Fashion Board 6-9-04 to 7-13-04

[the Spartan]

Originally posted by Tyrone Slothrop
He's going to let you pay how little? He may be cheaper, Hank, but it's not worth it. Your friends are here.

What about the sloppy seconds offer he made? After all in the decade I've known Slave I ain't got jack. Squat. Except that time I caught his hand on my thigh in the cab. But cabs don't count, I think he thought we might make an episode of metrosexual taxicab confessions and he was posing. NTTAWWT.

[Dave]

Originally posted by Hank Chinaski
So you're saying smart chicks can't be hot?
Tell that to whoever is banging Eva silverstein....

Eva Silverstein with her favorite equations

If this isn't phoning it in, I'd hate to see what exactly phoning it in looks like.


ETA:

The New York Post says John Stamos recently spent quality time in a penthouse suite of the Maritime Hotel with a "lovely and leggy print model."

Who hasn't?

[Pretty Little Flower]

Originally posted by ironweed
PLF stands to win big drachmas as Greece go one up on the defending champions! 1-0 to Greece! Hopa!

What a game. What a hangover.

[str8outavannuys]

As the ship pulls away from Athens' harbor on this Saturday evening, I've just discovered that the Star Princess has internet for $0.35/min. I'm not catching up, I'm just writing to say that I'm glad to see the board is still intact, and that I never realized my Yahoo account got 300 bulk emails/week.

Venice, Kusadasi and Athens were all wonderful. Now off to Naples, Rome, Florence, Monte Carlo and Barcelona. I'm afraid that I'll be so screwed upon my return (one (Matt & Trey, oy vey) movie in production, another complicated one in pre-production) that I won't have time for lawtalkers anymore, but cross-my-fingers, see you after the Fourth.

From Hollywood to the Eastern Med, yours,
str8

[Hank Chinaski]

Originally posted by Dave
If this isn't phoning it in, I'd hate to see what exactly phoning it in looks like.

you don't know a rerun from a phone in.

It is said that Picasso, at dinner parties and after dessert, liked to wheel in Guernica for people to enjoy.


Said another way, so Atticus doesn't have to google this sabbath, all across America people are watching Seinfeld, thinking "hope its the Soup Nazi one."

[Atticus Grinch]

Apparently, Labradoodles and PeekaPoos are the mojitos of the dog world. The Pisco Sour? The Silken Windhound.

A local magazine is also telling us that knitting is way in and Double Dutch jump-rope to techno is the next big fitness craze. I shit you not.

[Anne Elk]

Originally posted by Atticus Grinch
.A local magazine is also telling us that knitting is way in and Double Dutch jump-rope to techno is the next big fitness craze. I shit you not.

Knitting is so hot. "Guaranteed to break the ice at parties."

[the Spartan]

Originally posted by Hank Chinaski
you don't know a rerun from a phone in.

It is said that Picasso, at dinner parties and after dessert, liked to wheel in Guernica for people to enjoy.

Ah oui, I can confirm this Hank, boc.

As a child prodigy I was a huge Picasso fan. Énorme! So the year was 1972. Summersummersummertime. I was accompanying my still-hippyfied parents on a backpacking holiday on the continent. We were in Antibes on the French Riviera staying in a petite chateau on the water when I read in one of the local newspapers, the Daily Cannes-Tribune, that Picasso lived just a stone’s throw away in Mougin. Just up the freakin’ coast from where we were staying. I told my ‘rents that it was a chance of a lifetime to meet this genius of the artworld. A living legend. So my mom did a major six degrees of separation search and after talking to many of the unwashed natives found a connection and rang the artiste up. My mom was very good at that, no shame, otoh, as I detailed in my stories, my embarrassment at suggestive conversation tends to run on the high side.

Anyway, the Picassos were more than happy to entertain us and invited us round to their Villa for supper the next evening. I still remember the moment he greeted us, he was wearing a pair of mustard yellow linen slacks and a beautiful lavender silk shirt with a burgundy scarf thrown around his neck and a pair of stone coloured canvas-style espadrills, boc. The wine flowed (there was no drinking age in France back then) and we all got tres friendly and chatted the night away. We had been talking about art for hours, boc, and inevitably the topic turned to Guernica. I had seen it at the Museum of Modern Art in New York the year before (and little did I know at present he had it at his villa, where we then were). Actually, it was I who brought it up querying him as to whether the reason it was so renowned had more to do with the importance of the subject and his emotional investment in the same than the actual aesthetics of the work.

Picasso looked at me with a deadpan glare and said, “Monsieur, allow me an anecdote., ‘Since the end of the great war, lots of the Spanish freedom fighters who fought in the war which Guernica portrays have sought me out. Many of them in the course of conversations, much like this, would pull out pictures for me of their loved ones who had inspired them to rise up against the forces of fascism. One such homme who talked on and on about his mother who dreamt of the day when the Spanish would be liberated showed me her a very small picture of her with him where from the looks of it she appeared to be about meter in height and I told him that I had not understood that she was midget and at that moment the man gazed me as if I was a small child and said, she is not a midget, this is just a tiny photo.’”

Later on he wheeled out Guernica and I remarked, WOW, that looks just like the real Guernica I saw in New York and he said, “Oui, il est”.

eta: here's what it looked like

[Atticus Grinch]

Originally posted by the Spartan
Ah oui, I can confirm this Hank, boc.

As a child prodigy I was a huge Picasso fan. Énorme! So the year was 1972. Summersummersummertime. I was accompanying my still-hippyfied parents on a backpacking holiday on the continent. We were in Antibes on the French Riviera staying in a petite chateau on the water when I read in one of the local newspapers, the Daily Cannes-Tribune, that Picasso lived just a stone’s throw away in Mougin. Just up the freakin’ coast from where we were staying. I told my ‘rents that it was a chance of a lifetime to meet this genius of the artworld. A living legend. So my mom did a major six degrees of separation search and after talking to many of the unwashed natives found a connection and rang the artiste up. My mom was very good at that, no shame, otoh, as I detailed in my stories, my embarrassment at suggestive conversation tends to run on the high side.

Anyway, the Picassos were more than happy to entertain us and invited us round to their Villa for supper the next evening. I still remember the moment he greeted us, he was wearing a pair of mustard yellow linen slacks and a beautiful lavender silk shirt with a burgundy scarf thrown around his neck and a pair of stone coloured canvas-style espadrills, boc. The wine flowed (there was no drinking age in France back then) and we all got tres friendly and chatted the night away. We had been talking about art for hours, boc, and inevitably the topic turned to Guernica. I had seen it at the Museum of Modern Art in New York the year before (and little did I know at present he had it at his villa, where we then were). Actually, it was I who brought it up querying him as to whether the reason it was so renowned had more to do with the importance of the subject and his emotional investment in the same than the actual aesthetics of the work.

Picasso looked at me with a deadpan glare and said, “Monsieur, allow me an anecdote., ‘Since the end of the great war, lots of the Spanish freedom fighters who fought in the war which Guernica portrays have sought me out. Many of them in the course of conversations, much like this, would pull out pictures for me of their loved ones who had inspired them to rise up against the forces of fascism. One such homme who talked on and on about his mother who dreamt of the day when the Spanish would be liberated showed me her a very small picture of her with him where from the looks of it she appeared to be about meter in height and I told him that I had not understood that she was midget and at that moment the man gazed me as if I was a small child and said, she is not a midget, this is just a tiny photo.’”

Later on he wheeled out Guernica and I remarked, WOW, that looks just like the real Guernica I saw in New York and he said, “Oui, il est”.

"Do something, Encyclopedia!" Sally wailed. "That phony Penske is definitely up to something!"

"Oh, he is, Sally," Encyclopedia said. "But Penske sure slipped up this time. His story is as transparent as a Matisse stained glass."

HOW DID ENCYCLOPEDIA BROWN KNOW?

Turn to post 24 on the Big Board for the solution to The Case of the Artful Art Lover, and to find out whether Encyclopedia and Sally will ever get. it. on.

[Dave]

But can't nobody (mess) with me. I'm like toilet paper, Pampers and toothpaste. I'm definitely proven to be effective."

Now I know why they call him the Big Aristotle.

required link

[Dave]

Originally posted by Hank Chinaski
you don't know a rerun from a phone in.

Dissent. Reruns and phone ins are not mutually exclusive. See, e.g., pretty much every "I just wanted to see that again" post, including mine.

AON, I was enjoying a casual breakfast in a local dining establishment yesterday morning and trying not to eavesdrop on the next table's conversation, which seemed to be mostly about Bush and Kerry. Anyhow, for some reason at some random point an older gentleman seated at that table decided to add something to the debate -- in a loud crusty old man voice, he announced to the world, "I LIKE BACON". I kid you not.

I know that wasn't you, Hank, since the guy was plenty of years older than even your avatar, but it did cause a double take. When I'm old and don't give a shit, I'm going to not wear a hearing aid just for the opportunity to give people a laugh like that.

D

And, BTW, that rerun would be Paigow if Paigow ever did reruns

[Skeks in the city]

Spike Lee's new movie: She Hate Me.

Synopsis: TM gets fired when he blows the whistle on securities violations by his bosses, penske and patentgreedy. One of TM's ex-gf's, leagl -- now a lesbian -- offers TM $10,000 to impregnate her. leagl's lesbian friends hear of TM's services and start lining up to pay him $10,000 per attempt.

Link to preview for
She Hate Me

[the Spartan]

Originally posted by Atticus Grinch

"Oh, he is, Sally," Encyclopedia said. "But Penske sure slipped up this time. His story is as transparent as a Matisse stained glass."

MERDE!

Hoisted onto my petard by the childhood memory I hold most dear, good old Leroy Brown’s alterego, Encyclopedia. In my youth, when I was young, growing up on a dairy farm in upstate Vermont, I spent many long nights huddled under my covers in my bedroom after “lights out” time with a cigarette lighter to illuminate the pages of such classics as Encyclopedia Brown Takes the Case and Encyclopedia Brown and the Pretty Pony et al. His daring-do and cat-like smarts in outwitting Idaville’s resident punkass bastard Bugs Meany, emboldened me in my daily battles with the local bullies. Although, ironically in a paradoxical way, I usually got my arse kicked and ended up in tears tied to my mother’s apron.

Anyhoo, this whole exercise reminds of my fatal weakness for attention to detail. But for a few missteps I would have sold you fools on my Picasso story and enshrined myself as an artworld dilettante of the first order for all history. It reminds me of the tragic start to my freshman year at Wellesley College. My roommate was from Chicago or some collar suburb of the same. A guy named Hillary. Apparently his parents were big mountain climbing fans. I arrived to find that he had taken the top bunk and hung multiple posters of WHAM! and Madonna all over the walls. Instead of feng shui, I was staring at feng shit!

Of course it went downhill from there and after a couple of weeks I went to the R.A. and made a false claim of sexual harassment, i.e. I caught Hillary peeping at me in the shower while I was shaving my legs, in order to get him expelled from the dorm. Well, the R.A. called for an intervention and twelve steps later a bunch of us were sitting around in easy chairs in the dorm TV Lounge discussing the “issues”. It was me, Hillary, the R.A., and Hillary’s nubile young girlfriend, Sue, from his homeland, a senior in H.S. at New Trier, who was visiting from the greater Chicago area that weekend. After several bottles of Louis Jadot Beaujolais and a hunk of some tasty brie we all became a bit more relaxed and decided that maybe this roommate thing was okay after all. At that point the R.A. left. A few bottles of wine later Hillary announced very ceremoniously albeit with severely slurred speech that he taking our leave to vomit. He left and as we could best piece together after the fact passed out in the loo on the fifth floor (we were on the ground floor-don’t ask).

Anyhoo, you know where this is going, a dozen bottles of French wine and fine piece of barely legal tail combined with the raging hormones of youth…….bingo. Young master Hillary scarcely had dipped his head into the bowl before Sue and I had our clothes off and were going at it like a couple of bobcats in heat. At the moment of truth I pulled out my trusty lucky condom that had been in my wallet since sophomore year in H.S. (BS motto: Be Prepared!) and Sue slipped it on for me, which was a very erotic gesture for a 17 y.o., boc, for me it was a mite too erotic. Game, set and match before I even entered the court.

Sue held me while I cried and told me it was okay, it happens to all guys, but I knew, in reality she thought I was a loser. Eventually she went off to find Hillary. For some inexplicable reason, probably the wine, I took off the condom and slammed it down into the remaining wheel of brie, which made me laugh. Then I picked up the condom and cheese mess, packed it into a ball shape and hurled it at the wall.

The next morning when Hillary, despite the hangover, got up before us and went down to the TV Lounge to watch Davey and Goliath, he saw the cheeseball on the wall, but worse, he saw the (sort of but not really) used condom sticking out of it.

BUSTED!

Thus ended the great roommate rapprochement of 1977. Years later I heard from a mutual acquaintance that Hillary and Sue got married and had a set of triplets and were living on the north shore north of Chicago. He retired from commodities trading at the age of 32 and was a philanthropist of sorts. I still have fond memories of her fine teenage breasts and what almost was.

Que sera sera.

[Diane_Keaton]

So what type of plastic surgery do you figure she had? My guess is: (1) nose job (that one is obvious); and (2) a chin implant (her chin now has more length and more strucutre, a bit more pointy). I'd say cheek implants too but, no... I think she just lost weight. Nose job patients are more frequently advised to get chin implants too. That's my guess what happened. I also predict she's gonna end up really hot. PS - Her eyes seem different too. Less bulging. Can anything be done surgically to change bulging eyes?

[Hank Chinaski]

Originally posted by Atticus Grinch
"Penske Lied"

What gets me is that most people agree Penske isn't high wattage smart, but no one ever considers this when evaluating his stories. Sure, that wasn't Picasso, but that doesn't mean he didn't think it was. MAYBE THE BOY WAS DUPED. His parents, starry eyed and nouveau riche, savoring their good fortune, meeting picasso. they were primed for it.
Of course Elmyr de Hory was out of prison by 1972 and could have been working the crowds in that area. Reformed? Well the French police wouldn't mind if he was cheating American citizens, fully 45% of the french economy is cheating american tourists (more since Iraq oil kickbacks have dried up).
Rather than J'acusse Penske of lying, I think a more polite approach might have been to ask whether "Picasso" offered to sell his parents some drawings "at a discount" say 50K francs.

Penske, was this the guy you met?



Elmyr de Hory as Picasso