dave white knows
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
I got all injured!
Some dishes don't want to be washed, and they will fight you about it. A glass--fortunately not a really good one or I'd have been miffed--fought back against me and my tyrannical use of Dawn, and it won.
Usually when I spaz and break a dish or a glass or whatever while I'm washing them, the blood is low-key and a Band-Aid brand bandage will fix me. But very recently I put my hand in a glass to wash it, it shattered and I was cut deep. Snake River Canyon deep. Jacqueline Bisset in a wet t-shirt deep. So deep I could actually lift up a flap of skin, a thick flap, like a big slice of Spam thick if Spam were a pasty white color. Inside the flap I could actually touch one of my veins.
So I did.
Then I wondered if I needed to go to the Emergency Room or if a Band-Aid brand bandage would suffice. The cut was small, like nickel-sized, and you don't want to be the big baby who calls the Waaaambulance for something you could have dealt with at home. It's the mark of a nerd and not a dude, as my friend Pippa would say.
Then I touched the vein again because it was kind of fun to touch it. Then the blood just started gushing everywhere. Then I thought that the ER was a pretty good idea.
I called Arab-Strap DixieCup to come get me, because my right hand was bleeding so much I knew I'd never be able to operate the stick shift in my car without making the interior look like what it would look like after the killer jumps out at you from the backseat and stabs you, as featured in the film He Knows You're Alone. Or maybe it was in When A Stranger Calls that the killer did that. I forget. I'll have to ask Sean Abley to remind me. He knows everything about horror movies.
Either way, I needed someone else to do the driving.
...and now I have to pause and continue this later because AD is on his way to get me again, only this time it's just for a delicious dinner and not for stitches, which I totally got from a hot doctor and now you'll be coming back to hear the rest of the story.
Monday, October 06, 2003
So Alopecia Dermatitis and I go see "Scarface" at the Cineramadome with a pack of wild boars on a Wednesday night at 9pm. In spite of the fact that 9pm is totally my bedtime and "Scarface" is like three hours long, we go. Because "Scarface" is AWESOME, that's why. It was the first and last time Al Pacino behaved crazily in that patented Al Pacino that-sofa-looks-good-to-eat way and the last time it was fun to watch him do it. And Michelle Pfeiffer is petulant, bored and coked-up through the whole movie. That's AWESOME too! Plus there's the Giorgio Moroder score, which is pretty assy, but still perfect because of that gay song "Push It To The Limit" and all the horrible dancing people do, including Al who didn't learn his no-dancing-on-screen lesson from "Cruising."
Then there's all the murder, which is another example of AWESOME.
So we're waiting for the movie to start and hoping we can see the screen over all the ironic trucker caps and Sean Abley starts in with me on how great Gay Day at Disneyland is, which I can't believe. Like packs of wild boars at "Scarface," packs of wild gay bores at Disneyland don't interest me.
But SA insists it's fun. And SA is fun. And always right about fun things. So now I may have to go next year. Just to investigate.
Instead of Disneyland, AD and I go to Ikea on Saturday. Ikea sucks it mostly, but they have good lamps, rugs and certain storage options that don't make me feel soiled for liking them. It's packed in Ikea and full of all the people with kids who didn't go to Disneyland. Then I become a gay activist, and I hate being that. But I had to be. The opportunity was too good to pass up.
A shrimpy little Ikea employee dude was saying out loud to another employee about how gross it would be to be at Disneyland that day. His quote: "I'd never want to go on Gay Day. I don't want to be around any gay people. I don't want to be anywhere where gays are."
Now, it may seem hypocritical for me to avoid Gay Day and then get all over this guy for the same thing. But I'm a gay. My annoying queen saturation is qualitatively different. He just hates us all. Which is stupid because I'm AWESOME.
I turn to him when he's finished and say, "Well guess what? You're at work and you're standing next to gay customers right now. Whaddaya think about that?"
He stutters, "Oh, but that's not... I didn't..."
I smile and walk away all smug and correct. It felt good.
*enjoy listening to The Darkness! They rock it like a hurricane. And speak softly to me at LeftyLmnad@aol.com
Thursday, August 14, 2003
A retraction: "Grind" is actually not horrible. Maybe I'm just feeling generous but I didn't feel like I was in jail while I watched it. It's a low-achieving movie but that's what it wanted to be I think. I did feel like I was in jail the day before, though, for an art-house thing called "Dust." It's got one of those cranky old ladies befriending a befuddled robber who in real life would have shot her in the face for all her sass but in THIS movie sits and listens to her tell him a story of the Old West and her ancestors who were always running off to be mercenaries in Macedonia and holding each other at gunpoint to show they meant business.
It's all just a lot of gunpoint-holding and not enough actual killing.
Say what you want about "Freddy vs. Jason" but at least motherfuckers get KILLED in that movie. It was super boring and I walked out before it was over -- of "Dust," that is, not "Freddy vs. Jason." No one gets killed in "Grind," by the way, but Kelly Rowland's screen career might be dead after FvJ. (Favorite line of dialogue = when Kelly calls Freddy a faggot. She does. For real.)
Saw Gina Gershon yesterday while waiting for my car to be smog-checked at the Mobil station on Santa Monica Blvd. She was traveling incognito with giant "Two For the Road" shades and some ratty t-shirt, buying Advil while I tried not to stare. She's really tiny, but then they all are here. The shades were a good move. You don't be Gina Gershon and just gallivant through West Hollywood unshielded. You are Cristal Connors. You are in the best movie ever. You will be mobbed by people like me.
For the record, though, I didn't mob. I keep my fandom on the DL.
If you heard me on the satellite radio today and want to love me, email me at LeftyLmnad@aol.com
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Favorite "Gigli" line # 2
Okay it's not a line, really. It's a pronunciation of "Oregon." As in the state. Miss Lo says it like "Oregone," as in, "Is he here? No, he's gone." Or-ah-GONE.
Tonight I see "Grind." A skateboarding movie. I hope it's as good as "Gleaming the Cube" or "Prayer of The Rollerboys."
Okay that's it for now. It's so hot I can't even think right with my brain today.
Thursday, July 31, 2003
The kids are all about bangs this summer. I just learned that while dining on tuna salad and a deliciously yellow organic heirloom tomato and watching "TRL." If my hair weren't so short, I could look just like Liv Tyler by imitating her eyelid-skimming bangs. I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Speaking of wrong, go see "Gigli." You'll thank me. I won't go on with bashing it because that's already tired. I just want to share my favorite lines of dialogue with y'all.
Favorite line # 1
The Scene: J.Lo wants into Ben's apartment to use the phone. He is reluctant because he's just kidnapped this really hot retarded guy and doesn't want to be found out. Ms. Lo says it's okay, she'll just be on the phone for a second and that when she leaves....
"I'll just leave a faint scent."
This is why I love going to the movies.
Monday, July 21, 2003
So there I was at the San Diego Comic-Con, braving the body odor and mouth breathing, when who should brush past me on the exhibitor floor but Daryl Hannah and bodyguard. She was there, I would learn the next day, to promote "Kill Bill," the new Tarantino movie. She looks great, in spite of her mildly distracting and somewhat stretchy plastic surgery, had a Slurpee or something in her hand, sucking on the straw, and was saying something loud to her bodyguard guy, who responded, "Um, now YOU'RE drawing attention to ME."
Other highlights of the Comic-Con:
* being chastised by Alonso Duralde for saying the word "fag" too loudly in public to refer to well-known-ish book designer, Batman expert and cool dude Chip Kidd. Apparently, I need to be a little more faggy-acting myself to get away with using this word haphazardly. I, however, think I'm just faggy-acting enough to use it as much as I dang well please.
* watching Renaissance Fair people joust or duel or whatever they call it. Dudes in chain mail and tights are hot. Still, they smell too, so I didn't get close.
*player hating Tarantino just to get Antwoine Debonairre more riled up.
*fascinating on the sexlessness of most comic-con gays. These are men who do not cruise you. They sneak glances and then skulk off. It's a pity, for real.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Six weeks without me, I'm told, is like that movie "Six Weeks" with Mary Tyler Moore and Dudley Moore and that little ballet kid who dies of cancer at Christmas, the final holiday in the final week of the titular six weeks. She dances "The Nutcracker," then grabs her own pain-throbbed head in the subway, yells, "It hurts!" and keels over. It's a much better Christmas Cancer movie than "Stepmom" but not as good as the Non-Christmas Cancer movie "Life as a House" which has the young Darth Vader in it performing an act of autoerotic asphyxiation. I don't make up these things.
I was very busy bringing home some bacon and frying it up in a pan. That's where I was. Now I'm back and I'm bigger than ever.
Wish me luck!
Also, listen to Erase Errata. They're good.
email me at LeftyLmnad@aol.com to congratulate me on my triumphant return.
