"Knowledge is not a loose-leaf notebook of facts. Above all, it is a responsibility for the integrity of what we are, primarily of what we are as ethical creatures. You cannot possibly maintain that informed integrity if you let other people run the world for you while you yourself continue to live out of a ragbag of morals that come from past beliefs." -- Jacob Bronowski, The Ascent of Man (1973)






The godless are a friendly bunch. They get straight into heavy conversation before they see a need to inquire as to your name. They are too passionate about Reason to waste time on small talk and so indeed must you be, if you are here, and in Buffalo to be here let us be honest, so everyone can all just relax. I also have a sneaking suspiscion that since the median age here is 82, there is not a second for them to waste in not being super earnest about humanity.

But mainly it's like being at Carnegie Hall. There's some good but mostly dull stuff on the stage and everyone has a book to sell in the lobby. They will even sign it for you in the lobby or in line for the bathroom. Fuck the sales prattle guys and tell me something that is going to get me worked up. If you want to start an New Enlightenment then surely you need to put the boot up the proverbial arse to do it? If you want to put passion into Reason then you need to throw out an expletive or two. And where is the yoof you ask? Where indeed? Did anyone invite them? The crowd reeks of dusty mailing lists. And there is nothing hip about decay.

Also, the Marriot walls are paper thin. My neighbours are shagging. A lucky lady she is not.

WINGS!

"Oh I am not sure that is my hotel." I said to the airport courtesy driver as I admired his embossed white nehru jacket. "I think I am just in the Marriott Buffalo. Not the Marriott Buffalo Niagara."

"There's only one of anything here." He replied, relieving me of my wheelie suitcase. "Marriott. Horse."

If I must retreat to Nowhere, and sometimes, if only for sanity's sake, I must, then will I always rather be there alone. Solitude is wonderful thing and rarely is it better appreciated than in the howling wilderness of a northern town upstate from Everywhere. I should know. I grew up in one.

But tonight I have company and I am not talking about the bucket of Moose Mix I picked up at the Jet Blue terminal in JFK. There is a Houlihan's in the hotel lobby and the lure of watching Chicago win the World Series takes me there. Ah fuck it, I just like Houlihans. I also like the close-ups of Jakey Gyllenhall looking pensive and Barbara Bush soiling her Depends. Christ, just look at her. Someone call the Coroner. Please.

And so I am surrounded by large, furry men with flat skulls who populate this place. I think they come here to die. Or perhaps to mate. And then die. They are Chinook. The only difference is the migration back to Buffalo which involves being flung around a turbulent plane rather than leaping upstream for miles. I can tell that they are ready to spawn by the ridgeback, which manifests itself in this particular species as a fat roll on the back of the neck. Watch it move as the White Sox win.

Baseball is boring me. How many more pairs of coloured hosiery must we go through before the Yankees start trouncing everyone and I can start cheering again? I think the World Series should be restricted to New York. A Yankees - Mets final every year. It would just be so much better for everyone involved. Or rather, me.

I am afraid I must disagree.

"The crime-fighting runway designs by Zac Posen, Rebecca Taylor, Behnaz Sarafpour, Marc Jacobs and Built by Wendy were modeled by children and their celebrity companions: Among them were Daily Show correspondent Ed Helms in butcher-like attire with a sidekick whose adorability was in itself a superpower. Then there was the magical star cape worn by an invisible Amy Sedaris as well as the ethereal white dress made of recycled t-shirts and grocery bags worn by a very pregnant Samanta Bee,which Sarah Vowell so articulately described as fierce and lustrous as well as covetable--words she found while perusing the pages of Vogue Magazine that very same day.
A fun time was had by all and over $1,000 was raised by generous audience members in support of 826NYC and its volunteers--the ultimate superheroes."

I thought it tediously twee. But maybe that's just me. I like my humour to be funny. My ribs don't crack just because some dude is wearing a wrestling mask.

Yeah I know. I need to stay home more.

Thanks Dan

MEN'S FASHIONS OF THE TIMES MAGAZINE | September 13, 1992
IRON JOHN; How to Get Dressed Better
By HAL RUBENSTEIN AND JIM MULLEN;


* Your socks should never be funnier than you are. * Unless you have virtually nothing to draw in, avoid drawstring pants. * A belt fits correctly when the buckle's prong goes through the strap's third hole. * If you're high-waisted, avoid high-waisted pants, unless you have an Eddie Haskell fixation. * Maybe you wouldn't be so uncomfortable in the afternoon if you bought your own underwear and knew your own size. * Never wear a plaid jacket to a job interview. * If your teeth don't look healthy, it doesn't matter what you have on. * There is no regulation width or length for ties, so knot one before you buy it. * Don't iron the stuff you buy from L. L. Bean. * The best shoes to dance in are sneakers with no tread left. * Clothes don't make you look fat. Fat does. * If you are tired of apologizing for the I-had-to-work-late-no-time-to-change corporate look, leave one black- and one cream-colored turtleneck or crew-neck sweater in a desk or file-cabinet drawer. * Do you always have to carry every key you own? * Better you should carry a usable handkerchief. * When you need them, keep business cards in your outside breast pocket. * Does Mom come in to clean five times a week? Then hang up your clothes. * Your underwear shouldn't be briefer than your favorite bathing suit. Sooner or later, you're bound to be seen in both. * Love the scent of your deodorant more than life itself? Then don't buy polyester workout clothes. * You needn't smell your own cologne once it's on. * Don't wear an ascot unless you've been there. * Solid white collars atop contrasting shirts belong with a straw boater and an apron someplace where there's sawdust on the floor. * There's no such thing as classy luggage as long as you have to carry it. * Learn to iron. * But never press jeans (if yours have creases, wear them in private, among friends, until they fade). * When wearing suede, eat nothing. * Old favorites saved for "knocking around in" are never knocked around in. Many charities would be glad to put them into action. * Old ski-lift tickets are not a fashion accessory. * Don't have muscles? Don't wear muscle T's. * Clothing makes an excellent sunscreen. * When it's below freezing, close your coat. We're not impressed. * Silk shirts are warmer than they look. If you sweat like a showerhead, steer clear of them on big presentation days, when out dancing or on a first date. * Use shoe trees. * Paisley goes with nothing. * If you're over 5 feet 5 inches tall and remember how it felt when Marilyn Monroe died, don't ever wear overalls again. * Unless the corona from a total eclipse is coming through the skylight, take the sunglasses off indoors. * Get your hair cut a week before the big day. * Literally tuck yourself into a bathing suit. These things don't take care of themselves. * Brush your teeth before putting on anything more than underwear -- ever try to get toothpaste off a tie? * If you're going to sit for a long time on a trip, take your wallet out of your back pocket, even if you know a good chiropractor at your destination. * If you wear boots often, try a boot wallet. * Think a blue blazer goes everywhere? Think twice before you go anywhere. * If you must have a blue blazer, and you must, buy the best one you can afford. * Though you're disappointed you weren't born with a family crest, pray for one in your next life and live without one in this. * Thin, wiry shoelaces need to be double-knotted. * To remove the old hem mark from a let-down pair of pants, soak the line in white vinegar and then press with a warm iron. * For those who insist on going sockless in even the steamiest of climates, remember you can always throw sweaty socks into the wash, but loafers tend to give it up in the spin cycle. * Pinky rings look so cool -- in a Scorsese film. * Beware of showroom sales-fever reasoning: i.e., "for $20 . . ." Once you're home, how little you paid is forgotten; how good you look in it is all that matters. * If you must have your clothes monogrammed, do it where it can't be seen. * Tweeze your nose hairs: both the ones inside and the ones on top. * If you're over 40, your ears need a haircut, too. * The invitation says "black tie." How come she opts for a dress kept lovingly wrapped in tissue paper, while you rent a been-to-the-dry-cleaners-more-times-than-Vicki-Carr's-sung-"It Must Be Him" dinner jacket? Be a grown-up and buy your own tuxedo. * Massages relax you, and the more relaxed you are, the better you look in your clothes. * White jeans are not out of season in winter. White leather shoes are not in season ever. * A wide tie looks good hanging just below the belt; a regular-width tie looks good just above the belt, and a thin tie can be tucked into the shirt between the third and fourth buttons. * The only time you're not better off shopping alone is when buying eyeglass frames. * A little flannel goes a long way. * Despite their prevalence, button-down oxfords worn under double-breasted jackets are more the Fred and Ethel than the Lucy and Ricky of fashion. * More people look better in solid navy than in solid black. * Don't pull loose threads. Cut them. * Jewelry on the beach is arriving by the pailful. Just remember before diving into the surf that sharks love shiny things. * Don't waste money on cologne if you smoke. * Buy shoes in the late afternoon. * "You have to break them in" is an old wives' tale. Shoes should feel good before you hand over the charge card. * If you're not active, don't buy activewear. * Use a moisturizer as often as a woman -- every time you wash your face. * Loosening or taking off your tie does not make you look sporty. It makes you look drunk. * When confronted by a person with reflective aviator glasses, look him square in the eye and then start fixing your hair. * If you like something that much, buy two of them. You may not see it again. * Don't wear a belt and suspenders. * Safari jackets look pretentious when you're on one, and too far out of Africa when you're not. * There's nothing wrong with buying a fur coat, as long as you're giving it to someone who goes to a gynecologist. * Don't hang up sweaters, not even cardigans, or the woman in your life will soon belt one and wear it with leggings. * There's a time and a place for everything, except dickies. * Don't organize your clothes closet by outfit. * In a random survey, not one tailor knew what "single-needle tailoring" was. (One asked, "How many needles do you need to tailor a suit?") If they don't know, why should you? * Names of fabric colors have gotten bizarre, less to confuse you than to maintain clear communication between designer and mill. However, at the retail level, they read like code. These equations should help you shop in the fall of 1992 and be useless by the spring of '93. sand = beige stone = beige-gray flax = taupe-gray birch = gray-taupe putty = sand-gray flannel = charcoal gray anthracite = charcoal black petrol = pale navy blue strauss = denim blue granite = blue-gray elderberry = plum-gray vertigre = greenish gray chagrine = grayish green clay = brown-gray claystone = gray-brown slate = pale gray petrol sage = green-blue pinesoap = dark green, though not as dark as hunter wheat = yellow-orange goldenrod = greenish yellow sulfur = pale yellow-gray heather = blue-green-brown, or sage, sulfur, claystone, depending on the geographic influences on the designer silt = muddy flannel brolive = muddy olive pongee = muddy cream earth = mud vegetable = mashed tomatoes and cucumbers garnet = burnt red catkin = chocolate-red henna = brown-red fire = real red vermilion = fire orange carmine = fire vermilion bittersweet = clay henna paper bag = exactly that * You don't always have to match. * Getting dressed is supposed to be fun. Try to have some. * No wire hangers, ever.




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Jesus. Life is so fucking unfair sometimes. Last year I spent my entire bonus on micradermabrasion and having my hard drive wiped clean.


Both outlays were such a waste.

One summer Sunday on a gigantic yacht on the Hudson brought back patches of pigmentation.

And THEN
Blottered goes and posts this picture and it all comes flooding back. The lost weekends.... That fucking weirdo who used to rub his crotch against my leg.....

It's just not fair. Haven't I suffered enough being born in Birmingham?

Ha.

From the Introduction to the fabulous book Memories of Wine by Brian St Pierre

I had to hunt all over Mnhattan and Brooklyn and Northern New Jersey for more of that wine (La Tache mens "the task," which seemed only too appropriate after a while). I finally found two bottles. Then came the dilemma all wine-lovers face with gorgeous rarities - good wine needs to be shared, but when there isn't going to be any more, generosity must be tempered with enlightened self-interest. The love of my life at the time was the obvious beneficiary, not only for romantic reasons but also because she didn't drink very much, and I built a dinner around the wine.

What does it feel like, the collapsing of the arches? Is there a sudden, sharp pain? Will I wake up one morning and place the entire surface of my foot onto parquet flooring? Will I no longer be able to slip into four inch heels?


For about six weeks now I have felt a strange and intimate sensation in my left arch. It feels like someone is lightly running their finger over my sole. I can feel it on my skin rather than inside my foot, which gives me hope that perhaps I shan't be slapping a lot more of my epidermis onto the pavement but it does make me fear for my sanity. Actually most things make me fear for my sanity.

I wonder what it is, but I like it. Now I just need to work on making it stroke me elsewhere.

Also, Paula Morelenbaum has the most beautiful voice in the entire world.

The End of Life as She Knew it

I am not sure I am ready to read Joan Didion's latest book yet, I think it might induce an emotional breakdown, but I want to.

Reviewed today in the Times by Michiko Kakutani.

At once exquisitely controlled and heartbreakingly sad, "The Year of Magical Thinking" tells us in completely unvarnished terms what it is to love someone and lose him, what it is to have a child fall sick and be unable to help her.

It is a book that tells us how people try to make sense of the senseless and how they somehow go on.



A excerpt from the book for you:

"I could not count the times during the average day when something would come up that I needed to tell him," Ms. Didion writes. "This impulse did not end with his death. What ended was the possibility of response."

Get thee to a nunnery

Yeah there's one of these in New York as well. Well there is now anyway. Maybe I will start my own cult or something. One that has a superfantastic outfit and two tone hair. Perhaps a theme tune by the Commodores and large cash donations to my bank account. Oh, yeah, and lots of me worship.