jane dark's sugarhigh!

The Fashions

New York. Iatrogenic in the summer, rimey in winter, and that's enough to lower its rank out of the top something or other. But that's not so say the town's without consolations: Ange, Mike, Sharon'n'Ellis, Sasha, you know how we roll. And there's something even dearer about meeting friends in New York -- non-New York friends, I mean, whom one might see every week in the sheepmeadowes of Berkeley but gets to make with the downtown rendezvous in Manhattan and everything's new again, even hot water.

And then there's the fashions. I don't mean the the crypto-models of Williamsburg, the former models of Chelsea, the model models wandering the Soho streets in search of an angry fix of jivamukti; I mean the guy who was walking behind me in Greenpoint yesterday, wearing fresh white shell-toes, black velour Kani sweatpants with a nice drape, an oversized white t, and a black suit jacket over that, topped with a black Yankees cap. Shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't did anyway, did work in every regard. Ahhh. And then party discussions: Stephin Merritt a racist? Jewish summer camps good place to get sexed? Alice Quinn's fashion sense? Most frequent aside, said by anyone to everyone: "don't blog this, okay?"