we got the last bottle of soco


I’m at the farm, where my vast repository of pictures lie, and I wanted to jumpstart my scanning project for the winter. Thus I’ll have a bunch of random pictures cropping up on the blog, so be forewarned: if we know each other, I have a picture of you. Maybe several. I think I even have a picture of LFMD in 1986.

Anyway, a few jumped out at me tonight.


Christmas Eve 1985, my parents split up, and I walked out into the snow and demanded a life change of myself. Even if it was going to be shallow and stupid, I resolved to have fun for the first time in my life. I cut my hair, got contact lenses, was accepted into a fraternity and fell in love for the first time in the next three months. The picture above was taken for the fraternity composite in March 1986, when I had barely grown into my face.


February 29 – Leap Day, 1992 – was also the high water mark for Mardi Gras as we knew it. After three straight days of drinking brown liquor by the liter, we woke up in a dilapidated house on Freret Street not far from the Garden District in New Orleans. We had sleeping bags, but the beer from the carpet had seeped up into our clothes overnight. We were trying our best to recover, even though the band that lived in the house – with the hilariously horrible name of “Voodoo Jive” – was practicing upstairs.

No, I didn’t have a mullet. It just looked that way when I woke up.


October 2000. I had just escaped the suicidal dreariness of LA, working in a swanky dot-com job for lots of money in downtown New York. I was a month into a romantic relationship with my beautiful friend Tessa Blake, and even though I hated the Yankees, I was not prepared for the beauty of being above the center of a World Series ticker-tape parade. All of us in the Woolworth Building – once the tallest in the world – stuck our heads out and threw confetti. It was like being in a magic snow dome of the joy that is New York.

Eleven months later, the World Trade Center buildings came down next door, and I remember all the charred bits of paper flying around the air that day, and thinking how similar joy and tragedy can look.

0 thoughts on “we got the last bottle of soco

  1. Anne

    LOL! Mardi Gras hangover pic FTW. Good to know the backstory there. You guys look pretty rough. ;-)
    It took me a minute to realize that the ticker-tape parade pic was looking *down*. My eyes kept wanting to read it as horizontal … probably because I’m so desperately acrophobic that my brain was in denial about the perspective. Eeek! (But: cool too.)

  2. LFMD

    A 21 year old photo of me! If you’ve got one, baby, feel free to post it.
    You know, in many ways, Laurie version 2007 would not even be recognizable to Laurie version 1986.
    Laurie 2007 to Laurie 1986: “Lighten up and enjoy life, will you please? Oh, and in a few short years, Lexapro will make your life a whole lot easier.”
    Laurie 1986 to Laurie 2007: “What the hell do you mean you voted Republican in 2000??? Impossible!”
    Oh, and I agree with Anne — the ticker tape parade did a number on my eyes.

  3. LFMD

    Oh, and I am still reading the virginny post with much interest. If Laurie v.1986 had realized that she was not the only one who was on the V team let alone had never even been kissed at age 18, she might have been a bit less uptight. I remember framing a photo of me and my good friend George, telling everyone at UNC that he was my boyfriend. I did not want to appear like such a geek undesirable, you know? Anyway, I did adore George, but we were both shy, and never as much as held hands. Oh, and he came out of the closet at age 30. The first in a long line of gay men on whom I have developed huge crushes.

  4. Billychic

    Your photos are awesome – and so is your blog. Tragedy and joy are often lines that are so blurred it can make even a Mardi Gras hangover seem like a moment of clarity.
    I doth protest, that the name “Voodoo Jive” is horrible, however. Hilarious, perhaps, but not horrible.


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