I meant long ago to write up something about my visit to the Henri de Toulouse Lautrec exhibit at the National Gallery of Art earlier this year. But you know… I’m a lazy fuck.
Lautrec did all those gaudy, risqué French posters you’ll see in coffee houses and young women’s apartments. In fact, I think he’s one of the few major fine artists primarily known for blatantly commercial work. The show even had work from his projects for the infamous Moulin Rouge.
His posters started the show. They’re certainly his most famous work. The progression you could see in his style was pretty cool. From his early works which were purely illustrated portraits, to his later work, which included visual depth, and a greater understanding of design principles.
What affected me most in the exhibit were his paintings of everyday life in the Montmartre district. His paintings of his peers and friends were incredible. I remember looking at a painting of a young man standing in the street, and realizing how totally in-place the same person would look if they could just step out of the painting. All the works were showing this… these people were living the exact same life I see around me know, but only a 120 years in the past. You knew exactly how these people would act, because you could so immediately identify with them. It was a pretty incredible feeling. Montmarte of 1895 could be any artists neighborhood in any major city today.
The show finished up with a collection of works from some time he spent living in a brothel, recording the lives of the women around him. These works seem so much more honest than most pre-Modern fine art. There are women in all their beauty and all their not-so-beauty. Women lined up on benches, waiting for customers. And lesbian brothel workers, comforting each-other in bed.
The other thing that struck me about this exhibit, more and more as I walked through, was how closely Laurenn McCubbin‘s work and career seems to be following Lautrec’s. Right from the start, there were some obvious stylistic similarities in his poster work. I can’t help but think of Laurenn’s paintings of Kelly Sue and company, when looking at the candid paintings Lautrec did in MontMarte. And Rent Girl, which I had recently read, came to mind when I saw his work from the brothel.
I only hope Laurenn doesn’t drink herself to death and end up in an Asylum.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Juuuuuust when I thought I was out… They draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag me back in. After finally having ripped all my cassette tapes to MP3, Autumn goes and gives me a new stack of tapes. These however, I may be able to finish in 1 or 2 nights.
Note to anyone coming to the District: Do not lean through a window and talk to cab drivers. Get in the fucking car. If it turns out you don’t have enough money, you can always get out again. But once you’re in the vehicle, they’re required by law to take you wherever you wish to go, within the Metro area. There is no need to question them from the curb as to wether they will take you somewhere. And if they do simply roll down the window and ask you where you wish to go, you’re better off telling them to piss off. Besides coming damn close to being illegal, it means they’re looking for a passenger going one specific route. The likelihood that you’re going that route is pretty bad. So shut up get in the fucking cab. I’ll thank you, and they 15 cars backed up behind the taxi will thank you.
We now return you to you’re regularly scheduled Sunday night stupor.
So I went out with friends to various places Friday night. (Pictures now available from your local gift shop or in the snapshots section of this very website.) When we started out at The Black Cat, I was depressed to find out that Rainer Maria will be playing there this coming Friday. Depressed, because I will be in East Bumpafuck at the time, watching the utility truck bucket rides. But if you’re luckier than me, go see them. The few songs I have of theirs are great. Sort of a female-fronted, intelligent, hard rock band.
You know… as Kier would say, any night not spent in front of the TV alone is a good night. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t wish to cause serious bodily injury to one of my friends before the night is through. It would be all fine and well, but for … well… a complete lack of knowing what we were doing. I’m all for spontaneity. But to me, that’s the ability to make quick decisions with little or no supporting facts or information. What we had was a complete lack of decision making. We had 45-minute committee discussions followed inevitably by the least successful of all possible outcomes. The cutest moment of the night did come, though, from Autumn’s boyfriend, (a seemingly nice guy), somehow deciding he had enough testosterone–despite his metallic, zebra-pattern, club shirt–to order 7 people–3 of whom are over 6 ft. tall–into a sports car, so we could go to Adams Morgan. (A place you really must experience at 3 in the morning on a Saturday to appreciate sobriety and good footware).
It’s been a while since I got home at 4 AM.
Did I mention the call-girls have been evicted? Right. The day after they had one man in their bed, another waiting in the hallway, another downstairs trying to remember their apartment number, and one more show up just in time to see them all locked out of the apartment when she forgot her keys. This is the point where we find out her pimp had the doorlock changed without telling the rental office. After a brief interlude with the last contestant on The Price is Always Right in the laundry room, everyone was seen leaving the scene in a yellow taxi cab.
And I bet they didn’t ask the driver if he was going their way.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I was offered a job as an Orgasm Fairy, the other day. Apparently, I am #5 on a google search for the term “Orgasm Fairy”.
So I got that going for me.
Then again, every time I check my stats, someone has found this site by searching for the term “fucking little girls”.
Ew.
But you know… I’ve still got the hookers for neighbors. Call girls, I guess, since they seem to operate primarily on an in-call basis. I’ve gotten in the habit of looking at the guest sign-in whenever I stop at the front desk, just to see how many visitors they’ve had. Um… so to speak.
But yeah… they apparently tried to lure the Cleaning Lady into working for them. I find it a little funny. She’s not ugly… but I don’t know if I would pay for sex with her. She probably doesn’t have the temperament, anyway. Just being asked was so traumatic that she immediately ran to the assistant manager to report it. It’s the worst kept secret in the building, that they’re working up there. But if they start making life difficult for other people, they may find themselves out on the street. This time, in daylight.
Besides the fact that hookers do laundry all the time, apparently it’s common to order everything C.O.D. Besides being amazed that anyone even offers C.O.D. shipping anymore, I find it interesting. I guess this isn’t a job were you want to leave a huge paper trail. Just the other week, a UPS guy came by with another such package. It was his third and final attempt at delivery. The one girl finally answered the door, stark naked, presumably expecting a customer. She quickly jumped behind the door, though certain body parts kept slipping out. Man… is that the start to every bad porno, or what?
Meant to get this updated look for the website up yesterday. I had the template basically done. But Pixel wanted to play, and I wound up going to Chiaroscuro with Kier again. Kelowna seemed to have a good night. Dancing and spinning. Taking all kinds of pictures, including one she ran over to show me, of all the dancers spinning around me. Finished off the night pretty well, too, from the looks of it.
I didn’t see Kris there. Although, I did learn that her name was Kris. So that’s something. She was always the-girl-in-the-sports-bra. Until someone pointed out last week that she was also the girl I met at a home farewell party, who gave me a lift home, a couple months back. Weird… never saw the connection. Probably wouldn’t have known what to say in the truck home. ‘Cause… you know… I got those mad people skills.
But we did have more faux lesbians last night. And we all agreed that beats sitting home on the couch watching TV any night.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I meant long ago to write up something about my visit to the Henri de Toulouse Lautrec exhibit at the National Gallery of Art earlier this year. But you know… I’m a lazy fuck.
