Madness, I tell ya

Friday's Masquerade March is my favorite part of the week. Locals, tourists -- everybody -- meeting up at the cemetery gates on Francis Street. Hets go one way, homos another, stopping at similarly themed guesthouses along two routes, where the management provides a refreshing snort.

Then both meet up on Simonton and come down to Duval via Olivia, just half a block from our house. Which means we can see the whole crowd, cheering them on and being photographed ourselves, without the long, raucous walk with the comforts of home nearby.

I think this year had more flesh than usual, but we were a pretty decorous lot: Gene in a remnant he draped into something fabulous, Jerry in a vest from the mystical East, Robert recycling his pirate outfit into Zorro and me in a new Maskerville acquisition.

You can tell the locals: It is the Masquerade March, after all.

Toga, toga, toga!

The, uh, regular folks have a huge toga party at Sloppy's, and gay guys show up by the hundreds at the Equator guesthouse in Roman garb that is one helluva lot better accessorized. Gene sewed up the basic tunics for both Robert and me, and I draped an old Egyptian galabiya over it and put on one of John McBride's Maskerville creations, feeling quite pagan.

There is a lot of flesh on display at both venues, but they don't have R.V. Beaumont, drag extraordinaire, doing a running commentary on various . . . male features.

For some reason we felt like Italian food, and they put us in a window table at La Trattoria. That's Jerry on the left and Gene on the right.

The tortellini ala Romana were delicious.

It's almost a law

We took Gene and Jerry on a sunset sail on the big catamaran Mar- quesas, encoun- tered a lot of nice straight people (one couple got engaged on the boat) and, as usual, all watched like little kids as the big ball dropped.

Something very elemental about that.

Then we hiked up Duval, avoiding the Sloppy Joe's corner and went to Mangoes for some of the fish that could have been swimming under that boat yesterday.

Funny that we avoided Sloppy's: A couple from Williamsburg was arrested there a few hours later for having sex in the middle of a crowd in the middle of Duval.

It's that time of year.

Pretty good match

Gary came by with another armload of leftover orchids, callas and fillers; it's always a surprise to find them on one of the porch chairs (when a mayoral candidate isn't handing them to me).

And these are just perfect: They match my nose.

Robert got a cold from Joe at bridge last week, and I got it over the weekend.

What was it I just wrote? Oh, yeah. Just in time for Fantasy Fest. Jerry and Gene arrive today.

Flight path cleared

Sometimes plants take a little midwifing, and the big bird of paradise on the south end of our picket fence is a good case.

Flowerheads come up between the big fronds -- which are beautifully fanned, but tight. So the flowers kind of twist and sometimes get lost until they're almost played out.

This time the frond that would have been at the left of the picture was wind-shredded enough to saw off, letting those beautiful blue pods rise unhindered.

Just in time for Fantasy Fest.

The pieces come together

Whirly gig

I took a look at all the images I might have posted from the Coronation Ball -- Vicki on her dustbin, the Key West Burlesque dancer in her, erm, painted bodysuit, dancer Vinnie sticking his tongue out at me, Nurse Ginger showing what she uses as resuscitation devices --

And I settled on the mostly-naked John Mumford swirling his glow-sticks, which were a fixture at Atlantic Shores, which has been eaten by a cardboard replica of something Disney would have built as a particle-board replica of something Key West might have looked like in the family-friendly mind of a set designer from Ell Aay.

Long may he swirl.

The porch be decked

Organization makes life possible sometimes.

When Robert said it was time to string the porch railing up just as we've done in past years for Fantasy Fest, I went up to the bead-costume-wig containers and -- as NOT in past years -- pulled out the exact bags, with the exact numbers of strands (6 each color), with a few spares to accommodate breakage.

The only thing I had trouble with: Every few minutes, I'd repeat ROY G BIV to hm.

ROY G BIV.

But remember, this is a man who can't remember "Thirty days hath September. . . " and has some mnemonic involving his knuckles for calculating the 30-day months.

It's Vicki and Ralph

Vicki did a wonderful number all Kermitted out atop a recycle bin, singing "It Ain't Easy Being Green," with Tony Konrath flinging campaign stuff that was hitting its sell-by date at the very minute (and hitting me on the head: one T-shirt that smacked me harder than I imagined a balled-up T-shirt could as I had my eye in the camera).

For his part, Ralph of course had Michael fronting on vocals. To think: He's the first native conch ever to become Fantasy Fest king.

And it was a pleasant surprise that they won. When Dwight came over for a drink beforehand, we agreed that Stacy and the Markeys were pretty much shoo-ins, though nobody loses when all the proceeds go to AIDS Help.

Puzzle part 7

If you haven't seen "Rat Race," and its scene with the Lucys nagging Cuba Gooding Jr. on that big rolling bus, and one with a special problem. . . .

Well, this is the one with the special problem -- but OH, so many talents.

As we've seen so often. He's Key West's sweetheart.

I'll be picking the puzzle up Saturday.

It's always something

So you start out with perfectly low-calorie chicken breasts, sliced thin the long and wide way. Nice low-cal ingredient.

But you turn them into involtini: a slice of prosciutto, a good chunk of cheese, just a hint of pepperoni in the middle because I didn't have any roasted peppers handy, all rolled inside the pounded chicken.

Brown in butter and olive oil, and braise in dry vermouth and chicken stock, with herbs to taste.

Serve with risi e bisi, generously sprinkled with grana.

And damn, if you haven't added some wicked calories.

Kick start

I ought to have one of those Intel stickers on my fore- head, but it would say "Alarm Clock Inside."

No matter what we've done the night before -- in this case, dinner at 915 (yes, the pâté, yes, oh yes) so we could nail down our viewing table for the Fantasy Fest parade -- my internal timer puts me on buzz somewhere around 5 a.m. Rain, shine, summer, winter, there I am, hatched fresh for the day, and even fresher once the French roast has brewed.

Robert, meanwhile, snores.

Miles to go

Gassy Winds (that's her stage name anyway) had painted and decorated a brand-new one-speed Schwinn for the Markeys' auction Sunday night, bedecked with smileys, and Robert -- well-oiled from Gay Bingo -- was bound and determined to have it.

Gassy donated her electric-yellow wig, to match the stickers all over it (fenders, carry-box, cup-holder, mirrors, horn and padded seat, for two smiles under one) and made sure the rain poncho, bike lock and bungees were compatible yellow-and-black. The Markeys threw in shirts, buttons and stuff.

As Robert got on it for the short roll home from Aqua, we found the only thing it really lacked was any air in the tires.

So now with pump, plus headlight and taillight, we're set. Perfect for rolling up to crime scenes, if you want to match the tape.

Today I took it on a shakedown cruise to the White Street Pier and then around to the Southernmost Point without killing myself or busting a muscle, though it's been a long time since my last ride.

And Robert took our rusty clunkers, which haven't been operable for a few years (one was even missing a chain), for "recycling" at the corner. Sure enough, they were snatched away in 5 minutes.

Cool-weather fare

"Cool" is of course relative, but with all the doors open, and a breeze in the 70s wafting through, I decided it was time to perfume the street. Thus last night's risotto: arborio rice, chicken, asparagus tips, sweet red pepper, caramelized onion, parmesan, broth . . . .

And enough garlic to make a Sicilian blush.

Puzzle part 6

Surviving the freeze

. . . Be- cause it only got down to about 70 here, a far cry from the frost and freeze warnings in Tennessee.

Still, 70 brings the sweaters, windbreakers and extra jackets out of the closet, when we're all used to the 90s at most and mid-80s at least.

The ixoras inside the front gate seemed to be thriving in one big floral cooler, much happier since we ripped out the diseased hibiscus. This bunch ought to pop in a week and be good for a month, at least.

No comment needed

That kind of night

If you stand on your head, they look great.

We picked up some spare beach balls at a King fundraiser for the Markey Marks last night -- sparse attendance, because the queen candidates were having their own joint event at the Bottlecap and one of the Marks had to give a Conch Train tour, and a bit of a shopworn premise, as the second chicken drop of the season.

Besides that, it was abysmally hot: no air, nothing moving but sweat beads sliding down your ribs. The weather is supposed to break in a day or so, and we can't wait.

But as the crowd left, and they were tossing the balls out of the pool, Robert asked if we might have a few. The single Mark was a little disgusted with them: "The damn Chinese can't even figure which way is up on a beach ball."

The valves on the ball act as weights, so the smileys, which are the Markeys' campaign symbol, were upside-down all night. They do scoot around a pool for very low-key entertainment, though.

Puzzle part 5

Home to roost

You're going to have to trust me on this one, because I couldn't get a shot of the bird and the car in the same frame. Well, maybe if I laid down in the street, but I try not to do that much.

I was out on the porch last night, waiting for a pasta sauce to simmer down a bit, and saw one of the scrawny little hens who have been hanging around for the last few weeks hop on top of the sedan, eyeing the yellow elder overhead.

I went for the camera, of course, but by the time I got back outside the bird had vanished. So I had another sip of wine and sure enough, there were rustles in the tree.

And yes, she'd made it up there to roost for the night -- and help customize the Lexus' paint job below.

Puzzle part 4

Orchid, heliconia, hibiscus, peony. . . .

I'm not sure where or whether they'll fit, but by jiminy I'm gonna try to cram 'em in somewhere. A little color goes a long way, and this is not a little color. But as the Little Brothers always say, "Flowers before bread."

Or mangoes, limes, pineapple. . . .

Why it whined

The pool pump has been making a strange noise for a while, but when it switched on this morning, it was more of a wail.

I called Chris, our pool guy. His bad news: His business is in danger of folding. His good news: With no work, he could send Chip right over.

Chip thought maybe we could have the seals repacked -- until he pulled it apart, and found it full of what looks like day-old oatmeal. Seems the seal had gone blooey, and saltwater is not kind to bearings.

He went around the corner for a new pump, and it only took about 200 oaths about corroded bolts to get the whole thing back in order. Well, that and a few hundred bucks.

Puzzle part 3

Well, I told you it wasn't much of a puzzle (see the comment on part 2 if you're curious), but it is fun to see the parts coming in, each fruitier than the last.

I think the real puzzle is what the damn thing is going to look like when. . . well, when the Mystery Guest is finished with it.

Blossom dearie (small D)

We've known Gary for a few years -- "known" in the sense of saying hi when he passes on the way to or from the church, and given condolences when he discovered the guy who'd shot himself to death in the sanctuary, and been pleasantly surprised when he'd drop orchids off at the doorstep.

(One sweet twist to that: A few weeks ago, I answered the doorbell and there was a mayoral candidate, Craig Cates, going door to door to ask for votes. He was holding one of Gary's big sprays of dendrobiums, blushing, and said like a bashful beau, "I thought you might like these. . . ." We laughed, when he said he'd found them on the doorstep, and he got my vote, and he won the election with just better than 50 percent in a four-candidate race. He's a great guy who'll be a good mayor, from all I've seen and heard.)

At any rate, we've been accosting Gary for months to stop by for a drink so we could all get to know each other, but he's the shy type and always busy.

Until the other night, when he showed up with English roses and hydrangeas, shared some snacks and some scotch and told us of his childhood in St. Louis and adulthood as florist to the stars in Laguna Beach, as well as house florist to the people who owned Teleflora. He was gracious enough not to blanch when Robert stuck his stems into a cheap vase, and he even knew Aunt Grace from White House decoration days.

I knew I liked him for more than orchids.

Puzzle part 2

Finally, but briefly, but sweetly

When the ground orchids on either side of our front steps started languishing last year, we hauled our butts out to Mama's, way up on Rockland Key, and got some Tahitian gardenias for the left side, and some bromeliads for the right. It took until this summer -- they had a few blooms when I was here -- for the gardenias to get down to the business of flowering, and they've been dribbling them out since.

The blossoms, maybe 2 inches across, only last a day or so, but you can smell them from the middle of the street.

Just cruising

Gregory shared a few of his shots from the sunset cruise the other day for Ralph for King.

I'm not passing along the shots of the two dancers who collected funds, but I thought you might like to see Michael McCabe selling me and Robert the winning raffle ticket.

Puzzle part 1

I'm getting materials together for a little project, and you'll see bits and pieces over the next week or so.

It's no big deal, and there are no rewards for correct guesses, but I thought it would be fun to dribble the components out.

TropiCarrots?

Our neighbors adjoining toward the corner don't really have a garden. What surrounds their tumbledown rear deck is more an accumulation of overgrown palms, invasive vines and brittle aralias.

. . . And the sansiveria that keeps creeping under the fence, into our ferns, into our walkway, under our feet. It would get smashed every other day during construction (as would some of the carpenters), and just as routinely sprout back up. Since then, I've hacked it back whenever it became a tripwire again, and this week I got serious.

Those roots are a good inch across, and if they ever make it under the house, they're going to make Jack and the Beanstalk look like a fairy tale.

At your bid

The Mar'keys' had a fun event in their campaign for Fantasy Fest king: an auction of dates with former kings at Bourbon (where one of the Markeys works; the other's a Conch Tour guide).

Bidding was spirited. Sounds like the dates would be, too.

Beacon in the night

Splendid inspiration

One of my favorite segments on each week's "The Splendid Table" is when a caller describes the con- tents of his or her fridge and Lynne comes up with a great recipe idea to blend everything together. I must have been channeling her today.

The flash hit, and I went to the market for peppers. They were out of regular green bells, but the Cubanitos looked wonderful.

And tasted even better, stuffed with leftovers (chicken parmesan, crumbled hot Italian sausage and provolone, all ground together) and roasted on a bed of leftover rice mixed with leftover pasta sauce, studded with capers.

Destination

". . . [T]hey drove hard through Tennessee and Georgia, then entered the ceaseless gray monotony of north Florida, driving without rest or food, until the sky turned blue again and winter turned to summer in a single day, and the birds grew silky and white and America finally petered out and became no more than a dribble of rocky islands where the road ran narrow and low, seeming to plow a path right through the blue sea, as if Moses himself had gotten there just seconds before, leading the way to the promised land."

-- James W. Hall, "Off the Chart"

We did NOT bid on this

. . . Though it was modeled by a particularly fetching dancer from Key West Burlesque, which our electrician's wife, Kyla, joins on some occasions that need her particular bump.

(A columnist for our newspaper, the Citizen, once devoted an entire week's essay to Kyla's backside, which I admit outdoes this one by several mile markers -- but I digress, thinking of bouncing quarters.)

What we did get at the Aqua costume auction to support Stacy for Queen was the acquaintance of a costume-maker and milliner in town, who made this and was at the event to fluff lace and drum up business. I will be talking with her about a Carmen Miranda hat.

And, considering that it all benefits AIDS Help, we also got: A stunning blond-red wedge-cut wig, from Queen Ginger; a silk brocade dressing gown, with high collar and wildly flared hem, that I am determined to cut down to my size; a devil-in-a-red-skirt costume, complete with horns; and some matching red pumps, from Queen Fizz, which at size 14 (women's) fit Robert pretty well indeed.