August 21, 2010

I went to India several weeks back. The company I am cofounder and creative director of has development offices in Pune, a city of 4Million people, which is a 3 hour drive east of Mumbai. I traveled to India to work, but I was equally excited about experiencing, and purchasing, Indian dress. For years I have admired the colors and textures of this great country's clothing.

And I was not let down. The women in India don't disappoint. Whether riding on a busy street in the back of a pick-up truck, walking down the street balancing their wares on their head, or zipping through crowds on a motorbike one thing always remained: an impeccable sense of color and dress. The women in India are so pulled together. In a world of motion and commotion their gorgeous draped looks and colorful saris stand out as focal points dotted along street.

I expected to fall in love with the women of India, and I did, but it was another look entirely that captivated me when I was there. On my first day, and subsequent days later, I kept seeing men in white banded colored shirts, white pants, and a simple white hat, which is not too dissimilar to the hat worn by a diner worker or by a sailor. These men, typically older, stood out so much from their male counterparts.

The women in India adorn themselves in colors and textures. The men seemed to embrace Western dress. Rock T-shirts and denim were everywhere. But over and over again I kept seeing these men wearing all white and I was captivated by the simplicity of their costume. I sought out an explanation.

I had assumed these garments to be religious dress and it turns out I assumed wrongly. I was informed by my friends in India that this was traditional Indian dress made popular by Jawaharlal Nehru, the Prime Minister of India from 1947 to 1964. A-ha! The Nehru jacket may have seemed inappropriate for my mother to wear in the 1980s, but here it seems so perfect. Nehru's dress was purposefully simple in design, material, and color. It represented a lifestyle of simplicity and peace. It was a uniform for a new India.

I tracked the hat and a jacket down on my final day in India. I don't know if I'll wear them ever (I could possibly pull it of on my trip to Turkey next week?). But sandwiched in my suitcase of treasures, between colorful textiles and beaded cloth, I wanted a reminder of these men in white.

Sometimes it is the fashion statement that is least put on that says the most.

August 20, 2010

Ignorance is always afraid of change. - Jawaharlal Nehru

I think it was fitting that I read this quote while I traveled in western India. Jason and I touched down in Mumbai and before our sleeping pill wore off, or coffee kicked in, we road by car to Pune, east into the mainland of the subcontinent. We had left NYC 15 hours before. And when we left I felt good about being American as that week Proposition 8 in California was deemed unconstitutional. The emotions attached to this ruling were far greater than I ever imagined. A loud voice, a charged spirit, seems to have awakened. I am ready for change.

Jason and I flew from Newark to Mumbai on a Sunday night. We drove through rain and a sea of people on bikes, buggies, and rickshaws, for nearly 3 hours, until we arrived in Pune, where our offices are situated.

We spent the first morning mapping out new features of fabulis, strategizing next steps, and, at least for me, getting to know the team. And I ate some amazing and spicy food! And though the jet lag kicked in, I received a very stern kick of adrenaline when we crossed a busy highway, on foot, to fetch a cup of coffee. Remember Frogger? Yes, that was us. And we lived!

Nishith and Deepa Shah, fabulis cofounders, invited Jason and me into their home one night. Over wine (French, Italian, and Indian) we talked shop and Deepa gave us an impromptu Indian cooking lesson, explaining the origins of their vegetarian lifestyle and how the food we ate was prepared. It was a special experience. They're vegetarian because they're opposed to killing. I thought it a simple notion, and I felt shame for having abandoned, so quickly too, the vegan lifestyle I dedicated myself to at the beginning of year. I don't fail often. I did with that lifestyle change. It was just too hard.

Jason and I rode an auto rickshaw to work one day. It was a bumpy ride and we passed women on motorcycles and a bull in the middle of the road. Though foreigners in this land, we were hardly noticed. We were just another element in the chaotic ticking of this city. Everything moves -people, motorbikes, cars- in a frenetic pace. When you think about it, India and New York are not too dissimilar in that regard.

Midweek, after working past 9PM, Jason and I returned to the hotel restaurant where we ate and laughed, and yes, drank wine. It was two old friends sharing yet another meal. It was business partners talking about this exciting venture. And sitting there, halfway around the world, I thought how lucky and special I am to be a part of this venture. fabulis has allowed many gay men the chance to meet new people, down the block and around the world. I am just one of those guys who has had the chance to meet new people, and in this case, a new culture.

I was in India for work so I did not spend my days traveling from tourist destination to tourist destination. But our final 24 hours were spent in Mumbai. We shopped Colaba Market and I purchased tiffins, stainless steal plates and bowls, religious posters, textiles of great beauty, texture, color, and toys for my case. We ate amazing meals -Indian, Sushi, Gazpacho even- and I had a 2 1/2 massage at the chic Oberoi Hotel. We drank white wine at the Taj and watched bikes, horses, people, taxis, the world pass us by. The movement, and rich color, passing by us in rows. If you squinted the colors created lines not unlike the fabrics packed in my suitcase.

A bird shit on Jason and me as we walked toward the the Gateway of India. My new charcoal linen shirt was spotted; Jason caught the excrement in his hand. Literally. We laughed. And as sweat poured down our faces and as balloon salesmen pushed their creations on us and as children dove into the water at the Apollo Bunder, we hurried inside to clean up. I told Jason this was a sign of luck.

And as a year more than halfway finished progresses, I later stood in my hotel ready to leave India. The sun was setting purple and pink. I was clean of the bird, but not of her luck. And I thought this is the life. Halfway around the world. Satisfied by a life-altering trip. Journeying with a partner I respect and love. And venturing home to a lover who misses me and a life that awaits me and a brewing of something greater in me concerning the fight for my own civil rights.

Ignorance is always afraid of change. And lady luck is now on my side.

August 18, 2010

Surprisingly, for someone who says he's burnt out on Lady Gaga, I think, and write, about her often. This shows her great talent -- and reveals the pitfalls for the others: she's changed the game and now everyone will be compared to Gaga.

I am obsessed with pop stars, like most other gay men. And since fashion is full of fairies (can I write that here, hmm?), it's only natural that pop princesses and fashion go hand in hand. This happened way before Gaga strapped on those McQueen armadillos. Pop stars are fashion icons. They always have been and always will be.

Think of Nancy Sinatra in her boots. Liza Minnelli in Halston. Madonna and Courtney Love in Versace. Lily Allen in Chanel. Cher in Bob Mackie. The stylings and fashions of female pop singers are always on display. Sometimes the couture favorably distracts from an inability to carry a tune. Other times, as in Gaga's case, it accentuates a natural talent. What Gaga needs to worry about is if the visual ever starts overpowering her musical chops. Fashion's that powerful. The clothes could become a distraction, in the wrong way.

There is one singer whose unique personal style is so perfectly matched to her musical vision that it would be hard to imagine the voice without the look and vice versa.

Robyn's saving pop music. She may be saving pop fashion, too.

If ABBA and the Pet Shop Boys had had a love child and raised her in Sweden in a home full of disco records, the child would most likely have grown up to be something like Robyn. Imagine giving that child Madonna's ability to pick prime collaborators and Cyndi Lauper's helium high voice, and then you'd dress her in avant-garde club gear, but with that quirky Scandinavian sensibility. Throw in a little Salt-N-Pepa realness and you'd have Robyn.

She's a porcelain-skinned, platinum-haired Björk, without all that high-art weirdness. She's the girl in the corner dancing to the beat at the club. She owns her look as much as she owns her musical career (she left her major label, started her own, and is reaping that success now).

Robyn's is a look for a new era. She incorporates the feminine and the masculine in equal measure. She shaves her head and actually pulls off Jeremy Scott (who can actually do that?). And though her look is at times very high-concept, it never appears to be high-effort. She has a natural ease.

Her music and her look are easy to fall in love with. There's something humorous, but not cartoonish, to her clothing and her records. With any luck, she'll take over the U.S. market the way she's conquered Europe. She'd be a welcome, and needed, fashion force in a sea of Gaga-wannabes and fashion-victim pop tarts.

August 8, 2010

I've taken a break from blogging. I have been keeping busy with fabulis and writing a little for Full Frontal Fashion, Sundance, and Dwell. And I have been all over the place, but too busy to write.

Shake-It-Up, the fake Polaroid iPhone app, has been a great way to capture my summer so far. Rather than my typical self-referential essays normally occupying this space, please enjoy this visual showcase of the summer of 2010 so far.

July 12, 2010

I steal away glances and peek when no one is looking. Often times I exaggerate my emotions, misery and elation, when I have an audience. I am an actor of the greatest form. I don't lie. Or hide emotions. But I do amplify them for effect. Middle-child syndrome. Acting out. Being loud. Having your mouth distract from other parts you want to hide.

My writing around here has slowed down. This blog has been a tad bit neglected.

This is not because I have tired of it. Just the opposite. As any loyal reader of my blog knows, 6 months ago I took a new job with an old friend. We started this little website called fabulis. It's consumed my life. In that good way. In that really good way.

And a few weeks before Jason and I embark on a trip to India together for work, he wrote up the below blog post this afternoon (while I got a tetanus shot and malaria medicine). It documents, perfectly, the last 6 months and the highs and extreme highs this endeavour has brought us. I have learned so much. From Jason and his quick wit, forever moving brain, and brilliant ideas. I have never known anyone to work harder. From Nishith and Deepa and their entire team in Pune and their dedication and problem solving and their hours of work. From Veerle Pieters and her effortless (that is what it appears to be) design process, clear thinking, and happy demeanor. From Mike Piscadlo, our intern, proving that his generation has instilled a hunger to learn and to work hard. From Georgi, who has supported me every step of the way. From advisers, younger and not-as-young, who have supported this venture and guided us and opened doors for us. From clients and marketers and friends who have collaborated with us on projects of various scales.

And most importantly from the Jades and Joes and the Thomas Chestnuts and the Jimmys and the Davids and Clarkes and Dans of the world. And every one of the guys (and ladies) I have been so honored and privileged to have met via fabulis. The gay world is big. A big world with big hearts.

Jason, who writes better than me, writes below:

Hi. Jason Goldberg here, founder and CEO of fabulis.

July 11 marks the 6 month anniversary since we officially got started working on fabulis. I thought it would be a good opportunity to reflect on where we've come from and where we're going.

Over the past 6 months we have:

Incorporated fabulis as a company, with headquarters in NY, NY, USA and development operations in Pune, India, and Deinze, Belgium.

Hired Bradford Shellhammer to be our creative director, the gay to my geek, and my sidekick here in the NYC offices.

Battled Citibank over our bank account ... and won!

Set out on our mission to build the network that connects gay men and their friends with amazing experiences, down the block and around the world.

Designed some fabulis gear while working on developing the website.

Raised $875,000 in seed financing from awesome investors, including The Washington Post Company, David Bohnett, Lars Hinrichs, Allen Morgan, Don Baer, and others.

Developed a pre-launch following of more than 8000 fabbits on our facebook fan page leading up to our own product launch.

Put together a kick-ass advisory board and junior advisory board.

Launched our first beta project, http://we.are.fabulis.com/ which started as a test to see if we could get a bunch of gay men to add themselves to a list of the most influential gay men in the world, and then quickly evolved into something much bigger and more important as tens of thousands of gay men and their friends took to the concept and gave us feedback on how to improve on it.

Launched the first real version of www.fabulis.com on April 23, 2010 (my birthday), with the largest aggregation of gay-relevant facebook events around the world. At launch we aggregated more than 12,000 events from more than 5000 cities and helped gay guys browse them, see who else was going, and figure out what to expect.

Launched our Ask service which enables users to ask other users questions, with the answers appearing on the user's profile. Our own little version of user-prompted micro-blogging.
Had some fabulis events in NYC, SF, and LA.

Hired Mike Piscadlo, the most fabulis intern this side of Elle Woods.

Worked with the folks behind Sex And The City 2, Atlantis Cruises,Lilith Fair, Christina Aguilera, Fire Island Pines, The Pines Party, Baskit Underwear, The Gay Games, American Airlines, and more to launch exclusive fabulis experiences that provided real value to our users and to our partners.

Garnered press coverage from the Likes of Mashable who reviewed fabulis and called our design "gorgeous" (blush), Paper Magazine, Out Magazine, Next, TechCrunch, Venture Beat, El Tiempo, and Corriere.

Received more than 5,000 pieces of amazing feedback from our users which we are doing our best to keep up with and improve from.

Took the advice of our users who asked us to make fabulis more suitable for "gay men and their friends," not just gay men.

Some numbers:

But, we're still just getting stared.

So, what's next?

We are firm believers that it's all about the product. If our members love our product, we'll do fine. If they don't, we wont. Right now we think our product is just "ok." We want it to be great. So, that's our number one focus: making the product better so that it provides more value to all of our users.

fabulis on the iPhone will launch in the coming days (as soon as Apple approves our app). We believe that this app could be a real game-changer in the way that gay men socialize and communicate. You'll be the judge. More mobile apps/platforms to follow.

Real-time user-to-user interaction. We're working on a big, big idea to enable gay men and their friends to share, discuss, and harness the power of the big gay global network like never before, in a way which helps discover great thing to do, places to go, and people to meet -- nearby and around the world. The pieces behind this are coming together very nicely and we hope to be able to launch them really soon!

More fabulis experiences. In June we launched our fabulis experiences and ran about 2 to 3 experiences per week. We're now up to about 4 per week and will be ramping up to more than 7 per week by September.

Fun. If it's not fun, it's not worth doing. We promise to keep it fun.

That's all for now.

Thank you all for your input, advice, and support.

-jason and the fabulis team

July 7, 2010

This year I will travel more than ever before. It is a combination of many factors: more money, a job with the need to go places, generous friends, a foreign boyfriend. It is exciting for me, still, knowing that I call NYC home. Most people are not that lucky (or foolish) and I don't really ever tire of this place. Even in yesterday's 104 degree weather New York City was alright.

By year's end I will have traveled to Los Angeles, San Francisco, Costa Rica, Fire Island, Romania, Istanbul, Turks & Caicos, India, Napa, Bulgaria, the Jersey Shore, Baltimore, Washington, DC, Annapolis, Upstate New York, Palm Springs, and maybe Paris or Rome or somewhere like that for Christmas.

Travel is exciting. And it really is a privilege. I grew up in a home where travel was not an option. My mother was too concerned with feeding her children. Having them see the world, a world she'd never seen, was simply not an option. And probably not a thought. Several years ago I took my mother on a trip to Paris for Christmas. I will forever hold that moment with me, showing her a world she'd inspired me, in some way or another, to seek out on my own.

And when traveling, whether to my lake house, or to Fire Island, or to the Caribbean, you learn a little more about your mates.

In June at the lake house I laughed with Monte and Michael and Jesse and Charles. On Fire Island we were guests of Michael Lucas and Richard Winger, where we argued over politics and shrimp salads. Also on Fire Island we dined like kings (queens?) with Marty Chavez and Adam Norbury and we also laughed. And on a secluded island, covered with iguanas, I thought that James Cameron's image of Avatar's planet was crystallized right there, in Turks & Caicos. As Jason Goldberg, Christian Schoenherr, my beloved Georgi and I walked into the neon blue depths, sting rays and barracuda swam up to us. They equally as intrigued as we were afraid of them.

Not all trips thus far have been exotic. I returned home to Baltimore and saw my father's mother for the first time in many, many years. Kissed my mother's lips, visited Basar and Scott, and in Annapolis picked crabs with my childhood best friends. Coming home, to my mom, my oldest friends, my bloodlines, fulfilled me as much as the warm Caribbean sun.

And just last week Georgi and I let go of preconceptions and ventured to New Jersey, where the beaches are, dare I say, much nicer than any in New York. Meals cost much less. Drinks, too. And we tanned ourselves with frozen cocktails in hand.

I'll be returning to Fire Island a few more times in coming weeks and then off to India, for work with Jason, Turkey, and Bulgaria, to meet Georgi's mother for the first time. I imagine in Varna we'll feast on native cuisine (no crabs assuredly) and hopefully I will witness the loving eyes of mother and son. And hopefully I will see the places he grew up, where he longed to escape from, where he, too, was inspired to think of a different place for himself.

Bulgaria to New York. Baltimore to New York. I would argue they're similar distances.

And so, halfway through this year, I've been to many spectacular places with amazing friends. Beautiful sunsets. Shared meals. Warmth from the sun. Laughs with friends. Shared meals with family. And shared experiences with my favorite travel companion.

All God's children need traveling shoes. Mine are really cute and ready for more walking. With you. Each of you.

June 22, 2010

In 2010, what does "gay pride" mean?

I love that you guys posed the question. Because it is something I have been thinking about for some time. (No, really I have been.)

This year I left a career in the design industry to cofound a little gay website called fabulis.com. Gays sometimes like to eat their own. And they also sometimes like to be overly critical. I used to think that all people were critics, and many are, but I think more gay people are overtly critical. Especially when criticizing their peers. Where this comes from I don't know. Insecurity? Anger? And I too was prone to do this. Let me tell you a little story about Whitney Houston.

I made a crack this year about Whitney in my Facebook status. It was a cheap shot. Easy. Thoughtless. The next day a lovely guy approached me at the gym. I had seen this guy daily for a good year and he and I had smiled and said hello before. He knew who I was and told me he'd seen my status update, yet I was not his friend on Facebook. Well it turns out he works for Whitney's record label and I was caught. Red-handed with egg dripping from my face. I felt foolish. Cowardly. It shook me. I was too negative.

I have been on the receiving end of hateful remarks my entire life. For being gay. Loud. Chubby. Whatever. And when I started blogging ten years ago I would savor the love notes and accolades I'd get from strangers stumbling upon my work. But I'd also get hate mail. And nasty comments. If you put yourself out there you're gonna get clobbered. Skin must be thick.

The New York Times wrote about my break-up last year. It was sandwiched in the Home & Garden section and an article that should have been about our wonderfully eclectic lake-house read like a cheap gay break-up short story. Most people sent me love. Again, others, on sites like Data Lounge and Apartment Therapy, were vicious. We just eat our own I thought. And I vowed to become even more positive. To help people. To keep negative thoughts and quips to myself. To turn away from snarky blogs. To focus on good things.

Gay people are unique beings. I really do believe a spirit burns inside us that is so very special. We create so much beauty in this world and we always have. We make people smile. We celebrate life. And we do it while often times questioning our own value. The same wick that burns with this gay joie de vivre also burns in an opposite direction. Love and Hate. Hand in hand.

We started fabulis to bring gay people together. To help them travel. To meet without the promise of sex. And blogs went negative quickly on us. But then it subsided.

Why I bring up fabulis is because I have discovered this beautiful spirit, a gay pride, if you will, through it. I have met gay men from all over the world, including a whole new generation of them.

I have met kids who came out at 12. I have see the faces of gay youth and they're out. They're proud. And they're not just flocking to SF and NYC when they graduate High School. They're going to their proms with boys. They're online with clear face pics, their real names, and they're telling the world they're gay. They are proud by every definition of the world.

And I am in awe of them.

In 2010 Pride means that the generation coming of age now, the ones sitting in their rooms thinking they're different from their schoolmates at this very second, have it better than we did. And it will only get better and better. We'll feel better about ourselves and about other gay people. And we'll boost up, rather than tear down.

We're special creatures. Unicorns. Glitter balls. Stars. Whether in the sky or the gutter, we're all still stars. It's our duty to shine.

Written for this is fyf who asked me "In 2010, what does "gay pride" mean?"

June 17, 2010

June 9, 2010

I find it funny that while a Christina Aguilera backlash occurs across the county, fueled by the venom of Perez Hilton, that I am seeing the singer's talent much more clearly. A few months ago had you mentioned Xtina and Gaga in the same sentence I would have most definitely opined on the subject. Gaga was the clear star. The new winner. The heir apparent to Madonna. She was smarter in her pop references than Xtina, she could actually sing Ms. Spears, and she was not created by a record company. She created her own looks. And songs. And hooks.

But I am tiring of Gaga's costumes and art references and flamboyance. I cannot believe I, someone prone to dress up and put off people, am writing this. But Gaga is no Grace Jones. She's no Leigh Bowery. Hell, she's no David Bowie. She's a pop singer. I wish she'd not forget that.

So along comes back Aguilera. And everyone thinks she's ripping off the looks, and sounds, of Gaga. And what the critics fail to see is that everything everyone does in pop is borrowed. Beyonce from Diana Ross. Madonna from Debbie Harry. Gwen Stefani from Cyndi Lauper. It is what pop singers do. And Gaga is a master of borrowing. From Madonna, Hitchcock, Warhol, Tarantino, Bowery, Jones, Bowie. She's a master at it. And I am a fan.

Gaga's voice is amazing. Emotive and strong. But listening to Aguilera's new album Bionic you realise that vocally they're on different levels. What Gaga has over Christina (the authenticity of creating her own look and writing her own songs) Christina makes back with raw vocal talent. Not everyone has to write songs and create personas. Sometimes divas should do what they do best: sing.

And yes, Aguilera is prone to vulgarity and even tackiness. Five songs on Bionic are forgettable, even laughable. But a significant part of her fan base requires this slutty Christina. It is the same gripe I have with Madonna. In catering to a significant portion of her fan base, she creates lackluster material. I'll take "Pokerface" any day over "Not Myself Tonight," Aguilera's techno-pop I'm-glam-and-a-freak-too anthem. It's not bad. It just is not as smart as Gaga's disco stompers. But when Christina's on, my God, she's on. And not since "Beautiful" has she been on as much she is on interpreting the Sia-penned "All I Need," "I Am," and the gut-wrenching "You Lost Me."

On "I Am" she sings she is timid and a lioness and it's clear she is both. She sings "love me or leave me" and she could be singing to a lover, but methinks Ms. Aguilera is singing to her fan base. She's raw talent. She's imperfect. And she's going to inevitably be compared Lady Gaga, fairly or unjustly.

Her voice washes over the electronic softness of Sia's work. Sia's own songs always seemed unfinished. Too rough. But Aguilera polishes the edges with her vocals. They shine, and crack, and they're beautiful.

Leave the monocles and metal corsets to others, dear. You have that voice. That's all you need. Dress it up and wear it out.

June 8, 2010

Georgi and I signed up for a CSA this summer season. We will get fresh vegetables and fruits every Tuesday. There are many reasons to join a CSA:

• Supporting local farms

• Eating local and organic foods

• Challenging yourself to eat foods you may not normally get excited over

• Eating things when in season, when they're freshest

I will try to photograph and blog the contents of each week's bounty. But who knows how successful I will be. The deliveries happen through November. Here is what we got this week from Stoneledge farm in Cairo New York.

• Cherriette Radishes-1 bunch

• Boc Choi-1 bunch

• Red Leaf Lettuce-2 heads

• Buttercrunch Lettuce-1 head

• Arugula-1 bunch

• Mizuna-1 bunch

• Mustard-1 bunch

• Oregano-1 bunch

Tonight I have made a salad of bok choi, mizuna, arugula (so spicy!), radishes, and mustard greens with a balsamic oregano dressing. I will continue to eat the buttercrunch and red leaf lettuces this week.

Very excited about this!

June 7, 2010

I walked to my birthday party alone. I intentionally scaled things down this year, invited less folks, did not reserve a table at a restaurant where my friends would give over $100+. I wanted something simpler. More fun. Relaxed. So we went to karaoke. Some of my besties were no shows, but most came, and performed with varying degrees of success and humor. Jae Ha's nuanced Whitney. Sandra Hansel and I as the new Supremes. Monte and Michael and Eric and Traci and Jason all turning in remarkable performances. I sang techno-pop with Joe and Alireza. Sang requests for Mr. Riley. Stood by my man and duetted with Georgi, who was a revelation on stage. When he and Ru Bhatt did Backstreet Boys I nearly peed my pants. They were hilarious.

The next day, my 34th birthday, I worked from home and over coffee, and during an interview, later in the day I ate my birthday cake: a cupcake from Little Pie Company. That evening I was going to the New York Public Library to attend the Inspiration Gala, a benefit for amfAR honoring Ricky Martin and Jean Paul Gaultier. Being from Baltimore, and straddling the line often of appropriate and inappropriate behavior, of course I invited myself to the event upon seeing Marty Chavez and Adam Norbury's names on the invite. Their names were bolder and bigger than the honorees so I knew they'd be able to get little old me in. It was my birthday after all. Right?

Being true gentlemen and giving souls the two men humored me and invited Georgi and me to be their guests. It was one of the best birthday experiences of my life. I turned my back on the appropriate notion of "Black Tie" and opted for red Paul Smith shirt, red Chuck Taylors, a Paul Smith Black striped bow tie, black Van Noten slacks, and a paper-thin, hand-stitched gingham Bottega jacket with a red flower pinned to my lapel. In a sea of black I stood out so much that Simon Doonan, an inspiration, stopped by my table, where also dined the lesbian power couple Lacey Stone and Jessica Clark, telling me he loved my outfit. Josh Wood pulled off an incredible fashion show. Cyndi Lauper sang her heart out only feet in front of me. I met Kylie Minogue and Ricky Martin and stood in a room shoulder to should with Gaultier, Thom Browne, and John Bartlett. I remarked to Marty that it was like being at the gay Oscars. Later, at the after-party, I had another vodka and sloppily said something to Marc Jacobs and Ricky Martin (so what!) and then had Kelly Rowland tell me she loved my energy (she'd been on stage singing with Cyndi Lauper and Estelle right in front of me and I guess I caught her eye). Take note: This is why you wear red. I grabbed Georgi and off we went away from birthday cocktails, black ties, fashion icons, giving friends, and the freaky feeling of hobnobbing among a crowd of famous faces.

The next day was hot. After working, Georgi and I mustered the energy to drive to Baltimore. We held hands and chatted and sang and arrived in Baltimore after sunset. We ate dinner and quickly went to bed. Upon waking in the morning we had breakfast with my Mom, Grandmother, my sister and her husband and my old friend Harry Alascio. We drank Bloody Marys with crab meat and ate cheese grits. It was good to be home. We journeyed next to Annapolis, where we ate crabs and potato salad with my three best friends from high school. They're married with kids now and lead very different lives. But our friendship still remains and while kids dashed around us and shells piled in front of us we felt young again, gossiping about high school and our past. The four of us had posed for a photo at our prom. Erin wore ridiculous white gloves. I had on a red dinner jacket. Cindy dazzled like a disco ball in gold sequins. And Jen was proper and perfect in cream. We're all very much the same people. And, yes, again it felt good to be home.

After washing our hands, which still reeked of Old Bay, Georgi and I darted to DC where Jesse Cozart had a bottle of champagne waiting us us in our room at the Four Seasons. After a sip of bubbly, a quick shower, and a chocolate covered strawberry we ventured to Basar and Scott's home for drinks. Rahnee Foster joined us and we spoke of art and Istanbul and DC's new cleanliness and shine. We dined on Latin/Asian fusion, put back some tequila, and even went out for a brief moment. Yet another connection with old friends. It felt like nothing had changed.

At 34 and having spent a weekend with friends I had known for 10, 20, and in Erin's case, 30 years I was amazed at my personal history. At the path friendship winds down. How much of myself is remembered when I look in my old friends eyes. How forgotten stories told by others make me feel youthful.

I felt younger on a weekend I turned older.

On Sunday morning my mother and Liam joined Georgi and I for a Dutch breakfast and a stroll through the National Portrait Gallery. Presidents. Ben Franklin. Elvis Presley. Lena Horne. Raquel Welch. Grover Washington.

Famous faces. Far off places.

When saying goodbye to my mother I looked at Georgi's big brown eyes and then to my mother's pale blue ones and in them both, for a split second, I saw the face of my past and the face of my future. At 34 years old the two once very different parts of me seemed to melt together. Life's melting in mysterious and marvelous ways.

May 27, 2010

Forgive me while I queen out, but I have to tell you about an experience I had last week. It was a religious experience, perhaps never to be repeated in this lifetime. I listen to a lot of music and I, of course, love all the obvious gay icons. I know, I know. But I do. I have no say. They hold power over me I don't understand.

I adore Gaga and Madonna, but I prefer my icons a little more, how should I say this, um, showy? You know. Liza. Cher. Judy.

I love Bob Mackie dresses and strings behind a diva. I like the camp of the 1970s. I appreciate a synchronized dance, but I'd much prefer to watch my divas belt out songs while teetering on too-high heels sparkling like a giant disco ball. Well, thank God we still have Diana Ross.

I watched her show, a greatest hits tour currently on the road, last week at Radio City. She changed eight times, each time better than before. She sang on key with little effort. She was beautiful, powerful, humble, classy, and glamorous at the same time. And as she sang song after song with a large orchestra I looked around the room, full of all ages, and sang with the crowd. We all knew every song.

She paved the way for Madonna and Beyonce before they were even born. And having seen many a gay icon live in the past two decades I have to say seeing Diana Ross is nothing less than a religious experience. A Supreme God lives among us still. She's 66 and still has that hair.

May 14, 2010

I cannot remember who I was speaking about my blog to this week. God, I have no memory. I cannot for the life of me remember. Shit.

I just remembered! It was Phil Putnam, the singer-songwriter. He and I took a lunch and chatted and I talked about my dedication to this space. I write infrequently here, as I am consumed with other gigs, most notably fabulis, which takes up most of my days and nights. But I am managing to get this little essay in while I sip Zinfandel and eat grapes. Friday night, 11PM, and I am blogging. I don't know if I should be considered an artist dedicated to his trade? Or just really bored? Probably a little of both.

Last night I DJed. I love saying that, you know, that I DJ. I love DJ culture. I love the elevation of someone who takes musician's art (records) and layers them together to create something different. I love the Wizard of Oz-esque intrigue of the DJ. They don't really speak like a singer would. They don't particularly move around like a dancer would. They stand in a box, perched above an audience, and they fiddle with knobs and buttons and make something from nothing. Many could write it off as something anyone could do. Many, myself included, see the artistry.

So it is funny that I say I have DJed. I have a sick fascination with music and especially electronic music and I know the history of new wave, techno-pop, disco, house, and techno. So I have the smarts to put together a compelling list of tracks. But I miss the technical side. That is why when I DJ, Bryan Raughton's always my partner. He does the work. I pose better than him. That's about all. I met Bryan over ten years ago. At Twilo I think. And he and I both had blogs back then. You know, before anyone else did. Most of those early bloggers I befriended I don't have a current day connection to. Facebook keeps me in the loop with Jonno and Frank Green, and I remain friends with bloggers who came after, like Andy Towle and David Hauslaib, but I am not friends with any of those original bloggers outside of an internet chat here and there. All except for Bryan.

So Bryan and I spun a few hours last night in Brooklyn. The party was co-sponsored by fabulis and the turn out was disappointing. We had fun though. We set our laptops up on a piano on stage. A slide show displayed images I created from fabulis. And we channeled the Pet Shop Boys. Pretending we were doing more than we actually were. He matching beats and me singing into a live microphone over the records. It was fun even if a sprinkling of friends were in attendance.

Georgi and Richard Pulik arrived as we finished (we were the opening DJs) and I quickly hopped in a car with them and headed back to Manhattan. We stopped in The Park to catch up with one of those DJs I love, Joe D'Espinosa, who was waiting for us with Patrick Menasco. The place was packed. The boys were out. Everyone who works out at our gym was in attendance. The plastics held court with bottle service. The young kids drunkenly danced. And in spectacles and Prada I felt more out of place than Georgi and Richard in their banking suits. Everyone was having fun. I said hello to many a friend. As we left we walked by the DJ booth. No one seemed to care. He could have played anything, really. And I lamented the loss of DJ culture. The boys today seem more concerned with a hit parade than with a journey.

And though I cannot match a beat I do respect the evolution of electronic music. Which means I am more of a DJ than some auto play Gaga/Beyonce mash-up.

Manhattan gays are hard to get to Brooklyn. Pretty boys care more about each other than music these days. And the DJ as an artist is a dying breed.

Lessons learned this week.

Growing up gay in the 1980s I often listened to techno-pop in my room and dreamed of escaping. The souring falsettos of bands like Erasure, Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys, and a-ha kept me grounded back then. I escaped into music.

Unlike the other aforementioned bands, a-ha all but disappeared from American radio and record store shelves by the 1990s. But not so in the rest of the world. In the 2000s the band scored massive hits all over Europe. The Norwegian supergroup remained relavent everywhere else across the globe. With synth stabs and the Morten Harket's soaring falsetto, the greatest pop's ever seen, the band made infectious and tightly-produced records.

At their New York show this past Saturday night the band did not disappoint. The music was tight and clear. The vocals were nuanced and on-key. Harket even held his record-holding 22-second note on "Summer Moved On." Playing their hit records in descending order, the trio finished with "Hunting High and Low," "The Sun Always Shines on TV," and the obligatory "Take on Me." The crowd, mostly displaced Europeans and grown-up gay boys, jumped with giddy excitement as it had been 20 years since a-ha's first, and only, US tour. This was their last ever.

The synths stopped, the lights went up, and Hacket's incredible voice remained a memory. Goodbye a-ha. Your final farewell was sparkling, high-noted, and shimmering. Like your brilliant discography.