this is fyf

In a state of free association, I was thinking about Provincetown last night.  You see, this year I'm going during Bear Week (as opposed to "pretty lesbian" week when I usually go).  And I was all, "Haha, wouldn't it be funny to get blonde feathered wigs and school-girl outfits for a bunch of us and be all, "Bear Week?  I thought it was Blair Week?"  Granted this would only work if you could get an army of friends to do the same, because as a solo act it would just be strange, right?  So that lead to a breakdown of who would and would not be down for such a thing as some people are so focussed on getting laid and that's it and others just won't wear a wig and a school-girl outfit and others aren't very strong bike riders, so maybe wearing a skirt would be a bad idea for them.  Still others are too young to understand the sheer importance that Facts of Life held in The Culture. (The mere power held in just the feathers of Lisa Welchel's hair was astounding! There was a Jewish girl and a black girl and a dyke!  And what happened to Sue Ann and Cindy and freaking little Molly Ringwald?  Was there a carbomb? Why were they never mentioned again?  Was it ever explained?  IS FRIENDSHIP REALLY THAT TRANSIENT?)  Then others would think Facts was too mainstream for Provincetown and would want to be "slutty Blair", but the truth is that Blair was a slut and I am sure that it was written between the lines of every episode. So then I went online and started looking for images of Blair, trying to find the image that matched the image in my mind's eye and it was a bit of a failure.  Photography could not capture the twinkling of the eye and the uniformly flowing stiffness of the hair that was Blair Warner.  Then I came upon this gallery of Facts of Life art and was thrilled, THRILLED.  Here is someone that "got it" maybe and?  She does pet portraits.  She makes money, honey.  Then I thought of the expense of dressing all these people as Blair (because I fund my ideas, you know?) and whether I was all that committed to "Blair Week".  And then I thought about her being "Blair Warner" and how Elizabeth Taylor had married Senator John Warner, and then my mind drifted on ...

Provincetown's West-End Salon gets the Tabatha Coffey Take-Over Treatment.

This episode was actually being shot during my trip to PTown last summer (during "Girl Splash").  Apparently it's on the air soon, as the preview is up?  But the full episode isn't listed in the episode guide?   There are so many questions!  Will there be drag queen hair?  Who will be the clients during Girl Splash week?  Will there be mullets?  Will Tabatha call out the bubble-machine that is almost always on?  (I don't have cable (and neither should you), but will eventually watch this on the Bravo site!) 

Everything you always wanted to know...but couldn't shut up long enough to listen to the answer.

Via: Pharmacy Technician

Hurricane Earl has its eye on Fire Island and Provincetown.

Ugh, right?  While some are fretting that the Fire Island ferries will be shut down for Hurricane Earl, others are wondering whether they want to drive five hours to be in the midst of the storm.  (The solution if one must get out of town may be the Catskills or Adirondacks.)  While the storm is likely to interfere with plans for Friday and Saturday, the rest of the weekend is looking beautiful.

Image via Weather Channel

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part eight - Edwige is the boom!

Wes likes three blue-cheese stuffed olives in his dirty martini.  The waitress brings the martini with only two.  He ordered three though.  The waitress says she will have to charge for any additional.  Wes says to bring four more.  This is the only thing that goes wrong at dinner.  

Chef Rocco is a sweetheart.  He recognizes two in our party from a conversation outside Spiritus last summer and is full of good energy.  It's a busy night, but he is graceful and the stress doesn't show.  Every table is full. 

The special is local striped bass.  I have the flank steak.  There are eight of us at the table.  Everyone is satisfied.  Seriously, eight gays at a dinner table, happy.  That sentence says enough.  Edwige is the boom.

Provincetown was once home to a serial killer.

The PTown Notebook series will wrap up later today, but here's a side note.  In the "Special Features" of John Waters' Serial Mom (watched last night - thanks Netflix!), Mink Stole says in an interview that she was once friends with a serial killer when she was living in Provincetown.  Tony Costa lured female tourists from Provincetown to go see his "marijuana garden" over in Truro, where he would kill them, have sex with the bodies, and bury them.  

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part seven - Buy Mark Louque a goddamn air conditioner

Fag Bash in the basement of The Governor Bradford remains the best party Provincetown has to offer.  Nevermind that it is 105 degrees inside  and that even with a fan directly on you, you will sweat balls.  Nevermind the girl that came downstairs with her gal pal and their boyfriends whom you heard say "faggots" in totally the wrong way and who is trying to amuse herself by rubbing against you and trying to dance with you.  (You walk away each time she does this.  When she tries to talk to you, you reply in a plain Midwestern accent, "I don't speak English," and this totally works for some reason.)  It's the energy and selection that Mark Louque and crew put into the evening that fills you up and makes you happy to be there in the basement.  It's the energy and selection that makes you happy to be in Provincetown.  To be alive and dancing!  You praise Mark with a hug and then go order an icy beverage and you sweat it out, because it's just a damned good time.

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part six - Don't drink the Tea

We're riding by on our bikes.  We smell.  It's been a long day on Herring Cove, and we look like we've, well, had a long day on Herring Cove.  Texts are coming in from the Tea Dance.  Urgent texts demanding our attendance.  These texts cannot be ignored.

We arrive.  We pay the cover.  We wonder out loud, as we always do, why there is a cover.  We wonder out loud what is up with the music.  We drink.  We wonder out loud if these people are from Boston.  Isn't that?  No, it's not.  And that?  No.  We discuss the cliquishness of Boston men.  We discuss lesbian dance rituals.  We discuss the bathroom, the hotel, "their" Planter's Punch versus "our" Planter's Punch.  We don't dance.  We leave too early, but not soon enough.  We wonder out loud why we follow routines.  We go home and watch Ab Fab.

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part five - Bloody Mary bar

It's 11:30 on a Sunday morning, and The Mews doesn't serve booze until noon.  It's our last day in town.  We turn in the keys to our (even-though-our-share-is-over-let's-spend-one-more-day-all-six-of-us-in-one) hotel room.  We pack our bags into the van. We flirt with the host who agrees to let the (sweetest-blind) dog sit out front with him.

Noon is marked by the arrival of our vodka selections.  (The Mews has over 200 varieties.)   After a quick passing of glasses around (bacon-infused!  cucumber-organic! Absolut Peppar!  Ketel!) we head to the Bloody Mary bar.  Bacon, olives, bacon, capers, bacon, artichoke, bacon, celery, stuffed olives and bacon are added to a base of tomato juice.  Inventions are shared around the table.

A second round?  Of course.  This is the way the trip ends.  This is the way the trip ends.  This is the way the trip ends.  With a Bloody bang, not a whimper.

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part four - The Fire Island-y house

So most of the houses in Provincetown are uniform in their rugged timelessness, but there is one that must have just been renovated this past year.  It's up the street from Adams Pharmacy, and from a distance you don't think much other than it is a large home for being in the middle of the town.  (This is where "consumption of consumables" comes into play as I'm not a 'rememberer' of 'things'.)  There's like, a Sub-Zero and a whirlpool bath and track lighting and this gigantic swinger's bedroom on the top floor.  (All is learned not by snooping, but by asking the sweet and gracious owner (Chris?) for a tour.  It's three in the morning and the house is a swirl of activity and the huge pool (POOL IN PTOWN) is full of naked fellows.  I turn to my friend (an architect) and postulated that we were perhaps in Fire Island (we had been house-mates in the Pines)  to which he clinks his glass to mine (or thuds probably as they were plastic).  In time, we leave in a little group and return to our bikes and pedal toward our East End house, the "un-cha, un-cha" of this Fire Islandia in the distance of the lightly fogged night.

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part three - Tabitha Coffey is on the jetty, and suddenly I get why Andy Cohen and Bravo are successful.

Walking the length of the jetty is strenuous.  It's not an excessively long walk, but the concentration required to step on the right boulder in the right way without fail can wear one down a little.  

EMT's are on the scene when we arrive.  We watch them head out with a stretcher as we enjoy our sandwiches from Relish - mine is the peanut tofu wrap.  When we pass them about one-third of the way out, we see a teen male with a fracture or a sprain or a something-not-horribly-bloody, but-ultimately-terrifying-so-far-out.    We don't stick around as there are enough gawkers already, and we really want to walk all the way to Long Point. 

Although we walk the full length, we don't make it all the way to the lighthouse.  We turn back.  The tide is rising; our landscape of mussel shells now underwater.  We discuss the reason and the purpose and the how and the why of the jetty and arrive at the conclusion of erosion prevention.  (Maybe we're right?)  We reach the end, and suddenly we're being filmed and signing releases and watching Tabatha Coffey interview someone (who turns out to be the owner of the West End Salon) and BOOM, epiphany.

Bravo doesn't have genius programming.  Its shows are gay friendly, have their tongue firmly planted in cheek, and its regulars (like Coffey) seem to be a fun bunch.  It seems, from casual observation, that the reason behind this is Andy Cohen.  Sure, he can be a bit of an ass in his interview bits, but then consider this:

You've sent one of your lesbian stars to do a salon makeover in Provincetown during Girl Splash?  How awesome of a boss are you? 

While I've met him casually (in Provincetown last year actually and seriously, it was a handshake and maybe twenty words) I've never before had an epiphany about the guy.  But the epiphany is this;  Andy Cohen is pretty fucking cool.

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part two - A note to a certain bartender

Look, friend.  Of course I noticed you at your place of work.  Despite the great view, and the great drinks you were serving up, how couldn't a guy notice your rugged good looks and your playful twinkling eyes.  But you were talking mostly to my friend (and who wouldn't, he's awesome), so my concentration was on the rest in our group.  So I couldn't not be caught by surprise when we were suddenly making out in front of Blonde's while my friends were ordering fried mac-n-cheese balls.  Sure, I left for that late night naked pool party with you, but on the way there you started talking about how hot my friend is (and who wouldn't, he's awesome), but honestly, all I really needed was a blow job, and that requires focus, so I sort of bailed at the party.  Maybe when you come back to Manhattan we'll kick it.

Provincetown Notebook, July 2010, part one - "Because you have no heart, amongst other things."

Picked up from the ferry, I was whisked to the grocery store where fixings for a mixed grill were selected by others while I selected ingredients for my magical lemon/blueberry/almond cookies.  Upon exit to the parking lot, I heard perhaps the greatest line of all time at the end of this address from one septuagenarian lesbian to another: 

"I'm angry because you left me.  Left me while you went to go shopping.  Left me for a long time.  Left me in a HOT CAR.  BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO HEART.  AMONGST [pause] other things."

Yes, Provincetown, and yes, I know Bear Week was last week.

Provincetown is calling me.  A house in the East End, not far from Commercial and Bradford's intersection and right on the water, already has my friends.  My work (the real money work) was too much to take a full week at the moment.  But yes, this hiatus is needed in the worst of ways, so no working, no blogging - just an exercise in relaxing.

Now about this time of year, Mister Andrew Sullivan tends to write a paean about Provincetown that is also about bears and Bear Week.  (Ah, yes.  There it is.  He could have at least credited Marc Johns (whose art we've also used).  Oh, Sully.)  Tons of our friends go to Bear Week, and they have a great time and more power to them.  The 'bear' thing is cute, but it's not for me.

From Your Flickr - Little Red Store

 

Last night Provincetown was in my dreams.  It wasn't a specific dream, just a nice summer day.  I bought bug spray at The Little Red Store and ran into friends from high school, as one does in dreams.  See you next month, store.

From M.V. Jantzen's Flickr