FHC’s resurrected blog

FHC concentrates on his breathing

Hmmm….hmmm… Don’t repeat that to dearest LL[1] [who is he to talk anyway? He is radioactive] but I got slightly wrist-slapped today for being too aggressive at work today. I guess my little Amazon books reading occurred too late and I had three fits of wild rage in the last week which might or might have not included some bitter e-mails a little too ironical for my own good apparently. I was even asked politely if everything was fine at home [how embarrassing!]. I hesitated five minutes to blame it on L or even the shitzus but thought that would probably not fly as it is quite known I also have a domestic abuse problem. Instead I decided to go for the always successful: “My mother is an alcoholic and my father a valium addict. She's passive-aggressive and he's a sociopath. Another question ?”

You see I have this nasty little habit of snapping, exploding into rages, and going into stapler-throwing binges at regular intervals. I have little talent at walking the fine line between too aggressive and stupid. Basically, I lack the charm of Alex A. whose much admired hard core assertiveness obtains him free lunch at Zaytinia upon a little complaint on the quality of service, apologies from the people he runs over in the street when driving his black jag and respect from his team.

As it is quite urgent to find a solution before I am being wisked off to some Anger management classes or shock therapy, I promised I would try to deal with my feelings in a more positive way than *SNAP!!!* ….“Well, what about it, beeeeeeotch?....”. I tried pet therapy this week but as we all know it was a very mild success. I think I am going to start smoking up which was an idea I had quite a while ago but that LL was not very fond of. Sounds more exciting than your average breathing exercise... Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

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[1] He had even written to me earlier today:” I think you’re handling it well (or at least not throwing staplers against the wall).”

Of the illusory wealth of America

My friend LL was telling me this week-end that 40% of the American population thinks they are in the richest 1 percent. I also read in “Bobos in Paradise” yesterday that about 9 millions households have an income of more than $100,000. Aren’t those interesting statistics? I personally have always felt that 99% of the American population is rich and feel that is very annoying as I am relatively economically challenged. The only poor people I run into in the streets of DC are either actors or college students on a project and twice in the past week, someone pointed out to me that some gorgeous Sales clerk was actually a very bored multi-millionaire. I think I don’t even have any expression in my English vocabulary to describe anything lower than “middle class” besides “The poor” …let’s see… the “working class, the “blue collars”… nobody ever uses it as it is not politically correct to imply that there is any long term status below the “middle class”… only temporary status such as whore, white trash, hillbilly and bums. There is very little point in being rich or die of an ulcer trying if everybody around you is too or pretends to be part of the middle-upper class. When you add to that the fact that income and manners were dissociated a very long time ago in the US as this nation had the very peculiar idea to tolerate self-made men, it makes the entire nation’s wealth insufferable. There is not an elegant stratified upper-class with a profound distaste for other classes like in most European countries as the American upper class was initially brought up on a farm. You have to wait in line for everything; it is very difficult to find ways to show other people you are more affluent than them (hint: as David Brooks pointed out the trick is now to act as if you were poor, only middle class have a jaguar - democratization is the end of estheticism), everybody has a nicer apartment than you do, noisy families are always brunching on the table next to yours and exclusivity is evasive etc… etc…And this is just getting worse.

As I was thinking about that, I received a frequent flyer card yesterday which definitely targeted my lack of financial self-esteem. Allow me a few quotes: “This card makes all the difference […] distinguishes you from all the other passengers […] know you better and value you more […] feel EXCLUSIVE […] special […] Top priority…” and it ended up with “it’s an exclusive relationship […]”. I am not kidding… some marketer has been studying a bit too close the Bobos maslow pyramid and David Brook's status-income desequilibrium.

Niggaz in low-lows, pursuin mo' hoes, then go home !

Today I decided that I needed to find an answer to a question I have had for too long: why do all mexico-american ride chromed mini-bicycles in that city ? It looks a tiny bit silly to me. Is that a cultural/tribal/gang thing? is it because they steal them from midgets or smurfs? Aren’t they less visible? Don’t they ever get crushed by cars? It took me a good hour to figure out that these cute little things are called lowriders and they even have a magazine I just subscribed to (it mostly caters to young Latino males but not exclusively… white gay Frenchmen and Asian are welcomed it indicates). Anyway I eventually learnt through my research that “in Chicano culture lowriders are much more than just a mode of transportation. It's also a sign of success.” and also that “Lowriders are laying a claim—this is my city, my street, as much as anyone else’s”. I gathered that lowriders (we call ourselves Low-lows but you can use the term lowriders) are usually young hard-working gangsters. I might spend some time this week end thinking how I could customize some of our stuff at home so it’s lower to the ground and Kevin D. feels more at ease.

Since we lost our cable in a bitter dispute, I have been watching most of my TV from Malcontent but when I see this little clip on Rhonetta Johnson I really think that we should get cable back and I should learn Ebonics.

Ok enough. Have a good Week end….our friend LL is going to get in town soon.

Let FHC eat cake !

KMZ kindly sent me this amazing Slate article as well as the bitter exchange between the author and Generation Debt’s author. I read something somewhat similar recently (in the NY times I believe) in which the author was comparing the lives of some poor redneck and a Congolese medical doctor. I particularly enjoy it as I spent my week in Paris with LL complaining about our all-too-relative poverty. Among other things my grievances included not being able to buy a new Smalto cashmere coat (you know with the one with velvet collar as it was fashionable this year), having to travel Business and not First (the bed is NOT horizontal and I’ll prove it), having balcony and not orchestra tickets for the Ballet and having to use (20 times in ten days) public transportation on many occasions (and we all know that in France public transportation = death + rape and therefore is hopelessly déclassé…yes death due to fresh immigrants’ anger is déclassé. Sorry…oh and saying “déclassé” is déclassé too). My motto seems to be “don’t talk to me about absolute poverty until I get my wide screen plasma TV, my apple laptop, my huge apartment like everybody else in Dupont and someone to walk my dog because in my family we do not scoop poop”. Quite simply FHC wants it all. I even snapped at LL because he disagreed with me that one of our life goals should be to be able to stay at the Crillon for our future bi-monthly shopping trips in Paris. For chrissake, there are 8 millions households that have more than a million dollar of assets in the world (or is it in the US?), everybody who is older than 22 in DC has at least a loft and some modern art, I am the only monkey without a sidekick and you would like me to cheer because I am not hungry, I whore myself for pleasure and not necessity and I have civic rights in a minor European country. Please, you remind me of Marie-Antoinette in her pre-beheaded period (her head was confiscated later on by mob rule as I previously explained to you LL). I am particularly uncomfortable with the part of the article in which the author claims that “To improve their lot, twentysomethings have to […] save more”. I was always taught that “saving” is filthy poor people vocabulary and certainly not catholic. Plus it is a Republican concept, only Republican believe that rich people are responsible for their wealth. You do not save capital, capital just appears (partly as a wedding gift apparently but I am gay) and anyway I am glad if I manage to break-even every year. Frankly, I prefer to live paycheck to paycheck than die at 30 victim of the blue sugar substitute with a 40K savings account. Being relatively poor in an absolutely rich society (in which even bohemian HAS to be bourgeois) takes a lot of creativity: I haven’t bought anything on e-bay for a month and a half and, as I mentioned in an earlier post (to the great stupefaction of Sushi who is young, naïve and innocent), I HAVE ONLY ONE PAIR OF JEANS. I am such a spoilt-brat, I should have gone to Yale.

Either I start the Sonoma diet tonight or I go to Results at 7 pm.

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.

FHC says: Enrique sounds wicked !

I want to come clean this holiday season and liberate myself: I am going to rehab….JK as my brother would say. No what I want to get off my chest is that when I am by myself (which happens pretty often now that LL stays in NYC and Kevin D. is back to his old being a wh*re business he  is so good at), I often play very loudly this “Por Amarte” song of Enrique Iglesias in my bedroom. Sometimes I even dance to it in front of my mirror…. ok not really dancing more like undulating (I have no rhythm) while lip-singing to it. I am seriously ashamed of it, particularly because I feel my heart beat goes faster when he sings “por amarte robaria una estrella y te la regalaria” (for my jewish friends that would mean “To love you I would steal a star and give it to you”). How stupid are these lyrics? If at least I liked it for Enrique’s looks, but no I get teary-eyed because of the lyrics. It's so dumb for Chrissake! The guy talks about stealing a cosmos celestial body down from the sky. We're at war and I am playing Enrique Iglesias. I don't wanna be the kind of guy that play Enrique’s music, I don’t. And yet every time I hear “Por amarte”, I start being emotional and feel at my gayest, it just makes me crave good old sod*my and junk food. I am so ashamed of it that when I play it at Results on the iPod I don't have, I have the feeling that everybody is noticing. I usually end up skipping it even if I am dying to listen to it and have a good old sob. At this point in my life, I can afford to be found by my peers crying a freakin' river in the middle of Results. Once I got caught by my next door neighbor, who called me and asked if I was playing “this very gay song by this untalented Spanish singer”, the shock and disdain in his voice was really awakening. I know it’s bad for me, but I cannot resist. If you run into me at Results tonight, chances are I am plwying it very softly. So go ahead and spit at my face, I deserve it.

Among other news, the Borders and Frontiers Services found out that Frederico C. was a double agent for the Portuguese Government (as if there was such a thing as the Portuguese government) and are deporting him to Portugal on Saturday…goodbye Frederic C. Also sometimes I wonder if Vividblurry is not the kind of guy who fakes orgasm: I am just throwing this out there.

FHC funds his own little Muslim-led apocalypse !

Of course, FHC has received many requests these days to comment on what will soon been known as the “second French revolution”. You’ll notice, of course, that in this statement I completely ignore May 68, which obviously was just a queer movement of bored ambiguous bellbottoms wearing WASP. French Muslims are much more reliable than French Christians. No… this time this is the real stuff: it is clearly not an intellectual movement (note the euphemism) and will most definitely lead to another “axis of evil” government if the "champion of freedom" does not decide to intervene to prevent the victory of the French jihad by placing me as a puppet head of states (which I strongly recommend). -         The most frequent question I am asked is what role exactly did FHC play in sparking the riots ? my response is “no comment”. Officially, I believe this is a Jewish Masonic plot. I just hope my involvement won’t be too obvious when the mob finally guillotines my own parents on the République place as requested by e-mail. This time, it's not about liberty, equality and fraternity, it’s about my right to use the country house this summer. -         On the roots of the riots, I often reply that I believe this uprising is a complete US led disinformation campaign, honestly I have been checking out the French news, and the only thing they talk about is how the Congress “humiliated” Bush last week as well as the bird flu pandemic. Don’t believe the American propaganda machine ! -         Thirdly, I confirm that I have requested the political refugee status in the US. It is now clear that for reasons of race, religious beliefs, as well as adherence to a political class and sexual orientation, I would now be persecuted in France and could not return. Clearly these rebels are homophobic and have poor fashion taste. Do I look like an Arab immigrant’s child ? let’s be serious now. Is it obvious that I am quite excited? We all know that I love anarchy! and all this little Peugeot and youth hostel burning is quite harmless. When I was young, our revolutions would be much bloodier. I am also very understanding as in my youth I often felt caught between French and Maghrebi traditions. As Kennedy would have said “"Ich bin ein Beur”. Note that while I am being all worried about current events, Frenchbenj only cares about reality TV’s stars coming out. No wonder France is going downhill.

Gavroche is a f***ing scumbag !

§      My roommate accused me of putting pennies in the under sink garbage grinder (he found 4 of them after being alerted by an awful noise). I denied it but I can remember very vividly how I decided that it was a fitting end for these vile little pennies. I hate change sooo much that when I am buying gum, I put the change in the sink grinder. What can I say ? §      Don’t buy semen on the black market, it could be bad quality (via LL). The black market trade in human organs is also thriving in DC and I am selling options on LL’s body parts all over the city (don't buy the yes they are f*cked up). §      I love that little article about the FEMA director Brown ...did he really say: "If you'll look at my lovely FEMA attire, you'll really vomit. I am a fashion god" ? …what is a FEMA attire ? I want a FEMA attire. §      The poor people are fed up in Paris . I think that french poor people need to be empowered to realize their entitlements and meet their needs. :) I am just kidding, I think we should send them for an internship in Southeast ! These f*cking little punks....Society is divided into antagonistic social classes: FHC’s tip : the key is to shot a few as an example. §    Anderson C. who became evening’s anchor by “inspiring emotions” to his audience which I have to admit is a challenge when your target is composed of soulless Americans is discussing his brother suicide (a sad story I admit). What does he want now ? to become President ? I have done emotional reporting about my own family for months and I am not even an anchor on the local channel.

FHC gladly accepts his thirty pieces of silver...

Dr. Eliot S. informed my corner pharmacist that I switched to mail-order pharmacy (whom he called “your mail-order house”) in the course of my buspar shortage crisis. That is so awkward and tactless. I’ll never be able to come back to F.’s pharmacy. Now next time, I’ll show up with an emergency prescription to fill you can be sure I’ll be treated like a heretic. Well done Eliot ! Really….Oh, I confess I am a bad disloyal materialistic customer, the kind of careless customers who sinks small businesses. Yet I still wished to sip the wine and break bread at the table of respectability at my corner pharmacy but that won’t happen because of your unscrupulous behavior. I had already abandoned my incompetent 17^th street dry cleaner for a cheaper service at work (actually because LL convinced me that he is a dishonest and messy f*ck but still…I feel awful). I also have trouble running in public into my ex-hairdresser whom I ditched two years ago for the more expensive and hipper Grooming Lounge. I usually see him at the post office, and he talks to me in a less-than-friendly manner while starring at my hair as if to say “You see you are balding now” it's just annoying….and odd. We both know I ditched him and that I am sold out to wal-mart, the globalists, the flesh, and the devil. I also am preoccupied with accidentally running into my ex dentist Dr. Aldino M. whom I abandoned for a younger and cuter doctor or my ophthalmologist whom I ditched for mail order contacts. I want to be a faithful customer… I really do but but it has been hard. I want to be a the kind of customer you can rely on, you can lean on and trust but there is so many temptations in the internet era. I think I am going to have to move to the other side of the country so I don’t have to worry about running into all these small business owners. Christ…Someone just told me “Any guy who frets because he "cheated" on his pharmacist must be testosterone-challenged”…strange…. I thought that hair loss was linked to high testosterone production.

FHC's other blog is coughing blood these days. Plus blogs are all about Tom and Katie today…so we did not blogostroll today.

Your friends at FHC's: Pedro and Maria

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Madrid anymore

What happened to staying home with beloved LL on Saturday night, watching a Netflix movie, buying a frozen salad at Safeway and mix the four?. I was out again yesterday at Andy L’s gorgeous house for his birthday : the cake was delicious, the birthday boy too, the crowd was charming and I was drunk as usual.

At one point, I was in a group which was discussing how everybody was high on TV back in the days and mentioned Judy Garland, Liza Minelli, Elmo, various Broadway Shows and 90’s kid’s shows. These are always uncomfortable moments for me and I found myself laughing a bit too loudly along with the other guests at the group’s nostalgic jokes and imitations hoping that nobody would notice I had no idea what they were talking about (I never even watched the “Wizard of Oz”). Whenever people mention Judy Garland or the Brady Bunch, I want to cry or interject “Did you know that Soccer is popular with both sexes in Haiti?.I always feel like this kid that went to psych ward instead of high school and missed out on everything. God forbids someone points out I am actually not trying hard enough to integrate myself and have the INS place me in one of those gay pop culture re-education camp with Japanese people. My USA popular culture knowledge is completely limited to everything that happened in this glorious nation of ours in August 2000. I am conscious that Elmo and other ridiculous Muppets shaped the way my mid/late twenties friends are thinking (the fact that everybody was high on these shows might explain a lot actually) but what am I supposed to do to make up for years of not watching US television ? I already find myself very busy trying to keep up with my time without cable, high speed internet or venereal diseases in my house and just discovered music blogs and Wonder boy. Thank god, as I was silently sobbing at the party, Chief Justice William R. decided to elegantly pass away and the conversation shifted to an area I felt slightly more comfortable with. Yes People from America you need to remember that: when you were eating popcorn in front of television in your luxurious trailers, the German were occupying Madrid and the only game my brother and I would play was “osselets” with the bones of the rat we had for diner that night...f***ing spoilt brats. Mental note: I was told that Liza Minelli is an ugly has-been.

After having a great time with Andy L. and his gorgeous guests, I decided that a trashy tour of Cobalt was of circumstance. As I was already drunk, I don’t remember much besides running into Thomas B. and Alex S. who commented on my blog while stressing “I do not read it, people talk to me about it”. I feel that reading my blog is like sleeping with Rodolphe B. or William B.: nobody admit having slept with them yet many people know details about their anatomy. See you at Taint.

Tristan-always-on-the-ball