After a long day at work of busting my ass to come up with great ideas, I just gave five whole dollars to a raggedy man on the subway who was wearing crudely constructed space-alien antennae on his head and playing a saxophone. I gave him the money because, in between songs, this was his shpiel:
I am an illegal alien from outer-space, not Mexico.
I crash-landed on your planet and my spaceship is wrecked.
I am in need of earthly currency so that I can have it fixed.
When I return to my planet, I’m taking Bush with me. So think of this as an investment.
High Easter fashion hits the Cowgirl Hall of Fame in New York's West Village in the form of this dress made entirely of pink and yellow Marshmallow Peeps. Click the photo to enlarge. Eat the Peeps to enlarge, too.
This YouTube video of outtakes from an RV commercial is full of so many f-bombs you might want to wear a protective suit. At the very least earphones if you're at work. This guy clearly must be the boss of the company or he wouldn't get away with such horrible behavior. But what's funny about it is that the target of his venom is mostly himself. This is the kind of guy who likes you to rip the Band-Aid off slowly, you know what I'm saying? My favorite line:
Listen...I don't want anymore bullshit anytime during the day from anyone. That includes me.
If Jury Duty did nothing else, it gave me my first sighting of Anderson Cooper live and in person. As I strolled home from Chinatown through Soho, who did I spy flittering down Howard Street toward Broadway like some rare gazelle, but Gloria Vanderbilt's son himself. I managed to snap two very crappy pics of him. Including this one of his non-existant ass. He's a doll, but I must say, he has nothing on Jorge Ramos .
As I continued home through the blog district, I spotted none other than Gawker's new after hours editorial whose-it, Joshua David Stein walking with a young woman to what I think is referred to in the blogging world as "lunch."
10:02 AM Larry's smiling face just appeared in the "food room" to ask us all to head to the main room for roll call. Another clerk is calling roll over the mic. Miraculously, I am on time.
10: 07 My name is SECOND on the list and I had to yell, "HERE!" from out in the hallway as we hadn't made it into the main room yet. When I finally got there, I busted into the room and interrupted the guy (in front of 200 other jurors):
Me: Excuse me, you called my name a minute ago.
Clerk: I heard you. We all heard you.
And so, the obligatory butchering of my Spanish surname out of the way, I begin day two of the Super Bowl of Big Fat Wastes of Time.
I think it's safe to say I'm digging Addidas over the other brands, but I refuse to be brand loyal about this sneaker phase (especially with all the bodacious Bathing Ape stuff out there). It's all about a pretty face, really. Which, for me, often takes on the form of something pink as displayed by these beauties. After the jump the reverse sneaks to these.
This used to list Speed Levitch's phone number, but it doesn't work anymore. Now all I have for you is an old quote from his answering machine, which is pure poetry. "I am lack of coordination being utilized. I am dysfunction gazing into the eyes of function. I am quieted, odd, menaced awkwardness dying at the altar of suave. They call me Levitch. Leave me a message."