Can I help you?

The Living Room

I was 14, when a friend I was with got caught stealing a double Chicago album in the Willow Oaks Shopping Center just before Christmas. He was older and his father was a famous Air Force Ace as well as Thunderbird pilot. My friend was detained by the store and police were called.

That afternoon the Ace visited my home with his son. I was called downstairs by my father and we all sat in our living room with Danish furniture and a white Flokati rug. My fathers paintings were everywhere. Some were, I like to think, tasteful nudes. I don't think the Ace painted.

He told my father his son was arrested for shoplifting and that I was I with him. My father, who didn't have much use for me at this age, sat on the edge of the sofa and looked my way. "Is that true?" he asked. "Yes." I said, and said nothing more. There was silence and I looked at my friend who was staring at the Flokati rug.

The Ace suggested I was the lookout and that it was probably my idea to steal the Chicago album. My father turned to me and I told him I didn't even like Chicago, that my friend had been stealing anything that wasn't nailed down for as long as I knew him, and that he told me about stuff he stole before he ever met me.

My father, a major, turned to the Ace, a colonel, and said, "There you go." The Ace looked at his son and asked if it was true. The son nodded. The Ace suddenly looked small and dark in our bright living room. He left with his son taking the dark with him. Nothing else was said by my father.

40 years later I still obsess over shoplifting paranoia. If I don't buy something a feeling of dread comes over me. I'll be stopped. Questioned. Accused. By a famous Ace. And then I remember my father... and how bright it was in that living room.

The Hangover Cure

M Magazine 12/1987

Trust me on this one -- Forget everything else. Goes well with grilled lamb and a Cote du Rhone. Key: Emmentaler Swiss. Tom Cat bread. The Del Fuegos, 'I Still Want You.' Destroy a gas station, 'It's a Mad, Mad Mad, Mad World.'

A heart is not enough...

How Not to Drink too Much at a Party

"The way I figure it, the law of averages is on our side..."
Playboy, 1965

Sometime between 8PM and that point when you hear a voice in your head tell you it's time to go... there is everything else. It can be a sober, hail fellow well met, gallant exit with thanks directed to the right people. Or, a slightly buzzed exit with gratitude displayed to the hosts and a little too much hand shaking and kissing on the way out. Not that that's a bad thing...

New Years eve night (1986) and I was on a California king size bed - in Atlantic City Long Branch - with three sorority sisters - watching TV. We were all leaning up against a massive butt ugly headboard when a sorority sister suggested we all have sex.

The night started with beers at the Stoned Stone Pony. Somewhere along the way it turned to gin martinis. Beaver Brown (WS: I don't think that was a Beaver Brown night though, you're conflating that with New Year's 1983) sang about bourbon and a retro order for Whiskey Sours was made (WS: The other option that night was to see Buddy Guy and Junior Wells at the Deckhouse in Asbury Park, which in retrospect we should have done instead). Wally mentioned his girlfriend was having a party for her sorority sisters at her parent's Atlantic City Long Branch condo.

We arrived at the girlfriend's-parent's-condo filled with sorority sisters. I had been ignoring the "GO HOME " voice in my head for at least an hour but this opportunity was too much to pass up. A thick scent of cigarette smoke and hairspray filled a room covered in white shag and pale blue everything else -- a perfect frame for 20 drunk sorority sisters.

Champagne was poured and I made my way to the sliding glass doors of a balcony overlooking the black ocean. I slid the door open and drank cold air like water. My nose hairs froze and sweat quickly iced. Revived, I walked back in and found the parent's bedroom. The TV was on and I sat at the foot of the bed.

Rule 1) Avoid mixing drinks you say? Wrong. Avoid moving around? Good for you. When you get to the party find a place to sit down and stay there. Don't go anywhere unless you need to refill or defill. Moving around, dancing, push up contests...these all get the alcohol soaring through the bloodstream. The less movement the better.

Rule 2) Avoid drinking anything fast. Beer. Soda and anything. Tonic and anything. Champagne. Wine. All bad. Drink hard liquor straight. Cognac, Single Malt Scotch, Bourbon... No ice. Trust me, it'll slow you down and all the wrong sort of women will be impressed.

Rule 3) Arrive late and leave early. This was Trad Dad's advice to me many years ago. Not that I ever took it, and I doubt you'll take mine, but there it is. The strategy is everyone will remember the party didn't get going until you arrived and it went to shit about the time you left.

Rule 4) Do not lie down. Not until you're ready to stay there.

Rule 5) Eat. A lot. Greasy food works well. Popcorn does not. Keep it dense. Beef, chicken wings, fried anything...Eat as much as you can. Someone passes a tray of food around...eat it.

The bed comforter was soft and a shade between Tiffany and Infantry blue. It was marshmallow-ey and calming. I leaned back and laughed at the TV. A girl joined me. Then another and another. A cute brunette with nice hands asked the question and I answered by throwing up on the Tiffany-Infantry marshmallows.

Looking back, I remember seeing them out of the corner of my eye scramble off the bed in film-like slow motion. I could see fear on their faces. I don't remember screaming but Wally told me there was a lot of it. We left quickly. No erudite goodbyes. No hail fellow well met. No exchanging of phone numbers. No that it mattered, but we did obey Rule 3. I never did like that rule.

Update: Corrections and comments noted in RED from Wallace Stroby.

Tomorrow: The Hangover & What Not To Do

Do the Windows

Across from Chelsea Hotel on 23rd Street


Scully & Scully on Park Ave


Somewhere on Park Ave


Scully & Scully on Park Ave


J Press on Madison Ave


Somewhere on Lexington Ave



Somewhere off Park Ave near 59th St


Somewhere on Park Ave


Scully & Scully on Park Ave


J Press on Madison


P.J. Clarke's on 3rd at 55th


J Press on Madison Ave


On 5th...Whatever it is, it's not there anymore


Jay Kos on Park Ave (moved to Mott & Houston)


No idea


Somewhere on 5th Avenue near 54th St


6th Avenue near 45th St


Bergdorf Goodman


Somewhere in the Garment District


Four Seasons Restaurant on 52nd near Park Ave


Club Monaco on 57th St


Bauman Rare Books on Madison Ave near 54th St


H. Herzfeld on 57th St near Park Ave


Somewhere in the Garment District


Somewhere in the West Village


Brooks Brothers on 44th St near Madison


Le Veau d'Or on 59th near Lexington


Phillips Auctions on Park Ave at 57th St


Tad's Steaks on Broadway near 45th St


Kaufman's Army Navy on 42nd near 8th Ave


International Center of Photography, 6th Ave near 43rd St


St John on 5th Avenue at 53rd St


Aquarium Store way the hell over on the west side in the 30s


Petit Bateau on Madison at 82nd St


Myers of Keswick on Hudson near Jane St


Somewhere in the 90s a block west of Central Park


H. Herzfeld on 57th near Park Ave


Staten Island Ferry in Staten Island

Turnbull & Asser's Smoking Smoker

Anachronistic? Without doubt. Expensive? You bet. Mind numbingly beautiful? Depends on who are you. If you're like me... a sucker for out of date, hand crafted attire that most likely will never see the light of day outside your own four walls...then you'll love the smoking jacket. I've written at length about them here.

It makes absolutely no sense in today's world. It's the buggy whip of formal attire but it's also an unmitigated work of art. Last December I took a poll of New York City haberdashers on smoking jacket sales. It's complicated depending on the retailer but know this -- They ain't flying off the shelves.

All the more reason to have one. Trust me...you're not gonna run into anyone wearing a smoking jacket at a black tie Christmas or New Years party. But you'll need some hefty stones to pull it off. I'd say no if you're under 25. Maybe even 35. Why? You'll look silly because you don't deserve it...yet.

I remember entertaining a lady friend in my college dorm room just before Christmas break. Astrud Gilberto was on the Akai reel to reel while she sat on the edge of my bed with her legs crossed watching me pour tonic and gin into a cocktail shaker.

She arched an eyebrow and seconds later I understood why...She wasn't as interested in me as much as she wondered if I'd really shake tonic. I did. She smiled and left. I was all sticky. Good thing I wasn't wearing a Smoking Jacket.

Robe & Pajama Outtakes

Many years ago I was a police cadet directing traffic out of a city park after a July 4th fireworks demonstration. That night I dreamed I was sleeping in my bed on the side of the road by the park. Cars would come and I'd get out of bed, walk to the intersection in my pjs and direct traffic returning to bed only to be forced outta bed by another stream of cars.

This photo shoot was inspired by that dream. I wanted to include a small table with an vintage alarm clock but while the logistics proved daunting - Mark Rykken did not. It is no easy task to stand at 45th & Madison at 2PM dressed like you're going to bed. I owe Mark and Paul Stuart a huge thanks for their cooperation and their enthusiasm.

I am looking for a woman to model a smoking jacket. Long legs and assertiveness are required.