|
|
Friday, February 29th, 2008
| |
4:08 am - Deadjournal, meet Facebook. Facebook, don't make fun of Deadjournal because he's handicapped.
|
I made the decision to post my journal on Facebook -- which is obviously nothing short of monumental. It's like Ronald Reagan approaching the Deadjournal and declaring, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this HTML."
Yeah, for two seconds I wondered, "Man, what if I say nasty shit about someone? All of FB will know!" But then I realized that whatever happens, I get more attention. Problem-fucking-solved. Holler for middle-child syndrome, lambs. Don't get me wrong; I weighed all the pros and cons of my decision -- but again, my potential fame takes precedent over rationale. It's called priorities.
In addition to weighing pros and cons, I also weighed myself. But that's bulimia for you.
Also, I just think the Deadjournal format looks so, say, retarded, that reposting everything in a cleaner blog format legitimizes the whole operation. Don't let that admonition fool you, however -- I solemnly promise to indundate you with bitching, screaming, caterwauling about the awful gay men I'll inevitably crush on, and Lite-Brite tributes to Madonna videos. Only 40 more pink pegs in place, and my "Louis Visits 'La Isla Bonita'" screen will be finished. I'll post a link once the Smithsonian finishes the appraisal.
I seriously tried to start a whole new blog with zippier, vid-filled entries, but God, I couldn't just let this old bag die. She's too sturdy a warship -- and some day a nice young man will buy her, rip off the sails, and turn her into a rightful gentleman's club. For now, however, she's still my 6-year-old darling. I will breast-feed her until love is illegal.
All these Iowa bitches are dominating my life right now -- Jess, Mattfrench, Kiki, Sarah Michaelson, Lindsay, the Not-Ready-for-Press-Citizen players (Anna, Susan, Meryn, Colwell, other DI folkies). You'd almost think I enjoy myself with them. And that's, of course, illogical -- since I've sworn exclusive companionship to my latest iTunes download: "Sh-boom" by the Crew Cuts. UM, it's from the non-existent soundtrack to Clue, fuckers. Where is culture anymore? Where is dignity? Where is Lesley Ann Warren's acting wizardry?
Writing this entry is feeling sort of like applying for jobs, in that I'm-seeming-to-write-full-sentences way. Pretty sure Entertainment Weekly plucks its new crop of writers directly from Facebook posts. National magazines are invited to interrupt this entry with job offers at any time, btw.
Something I've been thinking about: putting together a Letters to Louis blog compiling all my DI advice columns of yore. Then you can read the unedited, unsanitary original versions. Pretty spicy idea, no? Sounds wet-the-bed worthy to me.
Alright, I have a meeting with journalism professor Don McLeese at 10 a.m. tomorrow, so I have to rehearse all my best Lucinda Williams references now. Love you guys, thanks for reading along -- and if you're a Facebooker stumbling upon this cave of wonders for the first time, let me assure you: If you read this whole entry, you're gay.
Xoxo, beautiful people,
Louis
current mood:  tired
current music: The Mamas and the Papas "Monday, Monday"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, February 17th, 2008
| |
3:28 am - Um. I do miss this thing. I swear.
|
I don't think this is an actual entry, but let's point out the top 5 things that rule in life right now:
1. Amy Winehouse. Did we see that Grammy performance? Effing brilliant. And tinged with some crack? Um, probably, thank God. That's where the passion comes from. Just ask scientists.
2. Kevin McDonald from "Kids in the Hall": Brother is a riot. I interviewed him on the phone today, and he stopped me mid-interview and said, "Just to let you know, these are great questions, I'm not used to this. This is fun for me." Just what I suspected; I'm Barbara Walters.
3. The Advocate. A perennial favorite, of course, but this week they're paying me $325 to take pictures of gay people and ask them where they'd like to live. And I get published again! And a byline! And... um. Journalistic integrity. You know that's always the muse. With all my hard-hitting, roving reporter instincts up here. Woodward and Bernstein, watch your asses.
4. 30 Rock DVDs. Tina the fuck Fey. To quote my ultra-white, excellent former boss Jon, "She basically rocks the mic." And you rock the hip-hop flavor, Jon. Wear gang colors, I'm sure you'll be fine.
5. Proj Run. Technically it's the worst season ever. As a matter of fact, that's a scathingly true fact. However, Christian (who I don't particularly like) is starting to call Tim Gunn "lady," and I'm prepared to give credit where it's due. Anddd of course Chris "Sissybear" March keeps ringing in 1982 with that fucking leopard-print poncho-gone-fat-guy-shirt -- and my obsession with him lives on.
To conclude, I also went to the gay bar tonight, which was surprisingly not filled with making out. You can never predict the nights when you're pressed against the mirror wall by some guy named Tony or Andrew or "The Blade." But that's the mystery of life, of course.
In other news, I've disappointed myself with an unfulfilling crush, once again. So ridiculous the train of thought behind a crush. For me, anyway. It's so not about actually pursuing something romantic -- it's more about diverting myself from the present and living in gay la-la land for awhile. Something to tide me over while fame is still in the distance. You understand. Also, a "former acquaintance of mine" (shall we call him "John"?) performed in a show I saw, and dammit, he seemed competent. Talk about pissing me off. What could be worse than when you need to convince others to hate your arch-nemesis? I want to just snarl, "Um, he clearly has the brain of a parrot and the social skills of my mute cousin. Do I have to hit you with your own furry boots, Ashley?" But by that time, of course, Ashley's already texted "John" that she can't wait for him to play with her boobs. And there I am, taking up smoking, and just knowing one day I'll tell Tim Gunn all about this, and he'll be like, "What fuckers. Let's do eight jager bombs and talk about Kitty Carlisle all night." Ugggh, hurts to be so prophetic and coooool.
Anyway.
Big love to all, hope your semester/life/diversions-from-life kick ass. I like saying "to all," since I dream of being Evita, drunk with national power and a painfully tied-back platinum bun. Madonna played her kind of geisha-like, no? Like all her movements were rigid and rehearsed and clean-for-master? Can we also talk about my favorite YouTube video of all time (besides the one where Alex Trebek drunkenly curses at a camera crew)?
Here's a badass selection I like to call, "Madonna's wearing fuschia right now, and that means she gets to yell at concertgoers":
(Check the comments for the vid.)
That probably doesn't work at all, but whatever, let's laugh at Deadjournal's html from the '40s.
LOVE to all. Let's quit wasting time, make up our minds, and get into the groove.
Xoxo, forever,
Louis
current mood:  amused
current music: Madonna "Everybody" (live and immortal)
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, January 12th, 2008
| |
5:19 pm - "Yes, I'm ready to jump" into 2008 and entry-level jobs.
|
I prove many things in this journal (like that I can go to three malls in three days, and other feats), but mostly I show, time and again, how well I steal from Anna Wiegenstein's blog. Exhibit 43D: this end-of-year recap survey I'm about to bless you with.
2007 was a nutty, anxious, fun, harrowing, and (for real)unforgettable time. I can't say that about some years. Boohoo. Let's cut the pansy crap and start doing some hardcore JOURNALING.
1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?
God, a few things, I guess. One, I took a plane by myself (I know, can you believe it, I'm only in my twenties). Two, I paid for an apartment and all my expenses for a summer. My debit card is bruised and shit. Three, I visited somewhere west of Colorado, and four, I dated someone kind-of-actually. Other than that, Iowa owned my ass with routine.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Ugh, now that I think about it, I never got around to stabbing Ann Coulter with her own jagged heels. Um, word: My lawyer-cousin Amie had fucking lunch with Ann Coulter. Quoth the badass Amie: "Oh, she's crazy. It was a double-date. Paul and I were invited because our friend was too intimidated to be with Ann alone." Anddd I don't believe in New Years resolutions. I find if I want want to change something about myself, I do it immediately and because it's time. That said, I need to stop staying up until 6 a.m. Because I'm among the living.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
I do have a couple new cousins in the McCarthy family, which is not so unexpected when your mother has 12 brothers and sisters. Otherwise, Jessica and I gave continuous birth to The Crazy from roughly January until this second.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
My great aunt Eileen just died on January 1 (which is so inconvenient for this survey), but I'm glad to say 2007 stayed out of the morgue. FYI: Attended Eileen's wake and funeral this past weekend -- somber, sad occasion, yes, but it's so awkward when you're not super-acquainted with the part of the family the death most affects. One of my second-cousins told me it was "nice to meet" me. Nice to know he didn't remember me FROM MY HOUSE THIS SUMMER. Whatevz. I actually concur, it's hard to keep up on who is who, sometimes. He's no heir to the Virtel vault anyway. Probably doesn't even like Beanie Babies.
5. What countries did you visit?
Mmmm, pretty much chilled here in the U.S., but I did explore those smoky jungles of Dyersville, croikey. Then there were those paltry (in comparison) trips to California, a couple times, and that included L.A., Burbank, and San Diego. I also visited Wyoming, Iowa, where I guess is the best place to situate an RA Camp Day that requires an open field and nothing else.
6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?
The faith in myself that I'm doing all I can to fulfill my potential and enjoy myself. A fucking job in the real world. More big opportunities.
7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
-June 17: The day I flew to Cali. The day I arrived, cried 30 times upon realizing I had no one to hang out with and, worse, no internet.
-July 14: The day I met Tim Gunn. I'm so sick of the occasion (because I've discussed and name-dropped it to death... ugh, I hate abusing sweet times by reflecting on them and exalting them too often). Granted, I loved it, and it was clearly the biggest highlight of my year.
-July 31: The day I left California and, subsequently, Michael. It's still pretty clear to me, the memory of the final drive to Burbank and back in the middle of the night.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Going out really far and doing what I wanted. Finding out first-hand that life is not about saving money. And getting published in only my favorite fucking magazine.
9. What was your biggest failure?
Holding on to anger in many forms and from many occasions. Expect me to cover Alanis' "This Grudge" at a karaoke night one of these days. Also: being so fucking self-conscious (and, more particularly, image- and body-conscious) that I get down on myself. I need to snap the fuck out of it.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Um, I thought I had a stress fracture in my foot for a few days at Iowa. Other than that, I'm mostly just causing injury to others -- through the power of writing.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
Could be the laptop. Could be my sweet ankle boots from Nordstrom. Definitely isn't "Kokomo" from iTunes. Ugh, can we keep this between us?
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Why is this question speaking in the queen's English? Let's see. Jon Sexton left University Housing, so that merited some balloons at Buffalo Wild Wings. And Kylie Minogue sang "Got to be Certain" for the first time in 18 years, so that merited dancing in my room, half-naked, still to this day. Gloria's regular stress aneurysms generally merit a pinata or two also.
13. Where did most of your money go?
California, let's not talk about it.
14. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Meeting Tim Gunn, coming home in October and randomly hanging out with Sarah and Amanda for a night in Chicago, seeing and interviewing Paula Poundstone, getting to visit Six Flags Magic Mountain, Black Wednesday with almost everyone I've ever met, visiting Galesburg to meet up with Elyse and Kaylin (and I GUESS Brent), Jessica and Gloria visiting Cali, the Advocate 40th party, shopping, and, oh, maybe even over things.
15. What song will always remind you of 2007?
What a perfect time to serve up my "Songs of 2007" list. Thank you, survey, for everything. Disclaimer: I simply associate these songs with last year, even if they came out before, like, the invention of the light bulb.
1. Rihanna "Don't Stop the Music"
2. Janet Jackson "Son of a Gun (I Betcha Think This Song is About You"
3. Sinead O'Connor "I Don't Know How to Love Him"
4. The Dixie Chicks "Mississippi"
5. Fergie "Big Girls Don't Cry" (GAG, but a shout-out to Michael <3)
6. Kelis "Blindfold Me"
7. TLC "No Scrubs" (to be fair, I associate this more with 1999, but it took until 2007 to realize I was born to rap about "diamond-like precision" and "steppin' on your Filas"... always with respect for the deceased).
8. Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" (Did you know I'm gay?)
9. Rihanna "Umbrella"
10. Mariah Carey "Honey"
16. Compared to this time last year, are you:
Sadder? No. I'm not freakishly happier, but I'm not worse off. I'm more anxious, however, and that's certain. Granted, does anyone really live in a perpetual state of happiness or sadness? I'd prefer to think we're all less static than that.
Thinner or fatter? I'm a smidgen more muscular, so I guess that's "fatter" for me. God, survey, you really know how to woo a man.
Richer or poorer? In some ways, both. Right now I don't have a ton of money, but I have far more things. Funny how that works.
17. What do you wish you'd done more of? Writing for myself. Sleeping.
18. What do you wish you'd done less of? Worrying. Dwelling. Wasting time.
19. How will you be spending Christmas? Um, welcome to today, survey. I spent it with the usual fam, except we went and saw Juno, which I felt was slightly overrated even though I really enjoyed it.
20. Did you fall in love in 2007? I fell in like with a nice boy who wears whatever polo shirt the day calls for.
21. How many one-night stands? Jesus. Three I think.
22. What was your favorite TV program? Jeopardy, Project Runway, but most of all, for this year, Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List. And as of two weeks ago, 30 Rock.
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
I'd love to tell you I'm above that, but I'm so not. Yeah, I can think of someone. Not that I ever really "liked" him, but I think I'm almost done realizing that "John" (I use pseudonyms now; I'm trying for "classy" in this journal) is a fucking asshole. I don't think that's just a judgment; I think it's calling a spade a spade. Doesn't mean I won't end up fucking him, but whatever, I'm not the one on trial here.
24. What was the best book you read?
Mmm, fucking love Michael Musto's La Dolce Musto. He is suchhh a bitch and a role model. I think my favorite of his columns is the one where he rips on John Paul II. Here it is: http://www.villagevoice.com/news/0515,fmusto,62868,6.html
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Well, along with the rest of the world, I think I discovered the sweetness of Rihanna. And I'm rooting like hell for the success of her new single "Don't Stop the Music," my absolute favorite new song from 2007.
26. What did you want and get?
A chance to venture out and discover a different world. Also: Starbucks.
27. What did you want and not get?
Hmmm. Complacence. Though I guess I also fear that the most.
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Tough call, I really don't see too many movies. I enjoyed Knocked Up and Juno, but my real favorite was Shut Up and Sing. The Dixie Chicks are some hard-ass broads, I'm still in love with them.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned the mystical age of 21, and I toured Lemont with my x-treme posse. And I might've been dressed like a cowboy villain, sort of.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Spending the summer with someone instead of waiting around for new friends to spring up.
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?
HA. Um, did Nina Garcia write this question? Does she question my taste level? Gonna quote that famous bastion of sanity, Project Runway's own Elisa, on this one: I'm "a disturbing, Gretel-like figure." What the HELL was that? I enjoyed Elisa and all, but she really lost me with the fucked-up references. For real, my "fashion" style is tailored, sharp, colorful, and smart. I will make a fine businesswoman someday.
32. What kept you sane?
Laughing at it all. Friends. Kathy Griffin. Being proud of my work. And lastly, Valerie Bertinelli's re-emergence as a Jenny Craig spokesperson.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Fancy? Man, survey, we're getting a little vulgar here. Next thing I know you'll ask me what celebrity I found... jolliest. Um, anyway, I have serious crushes on really serious people like Danny Pintauro and Zac Efron.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Gonna go with gay marriage on that one.
35. Who did you miss?
Everyone all the time. I missed my home friends at school and at California. And my family. And Tim Gunn since the middle of July.
36. Who was the best new person you met?
Michael. He was certainly the most welcoming. Don't tell him that or anything. He's a fucking Avril Lavigne fan. I could lose a job over this.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007:
As I stated earlier: Life is not about saving money.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"I'm not afraid of what I'll face, but I'm afraid to stay."
There. Happy 2008, let's own the fucker.
Love, love, love, xoxo,
Louis
current mood: content
current music: Leona Lewis "Bleeding Love" (Superstar approaching!)
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, December 25th, 2007
| |
4:38 am - Christmas with Diablo Cody, Lemont's favorite stripper
|
Sorry, Bob Porter, you'll have to settle for being Lemont's second-favorite pole artist. Lose the glasses and work on the high kick, B.
First off, Merry Christmas to all. I hope you got the limited edition Injun hubcap you asked for.
Secondly, can I get a shout-out for the pride of Lemont, the Golden Globe-nominated Diablo Cody? The screenwriter of the new, Oscar-buzzy movie Juno (which I'm seeing today with the fam) hails from our bedazzling metropolis. And she went to the University of Iowa and majored in journalism. I'm not positive when Diablo found the nerve to steal away my life-track, but I guess she's famous first, so the joke's on me. That bitch. Why she gotta start a competition with me?
I just YouTube'd her semi-recent appearance on David Letterman, and I'm so glad I did -- this chick is sweet as hell. Pink fishnets aside, she seems so adjusted and unfazed. I can appreciate that, especially since Lemont's a town where you watch Vh-1 and start allowing yourself the delusion that Hollywood's a glowing Shangri-La decked in glory and gays. From what I've gathered, it's more just publicists. And then gays, of course.
Seeing Diablo (the former Brook Busey) made me think about this whole "fame" thing I'm fixated on. Am I fixated? Whatever. Anyway, fame soooo should be a byproduct, not a life goal. Read: I am NOT learning that. Part of the problem is I'm restless, and I readily use fame as a goal where I can attach my anxiety. You know. The same way my mom used to use alcohol. Okay, fact is I just want a steady stream of money, the time to write what I want, some more time to perform stand-up, and then... um, all of it right now. It's Christmas and I asked for it nicely. I see no reason I should be disappointed. And if I am... well, 2008's going to be a big transition year, and I'm prepared to make it my launching pad. Maybe just into a career at Panera, I don't know.
Just a thought. Love you guys, have a sweet, safe Christmas, and thanks for reading.
Xoxo,
Louis
P.S. I just received a Hollister gift card from my cousin for Christmas. What the fuck is that? I thought I made it clear I was a wiry gay, not a bulky retard.
current mood: hopeful
current music: Earth, Wind & Fire "September"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, December 16th, 2007
| |
9:27 pm - The old bitch is breathing again (Somebody kick her).
|
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
current mood: good
current music: Bjork "Pagan Poetry"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, October 30th, 2007
| |
11:46 pm - Happy Halloween. Is it Christmas yet.
|
Yo. Is this stupid-ass month over yet? I hate October. It goes on forever and nothing happens.
There's really not a hell of a lot to report, other than I'm sitting here at Java House eavesdropping on a pretentious-ass theater student flattering herself. Some favorite tidbits so far: "My character history is such a blur."; "I haven't discovered my character's intention yet."; "I think your character's intention is to push Sally away."; "Meredith said there's a big difference between an improv and a scene."
I'm pretty comforted knowing Meredith Alexander, a registered member of the gestapo, is this chick's teacher. Throw her against the wall, Meredith. Or just eat her. Then, in victory, dye your hair ten more shades of burgundy.
Okay, I swore I wouldn't write much just now since I'm allegedly at Java House to work on a freewrite for non-fiction class... but, oh shit, the inspiration just took over. Let's mull over a few of my favorite life topics, which of course are Lemont, closeted gays, and using people.
L-Town. I went home last weekend compliments of the ever-reliable, ever-overrun-by-the-Amish Greyhound bus. I paid $29 bucks for a truly scenic route back to Chicago. We stopped at DeKalb, Aurora, Peoria, Moline, Rockford, and maybe even some un-embarrassing places too. I was dropped off right at UIC and Sarah picked me up. Weirdly enough, Amanda Deckelman was in town too. Fuck I love these girls. And then Kimmie showed up too! I'm fanning myself at all the star power here. Amanda also had a friend from Notre Dame in tow who really seemed mild-mannered... until a few mixed drinks kicked in and suddenly he challenged me to a couch-cushion joust. Anyway, that followed a memorable night of bar-dwelling with the girls. What can I say? The night was random, spectacular, hilarious, and one-of-a-kind. So much getting it -- as if that was unexpected.
However, my visit back home was mainly motivated by my brother Greg's LHS stage debut. I'm welling up just thinking about the long, winding, beautiful Virtel legacy that lives on under Mrs. Jacobs' legendary, stupid direction. Okay, the play itself was a straight-up dubious choice: a string of monologues from New York City high school students about 9/11. S.O. fucking S. But guess what, Greg Virtel rocked the fucker. He came in halfway and delivered a pretty heavy-handed monologue -- and let me say, no one was more surprised than I when Greg finished that speech. He had timing. And he thought about what he was saying. And I about... believed him. I literally turned into a delirious soccer mom after it was over, stifling myself from crying out, "That's my BABY!" Luckily, my brother Jim sat next to me, and he of course filled me with cynicism. That shut me right up.
Later that night I barhopped with Kimmie and her sweet-ass boyfriend. Holy crap, he was such a Gets-It I almost started calling him Louis. Kimmie's preciousness only magnified in his presence. Well done, dear. Also, I don't even remember the last time I spent two days in a row hanging out with Kimmie. It is times like this where I'm forced to correct Madonna; for it is not music, but The Carousel, that makes the people come together. The bourgeoisie and the townie.
Elyse and I jammed throughout Saturday afternoon, and that was fun and cute, if a little typical. Somehow the weekend turned darker for me late Saturday (as it often can when I'm boarded up in Lemont hanging out alone). I don't know. Lemont rules when I'm with people, but much of the time I only feel like I'm wasting my time or awkwardly reattaching myself to a life I don't live anymore. Or I just get to thinking too fucking much. For a change, I know.
Mostly I was bothered about a guy I met recently who's a closeted homosexual. He was a cool, smart guy -- and still it's hard for me to reconcile when someone so intellectually developed is, in fact, emotionally and sexually stunted. In a way, to me, it's like realizing he doesn't know addition and subtraction -- or worse, that he's scared of (or at the very least, bothered by) himself. I know that struggle. Luckily, I also know overcoming it. Perhaps that's why it's most sad to me, actually.
Meanwhile, back in my land of out-and-proud-and-manipulative, I made out with this guy a couple weekends ago, which, normally, would be fine. However, I've established that I don't want a relationship with him, and yet we're set to hang out again soon. Perhaps this is only the beginning of a friendship (and I'd be down with that), but hmmmm, you never know with these things. I prefer to exact the trajectory of all my relationships before they actually occur, so right now I have to curb my anorexia and let things stay out of control. And still, there's more: this guy knows, quite intimately, the man who runs Bravo's website. Umm, I've been wanting to parlay my Advocate experience into a job at Bravo sooo hard. But couldn't you just pee yourself at this terrible moral conundrum? I hang out with a guy who could potentially want more than a friendship... and I have the nerve to want him to introduce me to his high-and-mighty Bravo friend. Yikes. Expect an update on this later... you know, with my frequent updates and all.
Also, Halloween is tomorrow. Fuuuuuck that.
Out I go for now. Love you guys, thanks for reading, can't wait to meet again, long live Kylie Minogue, etc., etc.
Too famous, xoxo,
Louis
current mood: mellow
current music: Madonna "Causing a Commotion" (BALLA)
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, September 23rd, 2007
| |
1:52 am - I spend because I care, Or: The Mile-High deadjournal Part II
|
(Actually written Thursday... but you should read it anyway, because my flava is timeless.)
This "DJ-ing on the plane" thing is really working for me. Hell, I'm doing it again. This time I'm on the flight back from L.A. to Minneapolis. After this, I of course fly to Cedar Rapids on a tractor with wings. We'll see how that goes.
So was all the spending and airport rigamarole worth the trip to L.A.? The days leading up to the big Advocate 40th party were sometimes slow, and I sometimes wondered if I'd veered too far from "my life" (RA stuff, the newspaper, school... regular Jeopardy viewings...) to attend this thing. But then, oh-fucking-yeah, I MET KATHERINE HEIGL AND T.R. KNIGHT FROM GREY'S ANATOMY. T.R. totally knew my name by the end of the night. And Katherine, during an unprecedented shifting of the planets, HUGGED ME. I'm definitely famous now. I'm a cast member. Hope I make it through med school without screwing up George and Kallie's love lives, guys. I am McSaucy.
Andddd I'll show you my slammin' red carpet pic of T.R. and Katherine as soon as I can upload it. You'll get to read even more about the occasion when I write about my interview with Katherine! Don't worry, guys, she basically promised to visit Lemont and Iowa City next month or so. She loves the Wednesday night car shows.
Kathy Griffin and Margaret Cho were out of town for the big event, which TOTALLY sucked. I would not have been intimidated at all by Kathy Griffin, and that's not just because I've planned our futures together. However, some choice celebs DID show up, including that dirty twat Perez Hilton, who I guess opted not to apologize for the mix-up in July. At least I don't smell, that's all I have to say. And we can't forget the inimitably antisocial Heather Matarazzo, the ever-scripted mayor of Los Angeles, Antonio Villaraigosa, the pretty blonde lesbian from Queer as Folk, as well as her FUG, ANo girlfriend! It's hard to believe people like them are passable television actors, since they're so severe-looking and bizarre in person. T.R. and Katherine both looked fabulous and healthy, by the way. Okay, let me blab about how I met them: I was helping usher people along on the red carpet with Corey Scholibo, the Advocate arts editor, and he requested I run around the block to direct lost limos to the right entrance. I'm literally out there for ten seconds when I see a pretty blonde girl in a red coat who makes me think, "She actually looks like Katherine Heigl." Yeah, then who crosses right in front of me but T.R. himself! I sort of blurt, "Oh, T.R.?" He stops, says hello. He's not there with a publicist or anything. I go, "Hi, I'm Louis from The Advocate, I can lead you to the press line around the corner... and, Katherine?" she nodded and said hi. "Um, yeah, follow me." No one had any idea Katherine was coming, which made her entrance all the more, well, entrancing. It's such a strange time to see her in person, especially since she's reached the absolute zenith of her stardom -- with that terrific Emmy win on Sunday. Michael tried to grab an interview with her at the HBO Emmy party on Sunday, but he had to settle for Glenn Close instead (what a shame).
I'm sad leaving Michael to go back to Iowa, but we're both well-aware we're not the most compatible duo. Again, I'm too Madonna, he's too Hilary Duff. Translated: I'm too rational, he's too retarded. J/K. In a way. More like we're both totally strong-willed and assured in our ambitions and righteousness. Don't get me wrong, my time with him in Burbank was delicious -- and I mean that literally, his family makes great fucking food. But we also toured cupcake shops, went to a house party, dropped down to San Diego (beautiful downtown, I was quite surprised), and snuggled and shit. I'm glad we're on the same page, because this situation could've ended up awkward. His mother was a doll the whole time, offering everything in her house and capacity for me. Seriously, the woman drove me to Best Buy to grab a recorder even though she was enduring terrible back pain from a car accident earlier this week. And she lent me a car to drive to the Advocate event, complete with a GPS system. Incredible. Also: the minute I buy a car, I'm buying a GPS system with it, that's all there is to it.
So let's talk about everything I'm avoiding in life
-WOMEN AND LITERATURE CLASS- Evelina. Letters 50 to 965.
-DI- stories on Queen Latifah, Annie Lennox, and Suzanne Vega. (Is that an early-90's clusterfuck or what?)
-RA- programs, the fucking community blueprint, and... well... anything for that damn job. I seem to do an okay job of picking up my check, though.
-ADVocATE- GenQ blog, tying up my Billie Jean King article. Did I mention I interviewed her? That woman is a saint. After I finished my questions, she piped up, "Now, Louis, I have a question for you: You got a dream, man? It's all about the dream. You have one?" Let me tell you, it's refreshing to interview someone famous who maintains the conscience of an average civilian -- or rather, someone who deserves her fame. She was remarkable -- and ranked No. 6 on The Advocate's list of most influential gay icons of the past 40 years. There's a slick divide between being "famous" and being "incredible," and I was astounded to meet someone who was, so clearly, both.
Better news: I talked to Rachel Dowd, the magazine's deputy editor (who I'm obsessed with anyway), and she told me the Editor-in-Chief would hire me permanently if I applied. Erm, semi-well-paying job in Los Angeles for a magazine I DREAMED of working at? Peeing myself. Perhaps even better: I finally got to meet the news features editor of The Advocate who works in New York. He told me he wants to get an editorial assistant for the New York branch, and if the position comes to fruition by the time I graduate, it could be mine. Jeez, guys, all this tiresome weighing of stellar job opps on both coasts... I need a cigarette. Frankly, New York is almost more appealing because I could try to get my foot in the door with Bravo. I'm sorry, television is in my fucking future. The minute I get an offer to host a game show, I'm just going to walk around my house and play "No Scrubs" all day, because I'd be the shit. Is Trebek retiring anytime soon? They'll just give that job to, like, Louie Anderson if I don't apply. Travesty, guys. Ring all four alarms.
However, let's discuss news back in the stratosphere: I miss my friendz. Elyyyyseeee. Saaraahhhh. Kimmmmmieeeee. Monica, for Christ's sake! And Rachel effing Fields! I need to get off my Latino ass and hit them up. I hope to come home sometime in October, so that'll be nice. I'm sure the res hall coordinators are super-keen on all these days off I'm taking. Fuck it, as long as they don't interfere with badminton class, I do what I want.
Get ready for some ultra-cool stream of consciousness.
Some other things I miss: my Mommy, my whole family, an organized life, water parks, doing stand-up comedy, acting, laughing REALLY hard with my friends (not that this rarely happens... but Michael Berner does not = Chris Rock), my extended family (including Tiffany, Bryanna + Austin + Luke, Colleen, my grandparents, Uncle Jim & Aunt Lea, fucking stupid-ass Anna Mae. All of 'em), trivia games, athletic competition, writing poetry (or... song lyrics, if that's what they were), watching old movies... I guess that's about it. Oh, and my hunting rifle. I ain't never felt lonelier.
Okay, the computer's almost out of batteries. Off I go to sit here and dream of Minneapolis. Bye for now, hoes. Love you, love you, thanks for reading.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: complacent
current music: Sheryl Crow "Leaving Las Vegas"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, September 15th, 2007
| |
2:46 pm - The Mile-High Deadjournal
|
(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
current mood: content
current music: Me'Shell NdegeOcello "If That's Your Boyfriend..."
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, July 23rd, 2007
| |
8:15 pm - I'm too Californian for this. Hang ten and stuff.
|
Hi.
Jesus, I don't even have time to update now, but I so want to. I understand it's been nearly a month, and it's not like there's an audience waiting with baited breath for me to resurrect the DJ (but if there IS an audience: Hollatacha, girl!), but let me say, things here have been booming.
Here's a quick recap of events:
-Lots of Advocate fun: I wrote/ am writing articles on Big Brother (and I interviewed the executive producer), the new ABC Family almost-watchable Greek, Sinead O'Connor's new album, Prince's new album, Tim Gunn, and a magazine story about a California fertility institute. I'm so effing employable. Lemont High School canNOT say no to me.
-Meeting my favorites: For that Tim Gunn article, I went to the Bravo red carpet party for the new show Tim Gunn's Guide to Style where yes, I met Tim. It was astounding. He blushed at everything I said (mostly because my questions consisted of journalistic landmarks like "Why do I find you adorable?" and "Can we build a home together?"). It was a total blast. I also met Perez Hilton (long story there) and many contestants from Project Runway and Top Chef.
-I've been dating this guy Michael, an intern from E!, for awhile now. Actually, it's been like a week, but we spend, oh, every waking moment together. That's pretty remarkable considering we're such sarcastic twats to one another. Not to mention he works for E!, the same people who brought us "101 Biggest Celebrity 'Oops'!" I can't remember how many Pulitzers that won for some reason.
-Mom visited for a week of tugboat-paced fun. Lots of Scrabble, movie-watching, museum visiting, and coffee scrounging. A great time -- even if we mostly just avoided my fucked-up roommate Jason who weighs 14 pounds (lucky little bitch) and hides inside his mattress all day.
-Gay clubbing- I've hit a couple biggies, Rage and Tiger Heat, yet there's more to come. I wish I was 21 here, but unfortunately that'll have to wait another week and a half. But oh my God. I will be 21 in less than 14 days. I feel like this means I can't play in the ball pit at Burger King anymore. This is gay.
But other than that, Jessica's flying in on Wednesday! Wooo, now I can spend a lot of money because there's something to celebrate (and not because I just feel like it). I'm basically obligated to buy new jeans while she's here. She just won't feel at home if I don't. While she's here, we're also going to Six Flags with Michael, hitting all the necessary beaches, and touring Hollywood non-stop. Our marriage is so strong, it's like we never drowned that kid.
Alright, Michael's coming over now (for a change), so I've got to shave and rehearse my best put-downs. Sooner or later I'm going to crash and update this thing... and that's only if I can overcome the pain of my SUPER FUCKED-UP iPOD. All of my iPod's files have been corrupted. I can only listen to songs I've bought recently... and frankly, I can't survive on just Sinead O'Connor's newest attempt to hug God. Boo all of that.
But no "boo" for me. I'm having a great time, and I'll be heartbroken and sad to have to leave. Love you guys, we'll lambada again soon.
DJ ain't hangin' up the mic anytime soon. Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: content
current music: Missy Elliott "We Run This"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Friday, June 29th, 2007
| |
2:00 am - I mostly just Advocate pop tarts.
|
Fellas, ladies,
Oh God, I'm doing it again. It's after midnight, I'm starting to write the DJ, I have work tomorrow, I'm going to be tired all day... yada, yada, yada, guilt, I'm back. How are we? The past week in California's been largely good, if not a little routine. You know what though, that's exactly what I wanted... and it's nice to feel like I'm comfortably cruising through this month and a half.
Yeah, except for one thing -- money is an issue. Not that I'm bankrupt or anything, thanks to the seven figures I pull in at University Housing, but God, I have to buy something half-expensive every fucking day here. Who can stand to pay for all their own food in the real world? I choose Burge forever if it's going to continue this way. Okay, that's not true, but sometimes I make bold statements to keep you interested. While we're at it, I'm pro-Holocaust.
You know what's a big plus of working at The Advocate? Keeping compulsively up-to-date on GLBT news since I'm responsible for locating it. Let us recount my favorite story thus far... it's a stirring tale.
Former leaders of "ex-gay" ministry apologize for "bringing harm"
Three former leaders of a ministry that counsels gays to change their sexual orientation have apologized, saying that although they acted sincerely, their message caused isolation, shame, and fear.
The former leaders of the interdenominational Christian organization Exodus International said Wednesday they had become disillusioned with promoting gay "conversion."
''Some who heard our message were compelled to try to change an integral part of themselves, bringing harm to themselves and their families,'' the three said in a statement released outside the Los Angeles LGBT Center.
It always brings a tear to my eye when retards graduate to competence. Granted, I'm still rooting for an "ex-straight ministry" to open that helps repressed heterosexuals adjust to their lives as fake gay men. You know, they try to have a civil union with their boyfriend who they met at the ministry, but they feel desperately guilty every time they see a football game on TV and almost watch it. This is a fucking movie-pitch goldmine, why am I sharing my million-dollar idea with y'all? Back. Off.
Let me just say: "ex-gays," frankly, are hilarious to me. It's that pathetic, awful kind of laughable, like a Jim Crow minstrel show or something. "That ain't a straight man, he jus' got straight makeup awn! Look at him dance! And he put awn a suit too, that gorilla!" You must watch this clip where an obviously gay man insists he's straight and so changed and all this nonsense. Hell, he has the wife and two kids to prove it! A bonus in the video: Sean Kennedy, news editor for The Advocate, weighs in at the end and schools the dumbass with bad hair. So weird to see Sean on national TV, because I see him every day during video conference. Every effing day. That means he looks at me every day. I'm fanning myself over this fame-by-association I'm experiencing right now.
Dig: http://youtube.com/watch?v=iIXF72L-Nd0
Tell me you peed yourself when you saw the guy with the tennis racket. Or better yet, the news correspondent who's just chilling in the background as he curses out Mommy. Excellent.
My question: what do these families of ex-gays think? They're convinced their husbands/wives/mothers/fathers are really straight? Honestly? I doubt it. The kids of these families are going to grow up and feel either sorry for their ex-gay family member or cheated. Another thing that worries me is how within the next few years, I expect the national opinion on "if gays can change their sexuality" (makes me sick to even write) will continue to shift towards un-ignorance. How are these ex-gays going to cope? The most startling thing about repressed people is how they act out, and if national opinion keeps changing, they're going to feel guiltier and guiltier as reality sets in. So my real concern: are these people going to start killing themselves sooner or later? Not that many gay people aren't suicidal already. God knows that's the case. It's weird to think about, because of course all of us "out" gays really want "a revolution" to happen where we're all accepting and feel totally ingratiated into society, etc., but at the same time... many people simply won't be able to handle that. And that sucks.
However, there's one matter that's infuriating to me about "ex-gays," and that's, in fact, when they have wives and kids. Okay, even some ex-gay ministries acknowledge that you can't just start becoming attracted to the opposite sex, even if you stop accepting homosexual feelings. So to those that go ahead, defy rationale, overstep the bounds of their identity crisis, feign attraction, and ruin the lives of some poor spouse totally infuriate me. As the ex-wife of that now openly gay New Jersey governor Jim McGreevey said, "His marriage may have been a hoax, but my marriage was real." At that point, it's not a matter of "feeling sorry" for the man who can't own up to himself. The man becomes a wrecking ball, forcing his unhappiness onto someone genuinely looking for love, and not a hideout. I don't mean to say all people "know" they're gay when they do this... but frankly, many do. If you're going to decide to be an "ex-gay," I simply think you shouldn't tangle with a straight person who could legitimately fall in love with you. I know this isn't rocket science, but the issue is so prevalent. And the damages can be so irrevocable.
I reiterate my happiness with the ex-gay ministers who announced their apologies -- that woman breaking down was actually quite poignant. Thing is, though the press conference drew some attention, events like that won't be what brings around change, I feel. If there is a "gay revolution," I think it'll happen because proud GLBT people, on a micro level, will come out to those who are still ignorant. To parents, grandparents, siblings, neighbors, etc. Not an easy task sometimes, yes, but honestly, it takes an ignorant person finally understanding or accepting one gay or lesbian to make a turnaround. I'm getting up on a high horse with all this shit, but well, you get to thinking about these things when traumatized gay men started hitting beds with tennis rackets.
Within the newsroom at The Advocate, I actually don't feel like much of a thinker. Everyone there knows their shit so hard, and everyone's worked a billion places. The arts editor used to be Owen Wilson's agent. The associate editor used to work at Variety. I used to babysit Eric Gruber. For my legitimacy's sake, I hope my review of Sinead O'Connor's album gets me sort-of noticed. I think I'm happy with it, though I wish I'd written it with a sassier edge. We'll see how it goes -- and I'll post the link to the story here when I get it.
That is, if I can pull myself away from either "Where My Girls At" or "No Scrubs," since I just downloaded them both. My late-'90s R&B man-hater love has reached a new high, and I'm glad I embrace it again. I was an ex-"No Scrubs" lover for too long! Liberate me, Paula Zahn!
Alright. Time for bed. Thanks for putting up with all the grandstanding I just did. I'm pretty positive I'll be back to posting about my new American Apparel gear and Wheat Thins analysis next time. Big love to you all, thanks again.
"Because I'm looking like class, and he's looking like trash,
I can't get with a deadbeat ass."
Hanging out the passenger side of... the Metra bus every day... trying-to holler-at YOU.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood:  okay
current music: 702 "Where My Girls At" (with self-made choreography, yes)
|
|
(8 comments | comment on this)
|
| Monday, June 25th, 2007
| |
12:54 am - Go west, young hot-ass (and I don't mean to Romeoville)
|
Lambs (you know I'm obsessed with calling you Mariah Carey pet names),
If you put your ear to this entry, you can hear the ocean. Why? Because I'm in sweet-fucking California, y'all. Los Angeles, actually, drinking up the undying breeze and cruising around Beverly Hills like all of my Clueless idols. I think I'm sadly more of an Amber than a Cher... nonetheless, they're all legends to me.
God. It's been a week now, and let me tell you, each day has been better than the last. And thank the fucking lord, because day one was traumatic.
I dutifully coasted through O'Hare airport on Sunday the 17th, boarded my plane, and sat there in denial. I hadn't been west of Iowa since before college began. I hadn't flown on a plane since 1996. And that was a little different since Lee T. paid for the whole venture. Anyway, I sat in economy and talked with this girl who was flying to L.A. for an internship as an Oscar Meyer weiner-mobile driver. I wondered if she was on psychotropic drugs. She kept insisting the Oscar Meyer job application process was "long" and had "many stages," but I'm pretty sure she was taking hits off a crack pipe while my back was turned. Just stunning. After a headache of a time at the LA terminal, I took a shuttle van to my apartment, sharing seats with these two hoes from Dublin who "came to LA to get drunk." I could've sworn Dubliners had that activity back home. I arrived at the apartment, found my key, and sat there. There was no internet hook-up, no TV, and no one to talk to. Then came the crying.
You know you're having a good day when you call your mom three times and begin the conversations with, "I just called to say I'm having another meltdown."
But the days since that wretched first day have been enlightening, eye-opening, fun, and pretty awkward. I'm still gaining friends (though my cool-ass roommates FINALLY arrived yesterday, and that's been a world of difference). My job at The Advocate is awesome, mainly because I'm so involved with all the magazine's key players. The main editors all know me by name, and they won't forget either -- especially because at The Advocate bowling party, I beat everyone in the room. I bowled a 178, because I'm the son Gloria raised. I'm also set to write a review of Sinead O'Connor's new album for The Advocate's website, and that's enough for me to pee myself for a couple weeks. Granted, I have material published on the website everyday because that's my job -- I re-write wire stories pertaining to the GLBT demographic for the magazine website. It's sweet, time-consuming, and not too difficult.
I dropped by Hollywood after my bowling party, and let me tell you, I'm almost grossed out. Aside from the killer night life, Hollywood is, as we say, sketchy. For one, it smelled like intestines. Two, the Hollywood Walk of Fame is so bogus. Who fucking cares? Snapping a photo of a star on the ground is not the same thing as snapping a photo of an actual celebrity. But let me tell you, the place was more stormed with tourists than anything else I've ever seen. And I've seen the Target in Lemont, guys.
I saw Chelsea Handler from E! film her new show on the Walk of Fame. I thought she was Vanna White, if that's any indication of how big a fan I am.
I've sworn to both Jessica and Sarah that I'm not leaving California until I've befriended both Perez Hilton and Kathy Griffin. I'm prepared to bring them back to Lemont. My Armor-All duffel bag is pretty big, guys, I'm not worried.
I'll post some pictures soon, I hope. Then again, you never know with me. To quote both Patrick Swayze and Lumidee, I'm "like the wiiiind."
Got to get to work early-ish tomorrow... but I love you guys. Thanks for reading this dank old thing. It's like a high school yearbook continued too long up in here. To which I say, H.A.K.A.S., y'all.
"Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard" and Sheryl Crow's sweet lyrics, xoxo,
Louis
current mood: tired
current music: Seal "Crazy" (<3)
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Sunday, June 10th, 2007
| |
3:11 pm - Indiana: The Original Lemont
|
Everyone forgive me, I’m having an emo night. Love how the journal always seems like a great idea when I’m getting all nostalgic or pouty. Because that’s what you want to read. Me anticipating my period all over the keyboard. Send your Pulitzer nominations this way.
I’ve got a week until I fly to California, and in the meantime I plan on being in denial. I’m doing a good job at it so far, spending this past weekend in Indiana, where Jessica writhes in agony during her day job at a bank. Jesus, who’d have thought clerical work in Indiana would’ve been less than delicious? I’m personally flummoxed.
As I write this, I’m in a little lake town ankle-deep in Indiana fireworks. Luckily we’re still close to Chicago, so I can still listen to all the KISS FM “Umbrella” remixes I want. This is more important to me than you likely realize. Unfortunately I feel pretty disgusting – my diet has consisted of Raisinets, peanut butter M&Ms, Burger King, Wheat Thins, and Dairy Queen. Ugggh. I want abs so desperately, and here I’m proving my own worst enemy. I start my all-soy, no-carbs, goodness-free diet tomorrow, I swear.
Last week, in one visit, I dropped more money at Best Buy than I’ve probably ever spent at the place. I bought a laptop and a digital camera, lickety split.... Who am I, Tara Reid? Why isn’t the E! network logging my adventures? Afterwards, I was totally uncomfortable… there went about 20% of all the money I own. Not that I didn’t need either the laptop or the digi cam (quoth Sarah Geoghegan’s always-savvy slang)… but man, the money just disappeared. It didn’t help that I bought the hugest fucking warrantees of all time. I can drop my laptop in a tar pit and Best Buy will smile and spin the thing back into a diamond. All for only 300 bucks. I’ll start crying some really un-emo tears if I keep thinking about it.
Thinking about California, finally. Can I just say (or reiterate) that the worst fucking thing about college is having to constantly say goodbye to people? Jesus, in a week I have to do it again. The time I’ve spent in Lemont, largely, has been productive – besides the times when it’s totally unproductive, depressing, and I wander around Target with zombie eyes and forget my own name. But I’ve boogied hard with Elyse, Katie Erk, Corey, Kimmie, and most of all my family, quite successfully. I swear Game Show Network has transformed the dynamic of my household. Anyway, of course I’m fighting major butterflies about Cali – and while I wait for the big change, I start asking all the terrifying questions. Is this the beginning of a new life for me? Will I make any friends? Will I want to come home? Uggggggh. I have no answers. Just a plane ticket. Whatever, I’m pretty sure that’s fine.
I must introduce you to our new friend: http://blogs.dailyiowan.com/arts. I write a weekly blog for DI, and so do a few other staff writers. I’m pretty sure mine’s the most gangsta, though, and I know how much you’re concerned with street cred. In my first entry, I took screenshots of my Super Nintendo version of American Gladiators and posted them. This is straight-up thug.
Hmmm. Here’s other stuff I’m obsessed with and have no tact in bringing up subtlely:
-Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop the Music” – you know I’m sensitive about Michael Jackson samples… and here goes Rihanna (in her new Cruella de Black-ass hairdo) throwing down a “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” line like fire. Hot, hot, hot. So downloaded it illegally. So okay about it. “Pon De Replay” can totally suck it, because Rihanna is finally becoming viable.
-New season of Kathy Griffin’s “My Life on the D-List” – mmmm. Guys. It may be better than ever. I’m tiring of her celebrity gossip shtick since she is SO well-known now and every gay man on the planet is obsessed with her. But God, the first episode of the season was killer. I’m pretty convinced the show has become funnier than her stand-up (a remarkable feat), and not only does the next episode premiere Tuesday… but Season One of her show will be released on DVD! Hell, I don’t want friends in Cali. This DVD will suffice.
-My two skimpy-ass swimsuits. Okay, so I got a little trigger happy about California beaches. I bought these two boxer-briefy suits… and since I forgot pajama shorts for Indiana, I’m wearing one of the pairs to bed. Get ready for some links… and some icy gay heat.
Okay, I need to go to bed… the rest of this suburban household has been giddily sleeping for the past four hours, so maybe I should start catching up. Love you guys, thanks for reading. Cali-is-a-comin’, so let’s blast the LL Cool J and whip on the shades.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: content
current music: Rihanna "Don't Stop the Music" (PLEASE don't!)
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, May 22nd, 2007
| |
4:27 am - “Get me the fuck out of here” and other Lemont sentiments
|
Alright, it was either the optimist or idiot in me (take your guesses, but please be nice), but I nearly had myself convinced I’d love all the freewheeling, listless Lemont time after moving back from Iowa. Louis, WHAT? Isn’t this part of the definition of insanity? Something like “expecting a new outcome after a thousand trials produce the same result”? I should be committed to a mental ward, if not only to better connect with the rest of my family. Keep on chewing the wallpaper, Gloria.
So no, though I’m delighted to be through with finals and RA rigmarole, my excitement regarding suburban slumber is basically kaput. But God love my allies: Elyse, Sarah, Lauren, Kimmie, Jeanine, and even Jessica, who forged her way back to Lemont despite the recommendations of experts and Greg Virtel’s intimidating Xbox skills. While I awkwardly wait to start my (hopefully) kickass internship with The Advocate, my crew of thugs thoroughly entertain me and drive me fun places. I’ll soon be reconnecting with Corey, Rachel (who is marooned in Grinnell, according to hip hop star Judy Fields, who I ran into last night at the LHS musical), old Chipain’s hoes, Erin, Monica, and whomever else gives piggy back rides.
But let’s be honest – my main compadre since I’ve returned home: the Comcast digital cable Gloria wrangled last week. I’m SPOILING myself on Game Show Network, you guys. I watch so many forms of Password on a regular basis that I can now tell you, officially, that Bert Convy is a dangerous, addicting vice, much like heroin, except raunchier to think about all day. But let’s not forget the blazing highs of Family Feud, Jeopardy!, Lingo, Match Game, and Who Wants to be a Millionaire?, which are only a few of GSN’s many delicious flavors of crack, mostly all co-starring Betty White. And of course I have the Bravo network too now, so Kathy Griffin and Tim Gunn feel like family members again.
Plus I have the internet in my room, except you wouldn’t guess it considering how often Comcast’s satellites fuck up. Even now, I’m typing this on a computer with an unresponsive internet. I don’t know how Comcast expects me to watch American Gladiators videos on YouTube with all of these glitches. I’m madder than Gemini losing in Assault, and more bursting with unhinged testosterone than Diamond and her Adam’s apple. Excuse me, what inhumane producer strapped that bison into a leotard? Where the fuck is PETA or Moby writing up a petition for Diamond? They better get here fucking fast, because Charlton Heston is about to harpoon that shit. Ah, and that’s another thing: ESPN Classic plays Gladiators reruns every night. This is somewhat ironic, since SPIKE TV played American Gladiators during the summer after my junior year of high school. Now after my junior year of college, it’s back on. Life, once again, is for living.
As I mentioned earlier, Jessica cruised into town for a few nights last week. She, Lauren, Gloria, and I began our quest to personally evaluate the gluttonous consumerism of the Western world with a scientific visit to Woodfield Mall. Reviewing my notes, it appears that Urban Outfitters supplies kickass shorts for any summer occasion. Gloria and Jessica interviewed esteemed physicists Ann Taylor and Charlotte Russe, who have conclusively proved the validity of the sleek silhouette-cheap price continuum. "Astounding!" we declared. Of course H&M had patented the theorem years ago, once again beating the dumbfucks at Argonne. Breathtaking work all around, team. See you at Orland Square lab headquarters.
Jess also bought five Wendy’s frostees within the three days she stayed in Lemont. At least she owns the addiction. We had a blast (between bouts of crazy) as we circled the same Lemontian streets again and again. She just landed a job in Indiana near where her aunt lives. Okay, despite the work’s apparent “bank” setting, I warned Jessica to remember she’s dealing with Indianans. Therefore, the job likely has more to do with the sale of fireworks than her boss is letting on. All I can say, Jess, is that I told you so – I wish you many successful bottle-rocket exhibitions and I hope your life at the Speedway is a clean one. Don’t come crying when some bearded man in a commemorative Dale Earnhardt trucker hat propositions you under a water slide at Indiana Beach – proving once again there is more than corn in Indiana, even if it’s mostly sex offenders.
Sigh. Enough with the wisecracks. I still have to purchase my plane ticket to California, write my thank-you letter for the fucking journalism scholarship I received a month ago, and re-contact Michelle from The Advocate about goings-on in the office and the pitch I e-mailed in. I sent in a story idea about Sinead O’Connor, who’s coming out with an album soon. Sinead’s a tough subject to write conclusively about, especially for The Advocate’s readership – after all, she was once a lesbian, and then she declared herself “25% gay.” Can I just say I love the bullshit of categorizing sexuality into percentages? “Well, you see, I’m 46% heterosexual, 38% gay, 10% transgender, 4% water, and 2% Lebanese.” I don’t doubt that a person can be attracted to both genders, but saying that you’re “75% straight” implies you’re 75% interested in members of the opposite sex. Must be a shame to those people, since they’ll never have the vagina/penis to satisfy the 25% of you that desperately wants to go to Studio. Anyway, no offense to Sinead, I’ll gladly take the chance to interview her if I can. I certainly own (and love) enough of her material that I feel like I understand her trauma, I mean, artistic point of view.
But that’s that. I’m off to click on Internet Explorer for the next six hours like it’ll just pop back up if I prod it enough. Why can’t all technology be as fixable as an NES game? I’ll flip this computer tower over and blow into its ass if I have to. And it better play Double Dragon beautifully after I spank it a couple times.
Love y’allz, thanks for reading, getting it, playing with yourself when you think of me, etc.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: restless, hilarious, bored
current music: Mariah Carey "Honey" (screw dignity! Love me some '97!)
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, May 1st, 2007
| |
10:38 pm - "Oh, make me feel good, rock 'n roll band, I'm your biggest fan..."
|
Quoting Joni Mitchell in the subject, Louis? Really? Shall we all recall the 2002 version of ourselves for the hell of it? Let's get out the geometry book and copy of Frankenstein 1930 and call it a party.
No, no. It's fucking May 2007 up in this bitch. And I'm quoting Joni's "California," why? Because I'M LIVING THERE THIS SUMMER, POODLES. The Advocate called me up at the end of March, said they were picking me for the internship, and I could start whenever I wanted. This confirms what I have suspected all along: I am the king of the gays in Iowa, Lemont, and Jimmy Johns wherever I please. I'm fashioning a crown of glitter and feathers and wearing it all around Lemont when I go home. Knowing L-town, I'll be gleefully mistaken for the Injun. And then Lemon Tree will get excited and name one of its cancer burgers after me. Either way, I won't be denied my reign --even though it'll be kind of sad taking the title away from the former king-of-the-gays, Peter Chipain, I'll live.
The only way I know to show love in this journal anymore is embedding pictures on the page. I'm really excited about my 1998 HTML knowledge, okay? Fuck off and dig it.
Careful! You're entering a time machine!
It's so '70s in here, I about grooved into a stupor. Jess and I went to Stduio 54 night at the local gay bar, and if you couldn't tell, we spent some time planning outfits. Also: Jessica is straight-up hot. Hate her.
Here we are before the RA Formal. Technically, it wasn't a formal so much as it was a rented out lobby with some cookies thrown on the floor. Luckily Jess and I had the idea to photograph ourselves anyway. So defiant!
That's all for now. Just wanted to tell you I got the damn internship. And that I'm basically done with all of my classes. And that Lemont, once again, is upon us. I can't believe I'm almost a senior in college -- for the first time in my life, I'm going to be clueless as to what comes next. I expect I'll be doing an independent study in comfort food late next year.
Anyway, big love, later.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: brassy
current music: Kylie Minogue "Come Into My World"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, March 28th, 2007
| |
12:05 am - Don't call it a comeback.
|
Lovers (yes, every one of you),
Woooooo! I breathe. Is this thing on?
Techincally it's been a month and a half since our last booty call. What can I say? I'm like an effing grown-up over here, doing all this The Man work and editing the world's greatest newspaper day in and out. Spring break happened a little while ago, and while I didn't get to go to New York like I'd planned (I'll explain), I did get to have Jessica over in Lemont for half the week. I must've done convinced her there was more to do in L-town than wait for church, because she seemed to have a pretty good time. She got to meet Elyse and Kaylin (for the second time!), Sarah, Corey, Rachel, and a few other standouts. Also, we made a fool of Woodfield Mall, buying about $600 worth of shit altogether. Here is a definitely-not-staged photo where I wear two of new purchases:
Are you getting a load of those new maroon Pumas and that icy Express track jacket? I'm so stunned that Jessica could a steal a picture of me in such an un-posed position. I guess it's true when they say the best art is spontaneous and on a pool table.
Bigger news: I put all my eggs in one fabulous basket recently by applying for an internship with The Advocate, the nation's biggest gay/lesbian magazine. Word: I interviewed over the phone with the editorial assistant there, and she asked me only two questions. Color me confused -- I'd spent the days prior meticulously and thoroughly tabbing and making notes on The Advocate's latest issue, and I wasn't even alotted the time to offer my brilliant insight. However, I will say, they didn't even give me enough time to prove myself unworthy. After everything I said, the ed assistant kept repeating, "Um, great! Excellent!" and the like. In other words, there's no reason I shouldn't nab this internship and get to spend my summer in California. I find out this week if it's a go -- and if doesn't work out, I can start with empty threats to everyone at The Advocate. Something about their favorite pets and a juicer.
As I mentioned earlier, Jessica's trip to Lemont saw her second meeting with the fabulous Elyse and Kaylin. You see, last month, Elyse and Kaylin drove up to Iowa to hang out for a night. It was absolutely the worst weather I've encountered at this school. Iciest streets of all time, harsh winds, etc. Strangely enough, before they arrived at Iowa, I actually met up with Elyse and Kaylin in Galesburg, where we would hang out with Andy for a night before trekking back to IC. How did I get to Galesburg from Iowa City without a car, you astutely ask? I called my favorite waif-in-waiting Brent, asked if he could pick me up, and he complied. He came with his friend (and mine too, dammit) Meg, picked me up, and I spent a day chilling in Galesburg before Elyse and Kaylin arrived. This meant sex. It was alright. Sort of worthless in the grand scheme of things, but nice enough.
And now for your favorite part of my Vaudeville act, I list everything I'm stressed about:
-RA program: pool party this Saturday.
-History of Theatre test next Monday. <3 all the plays I haven't read.
-Scene for directing class.
-Feature for Arts Reporting class.
That's all the big stuff. In perspective, it's manageable. Hell, I'm here writing this fucking entry, aren't I?
Huge news: last week I interviewed THE Paula Poundstone. That is right. One of my favorite effing comedians of all time. She was hilarious, considerate, articulate, neurotic, and honest. Exactly what you'd expect her to be. I'm running a huge article about her in The Daily Iowan next week for when she comes to town to perform. Also, I am seeing her live. Here is where I proclaim across cyberspace a giant "fuck you" to the Englert Theatre for not offering me a complimentary ticket ahead of time. Apparently they "ran out" of comp tickets. WTF? I ran out of love for you, Englert. A long-ass time ago. Yet I still let you attend my Pussycat Doll lip-synch show for free.
Did you even know how cute Jess and I are?
It's pretty clear we're attending the Oscars in this picture. Jessica's wearing her gown underneath that hoodie, and Clint Eastwood is actually seated to the right of that recliner. You'll notice the Kodak Theater looks a hell of a lot like Elyse's boyfriend's house.
I just browsed my computer and found my audition clips I made last year for the MTV show I'm From Rolling Stone. One, note the high quality of the video (props to Maggie Schmidt's digital camera-turned-cinematic gold mine). Two, note how not-desparate I sound. However, even in my time of need, I still pulled out the funny. Enjoy... if I can upload the other four parts, I will. You didn't even know it was a miniseries.
Or don't! The embedded thing doesn't work. Actually, watch as I throw you this bone: http://s163.photobucket.com/albums/t310/CmonVogue/?action=view¤t=LOUIS-APP1.flv
The version I sent to MTV is actually much cleaner-looking than this reproduction. And of course my "Fuck me, Jann Wenner" tattoo is much more visible too.
That's it for now. Wish me luck with this Advocate thing... because if it doesn't work out, I may find myself in dire need of summer work. Don't even give me that "Chipain's" glare.
Big love to you guys, thanks for reading.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: good
current music: Alanis Morissette "Thank U" (been so long!)
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Saturday, February 10th, 2007
| |
3:43 am - Look, I stayed in tonight, and it's pity party time. Strap on your hat.
|
Well, it's now past midnight on this first day of the weekend, so of course I'm effing here. Once again I took a nap late in the evening only to wake up at 11 p.m. This never works out well for me. Because now I'm screwed, bound to just hang out in my room, dreaming of what all the rational folks are doing. Probably grinding on hos at Sports Column. :/ . I've considered filling out internship applications, reading more from Paula Poundstone's book, and wandering from floor to floor asking to be loved, but I'm here. But don't fret; I have you. And we have so much to talk about, of course.
Okay, I don't have much to talk about. But in celebration of Madonna's new CD/DVD The Confessions Tour I just received in the mail, I will regale you with my biggest confession: I just ate so many Wheat Thins. I went to the mall with Jessica today and only came back with groceries, so I'm doing my best to eat them all before, like, tomorrow, in case of armageddon. I'm on the verge of opening the Ritz Bitz too, so you know the night is getting exciting.
I just missed the last half hour of What Not to Wear because residents came in here and talked to me. Uggh. It's times like this you realize how hard the job is. No one can prepare you. For how many minutes of niceness you have to do. Sometimes you'll want to dance to Jessica Simpson until 4 a.m., and then you have to go and interact with someone or say "hi." Anyway, thanks to my senselessly social residents, I have no idea what not to wear. If I didn't have any sense of my own, I'd be considering jean shorts. Trying. Times.
Whatevz. Just wanted to say hey. Thanks for reading.
Big love, xoxo,
Louis
current mood: good
current music: ABBA "Thank You for the Music"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, January 30th, 2007
| |
2:40 am - Three things you didn't know: I can't count, and I'm obsessed with surveys
|
*~Beautiful butterflyz~*,
Word again. I have a paper to do for my Arts Reporting class, but what-even-ever (quoth Liz Steele). I decided it's been too long since I've blessed you with a blog quiz, chock full of zany Louis tidbits you can't just read on Craiglist's furry-lover messageboard. Get out your hankie, because here comes some intimacy.
Also, I just wanted to blow off steam because I keep getting IMs talking about "how nice Phil is!!!" I know, I cut myself, don't worry.
Let's DO it:
Three Names You Go By: Umm, none. Minus maybe LouDawg (a la Sarah), Louis Vuitton (a la Feej), and Lou (a la Mike Sherry and most "dudes").
Three Screen Names You Have: Of the thousands of qualified choices, my favorites are the old battle ax (CmonVogue1009), the other Madonna-inspired creation (LaLouisBonita), and my favorite Wheel of Fortune-inspired concoction. But bitch, that one's just for me. However, to answer the question, I will use my favorite bait for legendary chat-room devotee Dragongiro, "groanenmoan2day." You can't believe it doesn't belong to a real 23-year-old hot lesbian with giant boobs either.
Three Things You Like About Yourself: I can appreciate totally inappropriate humor, I express myself clearly and often, and I'm intuitive. I'm also devoutly religious and a disciple of the church of Tim Gunn. And Kelis. And The Daily Iowan.
Three Things You Dislike About Yourself: I'm judgmental, concerned with what dumbfucks think of me, and bent out of shape too often.
Three Parts of Your Heritage: German, Irish, the Goddess Ana
Three Things That Scare You: A country that elects George W. Bush, when hate speech is applauded (think that whole Donald Trump tirade. I wish he was dead.), the lift hill on roller coasters (still!)
Three Everyday Essentials: the iPod, Perez Hilton, hilarity
Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now: blood-soaked wife-beater, the skin of my sweetheart, and no shame. Or this fucking track jacket from Rue 21 (stab.), GAP jeans, and gray boxer-briefs
Three Favorite Bands/Artists: Madonna, Alanis Morissette, and the Dixie Chicks (for right now)
Three Favorite Songs At Present: Kylie Minogue's "Spinning Around," the Bangles' "Eternal Flame" (it burns on and on), and Kelis' "Bossy"
Three Things You Want To Try/Do In The Next Twelve Months: an internship, club legally in the city, Jamba Juice
Three Things You Want In A Relationship: Humor at all costs, lots of conversation, raunchiness
Two Truths And A Lie: I killed Laci Peterson, I collect model airplanes, and I killed Laci Peterson.
Three Physical Things About The Opposite Sex That Appeal To You: Facial structure, smile, and physique
Three Things You Just Can't Do: this fucking paper, Velveeta, and like Wedding Crashers
Three Favorite Hobbies: writing, listening to music, hanging out with bitches
Three Things I Want To Do really Bad Right Now: sleep, not this paper, dance to ABBA until dawn (honestly, I'll do it)
Three Careers You Have Considered: stand-up comedian, journalist, social worker
Three Kid's Names You Have Considered: Eve, Gloria (reprezent), Sebastian
Three Things You Want To Do before You Die
perform stand-up comedy and KILL, experience the perfect fuck, meet Madonna
And before I melt onto the keyboard, I bid you adieu.
Big love, thanks for reading. Xoxo,
Louis
current mood: exhausted
current music: Dixie Chicks "Am I the Only One (Who's Ever Felt This Way)"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, January 27th, 2007
| |
8:25 pm - Am I on a trek through the desert with Moses? Cuz I've been sitting on my ass all day.
|
Back with an 808, 'cuz I'm bossy. Still. Ten months after the song came out.
Anyway, WORD. How are we on this fine (abysmal, dark, gray, depression-laden, suicide-like) Saturday? I had giant plans for today, like devising all my RA programs, buying my books, writing my papers, perfecting my Directing I scene, and saving a drowning child with leukemia just before curing AIDS. But alas, no. I watched Queer as Folk (still on the first season, what a fucking epic), played computer Scrabble (human opponents are so '06), and hit up Burge. And bitches, I woke up at 1 p.m. today. Daily Iowan and crying residents be damned.
But anyway, my new classes, let's analyze:
Advanced Arts & Culture Reporting- My teacher is a former Sun Times and Rolling Stone rock critic. Destiny, anyone?! He dug my first paper and called me "provocative". Just what I thought: I'm Madonna.
Directing I- A fun and pretty class, right? Oh wait, it's taught by the head of the theater department, Alan MacVey, who sat down and without saying hello, said, "This class is A LOT OF WORK." How motivating!
History of Women in Journalism- OMG. The return of Marina, my TA from freshman year. She's no longer blonde (by blonde I mean toxic yellow). The implied subtitle for the class: "How much time can we waste discussing Croatia's innocence and Serbia's bullshit." It's a two-and-a-half hour marathon class, too, so I plan to know everything about Eastern Europe by May. And maybe something about Barbara Walters too.
History of Theatre and Drama II- The return of Jessica Dart, my TA from sophomore year! Sass will get me an A+, yet again. Even if I have to outsass Ibsen to do it. Who's the main bitch in the Dollhouse now, Henrik?
My one concern about that last class: Jessica Dart is BFF with Adam, that grad actor from the play I worked backstage for. Okay, apparently I fucked up in not replying to his 5,000 needless text messages, because he blew up at me two nights ago when I ran into him after the UI's new musical, Into the Woods. And by blew up, I mean, after I said I had to go, spat, "Okay, I'll never talk to you again, so fuck yourself." Problem solved, I guess!
Last night Jessica, her friend Amanda, and I went to Studio. Of course Phil was there, so I knew it was my life. We ignored him, partied it up, and unfortunately, there wasn't much in the way of hot trash to dance with. Eventually I got up on this short, underarmor-and-fishnet-sleeves wearing bandit. Also, his smoking: from afar he looked like a Lemont refinery. And he's what I call a "showgirl" dancer. This means he doesn't dance with you, but instead has a little booty-up routine he performs every time, on you. And then he spends the whole time smirking and giving you Gross. But anyway, it was harmless, escapist fun, and Jess and Amanda were a blast. I was up till 5 a.m. for no reason, and that's how I like my Fridays. And there was Jimmy John's too, so the night was perfect.
I'm spearheading a project with Sarah to dig up the closeted gay community in Lemont. I did some research, found out that the Church of the Nazarene has classes for homosexuals who are sure they can "see the light." Furthermore, there was a TOTALLY SOUND argument on the same site that homosexuals are an abomination. It's all a part of the Illinois Family Institute's (I know, you're vomiting already) page. All I want to do is attend a meeting and say I can't stop pouncing on penis wherever I go. And act like I desperately want help only to come back week after week having done something worse.
"Louis, how did we do in resisting Satan's temptation?"
"Pretty well... for awhile. Everything was going smoothly. Church was going great. And then I fucked the choir."
Otherwise, things are humdrum. I'm so uninspired in creating RA programming -- I mean, what will my guys even do that's not right in their lounge? Speaking of Daum, I'm officially reassigned to the Honors community again next year, so I'm pretty psyched. Especially since Jessica's coming over too. And now maybe Lauren, since she's thinking about getting a single there. I think Sarah, Kimmie, Elyse, Rachel, Monica, Corey, and Alanis should all move to Daum too. It's more convenient for me. And I'm pinching myself that these are plans for my last year in college. It's like I'll start having a real life soon. I know, who would've guessed? Years of stardom, stand-up comedy, Oscar nominations, and living at home ahead of me. Glamour, bitches.
But before that, I need to apply for internships. Blehhh. In better news, I got a 4.0 last semester, and I'm on the university's President's List. I have one of the 250 highest GPAs at Iowa. It's such an honorable achievement, and I'd like to thank the zero people that will care in the working world. I did it for you, baby.
I guess I'm done for now. I hate to say I still miss Brent somewhat, but I do. We haven't talked in over a week, though I'm sure he doesn't mind. Then again, I guess we don't have much to talk about. And we'll always live forever from one another. However, Elyse and Kaylin are jaunting over to Iowa soon, and I cannot WAIT for them to see the beautiful IC vistas. Sun setting over the Pita Pit and everything.
This has been the laziest day ever. Love me.
Thanks for reading, as usual.
Queer as facebook, xoxo,
Louis
current mood: blah
current music: Madonna "Secret (Remix)"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, January 14th, 2007
| |
1:32 am - Dixies, Daummies, DI, and Dumbasses -- 2007 rulz
|
Land, ho, bitches. Welcome back to Iowa. That’s right, put your overalls back on.
Lordy. I’m all flustered. I think I tried to update three times over break, but at every chance I opted to watch my Project Runway DVD or Queer as Folk. Or I opted to participate in the real world. Which was so stupid of me, because who even lives there anymore? There’s too much Facebook for such trivialities.
But I’m back. I don’t prefer to start the entry this way, but a lot of break was pretty awful. Christmas, friends, and trips aside, my family was devastated in a big way. I don’t quite know if I should say anything about it, but whatever. My older brother overdosed on prescription pills, and my dad had to break into his room to find him pale, groggy, and nearly unresponsive. I called 911, my brother Mark gathered all the empty prescription bottles, and Jim went off to the hospital. It was horrifying -- one of the worst experiences my family has endured. Also, it was my mom’s birthday. I called her cell phone, and she picked up just as she entered Lincoln Park Zoo with Greg.
Fucking awful. Jim had been dropping hints that he’d felt isolated, but it’s so hard to communicate with him. You can’t just invite him to play a board game, because he immediately responds with a grunt and, “No thanks,” like you’re an idiot. But then he can be deliriously happy and almost overly social – but he never connects. This situation made me realize how much I’m not like Jim and how much I feel he doesn’t want to know me (and my brothers, for that matter). However, he’s in a terrible place right now, and although I suck at leveling with Jim (sarcastic jibes with him aside), I wish I could help with him more. As I see it, he can’t picture working his way out of his entry-level job, and he’s fed up with having a lack of close friends. And that’s justified, I think. Still, I can’t say I’ve ever felt like many of Jim’s friends connect with him at all. More so, I don’t even like some of them. I do really like Dan Morand and a couple others, but still, they’re from totally different boats than Jim. It’s not like me and Elyse or Rachel or Jessica or Kimmie or Sarah, who all pack he same sorts of crazy and outlook. Also, Jim’s so damn smart: where the hell are the super-smart friends he needs? I don’t know. I’m being judgmental about it, I guess, but Jim’s a worthwhile person (and friend, I believe), and I hope there’s more people for him out there that can just get it. Because this is a matter of gets-it. Where’s Kiki to intervene?
Plus, my Aunt Sandy suffered four brain aneurysms on Dec. 23 (which nearly derailed my plans for Elyse’s Christmas Eve-Eve party. Imagine that!), and though Sandy’s recovering in Joliet with my godmother, things aren’t looking bright. The woman has smoked 50 packs a day since the fucking fifties, and now it’s finally taking a massive toll. This is a particularly touchy topic for me since Sandy was always the person who took care of me when my mom and dad were away. She helped raise me, a lot. I suppose this was all inevitable, but at least she’s functioning adequately for now. Tiffany’s marriage seems to be crumbling too. Anyway, winter break = heartbreaker.
But then came the good stuff. The day Jim went to the hospital to get his stomach pumped, I hung out with Sarah for awhile and eventually Rachel and Lauren. My bitches were representing big time, and it ruled. Rachel, Lauren, and I were in a cinematic mood that night, so we rented the historical epic John Tucker Must Die. Word: there is not a hotter man than Jesse Metcalfe. I fucking hate how hot he is. It hurts. I hate that he knows he’s hot, and it only makes him hotter. I’d stage a protest, but I’m too busy plastering Jesse Metcalfe all over my desktop.
Also, here comes the shocker of the next ten millenniums: winter RA training was a joke. And a day-long. And filled with lectures. I suppose some of the information was valuable, but man… I could’ve stood for one more day of Scrabble with Gloria. Once amid the Jim chaos when we played, she declared she never wanted to play again because “it was no fun anymore.” I nearly thought she had lost her religion. Too bad she’s just a pussy who hates losing. A day later she perked up, beat me, and started reading the Scrabble dictionary for fun again. After Christmas, our family visited St. Louis for some annual holiday party festivities, and Scrabble shenanigans nearly broke us apart. In one particular showdown, my mom flipped shit because she challenged someone’s seven-letter word and it was real. And I called my grandpa a coward for waxing condescending about the word’s legitimacy and not challenging. I honestly called him a coward. Because it’s a board game, after all, and peoples' feelings should be hurt. I’m pretty sure I won though, so I don’t remember any guilt.
And then New Years happened. Sweet-effing-New Years. Is Dick Clark dead yet? I feel like the version of Dick Clark on television is the work of a taxidermist. And a talented puppeteer. Anyway, it’s weird to realize I’ve spent the past two New Years at the University of Chicago, but the party was really tremendous. Monica, Rachel, Katie Erk, Brad, a bunch of his Stanford friends, and I all gathered at Monica’s apartment, jumped from party to party, collecting liquor and acquaintances as we pranced. After the clock struck midnight, I really outdid myself with about fourteen drunk phone calls. The lamest of them went to Phil, who, despite understanding that I was trashed, went on about his sob-story New Years for a fucking fortnight. I handed him over to Monica, and I think he straightened out with her. As far as Phil and “straight” goes. Especially since Monica has the unmatched ability to strike fear into the hearts of the stupid. In other words: Phil shit himself.
But I also gabbed with Kimmie, Sarah, my editor Meghan, Elyse, Jessica (who spent 12:00 a.m. at WAL-MART), Kiki, Kristin Lang, a bed-ridden Lauren Neybert, Andy Phillips, and Brent from Galesburg. A fine consortium of hos. There were a bunch of weird moments later in the night on New Years (as per usual), cemented by the terrific duo of Brad’s home friends: one asked another to head-butt him, and she fucking obliged! He had two black eyes! I hid with Katie in a bed, and we held onto each other like two kids with abusive parents. Oh no, Dad found the whiskey!
Random: at the mall today with Jessica, and fellow RAs Shauna, Jim, and Alan, I ran into Josh Anderson, that guy from Media & Health I hooked up with in October. He accidentally called me a few days ago (or something? How do you accidentally call someone?) and we talked for awhile. He got a fucking car for Christmas. I can’t even imagine asking Lee Virtel for a car for Christmas. He’d be all, “Bitch, let’s get you some braces and call it a day.” Also, he has what he calls a guaranteed internship with MTV’s Logo network because he has a fucking Matthew Shepard scholarship. Another point for self-proclaimed Captain Insane-o. Anyway, again, random.
Near the end of break, I gathered my Dixie Chicks live album, overnight clothes, and unparalleled sense of direction for a trip to Galesburg. Andy has pleaded for me to visit for fucking years, and God love him, but I also wanted to visit Brent. I usually just talk to him online where we spend plenty of time exacting our next sassy retort, so I needed for him to know in person that I was sassier. So alright, I flawlessly navigate I-55, I-80, and I-74 – I arrive in Galesburg, passing a gorgeous Hy-Vee and Casey’s General Store, and I get to Brent’s. And who was there but Devin! Miss him so. He’s living in Chicago now, where he effing belongs. But anyway. Brent’s friends were very inviting and made sure porn was showing when I arrived in the house. It felt like love. Brent explained it was his night to make dinner, so he threw noodles, squash, and turkey-bacon in a frying pan. And bam, deliciousness! I couldn’t complain – I ate the whole thing like it was whipped cream on Jesse Metcalfe. Sigh, what a nice meal, better get to making out. So we did that. And I have to say, it was great. It was one of those effortless, relaxed, marathon ventures where you’re halfway between fucking and sleeping until 2050 – and I mean that in a good way. I do have to say, I really like Brent. I find him quite upstanding, pleasant, and intelligent -- and he’s a firm gets-it. Although he’s reserved and passive (which I tell him every chance I get), he responds to vulgarity and sarcasm -- my two favorite things -- with equal sharpness. I told him I could see developing our relationship, which seemed like a rational reaction to how surprisingly casual, comfortable, and (dare I say) tender the intimacy was, and unfortunately, I don’t think he sees it the same way. I was thrown off. I asked for his take on things the next day, and he said, while on top of me, “I like you. If and when we meet, we should do this again. I can’t see myself falling in love with you. Like I don’t think I could ever run off with you.” WOAH. Alright, first things first, is this West Side Story? Is there a place for us, Maria? When we run off? But also, okay, I never said I was in love with Brent, and I also never implied that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him (Big WTF, for real). So I guess he thought it was just fooling around, and I think that sucks. Also, I think Rachel made a good point about this when she said, “That’s like me telling Lauren, ‘We’re good friends. But we’ll never be best friends.’” Like, what’s the point of saying that? I didn’t respond negatively at the time, though I must’ve been visibly surprised, since he then replied, “Was that too direct?” But it wasn’t – it was his deciding the fate of our friendship, on top of me, and that feeling like a needless insult. Whatever, I guess. Granted, Brent does live a hundred miles away or something, so this situation is sort of out-of-sight-out-of-mind. I’m not pissed, and I still like talking to him a lot, and frankly, I wouldn’t object to messing around with him again, but I’m just confused. I hope I don’t open a can of worms by writing about it here. I guess I never really thought the whole thing out until I wrote it down –‘cuz shit happens in the DJ, am I right? Five years and running. OMG, it’s seriously five years. Frankly, it’s about time. How is Go Ask Alice only five years ago? Samson Sando needs to be in his fucking sixties by now. Jenniffer J. Thusing needs to be immortalized in statue over the LHS parking garage. And so does Katie Erk’s burlap dress.
And word: I just bought Kelis’ Kelis Was Here off iTunes because I love life. Who else rocks like Kelis? Who owns their ho-ness more? I figured if I’m going to become a Kelis disciple, I better start memorizing her gospel’s crazy beats now. MmmmMMMM. Nas’ best talent remains picking wives.
I return to editing tomorrow, and I don’t think I’m that stressed about it. Unfortunately, I have to be up before 10 a.m. to help out with RA stuff, so off I go. One of my residents and his boyfriend just came in here, and can I say, I fucking love them. They’re so like… wide-eyed and cute together. And they’re funny and not Iowa-wild-farmchild bitches. So appreciated.
Love you guys, thanks for reading, annnnnd Kelis was here.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood:  anxious
current music: Kelis "Blindfold Me"
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, December 21st, 2006
| |
3:18 pm - Bitch, can you handle all this Virtel beer guzzling?
|
I'm going to write an entry around this (soon?), but for right now, I do want to post this video I took on new Virtel Digital Camera Made Specifically For Facebook Purposes. Here we are decorating the tree -- meanwhile I silently seethe because I can't eat any solid foods. Thank you, periadontist (from hell).
Or, if the fucking embedded thing doesn't work, here's a classy link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldWgFo9uKSE
Of course I put this on YouTube.
I can't believe me either. Ciao for now.
Xoxo,
Louis
current mood:  awake
current music: Aimee Mann "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch"
|
|
(comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|