The Majesty And The Wonder.

I suppose everyone has heard that Joe Torre is most likely coming to the Los Angeles Dodgers. And if he does then it's safe to say that I may be going to a few more Dodgers games next year. What is a few more than zero? I do hope this isn't like one of those multiplication things where I inevitably wind up with zero. Georgie and Mo filed for free agency on Monday, however, it is doubtful that they will be following Joe to the West Side. The Yankees are still interested in both "life-long" Yankees and will be working to secure deals with both. The Mets are apparently interested in Georgie, but they would do well to just step the eff off. Georgie's staying and that's the end of it. If Yankee's management can't seem to rustle up the $40 million, then I'm sure we can find it somewhere else. Sometimes you just have to take matters in your own hands.
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I was wondering if any of you have heard of this thing called panspermia? I watched a documentary on it yesterday and it was fascinating. It's a theory which suggests that organic life on this planet actually has extra-terrestrial origins. Or rather, life did not evolve on this planet independently, but rather came about as a result of several million years of astral collision. In the alternative, biodiversity and resource allocation has been uniquely assisted by errant meteors colliding with our planet. Scientists are currently testing this theory via an examination of the geological record against the dates of known astral collisions as well as an investigation into the organic matter contained in space dust and debris found in our upper atmosphere. I fancy the theory because of it's weirdness and also because it's a sorta big eff-u to those intelligent design dweebs. You know. The ones that say that Earth is in a unique position in the universe, a unique position in the galaxy, and a unique position in the solar system such that someone somewhere, a designer if you will, must have planned it that way, and of course they had us and only us in mind when they did so. I know it comes across as moronic to anyone with even a passive awareness of logic, but these people actually exist. E.T. phone home, oops, already here.
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Stylus Magazine has released their list of the Top 50 albums of 2007, or so far at least, and I have to confess that as of this date I've only managed to pick up #22, #9, #7 and #5. That's less than 10% of the entire list! Shows you how down I am with the zeitgeist. I really have no use for these overly Cartesian "best of" or "top of" lists, but if you are in the hankering for some new music then something from this list may not be too big of a gamble. Except Caribou. I can say for certain that Dan Snaith's best days ended when he stopped going by the name Manitoba. Enough said.
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No news from the cricket world other than Freddie Flintoff is still the new RoRo. Actually the more I look into it Freddie makes RoRo look like something inanimate. Like a shoe box or something.

No Energy Escapes.

His name is Andrew Flintoff, and he plays cricket. There it finally came to me. Or maybe Freddie Flintoff if you're nasty. He's quickly becoming the new RoRo. No, after RoRo decided to bail on the Yankees it seems I've had to look elsewhere for a 6'4" athlete stud to admire and I think I may have found him. Oh shoot, RoRo is only 6'3" so I guess he doesn't even measure up in that respect. Ah well. It really must suck to just be pushed aside for the newest and freshest young face out there. Britney is feeling the sting of fickle public adulation and RoRo must be feeling it as well. Not that the average Yankee fan ever really embraced RoRo. The only thing Yankees fans ever gave RoRo was expectations. Expectations which he unceasingly and unapologetically failed to live up to. There's already fresh dirt on Freddie anyway.
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My studies into extra-dimensions have been continuing at an accelerated rate. I seriously can't put Warped Passages down. At first I thought it would be a little bit technical for me, and parts of it are, but for the most part I find it absolutely engaging. I've put aside the daily train ride so I'm not making as much progress as I would otherwise, but at the rate I'm going I should be back to Lucia in no time. And have a healthier understanding of the universe to boot.
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In retail news there is very little to say. I did, however, notice how the fortunes are falling on several "it" brands of the moment. Yes, United Bamboo, Quentin & Claude, Obedient Sons and Beards & Bangs are just a few of the independent brands that have seen the prices of their fall offerings prematurely reduced due to lack of interest or perhaps market saturation who can say for sure. I for one hope this marks a trend away from this ridiculous deluge of independent and indistinguishable menswear, but the better half of me says that may just be wishful thinking. Could you ever imagine wearing something from someone called Psycho Bunny? I ask you. It could also be that the economy is shite and $100 tee shirts aren't really a way to build up a viable brand. But I'm no economist.

Life Sized Remorse.

The call came in the dead of the night. Something like 8:00 pm last night. The screaming came at about 8:01. Alex Rodriguez has opted out of his contract with the Yankees. The Yankees have said that they will not pursue Alex as a free agent so this is fairly well curtains. Nothing left to do, but take down my RoRo card from my desk...Alright, now that that has been put away. RoRo stated reason was not knowing the composition of next year's team. Specifically with respect to ring bearers Georgie, Mo, and Andy Pettitte. OK, well, I see. I really don't know what to say about that besides give me a mother frackin' break. If he could be a bigger prima donna he wouldn't need to stretch that far. As long as things aren't as exactly perfect and as he wants them to be, then RoRo just won't play. We may not be calling him RoRo much longer. The consummate follower, and never a leader, I wouldn't be surprised if he jumps into bed with the Red Sox seeing how they've won the World Series twice since he's been with the Yankees. Oh it's just too much for me to bear.

Enough of that unpleasantness. It's Anonymous D's birthday today so Happy Birthday to him. He was still bemoaning his lack of presents last night, and I promised him he'd get more as soon as I came up for a visit, and that he had already received that hideous Alan Greenspan book, and I can't be blamed if the one thing he asked for happened to be really boring. Well.

Compadre and I made rather merry on Friday night and I got to see everything that goes into closing down a coffee shop. I also did a little redecorating while I was waiting for them to get everything done. I didn't really see the 5 pots of paint as a striking design element so I moved them to one of those closet-y things that you ordinarily put such things in. Compadre had also picked up some pieces from Ross so I busied myself finding places for them. I came into the shop the following morning to admire my handywork. We know how to cook. Got to ride around in a 1963 Chevy pick-up vehicle with two-tone paint that we affectionately call Sunrise Surprise or Sunset Delight or something I forget. It's a sight to behold nonetheless. Had a fruitless trip to the Goodwill Saturday morning. So I just went and picked up the Seize sur Vingt shirt I found at Goodwill the previous week and had it laundered. It took away the sting a little.

Had a spot of shopping yesterday. Went to American Rag and they had essentially what you would expect them to have. The usual suspects to say the least. Just all of them. The one standout were some shirts from Pudel (pronounced poodle). They had a really cute Cassette tee that came in Large and oh look Large. I quite liked some of the Pudel shirts, but the one I was ultimately considering was just a little bit too precious for me. They didn't have what their website said they had so I was a little miffed and I did what any sensible person would do. I went to Fred Segal. Or Ron Herman, or whatever it is. Had a great time. The kids working were a lot of fun, and at one point I had about eight shirts hanging off my dressing room door. They were all nice in their own way. I noticed the most expensive hoodie I've ever. I really liked the color so I just picked it up for some perspective and the price tag fell out. $2,575.00. Really? I slanted my head a bit thinking I may have forgotten to read my numbers, but it was still there. It was then I noticed that what I was holding was actually a rather nice and soft cashmere, and that $2,575.00 may in fact be a steal. How would I know? I ultimately picked up a Wings & Horns sweater and a couple of x-mas presents for friends. I figured since no one would shut up about this Wings & Horns stuff I should at least try it. Being a pack animal and all. I wasn't really into the Tiger Fleece hoodies that everyone is so in love with. I mean the details are nice, but they're nothing more than what you'd expect, and the weight of the material is just a little bit too heavy for my taste. I would feel like a prisoner. All in all a pretty good haul. The too cute to even think about Sales Associate gave me loads of Free City stickers as well. Not sure what I'm suppose to do with them. Maybe I'll send them to RoRo's agent.

Dark Matter Spectre.

Well the Boston Red Sox are leading the World Series against the ill-prepared Colorado Rockies 2-0, and I guess you could say I'm not entirely happy about it. I'm thinking I may get myself into cricket. It's a sport that's a lot like baseball, and I'm told I may enjoy it. What with my anglophilia and love of all things homo-erotic. I already have a favorite player. He's the guy on his back. Can't for the life of me remember what his name is, but I was like that with Derek for a while. Actually for a while Derek was actually Jason. Oh, you probably already read this, but Derek had some kind words for Joe.

The office is down to a skeletal staff with many people enjoying extended stays in tropical locales and I was informed that this means I'm in charge for today. Oh dear. I was going to say patient running the asylum, but for some reason that just doesn't work. Speaking of work I really should get on that. Just a couple of other things:

Jean-Charles de Castelbajac seems to be all over the place recently, and I have to confess that my less subdued side really kinda likes what I see. That, and I think his name is just amazing. I really like the shirt above, but they don't have it in my size:(

And continuing with the bird them, what do you think about this bird? Brown Sound have taken an awful lot of effort to bring you a bird you think you may have seen before. Maybe the March of Dimes. It really kinda does look like the bird you see on Free City clothes, but Free City is already pushing a new bird design so it may all be for naught. I really do think I want another shirt with a bird on it, but right now I'm leaning toward the ill-fitting JC de Castelbajac.

Stepping Up The Void.

This morning has been a tad hectic. Things started off with my jaw dropping as I walked down the path and could see the fullest of moons. Reflecting on the fact that I had been up since 3:00am which is some sort of witching hour or something didn't last long since I realized halfway to the train station I had left my security badge at home. Ripped apart my entire apartment before I realized it's on the table where it always is just hiding under some random Olivia Tremor Control CD. Priceless. The kiosk at the train station spit out my dollar in two pieces after munching it up, and I'm already running late so I use the other kiosk, but the kiosk that ate my other dollar is screeching at me because half a dollar bill is still hanging from it's mouth. It was at this point I was ready to call a halt to the whole bloody affair. Thursday is over. And cut. But we persevere.

I finished reading Queen Lucia, the first book in the E.F. Benson series. First bit of fiction I've read since the Harry Potter book, and I quite enjoyed it. A little frivolous and light, but I fell in love with some of the characters. It didn't end anything like I imagined it would which only adds to the appeal. Although these books are a little hard to find, if you see one lying around in your used book seller it might be worth picking up. I was considering jumping right into Lucia In London, but thought a nice serious book may be in order so this morning I started Warped Passages: Unraveling The Mysteries Of The Universe's Hidden Dimensions by Lisa Randall. There's just something about it when she starts talking about gravity and supersymmetry that gives me the chills. Kinda creepy stuff when you actually think about it, but I'm looking forward to Lucia In London so I shouldn't spend too much time on the theoretical.

Mac OSX Leopard drops tomorrow and I know you are all just as excited as I am. I'm not going to buy the new OS right away, but rather I'm going to take some time and decide whether I want to buy a new computer. I think I'd really enjoy a new box.



* This is a Bansky image thing that I like. 11 of his pieces recently sold at auction for well over a million dollars. This one in particular sold for three times the original estimate going for nearly $50,000. You could get a signed Derek Jeter bat for that.

It Was A Grand Manoeuvre.

They really couldn't have sent a less attractive cable guy over to my house. I mean I didn't actually think unattractive cable guys existed or I at least felt their existence was highly unlikely. He got the job done I guess. And I got my dishes done because on no account was I going to sit there and watch him do whatever the hell it is he does. In the end I have internet and that's what's most important because there are ever so many fascinating things on the internet. And I was able to watch my documentary on the Falklands War and it was stirring.

California continues to burn and somewhere close to 500,000 residents have been forced to flee which is nowhere near enough. There is a red glow pretty much everywhere you go in Los Angeles, but when you look east it looks particularly Venusian.

Dumbledore coming out of the closet has erupted into quite the controversy and backwoods religious freaks and uppity queens the world over will have their say you mark my words. Mark them well.

President Bush is proving once again that there is simply no one in this world he will not endeavor to piss off, nor a single obscure and weird political fringe group he won't pander to.

And some people in the know are already telling us what we should be looking to wear this Spring. Some shop owners and clothing buyers take a little more cynical view of fashion than others, but I always say it doesn't really matter if you lead the pack since you still have your sorry ass in a pack.

I do have to say that I've been looking in with some satisfaction to this label Wood Wood. Colorful and chaotic it brushes aside the military inspired jackets and dungarees that are so popular right now. Some of their stuff is even a little understated. You can find this top and more over at NewDandyism. Their Rittenhouse stuff rocks quite nicely as well.

Why Is It All So Enormous?

After spending a great deal of the evening suspended in profoundly deep thought I began to realize how utterly lame it is when your internet stops working. I suppose I was able to delude myself for a while as I was on hold with Time Warner Dipfuck LLC for a little under an hour speaking to no less than 5 technicians possessing no less than 2 Commonwealth accents. But when it came down to it I found myself utterly content watching King of the Hill and Simpson's re-runs. Who knew? I did have my hopes pinned on finishing a fascinating documentary on the Falklands War. But that will have to wait it seems.

They are sending a technician over sometime today between 10:00am and 7:00pm, and although I promised them I would do nothing heroic in terms of honoring the appointment I would give it my all. But in the event that we are not able to meet with aforementioned technician then this is where we would disconnect. They were actually trying to sell me additional features as I was on hold with them, and I explained that we would consider such proposals once and only if they were able to make the existing features less sucky.

Do I really need the internet if the baseball season is over? Oh, I know some of you actually view the baseball season as not being over, but you are a sad sad pitiful minority.

Time Will Consume You.

Engaged During The First Weeks.

Do you see this guy. He is a douche. His name is Kevin Youkilis and he plays for the too fucking lame to even countenance Boston Red Sox, but we'll get back to that. I was watching Saturday's game when one of the announcers said that Kevin Youkilis has a "self-described pansy hit". The other announcer said "yes, light grip". These people apparently work for Major League Baseball.

Are you fucking kidding me? You inbred no neck square jawed barely stopped eating your own fucking shit off the ground dip shits. Do I honestly have to listen to this shit? This is indicative of the type of person that is sought out and encouraged by perhaps the lamest baseball firm in history. You would never hear something so ignorant coming from the mouth of anyone in pinstripes. Also referred to as the "Greek God of Walks", however, his coach Terry Francona responded by saying, and I fucking quote Wikipedia for this gem:

"I've seen Youkilis in the shower, and I wouldn't call him the Greek god of anything."

Yeah, We all know it's sexual harassment and penis envy and all that, but the only point I wish to make is the quality of people they find to represent the Red Sox is always, consistently, and unashamedly so very unapologetically low. And I will give credit to Terry for all the kind words he had for Joe, but I would caution in this respect, when you lie down with dogs, Greek or otherwise.......

Douche.

You're The Punchline.

You may have heard sometime yesterday, since everyone seems to hear everything before me, that Joe Torre has declined the Yankees $5 million offer with bonus structure potential for $9 million. The offer was a bit of a slap in the face, and down-right petty if you ask me. Like dickering with the Sales Associate over the last $5 of an Asprey tie. Honestly, do we really need to have this discussion? I'm happy to see Joe walk away from those insufferable bullies after all he has done for them and put up with. And part of me feels like they knew he was going to turn it down just like part of me knows it's all staged and no more real than WWF. But just like Australia, boy butt is definitely real and my interest in it completely undiminished. It's going to be quite a different season next year, and we'll all just have to bear down and see what's in store. But I pose this question. Could the Yankees be the next chavs?

And while we're on the subject of class consciousness, I don't think class consciousness could be any more pervasive, odious, and downright putrid than in the realm of streetwear. I mean I guess I'm willing to assume that high snobiety has a touch of irony in it's name, but when I read articles about Fujiwara telling Nigo that he's sold-out because fat ugly people in American suburbs are wearing BAPE it gives me pause. Now to say BAPE is played out anymore than streetwear in general is to seriously confuse the issue. Rank commerce is rank commerce and I don't give a shit where you grew up or how much of an artist you think you are. Tacky clothes are tacky clothes. But people will generally wear what they want, and they will invariably travel in packs since we are on an evolutionary basis still more like wolves than unlike wolves, and certain people with a small amount of prestige and money will ultimately draw meaningless class distinctions based on geography, lineage or race because for reasons already articulated there needs to be an Alpha. But to hear the way they talk about their tee shirt companies it kinda makes me wonder if they have any books in their house, and if so how many of them don't have pictures. I guess the moral of the story is that there's always a bigger snob lurking around the corner, but those that are truly confident and comfortable with themselves learn to look through it.

Did I seriously just have a touchy-feely moment? I'm takin my ass back to bed. Fuck off. You never read that.

I Just Pretend There's Glass.

Work is even more callously boring than ever. I actually went to a meeting yesterday. Can you believe it? At one point I think I was actually holding my head in my hands. I work with someone that has the ability to ask the most ponderous and meandering questions. Some of them appear to go on for millennia.

However ceaseless my work day is I seem to have come across quite accidentally (because everyone within earshot of a CPK wouldn't shut about it) this news about Ellen Degeneres and her poor reading ability and something about her dog and her batshit craziness. Of course now that she realizes that if anything happens to these people she's like 7 shades of fucked so she's telling everyone to stay calm and back off and please don't make her spend the rest of her life with real lesbians. There was a time when I didn't really mind Ellen. I mean for some random Hollywood vacuum quasi queer-idol I thought she was a relatively benign force. But, alas, she falls into that camp of Hollywood dreamcatcher that for a brief moment and for most of the moments in any given day forgets that there are a significant number of people who are smarter than them, are embarrassed by them, and for them really, and perhaps more importantly, draw serious negative judgments about anyone professing a kindness towards them. Almost as if they were wearing something odd on their face. They are essentially the kind of people that can actually make me dislike other people. That, and only that, is the true measure of celebrity.

I really just wish she would have taken the time to consider for moment that it might not be in the best interests of anybody if she simply decided one day quite absentmindedly, and apparently after consulting with her wunderbar attorney, to convey to, well, the country at large, the image of a seemingly professional homosexual as a whimpering imbalanced emotionally retarded douche bent unceasingly on destroying the lives of others in the name of entertainment. Fuck. I really need baseball back.


I'm wondering if I can actually rock the look you see above. It's called the Jetpack sweater although I prefer Jetpack jumper as a matter of form and alliteration. It's from Icelandic knitwear innovator Mundi and is available at Welcome Hunters of course. Your one stop shopping source for all the Nu Rave you can handle. I'm really torn, and I probably am only mentioning it because I happen to have put on a rather ill fitting and let's just say it homely Oliver Spencer shirt, and nothing gets me in the mood for new clothes like tragic old clothes. I have a fairly decent Surface To Air hoodie to wear over the Oliver Spencer so there's a small chance that my day isn't completely wrecked. Anyway, it's between this and a rather plain looking Wings & Horns hoodie. There's also a Peugeot in Burbank I think I might rather fancy. I used to drive a Peugeot. Did you know? I bet the Jetpack jumper has shields.

Oh eff that! I'm all about these new luxe Comme des Garcons perfumes. Yes. Quite.

She Was Smiling Already.

Well the trip on LA Metro was once again enchanting. I managed to score the one kiosk that hadn't been pissed on. Quite a score.

Some strung out skinhead was trying to "help" a city planner that was merely trying to sleep during his trip downtown. Skinhead bemoaned Jews in Beverly Hills popping out $800 for a pair of jeans. I only pretended to not roll my eyes. I'm probably as concerned with what goes on in the West side as I am with what goes on in Australia. And like Lucia, I'm quite convinced that it exists, but I just couldn't imagine caring.

Skinhead dude really got me thinking about the human miasma littered about Los Angeles and the degenerate carbies I actually work with, and I was offered a project in Seattle, and that is sounding rather good to me right about now. But I just can't get out of my mind the memory of chilly mornings, and spilling my coffee all over the bus. There was the flesh eating paralegal if I remember correctly.

The Finest Ones Are Cheap.

There was an earthquake last night. Around 2:00 am I noticed that I was lying in my bed awake. Then my phone screamed at me telling me I'd missed a call. Which I had. Handsome Compadre called to tell me there was an earthquake. Him informing me of my subconscious astrological awareness was merely incidental.

The quake registered 4.2 on the earthquake scale. It was centered 80 miles northwest of LA. I'm surprised Compadre felt it. Since he lives with dogs and all.

Well I certainly couldn't get back to sleep after such an appalling scene. But I did try, and I drifted in and out of sleep dreaming that I was awake, late for work, in the shower, or worse putting on a hideous outfit. There's a word for that. It's not gestalt, but something else. Enjoy the vid. I'm gonna have me a breakfast burrito.

Oh, before that I just have to say that, this shit, shit like this, really gives me the morning vapors. I mean obviously he's not interested in the throngs of women at some Nobu bar or whatever, but do they really have to make him sound like some secluded shut-in sex freak? I really loathe the New York Post. And why is he staying at some place that charges for guest parking. I mean, how trashy is that? That's the real story if you ask me which of course no one did.

Resist The Urge.

I couldn't help myself. I just had to post this. I really found it marvelous, and yes there is a hurricane in her. Absolutely jaw dropping performance from my lady Cate. Almost makes me want to take up the whole heterosexual thing. Clive Owen was also just the handsomest. If you have to stare at anything for 2 and a half hours Clive will do.

A Favorite Of Mine.

I really have no idea what possessed me to get up today. I slept in and everything. I tried everything I could to stay in bed, but I was oddly compelled to show up. Maybe it's the paycheck, maybe it's the inherent gratification my job brings, maybe I have nothing else to do with my time. Whatever it is I've promised myself that I will under no circumstances subject myself to a lifestyle blog.

The Morrissey show on Friday night at the Hollywood Palladium was absolutely magical. Compadre was, and I shit you not, like a little school girl. He had never seen Moz that close-up and in person before, and he was beside himself for most of the show. I was as well.

I couldn't help myself, or I may have been too off my face for it to even matter, but whatever, I bought Falco from the itunes store. And oh yes, I'm listening to it as I write this.

Compadre and I went to see The Golden Age yesterday and it was at this time that I perfected my best school girl pose and squeal. It was quite simply divine. And I know what everyone is saying about this movie and they may or may not be right, but I suggest they simply quietly admire the clothes and the wigs and keep their indie punk white-boy asses quiet. "My bitches wear my collars!" We followed the movie with some ultra-tragic shopping in Los Feliz Village. There's one shop that sells only Original Penguin. I'm not kidding. It's one of the saddest things I've ever seen. The other shop peddled such cheesy crap as John Varvatos for Converse (Yeah, didn't want it when Barney's was chucking it, and still don't), Orthodox, Obey, Blood Is The New Black, Rxmance, Unholy Matrimony, Morphine Generation, you think I'm hallucinating, but these are the actual things that I saw. That they were asking money for. I nearly almost bought a Caste shirt before Compadre reminded me that it was just like the shirt of mine that he was wearing right at that very moment. Oh well then, I see how it's gonna be.

Drove to east L.A. to what I can only hope was the nearest King Taco for one of the best burritos I've had in a while, and if you haven't tried the King Taco, then well, you know, you might want to give some serious thought to it. New location coming to Ontario, and no, not the French Canadian Ontario, the other one. The one with the third world airport. Give it a try. But go easy on the red sauce. I sorta just let loose, and it's not what I could say is for everybody.

Play Down The Tude.

That House of Cassette jacket that I blogged about earlier finally came in the mail. It has a most peculiar tag on it. It has the label of course, but right next to that is another label that reads "Made In China". How odd. I thought I'd gone a long time without purchasing a garment that reads "Made In China", and I could honestly give a shit what the Beastie Boys have to say on the subject, but still. There seems to have been a sea change in values when it comes to sportswear. They seem to be targeting a rather down-market demographic which I unwittingly became a part of when I decided to point and click that jacket to my door. Don't get me wrong. I dig the jacket. I also dig the Comme des Garcons hoodie I'm rocking today, and now that I look it seems that it's tag says "Made In China" as well. Deliciously distressed and faded, but "Made In China" nonetheless. Here I am enabling the God Damn Motherfucking Mega-Crisis whilst skewing consumer confidence markers. Not sure how I actually feel about this, but once I figure out sub-molecular cohesion I'll give it some serious thought.

Well if you were anywhere near a lifestyle blog yesterday you probably heard that Canadian outfitter Wings & Horns has started to deliver their A/W line. Yeah. No one would seriously shut up about it. I mean like 6 frackin people could honestly talk about nothing but. The neo-tragic boutique of Blackbird is kinda sorta selling it, but not really. Don't ask. They posted the zip-cardigan w/ the Tim Hamilton-ish elbow patches that dropped months ago you see above. I'd wait though, whatever they charge it's going to be more than everyone else. It is Ballard after all. Even their Skippers is known to be uppity. So these delightful Wings & Horns boots you see you can pre-order on peasant. It costs $20 to pre-order and delivery is expected in December. The boots are $720 so if you're like me and you actually know where to find quality fittings you won't even bother with it. But I just bring it up because no one would shut up about it. Oh, and I had a point. Delivering your A/W line in mid-October? Who in the hell do these mofos think they are and will someone please tell them that it isn't the Padasha Emperor. Oh wait, they also manufacture and sell tee shirts for whiny cunts to print their "graphics" on so one of the kickbacks is generating a lot of insular self aggrandizing cross promotional buzz. I think even my houseplants know where I stand on this one. It's an old bourgeois motto, "Don't piss on my shoe and call it art."

I'm listening to the new British Sea Power E.P. as I write this. It's quite nice. One of my favorite groups for sentimental reasons, but also because they wrote one of the most amazing songs I've evah!!

And I must have misplaced the Pea Coat memo or maybe I just don't care. Is anyone else noticing a sudden resurgence of the Pea Coat? Honestly. Doesn't seem particularly practical for either of my residences, but that's never stopped me before.

It Feels Like An Experiment.

I slept with the window wide open and I understand the temperature dipped pretty low last night. As a result I woke up this morning quite convinced that I had some type of head cold. I got on the train where everyone was acting as though and sounding as if they had head colds. I suppose it was all a matter of time. It has been nearly a year since my last head cold. They just always seem to come at the worst moments. Right when I leave Seattle where I could have rushed down to Tenzing Momo for a healing pomander of clary sage and dried eel scales. Now all I seem to have is chamomile fucking tea and dayquil. Lovely...

Anyway, someone asked me yesterday if I had picked up the new Radiohead. Now let me make this clear. I don't listen to Radiohead, I don't read pitchforkmedia, I don't have nightmares anymore, I don't sleep with the lights on, and I don't wear Acne jeans. Clear on that? Good.

I haven't really decided how cool the Black Kids are. Yet.

I'm pretty sure I'm over Henrik Vibskov.

I'm still not doing much in the way of "coping".

Risk Homeostasis.

Back in Los Angeles where the weather is delightful and the coffee is a much anticipated back slide into char roasted ass. Heard something about Band of Horses at Amoeba tonight. My mind is telling me maybe, but my body is telling me not likely. Amoeba on a Wednesday night? Sounds perverse.

Trip was nice. Went thrifting and didn't find any vintage benetton. Nary a scrape. Did find a sorta fresh Oliver Spencer button-up. Found the rest of the Mapp & Lucia series at Twice Sold Tales. Also picked up some history books. Spent way too much time in used CD bins, talked myself out of buying another pair of jeans, met friends at The Comet where there was mercifully no death metal band playing, watched the Yankees win a game, then lose a game. Bought Oysters that were a little bit expensive, but the boys are just too cute to say no to. Flight was delayed leaving Seattle and I had to sit next to some guy reading something called Geekipedia. I know.

The Yankees have been eliminated. There I just said it. There is much speculation as to the future of Joe Torre and the remaining Yanks. You can even participate in an online poll. No, Derek isn't even an option. I think such things are indecent and crass, but you just knock yourself out. Some even suggest that Derek may have contributed to the early elimination with something of an inopportune slump. The people saying such things are hateful motherfuckin' queens.

Fearing For The Locale.

I'm not doing much in the way of coping at the moment. Thanks for asking. And you?

The Yankees are or were or in a way had, well, it's simply too indecent for me to even have to acknowledge.

Descending Into Ice.

I rarely blog while I am traveling, but I did go through quite an effort to snap these pictures, and the lady sitting behind me on the plane went and got herself covered in beer as a result so I figured I could at least make the effort.

Another Piece Of My Heart.

Let's not talk about yesterday's unpleasantness shall we. I'd rather talk about something else although at the moment it escapes me what that might be.

I'm off to SeaWA this afternoon, and among other things I'm going to be having my hair did, going benetton hunting, and I may or may not be going to the neo-tragic mens boutique Blackbird. I mean after all they just got a new shipment of Banana Republic, I mean APC. It really all depends on the weather and as far as I can see it doesn't look like the weather will allow me to do much.

Oh, I think I'm going to go music shopping. Normal people go music shopping when they hear about so and so on such and such and everything is good. Maybe they're looking for the new Hot Panda who knows. When I go music shopping it's more like seeking out the Lost Arc of the Fucking Covenant. A tremendous investment of calories with little in the way of reward. Seattle is a great place for doing this which is why, in a sense, I call the place my home. That and the shocking beauty. We musn't forget that. Ooh Ooh Ooh! And oysters!

Boo Yah In Stereo Void.

I did two maybe three things yesterday that were absolutely profound. The first was go to the Farmers Market on 5th where I scored two tamales for $3 and I was so impressed with my savings that I proceeded to buy the most expensive dolmades ever. $4 for 8 ounces where at the sheesheeist of sheeshee specialty stores they only cost 25 cents each. The nerve. I was also fortunate enough to buy tickets for game 1 of the ALCS game in Anaheim. I know Anaheim. Assuming they win the ALDS and assuming my Yankees beat Cleveland then there I'll be sitting right behind my boo! Anaheim has already dropped game 1 to Boston so things aren't looking all that good, but it is baseball. A mystical game really. I also cooked last night. No less profound, and certainly no less burnt. But oddly edible.

And this tiny little haberdashery in Ballard was written up on Agenda. I thought that was cute, although Agenda didn't really say anything about the shop. Maybe I should... I could really take the shop or leave it. A lot of trade show garbage with the occasional wonder. But I scarcely have the energy to rifle through all the TSG let alone drive to Ballard. I originally went there because they were the only shop in town to sell Nom De Guerre, but who honestly cares about that anymore? It's nice when a local shop gets buzz though, and if you're ever in Seattle then it would probably be well worth your effort to ignore this shop and its mounds and mounds and mounds of APC, Guilded Age, Rag & Bone, Raf Simons channeling Jil Sander, Flippa K, Oliver Spencer, Surface to Air, and APC, and APC, and Acne, and B*Son and did I mention APC. I'd rather go to my friends' house. He lives in Ballard, but I don't think he runs a shop as an afterthought. Oh the shop's called Blackbird if I didn't mention it although Afterthought would be a far better name or infinitely more descriptive. But since no one will be going to Seattle in the near future besides me I guess it doesn't matter. I'm a little interested in the Wings & Horns stuff, but they really are insufferable electro-clique drop-outs at this shop and the American Apparel is so much closer. And the best part, they actually sell Ramdane Touhami. How silly is that? Ooh ooh ooh! They also recently started selling the Comme des Garcons wallets. You know the ones with the zippers. You probably have five already. And if you go to their self aggrandizing blog they'll tell you all about Comme des Garcons. You know, because you've been living under a rock for the last 26 years, and they know it. And they're bringing you the light. Sorry. I'll stop. But I really hate these fucking morons.

Yankees play Game One of the ALDS against Cleveland today at 3:30. Daddy roots for Cleveland. I root for the Indians. Boys at work have given me all the software I need to pirate the games. So let's fucking have it!

If This Don't Make Your Booty Move.

An anonymous informant tipped me off to this small bit of bigotry from my home town of Bonneville County Idaho. I was in just one of those moods so I decided to call Bonneville County last night. I had the most delightful conversation with the most addled slack jawed dip-shit hick and he spoke in that indescribable accent you only achieve after living there for several years, and emerging from a union wherein both parties were undeniably sibs. We spoke of the Federal Rules of Evidence, the hearsay rule, and many things that were well above his pay grade. He managed to reaffirm my belief that I will never (after Christmas of course) ever return to that piece of shit town again unless of course I'm holding a thermal detonator.

Enough of that unpleasantness. Onto some things I like. The Showtime show Dexter, love it. My new blog, I think I can handle it. Some of you may have heard that I have a peculiar interest in clothes, and I also have a passion for thrifting. And although I'm always happy to happen upon a random piece of Comme des Garcons or Issey Miyake what I'm always on the hunt for and what always sends my heart racing is vintage benetton. I've been collecting since July 2002 and I've amassed a rather overwhelming collection. I prefer pieces from the mid to late 80s, but I've been known to dabble into the Ice Ice Baby early 90s. My dream of course, and one I hold so very close to my heart, is to one day open a small shop that only sells vintage benetton. And when I say "shop" of course I mean "tax shelter". I'm no fool. I have no head for business, and I could give two copper farthings for what the average consumer wants, but I just think it would be a nice place to read my library and quietly scorn those that think it might be appropriate to enter my shop.

Well, the point of all that is that I've started a new blog dedicated to this rather out from left field interest of mine. You can find it here, and eventually I'll add a link on the right. It's still new, but I'll be updating it often and hopefully providing some guidance for the benetton hunters out there. Please enjoy.



Oh I just bought this jacket since I needed something a little lighter and more serviceable than my Barbour Beaufort. It's called the London Light jacket and is from Los Angeles based upstart House of Cassette. Bubba recently purchased and also highly recommends these Arc Teryx jackets which I'm also gonna check out soon. But you do what you want. It's a free country. Except in Bonneville County and maybe Iran.

Insecurity Is My Only Sustenance.

This morning was a little bit more hectic than yesterday, but all in all I think I pulled it off quite brilliantly. The only snag was that I managed to leave my lunch on my kitchen counter. Compadre, always one with a brilliant insight, suggested I go home for lunch. Yes! Perhaps just this once I shall. I mean there's one lady I work with that doesn't show up until I leave for the day. It's not like there's much in the way of rules that would prevent me from going home for the rest of the day and just saying that I was here for the entire time.

Today I went for a low rise boot-cut denim paired with a Coup De Grace deja vu' tee shirt. Easter Camo Adidas (pronounced ah-dee-dah) and YvesSaintLaurent brown leather bracelet. Classic. Lush Coconut solid shampoo massaged into scalp for 45 seconds, Loccitane lavender Le'Mere body soap applied with loofah, Demalogica face wash followed by Dermalogica firming eye cream and Baxter of California 15 SPF moisturizer followed by a whisper of Aveda moisturizing lip balm. I chose Comme des Garcon's Avignon as a fragrance to give an undertone of seriousness to my otherwise frivolous outfit. I'm sure you know what book I'm channeling. But in case anyone's wondering I left my knife at home so I couldn't stab to death a homeless person, however, there was some homeless dude sleeping on the subway stairway. I stopped and urinated on him. Smelly fuck was so out of it he didn't even notice. The fact that the surveillance cameras were on made it all the more thrilling. No need to degrade another human being if no one is watching. But no, I wasn't listening to Phil Collins when I kicked his teeth down his throat. The smooth lyrical stylings of J. Dillah did nicely if you please.

Speaking of fiction! Today I'm going to start the Mapp & Lucia trilogy. I haven't read fiction in ages (save Harry Potter). It's all been history, biography, history, history, etc. which I suppose makes me a tremendous bore. I got many books for my birthday (Thank you everybody!), and I picked up loads as well from my devoted used book seller Horizon on a recent trip to SeaWA. So exciting starting a new book. I hear my primer on theoretical physics and super gravity just arrived in the mail. Not sure when I'll manage to tackle that, but I'm looking forward to it. I have a secret gay boy crush on the author.

I started a new blog yesterday. It's not quite ready and I have a little more work to do on it so I think I'm going to go over there to work on that for a while. Maybe tomorrow. Oh before I go I'll pose this question. What kind of idiot downloads an album from itunes that they already own? It's not a riddle I say, that would be me. Oh yes. Little ol' me.

You See What Your Knowledge Tells You What You Are Seeing.

*Picture of David Wright mulling over the fact that he is not now, has not been, and will never be the next Derek Jeter by David Henry


You know. There are days that I just throw on whatever is available and I really don't even think about it. The consequence is that I leave my home looking like the biggest mo you have ever... This morning was a day of skin tight denim, even tighter bright red Dior tee shirt, some little mesh of a thing pulled over that paired with Reebok Ballistics and a Raf Simons cuff. With my ass crack in full display every time I bent down to check myself. I'm really surprised that I don't get gay bashed more often really. Cuz' by the way those vatos were looking at me this morning they certainly had a mind to. Or they may have had a mind for something else who knows. Maybe the fact that I'm twice the size of most Guatemalans and am an all out nightmare when I take a notion to start swingin' my purse explains how I've escaped so many beatings and subsequent gang rapings. Whatever it is I just count my blessings.

So ho hum, I guess you probably heard that baseball is over. The Yankees are obviously in the post season. But how bout them Mets? I mean Jesus. Could you possibly blow anything bigger than that. Please don't say it. I mean yeah there was the 3-0 series lead against Boston in 2004, but this just kinda puts that in another perspective. Mets fans everywhere are left trying to make sense of their tattered existence and one of them should be heading into the office around a half past noon, and I just don't know what to say to the poor fool. I think Morrissey put it best when he penned that song, oh what's it called, oh yes I remember, You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby...

Compadre actually dragged, no he didn't ask, he dragged my ass kicking and screaming the whole way to the Hollywood Italian festival yesterday. And it was as goombah as goombah gets. I've never seen so many fake Chanel sunglasses concentrated in a single place. I did see a couple of the prettiest boys God ever considered creating and only one of them had his shirt buttoned down to his navel. I got a big kick out of the petting zoo, and I made friends with a goat and promised him I would never ever eat goat cheese again. His name was Martin. But all in all it was a tad underwhelming. I mean over 3000 years of history and culture reduced to pizza, calzones, Dean Martin, Peroni, some broke-ass whirley-gig and fucking gypsies. Compadre didn't have to drag me kicking and screaming back to his place, but he did score a fresh TuPac vanity picture from one of the wandering gypsies. I'm sure he's going to hang it over his bed and kiss it before he goes to sleep every night.

Before I leave you I just have to mention that I'm really not into the shit you see above. It's from some Brooklyn (I know I've had enough of them to) "artist" that fashions "jewelery" out of crap and then charges a shit load for it. It's called Black Sheep and Prodigal Sons and it is the fuggest of all get out. But what really rankles my chains is that he purports to use "post ban ivory" in his "pieces". I mean can you believe that trifle ass shit? If you're going to glamorize the wearing of animal product, and thereby perpetuate the anthropocentric notion that they're there for us to consume, then please don't try to justify it with words like "post-ban". He might be able to get away with it if it weren't so hideous and more expensive than anything you can get at YSL Rive Gauche. I'll never wear this shit, and like goat cheese I'll never shop at a store that sells it. We hates it. Tricksy! False! And did we mention tacky.