Jeans and a t-shirt

I went to the MARY launch party this past weekend. My story "Here's what happens at the movies" is going to be in an upcoming issue of MARY - yay! I was going to wear my new shirt created by my friend Babatunde to the party, but then I got a pimple, and didn't want to rock two new looks at one affair. So I went in jeans and a t-shirt instead, and William's sweet boyfriend took a picture of me. He said I looked evil, but I think I look sort of innocent! :) (And Babatunde, don't worry! I will wear your wonderful shirt soon!)

I once saw Cher being interviewed on "The David Letterman Show," and she told David that, when she wasn't doing a movie, she liked to hang out in "jeans and a t-shirt." I was a child then, but even then I was struck by the wonder of that statement. I wondered what kind of jeans, what kind of t-shirt Cher would wear. Perhaps jeans of baby's tears and a t-shirt made of flame. (Looking back, I probably related a little to the narcissism of her saying that. That's probably why I'll never forget that statement).

Once I read an interview with Debra Messing, who joked that when Cher appeared on "Will and Grace," she dropped out of the sky from a rope ladder, said her lines, then climbed back onto the rope ladder. Ever since, sometimes I try to convince people that I've just seen Cher hanging from a rope ladder, being transported throughout NYC by a helicopter that she never actually entered, just hung from.

Mark Morris Dance

Last night I ventured out into godforsaken Brooklyn to see Mark Morris at BAM with the lovely Suzanne D. It was our first date!

The dances were a little cerebral, and the audience seemed distracted. A couple of cellphones went off, and at one point, a couple walked out and started having a fight, which was audible to the whole theater. Suzanne and I were sitting immediately in front of a group of teenagers who made it clear that they were not amused by modern dance. It reminded me yet again why I hate seeing dance in Brooklyn. I loved the first dance, though. And the last one, which was a story cycle about Socrates, featured a hilariously homoerotic interlude between Socrates and Phaedrus. At one point in the dance, Socrates told someone that he owed him a cock. That's my new pick up line! :)

I wore a new purple blouse from Benjamin Bixby, and I told Suzanne about a recent major life decision I've made, which sort of dominated our conversation thereafter. According to About.com, purple "can boost a child's imagination or an artist's creativity. Too much purple, like blue, could result in moodiness." I expect I'll be wearing more and more purple as the months wend on - but I won't grow cold, just brief.

Crazy heart

I saw "Crazy Heart" a few weeks ago with Mary, and have been obsessed with Jeff Bridges' tinted glasses ever since. I ordered myself a pair of (prescription) sunglasses with around the same tint from Moscot (I told the saleslady that I wanted to look like an old Southwestern man with burnt skin who looks for coins at the quarry with a metal detector, and she quickly found the tint I needed). I am rockin' them today at work, and no one has asked me to remove them, which surprises me a little ... perhaps by now my co-workers' policy with me is to let me sink or swim as I may.

I loved "Crazy Heart." I didn't think I would. I don't like movies about guys, generally, and I don't particularly like that funny lady from "Secretary," either. But the music won me over, especially "Funny How Fallin Feels Like Flyin (For a Little While)." I want to say that to someone who has fallen down the stairs. Ha! Also, I have a "crazy heart," too. But perhaps you knew that already.

NYC badly needs an injection of the Southwest, I think. I took this picture of myself in my favorite Southwestern establishment, Chipotle. All I need is an iguana on my shoulder.

Butt Magazine party

I braved the cold to go to the Butt Magazine party, wearing my new, very long shoes. I was the fanciest-dressed one at the party, which was my intention when I was selecting an outfit. If you're going to be in a room full of sullen, ghostly hipsters, there's something provocative about wearing Ferragamo and Burberry and dancing up a storm. It's like saying: "F*ck you" with fashion! I felt free. This is me accosting Felix from Butt Magazine and Pin-Up Magazine outside the party. He is so hot! I ran into Seth at the party, and two of his friends, and I ended up going with them to Brooklyn for some shirtless dancing and random making out. I was not in the mood to dance shirtless, however, so I put my shirt back on after one dance and cabbed it back to Manhattan. My shoes survived this night, but I'm not sure my self-respect did.

H&M pants

Last year some time, I purchased a size 32 pair of dressy pants from H&M. I wanted to support H&M's movement into dressy territory. But it was something like 80 bucks! And, when I got the pants home, they didn't fit! I decided to punish myself with the pants, and I started dieting. Today was my first time wearing them, and they fit okay now. I work across the street from an H&M, and I briefly debated going in to the store, asking for the manager, and then telling him the whole saga. But I figured it would be too time-consuming. And the manager might ban me from the store for life, like the manager of the Phoenix bar did.



I used to sleep around with Nick Snider, the current "face of H&M," but it never went too far. He had limited interest in talking to me, and talking is what I like best about the fellows. I mean, I can sex it up with the best of them, but if there's nothing to say afterwards, my mind goes blank. But I follow his tweets now, and he seems to have an interesting interior emotional life. I worry, actually, that he's losing his mind.



And I used to date this fellow Joshua who worked at H&M Corporate. But he lost interest in me after I had a conversation about diseases with him. Someone told me later that they saw him featured in a Time Out New York dating feature. I laughed about it - ha! You couldn't pay me to advertise myself as a "single" looking for love in Time Out New York. But he was a good kisser, and a good kid, and I hope he's happy.

That's pretty much all I have to say about H&M.

Punishment shirt

Are you like me? Do you buy shirts one size too small to punish yourself for being fat, and then unsuccessfully try to diet your way into them? Well, I finally lost enough weight to fit into my "punishment" shirt, a red, striped affair from Rogue's Gallery. Next, I want to try to fit into that blue dress pant from H&M that I bought last year. It's a size 32, so I didn't know I'd be punishing myself with that one. But apparently, H&M pants run very small? Who would have thought?

Anyway, I wore my newly fitting shirt to the movies with Alia H. We saw "Terribly Happy." I thought I was going to love it when the cat said "goodbye," but ultimately I thought it was misogynistic. I asked Alia to take a picture of me, but the pictures kept making me look fat. She told me to spread my arms out, to look thinner, so this picture is of me looking thin and gay. Look at me! I'm about ready to fly out of the movie theater! But I like what the camera did to my eyes.

Love: the debate

I went to a panel discussion on love last night at the Algonquin. Two of my authors were on the panel, Ben Greenman, from the New Yorker, and Simon Van Booy, from outer space. Also on the panel were the unbelievably adorable Rachel Shukert, and queen of darkness Ariel Leve, whom I want to be my new best friend. (I don't think she'd have me, though). I was impressed with Ben's outfit - as he proved at the panel, he is a mildly sarcastic, intelligent, dark comedian - but he didn't feel the need to dress that way. Does that make sense? I mean, he could have come in in leggings or a tunic or in drag or something - he sounded like he was in drag. But because of his confidence in his message, he didn't feel the need to dress oddly - he kept it simple, with a navy blue shirt and black pants. I have a similar fashion policy. There's no need for me to have tattoos and piercings - I feel the piercings are part of my personality, and should be inferred. That's why I dress in muted beige tones, mostly.

I was saddened somewhat during the panel discussion, because it made me realize that, by Ariel's standards (and my own), that the only person I've ever really dated was Joshie Zerkel, twelve years ago in San Francisco. One romantic interest per lifetime - is that the usual formula for happiness? I remember taking him to the restaurant Stars in San Francisco for Valentine's Day. I had scouted it out the week before, assuring myself that the prices weren't too outrageous. Then, we got there on Valentine's Day, and they had, like, a whole new menu. (!) But that's history...

I was happy reading Ben's forthcoming book, though. It's called WHAT HE'S POISED TO DO, and like Ben's fashions, it toys with your perceptions a little. With that title and the cover photo, I was expecting it to be kind of raunchy. But I am finding each story to be a heartbreaking masterpiece - sort of a "Missed Connections" for the Charlie Rose set. In almost all the stories, letters are sent (sometimes postcards) or letters are not sent. I can only read one story at a time - to read them quicker would be to have the book end quicker. It's soooo sad - and it makes me want to write letters and not send them.

Hard decline

I walked briskly to Saks Fifth Avenue while on a smoke break at work. Saks had sent me a little $25 gift certificate for making all those unwise and ill-timed purchases last year, so I wanted to see if there were any bargains to be had. I snapped up this kicky little blouse by Nat Nast for just $38 (after the $25 was deducted!) What a steal! Unwisely, after that, I got a little excited, and decided to go and buy a bottle of Chanel Pour Monsieur to keep in the office. Unfortunately, my Saks card was declined for that purchase. The salesman even said "it's a hard decline. There's nothing I can do." I didn't know what to do with that information. My face began to flush with embarrassment, and I leaned in closer to the salesman and whispered, "Okay. I'm going to say to you what I say to all the salesmen when this happens. 'Give me back my card. I'm going to make a break for it.'" And then I ran away from the shame of it all, looking sharp.

Measuring tape

My crazy friend Babatunde came over last night to measure me for a blouse. (Of course, he measured me for everything, despite my pleas to just measure me for a top, but I think he just wanted to put his hand in my crotch. "Inseam measurement" - ha!) Babatunde told me that my waist was a "couture 36," but I produced several pants that disproved him. I'm a 32 waist, damn it! How could I possibly be a 36 waist? I'm 6 feet tall and weigh 165 pounds! (And I've lost 15 pounds since the New Year). I told him that his tape measure was defective.

Everytime Babatunde comes over, I have to practically call the police to get him to leave. Last night, he:

• indicated that he would be delivering me some "sausage" when he delivers my shirt in a week. I wisely declined;


• tried to haggle me upwards on his shirt-making fee, when I told him going in that my limit was $100. $100 for a blouse seems high enough, Babatunde! He must think my name is Money Mike;


• told me about some book of "tops and bottoms" he'd like to put together - this idea actually interested me, but I am completely ignorant about how to put together a fashion book;


• hugged me four times. :)

I can't wait to see how my first commissioned blouse turns out. And today is the first day of the Barney's Warehouse Sale, too! My fashion luck is changing - I can feel it.

Partners and Spade party

I went last week to a party at Partners & Spade. I forget what I was wearing, but I was in rare form. At one point, I went to chat up two cuties, but as I got closer, I realized that they were 12. I had fun chatting them up in a mentorly way, though. As it turns out, they were "recent" college grads (last May, I assume?) who were unemployed. They wanted to smoke pot with me, and didn't know who Jack Spade was. Two strikes! Well, one, at least.

At one point, my fashion nemesis, Joseph P., walked by and saw me chatting with the two teens - right as I was giving them my business card. (For a mentorly purpose, I swear! Plus, they were more into Kateri). Joseph gave me a knowing smirk and kept walking. I was so mortified! I had to chase after him and try to alter his perception of my conversation with the teens. I tried to make a circular pattern with my hand as I was talking to him, so that he would be hypnotized, and believe what I was saying.

I asked the teens how I could incorporate them into my fashion blog, and the cuter one said that his mother had just purchased him his blouse. So there you have it! That's all it takes!

Dressy party

I was at a party last night where practically everyone was better-dressed than me! It doesn't happen often. It was at the Pink Pony - I was surprised that this place was still open. And one of the guests at the party helps run the website where I bought the shirt I was wearing, even. It was a birthday party for the fashion designer friend of a friend, named Anthony. He was fabulous in a black sheath with some sort of polka dotted, ruffled pull-on - I want to get to know him better, and blog about his outfits. Plus, maybe he will teach me the correct fashion word for "pull-on."

I waited until everyone seemed to have arrived at the party, and then I dramatically left. I was walking towards the Bowery when a very handsome bum accosted me and called me "sexy." I was immediately drawn in to what he was saying, since it's been at least 9 years since anyone's called me sexy. (Although, in my youth, I was considered quite the great beauty - like Sophia Loren if she was a little uglier). Anyway, I noticed that the bum was carrying a huge bottle of liquor, and I realized that I should take his "sexy" comment with a grain of salt. He seemed to want a cigarette, and to touch me. I asked him to settle for just a cigarette. That's when he described an evening that he had in mind for the two of us to share together - complete with cocaine, a "bowl," and some E. Foolish, unbelievably handsome bum! It's the me of two weeks from now who has the cocaine. The me of last night just had Boniva.

Ladder No. 63

Have you ever passed by Ladder Co. 63 on Great Jones Street? Those firefighters are really hot, and their uniforms turn me on. I know every firefighter is sort of hot, but these guys go beyond the call of duty. Black raincoats, suspenders, blue Dickies - delicious. Once, the last time Tim Blue was in town, me and Mary were walking with him past Ladder Co. 63, and we saw some mouth-watering firefighters out front. I asked them if they could "put out the fire in my loins," and at first, they mocked me. But then, I guess, my phrase's magic worked itself on them, and they started to melt into hysterical laughter. One of them collapsed.

My own life has been touched many times by fire. My sister says that our mother thought I was going to burn down her home when I was a child. And eventually, I did burn down my own home, in 1996, by leaving a burner on for warmth. Firefighters saved me then, but I was alarmed to see that they fight indoor fires primarily with axes, not water. I was wearing a white robe when that happened. I waited downstairs while hot firefighters faced down their sworn enemy - flame. And then I lived for weeks in a blackened apartment with wood slats for windows. The fire happened two days before the blizzard of 1996, with the coldest temperatures ever recorded in NYC. The cold penetrated me, but not without its own tenderness, and in some ways, I've been cold ever since.

It cost so much money to repair my apartment. I didn't have it, so I moved to California, and my father fixed my apartment so he could rent it out. We do what we must to get what we want. Fires have taught me that. And what have I taught them? I guess, that I, like almost everything else, am flammable.