v e n u e c r a s h

"Unless yer Dad is daft enough to stand on a stingray. Then wildlife sucks."

"I'm proud to be showing kids that conservation and helping wildlife is a stack of fun," the 8-year-old Bindi Irwin said Friday at the Australian launch of "Bindi: The Jungle Girl."

Decline and Fall.

 

Family. comfort.

'Twas the most horrible night of the year.

Last night: awful, awful, awful, awful, awful, terrible, ego-destroying, endless, horrible trick of the century. terrible. i can't even begin to describe it. i opened the door with an apology and closed the door with an apology. it was that bad. it had been so long since the back surgery...afterwards i realized: a whole year. no wonder i was such a shaking mess. and god i hate condoms. i'm not used to them anymore.

i literally had a dream of beheading a sales person at a walmart who made fun of my lack of IT skills.

Don't you treat it like a toy.

The Beach Boys are not silly. They are serious shit, and thier fun,fun,fun was from the start masking manipulation, hurt and lonliness that later led to substance abuse, psychosis and death. When you put twangy Wipeout surf music in front of them, and the Eagles after them, you have california. and tom woolf, and ken kesey, billy al bengsten, robert irwin...

i love the pivitol moment in don't worry baby when they don't remove the accidental cough during the instrumental break.

Throw-away camera jesus.

 

Little ranter: i admit i can't write.

I knew I was an architect by age 6 [just like i knew i was queer]. At church suppers he would call me over from across the multi-purpose room. that was my cue. i'd dash over, jump my buster browns on top of his wing-tips, look up at him, close my eyes, stretch my arms up. He'd pull me up and spin me around and set me back down on his shoes. i would be so very smiling; he loved me!

Both of Us now facing his peers, my outline was superimposed upon his like an old newspaper graphic depicting how children become adults: they simply blow up to bigger versions of themselves. With his Rotary peers forming a circle he would ask "what do you want to be when you grow up, jeffrey?" and i would yell out before he finished my name: "ARCHITET!"

Now i cannot do that which i truly believe was assembled to do. There are other ways to express yourself blah blah blah say the army of therapists who march through me, unannounced; some float around:the meds, pills and pills and pills. have you ever tried writing? yeah. i'm writing at a functioning HS grad level.

So i can write, but not a writer. eh. i'm not stopping!

Fame.

I have five direct [or sort-of direct] connections to sort-of bold letters:

1. a harlem globetrotter once spit directly in my face while i waited for his autograph in a gangway.

2. we were having dinner years ago at le caprice in london, and (then) camilla parker-bowles' mother or cousin fell off her chair and plunked, sitting up, at my feet. i helped pick her up. she was pickled.

3. in london, joe jackson stepped on me.

4. i know, well, knew, amanda burden.

5. i have had dinner with the guy behind mary cheney. several times.

that's pretty much it.

 

The Barefoot, Double-Wide Contessa.

i gotta pee.

Shame.