This week is going to be super busy and you'll be lucky if a post pops up on here, but I just wanted to use this brief time I have over breakfast to indulge in a little gossip. As you may know, I was out of town visiting the parents last weekend. Patrick Wolf was playing his third NYC show at Misshapes and I normally wouldn't want to apply the word "miss" to a Saturday at Don Hill's but from what I've heard, I missed seeing some major drama. Damn!
Before I get into it, I just want to note that when I was home vegging out with the parents, I watched an episode of The Office they had recorded for me where Dwight uses mace on Roy. The whole episode, Angela goes around the office asking everyone to recount the story to her over and over again. Anyway, I was so Angela yesterday once I heard this story and I made everyone recount it to me and I hope if you are reading this you will tell me your version of the story too because I'm crazy like that.
Allow me to be an immature gossip and recount the events that I did not witness: Apparently Patrick flipped out at Zach (his drummer) on stage, trash talked him into the mic, bitch slapped him, and when Zach talked back, Patrick threw a cymbal at him and fired him in front of a room filled with drunk underage hipsters. DRAMA! Misshapes ruins everything!!! I love Patrick more than I can say, but this is true sadness because Zach is the nicest of the nice. I shed a single tear for him when I heard. I hope both of those boys work out their daddy issues.
Wow. The New York Times actually wrote an article on this. Moving on...KLAXONS! Tonight.
How many times has he died? During dinner with Alex, I joked about Jack Palance dying every year. When he popped up in the dead people montage during last night's Oscars, I had a seizure. No joke. I was convulsing. I may had been under the influence of certain substances, but I am sure Jack fucking Palance has died more than a few times. Seriously, I've seen that clip of him doing one-handed push-ups at least 200 times by now! Alex immediately checked Wikipedia which says he died in November 2006. Bullshit!
I saw this coming. Believe it or not, I have had more than one conversation with guys about leggings. There must have been some deep underground mass (hallucinatory?) male need to participate in the legging trend and it has surfaced this past week at Marni's show in Milan.
I think the trick is to wear them low on the hips, have thick calves, and not to be hung like a light switch. It works on the first guy in red, but not on the second one. The poor guy looks like Brian Boitano on his way to a cocktail party.
Hm. I was involved in ballet for many years so I've seen my fare share of men in tights and tights accessories like the not-so-glamorous dance belt. These man leggings are like a step up from that. I say, why not? I personally feel like this is something some guys would be into whenever they feel they can admit that to themselves. Meanwhile, I enjoyed FAD's contemplation of what to name them. Mantyhose is the obvious winner.
UPDATE: Mantyhose cause harassment for The Sartorialist for no reason.
You know when you first wake up and you're lying in bed and though you are awake, you have a dream-like train of thought that comes out at what seems to be a veritable conclusion? You get out of bed and normally just forget about it most days like a dream and never think about it again. But there's that one day every once in a while, hours after you have gotten up, when you remember the conclusion to your wild train of thought and it's completely absurd because you cannot remember what led you to that conclusion and you end up thinking to yourself, "Am I on crack?"...unless I'm the only person who this happens to...In any case, I'll continue my explanation.
About ten hours after I woke up this morning, I found myself sitting in this very spot where I sit now, checking my email, when for no reason in particular I thought of Frankenstein. Why Frankenstein? I couldn't figure it out. Wasn't I just thinking about Frankenstein for some reason? Why was that? After a good 30 seconds or so I remembered this morning's absurd conclusion...and it's a doozie:
"All these new rockabilly bands put together are like Frankenstein!"
This is the part of the story where I ask myself if I am smoking crack. I know I was using Frankenstein as a metaphor and not simply commenting on The Horrors, but beyond that I'm lost. How I came to this conclusion in my dream-like thought processing this morning, I may never know, but I clearly remember thinking the above statement was a unarguable truth and for some reason I felt it was appropriate to share that with you right now.
Please try and forget about my insanity while you listen to some sweet "neu rockabilly" tracks via imeem and maybe it will make more sense...to all of us.
The Golden Globes are on right now and like all award ceremonies, they're horrendously intolerable for countless reasons, and yet I'm watching them. Thirty-five minutes in, it's not too bad cause this guy just won something:
Huzzah! Between that, the lack of an annoying host, the endless parade of bad fashion, and the gradually increasing blood alcohol levels in the room, this show is almost tolerable...almost...whenever it gets boring, I just hit mute and look at people losing their damn minds:
I admit that made fun of the smell emergency us New Yorkers had last week, but I'm no longer laughing. My building is reeking of rotten eggs at the moment. I have no idea if it's related to last week's scare, all I know is I'm going to barf but cannot because I think the smell is leaking in from the vent over the toilet. This is so sickening! I have zero sympathy for whomever's three day weekend I'm ruining over this, there better be a superintendent knocking on my door very soon or I'm going to have a cow. At the very least I'm going to force the owners of this building to pay my dry cleaning bills. Gag!
