Back here in the concrete jungle, meanwhile, I continue to work on my projects and ring myself out each night before bed. The air conditioners are cranking and I am bracing myself for a hundred million dollar bill from everyone’s favorite company, Con Ed.

So what better way to beat the heat than to do hot list? Here we go:

WHAT’S HOT:

THE HAMPTONS. The Hamptons are always a great escape destination for us denizens of the most densely packed large city in the US. This year is no exception. The Tenth Annual Midsummer Night Drinks at Chad Leat’s stunning home in Bridgehampton to benefit God’s Love We Deliver was certainly a highlight of June. The glitterati gayz were out in their full regalia of pink shirts and carefully distressed Sperrys to booze the night away and make new friends. I managed to lose my car along the way (I left it at a friend’s earlier because I would be drinking, how responsible!) and had to be driven home by a new friend in an equally new Porsche 911 Turbo. Its a rough life, y’all. Between the swirl of parties, the thump of Day and Night, and some well-deserved beach time during the day and hot tub time at night, there is hardly a moment to ponder the just how lucky we are to have such a beautiful and charmed place so close to NYC.

TRAVEL. I’m off to London to see friends and then to Greece for a wedding. But even those who have less far-flung plans seem fired up for an out of town jaunt over 4th of July weekend. My hairdresser is headed to the Jersey Shore to do some surfing. Friends young and not-so-young are flocking to Fire Island for some shenanigans. And of course the Hamptons will be loaded to the gills with regulars and house guests galore.

LOBSTER. Its cheap thanks to a glut of Maine lobsters being trucked into NYC. Grab a lobster roll now before price hikes end this bit of belt-tightened indulgence!

THE IPHONE 4: Everyone who has one is being forced to pass it around at parties so the rest of us can ogle it. Reception issues? No one I know seems to care. Who talks on the phone anyway?

THE WORLD CUP: Viewing parties galore are bringing together folk young and old. And while bad refereeing has marred some of the goings-on, the crowds here seem to grow only increasingly fired up about watching these thrilling matches.

WHAT’S NOT:

THE HAMPTONS. Jeez, 27. I know its boring to complain about the traffic but its just getting out of hand. The place is a parking lot! Circumnavigating all of the major roads using back routes is the only solution, but its ecologically unsound to use a circuitous 15 mile route for what should be a 4 mile drive. Not to mention annoying. Plus all the citidots who haven’t gotten behind the wheel all winter and spring are now finding their sea legs, so to speak, making for some rather close calls. Combine that with day drinking and a BlackBerry to human ratio of approximately 4 to 1 and it makes for some rather unsettling journeys. iPhones and Domaine-Ott Rose soaked glasses down people!

PRIDE. While I had a rather lovely day on Sunday bouncing between parties and hosting one myself with the indomitable Patrick Duffy at BES, the crowds at the parade itself seemed awfully small. Has World Cup enthusiasm robbed NYC of some of its Pride energy? I know not…but its a theory.

COCAINE. Reports of drano-laced stashes are dampening enthusiasm for the white stuff among Manhattan’s chicest, most underemployed set. Of course, that’s not such a bad thing.

THE DISCONTINUED W AND V TRAINS. Budget cuts have led to a characteristically poorly thought-out redesign of the most dysfunctional transit system in America. The M has been rebadged to (sorta) take over for the V. Also the W went away and the G got all messed up. Bus schedules are being slashed. Meanwhile, the residents of NYC overwhelmingly rely on public transportation, not private automobiles, to get to school, work, and other commitments. Public transit is a public good that serves as the engine to many sectors of our economy. Not only do MTA budget cuts overwhelmingly impact the least economically-advantaged in our society, they also slow the entire city’s economic recovery. As I often say, time spent waiting for a subway train is time not spent teaching a class, cleaning a home, or answering a hedge funder’s phone. There is a limit to how much an individual can accomplish on a commute. We need a transit system that lives up to NYC’s reputation as the most vital, productive, exciting city in the world.

For a fascinating analysis of NYC’s traffic terrors, check out this recent article in Wired magazine. In it, Felix Salmon discusses Charles Komanoff’s awe-inspiring proposal to improve the flow of people around our fair city. In contrast to recent MTA service cuts and fare increases, Komanoff’s work suggests buses should always be free, because the efficiency with which passengers can board is more valuable than the change in their pockets. Predictably, driving a private automobile during rush hour should be taxed heavily. Komanoff’s research strongly supports my position that we are on the wrong track (pun!) with regards to the future of our mass transit system.

xx

-B

Jasper and Billy at Heathers

We dropped by Heathers on 13th and A to celebrate the birth of my friend Michael. While there Jasper made friends and took in the scene from my lap. If the Dept of Heath is reading this, please note that Jasper is a service animal. That’s because I’m crazy as a loon. K? Thanks.

I also took the SATs that same weekend. Not because it matters, just because I like to stay fresh. Plus I’m into standardized tests. But lemme tell ya, what I do not like is being transported back into the realm of teenagers. I took the exam at a public school on Ludlow St. not far from my home. One is supposed to arrive at 7:45am so I usually show up sometime between 8:15 and 8:30. Everyone has been assigned to their rooms, I check the board and dash in. Usually the exam hasn’t started. Its all good.

This session, I arrived at 8:15 to find two impossibly long lines of students snaking out of the auditorium. Huh? Why? I got on one of the lines and when I was finally permitted entry into the auditorium I figured out why. The school officials were checking everyone in and examining their identification. Normally this is done in the exam room. The standard procedure is just to tack up the sheets with everyone’s names and to stay out of the melee.

Well this school had their own methods and said methods were redundant and dumb. Thus, we started terribly late. Also, it was hot. And when I say hot, I mean like boiling hot. Five hours of a standardized test in a hot, sweaty room is less than fun for most (the heat couldn’t dampen my enthusiasm, but I’m strange). The poor kid next to me kept falling asleep. Proctors were yelling at young people to take off their hats and such. I’m thinking, jeez, give the kid a break. If he wants to wear a Yankees cap while he suffers through the exam, let him. I doubt there are any gang initiations happening in the room…

So remember folks, though your adult life may not have turned out quite the way you had hoped, at least ya ain’t in high school no mo’.

xx

-B

]]> http://mysilentlife.com/?feed=rss2&p=514 0 http://mysilentlife.com/?p=500 http://mysilentlife.com/?p=500#comments Tue, 08 Jun 2010 05:07:00 +0000 admin http://mysilentlife.com/?p=500 Well summer has arrived and many of us are decamping to the Hamptons to enjoy a bit of sun and sand and debauchery. My friends Andrew and Kevin were kind enough to invite me to spend Memorial Day weekend with them at their lovely home in Bridgehampton where I did some swimming and drinking and got burned on a section of my leg I neglected to properly coat in sunscreen. Let that be a lesson to you all, make sure you get those kneecaps covered!

While there I dropped in on various friends and helped myself to libations at their homes. Thanks said friends! I also brunched at East Hampton’s newest party-spot, Day and Night.
When I say I brunched what I in fact mean is I arrived after brunch, did tequilla shots, and danced on a chair. Those familiar with Bagatelle will feel right at home at Day and Night. It has the sort of freewheeling, terribly dear sense of careless luxury that embodies the restless spirit of the young and wealthy out east. There is a velvet rope and a doorman who seems not to know who anyone is, plus people imploring, “But I just valet parked my car! Please…can’t I come in?” No.

I arrived alone to meet friends and breezed in. Note to readers who desire swift entry to popular spots, come alone. No one but the supremely self-confident attempt to backpack through China solo or show up at Avenue at midnight without an entourage in tow. If you’re alone, you’re meeting people inside. Probably lots of them. Or popping by to say hello to the owner. Normal people don’t show up places by themselves. People who do belong. They don’t wait on line.

I digress.

Once inside I avoided chatting with several people and grabbed my friend Olivia off a chair to snag a drink. Some rando bought us all shots and we were off and running. Collective groans were emitted from tables recently hit with bills from brunch – one I spotted was nearly $3,000 – and then people sighed and dropped hundred dollar bills or black cards into big, messy piles before stumbling off towards a friend or lover or the bar.
the scene at Day and Night

As Olivia and I chatted a handsome young man ambulated over in a seemingly less-than-sober state. On the bridge of his nose rested a new pair of limited edition Ray Ban Aviators. I noticed the young man had lovely eyes, something I could behold only because the Ray Bans were missing one lens.

“Oh man,” he moaned. “They’re not even mine. They’re my friends. Now I’m going to have to go and get him a new pair somewhere.”

Deflty, Olivia removed the glasses from his face and popped the remaining lens out of its casing. She gingerly replaced the guy’s Ray Bans on his face and handed him the lens.

“There,” she said with much self-satisfaction. “Much better.”

I had to agree. The kid looked rather chic in Aviators with no lenses. He looked at me with a questioning stare.

“Its true,” I chimed in. “You look good.”

And with that the young man smiled, dropped the remaining lens onto the ground, and smashed it beneath his heel. With this he turned and slipped back into the crowd without a word.

“He’s cute,” I said to Olivia. She shrugged and asked me to find her designated driver, and, finally, her car.

We failed in at least one of those tasks so Olivia and I parted ways and I made my way back to Bridgehampton. Later I met a cute Mormon and a guy who is on that new Bravo Real Housewives – Kept Boys Edition.

Let’s hope my lovely weekend is a precursor to many more this summer!

Xx
-B

Its been a busy few weeks. I’ve been crackin’ watch straps, lifting glasses, and taking names. And numbers. Also email addresses. Additionally, I’ve done some work and opened some young minds. Maybe. So that’s been good too.

Ok so, I’ve been trying to cut down on my carbs in preparation for summer. I fully intend to look slimmer than a dead, bloated whale and that will require a bit of work on my part. As you know, I enjoy going to the gym and lifting heavy things up and then putting them down. So that’s helpful. But any truly six-packed guy or gal knows to be truly zexy one needs to keep an eye on the diet.

Ok, maybe one doesn’t need to go quite that far. Plus, shouldn’t she be skinny? And lastly, the question on the tip of all of our tongues, does she have a preferred brand?

I digress. I am not a terribly unhealthy eater, but I decided to cut down on my carbs for a couple of weeks just to see what happened. Now, this should be a fairly easy process. I’m not a candy guy, I generally skip dessert…no mocha frappachinos and the like here. So no biggie, right?

Wrong.

I’m super addicted to sugar, as it turns out. More accurately, the carbs that come from bread and pasta. Little did I know I’m secretly Italian (well, I knew I was in the parts that mattered, but that’s another story…) and that I eat bread or pasta at every meal. Two eggs for breakfast? Sure, oh and can I get 6 slices of whole wheat toast with that? And a large orange juice? A sandwich for lunch? Do you guys have any of those really enormous rolls with the poppy seeds on them today? Something local and nice in the neighborhood for dinner? Um, hm, lets just go over to Frankie’s where I will have the cavatelli with hot sausage. Oh and in between I’ll have some milk and maybe a coke in the afternoon. Snack on half a bagel or a bowl of fruit.

As you can see, my (semi) sensible diet is in fact nine hundred and twenty six MILLION grams of carbohydrates per day. So I decided to cut out carbs as much as possible for a couple of days to see what would happen. The answer is muscle pain and headaches. Are you kidding? I’m having freaking withdrawal from bread.

The human body is an amazing thing. Mine seems rather reluctant to embrace change. But I’m twisting its arm, so to speak. We’ll see who wins. Place your bets folks, place your bets…

xx

-B

The story has a certain resonance with me because I have always been a bit fascinated by the bar car. The article in the Times mentions that smoking was banned in these cars on Metro-North commuter trains “in the 1980s.” That’s true, but it was in the late 80s, 1988 to be exact. The bill that banned smoking on Metro-North trains (save for a provision that allowed smoking in the bar car of a New Haven bound train only between Greenwich and New Haven) can be found here if such things interest you. I vividly recall barely making a train to the country, accompanied by my father, as a child. We were encouraged to enter the rear of the train at the first accessible door as the train was just about to pull out of the station. As it rumbled forth, dad and I walked up the aisle to the front of the train where seating was more readily available. Opening one door we were confronted by a haze of cigarette smoke so thick one could barely see through it. My eyes stung as we hustled through to the relative purity of the cars ahead.

I can’t recall as precisely when the bar cars disappeared from Westchester-bound Metro-North trains, but I can recall the terrible jealousy I felt towards those who had summer homes in Connecticut or attended boarding school there. Those travellers retained their bar cars while those of us, more often found skirting the east side of the Hudson River as we sped north, had none. Oh, the injustice!

But lately it seems as though even my friends from Connecticut, now all grown up and drinking in crummy walkups on the Lower East Side, will lose a bit of their shared history as well. The bar car is on its way out. Shed a tear.

I have a special fondness for the bar car not chiefly for its tri-state ties, however, but for one fascinating evening. As a senior in high school I was lucky enough to be admitted to a couple of pretty decent colleges. I wanted to visit Northwestern but a lack of planning and a slim budget made air travel out of the question. I booked a ticket on an Amtrak train from New York Penn Station to Chicago Union Station. The Lakeshore Limited departed New York at 3:45pm and arrived at 9:45 the next morning. That worked quite nicely for my schedule. Plus, the train’s name evoked a grandeur I thought fitting for a young man’s visit to one of the Midwest’s vaunted institutions of higher learning.

A sleeper was costly and out of the question but, no matter, I was young and flexible and had no qualms about plopping into a well-padded seat and drifting off to thoughts of the windy city.

Upon boarding the train I plopped down indeed. I read. Made some notes in a couple of books. The late 90s had not yet burdened me with text messages on cell phones or BlackBerries (nor other people’s incessant conversations on those devices) so the beginnings of the journey were relaxed and contemplative. But as night fell and the other passengers drifted off, I found myself unable to quiet my thoughts. I was going on a college visit, on my own, and I was pretty darn excited about it. Antsy, I took a walk up the aisle to stretch my legs.

I walked through several cars before I came upon it: the bar car. Finding a place, I sat down on a stool, ordered a vodka soda (some things rarely change, folks) and took a few glances at the people around me. As the bartender put down my drink in front of me (why so few bartenders carded me as a youngster while so many do now remains a mystery to me) I looked over my right shoulder to see an attractive man in his 20s sitting next to me. I turned back to my drink, made quick work of it, and ordered another. Surely a couple of glasses would bring some quietus to this restless mind and allow me to return to my seat and nod off. But as I worked my way through the second I couldn’t help but notice the attractive man’s gaze fixed upon me. He introduced himself (I’ve long since forgotten his name), I followed suit, and we got down to the fine art of conversing. As the train rumbled through Pennsylvania and then Ohio the skies outside darkened to the black of coal. The remaining guests in the bar car shuffled back to their places and I was left alone with my new friend and a barman who served us drink after drink in the intervals between worrying his racing sheet. We spoke of many things and he told me what amounted to, in essence, his entire life story. An unhappy childhood, drug addiction, a career in gay pornography, rock bottom, and his climb out of the depths. He was abandoning Boston and heading to Chicago to start a new life in a vibrant city full of strangers.

We parted ways without exchanging information. He had no phone or permanent address, I thought the idea of a former gay porn actor calling my parents’ home a bit distasteful. So off we went, in opposite directions, into the blazing morning sun.

Northwestern seduced me on that trip and it was there I matriculated several months later. Now, years later, I suspect my chance encounter on that overnight train may have played a pivotal role in my decision to attend my alma mater. My travelling companion wanted only to escape something ugly and to redefine himself on his own terms. He was excited to start over in Chicago. And so, I now realize, was I.

xx

-B

Firstly (ha!), Jasper made his debut at the Tompkins Square Park Dog Run. And what a debut it was. Jasper bounded about in the “big dogs” run until we commuted over a few feet to the “little dogs” run, dedicated to dogs under 28 lbs. While Sir was not thrilled to leave the 135 lb Great Dane he had decided was his new best friend, he quickly acclimated to dominating all those who surrounded him, including a couple of fabulous lesbians and a doggy momma who was clearly wasted at 11am.

If you’ve never been to Tompkins Square Park, I encourage you to stroll on through. Its a fascinating hodgepodge of chemically dependent homeless people and chemically dependent rich people. They’re so different! And while mismatched horse-heads shoot up in the men’s room, carefully disheveled hipsters sip on bloody marys in styrofoam cups while trying to locate little Buster in the fray. The gentrification of the East Village can be felt no where more strangely than in this little melting pot where denizen remnants of the 80s sigh at bleach blonde models wearing Seven jeans to walk their teacup poodles.

But have no fear, Jasper has been celebrating elsewhere as well. Easter happened to fall on Jasper’s very 1st birthday this year (and not the other way around) so Momma and some cohorts came over for lox and bagels. Jasper ate dog food but Ji was nice enough to bring him some birthday doggie biscuits that he just adored. Thanks Ji! The rest of us noshed and drank 8 bottles of champagne. Typical.

In short, a good time was had by all. Our next high holy day, The Kentucky Derby, is just around the corner. Do you have your seersucker jackets, elaborate hats, and stomach-pumping mechanisms at the ready? Good. Let the race begin.

xx

-B

Most of those from whom I’ve heard who were seated upsatirs on Monday evening have expressed surprise that the MET did not summon help from the fire department immediately when the smoke conditions began. Few people familiar with theatrical lighting would believe that a smoldering gel on stage could have filled just one section of the audience with acrid smoke, sending one hundred people out the door mid-aria. Is the MET intentionally covering up their botched and short-sighted reaction to a fire condition in the house? Or does the press office remain as ignorant as the rest of us about a cover-up the MET management wants desperately to perpetuate?

xx

-B

Update II: at 12:50pm its back up.

In the Times today, David Pogue writes a glowing review of Line2, saying it, “has the potential to shake up an entire industry.”

I met Peter Sisson, fonder of Line2, briefly at an event my Council was sponsoring last month at the Gay Center in the West Village. I was struck by his whip smart intelligence and relentless ambition to start “Game Over” tech.

Sadly, when I navigated over to Line2 I was greeted by the following message:

“Toktumi and Line2 are currently experiencing a denial of service attack. We are trying to isolate the attackers and restore service. Please stand by.”

Was it the NYT’s spotlight on Line2 that made internet pirates want to attack? Or was this coordinated attack weeks or months in the making? Either way, its unfortunate that rogue gangs continue to try to thwart good ol’ American tech innovation. I wish Line2 well and hope they are back up and running soon.

xx

-B

But I digress. The larger question is whether to order an iPad with only WiFi now to get the treasured little screen of love on April 3rd or to wait for the 3G version which ships, according to the Apple website, in “late April.” I wanted the 3G model so I preordered it today. And guess what? My emailed receipt shows, in fact, that the iPad is due to ship in “late April.” It also, however, shows that my optional handy dandy carrying case is set to ship April 15th and arrive on the 20th. So hopefully the device itself wont be too far behind. A girl can dream…

xx

-B