30 June 2010
When I was at school, yuppie and preppy were pejorative terms. I can still recall being confronted as a small child by a gang of swarthy young foreign proles in the mean streets of New Canaan for wearing an "alligator" on my polo shirt. In fact I learned to fight in my Lacoste shirts and Sperry Topsiders. After school and university in the 1990s I started a banking career in New York City and then later moved back to London to work in investment management. The yuppies depicted in the image (at left) were still very much in evidence. I was not aware until just recently, however, that an actual handbook had been published on the species. (Likewise it was not until years later that I learned of the American guide to preppies). I never understood why wearing proper clothing, having a job, and sporting a side-parting should be targets for ridicule. Given the nature of those in the creative arts who wrote such handbooks, however, and that of the people who read them, maybe I should not be surprised. Perhaps there is a special name for these people. I certainly can think of a few. Can you?
28 June 2010
26 June 2010
- Fatal Strategies, Jean Baudrillard
Posted by Laguna Beach Fogey at 15:12
25 June 2010
24 June 2010
23 June 2010
Do you, ecru? I do. The word is derived from the French word for raw or unbleached and was once considered synonymous with beige. It resembles the colour of a hawk's feather and is often used for lingerie and wedding gowns. I have three shirts in the colour of ecru: one button-down number from Brooks Brothers, another from Brooks Brothers with a forward point collar, and the last a slim-fit Hemrajani model with spread collar. The ubiquitous bleached-white dress shirt seems to glow increasingly bright in the California summer sunshine and as such becomes a distraction not only to myself, but also to innocent passersby. Ecru provides a more serene, but no less handsome, alternative. Consider it for your next dress shirt acquisition.
20 June 2010
Training hard in the foothills above my home. An aggressive assault on the peaks, and then a steady withdrawal through the valley of the winds. A trek to the top, I find, always clears my mind; getting away from Azania enables me to refresh my perspective and begin anew. We live in an increasingly dangerous, inverted world and it is imperative we rise above it. Civilised human values are most often reasserted either in solitude or in the company of loved ones and like-minded comrades. In these hills are mountain lions, coyotes, bobcats, raptors, songbirds, and various reptile species. In the photo at bottom I am wearing a Thor Steinar shirt, khaki hiking shorts, and black New Balance trekking shoes.
18 June 2010
17 June 2010
15 June 2010
14 June 2010
Posted by Laguna Beach Fogey at 16:50
12 June 2010
11 June 2010
I am a sociable enough fellow, both genial and striking-looking, as you have probably sussed by now, but the happy-chappiness is punctuated by regular bouts of melancholia for which the best cure is solitary refinement. And cocktails. Nothing personal mind you, but my tolerance for most other people, I have discovered over the years, is directly proportional to cocktail intake.
Last week I went drinking with some chums. After work we filled the bankers’ bar in Aurelius Heights before onset of the astral clouds. A vintage cream motomaton parked outside glinting in the starshine attracted a group of females in cocktail dresses and silk arm warmers. Inside: the din of hoary pyschonauts, frothing-at-the-mouth in chalk-striped suit and chisel-toed kickers and calling for more oysters and Veuve Clicquot.
In a black Versace dress of fine Italian wool a cherry-minded bint revealed to me the extent of her loneliness. She had spent three years here on assignment from the bank, she said, and had made zero significant friends. Tilting back her well-coifed head, she took another sip of champagne. “I’m moving back home to Georgia,” she continued, her eyes widening. “I want to be near my family.”
The mood changed. A troop of razor-toothed Planetarians and their Tongan allies in t-shirt and baggy denim entered the place, gathering in the corner like a roiling stormhead of angry black and sipping cheap lager. Across our view with a loping ape gait moved chunky hoodie seething with criminal intent.
Violence is always a possibility, then as now. Due to rising anti-Weejun sentiment I sometimes keep in my Tweed jacket pocket a Teutonic dagger, which I now unsheathed and held by my side at thigh level, hoping the droids would get the message before I was forced to cut the wires. Violence works—contrary to what you may have heard. An act of violence against the robots is an act of liberation. Do not tell yourself otherwise.
There is special beauty in decline. As disintegration occurs essence is gradually exposed like old bones in an eroded sandbank. The return of the time of the Weejun is almost upon us. For myself I ask only for consistent supply of codeine and wine and books and the means with which to buy every now and then a pair of Alden tassel loafers, Brooks Brothers OCBDs, and a Southwick suit. Am I asking too much?
The days pass in pleasant routine. I spend much of my time in the science library of the Technical College conducting research, leafing through back issues and revisiting articles that caused so much controversy when first published, but now look jarringly prescient in their reasoning. For people like us, there is no peace, ever; it is our fate to lurch after shadows across long field. But there are moments, I will concede, when the situation is not as it appears and further action is required.
10 June 2010
09 June 2010
08 June 2010
06 June 2010
03 June 2010
Posted by Laguna Beach Fogey at 15:56