Went to see my girl Becka Diamond DJ at Room 86 in Hollywood the other night, and was so happy to run into a couple other good friends there too - like Miss Closet Rich herself Elizabeth Kott - and dance to some really great tunes! Becka is there every Friday night, so if you're in the LA area, be sure to check it out! (6356 Hollywood Blvd at N. Cahuenga)
Take it easy! That's my motto of late, why stress when you can just relax and go with the flow? With all the talk about 2012, doomsday and all that fun stuff, wacky hippie crap or not, it makes you think about time; how you spend yours, and making the most of what you've got. I used to be all about the hustle, I was constantly on the go, trying to be everything to everybody, working hard to get to a fictitious place in my head called success. What I didn't know at the time is that success thing is a shifty fellow that is also constantly morphing into different shady figures like some sort of film representation of the devil with the ominous description,"he appears in many forms...", and you can never have enough when you have that mentality. There is always the next thing, a better achievement, more money to make, a bigger house, a better car, hotter spouse, and the utmost measure of success today: more fame. Lately I feel like I've had enough, I would like to be excused from the rat race and go back to living - or childhood if possible - where things were simple, and laughing with your friends, not Facebooking them, and running around without a care in the world other than having fun was all-consuming. Preferably a time before people Tweeted at each other from across the dinner table, and actually spoke to one another would be nice too - remember when people partied at the party instead of Tweeting about how much fun they were having at #TheParty? I do, and I want to go back to that place before cell phones were permanently attached to people's hands. If the world really is coming to an end in a blaze of Melanchoilia, no matter how hippie granola it sounds, I want to go out laughing, not Tweeting.
Wearing a Pendleton jean jacket, tee thanks to LnA, Rag & Bone jeans, and a vintage Aerosmith belt.
If you live in the United States, and say you live in California, people automatically assume that you mean Los Angeles, and everywhere else in the state is a gray area that exists only in their imaginations, or maybe not even there. In the past three years I've lived in LA, New York, Orange County, back to LA, and all the while commuting back to the Bay Area where I'm from to gather my marbles, and come back to earth. When I first moved to New York six years ago, I almost instantly fell into a chronic writers block, and for a while after, completely lost my fervor, and quit writing all together. It was only after I returned to the Northern California isolation, and went all "Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch" status, that I was able to come home to my pen and paper and snuggled up in the bosom of Mother Nature once again.
American Apparel recently sent me a package full of their lingerie - an early Valentines Day present possibly? Oh you sly devils, I accept! I haven't worn a bra since, well, ever, but this one is pretty, pink, and comfortable, and if you want one of your own, it's only 32 bucks.
The busier I am, the less I want to do - maybe it's some sort of laziness jean that's activated by increased activity? That sounds good, I'll blame it on that. Socrates said "Know thyself," and in my case it's saying "Sit your ass on the couch and turn the TV up!" Yes sir, or ma'am, whatever it is, I don't really care as long as it agrees that I should watch Shameless instead of going out.
Wearing an Aubin & Wills coat, MiH shirt, Couture Collection jeans thanks to James, Chloe Sevigny for Opening Ceremony boots, and a Chanel bag.
If you want to go to the creepiest place on earth, I believe you should check out The Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo. Lucky for the Cheech to my Chong Ashley and me, the place was ripe for the heckling. I think you can visually detect my disdain for the place by my expression in the second picture.
One of my all time favorite flicks has to be What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993); and a young, long-haired Johnny Depp is just part of it. I just finished watching it again last night during a fit of insomnia, and thought it deserved a mention. The story is about unconditional love and sacrifice for family - a position many people may find themselves in at one time or another during their lives, some sooner than later - I know I've been there. That movie always reminds me about the things that are really important, aside from all the bourgeois shit that seems to dominate Western culture, my mind, and TV screen at the moment, and I'm highly thankful for those little reality checks. I could go into a heavy plot description here giving you a tear-jerking analysis about the role of family in America, the struggle of the working class, and the heavy sorrow of going on when hope is nowhere in sight, but you can just Google it - I suggest watching the movie instead.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
“I’m not gonna live by their rules anymore.” -Groundhog Day
And I think everything is going to be alright...as long as I don't have to wear too much of the color. My rule is: I will only wear pink if it is in a humorous, silly, or childlike way. Sunglasses like these from Stella, phones, charms, lava lamps, sometimes even denim if I'm feeling extra kindergarten-y, which is quite often actually.
"It has always seemed strange to me... the things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling, are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest, are the traits of success. And while men admire the quality of the first they love the produce of the second." -John Steinbeck
I kind of hate fashion; I hate the idea of buying really expensive, "I have it but you don't" status-y things that have a shorter shelf life than an X Factor judge, and have to be archived or sold to some second-hand retailer that takes last seasons undesirables like a pound for expired clothing. I used to love that shit - don't get me wrong, I can douche out with the best of 'em if need be - especially if I had more disposable income, I get it; it's like crack for the image-conscious. Those fancy things used to make me feel cool, but later, they just made me feel poor, and when I was crying in a pile of last seasons [insert items here] I found solace in the classics; striped tees, blue jeans, leather jackets - the stuff I can keep in rotation day after day, year after year, and will never get old- or tragically out of style - just worn out, or as I like to call it, loved into oblivion.
"Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final." -Hunter S. Thompson, The Great Shark Hunt, 1979