I Think What You Don't Know Wins.

America's Got Talent... I'm not being sarcastic for once I'm being both descriptive and vague. That I think is what was to blame for the Starbucks clusterfuck & the seven year old with Gucci boots and ill-bred mother of last week. Auditions I heard. Read below. A show from Britain like American Idol recently washed up on our shores. They don't seem to be willing to let that whole "Let's export McDonalds to the world and see how they like it" bit rest do they? We deserve everything heavy, oblong and televised they can hurl at us.

Well, this means that it might be safe to troddle in there this morning. I will try since I'm feeling a bit sleepy and I have to be in the office in t-minus oh fuck. They are filming car commercials (ugly Nissan hatchback) downtown like they always do, but that is never a worry. Just some industry trash in Euro rags.

Oh speaking of Euro rags. Things seems to be progressing comfortably with my barber. The hot one. Yeah. He remembers everything about me. Asks me about Seattle. If I'm ever going back and when I say never he says good. Asks me even more questions which could either be described as bi-curious or impertinent. I can never keep the two straight. Hmm. So, back to the Euro rags, I've decided to rock my most vintage Raf Simons to go with my new Hedi Slimane fade. Sounds good I know. Something borrowed and blue? But it's also slouchy and comfy and pomo and working on a Sunday is such a tiresome bore. Luckily I have some rugby action (Sale Sharks vs. someone Bennie doesn't play for) to keep me not so.

Then a grocery shopping death match I can hardly resist. No Halloween festivities for me this year. But still lots of candy!

I Would Have Thought You Were Invisible.

The Gas Company Cafeteria used to be one of my favorite joints for lunch. Used to. All the salad you can fit into these plastic carry-alls for 6.49. Yeah I said all the salad you can fit. Makes Subway look like a haven for demented profligates. So I skipped over there yesterday to grab some salad. Must have been 2:00 on the dot and when I went to scoop some greens into my plastic carry-all I noticed there were no tongs. Then I noticed this overfed lady packing up all the merch. Whoa, I said. Are you packing up? And she just stared at me for a while with this appalling expression and I stared back in bewilderment until finally she said, rather rudely, "Yeah".

I was peckish, and unnerved so forgetting my unflappability for a moment I just dropped my plastic carry-all in the middle of the floor and said "Oh no." I started to walk away and she told me there were some hot salads left. By hot salads she meant some greens with purpleish roast beef piled onto it. I just shook my head and said no thank you. I was about to pick up what I had dropped, but then I thought no, if you want to close at some weird hour in the middle of the day some of us like to call lunch that is all sorts of your business, but when asked a simple question do not for a second entertain the thought of looking at me like you be some kind of constipated farm animal. Just don't. And now pick it up! I'm going to La Salsa bitch.
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The Hells Angels are suing Alexander McQueen on the grounds that they would like a little publicity. Not sure when the courts became a PR conduit, but I see that they have.

Science Fiction Tastes Better This Way.

I've apparently been toiling away at backward land. Like flatland but with all the perceptible dimensions and such but where people nonetheless (some people) try to make 2+2 = a magenta jumpsuit paired with a shocking ability to annoy and discombobulate in the same breath. I worked on one assignment all day yesterday (And I generally wrap up the Saturday NYT crossword in about an hour)(1.) and I am no closer to finishing this assignment than when I started because the "parameters" of the assignment seem to keep changing. Four times if I've kept accurate count and I generally do, but this has just brought me to my knees wondering why I've stepped into this morass.

It's not really as trying as all that I do exaggerate at times. I lost a wee bit of focus listening to The Strand yesterday, and I did have to listen to this appalling man Glenn Beck while necking my burrito, and the vending machine is out of pretzels. These are the real trials in life. Everything else are just amusing obstacles. Games if you will. But when exactly does Glen Beck correct all the errors in fact that seep from his lips? Is that on some other channel I'm missing?

But in light of such obstructionist attitudes of the universe generally I've made some choices. 1.) I'm grabbing a breakfast burrito this morning and I'm eating it in front of anyone who cares to watch. 2.) I bought myself some OG Comme des Garcons perfume and will let mamma snag me some Blenheim Bouquet for c**s*m**s. And finally 3.) I'm not shaving today. Toy with these fates mother effer.
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(1.) I'll admit this is more of a record than a standard.

I Didn't Laugh The First Time.

I discovered this espn website dedicated to of all things rugby. It's called espnscrum and I've been there a lot learning a lot of things except how to play the game. My gay friendly rugby league will have to do that for me assuming I get a day off here in the near future.

I also got an email from endclothing. A British based clothing store with some serious gear in their arsenal. Including the Bernard Willhelm trainers I'm in total ooh la la with.

They are offering free international shipping for 72 hours. This coupled with no VAT makes for some serious savings. I got all excited and was about to place an order for a hat, a scarf and a hip flask when I realized it was free FedEx shipping. What a bummer. It would be easier for me to fly to Britain and pick up the stuff in person than try to intercept some deranged FedEx driver. Thanks, but no. But if you are planning to be hanging around your pad waiting for the door to ring for the next 10-15 business days check it out!

Digital Triumphs Of Mercy.

Next in my series of "how tatty can your junk get and do you really wanna talk about it?" is my adored and tortured Barbour Tarras bag some 3 years on. Got it 3 birthdays ago and it has held up even better than one would expect. I have not been able to develop that real fancy and fussy waxy patina on it yet, but I think the trick is to carry it in reverse so the front side brushes against your jeans, pant, beaufort, etc. You'll notice from the pic below that the reverse side has a lot more sheen to it. This gave me the inspiration to walk around carrying a bag like I'm touched.

Supply, demand and tireless flogging has increased the price of the Tarras 40% since when I snagged it, but it's still a score nonetheless. Well.. Even I have to admit a bit less of a score than it once was, but hey. Who gives? It's not the only bolsa I rock so it hasn't got as much use at it should have, but since I've been carting around so many cords, and extensions, and flash drives it really does do the trick admirably and has taken center stage in my commutes lately.

Now to change the subject slightly. Today, I had a thought. Ralph Lauren and Free City? Can I do it? Do I dare? Do I care? Well. Actually. I thought about it in the bath. I can, I do, and I don't. So just look out!

Lost Elements Of Resistance.

What is the actual point of going to a Starbucks in downtown on LA on the weekend? Unadulterated and raw masochistic joy has to be top of the list. Fancying casual glances at the de-evolution of humanity a close second. Curiosity as to how ill-bred toursits live a distant third, but third nonetheless.

Anyway, yesterday I popped into (my not usual) Starbucks for an iced America-no. I was like second in line so I thought it would be a breeze. No. And then more no. Devoid fantasist with Half Life on his jumbotron MacBook Pro wouldn't let this nice lady sit at a chair next to his table so the waiting area got crowded.

Some pathetic tourist with her seven year old daughter dressed like a contestant on American Idol made a tee-total spectacle of herself when the barista handed a coffee to someone other than her. "I was before her!" the mother screamed. In front of her seven year old daughter who was wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and Gucci riding-ish boots.

Point in fact she wasn't before the other lady, she was right behind me actually and I remember because she literally screamed in my ear when she asked whether they had a bathroom. The barista struggled to regain composure. I stood there with my mouth ajar and I know I shouldn't comment on other people's manners when I stand around gaping, but honestly. It messed up my order, they finally got to me after they served everyone else who was convinced they were the only lifeform on the planet and this proximately caused me to engage in a conversation with a carbie I've not so endearingly come to refer to as Porker.

At the intersection in front of my office Porker lumbers up in his felt blazer and jeans. I fucking hate people who wear blazers with jeans. Make some sort of commitment in your life I say. He's incapable of making eye contact and has this weird condition which forces him to blink a lot. Quite distracting if you've been trained to look people in the eye and not act tweaky.

I distinctly remember telling him on a couple of occasions that I take the subway in, but this doesn't stop him from driving his heaving locomotive of awkward casual conversation forward by asking me where I parked. I reminded him of how I commute and hopefully embarrassed him by recounting his commute for him. Arcadia is it? And you find it easier to take surface streets most the way as I recall? Did you manage to make it in alright? Oh dear you got a ticket did you how very unfortunate and in the back of my mind I think it serves the drooling cro-magnon right.

Working on weekends is just sub-natural.

Creating Dreams Out Of Space.

My girls have bowed out of the monstrous scandal called the World Series playoffs. They fell to the Texas Rangers 4 games to 1 in the ALCS. Sigh. I haven't watched a lot of baseball since I up and left Seattle and MLB on Demand with it, but this still feels like a blow in some way. Just a smaller less painful blow than it would have been had I not discovered rugby over the summer.

Ben's team the Sale Sharks defeated Leeds yesterday 6-3 and even though I couldn't watch the game they do have an app for that. I downloaded while I was investigating the BBC live radio outage. During this crisis the wisdom of owning a "smart" phone became lost on me. Obama came to LA yesterday and I missed it, since baseball is officially over I can now stop being irritated with the carbies at work who insist on watching football in the breakroom during weekends. And yes, it appears I will be working every day until I die, although there is a slight chance I may get the afternoon of Halloween off. Wouldn't that be swell.

BTW, even if I'm not irritated with those foos at work I can still stand in quiet judgment. football with pads is like casual sex without a condom. For losers.

Isolation Solitude Inspiration.

Been working myself into a silly delirium so I haven't been able to blog. This makes me quite saucy. The California Highway Patrol and some various other entities of lesser importance were having a promotion outside my building yesterday. They were giving away free metro link tickets. I don't know how much they ordinarily are as I don't commute from Arizona, but imagine they are quite spendy.

My office eye candy approached me and asked me if I would go down and get him some as they were only giving out 2 per person and he already scored some. I was on my way to lunch anyway so I thought I might as well. Yes, eye candy and I have spoken on occasion and besides him having a wife which I'm confident is a Pomeranian named Crepe Suzette I know little about him. When I handed him his tickets he got so excited he put his mouth up to his lips like he was about to blow me a kiss, but he caught himself and just stood there with his hand over his mouth, and I stared back at him with a look on my face like "Do it, I dare you."

The fact that he is so into savings makes him even sexier in my eyes. It almost makes up for the fact that every time he opens his mouth a purse falls out. And until my super massive rugby beaux comes along he may just do. Assuming we can get around his intimate relationship with his lap dog and he never says anything. He approximates the size of a rugby player in any case.

Got to bust out of my temp gig early for the first time in weeks so I hit Amoeba and went spastic in their British TV DVD section. Scored a docudrama that just knocked my socks off and have a list of things to go back for. Hit the Hollywood Borders magazine section and the selection was scandalous, but given that 80% of Hollywood is illiterate I was amazed they had anything other than Hello Kitty back packs and fancy pens. I knew I would be making some sacrifices moving back down here. Poor access to proper reading material first on the list.

Woke up early and made a "throw everything in so it doesn't go to waste" omelete and served with a veggie sausage link. The omelete was amazingly good, but once you make them the way Julia does they always are. I'm over veggie sausage for the next 6 years.

You Should Have Been Nice To Me.

There is a clearly definable limit to what I am willing to endure. The cattiness in the breakroom kitchen, the incessant "I got here first "posturing" in the subway, the universe just generally taking a pot-shot at one, and yes getting scalded in the shower for no good reason one considers a "pot-shot", so don't even think of hiding behind one your super massive black-whatevers and call it chance because I am not having it. And I can make shit happen.

I'm not going to rip a hole in the space time continuum or anything so prosaic, but all I'm saying is if there is gonna bees torrential thunderstorms, then one considers the Barbour Linhope jacket (1.) (despite all the overdone it aspect of it), and if you want to plop some smelly homeless jack on my subway stool every single effing morning, then I have lotus flower perfume perfectly suited for such an occasion & I am not afraid to use it. Gots plenty. In short... We are starting to fight back, and you might want to make yourself scarce. There I said it.

Also, I'm considering joining a gay friendly Rugby league and getting all sorts of massive so just look out. Me and my future super-massive handsome as oh you have no idea rugby playing boyfriend are abouts to get all super massive, impeccably dressed and unflappable on your ass. This is your only warning.
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(1.) The lightest Barbour shooting jacket ever. Perfectly suited for LA misting fits!

Holding Someone's Hand.

I almost literally actually got dressed in the dark this morning and popped into a pair of Rick Owens DRKSHDW jeans I got a good deal on a few years ago. I cut coupons and send in for rebates to give you an idea of what kind of deal I'm talking about. And I am sure you saw this coming but they are really not as happening and killing it as all that. Fussy yes. Comfy yes. Precious yes. Delicious, not so much. So if you are about to jump onto the Rick Owens Express I would advise caution. Extreme and justifiable caution. I found my wandering socks so I'm not being paranoid here. Maybe a little chippy, but not in any way paranoid.

If you are about to make any kind of mistake and eschew a twill trouser for God Forbid denim then I suggest you fix your eye to Albam. And no one else really. Although now that I think of it, if you've made it this far you probably have tried everything else and I'm questioning whether I'm doing anyone any favors at all. Probably should be sitting down with my coddled eggs and toast. Lates!!

Not Since I Was Thirteen.

I so need a new pair of shoes. I really dig these Bernard Willhelm x Camper x I have no idea shoes Selectism mentioned yesterday. I know, I was surprised as anybody to actually read something interesting on that blog. I'm a little hesitant to have something shipped from England. Not to this place anyway. Missing a pair of socks from my Sunday laundry and I am suspicious.

Someone made some chippy comment about how they were probably "made in China like all Camper shoes". Fucking yawn. I'm really sick of all the made in China whiners. It is time to put another record on. Pompous self-impressed WASPs who think if something is handcrafted in some New England backwater it has to be a masterstroke of craftsmanship. Fucking Christ even Jeep has hopped onto that marketing campaign. Enough already. Garden variety social consciousness is inspiring it really is. Honest. It's inspiring me to not care about this tedious issue.

Given than they are under $200 they most likely are made in China, but I don't really give a fig. The fact that they aren't in every mall in America like Aldens or Red Wings or Quoddys is enough for me. Not being on the feet of every McHipster is the true mark of quality if you ask me. And I know you didn't, but you really ought to have. Oh yes you should have.

Oh, and there is a fire drill at work today and I have to descend no less than 26 flights of stairs and if you think I'm going to be doing that in some handcrafted pair of brogues you are seriously deluded.

We Call It Hackbird For The Uninitiated.

So there is this hot dude at my work. Kinda been groovin on his eek & riyah for the last couple weeks. Anyway, we were walking in the same direction after work and we got to talking and I thought it might lead to God Forbid dinner somewhere other than El Pollo Loco and then I noticed he was rocking a wedding ring. WTF? So we parted ways somewhere near 5th and something (street names elude me) but then we bumped into each other again in the tube station. Turns out there might be another exit from the Dungeon Express I have never even heard about! I think that may trump dinner at Ortolan. Going to go explore it now.

This is my 11th day at work in a row and I may seriously cut out early. Bones day and all. And common courtesy totally escapes these people. Might as well go shopping at Trade Joe's. Another fabulous trip to the ATM to look forward to as well. No, something along the lines of these hikers will serve me well.

Someone Always Get There Before You.

I was coming up from the depths of the tube yesterday and a small girl, no older than six handed me a pamphlet and I thought "Oh Good, some more Scientology nonsense to leaf through!" I looked at it and thought "How peculiar." On the front it said "Hell Is No Myth" surrounded by fiery graphics and such, opened it up and there were all these bible prophecy nonsense babblings. Some of them repeated. I looked calmly at the girl and said,

"You know Santa Clause IS a myth and you WILL NOT be getting anything for Christmas. Not because you're a particularly BAD girl, but because of the poverty you are living in you see. And this nonsense you are peddling to complete strangers is your 'church's' means of making you feel content even blessed with that poverty, rather than rising up like the formidable proletarian army you could be, your parents just breed and breed and breed themselves into even more desperate proverty."

Of course I'm kidding. I just walked away and read her nice little pamphlet. But it did get me thinking. Where has all the Yankee drama gone? I don't know why it doesn't raise a spark in me like it used to. Of course I would never turn a game off, and I always love watching baseball generally, but the Yankees are at the top of the pile and it just isn't stirring anything in me. Not like it used to. No. Like all my heaps of Barbour gear I think it has to be placed squarely on the shelf for a bit. I am still a little bitter about the Barbour dog pile. I had to read this rubbish this morning and it almost sent me right back to bed. I hope someone would tell them that being written up on that horrid little blog is the equivalent of jumping the shark. Compadre had to tell me what that meant. Comments still can't be missed however.

Those Pigs Will Never Fly.

Shhhhh. Aquascutum scarves. Keep it secret. You know the drill.

I Know What You Did When I Wasn't Looking.

Extra boom boom hot super sexy Indian wrestler Sushil Kumar has been tearing it up down in the Commonwealth Games at New Dehli. I knew I would be in LA and I wouldn't be able to catch a lot of the action. Not being a stones throw away from Canada and all, but I got hold of some Opening Ceremony footage and Sushil had the honor of handing the baton to the Prince of Wales. Looked fetching and I was taken. Like seriously

I listened to some coverage on BBC yesterday and did some digging. Sushil promotes a healthy lifestyle, being a vegetarian, being hot, and all manner of awesomeness. Time to bookmark this 5 foot 5 powerhouse of ooh la la because he seriously makes my heart go bang bang bang bang.

I'm going to stop quoting Dead or Alive songs for the moment & just trundle off to work now. And when that Monday morning comes,, it comes.

Oh Yeah Yeah Yeah.

What the fuck is wrong with the IPhone? I mean honestly. I understand that Apple sends "updates" which are designed to make your phone suck, make it slow, make it drag, make you think of getting a newer IPhone, but I'm just not buying it. There's something else more fundamentally sucky about it.

Sometimes I can understand a slow connection. Sometimes. But I work next to the ginormous AT&T tower downtown. Like right next to the monstrous eye soar. I can see it from my window & I would have taken a picture, but it takes close to 4 minutes for the camera feature to open. The hyper sophisticated camera feature. Now I've moved to the other side of the building where I don't have to look at the horrid thing. Although its wretched image and reminder of wasted potential is sometimes reflected in the windows of the neighboring building.

The one thing the IPhone does do consistently is wake me up in the morning with its dope alarm clock feature, but that's like wind up technology.

No I'm afraid I'm over it. And fuck the Droid. Whatever it "does" I aint doing. I want my Nokia back. They were rocking the mobile telephony world before Apple even knew what a mobile was and long before Google even existed. Fucking come lately poseurs can kiss it. Mind you my macbook pro is a veritable fully armed and operational space station of epic proportions so I'm in no way seriously down on Apple. Just their infuriating dilettantism. Stick with what you know I say.

I normally don't blog on the weekend, but I have to go into work and had to get this off my chest. After my lame excuse for a plumber gets here and fixes what he messed up the last time he was here. Until then I think I'll enjoy an omelete and some China tea. Like so what?

Could You Please That Would Be Grand.

I don't know where the rage comes from I really don't. The last two days I've gone to work gratis because the infernal and insanitary Metro bots would not take my money or would not offer proper change. This, given their apparent lack of sentience, one forgives. But ATM hoarders on the other hand are simply shameless.

Those who seemingly try to realign Western financial markets using an ATM and a bit of plastic simply infuriate me. What takes so long? Why are the words, offered in any language you choose, so hard to understand? The other day I had to stand behind a Subaru sized cow while she stared at the thing gaping & confused as to why it wasn't emitting her daily allotment of hay. Legs all shaking under the strain of her own weight and shit. Then a few days later I'm left behind two, not just one, but two people who couldn't push a few sequential buttons to save their lives. And since I was on the verge of homicide this is no cliche exaggeration.

No, not sure where the rage comes from, and I try to live in grace and simply remember, a true gentleman would never wear brown shoes with a blue suit (putting aside entirely counterfeit Louis Vuitton) so it is impossible to expect any social niceties at the ATM. Why punish a Rhino for not being able to recite Shakespeare. I only mention it because I have to stop by one on the way into work. Jesus Fucking Christ. Capitalism can blow me.

Keeping Things Close.

After work yesterday I had heaps of laundry to get through and I got overly annoyed with this drunk douche out front shouting for his friend who I believe has been evicted. At one point while returning from the back laundrette I believe he may have addressed me. I fixed him in an icy stare and made plans to buy a baseball bat.

This morning I spent a good deal of time contemplating whether distressed denim constitutes "ripped and torn" something expressly forbidden in the workplace. I did this for far too long and then opted for J Crew khaki and Comme des Garcons hoodie. Speaking of that, did you catch this little wobble on Selectism. Quite embarrassing. They don't actually have anyone that knows anything you understand.

With Moments LIke These.

Total brawl on the RedLine coming home from work on Friday. I was consumed with an old yet fierce United DJs of America mix on my Ipod and a gripping chapter in my Edward VII biography so I almost didn't notice, but then the whole place shook. Like thunderous shook and I looked up and saw this altogether fetching if overweight latino boy whoopin the ass of this scrawny black dude. Some people were able to pull the latino dude off the black dude and I totally pushed pause on song 9. Big mistake. At first conciliatory the black dude flew into what could best be described as a black rage.

Big pudgy Fat Albert character in front of me immediately takes off his 19 carat plastic studs and I thought "oh geese this can't be good". We make it to the Westlake station and half the train just leaves and I think "oh fresh I get a seat!" They go on and on back and forth, the bus driver comes back and tries to break it up, but homie is having none of it. He just got tanked in front of 80 people and needs to restore some face. He's drunk, staggering, throwing punches at anyone who tries to throw him off the train which is just about everybody at this point, yelling something about the downtown crips, calling his mommy and it was just an honest to goodness spectacle. Right there at the start of the weekend.

Not all bad though. Got my hair did at my local barber and may me straight crushin' on my new barber. Ernesto is his name. He asked me some personal questions, got to know each other, total Dodgers fan so it ain't goin nowhere but maybe the inside of my pants but hey, I'm totally bi-curious. Went to see that movie Let Me In and it was good, although I really am sorry the rights holders didn't allow all the dialogue to be Morrissey and Smiths lyrics as I believe was originally intended. That would have taken a standout horror flic to an outrageous new level. Mediocrity prevails and its another Monday yo.

This Is More Fantasy.

The social experiment of grabbing my morning coffee at Coffee Bean rather than Starbucks has ended in failure. Almost tears. Cretinous heffer of a latina has no concept of how to behave in polite society. Love the ice, hate the tude. And that other sweet lady at Starcocks remembered me after more than two years up in Seattle. Like an adorable sweet elephant she is.
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After hearing about Equador descending into chaos I was waiting in the elevator bay waiting for one of the capsules to take me down to the lobby. There were 4 hunormous muscled dudes waiting along with me and one of them asked another if they were watching MMA this evening. I vaguely remembered something about having a capital "G" gay crush on Roger Huerta, but I was still at a loss. Once in the lobby I looked it up on my portable insta-web and my suspicions were confirmed. These super hot dudes who spend most of their free time surrounded by other half nekkid super hot dudes lifting things in a not too vain attempt at getting even more super hot, like me, adore watching half nekkid super hot dudes beat the shit out of each other on the telly. Providence?

This and some other altogether random MMA moment on my friends blog made me stop to wonder if there really are things like coincidence in the universe. Looking wicked fierce in YSL today BTW.