February 7th, 2004

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.

(no subject)

So soz about the lack of writing lately. Been as busy as a coked up little bee. I bestow a general blanket of apollywogs.

Some items of recent note:
  • The significance of my pirate icon stems from a Sepulchritude discussion wherein Johnny Depp's portrayal of a fag pirate is likened uncannily to … yours truly! Not my impression of a fag pirate, but of just little old me going about my mundane business. Arrrr, thailor!

    Co-editor changingthesky, The Boyfriend and I have a date to watch this movie, the which none of us has seen, very soon to ascertain the appropriateness of the other Sepulchritude editors' opinion and anyone else who has likened me to Johnny Depp. (Personally, I have no problem whatsoever with this parallel, although I have yet to see him mincing about as a dandy pirate. But, c'mon, it's bleedin' Johnny ferchrissakes. It's gotta be hot!)

  • Been travelling a lot with The Boyfriend. Tunica, MS. Tahoe and Vegas. San Francisco. Biloxi. Very exciting, all our play and work, though my cat is doubting who's her daddy these days. She thinks housemate Nathan is now her provider and bestower of affection. Which, to a large part, is absolutely true, so who can blame her for being confused.

    Oh, here, you should see this. This is a men's room in a hotel in Tunica, Mississippi. I just had to take pictures. There was a looped soundtrack of crickets and frogs and a small creek just over the wall of the urinal trough. Nothing makes me happier than a themed restroom!





  • My soul was eroded and I recently procured a cell phone, despite my years of bitching about these appliances and the inappropriate and obnoxious ways people use them. A week later, I have to confess I don't know how I got on without it. I am not proud of this confession. I merely put it out there.

  • Great show at Tipitina's Friday night. The line-up was Hazard County Girls, my new most favoritest band in the world, plus the inimitable Rock City Morgue. (Anyone have a screen printing doo-hickey at their disposal? I still think someone should print a bunch of "I slept with Rhodes and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.")



    Then the headliners. Midget Wrestling! "Who wants to see a midget bleed!" was the mantra.

    I do, I do.


  • Had the ultimate Gay Day yesterday. I went with gal pal Hespeth to our back-to-back hair-did appointments in a chi-chi salon in Canal Place. (Pix forthcoming, I swear — they're on another computer at present.) Then I flip-phoned The Boyfriend who came downtown and we signed up for a year at a cruisey gym and worked out for a while.

    Today, I am a network of soreness and hurt. It's been so long since I've exercised that every muscle (as I explained to The Boyfriend this morning) felt like its hymen had been popped all over again.

    Oh! And we got our first dose of Fag Gym Snobbery! We were sitting in the sauna chattering away about our plans of frequenting this establishment when in walked an absurdly buffed queen who plopped down sullenly. The Boyfriend said good-naturedly, "Hello. Welcome to the oven," or something inoccuous like that.

    Buffed Queen couldn't believe anyone with more than .004% body fat would dare speak to him!

    "Um … hi? And … um … thanks?" was the condescending answer.

    I was about to have a very tell-tale giggle fit so I had to depart … à l'instant!

  • I have to go eat breakfast now. If I can limp my sore body the whole 2/3's a block to The Boyfriend's, who has promised to whip me up a nice omlette or something.

    I do so like surprises.