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Archive for May, 2013|Monthly archive page


In lower body on May 24, 2013 at 8:15pm05


1.If you could style yourself what would you choose as the accoutrements?

A Givenchy mesh-back sweater, A Burberry Prorsum metallic shirt, a pair of Red Wing boots and an A.C. Oehmich Company physician’s bag.




2. What is your favorite homage to trousers?

President Lyndon B. Johnson ordering pants from Joseph Hagger on August 9, 1964.

3. If you could be worn by anyone whom would it be?

The young doctor so frustrated and filled with ire, he ripped Paddy Chayefsky’s words straight from the page and served it up cold to an enraptured audience.

4. Good for him. Sometimes you have to let it out. And I do love that monologue, however, I’d have to imagine at least someone on the hospital staff would know it, therefore, knew they weren’t the doctor’s words? Maybe? Maybe not?

Not when your audience is a room full of 8-year-olds. My guy was giving a healthy dose of Paddy to his son Billy’s 2nd-grade class in the spirit of Career Day. The perfect storm of everything bad seemed to hit the doctor all at once; so hard, in fact, that walking into his son’s school and presenting to children a poached monologue about impotence and the ill state of the country’s health care system seemed like a great idea. Budget cuts and overcrowding at the hospital, the ex needing more child-support in addition to her planning of a wedding to a man who actually knew all baseball terms and threw a mean curveball, feeling like he was losing his son to this stranger, wondering why he’d spent all that time becoming a doctor, trying to get back to the point in his life when he loved his profession, trying to forget Madeline and seek the affections of another woman… All of it was accumulating in his head like a storm forming, ready to raze anything in its path and preparing to find satisfaction in the destruction left in its wake. Yes, folks, the warm air was indeed about to meet the cold and together they were about to be introduced to varying winds. It was only a matter of time before my guy erupted and let everyone else in on what had been building. On a side note, the hours spent committing Mr. Chayefsky’s words to memory allowed the doctor’s frenetic mind a moment to cop a squat. Once the monologue was over, every hand — save for Billy’s, of course — shot into the air accompanied by eager, amused eyes and rapidly kicking feet. Oh boy, did these kids have questions. They had a hunch what a “limp dingus” was but they thought it best to get the cold, hard facts straight from the professional’s mouth. The reality of what my guy had done hit him hard. Luckily, the young, sprightly teacher — perpetual smile — this angel of a woman stepped in, placed a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and said, “Hey, guys! I think instead of questions we should enjoy the yummy cupcakes Billy’s dad brought for us! How does that sound?!” Being eight and pretty much loving cupcakes above anything else, the bait and switch worked, as an en masse, “Yay!” rang out. The kids hustled to their feet and raced to the back of the room where the refreshment table awaited and questions about limp dingi seemed to fade away.


5. My god… I’m to assume the ride home was very quiet?

You don’t know from quiet. The one thing the doctor longed for was to connect with Billy on a true father-son level. The 316i pulled up to his former home, the home he had dreamed of raising a family in with the love of his life. The doctor watched as his son jumped out and  ran up the steps. He waited until the woman who used to greet him opened the door and waved, letting him know Billy was in safe hands. And, in the spirit of things the doctor never, ever needed to see, Julio, the handsome, new man in his family’s life, joined them in the doorway and the three waved him off. The 316i pulled away with the weight of the world on its shoulders. Before stepping inside, Billy turned and watched his dad drive away. Never do you want your child to feel sorry for you, but here it was and there was nothing the doctor could do about it. I hate to say it but he’s the one who set the stage. He didn’t secure the brave face tight enough. Hell, my guy tossed the brave face over his shoulder and went commando, “Here I am, world, the victim with a bull’s-eye on his forehead! Lap it up!” That’s just what he said without actually saying it.


6. I don’t know if I can bear the rest of this story. Do you mind if we stick a pin it?

 Buck up. This right here is real life and it ain’t always pretty. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. The doctor arrived at the mangy apartment he was now calling home. Upon entering, he immediately fell to the couch (that’s how small the place was) and went to retrieve notes from his bag but realized his bag wasn’t with him. Not being able to take yet another kick to the gut, he released a scream so blood-curdling, Mrs. Tanner next door contemplated calling the police. She didn’t, of course, but she came pretty damn close. But let’s be honest, she always came pretty damn close, for the bird fretted over every single thing. Mrs. Tanner instead opted to peer through the Chantilly lace curtains only to see the doctor exit his apartment, get into his car and drive back to the only place he could’ve left his bag: the school. Back at the school, my guy parked the car in the vast, empty lot and looked to the building. Is it possible for a structure to glare at you with indignation? On this day it was. The doctor got out of the car, slammed the door shut, opened the door again only to slam it once more for good “F*** the world” measure and then he set out toward the school for the second time that day. He entered the classroom to find his bag sitting on the corner of the teacher’s desk as if keeping her company while she graded papers. Thank god. I love that goddamn bag. My guy rapped on the door. The teacher looked at him and smiled. She stood up and came from around the desk. He thanked her for keeping the bag safe then launched right into apologies for the day’s earlier display. The teacher interrupted the apology to let him know that she actually covertly took the bag with the hope that he would return for it. Then, due to budget cuts that directly led to the school being lodged in 1999, the teacher reached out and pressed a button on a big, old boombox. A CD faintly squealed to life and began the only song one should hook up to with their student’s father whilst atop a desk…

7. The little minx… And you’re so right about the song! What happened next?!

Next, she downshifted her gaze, causing the gaze to say, “Oh doctor, come over here and play with me.” The smart doctor did exactly what the gaze told him to do. Next thing I knew, star stickers, an apple, a stack of half-graded tests, a picture of the teacher with her best friend on the Great Wall smiling and holding up peace signs…  everything went flying off the desk and crashing to the floor, no match for the storm of hungry, thrashing, thrusting bodies! It was the kind of carnal mauling where the body becomes numb, every second happening a second too late, no move arriving soon enough! My guy was up up up! That I knew! The tent was pitched! A limp dingus?! What limp dingus?! Then… she abruptly stopped.

8. What?! Why?! What?!

Ouch! Can you let go of me?

9. *I released my grip.* Forgive me. Can you go on, please?

That’s better. Thank you. Eeesh… Now, as I was saying, she abruptly stopped kissing him and looked deep into his eyes. My guy was confused and down, down, down. Next, the teacher asked a question that anyone should have asked considering the Career Day presentation, “Are you impotent?” I felt like exulting, “Oh, hell no!” But the good doctor handled it, “No. Not at all, in fact.” Then she sort of cocked her head to the side, her stare deeper and more curious, “That wasn’t your speech was it?” He responded, “No. The proprietor is a man by the name of Paddy Chayefsky. I haven’t been in the best of moods lately and I guess… And well, I guess I lost my mind a little, which seems to be the only explanation for what happened this morning.” “Oh. Okay.” They took some time to study each other. Then, almost simultaneously, they started to laugh, both realizing the moment of ravaging one another atop a desk had moved on to someone else — probably some pot-bellied insurance agent and his gorgeous, zaftig assistant in an office located somewhere in Laughlin adjacent. However, for my guy and the teacher, the moment had been replaced by an even better moment, one of sweet understanding and the realization that they each really liked the other. They continued to laugh as they picked everything from the floor and placed it all back in the rightful places. My guy suggested they start over at a nearby diner – the getting acquainted, not the carnal mauling. The teacher agreed and they proceeded to get to know each other over hot cocoa and a shared slice of blueberry pie. That night, while lying in bed, the doctor realized that it was the first time in four years that he felt genuine happiness and hope for his future. Hope beyond his ex-wife moving on. Hope beyond Billy finding his soon-to-be stepfather more adept at baseball. Hope beyond budget cuts at the state level. Just hope. A silver lining. A reason to smile.



In all over on May 18, 2013 at 8:15pm05


1. If you could style yourself what would you choose as the accoutrements?

An Ann-Marie Faulkner percher, the Gianvito Rossi sandal, a Georgina Skalidi cork clutch and lastly, an Hermes condom holder. If you have the money to spend why not spend it being safe?64714080




2. If you could choose the song playing when your girl, not impressed with anything in the store and on her way out the door, spots you hanging in another brand’s section because someone didn’t have the manners to put you back where you belong?

I’d like for you to keep in mind that she will be taking the elevator down. The moment she spots me she will press both hands against the window, the expression: sheer amazement.  The cleaning lady, looking on from the second floor, will offer a snarl for she won’t like this one bit, but hey, people tend to lose their minds and unknowingly smudge windows upon laying eyes on me.

3. What happens once she makes it to the ground floor?

 Well, the moment the doors open she’ll push through those way too slow on the exit and race to the downward-moving escalator and battle through that crew to get to me.

4. Why wouldn’t she just take the upward moving escalator? Wouldn’t she get there faster? She could even skip every other step, assuring an earlier arrival time, no?

A, that’s not dramatic and b, she’s not Cro-Magnon. Hoofing it up every other step isn’t a good look; I don’t care how hard and fast the Paleo life is making a comeback. Anyway, she’ll make it to me soon enough, rip me from the rack and, holding onto the sleeve, proceed to do the Hesitation Waltz. And here she thought all those tireless hours spent in cotillion prep was a road to nowhere.


5. In any case, peering into the future, how would you like to say “thank you” to all those who saw in you something so great they had to pay the small fortune to make you their own?

I’m going to take a page from the Rag and Bone baseball cap, but instead of calling on Mr. Ingram, I’m going to let Lil’ Tunechi – that’s Lil’ Wayne to those not in the know – put a fine point on it for me.

6. Uh oh. This just took a turn. Do I even want to hear a fine point by way of Lil’ Wayne?

It’s a love note at the end of the day. Now, sit back and feel the love.

7. Um… Yeah, I think this b**** might hate you now. Is that how you see me?! 

What?! It’s a term of endearment.

8. If I’m a slutty Wolfhound into being degraded by the second then sure! But I’m a woman who commands respect and the desire to not be whittled down to some superficial, offensively drawn trifle by a man who considers “huuuhhhaaahhhh” and “aaaaaahhhhhhiiieeaaaahhh” adjectives. No offense. Or maybe offense! I don’t know. I’m so confused. Where’s Eve Ensler when you need her?! The beat takes me then the lyrics bring me right back. It’s not fair. Why, hip-hop?! Whyyyyyyy?!


And here I thought I was being sweet.

9. You weren’t. K?!

Right you are.


In upper body on May 18, 2013 at 8:15am05


1. If you could style yourself, what would you choose as the accoutrements?

A pair of Acne ‘Best Jockey’ leather trousers, the Margiela mule, a Jennifer Meyer ring and a copy of “NW” by Zadie Smith.




2. What is the best way to describe today’s society?

According to my sociology major it would be, “Me, me, me and more me!”

Narcissus Caravaggio

3. Interesting. Where are you happiest?

On my sociology major, obviously. She’s a real pistol, this one. Taking society to task and, I have to say, it’s rubbed off on me in spades.


4. How did you end up on a sociology major?

I was a gift from her great-grandmother, a reclusive billionairess who’s currently going ten years strong without stepping one foot outside of her Sutton Place home. A year ago the sociology major promised to never accept a dime from anyone in her blue-blood clan but when she opened up the box, pulled back the excelsior and saw me sitting there, she couldn’t resist. I would be the last item of luxury she’d ever accept.


5. What kind of things have rubbed off on you?

Well, she’s currently working on a paper that gets to the bottom of the real reason women are against plastic surgery undergone by other women. She argues that once you decide to wear clothes you’ve given yourself over to society’s conformities and have no right to weigh in on any other synthetic additions to another’s body or face. I’d be loathed to disagree. Live and let live as far as I’m concerned.


6. However, it’s about growing old gracefully. I want women to not feel like they have to conform to this so-called “type” in order to feel beautiful. Is that so wrong?

Ha! It’s cute that you believe that I believe that you believe that. Yet women over a certain age can’t wear skirts above their knee? Can’t wear low-cut tops? Why? Older knees are ugly? Older cleavage is disgusting? So, let’s say they are. When women try to help matters by going under the knife and trick society into thinking the knees and breasts are the right age thus appropriate to be seen in public they get chastised for it. You guys won’t let each other win. Don’t get mad at me or my girl. Ask yourselves why you’re so quick to jump on the bandwagon. Why do you care that much about what another person decides to do to their bodies? Are they hurting anyone? Are these rules to preserve a woman’s grace and self-worth or are they an extension of the inherent competitiveness you all have coursing through your veins? What is “growing old gracefully” anyway? When did this specific trajectory take effect? Was it a man who started it? Open a magazine; every other page is another rule or guideline shrouded in hot pink and seductive pouts masquerading under the guise of being helpful and solidaristic. Honestly, I don’t know how women do it. The whole thing’s exhausting.


7. Okay fine. So what does your sociology major think is really going on?

I just said it! Competitiveness. It galls a person to know someone might have a leg up. Period. That’s where it all lies at its core. Is the lobster theory true? Don’t ask me, I’m just an exquisite, ruffle explosion crafted in the mind of Mrs. Burton. Talk amongst yourselves. Or don’t. It’s your life. Your tits. Your problem.


8. “Tits”? Really?

Yeah. What?

9.*sigh* So, what caused your sociology major to get wrapped up in this theory?

Her own mother altered her face to the point of Jocelyn Wildenstein. Watching the progression was difficult at first but after about the 22nd alteration, she began to actually see her mom as some swollen, alien hero. They never talked about the work but walking down the street and taking in all the reactions to mom turned on its ear this whole notion of “staying young,” “looking better.” She thought back to all the girls in high school who underwent nose jobs — mostly due to deviated septa but we all knew that was one big steaming pile of lies — and at the time how much respect she lost for them. However, from where she stood now (looking fantastic in me, I  might add), why? Why did it upset her so? She didn’t want a nose job. She didn’t want any kind of job. Was it the fact that these girls, post operation, returned happier than ever with a new lease on life? Two hours, two painfully pact nostrils and a healthy squalling of “Mommy, it hurts so much!” later, they were granted the chance to start over again, on their own terms. The self-love was finally felt. Go ahead and call it fabricated self-confidence, it was self-confidence still and at the time that was the thorn in my girl’s side. She realized this now. Seeing another woman happy, content, progressing didn’t sit well with her if she wasn’t existing in the same state. She had to get there first; then and only then was it okay for another to arrive. If my girl could, she would contact the former classmates through Facebook — they were members. There’s no way they couldn’t be — and apologize, but my girl loathes the entire social network construct in its entirety and so that was never gonna happen. Instead, she would send doses of good vibes and apologies out into the ether and hope they would land in a significant way on the intended. The end.