Saturday, August 17, 2002
Lady Potamus here!
The other day, I received a call from Anna Deveare Smith, quite out of the blue. I confess, I have been fascinated with this lady since I first heard of her.
She claimed she was working on a play (right - I don't believe she even knows how to spell) about what is was like to be young, slutty and oppressed in Canada in the first part of the twentieth century. She wanted to meet with me for high tea, and I agreed.
Of course, having seen her on TV of late, I figured she meant "get high" tea, so I made sure to lay out a selection of my favorite party favors around my living room and slipped into a pink frock, which I thought she, of all people, would appreciate.
Let me say right off the bat, that she looks nothing like she does on TV. I mean, I thought that the media had done a number on Michaels Jackson's skin, but honestly! Miss Smith, and I hope that I will not get sued for writing this, is black. A rich, lovely skin color that has been unforgivably bleached out by the media on her show and in every single nude layout I could find of her!
She must have recently had her implants removed, too.
And what an actress! That stoned bimbo routine is a completely an act. She asked me a series of intelligent, pointed questions about my girlhood. Indeed, she is one of the most exciting conversationalists I had ever encountered!
I got so excited that, I confess, I made a rude proposition to her. She smiled, slyly, and said that if she wasn't late for an appointment with another elderly Canadian anarchist, she would take me up on the offer - even after I told her I was broke. I was so touched that I told her that I believed she really didn't marry that geriatric millionaire for his money.
Ah, what a pleasant day. Alas, she didn't take any of my "favors," so I have been sampling them all afternoon.
I am off to San Francisco to look for oral sex! Tra la, loves!
Thursday, August 15, 2002
Lady Potamus here!
Well, I just got back from an eventful brunch with none other than Mr. Blonde Elf from Lord of the Rings himself, Orlando Bloom! He seems to have recently made a rather extreme hair choice, perhaps in an effort to cast aside his "gayest gay elf" image.
Indeed, very little about Orlando seemed to suggest that he could play a character with refinement and manners. He washed his hands in the restaurant fountain, farted loudly whenever a waiter walked by, and kept making crude comments to me about "saggy, baggy skin." Frankly, he was entirely rude.
I should have suspected as much! During the filming of Lord of the Rings, Orlando (who was apparently named after the city he was conceived in) spent his free time engaging in dangerous sports. Perhaps he figured it was only a two year filming process and that Peter Jackson could easily replace him if he accidentally maimed himself during filming, in which case he is just stupid and not unprofessionally malicious.
Some of the sports he engaged in included parachuting, snow boarding, bungee jumping from a cable car and a New Zealand specific practice called "glossing the footrot." For the latter, you engage in unsafe sexual practices with a pair of syphlitic Bangkok whores. It is actually more popular than you might imagine! I tried it once myself, though I confess I wore a head to toe body Venezualan body condom. Say what you will about Venezualans, but they certainly are fans of safe sex!
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
It certainly has been an eventful week! I fear that I, like Charlton Heston, am begining to show signs of dementia intoxia! Now, however, I am back in full swing and ready to give you more incite into the wide world of celebrity!
I just visited my poor friend Adam Ant, pop icon of the 1980s. I confess, I was one of the oldest "ant people" at the height of his fame! Ah, that was a glorious nine weeks.
Adam and I finally met several years later, right after he released the barely listened to Apollo Nine album. He was doing a tour of laundromats on the east coast and I saw him at Martin's Suds and Duds in Boston. When he performed "Strip," he threw each piece of his leather clothing into a washer, then washed and dried it during the rest of the set. The leather, as it turns out, was some sort of special "washer safe" brand called "plastihyde." Who knew?
Anyhow, after the show, he, I and the nine other audience members went for drinks at Burger King. I paid, and Adam has two whoppers.
Between bites, he detailed plans for a film career and for future albums.
"I am going to release an album of Gregorian chants set to a congo beat and make a film of it," he declared, drunk with 'special sauce.'
"Adam, I cried, knocking over a twelve year old fan still giddy from seeing him in a dance belt, "be true to yourself! You are no artist!"
He despaired, but agreed I must be correct. Later, when he and I were having a little private desert in the alley behind the BK, he confided that what he really wanted to do was "go into a pub and threaten some people with a gun."
Well, what could I do but encourage him? He was so low, so very low. I knew he was desperate, but didn't think he was serious. Alas, alas.
Anyhow, I will be visiting him in "the clink!"