his jaw hard, took her hand gently and kept walking. I would not have gotten out of that so easily with my dad.
Okay, so I should have written about this long ago. The wedding was in October.
When I first met Jorge I was shooting a tv show in San Francisco and flew out a week early to hang out with Tim and his new boyfriend. Tim and Jorge had started living together, along with some roommates. They let me sleep on the futon in their bedroom. Now that I have a live-in boyfriend I realize how truly generous that was. “Hey guys, how do you feel about not having sex for a week while I sleep, snoring and drunk, two feet from your bed?”
We drove up Highway 1 to a place that looked like this.
Tim seemed happy, Jorge seemed fidgety and they were in that early financial struggle phase. The next time I met Jorge was at Sam’s Fourth of July party in Lake Mills, Wisconsin. Tim and Jorge were wearing striped shirts, and as happy as elves.
Some local cops were breathalizing people as they left the parking lot near Sam’s parents house and I was freaking out that they would tow the car I borrowed from my parents out of the lot. Tim and Jorge were the only ones who listened to my neurotic mumbling and we set off through the woods to check on my car. Growing up in a rural area gives you a special fear of cops in situations like this. In addition to the possibility of hiding police, Jorge and I were petrified of the dark and the woods. We clutched our cell phones as flashlights and walked, clinging to each other, silently behind Tim as he swung his lit cell phone from side to side gesturing and prattling loudly. We kept saying “shhh!”, but he may have been drunk. Tim addressed the police by saying “Oh, hiiii there!” My parents’ car survived and I didn’t have to talk to police officers thanks to Tim.
The point is that Tim and Jorge are always there for me. They always call me back and they always say the right thing and I haven’t ever seen either of them in a bad mood. And if I have, I didn’t know it because their bad moods are like other people’s good moods. And every time a crazy homeless guy harasses (or attacks, that has happened too) me on the street or subway, I remember that Jorge helps guys like that everyday. Bless him, because truth be told, most of us want nothing to do with them. And I’m not apologizing for that by the way. Jorge is just better than most of us.
When they sent us their adorable wedding invitation I was stoked. 3 days in Guerneville, CA in two rented houses with some of the oldest friends I have. Evan and I flew Virgin America, which was pretty hilarious. Tim kept calling the wedding their “gay marriage”, among other less appropriate things, and the plane was like flying a gay club to the gay marriage. The interior lights were pink and purple, but they kept it dark most of the time, and they blasted techno whenever possible. They brought me a sandwich when I asked for it and I can’t explain how awesome that was at the time.We saw Jesse and his girlfriend Hanna on the plane and we knew it was going to be a huge reunion. Since I’m writing about the weekend in retrospect I’m not going to be very detailed. We drove to Big Sur the first day and stayed at Glen Oaks Big Sur Inn. It was like a little Motel on the outside and a modern stylish room with a fireplace on the inside. We didn’t want to leave.
We went to Esalen’s hotsprings that night. As a visitor, you have to go between 1am and 3am. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever done. We got drunk on white wine at this wonderful place called Nepenthe overlooking the cliffs and the ocean, passed out at 10pm, napped until 1am, then drove 15 minutes down highway 1 to Esalen. The springs sit at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. We filled big claw-foot bathtubs with the sulfurous spring water and just laid in the water and relaxed. There was no moon, so we saw about 15 shooting stars. And when we left our skin looked like vanilla pudding. I tried to capture it with my camera, but we looked way better than this.
The springs at Esalen…
I highly recommend the experience. Just be aware that it’s nudey friendly.
The next morning we pulled ourselves out of our big warm bed and took off for Guerneville. Traffic was terrible and our blissed-out mood post-hotsprings quickly dissipated. It was some government holiday and every citizen of San Francisco got on that two lane highway and drove to wine country. Ev and I were the first ones there of course, so we explored Guerneville. It seemed to be mostly gay bars with shoe polish on the windows and weird teenagers eager to become straight up crackheads. These were some scary River’s Edge-type teens. I was too scared to take a picture. The first familiar thing we saw was Gabe’s grinning face behind the wheel of a minivan. It was a good start. Within a half hour everyone started showing up.
