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It's times like these I compare myself (inevitably) to Debbie Reynolds and Ethel Merman... the old broads fighting menopause and donning the red sequined blazer for a comeback. You may realize I'm 21 years old and male. That doesn't mean I'm not menopausal, asshole. Have you even seen my ovaries lately? Then I guess you can't judge. Razzle-dazzle, fuckers! Back I go to putting on the tights.
Ugh, what I'm trying to say -- when I don't update for a century, it just gets too daunting to update. See, I'm so contented (or ambivalent) about life in general, that it's like... what do I have to comment about? Oh well. I trudge on. This didn't stop Joni Mitchell from releasing a hundred more albums. Including 20 orchestral versions of songs no one cares about. Love that bitch.
Jesus the fuck Christ, who invented that Christmas is ten days from now? I still haven't sent Gloria my Christmas list. It's a yearly tradition to tax you, the reader, with the things I want. Do I have it in meeee? Survey says: yes. Get ready for the Fast Money round.
-30 Rock on DVD (um, LOVE this show! Tina Fey is one of those people I'm destined to befriend. And even more destined to be legally restrained from.)
-Gift-card to someplace I can buy a sweet camel-colored coat. I'm trying to become Tim Gunn as fast as I can, you understand.
-Maybe an electric razor? Do I even have the gall to acclimate myself to the thing? You suffer abuse and unclipped stubble for weeks before it works for you. Anyway, I'm just shooting out ideas. And soon, the windows of this room.
-Something by Ella Fitzgerald. God, I remember the days when I couldn't even BEGIN to list all the CDs I wanted. Now I have them all. Thanks, life, now I'm shit-out-of-luck in the gift department.
-A new wallet! Yes! A thing I need! Eureka!
-Project Runway: Season Three and Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List, Season Two if Bravo gets around to, um, circulating them.
-Tori Amos' Little Earthquakes. It's almost 2008. Time to own it.
-A trivia book? I don't know, again, the ideas are hard to come by.
-All my friends to be home at the same time. God, what a luxury that would be.
The other day I talked with Elyse for awhile. Twice, actually. First we chatted about the writing club she's initiating at home. I hope that pans out, I'm excited to attend. Secondly, however, I called her when, um, Kumar from Harold & Kumar Go to White castle appeared in the Burge cafeteria to promote Barack Obama. Isn't it so fucked up that Iowa's the main caucus state? I saw Barack Obama twice last week, guys. I saw him once by himself and once with fucking Oprah Winfrey. Let me just say, I'm not even that big an Oprah fan (I'd even call her brutishly naive, at worst), but you know, when she entered the room, I lost my shit. I mean, it's fucking Oprah! The dictator of the vaguely free world! In a mauve suit! The best thing about it all: I get to cover it for The Advocate Gen Q blog. And I don't have to pretend I know anything, which is stellar and right up my alley. Tomorrow I'm attending a breakfast with the (UM) mayor of San Francisco! Shit, pays to have connections in this town, y'all. Still no word if I'm "allowed" to cover the breakfast for The Advocate... but I think I can do what I want, so whatever.
My sleep schedule lately has been, of course, notorious. I felt so tired last night I actually fell asleep at 11 p.m. I woke up at 3 and stayed up until 6:30. Think I watched my Joni Mitchell biography DVD and checked Facebook until I cried. If you totaled the amount of hours I'm up far too late with nothing to do but sit online, well... you could publish the results. It's not a joyous thing, really, all this night-owling. It happens because I don't care enough to get to sleep for anything. And because the day is too boring to call over. Also doesn't help that I have enablers -- Jessica and this other RA Matt French (my former resident, the wide-eyed little wascal) sit up until 4 and fake productivity. Though do we even front? No, we sit there and hate on other RAs. For instance, this one RA (who's perfectly nice, I guess) does. not. pick up. on social cues. HELP. She knocks on your door, steps inside, and without missing a beat sits on your couch and starts babbling for, literally, hours. You'd be surprised how long you'll allow a clueless girl in a vegan skirt wax about herself. Jessica and I feel bad for not confronting her -- and thereby allowing her to believe we welcome her uninvited arrivals -- but what can you say to someone who doesn't pick up anything? Better just make fun of her. It's safest.
I missed updating over Thanksgiving, which sucks, because I was hoping to make the everything-I'm-thankful-for entry an annual event. Oh well. Here's an abridged version.
Things I'm thankful for (pardon if it's redundant from last year's list)
-Humor at all costs. I can't think of a more successful antidote, solution, or addition to anything.
-My family -- this year I've gotten closer to my Dad, especially. In one of the most mysterious moments of 2007, right after I got off the phone with Billie Jean King, I called my dad right up and told him how excited I was. I didn't even think about it. And I ended the phone call with, "Love you, Dad." Not that there was ever beef between me and Lee, but Dad's not the emotionally outreaching type. Anyway. I love the hell out of Dad and I'm glad we connect more.
-My friends -- One thing I never forget: my close friends are the shit. I would be jealous of having my friends if I weren't myself. In no particular order (other than a secret system of attractiveness that I've devised): Elyse, Jessica, Rachel, Lauren, Kiki, Alyssa, Kimmie, Sarah, Monica, Corey K, Katie Erk, Amanda, Matt French, Jeanine, Kristin, Michael, Cory Sanderson, Andy Scott, Kaylin, my brothers, Tiffany & Bryanna & Tyler, Andy Phillips, Erin, Maggie S., my excellent DI troop (Anna, Ann, Susan, Maggie, Meghan, Paul, Meryn, Kurt), my fave RAs (too many to list, but I miss hanging out with Anne Lingwall so much), my Cali roomies Elizabeth and Nancy (and who could forget my favorite homicidal recluse neighbor Jason?), all my former residents, and just all the wonderful gets-its of the world. May I meet you all.
-For my fabulous summer. Full of sweet writing opportunities, incredible adventures, bizarre surprises, and a guy who helped me feel at home. Michael, you dipshit, the summer would not have been the same without you.
-The Advocate, and its staff who made me feel so welcomed and appreciated. I'll assume the arts editor's love of me is just misdirected.
-For Tim Gunn tolerating my insatiable crush on him.
-For the nerve, urge, and necessity to do what I want. For those around me who do the same, at all costs.
-For the thousands of greeting cards my aunt sends to me.
-For those pop culture inspirations: Madonna, Kathy Griffin, Alanis Morissette, Aimee Mann, etc.
-For you -- thank you for reading along.
You could just taste the turkey reading all that, I know.
What's next for me: applying for jobs/internships with The Advocate, Vogue, Vanity Fair, Men's Vogue, The Chicago Tribune, The Los Angeles Times, and maybe a few others. I'm really hopeful (and quite optimistic) about my chances with The Advocate.
And chilling out for winter break. I'm doing that too.
Thanks for finding this entry almost two months after I last chimed in. Way to stake out that shit. And again, thanks for reading, just in general, ever.
Big love, xoxooooo,
Louis
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