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.