You See What Your Knowledge Tells You What You Are Seeing.

*Picture of David Wright mulling over the fact that he is not now, has not been, and will never be the next Derek Jeter by David Henry


You know. There are days that I just throw on whatever is available and I really don't even think about it. The consequence is that I leave my home looking like the biggest mo you have ever... This morning was a day of skin tight denim, even tighter bright red Dior tee shirt, some little mesh of a thing pulled over that paired with Reebok Ballistics and a Raf Simons cuff. With my ass crack in full display every time I bent down to check myself. I'm really surprised that I don't get gay bashed more often really. Cuz' by the way those vatos were looking at me this morning they certainly had a mind to. Or they may have had a mind for something else who knows. Maybe the fact that I'm twice the size of most Guatemalans and am an all out nightmare when I take a notion to start swingin' my purse explains how I've escaped so many beatings and subsequent gang rapings. Whatever it is I just count my blessings.

So ho hum, I guess you probably heard that baseball is over. The Yankees are obviously in the post season. But how bout them Mets? I mean Jesus. Could you possibly blow anything bigger than that. Please don't say it. I mean yeah there was the 3-0 series lead against Boston in 2004, but this just kinda puts that in another perspective. Mets fans everywhere are left trying to make sense of their tattered existence and one of them should be heading into the office around a half past noon, and I just don't know what to say to the poor fool. I think Morrissey put it best when he penned that song, oh what's it called, oh yes I remember, You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby...

Compadre actually dragged, no he didn't ask, he dragged my ass kicking and screaming the whole way to the Hollywood Italian festival yesterday. And it was as goombah as goombah gets. I've never seen so many fake Chanel sunglasses concentrated in a single place. I did see a couple of the prettiest boys God ever considered creating and only one of them had his shirt buttoned down to his navel. I got a big kick out of the petting zoo, and I made friends with a goat and promised him I would never ever eat goat cheese again. His name was Martin. But all in all it was a tad underwhelming. I mean over 3000 years of history and culture reduced to pizza, calzones, Dean Martin, Peroni, some broke-ass whirley-gig and fucking gypsies. Compadre didn't have to drag me kicking and screaming back to his place, but he did score a fresh TuPac vanity picture from one of the wandering gypsies. I'm sure he's going to hang it over his bed and kiss it before he goes to sleep every night.

Before I leave you I just have to mention that I'm really not into the shit you see above. It's from some Brooklyn (I know I've had enough of them to) "artist" that fashions "jewelery" out of crap and then charges a shit load for it. It's called Black Sheep and Prodigal Sons and it is the fuggest of all get out. But what really rankles my chains is that he purports to use "post ban ivory" in his "pieces". I mean can you believe that trifle ass shit? If you're going to glamorize the wearing of animal product, and thereby perpetuate the anthropocentric notion that they're there for us to consume, then please don't try to justify it with words like "post-ban". He might be able to get away with it if it weren't so hideous and more expensive than anything you can get at YSL Rive Gauche. I'll never wear this shit, and like goat cheese I'll never shop at a store that sells it. We hates it. Tricksy! False! And did we mention tacky.