Good morning, Friday, you freaky little monkey. Here we are, end of another week, and those of of us in Miami are happy to hear that this Emily has now been downgraded to nothing more than a couple of extra hours in bed with a good book (a little rain, not much more). Phew. That's good news. And speaking of news- it's been a wacky week, hasn't it?
The stock market is going all 2008, we took out another one of Ghadaffi's family members (what the hell is up in Libya anyway? Forgot we were still there), and Vanity Fair releases its best dressed list, while Mark Zuckerberg gets the stellar honor of worst dressed in Silicon Valley. Sigh.
But then I'm reading my various zillions of sites last night, and found out the Chelsea Hotel, c'est mort. Now I don't want you to think I am running some sort of New York deathwatch blog here (they already have those), but Lord- another one bites the dust??? As I contemplate going back to the city soon for good, I can't help but shake a little in my motorcycle boots when I hear about all of these hallowed spots going bye bye. The fucking Chelsea, man. Site of more artists, debauchery, and punk rock intrigue than most- Dylans of all sorts (Thomas and Bob), Sid and Nancy, Warhol, Janis Joplin, Herbert Huncke, Mapplethorpe and Patti- the list of famous inhabitants is endless, really. I always used to fantasize about living there, but knew I was not even remotely cool enough to do so. Plus I am afraid of ghosts, but that's not here nor there. Because some epic ghosts roam those halls, and now some big real estate firm bought the place for $80 million, and is most likely going to turn it into some fancy hotel. Sid and Nancy didn't make it, and the Chelsea is having a bit of a tragic end as well, which somehow seems fitting.
Listen, I am all for change, but does everything super cool and dope and authentic in New York have to end up being commodotized? I can't bear it. And what will happen to El Quijote, the Mexican place on the ground floor? I have stumbled out of there quite a few times, and will miss doing so again. I suppose to survive you have to adapt, but man, this one hurts. More than the Mars Bar, more than the Limelight, more than most. Uch. How will New York survive without these cool icons as acknowledgements of its past? By making money, because at the heart of New York, is a big fat pay day. Always. Money makes New York go around, not a dustbin of a hotel with a famous guest list. It's true. To survive, we must thrive. Does France do this to their venerable landmarks? I think not, but they also don't have air conditioning. Just saying. Progress has a price.
Which brings me to Jane Fonda. Yea, I know it's a weird connection. But check it- Ms. Fonda was once a revolutionary with a cool haircut, and now look at her in the September Bazaar. I have always loved Fonda- Barbarella, Barefoot in the Park, Klute, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?- all brilliant films infused by her iconic strong beauty. Just adore me some Jane and yes, this lady has some serious Ted Turner pay day to keep her looking young, but da-amn. If this is what surviving well into advanced age means, sign me up and G-d bless. Good genes or good docs? It's no matter, this woman is quite something, no? To stay alive, we must survive. And vice versa- she looks amazing, doesn't she? And digging the Stella McCartney dress. Hot.
Well that's all Ihave to say really- I have not quite figured out the perfect balance to surviving this world - though I am grateful to my friends, muses, online music channels, coffee, Barrington Levy, and New York to continuing to feed me. If you can't bear the changes, you'll never make it. So I say give pause, pour one out for New York institutions like the Chelsea being finished as we know them, and somehow find the strength to look forward to what they will become. And as for Jane Fonda, I'll have what she's having. She makes survival sexy.
And that's what's up this nothing is forever kind of Friday in the MIA. Look alive. It's tough out there. XO