Live Your Life Leave Your Mark

By: Saint Twenty
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Jean-Michel Basquiat painting at five in the morning. The figure rocking the hat is Maripol (read Serving Looks, Serving Maripol). She remains the style compliment I hold most dear, a huge statement as Anna Wintour herself approved of me (read The Elusive Anna Wintour). I never thought I’d be one degree of separation from Basquiat through multiple people, let alone meet either of the aforementioned women, but here I am living my wildest dreams. All because I did it my way, taking the road less travelled, guided by faith. Just like Jean-Michel. Something as simple as working in different restaurants, over job security keeping me at Blue Smoke for literal years changed everything. Ask yourself is the life you’re living a book worth reading (I live by this)? Are you wasting precious time on autopilot? What mark do you want to leave? Take baby steps to shake shit up. Photographer: Edo Bertoglio/Pop Art Trio

Thank You Chef Alex Harris

By: Saint Twenty
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A prelude to an upcoming restaurant piece, that’s exactly what this is. I want to talk about something positive for a second. Although I’m not a Blue Smoke for life type, because those bonds kept more people stagnant than ambitious or evolving, I’m grateful for this man right here. Chef Alex Harris. Before meeting him I was a kitchen disaster. No one let me cook, because I couldn’t. Once in fifth grade my mom told me to warm milk, I ended up burning her tea kettle. How was I suppose to know? My comprehension didn’t increase with age, it became a trait of mine, getting me kicked out of copious kitchens. Until I met with Alex.

Working at Blue Smoke I only had time to be a server’s assistant, a duty that includes running food. A well oiled machine, Alex hated when I was assigned to a different position. If I were, he’d tell me to run food when I could. My food running skills were it. I’m talking carrying three plates and a side dish, coupled with speed and grace, that made us an indomitable team for the 700 covers that night. Watching Alex Harris work was awe inspiring. I started asking him how to make things, his answers turned a daunting task fun. Alex didn’t demonstrate anything, he simply gave verbal instructions, that’s how fucking good he is.
I couldn’t cook kale, despite having watched my ex-boyfriend hundreds of times. Inedible was an understatement.
“3 to 5 minutes medium heat,” he answered while expediting. Boom, life changed.
Anytime I had a question I’d go to him.
I started to watch what he was doing, asking him why he was doing it. He taught me what brining is.

One of my favorite childhood memories is the smell of home cooked meals, wafting through the hallway afterschool, as I ascend the stairs to our apartment. Wanting my own kids to experience that, I put in the work.

Never let failure define you. Okay you’re bad at something, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. A lesson the people I outgrew seemed to miss, change is the only constant. Never stop evolving, challenging yourself, pushing yourself. Comfort zones are death. Don’t let someone else dictate your limits.
It took some time convincing people to trust me with their palates again, making their surprise and pleasure over something I created ten times more enjoyable. No one doubts me now. I can make a full Thanksgiving meal on my own easy, all thanks to the great Alex Harris. I don’t know if he teaches cooking classes, but he should, without him I’d still be a culinary joke. UPDATE HE DOES EXACTLY THAT WITH EMMA’S TORCH! Via: 1 To 1 Foods

Emma’s Torch: https://www.theguardian.com/voice-of-empowerment/video/2021/nov/17/voice-of-empowerment-chef-alex-of-emmas-torch-teaches-both-cooking-and-compassion

Updated: 4/7/2024 11:38pm

Rest Days Are Necessary

By: Saint Twenty
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As this point I’ve lived both paths. Working until burnout sans rest days always, always, led to a mental breakdown. Full on crying in the back staircase at Blue Smoke once a year, without fail. A co-worker named Julie told me taking care of myself meant rest days too. Otherwise this will keep happening, even the almighty GOD rested when creating the world. A biblical reference that stuck. I’m certainly not doing anything as epic as creating Earth.

From that day forward I started incorporating days of doing nothing. Changed my life for the better. Unplugging is how you keep things working, or fix them.
Being American, you’re programmed to be the consummate worker bee. COVID provided a shift, inclining people towards the European perspective of life. That work to live, not live to work vibe. Life is too short not to live for yourself, don’t work yourself to an early grave. Via: Annalie Howling

RIP Tina Turner

By: Saint Twenty
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Rest in peace Tina Turner, the Queen of rock n roll, a legend, one of the best performers to ever do it. You gave us a lifetime of entertainment, sharing with us the violence and abuse you overcame. Everything you did was signature, hair, voice, moves, style, paired with the sexiest legs in the industry. A fashion icon, a feminist icon, one of the few remaining mega stars. Your biopic was one of the most epic. You along with James Brown taught white Mick Jagger how to dance. You gave so much joy, shaped so many memories with your talent. I’ll never forget that Blue Smoke holiday party, Proud Mary came on and everyone lost their minds. It was lit af, you did that. Thank you, we love you, we miss you, you earned this rest. What did you love about her most? Via: Emil Wilbekin & Capsule98

My History With Terell Ephron AKA Asap Relli

By: Saint Twenty
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Just perplexed. As you know I’ve been working smart not hard, spending two plus years documenting evil Hollywood’s cruelty towards me. Shout out to my nigga Mr. Marino, RIP. In my first legal battle (against Blue Smoke) he taught me paper trail everything. At one point my sister and I spent every day in his law office on the Upper West Side, Marino & Veneziano in elementary school. Mostly we’d sit in the basement watching Full House episodes. My stepdad worked for him in renovations and construction. Other times on shorter visits we’d sit upstairs like clients, listening to the attorneys around us, flipping through dark mahogany binders with large rings, filled with legal jargon. I know those times taught me the UWS over anything else in New York City architecture, to Howard Roark’s chagrin. The Fountainhead protagonist, a hero of mine, would much prefer Hudson Yards, or Via West 57th. I think those days also instilled a love of law, now that I’m writing this. Wow.
His advice changed my life on numerous occasions.

On July 3rd 2021 I wrote on ASAP Rocky’s now archived post regarding knowing mutual people. Naomi Campbell lied on behalf of Genc & Binn Jakupi, my former Miss Lily’s bosses, disseminating false information about myself. Pretending to know me she spread malicious lies that I was a call girl, older than my 33 years, didn’t grow up on the Upper East Side and God knows what else (read Genc Jakupi, Naomi Campbell & Jordan Barrett (2/2) & Karma Alway’s Comes Featuring Miss Lily’s). Terell Ephron aka ASAP Relli, was one of the names I mentioned in my comment above, under my instagram name itsjqboo. He lived in the projects of Yorkville, The Issacs, which my friends and I walked avenues down to hang out in.

Julia Fox wasn’t lying when she said from penthouses to projects, the cool kids hung out with the other cool kids no matter where, in search of endless adventure.

I first met Terell in tenth grade when he came up to us in front of Delizia 92, one of the many pizza places we frequented. He had on circular glasses like Arthur and the most outlandish, superfluously large, and bright orange bubble jacket any of us had ever seen. He handed us a business card with a dime bag stapled to the back, proffering himself as our new drug dealer. He was nerdy af, but nice, as he became more successful his swagger and ridiculousness increased. Long story short he was about fuckery. Like truly the worst drug dealer I’ve ever had to this day. I have flashbacks of him wasting hours, upon hours of our time, waiting as he told countless lies. At first he was great, then he started smoking weed, turning into those melted Truth commercial couch creatures.
“Terell where are you? I’m here.”
“Yo what’s goody? I’m on the corner.”
“No you’re not, because I’m on the corner looking at all four corners and I don’t see you.”
“Hahahaha,” he laughed in his monotonous stoner idiot voice “Ight, I’m coming now.”

30 minutes (to an hour sometimes) later…

After repeating this cycle in a series of phone calls, from multiple people, he finally appears brushing his waves obsessively. He had an unrequited crush on Paulina, my amazonian Polish friend, try as he might she didn’t like him. Until that summer hanging out at Nick’s (the Soho House Killer) penthouse apartment he hooked up with my other friend Lauren, a beautiful black girl. This prompted Paulina to do the same. Terell caused a civil war, all of us siding with Lauren until it was resolved.
“Why did you bleep his bleep?” Lauren asked.
“Honestly, because I was jealous,” Paulina answered.

Wowwwwwwwwwwwwww……what do you even say to that? It was fucked up, but her candor was major. Amends made, Terell and Lauren carried on with him wasting her time and her acting insane. Dickmatizism is a real addiction. Her entire day revolved around this nigga, singing to his window from across the street while we looked on, stalking him and ducking behind cars when we inevitable found him with somebody else, him refusing to commit, pregnancy scares, then the college years her refusing to commit, becoming a lesbian…ENOUGH, ENOUGH!

Like honestly you guys don’t even understand. Just reminiscing I hate them both, but especially him. This is why we made her steal weed from him. Terell is a central figure of my youth, I ran into him last summer.

When Lauren showed us the exclusive Purple Swag video at Barnes & Noble we didn’t believe Asap was a genuine artist, despite Lauren’s pleas, because of Terell. So why Asap Rocky would try to murder him four months after I told him I knew him boggles my fucking mind. Did you do it to disrespect me? To spite me? Because you’re stupid as fuck or something? You’re hanging on by my love of Rihanna. I’m the only divine, you’ve seen my work. I’m wrathful, yet I’ve let many of your antics with Kanye slide because of Rihanna. Whatever you did to him, you better fucking fix it. Murder…? Someone I know? I’ve shown you nothing but kindness. Then for these insolent uneducated street rats to say he’s snitching, because you betrayed him and tried to kill him, shut the fuck up. Are you fucking insane boy? I’ll be posting about Terell and the Soho House Killer tomorrow. Via: Asap Rocky Instagram

Are You A Sensitive Soul?

By: Saint Twenty
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How sensitive am I? I literally didn’t finish the finale episode of last seasons Top Chef, because Dawn didn’t get all the food plated in time…again. I turned it off right then and there, with leafed cornbread stacked on everything except the plates! Heart-wrenching.

Being a sensitive soul in this dog eat dog world is hard, it’s just how I’m programmed. When James Parkinson, a former co-worker use to scream it in my face by the trash bins at Blue Smoke, or the barista station, or the bars we frequented post shift, everywhere really, “God, you’re so sensitive. Geez.” Truly I didn’t understand what he meant, now I do. Are you a sensitive soul or nah? Via: Spiritual_Vibes24

A Reluctant Star

By: Saint Twenty
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Twelve. That’s how old I was when I signed my first autograph. Walking to Blair’s house on a humid summer day for our usual activities, blast classic rock music and peruse her mother’s closet of designer gowns. Never worn, once upon a time we looked at the tags and gasped, now we play a game.
“Oscar De La Renta. Guess how much?”
Always round.
“Four thousand!” I yell.
“Wrong, six!”
We’re competitive.
“Okay my turn. Yves Saint Laurent?”
I watch as she compares houses in her head, both of us too naive to factor in the other variables that dictate value.
“Seven thousand!”
“Wrong, ten!” I gawked. Every week the collection expanded.
“What!” Blair, blond and sure of her estimate, saw for herself. The Doors play filling up gaps of silence.

He tore a piece of looseleaf from a spiral notebook, despite my protest that no I wasn’t a Disney star, or a child star, or a star of any sort.
“You’re going to be famous one day,” I scrawl my government as he insist. “I’m the first person to have your autograph, I’m going to save this, it’s going to be worth lots of money someday.”
Pleased he walks in the opposite direction, towards third, his forest green cap with ear flaps covering his brown curls. He was hispanic and at least 10 years older than me and three inches shorter. What a nut. I went on my way, long limbed and determined to conquer the avenues.

Twelve years later my shift at Blue Smoke ends. Thank the lord. Everyone is gagging, RuPaul is here and the staff is going wild. Unable to find him I make my way out of the Jazz Club. “You look great,” stunned I make eye contact with the legend.
“Thanks,” I reply, secretly wondering if he was on that stuff. I look disgusting, having not changed out of my work clothes post strenuous shift. We walk side by side, it’s familiar and telepathic. Lorelei, dark haired and pale skinned, stops us begging Ru for a photo.
“You come too,” he plucks the shoulder of my leopard print jacket.
“I always love a star.”
Originally in the middle, he rearranges us so he stands only next to me.

Flattered is an understatement, but I’m no star. At least I never wanted to be. Successful, yes, famous, no thanks. All those people in your business, expecting something I wasn’t willing to give. Yet, still it was told to me everywhere. The more I attempted to shrink myself, the more I stood out.

A reluctant star, that’s what I am. Such is my fate. And now it’s time to face it full on, so I’ll use it to better the world. How do you feel about fame? Via: Getty Images