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Is that of basement lounges.
And, doormen rule the world? Again?
Let’s kick it off this way. You know the history of the faded, colourful booze New York past. All those hidden agendas. The underground. The really neat time in America. If you don’t, read the book Last Call, The Rise and Fall of Prohibition (for those of the “scene” still able to read). The old speakeasy back in the old ass New York day (sorry, Paul you were still living with Mom in Connecticut…wait were you born yet?) giving way to places a la Double Happiness with the white brick walls and the warm glow of red and orange. Yes, New York was still dirty and sketchy and fun. Don Hills was really dirty, sketchy and fun. Mott Street was still like the demilitarized zone. Don’t you remember? Or were you still rocking Wall Street?
Doesn’t matter. All the cool new scene on scene-ers and their money backers insist on slick interior and yes, food for the druggies, just in case the night doesn’t work out…you can always blame food poisoning.
Now you have Kenmare and the black box special Travertine‘s new lounge XIX (original title, no?) which could make Paul a shade less pale. It might be the next Kenmare to the Don Hills. It exhausts me to think of the possibility. Yes, Kenmare is the block of cool. The place where an ex-B/8 doorman can get top billing for his ex-Stephen Dorff types knocking on heavens door. Now, all the basement space looks the same, generic red booths, white booths, clean, sprawling, pricey. Nah-nah-ne-nah. Why bother to report? It’s super boring. It’s putting me to sleep now.
Good night.
Kitty Bawler wants to open Kenmare at Disney Land. Oh what fun.
Dear Terry, Dear Ollie:
On your holidays, it’s safe to assume you both 1) look at one another’s e-diaries 2) plan to be out of one another’s camera lenses at the same time 3) plan to be away from New York at the same time in August 4) take lots of bed shots to entice your voyeurs (Terry, at least you have a sense of humour) 5) booze, bed…your loves beyond your love, 6) trim your proper stashes and, 6) miss one another terribly.
Terry, say Ollie is making a bit more with the cash spree on the Sardinia trip, no? You seem to be a welcome look to the ex-con low life. I like how you’re playing it. Big pectorals. Jailhouse tats. Patriot on the run. Well-groomed in the shower as you scrape dead skin off your back. LA, Vegas, Portland. Industrial baby. You might even use nice lotion. Hmmm….I might like you better. Ollie, you want too desperately to be part of the American flag. Relax, baby. Relax.
Oh well, I really must be going. Don’t be gone too long as summer’s end fades away. Fashion Week! Don Hills re-lauch!
Thank you both for making me feel better about myself.
(Image 1: Purple Diary. Image 2: Terry’s Diary)
Kitty Bawler isn’t particularly fond of digital diaries in a digital day.
When I see Terry R’s photographs it gives me hope I can be an artist; or anyone for that matter. This goes with the entire Chateau Marmont pool spread where Chloe keeps her clogs on throughout. Cool girl. Oh, this also gives me hope in the model department.
Photographer. Artist.
Done.
Model. Done. Done.
(Photo image via: Terrys Diary.)
And why the hell didn’t I think of it? Although those who stole it don’t know the real value. It’s a relic gents. A mere relic. Still, it’s a brilliant piece of PR. Or perhaps a lifetime of pleasure knowing your treasure is priceless.
Eater posts the snap along with what is quite entertaining dialogue between a possible interrogator (or buyer) and the snatchers (or was he/she acting alone?) at Imaginary Socialite. Stunning script follows:
Blocked Call: Now it does… but for a price, it can belong to anyone. Our network has both signs and our network has an email for them: BeatriceSign@gmail.com
Imaginary Socialite: Wow. I don’t even want to know how you got it.
Blocked Call: A hot air balloon, a lock of MK Olsen’s hair, an underground circuit of Jack Siegel fans, a screwdriver from Duane Reade, a Matt Creed mixtape, and the fourth Misshape.
How perverse.
(Note to Paul: You really should have taken it down for your archives. Come’on!)
Kitty Bawler isn’t scared. Wanna bet? Life as Models, I’ll Get You My LIttle Pretty, What’s Next, Don Hills? Who Me?, Portrait of a DJ as a Young Man, One Final Sendoff, When the Cool Class Isn’t That Cool Anymore, Smoking in the Boys Room, The New Max’s Kansas City…I Think NOT, Drum Roll, The Hipster of the Decade!)
Life as a Model Pt. 2.
Boy, waifs. Boy, man.
Terry never lets us down in his relentless pursuit of the hip and bone thin (I see Christian’s neckband) in his August 4th posting of Terry’s Diary. We last saw Christian here in what looks to be the same wardrobe of ratty white tee. Now, he’s donning a bandana and aviators quite unlike the low newsboy cap look recently recorded at Cafe Gitane. Oh Christian, where are you going? Cafe Habana for a cafe? Back to Gitane for tap water? Terry probably has few to spot; hit him up for a new tee or perhaps some kicks. Nah, you’re probably a trustafari which I will discuss in great depth in part 3 of the model series.
(image: Terry’s Diary; above)
Time is UP! It’s been on Paul’s agenda (between his zero star jammy Kenmare and sailing expeditions in the sound) and now the once cool edgy club is about to hit a wall. Neighbors of lower west Spring Street line up your ear plugs. And, you thought Sway was bad?
Eater says says: The new owners are promising a “return to Old Skool NYC, when downtown was downtown and uptown and uptown was uptown.”
Um, okay that makes sense.
Dear Terry; I knew I could count on you or Ollie to document when Don Hills would sink the biz. However, Ollie is holed up (quite literally) at the Standard with his new Native American chick, working his sexy angle and I can count on you to document the goings-on of downtown NYC. I really appreciate that; although you make it look much more edgy than it actually is in 2010. Don’t you miss the good ole’ days?
So; it looks as if we say farewell and good night good luck and all those pleasantries which Paul bestows on his “relaunch ideas” for his rock n’ roll fellows, A to B listers and those other hangers-on. The list is so boring even I yawn as I type this. Lucky for the Kenmare crowd to be able to venture so close to their haunt, perhaps by taxi or bicycle. Another landmark gets a jolt by a cool “club kid” even though he plays it down.
Wonder if he’ll spin during fashion week previews?
Ollie should be of sound mind by then…
Oh brother!
x Kitty.
PS: Eater says says: The new owners are promising a “return to Old Skool NYC, when downtown was downtown and uptown and uptown was uptown.”
Um, okay that makes sense.
(images: DEATH BEFORE CASTRATION… at Don Hills last night from of course, Terrys Diary)
To think I felt an inkling of sadness for you as your lover ditched and ran for another man. You “kissed” and said your goodbyes and now you are back…in white. How alive you must feel. So, no Paint It Black for you. The girls dressed in their summer clothes are in your room. And their clothes are off.
Yes, you are back with your slim wife beater, your Terry-like tats (tell me do you share the same artist?) and facing the upper west side of Manhattan (why don’t you look downtown at your admiring crowds?) Your American beauty must feel ever-so-exploited (perhaps not if a rental) by your August 3rd rendevous. The shower is fine, it’s the other snap with your American flag tat. You couldn’t help it, could you? You had to exploit her for exploitation sake. For one, you are a photographer. Your ex might hear or look or want to see your new ass. And you have nothing to do but pick back up and carry on. You’re going to go on a real binger; I feel it.
Lucky, for you, New York grants you that pleasure.
Try not to take it for granted, Ollie.
“My Love will laugh before the morning comes...”
(image: Purple Diary)
Kitty Bawler isn’t scared, promise.
Dear Ollie: Is Kitty Bawler mean? Not necessarily; she just thinks you’re hung up on some silly people, including yourself from time to time. NOW THIS from your July 28th posting along with your shattered photograph; your note was well intended but the photo seemed a bit harsh. Still, you are entitled to lick your wounds. Although, most open relationships don’t end well.
From Purple Diary End of Love:
DEAR FRIENDS
To all the anonymous friends who follow my life on the Purple Diary, I have to tell you that I’m in a lot of pain. Natacha Ramsay dumped me on Sunday. She ran away with her lover (with whom she has had a long romance that I was aware of and accepted) for a summer of love. She called me to tell me that she loves him, that we are finished. I asked her to come back two times and she said no two times. As you know if you follow the Purple Diary I try to create and promote an alternative love lifestyle (that I used to call in French La Communauté des Amants). Natacha’s decision to leave me so brutally and painfully will certainly be seen by conservative people as a clear feminine revenge against the lifestyle Natacha and I used to share, and think that I’m a dreamer. Right now I’m just a mess. But I will hopefully recover soon and offer you some more pictures of love and sex.
Olivier Zahm
PS Ollie: I guess I can hit up Terry R and the Jersey boyz while you lick your wounds.
PS 2: Don’t be gone too long;Kenmare needs you ! Paul needs you!
X Kitty.
Ah, life is good for these two skinny things puffing their American Spirits and looking equally as siblings in their ragged vintage-designer white tees. She’s working the Patti Smith eighties look and he’s pretty like a girl. Both are strategic if not obvious. Oh well, chalk it up to youth. Glam punk rocking Nolita about twenty years too late.
Terry by Terry from Terrys Diary documents their utter inability to eat even as he captions the snap “Freja and Christian having lunch yesterday at Cafe Gitane.” Everyone knows Gitane is where the small, non-eating set goes to drink robust coffee and perhaps split a salad. It’s a place to linger over fashion magazines, check your mobile and spot the next “Freja and Christian.”
If Purple Diary and Ollie weren’t actually working on art (they’ve been so poetic lately), I would have a better material but Terry seems to be working back the clock with such a modelista pairing that it’s hard to concentrate on anything but their waif-like beauty as if a Godard like haze. Does any of this make sense?
Room 100; Thompson Hotels newsletter is propping NY poster child, Paul, oh Paul there you are. And now you set your sights on Don Hills. So it’s all TOO TRUE! Jeez man.
Excerpts from said newsletter:
“The terrible trio that co-owned and conceived of downtown Manhattan’s now-legendary Beatrice Inn-Paul Sevigny, Matt Abramcyk and the singularly named Andre’-all are opening separate nightclubs this fall.
Yes, Sevigny has since opened the red-hot Kenmare bistro and club (in NoHo), and Abramcyk, the awesome sports-atorium 77 Warren (in TriBeCa), post-Beatrice speakeasy, RIP. But now we are talking bona-fide and BIG nightclubs, set for early fall openings. All as well are downtown spaces, all have character-rich history. All could be the long-rumored “next Beatrice.” But can we just…let it go?
Abramcyk’s yet-to-be-named club is the most ambitious. More than 3,000 square feet, beneath the Meat District’s cobblestoned streets, the space is architecturally-minded (as is Senor Matt), featuring barrel-vaulted ceilings, and views from below actual manholes. It will have a dance floor, and at least two bars. And, we hear, it’s going to be open ’til the cow’s come home (to die).
Suave-bola Sevigny is co-partnering with veteran nightlife impresario Don Hill to add some raucous life and lookers to the eponymous live music club in the West SoHo zone, which has been there for years. This is a very cool thing.
We’re seeing a new nightclub triangle forming, and we like it-a lot. Manhattan hasn’t been the City That Never Sleeps for an inordinate amount of time. Let the revelry begin.”
(image via Jeffery Donenfeld)
KITTY CLAIMS WORLD DOMINATION; Tres Chic!
HIDE YOUR CHILDREN. YOUR DOGS. LITTLE DOGS.
Terry’s bony tattooed arm and skeleton veins reaching the grips of his handlebars (add fashionable Armstrong bracelet, gold Rolex and bike). Smile T bones, you’re on camera. Ring, Ring. Miss Gulch is coming. Auntie M, help! Help!
(image:Terry’s Diary) I see the parallels. I see them vividly.
Ahoy, mates. Ah, it’s our friend Paul taking a page from his C of C daze and turning out his boat in Long Island. Douja, bru. Shirtless. Swoon.
While New York summer and piss on the streets fills the air, Paul lives it up. QUESTION: Where are you, Ollie?
Oh, and a Jaws song going out to you, dear P-Funks:
Show me the way to go home
I’m tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it’s gone right to my head
Everywhere I roam
Over land or sea or foam
You can always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home.
(image: Purple Diary).
Kitty Bawler isn’t scared. Make sure to re-read, What’s Next, Don Hills? Who Me?, Portrait of a DJ as a Young Man, One Final Sendoff, When the Cool Class Isn’t That Cool Anymore,Smoking in the Boys Room, The New Max’s Kansas City…I Think NOT, Drum Roll, The Hipster of the Decade!)
