NEW YORK'S HIGHLINE

So-
The new website is taking longer than expected.
Consider this post a layover at this spot.
And honestly, I'm feeling nostalgic for this spot already. It's gonna be a tough separation.

Anyway-
On Sunday, I dragged my boyfriend out to do one of those lovely, couples-type activities.
We went to The Highline.
It's free, beautiful, a great way to repurpose industrial space and filled with attractive, respectable people.

Naturally, we lasted all of 15 minutes before we high tailed it off to a dank, disgusting bar filled with derelicts.

But we did manage to snap some photos beforehand.
Enjoy...

HAPPY KING KAMEHAMEHA DAY!

In Hawaii, King Kamehameha Day is celebrated with beautiful parades, sweet-smelling leis, wonderful food and great live music. Here in NYC, it will be celebrated by cranking up the Don Ho, drinking a Mai Tai or two and wearing a vintage muumuu. No matter how you celebrate, raise a toast to the Great King Kamehameha today!

REQUIEM FOR ELAINE'S: THE DEMISE OF COOL INTELLIGENTSIA

Last night a few cohorts and I went to Elaine's. I've lived in New York for nine years now, and I'd never set foot in it.
It's a storied New York institution born in 1963. For decades, proprietor/ringmaster Elaine Kaufman ran the joint, always sitting at her table, making introductions between authors, actors, cops and journalists. Elaine's was featured prominently in Woody Allen's movie "Manhattan" and name dropped in Billy Joel's song "Big Shot".

Elaine passed away at the age of 81, six months ago. And sadly, now her restaurant is set to close on May 26th.

As the scene in "Manhattan" shows, Elaine's is from an era when sitting with friends at an understated restaurant, having a drink and talking about interesting shit was the height of cool. Imagine that! It was cool to be smart. It was cool to try to impress your date with your varied cultural references. You quoted Camus and pretended to have read Kierkegaard's lesser works. You saw Bergman films at art house theatres with uncomfortable seats. You had a collection of rare jazz records you showed off in your dimly lit apartment.

And sure, maybe at a certain point this became insufferable. Maybe as my mom always says, "When you talk too much shit you get bad breath."

But it's sad that we've moved so far away from this era. When my guy and I walked outside of Elaine's last night and said goodbye to our pals, we strolled down 2nd Ave for a bit. We ran smack into a gaggle of stupid hoochie bitches dancing around their SUV. The doors and sunroof were wide open and they were blaring Ke$ha. They were starving for attention: some of them grinding up on each other, some of them singing; their arms pumping up and down out of the sun roof. When we didn't stare at them as much as they wanted, one of them pointed at us and shrieked at my guy: "You need to go home and FUCK HER! FUCK HER HARD! She wants it! She so fucking wants it! FUCK HERRRRRRR!"

It was tragic.

So he said politely, "Thanks for the tip, ladies" as we kept walking past.

But oddly enough, their pathetic grab for attention and unsophisticated approach to getting it made me think of Elaine Kaufman. Unlike these morons, Elaine got plenty of attention by creating a lively art salon in her restaurant. She took the opposite approach. She cultivated a cult of clever. She fostered an atmosphere where witty, talented people reigned supreme.

Elaine Kaufman became (in her words) "a fucking icon" by making smart people cool.

THE OFFICIAL MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO PHOTO SHOOT

So-
On Palm Sunday, a bunch of Bordello Cohorts got together for a photo shoot.
It was glorious and lots of sublime photos will be available for your pleasure once they've been edited.
I mean, check out this one. Great, right?
As you can imagine, it was a bizarre photo shoot, and one hell of a good time. We pretty much tore up the place, posed with weird and random props, got drunk...and broke a garden gnome named Larry.

But Larry went out on a high note. At one point a Drag Queen, the gnome (voiced by a Bordello Cohort) and I peered over the fence to harass some poor guy who was minding his own business, grilling some meat.

He ran back into his apartment in horror.

Then Larry fell off his perch.

R.I.P. Larry The Garden Gnome

CREEPY SIGN ALERT

I was minding my own business the other day, taking yet another bizarre article of clothing to the fabulous Japanese tailor up the street, when I was accosted by the above sign. It was posted outside of a coffee shop. And it scared the shit out of me. It was almost as bad as the deli down the street with a sign proudly proclaiming that customers can "Toss Your Own Salad!"

But look at that creepy blonde fucker, licking his lips over that towering dune of Swedish Meatballs. (And by the way, if these meatballs anything like the stale pastry in this place, they are in no way "delicious". I'm fairly certain I could resist them.)

Also, I notice they offer "Siberian meat". What are the odds that there's some cross pollination between the Siberian Meat and the Swedish Meatballs?

NYC ART CRIME EPIDEMIC

Well.
This is just so disturbing.
The Art Crime Spree in Union Square is out of fucking control!

On Sunday, I'm heading back to the Union Square subway after meeting up with a pal for an afternoon gin and tonic. I mention we need to check out the new Andy Warhol statue. We can't even find it at first. But suddenly, to our horror, we discover Andy perched in the middle of a street fair, right next to a "sizzlin' chicken" hut! (Click on the above photo to enlarge. No, it's not such a great shot. But I just couldn't bear to witness the crime up close.)

It's an outrage! The man who loved glamour and department stores, reduced to sharing the spotlight with "sizzlin' chicken".

Then today, I read that some Art Criminal has STOLEN the glasses right off of Gandhi's face!

What the hell is going on in Union Square? We need an Art Crimes task force ASAP.

BACK IN THE SADDLE

That's right.
It's the first day back to work after a long holiday season of celebration.
As you can see from the photo above, I'm back in the saddle. My nose is to the grindstone as I churn out more stories...
Bring it on 2011!

SNOW COVERED NYC TIKI HUT

It's a snow day!
As you can see from the photo above, my Manhattan-style tiki hut has been winterized.
Heading out to enjoy the winter wonderland. It's really magical when a snowy silence falls over this chaotic town.
It's proof that no matter how important we think we are, human beings will never have power over mother nature.

CRUEL CHARITY: A TOYS FOR TOTS HORROR STORY

It's the first official day of the holiday shopping season, so you'll start seeing lots of "Toys For Tots" donation boxes in various places: your office, your gym...and Rupert Murdoch's News Corp Building on 6th avenue. But remember: donate wisely.

Now, the above photo is from about three years ago. I snapped it around this time of year at the News Corp lobby, while waiting for a friend who works at Fox News Channel. Bored and looking for amusement, I peered into the "Toys For Tots" donation area. I was shocked at what I found. As you can see, nestled among the board games, stuffed animals and other treats was a “Talking George W. Bush Doll”. (Click photo to enlarge.) Not only does this doll spout several of Dubya’s catch phrases, but he also comes complete with “Presidential boots”. What more could a needy child want?

I stood there in awe, deciding that only one of three possibilities could explain this situation:

A) Despite Fox News rhetoric, some News Corp employee is waging their personal “War on Christmas”.

B) Some News Corp employee truly hates children, and is grinning like the Grinch at the thought of a soon-to-be disillusioned child who asked Santa for a Barbie but instead finds a talking George W. Bush doll under the tree.

C) Some News Corp employee misread the sign for “Toys for Tots” and thought it said, “Depository for Useless Gag Gifts”

Welcome to the holidays!

THE LAST CELL PHONE HOLD OUT

The last cell phone hold out.
That's me.
Yeah, you heard me. I don't have a cell phone.
I ain't lyin'!
People think I'm completely insane. And, they're right. I'm a loon.
But the reactions I get when I reveal this shocking bit of info are pretty funny. I might as well follow it up by explaining that I get to work each day in a covered wagon.

It's just that I don't want to be so...available. I don't want people thinking they can reach me whenever they want.
While you probably can't imagine not being able to negotiate a night out or call your pals at any given moment, I can't imagine being tethered to a phone. The very notion sends a chill down my spine.

Plus, I like chance encounters. Cell phones tend to ensure more certainty. Happenstance is hard to come by these days, when you know exactly where someone is going to be at any given moment.
Think about it: If Romeo and Juliet had cell phones, nobody would have died.

(Huh. That doesn't really illustrate my point too well, does it? In fact, that could be an ad campaign, now that I think about it. Famous fictional tragedies that could have been avoided with cell phones. Nokia, are you listening?)

But of course I have a landline. And check this out--
With a little help from Pottery Barn, I made a replica of Salvador Dali's Lobster Phone:


And here's the original Dali Lobster phone, created in 1936:


And here's my dad eating lobster in Honolulu, circa 1977:

Yeah, I know.
Not the most coherent post.
But if you came to Peon Confidential for clarity, you're in the wrong place.
The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be...

PREPARE FOR A NEW TREND ABOUT TO SWEEP THE NATION

Get ready fellow Peons!
I'm letting you in on a glorious new fashion accessory...waaaay before anyone else knows about it.

Check it:
It's the one-of-a kind Bun Hole Hat!
Designed by yours truly and knitted by a good pal of mine in Brooklyn, this hat is a delight.
With the Bun Hole Hat, you don't have to choose between wearing your hair in a bun or wearing a hat. No sir! There's a built in hole for your bun. Just pull your hair through, adjust the hat and you're one hot tamale; ready to take on the world!

You'll be the belle of the ball, the cock of the walk, the coolest bitch in town.

That's right ladies and gentlemen--prepare for the conquest of Bun Hole Hat!
Soon to be seen on the heads of stylish motherfuckers everywhere...

HALLOWEEN HIJINKS

This year, I've decided to dress up as Andy Warhol for Halloween. I figure this is a safer bet than some of the costumes I've worn in the past.

When I went as feisty "Valley of the Dolls" author Jacqueline Susann, I got into a cat fight, lost one fake eyelash and spilled a martini all over my fake Pucci outfit.
(But for the record, I treated guitar hero Slash with the utmost respect.)


When I went as perpetually intoxicated gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson, I became a belligerent drunk for the evening; chomping down on my cigarette holder and spewing obscenities at anyone who crossed my path.
(Including the mild-mannered Scooby Doo you see in this photo.)


Now, from what I've read about Andy Warhol, he was a quiet man who liked to watch the circus around him with an impassive gaze. Surely this is a great way to stay out of trouble for the evening.

Eh, who am I kidding? I'll find some way to make a nuisance of myself. I always do. Even in a fancy lobster restaurant.

ONE SICK BASTARD

That's me.
I've been under the weather for the past three days: snot flowing, vomit spewing and Theraflu swilling.
On Monday night I decided to paint the living room wall red, and I think the fumes combined with the rude fucker who coughed all over me at the supermarket are what did me in.
I suspect my Peon Pal who refuses to cook would be the first to tell me that this is an excellent reason to stay out of the supermarket. But I'll still take my chances.
Anyway, the photo above showcases what the wall looks like now.
I think it was worth the aggravation.
What do you think?

TRASHY NEIGHBORS

An excellent way to tell that you're not living in a deluxe apartment building is when you go to take out your trash and find that one of your neighbors has disposed of their BONGZILLA box.

I hasten to add that I do not live in a dorm or frat house.

I really cannot imagine what one of my neighbors is doing with BONGZILLA, a.k.a "The Ultimate Party Fixture!" This is Midtown Manhattan, not Daytona Beach. I can't even buy more than 4 rolls of toilet paper at a time (which is why I'm always running out and stealing it from bars) because there isn't enough room. Yet this thirsty party animal has ample space in their urban abode for BONGZILLA.

Somewhere in this building it's perpetually Spring Break and I need to find out why.

CENSORED BATHROOM POLE

Happy 13th of July everyone!
Sorry I've been neglecting you a bit. I've been immersed in a whirlwind of home improvement projects. I've been a regular fucking Bob Villa! This place is gonna look like something out of House Beautiful when I'm done, but without some bitchy-looking WASP broad sitting on the sofa.

One sad byproduct of all this frenzied household activity is that the infamous "Porn Pole" in the bathroom has been censored. I know, I know. I'm a bit depressed about it too. But it was really the only option.

Let it be an important lesson to you: if you are going to decorate an unsightly pole in your bathroom with a collage of 1980's Playboy photos, make sure you waterproof it first. Otherwise the lovely ladies will get watermarks all over their asses.

R.I.P. Porn Pole: 2007-2010.

And here's the new, censored version:

SAMMY DAVIS JR.'S GLASS EYE

It's hot, humid and impossible to think in NYC today, let alone blog about anything too complex.
So instead, I'm offering up a rare, historical treat: Sammy Davis Jr.'s glass eye.
It was on display for several years at The Freakatorium, a.k.a El Museo Loco on the Lower East Side.
The owner, Johnny Fox was a sword swallower who also showcased such wonders as the two headed dog skull and Tom Thumb's vest.

Sadly, the Freakatorium closed down five years ago.

If anyone knows where these curios have been moved to, please let me know. It seems that the freaks in this world are getting harder and harder to find, and these artifacts deserve some love!

THE LONELY SHOE

Our new "Random NYC Photos" concept is off to a great start!
One of you sent me the above snapshot to add to the collection.
Today I present you with, "THE LONELY SHOE"

I'm not sure what the backstory is here. Did some drunken Cinderella lose it after a night of singing Lady Gaga songs at a karaoke bar? I suspect the odds of her inebriated, Bon Jovi-belting Prince Charming tracking her down are pretty slim.

Or perhaps some firey young woman came home from work early to find her boyfriend and some other woman naked in bed. Enraged, she scoops up this woman's clothes and shoes and throws them out the window shrieking, "Get the fuck out of here, you whore!" This prompts the naked woman to quickly wrap herself in a sheet and run out onto the street, wildly snatching up what she can before hailing a taxi, leaving this shoe behind.

I guess we'll never know...

NEW CONCEPT: RANDOM NEW YORK PHOTOS

It's the dawn of an exciting new era here at Peon Confidential! That's right. We're adding something else to this cyber brew.
I'll be snapping photos of random shit around New York City and accosting you with them on this blog.
Be forewarned-I'm no great photographer. I can't dance either but that won't stop me from making an ass of myself at your wedding.

This will be a photo potpourri. Sometimes the photos will be people, sometimes they'll be inconsequential snapshots of NY life. Don't over think them too much.

This first photo is, "STILL LIFE IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM."

I liked this image because with the multiple Duane Reade drug store bags and proud Bloomingdale's bag standing at attention, you just know it had to take place in NYC...well that and the fact that the laundry room is a filthy shithole.

OVERDUE PHOTOS

So--
I was a bit lazy with these, but one of you asked me to post some photos from the VP Debate Party I hosted a couple weeks back.
For some odd reason, I just took photos of the Biden/Palin themed food, and neglected to take pics of people. This means I have no evidence of my less-than-authentic Palin Hive. I think the reason mine did not look quite right is because her hair is held in place by a strong combination of moose spit, Republican gumption and Aqua Net.

Here's what you're looking at:

-Itchy Trigger Finger Tortilla Chips
-Planned Parenthood Punch
-Lipsticked Pigs in Blankets
-Wasilla Quesadillas