Tag Archives: outing

marty claw

beads and boobs

The week was punctuated by my PowerBook going on the the fritz again. This time quite terminally. I think Apple sold me a lemon… Nonetheless, a short conversation with the Apple-Careâ„¢ folks and I was promised a shipping box at my door on Monday and a replacement if they can’t get to the bottom of the trouble.

We slept in and had a leisurely morning before heading downtown to Soulard for Mardi Gras. Certain we’d be fucked for parking, I wore comfortable shoes. As luck would have it, we stalked a group of spontaneously vomiting college students staggering down one of the main drags and nabbed their parking spot as they left. Woopie! – only three blocks from the festivities – choice.

The key to Mardi Gras, as with any street festival – is to KNOW people who live there. We know two.. A bear couple we met through the local club and one of my sign vendors both have homes right in the thick of it.

We stick to the top of the neighborhood and stay out of the mobs of tens of thousands of people jammed into the lower section for the parade.

The pattern is simple… Go to party #1, socialize, mooch beer, take a stroll around the block, stop at party #2, go pee, mooch a beer, socialize, stroll around the block and stop by the Bear’s booth at Bastille, buy a beer, socialize…. Rinse… And repeat.

There’s something genuinely reassuring about the human condition to see so many folks from so many different walks of life all out wooping it up and getting their freak on.

Granted there’s more boob flashing going on than a Super Bowl Halftime show, but it’s o.k. – it’s nice to be reminded occasionally of what they look like.

I’d blog about all this but I still have a residual headache from the draft beer and need to chug another gallon of water.

 

forty to five

coat check

Up and out breakfastless Saturday morning to get downtown to drop Chad at work and to help xenohomo decorate the space for the evening’s Saints and Sinners Ball.

As cynically expected, the “army of people” for the task turned out being myself, Kevin and Dr. Drew (much need to non-blog rave about him) and his friend. More folks showed up in the afternoon at least to help out which was something of a relief.

We spent the bulk of our time climbing scaffolds and stringing Christmas tree lights… Gratifyingly tiring.

Heading home we debated going back for the event itself but decided let’s power-nap and see how we feel. Thankfully, post-snooze, we decided to clean up and head back down.

There was a real nice crowd… Mix between philanthropic west-countyites, sheer fringe crazy-drag queens, yuppie homos and folks from the “St. Louis Art Crowd”.

It was nice to get out to a social event like that and rub elbows with the city’s arty-to-do and the other flavors of homos out there besides the lumberjack/biker sub-set we tend to cling to.

We didn’t wind up leaving till 1:30am. While waiting for our coats I kicked myself in the ass a few times for forgetting my camera. I was interrupted by a mountain of coats resembling Chad that handed me my check ticket. A muffled voice yelled: “Here… there’s your damn blog content…. here take your coat.”

I of course took the ticket… my coat and exclaimed “I DON’T BLOG”

play dress up

tormented display of dressyness

I used to be a clothes horse in my 20’s. The sales girl at Mark Shale knew me by name. These days,…. I loathe dressing up.

That said, I had to for the primary client’s grand opening who-hah.

The Coronado is a newly restored massive ballroom downtown near St. Louis University. It’s an obscenely large space which has been lovingly restored with millions of dollars. Marble covers the walls, little inset glowing glass bricks dot the terrazzo floor, soaring barrel celling and balcony along the one side. This place puts the “high” in “high drag”.

My date for the evening was Alise… The architectural photographer I used to work for who I still work with, except now I work with her as an art director instead of hired photo-monkey setting up lighting and loading polaroid film.

Alise is all style AND substance. A petit little 53 year old package of fabulous. We joke about how she’s my surrogate jewish mother… In many ways the joke resonates truth. She’s very “motherly” and I’ve learned a great many lessons, personally and professionally, from her.

The turn-out was huge… The mayor was there and other “important” folk.

We made our rounds through the space stopping at the various nibbly-things tables: Risotto Station, Seafood Bar (made entirely of ice), Sushi Station, Carved meat station (featuring venison and wild boar with funky chutney).

If the food at the stations weren’t enough – an army of staff was walking around with more little fussy edibles like little deviled quails eggs sitting on a little poof of something on a piece of toast. (the chef staff must have been on meth).

We circulated and grazed for close to two hours when we felt like going – but damn it – we hadn’t seen the client yet… Where were they? It’s THEIR party isn’t it? – and I’ll be damned if we were going to leave before I got my face time in with them. (I didn’t blow $200 at Dillards on an outfit for nothing!)

Fortunately we caught them and made nice-nice…. Investment justified.

Bonus – I’ve got something to wear the next time somebody gets married or dies.

I’m not blogging.