NYE 2012

We filled a room at the Hotel des Arts downtown with confetti, color, champagne, and friends. Each room at the hotel is decorated by a different artist, and we stayed in an awesome suite painted by Shepard Fairy and Tricia Choi…which meant really cool floor-to-ceiling Obey wheat pastings and crazy color explosions. Multicolored crepe streamers composed a rainbow wall, giant balloons and mylar stars floated about, and we toasted until the bottles were empty.

Some of us continued the climb up Nob Hill to a masquerade party, where we rang in 2012 under colored balloon ribbons, pizza and ostrich feathers. It was a lovely way to send off 2011, and I’m excited to see what adventures the new year will bring.

Sunday San Francisco wandering.

freshnez:

Confirming all the models now for the show. Got the instax ready and notes for selecting models to looks. Yay!

You should really be following my bff Inez’s NY fashion adventures. It’s only going to get better from here. Also: instaxxx.

Peaches Christ Presents: Showgirls at the Castro Theater.

I am having a hard time writing about this, because I don’t think there are words. So. I want you to think about the movie Showgirls, which could possibly be the best-worst movie ever made. Obviously.

Now I want you to imagine watching it in a theater (a historic, frescoed, red-curtained theater no less) with 500 rowdy gay men, drag queens, fag hags, and other sundry San Franciscans. I want you to imagine that before the movie, there was a Goddess-themed drag show complete with a papier mache volcano, gold dancers, disco balls, and a large queen in a full-glitter bodysuit named Peaches Christ singing. Okay great.

Now, they unleash 150 costumed, unprofessional lap-dancers culled from god-knows-where on the audience while Britney Spears is blasting. The man in the Tigger suit is climbing the balcony. There is a spread-eagled tranny to your right. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence are grinding on every soul who had the gumption to buy a large popcorn. There is a man whose sole job this evening is to toss glitter in the sky and wear gold lamé hot shorts. Got that? Great. You laugh. You cry (from laughing). You cringe and shout and stomp. It is horrifically wonderful.

Then you go to Orphan Andy’s for a wholesome, old-fashioned milkshake. Because what else can you do?

Behind the Scenes: Manacio Clothing Video

Helped out on Friday with a party scene for Jaz’s Manacio Clothing shoot. Shot on her rooftop with fireworks, a DJ and a blow up pool. Can’t wait to see the final cut.

Jack’s Karaoke Thursday

Packed dancefloor, saxophone solos galore, bartender Jesus, singalongs with more cowbell, tambourine playing, mid-song crowd-surfing, 2am mission quesadillas and $5 personal-sized pitchers for all.

NYC

This is a photo of where I was the second week of June last year, and where I’ll be again come June 15th. I never tire of New York…Manhattan is one of my favorite places on earth.

Analog camera repair shop, heart of the Tenderloin.

Coachella I. Some photos by missjonesmedia.

Packing for Coachella.

I took a twilight walk.

The days are getting longer, pulling shadows through the park. It was very warm today. I dipped my fingers in the fountain at Grace Cathedral and touched them to my neck, opened my eyes a little wider. A woman raised a glass of wine to the Bay Bridge from a rooftop, and I accepted her toast too. In North Beach couples sat at sidewalk tables under strings of lights. I wanted their bread. A panting bulldog with a flapping tongue crushed cherry blossoms underfoot. He looked like he was smiling. I watched a pimp in a red velvet suit roll his cigarette. Somewhere around Greenwich I caught the smell of jasmine as the cable car slid by, and the combination of these simultaneous events felt revelatory in a way you’re not supposed to say. I had a scoop of strawberry, and one of grasshopper pie.

It’s always the simple things. Warm nights feel a bit celebratory and a little nostalgic. The senses tingle. The ghosts of summers past rattle their chains a bit. Music and laughter floats over the traffic. It feels like you can run your hands over San Francisco’s curves.