GenEx

Fade to Black

J.Crew has been doing quite well of late - pretty much since Mickey Drexler jumped in the driver's seat. Not across the board, but certainly much better than other mass retailers (granted - at 35 years of age - I'm squarely in their target demographic, but I think most would agree.)

Recently in the Soho store, they dedicated one wall of the men's department to black and white. As in, toss out anything you ever owned with color and go completely monochromatic. If the Gap tried this they'd most certainly fail, but Crew nailed so many of the details, particularly the type of black they were using. A faded, vintage black that somehow - through subtly grinded edges and the right patination - felt fresh and summery. Flat front shorts (check), jean-cut khakis, vintage v-neck tees, tailored polos - all in faded black and white and perhaps some gray thrown in for good measure. Run don't walk.

Another one lost (make that two)

While this is old news to some, I just learned (hat tip, Travis) that one of my beloved old haunts has closed. The bar Passerby was the place to go for a sexually ambiguous crowd, vintage music and most incredibly a blinking disco dance floor. The entire bar could fit in what most would consider a walk-in closet and did not have so much as a piece of paper letting you know where it was. But a fun and generally friendly (for New York) crowd found it nonetheless.

Yet another victim of the lecherous creep of the once-cool Meat Packing District, Passerby will be dearly missed. And while on the topic of bar closings, Shag is now defunct - the West Village thai lounge that served the most lethal "Devil's punch" (basically a Long Island made with Hawaiian Punch instead of Coke). What is the world coming to.

Say Hello to the Internationals

Well, 2 out of 3 anyway.

Bailey the King

Been awhile since Bailey Pagano graced this site with his chiseled features and canine bravado. He'll hold roost for the weekend.

YAZ at Terminal 5

Last night I saw 80s synth-pop legends Yaz at the Terminal 5 concert venue here in NYC, thanks to my constructionbear buddy Scott Marq. I had thought about going to this show back when tickets went on sale last spring but never got around to it. Glad I didn't miss out.

Alison Moyet's voice had not changed whatsoever in 25 years. And as amazing as it was to see her perform I personally couldn't get enough of Vince Clarke to her right. The man barely broke a smile the entire show, standing solemly in a dark suit with his computer. Behind both of them were two LED curtains which functioned as screens displaying the most genius visuals - Tron-esque landscapes, geometrics spinning every which way, Space Invaders, old movie heros, etc. Vince occasionally sang back-up vocals but his voice was put through a robot-filter that I couldn't get enough of. At one point, Vince wheeled out an old tape machine to the front of the stage and played some instrumental track while the two of them took a break.

It was so Depeche Mode I nearly lost it. Speaking of, after Yaz Vince went on to be one of the original members of Depeche - prior to Alan Wilder joining the band. And then moved onto his current act Erasure. The man is unstoppable. The crowd was heavy with gays - not surprisingly - and many mid to late 30s and early 40s types reliving their high school years as alternatives. A great group with plenty of energy - Alison and Vince seemed to be having a great time as well. Tonight they play a second show; snag a seat if you can.

CORRECTION (via James): 

Vince Clark originated Depeche Mode, left and created Yaz with Alison. When she left he created The Assembly (check them out) for a one hit wonder of Never Never with Feargal Sharkey. The Assembly was supposed to have revolving vocalists but it didn't work out and voila—Erasure was born.

Hey Mr. DJ

Mark Louque a.k.a. Mark Who a.k.a. SuperBear is spinning Ptown's Boatslip each day from noon to 3pm for all you tanning queens so get out there and give him a shout. He's also founder and dj of Fag Bash which occurs each Wednesday night in the basement of Governor Bradford. And if that's not enough Stacey Q meets Farben meets Pink Floyd mash up, you can listen in to his radio show The Crave Club. Word.

Beijing

The New York Times had a great article this Sunday on the incredible architecture that has been going up in Beijing over the last several years. Much of it is due to the coming Olympic games; other marquis buildings as a result of the boom the nation is going through. Above is the new CCTV Headquarters designed by Rem Koolhaas; a bit controversial given that CCTV is the government's primary propoganda machine. But a stunning building nonetheless.

Two buildings for the Olympic games - the Beijing National Aquatics center - designed by Australian architecture firm Arup - next to Herzog & de Meuron's Beijing National Stadium. Nicknamed "Water Cube" and "Bird's Nest" respectively.

Sitting in the middle of a man-made lake is the National Grand Theater, accessible by only one entrance. It is designed by French architect Paul Andreu, noted previously for his controversial Terminal 1 at Paris' Charles De Gaulle airport. 

Ovah

For years now (I think it's been years) my fashionbear friends have been telling me that cargo shorts are over with a capital O. Mind you, there are greater concerns in this world but I thought it a topic worth exploring. 

I remember back in the early 90s the sudden realization that I'd been wearing pleated pants (and shorts) for years. And how practically overnight I changed over to the flat front variety. The big question at the time was were pleats a conspiracy foistered upon me by the fashionistas, or were they an innocent trend. Or, were they simply a cyclical occurance - the way ties go wide to narrow back to wide and back to narrow. For the record, pleats have been gone for almost 2 decades (and yes, bitches, I know the high fashion set were doing single pleats for a time). Do I forsee us all wearing pleats again sometime soon? Doubtful, so what do I know. 

Which begs the question - were cargo pants/shorts just a trend that has worn out it's welcome? Or are they a legitimate type of pant/short? As in, you have jeans, cords, khakis, cargos, etc. Whatever the case, I will say my eye has begun to change. Late, per usual. But cargo shorts are beginning to look bulky and affected. This isn't a call to go and throw out the lot; most shorts I own have cargo pockets to some extent. Just a gentle reminder that if I'm tiring of them, they must really be out.

7 Days on Island

We headed out to our house in the Pines on Thursday the 3rd. This is the view from the pool.

While fireworks are illegal in New York, I strangely found a man selling them on the corner of 45th and Madison. I picked up a few boxes of Morning Glory sparklers. We broke into them the first night.

Trevor had a rather good time with them.

The neighbor asked if "everything was alright?"

Days were spent lounging by the pool or the beach. And poking fun at our dear friend Shawn. Shawn thinks we should all be driving semis and shooting deer. That's him on the right. 

Brandon spent the day recovering the previous night.

4th of July we welcomed the invasion with the rest of the island. 

As did my friend Koray (with the hat), the most fascinating and talented gay, Turkish architect (designer of my bar) in New York.

This is what I call patriotism.

Anthony and I spent many an hour cooking for our house. This was a Caprese salad I threw together one lunch.

Not to mention cupcakes (garnished with dragees) for dessert.

Shawn often perched himself out on the front balcony to watch the passersby.

I offered him some reading material but he didn't seem amused.

That's Trevor, Travis, Anthony, Andy and myself enjoying a late day marg.

The senator makes a toast.

Sometimes it helps when watching a film to "get into character."

Another simple yet delicious lunch: french beans tossed with mint, lemon, sea salt and olive oil.

And grilled teryaki chicken breasts with ginger and garlic. The pantry sells this marinade from a company called Soy Vay that is incredible.

A beach sand sculptor spent much time perfecting his art over the week.

Later in the week found us forgoing tea dance for drinks at the house.

It proved far more relaxing. Can't wait to get back.

Clean

The water came down hard and cold. It took awhile to warm up. And the shower nozzle didn't fit quite right, causing a spray of water to shoot upwards and splash against the two cross beams the held the wooden walls together. I got in; a bit tentatively as I wasn't sure who could see me from the beach. It felt good, being outdoors. Unusual. Risky almost. And the sun warmed my skin as much as the water. I reached for a bottle of soap and poured some into my hand. As a lather began to build in my hands the scent rose. One of oak. Spice and grass. Musk. It was his scent; one I never knew. But standing there with the water raining down I recognized it. I watched the suds wash off me and disappear. Past my feet I could see through the floorboards to shiny stones below - the sand swept away by the falling water. And in the distance I could still make out the sound of crashing waves. The light of the day was waning. I turned off the water and did my best to silence the cold with a towel. I felt new. And hoped one day to meet him.