I put the shelves on the wrong wall. It’s going to bother me until I move them. My friend, who had them made for his house upstate, practically gave them to me. I have two sets, made of gun-metal. One is loaded with an absurd number of dishes/bowls/glasses the other, I’ve filled with books. I haven’t had the books out of boxes since they were brought from Malibu. They look very fine.
Instead of moving the shelves, I re-balanced the room. It looks huge.
I’m sitting in Murray’s, our local coffee shop… there are a couple of buff gays sitting beside me, they are wearing tight t-shirts, their eye brows plucked, their lips plumped. They are describing a straight friend of theirs who is getting married. They are coming to terms with his fiancée. They don’t approve of her. Without a hint of irony one of them damns her,
“She’s a little too attached to her appearance.”
As his friend nods in agreement, I nearly choke on my ‘Eggs Your Way’.
MEANWHILE. The trump clown car is circling the reservation. He’s tooting his horn, his over sized, yellow daisy flopping around in the cold night air. His make up is perfect, his grin supreme, his flintstone legs going ten to the dozen. Like Victorian ladies the Dems are outraged by everything he does, they are addicted to indignation. Every so often they get a case of the vapours and faint quite away. Critique, however refined, of any democrat cheerleader’s outrage condemns the critic to accusations of treason. To disagree means that you too… are a stupid trump supporter. Celebrities, unsurprisingly, are particularly egregious anti trump twitterers. Depending, of course, on the blind devotion of their fans. Occasionally I waste an hour or so battling Democratic celebrities, Don Cheadle is perhaps the worst at assuming anyone who disagrees with him is a Trump supporter and marshalls his fans accordingly.
Yesterday Don is all up in his grill about Donald and the Russians. His fans are equally furious, echoing back Don’s inchoate decrees. The Russians.
Hey! Don! Get this: nobody cares about Russia more than you do. Whipping yourself into a frenzy. This is what you did during the election. Got yourself into a tizzy and then you thought Trump wouldn’t get elected and then he did, and now you think he’s going to be impeached because you are ‘fighting every day’. Well… I’ve got some very bad news for you. Donald Trump is not going to be impeached… because nobody gives a shit about Russia and everybody’s trained to hate Isis now. I don’t even get the Russian thing. So? Maybe somebody from the Trump team were talking to the ambassador. Isn’t that what politicians are meant to do?
Then Obama gets involved. Fuck off Barrack. Obama should butt out of this. He should just vanish before we remember how ineffective he was… unless he was on Jimmy Kimmel making everybody laugh whilst he was secretly bombing Yemen with drones killing innocent children. Let’s remember… AGAIN, Obama opted not to help the working poor after the financial crash by letting the banks throw defaulters out of their homes. He sided with the banks against the people. But hey ho… he’s so funny and he stayed married to Michelle. Blah blah blah.
Surprise surprise: today’s polls show Dems’ hyper-focus on Russia has corresponded with a decline in their favorability ratings. Tra la la la la… fetch the smelling salts.
Finally, a few weeks ago I started chatting with some guy on Grindr. Why? Are you asking me why? I ask myself that too. The guy was handsome, a bit short… and I quickly identified him as one of the suburban ‘pink belt’ gays I’ve tried very hard to tolerate. Listen, you may not believe me but I tried very hard tolerating them. God help me I tried. Sitting with these man/children at dinner, drinking too much, eager to climb into their leather drag (unconvincingly) then out of it again and into which ever hot tub or pool they can locate within the locale. On the whole (other than one other tall Brit) these upstate gay men are very short, very white and very put together. They discuss their schedules, they discuss their summer plans or next autumn or where they will all ski next winter. They travel in packs. They echo whatever anti trump chat will get them the most likes in a continual game of ‘like me’.
So… I chat with this guy who sends me pictures (as we do) of his cock and ass… butt naked. He must be desperate because I ain’t no catch. Of course, it was short-lived… like every transitory gay experience. Packing a whole life into a couple of hours and a few text messages. Unless happily ‘married’ or ‘partnered’ these men are desperate to get hitched. He’s single for a reason, he lies about his height. Not that being married MEANS anything in a traditional sence to these gay men… other than a merger and acquisition. We meet, he scarcely reaches my hip. I thought he was sitting down. He’s a snooty suburban, Hillary loving gay. When the inevitable falling out happens he starts threatening me with my friendship with a mutual friend. He threatens to show my friend our text exchange. He tells me he is out to make sure we never see each other again. He tells me his pink belt friends disapprove of our friendship. He knows our friend is special to me, and he suggests membership to THAT club is worth a lot of pink gold. Let’s face it, he and his friends want continued access to the big house, the 1% lifestyle and the fabulous toys. They want a spare bed when they airbnb their homes… they want fancy vacations. He assumes I want the same and he’s in no mood to share what’s his.
We block each other. We move on, My friend doesn’t mention it but I know the dwarf has done the dirty. So, what happened to the dwarf? He’s doing what they all do… chasing his gay tail. He’s probably squealing right now about the Russians… at some drunken brunch.
Finally, had a long and helpful chat with a DP genius who helped me tremendously sort out the big idea behind my new film and how we shoot it. Being a film maker is exhausting. Homemaking… not so much.