Dashing Through The Snow.

A Natural Wonder No Doubt.

I'm not sure of the exact dimmensions of the rock I seem to have been trapped under, but I gather that it is enormous. Britney Spears' 16 year old sister Jamie Lynn Spears is pregnant. Not only that she's loud and proud. Posing for the cover of OK Magazine as a means of celebrating an "accomplishment" that I gather comes quite naturally if you but uncross your legs. The point is that I had no idea until I woke up this morning and plugged myself into the internet. It's all anyone will talk about. I didn't even know Britney had a sister. I'm just not a very sophisticated gossipist. And I have more interesting things to concern myself with.


British rugby hunk Ben Cohen was named top gay icon in the Sunday Times knocking David Beckham to second place. No big shock there. I mean really. I just don't think I could ever get tired of looking at that.
______________________________________________

Thank goodness for this. Hedi Slimane is back in talks with LVMH chairman Bernard Arnault about starting a Hedi Slimane fashion house thus giving the kids back in Echo Park another reason to skip every meal of the day. Even elevenses.

And I have to confess that I am just slightly intrigued by this Ute Ploier designer. I have no idea how to pronounce the last name, but I just adore the Morrissey tee shirt. I never thought my old Morrissey tees would become high-Euro-centric fashion. Get the goods.

It's The Uncommonly Common People.

I guess being in Seattle is like being a tourist in your own town. I'm not familiar with all the local customs. Take automated cashiers at the grocery store for example. I like many Angelenos am far too precious and grand to actually scan and bag the groceries myself. But there was someone there willing to show me the means to improve my life through dimminished reliance on the service industry. Something about teaching someone how to fish. By the time we got to my selection of seasonal ales, however, it was clear that this new piece of consumer culture driven technology was no time saver. Attempting to bypass the age verification proved too chalenging even for my able "assistant". I was standing there staring at the screen listening to these overlapping artifical voices saying "please scan next item", "thank you", "please enter customer information", "please remove item". They were voices from Orwell, and I honestly believe they were meant to sound that way. I couldn't divine much over the din, but what I could make out sounded a lot like "fear for your child". It was all a little much even for me.

But there have been other things as well. Got my hair did proper. I'm in the middle of an ebay showdown, and have had a couple of thrift store smack downs. Been to the largest REI you have ever; where every garment comes with mounds and mounds of literature, and the store itself is a nature preserve. I'm not really sure about the nature preserve, but it was impressive to say the least. I ate an entire crab by myself just like an inhabitant of Skara Brae might have just with much more fancy equipment, and wih a little better ale. I baked a Tofurky which was a disaster on so many many levels, and like so many others I've been scouring the city for the perfect gift for the perfect carbie.
__________________________________________

RoRo was on 60 Minutes Sunday night. I was in the middle of tending to a doomed tofurky so I missed a great deal of it, but he apparently adamantly denies ever taking steroids, is quite disappointed with the whole World Series announcement debacle, and he revealed that from an early age he has always been obsessed with money. It was quite revealing.
__________________________________________


The Chandra X-Ray Observatory has detected massive amounts of radiation emmanating from a super massive black hole. The jets of raditation appear to be bombarding a neighboring galaxy which is the first time something like this has been observed. I've heard that there may be a super massive black hole in our galaxy, and perhaps all galaxies. The effect on the neighboring galaxy may be severe with a massive influx of x-ray and gamma ray radition. Just another mind-boggling and curious thing that seems to go on all around us as we cary on with our lives blissfully unaware of this, and that, and french toast.

Capable Of Destroying Space And Time As We Know It.

Now I'm not one for eating crow or any other type of bird for that matter, but I have to admit that I was a little surprised when the Mitchell Report came out and Andy Pettitte was featured prominently (6 places) within. If we are to believe the Mitchell Report - and on it's face there is no clear reason why we should - then our bible thumping, Christ loving, bayou baby sought out human growth hormone in order to speed up his recovery while on the DL oh God what was it, sometime in 2002 I believe. People everywhere are shocked, saddened, disillusioned and all manner of words that they themselves could never define if called upon. And not just about Andy I gather. I on the other hand am just slightly bemused. Bud Selig - a person whose function I still fail to grasp - suggests the report is a "call to action". I contrarily, would call the report a "call to have his dumb ass removed". Not that I'm at all clear why he even exists, but I'm reasonably sure he hasn't been sun-tanning in Barbados acting as commissioner to some imaginary non-steroid taking league on Planet Reebok for the past 10 years. No. His ass is flying in the wind just like the rest of theirs. But putting that aside it all remains something we'd just like to ignore.
_____________________________________________

The nominations for the Golden Globes were announced yesterday and I have to confess a slight one-dimensional interest. Many talented actors were nominated. And then George Clooney and Christina Applegate were included for some inexplicable reason. How George Clooney continues to garner recognition for playing the same lame ass furrowed brow dip-shit is beyond me. But the rundown: The Tudors was nominated which is good. BSG was not which in and of itself is quite ridiculous and independently diminishes any legitimacy the awards may have had. Two of my favorites Cate Blanchett and Tilda Swinton were nominated for their work in film. Jonathan Reese Myers was nominated for The Tudors which strikes me as odd as I find his portrayal of Henry VIII both petulant and annoying. And Maria Doyle Kennedy was completely ignored for her stoic work as Catherine of Aragon. Oh hell no. I'm really looking forward to the new season of The Tudors, but with the writers strike and all who knows when or if that will ever come to be. But if the Golden Globe nominations are any indication their desire not to work is probably by and large a good thing.
_____________________________________________

Our main man Morrissey will be releasing a new single That's How People Grow Up on January 28th with a Greatest Hits collection following in a week or so.


I'm on vacation as of oh I'd say around noon today. All that remains for me to do is find a suitable place in the airport bar, and then somehow shove my overstuffed bag into the overhead bin then voila! . When or if I will ever return to the gorgeous sun soaked concrete slab that is Los Angeles remains to be seen, but the safe money will be on January 1st. I only say that because I have a ticket, but having a ticket for a flight has never been much of an incentive for me to actually get on board. We shall see, but in the meantime have a nice weekend. And yes, Ben Cohen is still as delish today as he was yesterday.

Now Is Really Not The Time.

God bless the United Kingdom. I mean seriously! Mince pies, jurisprudence, John Locke and Steven Hawking just weren't enough. Yesterday was a slow day and I was flipping through some papers trying not to get taco time on any of the precious documents when I clicked on a link to a blog that had oh my. It seems I unwittingly stumbled upon another British sports figure to obsess over. His name is Ben Cohen, and he plays rugby. Which I think is a lot like our American football just with more skin, less padding and nowhere near as boring. Although everyone I've asked has told me in unqualified terms that he's not as cute as Derek, I've just taken to responding, "Well duh, but still. Still!" Mr. Cohen seems like a really nice guy that appreciates his gay fans. He will be featured in an upcoming issue of Gay Times, and will also be holding a Gay Night Celebration in London this March. Upon reading that it took me 2 minutes and one phone call to clear my schedule in March. There's also a calendar.

This is just too precious. A team of South Korean scientists have cloned kittens that glow in the dark. Why would anyone need a glow-in-the-dark kitten one may ask, however, I can think of many reasons a glow-in-the-dark cat would come in handy. Easier to see if they are crossing the street, functions as a night light and your best quadruped friend, can totally freak out dogs, and apparently they may be able to help cure disease, although that implies animal experimentation which we in no way shape or form support.

And I've been waiting for a long time for someone official to come up with this one. An Australian obstetrician has recently written a paper proposing a tax on breeders. Specifically, it proposes a tax on any children a couple have in excess of two. Although a "theoretical exercise" it intends to offer some insight into the impact population growth has on the environment generally, and climate change specifically. Although hardly a new idea (The environmental impact of breeders has been widely known for some time) the idea has undoubtedly ruffled some feathers. I certainly don't know why. I think I've said it before, but just to put it another way here goes. The future looks a whole lot like a world full of homosexual clones, glow-in-the-dark kittens, and naked rugby matches. End quote.
______________________________________________

Some report is supposedly being posted on the internet the drags up some old dirt regarding drug use in Major League Baseball. The obtusely named Mitchell Report will be published and promises to expose a "serious drug culture within baseball, from top to bottom." Oh please yawn. I mean I like how the teaser makes reference to both top and bottom I mean that's kinda cute, but this Mitchell Report is going to have to include some seriously scandalous drama for me to even take notice. I don't necessarily need pictures of RoRo doing lines of coke off Derek's ass, but something, anything other than a couple of injections of growth hormone back in 2003. Honestly don't care. I don't think I ever did.

It's A Code Breaker For One.

I'm sitting in my office and there seems to be someone with a jack-hammer downstairs. It really is scaring the living daylights out of me. It sounds a lot like explosions. I have a mind to go down there and throw something at them since they are not suppose to be doing that while people are working, but I have something pounding on my nano - someone called Partial Arts - and I'm digging it quite immensely. And the occasional shaking of the floor, although unsettling to be sure, doesn't really distract from the enjoyment.

There really seems to be a lot for me to do before I leave for my extended winter vacation on Friday. I seem to be one of those people that just waits until the last minute in hopes that everything will just take care of itself. You'd be amazed at how often it actually works, but this time I may actually have to run an errand or two, clean out my refrigerator, go to the post-office, make an insane list of impractical things to pack, go to the farmers market, and I'm sure there are many other things lurking about that I've managed somehow to completely expel from my mind.


The Yankees have asked the perpetually injured and expensive Carl Pavano to accept a minor league contract. I seriously forgot that this guy even existed. I think maybe he pitched twice last year, and even that is just a guess. The amount of money the Yankees have paid for Pavano must at least equal the blood money I give to Lush sales associates to keep them from going psycho over conditioner. And Derek is going to tear himself away from David Wright long enough to be inducted into the Kalamazoo High School Athletic Hall of Fame this Friday. One would have thought that they had already gotten around to doing this, but apparently this is his first year of eligibility. And it's nice to see somebody else is a stickler for rules.

The Underground Version Of You.

I'm thinking it could probably get no colder here in Los Angeles. I know some people will tell me to shove it because they are being bombarded with snow and freezing rain and wind, but I never signed up for that kind of nonsense. I figure if you're dumb enough to live north of Sunset Boulevard then you deserve what you get. To inaugurate this cold snap I've been listening to Stephan Mathieu and John Hudak's Pieces of Winter. It's quiet music and I've been quite enjoying quiet music lately. Part of the recording was actually made by burying a microphone in snow and recording the sounds of falling snowflakes. Now if that isn't just precious I don't know what it.

The weekend was uneventful and kinda dull, but I suppose that's what I get for finishing my holiday shopping early. I did see the Golden Compass, and wow! Hollywood is finding some previously unheard of means of not impressing me. I worked through the weekend, and enjoyed the conspicuous absence of most of my carbie co-workers. One did, however, come in on Saturday and proceeded to inform anyone that was listening that he wouldn't be coming in the next day because it was the sabbath. If I rolled my eyes any more they would have popped right out of my head. Which of course brings me to Mike Huckabee and his ass sex as sinful comments and the quarantining of AIDS patients, but what can one honestly say in the face of stupidness so genuine and surreal? No no don't get up. The prize is yours.
_____________________________________________

Nom De Guerre have released their Spring/Summer 08 look book. Titled something along the lines of Under The Open Sky it looks mostly OK. Some of the jackets are delish, but we are still seeing page after page of upturned raw denim, and we just don't know how much longer that can last. Something about raw denim just makes me feel itchy, and corporal mortification has never really enjoyed a timeless appeal.

Swedish label and brand I just like to obsess over generally Fifth Avenue Shoe Repair will be featured at next months' Capsule trade show. This means that we should be seeing it on most of the online shops and McBoutiques from here to Williamsburg right beside the Jack Spade bags and sailor inspired A.P.C. gear. They really should just call it the Brand Killer trade show and get it over with.

We'll Leave It At That...

Oh Goodness. It must be Monday. I'll start caring sometime tomorrow...

I Never Meant What I Didn't Say.

What can you say about modern architecture? Well not much really. But what can you say about modern architecture in Los Angeles? Oh so many bad things it almost defeats the purpose of even beginning, but let's just try... The Santa Monica and Vermont metro rail station is a behemoth pile of brick, glass, and what I'm told is suppose to resemble aluminum. It stands there striking, imposing, assured, and lacking any reference to it's surroundings thus making it quintessentially modern (I know they try so hard). And as you descend on a morning like this morning where Los Angeles is being pummeled with close to a half inch of precipitation you notice that the entire structure is leaking like the titanic. People have slipped, fallen, there are bodies everywhere, some of them I'm convinced are screaming "I'm melting!" Everything smells of shit and urine, and the only metro transit official to be found is playing with the ends of a plastic trash bag spending minute upon minute trying to get the puzzling object to open and studiously ignoring the distress and utter failure of urban planning and design that surrounds her. And this is simply the way your world will end.
__________________________________________________

Get this, it's apparently probably not a good idea to prescribe drugs for bed wetting. Although by the time you get to that point you already have a highly virulent outbreak of mental deficients breeding so it's kind of a null issue.

And who would have thought it, apparently American Idol destroys people's lives. Never really saw that one coming, but I think I'm color blind, you on the other hand really have no excuse whatsoever. This might be where someone tells me exactly what guns don't do.
__________________________________________________

I had to sit through the most hideous half hour of staged comedy last night. I was watching TMZ - the show not the website - and they aired two disjointed scenes of RoRo walking down the street. One where he is in a tee shirt chatting with the paps, and another scene whith him in a suit walking into a party ignoring a pap who's pretending to be a fan. They use the "footage" to imply that RoRo is this and RoRo is that and they even imply that it's one scene and RoRo just changes from a tee shirt to a suit like Wonder Woman right in front of H. Lorenzo, but once again the only thing they actually establish is that they stage shit better than the Oscar's and that they are incredibly douchey.

It Was Placed To The Side.

I walked out of my apartment this morning, and sat on the porch and waited for my train. I noticed this dude going through my garbage. I mean he was really having at it, separating out the cans and bottles and whatnot because we really don't "do" recycling in this neighborhood. I mean he was being nice about. Very clean, and he wasn't throwing things about. But it really gives you pause. It's totally going to change my ideas about throwing stuff out. Or I may just start putting knives in with my garbage until the cunt learns to leave my rubbish be.
_________________________________________________

I rarely even care about movies. I noticed Netflix sent me something in the mail offering me an incentive to come back to their crap service once again proving that the mailbox is in fact a double edged sword. But I was doing some research the other day, and I came across an interesting coincidence. Winona Ryder is going to be in both the upcoming Star Trek prequel as well as the motion picture rendering of Brett Easton Ellis' Informers. I just thought it was the neatest thing, however, this Star Trek prequel is still threatening to be ass, but I'm thrilled they're doing a film based on Informers. I guess the only coincidence really is that I like Star Trek and Ellis, and am not entirely sure who this Jessica Ryder is.

Oh, and I finally managed to sit through that thing called Beowulf, and I want my 90 minutes back. It was offensive.

The Spectre Of The Unimaginative.

I was walking to work this morning totally minding my own business when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was a piece of Louis Vuitton fug. A silk scarf or something with the ubiquitous LV monogram all over the place. It almost looked like something that would be useful if you needed to dress a festering wound. I was shocked and I may have given out a little squeal so I did the only sensible thing one could do in such a situation. I grabbed a hankey from my purse and picked up the piece of monogrammed fabric, secured it, hopped on a train, drove several miles on the train, got off and I immediately put that tired ass piece of silk where it belongs, in the garbage. Can you imagine? I can only hope your morning is going better than mine.

On Monday Warp Records announced that Sheffield natives and glitch pioneers Autechre will be releasing a new album in early 2008. Now I think I may have bought like their last four "new albums" and I listened to each of them thoughtfully, and even enjoyed some of what I heard. But it's not something I regularly come back to, and most of the time when I do it's because I'm convinced that Outkast is lifting their beats. I know I should be wary, but I know myself too well and I will more likely than not find myself hopping down to Everyday Music for my dose of 70 minute digital malaria in three months time.

_______________________________________

So Blowhard may actually be sticking to his word and passing on Johan Santana. Although it's a lot easier to pass on someone like Santana when you have Andy Pettitte staring you in the face. And that's merely an aesthetic assessment I simply don't give a shit about metrics, and averages, or people that have played Dungeons & Dragons for the last 20 years. Except Henry Rollins. He's the most D&D obsessed mega-hooch 4-evah. I know that made very little sense, and I'm not sure it was meant to. But enough of that, TMZ.com has recently posted a scandalous article about Derek and RoRo. There is also some nice footage of Derek walking to what I would imagine is a deposition and being hounded by fans; Followed by footage of RoRo walking with a newspaper in his hand. The story implies this and insinuates that, but at the end what they actually and only establish is that drop dead gorgeous baseball players can walk upright and converse with other people. There is video of this.

We're Just Too Lazy And Refined.

Well Monday's deadline for the Twin's to accept Blowhard's ultimatum regarding the trade for Johan Santana kinda came and went with little else in the way of blustering assness from the mouth of Hank Steinbrenner. Fancy that. As you might deduce from reading this article, Blowhard has made himself quite a reputation for flip-flopping on what would otherwise - and from any other man - be quite unequivocal declarations. He even made Derek look bad when Derek noted how "true to their word" the Steinbrenner brood is. I'm seriously starting to not like these dip shits, and the more and more they insert themselves as the face of the Yankees I'm starting to dislike the whole package. Getting Johan Santana would definitely be a coup, but do they really need to ditch Melky in order to get it done. You know one name keeps coming to my mind, and it sounds a little bit like Jabba the Hut except "the Hutt" would be spelled more like Chamberlain. I'm so in the minority on this one, but I've made my case in earlier posts, and I see no reason to go over it all again.

Of course the good news is that Andy Pettitte has decided to pitch next season which of course means he'll be pitching for the Yankees. Andy doesn't have Hank Steinbrenner's penchant for saying one thing while meaning the absolute opposite. Andy's gifts lie somewhere a bit more obscure, but it can be said that he does have a function in a baseball club. Unfortunately, the same things can't be said for the Steinbrenner creatures.
_________________________________________________

I was very excited when my xmas tree arrived yesterday. It's so cute! It has little pine cones all about, but is otherwise quite spartan. No silly angels or stars and no gold. I've had quite enough of gold for the time being thank you. I think I'm going to call it my winter solstice tree. Or maybe my Yule tree. That might be fun. But nothing remotely associated with that Jesus guy. He's been so overdone in tattoos he's becoming the new tribal arm band. And I'm being glib, and I really shouldn't because my feelings on this subject are more than sincere, but sometimes I hate to get all Sally Serious on everybody. The exception is this dude at work that put a mean and nasty post-it 911 note about me for all to see, but I just don't even want to get into all that. I have less than 2 weeks left with these people and all I have to do is hold my breath, float, and hope that some calamity doesn't befall me. It's often been said that one of my most charming qualities is my ability to simply ignore anything that even remotely displeases me. Like it's happening is some other space-time continuum that I'm incapable of appreciating. I'd call it a skill, but it actually takes no practice at all.

Piece Of Press Management.

I did indeed take the Jeter Ford Challenge this weekend. My rental agency handed me the keys to a pristine white Ford Focus, or Ford Mondeo if you're an Arctic Monkey's song or in the United Kingdom. I had a lot of shopping to get done this weekend, and I needed a peppy commuter to help me on my way.

Friday night Compadre and I had some rather mediocre Indian food at a place called Agro. Not kidding. We just had to watch Sweet Home Alabama because it's one of Compadre's favorite movies ever, and then we had a bit of a tussle, and it's best just to leave it at that. I did make out quite well though.

Saturday morning I drove all the way to Beverly Hills. Six miles, and 40 minutes later I was pulling into the surprisingly reasonable public parking off Rodeo drive. Rodeo was simply delicious. Everyone who wasn't a tourist (both of them) were rocking some seriously make believe tans, standing on corners, dressed to the nines, talking loudly on cell phones, and looking around wildly as if they had a function or somewhere to be on a Saturday morning. The tourists were simply hysterical. Positioning themselves so they could have their pictures taken in front of Dolce & Gabanna. Right...

The lady at YvesSaintLaurent was nice enough. She was actually oppressively nice. She would not shut up about the sale at Williams-Sonoma. You know in case I had any foodies on my list. Which I do but I hardly think I'm going to walk right on past the Beverly Hills Cheese Shop just so I can pick up some discounted pumpkin pancake mix at Williams-Fucking-Sonoma. The ladies at Hermes were cool and detached, but helpful as ever. The nancy girls upstairs couldn't help but talk about their "celebrity" clients really loudly. Luckily it was a surgical strike and I was in and out and on my way back to the east-side after paying nothing to park for over an hour.

While back on the east-side I had yet another weird Scientology Psycho-Terrorism episode. I was in my corner shop buying some odds and ends and a six pack. It seems that since their political attempts to attack local liquor stores went nowhere, The church of Scientology has taken to conscripting young children, dressing them up in sailor uniforms and having them raise chaos in the local corner shops. One of the boys who has obviously eaten food laced with Bovine Growth Hormone for most of his life was actually trying to keep me from the counter, but I'm a regular and it was no biggie. But seriously! It was genius! Surreal! Duchamp couldn't have done better! Bravo!

Sunday morning I had to go into the office, however, there was some type of 5K foot race that had something to say about it. It was actually some police officer that told me I could only turn right at Flower. I informed her that like it or not I was going to be turning left and it was up to her to make sure no one was injured or damaged. She proved quite helpful and guided me toward a safe left-turning route. Had a nice visit to China Town and walked through some shops. I paid $4 to park for 15 minutes, and picked up some nice costume jewelery.

It was a mindscramble of a weekend, but we made it and all of my corporeal holiday shopping obligations have been satisfied. As promised...