Categories
Rant

We Are What We Steal

In The Hot Tub Under The Lantern

Did you ever play Monopoly? Do you remember winning? An embarrassment of riches. Did you ever cheat? Letting your friends stay at your hotel on Park Lane for free because you wanted the game to go on? The thrill of being benevolent, philanthropic?

Did you enjoy forcing your enemies off the board. Did you learn about risk, acquisition, luxury?

Whenever I won the game of Monopoly I felt badly. It gave me no pleasure bankrupting my friends.

The game ends when one player takes total control of the bank and the board.

We are witnessing in the USA the end game. A few men and women who have won over all the rest. They have trillions of dollars. Some have acquired this cash from (amongst other things) war profiteering. From private prisons. From bloated healthcare costs. From gouging oil, gas and utilities. Stealing directly from the people.

The rich pay for laws to protect their interests, the rich consider the rest of us expendable.

Their riches and how they acquired them have not gone unnoticed.

In London, the people know something is up with the system. They couldn’t articulate what is wrong…because we have deliberately kept these people stupid. They just needed an excuse to act upon their frustration.

They have an inkling that they might be able to throw the Monopoly board in the air. Fuck the winner. I’m taking mine.

The rich have some serious thinking to do.

It is all very well to take all the money but what use is it when the cities are burning?

The rich must surely know that their ‘hard work’ and ‘good fortune’ without paying fair taxes is destroying their country…perhaps the world. It has not gone unnoticed. For that is the way of humanity. The people wake up and disparity is challenged.

British Prime Minister David Cameron sounds like he has a handle on the British riots.

Cameron said: “In the banking crisis, with MPs’ expenses, in the phone-hacking scandal, we have seen some of the worst cases of greed, irresponsibility and entitlement. The restoration of responsibility has to cut right across our society.”

The leader of the opposition agrees!

At last. An intelligent, cross party reaction to the shopping with violence that devastated London and other British cities.

Times they are a changing.

Solution is hard. What can any government do to put the pieces of society back together when it seems irreparable? Blame is frankly irresponsible, context is key.

Is it impossible to teach young people how to respect the established order when the established order is revealed to be corrupt? Respect cannot be forced upon our youth. As much as this breaks my heart to write: we must listen to those thugs and vandals.

Now, I am not interested in sitting down with a bunch of dim-witted, inarticulate youths. They have nothing to say that will teach me anything. Their actions, however, must be respected and understood.

There is no boot camp, army training, national service, prison that will change these young men and women. We have created monsters. We have given them false hope, rancid dreams, easy money.

They do not aspire to anything more than gadgets and fancy trainers.

Their limited aspirations are shocking to someone like me. Gadgets and trainers. Good God.

When Bagdad was sacked the youth took really valuable antiquities from the museums. They seemed to understand the value of their culture. Perhaps we are what we steal?

Rampaging through a city, stealing, breaking and screaming….takes a certain amount of guts. Physically challenging an army of police officers. Their actions must be understood.

We will never return to a time when young people respected their elders, the establishment, society and themselves. That time never existed. Young people have always and quite rightly challenged the status quo.

I’m glad Cameron mentioned the banks. Nobody would do that here.

The more I dwell upon the bank bailouts in the USA the more I realize just how catastrophic it was for the American People. Cauterizing the banking crisis with huge amounts of cash rather than letting those institutions fail has proved very problematic. It confused the message of capitalism. It undermined capitalist principles and laid bare the lies of successive US governments.

Mostly it disheartened those of us who understand that change is imperative for growth.

If the banks had been allowed to fail a new order would be established. A power shift. Other men would hold the reins. New ideas would have flourished. Capitalism would have sorted it out all on its own. Where there is weakness others come to make good. New opportunities revealed for the brave. The next generation of fearless entrepreneurs would have made themselves known.

By bailing out the banks we merely hold on to what we know rather than doing what humans are best at…striking into the unknown.

Does the USA deserve it’s AAA credit rating? Does it matter? I heard many times that Americans, after losing their AAA rating..had their self-esteem knocked.

America’s self-esteem exists in a putrid vat of delusion and self aggrandisement.

I am told over and over again that the US economy is the largest in the world. That may be true but somehow the people have become confused. They tell me that their police, fire department, health system etc. is the best in the world. We are the best at everything. We are the champions of the world. My army keeps you free.

I keep my mouth shut.

It is obvious to those of us who have lived in many different countries that this simply is not true.

I often tell the gays in this blog to get off their asses and break some windows if they want to see change in their country. I am scolded for doing so. Government is petrified of insurrection, rebellion, people on the streets.

David Cameron and the leader of the opposition have impressed me with their willingness to understand what is happening in Britain. Commentators, baffled by the violence, murder and mayhem are trying to work it out. It just didn’t make any sense. Now it is.

The British, like the French are good at letting their frustrations boil over onto the streets. It is part of the fabric of our lives. It sends messages, good and bad, to everyone who complacently enjoys a peaceful life. That peaceful life cannot be taken for granted. Peace, harmony, respect, order…they are earned together.

Together we create society so together we must find solution if we are to keep what we value.

P.S. Yesterday the beautiful deaf boy came to the house and came over my chest.

Dinner at AXE on Abbot Kinney.

So happy that it reopened after the fire that took it out a year ago. Great food, lovely people, delightfully limited menu. We ate goat stew. We ate delicious flat bread. We ate home-grown tomatoes and burrata.

Party at Gabe’s. Sat by the fire talking to a beautiful surfer with long blond hair and thick thighs.

Finally, this beautiful army man blew his brains out because he thought no God would ever forgive what he had done to others in Iraq. Very sad.

Categories
Rant

London Rebellion

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITJcparImeQ]
There is something very heartening about the British reaction to what can only be described, but is rarely described, as an insurrection.
What of it?  This insurrection?  Who understands it?
Look at what The British have experienced recently:  A corrupt government in league with corrupt media billionaires who in turn corrupt the police and the establishment.
Nothing can be trusted.
Phone hacking and police bribes may be more the cause of this rebellion than the death of a black cabbie.
The mess at the top sends a distinct message to those at the bottom that society is rotten.
I heard a young white British girl telling a reporter in Birmingham that she ‘hated the police’ because they did not ‘respect’ her.
“Why should I respect them, they don’t respect me?”  She sneered.
Why indeed?  She may have nothing that you or I think worth respecting.  But she lives in a country where her government and the police are known thieves and liars.  Where bankers have looted the system, bankrupted the country and she is being asked to pay.  To tighten her belt.
She feels disrespected.  She has a point.
Of course, it takes an old white man to say what that young, female heathen could never articulate.
Like many young, white people she is not eager to get on her knees and scrub floors, look after the smelly elderly, drive a bus.  She wants the Simon Cowell dream of instant riches.  A hidden talent that may earn her legitimacy.
She wants to win the lottery so she can be more like the Beckhams.  She wants to be Catherine Middleton and marry into a powerful family that is paid by the state to do nothing.
She has forgotten just how lucky she is because she wants stuff more than an attitude of gratitude.
The streets are teaming by night with angry black and asian men threatening the police with sticks.  By day the same streets are being swept by jolly middle-aged white women wanting to restore order.
Today my friends on Facebook are finding humor where there is no obvious answer.
At the Michelin awarded restaurant The Ledbury in Notting Hill Gate the rich cowered in the wine cellar as the looters came, stealing their money and their jewelery.   The looting continued on Sloane Square.  They rampaged over the thick carpet in Prada and Burberry, places that they could never hope to afford, leaving mannequins on the pavement like broken people.
What of this rebellion?  How could it be?  Why in London?  Why in Britain?
This is not a racially motivated rebellion.  This is about greed.  Taking what we want when we want it.  Instant gratification.  It has no focus other than greed.  These people have no political agenda.  The are not trying to wrest control of government.
This is a rebellion.  A refusal of obedience and order.   It may evolve into a mass non-violent resistance, it may attempt to destroy an established authority such as a government…but it wont.
“I can’t afford it, I will take it.”  It is the scourge of capitalism.   The ‘haves’ must prepare to either give a little or lose the lot.  The ‘have nots’ are beginning to find out how powerful they are…armed with clubs and their Blackberry.
Don’t be complacent America.  This will happen here too.  Sooner or later the desperately poor will take back their power and you will see what I have been suggesting since the beginning of the banking crisis:  the people will speak.   They will not be polite.
The difference here will be that any rebellion will be bloodier than our tame British street brawls.   It will be more like Syria.  Many dead.
Insurrection is as much a part of civilised society as the peace that reigns between.   The ruling class have had it easy.  They have looted from the poor and now the disenfranchised will have their say.
98% of the wealth owned by 5% of the people.   Seeing images of the British on their streets stealing what they cannot afford may inspire Americans to do the same.
In Britain the police were woefully unprepared, armed or organized to protect what we consider important.  The British police scarcely lifted a finger as the people came and took what they wanted.
The enemy for The British and The Americans are not in caves in Afghanistan they are in the trailer homes, homeless shelters and squalid broken cities like Cleveland and Detroit.
They are the casualties of a class war waged upon them by the rich.   They will tell us eventually, the poor, this simple fact:  We can’t earn it…we’ll take it.  When they come they will take what they want and they will not take hostages.  Not here.  They will come into our shops and our restaurants, our homes and our cars.
They will come because they are desperate and we do not respect them.
Categories
Gay

Duncan Roy The ‘A’ List

Regardless of why I decided to get involved with Derek or The ‘A’ List I’m glad I did.  Our pretend boyfriend scam…it was fun.  Even though I have been portrayed as a smelly old man.

Pretending to be his boyfriend was absurd.   A joke.  I don’t know if that comes across on the show?  That we were faking it?

Occasionally I throw myself back into being ‘gay’.  I don’t have a very gay life on this mountain.  Most queens are totally appalled that I live here, so isolated, away from the urban gay idyl.

Tom calls it my Shangri-La.   Some men love it and for those I hold a special place in my heart.  They get it.  The dream of self-sufficiency, off the grid, chickens and home-grown vegetables.

When I pull off my country clothes (albeit RRL) and slide into something leaner I am dressed for the city.  Whether it is WeHo or ChelseaSoho or The Marais I am there to be seen, acknowledged and play that peculiar game of being ‘gay’.

I can live two distinct lives, maybe more?

In England my snooty friends called me a chameleon, meaning to insult me.

Surely being able to change ones color to blend in…is rather good?  To adapt and change as the situation requires.

In England, my England I learned to speak with a different accent, merely to be heard.

I am a cock sucking homosexual but I wonder if others see it that way?  What kind of gay am I?

Perhaps my lack of interest in sex makes me less gay, less human?

Remember when I was on Sex Rehab and admitted that the sex I had with men was traumatic?   People wrote to me and told me that I wasn’t gay.  “If Duncan Roy doesn’t want gay sex, he isn’t gay.”

They tried to throw me out of the gay club…for having an opinion.

Meeting the cast of the ‘A’ List was memorable because they have become, in their own way, icons.  For good or for bad.  I met most of them just once. At least three of them have admitted drug and alcohol problems.

I really liked Austin and his husband Jake who I could very easily imagine seeing here or in London.  They are good people.  I like Austin’s authenticity.

The worst of the bunch has to be…Derek.  As you will see tonight (if you can be bothered) I enjoy ribbing him on camera.  I used stock lines, old jokes that an overly sensitive American queen did not find very funny.

When the food arrives I say, “That looks like something that came out of your nose.”  That’s funny isn’t it?  I used it before and my friends laughed.

We hung out a few times but really, his lack of sophistication, curiosity and insight were wonders to behold.  He seems so incomplete.  Derek’s consumption of alcohol masking a sadness at his core…like so many untreated addicts.  A problem that a huge number of gays share but have no intention of resolving.

Derek has no business to be anywhere but where he was born.  Like so many gay men he has been forced into New York by small-town prejudice and an insatiable desire for cock.

A bland, mid-western bag of meat and bones.

He had no truck with history, our history, any history…he knew nothing of the city where he lives, of commerce, politics or God.   Eking out an existence with appearances at provincial gay clubs and gay pride.

Derek lives every moment in the moment, no awareness of where he had come from and no interest in where he is going.

Did he read Eckhart Tolle?  I’m kidding.

The power of now and only now and God forbid that you make me consider anything other than right now.

I am without context.  I am without past or future.

Damn!  This Queen needs a drink!

He is the antithesis of everything the other was.

I looked at Derek as one might a monkey in the zoo.  The gay zoo.  Trapped like a miserable, half naked gogo boy in his techno cage.   Evidence of his genus.  The sub species of gay to which we must all aspire.

Cocktails with orange slices perched on the rim.

Moisturized, combed, overly tanned.  The shrill laughter and meaningless conversation hurt my ears.

I can’t imagine what the viewers of the ‘A’ List will make of me but…we’ll see.  I am old.  I am not Peter Pan.  I have a beard.  I live on a mountain.  I have no sexual traction…time has eroded my usefulness to the gays.

It was an adventure into a life I have only the barest knowledge.  A sociological exercise.  Ripping open the wasp’s nest.

I hung out at bars and in clubs.  I questioned who I was and the choices I have made.

When I was approached I politely declined.  When they spilled their drinks on me I didn’t say a word.

Categories
Dogs

The Water is So Wide

I watched the end of Jacob’s Ladder and the end of The Accidental Tourist.

Both films, at their heart, are about fathers and sons.  Death, coming to terms with death.  Letting go.  Dying.  Returning to the empty house.  Taking the taxi through Paris.  Allowing ones self to love again after being ‘shut down’.

Unconditional love.

It’s been a fucking tough two years.   The Big Dog, The Cancer, The Penguin.

Not necessarily in that order.

I think about her everyday, her tangled bloody body.  Waiting for her to die after the lethal injection.  Carrying her home to the grave we dug for her in the garden.   Now she is just skin and bones under the rock, hidden so the coyote couldn’t dig her up and eat her.  Laying there with her collar on, wrapped in my shirt, laying by my shoes.

Waiting patiently for us to join her.

I just couldn’t stop crying.  Apologizing.  She was innocent!

As I write the Little Dog is dreaming.  Yelping in his sleep.

It’s been tough to concentrate, to make anything happen, to imagine any sort of future.   I need all my wits about me to make things happen.  I don’t have the energy.

If by chance I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the man staring back at me.

Who cares?

I don’t really know who I am.  Drifting inconsolably since she was killed.  Inconsolable when I saw the truth about him.  Me reflected in him.  The grueling hospital.  Private desire that it would kill me.

That the doctor would say, “Mr. Roy, you have six months to live.”  He didn’t.

I let myself believe that it was all over and frankly, I was furious that all my body wanted to do was teach me a lesson.

Then I got involved with him.  He was nothing.  A sick, lost man.  I thought I could help.  He was nothing.  He wasn’t the one.  Like crumpled paper.  Like chewed gum.  A crude, inelegant parasite come to suck my blood.

Then I got involved with him.  I was nothing.  A sick, lost man.  He thought he could help.  I was nothing.  He wasn’t the one.

I was never going to be good enough for him.  For anyone.  Let’s face it.

Letting life and its dangerous current drag me across this angry ocean.  Untethered.

It feels like I am finally waking up from the past two years.  Waking up, yet desiring, desperately to sleep.  I don’t want to wake up.  Why in hells name is there any reason to be awake?

There is no child waiting to deliver me from madness.  There is no innocent boy to take my hand and lead me to a better place.   There is no Big Dog because I was a bad owner.  There is no lover because I am a bad lover.

I did not leave the house today.  I filled another can with weeds.  Compulsively weeding the garden.  I close my eyes and all I can see are weeds.  Panicking that there is one last weed to pull…and I may have missed it.

Categories
Hollywood Rant

London Hotel West Hollywood

Really!  What has happened to the London Hotel West Hollywood?

My friends Michael and Yaniv who are visiting from New York very sweetly invited me to lunch there yesterday.

I loved their room which has a nice, easterly view over the Hollywood Hills and a huge bathroom.

Lunch was less charming.

According to the verbose London Hotel website:

Gordon Ramsay has recreated the Hollywood culinary scene, with dining inspired by the sunny, savvy and social setting of L.A. From his Michelin-starred signature restaurant and casual bistro, to private, poolside and in-suite dining, cuisine is truly superb, highlighting California’s fresh abundance of produce.”

The luxurious appointment that was The London when it first opened is no more.  The faux suede walls, the marble foyer, the topiary…has dated incredibly quickly.

The poolside dining was a disgrace.

The astro turfed roof looks a mess.  It looks unkempt.  The tables strewn rather than arranged.  The staff uniform one step away from Macdonald’s, with the ubiquitous polo shirt and a hideous recent (?) addition…a huge corporate name tag stamped in shiny silver and black plastic pinned haphazardly onto the waitresses grubby white outfit.

We ordered from the polite and attentive young waitress, two salads and one burger.

Gordon must agree that the Devil/God is in the detail.  So, whenever I am in any of his restaurants my expectations are high.   Surely his personal standards should be greater than those he insists of his hapless TV show victims.

Am I being unreasonable?

Like going to the theatre or a movie, when I sit down in any restaurant I don’t go looking for trouble.  I want to be delighted.  Especially when my lunch is being paid for.

Unlike a movie or the theatre, however, when I sit down to eat it doesn’t take much to please me.  I have never walked out of a restaurant half way through a meal whereas I often leave the theatre/cinema huffing and puffing with disgust.

Authenticity delights me.  Generosity too.  Appropriateness thrills.  Detail is everything.

It was an uncomfortable experience.

The table and chairs were crammed behind an immovable planter.  Three big men at a very small table.  We were all a little surprised that the condiments were served in ugly plastic sachet.

We ordered drinks.

My Arnold Palmer was far too tart.   Too much lemon and not enough iced tea.

We had loads to talk about so waiting a little bit longer for our lunch didn’t seem to matter.

When Yaniv’s burger finally arrived the bun was crushed.  It looked cheap.  It looked unloved.  The miserable burger sat forlornly on the plate.  Instead of fries it was served with a tiny cup of chips (crisps).

My skirt steak salad was pathetic.  The undressed salad of various leaves including raddiccio dwarfing the tiny amount of steak.  No ‘abundance of Californian product‘ here.

We thought better of desert.

We ordered coffee.  Yaniv was amused to note that every sugar sachet bar one was empty.

It served as a fitting metaphor.

The experience of being at The London West Hollywood looks like it might be full of surprises but ends up an empty promise.

BTW the London Hotel website ‘poolside lunch’ menu is inaccurate as of 21st July 2011.

We drove to Santa Monica where we met the gorgeous Jeff.  Ate a late dessert on Third Street.  Wandered around the new Santa Monica Place.  Walked to the beach where we watched my friend Armand, as nimble as a monkey, work the rings.

Went home to dogs who were delighted to see me and bounced around crying with pleasure.

Must make coffee.  I have desk work to do today.  Need to write to Jake’s lawyer re iPod incident.

Categories
Gay

Happy Birthday Me

Here are some of the pictures Dan took last week at my party…I will add them as and when they arrive.  I am having my LA birthday party tonight….should be fun.

Lady Rizo

Lady Rizo sang Lilac Wine, Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend and a Brittany Spears mash up.

Devon, Aleksa and Me

Aleksa came with her husband Devon…straight from the set of Boardwalk Empire

Dan and Stephen

Dan took all the pics but thankfully had one of himself.

Ian and Bradley

Ian Drew and Bradley from US Weekly…who told me yesterday that I am indeed in the upcoming A List.

Rob Roth who sang ‘I’ll Melt With You‘ rather wonderfully and the legend who is indeed Chandler Burr.  The performance artist and NYT scent editor…

Duncan and Robby

This trip to NYC changed darling Robby’s life.

Sweet friends from LA Jess and her lover.

Victoria Whitbread and her friend Tom with Dee Mansfield who flew from Hong Kong for my party.

Yaniv, Michael (GLADD) and Cyndi Stivers who started Time Out NY

The Black Soft

Chase and Joey from The Black Soft came and not only performed their new song for me but totally wowed their new audience.

Zach and Alex

Joan, Lady Rizo and Joe

Greg Lucas and David Stillman Meyer

Kaolin, Friend and Zach

Lady Rizo and Donovan.

Duncan, Charlie Parsons and Tom Desanto

Jeff and Robby

And over to you LADY RIZO!!!

OK, that’s it!  More tomorrow from tonight’s party.

Categories
Gay

Birthday Party

Robby left this morning.  I was really sad to see him go.

The indisputable zenith of my birthday party was Lady Rizo singing Lilac Wine.    Seventy people in the room, you could hear a pin drop.   Such a disparate group of people with a magical spell cast over them…as only Rizo can.

The day was perfect in every way.    Dee emerged from her room at The Standard and we ate a delicious lunch with Toby and the super cute Joe.  When he took his clothes off and dived into the pool everybody watched him in awe.  A man not a boy.  A man with a perfect body.

Joan met me mid afternoon and delivered my birthday gift.  A BEAUTIFUL pair of sunglasses I had been hankering after for six months.

We all returned to Dee’s room at The Standard.  I love this hotel.  The finishes and detailing throughout the hotel are ravishing, the amazing view of The Statue of Liberty peeking over the horizon.

Spent the afternoon with Joe.

The weather has been stunning here.  Walking the streets has been inspiring.

Soho House did an amazing job of organizing my birthday party.  The food was excellent; the staff were charming and helpful.  The room perfectly appointed.

As well as Lady Rizo my friends Joey and Chase also known as the Black Soft and Rob Roth performed.  Rizo stole the night.  She sang a brilliant and very funny mash-up of Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend and Wannabee.  With the writer of the Spice Girls classic in the room it was especially poignant.

People really made the effort.  Victoria Whitbread, Matt Rowe and Charlie Parsons flew from London and of course there were many, many gorgeous boys to look at.  I had exactly what I wanted.

This was the birthday party I should have had last year but traded for a miserable time with the crazed fan.

We ended up on the roof by the pool with yet another blue balling straight boy called Sean.  Soft skin, perfect body.   As we were sitting there I saw Dominique Lomas from Sydney!  Of all people.  She looked gorgeous.  Here in NYC writing a novel.  If only I had known!

So, we all sat there in the balmy night looking down at the Hudson.  Dreaming of Sean’s face in my lap.

Sean headed off with Dominique.  We were invited to young FJ’s house.  We walked the few blocks to his huge Soho loft, stuffed with amazing art belonging to the boy’s step-father..a renowned art historian and personal hero of mine.

Tom, Robby, me and the boys.

We had the beautiful boys to take their tops off and then we took pictures of them.  It was honest (sordid) fun.  Note the Lucian Freud beside them.

I was surrounded by love last night.  Surrounded by people who loved me.   Serenaded me.  Friends old and new.  People had traveled a very long way to see me and I felt finally rewarded for these past months of painful growing.

I am determined that these final months in America will mean something to me.  Determined that they will be happy, joyous and free.  The glimpse of the Statue of Liberty reminded me why I came here, have made it my home but also why I must ultimately move on.

Categories
Gay

Poor White Trash

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8yghncsxRs]

 

Matt Rowe arrived from London.  Lunch with Casey at Westville.  Steven and I ate an early supper and held hands in the street.  I felt my whole body tingle with excitement.  Late dinner at lil’ Frankies with my pride boys.  I love them.

Gave up after that.  Exhausted.

I found out that somebody for whom I had long-held a candle is in fact gay…

Much more to tell but have no time.

Categories
Gay

Transformers: Dark of The Moon

I can’t really write about yesterday morning.  Needless to say I will.  In time.  Maybe tomorrow.

Had lunch at the Mercer Kitchen with a friend.  There were many, many tired looking servers/shop assistants etc., in New York the day after Pride.   Grimly going about their working day at the mercy of rotten hangovers.

Only one of the twins arrived from LA.  Miles had to stay home and guard the fort.

Robby has never really been to NYC before; you should have seen his face!  He was delighted.  He had such a big Robby smile.  We wandered the East Village and as much as he complained that smokes were triple the price you could tell that no amount of money spent on ciggies was going to ruin his NYC state of mind.

We took the subway to 42nd Street.  Excited to see Transformers 3.  3D.

Tom’s film will have grossed more than 3 billion dollars by the time all is said and done.

I am not going to review the movie.   He’s my friend.  Watching a friend’s movie is not like going to the cinema and just sitting down and watching a film.

I am already invested.

OK, I’ll just tell you a couple of things.  Frankly the film was a bit confusing: the transformer goodies and the baddies melding into one heap of scrap metal with no clear battle, no defining heroic moment.

Even the casting was confusing; I thought John Malkovich was Gary Busey.  What has he done to his mouth?  His teeth?

There were too many quips and not enough story.

The special effects were remarkable and keep the tension levels high.  Somehow watching any well-shot fight captures the imagination even though in this case one might not know what they are fighting about.

The lead girl, a Victoria Secrets model, was appalling, all lips and hair and pout.   The camera fetishizing her lithe body.  The director forcing his camera into her face, her mouth.

Shia looked worse for wear and has certainly lost that youthful vulnerability that carried him and us through the first of this blockbuster franchise.

The parents who amused us and grounded us in the first film have become irritating non-secateurs.  Great actors and not so great actors deliver cheesy lines that segue into another well-crafted fight.  The disparity causing some general merriment in the room

Regardless of what Transformers has become Tom’s initial idea had integrity and poise.   It is important to remember that.

For the second time in as many days I wished I could have gotten fucked up.

This is getting crazy.

Everybody falls in love with Robby.  Robby, quite rightly, drowning in positive affirmation.   I am proud of the way he handles himself in these situations.

My big birthday party on Thursday night, there are people flying from Hong Kong, London and LA.  It’s going to be a blast.  I am really looking forward to it.  100 people.  Entertainment.  Hootenanny.

I have now re-written the end of the novel and await notes.

Determined that my party will neither depress or stress me.

Categories
Gay

Pursuit of Beauty

Stayed over at the Lake House.  Woke early.  Made coffee.  Fed Max.

Two sets of novel notes arrived yesterday…both were extremely promising.  One from the publisher in London and the other from my friend who teaches at NYU.  Very positive.  I am still undecided about the end.   Wish I could write about it without spoiling it.  Something good is finally emerging from my time with him.

That pustulent, suppurating, festering, odious, limited…ugly little man.

Something beautiful is being born.  From out of the shadows I will make something glorious!  Eh up lad.  Where there’s muck there’s brass.

Today I am in pursuit of beauty!  In all its many forms.  A row of freshly planted melons.  A perfect cup of tea. A beautiful penis.

I have a friend on FB who takes the most beautiful photographs and yesterday he shared a picture of Thomas Heatherwick‘s Beach Cafe at dusk.  Too perfect.  This man Heatherwick is a genius.  This is exactly what Whitstable needs.  A fantastically bold architectural something.

I met a boy yesterday.  A brief assignation with a 22-year-old from Maryland.  A hotel room in Santa Monica.  He was on vacation with his parents.  He was my height, muscular, masculine.  He had the most enormous penis.  Incredible shape, thick.   He wanted to ‘role play‘ but I refused.  He was deaf.  I did not want to know his name.

Robby waited outside until we had finished.

After I left the beautiful boy we headed to Home Depot where we bought plants.

Spent the rest of the day planting neat rows of cantaloupe, honeydew and water melons..we planted far too many.  We also planted far too many ‘heirloom’ tomatoes.   There are other bits and pieces in the raised beds in front of the house.    Squash, pumpkin etc.

I am perplexed.  There is a bare patch of land where the huge Bougainvillea used to be.  Needs filling.  Needs something.  What?

We weeded and watered and dug compost into the dry earth.  We trimmed the grape vines.  The sun began to set.

Joined the Piettes at The Malibu Community theatre for Hannah’s performance of Tweedle Dee in Alice in Wonderland.  The play was great fun.  The girl who played The Mad Hatter (Sage?) was not only very beautiful but incredibly talented.  Ate pizza during the interval.

We stayed until 10pm.  Hopped straight into bed when I got home.

Tom suggested that I reprise my stage version of The Baron in The Trees.