The Edwardian Days Are Here Again.

Well you may need to sit down for this, but I watched baseball last night. And it was a nail biting slug fest to the last. Seriously, my fingers are just nubs. More on that later. But I understand the real bread and circuses was being televised on an altogether different channel. In the form of a "political" debate between two presidential hopefuls whose names don't even bear mentioning. McCain I'm afraid has this one for no other reason than this country deserves no better, and consistently demonstrates that sad fact in an unashamed fashion. It is helpful to make people feel they're involved I suppose. In the form of scripted televised "debates" on issues which apparently matter to them no less. And for once I don't think I'm being glib. Machiavelli couldn't even dream this shit up. As noble as their pacifying hegemonic totalitarian intentions may have been, however, I think it was slightly in poor taste to televise this "incident" (which some people genuinely feel they have an interest in) during the Yankees game. Just crass.

The Yankees duked it out with the Red Sox to a 15-9 win. And that's where the slug fest part comes in. Derek had a two RBI single, Don't Call Me Whitney Bobby had a two run homo, and RoRo batted his 522nd career homo beating all sorts of records set by less attractive players of yore. Georgie and Jason both scored two run doubles, I mean it was all over the place. And I don't think any of these runs were wasted. The girls needed each and every one of these offensive flourishes to hold back the relentlessly saucy and impertinent Red Sox. I'm certainly not a man's man by any stretch of the imagination, but if ever such a thing existed (and please let me know if you find one) then this was the game for that imaginary person. Epic!


I don't know about you, but I am about fed up and worn out by walking to and fro going about my daily business in a languorous wake of Prada fumes. It happened to me again yesterday, and I had to hold my tongue as well as maintain my gag reflex because this broad obviously thought she was the son and heir and she could scarcely handle any disappointing news to the contrary. Particularly if it came from me. And people call me cruel. No. The best defense is a good offense or something, and it's better to fight fire with something that smells a trifle bit better. Since the monstrous over marketing and cross branding of Comme des Garcons has made me all but lose interest in one of my most ancient and favored brands, I've been forced to look elsewhere for my olfactory delights. Like my bathroom cabinet. Where my favorite fragrances aren't some "series" of some "color" or "concept" wrapped in an altogether ponderous jigsaw puzzle of self-conscious packaging, but rather a simple fragrance from YvesSaintLaurent which admittedly comes in about as ridiculously self-conscious packaging, but that part comes with the territory I fear. Although I haven't tried this L'Homme fragrance yet, this limited edition butt-plug looking bottle envisioned by some French "designer" I'm sure I'm suppose to have heard of really looks kinda nice. It almost looks like poison. Or a pregnancy test!