birthday photography: saturday june 11th
The idea is that we gather everyone possible together for brilliantly tacky group photography at Sears. Everyone toss in five to ten dollars and I believe we can afford it easily. Either we meet at my house or we gather at Grandville and Robson. I suspect it will be a mix of the two. I want everyone in typical clothing, nothing too out of left field.
It’ll be fun. Honest.
Yesterday I download some new music and I’m fitting up a playlist. I scan my friends page while I’m waiting for some pictures to load while the Superphones launch into something slow and heavy, Deep Trip. Suddenly on refresh, Warren catches my eye. Everything he writes makes me remember. I just finished hunting down all these songs and putting them together. My year has been longer than I thought it was.
I’ve got red hair now, instead of the usual plum, and in my borrowed clothes, I look like someone’s military fantasy. Olive green, epaulets. I can’t help but wonder what there is wrong with me. I think that at this rate, by the time I’m twenty-five I’ll have seduced all my heroes and smashed all the walls I’m against now with such brilliance that my sky will frighten everyone I used to know and love.
Last night, the usual beautiful people arrived unexpected. Dominique and Ian arriving in the afternoon, (we were brave, we finally fried up Ray’s SPAM), followed by Andrew and Ian, then Matthew and Tyler with Patti and Simon. We put on Casshern eventually, my birthday present from James and it was beautiful. I wanted to dream like that in the night. Instead, there were push-pins in my bed this morning. I rolled over and pulled them in a row from my arm. I didn’t even ask why they were there. On-line Ellen tells me she’s hurt herself in bed and then the phone rings. I smile and tell the pretty people on the other end that profanity and lesbianism don’t bother me. Really. In a week or two it looks that I’m to be a background actor for a lesbian bar set in Chicago. Something called The L Word.