December 9th, 2005

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.


I've never driven so long and still been in the same state — stupid, bloated west coast states notwithstanding.

Just home from a three dayer in Shreveport, in the uppermost western corner of Looz-yan. As confirmed by my friend Pamela, who's up there for a while, "You get to Alexandria and you think, 'okay, this has gone on long enough.' Then you drive for another two hours."

Why Shreveport? Well, some of my Nefarious Business brought me there, but I chose now in particular so I could audition for Factory Girl, a brilliant film (judging from the script) allll about Edie Segwick and Andy Warhol.

I mean, come on, how could I not want to be involved in some way with that?

So I was to read for a role as a gay New York cowboy in the film's reenactment of Lonesome Cowboy, obsessed with the size of the horse's hoo-haw.

Yah, it's the role of a lifetime, I'm sure you'll agree. I even pulled out my bestest polyester 60s gay cowboy outfit to wear.

Alas, that scene was already cast. So I might get some other small part. Whatever. I'm just doing it because the project sounds like a promising one, and it's something I'd like to be able to say I did.

If it turns out well, of course. If it's crap, I'll be the first to point out that it must have been my dopplegänger.

Yah, so, Shreveport, huh? "What do you do for fun in Shreveport?" we asked the waiter at the restaurant.

"Go to Dallas," he said.

But I'll say this for it: if ever there was to be a parade peopled exclusively by obese septagenarians in wheelchairs, Shreveport is the place.

They even have a cute little "airport" or whatever!