Families come in all shapes and sizes.
Categories
Category: Gay
Continuing my occasional ‘Fuck you’ series of LA essays I nominate the ‘award winning’ illustrator and elderly Greek queen Konstantine Kakanias as my latest Fuck You.
Konstantine threw a party last night at Soho House.
Who put the kaka into Kakanias? This guy has tried it all. Artist, writer, illustrator, jewellery designer. B’jesus with this much talent this homo should be a household name! He’s tried so hard to be something but for poor old Koni, nothing seems to stick. He’s just a socialite with a great talent for persuading other socialites to take him seriously.
You know, I have known the rancid Konstantine for many, many years. We first met with Manolis Mavrakis and Fred Hughes in New York in the early 80’s. Fred loathed him. Manolis laughed at him. Koni painted my portrait then tried to have sex with me. I declined. He was smelly and creepy. I left the portrait on the easel.
We periodically bump into each other all over the world. Much to his chagrin and my infinite amusement. It was he I referred to as Nona Summer’s vile Greek escort last week. Konstantine attracts the WORST sort of people. Nona, Peter Dunham, Justin Kern, Alex Hitz etc.
As his last incarnation he was calling himself an artist. He had a laughably sophomoric show at The Light Box Gallery in LA before it closed down. Kimberly Light (heiress) rues the day she ever let this cretin have his own show at her gallery. He was the only artist who did not sell at the Angel Food project auction at CAA several years ago. That’s how seriously the art elite take him. Look for his work in the collections of important collectors and you will not find his name. His work is absurd.
Yet, within that sub-world of dodgy socialites and rich kids looking for a purpose he has carved himself a ‘career’. Some how he persuaded Swarovski to manufacture his designs. Silly rings, “Inspired by Byzantine royal jewels.” He brays. Did they sell? They were a total disaster and can now be found on the Swarovski website knocked down to a fraction of their original price.
Last night Konstantine was up to his old tricks. Konstantine is now a film maker. He has made a ‘film’ and to launch this seven minute animated masterpiece he assembled LA’s elite… including ‘designer’ Justin Kern and his pretty side kick Stephanie Danan for whom the ‘film’ was commissioned and QVC favorite… fried chicken go to guy and Coca Cola heiress Alex Hitz and a gaggle of loafer wearing euro trash.
“They’re very collaborative people and they’re really creative. They like playing with other creative people and that’s where it all crosses over,” Indeed, Danan and Kern enlisted the efforts of friends like Tatiana von Furstenberg (heiress), “They’re not in a singular mind-set and they can pull from other mediums.”
I walked in and immediately saw twenty people I knew well enough to kiss and twenty people I knew well enough to ignore. I waved at Konstantine… he flew out of his chair…
“Who invited you…” he trembled. His voice deserting its usual treble… escalating into a Maria Callas soprano. Alex Hitz who I kissed lavishly (after all he had paid for a wonderful dinner at the Sunset Tower) said, “This is Konstantin’s party.”
“I know,” I said, “And I am the wicked fairy.”
Alex shrank into the shadows. I turned to face the outraged Greek. Like his country… in debt and struggling to save face. He held out his fingers like 10 wands and told me to get out. I left, greeting people on the way out with smiles and kisses. Clo Perrin (heiress) looking gorgeous in white silk jersey.
Justin Kern waved. Justin is proof that there is life after modeling… just.
“I’ll be writing about this!” I grinned cheerily!
Before I left one of the guests, a beautiful young Parisian laughed, “Darling, what a waste of time. You didn’t miss a thing. Poor Konstantine.”
Dinner at Laurel Hardware with a cute jew. Great kisser.
Categories
Hollywood Friday
Categories
The Weekend
The gays. Oh God. It’s enough to make you homophobic.
I don’t mean you dear. Not you.
This post is all about children, real or imagined.
Since Obama’s toothless benediction, the gays have become emboldened.
However, this spurt of new confidence has not translated into any sort of useful direct action or changed the argument in any important way.
All that has happened?
The gays decided to take on the owner of Chick-Fil-E because he doesn’t agree with marriage equality.
Good God. All they managed to do was make that guy a whole heap wealthier. Thanks gays.
I hadn’t heard of Chick-Fil-E before the fuss now all I want to do is sample their factory farmed chicken sandwiches.
Damn you gays!
That’s not true. I’m not going there any time soon to eat anything.
Meanwhile, Elton is on vacation with David and his kid… and David and Neil and the twins… all wearing matching white cruise wear. Each surrogate kid costing $160k. A fleet of nannies back on the boat.
Elton laments that his kid will never know his mother. He’s quite right. Erasing mothers from the picture… is just wrong.
Amongst the gays I notice a new theme emerging, something that used to be hinted at, implicit… but recently… in polite circles… made explicit… there is amongst a broad swathe of the gays I meet… an appalling misogyny.
“I don’t hate women, some of my best friends are women.” they say (without irony) when challenged.
Those who have surrogate kids grumble that the women who sold their eggs or carried the child might want something more than the money. They might want to ‘see’ the child. They might want a relationship with the child.
They would prefer that the baby not see the mother at all, that the baby be delivered from vagina to the hands that paid for the baby, like a UPS parcel.
Apparently it’s now possible to take the DNA from two men and create a child without any genetic material from a woman. I was told this frightening news triumphantly by a gay man the other day.
“You would still need a womb.” he told me sadly. “But it’s only a matter of time before that (a womb) can be replaced too.”
I was uncharacteristically speechless.
Is erasing the mother from the picture just wrong or am I being old-fashioned?
I met gay Ian, a young CAA agent manque.
“I suppose that’s the benefit of being gay… no women.”
A perfect world for Ian: married, baby, no women.
He, ‘Didn’t see the point..” of women. “Women are our natural enemy.” He giggled.
“Are you single?” I asked him. He looked appalled. My question implied that I might want more than a conversation.
I reassured him that I tended to fuck people my own height.
His modern, bourgeoise anxieties included: he would never be able to afford a surrogate child.
That he would never meet a perfect man and marry him.
His friend Zach chimed in helpfully, “Surrogate kids are only 8 grand in India.” No problems with permits he assured us and the women can’t find you.
The gayby industry is being outsourced.
The vitriol spewed over me (as usual) in the Data Lounge is worth noting.
Writhing with xenophobic zeal these queens who hate me seem to hate me for all the things us gays are meant to aspire: beautiful men, money and uniqueness. Ill informed opinions about my house etc. can be ignored.
I feel sorry for the young gay guy who wanted to celebrate me then ended up apologizing for all the nastiness.
Those resentful old poofs who hate me? Well, you’ll have to try little bit harder. As you simper at home writing anonymous shit about me… I’m out and about having a great time.
Thank you very much.
Remember, after ten years a resentment has more to do with the person harbouring it than the intended recipient. Get over yourselves.
Of course, some resentments are fresh and well deserved.
My ex has every reason to loathe me and I wouldn’t expect anything else. I made his life hell after we split up and increasingly, every day in fact, I wish I could put that genie back in the bottle.
P.S. Do I think I’m better than most people? Nope. Do I look down at you from a lofty place judging you? Would I want anyone else’s life? Nope. I don’t envy anyone… ever. I really love my life… good and bad.
And finally, something more to celebrate.
As I’ve written before, I saw those amazing pics of the ex bf with his current beau. They looked great.
They are unashamedly gay.
I applaud his apotheosis.
It is time for us all to jettison the mantle of straight acting, embrace our gayness in what ever form that takes.
That ex of mine has come a very long way since I first met him, from the artificially deep voice, the bad clothes and heterosexual relationship (he even berated my occasional gay flourishes) to dating a man who skips around his closet in 6 inch heels.
Some of my friends who viewed the style u like vid wondered how a man like that could call himself a jock… well my dears, he can call himself anything he likes.
When you have really loved someone and they fuck you over… however long it takes, the aim must always be to forgive and forget.
Loving him gave me a great deal of pleasure and pain but it was something.
We sure had something. And, when they ask me what that something was I can look them in the eye and say, with all honesty, that it was nothing they would want… but it suited me just fine.
However an impossible fantasy it was.
He was like an imprisoned child back then, in desperate need of parole. Boxed in by lies and deception. He became my child, my gay child.
Like every daddy I wanted the best for him.
When I didn’t know where he was, I worried about him… like a child.
Now I know that he is happy… I am happy.
Wasn’t that always my intention? To make him happy, however he wanted it?
What transpired was completely at odds with what I first wanted… Because I fell in love.
I tried not to… but I couldn’t help it.
I let myself fall like an olympic diver into a magnificent pool of crystal clear love.
Sadly, I hit the bottom of the pool and bashed my brains out.
Categories
Malibu/Venice/Hollywood
On Friday night we saw Lily perform a charming play after her month of theatre camp. She played a slutty demon.
After the show I met the parents of a 12-year-old gay kid who was easily the star of the show. He is obsessed with fashion. Begging his mother to take him look at wedding dresses in Beverly Hills.
I smiled, remembering my own fashion obsessions when I was his age.
He is not having a great time at school. The other kids are mean to him and he in turn is a pain in the ass. I know that feeling too, being an obviously gay kid who spent the larger part of his childhood at war with other kids.
I rather hoped I would grow out of it but…I didn’t. I am still at war.
The entire weekend was spent rehearsing and shooting tests for the movie. I look forward to viewing the material.
After day one we met Jacob and Fielder at Laurel Hardware. The dinner was spectacular.
We scoffed the heavenly pig cheek, sharing the lamb, the char, assorted salads and the most delicious rhubarb and strawberry cobbler and roasted peaches.
Perfection.
The ingredients are locally sourced, incredibly fresh and the flavor combinations were perfectly well judged.
After day two of rehearsing and shooting the most dramatic scene in the film… we all took off for the local watering hole.
Boys leaping a hundred foot out of the air into the ice-cold water.
Policeman confiscating beer and … of all things… an axe. A mostly Mexican crowd they looked horrified when the cops turned up.
After my time helping out the ACLU I now know why.
So, here it is. Up and running.
My controversial, contemporary retelling of Oscar Wilde’s 1890 Lippincott version of The Picture of Dorian Gray.
I really hope you enjoy it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sq13aF5EQMA
1.
It was a day. Yes. Yesterday was a long day. Good. Kind. Revealing.
I walked the dogs. Through the bourgeois streets of suburban Malibu. Early morning. Before the sun breaks through.
I have struggled with writing both the end of the film and the novel. Because, I suppose, they are both so firmly planted in the experience of being me. My Producer is fine with everything. Everything but the last page. He wants an epiphany. So, that’s what I am striving for.
The film is about a sociopath, a charming sociopath. In fact, the film is about two sociopaths. I can’t discount my own bat shit craziness. Let’s face it… I did some terrible things. For those of you who have been reading this blog for the past two years… I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the balanced and sensitive way I have drawn the characters… but that is not my credit to take.. it is my dear Producers influence.
If I had my way there would have been murders my dear… His genius for editing and re positioning.. for making me (and you) care for the person I loathed and loved. For revealing the truth.
I headed into town at 11 to meet my assistant at the club.
I’m test shooting cast this Sunday and having informal crew meetings. I met a very competent First AD this week.
At the club I met Scott Cooper who made Crazy Heart and we stood in the bathroom discussing his new film, Out of the Furnace with Christian Bale. He is understandably excited. Really lovely man. I bumped into Nona Summers who was with a loathsome Greek from my distant past. Kevin and I sat with Jacob Brown from the New York Times. A super cool kid who is making his second short film. We watched his first at the table. Enigmatic, sexy and very well shot.
Jacob has excellent taste. He and Sean Devany are the up and coming generation of young gay film makers fearlessly re-imagining their own experience as gay men, using film for their catharsis. I am heartened that these smart young gay men are once again beginning to tell their stories. For the longest time young gay film makers shucked their own experience in favour of chasing a bigger, straighter audience.
As a result… our community became less vibrant.
The gay film festival circuit, until recently, was lack luster and uninspiring… this year, at Outfest, there were so many interesting and well made gay films. It warmed the cockles of my homo heart. Gay men want, understandably, well made films with high production values but financiers are loathed to invest… scared that the audience wont come. The tide is turning.
2.
Brock pitched up looking incredibly sexy in a tight, pale blue polo shirt.
We ate Caesar salad with added chicken. After lunch we met Rafi Gavron the hot, hot, hot British actor who was ass raped in the TV series Rome. He was with his cousin Dean McKillen the owner of the super chic new restaurant Laurel Hardware in West Hollywood. Dean invited us for dinner on Saturday.
Brock and I hung with Kevin and Fielder at their home on Martel then decided we would preempt the Saturday invite and go to Laurel Hardware. The place was packed with a really interesting crowd. A smattering of Young Hollywood and some cool looking gay men. Dean made us feel very welcome, sending us delicious pizzas covered with burrata and basil. The boys drank beer and I didn’t.
I drove Brock back to his car and met up with my night-time companion, collapsed into bed.
3.
There is an odd collision of circumstance: Jacob is the best friend of the best lesbian friend of you know who. One degree of separation. It doesn’t surprise me. It is a very small world. We trawled through Facebook. I looked in awe at pictures of my ex and his new boyfriend. They are indeed an unusual couple. Dressed in outrageous and colorful garb. When my ex’s bf wears his heels he must be 7 foot tall.
There was a picture of them holding each other in a bucolic setting. My ex is quite short and his beau wore heels. The height differential was staggering. It looked like a post wedding picture. You know, after the vows. I wondered what they would wear when they actually got married. If Thom Browne would make the costume.
They looked very, very happy.
Diane Arbus would have photographed them. I mean, it was like that… like a Diane Arbus picture.
I expect to feel different things when I see them together but I always feel the same. I am truly happy that he is happy. From a distance I share their obvious happiness. It is a relief. I am pleased that even though we will never know each other… will never speak ever again… that I was indeed somehow, in some way responsible for forcing that boy out of the closet and into the life he should have enjoyed since his teens.
Mostly I congratulate myself for saving her. It baffled me, for the longest time what terrified him about being gay. I understand now. He wasn’t scared of being gay, he was scared of being that kind of gay. Flamboyant, creative, a dandy. Every time I see him in the virtual street my questions are answered. A picture, as they say, is worth a thousand words. I hope that she is doing ok, that she has found a good man. An honest man. I wonder if she forgave him? I mean, there’s only so long one can hold such hatred in one’s heart.
Perhaps one day she will thank me. I don’t expect any thanks from him.
4.
My great friend, the abundantly talented Lady Rizo is off to the Edinburgh Festival. Packing her Marchesa frocks and her false eye lashes. I urge my British friends to urgently seek her out.
You will not be disappointed.
5.
I am headed to Provincetown to stay with Benoit.
