The Saints and Sinners kickoff party was at the W Hotel courtyard on Friday evening. That afternoon, I had to run some errands, including buying a hairbrush or two at Wal-Mart, since that was something I forgot to pack. Thanks to Greg’s excellent directions, I got to Wal-Mart with no problem. I think ALL cities should have roads that dead-end into the parking lots of mega stores like Wal-Mart, Costco, etc. It’s very handy. Cities, take note: My personal preferences would be Target, the Container Store, and Michael’s. Oh, and Walgreen’s, since I spend half my life there anyway.
But back to New Orleans. Since gallivanting through the city on foot wasn’t in the cards this trip, I decided to drive to the W Hotel from Wal-Mart. Of course, I’d failed to get directions back, but Mark G. Harris led me to the hotel by cell phone. Or he tried. I was being very stressed out and uncooperative. Yet he managed not to click his phone shut and blow me off. See why I say the G is for Galahad?
Once in the courtyard, I flopped down on a comfy bench and did very little mingling. Between MGH and FARB, liquid refreshment was kept in front of me (Coca Cola, because I was high enough on pain meds all weekend–‘Nathan, did I really meet you, or just hallucinate it?).
I didn’t get a swag bag, but I did get some photos, and I offer them to you now.
Alistair McCartney, who I called the love child of George Harrison and Paul McCartney, with Steven Reigns, whose blue eyes mesmerized me every time I saw him, and the Giver of Directions, Greg Herren.
If I HAD mingled, I could tell you who all these wonderful people are. I can only say that the man on the right in the blue T-shirt is Jim Gladstone. Funny, funny man. I always want to hug him. I never do.
Timothy J. Lambert with Trebor Healey. Here, Trebor’s putting our digits into his cell phone. Subsequently, I got two obscene phone calls from him. I was so shocked that I had to save them so I could listen to them again and again and again…
I’m pretty sure I heard the theme song from some Clint Eastwood movie as David Puterbaugh and I drew our weapons and fired. Nobody died.
Timothy and Trebor again. Just over Trebor’s shoulder, you can see Mark G. Harris bowing his head. I think he was probably praying that I would delete his number from my cell phone so I’d stop calling him to tell him the lyrics to Steely Dan songs or beg* him to be my personal Step-and-Fetch-It. The man standing next to MGH in the light blue shirt is mystery writer Anthony Bidulka.
The incomparable ‘Nathan Burgoine. Or hallucination. Take your pick. And on the left side of the photo, just a glimmer of FARB’s Crazy Wonderful Boyfriend Brady.
Here’s my fantasy. I’m doing a video with a sexy car in it, and this is the line of men auditioning to roll around on the hood like Tawny Kitaen. From left to right, writers ‘Nathan Burgoine, Alastair McCartney, Steven Reigns, Greg Herren, Famous Author Rob Byrnes, and Mark G. Harris, a/k/a MarGIE.
Tim, a better mingler than I this time, with the animated and fabulous Amie M. Evans and Michael Ledet, charming man and gifted artist.
There will be more…
*And by “beg,” I mean “order.” I’m an Aries.
I’m wondering what it says about my personality, that I had more fun reading your entry about this party (for example: “MarGIE!”) than I did while attending it. I’m chalking it up to your brilliant summation.
Also, I saw ‘Nathan, too. Or think I did. Must’ve been the 18-but-who’s-counting drinks I wolfed that night that caused that hallucination. : )
I wish you were here right now. I feel like bumming a Camel and gossiping.
I’ve been wishing the same thing all day. I blame Lenny and Stevie and others. : )
Bastards.
That post is next.
“Bastards.”
Hello!
Did you do that in your Squiggy voice?
Of course.
If it only takes 18 drinks, why aren’t I visiting more often? Drink up,.
I gotta say, that first group photo, where I’m standing on the end with Alastair (and doesn’t he look happy to see me, ha!), I… uh… don’t remember it.
Though I, too, had a few drinks that night.
Then all I can say is that you hold your liquor well, because you were always the perfect gentleman. If, in fact, you were there at all.
I think that’s Alastair’s “picture face.” If YOU’D taken that photo, you’d probably have enticed a smile out of him. Of course, then you wouldn’t have been in the photo.
My usual picture face is to run and hide. I loved having my picture taken when I was thin. Now–not so much.
Hon, you’re beautiful.
Aw…. I must revise my will again. 😉
you know that Sir Galahad was a bastard too, right?
Didn’t you know all roads lead to Walmarts … except in the wicket city where they lead to Target. Fantastic courtyard.
Loved the pictures, Becky!
ACK! Why on earth do I buy linen shirts? Just look at those wrinkles!
Wrinkled clothes are relaxed and who-gives-a-shit sexy. Like you just rolled out of bed and shrugged into your clothes, thrown on the floor from the previous night’s hot encounter and you don’t give a damn who knows it. Sexawh with Authoritawh.
No more irons, sez me.
See?!?
If trees had outlets I would take an iron camping. (I know, I know. Me? Camping? HA!)
LOL
I tried camping once. It turns out nature doesn’t come with bath-tubs, either. And lakes? Not the same thing.
I like hiking, but prefer to find th enearest hotel afterward to bunking down in the wods. but I love spending a day at the lake.
I don’t get in any water outside of a bathroom that doesn’t have a blue cement bottom.
Indeed. And then, the more pattern to the floor, the more likely I am to get in it.
“Wrinkled clothes are relaxed and who-gives-a-shit sexy.”
I have to agree.
What bugs me in your photo more than your shirt is that little weed sprouting at the foot of the staircase. It’s giving me a mean case of the Lindseys.
MuSt pLuCk…
God, that was like trying to find the sailboat in those stupid hidden picture things. WHERE THE @#$%^&*!!! IS IT???!!!
Dude! Linen is SUPPOSED to wrinkle. Like cotton, it only looks better as the hours pass–it’s the sexy way to wear your day.
When I was in the 3rd grade a nun criticized my wrinkled shirt. I’ve been obsessed with them ever since. (Wrinkles, not nuns.)
(Wrinkles, not nuns.)
I’m not sure I believe this. Get comfortable on the couch while I sit here and take notes, please.
Oh sure, take the nun’s side!
It’s a habit.
Canadian humour: It’s almost as good as the bacon!
Did I ever tell you about the… oh wait! A clown!
OMG, you are cracking me up. Ha haaaaa.
Peeeeegs! Peeeeee*gurgle*eeegs!
David is lucky to have a nemesis. Not everyone can accomplish this.
Aw, I’m just clowning around.
“MarGIE!!!!!”
Welcome to my life. It is indeed Crazy Wonderful. Accent on the ‘crazy.’
–Famous Author Rob Byrnes
“MarGIE!!!!!”
::facial twitch::
Ooh! Say it again, say it again! The facial twitches remind me of when I found sitting on the sidewalk in the morning with a smoke and I raised my camera.
Did you ever catch Tim in the same situation? I love to see him walking the New Orleans sidewalks with his barely open eyes.
I have one of him whistling like a teapot… but I haven’t posted it yet. I caught him mid-exhale outside a building, with a little line of smoke.
With every post like this, I am more and more determined to get there next year.
Jeffrey R.
A Jeffreynapping might be in order…
Me, too!!
A Garynapping can also be arranged.
Just don’t cross the border. 😉
Wow! Great line-up. All the usual
suspectsfamous authors!!(Does the McCartney boy ever smile? Or was he just overwhelmed?)
Thanks for sharing . . . looking forward to more; after all, must get that mileage from the camera!
He does smile. He’s pretty adorable! And yes, definitely–the camera must justify its existence!