A snuggie for the hand

Who would move to Alabama in his adulthood? Well, you're looking at him! My wonderful friend Nikhil flew back to NYC for the holidays - probably with a banjo on his knee - and it gave me another opportunity to see just how inexorably the swampland can become a part of your entire persona. For what is Nikhil wearing on his hands? He suggested that they were merely "fingerless gloves," perfect for smoking - but I beg to differ. If you take a good luck, you'll probably agree with me that Nikhil is wearing a snuggie for the hand.

William and Emmett

My lesbian friend William and my fabulous friend Emmett had tea and cupcakes in Emmett's apartment. Whenever I take a picture of Emmett, it goes right on my fashion blog, as he is a famous clothier. He is always obsessing about some lurid mass-market fashion transaction he is about to make, or casually mentioning that he must buy a gift for "Heidi" (he was on season 2 of "Project Runway," which I mention for the gays.) We got to talking about the relative value of the body parts of the gays, and William posited that "body" trumps "face" any day. Emmett countered that "d..." trumps "everything." I was mildly disturbed by this, and murmured some vague protestation. Little did I know how prophetic my own words would be, just days afterward. Yes, as I have since been advised-by-life yet again, "d..." does NOT trump "everything," because if it did, I would have the pick of the litter in this stinking city. :^D

Tim and Tunde

My dear, wizened friend Tim (he turns 47 tomorrow - *shudder*) and I went to see the movie "Precious" at Union Square. Tim is precious to me, but much like "Precious," he is downtrodden at the moment. Get in line, Tim Blue! On the way home, we ran into my friend Babatunde, whom I am always happy to see, because it means that there is someone out there who is crazier than me, and I look sane, by comparison! Yay, Tunde!! Tunde is also way more fashionable than I, which makes me secretly hope that one day his insanity will truly be recognized by the authorities, and he will be placed into an institution. Let's see how fashionable he can be in a straightjacket.

I decided to photograph my two dear friends, although we positioned the picture to also capture the lust of the two kissing youths in the pizza restaurant. (That isn't sauce running down his leg.) Ah, youth. I remember you well, though not fondly.

Jamie

Wow, I thought I was bundled up to brave the cold of NYC! But then I walked the streets with the ever-fabulous Jamie B., who was so bundled up, it can't even be said that he was facing the cold. The cold couldn't reach him through that get-up! Rock on, Jamie B. I love you. Fur hat and all.

The silver fox

Peppar's uncle Dempsey is a silver fox! He showed up to her dinner with a bowtie on, even! And the glasses are cool, too. I asked if I could take his picture for my blog. When I am in my sixties - just a couple of years away - I want to wear little bowties and smart suits to dinner, too. Maybe it's the dormant slut inside of me, but seeing a hot old man like Dempsey makes me want to unbutton his suit and slowly slip my hand inside. What would I find there? I've only ever gotten naked with one old man - years ago - and the only thing I remember (other that he worked for a church) was that he was sad, and his skin was both dry and soft, like money. Dempsey is Peppar's son's middle-name namesake, but I provided the first name, so I do not feel threatened.

Jolly & Peppar

Peppar was in town for her 40th birthday! I met her for a delightful dinner at B Bar, and Jolly was there, wearing a warm-up suit bravely accentuated with a fancy tunic. I immediately asked if I could blog about her outfit. She indicated that when it's cold, one must sacrifice part of one's fashion vision. Sadly, I agree. Curse you, winter! She also mentioned that she's a fan of Colin Farrell's, so I promised to send her a very interesting link that may make her an even bigger fan! ; )

William's party

Oscar and I went to my friend William's party for his friend's magazine. Oscar was worried that there would be too many mean gays, but then he ran into some Radical Faeries he knew, and spent the rest of the night talking in some Radical Faerie code that I do not speak. To me, it sounded like "watermelon-coconut-burning man-Massachusetts-retail-retail-watermelon-coconut-blah, blah, blah." I spent most of the evening wondering at William's outfit. What happened here? Was he cold, so he put on an shawl-neck orange sweater? Then, still cold, he layered with a suede vest? For a moment, I wondered if William had had me fooled all these years, and that actually, he is a lesbian. A sweater and a vest! And those were just the layers I saw. But it was all in fun. A fellow complimented my ass, which has never happened before. And I ran into my old chum Johnny downstairs, doing a soundcheck with his band. (I couldn't stay for the performance, as I'm quite old, and have a hard time standing up for rock shows anymore, and didn't have my Boniva on me). I will hang out with William again soon, mark my words.

The stealth straight

A few months ago, my boss wisely suggested I remove a post from my blog about a "stealth straight" co-worker. I complied, but I secretly longed for another, non-work-related occasion that would make a "stealth straight" post necessary again. Well, I don't have to long any more. Alia H.'s roommate Patrick set off my "gay alarm" at Alia's dinner party, and I murmured to my companion, Oscar, that we should tag-team him some time, turning him into a "finger cuff," as the kids say. But then I saw the hair! Like a throwback to the rocker-boys of the 90s, emulating Joan Jett from the early 80s. Gays don't do throwbacks! So I knew he was straight then. But why the "stealth," I wonder? Is it so the ladies don't even realize they're straight until they're inside of them? Does this technique work? Anyway, I took a surreptitious photo, hoping I would catch some "crack," but sadly, I did not. This is not the first time "crack" has eluded me on a NYC evening. This post contains references to drugs, sex, and inappropriate work behavior. I might as well throw in a reference to Sarah Palin. Sarah Palin!

Alia's necklace

I went to a dinner party at the always-delightful Alia H.'s house. Why am I talking about it on my fashion blog? Because I brought homemade cupcakes, baked from a recipe provided to me by a famous clothier! And because I wanted to see what Alia would be wearing at her own dinner party. She famously wears the same outfit every day to work - black and gauzy - and I was curious to see if she would "mix it up" at home. Nope! But she did accessorize with a wonderful necklace that invited one's gaze to wander ... well, I'll let you guess where my gaze wandered.

NY Crime Scene

Does anyone know a tax attorney who might be able to give me some pro bono advice? Since I'm tired of my tax dollars being used to subsidize tax breaks for couples who get married, I don't want to pay taxes this year. How do I file a lawsuit against the IRS? I'm serious. This goes beyond taxation without representation - more like taxation with symbolic annihilation. This pic is from the Times Square protest tonight. Because no outfit is prettier than resistance!

The swoosh

Almost every day, I pass by a tennis apparel store on my way to work. Currently, there are some really nice-looking Nike shirts in the window, and I would definitely buy one if it weren't for "the swoosh." Why would I want the emblem of a sweatshop-enabling mega-corporation emblazoned on my chest? Which brings me nicely to the topic of Tiger Woods, who just learned that the Florida Highway Patrol will not bring charges against him in his "one-man car accident" last week. Of course they won't! I wonder what would happen to me if I refused to speak with police who were investigating an accident I was involved in? Probably, multiple bullets or a mop handle would be involved. I've always had an intense disdain for Tiger Woods, given his shilling for multiple mega-corporations, his silence on social issues, and his willingness to play on male-only golf courses. I love it that his ability to exist as a multimillionaire golfer was bought with the sweat and tears of true sporting greats like Althea Gibson and Jackie Robinson - outspoken giants who probably would have been more likely to burn a polo with that swoosh on it than wear it. Wear it, Tiger Woods! Wear it OUT.

Slobber on the neck

What a good sport Oliver is! I wanted to blog about the Gee Henry / Sarah Hall / Richard Milward show so that my cousin Alyse would feel bad that she didn't get there on time. And I wanted to make her jealous, too. So I slobbered on her boyfriend's neck! He's a good person, with a good sense of humor. I'm still wearing Helmut Lang in this picture. I don't remember what Oliver was wearing, but I hope it went well with slobber.

Seen in the audience at a Richard Milward/Sarah Hall reading

I decided to come out of retirement and play a couple of songs as "Gee Henry" at a British-themed Richard Milward/ Sarah Hall reading. Here were three ladies in the audience. I won't give their names, because I work with them, but I love them! I want to hang out with them after-work, but my one invitation thus far, to a dance thing at Juilliard, illicited no replies from any of the three ladies. I will keep trying, though. As a publicist, and as a middle-aged man in the gay mileu that is NYC, I am quite accustomed to rejection! The reading was held at the Slipper Room, a venue that is heavy on burlesque performances. As a nod to the venue's history, I wore a black, see-through shirt made by Helmut Lang. (I've had that shirt for ten years and have only worn it twice! What price, haute couteur?). And what a strange evening it was. I chose to sing two songs about topics that I and the authors share a fascination for: drugs and skin. And I refrained from over-sharing about my people (the Antiguans) long and complicated relationship with the British, which was probably for the best.

My new best friend

Yolanda and Cherita took me to Cafeteria for my birthday, and there I met my new best friend. I forgot his name already, but all I have to do is return to work in a week and I'll see it on the card he gave me. I think he works for a watch company. I will email him a link to his post, and then he will be mine, he will be mine forever. We'll play with each other's respirators in the gay nursing home in our future. He was such a queen, but I do love that so! I'm not one of those gays who seeks out masculine (read: no personality) gays to befriend. Most of my dearest friends are ladies, and my mother was my first role model, so of course I seek out ladylike men in my adulthood. As long as they are poorer than me, that is. Nothing is more annoying than a ladylike man dripping with jewels and finery, outshining my own ruined grandeur. Anyway, my new best friend's tablemates had no boundaries, just like me, so our tables became one. On this day after Thanksgiving, my prayer for the world is that all its tables become one, world without end, amen. :)

Thomas's shoes

Have you ever befriended someone who was so NICE that they made you feel evil, by comparison? Well, I have. Case in point, my friend Thomas. These are his shoes. I was spending a significant amount of time stalking him at his place of work, just trying to bask in his niceness - as a sort of vacation from my usual evil thoughts, evil ways. I lurked on his Facebook page and noted with great interest the images of him in the arms of another fellow. Finally, with great trepidation, I asked him if he was into the young ladies or the young fellows. Not because I wanted to be considered, mind you (I'm too evil), but just so that I could feel bad that I was missing out. Turns out, I'm not missing out! He's into the young ladies. Can't you tell from his shoes? (See? I'm evil. :)) At dinner recently, he told me, wisely, that he wasn't interested in casual sex with the ladies because then there wasn't a connection. I was baffled by this. Baffled! I mean, isn't that the point?!

My novel

Did you know I was working on a novel? Did you care? I decided earlier in the year that, whenever I feel like saying something inappropriate, I would write a page in my novel instead. I have 135 pages now! This is me tap-tap-tapping away on my tale of a young man who moves to California and goes on a diet - both from food and from people. I was calling it "The Omnivore," but everyone keeps warning me that that title brings up too many associations with Michael Pollan now, so I'm all ears if you have an alternate suggestion? I'm wearing Woolland in this picture - it's not my typical sort of blouse, but it was on sale.

Phillip Lim show

Kendra, Kateri and I went to the Phillip Lim show at the tail-end of Fashion Week. We went because we got free tickets - but then it turned out that it wasn't a real Fashion Week event! It was an event for American Express cardmembers, and anyone could attend! They just had to buy a ticket. Ugh, I certainly felt less fashionable when I realized what the show was. And the clothing of the people brushing up next to me suddenly felt like it was made of dirty burlap, or sandpaper. Sandpaper! But it was still mildly interesting, though I wished they hadn't had Andre Leon Talley doing a "q&a" with Phillip Lim beforehand. A q&a about fashion! What is there to say? I felt like I was watching two drowning men try to convince an already-full helicopter to throw down a ladder by trying to convince the crew that they would fly the helicopter in an elliptical course, rather than in a straight line. And Andre Leon Talley needs to take the porkchop out of the frying pan, as Roxanne Shante might say. Still, we were cheered to see that there were several black models in the roster that night; here's a picture of one of them. Work it, sistah!

Coco Before Chanel

Maggie, Michelle, Patty and I went to see "Coco Before Chanel" after work. This is the sort of outing I love to be a part of - friends, peers, and former co-workers going to relax and just be together, after a long, grinding week at the office. Everyone was sort of gritting their teeth before the movie, but then it was so slow and boring and beautiful, we were able to lose ourselves in it and emerge in a new state. Audrey Tatou's performance was so amazing. And I totally related to the Coco Chanel character. I feel as hard-edged as she was made to look in that movie, all the time. Nothing makes me relax except playing with my cat and going to the movies. In real life, Coco Chanel's hard-edgedness made her a completely reprehensible person, complete with Nazi collaborations, but that is the magic of the movies, isn't it? We can relate to a little piece of a person, or a person's depiction in a script, and forget about the rest. Literally: glamour! And a little popcorn and seltzer. After the movie, as we all walked east towards our homes and trains, I told Patty, Maggie and Michelle how lucky I felt to have been a part of something as special as Harcourt was. They felt that way too.

This shirt makes me look fat!

After a long day of stressin' and confessin', nothing makes a middle-aged man like myself feel more comfortable than going out to Queens and spending the night in his dead mother's bed. I wanted to take a picture of the bed, but when I saw the picture, I realized how fat my shirt makes me look. Good! No sense hiding it. Everyone always warned me not to wear vertical stripes, but at my age, my inhibitions (and my sanity) begin to gently fall away. I got this shirt at Uniqlo, during a phase where I was planning to go down to Uniqlo once a week and buy one blouse, so that by the end of the summer, my t-shirt palette would be completely refreshed. That plan worked so well, but, as usual, only for one week. Fortunately, in this picture, my camera-phone's flash obscures my face, so that when Wilhelmina Models (middle-aged division) scours the Internet for its next not-so-fresh face, they won't know it's me.

Same sneakers

Look! Neal and I were wearing the same sneakers! Well, sorta. To take this picture, we held onto each other so our feet would be touching and my camera could take it all in. I have to say, I've never felt safer than when Neal was holding onto me. :)

Me and Edwidge

I volunteered to work at this past weekend's Brooklyn Book Festival, and, to my surprise, Edwidge Danticat - among my favorite writers! - was strolling around! I love her so much!!!! I went up and told her about how, when my sister's ex-husband was dying of cancer in a hospice - and didn't have anything to read in his final days - I was able to reach in my backpack and give him a copy of KRIK? KRAK! I realized as I was telling that story that it was awkward and sad, but Edwidge, no stranger to sorrow herself, just smiled. She was wearing a black blouse, with a nice maroon sweater over it, and I was wearing a pink French-cuffed shirt rolled up at the sleeves, to hide the French cuffs (I bought them by mistake at the Warehouse Sale - I am not a fan of French cuffs!). All my friends know that I hate Brooklyn, but I'm really glad now that I braved muggings and train outages to venture into the Borough that God Forgot.

Why am I here?

Alyse wanted to go to see "The Painter Max Francis" at Anthology Film Archives, and I blithely agreed, inviting Luther and Paula, too. Never again! They didn't sell tickets online or on the phone, so I had to go to the theater early, in case it sold out! There was a line of people outside waiting already, so I had to join the line, and wait in the rain, like a gypsy. People will tell you that I HATE NYC lines! What's the point? If there's a line, I'm too old to be on it. Finally, 15 minutes before the movie was to start, they deigned to open the doors. But not to friendliness or customer service! Everyone who worked there was born in Williamsburg, and they didn't even sell concessions! I had to run to the deli for some popcorn (which Paula hid from me during the movie). Then, an insufferable q&a. Never again, Alyse. And just look at the crowd! All those people, and not a drop of makeup! But I was intrigued by Max Francis's explanations of Jungian psychoanalysis, and I did order a book on Amazon on the topic. So maybe soon my life will start over and I will learn to love again. Not likely, though! :)

Cast

Alyse had an operation! And she guilted me into buying her some crutches, and hand-delivering them to her apartment. I had never seen anyone pair a cast with short-shorts, so I took a picture, so this moment could last forever. In a few short months, Alyse will probably be pregnant and fat, and I'll certainly be long dead. This is us outside the Slipper Room, after just having seen the lovely Della Dare perform. Paolo was there, too, but then he threw a hissy fit about walking with a crippled girl, and broke out. Fuck him! Midori joined us, and we saw "Ponyo," and I gave my card to a cutie at the theater. He did end up emailing me, but only about publishing jobs! Run, girl, run - as fast as you can, I emailed him. Presumably, he did, as I never heard back. Oh, well - you can't trust a guy who goes to see a cartoon alone. Just like it says in the Bible.

Alyse and Oliver

The lovely Alia was in town, and we went to the Rodeo Bar with her brother David, his flirtatious friend Chris, and Alyse and her new boyfriend Oliver. This isn't a great picture at all, but I was so taken that night with Alyse's and Oliver's beauty that I had to try to capture the moment. Truly, they are the hottest couple in NYC. And he's perfect for her! Sweet, handsome, and semi-reliable. Sort of the anti-thesis of her last boyfriend, Christopher (whom I introduced her to!). But he is from Maine, which is sort of an afterthought state. And he is as hairy as the drain filter in the Harlem Globetrotters' locker room bathtub, although Alyse has many times tried to convince me that he's only hairy on his chest. As if I don't have eyes! That kid could be skinned for fur by Fendi. There is something dreamy about him, though, and often when I hang around with them, I imagine what his hairy nuts would feel like in my palm. In this picture, Alyse is wearing some pastiche she assembled, probably mostly from Forever 21 (I myself shop at Forever 41), and Oliver is wearing a pastel-colored tee.

Bea tribute

I still can't believe Bea Arthur is gone, can you? On Friday night, Philip and I went to the Bea Arthur tribute at Dixon Place. I meant to dress like Bea, but I forgot to! :( Fortunately, other people didn't ...

I remember once trying to describe the agent Irene Skolnick's outfits to someone, and I told them that she dressed every day like Bea Arthur did when she was trying to be fancy on "The Golden Girls" ...

An author was at the tribute, and he described meeting Bea at her house when he was interviewing her for his book THE Q GUIDE TO THE GOLDEN GIRLS. She insisted that he have a drink with her, and she opened a cupboard (which was filled entirely with liquor) and produced two enormous goblets. He requested white wine, thinking that that was the safest choice, and she proceeded to pour an entire bottle into the two goblets. So he had to sit down and drink, literally, half a bottle of wine with Bea Arthur! I wonder what she wore at home? Probably something flowing ...

Work luncheon

Alberto took the department out to lunch, and everyone looked so fashionable that I wanted to take a picture. What a stylish crew! Especially Kendra, who is hiding behind Vanessa. We went to Arriba Arriba on Ninth Avenue, but then everyone lingered after lunch for a long time, talking. I became impatient and left first, at which point they probably all huddled together and decided to fire me on Monday. I love it that I work in a department that goes out to lunch together, but at a certain point, it's time to put down the fork and pick up the pieces. At my age, I only have so much time left to share at departmental lunches! I have to accomplish everything on my "bucket list," for chrissakes!

Seersucker pants

The lovely Joseph from my new job came in today wearing green seersucker pants and white shoes!! How brave! Actually, he pulls it off quite well, as you can see. He is very slender, and fair, and looks at home in an outfit that you can imagine someone beating the help in. At my age, though, if I wore green seersucker pants and white shoes, I would probably be mistaken for a crazy person, or for the Morgan Freeman character in "Driving Miss Daisy."

Alex

Alex is so cool! I wanted to blog about him, so I pretended to admire his shorts. They are nice, but 'no big deal,' as it were. Really, the limitations of only being able to talk about outfits on this blog are beginning to chafe. As for Alex, I don't want to bed him, I don't need to befriend him, I just enjoy letting him know that I'm crazy enough to befriend. I told him my ghoulish Natasha Richardson joke, and my macabre Michael Jackson joke, and sure enough - he knows I'm crazy now! Apparently, he's an actor on some show, so I'm not showing his face here.

Name tag

Here's me in front of my new name tag at my new office. My next door neighbor, Vanessa, took this pic. She didn't seem too thrilled to do it, either. :( But I am proud to have accumulated yet another name tag in my strange career. I still have my HMH name tag at home, on my desk. I wonder how many more name tags I will accrue in my life, how many more new sets of co-workers I will slowly reveal my insanity to, like babies that you lower into bathwater, to get them used to the temperature.

I am wearing a coral-colored shirt by Band of Outsiders, which got ink on the sleeves - I had them removed. I'm wearing my brown, dotted tie. Forgot who makes it. All day long, I wanted to take off the tie, as it really didn't match the shirt. But I ultimately stood by my fashion decision. I'm grimacing in the pic - I hate being photographed, and I try to grimace or open my mouth really wide in every photo of me, to ruin the shot. I'm sure that one day, someone will be putting pictures of me into some sort of memorial album, wondering why I never - even for one shot, just to have some nice image of myself preserved for posterity - relaxed a bit, tried to look presentable. It's because I'm a control freak, that's why!

George

I had a magical Saturday recently with my friend George. We went to see the new Johnny Depp movie, which was slow and beautiful and a little boring, like life itself. Then we had a lovely supper at a Mexican restaurant, then walked around for a bit. We met up with Miss P. and Nikhil, too - and we all tried to walk onto the Highline, but it was closed. Closed! I've never been, and I thought it would be nice to finally make Miss P. happy and do something outdoorsy on a Saturday evening. But it wasn't to be. Thank you, New York! You sweet, improbable and preposterous mistress. Who would think to close the one thing people seem to love about you on a weekend evening? You!

I loved George's outfit - it gave me hope for what my outfits will be when I'm George's age. Simple, classy, and cute. I don't remember what we did after the Highline debacle, but knowing me, I probably led them to Billy's for cupcakes, then said goodbye, goodbye.

Babatunde

I walked to Union Square with my sweet, insane friend Babatunde. He always dresses better than me, without any of my squarish inhibitions. I wish I had the nerve to walk about in spraypainted shoes and a gauzy blouse! I also wish that I had his friend Chris's number. We once ran into Chris at the movies, and after I told Chris that I wanted to have sex with him, Chris promised we would someday. He was probably teasing me, which is a strange trend that I've been noticing, but at my age, I have to pursue these leads! As we walked to Union Ssquare, Babatunde offered me Chris's phone number, but I declined, as is my way, and instead he left Chris a voicemail with my phone number. I will be waiting, in a way, for Chris's call for the rest of my dark, unnatural life. That's what I love most about life: hoping.

Second boyfriend

My second boyfriend (and the only one worth speaking to) Josh came in from San Francisco, and managed to squeeze me into his busy schedule. He is a busy man, on the move! I took him to Billy's Bakery on 9th Avenue, and we were on line, waiting to be served. We had just been discussing, for some reason, the characteristics of his people, the Jews, when a member of the Billy's staff announced that free samples were being given out of a particular dessert. Joshie exclaimed, "samples!" and honed in on them with a terrifying speed. I was so embarrassed for him! I looked away discreetly.

Sitting down, I told Joshie that his character in my novel-in-progress, THE OMNIVORE, was a Trekkie. By making that character a Trekkie, I was really making fun of Joshie's clothing at the time we were boyfriends. He used to wear tight polyester sweaters with designs on them, such as the crew of the Starship Enterprise might wear. He told me that he used to buy those sweaters at Aardvark, but now he doesn't wear used clothing. I asked him where his outfit had come from today. Apparently, the shirt was from Singapore, the jeans from Israel, the socks from Japan, and the underwear from I forget where - the moon, perhaps. He has become so international! And I? What have I become?

No matter! Joshie looked as foxy as ever (even more so, perhaps) and I offered to "plow his hole" if he needed it to be plowed that day. He wisely demurred, and we went our separate ways, me to itemize my days' purchases, he to lurk about in Chelsea. Lurk on, Joshie! : )

Rogues' Gallery

I wore this outfit on my last day of work at HMH. All day, I was cleaning out my office and coming close to tears. I've been there four years, and I loved that job. I've never loved a job before. But it's time to move on. I emailed my authors, I sent out a goodbye email to my colleagues, and I started emailing myself some contacts. Andrea sent me a sweet, sad email, and I wanted to respond, but leaving Andrea is the most painful part of this split. She's challenged me so much, made me a better person, and I still have a bit of a platonic crush on her. I'll email her plenty later. Around 5 p.m., George came and sweetly said goodbye to me. I'll know George forever. Around 5:30 p.m., my network access was taken away, and then Brigid came and offered to share a cab home. That woman is so sweet, and also so smart, and I will miss listening to her crazy-making plans in meetings. I carried my bags into my apartment and spooned with the Colonel, who always senses my weakness and knows when to move in. I felt myself go into the paralysis I experience whenever I'm going through a trauma. I was weak as a kitten, and couldn't bring myself to call anyone, but I managed to text a couple of people. Mike responded and said he was going to 1st and 1st. Chris responded and said he would meet me there. I met up with Mike, and Chris arrived soon after. Mike had a dinner for his birthday after, and couldn't hang out for long, and Chris wanted to go home. But he walked me to 3rd Avenue and 14th Street, at which point a bus was waiting - right there! - and whisked me home. I took off this outfit (here it is lying, emptied, on my bed) and thought about how, earlier that day, I had amused myself by wearing a Rogues' Gallery shirt to my last day at HMH. Life is a rogues' gallery, and sometimes I feel like the biggest rogue. My friends are all rogues, too, and today, a few of them may have saved my life: George, Andrea, Brigid, Mike, Chris, and everyone I know and thought of today - I love you all.

Cat hat!

I was lurking about in Union Square this past week when I saw the most amazing hat ever! A cat! Ahhhhhhhh! I tried to take a surreptitious picture of this sight, but the man with the cat hat saw me, and tried to shake me down for one dollar. I talked him down to 50 cents. What a racket! Why can't my stupid cat help me shake down pedestrians in a public square? C'mon, Colonel! Of course, he would never lift a paw to help me. And if I ever put the Colonel on my head in public, I would soon be wearing a hat made of blood.

Track suit

As many people will tell you, I've been in the market for a track suit for years now. I've never had one! I have many criteria for the perfect one - it must not have a "swoosh" on it, the jacket must zip and have a hood, and it must be slightly cheesy. Really, if I could ask Al Sharpton where he got the track suits he used to wear in the 90s, I would be in good shape.

I met a friendly fellow named Aidan on the street near my apartment, and asked him if I could photograph his track suit, which is perfectly delicious, although hood-less. Now that I'm typing this blog, I'm remembering that when he called me back the next day (I was going to give him the url for my blog) I informed him that I was "enjoying myself," and that I would have to call him back another time. Now I really do have to call him soon, so that I can erase that perfectly inappropriate image from his mind, and make a nice second impression. (Or third).

If anyone knows where I can find a website with lots of exciting track suits, let me know!

Mysterious shoes

George took me to the 20th-anniversary performance of Sandra Bernhard's "Without You I'm Nothing." After the performance, we waited for her to come out and greet us. I ran into my old pal Chris, who used to work at Chelsea clothing store Camouflage. I swear, I used to go in there at least 4 times a week. Back then, everyone thought I lived in Chelsea, because I ate everyday at Food Bar and was always lugging around a Camouflage bag. But sadly, I lived a mile away, off Gramercy Park. How sad that I cabbed it everyday to an alien neighborhood and walked around alone and drunk, pretending I was fabulous.

I asked Chris where he had gotten his fabulous white leather shoes. He looked down and smiled, "I don't even know!" I accused him of pretending to be some fashion ingenue, not even aware of how good he looked. He probably had them handmade for him in Germany, which seems to be a standard response these days to my fashion inquiries.

After the show, Sandra Bernhard told me I had a "great face." Really, she did! I replied, "Gracias por la musica," which was a nice thing to say. An even nicer one might have been: "You too." And she really is smokin', inside and out. If we were both straight, we'd probably wear out our mattresses together.

Red hoodie

I purchased a "signature piece," a cranberry-colored hoodie from American Apparel. This was my first clothing purchase in weeks - because of the economy (and my own efforts at making my wardrobe less off-putting) I have removed the daily Gilt.com alerts from my calendar, thus ensuring that I do not purchase multiple ridiculous items a month from that wonderful website. But I wanted something a little red for the summer, and so I marched down to the neighborhood American Apparel and purchased this hoodie. My friend Christopher took this picture, as we headed home after a dynamite performance by PJ Harvey and John Parrish at Town Hall. She was amazing!

Tyson at BEA

After my embarrassing performance with Tyson at last year's BEA, I was hesitant to face him again on Friday, but I feel I carried it off with surprisingly few missteps. He has another child now, and a bigger beer belly than I remembered, and his tattoos were not on display - so I was able to play it cool. I chatted him and his colleague up about the taxidermy book in particular - and he even promised to pitch an article about it to the L.A. Weekly, which would be awesome. I was wearing a Michael by Michael Kors blue pinstripe suit, but he managed to outdress even me with this shiny number, probably obtained from some Los Angeles hipster boutique or the other. He said he would send me a Book Soup t-shirt, and I suggested that the INKLINGS author design a t-shirt for him. He tried to guess what size t-shirt I wore, and, even though it was clear that if he'd said "large" or "xl," he would have crushed me and won our subtle but emphatic verbal battle, he hesitated and then accurately guessed: "medium?" He's a bigger man than I. Muuuuuch bigger.

Brooks

I ran into Brooks, wearing an all-brown ensemble, and I accused him of try to dress "like Mr. Hanky." To Brooks' great credit, he indicated that, when he wears all brown, what he's trying to imply to the observer is that "that's what you're getting from me today: shit." I immediately felt a kinship to Brooks, but I predict that my attempts to befriend him, cheerily rebuffed thus far, will end in resentment and tragedy. Brooks is so cool that I bet he mistakes my tomfoolery for uncoolness. I reality I'm the coolest cat in town. I'm so cool that I don't care how uncool I appear. At the end of this night, Brooks jumped onto his racing bike and sped off into the night, becoming a brown smudge of movement, and I walked home to plot my outfit for the next day, which will surely turn out to be another mistake in a series of mistakes, honed and perfected to a brown smudge of movement - yesterday, today, and the next.

American Ballet Theater opening night

Miss P., his two sisters and I went to the opening night at the American Ballet Theater. I went partly because it was rumored that Michelle Obama was going to be there. As I entered the theater, I did not see MO, but I walked right past a thinner-than-I-expected Claire Danes, and the enchanting and always-horrid Renee Zellwegger, resplendent here in some passable finery. Michelle Obama did come out to say a few words during a break in the dancing, as did Caroline Kennedy. But our seats were too far away for me to feel a connection to the material, and I left at intermission. I'm going again this Friday, to sit in the third row, anonymous - as is my wont -and my cross to bear. I'll probably be wearing khaki.

Miss P.

My friend Miss P. has a serious problem. Can you tell what it is by looking at this picture? Yes, that's it! He enjoys exposing his ass. There, I said it. Miss P. (whose real name is Paolo) doesn't care how uncomfortable it makes people, or how gross it is. So I took this picture and am writing this post as sort of an intervention of sorts for Miss P. So Paolo, I hope you get the message! And if you don't, next time I'll use your full name, so that whenever you apply for a job in the future, your prospective employers will google your name and find a picture of your tired ass hanging out. :P

Christian

In all my fascination with peoples' outfits over the years, nothing could have prepared me for the sheer astonishment I felt upon running into my proudly alcoholic friend Christian yesterday. Christian had just checked himself out of his umpteenth detox facility, and, as you can see in this picture, he is still wearing the "scrubs" they give the patients in those facilities. I was immediately jealous of his outfit, but, knowing me, I would probably buy a set of psych ward scrubs and then be too ashamed to wear them. (Like most of the clothes my sister has ever bought me, and most of my more haute couture rash purchases, which hang in my closet, unworn). I do have a deeply developed sense of fashion shame, born from an Episcopalian upbringing and my mother's endless admonishments about my effeminacy.

I am currently reading Margaret Drabble's forthcoming memoir THE PATTERN IN THE CARPET, which is why I think I have used the words "admonishments" and "umpteenth" in this post.

My friend Christian keeps hinting that his sexuality might be a bit fluid, which titillates me ... even if ever so slightly. Looking at this picture, don't you agree that a downward spiral has never looked yummier?

Hobo

Oh, on the way home from Juilliard, we ran into some sort of hobo on the train.

Juilliard again

Stuck in our Juilliard rut, me and Miss P. went to Juilliard dance again on Friday night. Kristin and Anne came, too. During the best performance, two of the dancers had on jumpsuits, and I was of course reminded of my own brief jumpsuit experiment, with the cream-colored Marc by Marc Jacobs jumpsuit that I ordered from Gilt Groupe and wore at work. People burst into laughter at my jumpsuit! I returned it, literally, the same day I got it. I noticed that this week, Gilt Groupe put the same jumpsuit on sale again ...

But the dancers' jumpsuits looked good on them. This is a bad picture of the dancers - they look far away - but can you tell which dancer's outfit I particularly liked? Look closely! :)

Same outfit

Lena and Alia wore the same outfit to work today, just to get on my blog, I think.

Bleached out socks

Last week, I took this picture of my dad while he was sleeping. I wanted to just take a picture of his bleached-out socks, which I put on him to help keep the bandage on his heel in place. He has some kind of wound on his heel again, and his wounds take forever to heal. I wonder why? I suspect he has an undiagnosed diabetic condition. I want to remember to buy him some new socks for his birthday this year, although his policy is never to use anything I've bought him - not even the motorized scooter that Maxine and I bought him (for eight hundred whole dollars) last Christmas. That's why it's good to get him cheaper stuff, like socks.

In the picture, he looks lovably cadaverous, like he usually does while sleeping.

Jean jacket

The new gay in the office gave me this jean jacket, and I was so touched! No one gives me clothes, although my personality seems to scream out for people to give me clothes - or mirrors. I have a lot of ambivalence towards clothing made of denim. Once, Peppar was describing to me and Mary the clothes she was taking on vacation. She mentioned a jean skirt, and I asked, "Where are you going - the 80s?" But this jean jacket seems so modern, somehow. I think it's made by Club Monaco or someplace similar.

Bea gone :(

I found an image of Bea Arthur's head on l'internet, and made it into a t-shirt. This picture of me wearing it was taken by the new gay in the office. The new gay apparently blogs for Huffington Post, and he wrote a post about Bea Arthur's death that I found shocking. You may read it here:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/johnathan-wilber/bea-arthur-the-worlds-sma_b_193309.html

I want everyone to know that the new gay has a printout of a picture of David Foster Wallace hanging up in his cubicle - Wallace is the writer who died of suicide recently. Tomorrow, I am going to replace that printout with a picture of starving babies. :)

I used to think that in life, I was "Dorothy" from the Golden Girls. Now I think I'm an amalgam of Dorothy, Sophia (who had had a stroke, and couldn't control what she said), and Blanche (the slut). I wonder when I'll turn into Rose? Probably when Alzheimer's sets in.

I see Alzheimer's approaching me, always getting closer, like an annoying pedestrian. On mornings like this, I sort of think that when it finally overtakes me, it will be a relatively smooth transition.

Polish brothers

Me and Chris and Alia went to see the premiere of the new Polish Brothers movie, "Stay Cool," at the Tribeca Film Festival. I went because the Polish Brothers offered me some comp tix, and because I wanted to see if Winona Ryder looked ruined. As it turns out, she did not show up at the premiere (although maybe she came early, and then stole away) but Chevy Chase did, and Hilary Duff.

After the screening, I really wanted to ask during the q&a portion if they had had to get extra insurance because they were working with a felon (Winona Ryder). I knew that this would start a verbal battle-to-the-death between me and Chevy Chase, who is of course known for his skill at dispatching hecklers. He would have been a worthy dueling partner, and I knew that our battle would become legend, on the blogs and spoken in whispers for generations to come. But Alia and Chris restrained me. I suppose it was for the best - Chevy Chase's humor is heavy on putdowns, and mine is heavy on self-deprecation - our styles are not the most even match. But I'm not afraid to look like a fool! I never have been.

Ineffectual scarf

I am fascinated by the semi-recent trend amongst the youth of wearing flimsy scarves. This winter was especially severe in NYC, and I asked a few of my scarf-wearing friends this year if their scarves were keeping them warm. They all replied "no." So it must be for fashion! But, to me, clothes are meant to imply a state of mind, an openness or reticence to social interaction. I don't know what the kids are trying to imply by all wearing ineffectual scarves, en masse. Perhaps they are laying claim to a sort of group identity that I've never felt?

I wanted to photograph this Italian youth wearing an ineffectual scarf, but I didn't want to ask permission - he would certainly not give it. Quick as a wink, Luther offered to pretend like I was photographing him, but then duck down at the last minute, so the picture would be of the youth. Neither of these ideas - the pretending nor the ducking down - would have occurred to me, and I was struck once again by Luther's cleverness, his problem-solving abilities, and his appreciation for a slightly mean sense of humor. He and I are so much alike - even in countenance. But to get the Italian's picture, I would probably have gone over and used my rudimentary Italian ("oggi," [today], and "gli signori" [the men] are the only two words I know) to attempt to communicate the futility of resistance to my taking his picture. That plan probably would have backfired, but you never know - perhaps shouting "today, today!" at fashion-conscious youth while holding a camera would inspire in them the desire to prance about and contort into poses, as though on a catwalk.

Of course, Luther's scheme was thwarted somewhat when the youth looked right at me as Luther ducked down. But what could he do then? Leap up and twist his blowsy scarf into a rattail and snap it at me with a terrible force?