Jack Spade

I was wearing my new Jack Spade coat yesterday evening when I was stopped and searched by the police in the Fulton Street station of the 4, 5, and 6 trains. This isn't going where you think it's going - I actually am not sure why the police don't search me more. I feel so clandestine and cloak-and-dagger almost all of the time - surely some of that feeling must be part of my visible "look?" The officer took one look at my coat and then leapt up from his seat in a Long Island sort of way and started pointing his finger at commuters on their way to the turnstile, like "eenie, meanie, miney, mo," and I got "mo," of course. He beckoned me in a pseudo-fatherly way over to a rickety folding table while my face displayed the coil of an almost imperceptible rictus of a smile.

It is one of my worst nightmares that I'll wear some multi-colored, garish coat to work and then get fired, and have to try to hold my head up high, carrying a cardboard box of my belongings outside into the rain whilst dressed like a clown. An alternate version of this fantasy is that I'll be dressed like a clown while getting handcuffed by the police while a crowd of people gathers to watch, or while getting beaten up by some cherry-picking vagrant on the street. I used to dress like a clown all the time, but that was in the aughts, when I thought nothing of wearing avant-garde clothing to the bar, to work, wherever. Once I flew to LA wearing a see-through mesh shirt by Fendi and Alia and I lurked about Hollywood and were cold to passersby. Once I was wearing an enormous coat covered in Burberry plaid and the barkeep at the bar I was leaving said, "Girl, oh my Gawd you are leaving here alone tonight." I could only look at him sadly and think, But I am merely a harmless eccentric… Another time at a party, I coldly accused the writer Bret Easton Ellis of being a misogynist while wearing a beautiful, flowing wig I'd just purchased from Patricia Field. I peacocked long before Neil Strauss made the term fashionable in his douche-bag bible, The Game.

(Okay, I know, I know - Jack Spade is the ultimate douche-bag brand. But, grrrl, it was less than $200 on barneyswarehousesale.com, and I MUST HAVE A NEW COAT AND A NEW SCARF EACH YEAR even when I am not sure where my next rent check is coming from. It is my biggest revenge fantasy that, when I am finally ensconced in some sort of gay rest home, I will be able to dazzle the other old queens with an endless array of beautiful coats and scarves, like Diana Ross - and have the ability to say that I have seen EVERY MADONNA CONCERT [three, albeit, via DVD only :^( ])

The po-po, of course, found nothing in my bag. I am, realistically, far past middle age, and if I were to do drugs today, I would surely just immediately turn to ash like that blonde witch in "American Horror Story: Coven" last season. Sigh. Back in the day, though, I partied like a house afire. I will cling to that Gee and keep going to work and keeping it together and doing the best I can. I will cling to the Gee who, when given a copy of the AA Daily Reflections in rehab, immediately flipped to the last page in February and informed the doctor, "But, there is no entry for February 29th." She turned pale, and I continued: "How will your precious book save you then."

La Isla Boniva

I went downtown to hang out with my friend T (not that friend T), but he wasn't ready yet, so I walked around Soho for a bit, waiting for him to text me. I happened upon this sign advertising Madonna tickets, and was jolted to learn that tickets had already gone on sale, two days before. I didn't even know! Usually, I get an email from American Express about a pre-sale, but I didn't get one this time around, I guess because Madonna is working with a different credit card company now :(

I have seen every single Madonna tour since 1990's Blond Ambition tour (my very first concert), mostly because the gays can be very dismissive of you if you are not on top of every gay trend. I didn't want to be the only gay in the gay rest home twenty years from now who didn't see this particular tour. By now, though, having not gotten Lady Gaga and not caring about "Glee," I am pretty much officially persona non grata with the gays. And, after seeing Madonna almost fall down during her performance of "Music" at the Superbowl half-time show, I had all but decided that I didn't want to see her tour again. All she ever does now is project images onto a screen and hump a chair! So why does this news that I've missed the chance to get tickets for her show bother me so much? Maybe because I wanted to be able to symbolically reject her; I didn't want to just not know about it! Sigh.

Back in the day, I loved Madonna, and I would gleefully clip out pictures of her from magazines and wallpaper my room with them. My mother would just as gleefully rip them off my wall when I angered her about something, and I would be heartbroken, and the cycle would repeat. But right around the time that "Erotica" came out, I finally realized that Madonna's music mostly sucks. I still kept buying those albums and attending those shows, though ... you can't be the only gay who doesn't. And as we both aged, I guess I felt some jealousy towards her ... after all, she has exercised obsessively over the years just as I have, but I have lingering joint pain because of it, and she doesn't seem to. And she fell off a horse.

In this poster, Madonna is wearing a simple white jacket, showing her cleavage. I say "Madonna" is wearing it, because that's what the poster is telling you; although it is pretty obvious that the real Madonna no longer looks this way, and perhaps never did. Whatever outfits the real Madonna chooses to wear during this upcoming tour, I think it's safe to say that they will be age-inappropriate. And tonight, I will be wearing a Steven Alan shirt at a Bookforum party at the New Museum, featuring Adam Wilson, Ben Marcus, and Dale Peck. See you there, gays?

Yankees game in a Mets hat

Peppar and her husband and son were in town. Went with them to see the Yankees. Lest anyone be confused about my baseball loyalties, I wore my Mets hat. I wanted to see if anyone would start a fight with me because of my choice of hats, but other than a few comments, things 
went smoothly. A-Rod hit a homer when it was completely unnecessary - the team already had a big lead. I could totally relate, though. In my life, the only times I'm able to hit it out of the park are the times when things are already okay. In a clutch, though, I choke.  I noted with interest that the Yankees still do the old ballpark tradition of announcing on the Jumbotron the birthdays of fans in attendance.  I thought that it might be funny for A-Rod if, just for fun, on August 15th, the Jumbotron wished Madonna a happy 50th.