Monday, January 6, 2003

Promises ~ Pictures ~ Pasts

(lots of pictures, if you have dial-up you might want to go to the bathroom or something while this loads)

I've just been listening to my all-time favorite piece of classical music, Debussy's Clair de Lune (as fluted by James Galway accompanied by solo piano, on KDFC). That piece always makes me go all misty. The flute was even sappier and sweeter, and so I'm just sitting her kvelling all over the place.

So, as I promised a couple of posts ago, here's a picture of me in my fabulous New Year's Eve Shirt, posed outside of All-American Boy on Castro with the "original" (the shirt I saw in the window and had to have, price be damned):

I never seem to know what to do with my hands when I'm having a picture taken, especially when I want my jewelry to feature in the picture. I mean, there aren't that many natural poses that bring your hands into the middle of the frame for purposes of displaying your favorite Suzanne Somers Simulated Seafoam Spinel ring (oh, God, an orgasm of alliteration!) But anyway, I said I'd post it when I got a copy, and so here it is. Promise kept. Here's another picture of that night, as a special bonus for you:

That is of course the ├╝berscrumptious Jhames on your left, with my dearest Caroline in the middle. Like the legend above says (or it would say if my big melon head weren't in the way), " a good friend." That was one of the nicest New Year's Eves I've ever had. I think the only one that was more fun was the year I went to the Kennel Club for their New Year's Dance with a boy I really liked, and rang in the new year grooving to that year's #1 requested dance song, "Doin' the Butt" (or was it "Do It In The Butt"?) Or perhaps the year where I looked unspeakably fabulous in a new dress and got to kiss the prettiest boy in the bar.

But now I think about it, this year with Jhames and Caroline and so many good friends at the Living Sober dance was actually better than those two. Perhaps not as exciting, perhaps not as glamorous, but definitely more soul-satisfying, memorable, and worthwhile.

So anyway, as I was scanning the above snapshots into the computer, and had my scanner software open, I exported some pictures that I scanned a couple of years ago but didn't know how to edit... see, I scanned four snapshots at once, at 1200dpi, simply because I could, rather than because I knew why, or even how to deal with such vast graphics. It takes so long for that scanned image to load that I usually give up. But now I've learned a little more patience, I've learned what jpeg compression is and how it makes the resulting file larger or smaller, and I've learned how to resize things for optimum visibility and minimum disk-space. And here is a little something from that fourplex scan of snapshots that Caroline let me copy from her stash... brace yourself for a blast from the past:

This was taken on my 24th birthday, which was the same year as the New Year's Eve party where I kissed the prettiest boy (who wasn't my date, incidentally, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time... didn't even smudge my makeup, and I can still remember how nice it felt). It amazes me how thin and white I used to be... and it really amazes me that I thought I could wear that color of eye-shadow! Teal? With auburn hair and red lipstick? What was I thinking? That was no wig, by the way... I actually went wandering through the world with that hair every day (it got redder as the month went by... I was living with a bad hairdresser at the time).

That was a specially memorable Holiday season because my mother, whose own mother-in-law had recently died and left her some money, gave me $500 for Christmas. Even today, $500 is not to be sneezed at — but back then, it was two month's rent. I of course didn't spend it on rent, which would have pulled all the fabulous out of the gift... instead I spent it on drag and on throwing myself a really nice birthday party, taking myself and several friends down to Club St John in San Jose (remember, this was 1991; the place was called Hamburger Mary's last time I was there, and I don't know if it's there at all anymore) to hear the viciously hysterical piano-bar comedian and drink bottle after bottle of champagne.

With Caroline again, "back in the day"... with some guy whose name I think is Jeff, but I'm not sure... it's not a good picture of him, it doesn't show how extremely handsome he was (imagine if El Greco got together with Lladr├▓ and made gay porn...). He had such voluptuously smooth skin and the most incredibly long legs. I kissed him once, too, and it was nice. All these lovely boys I had crushes on, back when I was just a tiny tot (and I do mean tiny... I had a 26-inch waist back then, you could probably have squeezed both me and Jeff into one of the gowns I wear now. In fact, that sounds like a lot of fun...)

Ahem, pardon me while I adjust my clothing. Feeling just a bit constricted...

Judging by my haircolor and the length of the roots, that was taken about three months after the previous picture. I remember that I let Kevin (I just now remembered the bad-hairdresser-roommate's name... Kevin Kreiter!) dye my hair magenta, after having let him bleach it "platinum" (it was actually more of a very pale piss-yellow) and then dye it auburn... this is why you should never undertake cosmetic changes of any kind after drinking a half a bottle of vodka.

My hair was so fried after that, it wouldn't take new color anymore. The magenta-over-auburn-over-palepissyellow simply faded and faded until it was a sort of medium salmon-color, and I just let it go until the roots were long enough to be their own hairstyle. I dyed my hair blond and then brown a couple of times after that, but again the color wouldn't stay, so I just gave up. And finally, so many years later, I accept my natural hair color. I'm actually anxious for it to finish turning gray... gray is such a nice neutral color, it goes with everything.

Well, anyway... these little trips down memory lane are getting easier the more often I take them. Another little blessing of the blog. I actually remember that 1991/92 Holiday season fairly well because I wrote down a great deal of it at the time (another of my gifts that year was a leatherbound journal). It's funny how I remember things so much better when I've written something about them... the words I wrote don't stick in my mind any more than the things I say (I haven't seen that leatherbound journal in years), but for some reason the act of translating an image or sound or event into writing cements it in my memory. Like when I was in college, I took copious notes — but I never referred to those notes later, I had already memorized the key portions of the lecture while writing down something when the professor was giving that key portion.

As fascinating as this all is, I must be scurrying along. As I finish writing this post, some four hour after having begun it (the nerve of these people at the office, actually expecting me to do work!), and now listening to Mozart's Concerto #38 (not very exciting, and maybe the fifth piece of Mozart they've played today... but I forgive them because of the Clair de Lune and the "Emperor Waltz" and the "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy" that they also played today), I am getting very tired and find that I must now go home, eat some dinner, and denude my Christmas tree. Then go to bed. I didn't get much sleep last night, with the wind howling and knocking things off the porch and scraping the trees against my window, so I think I might just get to sleep early tonight. And dream about El Greco/Lladr├▓ porn boys squeezed together into one size-16 evening gown.

Mille bacci! Sweet dreams! Nighty-night!

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