only the real edgy topics

If you have ever heard the wheezing noise a pug makes, you know that for them, every gasp for air is daunting chore. I can’t decide what is so disheartening yet so irresistibly adorable about these helpless creatures. Is it that their skin is a perilous cocoon that overheats and unfolds over their tiny (almost nonexistent) face, or that their eyeballs are rejected by their own sockets? 

Put a pug in a costume and give it a human name like Henry, Kevin or Janice and you have a wondrous little hybrid. In this case, it's the cross pollination of Shelby and Teen Wolf.

                                                         

"I realized after making the costume, that the mask could easily double as a Dr. Cornelious Planet of the Apes costume. Others have mentioned that Shelby could also be an Ewok. I'll have to keep this pattern in mind for upcoming years." 

- Winnie Wong, pug costume designer and author of the blog, go pug yourself

kudos

Why didn't I think of this?

re: “dad jeans” (beeper, leather cell phone case and a bluetooth earpiece not included)

The iPad, a new toy for technologically savvy folks and those who experience a near-orgasmic frenzy of physical and emotional enjoyment from unnecessary little gadgets. Well for some fashion bloggers, it’s an open door to critique ill-fitted denim.

This may just be the first and only time I will read the words “Steve Jobs" and "Manorexic” in the same sentence. Unless of course Jobs is getting his fashion pointers from Kate Moss or that one Olsen twin...

Lip Synching in the Rain

When winter boots aren't going to cut it, Milli Vanilli quotes will. 

The other day I watched a girl proudly dominate a deep opaque puddle in her rain boots, just to prove how resilient they really were. It's true, when you have rubber boots or a solid pair of Sorels, you are morally obligated to traipse through the most hideous mounds of slush, snow or miscellaneous street sludge (if you live in Toronto).  This past summer I stumbled across these puppies here. In retrospect, I wish I would have bought them, just for this reason.  

Where’d you get them peepers?

Out with the old and in with the new. That is how I try to keep all that clutter from building in my quaint little room year after year. Only this time, as I rearranged and tampered with my perfumes, jewelry and neat little accessories nesting delicately on my dresser, I noticed a very integral piece to my collection of fine things had vanished. After searching every crevice and dusty corner, I came to realize that my vintage Ray-Ban Wayfarers were gone for good. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for their untimely disappearance, not just because it was my carelessness that caused their elusive whereabouts in the first place, but because in the last couple years, I really didn’t give them the attention they deserved. It was just that the thrill of my oversized frames and scratched lenses just wore thin as I began to notice that everyone and their nephew owned some incarnation of the ‘cool dude’ Tom Cruse shades a la (1983) Risky Business. Weather an imposture pair or not, I can't help but think that Wayfarers have a tendency to make people look like a twenty first century Debbie Harry or Dee Dee Ramone wannabe.

As I languish in my loss this evening I realize that my thick rimed peepers, were more than just a means of eye protection. These babies were classic, and best of all, they had no monetary value; a friend of mine found them in a ditch somewhere in cottage country. From that day forward, they’ve kept me from squinting at every outdoor concert. They’ve also made their way to and from New York City numerous times, whilst making some pretty charming photo-ops. along the way.

I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for my sunglasses at a time like this. Now I can only hope that they are in safe keeping (probably stowed in the most obvious place). If not, I’d like to imagine their legacy will live on in the hands (or nose) of another lucky rapscallion.

Better yet, if they never show up again, these Giles Deacon's S/S 2010 sunglasses will make a suitable replacement. Maybe I could opt for something like this instead.

crackin' skulls

You know those moments when you are so irritated your body crawls with discomfort and unease? You feel like your a cat being pet backwards. Usually when this happens it's hard to pinpoint what it is that is making your arm hair stand on end. Then finally you clue in and despite how agitated you may be, you are satisfied with yourself because you have just uncovered the source of your dismay. Maybe it’s just me... Anyways, this article captures a pet peeve of mine that I haven’t identified until recently. Metal Horns- they’re obnoxious when usurped by unassuming people in unfitting situations.

“I even saw a photo of Miley Cyrus - Miss Hanna Montana herself - throwing the horns, and smiling. What the hell is going on?

But it doesn’t stop there. The metal horns, once thrown exclusively at heavy metal concerts or in the act of doing something “metal,” are now being thrown everywhere, and being entirely misused.” - Dee Snider

did you give your Yanks?

As Thanksgiving weekend wraps up for our boisterous neighbors from below I begin to wonder, why is this particular holiday so widely embraced with such acceptance and enthusiasm? Historically speaking, it marks a time when colonists plundered villages -- murdered, enslaved and diseased indigenous peoples. Sadly now, this embarrassing truth is disguised by a myth which is laden with racial and cultural stereotypes. Moreover, Canadians and Americans alike, treat Thanksgiving like it's some inconsequential Disney tale of ubiquitous harmony between the John Smith type of character and his Native American cronies.

While Americans enjoy a succulent thanksgiving dinner in celebration of a horrific historical event, may they also give thanks for the painfully American things in this world...