I Stepped on Yoko's Toe

It was at a crowded art opening in a small bookstore. She was dressed in black and wearing the signature sunglasses. They function as an optical barricade; it's as if she's within a dark-glassed limousine at all times, even when she isn't. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her work. I wasn't even going to talk about her husband, the second one, who was part of that quartet named after bugs. Instead, I stepped on her toe. Accidentally.

She wore pointy black shoes or boots; I couldn't tell which, because her black pants covered their tops. Read more

Riding in the Car with Kevin Kline

Almost two years ago, when the issue of stem cell research was the new JonBenet before JonBenet 2.0 became the new Iraq, I went to an event to raise money for the cause. Kevin Kline, the main draw of the party, was the featured speaker. Stem cell research was his issue, apparently; he'd been educating audiences about it everywhere he could.

The party, held in a loft in Murray Hill, was fun. Typical Manhattan political fundraiser. Lots of thirtysomethings looking for love and/or new jobs and/or new clients before hitting the next party of the night where they'd be Read more

My Close-up in Patrick Demarchelier's Studio

Until I saw Billy's studio, I never guessed at his highfalutin' connections. But when I exited the service elevator to see a sweeping Chelsea loft, bedecked with blown-up _Zink_ covers and cardboard Cindy Crawfords striding off to some invisible tomorrow, I began to suspect that there was more to Billy than met the eye.

A short, dour Japanese man, Billy led me over to the minibar and opened his portfolio. I immediately lost my head around the folds and swirls of cooters—a veritable Sahara of black-and-white, three-foot-high cunts. I doubt my boyfriend could pick mine out from the pile.
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Janeane Garofalo Ignores Me

I was in a bar in New York about six years ago with several friends who had all traveled with me from San Francisco. We were sending off a buddy of ours who had decided to join the Peace Corps and as a result were terribly drunk, as we had been barhopping for several hours all over town.

One of the gang spotted Janeane Garofalo in a corner, quietly chatting with a friend. My intention, though drunken and sad, was merely to say hello and tell her that I liked her work, etc., etc.

After several warnings from Read more