The Terror Stalkers Went Public.

An entire weekend fighting the urge to slap whoever wished me a "Happy Easter". Shops that were closed yesterday for reasons that altogether escaped me. 87 effing degrees outside in the middle of March. And far far more calico than I find reasonably appropriate or even bearable.

And if that weren't enough I have a serious bone to pick with these "new-parents" who seem to think that the general public should take just as much of an interest in their offspring as they do. I was trying to walk down the stairs to the train platform yesterday. This was only after waiting a ponderous amount of time while the "new parent" in her flowing calico indulged her infant's desire to press every single button on the kiosk. Utterly oblivious to the mounting line behind her. Descending the stairs to the platform took far too much time because the flowing skirted nit had to let her child negotiate every stair while a short celebration commemorated the reaching of each individual stair. This continued all the way down the staircase while their party huddled around the barely sentient creature preventing anyone from getting on the platform. The "new mother" had a sickeningly serene look on her face as if what we are all so privileged to behold is the miracle of life itself. I was not impressed with this tedious celebration of barely functional motor skills, and I really wanted to tell the oblivious cow to pick up her fucking rat toothed kid, carry it down the god damned stairs, and get the hell out of every one else's way. I was good though, and I let the "new parents" have their moment of utterly inconveniencing everyone in the train station. I imagine the "new parents" sense that they are the center of the universe may never in fact diminish. After accomplishing a task (popping one out) that I understand happens quite naturally all up and down the animal kingdom, one apparently can't help but feel a sense of unparalleled accomplishment and self satisfaction. Bloody rabbits.


I've always found something truly uninspiring and yawn inducing about Tim Hamilton and his brand of drab neo-WASP accoutrements he foists on a label starved public that know full well where to find their local Old Navy. Endless permutations on the button-up shirt, allusions to afternoons on Martha's Vineyard, weekends on the boat, a nice chukka of polo. Throw in something that looks an awful lot like Helmut Lang's iconic 90's Jeans label and you have one of the lamest things I've seen in a while. Looking at this picture actually took my breath away. The folks over at Blackbird obviously thought enough of this deja view to orchestrate an elaborate photo shoot. Nice pictures. Douche designer.


Martin Lamothe shirt for those who think they can pull it off. I'm not bragging or anything. I'm not about to add the leggings into the mix. But I'm in love with the colors, and as unlikely as this sounds, it isn't another button up shirt with seemingly useless "details". [Welcome Hunters]