Songs about Rainbows #2
Still, can’t stop that racing heart.
In case you were wondering…
But, of course, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that already.
Where to start? Whit. Still there, like a rock. All she needs, quite frankly, is a crown, a “Give me your huddled masses (with two dollars to the pound)”, and a flaming torch. Although I still say Hot Pants would show off her pins better than those dubiously flowing skirts that they’ve lumbered Lady Liberty with.
He cooks like a Frat Boy. I’ve bought the cook book (The first one; I’ve just discovered there’s a second. And Hannukkah’s coming. I’m just saying…). (ooh, Hannukah: Do you think my olive oil will last for eight days and nights? Blasphemous? Talk to the Pope. He got there first).
Aaaaaaaaaanyways…
I bought the cook book because I, of course, want nothing more than to be able to make Guacamole like a 22 year old with Abs of death (untrue: what I desire is to lick mole off the Abs of a 22 year old. Til Death. Whatever).
The website has Ben Folds Singing Still Fighting It and not, thankfully, All you Can Eat. Still, the fact that Mr F is involved does nothing other than fan the flames of my, quite frankly, disturbing obsession with Mr L.
Whitney declares, on seeing Dave’s picture, witnessing my giddy school girl crush on first seeing ‘Dave’ on the Food Network, and having glimpsed the odd (unrequited) glance I threw toward famousfatdave (more later): “You’re developing a fetish for hot Jew Boys.†To which I’m forced to respond “developing?â€
An evening spent at Splash Bar NY with Whit, D, Matt and a room full of queens, some of whom knew the entire choreography to ‘All That Jazz’ from the Tony performance of Chicago. And I thought I was odd…
Walking back to Union Square, talking about earliest memories of songs with Matt, and discovering that both he and I knew the lyrics to The Rainbow Connection by heart. Spooky.
A brunch at Kitchenette followed by a stroll around the Cloisters with the inimitable Glenn. Never have I seen so many carvings of the Madonna (the mother of Christ and his brother John, as opposed to the mother of Lourdes and Rocco) that resembled Cher in her various incarnations. I swear, here were wood carvings from her Gipsys Tramps and Thieves period, Frescos from her Believe era, and Wooden, giled statues from her Bob Mackie Glory Days. I swear the gift shop should start stocking he Greatest Hits CD. It’d shift.
Glenn singularly failed in his mission to find a Hot Jesus; way too many agonised emaciated specimns. Still, he did try.
Shit! Better go and check my bag for the twentieth time, just to be sure that I haven’t forgotten anything. More later.