Last night’s dinner — ALONE, thank you very much Pink Lady — was at a nearly empty Flip’s. As I ate some vermacelli and meatballs, a gay couple with an obligatory overweight girl in glasses caught my eye and ear. They caught my eye because they kissed. Now, I’ve been guilty of making out at a bar and didn’t think anything of it. I’m not so homophobic that I was shocked or grossed out by seeing two men kiss. It’s just that I was thinking how times have changed when two men feel free to kiss at Flip’s. There was a time when it might have started a lynch mob, even at Flip’s. Times have changed, but not all of us realize how much. Well, anyway, I also overheard one of the two young men’s conversation. It wasn’t as if I were eavesdropping, it’s the acoustics in that damn building, the worst in town. One of the men said to the obligatory “fag hag”:
“Oh, honey, everybody has baggage! Save that for Oprah.”
Pretty funny, I thought.
Having been duly warned, I’m through with the pussy comments. Now, it’s my pussy and I’ll pet when I want and as slow or as fast as I want.
Speaking of Sinatra, he’s been nothing less than simple joy to me since he came here to live. He’s so affectionate and funny and just very cool. He’s had fun exploring and has discovered he likes to sleep under my bed, near the heater vent. He has things to play with, food galore (although “treats” has not been something he’s discovered — YET! ) and is petted to a fare-thee-well. He’s pretty talkative (at least some large part of him is Siamese, a talkative breed) and has learned to say “where’s the cute chicks?”. At least, that’s what I think he says when I walk into the house. He likes music, especially “Old Blue Eyes”, and watches television from my lap. He plays with a “busy ball” in my round entryway and still has absolutely no interest in going outside for any reason. Soon, I’ll have white fur on all my black clothing.
I’ve barely worked in several days. First, they deconstructed my office for the purpose of putting in new carpet and now it’s covered in dropcloths while they paint. Why they didn’t paint before they put in new carpet is a mystery, but I’ll have new carpet and hunter green walls by the end of today. Meanwhile, my computer and phones have been FUBAR (ask your daddy what that means).
Tonight’s the State of the Union address by President Bush. I won’t be watching. Instead, I’ll be doing something REALLY fun. Edgar Cruz and Reuben Romero will bring their guitar virtuosity and flamenco dancing cabaret show to Galileo’s tonight. The last time I went to it, it was very big fun. Great music, great show and a crowd that got up on its feet and shouted “Ole!” from time to time. I’m really pumped up about it and can’t wait.
Just noticed that a former postal employee in Santa Barbara walked in and gunned down 6 or 7 people. The thing that caught my eye about this tragedy is that the shooter was apparently a woman. Pretty unusual.
Speaking of wierd news, a dominatrix was acquitted yesterday of manslaughter in the death of one of her bondage customers back east. She and her boyfriend supposedly dismembered the 275 pound customer and dumped his body parts behind restaurants. The prosecution’s problem is that she wouldn’t confess on tape AND they never found the body. The DA donned the zippered mouth leather hood the victim was in at the time of heart attack death for his closing argument in which he demonstrated the death scene. The judge stopped him and told him “that’s enough theatrics, counselor”. The jury deliberated two hours before deciding “not guilty”.
Sinatra’s having an affection crisis, so I’ll stop here.