...new "mot...new neologisms in the pipeline: "fuccicato" and "celebrate"...

Dec 7, 2016

The ad that ends the culture wars --- This is heaven --- Teaser (17)


John is back home where he's confronted with Ben --- Ben, last week's conquest and this week's backbone of the newfangled A-level Escort Service. For more context, read here how Ben got tricked into this by Alex, and here how he discharged his duties during his first A-level assignment.


Ben has a very long shower at the moment and my feeling is that he’s going to depart from my life pretty soon, the way he shot cursory glances at the bedstead and then at me---which was still okay, especially under the circumstances---but then he asked whether he could use the shower, and his next step will be to ask whether he can use the bathroom, and then he’s gone.



We shouldn’t belabor the obvious here, but if you’re in the pay of one of these outfits that use “family” as code against gays, and you’re tasked to produce the definitive ad, the ad that ends the culture wars, you could do much worse than to tell the story of a young, handsome Afro-American who has options, obviously, when it comes to sexual preferences, and who falls into the hands of this homosexual assistant professor of French who’s only option is a tangled ménage with a rape victim and a suicide victim and pimping handsome Afro-Americans to high-strung Valkyries---not to mention Ray, the murder suspect whom he hasn’t met yet.

Now Ben’s back from the shower, and this is my last chance. He’s wearing these graffiti briefs that look so great on him even when not quite fresh, and he's just standing there, the precise model of ebony perfection, unconscious of his own skin, one more second before he’ll ask whether he can use the bathroom. So you say: “Ben.”

And then you take both his hands with both your hands (we ran out of options). He’s a bit embarrassed, possibly, but you hold on to his hands and don’t let go. And you don’t say ‘let’s talk.’ Instead you say…

(We’ve won a few seconds now.)

Real quick: (1) You can assume that Alex & Maurice will tell him everything anyhow, or have done so already; (2) you want to know what---really---happened yesterday night, why he was so exhausted, and whether they paid him and what your cut would be; (3) you want him to become your friend, a real friend, despite Alex, or because of Alex.



You could go the melodramatic route (“Don’t go, Ben, don’t go!”), or try the casual approach, enter a sideways dialogue and hope that somewhere in between the lines he’ll come around. You’re still holding on to his hands, this can’t go on forever. How to start this, ‘Funny you were so exhausted.’ No. ‘Did they pay?’ No. ‘You like Alex?’ Time is up.

“Don’t go Ben, don’t go.”

He has various options now, like (1) un-clutching my hands, getting into his wears and departing for good; (2) talking about this ad on the Family-Channel; (3) entering a sideways dialogue until we get tired of this; (4) everything else.

“Luke no longer needs me,” he says. (That’s sideways in an encouraging way. Better, for instance, than to say: ‘I have no place to stay.’)

“I have no place to stay,” he adds.
“You can stay here,” I say.
“On your bed, couched between you and Alex?” (Couched is a bit overwritten.) À propos “couched”— not even sure Alex would mind given his recent approaches to Albert and Godehart (or Amy-Lou). Anyhow, it’s too late to elaborate on Alex.



You can sleep on the couch.” No-no. Terrible. Dogs sleep on couches, and soon-to-be ex-husbands.
Alex doesn’t mind.” Not good. The bed is too small. We need a larger bed, so we need the money to buy one, so we need to know whether the Valkyries paid up.
You’re excited about the festival?” Sideways, yes, but that’s the only excuse.
“We need a larger bed anyhow.” Writing copy, deadline approaching.

“Your bed wouldn’t be large enough,” (he answers).

I laugh lightly.

Says he: “We’re uses to narrow beds, ain’t we.”

Good. No denial-thing. “We’ve been lying with each other twice,” I say---he’s the son of a minister, he should have a sense of the euphemism. “Lie with each other, not to each other,” I add.

“Alex won’t like it,” he answers.

(So you liked it?)

“We can ask him,” I say (we).
“You ask him.”

What going on? Perhaps he’s trying to be funny. Or he’s read some piece in The New Yorker about metro sexuality.
“I’ll ask him,” (I say).

“I need another cup of coffee,” he says and drifts off to the kitchen. His head reappears in the door: “You want a cup, too?”

(Did we win this?)

He’s back with the coffee, sits down on the bed. What is there to say? He’s not going to discuss his sexual preferences now, let’s hope not. How would this work? We would need a nod from Alex, plus the exemption from most rules of social space. Let’s look this up on the internet, do they spell ménage with an accent or without? We definitely need a larger bed.
So I say: “Yesterday…”


He snorts again. “Yesterday,” he says. “You were sleeping, right?”

“Yes,” I lie. Alex isn’t going to out me on this, his fingerprints are all over the case.

“Well,” he says, “I messed up. There’s this trip, the woman that came over to buy chocolate and talk about ABBA, Elsa, or Tamina, but she was with this lady I didn’t know, Jane. They’ve barely seen me and get all jittery and high-strung and stuff. There’s some commotion and this ho next to me ends up with spilled wine over her skirt. Jane flashes her check book to pay the bitch off, and then they started to liquor me up. That’s basically it.”

“That’s all you remember?”
“Jane drives an Audi A8, I remember.”
“That’s all?”


“I swear,” he says. He raises his arm as if I he’s been asked for an oath. He even lowers the other arm in an inverted gesture as if he’s taking oaths both ways. “She gave me this…” He fumbles in the pockets of his jeans and hands me a slip of paper. It’s a check made out to the A-Level Escort Service Georgia Beach. Two thousand bucks.

Are you still there? Then you'll possibly like the GREEN EYES the Lambda Literary Award novel. It's out now, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Dec 2, 2016

Dec 1, 2016

Occam's razor



Timeo Trumpos et dona ferentes

(Fragment, fragment, GREEN EYES, Part II, very short, Alex (saying:))

"Look it up."

(Okay, a bit more. We're in the climactic chapter, "This Is Heaven," and in the company of John, the narrator, Alex, Raphael Beeblebrox (an editor with The Urban Dictionary), and Ben. Professor Bienpensant, the quantitative metaphysicist is going to preside over her own doomsday prediction looming for midnight:)

“Why is it, Alex,” Beeblebrox asks, waving today’s program printout at him, “why is it that cataclysmic events are always scheduled at mundane, convenient times?”
“Because twenty percent of the population believe Armageddon will happen during their life time.”
“Twenty-five percent,” Ben corrects him.
“Too easy, too easy.” Beeblebrox shakes his head.
“If you want more metaphysical, Raphael,”---Alex---“you should ask Professor Bienpensant. Occam’s razor, look it up.” Out of nowhere, he has conjured four tallboys and hands one to each of us.



Nov 30, 2016

You may have to read this twice


(Our friend Glenn sends this:)




Anything the GREEN EYES have to say about this? Usually we do. Here, from Part II, This Is Heaven, Nick (Nick's Restaurant) talking to John and Alex:



Nick’s hands have moved to our shoulders: “People have a right to forget,” he says, his head is between our ears. “Think of slavery. That wasn’t ‘slavery’ all—-that was ‘our peculiar institution.’ ‘Suffragette’—-that was our term of derision for a bunch of uppity bitches. ‘Miscegenation’—that was miss, you understand, and illegal to boot. ‘Separate but equal’—-my God, we swore by it until fucking Truman put them all in the same bunkbeds. And Brown versus Schoolboard—-have you seen the clips, Brown emanating from a court hearing, and the entire American press stalking him with sneers and laughter ‘cuz he’s black and wannabe white? And now you guys, with your rainbow marriage. There’s only one solution for real Americans, who have never, ever been racist, or misogynists, or segregationist, or anti-Semitic, or homophobic, or whatever was wrong with us the past—-or will be wrong with us in the future—-and that’s forgetfulness.”



Are you still there? Then you may like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Nov 29, 2016

Yesterday, and today, and Perry Brass, and Donald Trump



Yesterday


Today (Chang is still working on the picture)



And in the meantime, our friend Perry Brass published an informative review of the latest Trump biography, Donald Trump, the man who would be kinghere.


Nov 24, 2016

Just a thought (Trump)


We're on Facebook, and if you've followed the news about the great divide on the social networks, you know that liberal Facebook users share a common bubble per algorithm. So we only see what other liberals think and say (same for conservatives). And even if you're not on Facebook but on the mailing lists of The New York Times, The New Yorker, The London Book Review, etc., you know by now that the commentary---the commentary that you see---is adamant that we shouldn't be fooled by Trump's recent, concessionary posture. He'll be his true self again in the White House, he'll live up to his election promises, and bring the world down.

He floats in the worldly Manhattan society.

What if he doesn't? He's run some sort of business empire for 40 years---not as successful as he pretends to, but he didn't go under, he recovered from four or six bankruptcies, he owns a Boeing 757, he enjoyed fabulous tax deductions and a good sex life (at least on his own terms). He must have some sense of the Art of the Deal (the title of his ghostwritten book). Plus, he's lazy, we're informed, although I don't believe that's true (I'm lazy myself, I know how it is). Why-o-why should Trump bring the world down? At his age? He doesn't hold deep convictions, except for some protectionist instincts and a pliable xenophobia tempered by two foreign spouses. During all that time he floated buoyantly in the worldly Manhattan society, unlike, say, Adolf Hitler. Why should he bring the world down? Much easier to sit in the Oval office, do a Ronald Reagan, sow discord among his advisers, practice the Art of the Deal, and enjoy himself.

Just a thought.

Nov 23, 2016

"Not so difficult to play Sherlock Holmes when you are Dr. Watson" --- This is heaven --- Teaser (16)


(We're still not yet done with this "Heaven," two more chapters to write---two difficult ones, including the climactic scene---and then there's the happy ending, a drawn-out affair because we're completely over the top with five or six separate blissful closures all happening at the same time. As to the teasers, we're back to schedule briefly, so this post follows up on Teaser 14, which ended with a Censured Section---Taylor is one day shy of his 18th birthday as he and John enter the restroom facilities of the festival's Green Room. The censured part ends with the habitual flagrante, this time enacted by Professor Barbette Bienpensant. For more context, have a look at Teaser 14.




There’s a knock on the door.

She has issues, but she’s not an fool, especially when it comes to two males with vacant expressions on their faces, oiled in sweat, one of them still buckling his belt, them apparently having spent quality time in 120 degrees Fahrenheit and the stench from an underserviced john. The Bienpensant looks us up and down. Bulge check. Are we drunken again?

(This is so subtle.)

Taylor is utterly embarrassed. This will heal him of all homoerotic tendencies. I’m even more embarrassed. But I have my moments. So I say to the professor: “You need to use the bathroom?”

She has to think about this. “You’re asking the wrong question,” she says.

Some real macho-man would now say something like “See you later, Professor,” or “See ya later, Barbette.” But us, we just hurtle away, heads half-dropped, we could be holding hands on the way to the gallows. 

Whatever happens down there, up here, in our heads---most women would possibly deny much is going on there---up here us males get back to normal immediately, it’s an important reason for starting a hand job, and for finishing it, and it’s an important reason for divorces as well. We can’t just trot back together to the stand, ten minutes late. “I need to see a man about a horse,” I utter somewhat incoherently and point into the direction of the trailers along the canal. “See you later.”

Nov 19, 2016

The Canadian wall

(Our friend Susan sends this note:)



News Update from Canada

The flood of Trump-fearing American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past week. The Republican presidential campaign is prompting an exodus among left-leaning Americans who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, pay taxes, and live according to the Constitution.

Canadian border residents say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, liberal arts majors, global-warming activists, and "green" energy proponents crossing their fields at night.



"I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn," said southern Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota. "He was cold, exhausted and hungry, and begged me for a latte and some free-range chicken. When I said I didn't have any, he left before I even got a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?"

Nov 18, 2016

Yesterday



Westerly view across the foret domanial de l'Esterel,
the park that surrounds our village, picture by Jason Yoon 

Nov 14, 2016

Supermoon rising


Today is the day of the supermoon---a full moon as close to planet Earth as possible---and so it appears larger (7%), and is brighter (15%). And this it it, the moon, seen from our house, rising over the Mediterranean, this evening: 



Now you see it, now you don't (updated)

(Scroll down for the update)

We have a page on Facebook, and we're offered a $10 voucher to "boost a post," meaning that you pay FB money so they show your post to more people---it's a transparent form of advertising, of course. Ten dollars for free, what the heck, so we boost Teaser #14 of This Is Heaven...but...wait...the boost is rejected. It wouldn't be a "pleasant experience" for FB users, especially the pecs of Robert Pattinson won't. Next we try Teaser #15 (the balloon dog shorts). That's rejected as well, on the same grounds. Well, let's see, what could be more unpleasant than an ungeheures Ungeziefer, a monstrous vermin à la Franz Kafka. We try, and succeed. The boost is accepted --- a pleasant experience indeed.





Along those lines...here we have the cover of Perry Brass' book Carnal Sacraments...




...adorned by the work of the German painter Sascha Schneider, a highly recognized Symbolist artist. Amazon---Amazon, this time, not FB---doesn't let Perry place advertisements for his book because of the 'nudity' on the cover.

Nov 12, 2016

Comparativer (Glenn)





Fragment, fragment. Here, fresh from the presses, Ch. 42 of This Is Heaven ("John is a great guy"). Note the emphasis:


Now the branching: (1) If this is their first time, there will be uninhibited petting and groping until they reach Alex’s single bed about which Ben will briefly comment (“exactly like mine”), and then they make love. (2) If this is their second time---more likely, alas---there wouldn’t be anything immediate, the kiss would be deeper, the lips would be wetter, but that would be it. They disengage and look at each other. It’s real this time, Ben lost in admiration of Alex’s beauty---beauty here in the widest sense of the word, full Plato---and so it’s about Alex's inner assets, his intelligence, wit, charisma, soul. Alex reciprocates---not quite as innocent as we’d like (Ben’s body, skin, lips, cheerful profile, resplendent teeth, hip-hop kinetics pass the alpha mind)---but soon we revert to the truer issues, Ben’s own charisma for example, or his effortless formality (not that we’ve seen much of it during this episode, but I assure you), or Ben’s bearing, accentuated and tender (somehow letting others know how important they are---his secret weapon during A-level assignments, I guess, and a key ingredient of the alchemy between the two). And the nostrils. OMG, I failed to mention Ben’s breathing nostrils.


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Nov 9, 2016

Nothing makes sense, we know.



So, why should this picture (make sense)?

What we have to say about Donald Trump


Well, we're too stunned to say anything about Donald Trump at this point, so let's revert to Franz Kafka, the obvious choice under the circumstances. Here, the opening paragraph of Kafka's best-known novella, The Metamorphosis (scroll down): 







One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.


(And the rainbow colors? That's sheer coincidence, of course, but we do have a fragment---written last week---before the elections---written a few days ago, from Chapter 43 of our hopeless novel This is Heaven:) 


There’s a short story by Franz Kafka about Gregor, a traveling salesman waking up one fine morning mysteriously transformed into a “humongous bug,” “monstrous vermin,” or “giant insect” (depending on the translation from the German ungeheures Ungeziefer). This gets him into a lot of trouble, but the dude had at least the good fortune never to visit Georgia Beach, GA, and wake up there in the hospital’s emergency room under the merciless eyes of Dr. Alice Sandeman, a person who absolutely despises bugs, vermin, and insects, especially large ones.


Are you still there? Still clinging to your sense of extremely dark humor in these trumpled times? Then you may like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Nov 5, 2016

Balloon-dog shorts --- This is heaven --- Teaser (15)



"Balloon dog" -- Jeff Koons. Picture by Jason Yoon


(This teaser is completely out of sequence, but we found these pictures  that we need to share. This is Chapter 33 in its entirety. Them boys---John, Alex, Maurice---had a very rough day, and they finally repaired to Godehart's quarters, assistant DA Trevor Howard in tow. Enjoy:)




John, why couldn’t you, at the end of a page-turning, adverb-filled day of unparalleled heat levels---why couldn’t you just down the third ‘fortification’ Godehart (“call me Gohard”) was handing you and chuck your dirty shorts one more time and let the sex slave fix the Magic-Mike collar around your neck (I’ll explain later)---in view of the advanced hour we’ll keep the strip-tease to a minimum---shed your drawers to the dutiful applause of the sex-starved men on Gohard’s lustlager---and now the typical complication of a hinterland orgy, the sex slave refitting us with lime-green boxers of glossy balloon-dog material, more foil than cloth---balloon-dog bulges reverberating in the starry ceiling lights---Alex downing yet another flute offered by the lady of the house (half the bubbly spilled)---Alex putting in a belly dance to a tango from Gohard’s Bose box (tango?)---the tune shifting to slithering, quartertone harem-rock (Paint it Black)---Alex taking the hint and taking me from behind (clean good fun)---Alex dry-humping with the tipsy elegance of a pubescent raptor (or cobra, or alpha-pup)---whispering to my ear (“are you ready to ditch me?”)---adding (Alex) that he couldn’t do this after four cum-episodes unless people were watching---(four?)---the sound shifting gear again---Alex testing the waistband of my balloon dogs (“snap”)---Alex briefly on his knees, testing my balloon-dog-bulge with his lips (I hate this)---Trevor stroking Gohard, Gohard stroking Trevor---more of this---Gohard going down on Trevor, cool---we’ll be left to our own devices here on the dance floor---and now Maurice’s getting into the act---clapping me off and taking Alex’s arm---tango again for a misleading moment---Maurice’s glandular needs bursting forward (I skip the details)---balloon dogs shed---inches inching forward---harem rock resuming (quarter tones composed by Muslim Obama)---I’m standing there, transfixed in inner space, wondering needlessly how Alex will pull it off---Maurice grunting---Alex grunting needlessly---Trevor grunting, Gohard grunting, the sex slave grunting serving condoms, needlessly---the infallible stir of a climax in the making (“Yeah, fuck”)---and I retrieve my dirty shorts and grab my dick and put it back into my shorts and run away.


Back home





Oct 21, 2016

We're In Schwangau, Bavaria



(All pictures by Chang)




Michael went to Bavaria to visit Neuschwanstein (pictured), the fairytale castle built by King Ludwig II of Ludwig fame (Visconti). Ludwig was crazy, but also gay, and a few other things.  



Michael has this idea about a Sherlock Holmes story involving  blackmail of said Ludwig. 





There will be a happy ending, as always.

Oct 19, 2016

Telepathy (Maud)




(And the GREEN EYES, anything they have to say about this? Sure, lots of stuff, we're like the Blues Brothers, we have Country and Western. Here, from Ch 11 of This Is Heaven, in which John has his first interview with Detective-Inspector LaStrada (very short):) 


Let me interrupt myself and talk about James Bond again. It doesn’t matter which movie, so let’s talk about the last one, Skyfall. Daniel Craig introduces himself to Dr. No or one of No’s co-workers, like Bérénice Marlohe, say, and says “The name is Bond, James Bond.” And while any other person on the planet would now go, like, ‘Great,’ or ‘Can you give me an autograph,’ Bérénice has apparently never heard of the super-hero of popular culture, grimaces distantly, and shakes the stranger’s hand. 



(We also have stuff about telepathy; we'll do that next time, we're in a hurry, departing for Bavaria)

Oct 16, 2016

Find a caption (Glenn)






Fragment, fragment...sure, here, from Chapter 30 ("The Knights of Malta") of This Is Heaven:


The debate has apparently started since Godehart is lying supine on the floor while the FOX-woman---one knee on his chest, one hand in mud-wrestling style locked between his legs---slaps his face and yells: “Liar, loser, liar, loser, liar, loser.” There’s a iambic rhythm to her thrusts that’s really catching on and the crowd is inspired---clapping, jeering, gesticulating, honing in: Liar, loser, liar, loser, liar, loser. Somebody has managed to program a decibel dial onto the LED scoreboard above the proscenium which is moving off the charts as we speak (the dial). Harrell up there in the control box must be getting help from somebody (Jack Horn, we’ll learn later). Godehart has apparently tried to be his old-school self and let the FOX-woman do her thing, but the situation is getting out of hand with blood potentially flowing and the FOX-woman about to turn her plastic fangs to good use on Godehart’s neck. “Hilfe, Hilfe, Hilfe,” yells the Wagner---choking and crying---and the scoreboard flips to asci code and translates, as if this were an opera house: “Help, help, help.” 

________________________

The foreign candidate asking for welfare---that really hits a chord with an audience steeped in self-reliance
________________________

The foreign candidate asking for welfare---that really hits a chord with an audience steeped in self-reliance, and we have to fear for the survival of the bleachers squeaking under the pulsing stampede of too many real Americans. The mayor, ever responsible, gets up and makes a token attempt to becalm the crowd. Eventually he succeeds, however, because Elsa---who has also been on the stage, idling in the wings for unclear reasons---Elsa is courageously taking Godehart’s side by rushing to the scene of rational discourse and pulling on the blond anchor hair and other parts of the FOX-woman’s body. And now female solidarity kicks in and Vivian Leigh, or whatever her name, has joined and---having failed to pull on Godehart’s feet---undertakes to restrain the FOX-woman in ways that defy any political correctness---if you’ve ever seen a classical production of a Wagner opera with all-blond Valkyries fighting mano-a-mano for Das Rheingold while intoning the high C and the audience going nuts---along those lines.


One little comment: Trump's position is often defended by tweets with spelling mistakes pointing out that nobody's respecting America and that Trump will make the world respect her again. One wonders how, and on which terms.

Oct 15, 2016

Vampire trivia --- This is heaven --- Teaser (14)


The vampire kids that we met earlier show up again. Main characters here are John (narrator), Alex (Main object of desire), Maurice (the third musketeer), and Taylor, a vampire kid & nerd & homophobic to boot. Maurice has been charged thinking up questions for today's criterion of the Festival, which is about vampire trivia. Let's see where this leads us.


The cell-phone rang.

It’s Maurice. He’s stuck. Writer’s block. He can’t think of anything decent, trivia-wise. Nothing with a snap-your-finger feel. “Does it matter?” I ask.

“Certainly,” he says, “that’s why we are in the business of writing, isn’t it, to feel inspired, and by feeling inspired becoming more inspired.”
“You sound like an expensive graduate course of something,” I say.

He falls silent.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I apologize. I went too far.”
“Indeed,” he says.
“The trivia,” I say. “Think of it as a commission. Quick and dirty. Deadline approaching, copy editor leering over your shoulder.”
“Well, nobody is leering over my shoulder.”
“Ben still asleep?”
“Indeed.”
“Hold the line,” I say.

Robert Pattinson in Twilight

‘Hold the line,’ I said, because Juliette’s friends are upon us, the children of vampire trivia. “We missed you yesterday,” Alex has said to them in the meantime.

Oct 11, 2016

Michael in Mein schwules Auge 13

The first chapter of the Green Eyes---the chapter Michael didn't dare to include in his book, the account of a cruisin' encounter he feared would "discomfort or even harm" some readers---appears in the German yearbook Mein Schwules Auge 13, which is out today. It's beautifully illustrated with work by  Piotr Urbaniak, here's one example:




Charming, isn't it? 

Our contribution is in English, by the way, not German. Teaser? Okay:

A shadow enters my periphery of vision. Anybody who cares? Yes, a lank, blond, crew-cut guy. Perhaps he’s heard my screams and got interested. He’s shocked. No, he isn’t, he’s just curious. A tumescence builds in his trunks and develops its own life...

You can order the volume here.

"The Old New World" (Photo-based animation project) from seccovan on Vimeo.

Oct 10, 2016

Handsheet of the erotic writer ---This is heaven --- teaser (13)


So, Ben has been tricked by Alex into answering this outcall, and the next morning we're told by Brigittå Haagen Dasz, the erotic writer, what happened next. They've met up at the Lupo di Mare, and have now progressed to Jane's mansion on Belgrave Square---the more fashionable side of Belgrave Square, we're informed. 

The more fashionable side of what? That's because we couldn't resist. Here, Fragment 1 (very short, Brigitta speaking): 



"We arrive after a brief journey at her palatial mansion in Belgrave Square.”

“There is no Belgrave Square in Georgia Beach,” I [John] say.
“The more fashionable side of Belgrave Square,” she answers.

“And now what?” Alex asks.

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), author of "The important of being Earnest," his last play, in which Lady Bracknell interviews Jack (one of the Earnests)  as a marriage candidate of her daughter Gwendolen, asks him about his address in London (A: Belgrave Square (the most prestigious address in London, then and now)), then asks about the number (A: number 149), and then reacts: "The unfashionable side. I thought there was something."
 
Okay, and now, Fragment 2:

“Ben, the innocent lad from the pastures of Okefenokee remoteness, Ben is not used to stronger waters. Two glasses of Amaretto have had their desired effect, and two flutes of Roederer Cristal from Jane’s Belgravian cellars achieve the rest. We find Ben presently languishing on the tiger rug in the lambent light of Jane’s boudoir, the bulge in his jeans deliciously thrown into relief by rampant expectations. Jane disposes her tumbler on the Regency side-table, motions yours truly to do likewise, and says, ‘Let’s see.’

Oct 3, 2016

The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain


Yes, we've been off to Spain for a few days. This picture was taken in Zahara de los Antunes, on the Atlantic coast.

(And while we are at it (picture taken in the same location):)