My friend Matthew

I have a friend Matthew who decries all things "gay," but who works designing accessories for ladies. This must present such an internal struggle within himself! Every time I say something with a twang, he mocks me and calls me gay. "So saith the fashionista," I said drily last time he said that. The ironic thing is, the gays have never really liked me, so I am as non-gay as a gay can be.

I really loved a bag Matthew made, with ostrich feathers, and I am going to commission one from him for my friend Alia's graduation this May. She likes ostrich feathers, and now that she is going to be a lawyer-on-the-go! she will need a bag.

This is a picture of him in my apartment, holding a copy of Justin Taylor's Everything Here is the Best Thing Ever. I love that book! Matthew told me not to blog about him, because he knows lots of lawyers, but I am blogging about him anyway. You can't really tell who he is from this picture anyway. Bring it on, lawyers! :)

Matthew is so mean to me! He calls me names, but then he sends me sweet, assuaging texts calling me "babe." *sigh* It probably isn't going to work out with him. He is 20 years old ... urk. I know, I know. I am always lobbing arrows of desire out towards the gays of the world, but somehow they fall outside of my age range. Why is that? Is that because my personality is so ... off somehow ... that only the insane and the young can relate to it? OMG, Matthew had a mid-term yesterday. I sent him a text telling him we should celebrate when he could, and he replied, "Ha ha dork." Pretty soon, he will probably send me another one calling me babe, which will assuage me yet again. I'm pretty easy to assuage. :)

Paula

I went last week to my cousin Paula's exhibit at the "Wearing Spirit: Aesthetically Personifying the Feminine in African Sacred Traditions" show, at the Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Insitute. Whew - I'm glad I finally had a reason to go to the CCCADI - they send me emails all the time, but I never want to go see their shows, and have felt terribly guilty about it (I'm Caribbean, after all!). So I'm glad Paula gave me an excuse to go.

In this picture, she's standing in front of her piece, a quilt/collage that's so intricate I had to stare closely at it for a few minutes to even begin to absorb it. I love collage - most of my best work (and my best outfits) have involved lumping together random, disparate pieces and then standing back and hoping a general "tone" has emerged. Sort of the Anne Sexton way of dressing.

I absolutely adore Paula and her husband Luther. It's been one of my best accomplishments in my adulthood that I've grown close with them. And when I end up in an institution (or vice versa) I'm sure we'll be there to visit each other and make collages out of each other's psychotropic medications.

St. Patrick's Day

As always, I forgot to wear green today on St. Patrick's Day. In fact, I'm wearing brown and purple and blue - I am spitting in the face of green, actually. (But not intentionally - green is my favorite color).

I work a block away from the parade route, so I went to watch it, briefly. Maybe this evening I'll go to Barrage and see what people are wearing. In the olden days, I would stay away from the bars on St. Patrick's Day because it is "amateur night," as it were. But now I enjoy watching people get drunk. It's comforting for some reason.

I took this picture of the St. Patrick's Day parade crowd in front of a weird clothing store. I have a bit of a crush on someone who works inside, whose home is even more squalid than my own, but you have to play it cool with these things, you know? ;)

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.