@christbollen

Sadly, @janniksin and I will not be playing doubles together at this year’s @usopen but thank you @gucci for affording me the opportunity to meet one of my favorite new players.

Yep. Paragraph to end all paragraphs by Roth.

Next book research

UWS’s version of a casino.

I’m heartbroken about the passing of my friend Eric Boman, who I was so deeply lucky to have gotten to know these past few years, alongside his partner of 51 years, Peter Schlesinger. After meeting at a party in 2019, Eric and I immediately fell into one of the most magical epistolatory email relationships of my life: every other day an email from Eric would arrive, with his velvet wit, hilarious mischievousness, and his great knack for a detailed story of an old-but-not-forgotten social faux pas or a cinematic society tableau. Eric was a natural storyteller and while he was an exceptional photographer (Roxy Music, Vogue, google him) he also could have easily been a brilliant writer. His emails to me include sacred bits of cooking and gardening advice, pointers on flower arrangement and furniture ordeals, random anecdotes he witnessed in New York or descriptions of bike rides he took with Peter in Bellport. His emails to me slowed this past year, and I desperately wrote to him every few weeks, hoping for more more more of his charm and attention. But now flipping through his emails, there is wisdom everywhere. ,I see last year we got on the subject of rings and love. Here is Eric on rings from Peter: “I have lost every ring he’s given me except one. The first one was antique Persian that I took off to wash my hands in Patti d’Arbanville’s London bathroom. Then my wedding band. He ordered them from Tina Chow and they were symbolically ingenious in that she took two rings, one white gold and one yellow, cut them in half and joined the white to the yellow. I have this thing about not liking to wear anything including jewelry in the shower and left it in a hotel bathroom where the maid took it. Peter saintly ordered me its replacement that I swore to never take off. Then I went in the ocean and the cold water shrunk my fingers and it slipped off! At The Pines of all places! But we’ve kept each other which is the only thing that matters!” Rest in peace my dear friend. Photos by Peter

Rushed to the Met to see the Winslow Homer before it closes tomorrow. The best way to spend my first Saturday back in the city. The summer between my junior and senior year at college, I interned at the Met and so often visited the Homers on a work break. His light and weather are like no other.

Goodbye Paris/Give me a break, JFK

My review of a great neo-noir novel in today’s @nytbooks

Last flowers for paris. dahlias. Au revoir to the flower stands

Lost the cover, loved the novel. A very sad reflection on the prospects of growing old alone. And yet encrusted all over with brilliant observations about Florida and porn shops and hoarding tendencies and nursing homes. Andrew Holleran’s latest The Kingdom of Sand in the sand (sorry)

There are no colors like these colors. No worlds like this world.