Ah, Memories!Miss Romy Michele just sent me a trio of pictures from the Pride Parade and one from the Miss Gay Marin Pageant (enclosed in an adorable Andy Warhol card); and the first thing upon receipt, I turned on the scanner and ran them through so I could share them with you, my beloved reader!
You of course know to click on the images to see them full-sized...
Here I am just before we started off. The bosomy gent to the right is Kelly from Arkansas (kind of makes you want to visit, don't it). In fact, I do believe his tits are bigger than mine. Bitch.
I don't remember names very well, but I do believe this one is called Michael. He was my favorite, the shyest and the gentlest. I wanted to take him home and cuddle him and dress him in dollie-clothes and feed him with a spoon.
This one is, I believe, Danny. He was the naughtiest of the go-go boys. He kept dropping his Scooby-Doo panties in a rather coquettish manner, revealing the prettiest smooth little buns to the crowd; later on in the route he started pouring bottled water all over himself. And those wiry little abs just make me weak!
Here I am with Romy, our own First Lady of Song. She's so talented and classy, and has such a great wit! She usually sings (with her own lovely voice, yet) her own versions of the favorite standards. She was (and still is, note the tiara) the first ever Miss Gay Marin (1997).
Oh, the lovely memories! This is why I love looking at photographs: you can see the nice pictures and remember the nice circumstances, divorced from the other less-than-nice elements. For example, in the Pride pix above, you can't tell how hot and uncomfortable I am, how much my feet hurt, how much the sun was getting in my eyes. In the Pageant picture, I can remember how much fun I was having, removed from the noise and confusion and elation and dissapointment and hullabaloo that clouded the moment in my visceral memory. Of course, it helps that these were well-taken photographs, made with a good camera in the hand of someone who knows what she's doing. I mean compare the glamorous images above with something less-fabulous taken this last winter at my Daddy's birthday party:
I mean, a lot of difference is in the hair and makeup and wardrobe (cuz face it, I won't dress up for a family birthday as I would for a Parade or a Pageant), but you can see the difference in picture quality and clarity. Romy's simply a good photographer, on top of all her other talents!
I often think about taking up photography as a hobby. Photographs are so enjoyable, and I'd really love to run around recording things which I find beautiful. Leave for posterity some version of my own aesthetic vision of the world. To preserve the beauty I see around me every day for my later edification and to share with others the joy I find in the visual plane.
Plus, it's a great excuse to walk up to hotties on the street: "Say, have you ever considered modeling? Would you like some pictures of yourself? Wouldn't you be more comfortable without your pants?" And like that. Something to think about. It's on my list of Things To Do, right in between taking a creative writing workshop and learning to tap-dance.