NYC is experiencing an October heatwave. Yesterday as I walked out of David Barton on 6th Avenue I felt a hint of diabolical laughter from Olde Mama Nature. Just when we thought we had felt the last of this muggy web of an Indian summer she decides to change her prerogative and take back the shade of autumn leaves, leaving us exposed to prolonged moist discomfort. I walked in gym shorts and a Yankee cap out of the very spot where in 1987 I saw Warhol coming out of Area Limelight (now the David Barton gym) and progressively limped over to the Chelsea Piers to catch a little sun on my back and relish in the nothingness of an idle Tuesday afternoon.
In my headphones I listened to a new podcast by my longtime bro-crush Bret Easton Ellis as he discussed with the filmmaker Paul Schrader several topics including Raging Bull, Taxi Driver, Pauline Kael, Lindsay (burp) Lohan, and American Gigolo. Bret expounded on his fascination with Julian Kay, how he named the hustler in Less Than Zero Julian after him, and how much the movie, although not very good, influenced both him as a writer and the book Less Than Zero. I didn’t know about the character of Julian in Less Than Zero being named after Julian Kay, the prostidude in American Gigolo, and am kind of blown away by such an obvious oversight on my part. How could I have not put these two little facets of obscure trivia together before? Somebody slap my face! Whenever the inevitable question arises about our first celebrity crushes I usually say Richard Gere based solely on American Gigolo, which came out when I was 11. I don’t remember the first time I saw American Gigolo but I’m sure it wasn’t when I was 11. Still, the images of him doing upside-down crunches in Armani gravity boots to Smokey Robinson linger in my remembrance of adolescent lust. Every movie I make in my brain begins with a Blondie song and a Mercedes convertible. Thanks Paul Schrader and Gorgio Moroder and Debbie Harry. I’m forever in awe.
I only see the downside to everyone in New York being so young. Maybe it’s because I’m getting old and the older I get the younger everyone around me seems to be. Like, literally. There’s a jealousy in the generational divide, for those 15-20 years behind me seem to be disgustingly unsavory in their ubiquitous inattention to their surrounds; iPhone Zombiedom aside. I don’t see any real awareness in these people, any kind of what-the-fuck outrage beyond righteous indignation against the human condition of ism’s and inequality. I actually had to do my own shouting at 25, not from behind a screen but with my own face-to-face discourse with the previous generation. But I have a bad relationship with retrospect. I easily forget what it’s like to be 25 with nothing but a good time on the brain. That’s my only empathy. That and the zero fucks given thing. The only guys interested in me are in the 18-30 age group. Should just run with it, no expectations, just fluids and the wisdom to not take it seriously.
This is going out unedited since I’m working on three different projects simultaneously. The therapeutic value of this blog keeps me grounded on the sidewalk space of stand or fall. Never look or you’ll never leap. BTW I have a date with a 25 year old non-prostidude tonight. Use your imagination on what might occur.