Diary of Lil' Frank

The idea started as a solution to a problem: how to get our friend into a club where she used to work, where she would not be recognized, but could still enjoy the skull-rattling sounds of the Melvins -- a show not to be missed in Birmingham last Tuesday. It was my idea to dress her as a man. Clare gave her the name of Lil' Frank and we all helped with the costume. When Clare said she had some fake moustaches I was hoping for something a little better than black felt that looked like it had been ripped off an elementary school bulletin board, but that's all we had to work with.

Clare and I decided to get a room at the historic Redmont Hotel for the special occasion of our official reunion with Rebecca, bka Mort. The last time I remember the three of us being together was about 12 years ago at the bar of another local hotel, The Pickwick, but that's a story for another post. Mort moved to Minneapolis and fell off our radar for about a decade, but now she is back and still her dry, irreverently hilarious self.

The funny thing about dressing someone up as the opposite sex is the reaction by people that know the person. Guys especially knew exactly who she was, even with the shades. Girls, not so much. Maybe it was the lecherous Skynard-esque mustache and jeans-on-jeans combo that threw them. The white Reeboks alone seemed to be an out-of-body, or foot, experience for Mort.

As Clare said at the end of the night, "Mort, that took balls." She didn't fashion a pair for the evening's costume. She didn't need them.