I'm the exchange of icy barbs over whether to set the Arabia Ruska stoneware or the faïence de Gien that Susan shipped to NY from Paris, where she spent healing time in the puces after her heroic service in Sarajevo. Or whether to set the table at all! Stack the plates and self serve.
Let's be a sapphic dinner party hosted by Susan Sontag and "mercilessly bullied" lover Annie Leibovitz
by Anonymous | reply 108 | December 3, 2022 5:28 AM |
I'm the ivy slowly growing over the walls of the house while this debate takes place, covering, covering.
by Anonymous | reply 1 | January 13, 2021 8:51 PM |
I'm the razor in Sontag's shirt pocket.
by Anonymous | reply 2 | January 13, 2021 8:53 PM |
I am a copy of Camille Paglia's "Sexual Personae" that someone has smuggled in and displayed in the guest bathroom.
by Anonymous | reply 4 | January 13, 2021 8:59 PM |
I'm the bag of Doritos, Cool Ranch flavor AND the Friendship Sour Cream served right from the container.
by Anonymous | reply 5 | January 13, 2021 9:02 PM |
I'm one of the many manques. I am the strict absence of area rugs. The fort!/da! of drapery free windows nevertheless hazed in cigarette smoke.
by Anonymous | reply 6 | January 13, 2021 9:05 PM |
I’m the salt being passed to Laurie Anderson
by Anonymous | reply 7 | January 13, 2021 9:12 PM |
I'm The Joy of Gay Sex with a flattering inscription from Edmund White sitting incongruously on a kitchen shelf between a copy of the The Perennial Political Palate by Bloodroot and a can of Dean & DeLuca branded lobster bisque.
by Anonymous | reply 8 | January 13, 2021 9:12 PM |
I'm brining the moussaka
by Anonymous | reply 9 | January 13, 2021 9:19 PM |
I'm an ancient ‘Joe’ Carstairs, Standard Oil heiress, wearing what she swears is Mercedes de Acosta's eye patch.
by Anonymous | reply 10 | January 13, 2021 9:22 PM |
I'm Terry Castle, wallflower, mentally caricaturing the other guests.
by Anonymous | reply 11 | January 13, 2021 9:28 PM |
I’m the tall, commanding David Byrne.
by Anonymous | reply 12 | January 13, 2021 9:29 PM |
I don’t understand their style. Tell me more.
by Anonymous | reply 13 | January 13, 2021 9:37 PM |
I'm Ashton Hawkins (invited himself) hitting on a Glorious Foods cater waiter (pissed he didn't get the Oscar and Annette de la Renta gig uptown) (Ashton is pissed he wasn't invited to Annette's party, as well.)
by Anonymous | reply 14 | January 13, 2021 9:38 PM |
I’m the dildo cock hidden under the bed
by Anonymous | reply 15 | January 13, 2021 9:46 PM |
I'm the three cases of chilled Dom Perignon sent as a gift to Annie from Richard Geoffroy that at the last minute Susan refuses to serve. "Too obvious, I will not be gauche caviar!"
by Anonymous | reply 16 | January 13, 2021 9:50 PM |
I'm Lou Reed, imperiously stubbing out my cigarette in my half-eaten dinner, then thrusting it behind him without a glance, certain that a servant will remove it from my hand.
by Anonymous | reply 17 | January 13, 2021 10:34 PM |
You bitches are good at this.
by Anonymous | reply 18 | January 13, 2021 11:45 PM |
I'm Rita Mae Brown and I'm pissed that everybody here is being so goddamned snooty about my cat mysteries.
by Anonymous | reply 19 | January 14, 2021 12:41 AM |
I'm David Rieff suddenly invading the Sapphic sanctum and rudely demanding my coke allowance.
by Anonymous | reply 20 | January 14, 2021 12:50 AM |
I am Susan attempting to explain to Ms. Leibovitz that her smoking a cigar qualifies as camp only if she holds it like Groucho did without being aware of it.
by Anonymous | reply 21 | January 14, 2021 1:59 AM |
I'm Mia Farrow and I just can't DO this tonight, okay? I mean, I told you I just couldn't do this, remember?
by Anonymous | reply 22 | January 14, 2021 3:12 AM |
r14
Extra points for the Ashton Hawkins reference!
by Anonymous | reply 23 | January 14, 2021 4:13 AM |
[quote]I’m the tall, commanding David Byrne.
I always thought David Byrne was very tall, but then I served him a drink at a club where I was bartending. I barely recognized him because he's not even 5'10".
by Anonymous | reply 24 | January 14, 2021 5:42 AM |
I’m the monotonous drone of Robert Wilson’s voice.
by Anonymous | reply 25 | January 14, 2021 5:58 AM |
I'm the distinct, alluring, sweet spicy smell of opium coming from the fire escape. Why, that's NOT YSL Opium.
by Anonymous | reply 26 | January 14, 2021 10:44 AM |
I’m the punch bowl of clam dip.
by Anonymous | reply 27 | January 14, 2021 12:06 PM |
Sometimes one does have to ‘femme up’ in order to earn one’s supper
by Anonymous | reply 28 | January 27, 2022 4:28 AM |
I'm Susan's assistant, coming back from the store with cigarettes for Susan, Annie, Lou Reed, Gary Indiana and Jim Jarmusch. They each smoke different brands. When the assistant (who doesn't smoke) gets Jim's brand of choice wrong, Susan calls her a "fucking idiot."
by Anonymous | reply 29 | January 27, 2022 4:37 AM |
[quote] Susan calls her a "fucking idiot."
But in an ironic way, of course.
by Anonymous | reply 30 | January 27, 2022 4:39 AM |
I'm Fran Leibowitz, and rest assured that I have nothing to do with these pretentious twats.
by Anonymous | reply 31 | January 27, 2022 4:40 AM |
I'm the crate of remaindered copies of THE VOLCANO LOVER, rescued from Barnes and Nobles and banished to a dark closet. Just pretend I don't exist.
by Anonymous | reply 32 | January 27, 2022 4:44 AM |
I'm Cookie Mueller (who will never be invited back), bored out of my mind, shooting up in the bathroom.
by Anonymous | reply 33 | January 27, 2022 4:47 AM |
Did Sontag bully Leibovitz or was that a joke?
by Anonymous | reply 34 | January 27, 2022 4:47 AM |
[quote]Did Sontag bully Leibovitz or was that a joke?
Sontag bullied everybody, but especially Annie Leibovitz.
by Anonymous | reply 35 | January 27, 2022 4:51 AM |
I'm the non-artist/non-celebrity being ignored. At least I'll get a good article out of this nightmare dinner party.
by Anonymous | reply 36 | January 27, 2022 4:51 AM |
I'm the lipstick-lesbian portrait that Annie took of Jodie Foster in a slinky red dress, in Malibu, in 1988. The guests can't see me. I have been hidden in the fired maid's water closet, away from Susan's jealous, critical eye. But Annie whispers her eternal love to the photo late at night, while secretly listening to recordings of John Hinckley's pre-assassination attempt calls to Jodie.
by Anonymous | reply 38 | January 27, 2022 5:20 AM |
Even in that dress and posed like that, Jodie is still butch af.
by Anonymous | reply 39 | January 27, 2022 5:23 AM |
I’ll be the eggshells that Annie has to navigate on a nightly basis.
by Anonymous | reply 40 | January 27, 2022 5:25 AM |
Annie Leibowitz deserves to be bullied for her awful current-day photography.
by Anonymous | reply 41 | January 27, 2022 5:32 AM |
I'm Sontag's output, and while I'm wildly inconsistent, I display flashes of genius, lyrical design, and insight decades later.
I'm Leibowitz's output. I don't even come close.
And everyone present knows this.
by Anonymous | reply 42 | January 27, 2022 2:08 PM |
I’m Jordan Roth toasting to “this great nourishment of words and supplication of images”.
by Anonymous | reply 43 | January 27, 2022 2:26 PM |
I’m the icy stillness that descends over the table the moment a guests begins to gush.
by Anonymous | reply 44 | January 27, 2022 2:41 PM |
I'm the darting eyes that accompany the icy stillness.
by Anonymous | reply 45 | January 27, 2022 8:27 PM |
And I'm the icy stillness that falls when someone speaks the word "diesel."
Dead. Silence. Frost. Forming. On. The. Insides. Of. The. Windows.
Never mind that its use was in a sentence about energy economics in the transportation industry.
Suddenly Fran Lebowitz's cell phone rings and its ringtone is a truck honking its monster horn. She says, "Fuck me!" and everyone relaxes.
For a moment. No one was relaxed for more than 30 seconds in Susan's presence. She saw it as a sign of sexist disrespect, even with other professional sapphics.
by Anonymous | reply 46 | December 2, 2022 12:47 AM |
I'm Kathy Acker and I have fucked both of you.
by Anonymous | reply 47 | December 2, 2022 12:50 AM |
I'm the uneaten dinner.
Except for "special guest" Dolly Parton's portion, which was consumed in a half-second. Because the plating comprises a lengthwise-third of a green bean, four grains of just-sprouted quinoa, and a thumbprint of "foam sauce."
Dolly then says, "Ladies, pass those plates, please. Susie, go grab me the pots and something to put them on so the - is this table masonite? - doesn't burn. I'm going to see if I can fill one cheek at least because, honey, I am HUNGRY! Any salami in that big ol' Meneghini La Cambusa fridge in there?" They do as they are told.
by Anonymous | reply 48 | December 2, 2022 1:02 AM |
I'm Pauline Kael, rolling my eyes.
by Anonymous | reply 49 | December 2, 2022 1:14 AM |
I'm Robert Downey, avant-garde filmmaker. I'm currently resenting the fact that my stupid fucking useless kid has refused to be photographed in the nude by Annie.
It's just masturbating in front of lesbians, kid. We've all done it.
by Anonymous | reply 50 | December 2, 2022 1:15 AM |
I'm Mary Boone, seething with rage at the fact that Barbara Castelli has also been invited. Fucking Gold-digging WHORE.
by Anonymous | reply 51 | December 2, 2022 1:16 AM |
I'm Barbara Castelli, makin g the sign of the evil eye at Mary Boone. Foul WITCH.
by Anonymous | reply 52 | December 2, 2022 1:17 AM |
I'm Robert Downey Jr.
Help.
Please.
by Anonymous | reply 53 | December 2, 2022 1:17 AM |
I'm John Waters trying to make a case for the release of the Manson girls but nobody is paying me any attention.
by Anonymous | reply 54 | December 2, 2022 1:26 AM |
I’m Susan’s long sigh of disappointment when Annie asks who wants to play Pictionary.
by Anonymous | reply 55 | December 2, 2022 1:39 AM |
I'm the 20-year-old NYU intern whom Susan spent three hours chatting with and flattering her intellet before trying to fuck her. (True story. It happened to a friend's niece.)
by Anonymous | reply 56 | December 2, 2022 1:51 AM |
I'm the wind whistling between the gap in Lauren Hutton's teeth.
by Anonymous | reply 57 | December 2, 2022 2:09 AM |
I'm Ultra Violet, about to serve the lobster thermidor in a rather unusual way.
by Anonymous | reply 58 | December 2, 2022 2:10 AM |
I'm Gerard Malanga. I'm a famous photographer. Somehow.
by Anonymous | reply 59 | December 2, 2022 2:13 AM |
I'm Karen Finely, right behind Ultra Violet, with the baked yams.
by Anonymous | reply 60 | December 2, 2022 2:14 AM |
^^^Finley
by Anonymous | reply 61 | December 2, 2022 2:16 AM |
I'm the Phranc CD playing quietly in the front room. The CD player is set on repeat, so I play over and over and over.
by Anonymous | reply 62 | December 2, 2022 2:16 AM |
I'm Monica Randall, Annie's deranged Victorian-era-obsessed piece on the side. Watch me out-twirl Stevie Nicks as I remove six shawls, two stoles and a sable scarf.
by Anonymous | reply 63 | December 2, 2022 2:22 AM |
Mentioning Barbara Castelli & Mary Boone. You guys are GOOD.
by Anonymous | reply 64 | December 2, 2022 2:26 AM |
I'm Rosie O'Donnell, and I want to bring this dinner party to Broadway as a psycho-drama. I want to cast myself as Annie, and cast Madonna as Susan Sontag. It will be a box office hit and win all the Tonys.
by Anonymous | reply 65 | December 2, 2022 2:36 AM |
I'm the portraits of Spring Byington, Agnes Moorehead, Mercedes de Acosta and Elvis Presley on the walls of the hallway leading to the powder room.
by Anonymous | reply 66 | December 2, 2022 2:53 AM |
I'm the joint Lauren Hutton plants firmly in her cuspid gap to stop the whistling.
by Anonymous | reply 67 | December 2, 2022 2:54 AM |
We’re the after-dinner organic cigars.
by Anonymous | reply 68 | December 2, 2022 2:55 AM |
I'm the woman dressed as Virginia Woolf (People assume she is a hired "statement.") reminding guests that Susan's "real" surname is Rosenblatt.
by Anonymous | reply 69 | December 2, 2022 2:58 AM |
We're a plate of "Alice B. Toklas" brownies.
Robert's teenage kid ate five of us. He's taking a little nap under the piano now.
by Anonymous | reply 70 | December 2, 2022 3:15 AM |
Ah'm Jerry Hall.
Ah just love beautiful things.
by Anonymous | reply 71 | December 2, 2022 3:22 AM |
I'm Ingrid Sischy and her date, who used to be in The Symbionese Liberation Army.
by Anonymous | reply 72 | December 2, 2022 5:29 AM |
I'm 22-year-old Sarah Paulson loitering outside the building entrance, hoping to sneak in with Nicole Stéphane and hit on her in the elevator before crashing the party.
by Anonymous | reply 73 | December 2, 2022 5:46 AM |
I'm Uma Thurman. I am also refusing to be photographed in the nude, but only because I have large zit on my navel and I feel all gross.
by Anonymous | reply 74 | December 2, 2022 6:02 AM |
R37, Jesus Christ, Camille managed to out-cunt Susan. I didn't think that was possible.
by Anonymous | reply 75 | December 2, 2022 6:14 AM |
I'm Renata Adler's already-greying braid.
by Anonymous | reply 76 | December 2, 2022 6:15 AM |
I'm Wallace Shawn. making notes about the conversation for my new play, My Dinner With Angry.
by Anonymous | reply 77 | December 2, 2022 6:16 AM |
I'm Joan Didion and why is this Cruella-haired cunt always stepping on my lines?
by Anonymous | reply 78 | December 2, 2022 6:30 AM |
I’m the glaring absence of television sets in the apartment
Glaring
by Anonymous | reply 79 | December 2, 2022 6:47 AM |
I'm the glaring, period.
Glaring.
by Anonymous | reply 80 | December 2, 2022 6:48 AM |
I don't understand most of these references. I'm lost.
by Anonymous | reply 81 | December 2, 2022 7:18 AM |
Well, Tom Wolfe at R81, you weren't invited anyway so fuck right off.
by Anonymous | reply 82 | December 2, 2022 7:20 AM |
I'm a decrepit Diana Vreeland. I'm half-sozzled and under the impression that I am somehow visiting Lauren Bacall and Lauren has done something rather unfortunate to her hair. Everyone humors me because they love my red silk cape.
by Anonymous | reply 83 | December 2, 2022 7:26 AM |
I'm Dick Cavett. Have you met my lovely wife, Carrie Nye?
by Anonymous | reply 84 | December 2, 2022 7:27 AM |
I am Alice Notley, my feminist poetry is iconic.
by Anonymous | reply 85 | December 2, 2022 7:27 AM |
I'm the sharp whistle of displeasure drawn in between Lauren Hutton's teeth when Sigourney Weaver enters the room.
by Anonymous | reply 86 | December 2, 2022 7:29 AM |
I am Gore Vidal, rolling my eyes even more violently than Pauline Kael.
by Anonymous | reply 87 | December 2, 2022 7:35 AM |
I am Philippe de Montebello.
And you're not.
by Anonymous | reply 88 | December 2, 2022 7:37 AM |
I am Janet Flanner and I am beginning to get a little bored.
by Anonymous | reply 89 | December 2, 2022 7:42 AM |
I am Lee Bontecou, and they are not vaginas, god fucking dammit.
by Anonymous | reply 90 | December 2, 2022 7:52 AM |
I'm the joint Robert Downey Jr. and Uma Thurman are passing between them under the piano.
"One day...I'm going to be as famous as Valerie Bertinelli!" Uma says.
"Coooooool...." Robert murmurs.
by Anonymous | reply 91 | December 2, 2022 7:56 AM |
I’m Sontag hip checking Leibovitz and telling her sharply to put her fucking camera away.
by Anonymous | reply 92 | December 2, 2022 10:39 AM |
I’m Annie’s epic financial problems. I cleared this entire guest list quickly once I was revealed.
by Anonymous | reply 93 | December 2, 2022 12:06 PM |
I'm Alice Neel. I've painted nude portraits of everybody in the room. Everyone sags.
by Anonymous | reply 94 | December 2, 2022 1:41 PM |
I'm Annie Sprinkle. I'm a feminist too!
by Anonymous | reply 95 | December 2, 2022 7:20 PM |
Put your tits away, Annie.
by Anonymous | reply 96 | December 2, 2022 7:25 PM |
Camille Piglia doesn't have many rooms she can enter without being knifed in her ugly cunt.
by Anonymous | reply 97 | December 2, 2022 7:54 PM |
I'm Judy Chicago and I've brought my own pussy pink dinner plates--with lips, lots of lips.
by Anonymous | reply 98 | December 2, 2022 8:07 PM |
I'm Avital Ronell and I'm making fun of American feminists wearing ugly shoes. Oh, there's Annie Sprinkle - I'll go over there, she's more interesting than these pseudo intellectuals.
[Nobody has any idea that I'll be MeToo-ed one day - and over a male student!]
by Anonymous | reply 99 | December 2, 2022 9:38 PM |
I don't really believe that Susan invited Barbara Hershey Seagull. I cannot sit at a table where she will attempt to prod a forkful of "Juiced Oyster Delicatesse" through those two red pillow lips that obviously have no feeling.
I heard sometimes she just stabs her lip with a canapé pick and there it wobbles until she bumps into it and rams it through to where she still has sensation. Meaning her tongue.
And never any blood. It's terrifying. A woman should bleed.
by Anonymous | reply 100 | December 2, 2022 9:56 PM |
What year is this party taking place? 1972? 1985? 1993?
by Anonymous | reply 101 | December 2, 2022 10:01 PM |
I’m Annie secretly digging through the guests’ coats piled on the bed, looking for spare change.
by Anonymous | reply 102 | December 2, 2022 11:04 PM |
I'm Lydia Lunch, waiting in the alley outside. Fuck, Annie is taking forever!
by Anonymous | reply 103 | December 2, 2022 11:27 PM |
I am the quite vicious slap given to Leibovitz by Sontag and the lively after-dinner debate it provoked: was this camp worthy of Crawford or mere bullying?
by Anonymous | reply 104 | December 2, 2022 11:57 PM |
I’m Edmund White. Just popped in for after dinner drinks and coffee. Everyone sparkles and laughs when I speak. Susan glowers. Annie L looks more relaxed.
by Anonymous | reply 105 | December 3, 2022 12:07 AM |
I can't tell if this evening would be legendary or something I would outrun sound getting away from.
by Anonymous | reply 106 | December 3, 2022 3:47 AM |
I’m Susan, ashing her cigarette in Annie’s drink and then laughing.
by Anonymous | reply 107 | December 3, 2022 3:57 AM |
I'm Victoria Floethe.
Am I late?
by Anonymous | reply 108 | December 3, 2022 5:28 AM |