What about the MEN of Fifth Avenue. I recently saw an ancient, wrinkly looking gentleman. He was a retired Master of the Universe-type, looking like he received his karmic come-uppance all up in his face. He was dressed in a top hat, tux and cape en route to some swishy evening event.
No doubt the cocktails involved the fresh-squeezed blood of Guatemalan virgins or somesuch (Averted Gaze)
Have you people seen the feature in the new issue of FANTASTIC MAN on Dr. Frederick Brandt, the best-dressed plastic surgeon of this fair city? It is fantastic & immediately made me want more pictures of Dr. Brandt. I don't understand why Bret Easton Ellis is on the cover and not him.
In high school, amongst other things, I was on the Debate Team. Also amongst other things, I excelled at it. In fact, I was state champion.
Because of this success, I won many ribbons, and at the bigger tournaments, trophies. Those trophies are still out and about at the old house. Some rusted. Some cracked. Some have faded out. But they're still around, steady on their marble bases with gold leaf clinging to rusting base material.
Sheesh. If you guys are just going to leave this ripe fruit hanging low, I'll make the "Master Debater" joke if I must. (Rod + ripe fruit jokes win, too.) WITH LOVE.
The elderly ladies of the Upper East are freaking insanely marvelous. 90-year-old hunchbacks with hair down to their waist in leopard hot pants and kitten heels! Wizened dowagers with their skirts slit up to the hip bone! Tiny raisin-ladies in 4" stilettos and skirts not even long enough to cover a tampon string, if they needed a tampon, which really they don't.
For many obvious reasons, this is maybe my favorite photo series in the world.
I knew Jackie O. faked her own death!
I thought it was Silvio Berlusconi.
Dummies like me need captions. Reality star names?
Eww. Up by her temple it looks like they sewed turkey skin over hers.
I believe this lady and "the rack that launched a thousand scripts" have a surgeon in common. I see a similarity.
What about the MEN of Fifth Avenue. I recently saw an ancient, wrinkly looking gentleman. He was a retired Master of the Universe-type, looking like he received his karmic come-uppance all up in his face. He was dressed in a top hat, tux and cape en route to some swishy evening event.
No doubt the cocktails involved the fresh-squeezed blood of Guatemalan virgins or somesuch (Averted Gaze)
You should say hi when you pass me by.
Have you people seen the feature in the new issue of FANTASTIC MAN on Dr. Frederick Brandt, the best-dressed plastic surgeon of this fair city? It is fantastic & immediately made me want more pictures of Dr. Brandt. I don't understand why Bret Easton Ellis is on the cover and not him.
*runs to newsstand*
It took them eight years to put out this issue, but it's really good, except for Ellis, who comes off as boring.
I don't understand paying $20 for a magazine with advertising.
In high school, amongst other things, I was on the Debate Team. Also amongst other things, I excelled at it. In fact, I was state champion.
Because of this success, I won many ribbons, and at the bigger tournaments, trophies. Those trophies are still out and about at the old house. Some rusted. Some cracked. Some have faded out. But they're still around, steady on their marble bases with gold leaf clinging to rusting base material.
I love my old trophies.
Sheesh. If you guys are just going to leave this ripe fruit hanging low, I'll make the "Master Debater" joke if I must. (Rod + ripe fruit jokes win, too.) WITH LOVE.
Policy? Lincoln-Douglas? Spill.
"The clouds and the shafts of skyscrapers against them were turning brown, like an old painting in oil, the color of a fading masterpiece."
Ayn Rand was so prescient.
I.Love.This.
Truman C. would be tickled too.
You're giving me that male nurse midlife job change crisis again.
The burlesque pix are scarier.
The elderly ladies of the Upper East are freaking insanely marvelous. 90-year-old hunchbacks with hair down to their waist in leopard hot pants and kitten heels! Wizened dowagers with their skirts slit up to the hip bone! Tiny raisin-ladies in 4" stilettos and skirts not even long enough to cover a tampon string, if they needed a tampon, which really they don't.
I call that length of miniskirt a "clitskimmer."
"…skirts not even long enough to cover a tampon string, if they needed a tampon, which really they don’t."
LOL – sheer poetry.
If you squint a little? They look a tiny bit like the Ladies of Fifth Avenue, Bay Ridge.
The pix of the LES in the 70s are amazing. I can't even imagine a the city as somewhere with businesses that are edgier than the Olive Garden.