This blog is brought to you by my sister Jody's laptop. Care to see a screenshot of the daily amount of insanity that she lives with? Good.
Quick! Find that one .jpg file that you tossed into the steaming cauldron that is your desktop! Time's-a-ticking!
Come to think of it, her laptop isn't the only place where my sister lives in utter squalor. Witness her boudoir:
...And that's just the tiny portion of her room that I managed to capture whilst she was cawing and scratching at my face. "Do you dare defile me?!" She screeched. "You're going to BLOG about this!"
But I'm just SAYING. There's a reason the rats who live in the walls like to hang out around Jody's room.
"I would just like to take this moment to wish everyone a perfectly great Halloween and, in case I don't get to see you tonight, let me tell you right now how much I love your Mad Men costume. Great suit! Great skinny tie! And wait a second, is that a part in your hair? Kudos on your attention to detail. The drink in your hand was also a nice touch at this holiday party with an open bar. Thanks for doing your part to keep away the ghouls."- Todd Levin over at Tremble.com
I'm not usually a fan of celebrities who parlay their fame into ill-conceived fashion exploits. The whole brouhaha surrounding a celebrity 'line' typically smacks of Kathy Ireland's dalliances with K-Mart: Not something anyone with a shred of self-respect or style would touch. Youch!
Notably, there are a few exceptions. Mila Jovovich's now-defunct line Jovovich-Hawk brought 1970's Canyon Women into a modern-day Los Angeles. The diminutive Olsen twins have packed a one-two punch with their high-end minimalism found in The Row, and their more inventive pieces in Elizabeth & James. Kate Moss's Christmas collection for Topshop sold out in a matter of hours. One of the shared components in all of these lines (save for La Moss' Topshop venture) is cost; if you want high-end, you've got to pay the price. SJP's partnership with Steve & Barry's didn't fare as well, predictably.
Against all odds (does anyone remember The Simple Life season 1?), Nicole Richie's proverbial hand in the proverbial pot has me impressed. Her jewelry collection, House of Harlow 1960, has vintage Egyptian influences, with classic shapes and subdued colors. The best part is the price: Most pieces are in the $40 range.
I put in an order for my favorite piece today:
I know times are dire, indeed.
But at the beginning of the Summer, the gas station by my house reached a peak of $4.69 per gallon. That same station has fallen back to $2.87, where it's steadily dropping a few cents every couple of days.
I know it won't last that way forever, and I'd be willing to put a sum of money on the bet that prices will reach $5 a gallon before 2010, but for the time being, I'm glad that despite the national trends in any other good or service, gas prices have gone down.
At early Summer's price, it cost approximately $66 to fill up my tank. Now it costs me $40, a savings of $26 per trip.
So hey, things may suck right now. They do. But I'll choose to look at the semi-bright side whenever I can. At least if we go into a crazy modern day depression, I'll have enough gas money to get me to Canada.
"Though you would never be able to guess it by their actions, white people are very concerned with perceived as “annoying” or “that guy” who has to ask about the ingredients of everything they eat. However great their concern over this, they are still more afraid of being “that guy” that eats High Fructose Corn Syrup or pork."- Stuff White People Like: Hummus
"Any people who vote for you [Obama] after understanding that you are dishonest should be ashamed of themselves for making their personal political issues more important than character. Would these same people vote for the anti-Christ if the anti-Christ promised them riches? Would they make a golden calf while Moses was up the mountain? Would they hire someone for a job if that someone lied in an interview? .... of course not. So why do some of these people justify their votes for you even though they know you are dishonest? Why do they excuse your dishonesty? Because some of these people are frightened about the future, the economy, and their financial security.... and you are praying on their fears with empty promises ... and because some (especially our young people) are consumed by your wonderful style and promises for 'change' like the Germans who voted for Adolf Hitler in 1932. The greed/envy by Germans in 1932 kept them from recognizing Hitler for who he was. They loved his style. Greed and envy are keeping many Americans from recognizing you ... your style has camouflaged your dishonesty.... but many of us see you for who you really are ... and we will not stop exposing who you are every day, forever if it is necessary."- From a letter by Michael Master, republished on Facebook (I'm sure it's making the email FWD rounds as well) [did a bit of research, can't determine whether he's a real person or not]
Frankly, this is disturbing. But moreover, it's also hysterically funny in its egregious attempts at finger pointing. The Anti-Christ? Idolatry? Hitler? No, seriously...Hitler? I'm in stitches. It's almost too much. You're missing John Wayne Gacy Jr, though, Mike. I think he was from Illinois too, which would further drive your point home. This is rich, I tell you. FILTHY rich.
I can imagine the email version must have included FoNtS LIKE tHiS. Nice one, Mr. Master. Next time you write a bitter missive to The Interwebs, try Papyrus.
And here yet another bone-tinglingly exciting weekend comes to a close. I could just make sweet OUT OF WEDLOCK love to 3-day weekends, that's how profound my devotion is. I know. It's shocking, and yet...
Oh, yeah. My parents DO read this blog. Er. Mom, Dad, I would ONLY make sweet love to 3-day weekends if we were bound by holy matrimony. So there's that.
On Friday I experienced something new (shock!), something shocking (double shock!), something...rather inexplicable. Can I hear a "Guten tag!" for Oktoberfest, anyone? Nein? Well, if you've never had the pleasure of attending a real, authentic Oktoberfest as diffused through the lens of Orange County bros and middle-aged revelry, then allow me to set the scene: Imagine a giant tent, bursting at the gills with drunk frat guys, girls in corsets and knee socks, aging cougars nursing 32-oz hefeweizens and bewilderingly flirty older men. Now add to the madness plates of funnel cake and sausages, German polka, and The Chicken Dance. Still tracking with me? Good. Now imagine a 'comedian' whose climactic act was to blow a gigantic flesh-colored balloon and proceed to somehow step inside this bloated latex suit, thus covered toe-to-chin, and lip-sync a remix of Sir Mix-a-Lot's "I Like Big Butts" and MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This." Still with me? Now sprinkle in a beer-drinking contest wherein the female contestants sat on men's laps and drank the beer OUT OF A BABY BOTTLE. Oh, I haven't lost you yet, have I? Because I haven't even gotten to the Fake-German Elvis singing The King's greatest hits as backed by a polka band.
That's about the time we took off.
Needless to say, if you can handle the utter assault on your every sense, then I'd highly encourage you to experience das Oktoberfest (because the funnel cake was awesome).
Sadly, this guy didn't win. But he sure took himself seriously.
And if the whole Oktoberfest madness weren't enough, on Saturday night Jody and I went up to Hollywood to catch Girl Talk at the Fonda. This is the third time I've had the infinite pleasure of cutting a rug to Gregg G's Dance Beatz, but it was Jody's first experience. I told her, "The crowd will inevitably suck. But the music will be AWESOME." And I was oh, so very right. Here are a couple of photos that, I think, accurately depict the sweaty, epic display:
On Sunday I went down to 4th St. in search of brownish men's oxfords, a la Kelly Wearstler in this month's issue of Domino.
Aren't those just fabulous? Luckily, La Bomba came through for me and I nabbed a pair for $30. And speaking of Kelly Wearstler, I was going to do a post on her whacky-lady (and completely AMAZING) style, but I couldn't really find very many pictures of her online. Internet, you have failed this one.
So here are a couple shots from her profile in Vogue last year:
I tell you, the woman is fantastic.
...And that concludes this week's Weekend Recap. As you were.
Concerning The Alleged Bogeymen In The Attic, Part II: Concerning The Alleged Interweb Ambush, And: Part III: Still Don't Need Your Help
Last week I mentioned that we had a bit of a rodent problem in our house, and that my good friend Mike Hamilton has absolutely insisted upon fixing it, despite my objections in the name of health and hygiene. Well, the argument escalated to near manic levels on Thursday evening when Ham enlisted the help of other well-meaning souls and convinced them all that A) We were living in a heap of detritus and mayhem and B) That this was somehow, inexplicably, MY fault. This sort of blame shifting is nothing new to me as I have lived the last 20-almost-21 years of my life with Jody Dailey, whose main objective in life is to rustle up as much sympathy for her pathetic plights of fancy (whatever they may be) by turning the accusatory spotlight onto her inflammatory-but-most-often-more-innocent-than-she-seems sister. This I am used to. This has been happening since the dawn of Jody's life, or at least since she learned how to point a finger and say, "SHE did it!"
Oh, hey Jody. You read this blog, huh? Heh. Well. YOUR REBUTTAL, Counsel.
At any rate, the conversation on Thursday hovered strictly around the idea that, by not allowing people to stick evil death sandwiches in the attic opening in my room thus luring the rats to my side of the house only to die, rot, and infest my quarters with maggots, I was somehow not only living in squalor but ALSO having significant Trust Issues.
But then the next day, I discovered this:
You'll want to enlarge that pic to get the full idea of what I'm dealing with here.
The ensuing conversations have gone a little something like this:
(Read bottom to top, in case you're not privy to the time-stamp order of The Good Book and/or any fwded email message on earth)
I have a feeling we're not ONLY battling rodents anymore.
"We understand the desire to look good and wear expensive clothing and would guess most women do. Given the opportunity — even if the goods are basically rentals — we wouldn't say no to a giant lot of them either. But Joe Six-Pack isn't our BFF and we're not running for the second highest office in this country on the premise that he is, so it's not a problem."- The Cut on Palin's spending spree
"But despite our cautious optimism that this train wreck will be an entertaining one, we do have one major beef: the use of the term "stylista" like it's a real word. It's not, fools. 'Stylista' is the 'fetch' of the CW network, and like Regina George to Gretchen Wieners, we're here to tell them it's NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. So cut it out and get back to more scenes about how Anne Slowey 'doesn't do almonds unless they're soaked overnight.' That idiocy is your gold mine, people. Work it."- The Fug Girls review CW's new reality series Stylista
1. I know I risk sounding like the cretin that hides under the algae under the fungus growing under a rock, but guys, did you know that you can make lattés like the ones those cuh-raaazy coffee swillers make, but with tea instead? Leave it to Urth on Melrose to enlighten me. Now I can't get enough of them. Black tea misto. VENTE! NOW! I don't even know if I'm spelling those words correctly, that's how out of touch I am with the general coffee culture.
2. iTunes 8 Genius sidebar. What are our thoughts on this, team? Yea or Nay? I'm going to give a preliminary "Yea!" for the simple fact that I've made a couple of playlists so far using Genius and already today I've discovered two songs ("Humble Peasants" by The Most Serene Republic, and "Baltimore" by Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks) that A) I didn't know I had, and B) I happen to love immensely and obsessively. Already. And it's only 9:30 a.m.
But then again, that might just be the caffeine from my misto.
For W's annual art issue, the magazine gave Brad Pitt a camera, 70 rolls of Kodak Pan 40 film, and 1 week to shoot Angelina Jolie in their French chateau. I only have a few shots of the 30-page spread, but if there's one thing you spend $5 on this week, W should be it.
There are few women in the fashion industry whose style I admire more than Elle's Kate Lanphear and Paris Vogue's Emmanuelle Alt. Both women possess an ability to make neutrals and dark colors come alive - not an easy thing to do considering how easy it would be to simply appear 'drab.' They're also free of fussy hairstyles or painted-on makeup, which makes me want to say, "You're perfect. Don't change a thing."
Here are a few shots from the past couple of years that best illustrate their inimitable style:
Imagines courtesy of Refinery 29, Jak & Jil, and Style.com