Good afternoon, Tuesday. Today is gorgeous in that I want to walk from one edge of Manhattan to the other and back again kind of way. Lookin' good 212, lookin' really good.
I'm sure you're expecting a post about last night's CFDAs- yea there were some major looks happening, and though many felt Nicole Richie looked skeletal, she stole the show for me in that gorgeous gold drink of water by Marc Jacobs, nodding not so subtly to that minimal Kate Moss 90s moment that is etched in my brain for a lifetime. Well done, Nicole. Now go have a slice or something. Other than that, lots of looks from Suno that I was hearting on, and Elizabeth Olsen in the Row was lovely, though not sure what's going on with all the fake tans. It's only a week into Memorial Day, yet everyone looks positively St. Tropezed. Not good. Oh, and Linda Evangelista- this is not the 80s- what's with the greed is good De La Renta and dowager face? Non. But Stella Tennant in Altuzurra? Yes, please. Cut my hair NOW. And in the when fashion attacks moment of the night, Brad Goreski in a plaid explosion I'm certain is Thom Browne ( an award recipient last night) reminiscent of Navin Johnson in "The Jerk" and a bit of Caddyshack as well. Yikes. On second thought...
OK so that's my round up because as I took the train in this morning and pondered how the hell J. Crew has the nerve to park itself on my corner of the universe in Brooklyn (more on that tomorrow perhaps), I overheard (as did everyone in my car on the A train) an amazing story that makes one say, "Only in New York".
So this guy gets into the subway with leg braces on both legs and crutches. Another guy sitting in a seat spies him struggling into the train and offers his seat- but this guy has a cane and appears to be missing some vital body parts (more on that in a minute).
"Do you want to sit?" said the man in the seat wearing an all white African style ensemble.
"No, thank you", said the guy with the double braced legs in pleated shorts and a baseball hat, "you look to be in worse shape than I am".
Well that opened the floodgates. The seated man, after praising G-d for a while, told the standing guy that he had been hit by a limousine, but not just ANY limousine, but Regis and Kelly's limousine. (A collective eyebrow was raised in the car as we all internally said, "go on"). David, who was on the train with me, was carrying Khan in his bag, whose eyes were as big as saucers- this story is about to get good, he thought to himself. Go on, he said. Please, go on.
The story continues that our friend who got hit by morning show celebrities collected a very nice settlement, but went through a coma and the removal of his ribs (he only has a breastplate now, no ribs, NO RIBS). Turns out our standing friend is from West Virginia, where homes are cheap and where sitting big settlement guy has a sister. Small world, we all thought as we hung on every word. Small world.
Our rich seated friend said he still has a big "chunk of money" even though he had already bought his mother a house, his brother a tractor trailer, and paid for his niece's grad school. (G-d is good indeed). He's "only" spent $800K of his settlement so far and he's not sure what to do with the rest of it- I swear he shouted that part extra loud.
Give me some, we all thought as we pondered life without another subway commute. After all, I'd like a tractor trailer to call my own. (Khan was thinking that, nobody else was- the humans on the train just wanted the cash).
And if you're wondering what we all were wondering- where's the gift for himself already, what on Earth did he get for himself for crying out loud? The standing guy said he now needed to buy himself something after being so good to everyone else, do for you and such...fear not.
Our Regis and Kelly enhanced friend is going to buy a car, a nice car, a big car, right when he finishes physical therapy. And as the train lurched (it really does lurch these days) into Chambers Street station, the two disabled gentlemen bid their "adieus" and that was the end of subway story time, and we all went back to our IPhones and IPads and Kindles and Nooks and stares into space wondering what it all means. All I know is that only in New York are you regaled with such tales as you're trying to figure out if you should stop at Starbucks on the way in to work or get it once you're settled there. I recently heard somebody say that sitting on the subway in NYC is a great equalizing moment- not just because we are all trapped underground but because for ten minutes or twenty minutes or however long it takes to get where you're going, your sense of self disappears and you're no longer angling for a bonus, trying to make everyone like you, or looking in Barney's window wondering why you are the only person in your office who doesn't own Louboutins. You're selfless on the train in many ways, and it's for that reason that other people talking becomes that much more intriguing. I am endlessly fascinated by people's stories and there are no better storytellers than right here in this city teeming with great tales to be told, and even the sad ones sometimes have a happy ending. Cause that's what's up this talky Tuesday in the 212. Here's to chatter filled commutes and kindred spirits. We're all a bunch of freaks and survivors and raconteurs right here in NYC. Where else could you have so much to listen to, or better yet, so much to say? XO
(Above Illustration by Sophie Blackall for the MTA Arts for Transit program)