Around My Neck Sincere.

Oh My God! I found this new website that has all sorts of cute pics of Derek and RoRo and chunky monkey* and I was in like the best of moods yesterday. Some of the photographs are quite simply gorgeous, and I'll be posting them randomly here and there. I'll try to attribute the photographs where I can, but you'd be better off just going to daylife.com since it's like the next google.

Georgie has finalized his deal with the Yankees making him the highest paid catcher in baseball which is of course as it should be. Although I was troubled by rumors that the Yankees may be looking to "shop" Johnny Damon. That would be too insane to believe. The Yankees are currently discussing Johan Santana with the Twins, and Georgie thinks it's a good idea.

Yet oddly enough all is not well with things. Morrissey is suing the British music rag that brought you the Arctic Monkeys the NME over an interview appearing to place the author of Mexico and Slum Mums in a racist light. Wow. Way to go with that. An article that essentially has the by line of anonymous because no one would take credit for the self serving fabrication. Given what I know about libel laws in the United Kingdom I'd say the NME is fucked. But given Morrissey's history with the British legal system who can be sure. But the NME does have a pathological history of assaulting Morrissey with these silly insinuations. And they gave you the Arctic Monkeys so they should just go the fuck away for that and just leave it there.

The funniest thing is how most American outlets are only reporting the article, and not the suing over the article, and the original author wanting his name removed due to excessive "rewording". On a positive note, the Polydor/Decca deal we mentioned yesterday extends to the United States as well so your next purchase of Morrissey should be quite affordable.
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Northern European somewhere super-rad designers Viktor & Rolf are teaming up with luggage luminary Samsonite to create a line of luggage in the shape of violins and tennis rackets and other absurdities. I hope they make one in the shape of a cricket bat for Freddie Flinthoff. Even though colabs are the next nothing, I have to say that this is much more reassuring than Comme des Garcons' colab with the neo-tragic Chrome Hearts. I really can't stand Chrome Hearts. But I really can't stand Fred Perry and for people that actually know me they find that quite odd.
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* David Wright

It Is Never A Coincidence.

There are some things I don't think I'll ever get my head around. I read the other day that My Bloody Valentine were playing a few shows in the U.K., and this didn't strike me as altogether odd. I mean it's odd in the sense that it's not at Coachella, but every band besides the Smiths and Joy Division inevitably reform in some fashion and proceed to play their hearts out to a group of fans that end up not being as excited as they thought they would be. But this news of a new My Bloody Valentine album some 17 years after Loveless just has me in stitches. And apparently it's not going to be an all too unfortunate Radiohead affair. It will most likely be self released or something, and I'm sure those words mean a lot more to someone else. But so far I can say that I'm definitely interested, or you could even say that they had me Bloody and maybe Valentine.
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Morrissey has recently signed to Polydor/Decca in the United Kingdom for his upcoming album and "Best Of" compilation. There is no word on an American deal, but I hardly think that matters. If people are willing to pay nothing for Radiohead then I'm sure they will be more than willing to spend $25 on a Morrissey album.
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I was absolutely excited the other day when I received an invitation to the YvesSaintLaurent private sale. But then I realized it was a double edged sword. I seem to get all manner of things in the mail. It isn't limited to the things that I want or am expecting. For instance, it seems that I am entitled to 20% off my future purchases at a place called Blood, Bath & Beyond. They printed the coupon on a card the size of a Subaru and somehow managed to lodge it into my mailbox. For fuck's sake. The good news is that I received an email inviting me to the new YvesSaintLaurent online boutique. Yes...You heard me correctly, and no you are not hallucinating, YSL now has an online boutique where you can purchase a selection of their offerings including the Ipod Nano cases I was raving about a few days ago. Xmas shopping for me just got a whole lot easier for everyone.
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Today it's going to be about clothes. Clothes clothes clothes everywhere you look some dip-shit has grabbed their friend they went to design school with and is starting a new brand. They are everywhere, indistinguishable, and all the time. And the places you can go where they are altogether willing to pimp these McBrands are endless as well. It's getting harder and harder to separate out the chaff. But I will try nonetheless. Here is an unfortunately non-inclusive list of labels you officially don't have to care about anymore:

Orthodox
Unholy Matrimony
Quentin & Claude
Obedient Sons
Ever
United Bamboo
Local Celebrity
Cheap Monday
Acne

And this Chrome Hearts x Comme des Garcons colab is perhaps the most ill conceived fug since gogurt.

No, that's not all, but you're welcome all the same.

It's Just So Understated.

True to form the Yankees are currently in the initial stages of formulating a trade for the generously attractive Minnesota Twins' pitcher Johan Santana. I've always liked Johan Santana, and it goes without saying he has little ambition outside the diamond and the kitchen, and is attractive enough and would look good enough in pinstripes, plus if the Yankees are able to convince Andy to come back the two of them will have so much to talk about. What with imaginary things and all. There is little word as to whom the Twins would like in exchange, although my money has to be on Joba Chamberlain. Everyone says no, but I just have to say one, he kinda flipped over a bunch of gnats, and two, there are a lot of players that look better in that uniform. Maybe if you could find some gnats to chase him out of his local Wendy's and into a gym somewhere it might all work out, but until then...

I guess everyone has heard that Major League Baseball has approved the incentives in RoRo's contract essentially paying bonuses each time RoRo ties the top 4 all time home run leaders, and also when he surpasses the first. But did you know that RoRo is baseball's "sensitive boy", and apparently has a thing for strip clubs? I have no idea if it's true or not, but I read it on this blog.

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So yesterday it was alpha dogging "designers" and today it just has to be about xmas. I seem to be hearing a lot about xian charity and all that jazz, and obviously I find it laugh out loud hilarious, but nonetheless I also resent it. Not merely in terms of the unspoken assumptions, but also with respect to the blatant opportunism. To be honest xmas shows xians at their absolute worst. It's a time when everyone collectively absolves themselves from the needs and the plight of others less fortunate and absentmindedly basks in unbridled indulgence and mince pies. Not that I mind that passive ambivalence or anything and lord knows I always love me some mince pie, but I don't go out and spend boat loads of money on my family and friends and then tell myself that it's all about the imaginary things in life. And I certainly would never hand over a pittance of cash to some charity and hope to absolve the guilt I feel over a pair of $700 calfskin gloves. I just wouldn't.

Resolution Of Fragments In The Singular.

I scored some new audio data over the holiday. Los Campesinos! is playing right now, and I'm quite digging it. The perfect remedy if you've recently purchased one too many recordings from bands that take their guitar noodling and ponderous ruminations a bit too seriously. I'm almost thinking a Go Team with lyrics and stuff. Whatever you say, their cover of Pavement's Frotnwards made me hit the deck. Literally.

The Black Lips came recommended by no fewer than two music aficionados. My first impression was of honky tonk surf punk, then something closer to the Raveonettes, but nowhere near as sucky. But it moves effortlessly from shambolic, jangly to pop. It's not really me, but I wouldn't turn it off either. Which is a lot like when someone says they wouldn't kick someone out of bed. Anonymous D swears that the only people that say this are people with a face only a mother could love. Does that make me tone deaf?
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My evening moved from drab and ordinary to colorfully ecstatic in an instant, and all it took was a single envelope. An invitation. An entreaty. YvesSaintLaurent is having a sale. A sale that begins this Thursday November 29th at all of their North American boutiques. This of course means that I may be heading to the O.C. this weekend, or I may do the sensible thing and just go to Beverly Hills. Although I do like my girls in the O.C. YSL. Free of all the airs and graces that we simply can't abide. I really am hoping to finish all of my holiday shopping this weekend or even better this Saturday. A trip to YSL would certainly be a worthwhile destination. Their patent leather Ipod cases lead the way in an industry replete with overdone details and self-conscious design.

Which brings up another issue. I don't care if you're a designer. Everyone is. It's like the new having Capricorn in your ascending sign or driving a hybrid. That being said, you needn't preface things that you say or write with "As a designer" or "I'm a designer". You could be a veterinarian and if what you say is dumb, then it's dumb. No need to drag your entire profession into your clusterfuck of idiocy. Sorry. That's been coming up a lot recently, and I just had to get it off my chest. Push out the jive...

Did You See The Past.

I've emerged from the holiday weekend unharmed. I've been back in Los Angeles for 5 hours and I'm barely beginning to get feeling back into my fingers. Yeah. Idaho is cold. I imagine outer space is about as cold as Idaho. But since the feeling is coming back I can type, and even though I'm a few hours, and one meeting away from collapsing in exhaustion I had to post this picture and let everyone know that it's one of the cutest pictures I've come across lately. I hope you enjoy it. Usual blather stream to commence tomorrow.

Nouveau Devoid On The Continent.

I am in absolutely no way shape or form prepared for the holiday weekend. I mean really. I mean sure my bag is packed and everything seems to be where it needs to be. I can print out my boarding pass at any time. But I'm not one of those people that is going to thank my lucky stars - or tell someone else to thank their lucky stars - that they aren't one of the poor souls stuck in JFK airport. That just sounds absurd to me, but I hear crap like that all the time during the holiday blood bath. I'm afraid to check on the status of my flight, I'm terrified of the train ride to the airport, and absolutely dreading the airport itself. You may remember the last time I was at an airport I had to read a Complex magazine. And it was ghastly. The lead story on MSNBC is basically about how shitty my day is going to be. Why does MSNBC even exist? Can someone please answer that for me?

On a much more positive note I have endless hours in front of the xbox awaiting me. Shooting this and fracking that. Good fun.
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Although I doubt they will have them in the depths of Idaho, I will nonetheless be on diligent lookout for these Comme des Garcons chonies. I recently admitted to wearing American Apparel chonies exclusively, and although I really find it unpleasant to contradict myself I think I just may have to. Me wants them. Me shall have them. And as long as I stay true to my word and never crawl back to Netflix I'll be able to hold on to my integrity. (SlamXHype)

I Thought We Were Clear On That Point.

Well someone is having a worse day than me. I was lying in bed trying to coax myself back into slumber when I heard the sound of screeching tires and crunching metal. "Oh that can't be good," I said to myself as I continued to lay there staring at what I was convinced was a spider on my ceiling. After persuading myself that the spider was not going to attack me if in fact it were a spider at all, I got out of bed. After my usual morning routine I walked to the train station and I saw a late model Chevy pick-up crashed up against palm tree. Those palm strees are remarkably resilient. The truck had mercifully missed El Gran Burrito which I love. They do avocado salsa right and they're across the street to boot.

I watched Anton Corbijn's Control yesterday, and it was about as interesting as you'd expect a black and white film about Joy Division to be. Actually it was quite good. The guy playing Ian Curtis was amazing. The dude playing Bernard Sumner was priceless, and Samantha Morton is like my new goddess. She is in everything I've been wanting to see lately. I would have to say that I felt the movie dragged in parts, but I think it was meant to. It was so you could take in all the cinematography n' shit. I guess critique is the new organic denim.
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The state of New York is yet to drop these spurious tax allegations against Derek and it goes without saying that they have yet to offer an apology. Now they've all gone and upset his mother and that just isn't right. The tax benefits I receive by maintaining my primary residence in Washington state are quite incidental. I wasn't even expecting it really. It was just that the idea of working in Los Angeles without having a refuge somewhere else made me contemplate death almost constantly. So really the tax bonus is just that, a bonus. And besides, why should I pay taxes in a state where I can't vote? Isn't that something like sorta fundamental that our founding terrorists took to heart and created a mantra in order to galvanize the people into an eventual uprising and establishment of a corrupt government based on apple pies and some kind of flag and cheating Derek out of his hard earned money. "No taxation without representation" I believe were the words. They sound as corny and vague now as I'm sure they did then, but when Arnold Schwartafucker is the Governor of a state - any state - then they take on a much more profound meaning.
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The FBI reports that hate crimes against gays, lesbians and the transgendered rose 18% in 2006. It would be easy to blame rap music, or Brokeback Mountain backlash, or the economy, but in reality more and more people are expressing their perceived inferiority and ghastly style through violence. And it is a terrible shame. Compadre tells me I have nothing to worry about. That random acts of violence are limited to the ugly or the otherwise unfortunate, and almost certainly to people that actually go places. I do hope he's right, but one thing is certain, after conquering imaginary spiders on your ceiling there is very little the day can throw at you that you can't handle. The power comes from within.

Never Failing To Underwhelm.

I was lying in bed this morning and something - something foreboding and ugly - was telling me that it was no longer the weekend. I had to be somewhere, meaning I had to go somewhere. But then I realized it was just my job and the overwhelming feeling of urgency transformed into a stubborn and mechanical sense of ambivalence. I did sleep in, and I noticed that when you take later trains you get to see more of the masses or hoi polloi if you will. There are a lot of hotties amongst them I have to confess and naturally they stick out like a raccoon in your living room on LA public transport. But for every hottie there is the inexplicable retard, incapable of walking at an even pace, unable to navigate a straight line, always fumbling in their purse or pocket, and consistently in your way. They have no function. If I pushed them to the ground, their eventual hitting of the ground would be more of a substantial accomplishment than what they are used to. My kindness knows no limits.

The weekend was certainly nice, although I woke up Saturday morning with a screeching migraine preceded by the annoying blindness. There was little to do but watch 17 hours of David Starkey's Monarchy. It was a wild ride. Part 2 is out right now, and it happens to be on my xmas list, and I happen to know that I've been an excellent boy this year. I had to do a spot of shopping, and as always I ended up spending too much money at American Apparel. That place really annoys me, and the employees are downright useless, but they always have just the right certain something for just that right certain sometime. I wear their chonies exclusively, although I'm compensated little for doing so.

I watched the movie Lions For Lambs, and even though I don't think Tom Cruise can act himself out of being gay, I really thought it was nice and self consciously thought provoking. I can see why the mainstream media are bagging it. I mean what are they going to say? "A searing indictment of our industry and the role it plays in suppressing democracy and the fundamental political principles upon which our country is founded translates well onto film." I just don't see it happening.

Compadre made a delicious meal of vegetarian pot pies served with Jim Beam & Coke n' shit. It was fantastic and the company was miraculous, but my charms soon began to overwhelm Compadre and I had to take my leave of his delicate sensibilities. I went home and watched a bootleg version of Elizabeth: The Golden Age for like the third time cause, you know, that's how I roll.

There may in fact be things happening in the world affecting the lives of millions, I simply haven't had the time or inclination to look into it. But this little bit about the Eurostar campaign is the only thing that has seriously grabbed my attention this morning.

Forward Leaning Charge.

I had to go to a work luncheon yesterday. That such excursions are generally awkward goes without saying. It was always a question of how awkward and in how many ways. But my wildest imaginings - and I have a wild imagination - could not have prepared me for what I was about to experience. At one point this philistine to my left made the clever observation that he didn't really think Koreans and Chinese get along. Sitting next to a Korean in a Chinese restaurant I had to measure my options carefully. There was indeed room for me under the table, but I didn't think my approach would go unnoticed. So I weathered the inane and ignorant blather coming at me from all directions - actually one direction primarily - and I emerged unharmed and not that much stupider as a result.
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The man who may still be called RoRo has reached an outline for a 10 year $275 million contract with the Yankees. It is even said by some people I have no reason to believe that the contract could pay "RoRo" millions more if he sets the career homo record. This news gladdens our heart, and makes all the earlier articles about RoRo going to the Dodgers or the Angels or the Gine Gine Fruit Smoothies all the more pathetic. Anonymous D so called this one.

Something that saddens our heart is news that Derek Jeter is in a tax dispute with the state of New York. New York claims that Derek owes back taxes for periods where he claimed residency in Florida, but in fact resided in New York. I can sympathize with Derek I really can. Being bi-coastal on the same coast myself, and having homes in jurisdictions with radically different tax codes poses some serious challenges. Actually they aren't that serious, nor are they that challenging. The state of New York is alpha dogging trying to get Derek to pay something just to avoid a public relations gaffe. And it's disgusting. And well outside their legal mandate. Derek fulfills all the requirements to be treated under Florida tax law - why the hell he would want to claim residency in Florida of all places is his own nightmare - but he obviously resides in Florida for the statutorily prescribed time, and the other issues would depend on where he is registered to vote, bank accounts, drivers license, and any number of other factors. But this New York "near and dear" bullshit is nowhere in the tax code. Nowhere. The New York tax board should get back to auditing the poor and those living near the poverty line. It's really what they spend most of their time doing, and it's where their expertise truly lies.

Barry Bonds has been indicted for lying to investigators about using steroids. The cheater now faces perjury and obstruction of justice charges. Now I'm just remembering that old mantra about being able to indict a ham sandwich and trying not to get in a twitter over this news. I think I'm doing OK with it.
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And I got a call last night regarding the recent controversy surrounding the holiday greeting "Ho-Ho-Ho". Some apparently find the expression offensive to women. You know, in the Idaho no you da ho kinda way. Well let's see. This strikes me as one of the stupidest things I've heard in the last 24 hours, and you heard about the Korean and Chinese comment at luncheon. I mean stupid in a way that makes me wonder if these people are capable of breathing without being hooked up to a machine. We are honestly talking about a brain capacity that is so very low it may be unable to bat both eyelashes simultaneously. It could even be a mass of stupidity so dense that it functions as a black hole drawing all manner of stupidity in on itself. If there are stronger words that can describe this flaming ball of dumb I'm sure they'll come to me after I have my coffee.

It's Found In The Contours.

My holiday began by staring in the face of 4 curious raccoons. They had taken up temporary residence in our courtyard and were making plans to cross the street. I thought it would be best to let them get to it so I took the side entrance. The rest of the weekend was refreshingly devoid of wildlife save the one spanger that came into the coffee house and demanded 70 cents for coffee. I told the imp that she was really bothering us, and she should be gone. The staff managed to push her out the doors. I assume if they weren't so busy they would have taken her behind the shop and beaten her to death with her own cruddy boot. Priorities I suppose.

The weather in the Northwest was exciting to say the least. We were without power for nearly 2 hours along with 11,000 other homes in what has quickly become known as the great November Storm of 2007. Fancy. Once power was restored I could get along with the unexpected. I did two things I haven't done in a great while. I went to Ballard and Bellevue. I can't say I enjoyed either place. Bellevue was isolated and sterile. Ballard was isolated and crunchy. On the way back to Capitol Hill from Ballard no fewer than 2 people "got the finger". It really is a trial sometimes just leaving your house.

On Tuesday the people at the airline had it in their mind to put me on a flight that got into LA around 1 in the morning. I informed them that that would simply not happen in this current universe that we occupy. I took a morning flight and went back home and enjoyed the hospitality of Anonymous D for one additional evening. Quite fancy. I had to read Complex magazine on the plane, and it was altogether agonizing. It was worse than reading Details. Mark Ecko is such an enormous douche. Let me just say this once. Street kids have no inherent sense of style. The only thing they do is steal shit from people they used to make fun of until one of their "bros" called them on that shit, and thought maybe lavender kicks is where it's at. So tedious and the fact that it's on purpose makes it hilarious. "Yeah bitch, you wanna talk about thread counts, or maybe we can discuss that hideous thing on your head with a lopsided Yankees logo." Ooh so trill.

I got back into LA yesterday afternoon absolutely shaking my head in pain after reading an article on buffalo plaid, worked for a few/several hours, and then enjoyed a movie with Compadre. I got the impression over the weekend that Compadre would like to be known as Papi 23, but I'll just have to see about that.

I guess everyone has heard that RoRo may be staying with the Yankees and if he does then of course he stays RoRo and not some random dude in a less attractive uniform standing next to a less attractive shortstop playing in a rather unbecoming stadium somewhere insane. I haven't taken my RoRo baseball card out of the cupboard of shame just yet, but I have made some space available on my desk should things go the way they ought to go in a properly ordered universe.

Oh Yes I Went There.

There was the prettiest thing sitting next to me on the train this morning. He was the sexiest little latin thing although he wasn't that little, but he was part of hoodie culture, and he had his hoodie up, and his hoodie was gray, and he had the cutest goatee which ordinarily I don't find very cute, and he had on his little chukka boots, and his jeans had this cute little hole in the knee and you could totally see his little knee and he was such a gnosh. There... I just had to say it because I doubt there is anyone else that's going to blog about that little piece of sunshine.

And if that weren't enough, and in case anyone needed anymore evidence of my ravenous mojo, my sexy little male security guard came over and started talking to me this morning. He actually knew a lot about me - what I was doing here, and he had a vague idea of what I did, and he said he never would have pegged me for an attorney by the way I dress (hoodie culture) and wanted to know why all my coworkers were so quiet and I told him it was probably because they were sleepy when I really wanted to say they were just assholes. And I finally got his name which I always assumed was Armando, but it's not Armando, it's something else. Something a little more ominous. I did convey to him that I wasn't going to be around here for much longer which hopefully conveyed that if he wants to get up all over this shit he better stop acting so mother-effing coy. I'm honestly just glad that something other than a female security guard expressed interest in me.

Then I came to work and realized there was no work for me to do so I'm basically free to do what I like which isn't unlike any other morning, but still... So I started reading websites and blogs and on one blog that updates every month or so there was a reference to Mum and I never understood the difference between the jungle group Mum and the Icelandic group Múm. I know they are pronounced differently, and I used to have a friend that was quite into Múm, but that was before the heroin and all that jazz. But they both kinda "broke" at the same time so I obviously had no choice but to ignore both of them. A decision I'm still quite comfortable with seeing as I've always equated one of them with heroin abuse. Boo. Same goes for South and South. I mean honestly.

I'm off to Seattle this afternoon and instead of my usual vision quest decadence I'm going to be sharing the charms of the Emerald City (the country) with the parental units 1 and 2. We almost have all of our meals figured out, and we have some fun stuff planned, but all I know is that I was promised cookies, and cookies is what I want delivered.

I'll talk to you all much later.

Thanks For The Divide.

From where I'm sitting it looks like the cricketing world is being wracked with controversy. I like saying the "cricketing world" because it sounds an awful lot like the "wizarding world" and thanks to Ms. Rowling they both generally refer to England. As Freddie Flintoff recovers in the United States following his fourth ankle surgery his BFF Steve Harmison comes to his defense following the England coach Duncan Fletcher's allegation that Freddie showed up drunk to practice at an Australian match last winter. And the real point of possibly the longest sentence I have ever written is Harmison's claim that Fletcher broke an unwritten code of "what goes on in the dressing room stays in the dressing room." I guess they call them dressing rooms in cricket. Just let the image wash over you. That's what I like to do.
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Something that is not so attractive to visualize is the security guard lady at my work that may or may not have a crush on me. It started out innocently with a comment here and a comment there. Then it moved to her recommending lunch spots for me, and before I knew it I was buying her a chocolate bar, and she was making me a mixed CD. I asked Compadre for advice since he has a lot of experience with girls wanting to get all over his shit, and I kid you not this is what he said:

"Do you think she likes you in the biblical sense or in the I wanna fuck you sense?"
"Well I don't think it's in the biblical sense."
"So she thinks your straight?"
"Apparently."
"Does she have fetal alcohol disease?"
Pause.
"It's a legitimate question."

Well seeing as the heterocentric assumption is in full force, still, here in what 2007, and seeing as Compadre is of little help, I've decided that I must from this day forward make a concerted effort to no longer work here. It really is the only way.
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I had my phone interview with that firm in Seattle, and I go in to speak with the head of the department on Tuesday. I don't have high hopes. Or any hopes for that matter. The questions she asked me, and the way she asked them, and Jesus, even the order in which she asked them suggests that she seriously considers their firm the hub of the freakin' universe. You get that a lot in Seattle firms. Everything is "high profile this" and "high profile that" and "do you know who my client is?" But, like I always say, it's just so hard to build a bigger pond. And let's face it, these people are making my life real torture.

Like take this example: Some douche whom I've written about before (but not the Darkness) has been hounding me and anyone else that will listen for work. Well we finally get some work and he doesn't want to do it. I guess when he was bothering people about work what he meant to say was that he would like to sit around and watch paint dry or in the alternative do some really easy work. They really should start paying people to sit around and watch paint dry because there is a substantial portion of the population that is seriously incapable of doing anything but.
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But not everything is despair and lameness. My barista who is always very complimentary towards my shoes will be having an art show beginning this Saturday the 10th at Han Cholo. For those of you unfamiliar with Han Cholo there is a link on the right, and it's been there for some time now. The show will include "hand painted flags n' shit". You can get a load of some of Billie Stone's work here. I of course will not be here for the opening, but I plan to go see the show as soon as I get back. And as a side note, Compadre just bought me a Han Cholo shirt and it looks just like a Kraftwerk album cover. So fresh I could piss.

Thoughts In The Background.

I woke up this morning and I was in the mood for Dries Van Noten so the rest of my outfit had to accommodate. Actually I woke up this morning and it was quite cold and I just felt like wearing a sweater and the Cerulean Dries jumper was one the of the few I had already pulled from storage. I've also been feeling monochrome lately so the rest of my outfit is some variation on blue. No fussy mix-matching of colors for this boy I tell you what. It was fortuitous really since it didn't take long for someone to ask me if I got my jumper at Banana Republic. Did I have at the bitches face? No. Probably should have, but I have something going through my head about turning the other cheek.
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A fifth planet has been discovered orbiting 55 Cancri A, a white dwarf star 41 light-years away in the constellation Cancer. The planet is apparently a lot like Saturn. I really get off on astronomy and cosmology. Just last night I was watching one of those crazy UFO documentaries. Everything from flying saucers, rods, critters, moon bases, and trans-dimensional beings. It's silly I know, but I just sat there rapt by the wonder of it all. This newly discovered planet lies in the system's "habitable zone", however, it is most likely comprised of helium and hydrogen so if there are any little gray men they probably don't come from 55 Cancri F. However, the theoretical possibility of microbial life on one of 55 Cancri F's potential moons can not be discounted. How in the hell they come up with these names is beyond me. Boldly go and what not.
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There is so much going on in baseball at the moment that I'm having a hard time keeping track. Pony even had the ridiculous idea in her head that Alex Rodriguez (RoRo no more) was coming to the Dodgers. Given that level of disinformation I should certainly ramp up the coverage. OK, so far Georgie has filed for free agency and will speak to the Yankees first, but will not make a decision until he weighs all offers including one from the Mets who claim interest. He's such a stirrer. Andy Pettitte declined his option because he wants more time to decide if he wants to pitch at all next year. That's just precious. He was earlier quoted as saying he will pitch for the Yankees or no one else. The Yankees have exercised their $16 million option on don't call me Whitney Bobby Abreu, and the Yankees are still hoping to get Mariano Rivera signed. As for Alex Rodriguez, few teams have expressed interest in the prima donna, except maybe the Angels, however, the Angels' owner has said privately that it will not happen. So the best player in baseball may not be playing for any team next year because he's just too damned expensive. No. Not really, but it would be super glamorous if that were actually the case. Did you get all that? So no more texts asking me if it's true whether Derek will be playing in the Japanese league next year. We need cool minds and a level temperament during these troubled and turbulent days in baseball.
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I've been trying to have this phone interview with this firm up in Seattle, however, after calling me once they blew me off for a week, then emailed and said they would call on Monday. They called yesterday evening-yes evening-and then would not return my call. That is one thing I really have to say about law firms in Seattle. Professionalism is always and consistently an afterthought. Low rent mother-effers.

Batch 59 Only.

Joe Torre formally announced that he will be managing the Los Angeles Dodgers next year. Just 5 miles from my house. Of course it probably won't be my house next year so it doesn't really mean anything, but hey, who knows. Don Mattingly and Larry Bowa will be coming along with Torre and where this leaves the Yankee's coaching staff is anyone's guess.

The Yankees are saying that Alex Rodriguez demanded a $350 million contract minimum to even come to the table. Scott Boras may be out of his mind or he may be a genius I suppose time will tell, but one thing that people are talking about is how thin the potential field of candidates is. Not too many teams have that kind of money, and the ones that can muster it up may not necessarily need a debutante shortstop that in the final analysis isn't really as cute as Derek.

I'm feeling guarded today.
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Anyone that spends any amount of time with me will eventually come to recognize that I covet all things YvesSaintLaurent. It is in a way the new Hermes, which of course was the old Chanel. And there was nothing before Chanel. Literally. If you want to think about it in terms of like the big bang and stuff. Finding a niche over at YSL has been proving a little harder than one would expect especially in light of the inexplicable popularity of Chloe. What the hell that's all about is so far beyond me but I digress. Following the departure of Tom Ford in 2003 Stefano Pilati took over the reigns at YSL and was pilloried for his vision. Things may be changing as the brand's influence is becoming more apparent. That and people like me are starting to rock the shit non-stop whilst hissing at Louis Vuitton tragedy hags.
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There is something called "hoodie culture". You may not have heard anything about it, but that doesn't make it any less real. Like extra dimensions in a way. For me the hoodie is an integral part of my wardrobe. Splitting my time between Los Angeles and Seattle I need versatile pieces that work in fast changing climes and aren't overly fussy. "Fussy is finished!" Read up a bit on this fashion staple. Right now my favorite hoodies are the Free City hoodies mainly because they smell so delicious when you first buy them, and the fact that they support artists doesn't hurt either. They are also yet to make appearances at the countless McBoutiques that litter the American landscape. And I think there kinda cute. So lots of reasons essentially. Compadre will not countenance another trip out to Malibu to visit the shop so I may need to find a replacement. Or I may just need to gird my loins and muster the courage to head to the west side by myself. One thing I know is that if I do replace Free City hoodie with other hoodie, it will not be BBlessing hoodie. Dear sweet christ no.

Don't Call Us Slow.

Well this weekend was quite eventful. We did a lot of things n' shit. Feeling a wee bit fragile right now on Monday morning, but we are trying our best. I wanted to post a video or something and just leave it at that, but youtube has decided to be all sorts of lame this morning so I'm actually going to have to blog for reals or something. Face is still on, and that's perhaps the most important thing.

Started off picking up some friends in the Tangerine Fade from LAX. Almost got a ticket from some officer who was really not very interested in giving us a ticket. Went to some random sports bar in Manhattan Beach. I spent more time in the parking lot than the actual bar. We mercifully made it back to Silverlake where we indulged in kitchen drinking and roughly 3 hours of sleep. Then we were off to Chango, no wait, we first had to go to Smart & Final for reasons that are still unclear to me. While at Chango I sat and read, and quietly judged all the people that will simply not let a single style guide tidbit alone. Hobo bag? Check. Boxy framed sunglasses? Check. Loosely tied scarf? Check. Adopted baby? Check. But I'm still not sure if it's really me. Went to this incredible restaurant on Sunset where they served a wondrous salad with seasonal greens and olive oil dressing. Innovative.

Went to a place called Super King in Glendale and they might as well call the place Bloodsport. Didn't even get into the front door and Compadre was pushed by some tiny malnourished during youth immigrant and it hardly got any better once we were inside. Everyone was 5 feet or less tall and looking for the best deals to feed their inflating brood and if you think there was a condom in sight then you are mistaken. They have been conquered and must breed themselves into perpetual poverty and convince themselves it's their moral obligation to do so and will never achieve salvation if they don't stop breeding and shopping. The Holy Roman Empire accomplished it with dogma, and we can achieve the same effect today with substantially discounted cashew nuts. Genius. The produce section was a mind scramble. The nut bar was, well, a nut bar and I'm not sure what else I can say about that. They sold Cognac that comes in these bottles that resemble the bust of Napoleon. Right. Not ironic, but I think a lot of people will be getting that for xmas this year.

Had to finish up our shopping at the considerately middle class Gelson's and it was a lot like Chango. Some dopey looking thing fingering through the arugula. Common Projects shoes? Check. Band of Outsiders shirt? Check. Obedient Sons scarf? Oh yes fucking check. I've picked up a copy of Details magazine to see if I can gain some insight into the mind of these pack animals. Driving a sports sedan is apparently the new vespa.

Compadre made us a wonderful dinner consisting of roasted garlic consomme', followed by a red beet salad, then polenta and black cod with a mint pea swirl. The main course boasted an assortment of sautteed mushrooms served inside a delightful puff pastry. There was a nice wine, but I haven't read my details so I'm obviously quite ignorant of anything that matters.

I should probably get to it.

A Fundamental Particle Bound.

Some trifle ass middle aged overweight USC Trogan tee shirt wearing dip shit was giving me eeh balls at the Starbucks this morning. Mornings are really not a good time for me so I just gave him a look that unmistakably indicated that he's free to continue to stare, but if in fact he did, he would no longer be free to remain standing, or walk, and in the final analysis I wouldn't even be able to speak as to the rest of his motor functions. Give me a break. They're all guests from the Omni hotel I believe, and they come into downtown Los Angeles and act as if they've stepped into another fucking dimension. Oh, I can talk about other dimensions if I have a mind to, but keep your corn fed Omaha oh what I wouldn't give for a Claim Jumper and Mountain Dew attitude in your hotel room. Please.

This will give you an idea of what so transfixed my red state friend. Last night UPS was kind enough to deliver this button-up hoodie. I found it so appealing and the weather just chilly enough that I pulled it over my tee shirt this morning. Now don't worry it really does look a lot better on me. It's from San Francisco based company B*Son, and although I've mentioned them before I have to say that it's doubtful I will ever buy anything from them again. The material is top notch, but the overall cut and design of the pieces gives me the impression that a demented 5 year old is responsible for the ludicrous garment. I've been wanting a button-up hoodie for a long time, just not one with such an unfortunate fit. But what can I say, it does what it does. Notice how the bottom button is undone? There's a reason they photographed it that way, and it's called tragic design.

Norwegian designer Siv Stodal is really starting to make an impression and I have to confess that I'm not immune from the effects. You can find some of this gear at Tres Bien and I imagine other places as well. It's pretty basic and not very ground breaking, but it has it's quirks and is somewhat reasonably priced. And before I go for my weekend I just have to mention that I really could care less about the unrelenting war between boot-cut and skinny cut jeans. It's all in the ass and anyone that says otherwise really needs a hobby, or perhaps a real job. Also, I can totally get on board with the Bowler hat.

Cheerio.

So Many Ways To Lose.

I came "this" close to feeling bad about coming into work late today. Compadre and I watched Little Britain last night, and then I stayed up a little later watching Galaxy Quest, a movie that I feel may be the best film in the history of cinema, and what am I suppose to do if my better half decides to turn off my alarm clock before I tuck in for the night. I've been house sitting and tirelessly walking a dog who in one of her more exuberant moments managed to give me a fat lip, so I think it's fair to say one, I needed the rest, and two, I really am more of a cat person. But hey, it's looking more and more likely that Joe Torre will be coming to the Dodgers so things can't be all bad. Does this mean I'll be staying in Los Angeles indefinitely? No... Of course not. That idea is so stupid it almost makes me laugh out loud.
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It's not often that I feel lukewarm pride in my profession, but as I was reading the news today I did get a certain rush upon reading news of a recent court decision. I've watched a documentary about a "church" that finds it appropriate to "protest" the funerals of fallen war veterans. The protests are not based on the moral or geopolitical basis of the war, no, the protests are based on America's "tolerance" of homosexuals. These young men died because America "tolerates" homosexuality, and like Jerry Blank they got something to say... Well finally a court has awarded the parents of one recently deceased and protested victim more than $10 million in damages. Now this will not stop the "church" and it's activities we know because the "church" is little more than a group of under-evolved brainyard trash maggots and will never pay the judgment, but it's nice to sometimes realize that if someone is injured there is sometimes an appropriate remedy.
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There is mounting evidence that the U.S. economy is going down the tubes, and if you happen to be one of those blissfully unaware idiots that doesn't in the back of their mind feel like a young Roman some 1900 years ago, then this should give you room for pause. Our civilization is about to die, and their isn't a god damned thing you or I can do about it. And I happen to think that Band of Outsiders is the stupidest thing to happen to fashion since men's capri pants.