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Me'Shell NdegeOcello "If That's Your Boyfriend..." |
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(Actually written two days ago...)
Um, hi, have we met?
You know, I don’t often miss inanimate objects (besides my brothers), but the DJ is a special exception. I know it’s been since July, but trust me, at least once a week I think about what I could – or rather, should -- write in here. I rarely allow myself the time to just sit and process my life anymore… and that’s truly a shame, because I’m busier than ever during my senior-effing-year of college. Umm, remember when I spent half my summer in LA? Started dating someone? Met Tim Gunn and a bunch of Project Runway people? Met Perez Hilton? Landed two articles in The Advocate (with a third on the way)? Started an advice column for The Daily Iowan? Was kicked out of Tori Spelling’s BBQ party? Turned 21 like the Lemont townie I secretly am with all of best home friends around? Endured yet another two weeks of RA training? This is one of the few times I can honestly say that since I last wrote, my life has transformed. Not that the 400 entries about Phil being an asshole weren’t also compelling, poignant milestones.
Also: you should know that I’m writing this on an airplane. I took off from Cedar Rapids’ thrillingly large airport, jetted to Minneapolis for a lay-over, and now I’m on my way to L.A. For some reason I was extra excited to stop in Minneapolis, like I was going to see the Mall of America and Prince during my one-hour stay in the terminal. Not fucking so.
Anyway, I have a motive for all this: The Advocate’s 40th anniversary party is this Tuesday, and I decided the occasion warranted my flying back to L.A. Originally, Ellen Degeneres was slated to host the event, but apparently she cancelled, so this event may turn out pretty jank. Whatever, I’ll kick it with Chastity Bono and make it hot. Or like, Danny Pintauro. Okay, confession, I want to fuck him. I don’t even care about the scandalous MySpace shots or whatever those were. The bitch is fine. I will track him down at some ghetto-ass Who’s the Boss reunion party and sit on his face. Tony Danza can eat shit about it.
More and more it’s been occurring to me how serious all this L.A. business is. Man, could I really just move out there? I suppose if I got an excellent job, that’d be one thing. But The Advocate hardly has room for me to move up, unless the editorial assistant Michelle ends up going to grad school. In that case, I’m in. It’d be only $35,000 or so a year, but I could pretend that’s adequate. And yet Chicago still seems like a place I want to be immediately after college – if not just to get the near-home craving out of my system. Okay, this is boring, let’s talk about things that rule.
Kathy Griffin just won the Emmy for Outstanding Reality Series. This is like a delicious sequel to the Dixie Chicks’ big Grammy win – I almost wonder if somebody in Hollywood actually gets-it. Have we talked about gets-it before? It’s a simple concept, really. You get it or you don’t. If you do, in fact, get it, you are allowed to watch Project Runway with me and obsess over Laura Bennett. If you don’t get it, well, at least you have your Crocs to play with. Essentially, “gets-it” is a universal system that all gets-its know to use extensively. One time Kimmie called me in urgent terror, saying something like this: “Louis, I was stuck sitting with this girl at a party… who was NOT a gets-it.” If you are, in fact, a gets-it, this is horrifying news to you. You may be so alarmed for Kimmie that you call RVAP, just in case the not-getting-it gets out of hand. I will now list some esteemed faculty members of The School of Gets-It: Louis Virtel (Professor of Sasstronomy, Dean of Admissions), Kiki Abba (Professor of Bitchonomics), Jessica Heacock (simply a slave to “The Crazy”). Kimmie Cummings, Elyse Brannigan, Rachel Fields, Kathy Griffin, Conan O’Brien, Lauren Neybert, Sarah Geoghegan, Alanis Morissette, Kelis, Anna Wiegenstein, Mark Virtel (I admit that begrudgingly)… the list goes on and on, thankfully. And look out: here come the big names from our rival school, Not-Gets-It Community College of Northern Iowa: most Christians, anybody I have slept with, people who use the word “amazing” 400 times a day, people who like Wedding Crashers, the Injun, Burge Hall, a very special roommate of mine from California (God bless her), etc. Their football team would be worse than ours if we had one, but of course, Gets-Its hate football.
In case I haven’t made this clear yet, I’m staying in L.A. with Michael, the guy I dated this summer. He still interns at E!, and this Sunday he’s appearing ON E! to interview celebs during the network’s Emmy party. That’s fucking insane. When Michael first told me this (in a text message, of course, it wouldn’t be Los Angeles if he fucking called me), I about shit myself. Well, that’s not true. I was pissed. I became happy for him, but if you didn’t notice, I have a slightly competitive edge. We’re both obsessed with advancing our careers, so when I hear he’s gaining national exposure, I think, “Dammit, he’s winning,” and then I think, “I’m losing,” before I proclaim, “I’m a failure,” just before muttering, “My nose is intolerable” and concluding with, “I’m throwing up this ice cream later.” Anyway, this is the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. If I get to L.A. in good enough time, we may be able to swing by the best gay club everrrr, Tiger Heat. You love the name too, I’m sure. When I last dropped by over the summer, I attended with my fellow Advocate intern Stephen, whose niceness almost makes you forget his incessant mentions of his vegetarianism and forced literary references. Don’t get me wrong, I love that damn tree-hugger. But if you’re going to stand there and pretend to know everything about Spenser’s The Faerie Queen (actual Stephen quote: “Do you even know what that is, Louis?”) before totally not knowing what Flashdance is, I get to make fun of you. Rather, I get to outdance your ass at Tiger Heat, which is exactly what I did to Stephen. Granted, we both made out with some fine – and uh, extremely intelligent – hotties. His was an engineer at some prestigious Cali school, and my guy was from Harvard. That was cool and all, but when we went to IHOP later, Mr. Hasty Pudding insisted on keeping his hand IN. MY. PANTS. me the whole time. Naturally I objected. Fine, it ruled.
However, equally disturbing tales have gone down in Iowa City. Two weekends ago, Kiki, Jess, and I flocked to Studio 13 for, what else, handjobs from strange men, when suddenly, my English TA swoops in from out of nowhere. Normally this wouldn’t be awkward. Yeah, except he ripped off his shirt and started rubbing himself against every guy there, always without consent. Worst of all, he kept walking near me, all shirtless and hungry, and Jess and Kiki formed an indomitable screen of fag-hag to protect me. I’m really not someone who gets grossed out easily, but that night I wanted to crawl out of my skin and into a dark corner of hell, like Summit.
Okay, before this computer runs out of battery life, some sweet things on my plate:
-A potential interview with R&B bad-ass (and Madonna collaborator) Me’Shell NdegeOcello. A guy at The Daily Iowan is Me’Shell’s wife’s cousin. WTF?! Most fucked-up, sweet connection of all time.
-Definite interview with Billie Jean King for a small Advocate commentary. This is balla.
-Possible interview with Queen Latifah for her concert in Iowa City.
-Review of Annie Lennox’s new album for The Advocate.
-Blog entries everyday for The Advocate’s new GenQ blog: www.advocategenq.com. I write all the investigative stories about why I love Madonna and stuff.
-Weekly advice column in The Daily Iowan. One day I could even solve your fictional problems.
And I think that’s all for now. If I get infuriated at Michael over the weekend because of his unfounded fixation with Hilary Duff (?!), I’ll be sure to tell you. In general though, I’m pretty content. Definitely overwhelmed and lost, sure, but I’m getting-by-with-a-little-help-from-my hombres. I’m digging coming back here and simply admitting everything… without obligating myself. Anyway, love you guys, thanks for reading all or some of this. I appreciate it big-time, and I look forward to reconvening with you and keeping it (as we used to say) real.
Thank you, thank you – miss you too, likely.
Jet-setting like your own personal Carmen Sandiego, xoxo,
Louis
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