Pan and Oil Cake

Oil Pan Cake?

Does my mechanic know about this?

I made an oil cake once, but it broke into crumbs because of all the cat hair. And being burnt. And lop-sided. And split. And not using the right ingredients.

She’s pretending to be upset that the landlady just left for three months. And made sure to share that she hugged the poor woman while wearing only underwear after having just took a piss.

The gross-out factor is in full effect.

Forget what you have heard, people on the street LOVE getting ziplock bags full of cake crumbs. It sweetens their day!

*having just taken

Pancake makeup? 🤡

What was so objectionable about the plop thread?

Maybe the articles about the UK landlady which were embedded … 🤷🏻‍♂️

At this point I just want to unimaginatively copy and paste his every post, each more insipid and cringeworthy than the last. What else is there to say? So I'll just report that I'll sleep cozily tonight knowing that he'll be spooning with (and exuding malodorous fumes in) that smelly, unflattering, pretentious, titty-showcasing Joan Didion sweatshirt.

Hey fuckhead…don’t drag Joan through the mud…she was doing DoomLA befire you were a sniveling little shit.

R10 Articulately put, sweetness. I won't hold your reading-comprehension issues against you.

Oh I understood well enough. Your’s was a gratuitous reference…and my reply was in jest. Duh

Oh, dear.

R13 Doom, we're over here

Another thread bites the dust.

We move forward. Unto the light, always.

Every one of his evening posts goes something like

[quote]I see the moon, and the moon sees me, God bless the moon, and God bless me!

It looks like the “Small-town” thread has been nuked. So here we must stay for now.

It’s like a contest to find these threads.

Why do these threads get nuked? Evidently we can all talk about what an asshole we think (PUT ACTUAL FAMOUS PERSON WITH WEALTH AND POWER HERE) is, but Baldy McOilcakes is off limits?

Baldy McOilcakes cares, R20. Elon, Peter et al don't give a shit as their place in the sun does not depend on the opinions of posters here.

Paying 35 "quid" nightly means about $1500 a month for lodging before eating or making oil cakes. Where is the money coming from?

Were I essentially broke in another country, I'd be losing it, too. Still wouldn't go in for as much alliteration, though.

Social Security.

Baldy McOilcakes--I love it, R20!

As a frequent critic of Uncle Manifester (yes, I coined it) I feel that a few things should be treated warily... Don't involve the collateral victims like, say, the landlady or (bless her, she's great) Betsy B. But also ease up with the personal attacks... the teeth, the breath, stuff like that. Don't be a bully. It's just not necessarily. Our grim pillager delivers daily doses of pomposity. He's a public figure, his pretentious posturing is perfectly pukka when it comes to skewering. I think that is why the threads maybe get nuked. Now excuse me, I'm going outside to look for Lucifer, remember abandoned cats, and tell the next passer-by how I once broke my shoulder.

It was nice to see how fat and happy and loved the cats looked. Lord knows that dented cans of Purina Plops would not have gotten them there. It was a blessing, really.

The new tenant's surname is Queen. You can't make this shit up!

R24, I agree. I also think people shouldn't be calling hotels and theaters to complain against him. If they suck at screening their patrons, that's their problem.

This is the end of his latest Shitstack, which is mostly unreadable:

"Living a life of negation - donating or selling off almost everything I ever owned and in my 60’s setting forth anew within a different construct - I am not stepping into a role because there is no longer a role to play or a set on which to play it. I am more fully who I really am. It is all I have left: just the me who no longer needs to stand by my mien. My life is no longer a stunt. It stirs. It soars. It jogs in place. I am the viscera. But it is my soul that has envisioned this. Hey, Schopenhauer: zip it."

Woof!

R28. Wow what a crock. I’ve lost almost everything i own twice. Once in an NYC apartment fire when I was 26 and the other via a shady ex and we won’t go into that now. It’s disconcerting to have nothing around you that you’re used to. Fortunately, not being an asshole or an idiot I had savings, and insurance, as well as friends who were glad to help me with a place to crash for two days while I found my bearings and a new apartment. What’s more normal people sell and donate crap all the time and don’t need to lament about it. Loss is a part of life. And it sounds like he is just realizing this now?

Heavy! Food52 posted a recipe and there must be a thousand comments about it.

There is no filming allowed during live performances. That includes curtain call.

And yet Bav has to impose his filthy self on societal norms and piss all over everything.

R24 R 27 Doll, we can easily see you are the same poster, and I’m not going to explain this to you. You continually complain about what we post here, and here’s what. You are constitutionally unsuited for the Sesshie threads. Everything flies over your head . Nobody called the Savoy, it was an obvious joke.

The majority of us who post know what we’re doing, and if your Henny Penny ass is constantly running around saying the sky is falling.

Go away. Leave us to enjoy the best threads on DL because your dimwitted ass is not capable of it. Read the fucking room.

Don't be an idiot, R32. I was R24 but I'm not R27. I don't continually complain at all, I'm just suggesting why the threads kept getting disappeared.

And R31 -- you're so right. Filming inside the theatre is a tacky know-nothing thing to do.

No. You are supposed to offer a dessert in tact and whole, not greasy crumbs in a plastic baggie.

"My life is no longer a stunt?" Thou sayest!

R33 I'm R31 and I don't want your endorsement.

Intact. Dammit

[quote] There is no filming allowed during live performances. That includes curtain call. And yet Bav has to impose his filthy self on societal norms and piss all over everything.

Phones filming at curtain call have unfortunately become a regular feature at most Broadway and West End shows. He's not alone in that. I am more put off by his sycophantic shrieks and gurgles, and a croaking, wheezing laugh that sounds like Pappy Yoakum. For all his pretensions, he can't hide the Southern hillbilly within. Hilarious when you consider his condescending attitude toward everyone and everything around him when he was at his 1990s height. How appropriate that he has ended up friendless, homeless, loveless and toothless.

When does Miss Magoo fuck off to Morocco or Lichtenstein or Monaco or wherever the hell she claims she's headed next?

Ten months from now. R39 OK, a bit more than that: nine and a half.

A lot could happen in the small town between now and then.

Such a bad writer. Today, as he navel gazes over his time at Juilliard and in Equus (yes, again), he says "my love of theatre is innate within me." Innate already means something that is internal, which makes "within me" unnecessary and redundant.

I am R27 but not R24.

It was, in fact, not an obvious joke.

Today's photos from EQUUS made me throw up in my mouth a little.

Along with the claim that Many Patinkin told him he could "do character roles" - his whole LIFE is a character role!!

*oops* - MANDY, of course...

The pics of his ex-cats are adorable. Glad John is such a good owner.

Why were you so horrid, R32? I've been a happy contributor to this thread for ages. I've snarked, I've pointed out idiocies, I've channeled the ridiculousness of our Pilgrim, I've channeled his voice, I've joked. I've contributed to pointing out the nonsense.

But I've never once complained.... and you made me sad. You'll likely come back with some nastiness. That's the way it goes. But it's hurtful. Just so you know.

I would love to see this thread not go the way of the usual DL infighting. We all have a common target for our ire, our parodies, etc.: let's enjoy that! We have enough resistance coming from our Pill-grim!

"I know I've posted these photos before...."

I actually think he looked quite cute in the old photos.

Leave this house.

Did he blind the horses by singing "Floozies" at them?

(or would that just deaf them?)

R51 Honestly both.

He's always starting over.

R32 doesn't understand that more than one person can dislike the over-the-top gross-out posts, r46. I was dubbed a shrill, femme queen by the ALL CAPS guy, who essentially makes posts about himself and his copycat writing.

So I quit and limited myself strictly to mocking Bav himself.

[quote]I would love to see this thread not go the way of the usual DL infighting. We all have a common target for our ire, our parodies, etc.: let's enjoy that! We have enough resistance coming from our Pill-grim!

R47, talk to r32, the hall monitor.

[quote]Now excuse me, I'm going outside to look for Lucifer

Which is [italic]still[/italic] Jupiter and not Venus/Lucifer aka "The Morning Star"

I’m surprised he hasn’t just made up an entire fictional universe at this point (of which he is, of course, the center).

Can somebody drop a link to Floozies, please?

There are now 4 different threads about the grim pillager. Hahahaha take that DL!

R56 are you a masochist?

Here you are R56

R59 even though that performance is like something at the Dayton Playhouse as opposed to a 'Juilliard' trained actor...it is quite shocking how he went from looking like he did there to the bald, sunken faced, toothless gremlin he is now.

R59 Thank you. His psychosis is on full display here.

No, r61. It's just his bad acting on display (and I think that's a wig, even way back when, r 60).

R60 I hear you, but if I had run into him during that period I would’ve ran in the other direction. Does he look young? Yes. Does he look batshit insane? Also yes.

R63...it's just the LIGHT

No, not crazy at all. Sane as fuck. Merely “acting.”

I think we've found the official flag of Dataloungeland.

The Bav's "mien" is still basically mean girl beneath all the beatific blathering...

Is this recipe from a small town?

Indeed if is, welcome to the light

Correct, R67. She's a nasty cunt and it comes out fast.

The Floozies would most definitely scream "Stinky ugly good for nothing, Stinky ugly good for nothing".

I know that London is not known for having plentiful washer/dryer access because of energy issues. Where is Little Miss Aunt Fester washing her delicates?

He sends them to be scrubbo’d by Ali MacG.

Ali will be bereft that Ryan has passed.

I feel a post coming on from Sissy centered around Ali and Ryan.

Estimate his true annual income. Is he paying for health insurance or?

R76 This is his post on health insurance from May of this year:

"I have discovered that my Medicare through Wellcare by Fidelis Care only covers doctors in NY. Never dawned on me that that would be the case. i originally was on Fidelis through Medicaid - yes i qualified for it in NY - and while there it was the best insurance i ever had after having paid over $1000 a month in California for a platinum Obamacare policy that was also great when i was making just enough money to be above the cusp to be subsidized. I was grateful to be above such a cusp and willing to pay it if it enabled others who needed the subsidies to get them. it also paid for all my last surgery on my prostate and another hospital stay when my kidneys failed when i lived in San Francisco."

He says he qualified for Medicaid in NY. The maximum income for qualifying for Medicaid in NY is $19,392. So let's do the math. He's swanning around London going to multiple live performances a day. He owes something like 40K to the IRS. I would also like to point out how in the quote above he talks about being broke and on the dole and tries to make it sound like he was somehow "paying it forward" to other broke people.

If you're one of the Fraus defending him on Facebook or even worse, here on DL, you're an easy mark. He's a stanky, lying con-artist.

And Medicare, R77, pays nothing for medical care outside the US with one exception and that’s if you’re close to the border, it’s an emergency, and a hospital in Canada or Mexico would be closer than one in the States. Falling down the Metro stairs in Paris doesn’t count.

He’s not as dumb as he might often look or sound: presumably that’s why he left the Paris ER in agony, flew from Paris to JFK in agony and battled shoulder pain through a grueling week in NYC (where he WAS covered) in agony before heading to New Mexico in agony while meeting dozens of other folks along the way who themselves suffered from dislocated shoulders and, eventually, had surgery while Ali McGraw scrubbed his smalls in Santa Fe.

The IRS can and does garnish 15% of one’s Medicare benefits for unpaid taxes. If he was getting $1500 a month from Social Security and they’re collecting the debt that’d take $225 off the top, leaving him less than $1300 a month with which to live and travel and buy spinach plops. That’s not much.

He must have hidden income. None of this makes sense.

The odd $500 article for Appalachia Monthly.

The shitstack is $50 a year. Even if he had 1000 subscribers that's $50k

Does he have 1000 subscribers? That would explain the hidden income.

Does he even have 100 subscribers?

Had he stayed in the Paris hospital, he would have received excellent care and his medical bill would have the price of a couple of deeply discounted seats to the theatre. If you don't have insurance, the billing is minimal under €20 + the same amount per day in hospital overnight fees. If you can't pay, a team of lawyers is not sent to follow you. He might have decided to do the surgery in the U.S. for financial reasons, particularly related to recouperation time that he had already prepaid for his Santa Fe cabin.

Who knows what he gets in Social Security. He may have had an interrupted and uneven salary in his working years, or he may have actually made some money (beyond expense accounts) in his Vanity Fair years (almost certainly the Warhol 'Interview' years paid next to nothing.) In any case we don't know what he makes or what/if the IRS garnishes 15% of his Social Security/Medicare benefits. As I recall, he had to pay an exorbitant U.S. mobile phone bill for long conversations about his tax crisis and there was discussion of arrangements to send them some checks. Presumably he started his wanderings with proceeds from selling off his "art collection" and maybe a little cash in hand still from his salary from Rep. Maloney of "nearly $40,000 during the 10-month gig" ended July 2020. Maybe he gets $2000 a month in Social Security and maybe he loses 15% of that to garnishment; his London and Paris lodgings last year come in at under £1000/month he wrote, leaving him about $800 for egg and spinach plops and tickets he's not able to grift. If he has even100 substack subscribers I'd be surprised; I'm sure he wishes he had half of 1000. He probably gets a pity handout from a few old acquaintances - the better to feel no guilt in not inviting him to stay in the NYC apartments that seem always to be in the process of being painted. His siblings are probably funding some small part of his expenses as well, maybe some of the flights in the U.S.

I think he wrote that his budget was just about doable on a monthly basis. The last American Tour seems certain to have put some stress on that given all the flights to some oddball airports. But really, who fucking cares if he's spending more or less than he has? He's old, he's poor, he's grand, and he's deluded to think that he's some "outside the frame framer of fame" (or whatever the fuck), off course he's not going to want to sit in a Section 8 apartment (for which he may or may not quailfy) and watch soaps all day; he needs to position himself somewhere amidst people with names someone, maybe might recognize. I don't fault him for trying to make his scheme work, I might too were I in his position; it's not as though he should shoot for the stars and try to live to to 100+. Of course he bungles everything, from pah to photos to insurance to nutrition to paying expensive U.S. phone fees while living in Europe. If he had a huge reserve from selling off real estate from his flush with money years, he would fuck that up in short order. It's what he is. It's "innate within him." That's the comedy/tregedy. There's no comedy or tragedy in a 67 year old man who manages his meager income prudently and rarely leaves his house and exercises caution in all things. He wants to insert himself like a bad smell where he doesn't belong, THAT is his thing.

A tale in which our favorite hobo gives another hobo a blueberry muffin and makes it sound like the greatest act of benevolence ever recorded in all of human history:

"Small-town London. I was walking around Islington this evening with a bag from Ottolenghi with some patries inside - a blueberry muffin, a cinnamon bun, an apricot tart, a cranberry tart - and was looking at the lights (Londoners, much more pagan in their rituals, love blue lights at Christmas more than red and green ones) and stopping in shops, strolling through Camden Passage, etc. I was also saying my litany of prayers and acknowledgements and meditations which I do when I take my long walks. When I got to the end when I acknowledge the Light and Pan and Lucifer and The Unseen Seen World and Trees and Nature and ask that my life be about the balance and not the battle, I realized I had walked by a homeless guy who had asked me something that I had ignored in my reverie but that my reverie in that specific moment made me hear in a delayed way, not the specifics but the plea, his own acknowledgement of me. I turned back and asked if he wanted a blueberry muffin. I think I will always remember the look that lit up his eyes in that moment when he said he sure did. I walked on so grateful to be able to pay kindness forward in that moment - an answered prayer within the prayer I was praying - and had this thought: he was a manifestation of the Light and Pan and Lucifer and The Unseen Seen World and Trees and Nature and the reason I had turned back - had heard him a few delayed seconds later - was that all manifestations were melding in that moment just as time does in its simultaneous way in the way I now believe time exists. He and I when we shared that blueberry-muffin look shared being the manifested self of all that is the same. He was me; I was him. And then I looked over to my right when I had that thought and saw this: the star that lets me know that I am here when I know that it is there. It was nestled in this tree, melding, manifesting. I walked on for another block and then stopped and actually chortled a bit. That tree was in the courtyard next to St. Mary's, the Church of England outpost on Upper Street. I have gone from The Upper Room daily devotionals of my Methodist childhood to the Upper Street one tonight in this methodical meditative phase of my life. I have, moreover, more important, finally stepped outside an earlier construct of what devotion is, what a church can be, and have nestled in the tree that is not a tree with the star that is not a star because this self is not a self but a part of the light that is The Light that manifests all else. Onward."

R84 Jesus Christ he is fucking mental. But one sentence of that was true about the homeless guy...where he says "He was me; I was him". Which is undoubtedly true as you're both homeless.

R85 I'm pretty sure he made the whole thing up because if it really happened he would've demanded the homeless guy pose for a pic with him and the fucking muffin.

He really is out of his goddamned mind. The delusions about being "important" are similar to the ones an old friend who became a Born Again Christian nut-job would send in his annual Christmas card news-letter; every stupid minor event in his life was because of "God's will" or "intervention."

As Joe Jackson sang in "TV Age" - You know, the force has got a lot of power But what makes you think it gives a shit about you, who are you anyway

R84 good god…🙄 I’m glad I don’t see those posts ever since he blocked me on Facebook.

All that isolation is making him start to CRACK UP. He gives a homeless guy a muffin and it turns into a schizoid rant.

He should have looked at the homeless guy and visualized his OWN FUTURE.

There’s a prêt near my office and I’ve always been disgusted by the spinach and egg plop. I always wondered who in their right mind would pay for one of those. I guess that mystery continues.

His world has really shunk down to complete insignificance and loneliness thus he fills it with meaningless "meanings". I think he is insane.

R83, I must admit...maybe if I was in his shoes I'd just throw caution to the winds and live as many experiences as I could manage.

What's the point in a section 8 apartment if you can't afford to leave it?

(I am well aware of how foolish his lifestyle is...but if the alternative is unbearable, then what else would one expect him to do?)

R66 lol! I'm way too tempted to have it woven . Funny how he never "happens upon" his Floozies footage to post, sprinkled with blue lights and onwards and Julliard/Rudy and all the rest of the doggerel poesy manifestations.

Lol Doom…someone please make a gif (i can’t, I’m dumb) of his Floozies thing and then leave it in the comment section on all his social media platforms.

Wrong. A subsidized apartment would be cheaper than this hobos temporary lodgings. Also you can shop for and eat wholesome food much more cheaply. Thus more money on your limited budget to get out and about. You have to be willing to develop real reciprocal relationships with the people in your town, and then it would be satisfying life. Libraries and the Internet are filled with the multimedia riches of all history, for free. If you don't get banned for ripping photos out of the books, that is.

R95 Agree 100%. And he would be a train tide away from NYC. And taking the responsible route would be a gift for his siblings who currently have to worry about where his latest antics will land him, and how it will impact their lives.

I can't with the mates and the quid. Shadddap!

Maybe he can tell us about the time he nearly played the part of Eliza Dolittle?

R97 he’s gonna bust out an “innit?” within the next fortnight.

Whenever you guys write “cat hair pah”, I always read it in the voice of Nell.

He is obviously losing his mind and not in the Follies sense, in the actual sense. I do wonder what kind of 'retirement community' he will end up in and how utterly insufferable he will be to the other residents. I mean he already demonstrates signs of dementia by telling the same stories over and over again. Parents died, Interview, cut from herd, Andy Warhol, vanity fair, etc. What will he be like when Dr brother and Whacky Sister are not able to do much to look after him as they are getting older themselves. He's not going to be watching Jeopardy in the day room at Clover Hills all day. Is he still going to be a 'pilgrim' in ten years time? The man is a complete and utter fool. But like a car crash you just cannot look away.

R101

Had he been smart enough to stay in Hudson and take the subsidized apartment, it is (theoretically) possible that he could ACTUALLY WORK (he thinks he has another book in him). But instead, he now hangs out in coffee shops, theater and hotel lobbies and various other odd spots to "work" (even though he is constantly distracted by ogling various baristas and other young men).

Although, now that I think of it, he really didn't do much work while living in his Hudson "loft" - his days were spent making one cat hair pah after another and shoving them into plastic bags to give away. I don't think he went to any meetings either - he certainly doesn't now. He's too busy praying to Bastet the cat god and to Nature and Light and Trees.

And I wouldn't worry too much about Doctor Brother - he has quite the luxe life.

I hope that photo doesn't get this thread nuked!!!

What’s sad is that he longs for a romantic relationship at this point in his life, and who can blame him? Those of us who are in committed relationships have been in them for a long time.

But like most of us (I’m guessing) we are in relationships with our equals in terms of age, accomplishments, and economic circumstances. He’s only attracted to very young men. And what does he bring to the table? He’s elderly, smelly, broke, not hot, and completely insane. Good luck finding a 25 year old Ned who wants to pair up with you, Mister Crazypants.

R104 go away I will Venmo you ten dollars to leave these threads and stop imprinting your dimwit opinions on everything.

I think he made up that entire bullshit about the blueberry muffin just to work in the phrase "answered prayers," hoping even a vague association between him and Truman Capote takes hold in the minds of his dear readers.

R94 With an overlay of a familiar voice bellowing "BRAVAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" from the audience.

He stated he was paying over $2000 a month for his Hudson loft, and that his London and Paris lodgings each were less than half of that.

[quote]Wrong. A subsidized apartment would be cheaper than this hobos temporary lodgings. Also you can shop for and eat wholesome food much more cheaply. Thus more money on your limited budget to get out and about. You have to be willing to develop real reciprocal relationships with the people in your town, and then it would be satisfying life.

Obviously the subsized apartment in Hudson would have been cheaper than his 'loft' of his monthly AirBnB expenses. If I recall it was $600-something a month and he claims to have been approved. I wonder though if his nearly $40,000 congressional salary that last year in Hudson might have upset his application had he reported it.

In any event, the money that spends easiest is the money that's not our own.

Here is the cheapest apartment in Hudson currently listed on Realtor.com: $1450. The choices are more expensive in nearby and less tony Kingston. My point is, if he had stayed in the U.S> and sought a less expensive housing solution (that wasn't subsidized), he would be paying more than he does now in AirBnB expenses. One of the few things I don't fault him for is giving his wandering life a try for as long as he can do it. Whatever his economies or luxuries, itś not as though he's going to save up to buy a lovely little place somewhere, all cash. Itś not as though he ever made good financial decisions. We shouldn't be too very surprised he's not changed his tune at 67 approaching 68.

Not enough to see a show she liked once that she actually paid for, she had to scam a press ticket to Shakespeare Globe's production of Ghosts so she could see it in a better seat. Unlike a number of other London institutional theatres, the Globe is not subsidized. So it's really taking 65 pounds away from a theatre that almost didn't survive the pandemic. And what will they get out of it? "I will be writing about it soon." Oh, sure.

R66 I'm still laughing.

He's off to Tangier, Bitches!!

His diatribe on David Furnish's picture he reposted is one of the most unhinged things he's ever written.

"Because as I get ironically older - and my sense of irony is tempered by a bit more patience that can pass perhaps for wisdom - I realize that we older queers have to do our part in our reaching out and mentoring those younger than us. I see a lot of, yes, attractive guys of all ages from several generations in this photo but what I don't see is objectification and sexualization. "

The old coot spends all of his waking hours leering at much younger men. Mentoring, my ass.

I'm also 100% sure that all those much younger men posing around John and Furnish in that rather weird picture have NEVER been objectified or sexualized.

Probably just a coincidence that all the talented "queer" people that need mentoring happen to be men, men who are gay, young, white, fit, and good-looking.

Also, there doesn't appear to be a computer-literate soul among them. You can see the clipping path in the photo.

R114 And Elton's eyes are closed. Or maybe he's dead.

R113 someone on Instagram asked how he missed an invite to this? I would love to reply - by about 40 years…

... or ask Bav if he is the one TAKING the picture for a change.

I can’t believe you bitches made me track down the referent for plops.

He hit the engagement jackpot with 78 comments so far by just posting the royal family's Christmas card. When you can't get people to read your shitstack, you can get them to call each other dusty pussies and racists in your comments.

Brava, Bav. Brava.

R119, maybe there's a micro-cottage industry in this British Royal Family thing. Now that he calls London home, he's no longer at sixes and sevens with the culture and he's hip to the London beat with his quids and mates, he can arrange tea parties for his Facebook followers visiting London.

First up, a tour of London hotel lobbies where someone famous may once have passed (hurriedly past that leering geezer with the greasy glasses).

Then it's on to Ottolenghi where the ladies are encouraged to buy an Xmas cake, break off a nibble, wrap a crumb in a paper napkin for a homeless person, then put the remaining crumbs in your hosts every ready zip-lock bag for safe keeping.

Finally, form a scrum around your fearless leader and author and mob into the queue (the better that he not be seen by staff with whom there have been "incidents" in the past) at Fortnum & Mason for a famous London tea where you will have the pleasure of treating your host to rather a large meal and see more of those magical ziplock bags appear.

How very degrading. I hope he does it.

One FB follower described him as a "thought leader," which I found hilarious...

And by "thought" they meant "grift."

Actually it's a thought liter, he's down a quart.

They must have meant thought litter because his ideas are garbage.

Now he's threatening to give the housekeeper one of his cat hair oil pahs. Someone on Insta pointed out that she'd probably prefer cash, and he ran over to FB to whine about that to the Fraus. You'd think he'd have learned his lesson in Paris to just leave the housecleaners alone and get out of their way. But no. He has to follow her around yammering about Nicole Scherzinger and point out they're both Filipino. He's so cringe.

The way he phrases this makes me ill. Like he alone is responsible for Divine's fame.

"Small-town London. Monday is new flowers day. And for those wondering what is framed behind the vase, it is a note I got from Divine after putting him on the cover of Interview. A month or two later he was dead. I cherish this note and the memory of making a dream of his come true I didn’t know I had until I got this note."

"Putting him on the cover." Go fuck yourself you delusional meth-head!

I'm puzzled by OG Bavor's comment on his latest post:

Elizabeth Bavor:

"Fun to see the small table lamp STILL there with the shade on it your sister and her wife helped you with last year as the project they both got to tackle for you."

The lamp in question looks like a Noguchi, or since it's Bav-adjacent let's assume it's a Faux-guchi. But are we to believe he's been traveling around with a paper, Japanese lantern since he was with his sister and her wife last summer? I mean, what?

R127 that's our Blanche and her paper lantern

R128 LOL

A rather scathing review... from 1997!

R130 Dang, that is beautiful.

"the Liberace of the word processor."

Woof!

Blanche DuBois always had a Chinese paper lantern handy.

R 130, That WP writer really had our lil pilgrim's number, didn't he? Wonder how much longer it was before Tina Brown cut him from the herd?

Blather Wince Repeat. That's the next thread title.

And everything from that 1997 review is still present in his writing today. If anything it has become even worse.

Wild that he was called out publicly even that far back... and like Trump, he's still got his GAGA base...

DoomLA are you Peter Carlson LOL

R137 I was worried someone would think that! No, unfortunately. Just a manic googler.

I used to be a waitress but I could never toss salads

R130, that is absolutely delicious and spot-on.

Anyone know if Peter Carlson still works for the WaPo? He needs to be made an honorary DLer

“The Liberace of the word processor” — dated reference but perfect description.

It was very apt in 1997.

How soon after that WP review (April 22, 1997) was Bav out at VF?

Graydon Carter took over from Tina in 1992 I believe?

It's nice to know his work is evergreen. Terrible through the ages.

I love how our Nureyev Reincarnated jumped from Tina to.... TINA! (Everything connects!) I also love how Peter Carlson is, of all things, a straight, retired grandfather -- and still hilarious (and insightful).

Is he going to spend Christmas all alone in that big house? He can pontificate about the light and all the other garbage but that's got to be really sad.

Dear Santa

One Needs to GET FUCKED RIGHT NOW (preferably by Ned)

Thanks Bav

He’s going to post about how Christmas is a christofascist holiday and how he prefers the blue light of pagan England and how he never wanted to celebrate it anyway so who cares if he’s alone on a holiday that isn’t worth celebrating to start with.

"My Tate and MoMA look which is a kind of manifestation of an aligned incongruity or an incongruous alignment which is the way I like to live my life: the oddly balanced. Thank you, Kirstie, for the photo and that delicious Americana in that mug. Onward."

Good fucking grief. And it's Americano, you insipid coot.

Apparently making his bed requires displayed books amongst the pillows.

He’s so fucking poor and annoying. I’m an author myself with a couple books that are definitely read within gay circles and I would jump off a bridge if I saw one of them on his fucking bed.

I do wonder why he hasn't thrust himself on Armistead Maupin seen as he lives in London too, in the same way he thrusts himself on Phelim McDermott and Martin Sherman. I would imagine that when he was in Tales of the City in his blink and you'll miss it part he was a total diva and just as insufferable as he is today (possibly even more so) and that's why Armistead has him as persona non grata.

I love how Bav always refers to the date when he had a job and an expense account as his days of 'high cotton' which turned to just days of 'high' and now days of 'high cotton mouth'.

All those bloody books. None of which he reads. James Baldwin....something tells me JB would have detested the Bav.

He's added "cinema" to his faux Brit vocabulary, along with "quid" - SO pretentious!

Wonder will he go full Madonna and start using a British accent....until he meets someone from MissHippy to say 'Shut Yo Mouth'

R156 How do you know he hasn't? I have no doubt that many Brit inflections have wriggled their way into his prattle. I guess we won't know unless he YouTubes himself baking a treacle tart

Another great, well-crafted sentence from our favorite professional writer:

"His columns since October 7th almost read like doing penance for his warmongering after September 11th and his deeply mistaken views cheerleading the Iraqi War based on the need for vengeance at all costs even if strategically and rationally it made no sense and would saddle us with its consequences and be a form of self-administered punishment because those who are the targets of terrorism are always counted on by terrorists in their jujitsu way of thinking of assuming their targets will overreact, not think through decisions, and in so doing use their own weight against themselves ultimately. "

He makes "gifting" these links as big of a deal as giving a half-eaten blueberry muffin to a hobo.

Reading that sentence just made my head explode. It too "rationally... made no sense."

And FFS, I share articles from the NYT all the time with a simple "no paywall on this one" rather than the pompous "I gifted you this." He's such a fucking turd.

In a deep dive, I found a feature from 2018 on our Grim Pillager. It has a biographical detail that I never knew before: when he made the move to Hudson, one of his male Facebook fans guaranteed the money for his "loft."

R160 they can say goodbye to that deposit since he left it in a filthy mess.

R153 I honestly don’t think Armistead is glamorous enough for our Bav. The invite Bav is angling for is from Elton and David. He randomly got invited to one of their parties last year and practically lost his mind over it, and posted proof on all his socials. I suspect Elton and his people saw Bav’s inability to be discreet and took him off the guest list. Also, other party attendees likely complained about Bav’s BO.

I cannot emphasize enough how unreadable his Alan Cumming article for "Mountains" magazine was. Some excerpts:

I was sitting in a parking lot of a McDonald’s outside Asheville, NC, when I got the call from Alan Cumming. If San Francisco and Santa Fe had done mushrooms together, made mad love and decided to keep the rather marvelous child that resulted—that would be Asheville. If Sean Connery and Judy Carne had done so, that would be Cumming—or maybe if Miriam Margolyes and Ian McKellen had—for Cumming is a chameleon nestled rather nicely, thank you, within his being an actor, singer, writer, club owner, television host, world traveler and political activist. Asheville, itself chameleon-like, is nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains and is more smoked salmon these days than its neighboring Smokies yet retains a countercultural 1960s vibe. Think the Catskills skewed more toward Woodstock than Hudson or either of the Chathams, yes, nestled between them. It is imbued, as Cumming is himself, with musicality and artistic endeavors with a whiff of an old hippie about it and the durability of the Dionysian.

“I thought you were going to be at this photoshoot where I am in New York to do this interview,” he told me that day I was waiting in the car in that parking lot with my sister’s wife while my sister was inside the McDonald’s getting herself a Dr Pepper. Cumming wasn’t in any sort of diva-mode—he never unnecessarily is—but was just a bit confused since this is a man who sticks unerringly to an invariably busy schedule. I apologized profusely for any mix-up and explained that I was in the Blue Ridge Mountains having just come from an LGBTQ pride festival in a tiny North Carolina mountain hamlet surprisingly filled with drag queens, some of whom looked a lot like Dolly Parton who grew up a mountain range over, and what appeared to be a gaggle of druids and goddess-celebrating radical faeries rather heroic in their hedonism so freely displayed in such a place, the latter reminding me a bit of Cumming when he’s in his own mountain mode. I told him that. He laughed. And we scheduled a Zoom call the next week when he’d be in his East Village apartment in New York, and I’d be staying at the Mary Heaton Vorse House in Provincetown under the auspices of the Provincetown Arts Society. “I was just in Provincetown last week with Grant,” he said, mentioning his husband, artist Grant Shaffer, before his being called back to the photoshoot.

I tell Cumming that when he called me at the McDonald’s that day down in North Carolina that I was visiting my sister and her wife who live a cocooned nomadic life in an RV much like the RV that he and Miriam Margolyes drove around in the travel show, Lost in Scotland. “If you were driving Miriam around in that RV Upstate in a version called Lost in the Catskills, what would you want to show her?”

R163. All I needed to see was the word imbued.

This is not a hobby. This is my work.

R165 hahaha when she says that. Why the fuck is Billy Crudup giving the likes of Bav the time of day?

" I now live here in London for half of each year,” I say, telling him (Crudup) also about my donating or selling almost everything I own to live life as a pilgrim in small rooms around the world. “‘We shed as we pick up,” I continue, giving him his cue, “‘like travelers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march.’”

What a crock of shit. As if a Tom Stoppard quote just randomly entered the conversation. Crock. Of. Shit.

Don't read the Billy Crudup interview. It is almost masturbatory in it's fawning adulation and bullshit.

Christ on a crutch, that's fucking impenetrable, R63. Brain-hurtingly bad.

His writing, the the writer, is forever caught in the past:

[quote]If Sean Connery and Judy Carne had done so, that would be Cumming—or maybe if Miriam Margolyes and Ian McKellen had—[bold]for Cumming is a chameleon nestled rather nicely, thank you, within his being an actor, singer, writer, club owner, television host, world traveler and political activist.[/bold]

Who alive has given a thought to Judy Carne since her obituary eight years ago? How hard he tries to be hip and dextrous and clever in his references. You can almost smell the charred brain cells. For all the effort, he only to come off as a an old geezer absolutely desperate for attention, a nut job -- and one stuck in the late 1980s-early 1990s, thank you.

Ignoring the brain rot of words, his language is always the tired, campy patois of his Tales of the City dinner party scene, a bunch of old fussy queens trying to one up one another.

[quote] This is not a hobby. This is my work.

Please quit your day job.

I knew the deceased actress Lisa Banes he refers to.

She did not attend the zoom call.

She is here on this thread, cheering us on.

You can make this shit up, but I don't.

R163,when did he write that?

He claims to have shed the life he once had, which was writing about celebrities. Now, he gets free tickets to various shows EVERY night, looking to name drop and rubberneck every chance he gets. He so obviously wants that life back...

Clear your calendars, ladies. Looks like we're in for a real doozie tomorrow:

"It's been a highly Heightened Coincidental afternoon - one thing after another. You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but sometimes the zone I get in does have twilit elements. I'll write about it tomorrow but I have had to contemplate it all for a bit and live in the belief and not the disbelief of it all. "

"I'm special!"

Oh, the disbelief of it all!

Soooooo special!! I wanna Bav some of your attention.

Give it to ME!!

[quote] ... I'll write about it tomorrow but I have had to contemplate it all for a bit and live in the belief and not the disbelief of it all.

Translated: I need some time to conjure up a good tale because I'm not getting enough attention and engagement on my posts.

To think soon he will bespoil the remaining charms of Marrakesh. His "small rooms" on his Hijrah are in fact fetid Turkish Toilets here he shits all over every place and everyone, via the black hole that his typing.

R178 yes his two posts about his interview with Billy Crudup had about ten likes each.

So yes it will be something Uber fantastical (most likely involving the light) and the old 'you can't make this shit up, well you can but I don't'

R174 Maybe it has something to do with the "new friend in front of Old Friends" (oh, the writerly cleverness!) post featuring the bowler-hatted gent in a red plaid cape (?) who has no idea that he's being photographed--let alone that he's a "friend."

R181 I'm sure he walked up to that guy, drooled, sputtered, and said, "You look cool!" I mean, it's a black guy, so his southern, racist brain goes into overdrive thinking about how he can perform not being racist for his elderly fraus, who look at a picture like this and think, "Look at that colored fellow! What will Kevin do?"

I feel so sorry for OG Bav who keeps posting despite the fact that Oily Bav never responds to her. She has repeatedly asked him for his opinion on The Goring Hotel, which I assume OG Bav stayed at when she did the Grand Tour back in the day. She doesn't get the fact that Oily Bav cannot afford to stay at any hotel, and there are only a couple that he intrudes on and takes his picture in the lobby, like St. Martin's Lane. I'm still mad about this because that's where I stay in London and it's expensive as fuck and if I saw this hobo in the lobby I'd have an issue with it.

R182 he does it to pay homage to another insufferable grifter David Roman who puts up with the Bav

“Twilit” sounds the metal piece holding her diaper taut.

Twit-lit is where Bav's books are shelved at the bookstore.

ChatGPT on the Cumming article

1. **Introduction and Setting:** The article begins with the author receiving a call from Alan Cumming in a McDonald's parking lot outside Asheville, NC, and introduces the unique character of Asheville as a blend of San Francisco, Santa Fe, and a countercultural vibe.

2. **Alan Cumming's Versatility:** Cumming is described as a chameleon, being an actor, singer, writer, club owner, TV host, world traveler, and political activist.

3. **Description of Asheville:** Asheville is portrayed as a chameleon-like city nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, embodying a 1960s countercultural vibe with a touch of musicality and artistic endeavors.

4. **Zoom Call and Personal Anecdotes:** The article recounts a Zoom call between the author and Cumming, discussing a LGBTQ pride festival in North Carolina and Cumming's connections to Provincetown. Cumming's versatility and his and his husband's privacy in the Catskills are highlighted.

5. **Alan Cumming's Catskills Retreat:** Cumming's Catskills retreat is described as a sanctuary, resembling his Scottish childhood terrain. The author emphasizes Cumming's efforts to provide privacy for friends while adding childlike elements to the place, such as a tree house.

6. **Impact of the Pandemic:** Cumming reflects on the life-changing impact of the pandemic, spending more time Upstate with his husband and considering taking more time off. The Catskills property holds sentimental value for both Cumming and his husband.

7. **Cumming's Evolving Relationship with Nature:** Despite rejecting his childhood connections to nature, Cumming has grown to appreciate and love the bucolic aspects of the countryside, finding solace and privacy in his Catskills retreat.

8. **Personal Growth:** The article suggests that Cumming's life experiences, including surviving a violent childhood, have shaped him into a person who combines adult understanding with a boyish, open, and adventurous spirit.

9. **Fame in the Catskills:** Cumming acknowledges feeling famous in the Catskills but emphasizes that he goes there not to seek fame but to enjoy a more private and gentle atmosphere. The western Catskills are described as a place where he can maintain a lower profile compared to other locations like Hudson.

10. **Conclusion:** The narrative concludes by capturing the essence of Cumming's journey, emphasizing the sanctuary he has created in the Catskills as a reflection of his multifaceted life and personal evolution.

ChatGPT RE Crudup:

1. Detailed conversation with Billy Crudup about his role in David Cale's play "Harry Clarke."

2. Focus on the challenges and rewards of performing in a one-person show.

3. Exploration of the collaborative dynamics in theater, particularly in the context of a solo performance.

4. Exploration delving into deeper aspects of the one-person show experience.

5. Exploration of themes within "Harry Clarke," including addiction, and reflections on roles in "Harry Clarke" and "The Morning Show."

6. Broader discussion on topics like capitalism, theater funding, and a heartfelt tribute to the late actress Lisa Banes.

David Cale’s one-person multi-character play Harry Clarke, directed by Leigh Silverman and starring Billy Crudup in a tour-de-force performance, has been revived for a sold-out run at Berkeley Rep seven years after its hit runs in New York at both the Vineyard Theatre and off-Broadway at the Minetta Lane.  It is scheduled to close on December 23th. Crudup and Cale and Silverman are revisiting this play and the wild “abouts” of Harry, delving even more deeply into the character and his narratives that unfold like an origami of gaslighting and impulse and a natty, nattering self-awareness seemingly without enough mindful knowledge of the self - even if it is finally about healing that ur-self by streaming it into the many selves it takes to do so. It all leaves us - well, it left me when I saw it a few times back in 2017 - with this question: Is sociopathy really just neediness italicized?

Harry Clarke is a kind of The Talented Mr. Ripley-Believe-It-Or-Not told in Cale’s seductively circuitous way with words.  It is the story of Philip Brugglestein whose Illinois sissy childhood is one fractured emotionally but one he survives by creating a Cockney character for himself that later morphs into the insouciant Harry Clarke when he moves to New York City and into the wealthy bohemian orbit of those who are charmed by Harry’s insouciance  – as is Philip himself.  The fractured childhood gives way to a refracted adulthood that is itself mirrored in Cale’s play as Crudup as Philip and Harry are both seen through the finely wrought other characters Crudup portrays in the play with which they intersect.  Because of Crudup’s genius as an actor - that both exalted yet creepy credibility of the indelible that all great actors possess in their artistic makeups that manifest in the made-up - it is that emotional intersection that is so dizzyingly dramatic as well as keenly delineated with a kind of diabolical precision.  It is a funhouse mirror of a play and a performance that is profoundly, disturbingly felt even as it is displayed with such a lightly deft touch.  It is mesmerizing to behold as we are confronted with questions of the mutability of character (not just characterizations), the mutability of sexuality, and even the mutability of morality itself. “Watching Billy alone onstage is like watching a dazzling, emotional magic show,” David Cale messaged me when I asked him what it is like to witness this revival of his work in Berkeley. “I’ve never seen an actor do what Billy can do. He’s continuously astonishing. He takes my writing - and Philip’s story - to a place I’d never dreamt it could go.” Me? I’d love to see Crudup as George in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, maybe with his former wife Mary-Louise Parker with whom he has a 19-year-old son, William Atticus. In his 60s, he’ll have a great Willy Loman in him and a magnificent James Tyrone. In his 70s: Lear.

Crudup and I talked on Zoom earlier this week on the day it was announced he had received a Golden Globe nomination for his role as Cory Ellison on AppleTV’s The Morning Show. The Globes are, shall we say, rather problematic and I have always been bemused by the performative seriousness with which those in the audience take them when they are being given out - so I got my bemused congratulations out of the way early in the video call. “You get three kinds of calls to congratulate you,” he says of the nomination. “You get calls from people on the show. You get calls from your agents. And you get calls from people you knew in high school. People from the show know it will be good for publicity. My agents know they can use it for a kind of chit if they want to. And my high school friends think it’s something important.”

“You’ve just accepted my congratulations with a kind of grateful wit,” I tell him. “I hope you get to be gratefully witty on the night of the show at having won the award for your work on The Morning Show.” Crudup is more grateful, however, to talk about theatre. So why did he return to Harry Clarke? Was it, in fact, being a part of episodic television with The Morning Show and another AppleTV series, Hello, Tomorrow! so they engendered a need for some more episodes within him of Harry, a title character who lives a rather episodic life? “I wish I had a better answer other than somebody asked,” he says, mentioning his friend, Berkeley Rep’s Artistic Director, Johanna Pfaelzer. “Her idea was to do the play at Berkeley for five weeks and then partner with someone in London to do it there.” “Wow. I sure hope it comes here,” I tell him. “I now live here in London for half of each year,” I say, telling him also about my donating or selling almost everything I own to live life as a pilgrim in small rooms around the world. “‘We shed as we pick up,” I continue, giving him his cue, “‘like travelers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march.’” “Ahh .. the great Septimus speech,” he says, picking it up, that cue I let fall. Indeed, the first time I saw Crudup on a stage was in 1995 when he played the role of the young tutor Septimus Hodge in Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theatre and then in Bus Stop the next year at Circle in the Square in which he played Bo Decker. I have followed his career ever since, including the revival of Arcadia on Broadway in 2011 in which he played an older character, literary critic Bernard Nightingale. Billy Crudup is not only a great stage actor but he is even a fellow theatre nerd who loves talking about all aspects of the theatre - as well, as it turns out, living life as a simple pilgrim. “I love it,” he says of my choice to live this way. “I confess I have a bit of that ascetic streak in me. I like having things as spare as possible. I like the experiential mandate of life. This journey that you’re taking sounds rather enticing. To go into the theatre each night is a job right now, but when I’m not doing it I dream of it. So …” “I think of you, Billy, each time I go into the National Theatre here in London to see a play or sit at a cafe table and write for hours. I remember you telling me once that it is like a temple to you.” “It is, Kevin,” he confirms. “It’s a temple. My wife and I were there recently,” he says, mentioning Naomi Watts whom he married earlier this year, “and we saw The Motive and the Cue. It’s opening on the West End. You will adore it when you see it as someone who adores the theatre. It is simply a love song to theatre and the craft of making it,” he says of the play that is about John Gielgud having directed Richard Burton in Hamlet on Broadway in 1964. “It’s really beautifully done. We saw it when it was at the National and I could have just sat there for hours in the bar area or the cafe or the bookstore.” “I just saw Infinite Life at the National. It has the same cast that was at the Atlantic in New York. It’s an Annie Baker play about a Northern California health spa where people in different stages of chronic pain for different reasons go to fast,” I tell him, knowing that as a fellow theatre nerd he’ll take that cue, too. “Annie Baker is the future of theatre as far as I’m concerned,” he says. “I was trying to explain to British friends what it was like to see this American cast take the curtain call the other night and the looks of astonished gratitude that they all had at taking the call at the National in London,” I tell him. “It moved me on a whole other level after the play had already moved me so deeply on its own levels. They were themselves so moved to be experiencing a curtain call at the National. I could see it in them.”

“I am getting chills thinking about it,” Billy says quietly. “People who are drawn to Annie Baker’s work are people who adore the theatre. She creates theatrical craft at a high level. You have to be ingenious, willing, committed to taking a part in one of her plays because she asks a lot of the actors in the complexity of her work.” “It’s almost as if she strips things down narratively in the way that director Jamie Lloyd strips down things visually and then they each conjure from that a heightened theatricality. It is alchemical in its way, not just theatrical,” I offer. “I’d love to see him direct one of her plays. I saw his own revival of The Effect by Lucy Prebble at the National which is coming to New York to be done at The Shed. Don’t miss it.”

“I remember when I first saw Baker’s Circle Mirror Transformation and The Flick, the sentence that formed in my mind was that she has created the theatre of the banal,” says Billy. “What she has uncorked is what is most rich and dramatic in the simplest of human experience. To me that is such a gorgeous enterprise. Pinter did it in a very arch way; he did it with sparsity of language. She does it with people seemingly going about these mundane experiences. I adore her work. I do wonder what her process is like. I certainly hope to find out someday … You go too long without doing a play and your muscles begin to atrophy and your interests in performing onstage pale in relation to the anxiety that intensifies because your muscles have atrophied. It has always been on my agenda to return to the theatre - yearly if possible because I did do it yearly for many years. Unfortunately, it is David Cale’s fault because Jennifer Aniston and her producing partners came to see Harry Clarke in New York and that’s why I got The Morning Show which has kept me very busy and then that got me Hello, Tomorrow!. Basically three years went by which was filled with work.”

At the end of our conversation the other day, you will read below that I invoked the name of our friend, Lisa Banes, with whom Billy starred in that initial New York production of Arcadia and with whom I attended Juilliard in the 1970s. Lisa was killed in a freak accident during the summer of 2021 when someone on an electric scooter ran her over and caused her to hit her head on the curb on a corner between where Billy starred with her at Lincoln Center and I went to school with her at Juilliard. She was both a singular actor and a special person. I watched Billy’s eyes well up with tears along with mine as we talked about dear Lisa. We both felt her presence Zooming from wherever she is now to join us in our conversation in a kind of melding that can occur when one is aware of time’s simultaneity itself which is at the heart, come to think of it, of Arcadia, that counterpoint of existence that can also be felt when those who are dead are divined still in our midst. Time can divine itself if one no longer believes in its being linear but part of the realms revolving around and within each other in … well .. real time. It, that concept of time being parallel realms, was one of the many gloriously challenging aspects of that particular Stoppard play churning with so much wit and wonder. Seven years ago, Crudup talked to me with wit and wonder himself about portraying Harry Clarke and the art of acting. I, like time, revisit some of that conversation because it has proved to be both timely and timeless.

Combining our two conversations that did not, for the sake of the temporal Stoppardian simultaneity theorem, take place in the past and the present, but finally and forever all at once is not only a homage to that dramatic device which Stoppard employed in Arcadia - which Billy also revisited when he returned to it to play another character in its narrative about “first love, Newtonian physics, hustling pedants, landscape gardening, sexual infidelity, class, the mathematics of deterministic chaos, manners” - but also an homage to Lisa’s affect that still lingers so effectively that it can assert itself still with that grace with which she imbued so much when she was conjured in the physical sphere. And isn’t that what Billy Crudup’s own divine grace as an artist is all about: conjuring in the physical sphere based on a soul-level simultaneity.

QUESTION ONE You have a history with Berkeley Rep. You did Pinter’s No Man’s Land there with Ian McKellen as Spooner and Patrick Stewart as Hirst.  You played Hirst’s menacing secretary. I’d always wanted to work at Berkeley Rep.  It’s such a great theatre and a great town for supporting art – the whole Bay Area is. Those audiences were really attuned to Pinter’s art – which is not the easiest.   They were so smart.

Once that production made it Broadway it was paired in repertory with Beckett’s Waiting for Godot in which you played the slave Lucky who has no lines until he has the one that has 700 words in a nonsensical sentence. How did Pinter and Beckett inform your work in Cale’s Harry Clarke?   In that sense, I’d say that textually they are very similar parts in so far as the writing leaves a great deal to your interpretation and to the interpretation of the production.  One of the great things about playing Pinter is that he gives you so many opportunities to explore your point of view about how these people are relating and what the event actually is.  And with that Lucky monologue, it is up to you as the actor to find where that stream of consciousness comes from.  Beckett doesn’t give you a lot of hints about that kind of eruption coming from someone  who has been that accommodating for all of the play.  To that end, both Pinter and Beckett are quite cerebral in trying to understand them.  One of the things we tried to do with Lucky was  a kind of physicalized journey of oppression.  We wanted to see how far we could take someone being beaten down.  We wanted the audience at a certain point to really recoil from the appearance of Lucky.  Because I think that is one of the things that Beckett is after and that is that you oppress people and then you discard them because you can’t view  the oppression. Sort of like God Himself or Herself. There you go.  Exactly. Or maybe it is God Themselves since I think God must be gender-fluid. Yes, God could be many incarnations.

The interesting thing about doing those parts, even though they were supporting ones, was that it was such a grueling schedule.  I think we were all together for nine months between Berkeley and then pairing the Pinter with Godot on Broadway.  I was tired enough from it all that I didn’t even approach any theatre material for a while.  And I usually get pretty itchy after a year.   And three years had passed before I took this on [in 2017].  So what happened by taking that much time off from the stage, it left me really hungry.  When I was sent this script for Harry Clarke my first response was of-course-not; this seemed like a ludicrous idea.  But then whatever that engine is that keeps drawing me back to the theatre got activated. This was a singular opportunity. The Pinter and Beckett repertory experience was so much about being in a company of actors and sharing the space with them.  To go from that to this as your next theatrical outing must have been extra daunting.   There is always a collaboration with a director and a playwright in any rehearsal process but in a one-person show there is a sense of having to channel that collaboration in ways that do not come into play with a cast filled with other actors.  It is almost as if the audience each night by default becomes your scene partner. There’s no question.  The audience is one hundred percent my scene partner.  Leigh Silverman articulated that early on very clearly.   I didn’t quite understand it as a theatrical event – what a one-person show is.  The people who write and perform them almost universally take that for granted.  You ask them who the audience is and they say they are the people who come to the theatre to see it tonight.  That is not how I think of acting.  I don’t think of my character as being at the Vineyard Theatre or the Minetta Lane [or at Berkeley Rep].  So where is he?   And who is he talking to?  This became a central part of our collaboration.  Add to that, that David’s writing in this particular setting is not only narration and storytelling but then scenes erupt which imply that they could be rendered and you could actually play both sides of them.  On top of that, the narrator then changes and alters his persona to the audience.  All of that is quite a complex theatrical vocabulary so if you don’t have an agreement with your director and your playwright then there is just no way to approach it.   Truthfully, what I’m doing up there is I am interpreting Leigh’s idea of David’s work.   We all kind of triangulated trying to understand what the work is.

QUESTION TWO In keeping with the doubling theme of the play and Harry being Philip and Philip being Harry, are you the real Billy here with me today or the Billy who presents himself as “Billy” to do this kind of thing? Most of the actors I know leave their Harrys at work.  And yet talking to me is part of your work, if not your art. You know, I enjoy talking about acting and the theatre and the creation of art and I don’t think of conversations like this as work.   I do think of press junkets when you sit in the same place and someone comes in every two minutes and asks you the same questions – that’s hardcore work.  Because all they want is something click-y they can blast out.  But when you’re sitting here talking to someone who is interested in the theatre and the process, those are things that are very close to me so I don’t have to muster up any kind of special energy.  This is what I talk about with my friends all the time anyway.  We are invested in this art form and have been for a long time now.  And also we’re all arriving at different points in our lives now.  We are no longer the young ones coming up.   The renegades. I’m in the veteran phase now.  Older parts are beginning to come up.  And you do begin to think of yourself differently.  But we had this instilled in us early at NYU by Ron Van Lieu and other acting teachers there – if you don’t have some sort of self-awareness of your instrument, meaning your mind and your body and your voice, you’re not going to be able to modulate your career over a long period of time.  If you’re stuck in the same idea then you’re going to be stuck in the same kind of work.  If you want to evolve – and the people I always admired did do that – then that seemed like something to aspire to.

QUESTION THREE I love John Keats.  I was trying to remember a line of his “Eve of St. Agnes” which kind of describes the use of music in Harry Clarke.    So I Googled the poem and found it: “the music, yearning like a God in pain.”  That’s what the music in David’s play reminded me of.  But when I found the poem online, I also found some stain glass images of St. Agnes that were done by an artist named – ready? – Harry Clarke. That.  Is.  Un.  Real.  Wow.  “Everything connects” is one of my mantras. I call that getting in the research zone, as well, when I am preparing for one of these conversations just as actors and artists have to find a zone when they are working.  How did you find the zone for this role and this production since there are just so many words to keep in your head and in the right order - how does it not come out like Lucky’s squawking, “quaquauquaquaqua …” in Waiting for Godot? This play requires something different.  My typical trajectory of attacking a piece a material for the theatre is comprehension first, collaboration, physical preparation, and then the execution is when you forget things and just allow it to happen.  The reason you can do that is that you are collaborating with other people in real time and the audience typically defines the level of immediacy so that you want to participate in something that feels alive even though you’ve already collaborated on everything very precisely.  With this – because Leigh and I envisioned it and David has written it as a thriller that has a certain kind of cinematic conformance  – there is a driving force that stays ahead of the audience just enough that keeps them anticipating what is going to happen.  Because of that I have to stay on top of it and I can’t let go.  It’s a different kind of experience.  Usually my experience on the stage is about relaxation – relax your expectations of yourself, relax the expectations of the audience – and play moment-to-moment.  With this, when I am standing backstage waiting to go on all I am thinking is that Philip has an 80-minute story to tell and he has to tell every single bit of it.  When I get offstage each night I’m so mentally exhausted by what I’ve just done that I go home and I will just sit and stare at my silverware drawer and go, okay, I know one is a fork and one is spoon but, fuck it,  I’ll just use my hands.  I’m a recovering addict.  There is the subplot in  the play about drug addiction - but on another level Philip is addicted to being Harry.  No question.  You know the play is a memory play.  So he’s recovered from this stage of his life whatever it was and he’s sharing it with others There is something called a qualification in recovery when someone gets up in  front of a room and shares the experience, strength and hope of their story.  And there were moments of watching this play when I thought, shit, this is like listening to a really great qualification.

Usually – most frequently – I come out of the theatre with this play, put my hat on, and run home.  Usually because I am filled with an overwhelming sense of shame.   I have a friend in recovery who said what I was feeling was share-shame which some people can get after they share in a recovery meeting and then recoil from having exposed so much.  I feel that having performed this some nights.   But I think Philip feels it too because although he feels gratified that he’s gotten it all off his chest he’s also feeling a little bit lost.   Even though this was his mission of how he navigated through his adult life and it is thrilling, hilarious, and horrifying.    But one of the main things I responded to from David’s point of view as the playwright was his sense of the humane.  David has a vision – a wide-field view – of what is humane and what is comprehensible. I guess I tend to share that point of view.  And I try very much to walk the edge of letting the audience be seduced by the behavior and understand the need and the desire to connect.  When Philip says that he suddenly felt as if he were on a ride and he couldn’t get off, you don’t want the audience to go, shame on you.  QUESTION FOUR Are there any aspects of Harry and Philip in Corey - or vice versa? Cory Ellison in The Morning Show is one of the great television characters. Your take on him is almost jazz-like. That’s its feel to me. There is a contrapuntal pulse to it. I would say of Harry that he occupies a creative and a humanely realized id - if there can be such a thing as a humanely realized id. He doesn’t have a concept of forethought. He doesn’t have a concept of afterthought. He lives in the present. He lives as a vital engine. Cory, on the other hand, is looking around walls. He’s walking down a corridor and he’s imagining what he’s seeing and imagining people coming up behind him with knives. He’s always on-the-ready. So this is a person who’s interested in consciously manipulating the situation for his own self-sense of satisfaction, his own sense of pride and ego, and also his joy for being a part of this weird, wicked game of entertainment and news and broadcasting. Harry, I think, might participate with the same kind of infectious joy - those two things are similar between them - because they both revel in the opportunity they have at navigating their way through rather complicated lives. That’s an unusual trait. Most of us - like myself - are really often plagued by the experience of living. You know: things are hard. You carry baggage. You have to walk over broken glass. The travel is not always easy. It’s compounded when you’re a parent - that’s for sure. The kind of joy I get from playing Harry and Cory … well, not this last season in particular for Cory. I was begging the writers, no, there’s so much pressure for him. I like him having fun.

I’ll tell you in a very real sense what makes me flinch is the growing apathy toward theatre in America. It’s been long-growing since the NEA became so defunded. You must have a National Endowment for the Arts in order to create plays. Plays are something that take a lot longer to curate than a film script or television script. Those can be modulated while you’re doing them and it can also be recreated in postproduction. When you arrive at the theatre you must have a play that is your idea and you have to execute it. That takes some time. In order to do that, you have to go through some shitty versions of it. The fact that we were able to preview Harry and open it in New York initially was shocking. Most of all, because the first week I was terrible. I couldn’t keep anything straight. The show runs an hour and 18, 19 minutes usually. There was one show when I came offstage and it had been 50 minutes because I forgot half an hour of the script.

I’ve only booked half an hour on Zoom and I wanted to talk about your breathtaking scenes with the brilliant Lindsay Duncan, who plays Cory’s political macher mother, this past season on The Morning Show and your own mother having worked in advertising for local politicians in Dallas and your father, whom she married and divorced twice, being a kind of salesman hustler which might just be elements in both your roles as Cory and as Jack in Hello, Tomorrow!. But I want to get this in before we say goodbye, Billy. This is more important to me. I want to invoke the name of Lisa Banes. I loved her and I know she meant the world to you, too. She was in my Group - Group VIII - at Juilliard’s Drama Division. We were accepted on the same day after being in the same herd to audition. And she was in Arcadia with you 20 years later across the way at Lincoln Center. This is another “everything connects” moment. Let’s end with our love of Lisa. I say her name every morning in my litany of prayers and meditations when I get to a list of people who have died and whom I daily want to remember. I said her name this morning. Life can change in a second. She was a very special person. A remarkable woman. Let’s say her name: Lisa Banes.

Kevin, I could not agree more. Lisa Banes. She was one of my favorite people in the world. We stayed in touch superficially throughout the years and every time we encountered each other was an absolute love fest. It’s incredible you were accepted the same day to Juilliard. As I’m still a New Yorker, I confess when I’m walking down the street - and this is a daily experience - and I see those motherfuckers on those electric scooters I have this protective instinct for her spirit to strangle all of them. I invoke her spirit, too. I was just with Jennie Dundas [whom he tutored in the 1995 production of Arcadia in which she played 13-year-old Thomasina Coverly]. We wasted no time in celebrating Lisa.

Thank you for doing this, Billy. I know it was basically a favor. It was really kind of you to make the time. It’s been a pleasure, Kevin.

Easier to read archived copy

Insufferable. Is there anything worse than an untalented outsider who yearns for talent and insider status?

His posts today about Luca the barista and Lucifer and the blue light and the actor from Sunset Boulevard. He is fucking DEMENTED.

The Untalented Mr. Rip-off

"So, Billy...how did it feel to leave your seven months pregnant girlfriend for Claire Danes?" "And what's it like to pay child support?"

"And then we talked about Christmas and how I hate how trees are slaughtered to celebrate it even though it is noticeably more of a pagan holiday here in London. "I think of trees as sentient beings," I said. "They are rooted in their sentience. Christmas makes me sad in that regard, how we slaughter trees."

LOL.

Trees are sentient beings. Lucifer. The blue light imbued.

He shouldn't be spending Christmas in London he should be spending it in Bellevue.

R206, where are the elegies for furniture, hardwood floors, and the paper in his precious books? Think of the sentient beings slaughtered for these luxuries!

#woodismurder

Trees may or not be sentient. Sessh is incontinent.

He was so excited to get a selfie with David Thaxton, after his 30th time seeing SUNSET BOULEVARD, that he actually forgot for a second and PARTED HIS LIPS just a bit - if you look closely you can see just a bit of meth mouth teeth - (shudder)....

He’s also taking credit for boosting the popularity of Sunset Boulevard vis his methed out £30 quid fawning on Facebook. What an insufferable cunt!

R204 I love that for a future thread title.

“ They invited me to the opening tonight of their newest production, You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, directed and choreographed by Amanda Noar with musical direction by Harry Style.”

Harry Style.

R212 haha to be fair to Bav that wasn't a typo. Poor Harry Style....

R213 I had a feeling it wasn’t! But the Fraus (at least the ones under 85) will think it’s that little feminine fellow they keep hearing about, and thank Sesshie for keeping them up on all the latest trends.

Side note: Bav’s recent references to Lucifer are troubling. If you read his second book, I Plopped It On The Mountain, he describes his late-stage meth binges as hallucinatory episodes in which he engages with Lucifer. It appears we are back in that mode now.

If he types "quid" one more time I'm going to punch out that one remaining loose brown tooth.

I hate that he thinks his take on theatre has any value. It doesn’t. He’s just a bloviating floozy spewing word salad.

R216 Sorry, buyt since you said floozy I just had to post this again…

The Hillbilly Nureyev!!

Mississippi Missus Magoo.

Does he bathe before networking with creatives who give him free tickets? Surely he wouldn’t assault them with the unwashed funk of 40 thousand years.

Perhaps this holiday will see him in hospital, taken there by lorry.

After being hit by one, whilst crossing to his bedsit in Such & Such Street.

I just needed to interject here that the title of this thread is hilarious.

That creepy, crooked grin... against people a head taller than The Petite Pilgrim...

R223 many of the thread titles have been great. My favourite was 'Everything Connects...except my shoulder'

What's with parking those hideous glasses next to every plate of slop be puts together?

He was probably reading the contents of the cookie bag. But he probably will call them “biscuits” soon. Anyway, I understand taking the glasses off to read.

Speaking of plates of slop -- I wonder if he eats the slop, plop and flop because it's hard to chew anything of substance due to meth mouth.

I thought he was spending a "rare night at home," but all of a sudden he's " Walking back to Kilburn tonight from Hampstead Theatre and acknowledging the Chanukkah menorah,,."

Acknowledge my ass you fucking weirdo.

ChatGPT:

In a London coffee spot, Luca and Sofia revealed a mystical connection, discussing names and spirituality. A visit to the National Portrait Gallery evoked spiritual musings and a connection to historical daguerreotypes. The day continued with a stroll, contemplations of Sunset Blvd., and a serendipitous encounter with David Thaxton. A surreal day unfolded where everything connected, aligning in a series of meaningful moments. Onward...

R225 Another award-winner indeed.

Oh our intrepid voyager is off to Santa Fe again next year. Ali clear your calendar.

Will he get the same attention this winter without a "shattered" shoulder to use as a way in?

"Small-town London. Sunday afternoon baking. Making a cake so I can take some pieces to a few of the talented young people who used to work at the Theatre Cafe on St. Martin's Lane before it closed. I'd always love to see their smiles when I'd bring them pieces of my orange olive oil cakes. They invited me to hear them in a concert at the The Old Church in Stoke Newington somewhere in Hackney. It's a Christmas concert for City Harvest, a charity that feeds the homeless in London. Got to disembark at the Manor House tube station on the Piccadilly Line a bit early to reconnoiter the route there since although I have it mapped out, I always get lost which I have come to call "exploring a new neighborhood in London." I don't panic anymore but I do have to arrive early to build in my being lost on my way there. It will be lovely to see "the kids." I've missed them."

I'm sure they cannot wait to see you Fester. Are they named Pugsley and Wednesday by any chance?

This twat can’t use Google maps or a subway app. Tragic.

It’s apt that he’s attending an event that benefits a homeless charity. Maybe “the kids” want to put him in touch with them.

When Kathy Hilton said she had worked with the homeless and with the toothless...did she mean Bav?

His Air Bnb rent was kept low because there was a "no cooking" clause. Poor Landlady was barely out of sight before he started stinking up the place cooking his salmon and garlic plops, and now baking cat hair pahs every other day, using HER oven, HER bakeware, HER dishes, HER olive oil, HER spices, utensils, etc. If she is following his ridiculous FB posts she should tell him to keep the FUCK out of HER kitchen!!

I can't imagine taking people "pieces of cake". Just give them the whole cake. Otherwise it's just a crumbled mess in a Ziploc.

For just a few quid, he could invest in a muffin or cupcake tin and make the pah in it. More civilized and less gross to distribute. But then the recipients might not be as delighted as they are with the crumbles in a Baggie.

Who takes pieces of food in a ziploc baggie from a stranger?

R241, anyone who wants to keep the encounter mercifully brief, that's who. Jolly him along, make excuses, move on swiftly.

"Oh, how [italic]delightful![/italic] So thoughtful! I shall save this for a special dessert after my dinner at home tonight! Oh, no, I couldn't eat it now. I never eat sweets at midday!"

I thought he was forbidden by the landlady to use the kitchen and her utensils. Now he’s in there everyday AND posting about it. The landlady is also one of his followers. I think he won’t be invited back after this year.

Poor Pan has not come out of his room yet.

Offering crumbs to strangers infuriates me. Why bother?

He made his own salmon plop.

R243, can you imagine the state of the utensils, pots, pans, baking tins, etc, after he's finished with them? Gauges in the nonstick cookware; strange dents so nothing sits even any more; uncleanable black scorches; a viscous coating of oil (?) all over everything.

I hope the landlady is enjoying her Costa Del Sol vacation because she'll be jarred back to reality the moment she sets down at Heathrow.

Now posing a WATCH next to the product instead of the hideous glasses...

" I'd always love to see their smiles when I'd bring them pieces of my orange olive oil cakes."

He's just fucking with us at this point.

Those aren't smiles - those are grimaces of pity as they look for the closest trash can to toss them in...

Remember when he used to film himself baking them and blend in some bullshit anecdote about interviewing someone for VF and then would name the cake after the celebrity. He was desperate to get 1000 subscribers so that he could monetise the videos. Another attempt at Grift that failed. The videos are still up though if anyone wants to hear him smack his lips for half an hour talking about pah.

He got lost again and he’s getting worked up over the commuters trying to explain Google Maps to him.

It really really is not that easy to get lost in London. Especially when you have CityMapper or Google Maps. I really cannot understand how he doesn't see the blue dot (he can see all the blue light but not the blue dot telling him he's going the wrong way). A total fucking idiot. And yet he calls himself a 'Londoner'.

Since the Light is always with him, you'd think it would help Our Little Bav navigate better. But no.

If he could afford a car, we’d be hearing incessantly about the storage volume of its boot or the unreliable inner workings beneath its bonnet.

R254 he would not be able to afford to drive in London with the £10 congestion charge and £10 ULEZ charge before you even put a 'quid' of gas in the tank.

R255 *£15 congestion charge and *£12.50 ULEZ charge

Quid. Haha. It reminds me of Natalie Portman asking Julia Roberts if she could use her loo in Closer.

Lord he's a fool.

^^ Tell me you don’t have 10 quid for a cab without telling me you don’t have 10 quid to your name.

Please note that Bav now says “till.”

“I was in a Sainsbury sensing I might be close to the church and asked the guard and the guy at the till but neither one knew where I wanted to be. “

Cor Blimey Guv'nor, won't be long before our dearest Bavvie will be getting the hail and rain to Paris. But he ain't 'half Meryl Streep when it comes to room and board. Just hope the poor sod don't fall down the apples and pears again.

R260 - I say till and so do other folks where I live. Is it considered a Britishism?

I’m Canadian and say till, R262 - what would be another word for it? (I honestly don’t know!)

R263 Cash register.

We call it the check out increasingly in the UK

Perhaps he can’t do Google Maps cuz he doesn’t have a data plan, only WiFi. Still…it’s fucking absurd.

“ I knew I'd get lost tonight .... but man, oh, man. I had it all mapped out from the Manor House tube station but exited by the wrong exit and got completely turned around. I thought Finsbury Park was Clissold Park and it was dark and after asking directions from two kind guys about 45 minutes apart - one a Black guy outside a barber shop in, I think, a Muslim neighborhood and then an Arab guy in his food shop on the other side of Finsbury Park once I walked all the way through it”

Black, Muslim, and Arab. Oh my!

Why can’t he just act fucking normal?

I can’t imagine being stupid enough to not understand how to use map apps. And I can’t understand being so razor-focused on race and religion that while I’m flailing around lost, I try to catalog the race/religion of people I encounter and neighborhoods I pass through.

The story here is that Bav is a stammering imbecile, and his unhinged need to chronicle the race of everyone he encounters reinforces our perception of him as a racist hillbilly. Or as some other brilliant poster said, “Hillbilly Nureyev.” Let me take it one step further and proclaim him “Hillbilly Dollar Store Nureyev With a Side of Brain Damage.”

Not surprisingly, we were not invited to "meet" the Black guy and the Arab guy.

In his post about going to Santa Fe again next year, one of the fraus suggested he go to the 10 thousand waves spa resort. Of course Bav said it was out of his budget and then one of the fraus replied with this. I don't know if she's intentionally trolling or is genuine in her suggestion.

Today she discusses how she lives solely off Social Security, and did not make any additional money either last year or this year (quelle surprise!) Yet she has the gall to claim that this is why she now lives life "as a pilgrim" and how she "took an economic decision and redefined it as a spiritual one." She concludes: "I now live a grand life because at the simple heart of it I live a simple one." (I'll say!)

Let's take a closer look, shall we? When he's parked in some cafe or the corner of some public building, ostensibly "working", he is not really generating any appreciable income - he's POSTURING, posing as a "writer" - but unable to palm his shit off to any legitimate media outlet (MOUNTAINS magazine, anyone?) And we all know where he'd be without the grifted "press tickets" (even if he claims to cough up a few "quid" once in awhile to see SUNSET BOULEVARD again). It's all smoke and mirrors, along with his meager props - the Baldwin books, the watch (apparently down to one now), the thrift shop wardrobe...(where are those winter clothes going to be stored?)

Let's turn our attention to his future plans: he plans to be in Santa Fe this July (take cover, Ali!) for "opera season"!!! So, since he is planning his Tangiers trip for September and October, he has to fill his dance card for June and August. So his fallback one again is Vorse House in Ptown, but he has to figure out a way to "earn my keep" - so there's airfares from London to the US, from the East Coast to Santa Fe and back, and then (somehow!) to Tangiers by September - plus the costs for all the Air Bnbs at each stop. And the food budget for his croissants and salmon and the inevitable Joe Allen burger in NYC...it ALL ADDS UP.

I really hope Ali isn't lending him any significant money- he is describing "spending time with the friend who told me about the July weather. I want to be her angel this time since she was in so many ways mine last summer." (ALI!! You in danger, gurl!!) And no apparent family visits to Doctor Brother this time around...draw your own conclusions.

All these crisscrossing flights, the Air Bnbs (and occasional hostels), tramping around on foot, lack of any real friendships or support, and constant traipsing from one production to another is exhausting, unsustainable and frankly, more than a little sad. Hell, I love theater too, but I doubt I would be tramping miles on foot through the London suburbs just to see YOU'RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE BROWN.

I don't wish anyone (even this clown) ill, but a fall is coming...no question about it. And it won't be cinematic or "spiritual."

I can’t see the post positing another Santa Fe sojourn - perhaps he’s limiting some of his drivel to a select crowd.

It's from three days ago - including photos of the already booked Air Bnb.

R269 Those are the best responses. He desperately wants to be seen as formidable--a fearless iconoclast, almost Gandhi-esque in his pursuit of truth, light, and the ahhhhts after selflessly shedding his worldly possessions (framed poetry, Baldwin books, and other FB props notwithstanding).

Yet instead of accolades from the literati he gets banal "life hacks" for seniors from these frumpy, well-meaning fraus, essentially telling him to try the blue-plate special.

R270 sez: "Today she discusses how she lives solely off Social Security"

She's reading these and responding.

An eye roll for me, regarding that "grand life but a simple one" line. I live a simple life by choice, and have increasingly since I've been retired. And I'm fine with it. I don't need to be gadding about, going out every night, posing in front of luxury stores, etc. And yes, how grand would The Bav consider his life if he couldn't cadge free tickets, treated to lunches, and hosted by friends and family? Somehow, I couldn't see him staying home (if he had one) writing or reading a good book, or watching the telly, as they say in jolly olde England...

"Small-town London. My office this afternoon. The cafe at the Royal Opera House. Once or twice a month I also have the sausage roll here for 5 quid. The only sausage roll I have ever liked so to me the best one in town. Then I am off to see Crazy for You around the block for the third time for 15 quid - which is cheaper than going to see a film at my local cinema. Just got the ticket last minute because I just felt like a jolt of joy and this show, closing at the end of this month, gives it to me."

If he's paying a fiver for a fucking sausage roll he's going to be destitute in no time.

I wonder does Dr Brother and his sister read the likes of his 'im a pilgrim because I live off social security' post and think "God my brother is so full of shit. He hit me up for $10k only three months ago".

"But it was worth it just to get rid of him!"

"And his nasty, crumbly, oily little PAHS!"

Did we ever get an update on the trunks that were sent back to the states?

I don’t know how he could afford a month or two living in Provincetown, least of all during peak summer season. Even the shittiest little lean-to on the wrong side of the highway south of town would have to run you at least $50 a night.

There aren’t really any cheap restaurants anywhere in town, so spinach plops and salmon “takeaway” would add up very quickly.

There is only one supermarket, and its prices are what you’d expect in a somewhat remote town at the very tip of a fairly long peninsula. That’s assuming his lean-to even has a hotplate to cook on.

I would really love for someone to sing this to Bav

R280 he doesn't pay any room and board in P'town he stays at the Vorse House, an 'artist's retreat' but he actually has to write stuff to 'earn his keep' as he put it himself.

Grifter.

R281 Bav would prefer Bad Romance especially the lyric "I want your everything as long as it's free"

[quote]Today she discusses how she lives solely off Social Security, and did not make any additional money either last year or this year (quelle surprise!)

[quote]...so there's airfares from London to the US, from the East Coast to Santa Fe and back, and then (somehow!) to Tangiers by September - plus the costs for all the Air Bnbs at each stop. And the food budget for his croissants and salmon and the inevitable Joe Allen burger in NYC...it ALL ADDS UP.

It's difficult to imagine that he has any income but Social Security, R270, and neither can I imagine that he is anywhere near topping out at the maximum benefit. Any reserve of money he may have left the U.S. with is surely gone (including the proceeds of the Art Sale of the Century, the dispersal of the museum quality contents of his splendid Hudson loft). At the same time, there are flights from London to Tangiers from £15 (£36 from Paris); you can fly from London to Paris for £60; and (to my surprise) from NYC to Santa Fe for $136, all one-way fares. Trans-Atlantic flights wouldn't be any less than $350 with good luck and great timing (neither of which are remotely his forte). Maybe the brother picked up the expense of the Mississippi flights last year; surely they were more expensive than flying to Tangiers from Europe. And at the same time, short of some government subsidized housing, where in the U.S. is he going to find an apartment for less than $1000 a month, looking in the places where the Bavor would deign live?

And for R280s concern about the Provincetown budget, his last trip of two has been at least partly sponsored by invitation to some sort of writer's center/retreat. Otherwise, he couldn afford the place and surely hehas no friends who would have his company in their house for more than a week, let alone a month or two, but I think the Bavor wrote in the past that he was able to be there through some some of stipend and free housing.

[quote]I don’t know how he could afford a month or two living in Provincetown, least of all during peak summer season. Even the shittiest little lean-to on the wrong side of the highway south of town would have to run you at least $50 a night.

It does seem his spending habits have changed a bit. Last year he haunted fashionable retail establishments, hoping for a free pair of Magoo frames, of a handful of tester tubes of skin moisturizer ('I know the owners, you know?'); and went of a long spree of buying not always cheap articles of women's clothing in the his charity shops haunts. This year I haven't noticed much of that at all, instead he's spending what money he has on theatre tickets and more tickets. His version of belt-tightening, probably.

I'd love to see Bav take Ryanair.

Ryanair, complete with spray-tanned chavettes riding their chavs in full view? Ought to be fun.

I use Ryanair often enough because it offers direct flights to many secondary cities of interest, none of them hotspots for drunken Brits. It's fine. The comparative experience on a more prestigious airline isn't that much greater for a 1.5, 2, or 3 hour flight where most of your travel tine is arriving to and from and waiting in airports to get on a taxi or metro.

This geezer begs for theatre tickets, for eyeglass frames, for $£€ for dead dogs, for invitations to anywhere and to anything. He scrounges for day old sarnies and sulfurous blue cheese and boiled egg plops. He stays at AirBnBs whose monthly costs are cheaper than long-term rent. He gloats about his sub-basic accommodations at the Chelsea Hostel (cadging for 8nvitions from flush "friends" whose hospitality he long ago wore out. And he walks nearly everywhere to escape metro and bus fares.

I should think he's way past being a snob about airline brands. No doubt he could pick up the habit again with renewed vigor were the opportunity present. But it never will be present again.

She's getting Scheiss from the hoi polloi about traveling to "gay-unfriendly" Tangier and Tunis. Wrong comment! Where's the Paul Bowles-worthy adulation? Bless their hearts!

I think he should get the night boat to Tangiers. I only say that so I can repost this image which I think is fucking hilarious.

Love it, R289!

R290 I love it too but I've been working on a new version of it to show Bav in all his glory.

Hooray! We're treated to a long narrative about how the Bav had to piss, and one restaurant was mean and wouldn't let him, and his bladder was just bursting with piss, and finally another place let him piss, piss, heavenly piss. What an enlightening travelogue.

Meanwhile, he's seen a play about Richard Burton and John Gielgud, in which the lead actors "play divas of diffidence - another kind of incongruity that becomes sacred once they own being such creatures tethered by their emotional needs that are offered up to the larger needs of art."

Laying aside the poorly tossed word salad, I never thought I'd see the day when Burton and Gielgud were called "diffident."

Maybe he should trade in his Baldwin for a Webster's Tenth. I don't think he knows what "diffident" means.

R292, see "fitful".

He was, ahem, just bursting to share that piss narrative.

The clothing is increasingly threadbare and shoes scuffed - like a real homeless person.

And what halfway decent restaurant let's randos off the street use their bathrooms? He's quite entitled for a toothless hobo.

So did Sheldon pick up the tab at dinner?year

My old neighbourhood of Primrose Hill.

That was never your neighbourhood you deluded dilettante freak.

HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY NARRATIVE?!

The imbecile fraus in his mentions :”Anne LAMONT is a national treasure!”

I’m in London for the holidays and walked by a Pret a Manger earlier today and was actively looking through the windows to see if Bav was there. This thread has got me!

Did you see her, R300--or should I say, did you smell her from outside?

More pissy talk from The Bav... standing in line for the loo! Blimey, Bav!

Yes, tales of encountering Bart Sher in the loo while 'e was 'avin' a slash, innit? (as a True Londoner like the Bav would say)

The whole thing would be much more interesting if he went with his natural inclinations and made it into A Not-So-Grand Tour of Public and Private Lavatories of the US, Europe, and North Africa. That's the kind of Substack I could see subscribing to.

Bart Sher looks thrilled to be in that Forced Fanboy Bav Photo. I can only imagine his expression had he been bothered in the loo. And this self-deprecating cloak ("I used to be somebody.") the Bav dons when in the company of legit talent is tiresome. He obviously drops bait like that to get the fraus to tut and twitter "YOU ARE SOMEBODY." But apparently that crap plays big with the readers in the flyover states, as they took said bait and responded accordingly.

...and a special thanks to Bav for all his Israel/Gaza re-posts because I simply wouldn't know where to find such articles from our US newspapers...

GIFTED NOT REPOSTED!

R302 In LINE? Surely our pretty little Pret prat announced that she was in the QUEUE!

Gifted or Grifted?

R307. Thank god for doom.

"A poem for the winter solstice that sends us toward the pagan Yule that silently howls its does-not-yelp-nor-yowl, its you-not-you everything that thus begins its thaw into its deeper self, the rooted soul that gloriously ruts so it will not rot with righteousness, the spirit tonight that does not spy but celebrates its own not quite ever ceasing but begins yet again its journey toward itself - The Light - that is too the darkest longest dark once more, this exact same second when the world is wondrously not adrift but tilted, on time, systemic, natural, temporal, simultaneous, seasoned, ready to begin again. This is redemption."

Are you fucking kidding me? Does this critter not have a friend, family member, or hell -- even an acquaintance...hell, a barista!?! -- who cares enough about him to gently ease him away from this kind of embarrassment? I almost care!

Meth libs!

Oh my god R310. Root, rut, rot, righteous, spirit does not spy, what the ever loving fuck.

R310. Good God. My eyes crossed reading that!! That’s so schizo.

Now this twat is crowing about “doing his part” to promote Sunset Boulevard, which he has now seen five times. Bitch, your compulsive/addictive side is showing and it sure ain’t purdy.

R311, ha ha!

All these tickets are comped?

Where is this troll spending the holidays?

He will spend his holidays alone, texting his “friendly acquaintances”.

Speaking of "friendly acquaintances" I do believe Our Miss Bav has a crush on that fellow playing Joe in "Sunset Boulevard" -- he penned what boils down to a love letter to the gent, capped with a photo of them featuring that Bav smirk we know so well. This might be the raison d'etre for him "doing his part" to promote the show.

Sunset Blvd figures heavily in the Bav's narrative, going back to 1994 when he was interviewing Ty Ross Goldwater for POZ Magazine, took him to the LA production of the original and then had sex with him and wrote about it. In a way, it's the perfect show for him, seeing how it follows a delusional solitary figure trapped in reliving past glories. This new production is not without its merits, but Jamie Lloyd's "revelatory" staging is using techniques that The Wooster Group has used for almost 50 years. I also find it interesting that for all of Bav's posturing as a voracious culture vulture, his tastes run more toward the mundane. The warhorse ballets. West End musicals and revivals. Never contemporary dance or experimental theatre. Books that get toted around but never seem to be read. It's all artifice, and zero substance.

She’s as common as dirt.

He HAS to mention he is spending Christmas Day with a Black American family. Can’t just say a friend and family who is visiting. 🤮

But I am sure that the members of that Black American family are cool-as-fuck. By Bav standards.

They probably are unaware Bav is their guest. He'll just be hovering and stalking taking pictures over his shoulder and in mirrors.

And because they are a "Black American family," Bav will post about it thousands of times on Christmas Day. He will spend the entire visit setting up photographs of him nestled in the bosom of the Black American family.

Will he stay with them for Kwanzaa?

Of course he had to mention that they were Black. I'm heartened to know that he will bake an oil cake and will "carry it across London in gratitude." After referencing the unnamed "Black family," he proceeds to namedrop three (tagged) "friends" -- but, as it turns out, it's just all about plans to read their books, or someone who first introduced him to the Kiln years ago, in a convoluted anecdote that I had to abandon before my brain unraveled.

I'm actually surprised that he isn't spinning his Christmas into some kind of pagan tree-hugging doggerel in which he "manifests" into an everythingconnectednesswithdruidisms..... I can't go on.

For someone who was cut from the herd and is friends with high-and-mighty glitterati all over the world, isn't it funny that he's not getting invited to any Christmas parties, potlucks, open houses?

Something tells me the "Black American Family" were either guilt-tripped or press-ganged into inviting him. And something tells me they'll regret it, though hopefully it'll make for a hilarious story in years to come. "Remember the Christmas when that bald-ass white guy with the crazy teeth somehow got invited? And the cake! He was trying to pass it around and suddenly everyone had some excuse. 'Doctor's orders, no sugar!' 'Oh, I can't eat wheat flour!' 'I'm on a low-fat diet!' I swear to god it looked like he'd dropped it on the floor and then scraped it up again!"

R319,one difference is that Norma Desmond, deluded as she is by the time of the events of the film, had genuine beauty, glamour and talent in her heyday. She also possesses a aesthetic sensibility, albeit one frozen in the conventions of a prior generation.

Is he taking the whole cake one will he, as has been his habit previously, have a couple slices before “gifting” the oily crumbed remains? Hopefully he got the Black American Family some lovely festive blooms from M&S - they’re only a few quid! Knowing our Bav every quid is for ungrifted theatrical sojourns.

#grateful #mindful #shvartze

"Someone reminded me that five years ago I wrote this on this date."

Yeah; it's called "Facebook Memories," Ms. Magoo. I wish him a merry Christmas!

Call me a cynic (I've been called way worse), but I suspect that the Black Christmas hosts conveniently showing up out of nowhere are more than likely a poetically licensed figment of his imagination, a valiant effort to kill multiple birds with one stone. I would be surprised if said hosts were to be "manifested" on his social-media pages, Nutcrack rubrics, or what/wherever he shares the minutiae of his pilgrimage, even though nary a barista, passerby, or unsuspecting street twink escapes that fate.

Seriously, though. Happy holidays to all of you bitches!

His new favorite word is “balletomane” which he has now dropped in two separate posts.

I like how he casually compares himself to a genius, like Van Gogh. The fraus eat it up, while those of us who know better roll our eyes at what an absolute dimwit he is.

And poor old OG Bav is bringing it in the comments, explaining how to butter and flour a pan so his cat hair pah doesn’t stick. I have known some Black American families in my day, and I am telling you that none of them would ever consent to eat anything made by Lord Stinky McFilthington.

One of the Fraus on his Van Gogh post commented: "Mental illness haunts so many of us."

I'm glad someone finally said it. There's nothing to be ashamed of in being mentally ill, but if you have Bav's resources and connections you should absolutely be seeking treatment. And from what I can tell, he ditched going to his 12-step groups when he left his Hudson loft in a cat-piss-soaked mess.

Onward!

Posing those books on his bed is SO RIDICULOUS.

And several pairs of glasses on display- but no watches! Lost? Pawned?

His hungry Sessh-hole hovered up the timepieces.

“It dawned on me that this is the great connective ritual: those who do not celebrate Christmas joining together [on Regent Street]in a manifested ritual to celebrate not their otherness but their teeming gleeful togetherness. It is amazing to witness.”

His picture ….. this is teeming?

R337 I thought the same thing. Is he hallucinating? And what the hell is wrong with the flowers he bought that he's whinging about? And why is a homeless bum buying himself flowers?

So many questions.

Perhaps he's mistaking the smudges on his glasses for the teeming manifested masses. That's a very Magoo thing to do.

To not open the cinemas on Christmas Day is Antisemitic. Wtf is he smoking? He back on that pipe? All of London shuts down on Christmas Day. Has done for centuries. It allows all customer service workers at least one universal guaranteed day off. He's going to walk from Kilburn to Islington with his pah instead of doing what anyone else who has to cross London on Xmas Day might do...get an Uber or an Addison Lee. Fuck he is insufferable.

R340 He's having a meltdown in the comments section of that thread now, because someone pointed out a friend has tickets to see a movie in London tomorrow. Bav is manically screenshotting the schedules of every cinema in London to prove they're all closed except that one -- and it's too far to walk and too expensive to Uber to. Maybe if he cut back on his flower budget...

He looks like a 6 yr old girl with progeria

Haha of course the cinemas in London are closed. There's no fucking public transport....but I guess that's Antisemitic too.

Today I learned that if you're a Londoner who wants Christmas Day off, it's because you hate Jews.

☆彡 The More You Know ☆彡

She also acts like a 6-year-old girl, R342. Just because she has no actual real friends and has nowhere to go for Christmas but to a movie, OF COURSE that means closed cinemas are a sign all of the UK is anti-semitic. What a stupid, entitled cunt!

What happened to his black family who were hosting him for xmas?

Daddy, I'm scared...

R346 it’s a two hour walk to their house and he’s carrying a cat hair oil pah, so it’s gonna take a while.

R348. TWO HOURS!! that’s just insane. And then WALK HOME??? The bav will be found delirious in a snowbank like Lana Turner in “Madame X”!

Now showing: THE BAV….in “MADAME EXCREMENT”!!

merry christmas everyone🎄

[quote] Now showing: THE BAV….in “MADAME EXCREMENT”!!

HAHAHAHA!!!

[merry christmas everyone🎄]

The same to you, R349!

"Small-town London didn’t feel so small today. I miscalculated the time it would take me to walk to my friend’s townhouse in Islington. I left here at 1:30 and got there at 4:30. I left after the lovely time visiting and lots of laughing and the delicious Christmas meal at 8:30 and just walked in at 11.30. So six full hours of walking through London."

LOL.

Yesterday, unchristian London was bathed in the pagan blue light.

Today, the movie theaters are closed, so London is hopelessly anti-Semitic in its celebration of a christian holiday.

Tomorrow?

I got an Uber from South East London to West London, a distance of 11 miles (much shorter than Kilburn to Islington!), at midday today. Cost me £25. Or should that be quid?

The fact he spent 6 hours of Christmas Day walking alone instead of just paying £40 for an Uber there and back which would have got him there in 25 minutes shows that he truly has not got a pot to piss in and is low on his SSA funds or else it shows that he is a total fucking idiot cheapskate deluded cunt. Take your pic.

The lady he visited used to be married to Sir Simon Rattle, I'm sure their divorce paid for the 'townhouse'. God bless them all having the Bav for 4 hours of their Christmas Day.

Oh and the cake was a hit....yeah I'm sure it went straight in the organic waste bin the minute you left.

I'm also still getting over the post where he thinks dead Leonard Cohen is talking to him about the light through a YouTube video.

If he keeps going this way he won't have to worry about paying for the Air BnB as he will be in an NHS mental hospital.

R353 and 'take your pic' was deliberate.

Are his meds for HIV expensive while living overseas.

His banging on about the hours-long walks was a plea for $$$ to take a cab or uber, right?

[quote] "Small-town London didn’t feel so small today. I miscalculated the time it would take me to walk to my friend’s townhouse in Islington. I left here at 1:30 and got there at 4:30. I left after the lovely time visiting and lots of laughing and the delicious Christmas meal at 8:30 and just walked in at 11.30. So six full hours of walking through London."

R341, that is the funniest thing I've read here. What a FOOL she is! 😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣

R357 Classic Bav.

My least favorite kind of cunt is the kind who arrives hours late to a function, fucking up the host's plans, and then has the gall to spin a tale of woe about how hard it was to find the place, how slow the traffic was, etc. In other words, acting as if he is the one hard done by, and not his generous hosts.

Something tells me he couldn't resist making the first half-hour of his appearance at the home of the "Black American Family" a travelogue of his boring, tiresome walk.

I don’t know a lot about London outside of the most basic tourist haunts, but walking three hours across the city alone after dark? That would be tantamount to wearing a “Please mug me” sign on your back in any American city im which I’ve lived or spent much time.

I guess when you’ve got nothing in your pockets but some marzipan candies and an off-brand Ziploc baggie full of pah crumbs, you may not feel it super necessary to be looking over your shoulder all the time.

R355 he can get all his HIV meds for free from the NHS, if he wants.

From the National AIDS Trust website:

"HIV and sexual health services are freely available to all, regardless of immigration or residency status. This includes testing, seeing a doctor and any medicine you may need for your HIV or other sexually transmitted infection."

But I doubt the stupid cunt even knows that and is still having his ex-neighbours in Hudson or doctor brother FedEx him six months worth of Biktarvy or whatever the fuck he takes instead of just walking into any NHS Sexual Health Centre (and in central London there are several. Two in Soho that cater solely to gay men) and arrange to have his prescriptions filled while 'living' in London for half the year.

Messhy Messhy Messhy as ever. And add Dopey to that. And Feckless. And Grifting. And Smelly.

I still cannot believe he walked for three hours to get to Islington from Kilburn. It's a six mile walk, that is less than 10km. If it's taking you three hours to walk that distance then you must be going at a snails pace. My guess is there were a lot of wrong turns and getting lost. "I cannot read maps!" Remember?

To do the three hour walk to the 'townhouse' would be forgivable if he had decided to get a £20 Uber to return home but the utterly idiotic cunt took another three hour walk on a cold December night to get back to Kilburn.

Feel so bad for the 'Black American' family but what good Christians they are for feeding the homeless on Christmas Day.

Now she’s eating smelly Stilton on crackers with some sad tomato soup. I’d actually feel sorry for him, but he’s such a fucking cunt. I feel sorry for Pan, smelling bav’s Stilton odours from every orafice. I don’t need to elaborate, now DO I???? 👃🏽🤮💩

She takes 3 hours to nonsensically walk to a place she was invited to as a guest through the generosity of her hosts, and instead of ubering she makes herself a martyr and puts out her hosts by arriving three hours, which is unconscionable. What a smelly cunt she is.

God, I fucking hate her. But then I think about her and I just...😂😂🤣🤣

*by arriving three hours late

When considering the length of his walk to and from the Black American family's house, you have to factor in that he stops every-half mile to ask an unsuspecting stranger to take a picture of him. This is what makes me crazy when I look at his feed. He typically posts, what... at least ten times a day? And so many of the pictures had to be taken by strangers. What percentage of his life is taken up by approaching strangers to take his picture, then assembling his caved-in face just so, whilst peering out of his scummy glasses? I want to watch a documentary that just follows him around asking people to take his picture all day. And then there's the asking randos to pose with him. What percentage of the time does he get a hard "No?" I'm gonna guess at least 30%. What a life!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to my besties in these threads though. I love all of you magnificent bastards!

Of course his favourite Christmas song is by Tim Minchin. Of course it is.

[quote]Something tells me he couldn't resist making the first half-hour of his appearance at the home of the "Black American Family" a travelogue of his boring, tiresome walk.

Exactly, R359. It seems impossible that he didn't tell and retell his Walk of Woe story to every host, guest, child, family pet, and houseplant in the Islington Townhouse...

And yet no one seems to have sprung for his 24 quid ride home in an Uber. Was it because he turned a walk of 90 minutes into a harrowing 3 hour ordeal? Was it because they thought that the prospect of another crazy 4 hour walk home would push him toward an early exit?

Were I his or even an fellow guest, I might have called and prepaid for his Uber, inventing some story about "the only available time slot to Kilburn" and rushed him out the door before he had a chance to tell me about his walk for a third time. Then throw open all the windows for.a good airing out and tossing the baggies of cathair oil cake crumbs into the outside bin. It would have been well worth the £ to exorcise the horrid guest.

*Were I his host or...

Stupid fucking troll. Who walks around for SIX HOURS on Christmas Day in order to save money? I think the person upthread who said that she is much closer to dire straits-ville than we’ve been considering is spot-on. He is nearing the end here.

And what is the fascination with aligning himself with “Black Americans”? It’s so performative and icky. I’m sure they broke out the good shit after La Bav left and really had some laughs about it all. And why doesn’t she ever frost her cat hair oil cakes? They’re always very sad-looking.

He wrote a post about it being Boxing Day and linked it to Mohammed Ali writing a poem with Marianne Moore. One of his FB followers pointed out that Boxing Day has nothing to do with boxing the sport. He didn't quite get a 'Bless Your Heart' but he got this:

"yes I know, dear / lol - it’s about language and punning and being a foreigner finally and being literary and seldom - alas? - literal"

Such a cunt.

I think his southern charm and good manners (if he ever had any of either) were cut from him when he was proverbially cut away from the herd. Why must he be so condescending when he's corrected or questioned? It's a tricky balancing act for La Bav, hiding his revulsion of his "common" FB followers while maintaining his carefully crafted facade in order to continue the grift of playing them for his personal gain.

Seldom literal indeed. Seldom lucid!

Sharing his Christmas Shitstack, a real Yule log of an opening "paragraph..."

He's going to wish he hadn't quit sports when he gets rolled in some alley in Tangiers!

From his latest Shitstack:

"I am more meditative than usual this Christmas morning after the year I have had which ended with my breaking my shoulder and spending these last months healing from that brokenness that seemed to be manifested from a deeper brokenness I have carried around with me waiting finally to fall headlong into such a construct, a metaphor embedded in my body with an insistence to be healed. "

I think what he's trying to say here, is that the broken shoulder was worth it because it gave him the opportunity to ask Ali MacGraw to scrubbo his drawers.

That, R375, and once more the opportunity to suggest to his devoted readers they need to send money.

R374. I cannot wait

This cunt makes shit up, cooks it, and plates it like he’s some wizard. He just made salmon (again) with “browned garlic crisps”. Oh, you mean BURNED GARLIC? fucking loser. A cut up tomato and weird slices of asparagus and what looks like undercooked rice. I’m sure he’s longing for a spinach plop.

"I never go to animated films. I have never understood cartoons since I was a child. Never liked them. I like watching real people encumbered by flesh and emotion. "

Well, la de da, Miss Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League.

One of the fraus commenting on this evening's plop:

"This looks like your usual exquisite presentation! Bravo!"

Maybe it looks good through lots of cataracts.

R378, yep, those browned garlic crisps are gonna be as bitter as coffee grounds, as burnt garlic always is.

What an odd tic he has, the way he describes these sad struggle meals furtively cooked in the off-limits kitchen. The language he uses reminds me of the menu of a dull middlebrow suburban restaurant striving to justify its inflated prices.

Mushroom truffle soup garnished with Kalamata olives..... 12.5

Fresh tomatoes drizzled with olive oil. .... 9

Sautéed salmon crusted with browned garlic crisps, accompanied with bits of asparagus, served over a bed of rice..... 27.5

It's a menu perfect for the dentally challenged!

He's both dentally and mentally challenged. I honestly think he has some low level mental illness given some of the shit he writes about the light and the moon and Leonard Cohen talking to him through a YouTube video.

Evidence of dreadful dental and mental health is available in any of his YouTube 'baking videos'

And one of you bitches left this comment

R379 Who needs cartoons when Mr. Magoo greets you in the mirror every morning?

He looks quite ill @R383

R386 mentally or physically?

Our Bav is boasting about the few quid (fucking STOP this affectation) he spent on a hideous green suit. But it gets better:

“I told my friends on Christmas that I almost wore it over to their dinner to ask if someone there could sew on a button but then I told them I didn't think it was good form to ask someone in a Black family to be my seamstress - especially since I'm a sissy from Mississippi. We laughed - don't worry.”

Then he tells us what a philanthropist he is 🤢 “I do love a thrift store find since I am one of my own charities. And don't worry about that either. I often give $20 to GoFund me campaigns for people with medical or other needs. And just recently I donated to both a Gaza and Israeli charity to help those in Gaza…”

He’s a hobbling GoFundMe who the fuck is he trying to kid?

R389 Thank you. I was waiting for someone else to tackle the child-sized organ-grinder's-monkey suit. As for those recent charitable donations, "I'll take things that never happened for 100 quid, Alex."

Incidentally, is she really taking it to tailor to get a damn button sewn on?

I woke up to this “green jacket” horror, and was really nauseated that he *ALMOST* wore it to black family Christmas….to have a button sewn on. But, DON’T WORRY, they ALL LAUGHED!!

That’s racist bav in his full glory. One microaggression folded directly into another, into another….like a racist infinity mirror! With every “shut yo mouth” or “Hush, chile!” it only gets worse. He isn’t interested in anything but “copy”, so I believe the THOUGHT of having them sew on a button NEVER HAPPENED. It just made for a “clever bit”…. Which is SO RACIST, but he’ll never see that. That’s why he’s a fucking loser.

Yes, the typical shithead who's racist to the core and pats himself on the back for how not-racist he is. Yet he highlights the race of this family ad nauseam. NOT THAT IT MATTERS because he's not racist but they're Black! African American! BIPOC!

Meanwhile, the even more bizarre assumption is that if the family were white, or Chinese, or Pakistani -- why then, it'd be perfectly reasonable to show up to Christmas dinner with garment in hand, and ask the hostess to fetch a needle and sew a button onto your thrifted Little Lord Fauntleroy corduroy sadrags.

Nutty as a fruitcake. And fruity as a nutcake.

How difficult is it to sew on a fucking button?

[quote] NOT THAT IT MATTERS because he's not racist but they're Black! African American! BIPOC!

I wonder if he will use BAME instead of BIPOC, as he is the land of tea and crumpets.

"Small-town London. My afternoon. @matthewbourne13 ‘s Edward Scissorhands. Cheap 15 quid seat and a bit of vertigo but really wanted to see this and didn’t even try for a press ticket because just presumed i would be ignored. lol. I know the navigation routes for press now and some are more inviting than others..."

Something tells me that a few places are finally catching on to the grift.

He's not just from Mississippi -- he's a sissy from Mississippi. Which he mentions ad nauseam to not only give him perceived credibility as a Southerner (with shamefully bad manners but inherent racism) but as a person who belongs to a minority group in the notoriously intolerant South. To paraphrase, well, him -- bless his heart.

Lovely green suit to match his teeth

He got a velvet suit in spinach plop green. How NOT lovely.

It will look great on him while walking through the sweltering streets of Tangiers!

R394 they probably are catching onto him… given how many times he tries to assert press credentials

Bav: But...but I'm a BALLETOMANE!

Sadlers Wells: Fuck you.

How many years has Bav been scamming free tickets now? If he didn't have that, how the hell would he occupy his fetid mind in London, Paris, NYC, etc.?

She got poor Pan to take a pic of her in her leathers and turtleneck

Laws-a-mercy, as a Mississippi Sissy might say the moment she finds it advantageous to affect a deep-South accent. First another gratuitous film of a cast bowing. What is the purpose? To prove she was there?

Then she seems to have spent her last few bob, blimey, on a Tesco spree, buying artichoke, Kalamata olives, capers, salmon, lemon, and maybe olive oil (assuming she didn't nick it from her absent landlady). She put these ingredients together in a characteristically muddled "Mediterranean!" way to create a rather unappetizing and undoubtedly exceedingly salty bolus. One of her commenters has opined that the meal must have smelled very fishy 🐟🐠🐡

Disgusting, as everything she improvises in the kitchen.

R396 *tooth

If the landlady is checking his FB page while she's in Spain she must be THRILLED that he's stinking up her kitchen - he never "cooked" while she was there!!

R403 [quote] One of her commenters has opined that the meal must have smelled very fishy.

As will the suit before too long.

^ So much for the DL formatting guidelines (or, more likely, my understanding thereof).

What is a "bolus"?

R409, a small portion of food, especially a portion in the process of being chewed or otherwise consumed.

It can also refer to a puree intended to be eaten by an invalid or very small child.

Everything she cooks looks like a putrid pile of slime plop.

There’s a strategy for free tickets now that the house reaches out to the media offices first to confirm because so many “influencers” were grifting…

Or maybe Tina caught wind of his shenanigans and closed the loopholes.

Tina?

The editor/gorgon, not the drug (although I see your confusion)

Why does the Bav think that his little piles of plops are of any interest? To make his quote of a dozen posts a day on social media?

R415, to be fair every fucking waste of space on social media publishes appalling pictures of their "food".

What's a few spinach plops in the face of a million airheads squealing "so yummers!" about their cabbage smoothie?

I had the recipe, but I left it on the mountain…

R417 wish he had left himself there too.

" I am one of my own charities "

The video of those two prisspot queens shouting about Shelby and Dolly made me thing of Bav and his gworls Finn and Matty lol

*think

IIRC, there are not one (Pan) but two roommates now sharing this Air Bnb with him. He mentioned this when he first arrived but has never identified or discussed roommate #3. This Air Bnb was competitively priced because it did NOT include use of kitchen, which would include using HER stove, HER utensils, HER dishwasher (if there is one), HER cake pans, plates and tools, and HER staples, like the olive oil he is always "drizzling" -

Not to MENTION inconveniencing the other renters by monopolizing the kitchen and STINKING IT UP!!! How long before Landlady Suzanne comes to her senses and boots this asshole OUT THE DOOR??!!

I hope Landlady Suzanne monitors her place on social media while she's away.

Did he ever wash his jeans? They can probably walk by themselves now…

[quote] Not to MENTION inconveniencing the other renters by monopolizing the kitchen and STINKING IT UP!!!

I've come to think of this as Bavlovian Behavior. Taking advantage of a situation for his own advantage. Bothering strangers. Mentioning being orphaned, breaking his shoulder, the light and his pil grimage frequently. He is his own brand.

Oh FFS the adoration post about Jake Shears is nauseating. "limned" appears three times.

Shears looks like he's trying to edge his way out of the photo.

I found a copy of Mountains Magazine in an antique store in Millerton, NY, this afternoon.

Cumming looks a lot cuter in the photos than I would have expected.

Is the the only thread?

R429 There's also this one, but it's been quiet for a few days.

Blimey, guv, 'e must be 'avin us on. A vomitrocious bowl of carrot & coriander soup that looked suspiciously like something from a sickroom bedpan -- "drizzled," of course, "with [his landlady's] olive oil." An olive with a spinach plop. And a proud declaration that he guzzled his milk right out of the large, full jug from the communal fridge. Gross-out fetish in full swing, or should I say sling.

^^^sorry, that should have said "an omelette with a spinach plop," not that it matters. It's all of a grossness.

When you see the state of his glasses, his pants, and most of all, his phone camera lens, which would have Norma Desmond herself begging for [italic]less[/italic] vaseline on the lens...

It just turns the stomach to imagine what his kitchen hygiene must be like.

He told a blatant lie to weave himself somehow into the life of recently deceased Provincetown resident Dermot Meagher…

I just read that Dermot Meagher has died. I got to know him a bit in Provincetown. He was beloved. I went looking for a photo of him I took once in his glorious back yard beneath a tree - at least I remember taking such a photo in such a yard - and for some reason this is what came up when I typed in his name next to mine here on Facebook.

He then launched into a retread LENGTHY post about “Finn” blathering on about sobriety….on and on for PARAGRAPHS.

HE IS THE FUCKING WORST PIECE OF SHIT I HAVE EVER KNOWN

R434 that Finn post and all that shit about sobriety made me think he wrote it while high

R432 "Mistake or not, "an olive with a spinach plop" is hilarious and could be a contender for a future thread title.

R435. My thoughts EXACTLY

R425 Bavolonian Pavolonian!

I can skip the drool from dogs AND Bav, thx

Bav looks like a demon from hell in his latest pic in which he is wearing a black cap. Hideous.

R439 ha glad I'm not the only one. Truly scary looking.

Not that he ever takes a flattering photo but this one is especially unattractive. And there are certainly a plethora of Bav Selfies from which to compare. Yikes.

But she's so butch in her Quikrete cap! GRRROWL....! What is particularly compelling is that this (like many) is *not* a selfie. His phone is imposed on a hapless bystander (or barista) and then he steps back, assumes a wide stance and a smirk, and probably hisses directions, like "aim lower," to create that lengthening effect.

Can’t lengthen a squat sissy…

Our Pill Grim drifted into a charity store and, Bob's your uncle, he scored a "cashmere" sweater for £8.99. Grey with one yellow stripe, sort of like a non-zigzag version of Charlie Brown's shirt from Peanuts. How appropriate for a bald born loser.

It has "a Paul Smith vibe." Really. He said that.

No. Not even if Paul Smith did a Walmart collab. The vibe is Oxfam all the way.

She's really opened the floodgates this morning, with memories of his life at Chateau Marmont, where he had a "regular suite"! Having breakfast with his "friend and VF mentor Nick Dunne"! Getting scoops from him about the OJ trial! Turning down an offer to write Helmut Newton's biography! Having "room service on Christmas Day at the Chateau!" but somehow ending up at "a friend's beautiful place in Malibu!"

And today buying an (ugly) thrift shop sweater ("come on, it's cashmere!"), posing it artfully next to a book, stinking up his Air Bnb kitchen with salmon and Stilton cheese and asparagus and spinach plops, and of course, his own pervading stench....

Holiday blues...bad. Blue light... Life with Bav!

Another smorgasbord of shit pictured for tonight. Funny how he went months without doing any of this until landlady Suzanne fucked off. He needs a kick in the ass back to his bed room and living off his Pret box and spinach plops.

9 quid for cashmere!

Showing he is both a grifter and a mark.

One of his FB fraus actually suggested he write a cookbook 🤣😂😂 "do you make these dishes up yourself? meaning: following a recipe. if not, maybe a cookbook is your next project. everything you make, looksl amazingly delicious. and i’ll bet you’d sell a lot of cookbooks."

I can see it now.

Working Title: Plops by Bav

So embarrassing the way these dumb cunts humor this fool.

still shuddering over the Quikrete cap pic..

Dorian Gray? Jekell and Hyde? help me out here.....

Spinach plop recipe, by Bav

You will need:

Some spinach

Some olive oil to drizzle

Take the spinach and put it into your landlady's pan. No not that one, the cast iron one. Turn on the heat. Drizzle with the landlady's olive oil until it looks like Kermit's scarf. Cook for however long it takes you to reminisce about Alan Cumming or Pam Grier or Uma Thurman or some long-dead Warhol Superstar that you maybe met once when you were both as high as a fucking kite but which you have convinced yourself is a priceless puzzle piece of life's rich pageant. When you are done blathering, remove spinach from pan, with landlady's crowbar if necessary, and plop on plate next to burned garlic and dried out salmon. Drizzle more olive oil on this and take photo for social media purposes. Return pan unwashed to landlady's sink. Did I ever mention how the British never do the washing up right after the meal, or, indeed, in the following week. The filthy cunts.

R451 Nosferatu

R445 his ode to the days of Chateau Marmont got all of 8 likes.

R452 Don't forget to crown it with Roquefort or Liederkranz.

Put some garnish "atop" it. Like a plop.

Put a plop atop.

Her plop is slop.

And “crowned with” makes another appearance🙄

R458 Hardly surprising. He has a very limited repertoire of words and phrases that he recycles and regurgitates in post after word-salad post. That said, Dr. Seuss used a mere 50 words to write "Green Eggs and Ham," and that is a far superior work to anything that Mississilly Hissy has ever hammered out,

And like Bav's life, R439, features a train crash.

Oops, R459, of course.

I’d really like to dig up Dominick Dunne and ask him what he thinks of 2023 Bav referring to Dunne as his mentor. Dunne skewered pretentious fools in his writing, so I can’t imagine him setting out to mentor one.

I seem to remember that he remarked recently on the boxes of thrift store clothes he tried to ship to himself in London from Mississippi. IIRC, one box made it to him, and the other two got sent back to Doctor Brother Luxurious Blowjob. At the time the boxes went missing, he was whining about how he didn't want to trouble Dr. Brother with storing the boxes. So tell me why he is back to buying clothes at thrift stores that he has no place to store. A fucking child-sized corduroy suit with a missing button. A size four Eileen Fisher gray cashmere misses sweater with a lime green stripe. I'm sure they'll really eat the shit up in Tangiers, Bav. LIke Sebastian got eaten up in Suddenly Last Summer.

Onward.

Top of the Plops

Give us this day our daily Plop.

Oh for fucks sake :

"Small-town London. I am just not a red flowers man. So I moved them from my room upstairs to the dining table. The experiment having failed, I bought myself some white lilies for my room as I wait for them to open and their perfume to permeate the room with a kind of invisible color, a sort of cocky cochineal that notices the air, clings a bit but stops just short of cloying before it does not disappear but dissipates into a then deeper musk of whiteness."

Using?

R466 he doesn't know what cochineal means and he's banking on his fraus not knowing it either.

A scent is actually an invisible color that "notices the air."

I truly can't tell if he's using, or if he has some kind of latent schizophrenia, or if he has brain damage from the years of drug abuse. Or all three.

He thinks he's being "writerly" and poetically idiosyncratic -- and his lowbrow frauen don't know any better. He's always written like this, but now that he's been canned from every publication he's ever scribbled for there's no longer an editor to machete his absurd doggerel into something borderline readable.

In today's self portrait in the "cashmere" sweater, he is pointing to his dick.

And he keeps whining about "loneliness" and "the Christmas blues" - apparently Doctor Brother failed to send him a Christmas check!

None of his clothes fit.

The cochineal lilies are in bloom again.

And the books he never reads are posed artfully on the pillows...

The pointing to his dick is laughable. No one wants his smelly clitcock

[quote] No one wants his smelly clitcock

Can you just IMAGINE the stench emanating from that disgusting thing, R474?

I just realized the irony -- he spilled so many pixels cunting about his red flowers, how he hates red, red isn't the vibe, "I'm just not a red flowers man," and all that. Finally he had to put them out of his sight; they were just too red.

He replaced them with [bold]white[/bold] lilies, which exude a "cocky cochineal."

American Heritage Dictionary:

[bold]cochineal[/bold] (noun)

2. A vivid red.

R466, "a musk of deeper whiteness?"

Did someone page me?

R476 ha that's why I posted that he doesn't know what it means and neither do the fraus.

Everytime I write fraus it autocorrects to fraud. How apt.

R476, the only explanation is that he somehow associates the word with "coconut".

Otherwise he is full of alacrity and adulation.

Yes, R479, but it's very fitful alacrity and adulation.

Bitch provides more ammo to us on a daily basis than she could possibly know, but then again, she's presenting her shit nuggets to her target audience--fraus.

He’s hanging around Malin & Goetz again….”to see the cool girls” (IE: “I’m out of free samples, for you see, I’m a pill grim who travels and travel sizes/samples work best for me…I broke my shoulder 9 months ago and I KNOW THE OWNERS!) As the poor girls are standing there awkwardly bewildered, the bav opens his backpack to receive the free toiletries. He reminds them that the are “very cool”, makes them pose for a pic…and slinks away like the grinch

[quote] and slinks away like the grinch

So true! He really is a combo of the grinch with his oily behavior and crocodile smile, and Mr. Magoo, the doddering near-blind man. And all that on a pauper's budget with caviar tastes!

R472 Sounds like a venereal disease.

The sweater. The man.

First time venture into M&G so far this grim pill age.

He loved Maestro. I hated it as it was pretentious and fucking boring.

He's seeing Godzilla tonight. How highbrow for a balletomane.

[quote] He's seeing Godzilla tonight.

He'll never make it, R486. He'll get lost, walk in circles, then find out he had the showtime wrong. Because he's a fucking idiot.

Loved seeing my buddy Matt.

Some young hipster guy who Bav has to take several pictures of including some where he is hovering beside poor Matt.

I needed a 'shot'a'you' tonight.

There'll definitely be some masturbating over Matt tonight in the Airbnb

R487 oh she made it and of course made a song and dance about it because the screen was named after Pauline Kael (I knew her in my VF days....)

I wonder how many 'quidsworth' of free samples he grifted in M&G?

Pauline Kael would have HATED this queen.

R488 I wonder what household object the bav will use to dildo himself to his own release thinking about Matt tonight. I’m betting it’s something that Pan and the mystery roomie ALSO have to touch, so the bav can finger himself later, knowing the object was recently fucking his ass.

R492 the rolling pin for his pahs

He claims he had sex with two women!

His views on Saltburn in response to one of his followers:

"yeah a great kinda bad movie - never bored / loved watching it/but fantastical and never really made sense - loved Pike and wanted to do nasty things to a tub so I could watch that hot little Irish bloke get turned so I could turn do nasty things to him - other than that …"

He certainly has none of Kael's critical acumen.

R494 Wait. WHAT?

She’s a lot like Kimberly Guilfoyle, looks-wise. Cheap and porny and over-the-hill. I hate DJT Jr., but even he could do better than that used-up pile of lurid trash. Same with Bezos. He had an intelligent, pretty wife, but he wanted this vulgar wildebeest instead. There’s no accounting for taste.

R498 err what?

R99 LOL. I thought I was on the Lauren Sanchez thread. Carry on and ignore my lil plop.

Whoopsie again. R499 not R99

well they're both grifters in their own ways

R502 True, and now I really want to know what two women Sesshie had sex with. He’s so tiny and effeminate. Lauren Sanchez, for example, would crush him like a squirrel does an acorn. But she wouldn’t give him the time of day due to the fact that he’s a broke hobo.

All about connecting with art and artists, but never responds to those who comment on his pretentious prattling...

If he had sex with two women, I bet one of them was the landlady. He fingered her quim and she pegged him. It was celebratory geezersex when the landlady had her weird “sexy senior” seminar and she wanted some action, and he was there. They “did it”.

R494 Good lord; when/where did he make that claim? Was this back in the Floozies days or was it with conveniently dead attractive superstars?

R505 LOL.

R506 Tonight in the comments of his FB post about someone’s take on Maestro that he’s all wound up about.

R483, I think you mean a pepper's taste on a caviler budgie!

It’s getting wild in the comments on his Bernstein post.

Deborah Underwood: “Kevin is internalizing the film because HE is gay. He wants Bernstein to be gay. But that is in no way a definite. Bernstein had affairs with men and women. He also had children with his wife. Sexuality is a spectrum. It's possible that he leaned more gay, which I agree with. But in the end...he was bi.

I have no opinion on this, I’m just looking forward to Mr. Magoo losing his mind over that comment and telling Deb, “Bless your heart.”

Cor blimey! So I do, R509!

R505 I guess that’s how he got her to give him kitchen privileges. I mean, once they’ve touched the quim, letting them make plop in your kitchen seems reasonable.

This revelation is found in the long Maestro thread; a Jennifer Griffin posts "He (meaning Bernstein) wasn't gay. He was bi." To which Bav replies: "I guess my question is how many other women did he fuck? I have had sex with two women but I do not consider myself bi - but if it makes you feel better - then you can call him that. Fine with me. No skin off my gay nose."

And no, I don't think one of the unfortunate females is the LANDLADY!!

Thanks, R508 and R513.

R513 I don’t either, it’s just a hilarious theory though.

R510 As predicted...

FWIW, I don't think either one of these dimwits, Bav or Jennifer, get to decide where Bernstein was on the Kinsey scale. The fact that they're arguing about it is ridiculous.

🙄

"Small-town London. When you roll out of bed on the last day of the year and skip the shower and throw on a motocross jacket to go get your coffee and porridge before heading home to lock the door and lie on the sofa to read and leave this midnight to the millions of amateurs who need tonight as a ritual to revel because the revel of such Dionysian ritual is too seriously embedded within the one-off-ness of you - too cherished - to cheapen it with a one-off night . Plus, I no longer have the need for hangovers. May your new year be more deeply limned with contentment than layered with a performative happiness. Onward …"

Skip the shower....like most days then.

R518 quite the word salad there. Limned makes an appearance though.

He has his three or four big, fancy words that he overuses the way he might overwear three or four luxury items of clothing--often and for effect.

He’s just so evolved and above any NYE celebration. Admitting he REEKS as a special end of year gross out.

R522 I guess the Black Family didn't extend an invite this time.

And that nice, cultured, older American couple who live between their country house and London townhouse that he met at the Theatre... Perhaps their invitation for him to spend the holidays with them in the shires got lost in the mail?

Out of all his sartorial choices, that moto jacket is the worst to me. I think he thinks it makes him look "cool." It does not.

There is a slightly blurry closeup selfie that is genuinely CREEPY. And still arguing about whether Bernstein was gay or bi - put a sock in it! (On second thought, maybe that's a bad idea...)

And all this time, not a mention of Pan or the other roommate - I guess they both skedaddled out of there since he has appropriated the kitchen, the living room and the laundry for himself while parading around in his "black long johns."

"KING of the Pig People!" - Harold

He got his first "bless your heart" of the day taken care of.

The bottle of cleaning-strength white vinegar calling the lemon sour.

How the fuck did anyone so thin-skinned ever manage to write even an email, let alone features for national magazines? The poor overworked editors/copyeditors must've gotten an aggrieved, tweaking earful every time they corrected a misspelled or misused French term, or put punctuation into a meth-fueled trainwreck of a run-on sentence.

Anything short of fulsome frau-flattery triggers a butthurt "bless your heart."

R529. He was insufferable then, and now! B.M. (Before meth) he was a social climbing snob who elbowed his way to Vanity Fair…rimming his way to the top! Everything dreadful that went along with such snobbery has been told here many times…the poverty shaming, the HIV shaming,(while being a member of ACT UP!) and the actual seething contempt he felt for those “below him”.

This New Years Eve has him squabbling with an elderly woman over who’s *actually* sour. How fucking pathetic. I’m betting the ghost of “Nick Dunne” 😂 is laffing in his fucking face. Dominick Dunne was many things, but a fucking phony wasn’t one of them.

Oh, HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! ⭐️❤️🎉🎊🍾

all caps guy

R530, your breezy bitchery, spiteful and inciteful recollections of the demise of this old toad, are delicious to read. And I LOVE all caps!!!

[quote] spiteful and insightful

Fixed. The party's started early!

Happy New Year!!!

Happy New Year, ALL CAPS GUY!!!

Small-town London. New Year’s Eve dinner for one. Felt like some slightly caramelized scallions tonight so sautéed them with mushrooms and the salmon - yes there is a piece of salmon smothered under there - in olive oil and served it with steamed spinach and asparagus

This cunt is so stupid, he wants “slightly carmelized scallions” but there isn’t a scallion in sight. There are some SHALLOTS pictured prominently. MAYBE THIS FUCKERY IS WHAT TINA BROWN MEANT BY STAYING UP ALL NIGHT REWRITING HIS “WORK”

How pathetic to be ringing in the New Year alone with no real friends only the FB fraus to wish you a Happy New Year. No matter how much he might like to dress it up that's pretty sad.

Between the asparagus, the spinach plop, and the "scallions", he's going to be farting his way into 2024!

Let's hope the roommates have run for cover already!!!

...and if he got invited to a NYE party of someone of name value, Bav would be there in a heartbeat!

How rich that he uses performative to look down on others... everything the Bav-or does is performative!

R536. I’m sure they have plans, many younger people do…but I bet the bav will leave his door open a crack “bathhouse style” like she does at the Chelsea Hostel (read that quickly)…and hope to ring in the new year giving Pan a luxurious New Year’s blowjob. He’s very predictable.

[quote] and hope to ring in the new year giving Pan a luxurious New Year’s blowjob.

How very dare you, R539! We all know that luxurious blowjob is exclusive to Doctor Brother.

And we close out the new year with the umpteenth selfie shot in bright noonday sunlight as our Bav annotates, "Suddenly there is Light where there is no Light."

The first Book of Genesis, with Bav acting the part of God.

I only started dipping into these threads a few months ago, but I’m sort of transfixed by this guy and his comings and goings and plops and quid. His pilgrimage into squalor is like a Dickens meets Cormac McCarthy story.

I don’t have a Facebook account or any social media, so I can’t view the actual source material. DL is the only source I have. I’d pay up to the low tens of dollars for some sort of glossary or Rosetta stone for these threads. I don’t even know whence the name Bav originates!

If God were bald, meth-mouthed, pervy, and close to blind.

Someone just corrected him on the shallots/scallions post. Hang onto your hats, I feel yet another "Bless your heart" coming on.

One would think she'd be gracious and accept the correction without an attitude. But we are talking about one of the biggest, smelliest cunts presently squatting in the United Kingdom.

R542 it is the shortened version of the name of one of his acolytes who frequently offers the grim pill 💊 nutrition tips involving Carnation Instant Breakfast and whole, rich, white milk, Mrs. Bavor, and of course, Jerry Mathers. Mrs. B may or may not be related to a Hungarian porn star - we don’t know.

Bedsit Bav gets more insufferable every day. He has plenty of stories to dine out on, but I can see how he would be a very ungracious guest. He couldn't help but Blame his poor etiquette on the fact as an orphan, his sharecropper grandpappys never sent him to cotillion classes. He never learned to extend his hand to ask a wallflower to foxtrot.

“Bedsit Bav” 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 Now THAT’S a keeper!!

My New Year is off to a FLYING START!!!

Thank you R547

On the Instagram version of this post, someone commented, "You sound bitter, are you?"

"Small-town London. When you roll out of bed on the last day of the year and skip the shower and throw on a motocross jacket to go get your coffee and porridge before heading home to lock the door and lie on the sofa to read and leave this midnight to the millions of amateurs who need tonight as a ritual to revel because the revel of such Dionysian ritual is too seriously embedded within the one-off-ness of you - too cherished - to cheapen it with a one-off night . Plus, I no longer have the need for hangovers. May your new year be more deeply limned with contentment than layered with a performative happiness. Onward …"

He wants to stay home and mope, but starts the day by stepping out for coffee and gruel, something he could make at home, and not offend others with his foul attitude and body odor...

R550 "Gruel" -- hahahahaha. Thank you.

Or as he calls it - "porridge" - the pretentious FOOL!

“And my New Year's Eve comes to an end as I climbed into bed right before midnight after putting clean sheets on the bed warm from the dryer to crawl into as I moved from the sofa with Jesymn Ward's novel in tow. 2024 came in with my holding a book and reading. Now to do more reading and writing in 2024. And sleeping on cleaner sheets. Thanks for listening this last year. I needed your collective shoulder especially after breaking one of mine. Onward ”

Okay. If I were crazy, vag, “touch my quim” landlady., I would burn all the sheets when he moves out, because he is positively molting and drooling all over them. But has anyone else noticed that since the landlady left, he is not only plopping all over the kitchen, but he’s affixing his stank ass to the living room couch like a snail? It’s only a matter of time until he does something filthy on her bed.

R553 Did he actually clean himself or did he just insert his stank ass between those dryer-warmed sheets (presumably without the motocross jacket)? That Jesmyn Ward book scored even more awkward poses than he did today. Happy New Year to all.

R554 Happy New Year DoomLA! I love you and ALL CAPS GUY like we are a throuple!

Who do we think picked up the check at today's lunch? The architect? Or the "pilgrim?"

R556 do we need even ask

More plops on show tonight. He's really embracing that kitchen access now crazy landlady is gone to the Canaries.

He finally figured out that shallots are not scallions.

The Lazy of Shallot.

"I am half-sick of spinach plops."

She’s apparently in LOVE with “browned garlic”…..burnt, bitter, and ruins anything it comes in contact with!!

IT’S TRUE!!!

YOU *ARE* WHAT YOU EAT!!!🥴🤪

The only protein she eats is salmon and Joe Allen burgers.

[quote]. He's really embracing that kitchen access now crazy landlady is gone to the Canaries.

To be fair, I don't think the landlady cares about that. She seems to only want it to herself while she's there.

[quote]He finally figured out that shallots are not scallions.

One one of his followers clued him in.

R556 "Gee I forgot my wallet and have only two quid in my jeans pocket, could you get this one?"

R549 Cliffnotes: "I'm penniless and friendless."

The Madwoman of Shallot

R566 okay post of the year. Even though the year just started.

Slopping obviously overcooked salmon on a plate of nonsense and “crowning” it with things that kill any flavour isn’t the culinary genius Bav seems to think it is. That kitchen will be filthy, you can guarantee it 🤢

I have a feeling that Bav may not be booking this particular Airbnb next year. If I were Vag McQuim I’d just rule it out at this point. There are hundreds of normal people who would be happy to book the room without being so performatively and publicly insane about it

Vag McQuim seems just as deluded as he is what with her 'sings the blues' concerts and podcasts about old people having sex.

I agree, R569 - not to mention the fact that he has to take down her pictures and artwork so he can hang up his Irving Penn poster and other assorted shit to create his "aesthetic."

She may be a little nutty, but I be she has had a snootful of him over the past two stays.

We have nearly completed not one but two full threads without getting nuked - we need a title so we can reconvene after we finish this one! Congratulations to us!!

^Alone again, naturally?^

Or is that reserved for the inevitable stay in a nursing home

"The Lady of Shallot"?

R572 I thought we picked "Blather, Wince, Repeat."

Sounds good and just under the radar.

Agreed, R576.

Plus, the mirror cracked AGES ago

Another vote for R575.

"I'm gonna watch that Bav go outta his mind, I'm gonna watch that Bav go outta his mind, I'm gonna watch that Bav go out of his mind, and see him plop a-way..."

Here we go.

Tonight's dinner really does look like vomitus on a plate. But there are shallots. His farts will stink to high heaven after eating that. Poor Pan.

Does Pan live there ALL the time? Wasnt he there last year?

R582 I’m not sure, but I’m surprised he hasn’t forced him into posing for a pic with him.

R583 he did however force him to take a picture of Magoo at one point recently

R584. I’m sure Pan could easily beat the breaks off the bav, so he does that “push the envelope” bit only when he knows he can get away with it. Harlem was an especially dicey time for him, so he knew to “reign it in”. This is classic creeper behavior.

New thread title is a bit too on the nose, so of course some humorless scold came along to submarine it in the first few comments.

Backup is here

Is this thread played out! Loved how it lasted til the end. And it seemed to predict Bav’s Christmas cake failures.

Oh we still have a few posts to go until thread closed. Wading in on political shit as if he has a clue.

When was he ever a FLORIST??!

Or did they pay him just to sweep up?

R588 of course he knows about politics. He "worked" for Congressman Sean Patrick Maloney.

He's a real West Winger our Bav

he got 40k and I bet NONE of that went to the IRS. No wonder she’s a grim pill, he probably thinks moping around the globe and letting his brother “handle” the mailing of the checks more prudent. He’s afraid he’ll get the midnight urge to rim some hustler’s dirty shitter, and get BLACKMAILED AGAIN!! 😂😂😂😂

That’s my first laugh of January r591 thank you 🙏🏻 😘

R592. I do it all for you…. I’m deeply humbled.😘

He was blackmailed by a rough trade for licking shitter? How does that work?

R594. It didn’t. The guy realized the bav didn’t have anything, and although we never got the FULL story….it was around the same time he stopped droning on about “the fellowship to which I belong”….(AA) Anyway, he wrote all about it on FB, and I’m piecing together info and it’s hard to follow his “narrative”…maybe someone else has more solid details. His time in Hudson was so sketch, from the blackmail incident, to parading around some loser boutique in a dress every week, to being persona non grata at every coffee shop….THEN CAME THE “PAHS”….it all becomes a blur.

"Small-towns (sic) London. Late supper .. carrot coriander soup with salmon/avocado volcano roll crusted with crispy shallots from itsu which i discovered tonight sells what’s on its shelves for half price toward closing time. Stopped off at the one on The Strand right before the Charing Cross tube staton and got the volcano roll for 2.90 pounds."

You don't say 2.90 pounds you say 2 pounds 90. Dumb wannabe Brit idiot. And of course he went mooching near closing time to get the discounted food from Itsu.

He should have said less than three quid! When does batshit landlady return to her kitchen crowned with mouldy crumbs and the unmistakable eau de Bav?

The 'blackmail incident' was from the 2 June 2020.

"I got a very upsetting phone call this morning from someone attempting to blackmail and extort me saying they had photos and video of me doing something I would never do knowingly and if I did not pay to stop the dissemination of the video and photos when "me and my brother come over to talk to you" then they would release them and even go to the police. I told them I would go to the police too.

I think I know who it was. I cannot be sure. He did not identify himself but I do have a phone number saved. I am not proud of how I know who I think it is. He was a sex worker who said he was 20 in his profile and I even went on the internet to make sure of the age of consent in New York before I allowed him to come over. He came after me on Scruff. I did not approach him. There was an ad earlier with the same name and info with a photo but when he approached me there was no photo and he was not the person pictured earlier when he arrived. I shrugged. Thought: he's here. Make it quick. Get it over with. I had committed to the transaction.

He was here for maybe 10 or 15 minutes. We barely touched. And if any videos or photos were taken they were done surreptitiously in order to make that phone call later after I said no to him when he tried to return to my place the next morning.

I am posting this on here not only to own this behavior as I told him I would do when he called threatening to put it up on Facebook himself but also because he mentioned my big following on here when he called to try to blackmail me. He had done his research. He had asked me about being a writer while he was here and seemed to want some advice about writing himself. He certainly knows how to craft a fictional narrative. Sometimes I forget though I once was better known than I am now.

Plus, this person - to get back to him - thought based on my past I guess that I have money. The absurdity of trying to blackmail a broke-ass over-the-hill writer living in a small town in upstate New York is not lost on me. There is a black comedy aspect to this I am trying to focus on in order not to be as upset and perplexed as I am by it all.

It has added to my sadness after the the death of Teddy and Larry and is just more fucked-up-ness I have contributed to this fucked-up world right now in a personal way. So I guess I do have some shame after all. I feel as if I am the store that has been smashed and looted to use the metaphor of our national narrative at the moment. But then I have to realize too that I am the one who smashed and looted myself, not the sex worker. He is too busy doing the same thing to himself. But the looting was not the sexual transaction that took place. I will not judge him for that even as I judge myself a bit for being a part of it. The looting of the self was the phone call he made afterward. I am the recipient of so much kindness and goodness in my life that it does shock me when people are not and I include myself in that. I remained calm during the phone call but when I hung up I had this thought: I am the guy who has this kind of phone call in his life. It was a spiritual awakening in the most incongruous of ways. It woke me up."

Poor idiot rent boy didn't realise this fool barely has two dollars to rub together.

There’s so much more to that AHEM narrative from our unreliable narrator.

R599. Amen. It’s so CLEARLY full of such word salad mumbo jumbo, he really has such a high opinion of himself, it laughable. You’re an old man who got played by a hustler. What’s new about that?

MAYBE THATS WHERE HIS BELOVED WATCHES WENT!!