Florent closes this weekend forever and I’m a little sad that I won’t be here. What a great restaurant. Years ago, on Fridays after The National Law Journal closed and before the Meat Packing District was totally icky, I would go there with a couple of the more senior staff, which, come to think of it, was anyone. And I was in awe of the place. I felt cool. More importantly to me lately, however, every time that I called to ask for a donation for a SKOOL’d event, the restaurant came through. So I think that we should all bid on their items on eBay. The auction benefits their amazing employees. Oh, but the Granny Peace Brigade poster is mine…

Having just spent hours updating my LinkedIn profile (check it out) I decided to reward myself with a little TV. Since there is no cable, my choices are Celebrity Family Feud, Hell’s Kitchen, and something about pearls on PBS. As you may, or may not, have guessed I’m opting for the pearls. I’m also cleaning and doing a lot of vacuuming. Friday I leave for Fire Island for ten days and I guess the thought is that I can bank vacuuming, much like people think they can bank sleep. Both are wrong, I’m fairly certain of it. The cat hair will be out of control! How to ask a friend to vacuum your apartment when he’s already feeding your cats and scooping the litter box?

Okay, the pearl thing is boring.

My friend Dwayne pointed out these Chanel ankle bags - made to look like ankle monitoring devices - and I love them. Not that I require monitoring, except for traces of ice cream or cherry pie. This might even inspire me to protect against ashy ankles.

I used to be outraged that more models of color weren’t used in American magazines, in the shows of American designers, and our ad campaigns. Probably more than outraged I was hurt. Having lived in Europe in the mid-90s, where I modeled briefly myself, it became obvious to me that our view of what is beautiful here in the states is incredibly narrow. Duh. White girls, assuming factors of weight and height are favorably aligned, can occupy this seemingly valuable real estate for maybe ten years. Where does that leave the rest of us? Which is, in part, why I’m now only mildly annoyed, at least for the women. The pendulum has swung so far now that most women bothering to look for a familiar face in an American fashion magazine likely have more pressing issues of mental health.

Anyway, Franca Sozzani, the editor of Italian Vogue, came up with the idea to have Steven Meisel photograph all black ladies for the July issue. This is really cool, don’t get me wrong. I’ll run fork out the cash to get my hands on it. And it would be groundbreaking, too, if it weren’t Italian Vogue. Here in the states, we languish. We’re on the verge of realizing marriage equality and a black man is the presumptive nominee of the Democratic party, but a month ago I halfheartedly bought Out magazine because there was a black model on the cover and I wanted to support their tiny effort. I say “halfheartedly” because he wasn’t alone.

To my mind, the truly amazing thing about this issue is the inclusion of Toccara Jones, an ANTM alumna. The resident plus sized one from season three, hired to be in Italian Vogue.

So I was just now watching an ad for Abilify, an anti-depressant. I have a cherry pie in the oven and am killing time, not that I need to explain. Anyway, a woman wanders through a dark beach-scape, black rocks jutting out into the sea over sand that, itself, appears to be black. By all accounts it’s cold and she looks really sad, maybe because she’s so depressed. Then, presto!, she has apparently taken this drug, which renders everything blindingly bright and cheery. Now, instead of Finland, it looks like the Hamptons or some such place and she has a boyfriend. He seems as bland and boring as the beach and I imagine that they’ll argue on the jitney back into the city.

Another ad for the drug that I found on YouTube lists the side-effects. They reinforced to me that I’d rather stroll the beach in Yyteri, Finland. The pie turned out great.

Sometimes I feel like I’m having a crappy day and as if I’m being pulled in a million different directions. Scared and almost pulled apart. Thank goodness for friends!

I remember when I was much younger and older relatives and other adults would express shock and horror at the clothes and actions and poor taste of younger people. Sometimes in an effort to explore and push the envelope, both natural activities, kids just miss the mark terribly. And adults say, “Not in my house” or “My mother would have…” When I came home on break from college once with blond hair my father just cried. I didn’t understand.

Enter Marche Taylor, an otherwise lovely Texas senior who was denied entry into her prom for trying to wear the Category 5 disaster below to the event. She was subsequently handcuffed, presumably for causing some ruckus in addition to obvious crimes of fashion. The most amazing thing to me is that she proudly models the dress for a news crew. Sadly, it kind of looks like she was sleeping au naturel when her house caught fire and she pulled down some drapery as she fled.

My mother would have…

I should be in bed, but who can sleep when Whitney, the human sized one, just won the latest cycle of America’s Next Top Model? So I’m flossing my teeth and writing instead. My teeth are having a photo shoot. Look, it’s, like, season ten or something of that originally original show and I still watch it every week, without shame. Or fail. It’s possible that I need help. Executive produced and hosted by Tyra Banks, the show has seeped into every area of my consciousness.

For example, last night at orchestra we were rehearsing the first movement of the Bach E major violin concerto with soloist and leader Jennifer Frautschi. There were four basses playing - way too large for a baroque piece. So Ms. Frautschi, as was her wont, dismissed half of them. My first thought? Standing before me I have four very talented bassists. But I only have two photos in my hand…

I wonder what line Starbooty star RuPaul will use to dismiss contestants.

I think Philip Glass is the final cylon on Battlestar Galactica. Just a thought. Because I’ve just realized that the whole hybrid jibber jabber is straight from Einstein on the Beach, minus the newspaper reading. You Battlestar Galacticans will understand. And check this guy out. He got in the tub for his impersonation. But should he really be fiddling with electronic equipment while submerged in the tub? Regardless, what a world. Hard core.

I am watching Dynasty Season Two episode one, that delicious episode in which Alexis first arrives on the scene as the surprise witness at Blake’s trial. This, my favorite TV show as a kid, is why it’s not entirely true when I say that I didn’t have gay role models growing up. Speaking of, watching is making me remember things. Hideous, gay, things! Like that I had two gerbils, Alexis and Sable, and that I would hold one in each hand and pretend that they were fighting. Or that I played the theme quite handily on the piano. 

But for all the cat fighting, diva behavior, questionable dialogue, and bad 80s fashion, to my mind it is better than the crap on TV now. Personally, it taught me that gay people could fall in love (hello, Steven and Luke) and that black folks could be rich and eat in fancy restaurants and nearly burn to death in cheesy nightclubs. Is anyone learning anything from Farmer Wants a Wife?