Per Our Discussion

Well as I said I didn't actually stay up to tape this, but someone else did. I can't even talk about the Yankees game today. Seriously, if you know, then you know not to ask.

For He Is The Jizzacked Cadilac.

White and light colored denim seems to be what everyone is talking about (don't say it), and rather than be all tut tut I'll just have to say fine. Not superfine. Although I think it bears noting that these people have completely forgotten their childhoods. You know how they say those that forget history are doomed to repeat it? Well if these people can't remember getting their white denim all splattered with mud on the playground then fine, they deserve to walk around looking like idiots. [Refinery]

Everyone is abuzz over the new director at Dior menswear Kris Van Assche. Like Hedi Slimane, Belgian born Van Assche worked at YvesSaintLaurent before starting his own label in 2004. A collection for next Spring Summer will be shown in Paris this weekend on live models, but not in a runway show. For those of you who are ineterested and just can't wait, some of Van Assche's back catalogue can be acquired at yoox.com in both summer and fall weight. Happy Shopping!

I guess I've been skirting around the issue. You can only hide unpleasantness with silks and satins and gabardines up to a point, and then you just have to admit the truth. The limits of style. Yesterdays ball game was interesting to say the least. The Yankees started the game with a nice 2 run lead which shrunk to a one run lead, then a no run lead, then a minus 2 run lead, then they tied it up around the time when the Orioles pitcher hit lil' Robbie in the butt with a pitch. Right in the pocket as one announcer put it. Then Derek hit a 2 RBI double, then the deluge, then the game was postponed to July 27th or something. And there you have it.

My computer is busted once again. Either that or it is still warming up. I've tried everything I can think of, but nothing seems to work. So really I have nothing better to do than post all the news from my little world, but I also have a lot of other distractions I'm compelled to enjoy. Toodles.

That's When You Know I'm Lost.

Well it's all just a little bit too much for me. I think, and this may be unavoidable, I'm going to have to stay away from baseball for a while. Maybe just for a week or two. But the fact is I'm simply not enjoying it as much as I should. The Yankees lost last night (again) and this time they did it while managing to score zero runs. Roger Clemons takes full responsibility in a post game interview and although it sounds a little odd seeing as there was nothing in the way of run support you'll just have to trust me when I say, yeah. It was all his fault.

But all is not bleak in the world. I got to work a little early this morning. Compadre called me in the middle of the night and gave me such a start it was hard to go back to sleep. I was reading over some of my normals and my heart just about burst when I began reading of the further growth of stealth wealth. I've mentioned it before, but the general idea is that upscale consumers are moving away from anything with a brand or logo and focusing on the subtle and unrecognizable. Like a nondescript Demeulemeester broach, or a small Bless wallet. The more obscure and unknown the better, but nothing that self identifies. Which of course always brings me back to the LV monograms and the hordes of LuLus with their disgusting plastic coffee cup in hand, vapid expression, and glossy lips. But I won't let them bother me. I really only mention it because there happens to be small Bless wallet I have my eye on, and well I'll just leave it at that.


Another thing I've been noticing with some amusement is the way "designers" of graphic lines have moved their images from soft tissue paper thin tees to an even more challenging medium. Square pieces of fabric. The idea seems so inane and simplistic I'm not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. Ambivalent is always the best way to be toward such things. But there you have it, and you can take your pick. You have the Rise and Fall napkins on your left, there is a nice Helmet of Will blanket just because no one asked for it, Hideous Quentin & Claude scarfs, or just a simple piece of Beard & Bangs fabric. You know, because you never know when you might just want a piece of fabric. Can you see yourself walking into a small boutique and asking an officious yet altogether tiny Sales Associate where you might be able to find their pieces of fabric? Me neither. Which is why I'm kinda erring on the side of it being just stupid. And let's not forget to mention completely desperate.

Oh Lovely, Quite Nice.

My computer is busted at work. Actually my computer is fine obviously I mean I'm writing this. Some server in Tukwilla or somewhere is busted, or confused or being raped. There is a number I can call, but I've called that number before and it always ends in tears. Sometimes mine. Sometimes there's. And I'm just not feeling that this morning. No. Better to have someone else drag their sorry ass in here and deal with that bullshit. I'm content.

Yesterday Derek turned 33, and he celebrated it by making some brill defensive plays against the Orioles. Squaring up a solid double play, and another one that was a little less memorable. The game was tied at the bottom of the ninth, 2 down, bases loaded, full count, and Scott Proctor threw a ball. I almost saw it happen before it actually happened which may in fact mean I'm watching too much baseball.

So get this. Derek was named the second most popular athlete in some Harris Poll. The poll is only inclusive of adults, no minors, and the remaing 2,372 non mobile phone owning individuals left in Maine. I could tell you who number one is, but it's just some dude I've never heard of before. The whole list is a bunch of B-listers actually. Michael Jordan isn't even an athlete anymore unless you count compulsive gambling and whoring a contact sport. I kid. No seriously, click here if you wanna check out the Derek photo album linked on the story.

Barney's New York, that little chain of shops I despise with every ounce of life force I have, has been sold to the Dubai government. No word on whether Barney's will be consolidated into the new Wendy's chain, but that is my sincere hope, and I'm sure it is your's as well.

And for no apparent reason whatsoever, Fendi will be holding a fashion show on the Great Wall of China. Not The Great China Wall. Which is to say The Great China Wall will not be holding a fashion show on The Great Wall of China. That might have actually been interesting if not confusing for the printers. No, it's just Fendi. Big frakin deal. Their parent company have middle class aspirations of making the label marketable to the growing hordes of lulu monkey bitches in sling-backs. Good luck!

And in news that just makes me wince, Self-anointed style blog highsnobiety demonstrated how functionally irrelevant and behind the curve they are by professing a continued interest in Final Home. I guess they first heard about the label a couple of years ago in a shop in Paris. Although Paris is interesting, I hardly think it's as interesting as one of my garage sales circa '03 where they could have eyed the same obsessively zippered Nylon throwaways for a fraction of the cost. I think a neighbor bought all my Final Home gear. All's been replaced by Barbour at this point. I'll still leave the pitiful little link up for highsnobiety since they've written up a couple fresh things in the last year. Actually I won't. They always profess how cut-throat their shit is so fine. They die fug peddling scum. God that probably made no sense to anyone.

And finally my apologies to anyone that took seriously what they may have read last week on my blog. I said that Moz would be performing on David Letterman's show this last Monday the 25th. Well actually they filmed the segment on Monday. The performance will be aired this Friday the 29th. I apologize to anyone that stayed up and endured the Letterman show at my direction.

Oh, and before I leave you, I just have to say... You never actually deserved it.

There Isn't Anything There.

Metro has raised prices and now it makes more sense for me to own a car. They are raising day fares to $5 rendering the monthly expense of public transportation in the range of $150. I understand this is far more than a monthly insurance payment and gasoline costs. Factor in parking and the monthly cost of owning a car is $390. So it doesn't quite make sense for me to own a car, but I'm just mad as hell and I don't want to take it anymore.

In reality their attempts to prick the commuter will backfire. At least with respect to myself and others like me. This is mainly due to the fact that they've almost doubled the price for day passes, but kept the price of a one way pass at $1.25. Whereas before I was content to pay the extra 50 cents for the convenience of a day pass I'm not so willing to pay an extra $2.50 daily as I hardly ever really need it. So assuming I only purchase two one way passes the price of my daily commute will go down in price 50 cents a day, and the amount of monthly revenue metro receives from me will decrease by 10 dollars. Way to lose money by raising prices nitwits.

Well that was me just having a little moment. I really don't care all that much for public transportation. It does allow me to read while en route to work which is nice. And generally the aroma of urine isn't choking. The fact of the matter is that Paris Hilton has been released from her cage, and there is no way I'm going to buy a car and drive on the same roads as her.

Delicate Sounds.

Well I was poking around the interweb today and I happened upon this video that gave me quite a start.

Who knew that one half of Pan Sonic is completely fuckable? I didn't. I think you can tell which one I'm talking about. Now I'm bummed I didn't go see them. Anyway, watch the video and watch as he works up a sweat on his knobs and pulleys.

Only As Needed.

[Getty Images Photo]

Quite an eventful weekend I have to say. I started off in Echo Park at Chango Coffee. A nice enough spot to enjoy coffee. I avoided most of the Echo Park "boutiques" if you dare even use such a word, but I did manage to pop into one or two and eventually snagged a tee from 19.23. Later that same day Compadre and I explored the pleasures of Little Tokyo. These consisted mainly of sneaker shops and vintage rag stores. Found some nice shirts from Cassette and Coup de Grace. Fresh. Missed the ending of the longest Yankee game this season because I was driving all up and down Boyle Heights looking for something, anything, it really doesn't matter if you're in Boyle Heights because they simply don't have what you're looking for.

My Sunday began by walking all over Franklin Hills looking for a cup of coffee for naught. Nowhere could you find any coffee. They had plenty of coffee shops, but none of them open before 11:00. Stupid and useless. Like the dry cleaner that's only open one day a week. Then I went to of all places the grocery store ostensibly in search of tapatio and eggs but leaving with $60 worth of who knows what. And I guess I didn't learn my lesson because I then decided to go to a Target. So I drove to this place called Eagle Rock, not Fraggle Rock, but Eagle Rock where I had to navigate the most treacherous parking lot known to exist. But once inside I was treated to everything and anything my gift card could buy including baseball cards. And while we're on the subject the baseball cards were broke. Only one pack had any good cards in it, but it did have Mike Mussina, Melky Cabrera & Bobby Abreu. I should have just bought the one, but of course it doesn't really work that way. Does anyone know what baseball cards are for, and more to the point why I'm buying them?

And to simply punctuate the weekend in perhaps the cruelest way possible I get to work hellishly early this morning and find a memo, yes a memo, sitting on my desk which seeks my assistance with something quite time sensitive. Why me? It seems like my name has become synonymous with the words time sensitive. But I'm not one to sit around moaning about it so we'll just have to leave it at that.

Oh You Want Some.

(Getty Images Photo)

OK so you all may just be completely fucked. Until blogger allows me to upload my photographs I'm afraid we have to content ourselves with pictures of boy ass. Oh well I think we'll live. I do have a fascinating photograph of a Shell gasoline billboard that I took the other night. I'm sure you've seen something like it. I wouldn't necessarily call it outsider art. My tortilla casserole is outsider art. Which reminds me that I need to buy a casserole dish.

And I can't be sure but I think someone in the office has written something terribly mean on the break room chalkboard. It's the Yankees logo with an image of a broom somewhere to the right with an arrow of all things pointing to the Yankee logo. I can't be positive what they're getting at, but I think I may have an idea. If it's that nasty business is Colorado then they're just wasting their time because I've already decided that I'm not even going to address the subject. That's what I do with things that displease me. I ignore them. I'm a lot like an annoying poodle in that respect, but I have elevated it to an art form. Best to move on really. Although it bears mentioning that poor RoRo got a bloody nose last night. He had to play the bases with this gob of tissue in his nose and blood all over his blouse. It was unseemly.

Compadre and I spoke at length last night. Primarily about a shop in Little Tokyo which may or may not be a Pop Killer but nonetheless houses one of the freshest hoodies he's ever seen. No label, no literature, but a price tag. This intrigues me. I heard recently that authenticity is quickly becoming the new brand identity and that labels generally are losing relevance. Although slowly. Reconstructing consumer consciousness takes a great deal of time in the absence of an Earnest Save Christmas movie.

Still nothing on my Comme des Fuckdown jersey which is distressing me.

There Isn't Much Between Us.

[A.P. Photo]

The Yankees were simply trounced by the Rockies last night, but before I could get myself too upset about it I simply resigned to buying something nice for myself. I think a nice Pleasure Principle shirt or something similar. Something in white though. I simply can't abide color this season. Unless it's blue.

Then the disappointment train came to a screeching halt when I got to work this morning only to discover that I have been challenged. Yes challenged by Derek Jeter to find a better line of cars trucks and SUV's than Ford. I don't know. It seems like a pretty tall order if you ask me. Especially when they come in blazing copper which I don't care what anyone tells you IS the new persimmon.

And I had better tell you all before I forget completely. There is this show on the flickering box called The David Letterman Show. I think Derek has been on the show before. Anyway this Monday the 25th our dear man Morrissey will be performing his new single That's How People Grow Up with accompaniment by Kirsteen Young. I know some of you will be able to stay up and watch. Me myself, I will simply have to catch it on the youtube.

Oh oh oh, this is simply beyond complete misery. Some tormented and challenged souls hacked into Doubleday, the publishing house for the Harry Potter books. Well I guess these carbie smudges have leaked the ending of the final Harry Potter book. And yesterday one of my co-workers, and I think everyone knows what I think of all my unattractive co-workers, sent me a link and told me to look. Well I did. And what I read in just a few short seconds (.9477 seconds roughly) shocked and saddened me.

Why would anyone do this? Send me the link and tell me to peak? Hack into Doubleday and spoil everyone's summer? But more importantly, why would someone draft a seven volume treasure which ultimately ends up as a snuff film for kids and emotionally stunted adults? Why?

I could post the link and destroy all your summers just as mine has been destroyed. I could write what I know for you all to see. I could even encode it in a blog posting, but I won't. I just won't. There is still something called decency in this world, and I intend to see it through to its natural conclusion.

Risk Homeostasis.

The Yankees lost to the Colorado Rockies last night 3-1. Which just goes to show that anything can happen in baseball. Yesterday's game was memorable for several reasons. The first was being able to see Mike Mussina at bat. Just precious. Although I had to take issue with the announcers who had no compunction in letting it slip that Michael had never made it to first base. Big deal. Do you actually have to say it though? But Michael did hit the ball. Pop-up to center field, and the announcer was so crass saying that Michael thought the ball was out of the park. Oh please. Inter-league play blows, and the only thing that makes it blow a little less so is being able to watch Mike Mussina and Andy Pettitte swing the bat.

Georgie played first base last night which was just weird. Fun. But weird. And Derek, scoring his 18th double of the season is demonstrating increased skill at not being hit by wild ass pitches. On one inside pitch he got his Jedi skills on proper.

In non-baseball news I still continue to hold down a job and all that stuff. Yesterday I was able to observe the lemurs at my work commune with the law of physics. They are so fascinated by moving objects, and doors, and inertia. I'm quite fascinated by them. But then fascination turns to indifference, then indifference turns to annoyance. And quite often annoyance turns to blinding rage.

And that's when I shop. I'm still quite reasonably impressed with the label Cassette or House of Cassette depending on where your stock. They've been included in the array of retail therapy links on the right. I understand they're quite pleased with this distinction. Some of their line is available at their on-line shop in ever diminishing quantities. Outside of that you all are on your own.

And islander streetwear label In4mation has just dropped the cutest Comme des Garcons inspired tee shirt. It reads Comme des Fuckdown. It's seriously darling, and I've already gotten myself into fits trying to find it. You can check it out here.

Disintigration And She Left.

Although I missed two of the games of the most recent Subway Series the good people at Newsday have posted all sorts of photographs. Their petty link protections notwithstanding, Newsday offers the best in contemporary Yankee photography.

So I was down in the Starbucks this morning. The one where the baristas call espresso expresso. Yeah I know, and I was perusing their musical selection in addition to Paul McCartney and I came upon Wilco's Sky Blue Sky. The London Observer called it a mix of something and something and something and skank country. Skank country? Yeah I wasn't sure so I did some research and concluded that they just kinda made that up. But anyway, I've had the album for a few weeks and happen to be listening to it right now, and I find it unoffensive coffee table rock. Along the same lines as Spoon or Karate, but generally not as engaging. It belongs in a Starbucks. Perhaps a bohemian furniture store.

Compadre will be taking over the management responsibilities for a local coffee shop, and I'm not sure, but I think I may be able to convince him to play Erasure and Falco almost exclusively. Because I always say if the daily grind of running a business is getting you down the first thing you need to do is reduce your business. Raise prices, close your doors. Do whatever you have to do to keep the annoying customers at bay. And it is my sincere belief that the average urban trainspotter will flea at the sounds of Erasure and Falco like rats in a fire. Except maybe Falco. They may glom on to that as the next big thing. As they should. Too many variables I guess.

Well msn has certainly read my mind this morning. I secretly believe that they read everyone's mind, or at least pay google a shitload of money to see what you be looking at. Today's lead soft news story was on Handling Annoying Co-Workers. A remarkable subject and quite topical, but I'm still waiting for the article on Handling 23 Annoying Co-Workers. Suggestions anyone?

He Said Good Morning And I Said Goodbye.

I tried my first Top Pot doughnut from Starbucks and they really are better fresh. Honestly, I think it's a step down from Starcocks previous doughnut offering, but that's just me. If I were you I'd just go to the bakery the next time you're in Seattle or visit a Seattle area Starcocks where the doughnuts haven't spent any time in a pressurized air container. They really are quite good. But this, this just goes to show that everything Starbucks corporation consumes doesn't necessarily end up all that well off.

The Subway Series was blacked out on MLB.tv so I'm yet to watch the games, but I understand the Yankees fared fairly well. As such, however, there ain't much to say about baseball this morning. There is a cute article on Derek's early days if you're interested. You may recognize the photograph. [Link]

Italian fashion designer Gianfranco Ferre dies Sunday night after suffering a brain hemorrhage. This is terrible news and not just because I hate writing hemorrhage. Mr. Ferre was known for sculpted architectural lines, stunning detail, and heady forays into color. He worked for the Parisian House of Dior from 1989 -1996. [Link]

Paris-based designers Kaito Hori and Iku Furudate of Commuun believe that "environmental issues can not be ignored when considering the future of fashion and society as a whole." It's a sentiment I think we've all heard before, and anyone that knows me would know that I think it's a load of self-impressed bullshit. Ignoring critical issues of environmental degradation in the name of cheap commerce it's morally disgusting and indefensible. Peddle your tawdry chiffons and jerseys all the while talking about the environment. Oh very good. Wherever did you come up with such a groundbreaking however transparent idea? And their dedication to the environment might come across as a bit more sincere if it weren't tied into the marketing image of a company. It's just bad bad cheap cheap and wrong wrong all around. Which isn't to say the clothes aren't cute.

Well I had a productive yet fun weekend, however, I have a busy day in front of me so I'm just gonna have to let you all fend for yourselves. Until then.

God Save Us.

What can I say about this. Nothing really. You should just watch it and enjoy.

Hug It Out Girls.

The idea. Just the simple idea of coming into work this morning seemed monumental and insurmountable just an hour ago. Now that I'm here I can understand that I may have been a little bit silly. It really wasn't all that bad. Although there was an atrocious individual on the train who smelled absolutely disgusting. I mean just the quintessential odor of grime and degradation. Oceans and oceans of aroma that would have sent the stoutest of heart running for the door yet I endured my fate with the utmost dignity and poise.

And why? Well apparently so I could walk into my office and be promptly informed of my immature co-worker's antics last night. Fighting and bickering and carrying on like little kids causing the most appalling fuss. Honestly! I didn't really get into what the kerfuffle was all about since I was sincerely disinterested, but that was hardly the end of it. As I was walking down the hall another one of my co-worker carbie sluts and I had a brief conversation which ended with him telling me I looked I tired.

Can you imagine?

A workplace where such comments are permitted. Even tolerated.

Yes, I've been working 12 hour days for around 2 weeks now or whatever, and I may be looking a little less than vivacious, but can we not discuss it if you don't mind. Although I consider myself a pacifist and I absolutely abhor violence I do have to say that if it didn't take so long to remove my jewelery, I'd certainly have at a lot more of these bitches that think it's appropriate to make insensitive and brutish comments like that.

The Yankees are still riding their 9 game winning streak, and for his part RoRo seems to be riding it outside the company of ho-bots and strip clubs. And although we have a writing board in our break room at work, and I guess I'm suppose to write something taunting and biting up there about "my team" and their success I choose not to. I mean I've never done it before, and this seems like a poor time to start. You can never be too careful with these streaks and runs and whatnot. And what would I write? I have no idea. Incredible? Suck it bitches nonstop? I guess I would have to get creative eventually boo-yah.

Being And Below.

The girls in pinstripes are acting just stupid. An eight game winning streak and they won't so much as give an interview. Stupid. I know it's all superstition and technically I should be drinking out of the same tea cup I used yesterday, but please... The bullpen did their best last night to blow the Yank's 4 run lead, but were ultimately unsuccessful. RoRo had a mad sick homo. As did Georgie. And I, I learned something new. Apparently it is not considered a "save" until the tying run is on-deck. They kept saying this and I wasn't listening. All I heard was roses and fiesta and Kyle's got an itch. That's what I love about baseball. No matter how much you watch and pay attention you can always learn something new.

Oh I see so Coolhunting was good enough to give us directions to the new Los Angeles Banana Republic, I mean A.P.C. store located at 619 North Croft Avenue. Delightful. Whether you call it understated Parisian style or drab and dreary mod posing is up to you. All I can say is that I'm yet to go to the new Opening Ceremony shop and I'll make a point of doing that before I head over to North Croft for a what word heavens me striped pullover. Epic. Classic. Understated. Over. You say wearable, and I say oh really where?

I couldn't tell you why I have it in for this shop. Maybe it's the heaps and heaps of mono-branded shite littering their floor. Maybe it's the simple minded functionaries like coolhunting telling me I should be excited about something that I ultimately just don't get. Maybe it's that cheesy "fashion blog" from yesterday that has made me lose all interest. Whatever the reason rest assured I have plenty to choose from, and in the end I could just as well make one up and no one would be the wiser. You probably shouldn't listen to me since I'm functioning on just a few hours of sleep.

Creepy Creepy Eww.

So this trailer gives you an idea of how creepy this movie is going to be.

Something Loud And Near.

Cricket is a game which I understand emerged from England back before 16 whatever when England was not referred to as Great Britain. I spent a wee bit of time yesterday familiarizing myself with this game. Primarily because I spend a great deal of the time listening to the bbc world news service and they simply won't shut up about it. There is one particular cricket player Andrew Flintoff who is just a gnosh. And cricket may in fact be gayer than baseball, but I doubt it. Check it out yo.


There has to be a certain point in their training as professional baseball players where having your hand on some other guy's ass just seems normal. Even comfortable. All I can say is that having spent the last 10 odd years in leather bars and baths I am yet to reach the Nirvana shall we say of a professional major league baseball player's ass fetish.

The Yankees won last night and I have to confess I wasn't paying a lot of attention. A first inning 3 run homo from Bobby (Don't call me Whitney Bobby) was the only real offensive flourish of the evening. The boys have just passed .500, and for those of you who don't know what that means I certainly won't bore you with the significance. They really are acting quite superstitious though which may or may not be a bad sign. They will be playing in San Francisco next weekend for an inter-league series against The Giants followed by a second subway series. It was my wish that I could go up to San Francisco for one of the games, but acquiring a ticket has proved tiresome and like I said yesterday there may be no reason to ever return to San Francisco.

And finally I just have a bitchy bone to pick and as a matter of background and shading I understand that this is primarily a baseball blog and all at least from the months of March through October, but I do occasionally make a comment here or there regarding clothes. So the point is that I was rather dismayed when I was linked to a "fashion blog" some retailer thought quite highly of wherein I was treated to their "Five Men's Brands To Watch". Which ordinarily wouldn't be a bad thing, but get a load of the list:

1. 3.1 Phillip Lim
2. Band of Outsiders
3. A.P.C.
4. Helmut Lang
5. Theory

So yeah, I guess it's a little bitchy to say this, but even if I have been shoved under a rock on the moon for the last say 3 years I still may have managed to pick up a GQ or worse during one of my nightmarish layovers and read all about this Theory and Phillip Lim did you say, and of course the new European Banana Republic we all know and loathe as A.P.C.1.

You know what? I will be bitchy. If your stupid lame ass GQ reading, metrosexual courting, Ted Baker shoe a peddling self feels it necessary to direct my attention to a "fashion blog" then do me a fracking favor and don't waste my mother fracking time. And I guess it's not the purported ignorance of men's fashion they are so gracious to quell that leaves me offended so much as the salacious and transparent interclique of blogvertisements that are designed to do nothing more challenging than induce me into buying a crappy piece of clothing from some let me guess "Brooklyn based design concern" that no one not even me will give a shit about in 3 years time. Now if you'll excuse me I thought it might be clever to go make myself some lists.
____________________________________________
1. It's actually shit. And yes we hate it.

Is This Called The Glocko Pop?

I wish I could tell you how nice it is to be back in Los Angeles. Really I do. As it is I'm listening to the quite deceased J. Dilla and enjoying it. Blogger is not letting me post the iconic image of a tear stained Paris. The only reason I want to post this particular picture is that it essentially represents, reflects and underscores most of the reasons why humanity is totally fucked. But you've probably all seen it anyway.

My trip to Seattle started with a layover in San Francisco which rendered me a testy cuss. After receiving directions to the appropriate terminal I was asked if I wanted to make a donation for children with AIDS. If by AIDS and children you are actually talking about feeding your fat ass then it would be more believable. I wasn't sure if the solicitor worked for the airport or not, but I made no effort to hide my displeasure. Seriously though, there may never be any reason to come back to San Francisco.

Saturday was a nasty mess. Managed to get my hair did. Caught a bus to downtown. Sidled through Barneys and scored the freshest Comme des Garcons hoodie you've ever. I had a miserable time at the other shops. Found a Helmut Lang tee shirt that eventually had to be returned. The security device used to deter shoplifters rendered the shirt unwearable. Rendered most of their clothes unwearable. Some kids in another shop were downright horrified to discover that you can actually buy fresh gear online. They were quizzing me, and some even had out paper and pen. I mean how hard up can you be for a B*Son cardigan. I mean can we not? Oh well. Finished off the evening with a trip to Comet Tavernn, Moe Bar, and eventually The Cuff. Yeah, The Cuff.

Sunday was a much nicer day and I spent a great deal of it outside or inside cabs. Went to a lovely Farmers Market where I picked up the nicest flowers and some scrumptious pasta. Found some delicious tea at Uwajimaya. Brought it to work, but I won't share because I'm just not like that. I tried to watch the Tony Awards, and actually no, no I really didn't. I don't know why I just wrote that.

I completely missed the the Yankees Pirates series. I guess I also missed Roger Clemen's opening day, but I think I'll live. Fortunately Newday has posted images of his every moment on the field. From multiple angles. I understand some other guys played some baseball this weekend, but you certainly wouldn't know it by reading the news.

The first good news I've had since I've been back is that Los Angeles area Starbucks will now be offering Top Pot Doughnuts. If you haven't tried Top Pot then you should shuffle down to your next door Starbuck's and try one. Their the gnosh! I also read something about Bill O'Reilly this morning, but it wasn't about his death so I really just moved on.

Maybe tomorrow I always say...

A Feature Of Presence.

I derived a great deal of satisfaction from yesterdays game. A 10-3 win over the White Sox, their bigot of a manager, and the insufferable Chicago announcers. The announcers were seriously making me ill, and when the game was actually tied, and the Sox managed to get like a couple guys on base they made the the most rapturous fuss. I'm surprised it didn't shake the Yankees nerves.

Coming back from commercial one of the announcers said "Here we are in the top of the whatever and we've only stranded two men on base and have had 2 hits off Mike Mussina". They said it with a straight face. It didn't even elicit a giggle. I was beside myself. The announcers were finally silenced in the eighth inning when Derek came in to pinch hit. This started a ball rolling that almost instantly resulted in RoRo's crushing grand slam. The game was effectively and functionally over, but it didn't end there. MiMi finally let loose an inning ending pop up almost in sympathy.

Joe Torre achieved his 2000th victory yesterday. And it was very satisfying to watch. Having to endure 4 days of Chicago announcers, and even looking at Ozzie Guillen. The only thing better than the Yankees being on top of the White Sox (as the announcers say I shit you not) is when the Yankees trounce the Red Sox. What the fuck is a sox anyway? Does it even make sense?


With little to do but watch baseball and work, and with very little bubbling in the fashion world this blog has become a sight insular. Which is why I was surprised to find this write-up on Refinery about New York via Iowa based designer Tim Hamilton. The clothes are seriously prep dandy flare with a pinch of nice tailoring. Although the ubiquitous waxed hoodie seems to be showing up a little too frequently I wouldn't sneeze at his version of this "new classic". (Link)

Also I think I may have found a shop in my hizzie that offers the momimomi tee shirts that everyone is murmuring about. The shop is called Atmosphere, and it is hardly one of my favorites. I've walked in like three times and every time I left with nothing. Think like one of those shops that sells a little bit of fresh gear, and then a shit load of G-Star. Yeah, it's one of those shops. But I may check it out. You can also order the shirts online via the site, and they are even on sale. Anonymous D, you know the drill.

Off to the country for the weekend. Exit with theme music from Bonanza. Lates...

Enjoying Idle Pursuits.

When your day begins by dropping an entire pitcher of ice cold water on the kitchen floor it might be a hint that you'd better crawl right back into bed. Because I have the responsibility of unlocking the office I have no such luxury.

The past few days in the new office has given me an opportunity to observe and get to know some of the new hires.

One brings her things to work in a rolling carry-on. I have no idea what this is about, nor do I have any latent desires to stare into the face of bat-shit crazy.

Another insists on using the no-homo stall in the bathroom. Whenever I'm standing there doing my business he goes into a stall instead. And I know straight boys don't normally do this.

One has hair so unGodly out of control it may in fact constitute a crime against humanity.

Another one, and you'll never believe this, walked into the office on Sunday wearing of all things True Religion jeans. How embarrassing.

One of them as I understand it, although am yet to observe, is unable to do her numbers.

One of my favorites likes to peruse online machine gun retailers. Whether or not he has actually purchased one is anyone's guess.

Another seems unable to comprehend the nature of things that go on around him.

And another one conducts his real estate deals outside my office door using what can best be described as an outdoor voice. He also seems to enjoy introducing himself. Over and over and over again. He's introduced himself to me twice.

?

She's A Litmus Test.

Victoria Beckham is a fucking joke. I mean I look at her and I appreciate that she takes up actual space, but I mean just looking at her you have to wonder what goes through that mind of hers if anything actually does. And the way she stands and poses for pictures she is completely off her bloomin' rocker. And from where I'm standing I have no conscious notion of what she actually does. I understand she wears things. Little tiny things, but what else? She's afraid of Tom Ford as she should be. David would drop her ass in a heartbeat for a slice of that. For most guys it wouldn't even take a second thought. I also understand she has a denim line with Rock & Republic. I suppose tying your name and image to a fading denim brand is one way to squeak out a few extra months of mid-west relevance. It confuses me, and I just had to say something about it.


Much better. If you're going to wear a "uniform", then it shouldn't make you look like a bunny rabbit whore.

So I have no idea what everyone is talking about. I look up from a crossword puzzle and all of a sudden people are talking about Johnny Damon playing first base. WTF? I guess it would be a temporary once in a while kind of thing, but one has to wonder what on earth is wrong with Miguel Cairo? He seems more than adequate. And quite adorable. And it isn't a Johnny vs. Miguel thing heavens no and saint's preserve us. It's just that on any given day if you could have Miguel & Johnny why wouldn't you take Miguel & Johnny. Sometimes I just don't understand managers. Although they never fail to make more sense than Victoria Beckham.

The Yankees heated things up last night against the White Sox which succeeded in silencing those horribly biased announcers who actually referred to the White Sox as "the good guys". Oh hell please. I felt like calling them up and asking them if they were aware that I'm actually paying for this. Ozzie Guillen is a ruffian and bigot as we all know. But yesterday's game saw a return to his ugliest form. Back with the whole Magglio Ordonez business. Yeah, I don't really know anybody who would know anything about that, but trust me it was nasty. Anyway, last night Scott Proctor went really really really inside on a pitch. Nothing serious. Didn't even hit the guy. Then at the top of the next inning, the first pitch to Hideki, not the second. Or last, but the first was way inside and up. I was just like bitch please! Hideki is a ninja. You try and throw a pitch at him and he'll fold space on your ass. Proper.

But seriously, Ozzie Guillen is a waste. But not as much as Victoria Beckham.

In All Probability No.

(Tribune photo by Nuccio DiNuzzo) Jun 4, 2007

Now why would anyone do this? One of the first things I have to read while I'm gathering my morning inter-news is something about Derek and his 3 for 27 "slump". God in heaven. Yes. This slump has now lasted a total of 2 whole games, however, it bears mentioning even though these twisted mentally deficient douche twits don't, that Derek also scored two runs in the last two games. Unearned as they may be he still remains one of the most productive offensive players in baseball.

MSN is really big on their lists. And the lists always start out with Best or Worst and always end with "in the nation." Some of the lists are a little more priceless than the others, but today's list is America's Most Overrated Cities. A slight variation of the Best meets nation construction, but fairly typical of your MSN and USA Today lists generally. Seattle's Pike Place Market was mentioned as one of the more overrated tourist attractions which I take no issue with. The place is simply ghastly after 9:00am, and virtually unnavigable on weekends. What I do take issue with is how the author, one Mike Espinosa, recommends Freemont, Ballard, or the UD as alternatives. Why? Because they have nice Farmer's Markets he says. That's typical of someone from Seattle. Assuming that the only reason anyone would want to visit is to buy produce.

I also found on one of those "I Liked It First" blogs a new semi-interesting inasmuch as it's hard to find label Wolf & Pack. They believe the t-shirt is an instrument to incorporate art into every day life blah blah. The capitalism and money and outright whoring comes into play somewhere in there as well, but they scarcely mention it. Despite the vacant and expressionless nature of their work they do have some tight graphics. Maybe two or three.

My favorite thing in the world right now, one of the things that is bringing me the most joy and comfort is the Showtime programme The Tudors. If you don't have Showtime you shouldn't let it keep you from enjoying this show. Find someone with Showtime, or for God's sake learn to use the internet properly.

This morning was choking with the smell of urine. At the bus stop a lady was covering her face and asking for 35 cents and only 35 cents. I only had quarters and I didn't think she could make change. More importantly I had to hurry to work in order to unlock the office. And once it happens to you once, you count every day you make it to work without seeing a rat as a blessing.

Bordering On A Solution.

I think it's maddening the way the Associated Press and Getty Images caption their pics. For instance, the caption for this pic is Derek Jeter is congratulated by Alex Rodriguez after Jeter hit a solo homer in the seventh inning against the Red Sox at Fenway Park. (Elsa, Getty Images) Jun 2, 2007. Congratulated, yes, I suppose that is one way of saying it. Later in the game it didn't look like RoRo had congratulated enough people.


Derek had a bad day on Saturday. He committed 2 errors in one inning one of which sent Doug straight to the DL. Mike Lowell momentarily forgot what it means to be an ambulatory bipedal species and plowed his knee into the first baseman's head. This was after Derek threw a ball that placed Doug's head right in the path of Mike Lowell. At least that's what the commentators are saying, but I think Mike Lowell is a brute. A brute that's better off walking on all fours. And he's actually one of my favorite Red Sox.

I just finished watching last night's game hence the late blog. It was a nail biter and I'm glad none of my co-workers spoiled it for me. RoRo scored the winning homo in the top of the ninth, and the Yankees took the series away from Boston. Oh thank you. We'll take that if you don't mind.

Compadre and I had a lovely brunch yesterday and he bought me some delicious cheeses. A boerenkaas, something they recommended instead of LaTur because they didn't have any, and something else. They are all delicious. I gorged myself last night while I wasn't watching a baseball game.

I guess it's safe to drive on the streets. Paris Hilton is in jail. I may celebrate by buying a Land Rover. Or some other ginormous vehicle with shields.

Venus In Transit.

It was vitally important that I get into work on a Sunday at 5:30 am. All other concerns were secondary as I'm so used to hearing. No one else wanted to do it, could do, or was willing to come in this early and let a bunch of money grubbing, hungry, frothing at the mouth, desperate and tired attorneys into the office. So here I am, almost an entire hour here, and none of these sons of bitches have even shown up. They can never show up as far as I'm concerned. At noon I'm leaving to have brunch with Compadre. And if I have my way about we'll be eating at Shazzam! Not Capracio. Compadre says it's lame. Although neither of us know anyone who has eaten there. It must be especially lame then.

And this was priceless. I slept over at Compadre's house last night, and I stayed up a little later than I probably should have. But I set my alarm for 5:00am, and Compadre set his for 5:22. Why I certainly wouldn't know. But I arose on schedule. Climbed over a couple of feet of scrap metal (don't ask) but I eventually found my clothes and was able to shower. When I got out of the shower I could here Compadre's alarm going off. And off, and off, and off... I eventually pulled on some chonies and went into the room and shut off the alarm. How long Compadre was willing to sit there and listen to his alarm go off is anyone's guess. But he wasn't getting to it any time soon. God love him.

The rest if the morning has been a surreal mess. Quite seriously. Sometimes in the tiny bear OK. Try to make something exist just by thinking hard enough. You're a pussy, and I don't care if you breed, cause I mean treats. And this is spiderland.

Happier Times.

This video is cute, and I think it may have been during happier times. Back when there were sleepovers and smores. And before the growth hormones from the looks of it.

I'm all set up in my new office. No they couldn't find me a window. More important, I understand, was keeping me away from people. I haven't really built a reputation as a people person.

The Yankees whupped the Red Sox last night, and I was just over the moon. The next two games will be blacked out so you shouldn't expect much in the way of rich and detailed coverage for this series. My apologies.

The Universe As It Was.

*Hubbel Ultra Deep Field

So Alex may or may not like the she-males. Is it really any of my business? Well google news seems to think so. And yes, her arms are bigger than mine. Fuck that! Her arms are bigger than Compadre's. Maybe. What is a little bit more definite is Mrs. Rodriguez packing up and leaving the apartment in a state. I read all about it on Perez. Actually someone else told me about it. I don't read that trash. It's important to note that she waited until he got home before she decided to storm out of his life. Like a thief in the night who waits til morning. Although in reality it's reported that the backpack Perez says she was toting was on it's way to Boston. To be with Alex. I won't speculate on the effect this news may have on the upcoming series against Boston. Although if I had to speculate I would guess that Kyle is going to look delicious as he blows a one run lead in the eighth inning. God love em.

I've been listening to the new Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah. I'm really enjoying it, however, I'm having a hard time getting past the first song. It's so frackin good. The entire album is actually quite good and has that familiar Talking Heads feel to it. The song Yankee Go Home is a stand out for obvious reasons.

An album that defies any "meets construction", (ie. Interpol meets The Who) is the new Erasure. Fabulous! The song Storm in a Teacup certainly defies explanation. Especially in the face of legions of "artists" that make music by staring at their wah wah pedals and not cutting their hair.

And it seems like this was happening about a year ago, but it appears that we're moving offices again. Tonight. We're moving next door into the South Tower. I know that might sound foreboding, but that's only if you've succumbed to the nightmare. There's no risk that I won't be able to blog in the new carbi-center. However, there are other insignificant demands. For instance, I may get a new computer, and my computer will go to someone else. I'm told that whomever receives my computer may not appreciate my Derek Jeter wallpaper. They can go fuck themselves. I have a Fake London hoodie that I keep in a drawer in case the environmental processors go haywire and it gets chilly. That's all the movers need to remember. Everything else is secondary.