Effluvia

He's so precious!

Fucked up Japanese commercials.

More great writing from The Stranger:

  • Remember how much fun Soul Asylum used to be, for God's sake? Remember the goddamn Replacements, for crying out loud?! What happened? I'll tell you what happened. Winona Fucking Ryder happened.
  • 8:00 UPN WORLD'S NASTIEST NEIGHBORS
    Actual footage of neighbor vs. neighbor, including one using gasoline to write on the lawn "Mr. Johnson eats ass!"
10/20/2000
Tight Pants

I was going to run Monday night and I was stopped at the corner of Magazine and Seventh, waiting to cross the street. I saw this guy.

He had a cigarette in one hand and, tucked under the other arm, a huge stuffed marlin-type fish. Not a real taxidermied fish, but a stuffed animal like fish.

"Don't even ask," he said when he saw my smile, "it's a long story, so don't even ask."




I went to the orphanage Anne Rice owns on Tuesday. She was having a signing of her latest novel, Merrick.

Wow. It's a very impressive place, stuffed with Rice's collection of creepy dolls and various other New Orleans artifacts. The chapel (where, in her latest novels, Lestat lies around like some bloodsucking slacker) is breathtaking, and her collection of religious items is interesting and beautiful.

There was a huge crowd. I was there shortly after the doors opened; I still waited for almost three hours. Fortunately, the author provided free booze for her visitors - a hurricane-like rum punch made with malibu.

When I finally got up on the stage where the actual signing took place I thanked her - for the autograph, for the chance to see the inside of the orphanage and for the free drinks.

She gave me a big smile. "Well, you're welcome!" she said, "I'm enjoying myself. I'm glad you're here today. I'm glad everybody's here today!"

For a writer of horror novels, she seems to be a pretty upbeat lady.

Also, I saw the transexual from Gargoyle's there in line for some free booze.

"Don't you work at Gargoyle's?" I asked.

"I sure do!" she said, "how did you recognize me?" And then she laughed.




I took two pairs of pants to the cleaners earlier this month. They put a little more starch in them than I like, but they are nice and clean now.

Unfortunately, they're also very tight around the waist now. Almost uncomfortably so.

"That's because you're a big fat fuck, Harold," I can hear you all say.

Umm...no. I mean, not in this case. The pants were fine a couple of weeks ago, but now, all of a sudden like, they're too small.

"It's because they're clean now," Sonya explained when I mentioned it to her, "they were all stretched out with filth before."




Another odd little scene from the streets of New Orleans:

I was in my car yesterday afternoon, sitting on Carondelet, stopped at the red light at Canal. A massage parlor has recently opened right there, and there was a man standing outside.

He looked like...well, like someone's dad or uncle, basically. A little seedy, maybe, but probably nice enough. And he was obviously having a hard time.

He'd walk to the door and peer into the tinted glass. Then he'd walk back out to the edge of the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, head down. Then he'd look around quickly, like he was looking to see if anyone he knew was around. Then he walked back to the door and reached out for the button beside the door...and then he dropped his hand and walked back to the street and looked west, as if he was looking for the next approaching taxi, bus or streetcar.

Then he heaved a big sigh and went back and pushed the button. The door was opened by a short, buxom Asian girl in a tiny skirt and low-cut blouse. She smiled brightly, as if she were very happy to see him. Then they went inside.




Sonya and I went to the movies last night. It was the closing night of the New Orleans Film Festival, and the super-special Final Movie was Shadow of the Vampire, a fictionalized reinvention of the making of Murnau's Nosferatu. John Malkovich is Murnau, Willem Dafoe is Max Schreck, the actual vampire who's playing a vampire, and Eddie Izzard is the foppish star of the movie. The movie in the movie, I mean. Dafoe is totally the star of the movie itself. It's very funny and kind of movie-ish, if you know what I'm talking about. Kind of like Bob Roberts. Anyway, I recommend it.




So I'm sleeping this morning, all nice and warm, and I'm spooned up against Sonya, and Roxy is curled up in the crook behind my knees, and as my eyes slowly opened I felt so relaxed and well-rested and I wondered why it was so bright in the bedroom...

That was followed by a Flight of the Bumblebee-like preparation for work, because I was late.




My god, we had a massive dinner tonight. Pasta and bread from Semolina. And they have this appetizer, feta cheese baked in marinara sauce that you eat on top of crisp slices of bread, that is just great. Oh, jeeze. I'm droolin', here. Good stuff. And I've got a tangy little merlot to sip on through the night.

Did I mention I'm going to Washington, D.C. for some training? I am, and I leave Sunday. Barring unforeseen technical problems, though, I should stay in touch with you. Hell, write me at bro_hal@yahoo.com and I'll tell you how I'm enjoying our nation's capitol.




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