Sitting, bored, in the Miami airport, waiting for my flight to Boston, I started browsing through my LiveJournal photo folders—pictures I have posted in entries dating back almost ten years now.
It's fun, and not a little perplexing, to see these photos out of the context of a journal entry.
Here then are some of my favorites.
Fourth of July, 2008, from Manderley's front stoop.
Seven in the hot tub at Clifford. Eight, with me, but I was taking the picture that moment, obviously.
Best cake in the world, which Ben scored from Sucré up Magazine, for my and Paul's tandem birthday, 2009. 77 was our combined age. New Orleans and United Kingdom, hand-in-hand.
Boudreaux (Requiscat In Pace), the grumpy yet sultry old gentleman cat of docbrite and chefcdb
Statues in downtown Melbourne.
"This wine is very … arrowmatic."
Cemetery in Buenos Aires. I blew this up to 3' x 2' and have it framed in my house.
"Tower of Power!" How we used to charge things when visiting Spain.
Ben and I have power of attorney over each other, so the joke goes, "The moment you get the sniffles, I'm pullin' the plug!"
Grand Palace, Bangkok, Thailand.
Jill Ireland in the 1975 film "Hard Times," shot in Clifford's front parlor.
Ben reenacting the scene.
Sunset over Clifford.
Reunited with Shirley 30 years later, my childhood piano teacher, who singlehandedly instilled in me a love, appreciation, and understanding for classical music. I'd be dead today if she hadn't.
Front stoop of Manderley, here seen in the blockbuster sleeper hit of the decade, "Candyman 2"!
And a comparison study.
Upper Ninth Ward, September, 2005. "Getcho house offa mah cah!"
My cat quilt, sewn laboriously over many months.
Full moon over St. Louis Cathedral. I blew this up to 3' x 2' as well.
The Country Club's piano, after Katrina.
Me and Ben in Central Park. It was one of those perfect days that you will recall fondly as you lie withered on your deathbed. Well, maybe you won't, but I will.
The 2009 Crackwhore Ball at the 700 Club. These two were my favorites. By far. I took about 40 pictures of the girl alone.
Same night. Ricki Red Visits the Loo.
Salt and Pepper shakers.
Our costumes at the Crackwhore Ball were shirt and tie and suit coat and tighty-whities.
New Orleans bitch-harpy Councilwoman-at-large Jackie Clarkson vs. Scott Thompson as Queen Elizabeth. I'm not gonna tell you which is which.
The very last (rusty, tetanus'y) drinks served at The Hideout, closing night, July, 2003.
Best meal of my life (and I've had many!) At the Commander's Palace chef's table with my friend Cooky running the show. Ben's birthday present to me. With Sean and Chris, because if you're going to dine like a rockstar, it's best to invite rockstars.
angeliska at the Dada Night in a crumbling mansion on N. Rampart Street.
Same night. Ben and I were "strong diagonals." He's wearing a shower curtain.
One of my favorite pictures evah! Actually, Ben took this one in Florence. I swear to you Photoshop never touched this. "The Censorship Pigeon."
My previous career. Sigh. Those were good days.
I miss driving down Rt. 90 along the beach in Mississippi in my ragtop convertible '68 Karmann Ghia.
"To your health…bwah-haw-haw…"
A pint of Guinness in Dublin. There's really nothing that comes this close to heaven on earth.
Ben's "Easter basket," and my tailcoat-and-giant-cock, 2009. Find the hidden eggs!
Brian Peterson in the Easter parade. I am grateful that he came over and gave me a night of his life in drag make-up instructions.
The Enigma playing my grandmother's spinet.
"Evacuation America!" Our bible for late summer, 2005.
The one and only fully-formed song I've composed.
Fortune cookie o' DOOOOOM…
Clifford's front balcony—when I first saw it, I knew we would buy the house.
We evacuated to Baton Rouge last year for Gustave. BR was decimated, and Orleans Parish cops had instructions not to let anyone come home (though New Orleans was unscathed). Meanwhile, my friends were in my house in the French Quarter, enjoying the A/C and electricity, making pulled pork sandwiches, and we couldn't get to them. This day decided it for us: we're never evacuating again.
My bio-mum loved this picture of Harley so much she printed up postage stamps from stamps.com and sendt them to me. Awww…
No. They were not, in fact, on my side in the 5th grade. Evil fucking school, but three years there strengthened my constitution.
Me as Jackie O. (my first attempt at sewing a lined suit jacket) and Paul as Alex. Halloween, I'm guessing?
Paul as John Hurt from that one movie. A different Halloween, I'm guessing.
Me as Something Spooky This Way Comes, and Ben, whose costume is HAYYYYYYYYY!
Most stylin' wedding dress I have ever seen in silver silk satin on my cousin Janet's wedding day.
Which is Michael and which is Faye? Are you sure?
Ben's birthday donut, September 2005, on the lam in Pennsylvania. Worst time of all our lives.
Kayaking through mangrove swamps in Krabi, Thailand. Another one of those remember-this-day-fondly-on-your-deathbe
Lilith and Louise came a-calling from GA and AL, respectively, and we bathed together.
One of my favorite pictures of matel on her wedding night. "The Bride Wore Vice."
A note that still makes me well up with tears, written by Ben to me a few months into our courtship.
Maui is perfect. Except for the prices of things. (This rainbow was free, however.)
Mardi Gras Shoe-Bike, 2007.
A gaggle (?) of flamingos.
Ben as "Sugar Daddy," Mardi Gras, 2009.
Tired ole' Jackie.
Marching in Noisician Coalition.
Ben as Michael, "Thriller"-era. Mardi Gras, 2010.
Me as Tippi Hedren. Mardi Gras, 2010.
Ben and his Mii.
Me and my Mii.
In the early aughts, I lived at Château Bimbeaux in the Garden District. I was working graveyard shifts at the time. (2am–10am). My only complaint about the house and the neighborhood was the enormous amount of noise every single day, early in the morning. Lawn mowers. Wood chippers. Leafblowers. Chainsaws. It got to the point of ridiculousness that I finally had to take a picture during a particularly bad week.
Nip and Tuck, my mom's cats. I blew up this picture and had it framed for her birthday.
My insanely hot friends Jonathan and Nigel, on their rooftop garden at 59th and Lexington. You heard right. A rooftop garden. At 59th and Lex. Hot boys. One's a preacher. He's British. He sermonizes in French. Oh, I'm all a-flutter just talking about Jonathan and Nigel…
Me posing like a retard circa 1992, Oakland, CA.
Pamela, nofunangie and me on a random night we decided to dress as pirates. My gay pirate name? "Jack Swallows."
Ghost Boots during a Mardi Gras.
Puerto Vallarta, México. 15 second exposure during a lightning storm.
My grandmother's chair at our lakehouse in Upstate New York. It's been eleven years since she departed, but I still expect to see her sitting there every morning when I wake up.
Smoke signals. Penn Yan, NY.
One of the reasons I miss living at Clifford: I could pick a fresh bouquet of roses from the garden each day.
Patti's little girl, Ruby. In a boa.
Experimenting with a new, 'spensive lens.
Baby Scully, a week after I got him. He's trebled in size.
See? He's much bigger now. And keeps ne'er-do-wells from movin' in on my goblet o' wine, y'hurd?
Raven in Marie Laveau's Voodoo Shop.
During every gay holiday in the French Quarter (there are more than you'd think), it's my tradition to hang out on the corner with scottynola with cocktails; that year, it was chilled lemoncello, I seem to recall.
We steal only the best, most couture'y soaps from hotel rooms. And we steal them by the truckload.
Here's me and Ben and what's-his-face from that show that everyone raves about but I've never seen because fat Italian blustery men and their mafia tales of testosterone and woe bore the fuck out of me. Sorry, Scorsese.
Taking my grandmother's magical statue of St. Francis to docbrite's house so that he might help cure their sick kitty. This statue is magical for animals. Eerie, actually, how effective St. Frank can be.
Photo shoot with Lisa Conrad.
Mr. Stripeypants, on the hunt, as usual.
Me dressed as I-don't-know-what for the film "Shooting Gallery." My scene was left on the cutting room floor. Probably because … what the hell am I supposed to BE!?
We lost Theo in Katrina. Thanks to the ASPCA "rescuing" him from our backyard, where he was perfectly happy. He was then shipped to a family in Ohio, which he ran away from because there were small children in the house. And who in their right mind likes small children? THEO, COME HOME!
I have a fetish for diminutive vehicles. Like this teeny bike in Manhattan.
One of my last-minute Halloween costumes. This one is called, "No thanks, I just ate." Yes, those are real, rotting bones in my hair. Olafactoriffic!
Playing with Jeanne's Photo Booth at her Mardi Gras house parties. Another tradition.
For Southern Decadence, I sewed a gown made out of bubblewrap. Poor little sewing machine. The things I put it through. (Or put through it?)
My .7 seconds of fame, as an extra in the Tony Scott film DÉJÀ VU.
For Christmas Ben flew with our Glock to Kentucky. To pack a gun in your luggage you have to fill out forms. One of the questions is: "Reason you're taking a gun on this trip?" Ben wrote: "Seeing the parents for Christmas."
Photo by my brother Chris. I sorta remember this conversation. Me: "Oh, Miss Rivers, I'm so embarrassed. I wanted to be ten pounds lighter before I met you." Joan: "Me too, honey."
Me with my late-teens/early-20s idol, Kristin Hersh. Incidentally, next week I'll be filming a Throwing Muses video in Providence with her. Whee!
Printing Beethoven. My least favorite part of creating art is the printing stage. It's slow, back-breaking, and the cats have to be locked up until the paint dries.
The infamous "what could possibly go wrong with my life?" picture, taken while bobbing on my lake in Upstate New York hours before I became aware of a woman named Katrina. I often look at this picture with the morbid fascination of seeing Jackie O. in her pink Chanel suit before Kennedy was shot. I want to yell at her, "Turn back! Don't go there! Danger! Danger!"
Rain-proof chairs in the lobby of the Eastern Building, downtown Los Anguhleeze.
Me in my Baked Potato Suit. With a snake.
How my brother met victorine: he was at a convention in San Diego and recognized me from Gwen's poster. "You must know my brother," quod he.
Me at 19 in Bath, England with my Spandau Ballet 'do.
One of my favorite headlines ever printed: "Recession or not…"
Somebody needs to explain to the kid that groundscores do not count!
Always a difficult thing to do: erasing phone numbers of friends who died.
A good place to rest my head.
The house that I was preapproved to buy in 2001…until WalMart screwed me over and ruined my credit when someone stole my checks out of my mailbox. Long story, but the moral of the tale is this: DO NOT SHOP AT WAL MART!
For Thanksgiving 2003, we drove to my friend Kennan's pig farm in Mississippi, slaughtered, skinned, and ate a pig for dinner. Glad I did it. Never need to do that again.
Pig testicles anyone?
AGAIN with Brian Peterson's flawless make-up tips-n-tricks!
All right. I think you've seen enough. Don't you have some work to do?
Thank you. Those are wonderful. The picture I remember fondly is you driving post-Katrina with your rescued cat in your lap. I'm not sure if it's the quality or the poignancy of the moment, with all the dramatic posts that led to it.
On August 4th, 2010 11:55 am (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
Fuck that Dos Equis guy: you are the Most Interesting Man Alive.
And that first shot of July 4 is amazing.
P.S. Look closely of that shot of Brian in the Easter Parade and you might see a certain crowned queen of your acquaintance.