My Blog

I’d like to invite you all to come view my new art installation this weekend entitled "Gifts From the Sasquach". The piece includes a 2-3 person tent smeared with real feces surrounded by various found objects including drift wood, a dead bird, a geode, and dung mixed with items that the creature would possibly eat including leaves and berries and nuts, all arranged outside the tent as if in offering. Guests are invited to sit inside the tent while they listen to the artist emit hoots and howls approximating the sounds of the elusive beast. The piece examines unobtainable desires, regret, and guilt as the viewers are left to find order and purpose in the "gifts" left by their would be "benefactor" whose very existence and reality are suspect.

In previous entries I’ve mentioned that most weekends I usually take my grandmother out to lunch. Well, yesterday, my sister Kate, her boyfriend, and I took my grandmother to Steak N Shake, and as we were leaving, I turned around and saw this little old man sitting in one of the booths. I wasnt entirely sure, but he totally fucking looked like the famous show-tune organist, vacuum cleaner collector, and subject of the documentary "Stan Kann: The Happiest Man In the World".  I expressed my suspicion to my sister and she agreed that there was a resemblance and that it could possibly be him, but was hesitant to admit that it was actually him because knew she what I would probably do. I told her that I would feel creepy going up and asking him if he was who I thought he was, and that it would probably be very flattering for him to be recognized in public by a young woman. She said that there was absolutely no way she was going up and talking to some random old man that may or may not be Stan Kann, and that she herself would feel creepy doing this too. We probably argued about this for ten minutes. My grandmother sided with my sister saying that it couldn’t possibly be Stan Kann. I told Kate that even if it wasn’t Stan Kann, it would still be very flattering for him to be mistaken for a celebrity. Either way I said that it would make both of our days if she did this, and her boyfriend said that it would make his too, so she finally reluctantly agreed. She went over and discreetly asked if he was Stan Kann, and I saw the look of affirmation as she shook his hand and lied telling him that she was a big fan. It was totally him, right there in Steak N’ Shake. I went over and shook his hand too, and told him what a treasure he was, and what an honor it was. His hand was surprisingly smooth and soft for someone who had been playing show-tunes for over 60 yrs.  He told me how fabulous it was that young people should be so interested in show-tunes and organ music, and that he played out at the Bevo Mill sometimes and that maybe if I came by we could knock back a few sidecars together. I told him that would be a lovely idea and that I would have to do that soon. And as my sister and I turned to leave, I felt swift but gentle pinch to my backside. I thought that maybe my sister had decided to goose me, but then I thought that the pinch had been much too soft and gentle to be my sister. She was fairly unhappy with me for making her talk to him, and I figured that if she were to pinch my butt, I would have really felt it. The thought that it might have been my grandmother crossed my mind too, but the pinch was so quick and stealth; she’s much too frail. I realize that it could have only been the magic fingers of Stan Kann.

I was supposed to have brunch with some friends last weekend at the Heights (a piano bar on Jefferson, not too far from the Way Out, I found out later that they no longer serve brunch). The night before I had this weird dream that one of the Pet Shop Boys had come to town and was going to join us for brunch. It was kind awkward because the whole time I was hoping that he hadn’t come to St. Louis Just to have brunch with my friends and I, and also since he was the other Pet Shop Boy, the one that isn’t Neil Tennant, I was kind of disappointed and didn’t have a whole lot to say to him. I have to admit that after waking up and pondering this dream, I found it to be a little bit shameful and confusing as a heterosexual man to dream about going to brunch with the Pet Shop Boys.

I got a new bed a couple of weeks ago. A big boy bed! It’s soooooo comfy! I’d been sleeping on a twin for the past four years that I’m pretty sure this old lady had died in. I had moved back in with with my parents for a little while after college and when I got around to moving out again I needed a bed, and my parents told me that their friends mother had passed away and they were having an estate sale (in Kentucky). I’m all like, well, how big is the bed … and my parents are all like, DEE DEE’S MOTHER DID NOT DIE IN THAT BED!!! and spent the next week trying to convince me of this, mind you I had just asked how large it was, because at 24 I thought it was time for me to have a big boy bed. Well I was broke and desperate to get out of my parents’ house, so I took the bed… and it’s taken untill now for me to have the money and motivation to get a new one.

Oh, I mention that the old lady lived in Kentucky becuse I totally had nightmares for a while that I was sitting outside a cafe with her while she force me to drink mint julips, even though I think they’re disgusting. I would try to explain this to her and she would just be like, What, a good looking boy like you?! Of course you like mint julips. It was pretty traumatic.

Today I borrowed a Pomerainian from a friend of my mother’s who said I could borrow him any time I liked. I walked him through the west end, and he was such a handsome boy, and he was so happy to see everyone. There were all these elderly women out and about, running their errands, getting their hair done, meeting their friends for lunch dates. They were all so excited to see such a handsome dog, and he was so happy to be receiving so much attention that I went into a jealous rage and told them all what a bunch of cunts they were.

So I was at this restaurant last night with some friends for the "dining out for AIDS night". We had been waiting for almost an hour to get a table and I had had a couple of drinks on an empty stomach, so I was a little crabby. As we were standing at the bar this middle aged woman comes up to milk more money out of us by trying to get us to sign up to make additional donations and sell us raffle tickets. She starts describing the "safe-sex" gift baskets that were being raffled off, very matter-of-factly telling us about the different types condoms, lubes, and dental dams contained in these baskets. I was a little taken aback at first that "dental dam" had just come out of the mouth of this woman who was almost as old my mom, and kind of dressed the same too. I told her that I had an entire apartment full of dental dams and had all that I could possibly need. Either she was punishing me for being a smartass or truly believed me, she acted very surprised and told me how hard it was to find dental dams in St. Louis, and how she had to special order them for her "safe-sex" baskets. Apparently she had only been shopping around in novelty/sex shops, I knew of a couple pharmacies in St. Louis that I thought sold them and she seemed very excited at this prospect. I think she also felt a little outdone by my knowledge of dental dams and wouldn’t drop the subject. She asked me if I knew how to improvise a dental dam, and I said saran wrap (just pulling it out of my ass, maybe I heard it somewhere) and she seemed shocked that I should know this. In a pathetic attempt to hold on to some scrap of her feeling of superiority in dental dam knowledge and her role of older/middle aged woman who goes around making people feel uncomfortable by giving them graphic descriptions of safe sex, she started to ask me if I knew why you should only use one side of the dental dam, saw the looks on everyone’s faces around me, thought better of it, and decided that it was time to just accept defeat and walk away.

I usually like to go for a walk or something nice on my Saturday afternoons, since it is my one true day off. Sundays I usually do laundry and take my grandmother out to lunch. Last Saturday it was kind of rainy so I decided to take my parents’ dog to Laumeier Sculpture Park. (I don’t have any pets of my own, I can barely take care of myself) Since it was rainy and shitty out, the dog and I had the park to ourselves… or so we thought. I decided to not go though the woods because it would be too muddy so I took the path that winds around the green spaces. After you pass the giant red sculpture, the path goes over a hill and winds down in to a more secluded parking lot than the one by the main entrance. I hadn’t seen a single other person there, but in this secluded parking lot, there was a parked SUV with the engine running and the driver sitting with his back rigid and his hands on the steering wheel. At first I thought that this kind of odd, why would someone be parked in a remote s parking lot with the engine running in the middle of a rainy Saturday afternoon? I couldn’t see any anyone else in the car but I though that the only explination for him being there and sitting that way in his SUV was that he was being serviced in some way. the path empties into the parking lot and resumes on the other end, and for me and the dog to continue there was no way to avoid the parking lot. So we contunied on our way and walked discretely passed the parked SUV and picked up the path on the other end. After it picks up again the path contunues on for a little while and then loops back into the parking lot. When we returned to the parking lot, the SUV was still parked there, and this time I did see another person in the car. I saw someone from behind kind of start to stand up in the car and I saw a bare ass. I’m assuming that it was a man’s ass because it was kind of hairy, but I coud be wrong. This made our return trip across the parking lot somewhat more awkward, because now I knew for sure that the driver was being serviced. I tried to hide my face behind my umbrella as I walked by, and as I did so, a stupid thought occured to me, what If these two guys were mafia, and now I knew their secret, they coud very easily run me and the dog over, and nobody would be there to see it, and nobody any wiser. But nothing like that happened.

I was in Vintage Vinyl last Sunday afternoon, one of the employees there use to work with an old roommate of mine at a different record store. I usually see him around and he use to come to our parties, so I usually chat it up with him whenever I see him. He was working at the listening booth that day, and was talking to this guy who I guess was one of his friends. I made some comment about how disgusting it was outside, and the guy told me not to remind him because he had to be outside in it all the next day. I found out that this was because he works in a cemetery, and I immediately thought that any one who works in a cemetery should use the word "cemetery" in front of their name like some sort of title, i.e. "Cemetery Bob".  I found out that his name was in fact Robert and I couldn’t help but tell him my idea. He wasn’t offended but didn’t really see the humor in it, and explained to me that he didn’t often like to let it slip that he works in a cemetery because it didn’t really help him with the ladies. I asked him if he actually measured each grave to make sure it was 6 ft deep or if he just kind of eyed it. He looked at me and told me that they got 4 if they’re lucky and that whole notion that people got buried 6 ft deep was bullshit, and that nowhere did they actually bury you 6 ft deep.  This shallow grave policy wasn’t limited to his cemetery, it was pretty much the standard.  He said that only twice in his 15 yr career of working in the cemetery had he actually dug a grave that was 6 ft deep and by law they only really had to dig them below the frost line which is only 2 or 3 ft. He went on to tell more shocking stories about working in the cemetery, but none were as shocking as this revelation.  99.9% of people go about their lives believing in this lie. One other shocking thing that he told me was that if you were homeless or nobody claimed your body, that over the years the City of St. Louis had gotten so fucking cheap that they buried you in a cardboard box.  The body was laid on a wooded board for support and slid into a cardboard box and wrapped with plastic cinches and then thrown into the ground.

I went to this party last weekend. I show up kind of late because I had gone to see a show earlier, and by the time I arrived, it had become a "naked" party. Nothing really funny or ironic happened there, except after getting over the initial shock of seeing a bunch of people I know naked, I realized that it was a byob party and I hadn’t brought shit. I kindly asked the host of there was a beer that I could have, and he’s like, sure right down there in that cooler, but for me to reach down there and grab a beer, his package would be right in my line of vision. He noticed my hesitation, and said,"JEEZ!! If it’ll help…" and then tucked it between his legs like a drag queen.

OK so last Sunday I was back at the same coffee shop where i had the encounter with the elephantitis man, who it turns out does not have elephantitis. That enormous bulge in his pants was not in fact his grossly enlarged testicles, it was a piss sack. I found this out from one of my friends who works there, how she found this out, I don’t know… Well anyway, when I went in there last Sunday the girl working behind the counter gives me a funny almost concerned kind of look and asked me if I smelled anything weird. I couldn’t tell because the only thing I could smell was this old lady who always comes in riding her electric scooter. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the pungent odor of perfume and old lady that as filling the room, I didn’t want to mention the old lady because she was parked right there, so I said nothing. I sat down with my coffee and book and about ten minutes after the old lady leaves I realize that it totally smells like ass. So I tell the girl behind the counter, and ask if that was what she smelled and she admitted that it was. Usually every Sunday this very large retarded man comes in the coffee shop with his handler and according to her he was apparently having a "bad" day and might have had an accident. What concerned me was the fact that they had left a few hours ago and it still smelled like someone had taken a crap. All I know is that whenever I stink up a bathroom, it never lasts HOURS! And this was an entire fucking coffee shop! This brings me to the conclusion that he must have gotten it on something for the place to still reek so much, most likely the chair he was sitting in. I explained my hypothesis to the girl and asked her where he was sitting. She and this other girl who was there looked at each other were kind of hesitant to say it, but it was at MY table. And when I asked what chair it was, it didn’t seem like they were too sure, and I really think that they agreed on a chair just for my sake and told me that it was the one directly across the table from me, and to make her decision seem more valid, she removed the chair and moved it to the back by the bathrooms. I’d really like to believe them, and I think that I’ve almost convinced myself that is was the chair that agreed on because in retrospect, I kind of remember the smell emanating from directly across the table. I think she must have convinced herself too because I went there last night and the chair is still sitting in the back