another theatrical photograph by arthur w. tong April 17, 2009
KimLate80s
Originally uploaded by dangerblond.
How much does this look like Leicester?
a drawing
Jury
Originally uploaded by dangerblond.
anatomy of a bad joke April 5, 2009
I just stopped at a quickie-mart. Not my usual one with the fun Egyptian guys. This one has an older man who works there. I started to buy a black cigarette lighter and then put it back and got a blue one.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like Barack?”
“Huh?”
“You put the black one back.”
“Um, I like Barack just fine. I still have his sticker on the back of my car. I just think a blue cigarette lighter is easier to find in a black purse.”
“Oh.”
It reminded me of a story my friend told during Mardi Gras. They were standing on the St. Charles parade route when some people moved next to them. One guy told my friend that they were “getting away from the Obama voters.” My friend said, “well, you are still standing next to Obama voters.”
Attention rednecks: these kinds of remarks are not jokes. They are the equivalent of saying, “the president is black. Bwah ha ha!” See? That’s not all that funny. If you have a good joke about the president, then by all means tell it. I love a good joke. But this is not a joke. It’s the lowest form of crass, vulgar, racial prejudice. And please stop assuming I’m on board with you just because I am white.
tales of the gun April 1, 2009
Among lots of things that have been keeping me busy lately, I’ve been helping my mother out. Her husband, Kenneth, has been diagnosed with liver cancer and it’s a major deal. I’ve been burning up the road between here and Jackson, Mississippi, trying to help mom, my step-brother and step-sisters out. My mother is dealing with a husband in home hospice, my 87-year-old grandmother and my paralyzed brother. My grandmother is hilarious, though. She’s like Tennessee Williams meets the Marx Brothers.
Mom and Kenneth have been married since I was 21. He has been very good to her, and over the years he has always treated my brother, sister and I as though we were his children. He has been there for me many times and is the closest thing to a father I have ever had. I’m still surprised at the emotions I am feeling over what he is going through.
One story involving Kenneth: When I lived in the Bywater in the late 80s, my apartment was burglarized while I was at work. Lots of stuff was stolen and I was pretty shaken up. The police told me I needed to get a gun. I hate guns, I’m afraid of them and I don’t know anything about them and don’t want to.
My mom called me and asked me to come to Jackson. When I got there, Kenneth had bought me a .38 and announced that he was taking me to some huge ditch-looking place to show me how to use it. I actually went and learned how to shoot the gun. It served me well when I was in a play that required the use of a prop gun. I had my whole Angie Dickinson stance going on.
Any way, I brought the gun back to New Orleans. I ended up moving to the Garden District and I hid the gun way underneath my mattress, where I completely forgot about it. When I moved in with Don, my friend, Raphael, moved into my house. One day he called me.
“Kim, hi. Um, did you know you have a gun under the mattress?”
“Wow, I do?!? Oh, shit, yes I do. I have a gun under the mattress. I forgot about it.”
“Do you want to come and get it?”
“No.”
“Um, can I have it?”
“Sure, it’s yours. Happy Birthday.”
I don’t know what’s ever happened to that gun. Raphael has moved to about 10 different places since then, including Vietnam. Someone else must have it by now. I had totally forgotten about it again until I was helping my mother clean out a cabinet in her kitchen to hold all the paper plates and stuff that people have brought over. I stuck my hand way in the back and pulled out a loaded gun.
