Saturday, June 30, 2007

Pictures from the Cell

As technically advanced as we may be, I sure find these pictures from my cell phone to be like images from an earlier age.

Bobby, showing he is still open to adventure.
I, on the other hand, would not let that man-eater near me.
The bird, not Bobby.
We had to burn the shirt later that night.
(Dig the daddy in the background.)

Video Gaming.

Cafe Brasil after a rainfall.

Friday, June 29, 2007

At Loose Ends

I just made my Friday-evening, jury-duty phone call to find out if I have to report to Civil District Court next Monday. The funny garbled voice said, "Jurors in groups three and four have completed your term of service. You will not be needed next week. Thank you for being available."

What?!

I was counting on getting out of the house at least once or twice next week.

Maybe I just won't tell Bob. Yeah, that's it. I'll decide each night if I want to get out on my own for a while the next day. Then I'll just say, "Damn. Jury duty tomorrow. Can't make it to Sav-a-Center/the bank/Walgreen's/whatever. Won't be able to do any planting/scrubbing/laundry. So sorry."

I'm going to miss that little garbled voice.

And I was so ready to take on that security detail at the metal detector.

For No Discernible Reason ...

... I have been browsing quotes by Noel Coward.

Oh, yeah, I remember now, I was looking a for a particular one which I was never able to find. Maybe he didn't say it. Anyway, there really was a reason, after all.

Here are some of my favorites:
She stopped the show – but then the show wasn't traveling very fast.

Many years ago I remember a famous actress explaining to me with perfect seriousness that before making an entrance she always stood aside to allow God to go on first. I can also remember that on that particular occasion He gave a singularly uninspired performance.

It's no use to go and take courses in playwriting any more than it's much use taking courses in acting. Better play to a bad matinee in Hull – it will teach you much more than a year of careful instruction. Come to think of it, I never did play to a good matinee in Hull . . .

I can't sing, but I know how to, which is quite different.

I should love to perform "There Are Fairies in the Bottom of My Garden" (Bea Lillie's signature song), but I don't dare. It might come out "There Are Fairies in the Garden of My Bottom".

I have always been very fond of them (drama critics) . . . I think it is so frightfully clever of them to go night after night to the theatre and know so little about it.

Criticism and Bolshevism have one thing in common. They both seek to pull down that which they could never build.

I don't believe in astrology. The only stars I can blame for my failures are those that walk about the stage.

I have a memory like an elephant. In fact, elephants often consult me.

I've sometimes thought of marrying - and then I've thought again.

It is discouraging how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.

Wit ought to be a glorious treat like caviar; never spread it about like marmalade.

Work is much more fun than fun.

An opening night telegram to Gertrude Lawrence: A WARM HAND ON YOUR OPENING.

To know you are among people whom you love, and who love you – that has made all the successes wonderful, much more wonderful than they'd have been anyway.
Ah, the Master ...

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Civil Jury Duty in the Big Easy

This past Monday was my first day to report to our world famous City Hall for Civil (not Criminal) Jury Duty. That's right, the building with the neon sign flashing "City Hall" that everyone must have seen on CNN a couple of years ago. The building C. Ray did not stay in during the aftermath of Katrina and the onset of the U S Army Corps of Engineers' Flood of Ought-Five.

You may not know this, but in New Orleans, when you are summoned for jury duty, you are notified a month ahead of time. You are told to report to Civil District Court on a certain date and you are then given an instructional pamphlet that details the further steps you are to take during your two weeks' term as a decider. The first thing you are always supposed to do is to call a certain telephone number each evening before a date you might be scheduled to report. The garbled voice on the other end will then tell you if your group is needed the next day or not.

So all during this past weekend, I called (several times) and finally figured out that the garbled voice was telling me that groups three and four would be expected to appear the following Monday. So I went. Once there, the top jury person came out to speak to us and explained that we would be expected to wait and see if any divisions would be needing to cull any of us for our decision-making properties. Oh, and by the way, groups one and two were not called before us because, well, there were no groups one and two. There were not even any groups five and six. He never told us why he decided to start counting with the number three. I guess he figured it was obvious.

They kept us there till noon when they told us we could break for lunch but to be sure and come back by one. When we did, that was when somebody at a desk said to us, "Are you jurors?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you can go. They ain't gonna do no cases today."

"Yes'm. Thank you." And we shuffled along home. In a raging thunderstorm that had started around 12:45. A storm like out of King Lear.

That was Monday. I called that night and found out I didn't have to report on Tuesday.

I called Tuesday night and found out I didn't have to report on Wednesday.

I called Wednesday night and found out group three would have to report for 9:00 AM on Thursday. Did I mention I'm in group three? No? Yeah.

When I got to City Hall, I noticed some slight commotion at the metal detector. But what could I do? I went forward and lay the two books I'd brought to read on the conveyor belt. I took a little basket and put my glasses, my wallet, and my cell phone in it and stepped through the metal frame.

Bells went off like I was the one-billionth customer at McDonald's. I couldn't think what had gone wrong, so I began to step back and try again when a police officer said, "Step back forward, sir."

Back forward? I was really confused, but I guess I did the right thing because he didn't bitch-slap me across the side of my head. Instead, he turned to his brother officer and said, "Check him out," or whatever the policeman's language is for "Take that wand and pass it all over him and see if we can't make him sterile."

The second officer was passing the wand down my right side when it began to beep next to my pocket.

He said, "Sumthin' you got in there?"

Before I could say I was just happy to see him, I caught his eye and figured that might not be a wise thing to say. So I foolishly reached into my pocket and revealed my ... Zippo. Only then did I realize he could have shot me - legally. But I was cool, and he waved me on.

I turned to collect my stuff and found it had all been crushed by some lawyer's big briefcase. I managed to get hold of my books and my little basket and had placed them near the metal detector's monitor when the third officer, a little woman, said, "Step back from there, sir."

"Oh, sorry. I'm just trying to get my shit to ..."

"Say what? What you say? Don't be using those words in this court house. Don't even be using those words. Don't even be thinkin' 'em. This is the court!"

"Yes, ma'am."

Did I mention I was wearing my juror's badge? No? I was.

But now I was free to make it to the jury lounge on the third floor. Once there, I went to have my badge scanned so they would know I was there. But the computers weren't working, so the jury man told me to just take a seat.

After about a half-an-hour, he called out that everyone could now come up to have their badges scanned because he'd managed to get the computers working again. Everybody rushed up, but I fiugured I'd be cool and wait till the line petered out. Eventually, it did, and then I took care of my business and sat back down again.

About fifteen minutes later, the chief jury guy came out to speak to us.

He said, "I just have two things to tell y'all this morning. First, good morning. I said, 'good morning'."

"Good morning," said the jury pool.

"Secondly, good bye."

"Yes, sir." And we walked away.

I found myself riding an elevator down with a little gentleman who was already on it when I boarded it. When we landed on the first floor, I held the door open for him.

He said, "Oh, no, juror's first. A juror is always more important than a lawyer."

I couldn't help but wonder what he must have gone through trying to get past that metal detector that morning.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

So True

Where Do Homosexuals Get All Their Energy?

The Onion

Where Do Homosexuals Get All Their Energy?

Boy, am I beat. And it's not like I have some crazy life where I'm working three jobs and going to night school. No, I just have one job and a...

Pass the Paxil

I suppose it must be apparent to anyone who read yesterday's post that I have been out of Paxil for several days. I'd like to say, Relax, I've been refilled; but I wonder if it's all just a part of a larger whole, something like this from Beyond Katrina : "NORMAL" is So Yesterday.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

I Have a Confession to Make

I hate theatre. I despise it. I can't bear throwing away two or more hours of my life, much less my money, in being a part of an audience. The experience serves no worthwhile purpose and has no intrinsic value to pass on to any patron with the skimpiest slither of a mind.

Now, I know you're thinking, What the fuck is he talking about? He has over 150 theatre tags on this blog alone.

But I look around at what draws audiences in this town, what garners rave (albeit, unintelligent and illiterate) reviews; and I'm stepping out of the closet right now to tell you I hate it, it sucks, it parades around all self-important, and it ought to be burned down to a mess of hot ashes, then carried away by some restless wind.

Most of the talent in New Orleans is comprised of paint-slathered ingenues and cheek-rouged juveniles who believe that, simply because they might be able to carry a tune or do a time step, they are personnalités du théâtre.

They are self-deluded dimwits who should be prevented from breeding or voting and should be kicked off every stage in town.

I'm tired of vanity productions which exist solely for the purpose of affording some leading thespian the opportunity to reach the heights of some psychic orgasm and spew his or her juices all over a misguided, adoring throng.

I'm over having to deal with people who think they can write a script because they've been watching movies all their lives.

I'm sick of seeing gifted theatre artists being stepped on and elbowed out of the way by the likes of these cretinous cronies who rule the local hen roosts.

Eleonora Duse was once credited as saying that to save the theatre, all the theaters should be burned to the ground, the actors slaughtered, and everything should begin again.

I got my Zippo loaded and ready.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

I've Been Awarded! (No, Make That "?")

Joshua, who virtually vanished from the virtual world a few virtual months ago, seems never to have really left. He's been lurking around at Gay Men Rule and taking notes. Well, now, he has swooped down from his mountain and tagged me with the prestigious Thinking Blogger Award.

I am so humbled.

No, really, I am. Any one who knows me will tell you I've never had a thought in my head. My attributes, whatever they might be, lie in other directions.

Don't get me wrong. I accept this award. At my age, I don't say "No" as often as I did when I was younger and thought I'd never go without. No way, it's mine.

I do want to take a moment, though, to thank God who has blessed me with certain stunning gifts that seem to be much in demand within my community: a vague mind; a willingness to accept anything anyone tells me at face value; a hot, tight little body that still turns heads; and, I don't know, all those other things people seem to want to get their hands on. Thank you, Jesus.

Now, I understand there are certain things I must do in recognition of this award so that Joshua doesn't snatch it away from me. This part gets confusing. Let me think a minute ...

First, I have to post the rules for the Thinking Blogger Award. Here they are:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,

2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).
("Optional"?! Who're you kidding?)

Okay, that's number one. Now, I've got to list five blogs I read that make me think.

That's not going to be easy. Oh, it's not their faults. Read the above again, paragraph number three. Lemme just scour my blog roll, I'll be right back ...

Okay, here goes - in alphabetical order, my choices for the Thinking Blogger Award go to:
I Just Want to Be a Tugboat Captain - I don't know if Dave is really a deep thinker (how could I tell), but he makes me laugh. And he's the only person who can point out when I'm being really stupid without making me feel really dumb about it.

Kyklops - He's Canadian, that makes him smart. He lives in Japan, that makes him even smarter. And he writes short stories. That's important. Thinking people do that sort of thing.

Long Story Longer - She's really cool and looks really pretty in the tiny little picture on her blog. She also seems to like me a little, even if she likes Dave best.

Wet Bank Guide - He probably won't like me tagging him since he's a serious-minded guy. But he's a genuine thinking person. I know that, cause I have to read and reread his stuff several times.

And finally, Winding Road in Urban Area - Now this is one smart lady even if she does still live in Houston, Texas, of all places. And I don't think she even knows who Dave is at all. That makes her mine.
Well, I guess that's it. Joshua, if you would, please proofread this and let me know if I left anything out. Thank you.

A Comment for This Post from Tugboat Captain (Click Here to See the Post I Mean)

Dave left a post on his blog this morning titled
I just went over there to leave a comment about it, but it turned out to be really long. It also seemed to be pretty good. So I figured, why waste it on his blog, let me share it with my wider readership. So here it is:
Glenn said...

I am so - I don't know - kinda, like, awed by all the psychic stuff that happened to you and Robert after this very important event. It makes me wish I had gone, too. Then I might have had a dream from Marie Leveau telling me not to eat that piece of leftover birthday cake this morning, cause it was going to give me such a severe sugar rush that I would almost call 911 and beg for an ambulance, thinking I was dying. Really bad trip, man, that sugar rush.

Oh, and another thing. The pictures you took look really cool - with the blurry movement and all - spooky. I especially like the last one with you and Robert all looking like you're having a gay wedding ("I will march down that aisle in white! I don't care what they think of me for doing it.") - but I worry about what people might think of you in that little Caucasian doo-rag. With your beard and all, it kinda makes you look like you might be carrying something bad in your shoulder pack. It's rough times these days, and I worry for you.

Oh, and one final thing - I promise. Somebody made a slide show of the voodoo ceremony and I have copied it. Here it is:



It's really cool. I can even see you and Robert in a few of the pictures.

Like I said, though, ditch the doo-rag in public. Government snitches might be snapping pictures, and you don't really have enough money for a good lawyer.

2:33 PM

A special note to my readers: Dave is misleading you about how tall he is. Don't let him know I told you.

Scary

Just so you know that we will party for anything here in New Orleans, I submit, for your perusal, this item of interest:
The first ever San Fermin in Nueva Orleans will take place on Saturday, July 7 at 8 a.m. in the French Quarter of New Orleans, the same day the original Spanish event will be taking place in Pamplona.

The event will replicate and pay homage to the world famous Encierro of Pamplona, Spain, aka The Running of the Bulls, only the bulls (played by longhorn-adorned Big Easy Rollergirs) will be a little different, and we will mostly be speaking in English.

The event will officially begin at 7 a.m. (!) at the Three Legged Dog bar on the corner of Conti and Burgundy Streets. Spanish wines and good cheer will be available. At 8 a.m. the run will begin.

The run will end at The Sidebar on the corner of Conti Street and Exchange Alley, wherein more Spanish wines, Sangria, and good cheer will be available. That's when the party starts, probably right around 8:12am.

Multiple DJ's will be holding down the turntables, and a general block-party will ensue.

Runners are required to wear (any kind of) white shirt, white pants or shorts, and a piece of red cloth about the waste or neck.

Women are welcome to run.

Women in scanty threads - with horns - on wheels ... That's either a nightmare or a dream come true.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Google Has Gone Too Far

Someone in Georgia (not surprisingly) stumbled across this blog by Googling
pooting during oral sex
Now, listen, I have never written about pooting during oral sex. I know that for a fact. It isn't something I would write about. No, pooting during oral sex is a topic Dave might explore, but not me.

Google, fix yourself.

Of course, I can't help but wonder what kind of oral sex "Someone in Georgia" is thinking about.

Just a Thought

Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void Void
Sometimes it's all just as empty as this space.

Friday, June 22, 2007

More Commandments from Il Papi

The Vatican expands the Ten Commandment franchise.

Zen Shopping

There are two things in life I hate: doing laundry and shopping for groceries with Bob.

I don't know why I hate doing laundry. You just throw your junk into a washing machine and wait. Then when it's done, you throw it into a drier - and wait. After that, you drag it back into the house and stuff all the dry shit into whatever drawer space you have left. The ones that are still damp you just hang over the balcony railing - and wait - for another hour or so.

It must be the commitment I have a problem with.

Grocery shopping with Bob is easier to explain. First, you have to keep in mind that there are no supermarkets in the city of New Orleans since Hurricane Katrina except one or two uptown. And I don't like to go uptown. The people there "are different from you and me." They seem to smell you before they see you. And the smell they smell isn't one they seem to like.

So grocery shopping with Bob means having to drive out to the parish. And that means you have to give up your premium parking space and drive to Metairie through City Park or take the I-10.

I have managed to avoid grocery shopping with Bob for the past three weeks, but today, I positively ran out of excuses. I mean, there was nothing left. I had to capitulate. And he began his magpie babblings as soon as we stepped out of the house. As we approached my car, something happened ...

(I'll try to come back to this and finish it another time.)

I Wish I Could Shimmy like My Sister Kate

Well, actually, that's not quite accurate. Because I can. I handily put "my sister Kate" to shame. I am really an awesome dancer. I just don't exhibit my gifts on a regular basis because I put the younger people to shame and clear the floor. And I hate to spoil the children's fun. Sort of like pissing in the pool.

So, yeah, I'm a bitchin' dancer. But there are many other things I cannot do. I admit my shortcomings.

For instance, I can't really write. I find most of the time I don't really have anything to say or, more likely, I assume a truth to be so self-evident that I can't find a reason to belabor it. That's why there are so many posts here referencing news stories about which I say little. I mean, aren't their points obvious?

Not being able to write is no big deal - not when you can dance like I can. But, in spite of that fact, I have decided to fly in its face and make a play. Of course, I don't intend to "write" it. That's the really great deal about making a play.

What I'm doing, see, is I'm taking the thoughts and opinions and adventures of a little friend of mine (he writes a blog - how handy is that?) and I intend to fashion it into an evening of enlightened entertainment.

I have his permission - so far, he hasn't seen what I'm doing yet - but I feel confident enough in his writing to think I might be onto something. Besides, once his identity becomes public, we should have pretty full houses. His stalkers alone could pack the house. And stalkers keep coming back for more. We could run for years.

He's already suggested a title. But I can fix that.

And I have the perfect poster in mind. It involves a guitar and a toilet.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Oh, No, He Didn't

Remarks by President Bush at the Congressional Picnic, June 19, 2007:

THE PRESIDENT: I want to thank our Chef, Paul Prudhomme, from New Orleans, Louisiana -- one of the great chefs in America. Thanks for coming, Paul. (Applause.) ... Kermit, come up here. Kermit, we're proud to have you.


MR. RUFFINS: Well, thanks for having us.


THE PRESIDENT: Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers, right out of New Orleans, Louisiana. (Applause.)


MR. RUFFINS: Thank you. Thanks for having us. We're glad to be here.


THE PRESIDENT: Proud you're here. Thanks for coming. You all enjoy yourself. Make sure you pick up all the trash after it's over. (Laughter.)
In the early days and weeks following Hurricane Katrina, Kermit Ruffins was in the city of New Orleans. We had no electricity, gas, or running water. We had biting flies and swarming mosquitoes. During the long evening hours, Mr. Ruffins would step out onto his balcony and blow his horn, serenading a wounded city.

George W. Bush isn't fit to share space with Kermit Ruffins.

Another Theatrical Nomination

Take Me Out has been nominated for a Gay Appreciation Award by the Readership of Ambush Magazine (Page 30).

Frankly, I'm getting tired of all this "bridesmaid" business. I'm looking forward to next year because of Tenn Times Three and Nighthawks. There'd better be some awards coming up for those.

Of course, I don't do it for those things.

Homo History

From The Stranger, Seattle's Only Newspaper.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The Comforts of Catholicism

Il Papi is looking out for us as we travel on the road to where it is we're going. He has stepped down from the mountain with a new set of tablets, his face beaming benignly in a Big Bad Wolf sort of way.
The Vatican on Tuesday issued a set of "Ten Commandments" for drivers, telling motorists not to kill, not to drink and drive, and to help fellow travelers in case of accidents.

An unusual document from the Vatican's office for migrants and itinerant people also warned that cars can be "an occasion of sin" — particularly when they are used for dangerous passing or for prostitution.

It warned about the effects of road rage, saying driving can bring out "primitive" behavior in motorists, including "impoliteness, rude gestures, cursing, blasphemy, loss of sense of responsibility or deliberate infringement of the highway code."

It urged motorists to obey traffic regulations, drive with a moral sense, and to pray when behind the wheel.

Cardinal Renato Martino, who heads the office, told a news conference that the Vatican felt it necessary to address the pastoral needs of motorists because driving had become such a big part of contemporary life.

He noted that the Bible was full of people on the move, including Mary and Joseph, the parents of Jesus — and that his office is tasked with dealing with all "itinerant" people — including refugees, prostitutes, truck drivers and the homeless.

"We know that as a consequence of transgressions and negligence, 1.2 million people die each year on the roads," Martino said. "That's a sad reality, and at the same time, a great challenge for society and the church." ...

But it laments a host of ills associated with automobiles: drivers use their cars to show off; driving "provides an easy opportunity to dominate others" by speeding; drivers can kill themselves and others if they don't get their cars regular tuneups, if they drink, use drugs or fall asleep at the wheel.

It also pointed the finger at traffic problems particular to Rome: "Danger also derives from city cars, which are driven by youngsters and adults who do not have (full) driving licenses, and the reckless use of motorbikes and motorcycles."

It called for drivers to obey speed limits and to exercise a host of Christian virtues: charity to fellow drivers, prudence on the roads, hope of arriving safely and justice in the event of crashes.

And it suggested prayer might come in handy — making the sign of the cross before starting off and saying the rosary along the way. The rosary was particularly well suited to recitation by all in the car since its "rhythm and gentle repetition does not distract the driver's attention."...

The "Drivers' Ten Commandments," as listed by the document, are:

1. You shall not kill.

2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

7. Support the families of accident victims.

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

10. Feel responsible toward others.

It's so nice to have someone looking out for your well-being, not having to worry about thinking for oneself or ever having to grow up to assume autonomy.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Yay - Way Cool

What's My Blog Rated? From Mingle2 - Free Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

  • shit (5x)
  • hell (4x)
  • bitch (2x)
  • sex (1x)
Those words ain't so bad.

(Tip of the hat to Kevin.)

Guess I Better Just Come Clean about the Matter

I have asked Donnie Jay, the man behind To Do Productions, if we could postpone the upcoming production of Porn Yesterday.

It turned out be impossible to fully cast the play, and I didn't believe there would be enough time left to mount it (pardon my French). I will take the time to rest and visit other shows and scout out the talent. I'm getting a little ballsier about approaching people I do not know to tell them I admire their work. So I might be able to start cultivating the local acting herds around here. I think I can make a good impression when I try.

(Be sure and give to Dave.)

Long Story Longer

LSL did something wonderful last evening, something I should have thought to do. Give her a look and a consideration, then hop on over to the tugboat and do what you can.

Who Carers?

Little Relief on Ward 53
On the military plane that crossed the ocean at night, the wounded lay in stretchers stacked three high. The drone of engines was broken by the occasional sound of moaning. Sedated and sleeping, Pfc. Joshua Calloway was at the top of one stack last September. Unlike the others around him, Calloway was handcuffed to his stretcher.

When the 20-year-old infantry soldier woke up, he was on the locked-down psychiatric ward at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. A nurse handed him pajamas and a robe, but they reminded him of the flowing clothes worn by Iraqi men. He told the nurse, "I don't want to look like a freakin' Haj." He wanted his uniform. Request denied. Shoelaces and belts were prohibited.

Calloway felt naked without his M-4, his constant companion during his tour south of Baghdad with the 101st Airborne Division. The year-long deployment claimed the lives of 50 soldiers in his brigade. Two committed suicide. Calloway, blue-eyed and lantern-jawed, lasted nine months -- until the afternoon he watched his sergeant step on a pressure-plate bomb in the road. The young soldier's knees buckled and he vomited in the reeds before he was ordered to help collect body parts. A few days later he was sent to the combat-stress trailers, where he was given antidepressants and rest, but after a week he was still twitching and sleepless. The Army decided that his war was over.

Read the rest here.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

My Three Dads




Happy Father's Day, guys. I love you. Even if I didn't turn out the way you expected me to, you never once didn't love me. You even seemed to like me. You're the best anybody could have had.

(Oh, and before any of the rest of you start thinking my Sicilian mother, Saint Mom, was a slut, these are pictures of my dad and my two older brothers.)

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Yet Another Dangling Conversation

"Isn't that your friend?"

"Yeah."

"The one who always leaves with some new dude every time he's here?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, he's leaving with a chick."

"Yeah."

"A hot, fine chick, man."

"Yeah."

"That is a chick, isn't it?"

Lady of the Evening

Actually, that should be Lady of the Night.

Stumbling home early this morning, after attending the opening night of a play at the Hi Ho Lounge and celebrating at the Latrine with a passel of my friends, this is what greeted me at my door.

I find it strangely ... compelling. Erotic, even ...

Friday, June 15, 2007

Triumph at the Tonys

The real show on Broadway this year.

Verry Interresting

Hmmm, something to think about.

Losing Friends and Influence

I think I may have cast Porn Yesterday, although I have not yet heard back from anyone I offered roles to. Lets see how many friends dump me once all this is finalized.

Just in case: When exactly are you leaving the country, Dave?

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Waking Up

I'm beginning to take tentative steps out of my dark place. On Tuesday, I gave my shoulder to some of Robin's family, coworkers, and friends. I spent the day numb.

That evening I made my way back to the Marigny Theatre to wait for anyone who might want to come and read for the next play. Keith stopped in after rehearsal for his next show, just to hang out and see how I was holding up.

One person arrived around 7:30. I asked Keith to read a scene with him, and it was revelatory. Make that "Keith" was revelatory, not the scene, and not the kid auditioning. After only skimming the pages, Keith launched into a characterization filled with actions that were perfect for the role. The kid had no idea how to receive Keith's punts, couldn't respond, wouldn't - couldn't - climb the ladder Keith was propping up for him.

No problem, the kid wrote me an email late last night, declining further readings for the part since he got gigs in a film and in the new Fox TV series, Kville. He wouldn't have time to do the play. More power to him. He'll be fine on the small screen, miked and close-upped.

People keep after to me to put some pressure on Keith to take the role of the young porn performer who becomes a legitimate actor. Sadly, I believe that would be a waste of time. First of all, Keith doesn't want to do the role. Secondly, Keith playing that role would be a waste of talent. He could do it in a coma.

No, Keith needs to push his mind and stretch his abilities. He needs to go further and deeper into ever more difficult characterizations than even he believes he can go. And believe me, he believes he can do anything. But he doesn't know it yet.

No, not this role. Not for Keith. Keith has muscles demanding workouts.

He's only 27. In thirty or forty years, he'll know enough to be able to just relax and fart around onstage and still hold attention. An actor at this stage of his development is like a toddler learning about the world. Everything is new and wonderful - or terrible. It's there for his discovery. He mustn't take backward steps.

Then there's Mandi. Mandi had been in touch with me that night, as well. She wanted to talk about a play I'm hoping to mount next year. She and Keith are in the same league. Do you know how rare it is to have two such people in your life?

Of course, they can't stand each other, but they play nice for my sake. (That's a joke.)

And these are only two. There are Carlos and Steve, Lisa, Dave, T J and Don, and now, Tim and Derrick. People with skills and gifts they're not always sure they have. But they love and live what they're doing.

Anyway, both Keith and Mandi chose to hang out with me that night, and I needed the company. Keith was offering me his shoulder, and Mandi was tugging me forward to a new project. I allowed myself to get a little tipsy faster than usual, and I probably exposed my emotions more than I normally do. Most of us that night were waking the dead, after all.

They watched me like feral cats. One day I may see myself from that night being played by each of them on a stage. That's okay. It's what actors do. And aren't I acting when I allow them to see me exposed like that?

So I'm seriously looking to do a big play next season. It's probably going to be impossible to put on. Big play, big cast.

Keith keeps asking me where do I expect to find twenty something actors to put on the stage.

And I joke back and say, "Puppets."

Mandi wonders how can we keep that many actors quiet backstage.

And I say, "Put them onstage for the duration."

Then she says the stage is too small.

And I say, "We'll use the floor, too."

Finally, Bobby asks, "Where are you going to get the money for costumes and scenery?"

And I say, "What costumes and scenery?"

Impossible.

But then the play is about this teenager, a girl, uneducated, from the country, a farm girl, who decides to go to war to save her country and crown a king. She becomes a general and accomplishes what she set out to do before the enemy captures her and burns her at the stake.

Impossible?

She did it.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Dying by Degrees - R I P, Robin Malta

Photograph by Larry Graham

A close friend, a neighbor, my barber ... has been killed.

I'm in the French Quarter.

He was in the Marigny/Bywater neighborhood.

He was beaten to death in his home.

He was a good man, a decent man, funny, and caring.

He made me laugh.

He's gone ...

New Beginnings

It's back to the theater tonight for another round of auditions for Porn Yesterday. Hardly anyone showed up last week, as you know, so we're having another go at it. I don't know why so few actors aren't jumping at the chance to work in this piece.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Bada-Bing

I just saw the finale of The Sopranos.

Da fuck!?

I looked at Bob. He looked at me. He seemed confused. As confused as I was.

I began to laugh. I laughed out loud for a good fifteen minutes. I keep laughing every time I think about the ending. So does Bobby now.

I think David Chase might be the most post-modern, post-ironic writer writing today. Who else would so involve his viewers in this denouement?

This was probably the most nearly perfect ending to a remarkably nearly perfect series.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Mad Dogs and Bobby Go Out in the Midday Sun

With a late rise in the morning and nothing to do but laze around all day, Bobby chose to plant in the courtyard this afternoon. With a blazing sun, scant breezes, and temperatures in the nineties, he dug and potted and osmocoted his merry way across the slate slabs of the patio. Of course, he insisted I help, which usually consists of me standing next to him while he whines, "Why don't you make yourself useful and do something?"

Today I did. I took pictures.

A very large Hibiscus

An orangey-colored dwarf Hibiscus

Our Pride of Barbados

After obtaining his promise to call me if he croaked in the heat, I then went into the apartment and napped.

Friday, June 8, 2007

Fix the Pumps

A Bombshell.

Let's see if anyone notices. In the meantime, we all might want to stock up on life jackets.

Just Wonderin'

Over at the G8 Summit, do you think the food preparers are spitting and pissing into Bush's meals?
President Bush missed several meetings this morning, including one on aid to Africa, after falling ill with a mild stomach ailment. He is now “back on schedule,” a top aide said.
Sorry, I come from the Land of Opportunity.

The Anals (sic) of Science

Ah, our little friends from across the planet in the land of the rising sun are at it again.
OSAKA (AP) -- A group of scientists in Japan have developed a humanoid that acts like a toddler to better understand child development.

The Child-Robot with Biomimetic Body, or CB2, was developed by a team of researchers at Osaka University in western Japan and is designed to move just like a real child aged between one and three years old.

CB2, 4.3 feet tall and weighing 73 pounds, changes facial expressions and crawls on the floor.

The robot's movements are smooth fitted with 56 actuators in lieu of muscle. It has 197 sensors for touch, small cameras working as eyes, and an audio sensor.

CB2 can also speak using an artificial vocal cord.

When it stands on its feet, the robot wobbles like a child who is learning how to walk.

Minoru Asada, a professor at Osaka University who leads the project, said the robot was developed to learn more about child development.

"Our goal is to study human recognition development such as how the child learns a language, recognizes objects and learns to communicate with his father and mother," he said.

I know a lot of parents and pediatricians who could have saved them a lot of time and trouble.

Paris Hilton Due Back in Court

Special reports | Guardian Unlimited:
Paris Hilton is to return to court today to face the judge who sentenced her to a 43-day jail sentence for violating the terms of her probation.

Responding to a court filing by the Los Angeles city attorney, Judge Michael Sauer responding has ordered the hotel heiress and celebrity to appear before him at 9am (1700 BST). ...

At her sentencing in May, the judge decreed that she was to serve her sentence behind bars, specifically ruling out the possibility of electronic monitoring. But the LA sheriff's department, which is responsible for prisoners, allowed her to leave prison after serving just five days of her sentence. Citing an unspecified medical condition, the sheriff's department said that Ms Hilton must wear an electronic ankle bracelet and remain at home. ...

In his court filing, the city attorney Rocky Delgadillo argues that the city's sheriff's department should be held in contempt of court and that Hilton should be returned to prison in the south of the city to complete her sentence.

Such action, says the filing, "will restore any loss of public confidence in and respect for the integrity of the government of this city, county and state". ...

He concluded: "If law enforcement officials are to enjoy the respect of those we are charged with protecting, we cannot tolerate a two-tiered jail system where the rich and powerful receive special treatment. We must ensure that in our city, in our nation, and under our constitution, justice remains blind."

Throw the useless bitch away, already. Important things are going on in the world today.

Update, 9:05 AM:
Bobby just called upstairs to say she is due back in jail within the next three hours. The judge has spoken. (Bobby's in his daily communion with Court TV.)

Update, 10:38 AM:
Bobby misunderstood and misspoke. The hearing has not yet taken place.

Update, 4:12 PM:
(Just woke from afternoon nap) Back to jail. Heiress, who has accomplished nothing in her life, is dragged from the courtroom, weeping, knees buckling, screaming for her mother. Public-opinion pendulum starts swinging back toward notions of sympathy.

Meanwhile, a handful of men and young women are blown apart in Iraq. More on that later.

Fasten Your Seatbelts, or ...

... Give my petards to Broadway: a bitchy romp down the Great White Way from today's Salon. Not that Theater = the New York Strip, mind you.

My favorite paragraph:
The great artists of the theater's Golden Era -- many of whom would have scoffed at that characterization of themselves and insisted instead that they were craftsmen -- great heroes like Abe Burrows, Noel Coward, Mary Martin, Bert Lahr, Frank Loesser and the rest, applied themselves to the modest and deeply difficult goal of creating work that was entertaining, and so, they invariably, and often inadvertently, created work that was profound. But now profundity is the unembarrassed goal. These days it seems like every other interview with one of you guys includes two or three unabashed pronouncements about your work's importance. Way too many of you plead the case that theater people are great artists, unfairly ignored by a television-watching world that is too ignorant to appreciate you.
But there's lots more.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

The New Math

12 Kegs of Beer = 2.060606060606 Male Polar Bears
5 Spider Monkeys = 160.007938308 Average Bowel Movements
2 600cc Breast Implants = 284.0808080808 Sheets of Paper
1 Jennifer Anniston = 0.55 of Tom Cruise (sic)

It's true.

Just Saw It on CNN

Paris Hilton is out of jail after three grueling days in the hoosegow. Claims she's learned her lesson. News on the street is that the weekend party is back on. Drinks and drugs on the skanky bitch!

Update, 7:33 PM:
A good opinion piece from jurassicpork.

Who Do You Have to Do to Get an Actor Around Here?

On Monday and Tuesday we held auditions at the Marigny Theatre for To Do Productions' next play. We needed five actors. That's the extent of the cast.

We didn't get them.

I have my suspicions why that was, but I don't want to air them here. All I know is that I'm coming down from two excellent, critically-well-received productions that never found their deserved audiences.

I'm getting tired of trying.

The theater can be such a demanding vagina dentata.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Gangs of Iraq

From The Magazine, Radar Online:
Desperate to shore up its flagging ranks, the military is quietly enlisting thousands of active gang members and shipping them to Iraq. Will a brutal murder finally wake up the Pentagon?
Read it here.

(With a tip o' the hat to Jockohomo Datapanik.)

Man Tries to Jump into Popemobile

At least, we know Li'l Pisser is here in home-sweet-home and not in Rome making swan dives at the Pope.

Right, Dave?

Dave?

Dave!

... Oh, shit ...

Monday, June 4, 2007

Toby's New Trick

99 Bucks?! Sheesh.

Oh, God ...

From da po' blog: Clarity of Mind.

All ya gotta do is breathe. You know how to breathe, don't you? Just put your ... ah, hell, fuck it.

New Looks

As you can see, I'm trying out some new looks for the blog. Can you tell I'm bloody bored as hell?

Sunday, June 3, 2007

NELLY ATTACK!








Hugh Jackman mincing, bumping and grinding as Peter Allen. Now this is how you play a fag, boys and girls. The clip is from the Tony Awards, courtesy of BlueGobo.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

Is Katrina Still Killing?

The Associated Press reports:
The bodies are no longer being dragged from houses and buildings toppled by Hurricane Katrina, but nearly two years later many in the medical community think the storm is still killing.

Storm survivors are dying from the effects of both psychological and physical stress, from the dust and mold still in dwellings to financial problems to fear of crime, health experts and officials say.

"There is no doubt in my mind that Katrina is still killing our residents," Orleans Parish coroner Dr. Frank Minyard said this week.

"People with pre-existing conditions that are made worse by the stress of living here after the storm. Old people who are just giving up. People who are killing themselves because they feel they can't go on," Minyard said.

Some say an in-depth federal analysis is needed, despite a new state report that found no significant increase in deaths in the New Orleans area from January 2006 through June 2006. The state Department of Health and Hospitals is still compiling figures for the last six months of 2006.

Dr. Raoult Ratard, the state epidemiologist, said "the only slight increase" in deaths was in the first three months of 2006 in Orleans Parish.

But New Orleans medical officials say that jump, from 11.3 per 1,000 deaths to 14.3 per 1,000, - a leap of more than 25 percent - was anything but slight. Moreover, the report doesn't take into account evacuees who died while away from the city and were returned for burial.

"Our death rate was already high, that's huge," said Dr. Kevin Stephens Sr., director of the New Orleans Health Department.

Some New Orleans doctors questioned the accuracy of the population figures used to determine the death rate, saying they might have been too high. DHH secretary Dr. Fred Cerise said he was comfortable with the population data, which he said came from the Census Bureau and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. ...

Minyard believes the medical community's different observations reach the same conclusion, and one day will be proven correct.

"Years from now when they talk about post-traumatic stress, New Orleans after Katrina will be the poster child," he said.

Friday, June 1, 2007

Bobby's Rules for Living in New Orleans, Number 237

Always assume "today" is a weekday.

That way you won't park your car in a Monday-through-Friday tow-away zone after midnight, thinking Friday is Saturday.

Breaking News


Really.

And Happy Birthday, Norma Jean


It Was 40 Years Ago Today

So may I introduce to you
The act you've known for all these years,

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
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