Taken from the How blog:
Re-releases of all the James Bond novels with new retro-styled illustrations by Michael Gillette. I don't even want to read them, I just want to hang them all up on my wall in a row.
And then, while I was looking at the pictures of the book covers at Kitsune Noir, I happened upon this great entry,
Advice to baby photographers, not photographers of babies written by photographer Clayton Cubitt.
Excerpt:
If possible, don’t take a picture of anything right away. Give yourself time to just experience. You need to do this to understand what you’re photographing. If it’s a landscape, walk around and soak up the sun, smell the dirt. If it’s fashion, feel the textures, the colors. If it’s a portrait, talk to the human in front of you and try to understand what’s in their head. If it’s combat reportage, get behind the video guy, he’s a good shield.
——
What makes up a style? Find a photographer you really admire and rip him off mercilessly.Consider it a remote apprenticeship. This is the history of culture. One day you’ll accidentally start doing original work, and then some young punk will start ripping you off. And the cycle of life is continued…
Dadadadada da da da daaaa!
So awesome. The bonus after the credits was totally icing on the cake.
I'm entirely too brain dead to write anything besides this sentence (and maybe a few incomplete sentences following this). Here, have some pictures:
... what has been occupying the professional-side of my mind for the last week and a half. No, not The Shocker, but GTA, dork.
... the homies! AKA "I'm still tight with folks from high school." Also, I need a hair cut.
... this caught my eye while grocery shopping.
... this caught my eye (and almost blinded me) while at another denim warehouse sale today. What the hell, Ed Hardy?!
... Neeeeeeeeeeew kicks! I'm on a mission to have all of my sneakers have patterns on them.
Happy birthday, Judy! WOOOO!
Other than a well-attended (and hopefully informative and maybe entertaining) panel at Costume Con with Judy yesterday, my one day there lead to a milestone event in my life.
...
I got hit on by Klingon.
Jigga!
Tonight's Jay-Z/Mary J. Blige show was, in short, OFF THE HOOK. And this is coming from neither a hardcore fan of Jay-Z nor Mary. Jay-Z could've easily gone on to perform another hour and Mary sang with so much more emotion than what you get out of her recorded works.
It was also a very Barack-ing night. Spotted a few Barack t-shirt clad folks in the audience and there was even a guy standing with the regular bootlegged concert t-shirt sellers in the parking lot selling, you guessed it, bootlegged Barack shirts (I wonder if the guy was going to give any of the profits to the campaign... probably not). At one point during the show, with a large picture of George Bush projected behind him, Jay-Z started calling out, "Are you ready for change? Are you ready for change, Yay Area??" The picture switched to one of Barack and the crowd went up in an uproar with Jay saying, "This tour isn't sponsored by Barack Obama but it's supported by a free man who's ready for change." The crowd went nuts.
Excellent show... HOVA!
I try to make it a point to not be that guy at concerts. You know, the guy (or girl) that shows up at shows that only knows the one radio hit of the headliner, looks bored during 95% of the show until that one song comes on and they go ape shit? Yeah, that guy.
To prevent that at this Sunday's Jay-Z/Mary J. Blige show I'm going to listen to nothing but Jay-Z non-stop till showtime. With Mary I go way back, she's been singing about the oppression of my heartbroken soul since I was a teenager. But I have a surface appreciation of Jay-Z, so it's time for me to do my homework. Hova!
Gmail rolls out with Custom Time.
If you can believe it, I'm actually looking forward to seeing what happens at work tomorrow.
Woooooooo!
Last day was yesterday and I start my new gig on Monday!
Woooooooo!
Last weekend I trekked out with the best bud for the warehouse denim throwdown where I saw way too many women in their underwear (and a couple that didn't have any) and a couple of guys shopping for size 31 women's jeans. Nice.
After walking out with three pairs of jeans (WESC, Gold Sign and Evisu) I've officially entered douchebag jean-wearing territory. See, I used to roll my eyes at Evisu-clad guys because I never understood the appeal for having two huge half-clouds adorning my butt. Also, I couldn't understand someone paying upwards of $250 for denim. But, man, after I tried on a pair for kicks at the sale... I am sold. Granted, I didn't pay $250 (you all have permission to shoot me on sight if I get that ridiculous), but the logos on my butt = douchebag.
The denim is thick, but worn-in like your favorite pair after it had been run through the washer a hundred times. The stitching and overall construction is amazing and the fit makes me feel like I could dance or build a house in them.
The one pitfall? While wearing them at work the other day every time I scooted around in my ultra-suede upholstered seat the painted on logos would rub against the chair and squeak. I'm trying to think of it as an added secret bonus.
I figure all I need now is a BAPE hoodie, some crocodile-skin Nike Blazers and a pair of slatted Kanye-esque sunglasses and I'll be all set for the pages of Fader magazine. Word.
Completely unrelated: How sad am I that Torchwood is ending for the season soon? Crazy stupid sad.
