Harry Chong

You Are What You Spray

 Arrogant by Davidoff.....Unleash your inner asshole. 

Google a Gyno?

Looks like Google has become the new gynecologist.  Just type "is it normal" to see the most frequently asked questions.

Talk About Men at Work

One of these things is not like the other....Hmmm, I see construction equipment, traffic cones, parking meter, scaffolding, mannequin head----MANNEQUIN HEAD???!!! Just another wonderful Saturday stroll in my NYC neighborhood. I guess they didn't want the machinery to get lonely over the weekend. That, or they have some freaky Weird Science fantasy. Our tax dollars at work, my friends.

The Homeless Horseman

I will preface this story by assuming everyone knows what the Central Park horse-driven carriages look like. You know, picturesque early 1900's looking chariots driven by inauthentic men in top hats living out some childhood rodeo or Kentucky Derby fantasy gone awry. These horse move at a snail's pace and basically look like some of the most miserable creatures on earth. And so begins my story....

I was on my way home from HK at 39th and 9th Ave; standing on the corner with my best friend and his sister visiting from the Michigan, trying to keep warm and hail a cab. From afar we hear the faint sound of clomping horses. Now this was all very confusing since a)we are no where near nature b)Central Park is a solid 20 blocks north of where we are c)the horses are kept on the far Upper West Side at night and it was about 2am.

As the sound grew louder and louder we look up 9th Ave. to find a man standing at the helm of one of these carriages with the horse GALLOPING down the street. The driver was definitely not one of the lethargic horsemen of norm, but seemed to be a homeless man who had hijacked the horse and buggy. He made a sharp right on 39th Street almost taking out my friend's sister all the while screaming, "GET OUTTA MY WAY YOU PERVERTS!!" And then he rode off into the night never to be seen again.

Tranny - No Match

Ok, so no match with the case of the bi-coastal trannies. I received a picture of my friend's brother's friend's tranny girlfriend who we thought was the same person as my friend, Hot Tranny. Turns out there are many more exotic lady-boys out there than you think. Guys, next time you sidle up to that cutie at the bar....that girl who looks extremely hot but has obviously had a lot of work done....think twice before you get too close. She may be packing a surprise you never imagined in your wildest dreams.

Tranny Update

One of my most randomly met friends ever (I will post the amazing story TBD) was in town last night, and we went to La Focaccia for dinner on W 4th. On our walk down we were catching up since we had not seen each other in about a year, and of course he asked me to tell him crazy stories of what was going on with me. Of course I proceeded to tell him the craziest story of all, the Tranny Party Epic. He was amazed at this story (especially how we caught our married friend) and went on to tell his own tranny story....I guess everyone has a tranny story. Turns out his brother's uber-preppy friend is dating a tranny porn star. When I mentioned what my tranny friend's name was he immediately gave me a strange look, "that is what his girlfriend's name is" he said. STRANGE. So I proceeded to ramble off a number of defining characteristics such as where she lives, what she looks like, etc, and they all checked out. I would absolutely love it if my tranny friend was dating his brother's friend. What a coincidence. CRAZY. I immediately emailed him pictures this morning to get a visual confirmation. I WILL KEEP YOU POSTED!!!

Tranny Party - An Epic Tale

I have said it before, and I will say it again: there is something for everybody in NYC. Here is the background: one of my best gays use to have a tranny as a roommate. For those of you not in the know, a tranny is not a cross-dresser but one who has really kicked it up a notch and has opted for plastic surgery and may or may not have had a sex change. So, my friend's old roommate (we will call her Hot Tranny from here on out) was hosting this tranny party at the seediest bar I have ever been to at 31st and Madison. A group of 5 of us (3 gays 2 straights) really had no idea what to expect and thought at a minimum it would be good for a few laughs, some free drinks, and we could at least say hi to Hot Tranny who is fierce and fabulous in her silicone infused glory.

We showed up around 11:30 (before Hot Tranny) and had to entertain ourselves for about 15 minutes before we were allowed in the back VIP section. Along the perimeter of the room was a line of the most awkward looking, unattractive men I have ever seen. The weirdos come out of the woodwork for events like this, I guess. The one thing I thought very strange was that these guys were straight. Now, I pride myself in running with a pack of extremely attractive gay men and none of the bystanders even gave them a glance. They were mesmerized by the she-males.

All the sudden Hot Tranny emerged and we were whisked back to the VIP room where $3 bottles of Andre champagne were popped and Grey Goose bottles filled with Svedka were unleashed. While we were observing the spectacle that is Hot Tranny work the room, the VIP area slowly started to fill with guys who had paid $150 a ticket to be graced with her presence. When I say VIP room I am sure you think of Marquee or Bungalow...a special jewel of a room; a den of iniquity and inebriation for the chosen few. This VIP room mirrored one you might find in Eastern Europe with oscillating floor fans bolted to the ceilings, exposed wiring, duct tape mended Ikea couches, and a plywood riser for the 'ladies' to dance on. While Hot Tranny was easily the queen of the party, the other trannies looked like men with fake boobs (not hot). Although, one actually looked a little like Salma Hayek and there was another who mirrored a 1980's Annie Lenoxx. As it turns out the trannies were not there to be gawked at like creatures in the zoo, but to line up their tricks for the night and meet with their 'clients'. I use the term clients very loosely as these ladies were obviously not doing any type of taxes, interior design, or practicing law.

After cheap vodka and even cheaper champagne it was time to make a trip to the girls room.....or what actually was the tranny staging area. The women's bathroom was teeming with trannies in various stages of makeup and undress. The bathroom attendant quickly ushered them out (as there were no doors on the stalls, and they are in fact guys) so we could pee. My roommate and I were given our 5-square ration of toilet paper from the attendant then finally were able to have a brief reprieve from the scene outside the bolted door.

Back in the VIP room, the trannies danced on the box, flirted with gross guys, but my roommate and I noticed a quite handsome man enter the VIP area. Well dressed, straight looking, very attractive, and a little familiar......Hot Tranny went over immediately and started to talk him up. My friend Todd looks up and goes "OH MY GOD THAT IS HAROLD*!!!"(name has been changed to protect the guilty) Todd and I had met Harold* at a few high society house parties a while back, and while there was always an aire of questionable sexuality from him, he was in fact married to a woman (although we know that doesn't mean a damn thing). After Hot Tranny was done chatting we called her over and began the interrogation to make sure it was the same guy. Turns out it WAS this guy Harold, and he is in fact one of Hot Tranny's 'clients'. O-M-G what does one do with information like this???? His poor wife! I can not even imagine finding out that your husband is cheating on you with a chick who has a penis. I can't! Harold noticed us dying in the corner and quickly houdini'd out of the place. Todd texted him later to ask what he was up to, and he promptly replied that he was having dinner at Pastis...ya if by Pastis you mean cheating on your wife with a tranny, then I guess so. Can you imagine showing up somewhere like that in a very compromising environment where you think you will never be discovered....only to find two people who know you.

After that things were getting a little out of hand....lap dances, really mannish trannies, etc. so it was definitely time to jet. The gays and straights alike in our group were all a little fazed by the Harold incident, and it was time to get outta there. Oh kids, just another night in New York City. As I always say....I just can't make this stuff up.

You know it's Gay Pride in NYC when.....2

Someone got a good workout before the Pride parade on Sunday! Maybe this is Lance Armstrong's gay brother....Actually, I think he is the long lost twin of the famed silver leggings man at my holiday party. He should probably buy stock in American Apparel now.

You know it's Gay Pride in NYC when.....

You know it's Gay Pride in NYC when your waiter at brunch is wearing a rainbow weenie wrapper. This has to be a health code violation.

Man Down! Man Down!

You know how when you first got your driver's license, your mother told you that "you are never in too much of a hurry to get into an accident". Well, today I discovered that the same goes for being a pedestrian.

As any normal New Yorker, I wait for light to change half way in the middle of the street, I cross against the red hand if I feel I can safely make it in time, and going to a cross walk is sometimes really out of my way. Well, this morning I was making a mad dash to the train way far uptown (it is no secret in this city that some neighborhoods get much more love than others...just compare Park Avenue to, let's say 225th Street). I am usually quite quick and lithe when crossing, and as a bonus I was wearing flats today. Well, I was watching the traffic instead of where I was stepping and planted my foot right on the side of a pot hole. Man Down! Man Down! Terror, adrenaline, and embarrassment suddenly overtook my entire body. All I could think of was the bus and car coming towards me and I don't think I have ever scrambled so fast in my life to get out of that intersection.

It scared the shit out of me more than anything else, and thank God I escaped relatively unscathed. I did, however, tear my favorite jeans at the knee, my foot hurts, and I could possibly still have a little bit of Broadway stuck in my hand. The train I almost died over ended up being late, the raspberries I brought for breakfast are more on the pureed side, and I had to continue onto the train with people I see every day with a very bruised ego. I am lucky....it could have been so much worse. You gotta learn your lessons, then make lemonade out of the lemons: There will always be another train, and now I get to make cute cut-off bermudas.

The Puerto Ricans are Coming!

The Puerto Ricans are coming! The Puerto Ricans are coming! Just as Paul Revere warned Bostonians of the forthcoming British, I am warning New Yorkers that today is the Puerto Rican Day Parade. That's right...the annual Manhattan infiltration of wildly patriotic, raucous causing, and incredibly ghetto Puerto Ricans. I will try to snap some paparazzi shots of the worst offenders. Basically, you couldn't pay me to go above 14th Street today. So....run thee to Whole Foods immediately and stock up on bottled water, canned goods, candles, and flashlight batteries. It is time to hunker down and wait till the storm returns to the Bronx, Brooklyn, and Queens.

Gramercy Park - The Gate Was Open!

Two mornings ago I was out power-walking like a soccer mom taking my usual loop down Broadway to Union Square, east on 14th street, and up Irving Place. While I was walking around Gramercy Park, I noticed the gate was open. Eureka! For those of you who don't know, Gramercy Park is a bastion of Manhattan snobbery. This is a park only available to those who are residents of the buildings on the perimeter streets or staying at the Gramercy Park Hotel. Those lucky few have keys to the gate; otherwise, plebeians not allowed inside.

Anyways, I decided that this was my chance to see the park up close and personal, so I took a lap around the meticulously landscaped gravel path. I was glowing in all my glory having outsmarted the grounds keepers who left the gate ajar and enjoying a truly beautiful May morning. As I rounded the corner and headed to exit I noticed my gate that was once open is now shut. Not a big deal right, as all things, it should open with no problem when you are on the inside. WRONG! The gate was totally locked. I am a prisoner in Gramercy Park! You need a key to enter and exit....does the fire marshall know about this? After a moment of panic and imagining the embarrassment of asking one of the other ladies to let me out I saw a groundskeeper sweeping the street. I called to him to come open the door. I was then reprimanded by a man who prunes bushes and picks up trash for a living for entering the "private park". Oh no he diiiiiiiiiiint. I was sure to let him know that it was probably his fault the gate was open, and not really my problem if I went inside because of his mistake. Whatever. I then went on my merry way back up to Chelsea, loving the fact that I sneaked into the most excluse park in NYC.

This article on Gawker about the rediculousness of Gramercy Park is HILARIOUS

Calvin Klein is Shit

There was definitely a pungent aroma wafting from the corner of 60th and Madison last night. Is Calvin Klein trying to tell us something about the design of the house's bags and shoes? I recommend the visual designer is fired on the spot for such a "shitty" window display. When I think of things people shit on, I definitely think of Calvin Klein.

Tubism: Cars = Utter Ridiculousness

I am a huge supporter of the arts and personal expression, but this is just ridiculous. While spending a glorious Sunday doing what I love best: strolling and observing the wild ride that is NYC, I happened upon two cars parked in Union Square with giant white tubing entwined in and around the vehicles. Of course, I had to take a picture. A fellow observer had a card that explained the "happening".

What If?
Tubisms: Cars - A Surreal Street Spectacle by Kathryne Hall (complete with NYC summer tour dates and other info)

Um, what if what? What if the Home Depot on 23rd street transformed itself into a Godzilla-like creature and reeked havoc on NYC autos, engulfing them in a knot of air conditioner duct tubing? What if NYC decided to use tubing as the new "boot" to embarrass parking ticket delinquents? I could go on, really. Also, I find it hard to describe a "surreal street spectacle" as something that people point and laugh at. Possibly a spectacle, yes, but I think this claim is a little over the top. I also don't think this would be considered 'surreal' by any art critic's discerning eye: think of Dali, Man Ray, Miro and their peers....tubes and cars are not quite fitting in this genre.

There will be an NYC summer tour of this traveling outdoor installation, so have fave fun! And please, by all means check the website for tour dates, updates and exact locations.

What If? Tubism: Cars by Kathryn Hall

Attempted Vehicular Manslaughter...or was it

My friend Stu sent me an email about this, and it was way too good not to post. Only in NY kids, only in NY.

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS A TRUE STORY. ALL OF IT. So this morning was a little different to say the least. I'm sleeping down at Emi's place on Fordham Road in the Bronx when I'm blown awake at 4am by the sound of my car alarm. In what seemed like one full motion, I jump out of bed, over Emily, and run out to the balcony that overlooks Southern Boulevard. I see my BMW, lights flashing, car alarm sounding off and nobody around. I quickly glance around for a suspect on the empty street and just as I'm about to head back in and slowly make my way down to check things out...I see a dark hooded figure emerge from the shadows behind the van next to my car and take off on a bicycle! I'm PISSED. I don't even need to think...I grab my keys, throw on a pair of shorts and fly down the stairs, blowing through the front door. I run across the street and jump in my car. I unlock the Club on my steering wheel annnd that's when I see that the passenger window is smashed to pieces all over my car. OH NOOO he DIDN'T. I turn the car on, pull a U'ey and head east-bound at about 60mph on Southern Bld. I see the jerk on his bicycle trying to get away and think to myself "I can't chase him on foot cause even if I catch him, he might have a weapon...sooo I'm gonna run him down and hit him with my car, THEN get out and hold him till the cops come." Welll the cops came alright! I hit a red light on my pursuit of the villain and decided to run it in order to better my chances of a solid catch...apparently at that exact moment I didn't see the squad car come ripping around the corner about a block away and catch up to me, trying to pull me over...I pulled over and flagged him down yelled to him that the guy on the bike was getting away and he just broke into my car. The officer bought the story and called for backup...within seconds 3 cars came around the corner and and officer tackled the guy and put him against the car, emptying his pockets...annnd there were my sunglasses! Yeah, HE went to jail. Now I have to go press charges today instead of going to jail for attempted vehicular manslaughter...I suppose I'll cope ;) Emily slept through the whole thing. As for my Beamer...she has 1 broken window and he tried to tear out the center console to get my DVD player he found covered up my my sweatshirt (guess that didn't work). he office told me he had pulled me over for speeding, running a red light, and driving with my headlights off...guess I was too amped to remember that minor night-time driving safety detail :/

Trapped in the Elevator!

Last night I was yapping with my dad on the phone and heading to grab ice cream with my friend James (our never ending quest to make Mondays less gloomy). I live on the 5th floor of my building, and I have to admit that while the elevator has been fairly consistent it has had its burbles now and then. To make things more complicated, the freight elevator I normally use (closer to my door) was being painted so it was out of commission. So, I step into the elevator, press the first floor button, and begin my descent. 5-4-3-2-GUH GUH. I quickly got off the phone with my dad, took a deep breath, and did what any rational human would do: I pressed all the buttons (none of which lit up) and jumped around a bit (maybe there was a jam or the doors would open or something). When these futile attempts didn't work I called 911 and gave them the story. FDNY on their way. I also used the emergency phone in the elevator with minimal response on the other end....no sense of urgency whatsoever.

So, over the next 60 minutes I had to entertain myself with text messages, reading a brochure from my visit to The Cloisters this past weekend, and luckily I had my digital camera. I am intrinsically a very calm person, so I didn't freak out or begin to contemplate life or anything; Just chilled out best I could and let the professional saviors do their thing. Finally, at minute 59 the doors were pried open by the hottest bunch of fire fighters I have ever seen. Men in uniform were never really my thing...I am much more into guys wearing suits or really nice jeans....but these dudes were hot. First thing they said when they saw me in the vator was, "Aw man, she's cute." Then when I proceeded to hoist myself out of the 2.5' space (like getting out of a swimming pool) at the top of the elevator they go, "and she's athletic too!". Needless to say, the elevator got stuck between floor 1 and 2, outside my apartment were 1 fire engine, 1 ambulance, and 1 police car all with lights flashing, and a hallway full of hot, young firemen...I think they send the rookies to rescue damsels in distress. I would say I had a pretty eventful Monday evening. After I thanked my guys I went down the street to meet my friend and ate almost a pint of Hagen Daaz. I deserved it! I have said it before, and I will say it again....I just can't make this stuff up.

The Subway Stalker...just tryin to make a buck

I was recently on the subway; traveling to work one morning in my usual AM haze. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a fellow sitting a few feet away from me. He was definitely not on his way to work: somewhere in between stinky bum sleeping across the entire row of seats and weird guy on his way to his job as a professional swindler selling snake oil. I saw him look at me for a few seconds...look down....look at me a few seconds...look down... This went on for a few minutes. Since everyone is trained not to look weirdness in the eye for fear it will channel its energy upon you (especially in a moving subway car where you are trapped until the next stop) I held out as long as possible. However, when someone is noticeably staring at you, one wonders if there is a rogue booger, bug, or the like on one's face. I looked at the man and noticed that he was drawing my profile. Definitely no Renoir, but more on par with a high school art student with high aspirations. He asked which stop I was getting off, and I immediately said the next stop regardless of having to wait for the next train to get to my final destination. I was not going to spend another half hour waiting for Rembrant to finish his charcoal sketch. As I exited the subway he handed me my portrait and let me know that donations would be appreciated. Well, considering this is the artistic equivalent of getting ambushed by squeegee men while in your car (and I only had a $20 bill) he remained empty handed and one piece of paper lighter. Flattering, yet intensely creepy.

Fountain

This didn't happen on the subway exactly, but I really have no idea where else to post it. Haha. St. Patty's day is pretty wild in NYC, but I never knew to what extremes people took it. It turns into an entire weekend affair, as I learned last night around 8:30pm while I was walking up 6th Ave to go to dinner. There, in what I can only describe as an act of drunken desperation, I saw a grown woman pull her pants down and squat over a sewer drain at the corner of 48th and 6th. No, she didn't go hide in an alley or doorway to do her dastardly deed, but in the street right off the curb for all to see. As the steam billowed from the vent one could make out a stream of pee coming from the squatting lady's crotch. I even think I caught a glimpse of toilet paper stuck on her butt. I will forever be traumatized by this site, and hope to God I am never in that situation. On the bright side, at least she had the courtesy to pee over the drain. Gross.

Don't make Plan B your plan B...or C for that matter

OMG I wish I would have seen this in person......thanks Gawker! Hillarious.

'Morning After' crisis in West Village