Shot Through The Heart

A few more pics from last week's archery expeditions at the Scottish Festival. 

No, But Seriously. Try The Prime Rib.

I've been trying to write my Maid of Honor (hereafter "MoH") speech for Jessica's upcoming nuptials all day today, and I'm proud to report I've only cried once. This is what I and Darwin like to call progress. Interestingly, it's what my sister Jody likes to call abject weakness. I think Death Valley sheds more tears than Jody does, but I'm not here to accuse anyone of being a crusty old coot, so you keep on keeping on, Dry Ducts McCoy. (Also, I know you would never use a word like "abject." I just couldn't help myself, Dode.)

Since this is my first trip down the aisle bearing the coveted title of "Bridesmaid" (as opposed to flower girl, candlelighter, or, you know, guest-trying-desperately-to-upstage-the-bride), I'm taking this speech very seriously. I've started and stopped at least a dozen times, phrasing and rephrasing, adding and deleting (though adding a lot more than I'm deleting - much to the chagrin of anyone who has the unhappy plans of sitting through said speech next weekend). An example of my initial opening paragraph went a little something like this:

"I don't know if this 'Maid of Honor' speech will in fact, be public, given the joyously unconventional nature of your nuptials (and in typing that I just now realized - for the first time - that the word is nuptials, and not nupitals, as in NEW-pit-uls, and I'm forever grateful to my computer's spell check to graciously allow me to save face in the event that this speech DOES, in fact, find its way into the ears of your some-400 wedding guests)."

And that, my friends, is what they call a rocky start. What's supposed to be a concise and charming paean to the NUHPTCHEWALS of Jessica and Tyler has devolved into a rambling, anecdotal bumblefest, replete with multiple references to earthquakes. And I might also add that though this is my first stab at the whole MoH thing, I'm pretty sure a 3-page single-spaced 10pt font speech is a wee bit long, even from a Presidential debate standpoint. After all, wasn't it Lincoln who blazed the trail of the Short n' Sweet?

For a spate of giggles, I went ahead and google-searched "Maid of Honor speeches" to see what I might unearth that could possibly inspire abridged greatness from the pen of yours truly. Of course, reading the example speeches only stormed my imagination with a maelstrom of tulle-covered visions, each more strapless and taffeta'd than the next. And if you thought it was literarily impossible to be taffeta'd, then you've never been a sinner in the hands of an angry Bride, my friend. But far be it from me to judge the venerable and long-standing tradition of wedding speeches. So, like madlibs, I've filled in and adjusted the appropriate blanks to fit my purposes for next weekend:

"When I look at the bride and groom, I feel such a whirlwind of emotions? [sic. Question mark? Like, do I feel these emotions? Lord knows! I only know that I feel an underwhelming sense numbness in my lower extremities, due to this GORGEOUS strapless sausage casing dress!] I know that _____ [Jess] has found her true match and I know that theirs will be a marriage of long standing [again, sic. Long standing what?...Joy? Magic? MagicKisses? I'm going with MagicKisses]. My heart is bursting with love for you two today. [Angina's tough.] I know you have a wonderful adventure ahead of you [replete with multiple references to earthquakes! mazel tov!], and with God's blessing your marriage will last for decades to come [at least two, right? I mean, at least]."

On second thought...

"Separately, you are two special, remarkable people [Like Barbie & Ken, except you aren't made of plastic and your hair doesn't stand up on end disappointingly should a devious wee Laurel decide to play stylist for a day, and UNLIKE that scenario, hopefully, your marriage won't end in a temper tantrum], but together you are complete [Oh, right. Like the B&K analogy I just mentioned. Let's just stick with that one]. As you sit side by side through this roller coaster of life [Are we talking Six Flags-style, here? Or like, Legoland? Because there is a BIG DIFF, guys. Six Flags is like...honeymoon baby and AHHH WE LOST OUR CREDIT CARDS and there was an earthquake and our house fell down! Crap!, and Legoland is more like, Wow, Tyler, you're wearing the Hush Puppies again, babe?], remember to scream from the peaks [so predictable], hold hands through the dips [yawn], laugh through the loop the loops [I'm pretty sure that's not even in the same PARKING LOT as grammatical correctness], and enjoy every twist and turn [But don't puke, because that's just nasty].

For the ride is much better when you share it together."

Awwwww.

I'm pretty sure there won't be a dry eye in the room when that mic is finally pried from my hands three hours later.

Luxottica is the DEVIL

LIES Sunglass Hut tells its customers who are on hold with their customer service line:

We KNOW your time is valuable. Thank you for holding. Assistance is just a moment away.

LIE.

Thank you for calling! Our staff is working hard to take your call next!

LIE.

Because of the personal attention given EVERY caller, you may experience a brief delay.

LIE.

We appreciate your patience, please stay on the line for the next available operator.

LIE.

We KNOW your time is valuable.

LIE.

THANK you for holding.

LIE.

Assistance is just a moment away.

LIES! LIES! LIES!

These platitudes are doing nothing to calm my jangled nerves, and in fact, are riling me up more than if I were left alone in the proverbial waiting room with a 4-year-old copy of Good Parenting and a clock ticking backwards on the wall. And what's the point, anyway? As soon as the holding pattern resolves, I'm left talking to a muffle-mouthed bozo whose education has, I'm sure, barely eclipsed community college, at best. Their options are all the same: A new phone number to call to speak with another half-wit with a page worth of script and no other solutions; a hands-off mail-order situation with a wait time of 6 weeks; advice to speak with a district manager, whose number cannot be revealed unless I talk with a store manager, and I'm sorry, she won't be in until tomorrow, is there something I can help you with?

'Help' being the operative, deceptive, ultimately incorrect word, here.

Luxottica Corporation is not liable, except that actually, they are - but in order to pin down those twits, I'm required to exhaust my personal resources of patience, love, and kindness (not to mention lunch breaks) - so at the end of the day, replacement sunglasses in possession or not, who's the big loser here?

And it's the same everywhere. Any time you deal with a big corporation, you're dealing with the same idiots, the same doublespeak, the same mumbled contrivances meant to quell your complaints when in reality they only absolve their deliverer of any kind of responsibility. It's hands-off from the top down and people like me are left with a busted pair of frames and a chip on their shoulder.

If I weren't too irate to self-medicate with music, you can bet the first song on my "DAMN THE MAN!" playlist would be "Rebellion (Lies)."

Quotables

"We haven't seen a solo headliner from Mr. Indie Rock Class of '07 since, well, sometime in '07. I think the word 'wit' was used like 50 times then, and two more years means two more years for Jens to get more charming."

- Stereogum reviews Jens Lekman's show at the Echo last night. I concur.

Quotables

"You are considered superficial and and silly if you're interested in fashion, but I think that you can be serious and still be interested in frivolity."

- Sofia Coppola

Concerning Whether Or Not Cesar Is A Hipster: An iChat Between Byron and Myself

B: I'm arguing right now with Cesar on how much of a hipster he is.

L: He ain't a hipster at ALL. What's your position?

B: Well, he has an iPhone, he likes spending money on nice looking things, and he went to the Troubadour with us.

L: That ONE time, for Electrelane of ALL bands.

B: What? You don't want him pegged with you? Don't worry. You're a Christian hippie hipster, that's different.

L: I'm not worried about Cesar being pegged with me. but I'm just saying. He's not a hipster. First of all, he lives in Alhambra. secondly, he works at Playboy. Lastly, he wears glasses without a heavy black frame. Ergo: NOT a hipster.

B: He's in hipster denial. Don't try to kick him out of your hipster club, Laurel.

L: I'm just saying, we aren't in the same club, is all.

B: You out of all people should know that hipster is a big umbrella. Or do you need to read your friend's hipster dictionary after he publishes it?

L: Actually he sent me Ch. 3 for perusal, wherein he dissects and classifies hipsters. It's quite controversial. I'll see if Cesar fits into the categorization, but I HIGHLY doubt that "Stingy Guatemalan with a dangling muffler and a penchant for fruity cocktails" is a sub-category of hipsterdom.

B: I'm just saying. Hipster in denial. Latent hipster, even. It's in him - hipster tendencies.

So I open the polls to you, faithful readers. Weigh in in the comments section. Cesar = Hipster, yay or nay?

Found: The Perfect Summer Sandal

They've got that perfect Jesus of Nazareth look down pat. There are even zippers for easy in-and-out, which marred my previous Perfect Summer Sandal contender. I just might have to get them in grey and tan, too.

Find them here.

Weekend Recap: Hey, I Like Your Freckles

Posts like this remind me of a time in the not-so-distant past when I had long weekends every other weekend, and I regularly basked in the glory of having one extra day to play or do nothing or brag about how I had that one extra day and you, sucker, you did not, and that meant I won at life basically, even though I'm totally corporate and might as well make out with a Corporate Express catalogue and get it over with. Ballpoint pens, get over here, you sexy beast(s). But now due to conditions outside of my control - ahem, the economy, the powers that be, and a whole lot of other entities I neither respect nor admire - I'm back to a typical 9 - 5 schedule, which means I might as well just go steady with a Talbots catalogue now and get it over with. Mmm, pantsuits, get into my life, you minx(es).

I've reverted back to squeezing every last ounce out of the long weekends I do have, few and far between though they may be, and this Memorial Day was no exception. I kicked things off with a bang on Friday, retiring from The Man early and enjoying a completely mediocre lunch at the new divey Chinese place by my house (Shillelagh, WHY were you closed?) with Ash, Josh, and Jess. A word to the wise: Steamed pork buns are NOT all equal, and don't for one second fool yourself into thinking that just because a menu at a Chinese food place offers them, the result will be the steamed doughy goodness usually found at Dim Sum. The result was not desirous. Later I meandered up to L.A. to meet Jen, Byron, & Alex for hipster Pho and drinks at The Association downtown later with more old friends and ex-coworkers. And thus the weekend began with a bang and with drinks.

Saturday, I experienced the 7th Annual Scottish Festival at the O.C. Fairgrounds with the Millar family and a few others. A few notes about that: 1) "Scotland the Brave" never gets old. It just doesn't. 2) I don't think I've ever seen so many utilikilts in one place in my life. Tradish kilts I get. But khaki utilikilts? I thought cargo shorts were bad, but...wow. 3) Also, NO idea there were so many iterations of Macs in the Scottish sphere of the world. MacDougal, MacIntire, MacDonegy, MacKenzie, MacDuff, MacFarlane, MacInnes, MacIver, MacLellan...my Irish-Scando-Italian lineage felt extremely self-conscious, especially when someone criticized my newly-acquired vacation tan and I found myself APOLOGIZING for it. "Um, no I swear, I'm totally Gaelic. You should see me in January, man, I'm like one stop short of corpseville."

Also, to wit, tried archery for the first time at said festival and hit TWO bullseyes. I'm feeling fairly certain I was made for other (Medieval) times. Renaissance Faire, here I come! Somebody get this girl a velvet bodice!

Sushi, Settlers of Catan, and slumber party times ensued with a hodgepodge of folks, which brought me bleary-eyed to Sunday. I joined Jen & Byron again up in L.A. for a formal-shorts expedition with Byron, which was entirely successful. We capped the night at another friend's house for a BBQ and some killer sangria.

Oh Monday, we joined Jess and Tyler at their new soon-to-be apartment for a picnic at Penn Park. The weather was glorious, and we basked in the glow of reclaiming Mondays for far better purposes, such as drinking too much wine, soliciting ice cream trucks, and playing in fountains. We capped the evening with mah-ssive beers at Havana House and it was off to bed for this little one.

Another Memorial Day Weekend: Came, saw, conquered. Now I'm biding my time till 4th of July.

Fit Clinic: Summer Edition

Rogues Gallery SS09

Gentlemen, a word with you, if I may.

We've had our fireside chats in the past wherein I covered the hotly debated topic of baggy trou, and if you need a refresher course you can re-educate yourself here. But the gist is that most of you are wearing clothing that's far too big for your svelte, manly frame. It's true. Don't bother denying it. If you cast a quick glance to that button-up you're wearing and the shoulder seam hits anywhere below the crest of your shoulder, you're going to have to hold thy tongue and trust me on this one.

The biz casual look is one thing. But what's a guy to do in the summer months when the weather is fine and you got women, you got women on your mind? I hate to break it to you, but those massive shorts and those industrial-strength rugged sandal hybrids just aren't going to cut it. You want to cut a smooth silhouette, not resemble a windsock caught in a gale, gents.

Here's the long and short of it: Shorts don't need to be saggy, baggy, or otherwise balloon-like. They don't need pockets so deep they rival airplane seat back pouches. You need shorts with a the bare essentials: a pocket for your hand (the free hand will be quaffing a belgian white, natch), and a pocket or two for your wallet (slim, preferably J-Fold, and most definitely a nicely worn leather), your keys, your iPhone. If you insist upon a utility-sized pouch swinging from your hips, you'd better be prepared to be carrying a flask full of Maker's, and you'd better be prepared to share.

Cargo shorts are reserved for backpackers and this guy:

Who me? I'm just lounging here, admiring the view of the rockies. Oh, pardon. those are my abs.

And I know that in the target-marketed grand scheme of things, if you're reading this blog, you're probably not that guy.

But lest ye go screaming to the hills at the thought of donning a male version of Daisy Dukes, let me qualify that I'm not suggesting that a pair of fitted shorts must fit a certain category. There's no set length - though if the hem of your shorts are crazing your calves, fellas, I hate to break it to you, but you're not wearing shorts. You're wearing longs. Man-pri's, if you will. Call it what you want, but you're one gingham shirt short of a clambake and unless you regularly summer in the Catskills, there's no reason you should be swishing through town in a calf-grazing glorified skirt.

Maybe that's harsh. Maybe you're indignantly glaring at your screen at this very moment and cursing my sartorial input. But I'm certainly not implying that every dude needs to look exactly the same. Variety is the spice of life, after all, and mid-thigh-grazing chinos aren't for everyone. But I am suggesting that you can trim the excess here and there. Slimmer on top. Well-cut on the bottom. A smart pair of slip ons or bucks, guys, and if you're wearing jeans or khakis, for heaven's sake - let those ankles breathe. Cuff those puppies, roll them to a few inches above the ankle, invest in a killer pair of shades, and you're set. It doesn't have to be complicated, but like the perfect pairing (beer and burgers, wine and anything, gin & tonic), it does require some thought.

So here are a few ideas to get you started.

Above: Michael Bastian, Spring Summer 2009

Above, from L to R: Banana Republic, Gap, and Band of Outsiders

First up, length: knee-grazing to mid-thigh is usually best, and Michael Bastian is a great example of how to pull off both looks. Just make sure the pants hit at your hip, not below your ass. low-rise works, but only if the rest of the leg sits closer to the body.

Next item: Pants, chinos, and khakis. These are hard to pull off if you're not obsessed with fit. But cuffed with a basic Havaianas or a pair of Vans and a slim-fitting button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and you've got a winner.

Left, Rogues Gallery. Right, photo by Kevin O'Brien

L to R: J.Crew, image by Kevin O'Brien, J.Crew

Another thing to consider this summer is your choice of swimwear. I know I'm betraying the very hand that feeds me (and pays my bills), but guys, you've gotta take the hem up on those kilt-like boardies a good five inches. Boardshorts and swimwear should hit above the knee and for heaven's sake: NO elastic waistband!

Left: shorts by Speedo. Right: Michael Bastian, SS09

Lastly, let's not forget that it's summer. Everything's lighter, brighter, freer. The sun stays out longer. The weather is warmer. Those epic summer twilights are fringed with the kinds of blues and greens we just don't see in the wintertime. So why not add a punch of color to a few basic neutrals? A brightly colored jean, cord, or short looks really smart when paired with a basic shirt or blazer.

L to R: Yigal Azrouël, Shipley & Halmos, Neil Barrett. All SS09.

The point is that you don't have to spend a ton of money or time obsessing over your wardrobe, but you can invest a little bit of time and effort to keep things current. We're not still spending every free moment chugging beer bongs with our closest bro-friends, so why should your wardrobe still look like it is?

Song of the Day: "River" by Akron/Family

"You are now vast and open sea / and my mind travels you endlessly."

So unbelievably good. Go buy it now.

Postcards from Castaway Cay & Key West

Postcards from St. Thomas