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?

Socks and sandals

Luther and Paula and Nadia and Heather and Miss P. and I went to see "Goodbye Solo" near Lincoln Center. Beforehand, we had coffee outside. Miss P. saw that I was wearing socks with sandals, and said "Who are you, Kevin Federline?" I informed him that the petty rules of fashion are made for people who don't know how to dress. Some people NEED fashion rules; I certainly don't. I should have gone on to explain that I hate to show my feet, because my right big toenail is gnarled from fungus, but, feeling like I had the upper hand, I kept that to myself.

These particular sandals I purchased about eight years ago, at a Miu Miu sample sale on Lafayette Street, with Blue. Blue had me try them on, then told me that I "couldn't afford not to buy them." I wonder where Blue is right now? Probably drunk, or just a bunch of dust, having drunk himself to death.

Alyse's friend Sam

Alyse's friend Sam was visiting from England. I was taken by his blouse, which was unbuttoned almost to his naval, in pirate fashion. I want to be the kind of person who would unbutton his blouse thusly, and walk about with no shame or self-consciousness. My mind is too active. If I unbuttoned my blouse, I would be afraid that some cyst or lesion would become visible to an outside observer, or that a beetle would jump inside and lay eggs inside my torso.

This happened ...

Me and Mike and Elliott and Miss P. went to the Juilliard School dance performance 3/27. I took this picture of the dancers' final bow. I was jealous of the way they looked in their outfits - and also their youth. Although, I never looked as good as they do, in any outfit, at any age. I remember looking as a youth at dance performances on PBS, coming close to tears at the grace of the dancers. I was fat then, and would slosh around my parents' living room, as graceful as a beached whale. One day, I knew, I would be skinny and a dancer. I developed exercise bulimia - sometimes running 10 miles in one day - and one "runners' knee" diagnosis and many years later, I know I will never be a dancer. But my future, like that of a dancer, probably holds the promise of painful and time-consuming knee-replacement surgery.

I made out with Mike in the subway on the way home. It was magical. It was only the fourth or so time I had made out with someone I already knew. Most of my sexual encounters have happened when I've gone out to pick someone up, and they've mostly been one-night stands - some, anonymous. That's why my fondness - mutual, I thought - for Mike was so innocent and thrilling for me. On my way home, I was plotting how I would make it work with Mike - for once, not plotting how I would fuck things up. But the next day, on the phone, he said he'd rather be friends. I immediately felt fat, ungraceful, exposed, and surprised. I don't remember what I was wearing when that happened, but if I did, I would certainly never wear that outfit again.

Gregory & Greg

I went to visit my friend Peppar in Miami a couple of weeks ago, and she took a picture of me and her son, Greg. Peppar loves my name (and me) so much, she named her son after me! I wish I had a daughter so I could name her Pep. That name might be too much pressure on the poor grrl, though - she would probably be vaguely depressed all her life, like her papa. Plus, on the schoolyard, she would probably be taunted. "Hey, Pep! What's your last name - Tobismol?"

When I was a kid, there was a girl who waited with us at the bus stop. Her name was Jessica, but everyone called her the "Booger Queen" because once someone said they caught her picking her nose. Really, I doubt they actually saw this, because what little girl would pick her nose in public at that tender age? Other kids - and their inherent danger - were everywhere, lurking and spying about. Anyway, once I screamed at the other kids, telling them to stop calling her the "Booger Queen." "Stop!" I screamed. "Stop, stop, stop!" Henceforth, of course, I was the "Booger King."

I really wish I had been in a better mood when I was in Miami. I don't think I was very good company for Peppar. (She knew the risks). I will meet her in Orlando some day, and she and I and Greg will get on a Disney World ride and probably instantly be thrown from it at its apex and dashed to bits on the cement below. (We knew the risks).

In this photo, Greg and I are both wearing our caps. His is a smart number, emblazoned with a Yankees symbol. Mine is camo.

Two Matts

I wanted to take a picture of this guy Matt's risky hoodie, as he's straight, and I love it when the straight guys take risks with their outfits. I decided to crop his head out of the picture, as I'm sure he wouldn't like his face appearing on my deviant, homosexual blog. But then I looked at the picture, and this OTHER guy Matt's face was visible! He's sitting on the steps. How funny, I didn't even plan that. I think the Matt whose face is not in the pic is delicious, but I do wish he would shave his facial hair. Sadly, I will never lick his face, though I yearn to, so I don't feel like I have enough at stake in his face to offer my opinion on it. He should totally publicly trade his face, because then I would buy a majority stake in it and then force him to shave. I have had way too much coffee this a.m.