snapshot no. 739

[80s image from 1985 photoshoot - photographer Gasper Tringale]


May 14, 1985.

Big night. The opening of the Palladium, NYC. Yejong, Haoui and I are poised on a staircase inside the club pre-opening hour for a photo-op for the Daily News. "The Doorpeople". Very ominous sounding. Yejong was chosen because she knew the uptown crowd -- Haoui knew the downtown crowd -- I knew a smattering of both. No time to eat, quick fix in the lady's room to readjust hat, makeup, general overall look.

8pm. Opening. An awaiting crowd with invitations in hand, most on guest list, most so recognizable that neither was needed. Andy Warhol, Diane Von Furstenberg, Raquel Welch, rock stars, designers, film stars, celebrities, all filtered in for a quick hello and an escort in. Later. Crowds were building for general opening at 10pm. Hundreds awaited their names to be checked, comps handed to them, we checked our clickers for body count: thousands. later still, traffic blocked by the thousands yelling out our names to be seen and let in, the police closing in for a fast conversation. The gates had to be pulled down so that the crowd would disperse. Bodies threw themselves onto the ground and rolled beneath the gates before they hit earth. Quiet. Except for the shouts outside the gates.

15 minutes later the rules had changed: the streets were now more flooded with people than before. The police had demanded we lift the gates and let everyone in. We did. And as we were pressed against the walls watching people running toward mecca, there in the midsts was a homeless woman who had been swept in by the crowds. She was lost and confused. I took her arm and explained where she was. She asked for something to eat. Did anyone have anything to eat? No, this was a nightclub. I gave her whatever money I had in my pocket and steered her back out toward the street to find a diner. It was quieter now... the door resumed, the ropes went back up, and the free peak at the cavernous club had resumed all normal activities. The old woman had wandered up the street, staring at the cash in her hands.

I don't know what ever happened to her.

Muleshoe, Texas.

July 1997.

Didn't have anywhere particular to go. Flew to Austin to meet a friend. I wanted to go on a roadtrip, he had a car. He said, "Ok." We drove to El Paso, to Albequerque NM, to Taos, to Lubbock.....

Our favorite place was Muleshoe, Texas. The lady at the desk of the local motel had a face like the grandmother you missed, the mother you wish you had, the nice nun at the local catholic school, the one you could never say no to as all she was considering was your comfort and happiness. Good saleswoman. We stayed for 2 days.



I married my friend 4 years later.

contradiction.

Monterrey Mexico. Yesterday. Just got home. Contradiction of modernism and tradition. Summarized in two photos. Posted so you would see.






.

Mao.

Last night there were parties for Fashion Week all over town.

Mao PR held an event hosted by Anna Nicole Smith. I had no expectations. Then she hit a runway in all of her splendor and I no longer cared that she is dumb as a rock.

51.

twister.

texas, summer of 1965.

The neighbors told us to open up all the windows -- that is what you do when there is a tornado warning. I watched from just inside the sill, my mother just behind me. The wind swept up and the rain came in and I imagined toto in my arms though we never had a dog. There it was... a skinny long dark grey column like a dreadlock, sweeping back and forth up the road in front of our house. Hardly threatening, but trying its very best to look ominous. Poor thing was just a cute little wind funnel picking up weeds along the way.

The next morning was Saturday. The wind and rain were gone - the sun was bright and high and I was playing at my friend Michael's house up the block. He had a pretty mom with shining golden hair and a brand new Creepy Crawlers set to play with. But that day he wanted to play catch out in front of the house -- this was his name for playing dodge ball with the passing cars. One pulled up to the house. It was a dark car -- dark grey like a twister. A man got out in a uniform with a bag in his hand which he immediately dropped on the sidewalk as my friend Michael ran up into his arms for a huge hug. His mother flew out the front door and joined him. The three walked back up to the house holding each other. Nobody looked back to me -- they knew I had only a few houses to go and I'd be home.

Michael's dad was home from Vietnam.

It didn't always work out that way.

cake.

She was raised by Haight-Asbury hippies. Or rather, she raised them.

She showed up in NYC sometime in the 80s - a beautiful, poised woman with a mop of short blonde hair and a smile that lit up the room. I needed a roomate, she needed a room. She became the best friend a girl could ever have.

I received a package yesterday from her. A birthday gift. Inside was an orange box -- yes, THAT orange box. The one with the brown imprinted ribbon donning the word, "Hermes". Inside was the most tasteful and delicate cappuccino cup and saucer and a little note, "To my big sister." I clutched it as I walked home from the post office, knowing that anyone who passed and was "orange box" savvy wondered what was inside and why it wasn't in their hands instead. I would have been happy with just the note. Or just the box. Or knowing that it was something special from someone special who had little chance to become what she has with the lack of opportunities she was given from birth.

I've known a lot of people who came from nothing and re-invented themselves to become elegant and lovely human beings who understand the importance of a thank you note or a housewarming gift.

Liza takes the cake.

wishlist

I'm politically challenged.

Our city is embedded in a republican convention, and a streetful of highly liberal protestors who believe that acts of civil disobience are the right way to make a point, and then whine and complain because the holding cells aren't nice conditions. I'm sure they would whine about the prisons too, once again taking no responsibility for their actions.

I'm not a republican, but I'm certainly not a liberal either. The democrats let me down. I want to live in a country where people defend their shores, but also believe in social reform. Without depending on the government to "fix" everything with programs that hand money out. I want to live in a country that really does give us our freedom to do as we choose within the boundaries of decency and law. And as for the far left that believes in becoming a socialist state, I guess they never paid attention in their political science classes. Or need I remind them that under a socialist state without the wealthy classes, there is no money to buy art, and without a buyer, there is no product. It is simple commerce, whether it refer to art, or clock repair, etc. Time for a few people to return to their textbooks and reread several rather informative passages.

In the meantime, my opinions are not of much value here - I'm neither a historian nor politically active - but I do know a lot about shoes. I should stick to what I know.

Here is something on my wishlist: