SATURDAY, 30 SEPTEMBER, 2000, NEW ORLEANS

I have never really considered myself a jet-setter, although I do tend to move around a lot. Was thinking today, however, about all that I’ve done in the last few months. And it quite boggled my mind. Let’s recap, shall we? CAUTION: HEAVY LINKS, NEXT 10 MILES. Early in July I entertained everyone’s favourite Sharp Scottish Stripper at my château in Philly. That got my wanderlust urges flowing, I see in hindsight. A few weeks later I took a drive through New England to Boston to visit the inimitable Lisa McC and her fantabulous houseboy, Kev™. Never been to Boston before, but it had always been high on my list, and my hosts made my birthday weekend truly memorable. I prophesy more trips ahead since, like an ass, I forgot to see le Musée des Mals-Arts which is allegedly located in Dedham, MA. Back to Pennsylvania to close out my job at this place, then off for a fantastic week with the Gentleman Caller and friends in Rehoboth Beach, Dela-where? Next week, off to London to visit dear Mssr. Rupert and relive some college days. Three glorious weeks in Edinburgh made magical by a certain laptopper whose charms are quite off the fucking charm scale. Back through London again, once again staying with Badjuju’s obnoxiously handsome (wake up girls!) brother again, and to meet this most entertaining and witty fellow for drinkies and whatnots. (¡Viven los Whatnots!) Back to Philly for a couple of days to recover from jet lag and hangovers, then off on a roadtrip down the east coast with Micha-Pooh-Pooh-Kitten, popping in to see old chum Lilith in Georgia and on to… New Orleans where I have shopped for a house while living under the roof and by the pool (where I now sit with my PowerBook) of dear, Hedonistic, evil-minded Dr. K__. House found, I’m flying back up to Philly in a couple of days to gather my inumerable belongings, and I face another long drive back down to Louisiana where I can finally stop moving about! This is why I am the type of personality who prefers not to look at the Big Picture™. Because the Big Picture™ is daunting and always looks exhaustive on paper. In other news… (Tee hee. I like the little man copping a crotch-gaze from inside the telley.) (See something funny, little man?) Last night, I attended a rockin’ soirée chez Debbie which consisted of Girlee Drinx (Margaritas, Piña Coladas, Daiquiris, and anything else you can throw in a blender and turn to moosh), while watching this bizarre film on the Indepent Film Channel called “Vernon, Florida.” Which is an insanely peculiar documentary/series of interviews with some of the scariest characters you could find in a swamp. Did anyone see it? Highly recommend. We then spent the evening taking pictures and dancing and writhing around on the floor to Dead Or Alive, the NEW Night Ranger album (who knew!?), and other tripe. At some point, I got the urge to ring up my old friend Winifred in San Francisco, so I took the cordless phone into the pantry and closed the door (because it was the only quiet place to speak on the phone) and giggled drunkenly with her for an hour while playing with cans of black bean soup and pasta and whatever else was on the shelves. At some point Micha opened the pantry door and jumped back, startled to find a giggling man inside. “Oh, excuse me,” she said and shut the door again. When I came out of the pantry (a euphemism for I-don’t-know-what), I found everyone had disappeared — probably off to the Half Moon for more drinkies — so I Did The Right Thing™ and went back to my bed. Which seems like a pussy manoeuvre, but today is lovely and not-too-warm and clear and I’d much rather spend it in the pool than hungover in a bed. Y’unnerstan? Speaking of pools, time to take a little dippy-wippy.