In Which I Switch To Xanga

For more of the same, only different, try my almost-daily updated Xanga blog.

--AZ-Sen: Jon Kyl
--AZ-01: Rick Renzi
--AZ-05: J.D. Hayworth
--CA-04: John Doolittle
--CA-11: Richard Pombo
--CA-50: Brian Bilbray
--CO-04: Marilyn Musgrave
--CO-05: Doug Lamborn
--CO-07: Rick O'Donnell
--CT-04: Christopher Shays
--FL-13: Vernon Buchanan
--FL-16: Joe Negron
--FL-22: Clay Shaw
--ID-01: Bill Sali
--IL-06: Peter Roskam
--IL-10: Mark Kirk
--IL-14: Dennis Hastert
--IN-02: Chris Chocola
--IN-08: John Hostettler
--IA-01: Mike Whalen
--KS-02: Jim Ryun
--KY-03: Anne Northup
--KY-04: Geoff Davis
--MD-Sen: Michael Steele
--MN-01: Gil Gutknecht
--MN-06: Michele Bachmann
--MO-Sen: Jim Talent
--MT-Sen: Conrad Burns
--NV-03: Jon Porter
--NH-02: Charlie Bass
--NJ-07: Mike Ferguson
--NM-01: Heather Wilson
--NY-03: Peter King
--NY-20: John Sweeney
--NY-26: Tom Reynolds
--NY-29: Randy Kuhl
--NC-08: Robin Hayes
--NC-11: Charles Taylor
--OH-01: Steve Chabot
--OH-02: Jean Schmidt
--OH-15: Deborah Pryce
--OH-18: Joy Padgett
--PA-04: Melissa Hart
--PA-07: Curt Weldon
--PA-08: Mike Fitzpatrick
--PA-10: Don Sherwood
--RI-Sen: Lincoln Chafee
--TN-Sen: Bob Corker
--VA-Sen: George Allen
--VA-10: Frank Wolf
--WA-Sen: Mike McGavick
--WA-08: Dave Reichert

Davis McDavis' Top Five "Things That Offend Me"

Inspired by the insipid and tired Christians responsible for keeping Janet.'s titties off the airwaves and out of our homes, I've come up with a list of my own:

Davis McDavis' Top Five "Things That Offend Me"

1. George Lucas' beard. Face it, you have no chin, do not attempt to create one with your facial hair. And no, a large bristle-covered triple-chin a la Bruce Villanch is not the answer, either.
   
2. People who are rude to the help. He might say he's Jim, and he's happy to serve you, but in reality, he's happy to serve you so that you will leave. Being rude doesn't get you better service, it gets you more saliva on your entree. Have your order ready when he comes to the table, and leave a goddamn tip. And no, a Bible verse is not a tip, it's an irritation. MONEY is a tip.
   
3. Use of the phrase "...and all that good stuff" at the end of a sentence, such as, "Please get me the year-end sales figures and all that good stuff." It was really the weakest album the B-52's have made, and that includes Mesopotamia. No need to keep throwing that failure in my face during a business meeting.
   
4. Menus that mix up the word "mesclun" with "mescaline." They are two very different and non-interchangeable words. If you're going to "fancy up" your menu, don't do it by saying you are serving a powerful hallucinogen with a light balsamic vinaigrette.
5. See that girl over there, the one in the flip-flops with the fake Vuitton bag, talking on her cell phone? The one who has set her bag on the floor so she can take her charge card out and charge her latte, and when she bends over her thong is three inches higher than the waistband of her Juicy Couture sweatpants with JUICY written on the ass, so the entire line of people waiting behind her for their ice-blendeds has to see her ass crack AND listen to her describe to her friend every boring moment of her day leading up to this coffee purchase? Her.

That is all.

Here's Your Change, Sir. By The Way, Do You Have Any Spare Change?

I checked my mailbox at work, and amongst the mail was a pack of gum - a 30-cent pack of Wrigley's.

"Where had THAT come from?" I wondered.

Was someone trying to tell me something? I know I drink a lot of coffee, but is my breath so bad that a coworked needs to send me hints by slipping gum into my mailbox? I was dying, let me tell you. Can you imagine how horrible someone's breath has to be that you'd just slip a cheap little pack of GUM in their mailbox unannounced, in hopes they'd be shamed into chewing it? It was mortifying!

I quickly scanned the other mailboxes, and it didn't look like anyone got any gum, but I didn't want to go digging through them all lest someone walk up.

"Whatcha doin', Davis?"

"Lookin' for gum." Like it was Valentine's Day in third grade all over again, and I'm the retarded kid rooting through everyone's stuff in the cloakroom, looking for candy.

"Can I play the tambourine in music class today, Ms. Spedlick?"

Ideally, it was possible that everyone else had checked their mailboxes already, so perhaps they had all also been given gum and had already taken it. But, the absence of gum in everyone else's box pointed to an inside job, although since we have no receptionist, there's a fair amount of messengers, delivery people, and so forth wandering the halls at times.

So I rambled on with all sorts of paranoid thoughts and then I checked the rest of my mail. There was some boring work stuff and yet another woodworking catalog. (I once ordered a gift for my father, which somehow put me on the list of "people who like woodworking." In fact, for awhile I received several angry letters requesting payment for my subscription to Woodroom Magazine, except, as I gently pointed out to them, I had neither wood nor a room to put it in, so why would I have ordered a magazine about exactly those things?)

Anyway, at the bottom of the mail was a postcard - no address, no postmark - clearly just plopped in there along with the mystery gum. It was a postcard from a church called "The Journey" inviting me to their series of sermons on "Forgiveness: The Real F Word."

Which is funny, because the everyone knows the real F word is "fuck." Christians sure are stupid! Like I'm going to their church after they cast aspersions on the freshness of my breath!

In other news, I was reading this bloggger's entry about circumcision, which sadly does not contain photographs. He is apparently in full support, and wishes to add pube-trimming as an additional necessary body modification, which is kind of funny. If gay porn is to be taken as a cultural barometer - and why shouldn't it be? - then the needle is definitely swinging back to the untrimmed pube category, so it's ironic that all the straight guys are now shaving their privates as to be as slick and smooth as a Playboy bunny's coin purse.

But as for circumcision, I don't understand why it's okay to remove a child's foreskin, but not their toes. Who uses the little ones, anyway? And they are constantly catching lint.

Additionally, if God made us in his own image, why does He also wish us to remove our foreskins? Did he mess up? Or is it like the tip jar at Starbucks - "Here's your change! Now give it back!"

That is all.

In Which I Am Seated Near The Nearly Famous

This weekend I went to see They Who Shall Not Move Their Arms with E and his friend, Nickelstein Goldman. Seated behind us was the extended family of the male lead for the show, which became apparent when every single armless tappity-tap from the male lead dancer resulted in a series of hoots and hollers from the row directly behind us. I didn't mind too much, though, because I've always liked a man who is quite literally, though most likely not metaphorically, light in his loafers, and he was a handsome fellow.

The show itself is ten years old, and it bears a far-too-close resemblance to the black-lit-and-fluorescent-background extravaganza that was the fomer Siegfried & Roy show at the Mirage, which E and I happened to catch during what turned out to be one of the final few months of the show. (I think you might have heard, but that show was shut down due to a dispute with one of the cast members and the male lead, Roy).

Circling the venue before the show started were set of ushers carrying that most glamorous of beverages, champagne in a plastic cup with a strawberry! That's almost as glamorous as a strawberry daquiri with Redi Whip. Almost. When served by an usher who is wearing a stocking cap? GLAMMER to the MAX!

On Sunday I went to The Nomadic Museum with a group of people. NKOTB and I formed a splinter group - he thought the music was "too Yanni" and left while I was quite literally chilling and attempting to watch the accompanying film, which was being shown at the end of the museum under two of the four heat lamps in the museum, which created a sort of shivery log jam.

I don't know what it is about museums, but they sometimes seem to have absolutely no clue how to deal with crowds, or lines, and seem completely flummoxed when they appear anywhere other than the entrance. I mean, if you're so artistic and clever and so on, can't you please at least realize that if you show a 45-minute film at at the end of what is essentially an extremely long and chilly hallway, and you place the only seats and heat in the entire place at the end of that hallway, and you let in about forty-bijillion museum goers, the result is not a pristine and evocative experience that allows me to contemplate how the stars in the heavens are like an elephant's unblinking eye? Instead, genius, what you've done is placed the entrance and exit in the same location, and the exhibit inside becomes quite a bit like the line to buy your entrance tickets, only colder and with better decorations.

I recommend the exhibit, but please be sure to wear a stocking cap when you go, and don't go when anyone else is there or you'll have to stand for the movie.

We went to Diner 24 for brunch, where I sat directly in a beam of sunlight, both to warm up and to flatter my eyes, which turned as blue as my frostbitten fingers when the light hit them.

As we sat down, NKOTB whispered that seated at the table behind him was a "celebrity hairstylist," though in the interest of discretion I didn't get him to clarify whether he was a hairstylist who was a celebrity, like Sally Hershberger, or if he was a hairstylist who hairstyled celebrities, in which case that could really be anyone. Anyway, so I couldn't recognize the guy, but I noticed he was showing his table mate, who had her back to me, a glossy picture of Kristine W that he had.

"Ooh!" I thought to myself, "He must be excited - it looks like his picture of Kristine W is autographed. How nice for him!"

"Well, I don't know who he is, but his friend has a nice handbag," I said to NKOTB. (She was also seated with her back to me, and her bag was next to her on the floor and it was sort of a bright spring green color and looked happy, so even though it wasn't Dior, I thought it was nice.)

Then we talked for like an hour, and had our brunch and it wasn't until quite a long time later, when the celebrity hairstylist was getting up to leave, and his friend was picking up her nice handbag, that I realized that the reason he was showing the woman with the nice handbag the photograph of Kristine W was because she was Kristine W.

And finally, I was sad to learn the re-release of The Passion of the Christ actually has less footage than before, so it will not be released under the title I was hoping for, The Passion Of The Christ : Uncut.

That is all.

Now I'm Out $12.50!

Last night Solomon and I went to see La Mala educación, and that was super fun. The movie was filled with rampant sexiness, made all the more sexy by presenting the sexiness just slightly out of the frame, or under water, or behind a pair of extremely wet and terribly transparent white cotton underpants. Mmpf! That Gael García Bernal makes for a sexy manlady. The movie had a fascinating twisty plot, which I won't reveal here, and also a lovely gown with sequined boobs that I believe was made by Gaultier.

What I'm saying is that the film has a lot to recommend it.

Afterwards, because we were in the neighborhood, Solomon suggested we stop in at Lucky Cheng's "if it's still open." He didn't mean whether or not they had closed for the evening - it was only 10pm - but rather whether they had closed forever (they hadn't). But since he brought it up, it did make me think how times have changed. New York used to have at least two competing Asian drag restaurants, along with a white-people drag restaurant, and a bondage restaurant as a bonus!

Not without irony, under the Bush administration several of those theme restaurants have closed. Nowadays I think there's just two drag restaurants and no bondage restaurant at all. I'd like to blame it on Bushie the lesser, but I have to admit that serving really expensive and French Nouvelle cuisine in a bondage setting was a bit redundant.

Solomon used to hang out at Lucky Cheng's in college, and he knows some of the "ladies" from there quite well, at least one of whom has now a become a lady without the quotes around it. The miracles of modern medicine!

But he did mention that before she became a lady, when she was a "lady," she frequently did stage shows and lip-synchs and so forth for bachelor and bachelorette parties. (The "stage" at Lucky Cheng's is actually a boarded-over goldfish pond that used to be the hot tub in the gay bathhouse that the restaurant used to be, but that's another story, never mind, anyway....) It's apparently not uncommon for bachelor or bachelorette parties to take place there, and it sometimes the performers interacted with the groom-to-be even after the stage show was over.

It's funny especially because there's probably some delusional bride somewhere who specifically approved her fiance's choice of bachelor party venue as Lucky Cheng's rather than Scores or Wiggles, only to have her plan to keep her groom-to-be faithful backfire when he buttfucked a pre-op drag queen in a dingy basement stock room. (Although I'm guessing that later the groom probably doesn't mention that sort of thing to his bride-to-be, even if the priest remembers to asks him to "speak now or forever hold your peace" during the ceremony.)

In looking up the website for Wiggles, one thing led to another and I ended up finding this website of local escort ads (I was actually looking for escort reviews, which are funny, especially when they are reviews of former White House reporters). The escort ad website includes ads by delusional heterosexual men who think that a woman is going to pay a man for sex. Even at the rate of $25 an hour, it's unlikely. Any woman I've ever heard of really just needs to decide how many drinks she wants the man to buy her before she deigns to give him access to her chaste treasure, not the other way around. And she probably doesn't call it her chaste treasure, either.

So, the following link is not safe for work and contains a penis, but when you can, please look at this escort's posting, and then tell me something I've always wondered - if you're going to go through the trouble of photographing your genitalia and posting it on the internet for everyone to see, couldn't you please please pick the trash off of your filthy floor first?

I know a backdrop is a lot to ask, much less proper lighting, but couldn't you at least point the camera away from pit of garbage that you live in before you flop your member out? It's like the horrible window display I was talking about earlier.

It's as if Macy's did a window display using the clothing which they think is the nicest and most enticing that they want people to buy, and took those clothes and just threw them, mannequinless, on the floor of the window display before piling in some used condoms, dog feces, and surplus AOL 9.0 installation CDs.

Hey, you can see the dresses, right? What difference does it make?

That is all.

Let's Just Say I'd Rather Not Sit Down, Doctor

This is a photograph of one of my favorite things - a bad window display. In my mind, a window display should contain an interesting tableau of items that entices people who are outside the store to come inside the store. However, some shopkeeps, such as the owner of the above window display, have decided that the window display should simply contain a spastically-selected array of the items that are available for sale inside the store, displayed purposefully based simply on the space available in the window, much as you might fill a dishwasher with the most efficiency.

When, as in the above photograph, the store is a medical supply store, the tableau created involves such whimsical outfits that they answer the question "How do you make an adult-sized terrycloth bib sexy?" with the resounding answer of "Why, pair it with a jockstrap!"

You won't be able to beat the ladies away from your wheelchair when you wear one of these ensembles, even if you did have the use of your arms!

"How can I draw attention away from my arm sling?" "Have you tried a medical corset? Warhol used to wear one!"

Or how about this scenario - you're incontinent, but you don't want to let THAT get in the way of getting some loving - so pair your adult diaper with a sexy black lace bra!:

For the gal on the go, might we suggest a lightweight aluminum crutch with that diaper? Or how about a compression boot? I hear the men like a lady with thin ankles - especially if they're wearing a sexy double-insert mastectomy bra!

That is all.

Wiser? Perhaps.
Older? Definitely.

I went to the record store at lunch so I could pick up Tori's The Beekeeper, which came out last week (sorry I'm late, Tori!). After waffling over whether or not I needed the Deluxe Mega Super Edition, which includes a packet of seeds but costs $6 more, I decided to get Hot Fuss by The Killers instead.

Okay, I got both of them, actually.

I haven't been to a record store in ages, and I remembered why:

1. Bjork is still releasing every single sound that comes out of her body in limited edition CD-single form, and that continues to piss me off. As Todd would say, there there isn't enough mommy in the world to support a cause like hers. In fact, while I was browsing in the CDs I found an additional two remixes for Hyperballad which I don't have and can't listen to, and also she's released live CDs of several of her studio CDs, in case you want to buy everything twice. I can't keep up, and therefore I give up. She can take her weird-ass hairdos and mutlicolored teardrop snot and her paper dresses and lug them back to Iceland for all I care. For now.
   
2. I get distracted by all the pretty colors on the CD boxes and start thinking I need to buy them all. It's very confusing and I need to remind myself that while I like the photography and art direction on all the Kylie Minoque CDs - and there's about 50 million different singles, even before you get into Danii and the other, lesser Minogues - and I did see that cool video at the gym once - I have to remember - I don't listen to Kylie Minogue, except for that one remix of Did It Again by Razor which took out almost all the words. I just like her outfits and her playful insouciance. No offense, Kylie.

On the bright side, however, whilst amongst the singles I came across the CD single for If You Don't Know Me By Now by Aubrey. To be perfectly frank, I actually don't know her all that well by now, but the CD single contains a remix by my friend, famous New York DJ Kevin Graves.

It's terribly exciting that I know someone who has a record in the record shop - aside from my entirely imaginary relationship with Jake Shears of the Scissor Sisters, of course - so I imagine it must be even more exciting for Kevin, whose is actually on the record. I hope he's suitably excited - the record is even available on Amazon today, his birthday is tomorrow, and his super-exciting party-rama is at Crobar this weekend. The only way this week could get more exciting would be if a porn video of him getting fucked by Fred Durst gets hacked from Pam Dawber's cell phone, and since I made that last part up it probably won't happen.

The CD single - which is a reasonably-priced non-import not-limited-edition CD single (thank you!) - is real, however. You can hear a clip on this page, except they did that super-smart thing - and by super-smart I mean not-smart - where they take only the first minute of the song, which is mostly intro, so you don't get much of a sense of it. Maybe they'll have a clip on Amazon soon.

In other news, the local news was practically fingering itself in dizzying excitment over a pending mega-snowstorm, which in actuality ended up being like three inches and very boring, so I suppose it was like one of those blind dates NKOTB was telling me about. My boss still managed to come in an hour and a half late, though, despite the fact he lives about five blocks from me and takes the subway to work. I guess that's why he gets the big money.

That is all.

The Crackers

Talk amongst yourselves - I'll give you a topic. Look at this photograph (don't worry, it's not dirty). Consider this: art must be remade in the form of snack food in order to be more "digestible" and therefore understood by the typical American.

Does this relate to the American problem of obesity? Is art more or less of a commodity when it is made into a tote bag? Why or why not? Is that ugly tie I got in high school with Van Gogh's Irises on it considered camp, kitsch, or crap? Are those three categories mutually exclusive? Discuss.

In Which I Am Humbled Before Greatness

I have returned from my fun trip to visit Todd in LA, and work has piled up to a remarkable height, despite the fact that our office was closed the whole time - who knew?

Sooooo today's entry is very short - while visiting Todd, we happened to watch one of his roommate's skillions of DVDs, the DVD of The Apple, which is, coincidently, the very worst movie ever made. It's fantastic. It makes Showgirls look like Sophie's Choice. Now that I think about it, maybe Showgirls IS Sophie's Choice....hmmm, I'll have to think about that. We also watched Can't Stop The Music, which - in comparison to The Apple - seems like a quiet meditation - a tone poem, perhaps? - a rumination on coming to terms with the self.

After watching The Apple, I rushed to the toilet to vomit, but all that came out was glitter.

Anyway, while looking up IMDB messages and Amazon reviews, I chanced upon this reviewer, Tim Edstrom, who has written quite possibly the funniest reviews ever - here's a sample:

Normally, the duality of man is an exploration performed within one person. Yet, the Olsen twins, the highly talented tandem of Mary Kate and Ashley, are themselves a dual representation of duality, the former as good and the latter as evil. New York Minute is not a lament about childhood experiences, but rather an interesting celebration of awareness. Not only is the story compelling, the script is exceptional.

And another:

Air Bud 3 is Orwellian brilliance: in the style of the George Orwell classic Animal Farm, human actors are put into an animal form to create an allegory that within this film is nothing if not overtly transparent.

As you might imagine, on THIS sort of a scale, Citizen Kane got two stars, and The Apple gets five. Haute! Read them and weep. If I was this funny, I would explode. Either he's the cleverest review writer ever, or he's German.

That is all.

In Which I Apply To Become A Media Whore

All this time I thought I needed, like experience or talent to get a career in journalism. Silly me! Now that I know the correct procedure, I'm expecting my White House Press Pass any day now.

Once I have that in hand, I'll have the access I need to get you, gentle reader, the latest and greatest news on the spectacular plans of the Bush administration: from George W. Bush's wonderful programs to create jobs to his flawless program to dissolve social security; from the great things he's done to the great man he is. And nothing else!

Okay, on occasion, for balance, I'll do a story on the stupidity of the Democratic Party, or on the biased media - the LIBERAL media. You can tell the media is biased because because they question things like God and the President, when really they should accept that since God picked the President, Bush is doing God's work, and that's all you need to know.

Here at the Comfort Zone, once I have that press pass, we'll be FAIR and BALANCED, just like Fox News, so I'll just be reading the White House press releases fully, wihtout comment, and you know that I know all about full releases.

That is all.

Jeff Gannon Is Sooo Busted

Jeff Gannon Is Soooo Busted

There's a certain level of intelligence that causes people to think that they know everything. In reality, those people are in like the 75th percentile of intelligence relative to the rest of the population. Above that, the super-smart people - such as ME - realize how much they know, and at the same time, how little they know relative to all the knowledge they could know, but don't. This makes them far more circumspect than their stupider brethren.

It's these 75th percentile people who think they're geniuses that are the dangerous ones, because they don't realize how fucking stupid they actually are, and so they don't remember to, say, remove their distinctive watch when making pee pictures for their gay escort site, and then pose with the same watch on for their anti-gay Republican "news" website.

Or, you know, they plant the pee picture man in their press corps and pretend he's a reporter, even though he isn't, and figure that no one will ever know he's not a reporter, and if he's ever found out people will just get distracted by this former gay escorting outing instead of the real story about the Valerie Plame outing.

Anyway, this other guy has written a far more interesting bit about it here. I suggest you read it and enjoy the sexy photos -but remember, the sexy photos are not the point, but rather a bonus, okay?
That is all.

The Mystery Of The Sexy Christian

Well, I've been pretty excited here at the Comfort Zone due to the horrible, sexy, and tragic news of Jeff Gannon AKA Jim Guckert AKA jdg17@aol.com. Salon.com has a good summary of the story, for those of you just joining us, as does the story in Editor And Publisher. They both manage to skirt the sexy issue - which, I have to admit, is completely beside the point. But, as noted in my tagline, that's what I write about.

In case you're interested, and I'll bet you are, here's the sexy photo that everyone is talking about: sexy Jeff Gannon's AOL picture, which was on his AOL homepage along with the words "Still sexy after all these years." Just not this year, Jeff.

The actual story is that Bushie The Lesser had a plant in the White House press corps who asked such hard-hitting, investigative, and relevant questions as:

Senate Democratic leaders have painted a very bleak picture of the US economy.[Minority Leader] Harry Reid was talking about soup lines, and Hillary Clinton was talking about the economy being on the verge of collapse. Yet, in the same breath, they say that Social Security is rock solid and there's no crisis there.
How are you going to work -- you said you're going to reach out to these people -- how are you going to work with people who seem to have divorced themselves from reality?

Which, you might notice, isn't really a question so much as statement. The only part he forgot was to say:

Could you lower your pants so that I can lick your ass clean your with my tongue before I kiss it?

It should also be noted that Rush Limbaugh, not Harry Reid, talked about soup lines. More specifically, Rush Limbaugh said that Harry Reid said there were soup lines, and then Gannon left out the "Rush Limbaugh making things up" part in his question.

Yesterday Jeff Gannon was on Wolf Blitzer to explain himself, and although previously he said he was "hiding in plain sight" and appreciated all the media attention, he changed his mind after he was stalked...on his way to church. I find that highly laughable, as he's previously described himself as "a two-holiday Christian," which I guess means he celebrates Christmas and Mardi Gras. This whole scandal must have convinced him that he's much more of a Christian than he was before.

Save me, Jebus!

He also said that the whole question of "how did a fake reporter working for a fake news operation get White House press credentials without a background check" question was irrelevant because he was just issued a day pass. What he left out was that he was issued a day pass...every day for two years. He's as much a legitimate reporter as I am - which is to say, not at all.

He also explained away the fact that although there are several web domain names registered under his name, including JeffGannon.com and HotMilitaryStud.com, the dirty ones were "for a client" from years ago and never had any actual websites associated with them. I guess the fact that he was in the military and clearly considered himself a hot stud are just superduper amazing coincidences.

Apparently, the photograph of him in his underwear was him taking his clothes off right before he took a bath in the blood of Jesus Christ. Right after that, he was waved into the White House with minimal background checks, and then, totally by coincidence, whenever a hard line of questioning occurred, Bushie would call on him for tough follow-ups like, "Why are your eyes so pretty?"

This reminds me of a quote I came across from Lewis Black the other day (in the 2/16/04 Time Out New York), who says:

At least the Democrats try to hide their shit. These guys just take a dump right in front of us and go, 'Oh no, that's not there. What
you're smelling is, um, that you didn't bathe.'

Really, I don't know why the conservatives are defending this pussy, because this whole story is a great big sexy distraction from legitimate news, like how Condi Rice lied before the 9/11 commission.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to church. The fact that I'm totally nude and covered in body oil is NOT some sexual thing. It's your fault...you were anointing me, remember? Just like Jesus got anointed? And I didn't want to get the oil on my clothes, so I removed them. Nothing to see here!
That is all.

If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Already...

...And You'd Also Be Flat Broke, Because The Rent Is Damn Expensive.

The most exciting thing ever is happening in New YorkCity: The Gates! For those of you who haven't heard - and you should have, because even my Mom knows about them and she lives in Minnesota - you can click on the link above and see an illustration of what they are and what they will look like.

I'd always thought that Christo's previous stuff was not really all that interesting, other than being a punchline on one of my favorite Simpson's episodes. That is, I should say, not until now!
I just went out at lunchtime to have a looky-loo at them as they're being set up, and they already look superfantabulous, even though they haven't undone the billowy curtainy bits yet (that's supposed to happen this weekend). Central Park is currently a dreary, wretched gray color, due to it being winter, except now it's shot through with these bright orange gate thingies all running through it everywhere. It just looks neat and surreal and fun. If you live in New York you should definitely make sure to have a look at them - they're only going to be here from this weekend through February 27th.

If you don't live in New York, you should really move here as soon as possible, but that's unrelated to the Gates, actually, and is true at all times.

That is all.

Strange Fruit

The other day Solomon and I were walking home from seeing Fiddler On The Roof with Harvey Fierstein, and as we walked by the former home of the WWF Theme restaurant on 43rd Street I recalled that Tama Janowitz, author of Slaves Of New York, once wrote a series of hilaaaaarious restaurant reviews for the New York Press several years ago. Despite that fact that I have trouble remembering the names of people I've met five minutes ago, I was able to remember several different ones - about the WWF restuarant, about donuts, and about an unusual tropical fruit that smelled horribly and which she served to friends as if it was a type of smelly cheese.
In her review of the WWF restaurant, for example, as I recalled it, she didn't seem to actually know the official name of the restaurant (or in this case, wrestaurant), and just kept calling it "the wrestling restaurant". She also did a review of donuts in which she talked about donuts and gave the impression she was going to compare four different kinds of donuts, but then forgets to buy two of the four varieties, and decides she doesn't want to issue an opinion on something so personal as one's donut preference, so after two pages you come up with no review, really, but the stories involved were terribly funny - they must have been, since they stuck in my mind all these years.
I think "missing the point" is such a funny concept, especially when combined with aggressive digression. It reminds me of a documentary I saw once about Andy Warhol where he described why he made movies ("it's easier - you just turn on the camera") and how they thought it was fun to make a movie and do lots of zoom-ins where you just missed the subject entirely. While he was saying this on the voice-over, the documentary cut to clips where they were doing just that - having a big scene of people, several nude and all of them high, and then zooming in on someone's knee, for example. Perhaps not coincidentally, Tama was friends with Andy pre-mortem.
Yesterday I gave myself a treat, and printed out all of her reviews, which are available online, and read them in chronological order last night. E thought I was insane as I sat there laughing at a bunch of restaurant reviews, but they are really very good. There were several that I think I missed the first time around, and the ones I had read were just as funny the second and third time around (I read some bits aloud to him). She has a great style of writing with lots of subjunctive clauses, which I like, and she also does a few other things I like, such as 1) using the phrase "as is my wont" and 2) making lists of only two items.
They are really all very funny reviews - there are fifteen of them, I see, but really I think the very best one is the one about the durian fruit, but the donuts, the wrestling restaurant, and the review of Gotham Bar & Grill are all terribly funny as well. With the one about the Gotham Bar & Grill, for example, begins as follows:
In the morning I woke next to a huge signed cookbook called Alfred Portale’s 12 Seasons, a card saying "Gotham Bar & Grill, Adrian Gjonbalaj, Manager" and a diagram of a vagina with arrows pointing to various parts with notations such as "stainless steel labia majora," "raised copper clit" and "perforated steel labia minora." Another note said, in a scribbled handwriting, that there were vagina tables in a restaurant called NV, which had been designed by Paul Carroll.
Apparently I had been out to dinner the night before.
So if you're looking for something clever to read today, I would recommend those, which I have thoughtfully linked for you HERE so you don't have to look them up or sort them or anything.
I guess someone at the paper didn't find missing the point to be quite as amusing as I do, since her review of a Senegalese restaurant starts out by saying "I cannot tell you if Chez Gngagn Koty's is a good Senegalese restaurant or a bad one..." and it is, perhaps not coincidentally, her last review in that paper.
Also, Ed Shepp today has a nice fantasy involving Uma Thurman that is very funny, too, and is a good deal shorter than those 15 reviews for those of you with ADD.
My point, now that I'm getting around to it, was that I wanted to talk about the durian fruit today. Any of you ever had a durian, or perhaps even just walked by one? I'm really curious about them now. If you know anything about them at all, post a comment.
That is all.