I have known Cera for over ten years . . . this is the night we first met in person in LA. I had never seen it before until she sent it to me a few minutes ago. Unfortunately I look disgusting, but Cera looks good . . . she always does.
I love you forever, Cera~
. . . everyone needed it.
I was the first one there. I approached the bar and the bartender shook my hand. “Same thing you always get?”
I said, “Yeah, man . . .” and felt that warmth you feel when you’re remembered.
He placed a sparkling water with orange bitters upon the bar in front of me. I said, “Where’s our mutual friend?”— meaning my friend Alina the Ukrainian Girl who owns the place.
“She left for her hometown in Ukraine today. She won’t be back for 10 days.” We both despaired at that a little. I told him I was going to take the Red Room in the back and he said, “It’s all yours.”
One by one, my fellow Kromlings materialized. It was rarefied air. Behold . . .
(You may be wondering what it’s like to be the coolest people in any given place we happen to occupy. The answer is that it isn’t easy . . .)
At one point the other bartender came into our little room to refill our little drinks. I said, “Do you remember me?”
She said, “Of course. You’re Ryan.”
“Thank God . . . I just wanted everyone else to hear you say that, to prove that I am famous here.”
My friends rolled their eyes and mercilessly bullied me in that loving way, and again I felt a warmth.
Afterward, Elina and I took the M2 tram back to Alexanderplatz. I hugged her good-bye and asked her to text me when she got home (which, as usual, she did not do!). I descended the stairs and caught the U2 back to Schöneberg. En route, I texted Alina and Julia . . .
Sweet dreams!! :,)
via olivetti . . .
I miss my cute friends . . .
(I included one solo photo of me taken by Olivetti because I am my own friend . . .)
I am a patron of the arts . . .
I’m finally going through all the footage I shot in the US over the spring . . . it looks incredible??
For now, here are my two wicked step-sisters and chief haters Cera and Amissa at Griffith Park Observatory in Los Angeles back in April . . . they were both taking a brief break from their hatery of me.
go towards the mirror and pray that you’ll see someone else
. . . this is part of a much longer message I received from my Russian spirit-sister yesterday at two in the morning. It would be sacrilegious to share the rest, such was the specificity of the love contained within. The enormous length of this text, which is a hallmark of its author, was so overwhelmingly kind that I had to look away and read the rest of it when I woke up this afternoon. I was deeply moved by it. Thank you for thinking so highly of me. I really love being your friend too.
(I am doomed, by the way. But it’s OK.)
(P.S. The concept of being Everybody’s Boyfriend is this: 95% of my friends are women. Often I gladly perform the function of being a platonic boyfriend stand-in for them when they do not have a boyfriend. What I mean is that I am the one who goes with them to help pick out an outfit for a wedding (where all my suggestions are immediately shot down (lol)), I am the one they call when they’re sad during their periods, I am the one they ask to stay over when they’re home alone and scared, I am the one who accompanies them to stressful doctor’s appointments, and so on. This is never a burden to me. I like helping and being useful. It gives my life meaning. And of course I love these women more than life itself~)
I have some UPDATES . . . whatever . . .
If you are, for whatever reason, in the Miami metropolitan area this Sunday, go visit my soul sister Katie’s movie night, THE KINOPLEX, which is located at the back of Churchill’s Pub. Katie tells me this place is a Miami institution.
This week she will be screening STONE (1974), an Ozploitation film in which, you guessed it, some Dudes are Done Wrong. This is proto MAD MAX . . . without STONE, there is no MAD MAX. In fact, the Nightrider and the Toecutter from the first MAD MAX are gross-ass biker dudes here. It is no masterpiece, but it rules . . . completely unique, deeply influential, and largely forgotten. It was also Sandy Harbutt’s only film. I love it.
Once a month, I will be remotely hosting Kinoplex under the DUDES DONE WRONG banner. I will select a film in which a Dude is unequivocally Done Wrong. Now with nothing to live for other than settling the score, this Dude pulls him- or herself out of the smoldering ruins of their own would-be annihilation and Does Something about it, which often, though not always, involves a firearm.
Sister Katie has asked me to film a one- or two-minute introduction for each DDW pick to be played just before the feature. I’m filming the first one this week with Elina and Julia. I’ll post it here on Saturday when it’s done . . .
NEXT . . .
I had not updated my SKINCARE ROUTINE PAGE in over three years . . . until today! In the intervening years, I have greatly streamlined it. Now it’s four or five things instead of a bunch of bullshit you really don’t need. It just comes down to washing your face, moisturizing, and wearing SPF 50 . . . and retinol, if you’re into that sort of thing. Everything else is just Fun. If you feel like spending $300 on some serum, go for it. But I wouldn’t recommend it!
AND . . .
I have been threatening to bleach my hair for years. I know it will look absolutely terrible . . . but I felt I had to try it at least once because I wanted to Know. And perhaps it would look so godawful that it would come to eclipse itself and almost look good.
But my fellow dark-headed friends who routinely nuke their hair have warned me: it’s going to feel like hay afterward. This is not so much a problem for me since it would grow out in a month or two and then I can just sheer it off and go back to black. My hair grows insanely fast, don’t you know.
However: at least for now, I have decided that I will bleach a small streak of my hair on the left side of my head ROAD WARRIOR style. Why not? Who cares? Blonde-haired Bex has agreed to do it when I’m in London in a few weeks. Apparently she had the same idea for her own hair, yet inverted . . . she wants a dark streak. She wants a little raccoon tail in the midst of her beautiful blonde hair. This process will be significantly easier for her because she’s going light to dark. Meanwhile, we’re going to have to absolutely blast my dark hair several times to get the blonde streak to show up. Such is my tale . . .
FINALLY . . .
I know everyone was losing sleep over this, but fear not: the Italian Angels group chat is alive and well. Unfortunately for the three other souls who participate in its existence, I filled it with stuff like this today. Why these people tolerate me, I know not. But I never take their seemingly infinite patience for granted.
I suppose soon our group chat will mutate into the Romanian Angels on account of that’s where our next trip will take place . . . we’re all flying to Bucharest and visiting a spa there, and then renting a car and driving to the Carpathian Mountains because of course have to do that. Hopefully we will not be attacked by brown bears and lynxes and wolves, and whatever supernatural presences occupy that ancient part of the world, if such things exist. I reckon there is only one way to find out . . .
My soul is prepared. How’s yours?
