It was Friday, with Mr. Black closed and The F Word not yet open. Baby Jane (pictured above with and without Casey) and I felt rudderless. You can feel Jane's frustration in that second shot. What was there to do? Jane told me to meet her at Barracuda, which was packed. I beat her there and said hello to Chris Harder. We talked about our next CONTROL party (coming soon). I texted Jane to find out where she was. Turns out she was upstairs with Casey at Rob's place. I went up. We went down to say hi to Chris and get more booze refreshments. All of our talking was making us thirsty.
Jane got me going on writing about queer theory methodology, which I sketch in an essay about Monique Wittig; teaching lesbian and gay studies; and the Michael Jackson conference I organized at Yale. Jane wanted to talk with the PhD in the PhDJ. We pondered the future of queer political activism and commiserated over the bungling of meaningful health care reform. Then she asked me where my camera was.
Suddenly, we went from literary salon to Calvin Klein ad Fiona Apple video. OK. I'm not Mark Romanek. And there wasn't a pool for us to play footsie in or a TV launching from the floor. Or pizza (though that would have been a good idea).
But Casey did start posing on Rob's bed like "Criminal" was playing in the background. At least you can scroll back up and play the video here while you look at Casey.
A couple hundred pictures and many drained bottles later, it was 4:45 a.m. Time to go home. Off in a cab I went.
