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?

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.