FHC’s resurrected blog

In which FHC "goes out"like everybody else

In New York city, after having dinner with Cub B. and LL in some sketchy italian joint, Nicolas C. and I tried our best to act young(ish). Nicolas went through five gin and tonics while I tried to insert a bottle of water every two vodka cranberry hoping that Dr. Christopher S. would never hear about the whole thing. We went to G, Barracuda, Vlada and The Ritz (in which we stayed exactly 30 seconds). A few ugly kids (1) talked to us and if we hadn’t ran into Tim K. at Barracuda I would have really thought that I was invisible. To put the pressure even a little higher, Fagat sent us text message all night long which read “you got laid yet?” and "Lame". I really do hate NYC and all young people.

In which FHC returns imperceptibly changed

One cannot stay on his island forever and I am now waiting for a 45 minutes delayed flight back to DC. I am trying to contain my anger while watching dozens of Winnie the Pooh and Miss Kitty backpacks pass by. I am still not completely sure where the island was really located and frankly I really don’t care. I remember that the melancholic songs by Judy Garland, Dinah Washington, Nina Simone, “Amigo Mío” by Naüta, “Why” by Annie Lenox and a hundred remakes of that “Ne me quitte pas” song were playing. Nico was also incessantly talking of breaking my heart in two but I ignored her and kept repeating “resistiré calle sol” to myself. I am certain I wasn’t in Chelsea even if someone wrote that he saw me, drunk beyond belief crying on the bathroom floor surrounded by empty little plastic pockets, Saturday at Boy’s room. My English sounded awful all week-end and my Spanish was even worse. And there were humming birds, slightly tropical fishes, memorabilia of silent movies icons, smaller islands within the island, kites I couldn’t fly, the rainforest, and quickly I lost track of time and purpose. Pictures were taken. I was laughing most of the time and had that little tan thing going on. And I was continuously talking about what I was going to do next: that I’ll go to Yoga, I’ll go back to school, I’ll leave Results and maybe I’ll get more efficient meds. There even were trips within the trip. It was all very hopeful and full of promises. And sometimes we probably did not sleep as much as we should have. In the evening, we would lower our voices. It felt a lot like the Lost Island without the whole Dharma initiative and f***ing polar bears bullshit. And I was confused most of the time, and I had to Klonopin it away frenetically cutting tablets in half with my long fingernails. I drank very little compared to usual and I ignored the internet cos now I seriously hate it: it’s lame. I think I’ll miss the island. Now I have to survive the 17 and then I’ll be in NYC on Friday 27^th-29^th.

In which FHC is in the XVIth arrondissement

In Paris, it’s not clear what time it exactly is and while waiting for my niece who cannot even hold a conversation (yet … I guess), I shut down all the curtains in my hotel room to avoid the usual wintery low grey sky. I read the obituaries in the Figaro hoping to find some dead high school friends, watch Frenchbenj’s cats reenacting the Peter S./Mark B.’s Apex encounter and listen over and over to “California all the way” by Luna.  I finally have to check what it exactly means but I can’t remember who gave the song to me. I delete Sofia from my myspace friends…bitch. I also end up tolerating “Chicago” by Sufjan Stevens even if overall I think it sucks.

I feel slightly overweight in a Mark H.’s kind of way and pale and it reminds me of a long forgotten time where the first thing I’d do after landing home would be to get a fake tan, a haircut and run to the Overkitsch party to end up getting laid in Vendôme hotel. I also suspect that LL made out with both Go-go Mike and Russ in our absence and we will get to the bottom of this in due time. Also it appears that Nick L. is now single. I also have to clear the hidden files from my professional thingy computer because I surfed a lot on “L’Homme est un concept” while traveling (a really clever blog if you speak French or not).

I’ll have dinner tonight with one of Fagat’s Parisian ex (hint: not the couple).

In which FHC leaves the unnamed destination

I received another witty e-mail from Fagat today which said “How's the unnamed destination? Slept with everyone yet?” so I felt it was time to leave (amidst some slight militia turmoil) to clear my stained reputation in the United States. I will be spending the Week-end in Europe because this is what sophisticated people do and I need to rest in my tribe before I return to my little gay peapod-based universe that LL described so well in his post. I’ll make sure to let you know if anything interesting happens over there but most probably nothing will. I did not manage to get some off-the-counter xanax here as I originally planned (I guess it’s not considered essential medication here) and so will have to travel back to DC Xanax-free on sunday which might be a little challenging.

In which FHC sounds slightly tired

I have now been in the unnamed destination for about a week and have been quite isolated hearing only some rumors about a fistfight at Apex on Friday night (please send all details by e-mail), the fact that Toby will soon be my neighbor and seeing some pictures of my ex’s “Spring Break” visit on facebook. The kid looks slightly drunk (he has a “life-is-a-bi-party attitude”) as usual and Ben T. is encased in some garbage plastic bag with Alex G. by his side. It looks all too perky. I managed to finish a book I had already read twice and might have watched that movie “Elf” one evening. I ran out of Xanax last week and did not tried to find what its generic name in the unnamed destination is (a somewhat good sign in mental health terms). Maybe I should send my driver to avoid any embarrassing interaction. Because of internet connection issues, I ended up e-baying much less than I usually do so I have a little cash ahead and am thinking of taking a trip to Puerto Rico in early April. I also got a little jealous of Fagat’s new design.

In which FHC gives you some news you did not ask for

I spent my first day at the unnamed destination doing a lot of professional thingy, trying to call someone at GW Hospital who must be high on morphine right now and wondering if my lips were chapped because of the tropics or Xanax. I took a few breaks to listen to “F**ck and Run” by Liz Phair and read over and over again Sam King’s four blog entries to learn how to be genuine. On that last item, I made very little progress as you can imagine…well at least I have not hanged out with Mark H. for four days.

Now as my mood evolved a little, I am playing “The Hours” soundtrack and my hotel room is already a mess after only one night with its very dim lighting. And it just feels ô so very melodramatic and lonely that I might very well finish my parasites-filled tea and go to bed. It is not really NYC here, there is not much to do besides getting fatter and we will not let that happen even if we have to confess we are worried.

In which FHC will be loved someday

In Paris, the French girl leaves, just like that. I am all f**ed up because I tried to watch “Dream Girls” during the flight and could not concentrate and now it’s 3 a.m. and I am tired and maybe even jetlagged or both. There is no internet connection in the arrival lounge and it pisses me off. They are playing something really trite which sounds like Keane but in my head I play "Someday you will be loved" by Death Cab for Cutie [but how come that when you grow older, the lyrics become so important and you only love the music that people explain to you?]. And then also that cool remix of “The Promise” of When in Rome by Koishii & Hush. I try to look blasé and it’s not difficult because I am wearing G-star jeans, I have a tan because of all the antibiotics I take and I haven’t washed my hair for a while. Why don’t I ever run into old classmates in airports? On AIM everybody is really sleeping so I call my mother but I cannot say anything really. I am glad to travel, even if it’s not to the Winter Party, because I know that that I’ll return to DC I’ll have to find a new shrink and fit him in my schedule.

In Washington, we went out to The Diner, Halo and then Cobalt. You had to wait in line everywhere and the “bouncers” were speaking French to us and we would smile because the girl had forgotten her ID (things girl do). As I was almost sober, I noticed that Cobalt is more and more like a dump which smells like Mr. P’s used to when my drug dealer was still living there. Three people awkwardly discussed the extent of my hair loss that evening and Peter R. even e-mailed me about it. Everybody I wanted to see was hiding in the club and it made me feel paranoïd. I also remember that Clint M. was awfully wasted, that Mike W. was so worldly and thin and Jay said I never mentioned him in my blog. The following day, Tim K. was awesome and brought us to watch a shark movie and then have a drink at the Willard.

Of course, I am not that kid, but thanks Toby. I might reply anyway

In which FHC returns from Poconos 2007 on a 1mg/day dosage

I was driven through Pennsylvania on a cloud of Clonozopam (1mg /once a day) for the last three days. “Suddenly I see” by KT Tunstall and “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse were constantly playing in the background. Half of the crowd was in its early twenties, glorious, free, slim, on Ritalin, well-read and idealistic. The other neurotic, miserable, troubled, enslaved and vapid half, released a last time to the wild, tried to sing along, mixing alcohol and prescription drugs. It became quickly difficult to differentiate the lawyers from the college seniors and the computer programmers. Everybody wore layers, hoodies and boots and tended to be of the homosexual orientation. There were two trucks and we skied enough to justify getting together and yet it felt like we were traveling really light. I think someone played Keane and “Fidelity” by Regina Spektor really often but I was too f**ked up to understand the lyrics. There were a lot of fast words and witty comments and cute smiles and my accent went berserk as my mind collapsed. We all went to meet the Scranton community at some point and eventually some of us even ended up having sex with the said-community. The pictures were really embarrassing for everybody involved. Nobody talked about real estate or Iraq. Ecology was merely mentioned by David D. and I said something trite about love and friendster. Everybody had really white teeth besides Mark H. who chewed tobacco and spitted for three days straight while telling stories about scary fetus, semi-famous drug-addict Dcisters and his next youtube video. He also tapped into my Alzolam 1978 reserve and appeared to be manic in the morning. I hope he is hooked. Jesse S. was sweet, laid back and unafraid. Julius’s hands were shaky. The second day at lunchtime, I felt really good and lucid. I noticed that everybody had really beautiful eyes. It freaked me out a little then the Klonopin kicked in and I thought maybe it was not that bad to be 28. Somebody told me “relax. It's only a song” and I replied “you’re a good person” but at that point, nobody could understand a word of what I was saying anymore. Someone wrote “I love cock” on my forearm and it was really true and it just does not go away. I kept staring at the lawyers as their week-end of freedom was slowly ending. Tomorrow I‘ll have to blackmail jogging doctor into increasing the dosage of my current prescription. It’s going to break his heart but it was worth it.

In which FHC travels to NYC another time

My mother English is sufficiently weak that she overlooked the references by some of my very subtle friends to my i) my blog; ii) my e-bay addiction; iii) friendster; and iv) my relative promiscuity. She also did not notice that I got really smashed during Kevin W.’s visit last night. For this reason, the state visit will continue in NYC (who said "Washington is New York for ugly people"? anybody? Anybody?) starting tomorrow where we will mostly be capitalizing on our past relationship with LL and his very distinguished friends. We will also shop our life frustrations (I have stuff to forget too) away and make sure that my mother does not point to buildings or put on her glasses to read some silly map (rule #1: always look unimpressed and slightly pissed off; rule #2: just rush into cabs). We will additionally visit EB at City Hall, dine with LL at Peasant (very à-propos), perhaps do a little drug (nothing too serious) and go to see some silly broadway show and potentially participate in a Santacon if we feel so inclined. Don’t expect much blogging as I will be drunk and trendy under her constant supervision.

In the meantime, Carlos F. has 200 friends on myspace while Kevin G. has 173 friends on friendster for 15 pictures (3 of which without clothes on). Rodolphe B. pretended at lunchtime that Nana Mouskouri sold more albums than Madonna in her career.

In which FHC spends time with imaginary naked pagan gods

Before taking my plane to Frankfurt very early this morning, I went for a short run in the gardens of the villa Borghese. As it was before 7 a.m. and Italians do not usually wake up early, I was alone and the place was completely silent. The entire gardens were covered by a light morning mist. Pagan gods on antique fountains and statues of naked roman heroes were waking up and emerging from their decadent night around the small lake and I had the feeling to be sent back to the time when the Medicis were dying of malaria because of Rome’s swamps. Just this morning vision was enough to justify the two days stopover in Italia as well as waking up early.

I, of course, also got to eat memorable meals around Roma with an old college friend and his Milanese girlfriend. I looked aimlessly for a 46 short costume by Zegna and could not find it (Italian are not THAT small). Finally, I went to a few landmarks just in order to catch a glimpse of the Japanese culture. I was slightly disgusted by the fact that people in Roman attire were surrounding the Colosseum and the Plaza di Spania. It felt a lit too much like Disney. Thank god the gypsies, at least, were really poor.