I Remember Seeing That Movie A Few Years Ago.

A little better night for the Yankees, but a nail biter nonetheless. First, I just have to mention that Pedro Martinez is today's reigning douche bag. The most self-impressed arrogant prick with Jheri curls to ever walk into Yankee stadium to be sure. But little else. Little, little else. The waning career of this pompous over-fed windbag is not waning quickly enough for our taste.

So happy to see he lost his last appearance in a World Series. Fitting end to someone with a negligible function. Maybe I exaggerate and he really is a good pitcher. But I think he's a prick just the same.

Chompers was very impressive in last night's game. Derek was only stranded on base once, however, after a very impressive double play. All the more impressive in that it made Martinez's second and fourth chins frown. It was delicious.

We discovered something called MLB channel which allows you to stay tuned to baseball even during the off-season... I hate to say it, but this may be just the trick because fashion blogging has seriously hit the dust. And I mean it. It's apparently the time to blog about JCrew colabs, and if that isn't desperately pitiful enough you may have to endure blogging about blogging about JCrew. Like I said. Cover your mouth until the dust settles. We may have to retool our site a tad

Frozen Particles Suspended For Eternity.

Nothing much to say except the girls got bested (1-6) in their own house. The pitcher was a nightmare and Derek was stranded on base more than once. The pitcher was a bit bold. A bit of a ham if you ask me, and if you ask around some might even say he's an adventurer. Michelle Obama is like the luckiest First Lady in the world!

At least the dinner proved to be undisappointing. Delicious dressed crab, followed by risotto and mushroom stuffed onions with bok choy, and then a divine chocolate cake. Heaven. All this took place as the Yankees were losing their grip on Game One of the World Series. After the game and dinner I managed to stay up and watch a documentary on Marijuana on PBS oddly enough. It was also very eye opening. Right up until the point I went to sleep.

Game two is tonight, same time, same channel.

Hooligans Of Noise And Presumption.

The girls are no doubt practicing themselves into a lather in anticipation of tonight's Game 1 of the World Series. I have a dinner to go to tonight, but I'm told the game will be on for me so yay! Baseball and I don't have to cook.

I tuned in a little late to catch Derek on the Biggest Loser. There were Charlie Brown specials on television and Compadre needed help picking out a Northwest coat. I did catch it on youtube this morning and it was adorable. Had I known how adorable and that it would be available on youtube the next day I probably wouldn't have sat through the unpleasantness.

First, I understand the title of the show now. Biggest Loser is not a pejorative term for someone whose body mass index is higher than normal who happens to be a loser, but refers to the winner of the competition who loses the most weight. Get it? Loser? Lose weight? Biggest? It all makes sense if you think about it. Second, the people on the show are really overwrought. Crying almost constantly. There were few moments in the show when someone wasn't crying about something. Amazed they had time to do anything else actually. Lastly, finally, and the reason you will never catch me watching this show evers, the men take their shirts off. Done.

Dragged Beneath The Surface.

There is a bite in the air this morning and I insisted on a hot Americano after the barista lady grabbed for the iced cup. She screamed, and said she wasn't going to think I was as hardcore anymore. I thought to myself that many people call me many things, but I do not believe the word hardcore has ever been used to describe me. Stoic, detached, "zipped-up" is the term Compadre used the other day, but never hardcore. A bit florid for my taste nonetheless. It's striking to me how something as impersonal as purchasing a cup of coffee can create so many expectations. Regrets. And tears. There's always the tears.

This waiting is pure torture. The first game of the World Series is tomorrow night at 5:00pm. The only thing we need to decide is where to hang the bells. Derek will be on this show called The Biggest Loser. Probably as an example of the antithesis of, but I will prolly have to miss it nonetheless, but by all means...

Home Invasions On The Rise.

Like we have crossed oceans (6 years) of time for this moment or I'm sure there are lines from all my favorite movies to describe the sensation. Saturday's game was postponed for reasons I am still yet to gather, but not to bother, the girls are headed to the Big Show or whatever the heck they call it, and I have been unable to do anything since except say thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank the academy, dude that made my coffee, the bus-driver that picked me up, the lady that said Good Morning. Thank you all!

I had a meeting with a coworker on Friday, and he said the most heinous things about the girls. He said he did not like them and he wished they wouldn't win. You wouldn't believe the composure I demonstrated. Just drew a few figures on my legal pad and focused on the lines and nothing else, sucked it in, but it is going to be awkward as the World Series proceeds because I value having a healthy working relationship with my coworkers and there simply is no future for us. I mean he can say words, do things, make gestures, but he really isn't there is he?

Plus, and will preface this by saying it is a totally enormous plus, my subscription to Country Life has started to arrive. I mean I'm seriously half expecting to walk down the street and have some hot Mexican construction worker dude ask if he can blow me. Things are frankly that positive. First game on Wednesday. Time TBD.

Where Have All The Voices Gone?

Last night's game was a nail biting roller coaster ride!

The first inning saw the girls fall behind 4 nothing, and I spent the next few innings quite nauseous thinking I might vomit at any moment. Those wretched hags in the audience had these monstrous devices that they clapped together in unison (a lot like a group of monkeys might) to create the most appalling din. It must have been frightful to be in the middle of this arena, surrounded by thousands of wild beasts, screaming, chanting, and for the most part making an atrocious spectacle of themselves.

The girls found enough strength, however, to come back 6-4 in what can only be described as a festival of cuteness. Cutting those baying animals down to size. Only momentarily, however, and the Angels retook the lead. At this point I had just about enough retreated to my bath. I thought maybe the warm vapors would settle my nerves. They didn't.

Top of the ninth, 7-6, Yankees down by one, bases loaded, me apoplectic, but the swingings just weren't there and they are now off to New York where hopefully they will have some care for my fragile nerves. In any event, this will all be decided one way or another by Monday.

When Biz Con Bites Hard.

Some Consumer Alerts:

There is No Enemy by Built to Spill clocks in at just over 55 minutes, however, I have to say it feels interminably longer. Endless. At it's worst moments it sounds ponderous and meandering. At it's best it reminds me of something I've heard before. On the other hand, new albums from Girls and Phoenix have me smiling. The good defense is a better offense. Or something. I now insist on listening to albums before purchasing.

Next. IKEA has of course decided to dip their plump Swedish toe into the realm of personal grooming. I noticed it the last time I did the IKEA run with the parents and quickly dismissed it as an ill-conceived enterprise. But on my most recent visit it was still there. And I was intrigued. As only one can be when something unfamiliar is $2. Bars of soap assembled like chocolate bars that you break off into individual cakes. I thought why not? Well I can tell you why. They are putrid. They smell like something you would use to mask the stench of a decaying body, and even though I may be speculating about something I know nothing about (decaying bodies) I'm still oddly comfortable with the assessment. Putrid. Vile. Chuck them at someone you find distasteful and be done with them.

Finally. The good news comes from literary corners with Brett Easton Ellis's new book Imperial Bedrooms dropping on June 22nd. Awesome! Taking it's name from an Elvis Costello album it's spose to be a prequel to Less Than Zero. Still Fresh.

Postscript. No Bones until some dreadful day in November. Puddles!

Imperial Desires.

Broken Social Scene and sirens. That was my morning. Broken Social Scene in the coffee house and sirens on 15th Avenue. They weren't blaring at least, but the entire street was bathed in these obnoxious flickering red lights. A lot like living in Palestine I imagine, but I was able to drift into my Ipod and remember the previous evening fondly.

Grabbed some drinks with Compadre and co. after work. Told everyone that would listen that Game 4 was starting in a half and hour and that I would have to scoot, but they didn't seem to care. My exposure to the game was at this point casual and sporadic. Watched the first inning at the Athenian over some cream ale. Then they decided to bypass the sports bar in favor of more specific fare at this Basque joint Txori. Nice place with appalling chairs and stools. They made us some really delicious bites. The two cooks and my companions are quite the foodies. They spent a good deal of time making fun of various ways people mispronounce certain cheeses. Laughed at other people's perceived unfamiliarity with certain cuisine. It was a big hoot. I denounced them all as snobs right there on the spot, and predictably, they delighted in this condemnation. Compadre ordered us a nice 82' Brandy I can't pronounce and the last of the 79' for himself. And I know exactly how that sounds. Paired with the assortment of jellies and creams and sweets it was delicious. Enhanced by the news that the girls were thrashing the Angels 5 to nothing. Heaven!

Made it home during the seventh inning stretch at which point I watched in disbelief as the Yankees proceeded to waste several runs. RoRo had a single homo that did no good whatsoever, but we can only hope they aren't dipping too deeply into their stores for whatever the graces we'll do then who's to say.

Made it to work and someone has left me a delightful Jack-O-Lantern. That, plus being treated to a lovely dinner as well as a charming piece of jubilee ware Compadre picked up for me I have to admit that I don't mind saying I'm feeling rather appreciated lately. Almost makes me not want to open up my office email and look at the shit-storm that awaits me. But, of course, I'm retained for my discretion as well as my composure so we dive right in. Anxiety is a myth.

It's A Gentle Realization.

Spooky foggy morning and I am not nearly as jumpy. Yes. Bypassed the witching hour altogether and got myself a good night's sleep. Woke up, had some tea, read my book, played around in the bathtub a bit too long and quite nearly missed my bus, which part of me wishes I had what with the guy sneezing on the window and coughing all over the place. I thought about hurling my book at the guy and telling him to cover his ill-shapen mouth, but it's actually a very nice book and my immune system takes care of unpleasantness like that so I don't have to worry about it really. Just irritating when your trying to enjoy a song on the Ipod.

Speaking of, I may have actually jinxed the girls because last night they fell in extra innings to those brutish Angels of that place I speak not of. I think the muggy California weather got the better of them. They looked all flushed and wiped out. And I guess the people were quite something as well. I mean get a load of the cretinous douche in this picture. Making a spectacle of himself yelling at Derek and all when he's up there trying to concentrate on his swingings. And what is that ho-bag in the Yankees cap doing with her hand? That hand needs to be upside douche's head. Although part of me can forgive her. I know from experience that when one's in the presence of the Sun it is so hard to look away. Even if it is to deliver a well deserved smack down to some overfed ill bred lunatic.

I'm excited and nervous for tonight's game nonetheless. Just sayin'.

Slovenly Is The Best Way To Describe Him.

Feeling a bit jumpy this morning. Woke up right at the witching hour just like last Monday. Made some tea, read a book, listened to Night at the Proms. Which is sort of a continuation of the weekend in general. Woke up, had some tea, listened to music and read. Cooked breakie. Went for a walk. Had some tea, listened to music, read Country Life. I got three out of five right on the weekly quiz! Still wondering why The French Kicks is on my ipod. That shit is coming off and Night at the Proms is going on.

I'm afraid to say anyting about ball for fear I may jinx something or someone. If you have no idea how the girls are doing then you are just going to have to look somewhere else to find out, but I can give you a hint... They aren't doing "poorly". Which I'm sure makes so many of those zone stat tweaker nerds "Derek is overrated" is all I know how to say losers so happy. The kids downstairs got a little carried away with their cheering and the screaming, but I just ignored it. Always better than getting beer thrown at you at Dodger Stadium.

Moist Croissant

So despite my diatribe against American Heritage yesterday here I am sitting in the office wearing a Pendleton. Paired it with a quilted Barbour waistcoat, YSL bracelet, 501s, and cap toe oxfords in cordovan. Where once I looked eccentric and batty I now just look, well, who knows. I still think it looks eccentric and batty1., but some dude in the office showed up in a crushed velvet blazer so I'm just going to roll with it. Rolling with it is my new philosophy by the way.
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Happy Bones day! I am just way too excited about Bones tonight. Last night was Tudors night and an evening with CBC hearing about the "soaring loonie" and Canadians snatching up property in Arizona. They must be the only people buying property in that shit hole at the moment, but I suppose it beats Saskatchakafuckwhat. Seriously good times though.
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1. The one dressed most like Ignatius Reilly wins!

You're Like One Of Five People In The Room Wearing Chucks So You Can Stop Pouting.

Alright. I've had it and I just have to say something about it. I know everyone is all about lumber jacking and American Heritage1. brands n' shit, but ya know I bought my hunting shirt with leather elbows last season, and one is plenty. And now it's just overdone like a bad egg. I've had it. And the Filson sheep skin gloves that are as fug as fug can get just have me in a state. Blackbird is showcasing them for reasons which in no way escape me. You can get this shit at Sportsman's Warehouse. Ya know, that big ugly warehouse WalMarty looking thing off country road random between Anderson's farm and old man Richardson's gulley? I know because I laughed at them when I went to pick up a pair of waders this summer. And just because some boutique with nothing more original to peddle decides to "showcase" this unfortunate mistake does not make it acceptable. First, you're not showcasing shit. You're trend whoring, but you're just right behind JCrew on this one so you're not really good at that particular type of hoing so what else is left for you? Something dowdy and black from Japan or are you just all about tragedy in general? Over it. Had it. May start yelping if this shit keeps up, but Blackbird is seriously the lamest shop ever. They make Urban Outfitters look like they've got vision. You know, the vision behind an in-store American Heritage vintage mart? Gotta jump on that you know. Everyone that works there is pale and has an IQ of 90. The lady used to work at Nordstrom so I'm not quite sure what I expect. I suppose I'm just surprised at why people lap up the garbage on their shelves, but then I remember that most people watch reality TV and the fragility of the human psyche is made all the more clear. What the hell is baseball if not reality TV, but I digress.

I would say something about tattersall, but I'm sure someone will think of it eventually.

In a serious mood today.
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1. This country is about 5 minutes old so the "heritage" they're referring to is lost on me.

The Answer Is Yes.

In my excitement about the Yankees sweeping those brutish Twins it totally escaped me that the even more brutish Red Sox were spept by Anaheim. The word Anaheim ordinarily makes me shudder, but in this context I think I can handle it. In small doses preferably, but this of course means that the Yankees will have to play the Anaheims in the ALCS. Drats!

Neat article about the girls' jewelry.

also

New Morrissey B-Side compilation Swords is being released on November 3rd. Some really good songs on it and 3 that I have never heard before so I am all over it. He hits Seattle November 29th, and I am (yes of course) all over that as well!

It Was Fantastic And Huge.

Weekend book-ended by two amazing Yankees game where we saw the girls just pounce on the Twins. They pounced on them like a foofy kitty pounces on a bit of yarn and tears it to pieces. Hands off my yarn!

I also got all shades of domestic. Ironing shirts, baking cookies, I made humus of all things and a vegetarian stroganoff which is nowhere near as vile as one would suspect. Endless loads of laundry it seemed like. Pouty barista diggin my hoodie, but it was the weekend so I didn't feel the need to chat him up. Thrifting turned up nothing but a nice walk. Tried to keep a low profile. Compadre stopped by last night, but I was quite nearly unconscious. Still waking up during the witching hour. Noticed that muffin had tried to move a lamp. He didn't move it very far, but he's only a cat after all. I spent a little too much time wondering where he would like the lamp moved to before I went back to bed.

They Told Me They Lost It.

Waves! Actual perceptible waves of Latino hotness crashed over me as I was waiting for the bus this morning. For a second I didn't know where I was or which way was up, but they were all packing stuff into the Coastal Kitchen. That coupled with the "just too dreamy for words" line cook they have working mornings and this place has become my sanctuary. Sanctuary you hear. A place where I can hide from the oceans of pale alterno-twit feral hipsters with ill-fitting clothes. Utterly un-fuckable in their comportment and their posture celebrates this flaw. Anyway, enough about the self-impressed ugly amongst us.

This is why I could never yelp to save my life. I go somewhere to eat and I stare at the staff. I go somewhere to shop and I examine their wallpaper. I go to the local Farmers Market, and then I rush promptly to the psych ward. It would never work.

So last night after work Compadre and I discovered that being 86ed from a bar does not survive transfer. Once the property is under new ownership and management one is welcome once again. Long story, but certainly nothing I would ever yelp about. Sleeping dogs and dead horses you know.

The Names Have Been Omitted

A small side project of mine you see. And taking a healthy amount of inspiration from peopleofwalmart.com I believe. You may have heard of my fascination with Yelp and yelpers alike. Although I've often questioned the wisdom of providing the common rabble with a mouthpiece and platform so to speak and a great deal of my fascination stems from this concern. Published opinions from people whom I do not know and whose opinions should in no way interest me and generally don't yet are unquestionably alluring. Like a literary trainwreck in Times New Roman. Well, I think I can put those concerns aside because I now think it is genius.

Not sure how long my little side project will last. There is indeed a paucity of material so reccomendations are always welcome, but as anthology is an emerging artform I think you will agree that this is a well edited and tender collection of "works". One of them has already been taken down. Probably because the writer was embarrassed or more likely because the proprietor lodged a complaint. Anyway, I don't want to go on and on about something which is little more than a window. An actual literal window into my summer and winter holidays. Not for general circulation, but a nice diversion. Enjoy.

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On a totally unrealted note I have to say: 2 hits, 2 walks, scored twice. MV-who now?

Ambition Can Be So Vulgar.

Yesterday in the coffee shop I was relieved that it was warm inside and I decided to make the switch from Iced Dictator to Insta-drip. The ladies behind the counter were in a theatrical mood. One of them went into a monologue about how she thought the air felt wet and penetrating and there were body motions going on. I told her that what she is describing sounds a lot like a phenomenon known as Jack Frost. The look on her expression belied the quirky and colorful outfit and pony tails and revealed a woman who has utterly lost touch with the whimsy and joys of youth.

Today in the coffee shop was another story. The boys were working and the one whom I've given serious thought to having sex with went all ape shit over my hoodie. I showed him the back and modeled it off a bit. I felt a little awkward since I considered throwing it up on ebay when I grabbed it out of the closet this morning. "Surface to Air hoodie I have two of you and sadly one of you may need to go. No room you see, and I'm kinda gettin' itchy for one of these Monrow hoodies and all" was sorta what was goin through my head, and I know everyone needs a gray hoodie, but still the Monrow hoodie is fly and then cutie patootie has to go and compliment me on something I had almost convinced myself to part with. Best laid plans I tell you what...

Tudors tonight on CBC!

Is That The Way It's Done?

For reasons known only to themselves selectism has decided to jump away from fashion blogging for moment and take up (excuse me while I clear something out of my throat) food blogging. Even more baffling is their feature on Cougar Gold. Yes, the one year aged cheddar that comes in a can marketed every holiday season, and as I learned last year must not be placed under the xmas tree immediately after purchase, but must be refrigerated. Even though it comes in a can. Like tuna.

I'm really afraid one of my my genuine food snob friends may read this. And so should Selectism. They should really confine themselves to fashion snobbery and only fashion snobbery. They might be able to mix it up with watching paint dry and smoking a blunt, but this is an otherwise prime example of why you may want to limit, despite your sincere ambitions to the contrary, the ambit of your snobbishness.

That being said I'm going to make a point of not putting my can of The Coug under the tree until the day after xmas. But until then I'm going to check back with Selectism every day to see when they're going to run their piece on Dick's Burgers.

Holy Crap! The parental units are coming into town today and I have done little to prepare besides laundering a set of sheets. Did a little "parent proofing" this morning, buy I'm pretty sure the lube is still next to the toothpaste. Rats!

The only other thing I really need to say which almost goes without saying since it's so empirically verifiable is that bikers suck. What I mean is by and large those people that still think it's cool to act like they're seven and pedal their asses all over the city have as much consideration for the rest of the people around them as your average seven year old has. I know. I shouldn't expect much from people who stopped emotional development ten years before getting their driver's license, but a little courtesy please. Please? One of them smacked me this morning with their laughably and unnecessarily over sized bag containing of all things a helmet. What in God's name could he think to be protecting with that thing? Waste of a perfectly good sick sack.

More Motion Than We're Used To.

I had an unsavory experience with a cutter last night. Line cutters. We hates them. Had a retarded time at work, met Compadre for a few drinks after, perused for a dining room table (since we're having dinner on Tuesday a new table is apparently in order), took a cab back up the hill and did some shopping for a quick dinner. We stood in line for around 3 minutes. Compadre took the next available self check out kiosk and I held back with the beer. When another kiosk opened this mousy little twit with a big ass swept in there. I explained to her that there was a line and that at no point was she in it, and she actually looked at the floor and told me she was standing in line. I asked, "Really, between me and my friend? I must have missed you." I was appalled. Shocked. And she just stood there with her can of Alpo...

I mean she cut in front of me in line because she was in a hurry to get crappy food back to her idiot dog. I actually feel sorry for the dog having to eat that crap, and live with this woman who the dog must think is Derek effing Jeter because if the dog was not under that hysterical delusion he would have undoubtedly ripped this line cutting bitches face off long ago.