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...

here's lookin at you...

(photo cred: The Satorialist)

Dear Mr. Perfect,

Could that suit, adorned so flawlessly with that vibrant red tie and impetuous poka-dots be anymore sartorially sound? Even your vintage briefcase emulates its ornate and handsome symmetry. And that hat, how you wear it so cunningly. Tilted at such a precise angle, only a glimpse of your strong stoic veneer peers from beneath it. You are one tall glass of marvelous.

it's just that easy

Citizen journalism has never been easier following Web 2.0 - a world sculpted by a plethora of opinions, participation and information than one could even begin to sort through in a lifetime. Ah yes, the democratization of the internet debate. Is society faltering because we are being blindly lead by the superficial opinions of the amateur blogger rather than the supposedly professional researcher? Despite all the vested interests even employed journalists my bestow, Andrew Keen, the author of a book I read this summer entitled, “The Cult of the Amateur” would presume so. Why he ventured away from his cozy abode, surrounded by the elite inner circle of Silicon Valley entrepreneurs is beyond me. I sure hope it wasn’t to write his book of bigotry.

Keen can hate on Wikipedia for not always being 100% accurate, and for not always publishing entries from those with PhD’s or Master degrees. He can also criticize social networking sites for their fictitious profiles and personality fabrications. Fine, I’ll even listen to him complain about how the internet, absent of its fees and filters in most cases, is singlehandedly bringing down the music industry. Indeed, he does maintain some valid observations but at the end of the day, these tirades are tiresome and trivial. Stop wasting your time and embrace the paradigm shift ushered in ages ago by the internet. Be creative and why not use it to your advantage Mr. Keen.

Speaking of which, this week Youtube - bandwidth cannibal of the decade, introduced a channel for citizen journalists. Now, with a couple ‘clicks’ of a few virtual buttons, you too can be a (fake) videographer for any possible broadcaster.

http://www.reuters.com/article/technologyNews/idUSTRE5AF4QT20091117?feedType=RSS

not a dry armpit in the house

You know its sad but true, deep down everyone likes Metallica. Some of us are just outwardly enthusiastic about them and others are too ashamed to admit it. But you can't deny the sudden urge to raise that rock fist in the air and nod your head, just a little when you hear the intro to Ride the Lightening. This is the case for Kyle. Notice in this picture he is just about to burst with fruit flavor. The excitement is unbearable.

I would consider myself a fan, committed enough to download all their music up until the the Black Album. Thats right, I said it. I don’t care about you and your anti-P2P tyranny to ever purchase your music.

The 2001 Todd McFarlane James Hetfield toy will always be one of my all time favorites. The likeness is just uncanny.

your giving me a tooth ache

Of all things tacky, this takes the cake. Even a couple scoops of Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked would not make this eyesore seem at all appetizing. Careful not to choke on a cubic zirconia...

(image cred: someone, who remains nameless within my facebook network)

how soon is now?

Sipping on herbal tea over unapologetically honest conversation and gut wrenching laughter is typical of several tireless hours spent with one of my closest girlfriends (you know who you are). This time however, on a very cool, cloudy fall afternoon we opted to watch The Craft on VHS, for no other reason than to relinquish a past love affair with 90s teenaged drama and of course, to ridicule a certain ex-Party of Fiver’s acting (in)capabilities. It seems that every time I watch a childhood classic, I am horribly disappointed at myself for even thinking that I could enjoy it the same way I did a decade and a half ago. This time around, watching The Craft made me appreciate dark lipstick and even darker attire. I never thought I’d see the day when a campy, half-asked version of 90s goth could ever be revived and done well. Clearly I was mistaken.

A few 2009 fall staples that gesture at a time when sadly,

Doc Martens and baby berets dominated.

Alexander Wang, tights and a cropped jacket

Givenchy, head to toe sheer

Jean Paul Gaultier, bedazzled leather

Hairway to Heaven

I attended the Blooming Affair fashion show at the last minute. The event was fun, but the show itself was fairly predictable and drab, as it catered mainly to the Chatelaine woman. The clothing were mundane incarnations of fashion basics seen time and time again. With the exception of JBU, the clothing displayed very little, if any elements of contemporary fashion at all. The only beacon of light, and saving grace in my opinion, for the lackluster show, was the creative performance and design for Iris eyewear.

Mouths dropped in the solemn room full of conservative socialites, after edgy music queued the racy “Catwalk of Shame”. Middle aged women were in a fevered flurry over a scantily clad man wearing nothing but a bathing-suit (the size of an eye patch) and delicate female models parading about in oversized men’s dress-shirts, all adorned with a pair of chic designer sunglasses. I’m pretty sure the MC even had to summon the crowd to lower their voices after the lights dimmed and the Iris models left the stage. The person responsible for this masterpiece -- Neil Moser, a man who knows how to bring personality, presents and style to any room.

Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton 2009 Paris Fashion Week (left).

Neil Moser for Iris 2009 Kitchener Ontatio (right).

What can I say, great minds think alike.

Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon for my Oktoberfest sausage?

While traditionally, it's the celebratory event for Bavarian culture in Munich Germany, Oktoberfest in Kitchener marks the annual 19th birthday for every townie (and tourist). By this I am referring to the sole excuse to get completely ruined by suspiciously carbonated beer in fully lit auditoriums, while enduring polka music at obscene decibels. Where do I sign up?

Ah yes, one more thing, you can’t have Oktoberfest without flare. It’s as if every piece makes you that much more of a legit lederhosen-loving enthusiast.

So, I’ve concluded that being involuntarily immersed by this event every fall season, deludes your sense of judgment (and no, its not just my beer goggles at work). When I saw this picture of whowhatwear.com’s fashion muse of the month, I couldn’t help but wonder, “is it just me, or do those look like german sausages strewn about her snowy-white sweater?” Throw some sauerkraut on that b...

never too late

Finally, I have boarded the imminent blogging bandwagon. Why so late? Nope. Not laziness. It was the impartial satisfaction with my inconclusive answer to “what do I blog about?” that stood in my way. That, and for the longest time, to me too many blogs were just a “Dear Diary” type of outlet for anyone to divulge private information in the most public forum. So, I ruled them out. I’ve never kept a personal journal. They just always seemed too pretentious and cheesy for my lactose intolerance taste. I had to be sure that whatever my blog may or may not be, it was not going to resemble an updated rendition of an undoubtedly amateur myspace page. I must confess however, the blogs I love to loth (but secretly enjoy) visiting, are of the ostentatious flavour. Oddly enough, those were the ones that gave me the push forward I needed to begin one of my own. All I know is that I may not have a game plan, but one thing is certain, I promise you I won’t be that girl.