It's simultaneously nice and sick-inducing (as well as undeniably entertaining) to be spending time with Jamie P. (hereafter to be referred to as "Jamie #2") again. He and I were pretty thick awhile back, but I don't mind telling you that he pissed me off, so I stopped bothering with him for several months right around the time I decided to abdicate my post in bikeville and spend some time with my own people - all the Hollywood types you're always reading about here at Crazy Jane Headquarters, and all of whom I will be missing with special desperation as I navigate the lycra circus this week.
Jamie #2 is as delighted with his own incorrigibility as ever, and the observations of how things aren't as optimal as they could be if he were in charge are coming as thick, fast, and hilariously as they ever did in the long history of his generalized disappointment with life on earth. Despite that, and many other bad qualities, I've always liked him rather a lot more than he deserves. If you were thinking this is sounding like a lady that doth protest too much, you might be right. Hence the sick.
As usual, he's working that Humphrey Bogart hairstyle pretty hard, and when he combines it with the ultra hip black glasses that could never look hip if he's wearing them, the result is charming and also completely gay, and I mean that in every sense of the word. But, again, I've always enjoyed his thorough-going gayness.
It's going to be a crazy week. Lots of work to do, and not much time to think. I'll be sharing a hotel room with the above-mentioned thoroughly rotten creature, so one thing that's really pressing down on me is the problem of how on earth I'm going to figure out what to wear and manage my primping in the morning. I don't like for anyone to see me putting on lipstick. I've been mentally preparing myself for this eventuality all week, and I did take the precaution of bringing every goddamned piece of clothing I own and made sure to paint my toenails at home so that at least that would be out of the way.
People, don't worry about me. I can handle it.
Jamie's partners, Steph and Alec, are nice and it's immediately noticeable that they are intelligent, good people. Plus, they especially pleased me by saying that John Travolta should play Jamie in the movie of his life, and that for me, their choice was Kate Winslet, which they thought I must hear all the time. Fair enough; they're in.
Airplane music: The Mountain Goats. Friday night, I was lucky enough to enjoy The Goats at Spaceland in Silverlake, and you should all know that Mountain Goat auteur John Darnielle is a songwriter and performer of special magnificence, with the power to remind us that extremely beautiful work is possible with humble tools. John Darnielle, I don't think I love you, I know I do.
Airplane reading: Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus, in which I found this passage which especially pleased me:
"Father Leverkuhn was a speculator and a brooder, and as I have noted, his interest in research - if one can speak of research, since it was actually a matter of mere dreamy contemplation - always moved along on particular path, that is the mystical or intuitive semi-mystical, down which, it seems to me, human thought is almost inevitably drawn when in pursuit of ther natural world."
No pictures, because I forgot to bring the thingy that helps me get pictures out of my camera. Yes! I am a genius.