Immersed in Control with no power to write...

This is gonna be a short one, I'm too bothered splitting my attention between "Control" the biopic of Joy Division's frontman Ian Curtis and then blawging  to write anything cohesive.

Killer weekend. Both of my greatest mates were in town and it's always good to catch up on the dl as well as what's new in p-town. 

Ms. M was in p-town by way of Zagreb and was stopping by before catching a flight to Dubai and we were able to hit up some of our old haunts before she left. Whenever Ms. M is in town we get up to our usual antics and debauchery-i.e. vintage shops galore, cocktails & nuts (no freudian slips here!), and pure unadulterated catching up goss. We scoured Scarlet and her sister store in the 8th for some good finds, and as always there were some incredible pieces. But wtf, nothing is on sale! We're in a full blown economic crisis yet vintage seems to escape unscathed...

I should've brought my camera, but I was lazy as I am now.

I need to get myself in order, but it'll have to wait until later this week. I've got mad shit to do: Starting classes, sending out invites/finding a menu/arranging decorations/etc for a big V-day dinner that I'm throwing chez moi on Friday the 13th. Sorta hate myself for not making it a "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" themed night or something under the rubric of Friday the 13th, but I'm quite a sap at heart with a strong desire to scatter rose petals around the apartment with handsome ladies and gents.

Came across this little tidbit of a quote while looking up possible menus, it makes a great cheer

"health-to what my friends are always drinking before they fall down" * Phyllis Diller

Razor Wisdom

I'm back in a flash.

Just wanted to add some great razors that will make life a whole lot easier.

My favorite is Hanlon's Razor- never attribute malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity OR never assume malice when stupidity will suffice. 

Since my 2009 resolution has been both to stay in contact with friends as well as work on "understanding" this sharp little razor has been quite the efficient tool.

The other sharp little tool, Occam's Razor is basically a reductionist philosophy that states that any phenomenon should make as few assumptions as possible, eliminating those that make no difference in the observable predictions of the explanatory hypothesis or theory. Some sort of "law of parsimony/succinctness" if you will. 

Get your razors out and start shaving ladies & gents : )

get your big WANG out of my face!

So I was contemplating the function/format/etc of blawging today while getting a coffee at Cafe Flore, and I think it would be a good idea to dedicate certain days to themes. It's not signed, sealed and delivered yet but i'm crossing my fingers that I'll have a method to my madness later this week. As for now, I'll stick to my out-and-aboutings, fashion, music, and culture. 

This week has been filled with old faces coming out of the smoke screen. I've made a conscious effort to contact some of my old french friends who are still lounging about in Paris, and damn it's been good to see them. Sitting and chatting with a parisian (f*cking adorable) girlfriend of mine, we calculated that we've known each other for around 5 years. Dayuuum. 

That got me thinking about what the hell I was listening to back then. Back then in my bohemian days, for real, I was more into my funk phase-tons of Fela and Femi Kuti, Phish (OMG!), Whitest Boy Alive, Quasimoto, Madlib, and Velvet Underground. Guess things haven't changed much, I still listen to all those guys (minus Phish, phew!) but they were essentially my building blocks to a great mix of music. Unfortunately around 3-4 years ago, my mac threw a hissy fit and crashed. I lost some great musical finds that I've been sifting the internet for til this day. BACK YO SHIT UP. lesson learned, or at least lesson attempted. Enough morality, more musicality.

MUSIC MAN of the moment: Richard McGraw, Song & Void Vol. I

(2007)

Her Sacred Status My Militant Needs (2001)

Can't find much on this wily one. His lyrics are hauntingly poignant and  often religiously based with a pervasive cruel "love in vain" and sexually deviant tone.My personal favies are both "Poem/Confession" and "Newburgh" from his 2001 cd. According to his myspace profile, McGraw hails from Astoria NY and rumor has it he might just have been an altar boy. That would explain so much!

I typically get a load of crap complaints from some mates of mine in Switzerland that I have an affinity towards "religious" music i.e. Jeff Buckley, Leonard Cohen, Eliot Smith and Nick Cave (FYI: Nick Cave's son, Jethro is now modeling for brands such as Balenciaga!!! whaa?) I've always brushed this accusation of "religious" music off because as I see it, if people can't see that lyrics like this are NOT Bible bugeling notes,  there's no point trying to sell pearls to a pig....

lyrics from McGraw's "A Poem/Confession"

   And there are parts of you he'd love to take with him to his grave

Does that turn you off?

And there are parts of you he'd love to come to terms with for years to come

Does that turn you on?

Does that turn you on his working in vain, all of his working in pain

In his armor of pain?

In which he is rotting in, you see, he can't be subtle anymore

If you're down with the aforementioned artists, I'd highly recommend McGraw. 

FASHION (gene)RATION:

Get your big WANG outta my face! 

Literally every fashion blawg (fashiontoast.com, lamodeestpoion.com,etc) has been featuring this spottled light gray with patched black viscose holes sweater by Alexander Wang. Other than the model, Rumi from fashiontoast.com who might just be one of the most gorgeous Cali girls alive, what do you think of the sweater? I have a tendency to fantasize solely about architectural pieces, but there's still a little grunge girl lurking in me that makes me really really really want this sweater. Frankly Wang, I do give a damn that you didn't take into consideration that Antarctica is now Paris but I'm willing to forgive you if you tell me the secret of how to wear this crazy thing without some sort of burlesque nipple slip. Yea Wang, you heard me, e-mail me biaatch. 

On a fashion side note: my best gf M found out that Nicholas Kirkwood is indeed sold at the Bon Marche. Hope there's a decent collection when I check it out tomorrow. M is the only person in this world to have ever bought me a pair of killer shoes.   I'd like to return the favor someday...

I'm going to peace out. "Loose Women" is on, and it's my British replacement for the "View" so I better be getting my watch on. I'm trying to figure out how to add audio files and photo collages so I can add some dope playlists as well as fashion combos.

Watching Quadrophenia= Strong Desire to Blawg

Who Dat?    Slevilness

What Dat?    a BLAWG

When Dat? now

Where Dat? Paris

How Dat? explanation below

 

This City is convulsing and has started to stutter

She claims irreconcilable differences between pavement and gutter

Copper Coins are offered for sculptures of stallions and mares

Billions of Rubles for vanity's quest of Goldilock's good looks and hair

Collected auto-bios of Plagiarists sit on the recent graduates' couches

Outweighing the word of the Marxist's renouncements

Lady Justice has burned her blindfold at last

She was bribed with both a male stripper and a YAYO BUBBLE BATH

Following the path of Magdalene and piously affirm that you're devout

Yet your father has just been incarcerated and your mother is toked out

The twist of your fate is in Hollywood's new hit movie

Yet you'll deny vehemently that you were ever part of consumer society or a drug-induced groupie

-Slevilness

Damn. I've been a good friend of insomnia for a good minute, but tonight it's wrath finally peaked while barely watching Quadrophenia. For those millions of viewers (and by millions, I mean myself and probably my creepy neighbor that seems to be siphoning off my intern

et) Quadrophenia, as described by the sad little box at the bottom of the Skybox screen as "Including Phil Daniels is the Mod who, on a weekend jaunt to Brighton with fellow scooter riding friends, meets the Rockers for a seaside showdown". I'm all about the cult classics and Mod marvels, but this one is seriously killing me, except for this one second where the goofballs of the film are getting down to Booker T & the MGs "Green Onions". 

No film can go wrong with "Green Onion" permeating its sticky icky goodness in the background. I mean, who can't dance to that baby? 

Getting back to what I was originally going to blabber about, I think this sad moment at 4:45 in the morning, with shitty Parisian tin box cars zooming by and a cold draft coming from the single-paned windows that I can't seem to kick, indicates that I do indeed need som

e sort of outlet. I thought walking the parent's dog would be enough, but all that lead to was to angry faces and french curses from the local diners in the cafe once they realized that I hadn't picked up the "results" of the dog's pop-a-squat. I'm really not the type of hussy that walks around with a pooper scooper. Just do the shit step. 

Definiton of shit step: the intricate parisian dance, that gracefully avoids  animal defecation. 

Heels tend to be the preferred shoe style, since they reduce the likelihood of complete shit coverage due to the smaller surface area in comparison to a man's loafer. I might just have to me-self a pair of dem' Nicholas Kirkwoods. So space age that I wouldn't be surprised if there's a rocket launcher/landing pad hidden deep inside, and with the flick of the baby toe, you go flyyyin' over all yer troubles. I need them : (

Mahhhhhhhhh. Yea, so this is a new thing, this blawging. Bear with me.

Hopefully I'll get the hang of things.