Some things never to combine:
1. Moving + to the South + in the Summer
2. My mother + in the South + in the Summer + with allergies
3. Reading the bio of Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel + while taking cold medicine
4. Having a cold + in the South + in the Summer + watching “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” + a very cluttered apartment + delirious behavior from cold medicine + too many mirrors in my apartment
5. The South Beach Diet + while living in the South + in the Summer + in an un-air conditioned apartment (though I think I’ve lost about 5+ pounds in water weight).
That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have a cold. I also have a shiteload of boxes to still unpack and nowhere to put anything. Argh. One day, I hope to look back and tell my offspring about my days of youth spent living like an idiot. Okay, not quite an “idiot” but every time I move (10 times in 10 years and counting), I curse the gods, gnash my teeth, whine and wonder aloud, “Why did I move?”
That aside it is DAMN hot down here, people. As in, “outside” feels like the “inside” of a pizza oven. But slightly damp. And no breeze. Hence I thank all things that are holy and true that Joya and her bros. donated an air conditioner to the “Save Shanono Before She Dies from the Heat” fund. I even lopped a few inches off of my hair. Only to discover that the hair and length is not the problem—just the fact that it’s attached to my body. And, no way in hell am I shaving my head.
Now, for the Happy Section: I just had my own episode of “Queer Eye for the Straight Girl” yesterday! My cousin and his boyfriend live in Virginia, and a couple of weeks ago I was visiting them and happened upon a couch at a garage sale—only $50. Never mind the fact that it has totally ‘80s upholstery, too many pillows, and I had no vehicle to transport it—it called to me. And I answered. So, Cousin and Boyfriend were so super cool and wonderful as to drive it down for me yesterday (2 hours plus traffic), on their day off from work nonetheless, haul it up two flights of stairs in the heat (in which no thing spirited should live work or play), and then proceeded to re-decorate my whole apartment!
Say what you will about masculinity, but if there is some transcendent sexuality gene that allows all men to fix/lift and home improve these men have it. Meaning, in my life (except for my father, of course) gay men have fixed, moved, hauled, helped, drilled, repaired for me more often than anyone else. Granted, it is usually due to the absence of any boyfriend in my life—but I have to say that when there is a diva in despair, my brothers in sass have been there for me. Needless to say C & B moved all of my furniture for me, put together a baker’s rack, took a door off it’s hinges, washed my dishes (!), and gave fabulous house tips (ala Real Simple magazine but without the smarmy attitude) with only two glasses of iced tea and a cigarette break to fuel them! Despite my ill-state and ridiculous attempt to look more glamorous for their visit by wearing a huge scarf on my head ala Liz Taylor/Joan Collins—I felt like a princess. It was just like watching one of those home improvement shows where they fast forward to the finished product. Wonderful, wonderful people.
Also, never underestimate the importance of sofa/couch in your life. Never. For the last two weeks I made some rag-tag attempt at a feng-shui living room by throwing a bunch of cushions on the floor. Terrible, terrible idea. Especially with no air conditioning. First, who really wants to sit on the floor? And, the sight of cushions just makes you want a couch all the more.
In sum, moving bites. And, so does being sick. I’m also getting bored by the Chanel biography, but can’t seem to stop reading it. This always happens to me with biographies—I get about 200 pages in (see: bio of N.C. Wyeth) and then get totally bored because they all seem to degenerate into being chapters filled with name-dropping and trying to place the subject in some larger context of the 20th century. I think the only biographies I’ve ever finished were one on General Custer (don’t ask, I was 9 and out of books to read at our local library), Benazir Bhutto (I was 12 and going through a world politics phase), Lana Turner (I was 14 and stuck at my grandma’s house) and The Autobiography of Malcolm X. Oh! And, Kitty Kelly’s bio of Frank Sinatra—aptly titled “His Way.” . That was a good read. I suppose it’s no surprise I’m fascinated by old Hollywood, gossip and scandal.
So, back to Chanel. I think it would have been much more interesting if the author chose to focus more on the design/fashion aspect of her life. I’m 200 pages in and we still haven’t gotten to WWII for chrissake! I also get the feeling he doesn’t know anything about fashion nor anything about the type of life gossip women like to read about. All of the men he mentions her having affairs with are nobody I’ve ever heard of, and I’m nos some rube who just fell off the high society of the 20th Century radish cart. So, I think this one may fall into the category of books I started and never finished. I think that the whole E! True Hollywood story and A&E bio shows have totally glamorized biographies. If you want to learn something about someone, show you care by trudging through their written bio and then cheat with the televised version, I say. On a very literary whim I bought both volumes of the Virginia Woolf biography. I think I read about 20 pages. There needs to be more bios of regular people—then the expectations aren’t so high. I think that’s why those True Crime shows on (A&E? Discovery?) fascinate me. The ones with the creepy voiceover that usually start with, “It was a damp and windy night in Moscow, Idaho. . .”
I want my gossip! - 2005-08-17
Goodbye, BGT! - 2005-08-08
hell hath no fury like a awriting workshop - 2005-08-01
My Love Don't Cost a Thing - 2005-07-14
Kiss My Grits! - 2005-07-06
