Echo

How Would Bill Gates Pole Dance?

Like many of you, I have oft pondered this question. How would Bill Gates perform a hot and juicy pole dance that would incite the ardor of both men and women alike?

Well, I have never had the privilege of witnessing Bill Gates getting his sexy on, but I did get a peek at what it must look like last night at the Arsenal.

A group of us went bowling for Reggie’s birthday. Incidentally, I finally met his friend Jesse who told Reggie I was really fine. But finer than Tara Reid? I guess I’ll never know.

I bowled a whopping 63 coming in dead last out of everyone, even despite Reggie bowling me a strike in the 4th frame because I was outside talking to people (though Jesse bowled me a 3 in the 5th frame so I guess it balances out). We headed to the Arsenal after the alley closed and that’s where the fun began.

The Arsenal is a lowkey neighborhood bar where most of the time, people are sitting or standing around chatting. Not including our small party, there were about 40 people spread out within the three rooms of the space. The main bar is the center room and the door ways to the other rooms are framed by wide bannisters.

I was sitting on the couch in the lounge to the left of the main room, zoning out, when I see this Pillsbury Doughboy-ish white guy in a white button down shirt and khakis stand up and then start erotically dancing against the bannister like Liz Berkley from Showgirls, with amazing stripper grace and form. He does the deep backbend over the bannister, the drop to a squat and slow raise while rubbing his valuables against the wall, the high kick while tossing back his hair. There was even a velvet rope that had been looped into a 0 hanging from a clip on one of the walls. He grabbed the rope and used it the way a stripper would use a whip wrapped around a pole. He was so into it, it seemed obvious that he must be on ecstasy. Everyone in the bar was staring, jaws dropped. He would dance for a few minutes then slip back into his chair and act like nothing had happened, casually sipping his drink and looking bored. It was incredibly bizarre. Then he would suddenly start back up again.

This went on and off for about half an hour; some girls and I even ran into the main room to get a front row view. Everyone in the bar had cellphone cameras out, waiting for him to start up again. The moment he did, flashes were popping and he was doing his thing. He even noticed someone taking video of him from a cellphone, so he gets even more into it for that camera, making love to it. This goes on for a few minutes and people are crowded around him, merely a few feet away when all of a sudden, he stops and his eyes go wide, like he suddenly woke up from sleepwalking. He quickly says, “Oh my God!” and then runs into the other room.

The room was buzzing; it looked like he must have been in some kind of (drug enduced) trance and suddenly woke up. “Oh my God, he got embarrassed!” the girl next to me said. I felt horrified for him and his embarrassment at being in the moment and suddenly realizing that everyone was watching him. But the biggest surprise was that he hadn’t run off because he had gotten embarrassed. He ran off to get props.

He re-entered the room, flamboyantly brandishing a large metal cup and a serving spoon, then proceeded to do this erotic ice-cream eating interpretive dance, though not forgetting to rub himself provocatively against the wall.

Afterwards, I was dying to talk to him; what he did was the most bizarre and fantastic thing I’ve ever seen in my life. There were some guys hounding him, but he could kind of tell they were making fun of him so he was backing away from them. I went up and he was relieved to talk to me instead. I told him his dancing was awesome. Then I switched into my interviewer mode.

Julia: What’s your name?
Not So Private Dancer: James. My middle name is Webster so people call me Webb.
Julia: What’s your last name?
James the Not So Private Dancer: Uh…I have a double name.
Julia: What inspired you to go back for props?
James TNSPD: Well, I saw the cameras go off and I got embarrassed. But then I was bored so I thought I would get something to switch things up.
Julia: Have you been drinking tonight?
James TNSPD: I’ve had a beer. I’m here with my brother. His friend had some artist thing tonight and then I got bored.
Julia: So that’s all you’ve had tonight? Just a beer?
James TNSPD: Yes.

[Since he claims to not be under any sort of influence, I notice he has an accent. I think, maybe he’s European and that would explain his odd behavior]

Julia: James, where are you from?
James TNSPD: Texas.

[So much for that theory]

Julia: What inspired you to start dancing in the first place?
James TNSPD: I was sitting there and really bored, and then I saw these two girls walk by with…[he pantomimes large balloons on his chest]…enhancements.
Snarky Guy Standing Next to Us: So you were inspired by large boobs?
James TNSPD: Yes.
Julia: Excellent.

Today is Reggie’s birthday. Happy birthday, Reggie!

So after my semi-fictional NYC story, I happened to find that a certain character-based-on was connected to me on Friendster. What a small world!

A tell. They always have a tell. I have a feeling that a certain poker player friend of mine has a handle on every person he’s ever met, but he’s just not willing to show his hand and give up any of his secrets yet. But it’s all there in his front pocket…’In Case of Emergency…”

You can predict a person by the behavioral harbingers of his emotions, the little tics and rituals that serve as an unconscious reveal of his intentions.

I don’t know what to make of the events of tonight. I have never been here before. One would tell an actor that he or she has room to play within the character, as long as the stage presents itself as a safe environment. But what does acting have to do with living life? Maybe all things synonymous are more integrated than previously mathematically thought.

I just got back from NY late last night. It was a whirlwind trip that began with the red eye out of LA late Thursday night, and ended with my crashing into my little slice of spiritual heimat at 3am early this morning.

I had adventures. Things that make me say, hmmmm. And I haven’t quite sorted everything out in my head yet. So soon to come as erratically as I create it, lots of jumbled thoughts, descriptions, hopes and fears…and secrets, always secrets, laid out bare for you to decipher, for your reading pleasure.

Sometimes I miss who I was and how I experienced life at different stages of my life.

It wasn’t so much the music pounding through her and setting the rhythm of her heart, or the heat of the writhing bodies around her. It wasn’t even the growing assurance of everyone attendant that the most delicate form of primal passion was just a thin lining of cloth and a snap decision away, needing only a simple surrender. It was the naked current that rushed through her entire being when the other woman reached out for her hand and clutched it to her heart. For a brief pocket in time, all sense of separation fell away, leaving only a fact of being, a connected oneness, and a sudden remembrance of how it feels to be whole again.

He was wearing a red & black headband with the number 23 emblazoned on the side, a strange accessory, she thought, for someone so straightforwardly pressed against her. She took him for underaged despite his success at battling for position inside this seething adult playground, searching like so many others for a much needed inhibition killer.

“Jordan or Lebron?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

He smiled, lips parting to reveal an even row of smooth charm.

“My name’s Larry,” he offered, presuming her question to be an introduction.

“I think you’re 18, Larry, not old enough to be in here.” She is careful to control her demeanor as to reveal nothing, though her voice melts into that dangerously hypnotic timbre that can drown a weaker man.

“I’m 24 but I…I get that a lot.” His bravado stumbles a step but makes a commendable midair recovery.

He wants to know about her, his questions tentative yet polite as though engaged in a two-way interview. But she does not see it that way. She does not see most things the same way. She sees him as articulate, though having not yet developed a crafty man’s mask to hide an honest boy’s straightforwardness, and it evokes something gnawingly tender in her, a faint memory of some faraway loss. She is suddenly troubled that she can’t see his face–the room is dark, his face is dark around that little boy smile presenting possibility as a question mark, and her eyes have not been able to consistently separate color from form for hours.

She takes out her camera and without feeling a need for forewarning or permission, she snaps a picture, blinding him with the sudden explosion. She studies the captured image, his boyishness having nowhere to hide from an all too harsh light.

“You’re high,” she says, to which he sheepishly nods. She likes his transparency. She likes the way it tastes on her tongue. She likes the way he can smile at nothing in particular, just because he is happy.

He wants to see her. He wants to see how far the night can extend. He wants to hold on to whatever he believes is happening here tonight, because he is believing in magic the way a young boy believes in the magic of entire invisible universes in the darkness of a childhood bedroom. But when he leaves her for a split moment to retrieve his drink, the large Dominican who had been taking everything in leans over and whispers into her ear, “Whenever you’re ready.” He has danger in him, danger in his smooth caramel skin and in his light touch on her bare shoulder. Danger in his eyes and in his lips so close to her ear, in the long, crooked blunt tucked behind his own like another braid in his hair. She takes his rough, powerful hand and lets him lead her through the crowd, past the bouncer in black into the cool, biting night air that is eager to remind her that tonight, you make up your own rules.

But then again, she already knew that.

I’ve been staring at this painting for a long time. It’s incredibly haunting and terrifying to me, but it reminds me of something that really disturbed me about the remake of Amityville, disturbing because it played upon something incredibly honest and powerful. When the people leave and the ghost of that little girl cries, it’s haunting and sad, how lonely and ugly she feels, trapped in a dark world that people don’t understand, that people are afraid of, and how rageful it makes her feel to be in her situation. I think mental illness is like that. Because they need so badly to be loved and understood, but it’s like interacting with a ghost…there are two different planes being operated on. I believe it’s the loneliness, that raining feeling that comes from the inside, that tinges the existences of those entrapped by the forces between where genius and madness meet.

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Read their stories as well. Amazing things. Abuse is a cycle that causes incredible to victims as well as affecting the communities around them. It’s a vicious cycle that takes away a person’s inner light and denies the people around them the full potential of what he or she has to give. It takes a lot of strength and courage to overcome abuse, and requires a great deal of compassion and nurturing from those whom the survivors encounter.

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wanted: kindred souls

do you feel a higher calling? a deeper failure running a fissure inside of you? find it hard to wake up in the mornings knowing what’s already in store for you. think closer by nin is brilliant. are you hiding the primal side of yourself.can you see the colors of the universe blend together to form something tangible. hear the heartbeats of billions of souls around you. take constant naps.

i am lost in this world that feels so big. i fear the echo from speaking too loudly. I see the darkness as a reprieve. I feel the unknown as a tunnel that has no ending. The constant blackness swirled with silky red will sting your eyes. so i advise you not to look.

in my dream last night i heard a child crying. i rounded the dark corner of an alley to find a young girl half hidden in the shadows with a wounded leg. i approached her cautiously, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, only to find an alley cat gnawing at her calf. to be honest, the little girl was more curious about the situation, maybe a little anxious, than she was horrified. enraged, i scared the cat away, grabbing its neck and throwing it against a wall, my anger towards cruelty against innocence focused into a singleminded intent of breaking this cat into little unrecognizable pieces. it disappeared around the corner of the alley and when i turned around, the little girl had disappeared. i felt an immediate loss in my chest. that girl might have been someone who could have really understood me.

SAF, 26, in search of like minds. willing to travel.

Tonight, What I’m Calling a Good Time:

candlelit bedroom, downward spiral, trent reznor paralyzing my mind as i do freestyle yoga and smell fresh possibility in the cool night air.

End of the Workday Musings
(aka Desperate Attempts to Make the Clock Move Faster)

Have you ever had a nickname/handle for so long that you can’t even remember where it came from? Why the hell am I jpchunderbutt?

I met with the producer of my short and he’s now on board for my dark comedy feature as well. He was really excited about it, which is awesome because not only does he get it, but he sees its potential. The most important thing is to have people who are really excited about your project. Sometimes it just takes one person with enough connections to push things through. He thinks it can be shot comfortably with a budget of $3 million. I told him, that’s a little bit above my credit card limit. We’re going to be putting together a business plan and investor’s packet soon. This whole thing is so exciting because I finally have a producer who knows how to do these things, has experience doing it, and really wants to see this happen. I’m really, really excited. (Blog Ho, I still owe you a copy of the script and $1. I haven’t forgotten. They’re coming when you least expect it…).

This Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise thing is both disgusting and ridiculous. I don’t care how good-looking he was/is. He’s so cheesy in real life that he’s like that dorky uncle that everyone has. And then he’s got his mouth pressed up to yours and you’re like, what the hell is going on? You’re my uncle! And you’re old! And you smell like a wet vacuum bag! And then he acts like nothing happened when your mom and aunt get back from shopping at Target and you’re not sure if you’re supposed to be excited or disgusted at this little secret. Which is how I theoretically imagine what kissing an old cheesefart like Tom Cruise in public must feel like when you’re a young, spritely girl who knows with each camera flash, that your credibility is going down the drain.

I am trying to get a 4-pack in time for summer. Brian greatly appreciates the now-common sight of me on the floor of my bedroom, lying down in my underwear, watching DVDs as I lift weights and do crunches.

Speaking of strange behavior, Brian thinks it’s strange that when I come home for lunch and heat up spaghetti, that I take off my shirt and eat while just wearing my bra so as to not risk getting anything on my shirt. I also make spaghetti sauce shirtless, wearing an apron over my bra as to not soil any shirts (tomato stains can be hard to get out). I told him my habit has always been to strip down to my bra when I get home. It’s the equivalent of a man loosening his tie when he gets home from work. In high school and junior high, the bus would drop me off at the bottom of our hill and I would have to walk a mile up a steep hill in sweltering California heat. I’d be sweating and feverish by the time I got to my front door so the first thing I always did was strip down to my underwear and stand in front of the fridge with the door open to cool off.

Clothes are overrated.

I’m leaving for NY tomorrow night. Rie gets married on Friday night and I’m supposed to read a poem at the wedding. I chose:

“Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not of one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.” (Kahlil Gibran)

I love this quote:

“Night fell again. There was war to the south, but our sector was quiet. The battle was over. Our casualties were some thirteen thousand killed — thirteen thousand minds, memories, loves, sensations, worlds, universes — because the human mind is more a universe than the universe itself — and all for a few hundred yards of useless mud.”
~ John Fowles (1926-)

I’m bored now. I’m going to put my head down and will away the time until I get to leave.

I luuuuurve Family Guy.

But I just read creator Seth McFarlane’s bio on imdb, and it gave me chills. Holy crap.

Beyond Words

California Vanity? Sounds Redundant

I drove by a Lexus yesterday with the vanity plate: ADONIS

It made my soul gag.

Something to Get the Blood Boiling In the Morning

“A woman should say: “Have I made him happy? Is he satisfied? Does he love me more than he loved me before? Is he likely to go to bed with another woman?” If he does, then it’s the wife’s fault because she is not trying to make him happy.”

~ Barbara Cartland (1901-) British novelist