It's Britney Bitch.

I really hate being behind the curve. But I was listening to The Strand yesterday on my newest Iphone app and learned about this provocative artist Maurizio Cattelan and his recent work The Finger which some say is "giving the finger" to the financial heavies of Italy. "Giving the finger" is an expression the meaning of which eludes most Brits. There is talk of letting the 31 foot high marble sculpture stay longer than October 3rd when it was originally scheduled to come down. I think they should keep it. I shared on facebook. Thought I'd be glib.

Seeing Me In Stereo Totality

Where does one find one's sense of moral outrage?

Well... Unfortunately for me I have to look no further than the break room. Given an altogether draconian Internet policy on my project I can't stream news or anything for that matter at my workstation. Luckily there's an app for that. The BBC app. I can listen to the searingly topical and probing insights from the BBC all day while silently judging the more prosaic and one dimensional observations of my office carbie NPR listeners.

Yesterday from early on the news was of Afghan President Hamid Karzai's breakdown and tearful denunciation of violence in his country following the assassination of a top official. Name escapes me. I felt bad even though I couldn't understand what he was saying. Concern over whether the coalition is focusing more on toppling the Taliban than creating stability. Some 8 hours later when I was walking out of the office through the breakroom the incessant CNN was on the TV and they had finally picked up on the story. After spending impenetrable hours going on about something that happened to a police officer in Fargo, North Dakota.

Their take, yes, it may be news, but it "raises questions as to the President's stability". WTF? I've been listening to the story all day and I haven't heard anyone raise these questions. Who exactly is raising these questions? Who? After concluding it must be some intern blowing the commentator in the back room I start to walk away and then I see Ben Stein and some mole of a woman called Ariana Huffington comment on Barrack Obama and they just seemed like a couple of toddlers playing with their own feces. There are actually people who speak intelligently about some of these issues and it is just breathtaking and striking when one is exposed to the banal stupidity of American news.

Do I sound cliche. I fear I may, but I was honestly galled for a moment. Only a moment since I fancy myself all lighthearted and shit.

But the days of me nuking a Trader Joe's insta meal and slurping it silently while absorbing the bata twaddle of these know nothing newsies is over. Weather is cooling and there is no reason I can't go for a walkabout in pursuit of actual food. Lates!

Never Look In Their Faces.

So 113 degrees yesterday is just wicked perverted. I made it though. Before I jammed to work, but before I was fully dressed, I had to grab some gear off the top shelf of my kitchen cabinets which by the way were made for giants. I'm not sure if the sweet nice old ladies outside my kitchen windows really wanted a face full of me in my scanties at that hour of the morning, but as I continued about my morning and was making myself a sammy for lunch I noticed they were just kinda hanging out back there. Maybe waiting for the double feature who knows.
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So sometimes when I'm not getting all excited about dudes in shorts or baseball stripes my mind drifts towards menswear. Me in my uniform of jeans and tee shirt isn't all that fussy. I live by a cardinal rule of spending less for pants and spending loads for tops. And I like to read about here and there, but one place where you should not go to read about menswear is ACL. You SHOULD go there to read the comments. Hilarious, self involved pompous pricks sniping at one another it really makes up the better part of my morning tea break. There's no reason to read the articles as it's the usual dog-piling of heritage this and craftsmanship that. Yesterdays piece on LL Bean dictating runway fashions is a tour de fucking force. Check it out!

That and Simon Miller jeans are not as badass as some might tell you is what you should know for today.

Sometimes In Turmoil.

The heat in Los Angeles this weekend could best be described as stupid. Stupid, stupid, hot and stupid. Yet despite the soul crushing temperature a few positive things came from it all.

1. Ben Cohen (super hot rugby stud) posted this super hot picture on his facebook page for God and everybody to drool over. God bless the facebook. I mentioned earlier how his calendar went on sale Thursday and of course I ordered one, but due to some glitch with Paypal I think I may have ordered it 3 times. Oh well, these things happen.

2. I bought a brand new pillow which is just a dream. Laura Ashley or something and it is really helping me through these hot fall evenings.

3. I discovered they sell whiskey at the Trader Joe's. Famous Grouse whiskey costs half what it does up in Seattle and even though I didn't buy a bottle (I sure could have used one) it is just nice to know.

4. I discovered this delightful program called Glee. Not sure if you've heard about it, but even my parents have, but totally new to me and just such a joy. Kind of like an anti-Bones or a foil to Bones. I don't really care for musicals and people busting out in song for no good reason so I don't know how long my love affair with the show will last, but until the weather normalizes I am going to squeeze whatever tiny joys I can out of life.

Only Four Months Ago...

Bones tonight! So excited and hopeful. Hopeful that is that it's better than last season which was all not so good and all. And on that note I watched The Ev3nt and I'm not buying it. I'm not buying what they're selling. Non linear and all I'm sure it has its place, but it's more non-interesting than anything. A brand new season of mediocre television and a heaping pile of Netflix may just prompt me to get a new television. Quaint I know.

Contemplating My Inner Monologue.

Freddie Flintoff has announced his retirement for cricket. This was not something we wanted to hear on Saturday morning. Best of luck to Freddie.



The Ben Cohen 2011 calendar is going to be available to pre-order on Thursday. The first 200 orders will be signed by Ben Cohen his hotness. Being on the west coast and something like 8 hours behind GMT I don't think I stand much of a chance of getting a signed copy, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.



Hit akbar on Saturday night and it was a seething hothouse of buffalo check and other assorted plaids. I've always been amazed at people's abilities to stand in a room with other people who obviously read the same memo, read it furiously and in some cases twice, and decided to wear the same thing. This happens with jazzy hats in the morning quite often. Even more amazing is when they stand around, purse their lips and act like they've accomplished something akin to a triple back flip off the high dive of style. But I only wish that was the highlight.

Rotund and squat venomous cow of a door lady screamed at us because we weren't making our way through the hallway quickly enough. She said it in such a way as if we were illiterate gobs who couldn't read the invisible sign on the otherwise empty wall of her cow like mind. Taken aback by the spectacle of ego-tripping rudeness I made a quip about fire hazards. Well, this queen of God only knows overheard me and proceeded to grasp me by my Ann Demeulemeester clad sleeve and give me that what for. She barked something about being the supreme hakareeshee of the club or this and that and none of it really registered as I was just staring down at this insignificant creature's sausage grip on my sleeve. I politely asked her to remove her hand and for a moment contemplated leaving the poor thing bleeding to death from the throat, but I think that was a flashback from The Last Exorcist which I saw last week which really wasn't very good.

She retreated to the safety of what I think she thought was her "crew" and it couldn't even end there. The night totally ruined by this ass wenches' fucking spectacle we decided to leave and on the way out she spouted off some tired new age karma rage about something "coming back to me". At this moment, in this sea of lumberjack drag, raw denim & enlightened mysticism I seriously considered retiring to a secluded cabin somewhere far away from ill-mannered agro lesbian rage junkies, but all I can do is brush it off. Why let that hateful wretch ruin my weekend. Why indeed.

On a side note, the Eagle (LAs premier leather bar) was just delightful. And not a speck of check or plaid or hateful hateful hippos.

Haunt Me Freeze Me Devour Me.

Meeting some nice new people. Reacquainting myself with some old bros who've learned not to speak until spoken to. Free Whiskey tasting that was a thrill to say the least. All in all a resounding a success. Jamming on the Facebook, silently judging people who are convincing themselves they aren't "really" bigots, just fed up with big guvment. That is unless it's regulating who maries maries whom and who smokes the what and when to pull out of where? Can't believe I made it this long without it.

Obviously I lay it all out there, but some people really shouldn't put their thoughts into words unless they're prepared to be silently judged by people like me. Quiet enough in here?

Forgot Which Way The Stairs Went.

Total clusterfuck this morning. Rookie mistake I guess. Hopped on the Wilshire/Western instead of the North Hollywood train. First time I've done that in 6 years. I was just too excited to get away from the odors of the platform and didn't even bother looking. Had to wait for a train to take me back to the transfer station (who the fuck designed this system anyway?) and I was practicing what I was going to say to the cop if he tried to hassle me for not paying this extra fare. One script for hot cop, and a hilarious script for ugly cop. It all came to nothing, but I was spoiling for a fight just the same.

Got back online and was smacked across the face with this shit. People deriding the flipflop which is my new staple. Begs the question, however, if people in Chicago need to be writing about clothes. Or anything for that matter. Do they? Eat another of your famous hot dogs and just squeeze squeeze SQUEEZE your fat ass into your New Standards. Then do me a favor and don't tell me about it. Thanks.

This on the other hand is just precious run amok. Enjoy!

And You Do That All Day?

Pics of rugby are starting to trickle in much to my satisfaction. I can never find games on television, and I almost asked the hot cable guy who was here this Saturday, but I just couldn't get the words out. I tried to say something, anything witty or intelligent and all I could manage was some clumsy fumblings on the iphone. I snapped a few pics while he was crawling under one of my tables, but those are private.



I finally found some B'SBEE action over at Fred Segal. It's far too hard to find gear from this brand I'm just smitten with. I only have one shirt and the last time I wore it was to a birthday party. Not mine. You'll have to check them out for yourself as they have some jive about their images being copyrighted. Not registered mind you just the garden "I made it so don't touch" variety. Why people have to be so difficult is beyond me sometimes. Vibrant yet washed out colors and killer fabrics.

I went to the grocery store yesterday and in LA produce seems to be defined by how many pounds of something you can get for a dollar. I bought gobs and gobs of veggies, but I still only ate popcorn and Reeses last night. Recess were on special as well. Thank God.

Feeling Contrarian & Vocal.

Comme des Garcons patchwork wallet at 8 years (and one trip through the laundry) on.

Lately I've noticed some people posting pics and descriptions of some of their wares showing the way it weathers after so long. Like how tatty can this stuff get. I'm generally not interested in how funky a pair of jeans can get after so many wears and zero washings. But when something has served one so well for so many years I think it warrants some recognition. It will be hard to part with the dear, but I think she may have had her day.



This is seriously in contention for my next wallet. Launer of London make The Queen's handbags so it's a safe bet this two tone wallet will treat me right. They have loads more so everyone should be able to find one they like. Not that I really want everyone rocking my wallet, but what can you do? They also make heaps of other nice leather items. For a vegetarian I get really excited about a nice piece of leather.

This spectacle case has also made this list.

Overreaching Oneself.

There is a pounding in my head and the Woolrich John Rich whatever billboard on Sunset did nothing to help matters. Tarsome. I'm adapting to my new surroundings quite admirably. I used the downtime to reacquaint myself with the local thrift stores. RRL houndstooth button-up, Martin Margeila tee-shirt and too fresh for comfort Barbour polo polo. It being a polo for polo and all. And not Woolrich.

I still need to dive into baseball and see how that is all going, but my suspicion is that it's as hunky adorable as ever. And not Woolrich.

Aspiring For The Common Touch.

Moving and packing. Moving and packing. Can be a drag. There are so many things one should simply let go of, but sentimentality is hard to shake. What will be appropriate in 3 months time? What will one need in 3 months time? What will make one wretch in 3 months time? If I left it up to someone else they'd probably tell me to grab a cardigan, duffel bag & start pouting. All the usual suspects are well in hand. What one really needs to prepare for are emergencies. Thinking outside the box and the ill-fitting check shirt what what?