Mannikin

I enjoy the idea of 18th century upper class men wearing tons of pale makeup.

However, I don't enjoy the sight of those tacky gays today wearing excessive bronzing things and lipgloss.

However, what's interesting is that pale makeup was quite acceptably heterosexual in the 18th century.

My car received a very slight, rather trifling, dent by some fool in a parking lot. The price to fix it is $3000; fortunately, the insurance company will cover it.

Considering it is an old Mercedes SL (R107 series), I'm not surprised at the price.

I'm slightly obsessed with retrofitting it with one of those old-fashioned carphones that were such the height of technology back then, complete with dual antennas at the rear--one the automatic radio antenna, the other, one of those huge spiral things.

An appalling lack of taste and judgment has resulted in his visual abortion of pre-fabricated dross and "contemporary" trends. This is exactly the type of insipid conventional thinking and lack of intelligence that destroys things.

One should question the intentions of those who want to "update" for no reason at all other than to satisfy some pre-conceived notion of mainstream acceptance and pandering to corporate interests.

The thing looks like a USB device, nothing redeeming in its flaccid facade whatsoever.

The ultimate irony is that the institution that commissioned this re-design was the Museum of Arts & Design--an entity whose mission is to preserve and commend good design has determined it should demolish a most valuable asset; altogether, this proves that no such institution of culture should be taken seriously until it can prove itself.

The architect, Brad Cloepfil, states that this site apparently "demanded more" than Durrell Stone's original design; and what hath he wrought? A kind of numbingly dull facade that a first year design student might have come up on a CAD program, the type of thing a second-rate suburban main library might add to its pre-existing wing.

I have to wonder why monocles fell out of favor. They strike me as eminently practical for those with a condition that is only emphasized in one eye.

Rather, a monocle also eliminates the need for eyeframes not that I have an issue with handsome eyeframes, particularly those oversized affairs from the '60s and '70s; genuine tortoise-shell would be very agreeable.

However, a monocle adds a rakish edge.

I find human contact inadequate and vapid. That is to say, it all seems entirely pointless at the end, some unwholesome vapor of poignancy. As Peggy Lee sang, is that all there is?

Neither Puritan nor pest, I find momentary pleasure only in myself and my gradually expensive interests--from fountain pens to pocket-watches to antique taxidermy to luxury luggage.

If I had enough money, I'd collect architecture--my current fixation is with East German architecture, particularly from the '70s.



I find people who drink for pleasure hateful yet I drink XO cognac during the day from a flask, mere tipples; perhaps, it's the sheer inappropriateness of this that appeals to me. I cannot bear to be around happy people or their sexuality. In fact, I recently read a NYTimes piece on young people's dating habits--written by a college student-- and instantly hated all of them for some recondite reason--their talk of "one-night-stands" and gratuitous sex.

I find these two watches fascinating:

I find Ron Paul rather fascinating.

Of course, given that he is a person who will never become president, he is relegated to a kind of cult political status, but many of his ideas are far more enticing than either of the two major parties--I am neither keen on Obama or McCain. Obama seems disingenuous and rather crowd-pleasing while McCain is a mainstream Republican.

I have thought about my previous entry, and one distinction that is not inappropriate to make is what constitutes rudeness in contemporary society?

Modern social mores notes that aloofness and a generally dry manner is considered rude; however, is it truly rude in any sense as abruptly calling someone an insulting name for a minor infraction?

I simply don't have an interest for people's faux-sincere stories, harping on about a bunch of nonsense and shoddy social conventions. Indeed, that was the great gift of smoking indoors--the cigarette could be wielded as a prop and distraction whereas today one has only one's hands and that proves a potentially insidious entanglement beyond the fact it lacks particular elegance.

Or perhaps in conversation, someone makes a rude insulting sort of remark and you respond with cuts and barbs. Rather, would it be considered rude to make preëmptive stings as so many of our historical critic-dandies did? One is reminded, for example, of Beau Brummell's infamous side-remark about the Prince, his "fat friend."

During high school I would often make outrageous statements designed primarily to provoke and rather outrage. Unfortunately, this has not manifested itself in recent years, but watching episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and to an extent, Arrested Development, has made me reëvaluate my idea of public etiquette. Rather, it seems compelling to completely eschew social conventions--mostly because I don't like modern social conventions. There is nothing meritorious or soigné about most modern social conventions.

I will not refrain from discussing death frankly or other more verboten topics, perhaps turned into awful little jokes; and by awful, I simply mean it makes one a bad person to think such things funny.

In fact, I think it would hold much prospect for amusement to state blunt things to people in assorted conversations, and to be unrepentantly rude to those who are at first rude towards you. I see no point in responding politely to individuals who are rude. They need to be put in their place; and it seems to me that certain uncouth words should be utilized.

I find the modern funerary culture undelightfully perverse. There is, I think, that unrelenting pretense of making death seem distant and mundane, like some minor incident that can be brushed off with a kind of flippancy and a sense of cheap urgency.

It is, not unlike all our other modern "institutions", a banalization of what used to be an interesting, characteristic set of rituals. Freud was quite correct when he noted that society could be judged by its repressions, and by sheer sterile tackiness, death is one of ours. Sexuality has become a kind of mediocre, mediated orgy of stunts; the mystery of sexuality has completely gone in favor of tawdry celebrity tabloids, Paris Hilton photographs and a slew of other unmentionables.

Indeed, I think the most egregious examples of the homogenization and repression of death within our society is the trend of look-alike cemeteries. The Modern Cemetery is a thing of great ugliness--instead of interesting headstones and monied follies in the form of familial mausoleums, we have uniform headstones, or even worse, ground-stones.

Such aesthetic statements are then able to be personalized by little mass-produced religious tokens so cheap and undistinctive in their significance, it's eminently hateful. I recently saw a crudely made crucifix--looked rather like a party favor-- and it was made in India. I couldn't imagine anything more tragic.

However, I'll reserve my special contempt for those photographic "cells" which are in reality a kind of digital image process on a piece of oval porcelain. One can get one's loved one's image printed onto a kind of plaque which is then affixed onto the marker. They are perfectly hideous and mildly disturbing for all the lack of effective emotive enunciation. They positively look numb, like a family album being sold at a rummage sale.

The death industry, like so many of our industries, has become an avatar of corporate identity, a beacon of hope only for those who aspire to Power & Money at its most base.

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On the other hand, is this not the most absurd and thus greatest piece of furniture?

I regret to inform that the most exciting thing that I have accomplished so far is the decision to wear a pocket-watch. It is an antique English piece.

I feel the pocket-watch is a suitable, viable and judicious Fuck You timepiece to the Modern World, which, in effect, is slightly ironic given the classic connotations of the thing.

Indeed, the Pocket-Watch is so very outdated in today's Modern World; its languorous journey from pocket to hand to check the time is sufficiently insouciant and insolent enough to let the slobs and boors know that you neither care nor consciously acknowledge their presence or their time.

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Why are parades always so tacky and unredeemable? I am not talking about grand Socialistic military orgies of a parade a la North Korea, which have that absurd glamour and the full realization of what Benjamin called "the aestheticization of politics"; but rather, those things like Gay Pride Parade.

They're usually full of pulsating stereotypes of whatever is being celebrated--Gays, The Farm Country, U.S.A., Black-Americans--and command impractical swathes of civic space. As well, one sees unnecessary displays of emotion, and presumably, a gluttony of Croc-wearers.

One wonders at the comic potential of yelling "Fire" or "Rape" would be in the middle of a large parade?

I find it rather difficult to maintain compelling conversations with people despite allegations that they "share my interests." If you didn't find my sardonic rape joke amusing, then I'm rather sorry, we don't share the same interests.

To end, here is a picture of a rare turtle:

Yves Saint Laurent dead at 71:

The astrakhan collared overcoat is a suitable coat for evenings. For full and unique extravagance, I suggest a coat made entirely out of astrakhan, shown recently by designers such as Gucci. They seem to use a broadtail--which resembles a kind of crushed moire velvet--while I feel the more "mature" curly lamb tends to look a bit more masculine:

Tonight I would like to introduce the the late British motoring journalist, LJK Setright. He had an exceptional grasp of personal style, characterized by a patriarch's beard, thin profile, cigarette holders, and black kid-skin gloves; and also one can't forget his continual support of marques such as Bristol and Honda. He declared the Mercedes SLC beautiful from any angle and sometimes favored a walking stick while ignoring speed limits.





And some salient quotes:

The bodywork of the Honda is silver, which is good because 'cars should look like what they are made of‑though yellow is very practical.' But not so attractive, I suggest. 'That's beside the point,' says Setright, looking pained. 'You don't want to attract people.'

In the hallway the photographer spots Setright's hat collection—there are seven or eight neatly stacked on a shelf and he never drives without one. Will he model them for the photographs, I ask. Setright, dapper in his sharply creased trousers and blue blazer, looks askance, 'Oh no, there are only two of them that will go with what I'm wearing, it's out of the question. (Picks up a hat, stares.) And this needs steaming and ironing so we'll have to be content with just one.'

Today I share something quite special, quite rare, and perhaps even grotesque to the common denominator--today I share with you Blaschka glass marine creatures.

Obscure, and generally contained in large academic collections of Natural History, the Blaschka animals are minutely detailed and stunningly detailed. They are the taxidermy of ephemerality.

Originally made for research purposes since marine creatures such as sea slugs and anenome are not generally conducive towards stuffing and mounting, the Dresden-based Blaschkas crafted sublime bits of glass art in the name of science.

Oh, the humanity--Paris's famed taxidermist, Deyrolle, caught fire earlier this month:



http://209.85.135.104/translate_c?hl=en&langpair=fr%7Cen&u=http://www.deyrolle.fr/magazine/spip.php%3Farticle231

http://209.85.135.104/translate_c?hl=en&langpair=fr%7Cen&u=http://www.deyrolle.fr/magazine/spip.php%3Farticle237

http://pollyvousfrancais.blogspot.com/2008/02/update-on-deyrolle.html