Me Big. You Little.

Desiree Burch is bigger and badder than you. Except when she's smaller and better (with more parentheticals than you can handle).

Thursday, August 18, 2005

My Secret Crush on David Rees

I saw him walking in front of my office yesterday as I was finishing up some errands. I wondered if that's where he had come from. Probably not. I see famous people in and around my building all the time (many more than, I am sure, anyone has actually seen, in real life, in LA). I mean, it is on the 5th Ave. Strip... and I also work on the same floor as a major PR smiley dude... So occasionally Leo DiCaprio walks by, and I wish I were 16 again, and that I had given a shit when I was 16 so that being 16 again would have some empirical value.

I first met David Rees when he came to read at SMUT (which I host at Galapagos, and if you haven't been, you haven't lived I tell ya!) in a suit, and did this amazing bit of quirk on how Lincoln would have been different (and probably gayer, though I don't think he said such, the historical context of that moment implied that everything about Lincoln made him gayer) if given a different hat at an historically crucial moment. It was, in my opinion, what the evening needed. I mean, there is no such thing as Smut without balance. Without something just to get the mind giddy. It was like ginger before the smutty sushi. It was good.

And then he came to do an intern lunch (I had so much to tell you guys about the interns at my office this summer. They were all so weird. So young. and some... so hot. At least for the first two weeks. And then they were around all the time, going... what's wrong with the copy machine? How do I use the postage meter? What are you having for lunch today... blah blah blah. But for a good two weeks there I felt like former First Man Bubba himself... about to get me some of that intern poontang. Only from the boys. The girl interns were cute, but as a rule, I really couldn't be interested in the women in my office. Most of them are short, and consequently, on power trips. Okay, that's not true. It's mostly my boss. But there is this one girl who has been working with us for a while--she started as an intern--and she has the most bangin' ass EVER. And those who know me know my ass envy-turned-lust so you know I mean what i say. Ass of Perfection) like a month or so ago, and he was so hilarious.

He kind of looks like Ben Affleck's skinny cousin, and constantly has this look of being appalled on his face. Kind of a combination of looking at the sun wherever he goes, but mostly just a constant shock and disgust at all of humanity. I know that's not how he feels in his heart... from what I understand of his history, he comes from a family of hmmm... is it Methodist... Quaker.... ministers? I don't know, but he comes from a somewhat progressive religious background. Which is hot right there. So I know that he really does have a candle of idealism flickering in there... But he's got such a no-bullshit attitude. Like a writer for South Park withought being all nutty libertarian. He seemed to be very open with discussing the bullshit of politics while still being a believer in "working with the system" which is always helpful... it's nice when people can instill some realistic hope in "the system." One place where escapism really doesn't work is politics.

Anyway, He just always has that look on his face, like, "what the fuck" only, he's thinking something smarter, I know. Even though, according to him, if he were really doing what he wanted to do, he'd be "eating microwave burritos and watching movies." And even though he is really happily married, and has his eyes on higher, more intellectual prizes than the funny brown girl who digs his style... i dig his style. I dig his awkwardness. I dig him worrying that his stuff wasn't smutty enough for smut. I dig guys who are dirty and don't even know it. They're just them. Being onself is a smutty job.

Check out the cartoons on his site. Well, the cartoons are clip art, but the writing is all his burrito-eating brain. Tell me I'm wrong.


At 1:49 PM, Blogger bam34 said...

Desiree! I go to the Ozarks for one measly week and I return to find you blogging your little heart out. I'm gonna respond soon to your big-ass, incredibly substantive comment on my blog, but for right now...

I'm totally in favor of your resolution in the previous post to start doing things rather than talking about them. Blogging, though, is ostensibly talking about your life (theoretically the two activities have a relationship analagous to that between jogging and talking about jogging). So, to stop blogging is to start living. To stop writing is to start living. What is writing but life turned into an antique? A "feuille morte" (dead leaf), as the French say. Is art the opposite of life?

And, finally, yes your interns are hot. HOT. Who picks them, Naomi Cambell/

At 12:23 PM, Anonymous Nick. said...

I just wanted to recommend you "Get your whore on."


I never knew you were a blogger!

Wait a minute...was that word in ITALICS? You know what that means...that means I'm a BLOGGER TOO.

Albeit a poor one.


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