Archives for posts with tag: Standard Hotel

calming reeds

After the Solange/Jay-Z/Beyonce/Bodyguard family fight in the elevator of The Standard Hotel  (after the very glamorous Met Ball) I hear, from a friend who works at the hotel, that a perfectly innocent person was accused of selling the video to TMZ … and fired.

A statement made by all persons in the elevator during the inciting incident explained that it was a private ‘family matter’ and would remain so.

Then, amazingly Whoopi Goldberg… who has become a kind of wise, day-time-TV Maya Angelou lite sage (speaking slowly to underline the import of everything she says) wades balls deep into the soupy narrative.  Her conclusion?  That if you get hit by anyone you should be able to hit them back.

Huh?

I wondered why Whoopi wasn’t commending Jay-Z for his dignity and restraint?  Because one thing is certain… if Jay-Z had hit Solange in the face and broken her jaw Whoopie would be leading the deafening chorus of disdain for those men who hit women.

So, Whoopi, if Jay-Z had retaliated… how hard should he have hit Solange?  I’m wondering what the appropriate retaliation would be for a man hitting an angry woman whilst she is being held by his bodyguard?  Knock her out maybe?  So she no longer poses a threat?

Whoopi thinks STAND YOUR GROUND is a very good idea.  Well, we all know where that leads.  Trayvon Martin.

Let’s remind Whoopi what we are supposed to do if we are attacked… Whoopi, we don’t smack them in the face… we call the police… that’s what they’re there for.  That’s why we pay our taxes .

Didn’t Whoopi learn anything from The Color Purple?

Donny, my friend, killed himself last night.  He had struggled with sobriety, struggled to stay clean, struggled to stay out of trouble.  Handsome, sweet, kind-hearted Donny just couldn’t stay alive.  During the past 13 years I have lost many, many friends to the disease of addiction.   It is always tough to reconcile but their loss keeps the rest of us alive.   The truth is I always knew that one day this call would come and so remained aloof.  I learned early on not to totally give myself to those wedded to the idea of death.  The other men we know, who knew him, his friends my friends a community of sober men-are devastated.  I can be there for them.   I am there for you because you choose to live, to wake up every morning and face life on life’s terms.

I learned this shocking news at dinner last night.  Dinner with Benoit Denizet-Lewis, Lady Rizo, Rob Roth, Cooper and Benoit’s boyfriend Nick at Soho House.  We ate a $44 chicken.    Earlier in the day I had lunch with Pierre the general manager of Soho House New York and very old friend.  Recently in love he looks very happy and ten years younger.  We ate delicious cauliflower soup.

The recession touches all of our lives in some way or other and no more so in the home where I am staying.   My friend has been made redundant and after years of getting up and going into an office now finds himself carving an ersatz routine out of a long, jobless day.    It is particularly hard to watch as I feel utterly powerless and wish that I could do something to make it better.  A remarkably placid, gentleman my friend owned up to feeling very rageful in some situations when asked some sorts of questions about his predicament.

Benoit’s book event at the Gay and Lesbian Center on 13th Street was very enjoyable.  His new book American Voyeur is well worth reading.  He is a great essayist.  I particularly liked the experience of going into the Gay and Lesbian Center.  A warm hive of gay activity.  Benoit’s event, a dating workshop, some sort of dance workshop, a twelve step meeting, men and women hanging around reading on the stair.  It had a feeling of community, which is so sadly lacking in my gay experience.

Roque came to visit and it was lovely to finally meet him.

I still have not gotten around to having my haircut.  It looks very shaggy.

Ended Tuesday on the roof of the Standard Hotel overlooking the frozen river.  We were eating fascinating deserts in the Boom Boom Room.  It was a lyrical end to a tragic day.

Cooper and I shared a cab home.

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