I was in New England last week to see my college chum Dale assume his position as Grand Marshal of the Boston Gay Pride Parade.
I’ve visited Boston frequently through the decades and have found it to be just the right combination of erudite and profane. The vast student population with attendant cultural activities provide adequate stimulation for intellectual masturbation. Other forms of self abuse are easily available in the anonymous back alleys and areas of urban decay that made the 20th Century so lovely.
At one point I even considered doing post graduate work at Boston’s great upholstery school, Tufts University. But there was confusion over which degree program I was pursuing and my application was rejected.
The first part of the week was spent with Marilyn in Providence. She and her husband Ron have just completed work on their new home with spectacular views of Narragansett Bay.
During the days, she and I hit the trail of summer ice cream stands that dot the area. I had many delicious flavors while she kept ordering the same one, Not Good Either.
Upon visiting one of Rhode Island’s ye olde gift shops I was overcome with the vapors from their cloying scented candles. Reeling, I thought I saw a picture of Oprah with skin that was completely non-descript. It reminded me of how Elizabeth Taylor made more money with her perfumes than she did in her entire movie career. I decided I should come out with a line of beauty products to supplement my welfare checks.
Inspired by the Big O, my cosmetics will be called Air Brush with the tagline: They’ll never know it’s you. The first two shades that have made it out of focus groups are Beyond Recognition and, for the Autumns out there, Embalmer’s Best Friend.
As the week progressed Marilyn and I were also inspired to update Joan Crawford’s signature Come Fuck Me Pumps. Air Brush will soon be offering an exclusive line of human-like hair Fuck Me Falls and Pound Me Postiches.
There’s a goofball quality I share with my Bloomington friends over this B thing. When we need a diversion we riff on things B might do. The scary thing for them is if one of these fantasies is even remotely possible I may attempt it.
In the early 90’s I was on a work assignment in DC. Dale came down from Boston for a weekend to hang out with me.
After a taxing day of museum-hopping we sat down for a cocktail. Gaultier had just come out with his Classique perfume in the torso shaped flacon. Staring at his magazine ad we decided B should have a signature fragrance too.
Our ad campaign was to be a velvety matte black background surrounding the glistening amber-colored potion. The glass bottle would be in the shape of male genitalia.
I can’t remember the name we came up with. Possibly Golden or Alchemy or B’s Gold.
But I do remember our tagline: Let it flow.
