It Sucks to Be Sober in New Orleans
New Orleans is a land of temptation and sin, and it can be fucking hell if you're a recovering alcoholic.
If you're looking for old Hollywood glamour, my advice would be to stay the hell out of Hollywood, especially on New Year's Eve. It is, to thousands, a perfectly perverse place to drunkenly celebrate the passing of another year.
As a latchkey kid, I suck at sharing, and sharing is the point of Private Party.
One of the oldest animal burial grounds on the West Coast, the Los Angeles Pet Cemetery is filled with nearly a century's worth of dead pets.
Clifton's Cafeteria opened at the peak of the Great Depression, and provided "pay what you wish" meals to those down on their luck. Now, it serves sliders and artisanal cocktails to a rapidly gentrifying Downtown LA.
While others lost everything, I stayed in FEMA-funded hotel rooms and lapped up pity from those who saw my Louisiana license plate. Instead of character, all I got out of Katrina was a party-friendly anecdote.
There is nothing more uncomfortable than feeling as though you are not in complete control of the systems that function within you. You know there is no logical reason for feeling this way. And yet, in spite of it all, you do.
Burnt out on the modern world? Put down your cell phone and go back to a form of entertainment from the 1800s.
I could be attacked when I walk around by myself in the dark. I could be attacked at home, too. So what does it mean to "be safe"?
Guy Branum is one of the funniest comedians I know. He also happens to be gay. I talked with him about the state of gay comedy and the ways queerness plays into his jokes.
You can find examples of true love anywhere, even at a workshop dedicated to teaching older couples paint-by-numbers BDSM.