something to share

While I am still recovering from the Roberto Verrino event the other night, I thought I would share this little video with you about the upcoming Sex And The City movie; check out the tables of shoes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvS9vjF8x3A

Steinnun Fall 08

Really excellent tailoring and detail work. The basket weave effect by the hem is wonderful. Great empire waist and the color just pops at you.

This is definitely going to brighten up a winter's day.

Designed by Steinunn and presented in Milan.

Object of my desire

I am so lusting after this bike. It's a limited edition Cynthia Rowley with hand painted flowers on the frame.

I'd add a wicker basket big enough to hold the wonder dog.

Brrring-brrrring!

Aftermath

Last night was crazy; eight people, most near strangers having dinner at Primehouse http://eater.com/archives/2007/10/the_dish_primehouse_new_york.php
Primehouse is a large stunningly decorated- black and white, mirrors -nouveau steakhouse on Park South.

Everyone is dressed to the nines, making chit chat as we drink and get to know each other . The centerpiece of this dinner party are two people I know who I've introduced. The other six are witnesses to their first date. After two hours at the bar, we finally decide to get a table. There's much dancing on who will sit next to whom, and it ends up boy-girl-boy-girl.

We're laughing loudly, there's innumerable smoke breaks, someone orders bottle of champagne, a bottle of white appears, then something else, who can look at the menu with all this glorious chatter?

My across the table dinner partner is Dan, whom I've met before. He recently lost his grandmother, and I have recently (not as recently as Dan) lost my mother. I move over to his side of the table and we talk about non-party topics. I scoot back, everyone is playing musical chairs; one moment we're all sitting, the next... this is what happens when you get a bunch of social butterflies. Andrea brought the comic book she's working on. I impatiently wait until R's done viewing it so I can look. Oh, it's breathtaking, the artwork, the story line, it's amazing. Andrea mentions that she created a comic book so, "that all her friends can live there and have fantastical adventures."

Around 10 we finally order. The width of my steak is wider than my head. I look at it confusedly, I'm supposed to eat this? In one meal?

After dinner, it's decided that we're all going dancing. Colin's driver is woken up and the SUV is pulled around, 180 people pile in. No, not that many, but it did feel like a clown car. Blaine, who's been drinking champagne since brunch time is curled up around me, playing with my hands and crooning, "I'm the word, I'm superbr, I'm hot, I'm hot...baby if you want to find you, you gotta google me,"http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=76423635

over and over, and over, and over again.

We finally pull up to this club without a name somewhere in the L.E. S. hey, I was in the very backseat, what the hell do I know? Us back seat people were discussing different types of vodka.

We walk into the club. It's kinda small with white floors, a large bar, a raised area with a few tables and a stripper pole in a recessed niche. Hmmm, dancing!

A bunch of us danced, drank and flirtede. I left before the drama started and was home by 2:30am.

The next day, I crawl out of bed and stumble into the living room. My feet hurt because of the high heels, I can't turn my neck and my arms are sore-damn stripper pole-after downing advil, my cell rings.

"Hey PJ, I'm in my bedroom, where are you?"

"Hey Michelle! I'm in the living room, you wanna come out?"

After not seeing the roomie for, oh I don't know three or four days, we sit on the couch and re-connect. She tells me about one of her dates, "so we're walking through the park and talking. Finally,he puts one hand around my waist. Then he takes my hand. My waist is happy, my hand is happy, but he still hasn't kissed me!"

The good, the bad....you figure it out

Tonight I'm attending an impromptu dinner party. The hair has been professionally blown out, the nails have been done and accessories have been bought.

Why is it that if you get your hair done it only takes a half hour? You do it yourself, it's over an hour and you've poked yourself in the eye repeatedly? Forget about doing your own nails- I can barely draw in between the lines.

Two of the party are interested in each other, I think the rest of us are just a buffer if things go south. I'm hoping that it all goes well.

So that's the good, fun and nice social news of the day.

Here's the bad, not so good, shitty news of the day.

I've just destroyed a nascent friendship with someone who I thought was rather cool. Perhaps a little obsessive- not in a good way- but funny and kindhearted.

What did I do? I blurted something out that I swore (to myself) that I would never tell her. Whoops doesn't even cover it. How about fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I think that's a bit better, but doesn't really hit the depths of idiocy that I plunged myself into last night. There's not a thing I can do to rectify it either.

Last night as the snow is flinging itself around us, fucking up our hair, making our maquillage look like Tammy Faye's, we stand in a street talking. Well, I'm being talked at anyway. When I try to explain myself, I realize that I'm not being listened to, then again, if someone is angry with you, they're not going to listen to you because they're boiling over with emotions.
I then say a few things;

"Do not ascribe any emotions that I'm not feeling to me."

"Why don't you just admit what's really going on."

"This is a no win situation, I'm going home."

And you know what, I am positive I sounded like a bitch. And you know what, when someone is telling you that you ought to be feeling X, or you did something because you were feeling guilty (which I wasn't), you get bitchy.

I can be a bitch, I've been called one, also arrogant and a few other choice things. Yup, I can be that. I can and am usually the one who will take that 3 am phone call, who will meet you in the pouring rain at the cafe to hold your hand while you spill your guts out. I am a lot of things.

What I'm not is a one dimensional paper doll. Just because I may say or do one thing, don't expect me to follow the party line. I follow my own.

Speaking of following my own road, one night not too long ago I'm having drinks with someone, who apropos to nothing, turns to me and says, "I can't read you." I smile and keep drinking.

Of course you can't read me. I have no idea what your agenda is, I have no idea why you are seeking out my friendship, I have no idea what you want from me. The days when I babbled my heart's desires to almost total strangers has long since passed. Much like purple eye shadow. It's great for 12 year olds and that's about it.

You have to remember that we each view reality, if that's what it is, through our own filters of experience and emotion. And according to the ex-friend I am filled with self-importance.

If self-importance is being comfortable in your own skin, of knowing your worth, if it's having a good sense of self-esteem, than I am self-important.

As for the friendship I wrecked, what can you do? I did something very stupid and nothing in the world will fix what I've done. The onus is on me. I take responsibility for my great and stupid acts.

That anger thing

I'm pissed off; I don't want to use a euphemism, and I don't want to put it delicately, but I'm pissed on so many levels.

I'm trying to decide whether or not I am angrier at myself or the other person in this equation.

I just can't stand liars.

Conundrum

If i stay home to work, I find something else to do. If I go out, I worry about not doing all the piled up work. When I attempt working during the day, all I want to do is nap.

What to do, what to do, what to do???

And now for something serious

I'm not usually serious here, or really anywhere for that matter. There's a lot of stuff that I keep locked away in my brain; not to be used for public consumption.

But, this is something that I decided that I wanted to share, to say out loud. Who knows, maybe it will help some one, some where...

I have BDD; that's Body Dysmorphic Disorder. It's considered to be an outgrowth for people who have dealt with an eating disorder. It doesn't matter if you were bulimic, anorexic or anything that comes under the eating disorder umbrella, if you've struggled with it, there's a chance that you'll develop BDD. Not everyone who's had an eating disorder gets it, and I think, but I haven't done research on this, but I do think it's possible to have BDD without having to pass the prerequisite course. Having struggled with anorexia for years, I'm pretty much over it now, but I've got the side effect.

What is it? It's the inability to see oneself in a true light. A lot of people with BDD obsess over a particular body part; thighs, waist, hips. In their mind, the body part is grotesquely huge and out of proportion. It's another way to hate your body.

Me? I look in the mirror, acknowledge that it's me and that's just about it. For years I have stumbled around not knowing if I was pretty, ugly, coyote ugly (you gnaw your arm off in the middle of the night to escape), stunning or average. Had a dim idea of how I looked physically, but wasn't always sure.

It's like I've spent most of my life stumbling around in the dark. Now here's the weird part, it's fashion week, I'm up early stumbling around trying to get ready to go back to the tents and look at more clothes, I'm exhausted from lack of sleep and not coordinated at all.

Tripping over 10,000 pairs of shoes that are strewn across my bedroom floor, I glance at the floor length mirror in my bedroom. I stop. I blink. I walk closer and look again.

For the first time ever, I recognize myself. For the first time I finally see what the rest of the world sees when they look at me.

I'm a freaking knockout.

And I have a pair of shoes and a rolodex that I stubbed my toe on to thank for that relevation.

Weird, huh?

I'm baaaaaaaack!

I'm back. I can't swear that I am going to post everyday or not, but I'm here, live as it were on the net.

Since I write for a living, there are days when I feel like I'm going to explode if I write one more thing....hence the silence.

Quick Update-

Ivan is practically engaged- he's living with E in the Slope- haven't heard from him in a looong time.
Albert moved to Mamaroneck- is also living with his intended
Diana and Isa the wonderdog are still hanging in there
James and Tanitha are engaged.
My dog still hides when I try to groom her.

I've switched from covering music/entertainment to covering fashion and beauty. I will occasionally do something music related, only if the spirit moves me. Am going to be interviewing Sasha of Sasha and Digweed soon.

Am still living where I live.
Am now blonde and loving it.
Am still single.
Am currently looking for a new Shifu.
Am still addicted to shoes.

See, nothing changes!

Free Vodka

Went to the party for Patrica Field at Capitale last night - lots of free vodka. Got the brilliant idea (at the time) to ask for a vodka gimlet in a tall glass; this equals two drinks in one.

Today it doesn't feel like it was a brilliant idea.

Ran into Michael Musto at one point, "Michael," I said, " A straight woman couldn't get laid here if she ran up a flag and screamed."

He laughed.

Very sleepy--murderous thoughts about last night's shoes....will continue in a more coherent manner tomorrow

Am off to a thing tonight, and as usual dragging poor Ivan with me. It's a show at Rothko--we'll be checking out a few bands and the open bar. It's very important in my line of work to know about up and coming bands the buzz, etc., Free drinks don't hurt either.

Met Andrew Cuomo yesterday. Very tall, good handshake, direct eye-contact. Seems like a nice man.

Am almost done reading "Fast Food Nation," and "Sarah Churchill Duchess of Marlborough," but still have to get through John Locke's book. It's on my bedside table, I've been switching between that and "Fast Food." I started reading "An Essay Concerning Human Understanding," while reading the bio about the Duchess because she was a fan of his, and I wanted to more fully understand her mindset. I am such a geek.

Still trying to figure out the correlations between that and my current audio obsession, Gabriel and Dresden's "Bloom" CD. It's their debut CD and indiscribably delicious. The type of aural soundscape that you must dive into and are reluctant to leave. Dance music that isn't dance, trance that rocks and beats that sing through your bones.

I opened up my email this morning and found a note from the same reader who dropped the other note;

"PJ,

I read you blog entry today with much interest. Today I found you more interesting. No gloomy dead cat commentary. No Queer Eye for the Straight Guy sightings. Apparently you were energized by my e-mail. If so, that’s great.

I feel like a muse. PJ, are there male muses? Or – pun intended – can one be an e-male muses? I like puns. Many people don’t. I heard a fine author on c-span a few weeks ago say that he dislikes puns. Puns, like Jacob Cohen from Babylon, NY, a.k.a. Rodney Dangerfield, get no respect. Good old Jacob died on Tuesday.

So your distorted word was “whee.” And you say a discreet whee.

You write, anyone who knows you knows that there are guys attracted to a petite redhead who has problems with spatial dynamics. Tell me about you and spatial dynamics. I’d like to know more. Next blog? An e-mail?

Do know about spatial dynamically challenged woman, but I too like petite. This brings me back to puns – specifically homonyms. While there is no we, I know you are petite, that is you are wee and you recently experienced a discreet whee. Oui?

nycxxxx44"


It's nice to greet the morning with a laugh. It's sad about Rodney Dangerfield, he was a very funny, clever man. My mom told me once, that somehow through the New York single scene, a friend of a friend once tried to fix Mom and Rodney up. I asked what happened, she said that they talked on the phone, but she wasn't that impressed with him.

Looking back, I realize that this was right before she had gotten sick and when I thought I had all the time in the world to ask her about her life.

On a lighter note, I attempted to watch the debate last night. Three seconds into it, I started screaming at Cheney and had to leave before I started throwing things at the set.

A Vice President (I forget who, how appropo) was once quoted as saying that "The Vice Presidency isn't worth a spittoon full of warm spit." So, on that note, I did think it was funny that the VP's and VP's to be were arguing on TV. Traditionally, the VP goes to functions that the President can't make, patiently waits to step in if the President is incapacitated, and not much else. Except Cheney. Bush 2.0 is the only president who doubles as a ventriloquist's dummy, and yeah, we know who's putting words in his mouth, and pulling the strings - Cheney.

I love how Cheney discreetly mentions he's for gay rights this election. Lest we all forget, one of his daughters is gay and was the head of a gay PAC. When Cheney was elected, she was oh so discreetly paid off and flew into the woodwork. Now, when it's politically expedient, he remembers her.

Rather than go on and on about the present administration, I'm going to stop as I'm in a good mood right now and don't want to lose it. I've got an entire day to get through and want to greet it smiling.

Oh boy!

I got an email from a reader of this blog that I felt like sharing with you.

"'What in the world is one to make of today's entry? I, like you, am a New Yorker. But your so-called weekend in one word which is not a word but rather is nonsense. And if anything PJ it is two words. And more importantly, it says nothing to me about our town - New York.

PJ, please explain. Either explain to me by return e-mail or in you blog. I will be reading.

nycXXXX44"

First of all, I'm delighted to get mail, so if you've been thinking about dropping me a line, go ahead. Half the time, I'm playing around here when I should be doing work, but aren't most writers great procrastinators? When I'm writing, the only time I've ever gotten mail was from my Op Eds for the New York Post. I have to say that the hate mail was fun to read. Not that I like being castigated, but the atrocious grammar and wacky assumptions were hilarious. That really was the only time I've ever gotten reader feedback from my work.

About the word I used to describe the weekend, it was the extremely elongated version of the word, "whee." That word is usually used to describe good things or something fun. I was trying to be discreet.

When I started this blog, I made a promise to myself and in print as well, that there were just certain things I would not or could not write about. I do want to live and while I can hint about certain frustrations in being a freelance writer, there's no way in hell that I'm going to name names. Same goes for my private life. Oh yeah, I can be a dating fool. Anyone who knows me, or has read this blog knows that there are guys out there who are attracted to a petite redhead who has problems with spatial dynamics. So I will write about some of my adventures. The things that my friend Ivan and I get up to sometimes can be downright silly. We become two 17 year old boys, bitching about guitars, me seriously mooning over basses, and have been known to run around Tower Records and push all the heavy metal CDs into prominence.

Back to Saturday night--I'll give the very bare bones--the very bare bones

Went to CBGB's to check out The Exit and a few other bands that were playing that night. The Exit were performing to promote the release of their New CD, "Home For An Island." I did catch part of Asobi Seksu's set and liked them. Female lead singer, plays keyboards--Raveonettes meets Blondie with nice guitar work. Exit reminds me of early U2. I'm talking from the "Boy," "October," and "War" era, before they got schmaltzy--and just to shake things up a bit, they've got some chord changes that you swore were early Police. Yeah, yeah, I know there are only so many chords to go around, but I would watch the grouping.

If you were there and saw a small woman all in black wearing silver and white boots - that was me. Anyway....something unexpected and nice happened. That's all you're going to get out from me.

Wanna do me a favor...check out my interview with Sonic Youth at UGO.com. You'll be able to watch and read it. In a few days, you should be able to watch my interview with Two Gallants and read my inerterview with the extremely swoony Gabriel and Dresden there as well.

Okay...go! Go there now!

Weekend in one word

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Walking down 42nd Street today, right by Grand Central Station, guess who's passing me by chatting on his cellphone? Carson Kressley that's who. Yup, a member of the Fab Five. And we've wearing the same sunglasses. I knew I had a famous twin

Not much going on right now, but I thought I had better write something before anyone thought I was kidnapped by aliens.

Have re-sent out query for book, and am getting amazing responses this time around. Same query as last time--better class of agents :)

It's beginning to get colder, and not thrilled about that.

Worried about finances--who isn't? Checks are late and of course had an...hmmm...can't really say, can I? Well, I will say had a bait and switch recently...completed a piece and found out (natch!) after it was sent in, that they're going to pay me less than they said they would. Oh yeah, they want me to write more for them.....can you guess my answer?

There are days when I wish I had a majic lamp or parents that I could go to if I needed them. Oh well, what can you do?

The weekend, like every weekend was too short. Went out with Ivan and Janis Saturday night. Started at a dive bar in the financial district and ended up in the (where else) east village. I'm too tired for caps, okay. Sunday was spent doing an editorial test and not much else. I should be working now, but have had a bit of wine (pinot grigio) and am here wasting time. Oh well, time to walk the dog.

The weather was glorious today, breezy, not too hot and lots of lovely sun. Perfect for running around and doing errands. I was everywhere, Upper East Side, Midtown and then the Village. I felt like taking advantage of the weather and grabbing a bite to eat at a sidewalk cafe. Pretty soon it's just going to get too cold to sit and watch the sidewalk parade. Found a place on MacDougall, a restaurant that's been around forever, "The Olive Tree." Relaxed, ate my burger, read my biography of Sarah Churchill, eavesdropped on a couple sitting next to me; she-"you know there's a lot of things about you I don't like either." He-unintelligible and lots of nodding. She-"this is great hot borscht." He-nods more. She-"You know I don't think I'm cut out for relationships". Then they continue to eat.
Anyway, I'm finished ad look for the waiter, he finally shows up and I ask for the bill. Another year goes by and he returns with it, then rushes off. When he deigns to come outside again, I give him my credit card. An insane amount of time passes. I get the couple to watch my packages and go inside to find out what's taking so long. Guess what he's doing? Having lunch with friends.

I'm back, I think!

I'm back. It's not that I wanted to stop blogging or anything like that at all. It's just that I'd sit there, and start remembering that when I wrote half of those posts, Sinatra was alive. And it hurt. After he died, I dropped 15 pounds in a week. Since I am only five foot two and a half (yes the half inch counts) 15 pounds made me look like a refugee. Did I mention that I was also smoking my brains out???

Yeah, it took awhile for me to start feeling like me. But I'll never forget the night I had to leave him in ICU at the Emergency Hospital. I came home and standing in the kitchen, I heard him scream. It was the most wretched feeling on earth. I have to stop this train of thought, I'm crying and that's not good for the contacts.

Let's get onto something silly. Celebrity sightings---two weeks ago, I'm wandering around the West Village and who do I see on Christopher Street enjoying the street fair? Alan Cummings. Okay, I could have screamed. I looked at him, making very sure that he didn't notice me and them scampered away.

During the summer I watched Richard Dreyfus being filmed walking down West 4th Street and a few weeks ago, they filmed part of the TV show "Rescue Me" three blocks from my house.

Interviewed Sonic Youth, Two Gallants and Gabriel and Dresden. If you'd like to see the interviews (they were filmed) check out UGO.com The SY and Two Gallants are VOD or video on demand interviews. You don't see me at all.

Saw Armin Van Buuren spinning--religious experience, okay.

Had very few dates. Yeah me, not really dating. Stop laughing.

These were my horrid dates:

1) Date number one got a phone call from his Mum and had to go home. I'm not kidding (said mum as he's a Brit).
2) Date number two tried to pick a bar fight in Pianos, kept egging on a drunk guy. Then date calls the police and pretends to be the victim
3) Date number three--well we actually had two good dates, he asked me out for a third and I actually said yes (shut up all ready) He blew me off. I deleted his number from my cellphone. A week later, he calls because he was fired and could I help him get another job.

So, I've been laying low. Under the radar. And at my height that's easy.

I also have (gasp) a dog. Me, with a dog. This is what happened. Almost a month after Sinatra died I was being pressured to get another kitty from friends. Personally I thought it was too soon. I mean if a relative dies, do you run to KMart and immediately buy another? I was surfing on the net and saw that a rescue league was looking for foster parents. I thought about all the wonderful people who helped me with Sinata, all of those compassionate souls and thought that I'd take care of an animal in honor of them and Sinatra. I called, went through a bunch of interviews, was deemed sane and was told that I was going to get a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel named Ocean. What I got was a Brittany Spaniel with an unclipped tail who has serious separation anxiety. I promptly renamed her Sophie. After bringing her to Union Square to show her off to respective parents and telling them that she was a special needs child. Did I mention she had very special needs? She's special dammmit. I adopted her.

The only thing I can say about Sophie is that if she had opposable thumbs, the world would be in serious danger.

Here are some of her escapades.

To get even with me for some imagined slight, she pooped on my Prada tee, Helen Wang Dress and ate my Christian Dior stilletoes. Mind you, she ignored all the inexpensive stuff and went right for the high ticket items.

I collect vintage hats. I had a lovely vintage cocktail hat from the 40's. It was made of red feathers. You wore it cocked over one eye. I had it hanging in the hallway of my apartment. Over five feet off the ground. I come home one day and there's feathers everywhere. Half of the couch is covered with feathers and there's feathers all over the floor. I stumble to the couch, screaming. "oh no! Oh no!" Look down and what do I see? Sophie had taken the dustpan out of the kitchen and put it (right side up) on top of what was left of the hat on the couch.

I run out to get mail and leave Sophie behind. I come back and Sophie is curled up on the couch watching TV. No, she didn't turn it on, I left it on for her. Next to her is a bag of pasta with a neat slit down the top, she's picking them out like popcorn. While I was gone, she opened one of the food cabinets, gently grabbed the bag, took it to the couch and you know the rest.

I come home one day and she's taken my makeup bag out of the bathroom and opened it up on the couch. Fanned out next to her are the contents. They weren't chewed or destroyed. I think if I had come home an hour later, she would have put some on. I grab the stuff and put it away. I have to go out again. I come back and she's done the same thing with my toolkit (I leave my tools--I think I have three-in a bag).

Scary, huh