Screen on the Green
Last week we went to see Mommie Dearest at Screen on the Green with Ian, Alex, Joe, and Trey's friend Jason and Brittney and Alejandro. Brittney liked it, Alejandro and Ian and Alex and Joe didn't understand it, despite the fact that it contained a number of fight scenes, and the kind of fight scenes that I can understand, where two people argue and then beat on each other, as opposed to the kind of fight scenes in which there are mobs of indistinguishable people clobbering each other or two people fighting for no discernable reason other than they are enemies. Well, I want to know WHY.
The other why question of the week is why do you see no gay men between 25-40? Or do they just not seem to be between those ages? All the ones I saw were either younger than 25 and young stuck-up looking things, or they were dreary old balding queens. Aren't there any nice looking men in their thirties? (Note; this is more of an Academic curiosity question than otherwise, but then again, I'm not sure how things are right now. I had to find out the hard way; Beauty fades, but dumb is forever. I would just like some problems to be resolved.)
I also saw Paige at Screen on the Green and had drunk enough- not too much, but a little Dutch courage to go and speak to her; whereupon she resolutely refused to respond. I thought that was a little tacky. It's been 3 and a half years roughly, and she's still angry. I'm probably just not seeing at all her point of view, and I've tried to get round to it, and can't. O well.
And we went to an extremely ghetto party that one of Trey's coworkers was holding. I don't exactly know how to explain exactly how it was ghetto- but it was- it was in the deep 'hood, and they had food like barbecue ribs and baked beans and potato salad, and there were 8th graders passing around Hennessey in Hootchie mama outfits. I didn't really have anyone to talk to, because I didn't know anyone except for the hostess so I talked to three very small girls- about three years old, one at a time. They were very interested in my hat, so one came up, and then another, and then one other came up and glared at me. DESE MY MOMMA'S FLIP-FLOPS, AN' DIS MY MOMMA SKIRT AND - she paused- DIS MY MOMMA HAIR! she bellowed, and grasped a chunk of her hair. Then she glared at us defiantly, as though one of us was going to contradict her on this or take it from her. This made me laugh. I can see her on some future Antiques Roadshow: In da 'hood, shouting Dis My Momma Hair! and thrusting it at the Appraiser. This is a fine piece of early 19th century weave, Ms. Pooh Bear, says the Appraiser. It must have been in your family for generations.
Uh huh, she says, my momma gave it to me.
She's preserved it remarkably well. Yes, this fine piece of early 19th century weave may fetch as much as $20, 000 at auction.
The other why question of the week is why do you see no gay men between 25-40? Or do they just not seem to be between those ages? All the ones I saw were either younger than 25 and young stuck-up looking things, or they were dreary old balding queens. Aren't there any nice looking men in their thirties? (Note; this is more of an Academic curiosity question than otherwise, but then again, I'm not sure how things are right now. I had to find out the hard way; Beauty fades, but dumb is forever. I would just like some problems to be resolved.)
I also saw Paige at Screen on the Green and had drunk enough- not too much, but a little Dutch courage to go and speak to her; whereupon she resolutely refused to respond. I thought that was a little tacky. It's been 3 and a half years roughly, and she's still angry. I'm probably just not seeing at all her point of view, and I've tried to get round to it, and can't. O well.
And we went to an extremely ghetto party that one of Trey's coworkers was holding. I don't exactly know how to explain exactly how it was ghetto- but it was- it was in the deep 'hood, and they had food like barbecue ribs and baked beans and potato salad, and there were 8th graders passing around Hennessey in Hootchie mama outfits. I didn't really have anyone to talk to, because I didn't know anyone except for the hostess so I talked to three very small girls- about three years old, one at a time. They were very interested in my hat, so one came up, and then another, and then one other came up and glared at me. DESE MY MOMMA'S FLIP-FLOPS, AN' DIS MY MOMMA SKIRT AND - she paused- DIS MY MOMMA HAIR! she bellowed, and grasped a chunk of her hair. Then she glared at us defiantly, as though one of us was going to contradict her on this or take it from her. This made me laugh. I can see her on some future Antiques Roadshow: In da 'hood, shouting Dis My Momma Hair! and thrusting it at the Appraiser. This is a fine piece of early 19th century weave, Ms. Pooh Bear, says the Appraiser. It must have been in your family for generations.
Uh huh, she says, my momma gave it to me.
She's preserved it remarkably well. Yes, this fine piece of early 19th century weave may fetch as much as $20, 000 at auction.
posted by SavageATL at 10:25 AM
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