Friday eve I hit The Hotel Gansevoort, camera in hand. Scope New York, the international art fair, landed on the roof. Lines were the theme, and we’re not talking drawings. Lines of patrons in the cold hoping to squeeze through the immense revolving door, lines for the elevator, lines for the bathroom (not IN the bathroom), and long winding lines for the booze.
Half-naked women clad in clear plastic clothes handed out cum shots, which tasted of diluted sugar, not chicken soup. These women reminded me of a passage that has to be written somewhere in some instructional love book, “How to please him every time–wrap it in Sarran Wrap.” or something lame like that. Plastic clothes should remain on hangers, should be yellow, and worn only with duck shoes and accompanying umbrella. Tsk, tsk. Take a look.
I was just informed by a dear friend that Photographer Patrick McMullen kept touching my hair saying, “You must come to my St. Patty’s Day Party with that red hair.” Why do people always have the need to touch my hair… and now I’m beginning to remember, I had to keep telling him I wasn’t Irish. “So what, no one will know.” This is true. I always make out with the adult beverages on that holiday. So look forward to that post. Yum.