Cancer 27°

So I really expected to make quite a splash with fundraising for this new festival I’m launching tomorrow. But, excepting Joanne Chang of Flour and Myers+Chang, not a single other professional connection came through for us. Go Joanne. She’s a good egg. It makes me really wonder about the people in Boston. I don’t know many people but the people I do know mainly work as designers or event planners, or in media or PR; and wow, I’m pretty awstruck at how ungenerous even folks I know can be. It’s one aspect of being conservative I didn’t anticipate. Boston people are cheap and stingy. At least that’s my experience so far. I realize this Blague might run counter to the previous entry wherein I sang the praises of all things Boston-Maine. Well not all things. I didn’t actually write that much. There is a quantity of writing I need to feel comfortable before a Blague is complete, and even if I’m just writing about what I’m writing about I enjoy the pure bulk of black letters on white space.

But back to the Boston people. What’s wrong with them? I think they have a bit of a chip on their shoulder because they’re not even Chicago? I don’t know. I love Boston and Cambridge and the whole damn place; and I do find the people nice, but…I remember back to my early twenties when I lived in Boston. I held New Yorkers in a bit of comtempt for being so obvious while being from Boston made me more of a sleeper, classier, less needful of the material things in life or fame and glory. I was demure. Yeah right. That lasted about a year and then I moved to New York where I really did infiltrate, but not too much. I hit many marks but none too hard. I wrote for the Times, I was on Broadway, I traveled as a fashion journalist sitting in on runway shows at a time when it was Naomi and Kristy and Cindy and Kate and Tatiana and Helena and Claudia and all those true supermodels. I produced segments of a TV show. I took acting classes with Uta. I killed it in Improv. I became a “celebrity” booker for events (I set up a d/b/a/ called Ufficio, which means office in Italian and I “specialized” in Italian actors. This was before The Sopranos by many years. I would get people like Christina Ricci, Lorraine Bracco, Vincent Gallo and Michael Imperioli…and Lauren Hutton who doesn’t fit this framework…to host or attend events either for a big fee (I would take half—yes, that’s right Lauren I took the same amount I paid you LOL). I became a feature writer doing celebrity interviews with folks like Helena Bonham Carter and Jean Reno and Peter Greenaway and others. And then I got a book deal and became Quinn Cox and bought a house on Cape Cod.

Best thing I ever did. I still kept my apartment for ten more years in the West Village and occasionally I would be my old self. As him, I continued to write for the Times and the Globe and Stella and I moved to London to co-executive edit Wallpaper magazine, under our given names. And New York caved in around itself. The West Village became a mall of shops on one hand and a wasteland of closed shops on the other. The Meatpacking District which bordered us was filled with stupid people, loud fratty Hoboen types and self-objectifying girls in too-tight too-short dresses with too-high heels, drinking Champagne on the street, throwing bottles into the street, going to stupid clubs and lounged in stupid hotels. The same happened to the East Village only the death has been slower and more severe.

Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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