FHC’s resurrected blog

In which FHC says ciao to the Talented M. D.

I now have the proof that my ô so fancy roommate Kevin D. cowardly fled to Italy yesterday morning leaving us with an intellectually and somewhat physically challenged not-so-well-behaved cat, some cheap dull cotton clothes, his jockstrap and a handful of exes at different levels of neurosis in yet another desperate attempt to evade parenthood, responsibilities and his middle-class existence. “It came to him merely to run away was folly, because he could never run away from himself.” Babbitt (Sinclair Lewis). I am afraid that Kevin D., who only left his native Texas for what he thought would be an amazing career opportunity in DC and eventually ended up being the fiasco I just described, has a very naïve vision of Italy which most Texans share. He imagines Italy through the romantic lens of “The Talented Mr. Ripley”, “La Dolce Vita” and “il mostro”: a cinematographic travesty (a bit like the way many MNDC members confuses Kevin W. for Great Britain, promiscuity for genius and Alex W. video for a human being). Kevin D. left for an Italy which actually disappeared shortly after Pompeii went in flames, the Italy in which the dollar had still some value, Americans were blond, thin and witty, Popes were openly gay and Italians still remembered the American kind attitude after WWII. I am afraid he is up for a huge disappointment. Imagine being a relatively poor, unsophisticated, slightly-overweight, alcoholic, episcopalian American in his thirties whose motto is “Because I am so very gay, and the gays have no raison d’être” hustling your way in what I like to call "France's Filthy and Licentious Ugly Step-sister!” strolling through the famous landmarks in trashy Rome, Naples and Milan looking one last time for the ruins of your youth, the wrecks of your dreams and a taste of raunchy European adventures....? In my opinion after they reach 19 years old, American should avoid to travel as much as they can because they have very little left to offer to the World. I’ll say no more because I hate to criticize. We just hope he won’t have an unpleasant experience similar to the one which traumatized Ben T. during his stay in Bologna. I am told that Ben was abducted by some pirates and traded as a sex slave along with some Albanian chicks for months which explain his early return that we all benefited from. Kevin: if you read this: WE LOVE YOU [did you ever think that maybe your boundaries are actually inside?]– don’t drink the water, head-butt them if they are annoying, be careful and hurry home. Fagat just sent you a new double porn DVD.

Sorry for the delayed posting which is entirely due to typepad incompetence [ I am really annoyed typepad people…really]. In other news we took a peculiar interest in the White House salaries and Sucking up to zipcar is the new demagogy. Also the cleaning lady did not show-up yesterday which I interpreted as a good sign, yet she has not returned the keys.

In which FHC confirms that LL did not drown

Congratulations to LL who just finished his last 1L exam today. Law school is a bit like staying by yourself in a fishbowl in NYC’s Lincoln Center for a week or so: it definitely makes you stronger if you survive but it also gives you severe skin problems and can lead to bouts of depression (very gay 1L like Nick D. even end up writing poems). When you’re on the outside, you are looking in wondering ‘who is that kid? How does he poop?’ When you’re on the inside, you’re looking out thinking alternatively “I am going to make a lot of money”, ‘I am not going to let you down”, “I am going to go to bed early when I get out because I really need rest” and sometimes “look at me: I am a freaking dolphin”. The point is that it strains your relationship with the exterior world so much that afterwards you don’t even have the strength to decline your boyfriend’s cheesy invitation to the Cirque du Soleil and you are not on myspace anymore: “Now please pay attention, all my friends disappear - MAGIC”. The only difference is that Diane Sawyer does not give a f*ck about law students and that law school lasts 3 years: it’s ironic a bit like when Kevin D. titles his e-mails “free Viagra” and ends up in my junk folder. I read somewhere that law students were throwing their business cards in David Blaine’s bowl all week long as a way to protest. Now that he is done, LL (who wrote yesterday: ”I would have been laughing if I weren’t in the library and if life weren’t so dreary”) is going to party reasonably in NYC for a few days and then return to DC early next week for the summer. I just hope he won’t look like a human prune and I promise this will be my last reference to Blaine for a long time.

In other news, Zipcar sucks. I can never rent a convertible anymore (I might have a romantic trip planned for Saturday – which won’t include LL’s participation ONCE AGAIN as he will be busy celebrating his birthday in NYC). On the other end, our useless friends at Flexcar do not even have convertibles in DC; they only do in San Diego. However, they have cars in Portland which is perfect for our upcoming trip to Maine (hint). Talking about vacations I also have a strong feeling that vividblurry is breaking up following a Cancùnesque honeymoon with his gentleman friend – stay tuned.

I am going to that snooze-fest at the KennedyCenter for the Bach/Beatles Project: one has to keep busy. I’ll keep you updated.

On the nature of the wealth of FHC and Kevin D.

Following the state of the Union address, Kevin D. re-enlisted today in the US military: “Just so y'all know i've solemnly sworn to defend your collective american freedom as an american soldier for at least the next 4 years. You all owe me a beer” (note the use of “american” twice). This kind of news would usually be considered disheartening in most household, but in this case, we are all joyful as it means he will be able to feed his severely obese cat (I was mentioning to EB this Week-end that Olliver D-Le-Chat has a disgusting binge-purge routine, I wonder who taught him that) and pay his share of rent for the next 4 years. Congratulations Kevin D. !

For those of you, who asked about the tallest boy on yesterday’s blog illustration, it happens to be Alexander Spencer-Churchill (now 22 years old and incidentally the Executive Director of Conival - owner at 2.1% - and employee of The Raven Group). He might be slightly gay (he is British). I hate to start rumors, you know me – I am not working for the Daily News.

After our humiliating defeat on Saturday, I decided to buy another Powerball ticket (US$5 – in  cash so it will not appear on my report next year) for Tonight’s US$156 million jackpot. I believed that winning the lottery would be a nice alternative to learning how to cook (as MegaDCFag recommended to me in yesterday’s comments (twice)) or learning how to drive for that matter. As I pointed out in an earlier entry I do not believe in saving nor in coming into money SLOWLY. Winning numbers tonight will be : 01 18 24 41 44 and 17. 

I enjoyed Transamerica very much. It is a very touching movie even if it was a bid sad at first but then Stanley slowly turned into the perfect suburban housewife through motherhood – with a vagina and a hat – and everything felt much better. The actress is amazing. I also happen to really like Kevin Zegers's striped underwear.

Ok enough, today is gym day, I need to get some abs going quick. See you on the dance floor at Results.

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.