Happy Birthday, Carl

My dear, friend Carl's birthday was coming up and he had the mis-guided notion of escaping the event and flying off to some foreign capital. I cut this advance off in a pincer movement of lightening speed. First I made the calls, but then came the challenge. I detest normal, birthday cakes so I scoured the town to see the options and found this in an old favorite Argentine bakery of mine, "The Tastee Bakery". Baked low and flat, it was called "Pasta Frola, Coconut Membrillo" and was reputed to be "addicting".

No one wanted any, at first; the queens all poo-pooing the idea of it all until I had Ricky cut and present it on plates. It was tenuous at first, but eventually there was a stampede for slices as if they were the last train ticket out of St. Petersburg in 1917.


Suddenly, the first to jump on the bandwagon all had a plate and an rather pleasant smile on their face. Guarded compliments started to drift my way about the choice. I laughed it all off, of course; nothing was too good for Carl. My God, he has taken me on so many outings, opening, and outreaches that I should have invented a cake for that bitch from the start.


Julio was there with his boyfriend, David.

And the triumverate which runs The Wire, Augusto (the art director on the left), Carl (the owner and dilettante on the right, and Thomas the publicist, entertainment writer, but most of all WHORE, in the middle) seemed to be happy with the night.

In the end--you know what? We love Carl.