queer daddy


In Sex Drive by Stephanie TheobaldLeave a Comment

I’m trying to track down the real life version of this poster:

queer daddy

Maybe I’ll find it at the Academy Awards party this weekend. There is talk of a triple decker naked Oscar penthouse pool party with the lesbian mafia somewhere in LA on Sunday (guests including the Who’s Afraid of Vagina Woolf chick and the Go Fish legends including Guinevere Turner who did the screenplay for American Psycho and is now writing something about the Manson woman). I’ll keep you posted.

I saw the Queer Daddy poster  hanging in Out Of The Closet in West Hollywood, a great second hand clothing store which gives proceeds to HIV charities. Basically, it’s full of clothes thrown out by lots rich guys . I found a great David Bowie fake leather blouson in there last year but this year just this T-shirt:


I know, ASU, looks like ASS, although VS tells me it stand for “Arizona State University.” I just went for the colour block look, honest. Note there is no pic of my face as, after the Homeless-Ice-Cream-On-The-Trash-Can Weekend, I am still recuperating. You find me in a cafe on Venice Beach called Collage during the crossover early morning period where the bums and the people with tattooed cheeks and rolling eyes who’ve spent all night on the beach start mingling with the thin ladies in pink jogging outfits who come out for a little fresh air. I feel I have a lot of kinship with the bums these days. I woke up smelling of stale roast beef (I went to a Korean BBQ place last night. I always wondered what a Korean BBQ was. Basically, they put a bonfire in the middle of your table and pour some caramel-coloured meat mulch on to it. It’s an entertaining way to eat). Here are my dining hosts, Alison, a DP (that means Director of Photography in this town but in San Francisco it would mean something more X-rated. Suggestions on a postcard) and VS, star of stage and screen and amuse-gueule chef for the likes of Karl Lagerfeld, Hedi Slimane and Stella McCartney.


Meanwhile, back here in the Venice Beach cafe, the guy making the coffee  keeps saying things like, “See you, brother!” and “have a good day, man!” as people go out of the door. It’s all about getting people in a good mood so that they can be on a high and happy vibration all day. It’s definitely a good idea which would shrivel up and die in cynical Europe. I have been trying to stay on a good vibe. I did the Doreen Virtue Ascended Masters card this morning and got Thoth, the Egyptian god of writing, apparently. “Write” was the urging word on the card. I didn’t want to be rude to Thoth, but I was thinking, “I’ve been bloody writing for the past 2 years on a ridiculous book on masturbation that nobody wants to buy. Is Thoth having a laugh?” But then I did a goddess card and it was an African chick called Ogboinba, the Nigerian goddess of healing, the future and discontent. It’s about how you have to count your blessings. Which gave me a kick in the pants and I suddenly realised that here I sit in the nice-people Californian cafe about to go out in the sun (it’s like a balmy June day), probably have a $5 burrito at some point before stumbling upon some phantasmagorical cactus or tropical plant growing next to a trash can. “Stay in the moment,” as Annie Sprinkle advises when discontent creeps in. Mainly, I’m following what I call the “chaos theory.” It happens when you’re playing pool and you don’t really have much idea how to play pool so you just hit the ball really hard  so it smashes into the coloured balls and with any luck, at least one of them is going to go into a pocket.


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