At the end of each year/beginning of each new year, every media outlet known to man does some type of Top X of the Year. I wanted to write about my favorite moments from 2012, but then I realized there were some I never actually wrote about! So here we go, the Top Great Moments I Didn't Write About But Should Have 2012.
I found Corner Bistro on a request from ALiCo. We needed someplace cheap and low key to hang out with a large group of people. As I do with most things, I went to New York magazine to see what might fit our criteria, and found the aforementioned bar. By its own admission, it's been around since the earlier part of the century and is one of the last vestiges of the true Bohemian Greenwich Village, the now-mythic Greenwich Village teeming with starving artists who all became some kind of famous Kerouac-like figure. For me, it was an easy choice, not to mention $2 beers and $6 hamburgers (cash only), listed with those white pull-apart letters normally reserved for conferences at Radissons in middle America. Outside, its legendary neon red letters buzzed brightly on the corner of West 4th and Jane. Inside, under a haze of yellow light, we crammed into a black wooden booth in the back corner of the restaurant. A group of us ate and drank and bullshitted until we were asked to leave, not because we were especially rowdy but because we were taking up valuable table space. They put up no front of hospitality and, frankly, I liked them all the more for it. I wish I lived close by so it could be my neighborhood bar.
TBW's Party Van
It wasn't so much a real party van, the kind that normally includes a stripper pole and/or disco ball, but TBW's mother's minivan he had brought in from Queens for the night. After a rousing, glittery, gay Sunday night dance fest at Greenhouse with the likes of downtown celebrities Amanda Lepore and Ladyfag, TBW, TDS, myself, and a crew of TBW's bros crammed into the van and blasted loud-ass tunes while looking for our next destination. We tried some of those pretentious Chelsea clubs, but they rarely let in guys if they're not on the list, and TDS and I were not dressed up like off-duty hookers, so we were unsuccessful. Instead, we went to the Mexican taco truck on 14th and 8th. TBW swerved the wrong direction into oncoming traffic and pulled up right behind the cart. It was March and there was still a biting chill in the wind. TDS and I waited outside the car while the boys got tacos (they're TBW's fave). My hair was wet with sweat from dancing and quickly got cold. TDS and I huddled together tight for warmth, then back into the van it was for more tuneage and bouncing around the car like idiots on a Sunday night. TBW kept getting lost in the West Village, so we wound up at the Papaya Dog on 6th Avenue. While we were waiting for the boys to get their crazy-flavored juices, two dudes started a vogue-off just outside of the window, complete with drops, twirls, and god knows what else. It was 3am.
By sheer misadventure, I wound up covering the annual Jewish Women's Archive Luncheon for the Jewish Daily Forward at the Museum of Jewish Heritage way downtown in the Battery Park area. You could even see the Statue of Liberty from the dining room! At the luncheon, the legendary Letty Cottin Pogrebin and Gloria Steinem were being honored, alongside the amazing philanthropist Elizabeth Sackler and extraordinary writer Rebecca Traister (who later gave me great insight into being a writer. Thanks Rebecca!). In my days as a young feminist--I was in elementary school--I idolized Gloria Steinem for her contributions to women's liberation, like so many I'm sure did. I saw myself in her and did my best--rather, do my best still--to be a good person, not a good woman. Never, ever in my wildest dreams did I actually think I would meet her. But I did. I stood and waited patiently for my chance to say hello, admiring her. Though in her 70s, my does the woman have style: a minimalist black boatneck top to show off her glorious collarbone; chic, black wide-leg trousers and an armful of chunky gold bangles clanging on her slim arms. Tears welled up in my eyes and it was all I could do to hold them back and simply say hello and thank you.
Patrick McDonald is a fashion world icon, a legend known as "The Dandy" for his perpetually creative take on menswear, including but not limited to everything from harem pants to yellow suits to fedoras and a completely endless list of thank god knows what else. Though he started in fashion as a model, he later became the assistant buyer at department store, nay, fashion palace Barneys, among other achievements. He, his signature dark hair, piercing eyes and ever-present mole and I had the pleasure of meeting at an art salon party at a photographer's studio in SoHo. Patrick, dressed to the nines as usual, was just on his way out when I stopped him to say hello. We exchanged pleasantries and then, like a magical gift from the fashion gods, he told me he loved my dress. Say what you will: call me vain, call me petty, call me a slave to fashion. But call me when a style deity tells you he likes your dress and then tell me how you feel.
For a Good Time, Call...
Courtesy of Her Campus.com, the magazine for which I am the Style Editor, I was invited to the New York Premiere of the movie For a Good Time, Call.... Written by Lauren Miller (Seth Rogen's wife) and Katie Anne Naylon, the movie stars Miller and the ever-fabulous Ari Graynor as two girls who start a phone sex hotline. I'd rather you see the film, but I will tell you that that movie is everything I love about being a girl and none of the things I hate. No mushy crap love story, just something true and funny. However, I thought 'New York Premiere' meant 'Press Preview' and I dressed for the latter--luckily my shiny black pants and motorcycle boots translated into the atmosphere, even when I was walking past Elisabeth Moss in the lobby, and at the afterparty in the Meatpacking District. There I was with CN, my guest that night, sipping cocktails next to Justin Long, chit-chatting with Seth Rogen, watching Jonah Hill hit on my roommate and hearing her talk about Norwegian music with Paul Rudd. I hardly knew what to do with myself except have another cocktail and talk to more people, including Graynor herself. The whole evening was a completely wonderful surprise. And my goodness, if you're going to have a surprise evening, isn't it better if Paul Rudd is there?
I don't remember exactly why, but CH and I did a photoshoot of his friend Krussia at the International Center of Photography Studios near midtown. CH asked me to style, and I came up with a sort of 1900s coal miner/boxer vibe, suspenders and all. The pictures came out beautifully, and when Interview Magazine Russia was doing a story on Krussia, they used our pictures! It was one of the best days of my summer, and I was so excited I swore repeatedly via text message to CH. It's not every day you get your work published in an international lifestyle magazine. If you like, you can check out the pictures, with the article entirely in Cyrillic, here. I know I say stuff like this all the time, but this is why I moved to New York. Sometimes you can be an overnight success, and other times every little step counts. After all, the little steps make a staircase, and they only keep going up.