blog crush No. 2

thesartorialist.com

My first blog crush can be found over here at Tuin Woman (to see my original post, click here), where her blog/project is called Au Coin De Ma Rue.  So unique, and very interactive with individuals on the street in her joint cities of Brussels and Amsterdam.

Very much like blog crush secondus.  If you don't know of Scott Schuman's The Sartorialist, allow me to introduce you to your next time-suck on the ole triple-dub.  But, knowing the folks  that visit here episodically (you lot, there), I'm 98 points positive you all are well aware of Scott and his lovely better half, Garance Doré and their fashion blogs.  Scott Schuman has been steadily working for many fashion publications since the early successes of his blog.  This man of taste with the nonpareil "eye" of the street fashionista is really quite extraordinary ... truly.

NYTimes.com

His line of work is very similar to that of Bill Cunningham's (we all stand on the shoulders of giants, don't we?) "On the Street" column from the New York Times, except like all good bloggers looking to catch their big break from blogosphere into the mainstream, you do it on the cheap, cut out the overhead of the middleman, and then gather all of the perspiration and hard work and passion and feed it through the press of diligence and consistent preparation and let others call it luck when the marketplace loves what you have distilled.  What Scott has produced from his vine of talent is a book or two, a great video shot in Italy, and most recent, guest shots on television shows.  And, like the venerable Mr. Cunningham, it is a rite of passage for New Yorkers to have their souls (and sartorial splendor)  captured by by Mr. Schuman "on the street" -- or outside of the latest fashion event -- including the high priestess herself, viz., Anna Wintour, who certainly did earn herself an ambassadorship to the UK with all of that cheddar she raised for BHO, er, No. 44.

I thought my interest in fashion and luxury (which began in earnest after acquiring my first Armani topcoat in my teens which I proudly wore to Spago back in the day the same week my mom (sweet mum) opened her boutique) would launch a luxury network.  After law school I founded LuxeMont.com (and its various subs) a full 2 - 3 years ahead of the curve from the other websites who began chasing this high-end niche. Not quite, not just yet.

I'll be surprised if i'm not hit with a C and D (cease and desist) for my rather liberal reposting of Scott's original shots, but below are several of my all-time street shots from thesartoliralist.com., with my accompanying commentary to prove-up my bonafides as a recurrent visitor.  I've wanted to do this post for forever and a day, but today is finally the day (well, it's actually, like 2am or something thereabouts, but you get my drift, Dear Reader, especially because you also post in the middle of the night as well, n'est pas?).

Easter in Harlem, New York City:
I mean, would you look at this shot?  Good gawd that's good.  Good?  Nah, brilliant.  Makes me sick with envy to see Scott so good at what he does.  The gentleman in the suit looks like the type of cat that Tommy might meet up with at the crossroads to sell his ever-lovin' soul (nod to O Brother, Where Art Thou?).  He has that vibe that Tarantino searches for in his films.  Dude is just B-A-D A-Double-Ass.  If there were ever a time to visit Harlem for a fashion photog uber blogger, Easter Sunday is the day. Can I get an Amen?!  As someone who lived in South Central for almost ten years, I know of which I speak when it comes to an Easter parade.

thesartorialist.com

University Place, New York City:

I hate to quote myself, but what the hay (or is it hey! ?): Unbeknownst to Scott, he has captured "Botticelli's 'birth of venus' writ moderne."  Truly extraordinary coincidence! I mean look at the wind in her hair; the hair color; the pose.  All we need is a clam shell behind the poor girl, et voila!  Writ moderne, baby.  But, Mr. Schuman does that continually, viz., he captures a moment with his skilled eye and he nails his subject mid-pose, almost a mise en scene of a street artist.  Because that's what Scott is, a moving, roving artist with camera (say it like Jenna from 30Rock, CAmerahh, to capture the Manhattan moment of it all) in hand, and he snaps and snags and shares with us his day's catch, dragging it back to the cave for all of us in his tribe to appreciate and become sated with his subjects' unique choice for ensemble.

thesartorialist.com

New Oxford Street, London

Well, below is my favorite shot ever on thesartorialist.com.  How can a photog get this lucky?  I'm talking about her porcelain doll skin color, the wet pavers, the black/dark brown background, her ensemble (or is it a uniform and she a player?), the colors of her coat (even its lining!), the bows in her hair, her ruby red lipstick, and would you look a that ribbon tied on her case?  Good cripes this shot kills me.  What say you, Dear Reader?  We already know what Karena *(our blogger pal at her eponymous named blog ... see her comment below as well!).

thesartorialist.com

Poolside, Los Angeles:

Had to comment here, because, frankly Scott is never in LA.  Well, rarely.  LA has so much style, but it is not displayed or concentrated like it is in New York because truly no one walks in LA (great Motel's song from the 80's), and we have this urban sprawl thing happening here in LA County and SoCal.  But, there is a great deal fashion and style, and one does see it exemplified in the rapidly gentrifying downtown LA district, East LA, West Hollywood/Melrose area, Los Feliz, Santa Monica and of course Beverly Hills, but it's a bit dated.

thesartorialist.com

thesartorialist.com

thesartorialist.com

Rupert Street, London
I've seen this dude on thesartorialist.com a few times.  He's got this "v" thing happening.  His hand tat, the lapels of his jacket, the shape of his face/beard, everything is a wedge on this fellow, as he pierces his way through life.

So, there you have it.  My fascination and envy of a simple yet impactful blog.  This 'blog crush No. 2' is but one of about 10 posts just sitting, waiting to be properly edited and completed, lurking in the bowels of the vast file system of the ole porkster.  Writing and posting takes a bit out of you, especially if you have anything else more important to do.  Nice to finally get this one scratched off of the whiteboard as they say.

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but two wishes ... redux

if i had but two wishes, i would give them to you, my two sons, my lovely boys.

would that you'd think of me, when i'm gone and with our good God, and you're sitting on your giant wrap-around porch in some southern clime, with your brood in the yard playing their favorite games, with voices rising sweetly toward sunset.

and when you feel a warm summer breeze on your faces, would that you'd think fondly of fat, squishy, bald dad and turn to give your little ones your wishes -- a baton of blessing -- golden wishes that see the best in everything, and forgive easily, and work hard for good things for family, friends, and those in need as our faith dictates.

if i had but two wishes, i wouldn't have to wish because i already have them in you, my boys.

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One Word ...

there it sits.  by its lonesome. 

a single, solitary word on a blank page.  an atoll of black san serif letters against an ocean of indifferent white.

unless it’s a verb. then I suppose it doesn’t just sit there; supposed to show action and all.  so I guess it acts quietly, you know, when it sits alone the one word there on the screen, or on 20 lb stock of acid-free office, or perhaps on millennia-old papyrus scroll … the one word.

the one word.  isolated in its inchoate-ness.  it usually denotes a beginning.  beginnings are good.  but to begin again?  to borrow a phrase from our Brit cousin (the YOB!), “now that’s bleedin’brilliant.”

that’s where we mere mortals, destined for the mortician-- we who are caught up in the whole time/space continuum thing -- have one very amazing and saving grace, even over angelic beings who witness our luck in awestruck wonder …  you and I can always (and I mean always) begin again.

it really is the great catchall in life; well at least in my life, the restart. we can’t get to restoration without the fresh start from scratch, n’est pas?

so what happened last year? were things said?  were promises broken?  were there disappointments,soul-crushing defeats, unexpected setbacks, death, illnesses, spectacularly rotten luck?  did others get blessed and you left out?  somebody go out of their way to screw you over?  dunno, that.  maybe it’s one, more or all of the preceding.  I know my hand was up the entire time.

but, let’s try something, you and I, Dear Reader.  let’s take a deep breath.  seriously, just try this,okay?  deep breath. now hold it!  hold it. now, long exhale.  feel it?  that little moment before your next breath? when you and I involuntarily breathe again?  we can’t help it; we just do.

to me that is the metaphor spot on for our single word on the page.  we should, no matter how many disappointments in our lives, automatically, like the viscera of heart beating and diaphragm contracting, instinctually place the lone and brave first word on the page. 

alone.  by itself.  priming the pump for us, surveying the landscape for the rest of those damned pesky yet beautiful words to join in our atavistic battle … again.

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and the world falls in on us ...

My bank account was emptied a few days ago ... unbeknownst to me.  Ugh.  That one stung.  I called the bank and turns out it was official.  There was a court order.  A bad (non)decision by yours truly caught up with me.  Then on a separate, unrelated matter the next day, I received a notice from the IR(flipping!)S regarding the extension I filed last year.  They're not happy with me either.  Double ugh.  Don't mess with the tax man, man.

and the world falls in on us ... if we let it.

I'm okay with it all, though; I'm a fairly nonplussed fellow.  I've emptied my pockets three times in my life rolling the dice, betting on business success (two of which still have good chances of success -- come on 7! Daddy needs a new pair of John Lobbs!).  And, I've had three major setbacks in my life from poor personal choices.  I am now owning up to them all -- swallowing the bitter pill of procrastination's reward.  Well, there's still one more to deal with, but it's on my list of things to address before year's end.  As they say, what doesn't kill us, blah-blah-blah.  Just makin' lemonade, baby.

After leaving my local bank branch today (where all of my pennies are now stored), I drove across the parking lot to buy a vanilla latte at The Coffee Bean, as is my wont .  As I looked for a spot to park, I spied momentarily an elderly woman who looked like my mom walking happily, carrying a plastic grocery bag half-filled with Ensure.  I watched as this poor soul tripped over something, perhaps a curb.  She fell hard to her left knee, bag spilling open.  She stretched out two hands attempting to catch her fall. Not quick enough; she struck the asphalt face-first, collapsing in a rather busy part of the parking lot.

and the world falls in on us ... bit by bit.

I parked immediately in the fire zone and ran over to her.  Oh, it was too sad for words, Dear Reader.  The shocked look on her face. The pain from the laceration on her forehead, dental injury and split lip.  I did the things you're supposed to do.  I asked her name. (Irene.) I asked Irene to remain still.  I asked her age. (70.)   Did she have any history of illness that we should know about? (Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma and hypertension.) I folded my jacket and placed it under her head and placed my large bald head between her and the sun, attempting to keep her comfortable in FatScribe shade (it was nearly 100 degrees).  I kept her head still with my hands as we waited for paramedics to arrive.

Thankfully, within 5 minutes or so an off-duty fireman stopped to lead the charge.  Several others also helped.  One cat, the newly appointed "parking lot traffic cop" in his just-finished-golfing-attire at first walked up and said as loudly as his drunken luncheon breath could permit while looking down at me:  "What happened? Did anyone see what happened?!"  My first impulse was to tell WC Fields here to take it down a notch and to please take himself and his red bulbous nose back to his watering hole.  Instead, I said nothing, and he got the hint and walked back trying to help, directing Bentley's and Porsches around us.

Some others brought water and cloth napkins to help us clean her up a bit to make sure there weren't other injuries under all of the blood.  She began to get very week and could hardly speak.  I was afraid she was going to have a heart attack as her breathing became labored.  I found myself saying the same sorts of things I told my mother the days before she passed.  "You're doing great, (Irene)."  "We're here for you."  "Try to relax your breathing as best you can."  "The (paramedics) will be here in just a second."  "Where else does it hurt?"

When my mom passed after a difficult week in the ICU, our world fell in on my brothers and me as one would expect, but just for a bit.  We miss her everyday, but because she loved the hell out of us, we all still feel her in our lives and the lives of our children.  The words I attempted to console Irene with this morning echoed in memories bank, pangs of sadness for my mom as I looked after Irene.

The paramedics finally arrived.  One senior firefighter (55 or so) took my place.  I held an IV bag and continued to provide shade, now with a steak and seafood menu provided by my friend's restaurant.  Neck brace and inflatable leg splint were applied.  Irene transferred onto the backboard.  I overheard that her vitals were 108 over 80 (I believe).  A paramedic took the IV and they placed her on the gurney, moving her into the awaiting ambulance.  The Good Samaritan's Armani jacket that was Irene's pillow, now spattered with blood and battered by asphalt detritus was tossed summarily into the back his MKX.  After 15 years in the rotation, it needed to be retired anyway.

Back taxes and trips over curbs.  The world falls in on us ... because, well, it's an imperfect world where we all live and suffer at the hands of fools and sometimes ourselves (and sometimes the two are the same).  But we live in a world where there is grace.  We trip and fall and others help us.  We make mistakes and say the wrong thing at the wrong time and sometimes we offend ... and we apologize to those whose world we helped fall in a little.  Bit by bit, chipped tooth by split lip.  Emptied bank account by court decision.  Our world is not perfect ... but it's still pretty darn close.

Don't hold it all in, Dear Reader, the offenses and the set-backs.  Let them go.  Don't feel too guilty after you've done your best to ameliorate the (very few, i'm sure) times where you've screwed up. Forgive others, but absolutely don't forget to forgive yourself.

and the world falls in on us ... and we fight on, because, what other choice do we have?

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