So by now I’m sure all of you techies know that the new iPhone’s release date was announced yesterday (accompanied by a hefty rise in Apple stock). iPhone 2.0 is slimmer and consists of a phone, mp3 player, camera, and internet, with the cheapest ringing in at $199 (meaning iPhone-spotting will increase 10fold in the coming months). Given the economy’s flaccid state, the unveiling of new (or slightly improved) luxury items seems sillier than usual, and I can’t help but wonder how Apple has escaped the mass corporate taint of Walmart or Microsoft.

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If there’s one thing I’m thankful for on a sticky, sweltering summer day like today, it’s air conditioning–and as I sweat away the weekend watching movies in my muggy apartment with a fan on my lap, I became distinctly aware of this fact. My 15-minute walk up Fordham Rd. in the Bronx to the D train only adds to my appreciation for the cooling contraption. With Fordham Rd.’s mango vendors and blaring reggaeton, it already seems like a tropical island…but especially in this heat. More»

Yesterday, all I ate was sandwiches…You may think that sounds repetitive, a bit lackluster for the palate, but the sandwiches I ate were as different as night and day. Lunch on the job was a hurried, pre-made, cold little thing at CafeMetro, clocking in at over $7. Don’t get me wrong, I admire CafeMetro and the other “deli/luncheonette” type joints, catering to the suit-wearing, blackberry-carrying slew of midtown robots. Though, my sandwich was tasty equipped with the tiniest morsel of avocado (how I love them so!) and turkey (can I even call it turkey? it was more like turkey essence) it lacked the love of a human touch and at that price I feel like I should be full…Which brings me to dinner:

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OK, maybe I stretched the post title a little—this is really about women across the nation. Today’s Daily News prints the results of that earth-shattering study by Meredith Corporation and NBC Universal that women would rather be skinny than worry about cancer. Excuse me while I roll my eyes and say, “No kidding. You needed to interview 3,000 women for that?”

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Yesterday afternoon was pretty rainy so I was watching a bit of the T.V, W.B. syndication no less, and the show My Wife and Kids stuck me. Along with all the situation comedy aspects one can expect, like family interaction problems, battles for space, time, and family love, and an interesting battles of the sexes. I noticed the word “Gay ” being thrown around in a derogatory manner, friendly, but derogatory no less. Like, Q: Is this a good hat? A: That hat is gay. I thought wow, that’s pretty provocative for a national T.V. show. But then I thought about how my friends and I use the word, and I hear the word being thrown around like that a lot.

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Go HERE for more photos from this event from Antwan Duncan

I should have known that THE GUYS who know about absolutely every event and party on this island would be cutting no corners when it was their turns to play host. Actually, only one of them took on the hosting role as Scott rounded up all of his bffs to help him throw Naeem the ultimate birthday party on the top floor of 601 W. 26th street (the Martha Stewart Building) . It was the best birthday party I had been to this year for sure, possible even longer. Not a big shocker either. What else would you expect when half of your guests are the sort of people that make it their jobs to provide the best parties for everyone ELSE in the city. Take the top night life owners and promoters away from their their club posts, the socialites without PMC around, and the hipsters and models free of agents to impress, and you are in for a room of POWER PLAYERS…

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Following Maddy”s observations Wednesday about the slimming of the “Stop” hand on pedestrian crossing lights, as I was reflecting on New York”s obsession with beauty, I had an encounter of my own that was, well, less incisive than Maddy”s revelation and come about by means of eavesdropping. Being a media junkie, while I usually reflect on the news of the day, sometimes I like to bring you what”s behind the scenes. What I overheard was one fashion and beauty writer bragging to another, “Yeah, I didn”t eat for like two weeks. I took Sudafed, which blocks your appetite and speeds up your metabolism. I totally didn”t eat ANYTHING.”

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You may remember, a while ago Dove won over the hearts (and wallets) of American women in droves with the release of their “Real Women” campaign. Dove has always been a strong proponent of exposing the fashion-industrial complex, warts and all, even while they toil and profit in its trenches. Nonetheless, they’ve made a business out of attempting to redefine the public image of the feminine ideal throughout the beauty industry. Many women bought it.

Now, it seems, the make-up is melting off faster than a Murray Hill Pinkberry shop in Mid-July.

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[Busted! Photo via p2pnet]

When I think of pirates, I typically think of a.) Jack Sparrow or b.) the men in the Caribbean that may sway drunkenly from too much rum, but actually do raid boats, kill people and are actually scary. When Attorney General Andrew Cuomo thinks of pirates, he thinks of the sketchy guys holding up camcorders in the movie theater and later selling homemade DVDs out of their giant jackets in the streets. Hence the new “Piracy Protection Act” to protect against movie pirating.

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This past January you may have been bsuy with many not entirely horrible things. Maybe you were shoveling snow. Maybe you were making shrimp gumbo with turnips. Maybe you were plotting the hostile take over of all New York City debt collectors, Fight Club style. Whatever it was, it probably couldn’t compare to the Sundance Film Festival because there’s nothing like sneaking a warm flask of bourbon into a theater while standing ten feet away from Parker Posey during Q&A sessions with uber-serious documentary filmmakers. They use words like “solipsistic” and “resonant” when discussing their “craft” and throw free party schwag into the audience as payment for their rapt attention.

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There are many reasons to love Henri Bendel, and in my opinion, the fragrance section is chief among them. In fact, when I found L’Artisan Perfumeur in a nook on the second floor, I disavowed my allegiance Jo Malone in favor of L’Artisan’s Thé pour un Eté. Well, prepare yourselves for more changes on the fragrance front, as Bendel has recently added Vive le Parfum est Mort to its already impressive repertoire of obscure fragrances. Mort, however, isn’t your typical line of artesian scents – at least, not on the surface. Each blend has its own name that is avant-garde, if not completely raunchy. Similarly, each scent is accompanied by an extremely creative and often erotic description and represented by a picture, many of which feature genitalia in one way or another. My favorite titles are “Magnificent Secretions,” “Hotel Slut,” and “Don’t Get Me Wrong Baby, I Don’t Swallow.” One has to wonder about the line that in this case separates avant-garde and West Village raunch – it’s obviously fine, but is it more the high quality of the blends or simply a bad case of francophilia?

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