“Hack, hack, hack. I wouldn’t pay twenty-five cents to spit on a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. And I think she’s a horrible person, too. I know her…So arrogant, so sure of herself. I’m sure she’s carrying a dildo in her purse.”
Truman Capote! (I am so incorporating that last sentence into my vocabulary.)
Jane Stembridge (on the left), the Virginia native poet who volunteered to be the first secretary of SNCC, 1962
Jane is my new hero.
Dorothy Allison with Alix Layman and Wolf Michael, 1994
photo by Robert Giard
The sheer volume of fluorocarbons this photo shoot must have released into the atmosphere had to have been staggering.
Remember when you emailed this to me, Thom? It was like Christmas.
Yay!
Edgar Sandifer (left) and Dirk at a restaurant booth
Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas at The University of Virginia, Charlottesville, February 4, 1935
photo by Carl Van Vechten
A Smoky Mountain Christmas is a true holiday treasure. By ‘true holiday treasure’ I mean it’s awful. Directed by Henry Winkler [clue #1 of its awfulness], it stars Matthew Blaisdel [clue #2], a ragtag team of East Tennessee orphans [bereft not only of home and parents but also of appropriate accents; clue #3] and of course, Dolly Parton.
If it’s good enough for me to have watched every year of my life, won’t you screen it for yourself/your cats/your Craigslist trick this Christmas Eve?
A “Sunday Punch” performance at Service Club #1 at Camp Polk, Louisiana. The event was played to a capacity crowd of “nearly 800 enthusiastic servicemen.” Edgar Sandifer is second from the left. 1951.