to be watched

i watched this yesterday as i silently battle some nasty illness.
it's still creeping around in there, digging it's talons into my ears and throat at night, and now, suddenly, filling my lungs with crud.
unfortunately, i don't feel much better than i did two days ago, when i woke up (after 17 hours) in a feverish sweat and lost my appetite for 48 hours.
in other words: waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.
the film is French, made in 1978 and gloriously hilarious.
nervous, shrieking Albin is so dramatic it's endearing (i didn't think this was possible).
Renato Baldi is elegant, cool and my new favorite man of men.
and the buttler (ha!) wears next to nothing and weighs even less.
i guess Birdcage was the American attempt at a remake, but believe me when i say that the original kicks its teeth in.
too bad the VCR ate the tape, is still chewing on it, and from the sound of it, may never give it back.
waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh again.


check it:

i shall be checking this daily, unlike perez hilton, which i have happily sworn off and filed under GARBAGE.
hooked on the sartorialist

superman? is that you?

beware of falling objects.
hazardous-waste-spewing falling objects.
coming to a city near you in late february, early march!
bus-sized and courtesy of the U.S. government!
flying spying objects


no small affair

actually, a small affair indeed.
yes, it was made in 1985.
and yes, you'll get amazing fashion tips that apply to wardrobes all over the world today, but not even that can save this crap-tank.
demi moore plays laura victor, the rocker girl trying to make it big.
it was a bad role, bottom line, made even worse with her in it.
she annoyed me so much i wanted to smack my tv, but decided that wouldn't be fair to the tv.
ducky plays the lead, who unfortunately falls in love with (and can't stop photographing) her character.
even more annoying to me is the fact that he ignores the hot nerd chick who hangs out at the arcades, plays video games and totally wants to rock his joystick!
i guess if you like cheesiness, an ending complete with disgusting ducky makeout sessions and demi-pre-rockhard-implanted-breasts, this might be your bag.
beware of lip-syncing and dance moves that cause you to avert your eyes in embarrassment.



no, these are not fashion criminals.
those are sunglasses.
and you know fashionistas everywhere will not be afraid to wear them.
perhaps even i could benefit from a pair...
i leave work some days simply loathing my outfit, hiding behind mailboxes and gaggles of kids to avoid any possible run-in with a Vice photographer.
at least with these on, i'd be calling myself out, kinda like saying "yeah, look at me, a business-casual hairball! go fuck yourself!"
brought to you by Martin Margiela, who is said to be extremely anti-publicity, which explains the black-barred design.
Martin Margiela

for sadists everywhere!

these were spotted on the runway in Sao Paulo.
the brainchildren of Brazilian designer Alexandre Herchcovitch.
i'd be on my face before i even left the closet, putting holes in the floor along the way and possibly even poking an eye out.


a gosh darn shame...

i don't know you.
and people die every day.
but RIP anyway.


this just in

in a recent study, it was found that children and young adults are (GASP) afraid of clowns!
"Given that children and young people do not find hospitals frightening per se - and only express fear about those spaces associated with needles - this finding is somewhat ironic," said Dr. Penny Curtis, according to the UK telegraph.
i'm sorry, but have you been living in a hole?
clowns are scary.
even when they ARE NOT eating your face off and sucking your brains, clowns ARE scary.


Texas BBQ

our weekend jaunt was glorious.
minus the horrifying version of robert smith.
photos to come.



ok, i really can't even say how much shit mail i get in my love story account.
unbelievable amounts of it.
LOADS of it.
today, for instance, i logged in (first time since before the holidays) and had FIVE THOUSAND messages.
all spam, most of them in reference to my dick.
well, sorry, i don't HAVE a dick.
but i do end up laughing my ass off at the subjects of these emails.
so here are a few, just for shits and giggles.
oh, and as you can tell, i'm doing great on my "cuss less" new years resolution.
"Your wife will always crave for your new big rod"
"Set your lassie on fire with your new giant rod!"
"Make your trouser python huge and rock hard!"
"Grow an anaconda out of your trouser snake!"
"Kindle a passion in her heart with your magic stick" (awwwwwwww)
"Produce a real wonder on Christmas! Increase your love handle"
"Turn your trouser mouse into a monster schlong"
"Turn your small knob into a huge meat stick!"
"Get super-size for your willy on New Year holiday!"
"Turn your weewee into real monster!"
"The volume of your male meat is absolutely essential"
"Upgrade your love weapon to fight better in year 2008"
"Promote your little soldier of love in a new year!"
"Real holiday miracle is waiting for your little willy"
"Make your dik the envy of all your dudes"
"Your huge boner will impress her in New Year!"
"Super-sized one-eyed monster will live in your pants"
"She will always be hungry for your new big sausage"
and finally:
"If you've got a small dic'k, don't blame your parents"
happy friday ya'll!!!!!!!!



i am thrilled to be troopin' on out of the city tomorrow.
i'm in need of some serious night-time silence, trees and moon, fresh air, riverside reverie, backyard antics, OWLS and stars, hearts and clovers.
don't worry sister. i don't think that means the leprechaun is coming, but you never know...
dominos? check.
six course menu complete with chef? check.
vino and bubbly? check.
good damn tunes? check.
friday? not quite yet.

bling dong

behold, the planets most expensive accessory.
the Chopard 201 carat diamond watch.
first of all, the colors are all wrong. easter egg bling ? bah. i won't be buying one.
second of all, if you have a bankroll that allows you to spend 25 million on a watch, i conclude you have way too much money and you should give me some.


happy birthday, Polly Jean...

oh katrina!

489,000 claims.
that's quadrillions of dollars.
an almost laughable sum for a sadly laughable administration.

all hail

i introduce Kati Heck, whose shtick includes collage (my favorite), the female body (i have one) and SAUSAGE! this is a perfect post for today, as i spent last night in the midst of a true sausage-fest: a sea of attractive, bright, sausage-wielding gay men.
it was franktastic!
and this exhibition promises to be as well.
hailing from Dusseldorf and opening January 10 at Mary Boone's fifth avenue space.
get your buns in gear (ah ha haaaaa) and check it out.


only in Michigan would a man attempt to steal $300 worth of hunting knives by putting them in his pants, only to trip on his way out the door, thereby stabbing himself in the abdomen.
and all of this in Grand Rapids, at a meijer superstore, where one witness is quoted as saying:
"I saw a man laying down on the mat by the carts, a knife by him with blood on the full blade. so I just walked around him, grabbed my cart, made sure everything was OK and got out of the way."
shop on, mama, shop on.


let it snow

i shit you not, i heard a robin this morning.
and there were tornados in the midwest.
and massive flooding in indiana.


'tis true

clorox bought burt's bees for a cool $925 million.
wah wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh...

dead ringer

yes, i realize the twins are really pretty.
but gizmo is really cute.
and to me, they look alike.
precisely, to the T, how i am feeling this morning.
--print by the outstanding ryan jacob smith--


in & out

OUT: Plastic
IN: Canvas
OUT: Tribeca Film Festival
IN: Chinatown Film Festival
OUT: Working (was this ever IN????)
IN: Striking
OUT: Scientologists
IN: Mormons
OUT: Planned parenthood
IN: Knocked up
OUT: Bobs
IN: Beehives
OUT: Babydoll dresses
IN: Schoolboy blazers
OUT: Denial
IN: Saving the Earth
OUT: Kate Moss Topshop
IN: Topshop SoHo (when? when? when? anyone? when?)
OUT: Demented denim trends
IN: Boot-cut blue jeans
OUT: Superclubs
IN: Super-luxe lounging
OUT: Skinny bitches
IN: Steroids and HGH
OUT: Hipsters (praise be!)
IN: Hollywood trash
OUT: Bands
IN: Guitar Hero
OUT: Lindsay Lohan’s movie career
IN: Lindsay Lohan’s nostrils
OUT: Rehab
IN: Saying no, no, no
OUT: Reality TV
IN: Reality
OUT: The Internet
IN: Playing mind games
OUT: Bob Dylan biopics
IN: Freddie Mercury biopics
OUT: “Curb Your Enthusiasm”
IN: Bill Maher’s “Religulous”
OUT: Michael Jackson’s face
IN: Janet Jackson’s new album
OUT: Dumbledore
IN: Better gaydar (let's hope so, 'cause mine is horrible)

blowing out candles

happy birthday Jay Z. may you always be drugging them, fucking them, loving them and leaving them.
happy birthday Pee Diddy. yes, you diva, i spelled your name pee on purpose.
and finally, happy birthday Liev Schreiber. i felt a real connection riding in the elevator with you that day.
however, please keep in mind i was also star-struck by Michael Moore and Fancy Nancy.

the rhinoceros

i'm a little confused as to why designers are feeling the need to relocate the heel of a shoe.
with this pair, you get a bonus heel.
and i guess if you break the heel you're actually standing on, it's nice to have a spare. and shoes don't have trunks (yet), so where else to store that junk but on the toe!
if i owned a pair, you best refrain from pissing me off, 'cause a swift kick in the pants might make for one sore orifice, if you know what i'm saying.
in this case, i'm not so sure being slow helped anyone win anything.