the map of when

HOLLY, GO LIGHTLY

A month or so ago I noticed my apartment building had a new tenant on the first floor. When I was walking my Polly beagle, I’d often see him sitting with several younger people on his balcony drinking wine and once I walked by and noticed one filming him with a video camera. “Huh”, I thought, “he must be some gay veteran who’s sharing his tales of coming out in the past.” A few times we chatted and introduced ourselves while I stood on the sidewalk below. He was very nice.

Weeks later, another (gay) tenant in my building and I were talking. “This friend of mine is a screenwriter and he’s writing a screenplay about Holly Woodlawn, the drag actress who worked with Andy Warhol, and he told me she lives in our building!” Immediately I thought of the new tenant.

Lou Reed immortalizes Holly in his song Walk On The Wild Side :

“Holly came from Miami, F-L-A,
hitchhiked her way across the U.S.A.,
Plucked her eyebrows on the way,
shaved her legs and then he was a she,
she says, Hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side…”

Naturally I was intrigued but it wasn’t until this week I saw Holly and a friend sitting on his balcony again. We struck up a conversation and he insisted I come up to his apartment with my dog to visit.

So it turns out I am friends with the infamous Holly Woodlawn and may now have become part of his entourage. I discovered the friend he was with when he invited me up is, in fact, a rather infamous artist (who is also charming).

Holly and I talk of many things :

Holly : “So I was doing my show at Reno Sweeney’s and was singing a song about sequins. So Andy said “Call Halston and ask him how to spell sequins”. This was when Halston was huge and had this whole big place on Madison. So I called and said “May I speak to Halston?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Holly Woodlawn” So he immediately gets on the phone.

“Halston? how do you spell sequins?”

“S-E-Q-U-I-N-S”

“Thank you darling” and I hung up. He called me right back and asked me to come to his showroom so I hopped in a cab and went and he made me two sequined gowns to wear for my show.”

Me : Too bad you don’t have them now.

Holly : “Oh darling, they weren’t really my taste. But I could buy this whole building with them.”

I’ve been back twice already. He’s sung, told great stories, I showed him how to use his remote and we exchanged phone numbers. I’m due to return Thursday as his artist friend takes photos of him for an art project.

DEAR VALENTINE -

So here We are, once again. Valentine’s Day, when Love is reduced to pink and red (the colors of wounds), hearts and apparently naked children holding weapons. It’s an unusual but safe way to categorize what we can’t really describe, replace what we can not or will not express with symbols we can avoid explaining.

You and I, however, are different. Our love is secret. There is apparently no place for this Love, my Love. It does not beg for court intervention nor political gain. It does not need approval from anyone.

This Love is not criticized directly but everywhere one looks are subtle offers to avoid it - Friendster, chat lines, “Reality” shows, ad campaigns, magazines. The message is clear : being alone is to be avoided, usually at all costs. You can be ignorant, you can be cynical, you can be manipulative and manipulated but whatever you do, you must surround yourself with others.

Here is where we’re different. We = I. I like being single and like being alone, in the “human” sense of course since Polly is always with me. I like having my apartment just the way I want. I like watching what I want on TV or not watching anything at all. I can watch the Simpsons three times a day and t’aint nobody’s business if I do. I can buy a giant size container of egg salad from the deli and spread it on Carr’s Wheat Crackers 24/7. I hold out a small piece for Polly on the edge of the butter knife like fine caviar and watch her delicately lean over and pluck it off the edge with the tip of her tongue.

We enjoy it, me and me and me and me. We have good times. People may view me sympathetically when I tell them I spent Saturday night home. Inside I am smiling, thinking of egg salad and the Simpsons. How Polly slept on my shoulder while I was on my computer, looking happy and perfect which is reason enough to adore her. I think about how much I’m in Love with my World and Me in it.

Skip the flowers, skip the chocolates, I’m frankly not a big sweets fan. Skip the gaudy card, if you can’t say it all the time, it probably doesn’t need to be said. Skip the misguided romanticism. All the crap about “The One”, “Forever and Ever”, “Meant to Be”. I am not a Searching Half who dreams of Something or Someone else to come along and complete me like a puzzle. An Incomplete Puzzle is just Incomplete and in itself is Something to Love.

So, I Love you. AIDS, wild eyebrow hairs, Dunhills, quirky glasses, magic, pills. Perfection. The Bomb. I wouldn’t have you any other way because this is how We are. You rock. But you already know that.

xxx

(I originally posted this on my first blog, Standing Room Only, on February 13, 2004.)