Backwards Phased Images.

Back in the SouthLAnd and I'm already tempted to order a retreat to a place where WiFi and a $15 an hour minimum wage are considered a human right. It is nice, however, to enter the break room and not be bombarded with a dizzying array of recycling, composting and general refuse bins.

I'm working in a heady mixture of Gawker Media bimbo meets bro-town badinage. No fewer than four Itech-brahs dressed in plaid for casual Friday. Not that such a thing exists on the Wedtside.

PSA billboards read something like 'Real men raise babies' which makes you think fondly of the time when real men just pulled out or even better got head. 

It's all a bit of a cultural shock. Something that ready access to Zankou doesn't go all the way to ameliorate. As I ride this rattling barge down Santa Monica I've promised myself the day off if I read a single email that I find even remotely disquieting.

Like so many before me on so many battlefields I sheath myself in Comme Des Garçons, YvesSaintLaurent and I await the dawn.