At the moment I am sitting in the café at Borders in Century City, awaiting Martha Stewart’s book signing. Borders is lame for almost never having my book on the shelf, but awesome Barnes & Noble always does. So I haven’t written in a while huh? It’s all part of my master plan to make you want me more. Anyway I have had a zany string of events the last couple of days.
I think it started Wednesday as I was loading laundry into the old Subaru lez-mobile. So if you can visualize it, I was leaning on the passenger side with my left hand propped on the roof, holding my keys. My right was on the rear passenger door handle. By some kinda hoodoo anti-miracle, I dropped my keys as I was closing the door. The door happened to close right on my keys, shattering my window. I couldn’t believe it. One second the window is there, the next I am being showered in safety glass pellets. Crazy huh? And the best part is that I had this extra couple hundred bucks I didn’t really want, so in a way it was lucky, right? I still had to drop off my laundry, now also covered in glass, and as I was leaving the fluff n fold to go back home and call glass repair places, Michael McDonald of Mad TV walked past my car. Of course my faggoty iPod was blasting a bongo-laden Peggy Lee rendition of “I enjoy being a girl.” He started laughing and said hello. It’s as if he could tell I was gay. Crazy…
I kinda wish it had been Michael McDonald the soulfully white singer-songwriter who did that “you can reach me by aero plane” number with Anita Baker (who I wish had been Anita Bryant). He looks like Paula Deen’s Husband. Anyway, that was my Wednesday brush with fame.
Back at Chez Grégoire, I made some calls and got a quote for $120 from a mobile guy who was to come to my building at 9am yesterday (Thursday). He calls Thursday morning to inform me that he doesn’t have the correct glass after all and that he needs to order it. I then called another place, which said they’d do it in under an hour if I brought the car in, and they did indeed have the correct glass in stock, and they would even match the $120 quote. So I am already off to a late start on a packed day, but at least I have a plan.
I get to the glass place at 11 and am greeted sheepishly by Veronica who helped me on the phone. Veronica then informed me that as the tech was carrying my glass from storage to my car, he dropped and broke it… and that was the one and only piece that fit my lez-baru. No prob – a new piece would arrive at 2. I killed a lovely few hours exploring what I discovered to be what I can only describe as the Auto Glass District. I was propositioned from the sidewalk with cheap auto glass by a shady gent who could just as easily have been offering me smack. Do people say smack? I’m such a rube when it comes to drug etiquette and custom.
I ended up wandering into a very sketchy neighborhood searching for an AutoZone cuz my dykey Outback has been leaking tranny fluid. Upon exiting the Zone, I caught this squirrelly dude mere inches away from reaching into my car through the broken glass window. He saw me and recoiled, but then had the nerve to ask me for a dollar. I thought that was pretty nervy and kinda rad, but Of course I didn’t give him a dime – I never do. It’s Just like with the grifter-in-residence at my post office (where I saw Ron Perlman fighting with an ATM the other day): he “holds the door” for everyone even though the door is already propped open. He has a skateboard and a cell phone. He should be able to turn that into something lucrative with a little initiative.
Driving on, I found myself in Alhambra. Did you know there is an Electric Avenue in Alhambra? I wondered if it was the same avenue that inspired the song, but I never really got a sense of Eddie Grant being from somewhere like Alhambra, and Alhambra’s Electric Avenue didn’t strike me as being the kind of place one would “rock down to” and then “take it higher.” Of course who knows, it could be one of those things like when you aren’t from LA and you hear Snoop rapping about the LBC and you thing it must be some kinda gangland war zone, but then you actually go to Long Beach and it’s real boring and has bad gay bars with names like “Ripples” and “choices.” I went on a bad gay date to the Hooters there and then to see Freddy vs. Jason. Hooters grilled cheese platter was surprisingly good, although our server’s nude hose made me cringe. Back to gay bar names though.
My favorite homo bars are always have names made up of a pluralized abstract: Choices, Attitudes, Angles, Ripples, and so forth. I dream of a demimonde where the fag bars are named things like “Mistakes” and “Excuses” and “Issues.” Ok, back to my harried day.
So the glass finally arrives and they replace the window. I have to say they did a pretty speedy job (once they finally started working) and gave me 50 bucks off for the hassle. It was GTO Glass on Mission St. if you’re curious.
From there I am off to do the errands I had been planning. Mind you it’s now 3:30, when I was originally sposed to be outta there at noon. So the rest is kinda boring, just a string of errands. FYI they now carry caskets at Costco. I think you could be born, live on samples, grow old and die inside that place. I might just move into a Costco. I like their food court. Snack suggestion: get the soft serve vanilla frozen yogurt and use a churro as a spoon – delish! By the time I get home parking is impossible, and I sit in my car inhaling exhaust for an hour before a space opens up. I make several trips unloading the Outback and stowing Costco purchases. It’s now midnight and I still have to prep for Martha.
A couple weeks ago I got an email from one Mary Forrest (super nice) who is a producer on Martha Stewart’s show and/or magazine. I am not quite sure. She wanted to talk to me about BazBiz. We have several convos, and she informs me that the Martha’s considering sending a camera crew to the LA BazBiz. I was sposed to get confirmation Thursday, but TV people are always late. So I remember last minute that the big M is in town doing a book signing at Borders. I managed to put together an impromptu BazBiz package for her before bed: a signed copy of my book Bazaar Bizarre (please buy), a nice note, press pages, and some photos of this pillow on which I’d busted my ass, which was apparently just tossed aside by some sycophantic underling when it arrived (express mail, thank you very much) at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia HQ.
I got to bed about 1:30 AM and was up by 5:30 to truck my ass to Century City. I landed in line at about 6:45. I know it’s pretty schemey, but I got out the old cane and made sure to limp a lot. I made a nice new friend during the 2.5-hour wait and overheard a frightening Martha clone talking to the other clones about how she and her friends all have myspace pages for their cats and they all blog as their cats. As a true blue cat fancier, I never suspected that a fondness for felines could go so far as to make my anus pucker.
The store opened at 9 and I bought Martha’s new Homekeeping Handbook. I think 744 pages of domestic instructions is a bit bossy, if you ask me. That or a little OCD, but hey I love Martha. She’s been a big inspiration to a lot of other BazBiz crafters including me. Once I got the book I had to get this wristband that marked me as one of the chosen who will meet her and have her book signed. A second line has formed outside for position for the actual signing, which I find a bit odd since the wristband guarantees that your book gets signed. I so did not get my ass up that early to stand in line twice. I busted out the sad brown eyes, hobbled over to an employee and asked about the line. She insisted that I relax in the café and allow her to whisk me to the front of the line when the signing starts.
What can I say? My brain tumor has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving.
It’s now 11:21 and Martha is slated to make her entrance at noon. I shall do a post-signing blog later. You didn’t really think you’d get away without hearing my kvetch about TV did you?
I think it started Wednesday as I was loading laundry into the old Subaru lez-mobile. So if you can visualize it, I was leaning on the passenger side with my left hand propped on the roof, holding my keys. My right was on the rear passenger door handle. By some kinda hoodoo anti-miracle, I dropped my keys as I was closing the door. The door happened to close right on my keys, shattering my window. I couldn’t believe it. One second the window is there, the next I am being showered in safety glass pellets. Crazy huh? And the best part is that I had this extra couple hundred bucks I didn’t really want, so in a way it was lucky, right? I still had to drop off my laundry, now also covered in glass, and as I was leaving the fluff n fold to go back home and call glass repair places, Michael McDonald of Mad TV walked past my car. Of course my faggoty iPod was blasting a bongo-laden Peggy Lee rendition of “I enjoy being a girl.” He started laughing and said hello. It’s as if he could tell I was gay. Crazy…
I kinda wish it had been Michael McDonald the soulfully white singer-songwriter who did that “you can reach me by aero plane” number with Anita Baker (who I wish had been Anita Bryant). He looks like Paula Deen’s Husband. Anyway, that was my Wednesday brush with fame.
Back at Chez Grégoire, I made some calls and got a quote for $120 from a mobile guy who was to come to my building at 9am yesterday (Thursday). He calls Thursday morning to inform me that he doesn’t have the correct glass after all and that he needs to order it. I then called another place, which said they’d do it in under an hour if I brought the car in, and they did indeed have the correct glass in stock, and they would even match the $120 quote. So I am already off to a late start on a packed day, but at least I have a plan.
I get to the glass place at 11 and am greeted sheepishly by Veronica who helped me on the phone. Veronica then informed me that as the tech was carrying my glass from storage to my car, he dropped and broke it… and that was the one and only piece that fit my lez-baru. No prob – a new piece would arrive at 2. I killed a lovely few hours exploring what I discovered to be what I can only describe as the Auto Glass District. I was propositioned from the sidewalk with cheap auto glass by a shady gent who could just as easily have been offering me smack. Do people say smack? I’m such a rube when it comes to drug etiquette and custom.
I ended up wandering into a very sketchy neighborhood searching for an AutoZone cuz my dykey Outback has been leaking tranny fluid. Upon exiting the Zone, I caught this squirrelly dude mere inches away from reaching into my car through the broken glass window. He saw me and recoiled, but then had the nerve to ask me for a dollar. I thought that was pretty nervy and kinda rad, but Of course I didn’t give him a dime – I never do. It’s Just like with the grifter-in-residence at my post office (where I saw Ron Perlman fighting with an ATM the other day): he “holds the door” for everyone even though the door is already propped open. He has a skateboard and a cell phone. He should be able to turn that into something lucrative with a little initiative.
Driving on, I found myself in Alhambra. Did you know there is an Electric Avenue in Alhambra? I wondered if it was the same avenue that inspired the song, but I never really got a sense of Eddie Grant being from somewhere like Alhambra, and Alhambra’s Electric Avenue didn’t strike me as being the kind of place one would “rock down to” and then “take it higher.” Of course who knows, it could be one of those things like when you aren’t from LA and you hear Snoop rapping about the LBC and you thing it must be some kinda gangland war zone, but then you actually go to Long Beach and it’s real boring and has bad gay bars with names like “Ripples” and “choices.” I went on a bad gay date to the Hooters there and then to see Freddy vs. Jason. Hooters grilled cheese platter was surprisingly good, although our server’s nude hose made me cringe. Back to gay bar names though.
My favorite homo bars are always have names made up of a pluralized abstract: Choices, Attitudes, Angles, Ripples, and so forth. I dream of a demimonde where the fag bars are named things like “Mistakes” and “Excuses” and “Issues.” Ok, back to my harried day.
So the glass finally arrives and they replace the window. I have to say they did a pretty speedy job (once they finally started working) and gave me 50 bucks off for the hassle. It was GTO Glass on Mission St. if you’re curious.
From there I am off to do the errands I had been planning. Mind you it’s now 3:30, when I was originally sposed to be outta there at noon. So the rest is kinda boring, just a string of errands. FYI they now carry caskets at Costco. I think you could be born, live on samples, grow old and die inside that place. I might just move into a Costco. I like their food court. Snack suggestion: get the soft serve vanilla frozen yogurt and use a churro as a spoon – delish! By the time I get home parking is impossible, and I sit in my car inhaling exhaust for an hour before a space opens up. I make several trips unloading the Outback and stowing Costco purchases. It’s now midnight and I still have to prep for Martha.
A couple weeks ago I got an email from one Mary Forrest (super nice) who is a producer on Martha Stewart’s show and/or magazine. I am not quite sure. She wanted to talk to me about BazBiz. We have several convos, and she informs me that the Martha’s considering sending a camera crew to the LA BazBiz. I was sposed to get confirmation Thursday, but TV people are always late. So I remember last minute that the big M is in town doing a book signing at Borders. I managed to put together an impromptu BazBiz package for her before bed: a signed copy of my book Bazaar Bizarre (please buy), a nice note, press pages, and some photos of this pillow on which I’d busted my ass, which was apparently just tossed aside by some sycophantic underling when it arrived (express mail, thank you very much) at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia HQ.
I got to bed about 1:30 AM and was up by 5:30 to truck my ass to Century City. I landed in line at about 6:45. I know it’s pretty schemey, but I got out the old cane and made sure to limp a lot. I made a nice new friend during the 2.5-hour wait and overheard a frightening Martha clone talking to the other clones about how she and her friends all have myspace pages for their cats and they all blog as their cats. As a true blue cat fancier, I never suspected that a fondness for felines could go so far as to make my anus pucker.
The store opened at 9 and I bought Martha’s new Homekeeping Handbook. I think 744 pages of domestic instructions is a bit bossy, if you ask me. That or a little OCD, but hey I love Martha. She’s been a big inspiration to a lot of other BazBiz crafters including me. Once I got the book I had to get this wristband that marked me as one of the chosen who will meet her and have her book signed. A second line has formed outside for position for the actual signing, which I find a bit odd since the wristband guarantees that your book gets signed. I so did not get my ass up that early to stand in line twice. I busted out the sad brown eyes, hobbled over to an employee and asked about the line. She insisted that I relax in the café and allow her to whisk me to the front of the line when the signing starts.
What can I say? My brain tumor has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving.
It’s now 11:21 and Martha is slated to make her entrance at noon. I shall do a post-signing blog later. You didn’t really think you’d get away without hearing my kvetch about TV did you?
