FHC’s resurrected blog

FHC vous salue bien !

I just wanted to be the first to wish you a happy New Year' s Eve (if there is such a thing). All of my New Year' s Eves have been pathetic attempts to have fun and get laid which always ended up with a trip to the emergency room after having mixed up sleeping pills and alcohol. But I don't want to spoil it for you so have a good time.

LL and I have been happily strolling through the street of Saint Germain des Prés and the Luxembourg's Gardens all afternoon. We purchased the basic elements of our diner in rue Montorgueil and now are getting ready for a nap.

Tonight we will be seeing " The Swan Lake" by Matthew Bourne and, if you are nice, we will definitely go out afterwards.

To answer your question, YES LL met my mother during an historic lunch at Café Marly yesterday but the details won't be public for a little while as I believe there has to be some incentives in having a personal non virtual relationship with me.

Kisses. Your buddy FHC

Live Blogging: LL Does Paris

What's the big deal about Paris?  So far, except for the fact that the computer keyboards are ridiculous, it's exactly like Washington; FHC bumps into his old tricks, I can't understand a word he says (in French or English), and we pretty much spend our day eating and napping.  FHC's test of his French friends is to ask whether they know who Oprah Winfrey is.  None of them have had a clue, and when he explains to them that her claim to fame, in addition to having approximately one billion dollars, was getting kicked out of Hermes for looking like a North African, their only response is <<naturellement>>.  The only difference being in Paris is that, unlike DC, this city actually is pretty so everywhere we go I have to pretend I'm appreciating the surroundings when really I'm just constantly hungry.

We spent today at the Louvre were we checked out a bunch of hot Eastern European guys checking out some Greek sculpture.  I haven't read the Da Vinci Code yet, so it's fairly difficult to understand what it's all about; the only thing I learned is that the French evidently are too sophisticated to say <<Mona Lisa>> so they call her <<La Joconde>>.  Yeah, well fine, why doesn't everyone call me Shut the Fuck Up you pretentious French fucks?  Oh, and speaking of which, everyone at the Louvre walks around with cameras.  Because none of their friends back in Maine knows what the Mona Lisa looks like.

In gay news, we spent last night at Cobalt Rive Gauche with approximately seven former DC homosexuals (they still sleep with men, only now they're all uncut.)  None of them (except RAPB, obvi) had heard of, let alone seen, Brokeback Mountain, and they all yawmed at the description of a <<gay cowboy movie>>, which only reinforced the impression that what's hot in Paris (Gérard Depardieu as Jean de Florette) doesn't nearly compare with what's hot in the US (Heath Ledger barebacking Jake Gyllenhall).

The amazing adventures of FHC and LL in Paris

This is definitely not going to be q long post. I just can't do the azerty bullshit for too long you see.

Yes we made it to Paris Thank you. The high point of the trip was me asking to our portuguese driver "what did you get for Christmas Jesus ?". It did not take me long to persuqde the qttendqnt thqt (you see azerty bullshit right there...) LL was pregnant and we got our business class ticket. In Paris, first thing I did was eating Poultry Throat just so LL understands what this is all about.

Afterwards I had decided to concentrate all the turistic stuff in one big episode. We ran from Arc de Triomphe to Eiffel Tower stopping by YSL and Trocad'ero qnd thqt avenue they call the Champs Elysées. I just gave up the whole thing after LL asked if the Arc de Triomphe was built by the Romans... history 101 is really needed. Pretty but historically challenged, lunch with my mother should be completely fine tomorrow.

*smooch*

From Kevin D. on the Personnel and other redneck matters

After spending a sufficiently mortifying week in Texas visiting my “family” I arrived home yesterday in the early afternoon, extremely hungover, and humbly grateful to be back in the land of spoiled homosexuals who are completely detached from the rest of the world.  [I spent the previous evening carousing with my two older brothers, Scott the Redneck and Eric the Hyper-Evangelical Special Olympian, and Scott’s girlfriend, Donna.  We went to the bars on the edge of town, where cow poke meets town folk. Our first watering hole: Pitchers.  (As Tristan will omit any obvious jokes, I will submit none). Pitchers, oddly enough, was fresh out of draught beer and could offer us no pitchers.  So we moved on to the Gold Nugget, just across the parking lot, where the pitchers of Coors Light flowed seamlessly and endlessly, only occasionally augmented by shots of Southern Comfort. I met a fine fellow at the rail whose Bud was nestled in a filthy beer cozy from 1979. I asked him if he brought the cozy from home.  He replied with a warm belch and a cold shoulder.  Beckoning the bar maid, I kindly asked if I might have a beer cozy. She flashed me a generous smile (I’m pretty sure she had more fingers than teeth) and drawled, “We don’t give the cozies out to the tourists.”] All I wanted to do was let myself into my apartment, barf, and crawl into my cave-like bedroom to sleep off the hangover, but Jesus, apparently, still has it in for me and thwarted my plans for rest by sending the cleaning ladies. Juanita and Ludmilla were there when I arrived.  I’m not gonna lie, I do feel some shame in hiring a maid service, especially since at least a dozen or so of my aunts and female cousins are cleaning ladies (I am half-Mexican).  I don’t like being home when the cleaning ladies are here. It just doesn’t seem right to watch them scrub my piss and pubes off the toilet with the little tooth brushes they bring, and I’m not about to try to make impossible small talk with their indolent ESL asses, so I was forced haunt the neighborhood streets for the next two hours until they were gone. Sometimes day to day struggles in life are just too much.

The good news is Tristan and LL are going to Paris tomorrow. At least that is where they say they’re going, or rather, that is what Tristan has been telling LL. Word on the street has it that Tristan has enrolled the both of them in some fat farm called La Belle Cuisine somewhere in Indiana. I, for one, think this is a marvelous idea, as they have both become about as fat as they are annoying.  Bon voyage, my friends, and I hope this works out better than the 12 step vacation you took in the spring!

As for me, if there is anyone who is looking for tacky clothing for young boys age 12-14, I will be holding a sidewalk sale outside our apartment tomorrow from 10 to 2. The addresss is 123 Gay Street NW, Washington, DC  20009.  All serious offers will be considered, cash and sexual favors only!

N.B.  Any comments from Damien will be rejected.  I think you are stupid and extraneous.

Parisian back fat is the new black

I am going to be so f***ing fat in 10 days: it will just be amazing: you won’t be able to even read half of the letters that constitute the tattoo on my lower back. I usually pack some exercise outfit when I travel and a book on calories to read on the plane. I was even known to decline all desert offers at the end of First Class Long Haul Air France flights meals and go for a jog at 7 in the morning in the Jardin des Tuileries upon my arrival. But with LL it is completely unnecessary as I already discovered during our previous trip to San Francisco and Mexico that the kid does not need nor believe in exercising.…nothing like the insouciance of a toddler believing that HE WILL STAY slim forever…. naive, yet, charming illusions. Every gay man after 25 lives in the dark shadow of obesity, we all know that.

I personally have been brainwashed by American Faggots long enough in my past relationships to go for a jog even when I have a fever or if a close family member just passed away and go through  terrible anxiety attacks if I don’t have any form of weight control activity (running, vomiting, drinking vinegar, ballet, seeing my therapist, popping diet pills) at least every two days. It even sounds exhausting. To be honest, I manage to do damage control, somewhere between fat and death (we are not talking about abs popping up here...something more on the basic side), while in DC. Just yesterday I weighted myself at Results: 145lbs (I gobbled a delicious foie gras on Christmas Day that Caroline V.‘s parents had smuggled in the country for my utter delight) I would have cried if Ari had not kindly weighted himself after me (which probably led to some serious locker-room discussion afterwards). But during this trip, wow, things will go downhill very quickly…

§      Now we are going to eat like fat cows in Paris. I have already scheduled Epicerie Fine, Café Marly, La Coupole, Ladurée, George in Paris…and while in Caen we will eat the famous pig guts/intestine? (tripes à la mode de Caen). Let’s face it we are not going to Paris to buy Sergio Rossi shoes for LL … and there is not much to do there besides eating and burning cars. It’s Christmas time. Ten days of heavy carbo-loading will usually do the trick at my age.

§      Besides we will drink heavily. When we are together in DC, we already drink every night, not until we are totally gone but still we drink a little. But in Paris, we will meet my mother, who has just checked out of rehab, three times so we will get loaded. Paris is tough on alcoholics.

§      Then it will be stressful as this I am showing LL around and we all know he is a tendency to misbehave. I usually manage my stress level in Paris by doing all sorts of drugs and smoking (how many Monday morning have I spent happily strolling through CDG still rolling from the Overkitsch at Le Queen). But I quit smoking and my dealer was taken to jail during the riots. I will be forced to canalize my internalized homophobia through emotional eating.

Now that everybody knows that French do get fat, I am just going to spend that trip in fear, read a million pieces and prepare my return to DC through habile camouflage and strategic dressing. As our friend the anonymous model of the month once said: fat is death, fat is ugly, fat is conservative, fat is not hip-hop at all.

Thoughts on Soviet Kitsch

For Christmas day evening, I watched this great obscure East German movie (there must be some perks about being an asocial orphan gay guy forgotten by his boyfriend… if there is a movie about me once, I’d like Tom Hanks to star in it) called “Coming Out”. The movie was actually charming and included valuable hidden messages such as if you know from the outset that you are a huge faggot don’t date girls ! a lesson that your friend FHC learnt slightly late in life and also that gay dances in East Germany can be fun too.

You know me I hate stereotypes but the lack of taste of Eastern European does not cease to amaze me. Eastern Europe was and, to some extent, still is kitschisime. Actually the word Kitsch takes its  origin in the German kitschen which means “not French”. It’s not as bas as Mexico…sure… but yet it’s pretty bad. Communist had this magic touch that they could turn the most modest object in a temple of tackiness. Communist were kitschier than the smurfs and Graceland combined. It is not only about poverty as most of my friends interior in DC demonstrate that you can be both wealthy and incredibly tacky and that Pottery Barn can indeed be your worst enemy. No, I believe it actually pretty much is about the mix of communist culture and alcoholism. I strongly believe that bad taste is what killed communism.

I have watched a lot of East European porn (mostly for professional purposes) and always ends up being turned off by either a pony tail, an ugly floral wallpaper, some tired looking linoleum, a pathetic Paris souvenir, a plastic cuckoo clock, an undeserving disco ball, a bi-color cardigan or an ugly pair of jeans. I am not even mentioning the occasional lamb coat. East European have this amazing dress sense that whatever you give them to wear they always end up looking poor. Poor is sexy and yet sometimes I wish “Bel Ami” would team up with extreme make over.

Ok Olliver just puked a fur ball so I guess it means I am off.

It's Christmas Time for the Outlaws

Disclaimer: Even on Christmas day LL finds a way to blog about the law...there is substantial things that jews, homos and atheists will never understand.

It’s funny that as a white Jewish male in the legal community I’m also considered a “minority.”  Seriously.  At the beginning of the semester I signed up for the “Outlaw” email list (I also considered joining our a capella group, Substantial Performance).

Obviously I was hoping that, like any online posting site, the Outlaw list would circulate requests for anonymous sex in empty classrooms and basement janitors’ closets.  Little did I know that it was actually an “intellectual community” that organized a trip to the Supreme Court to watch the Fair v. Rumseld oral arguments in person.  (Obvious joke omitted) and sponsors – get this – poster making parties to protest JAG recruiters on campus.  Let’s get real: I thought the Outlaws would be like J-Date, only more pornographic.

The benefit is that I’m now included as a “minority,” and Career Services has been sending me all sort of placement information for “students who come from populations that have been historically underrepresented in the legal profession.”  Hey, that’s me!  Oh wait, can we discuss how every lawyer I know is also a homosexual?

It also looks like they’ve anticipated the white Jewish gay men who might flock to these diversity fellowships:  “Students submitting resumes should be prepared to discuss in an interview how they can contribute meaningfully to diversity in the legal profession, particularly if it is not readily apparent from their resume.”  What exactly do they mean by “readily apparent?”  Does that mean that black people can just show up, but that I have to explain how I’ll orally service the closeted senior partners during conference calls?  Is this sort of contribution “meaningful?” 

Well, I have to go back to Christmas with the family.  Yes, the Jews are gathering around the Christmas tree to open a few more presents.

With love, always,

LL, GAY GAY GAY esq.

Chanukah pity party

First I believe we had all agreed that I wasn’t expected to blog on Saturdays. The situation is that LL, who has never been that busted since 1980, is at mummy’s house in Chicago and completely forgot his guest blogging duty or the fact that he had a boyfriend for that matter.

Second it’s Christmas Eva and I am all alone. Every American I know is in a mall somewhere, trying to find the perfect gift for his parents to make up for a what a disappointment he is but me. Well not completely alone. Ari and Michael apparently accepted to rescue me and we are going to eat Chinese, be as Jewish as we can and watch a movie tonight (Ari refused to accompany me see Narnia…go wonder). When I told that to mother she seemed to be quite unsettled and said “Why Chinese? what a strange idea ! Is this a Hanukah tradition ?” (I had briefed her). It could be worse Mum, I could spend Christmas with KEVIN D.’S FAMILY. If you thought Kevin was not sophisticated enough, please meet the family.

Why doesn’t anybody cook goddamm cookies for me?

OK enough. I am off to Safeway or something.

Bericht zum Terror in den Slums von Washington, DC

I went to see King Kong on Tuesday night and loved it. I want to see it in the Gallery Place movie theater just so that the movie suspense would be heightened by the fear of getting kidnapped by one of the ruling gang of the surrounding crime-ridden ghetto. I mean to all the people that suggested I ever move there, I’d like to answer that this area of DC is indeed the darkest, dirtiest and most dangerous place on the face of this earth. I am astonished the whole thing is not uprising! If I was gay and leaving in that hopeless squalid slum, I would burn cars. Even our French North African Muslims troubled neighborhoods are more charming than this. Please keep your shameless real estate bullshit Chinatown-Gallery-Place-is-up-and-coming neighborhood propaganda. I was the only up-and-coming thing there on Tuesday night along with joblessness, ugly jeans and illiteracy, believe me! I want for proof the fact that I went with Ari S., and as he rightly pointed out, not one person recognized him the all time. Do they even have a radio? I wonder. Not one autograph hunter. Not one second glance besides the usual look-at-the-drag-queen one. Ari ended up screaming at Fuddrucker’s (very nice concept: you stand in line to place your order, pay, make and grill your own burger, clean the place…just like at home….soon they’ll ask you to pay rent too) “do you even know who I am ?”.

Anyway, back to the topic, Pete R. had written to me “unlike Brokeback Mountain you very well may be disappointed, as unlike the former, King Kong is big on style and small on substance“. WTF ?. I’d like to make a few statements here:

a-      Who ever said I was into substance?

b-      Is he implying that because King Kong is not gay, I am not sensitive to his emotional torments? How shallow do you think I am? if I cannot empathize with you next door straight Monkey. Pete, I am NOT emotionally crippled. Thank you.

c-      This statement reminds me of people who date gay guys and then complain that their relationship lacks depth …. Please! We may be gorgeous but we are vapid little creatures ! The Oscar Wilde time are gone.

I had a charming lunch with Alex A. at Zaytinya (what ? this is in Gallery place Chinatown ? I can’t believe you ! It looks better during business hours…like Harlem back in the days…that’s all) today who pointed out that the quality of my blog was dangerously sinking: please find enclosed a link to William Blake’s poem Tyger Tyger.

In other news, my acupuncturist left for vacations without even a preemptive call. An upcoming business trip I was looking forward to was cancelled. My fridge is empty. Stop looking for Renate Blauel on my blog ! Kevin D. got wasted and called me to tell me he was trying to get laid with some Texan KKK member ! Way to go Kevin ! Finally, I’d like to come clean and say that I flirted with Adrien on Friendster.

Spreading dirty rumors about FHC’s sexual behavior at the blowing alley

        JIM M: FHC, my friend, I love your blog

FHC: No Jim…my blog loves YOU more ! How have you been my young fellow?

         JIM M: I am well, thank you ! you?  how are you? staying around for the holidays?

FHC: Which holidays ? we leave on the 28th for PARIS ! FRANCE !!!

        JIM M: "we" ? who is we? 

FHC: My new trick... no my old trick … that guy you met this summer in California…you know, the almost jewish lawyerish kid….LL and I

FHC: les FHCzios

       JIM M: Fabulous.  i would love to see you before you head off.  and the Gs too.  i miss all of you. 

FHC: Or should I say les LLs as you are claiming around town that I am a BOTTOM...Kevin W told me !

       JIM M: Have you ever bowled?  my friend Greg is having a bowling bday party on Tuesday ? that could be really fun

FHC: FUN ??? I am not into Bowling... Do I look the kind of guy who frequents bowling alleys ? I am a real man Jim ! the kind who takes care of quadriplegics for god’s sake ! I don’t just knock pins down on my Week-end !

       JIM M: well, maybe then you will suggest a place.. ok, when did i tell Kevin W that you were a bottom?

FHC: I don't know but that hurt my business and my potential clients. Running an SME is tough enough these days without having to worry about detractors.

        JIM M: how would i even know that? Although I easily believe this is common knowledge in the area ! ;)

FHC: Don't wink at me..... that’s call defamation Jim ! anyway I am so fat I feel like a beached whale !

       JIM M: I haven't seen you in a while, so please don't tarnish what i remember fondly.

FHC: Listen I am a bottom-line kind of guy and ….

     JIM M: as far as Kevin W. goes, as you have pointed out countless times he is a drunk! so his statement cannot be trusted ! 

FHC: By the way I also noticed a few times lately that he has scratches on his arms that are clearly caused by self-mutilation…possibly with scissors…or needles… I don’t know what kids do.

       JIM M: I think he also suffers from an eating disorder….

FHC: Back in Nebraska, I believe he was trialed for witchcraft…you’re so right Jim…he might not be the most reliable source…. I am sorry I came on to you… I’m a [big fat stupid] jerk !

       JIM M: yes you are…that’s ok. I am sure you can discuss this more with your therapist in your next session…..Listen bottom boy… i'm off to lunch.  talk to you soon, i hope.

FHC: I feel blessed to have you as a friend !