January 29th, 2007

When You Want To Come...

I started off Sunday being a good boy, getting up at a reasonable hour and doing work while Rome Girl went out to Brunch. I then finished my writing and went out to play poker.

Rome Girl, meanwhile, came home and invited rip_her_off over, because Miss Clandestine was having boy trouble and needed some girl talk.

I came home around 7 and brought the girls cheese and bread and stuff, because if I know nothing at all it's that chese and bread should come in packages labeled "Purina Girl Chow."

"Did you have to ask yourself, on the way home, 'What do girls eat,'" rip_her_off asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Yes, I did."

I started hitting the vodka shots and then Miss Darling rang the bell. It turns out she'd gotten thrown out of Bar. St. Roch for something involving a table of obnoxious French people. The story didn't chohere and her telling of it didn't collate, so that's all I can say.

Fast forward another hour and suddenly I'm going nuts with the music on YouTube. You all know that I love really loud heavy metal. What you may not know is that when I'm drunk I have a thing for really bad 80s pop music.

So, it's hardly a surprise that Miss Darling and I were soon dancing on the coffee table to "Relax, Don't Do It", "Hungry Like The Wolf" and "I Want Your Sex." Later Rome Girl and Miss Darling started singing Madonna's "Cherish" at the top of their lungs.

All in all a good night.

Monday Book Club

I read a lot of books and when I'm done reading them they just end up on the shelf waiting for Squirt to claw at them.

Since they should form a higher purpose, I'm now going to start the dark inverse of the Oprah Book Club - The Drunk Ex Pat Writer Monday Book Club.

This week's entry - The Cold Six Thousand.

This is the sequel to American Tabloid - which posits the theory that JFK wasn't killed as part of some grand conspiracy, but was really the result of a bunch of low level scum bags getting pushed into a corner and having no other way out.

The Cold Six Thousand starts off minutes after JFK has been killed. No one is more surprised that the hit worked than the scumbags that pulled it off - and now they are terrified.

Ellroy writes in a clipped style - most of the sentences are no more than three or four words long. He also fucks around with spelling and basic grammer. Some paragraphs have no verbs. In the chapters about the KKK, all of the letter "c"s have been replaced by "K"s so you get sentences like "Pete drove the kar to kadre meeting to klip the koon."

To say the book has a hard edge is an understatment. I've never seen the word "nigger" more often in a piece of modern fiction - and you don't want to know what they say about Asians once the book moves its setting to Vietnam.

Ellroy imerses himself in the era, using weirdo slang, be bop images and pure balls to paint a picture of a period of time when the old white conservative power structure was hitting its peak and about to fall. These guys are vaguely aware of the developing counter culture and it scares the shit out of them. The only thing they like about hippies is that they are willing to spend money on heroin.

Of course, certain people know they killed JFK, and those certain people are not very fond of Martin Luther King or Bobby Kennedy (called "Bobby The K" in this book) so we know from page one where all this is going.

The sense of inevitiblity, that these three guys are goin to have to kill two more people that they really don't want to kill, puts a sense of doom over the novel that is brilliant. It's like waiting, lovingingly, for the lash, even though you know you will hate the pain.

While not a great book for pussies, if you have the balls, The Cold Six Thousand is a wild ride.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Friday night I had a flashback to the old crazy time.

When I couldn't get anyone at Hewlett Packard to give me a phone number I could call for tech support something in my mind snapped. I threw a chair across the room. I started to cry. I became convinced that I was doomed and that the world was against me. I felt bad. I felt hated. I felt alone. I felt like I was doomed.

I was convinced that I was going to have to go back on my meds.

But, my doctor wasn't open Saturday or Sunday.

And now it's monday and I feel fine. And I think this is the first time I've gotten through a relapse like that without medication.

I think this is a good thing.

You Go Girls!

For an inside page on Drag.com I have to write the history of drag queens in westnern culture.

This led me to Wikipedia. Wikipedia led me an article on the Stonewall riots.

Call me insensitive, but I could not help but crack a smile while reading this bit of history.

Just imagine giant drag queens in seven inch heals beating the living shit out of NYC cops.

Holy fuck, is that a wonderful and funny mental image.

Go Rome Girl!

Since Rome Girl got laid off, I've been finding her work through my company, Calendar Communications.

She just got her first formal, posted on the web so my other clients can see it, feedback and testimonial.

Here it is:

Comments: It was meant to be to work with this provider. She did an exceptional job and submitted the completed work 1 day prior to deadline. Would definitely hire her again!

Rock on, baby!

Rock the fuck on!