tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38527586985246785142024-03-13T01:30:14.445-04:00The DescriptionistDescribing a single person, entity, or object. Whatever strikes my fancy. NYC is full of characters, real and surreal.
This blog has descriptions of people culled from the NYC MTA. My version of subway stories.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-50267506877687697302011-03-17T09:57:00.004-04:002011-03-17T10:15:31.924-04:00The Mudskipper<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><br />At my best friend's wedding, I gave a speech that centered on cars and girls. Two things that have bonded us since we were 12. We've talked about both consistently over the years - not sports, not politics, not fashion, not work just cars and girls (now wives). He's got the better collection now but a long time ago, I was the one with the headstart.<br /><br />Every teenager growing up in the Midwest dreams of one thing - a car. Not everyone cares about sports though most do. Dating in private is only possible with wheels. If you were unhappy at home as all teens are, long drives to nowhere were a great tonic. It was no different for me. The shame of my mother picking me up after school or practice grew by the day. I was the only student in my class not yet driving and I was without any friends who were willing to carpool out of their way. My life felt stunted. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">In my home state, you could get a driver's permit six months before you were 16. The law was that you had to pass a written test and drive with passenger that have had their license for more than 2 years. Realizing I was rapidly approaching that age, seeking to drive with my parents - it was somehow concocted that having my own car would be better since I could practice without borrowing the family car. Practice was really just driving up and down the street and gradually within the confines of the neighborhood. No main streets, no stop lights and nothing over 25 miles per hour. So with great anticipation I awaited for the best Christmas present to come into my non-denominational life in February.<br /><br />Unbeknownst to me, the idea wasn't hatched so as to help me learn how to drive in the relative safety of my own slow car. It was much more machevellian. My father wanted to spend nothing to buy a car, in fact he didn't want to even buy a car since it would inevitably include insurance, oil changes, part replacements, and all manners of repair of damage I would inflict on said machine. But an opportunistic colleague was relocating to a foreign country and wanted to get rid of his car. Maybe my father would take it off his hands for $800? That winter, Bob drove up our short driveway to officially hand over the car. It was a ten year old Honda Accord Coupe. Somehow, it was in superb shape for it's age. Best of all, the car only had 80,000 miles. It had literally been Bob's college car and he'd kept it all these years for sentimental value. It was the first car he bought with his own hard-earned money plus, he hadn't really driven it for the past half decade. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">The Mudskipper was going to be a slow and obviously dated car. The temperature controls meant very little in extreme weather. Rain meant water in the car, wind meant more noise and the clutch was really an anvil. It had p</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">ower steering, no power locks, no power windows, a stick shift, two doors and a hatchback. It was the color of wet riverbank sludge with two thin gold pinstripes on the side panels. The bumpers were a worn matte black plastic. The equally brown cloth upholstery just re-affirmed the seriousness of the color scheme. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">Still, it ran forever on a single tank of the cheapest gasoline, the lack of electrics meant nothing could go wrong .</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">The stereo wasn't even top of the line when it was brand new, though it did come with 4 speakers.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "> I came to like the old cassette player and the nuances of a manual radio dial. The sound was terrible but other than having no bass, Public Enemy was still frantic and angry. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><br /> My first task was getting the car into first gear. The first day was complete frustration and bone-jarring engine fits. Finally, I managed to start the car and not stall immediately when I released the clutch. Reverse gear took another day. On the third day I managed to drive out and then back into our driveway. Second gear came faster. I didn't get much beyond that for the next two months. Just driving out of my driveway, up the street, doing a three point U-turn, then back again repeatedly at 20 miles per hour was exhilarating enough. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; ">Soon though, I was 16 and I started my adventures with the Mudskipper in earnest. It may have been short, brown, slow and ugly but it moved and that was all I needed. The prospect of wheels trumps all else. It didn't matter that the car wasn't a looker, or that it lacked every basic creature comfort, or that it was deliberately designed to go slow. I drove it to school and back every day. And tried to use my newfound fortune to ramp up my social life.<br /><br />By chance, one of the prettier girls in my class needed a ride to a volunteer event one evening. She casually asked to carpool with me and I acted like I had done similar acts of kindness when I agreed. Her introduction to the Mudskipper was relatively tame. I picked her up from her place and we had idle chit chat. On the way back, she was more comfortable and her usual spritely self. She asked me to turn up the music - P.E., because I wanted to impress her. And the puny high pitched speakers wheezed like a grandmother lecturing little brats. Disappointing yet still interesting she remarked. Then she decided that I should drive faster to show her what the car could do. The next stoplight, we were lined up with a Mustang. She wanted to race him. I hesitated. She reached over, honked the horn, and gestured to the Mustang that we were racing. He quickly revved up his engine. I did mine. At green we both took off. As expected, the Mustang took off much faster. All the yelling and screaming didn't work though she ended up laughing furiously and we got a thrill just by being in that impromptu drag race. The Mudskipper may have been slow and tone-deaf but it still managed to make a pretty girl smile and laugh.<br /><br />My first driving year with the Mudskipper, I made no upgrades or modifications and there was no damage small or large. There were no trips out of the city, and no adventures worth noting. It was a very reliable and economical high school car. At the end of that first year, as a reward for responsible driving and good grades, my parents traded in the Mudskipper for a brand new car. I believe the dealership gave us $1500 for it. A tidy profit. I never saw that car again.</span></div>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-5356864828481200112011-01-21T11:13:00.001-05:002011-01-21T11:15:01.763-05:0022<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 13px; "><br />I was fresh out of college and working in my first job. Well, my second job technically but we're splitting hairs here. For the purposes of my resume today, that second was my first. I was an <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1295617653_0" style="cursor: pointer; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; ">account executive</span> at the biggest ad agency in town, and I was in the group that generated the most revenue. So, in the eyes of the ad world and my relatives who cared, I was off to a good start.<br /><br />The problem was I was the new guy on the team and I had the clients that generated the least amount of revenue. In terms of overall client rank, mine were at the bottom. Which meant that within this group, I was nobody. Though outside the group, I lived off the aura of said group, but everyone knew that I was the runt of the litter.<br /><br />It came therefore almost as a decree from <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1295617653_1">Zeus</span> when I got the call. I was being tapped to work on our agency's largest account. And not only that I was still going to just report directly to my Group Account Director. And! I was going to be working on the client's most technologically advanced product. Praise to Mount Olympus, my chariot had come after all.<br /><br />I was all of 22.<br /><br />So I get to my first meeting with our clients. It was my boss, the Group Account Director, the client's Marketing Director and her Senior Brand Manager. There was also a technical manager there who started us off by explaining this new product. I thought it was relatively simple actually. But this was back in the 90's and tech was a foreign word still to most commoners.<br /><br />I wanted to impress badly. I wanted to prove I belonged in that room. And as luck would have it, my previous first job (now forsworn but then acknowledged freely) had me working with this client's direct competition. It was not quite the same bells and whistles, but conceptually I had a very good grasp. Which meant I was going to open my mouth. I asked, I answered, I poked, I prodded, I espoused; just stopped short of proclaiming. I might have beamed a little. I was wise beyond my 22 years.<br /><br />My boss had asked me to wait in the lobby while he finished some outstanding conversations with the marketing director. I think I had two cigarettes while waiting. It was a short car ride back.<br /><br />We were walking in the office corridor. Past the receptionist, past the keycard entry door. Right after the door closed, he turned around to face me.<br /><br />"So, I spoke to the clients after our meeting. Overall, they liked you, they thought you were smart and very enthusiastic"<br /><br />I guess I didn't realize it was an audition but that I had passed so what did it matter.<br /><br />"One thing though". His eyes sharpened.<br />"You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut. You talked too much and I don't want that to happen again. "<br /><br />I was 22.<br /><br />To this day, I can replay that scene in my mind like it just happened. That walk back to my desk never felt longer.<br /><br />It's been the best lesson of my corporate career.<br /><br /></span>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-9367220893679210322011-01-19T17:42:00.002-05:002011-01-19T17:51:01.416-05:00Early<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: tahoma, 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 13px; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Teeth are clear.<span> </span>Hair is in place.<span> </span>Tie is straight.<span> </span>Hands are dry.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Steve took one last look at himself in the mirror, and he was ready.<span> </span>Well, as ready as he was going to be.<span> </span>He slowly unlatched the lock on the bathroom door, and walked out of the Starbucks – making sure to look both ways as he crossed the street and entered the building lobby. A quick show of identification to the security guard on duty, and he was ready to board the elevator.<span> </span>The ride to the thirty-fifth floor was a lot faster than he had anticipated.<span> </span>In a matter of seconds, the doors opened, and he was at the reception.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">“Hi.<span> </span>My name is Steve Howard, and I have an appointment with Cindy Long at ten.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">“Have a seat and she’ll be right with you. “<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Impressive office.<span> </span>Bright and airy, and all these modernist touches, he thought.<span> </span>The life-size Darth Vader sure didn’t do anything to detract from the cool factor. Who put a life-size Darth Vader figurine next to reception anyway? What kind of an office was this? Anyway, what did it matter? He was here for an interview, and he needed a job. Any job. Times are tough and this was the only interview he could get after six weeks of sending resumes non-stop. The bloodletting had to end, and it better end today.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Steve? Hi, I'm Jen, Cindy's assistant. She's ready for you now. Would you follow me?"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Great. Thanks. Impressive office by the way"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">" Yeah, our CEO is a huge architecture buff and designed everything himself."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Cool"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Here we are. This is the CEO's office, but he's out this week. Have a seat and she will be right with you. Can I get you anything to drink?"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"No thanks." </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">It was the most impressive office that Steve had ever laid eyes on. It was easily bigger than his apartment, and it was a true corner office with a view of Central Park. Central Park! Damn. Must be nice to walk in to this every morning. The opposite side of the office was dominated by floor to ceiling mirrors. It reflected that same magnificent view of Central Park, only it had a wood bar across the middle. That was odd, he thought. Wait a minute, those are ballet bars. What is going on here? </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">He took a quick look at the door. Well, there were two doors. One from each corner of the office. Two entrances. That was a first for him. Both had a sleek metal disc that looked like a giant stainless steel frisbee affixed on the mirrored wall. And in between those two doors was what appeared to be a hidden panel. I wonder what was behind that, he curiously wondered. Well, no one was around. Steve got up and two the three quick steps towards the panel and gave it a slight push. The hinge creaked a little, and with the small opening, a hidden secret was revealed. A bathroom. The guy has his own personal bathroom. Now that is cooler still. Of course, the ballet bar is still there, but hey, no one is perfect.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Quickly, he pulled the door shut, and sat back into the Wassily chair. Mental note. Make a point to mention that he likes the Wassily chair. That design history class really came in handy - who was the designer again? What else do I say other than the view and the chair? He started to make a list of all the points of interest in the room. View, mirrors - wait was that too obvious? Scratch the mirrors. Chair, the Noguchi coffee table. The awards. That was it really right? Right. Not too much. He was there to talk job not design.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">More minutes passed. Still no interviewer. This is strange. Why hasn't anyone come in? Slowly he began to let his mind loose. Is there a camera in here? Are they watching me? His eyes darted around every corner of the room. No, protuding lenses. The computer? Screen's not pointed at him. Teddy Bear-cam? Hidden between the awards and the books? Not that he could tell from his seat five yards away. Ok. Now he was starting to sweat. He could feel the dams slowly opening and the deodorant was kicking in. His palms no longer dry. This was stupid. I'm here for an interview not Punk'd. Still more time was passing, and every second brought another morsel of panic.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">A good twenty minutes later, he heard footsteps. Mercy. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">It was Jen.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Steve? I'm sorry but Cindy can't make it today."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Oh, ok. Should I come back later today or should I reschedule for later in the week?" He really needed the job.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Um. I don't think she'll be available any time soon. But let me check and see what is possible."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"I'm sorry. Wait. What do you mean what's possible? So, I'm not getting the interview?"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Well, Cindy just went into labor, and she's going to be on maternity leave. I'm not sure what her plans are for the position, and I'm going to have to get back to you."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Oh."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"I'm sorry, she's early."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Oh."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Here's my card. Why don't you e-mail me tomorrow, and I will see if I have an answer for you."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Oh. Ok. I'll e-mail you tomorrow then." Repeating her instructions because fog had moved in.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Let me walk you out"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"Thanks. I'll e-mail you tomorrow then."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"I'm so sorry"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">"It's ok. I'll e-mail you tomorrow then. Thanks."</p></span>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-44327912005433626752011-01-07T08:39:00.004-05:002011-01-07T09:11:32.680-05:00Subway StarWoman 1/7/11<br /><br /><div>I wish Scott Schuman was there to take her picture. That's how good this look was. Literally from head to toe.</div><div><br />First the toes. They were encased in turquoise cowboy boots. The best part? Each had a prominent large white star with red outline debossed onto the the front of the boot. Her boot tips were distressed and dark, possibly from the first snow that was falling this morning, but given the salt stains on the sides, it was more likely that these were no snow virgins. On their own, these boots were already making a statement.</div><div><span id="lw_1294406333_1" class="yshortcuts"><br /></span></div><div>Interestingly enough, her scarf was this large New York Red Bull team scarf. Red polyester on one side, and blue on the other. The team logo was featured prominently, and she was evidently not ashamed to be sporting the team colors.</div><div><br /></div><div>Given that she was on the waifish side, it wasn't surprising that she was clad in skinny jeans. The fact that there were these bold zippers on the inside of the jeans - they were almost a continuation of the statement started by the boots. On her fingers though were oatmeal wool fingerless gloves. No nail polish.<br /><br /></div><div>She was bundled the entire time in her black wool overcoat. Military-inspired, double-breasted and epaulets on the shoulders. I think she knew it was a plain winter coat because on her right breast area, she had decorated the coat with a cluster of three pins. Two buttons and one broach. The buttons? One was the Union Jack with "Anarchy". The other was placed upside down deliberately and after much investigation, this seemingly political pin actually said " United We Bargain. Divided We Beg". The broach? A pair of lips outlined with rhinestones. Individually, each says something. Collectively, I'm not sure but it made for a great addition to her coat.</div><div><br />Of course, the hair was an essential part of her look as well. She had bangs and a shoulder length poofy style. Think Supremes and not Snooki. Her chestnut locks were quite voluminous, and just about overpowered and covered the blue hoodie.<br /><br /></div><div>And what woman's look is complete without the bag? It was a vinyl travel bag with a shoulder strap - reminded me of the old Pan Am bags that were so ubiquitous in my youth. White with blue accents, and distinct use markings and stains all over. When I finally caught a glimpse of the logo on the front, it said " Jetsave. The Transatlantic Holiday People". Do a search.</div><div><br />Finally, her face? Cherubic. Very young. Innocent bordering on angelic. </div><div><br />The main question that lingered was? How old was she? High school? College? And did she consciously know she had a style? What did her friends think? What did her enemies think?<br /><br /></div>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-56509823503084389322010-03-19T16:48:00.005-04:002010-03-19T17:00:48.254-04:00Thom Browne on the SubwayR Train<br />- headed uptown<br />- 3/19. 1:17 pm<br /><br />I got on at the Canal Street station and I kid you not, sitting right there in front of me was Thom Browne. Not a facsimile, but the actual superstar designer himself. Not that one doesn't see Thom Browne around NYC. I've seen him at parties and of course walking around Soho, the Meatpacking District and once in the Garment District. But this was the NYC subway.<br /><br />He was dressed - well, you know how he was dressed. I was ready to write this long description but its not necessary. The point about Thom Browne is that he is dressed the same everyday with few variations. I did notice that his shirt cuff buttons were undone, though they could have been French and just without links.<br /><br />It was cool and weird at the same time. Cool well, because he's Thom Browne and he's in the subway. Weird because I was in my own version of the look - no socks and folded pants cuffs, but next to him I look like I'm dipping a toe in the pool of style while he is just dripping in fashion's oh-so-cool waters. Next to him, most mortals, let alone me, look uncool.<br /><br />So, what did I do?<br />I wandered over to sit right across from him.<br />Made eye contact.<br /><br />"Thom Browne takes the subway, huh?"<br />"Yes" came the reply<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrghpQ6QJygfDViZfWm38PvaMMmTWpgiYMdefdU6EXBOL9HMKsGCFjrUxu-J-6n9LObvMVH1f_4R-51TYXDgf8QY6DdiekedxrVtJCKIQtlBTR-MO6JADcPIA9WoeYO5-I-6VRHAzs1vs/s1600-h/download.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrghpQ6QJygfDViZfWm38PvaMMmTWpgiYMdefdU6EXBOL9HMKsGCFjrUxu-J-6n9LObvMVH1f_4R-51TYXDgf8QY6DdiekedxrVtJCKIQtlBTR-MO6JADcPIA9WoeYO5-I-6VRHAzs1vs/s320/download.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450452486715466018" border="0" /></a>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-13540831597426673532010-03-17T18:04:00.002-04:002010-03-17T18:14:45.750-04:00The Color of MoneySaint Patrick's Day<br /><br />What happened? St. Paddy's Day used to be some drinking, and some wearing of green. Now, it's all drinking and wearing of green and apparently orange as well just in case Northern Ireland feels left out.<br /><br />Seen on the subway:<br /><br />- Green Eyeshadow<br />- Green Plastic Leprechaun Hat<br />- Green Fabric Scottish-inspired Soccer Cap<br />- Green and Silver Mardi Gras-inspired Beads<br />- Green Feather Bunny Ears<br />- Green Tees of every Style<br />- Green Scarf<br />- Green Handbag<br />- Green Socks<br />- Shamrock Earrings ... obvious color.<br /><br />Is the vomit also green?The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-61986962477493063032010-03-01T12:58:00.003-05:002010-03-01T13:39:24.463-05:00Snow Drive - pt 1The cancellation flashed across the laptop screen and the choice instantly popped into my head. The flight to Charlotte tomorrow morning was now canceled, and I wasn't going to make my very-important meeting. Well, on the one hand, I could have made a few calls and see about getting the meeting re-scheduled for a different day. Of course, nothing is ever so black and white. Logic doesn't apply when money has been invested, people from other parts of the country are awaiting your arrival, the meeting had already been postponed from two weeks ago, and the window was closing - very, very fast.<br /><br />The weather outside my window looked exactly as the forecasters had predicted. Snow everywhere, winds whipping and visibility like McMurdo Station. A quick check on Google. 10 hrs. That was the drive time from Brooklyn to Charlotte. A quick check of the weather. Well, it looked bad but mainly in Jersey and Pennsylvania, and of course New York. If I left before the worst hit NYC, I could possibly do the drive in about 12 maybe even 14 hrs.<br /><br />I calmly called my wife. Told my partner, and the sales guys in Charlotte. Packed and squeezed in a quick ramen lunch. 2 pm and I was in the car on the way out of Brooklyn.<br /><br />The 1st 30 minutes was so easy. No cars on the road. Blizzard conditions, yes, but manageable. I had a long drive ahead of me and I drove as cautiously as possible. No sense rushing if the goal was to make an 11 am meeting tomorrow. I was at the Holland Tunnel in what must have been record time for such adverse conditions. New Jersey never looked so manageable. Once on the interstate things started to deteriorate, albeit very slowly. Driving 30 mph was fine until it dawned that even that was an unsafe speed. Semis, SUVs, sedans, trucks, coupes. All manner of makes and models were on the road with me now. But what was normally considered a rather empty interstate was now a one lane snow-covered country road with the occasional side lane for passing. Still, I was encouraged by the fact that I was moving and making good time in this tempest of a snow storm.<br /><br />Was I scared? I didn't really have time to think about it. I was so focused on the road, the cars around me, and the ice that kept creeping up the lower part of my windshield. Plus, wiping the excess condensation off the inside of my windshield every minute. <br /><br />By now, I was probably about two hours or so into the journey and approaching the Jersey - Pennsylvania border. Looking ahead, the sign said "Last Exit in Jersey". Wow. I was doing ok. Then I looked around and realized that there were no cars around me - front or back. The Interstate was now one barely there lane with snow banks that were about a foot high and rising. I couldn't even see more than 20 feet around me with all the snow coming down, blowing around and swirling. Michael Kay described it best when he said that it was like being in a snow globe of New York. <br /><br />That was my first moment of real fear and regret. I had driven in impossible conditions alone, and now for this desolate stretch I was really alone. The snow seemed to eat up every bit of road ahead of me and the tracks of the cars that had passed before were rapidly disappearing. I was scared. I didn't pray. I thought about choice and how I had made my choice to risk my life. I thought about how I needed to not dwell on my mistake and keep focused on the task at hand. It wasn't about getting to Charlotte at this point, it was just about driving in survival mode.<br /><br />A good 30 minutes passed before I made it into Pennsylvania. I thought that the worst was over and I was well on my way to Charlotte. But as I've learned since - it 's probably in my karma to be tested beyond what my feeble understanding of my mental threshold is. My sixth grade teacher once told me that she thought I was one of the better students of that particular class of hers, but that I had never really been tested so I would never know what I was made of - until my back was against the wall. I've spent the following years trying to live up to her expectations and tackling every challenge like it was the penultimate test.<br /><br />Perhaps that's why I chose to embark on the drive in the first place. I needed to pass this test.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-45238280041043776222009-10-22T17:46:00.000-04:002009-10-22T17:47:19.419-04:00Man with the Golden Companion10/8/09<o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For someone riding a mobility scooter, he was far from the usual stereotype of a rider.<span style=""> </span>He wasn’t overweight.<span style=""> </span>Not particularly old. No real visible signs of disability.<span style=""> </span>If one didn’t know better this would another George Costanza-like situation.<span style=""> </span>Not pretty.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He was dressed like an old high school teacher.<span style=""> </span>Attempting to dress up and convey some gravitas, but ending up looking rumpled and a caricature of what academics think is fashionable yet comfortable.<span style=""> </span>In his case, it was a dark navy blue blazer that though the standard two button, the cut and the design betrayed the truth that it was probably bought a good decade or more ago.<span style=""> </span>The lapels were slightly larger and the blazer itself was about a size too large for his frame.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Adding to that lost fashion sense was a navy blue crewneck worn under that blazer.<span style=""> </span>A curious choice to pair with a blazer for him, but it went perfectly with the faded black denim jeans he was wearing.<span style=""> </span>Both were equally generous with the fading of color, and in keeping with his now obvious near monotone taste in color.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The black chunky boots were a real surprise though.<span style=""> </span>For a person on a scooter to have these hybrid hiking and walking boots was an oxymoron right?<span style=""> </span>If one isn’t doing much walking, why wear those meant for others who are to do much of it?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">His glasses on a black tortoiseshell frame completed his look.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At his feet was a dark grey messenger bag. A cell phone sticking out of the side pocket, looking like it was supposed to be in more comfortable quarters.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> He spent the majority of his train ride reading the New York Times.<span style=""> </span>The boardsheet in all of its splendor on what is normally a train too crowded for spreading out.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-44948391657964742712009-10-09T11:35:00.001-04:002009-10-22T17:23:13.612-04:00Golden Companion<p class="MsoNormal"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Man 10/8/09<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Golden Companion.<span style=""> </span>Rather, Golden Companion II.<span style=""> </span>That was the name on the prominent label affixed to the front and rear.<span style=""> </span>The Golden Companion II is an electric mobility scooter.<span style=""> </span>Now a scooter in a NYC subway is a rare sight and one simply cannot let this pass without a closer look.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was a metallic navy blue scooter.<span style=""> </span>A large sticker on the steering column to indicate the name, Golden Companion II, and an even larger sticker on the rear of the scooter on the casing where the battery is located to do the same.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was a man sitting on this scooter.<span style=""> </span>The seat was similar to a seat one would find on an electric wheelchair.<span style=""> </span>Large back and seat, though curiously no seat belt on this one.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps it was removed?<span style=""> </span>The grey chair was made from a PVC material and the foam sticking out from the worn corners suggested a lot of mileage.<span style=""> </span>It was also slightly discolored and darkened adding to the patina of age and abuse.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the very top of the steering column was a small circle headlight flanked on both sides by black foam padded handlebars.<span style=""> </span>There were no brake levers on that handlebar, but directly underneath each grip was a small lever obviously meant for the thumbs – the left was marked R, and the right was marked F.<span style=""> </span>On the dash board was a battery meter in the middle of that rectangle console.<span style=""> </span>To the left and right were two little buttons – one for the headlight and the other remained a mystery.<span style=""> </span>At the bottom of the steering column was a rubberized accordion sleeve that was most probably there to protect a suspension or some sort of hinge.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rather thick chassis sat on three wheels.<span style=""> </span>One in front, and two in the rear.<span style=""> </span>All grey in color and about 10 inches in diameter.<span style=""> </span>There were also two other smaller wheels right next to the rear wheels.<span style=""> </span>Those two smaller wheels were roller wheels that sat off the ground, and probably there to aid transportation of the vehicle.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the front panel of the battery casing was a large faux wood sticker.<span style=""> </span>Not sure why it was there since it didn’t obviously serve a function nor was it aesthetically appropriate.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> His feet rested on a large footbed that essentially dominated the chassis of the scooter.<span style=""> </span>On the front edging of the footbed was a protective metallic gold strip that ran the length of that edge.<span style=""> </span>In keeping with the theme, there were portions that were held down by masking tape and a small portion that was missing completely.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-71172781606048422042009-10-02T18:21:00.000-04:002009-10-02T18:22:01.235-04:00The Original<p class="MsoNormal">Woman 9/24/09<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was a simple tee with a rather striking black and white image.<span style=""> </span>At first, the initial reaction was one of irony – Oh, how cute that she’s wearing a t-shirt with the face of Pam Anderson, who is clearly the antithesis of everything this woman stands for.<span style=""> </span>Focusing more on the face on that tee, it began to be obvious that it wasn’t the infamous Pamela Anderson who was being subtly mocked, it was the great Brigitte Bardot who was being celebrated.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Brigitte Bardot the icon.<span style=""> </span>Brigitte Bardot the woman who epitomized French sensuality in Fifties and whose influence is still felt today even though the height of her fame was in the Sixties.<span style=""> </span>Unlike those who needed to die young to remain so, she is still remembered as an effervescent beauty who conjures fantasies at the mere mention of her name.<span style=""> </span>What’s probably more striking is that instead of being just remembered for her sexuality, she’s long been a favorite of fashionistas as well.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This fashionista wasn’t channeling Bardot but perhaps celebrating her French style.<span style=""> </span>The tee aside, she was in dark skinny jeans tucked into tall leather boots.<span style=""> </span>The boots just like the jeans were unadorned and offered clean simple lines for the eye.<span style=""> </span>The heels were just about 3 inches and the tan rich enough to impart the craftsmanship and the probable high price.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On her lap was a large handbag.<span style=""> </span>It was an ivory leather with just two handles.<span style=""> </span>All other details though were obscured by the large cotton anorak that she had on which partially cloaked the handbag.<span style=""> </span>The anorak was meant to sit loosely on her shoulders.<span style=""> </span>A thin canvas jacket for cooler summer or warmer spring days had found itself in demand on this cool late early Fall day in NYC.<span style=""> </span>It was a sand color with a hood that had drawstrings of the same color.<span style=""> </span>One could make out the zipper which indicated that the hood was removable.<span style=""> </span>The zipper of the anorak was brass, but the buttons on the side hand pockets were both brown.<span style=""> </span>The relative simplicity of this long jacket was essentially in keeping with her signature taste.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She had a long pixie cut.<span style=""> </span>The hair was dyed in what looked to be two different layers – brown on the outside and black on the inside.<span style=""> </span>The roots were brown, so this just wasn’t a simple case of her black hair growing out.<span style=""> </span>It was a deliberate dye pattern.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her make-up was equally deliberate.<span style=""> </span>Light on the blush.<span style=""> </span>Heavy on the mascara to highlight her eyes.<span style=""> </span>And a pale powder around her cheeks to offset the pink of the blush.<span style=""> </span>The eyebrows were painted brown.<span style=""> </span>There were a light sprinkling of freckles across her face.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> She looked like she stepped out of a fashionista Manga comic.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-66642929794711215022009-09-23T15:07:00.002-04:002009-09-23T15:09:04.501-04:00The Color of Money<p class="MsoNormal">Woman. 9/22/09</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At first glance, one sees one basic item of clothing in an innocuous green.<span style=""> </span>But take a closer look, and you realize that one item leads to another – the subtlety was in the delicate balance of shades.<span style=""> </span>Green yet not green.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So yes, it was green.<span style=""> </span>Green everywhere but in all different shades and hues, and varying textures.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Given the warm weather that had enveloped NYC in this first week of Fall, the boots were a clear calling card of someone ready for cooler climes.<span style=""> </span>Green boots which were just the kind you’d expect in early Fall.<span style=""> </span>Not tall at all, reaching just to her lower calf.<span style=""> </span>The green?<span style=""> </span>A pea green that wasn’t unlike a rich split pea soup from one of NYC’s fabled restaurants.<span style=""> </span>The textured leather added another dimension and somehow was able to soften the look of the boot.<span style=""> </span>There was a zipper on the back of each boot from heel to top – dark green in color.<span style=""> </span>On the lower sides of each boot, a double helix stitch pattern in a dark green thread.<span style=""> </span>No socks were visible on her legs. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In keeping with the early Fall theme, she had on a pair of skorts.<span style=""> </span>Ending just at knee level, the skort was actually a seersucker fabric obscured by the dark olive green background color finished with thin bankers stripes done in a light green.<span style=""> </span>One could also see empty belt loops at the waistline.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps to no surprise, she was wearing long sleeves on this day as well.<span style=""> </span>This was green in all its glory.<span style=""> </span>A clear green like Astro Turf in the night stadium when viewed on HD.<span style=""> </span>It was your basic cotton wide scoop neck top.<span style=""> </span>There was a skinny black strap visible on her left shoulder which turned out to be the black camisole she had on underneath.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her handbag was aquamarine.<span style=""> </span>Not a surprise really.<span style=""> </span>It had a Coach leather brand tag attached to one of the handles.<span style=""> </span>One the front of the bag was a pocket with a gold buckle though it wasn’t readily apparent if it was for functional access to the pocket or for pure aesthetics.<span style=""> </span>Since the bag was open, you could see that the interior had a multi-colored striped lining.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rest of her was actually refreshingly simple.<span style=""> </span>Her hair was tied up in a loose bun.<span style=""> </span>And on each earlobe was a thin long gold chain which was holding a single white pearl.<span style=""> </span>Her right ring finger had a simple gold wedding band.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She was reading a thick hardcover book.<span style=""> </span>With it open, you could see a purple Post-it that she had used to mark something on a previous page.<span style=""> </span>The title and author on the front cover was obscured by a rather large paper library tag – in large font, it was marked Baruch College Inter-library Loan.</p>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-58121028300541191672009-09-16T15:09:00.001-04:002009-09-16T15:11:03.299-04:00LV in Pink<p class="MsoNormal">Woman 8/17/09<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You’ve got to hand it to Marc Jacobs.<span style=""> </span>The man who turned Murakami and Sprouse into household names in middle America.<span style=""> </span>Jessica Simpson knows their names.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She was carrying the unmistakable Louis Vuitton Stephen Sprouse handbag.<span style=""> </span>It was the regular Sprouse style writing but in hot pink against the dark brown background.<span style=""> </span>You could spot this bag from a country mile away.<span style=""> </span>The zipper was open and she had a Snapple bottom and what appeared to be her breakfast in a small Ziploc bag sitting at the very top of the opening.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her outfit was just as eye-catching as her bag, just as fashionable though not as loud color-wise.<span style=""> </span>Her jeans were skintight.<span style=""> </span>From her ankles to her waist, the denim was a second skin.<span style=""> </span>The jeans themselves were of a dark denim but high-waisted, not the low-slug skinny jeans favored by so many today.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps it was because of her full figure, but those fashionable high-waisted dark jeans really worked for her.<span style=""> </span>The label on the rear was Guess.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her top was this chiffon and silk halter top.<span style=""> </span>An interesting choice for the cool weather.<span style=""> </span>The floral print was a watercolor of reds and greens in a manner that evoked Marc Jacobs – feminine yet contemporary.<span style=""> </span>Definitely something Anthropologie would knock off, or perhaps it was something purchased from Forever 21.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->On her feet were a pair of flip-flops from Havaianas.<span style=""> </span>The straps were gold and there was a distinct print on the footbed of the sandals.<span style=""> </span>Interesting choice of footwear but perhaps consistent relative to the halter top.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The large gold earrings on her accentuated her hair and face.<span style=""> </span>The hoop earrings were so large they reached almost to her shoulders and threatened to overwhelm her but the thinness of the rings made them much more subtle – as subtle as large hoop gold earrings can be.<span style=""> </span>The asymmetrical cut of her hairstyle confirmed her fashionista tendencies.<span style=""> </span>A left to right part with severe bangs tilting left but with hair long enough to reach her upper back.</p> <!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]-->On her left hand was a silver bracelet formed with open links.<span style=""> </span>A silver heart charm was attached.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-59029774224307145432009-09-08T11:15:00.001-04:002009-09-08T11:18:32.398-04:00Young at Heart<p class="MsoNormal">Man 8/30/09<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Someday when we’re all old and slow.<span style=""> </span>We’ll either treat our clothes as a bother and not worthy of our limited time remaining on Earth, or we’ll do the best we can because that’s the kind of people we are.<span style=""> </span>Wonder which side each of us will choose.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He was an undeniably old man. A face that reminded one of old Chinese sages that have been a part of popular culture for 2000 years.<span style=""> </span>White eyebrows so long they almost seemed in need of grooming.<span style=""> </span>Age spots on the edges of the face.<span style=""> </span>Slight puffy bags under his eyes.<span style=""> </span>Curiously, no major wrinkles accept for around his mouth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">His forehead and hair were hidden by his navy-blue fabric hat.<span style=""> </span>It was a standard fishing hat with a short brim and three brass grommets on each side.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This ancient style guy was wearing a polyester track jacket.<span style=""> </span>It was a cream colored standard track jacket with green and black stripes that started just below the shoulders on the front, and paralleled vertically down the back.<span style=""> </span>On the left breast was a logo for Winslow, and on the right bicep was a green triangle outlined with the words Winslow Sports Era inside.<span style=""> </span>His zip collar was open and you could just make out the green accent under the collar.<span style=""> </span>The frayed cuffs indicated a well worn jacket.<br /><br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Underneath that jacket was a white shirt that had somewhat yellowed with age.<span style=""> </span>It was a standard issues spread collar with a tab underneath.<span style=""> </span>This gentleman was buttoned up all the way.<span style=""> </span>In his left breast shirt pocket was a large bulge that was probably his wallet.<span style=""> </span>A curious place if for such an important accessory.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The pants were a matching shade of beige.<span style=""> </span>And thought they were definitely of a synthetic material, the cut was non-pleated.<span style=""> </span>I’d guess the pattern was from the 80’s prior to the explosion of pleated pants.<span style=""> </span>Holding up those pants was a black leather belt.<span style=""> </span>A gold buckle with a simple circular design.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The best thing on this dapper gentleman?<span style=""> </span>His shoes.<span style=""> </span>They were faux leather loafers.<span style=""> </span>In a cream color similar to the jacket.<span style=""> </span>A small metal logo on the outside front top corner of each shoe. The cream was accented with brown strips that weaved subtlety around the soles.<span style=""> </span>The best part?<span style=""> </span>The man was sockless.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ever the gentleman, he was carrying a slim umbrella.<span style=""> </span>It was medium sized and the fabric was a madras pattern in a primarily blue-green color with hints of orange.<span style=""> </span>Paired with that umbrella was a tote bag with long fabric straps.<span style=""> </span>The cotton bag was in a brown and cream houndstooth check pattern.<span style=""> </span>A small bag overall, but for his small frame – perfect.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Throughout the subway ride, his left hand would be trembling.<span style=""> </span>Every so often the soft tremors would migrate and his legs would be affected as well.</p>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-23340533056997980502009-08-31T17:23:00.000-04:002009-08-31T17:24:28.587-04:00Hats for the MemoriesMan 7/30/09<br /><br />The Return of the Fedora. Kennedy tried to kill it in 1960, and two-score and nine years later, the fedora has officially marked a new renaissance. Not a return to glory like the old days, but at least a return to respectability.<br /><br />As such, this man’s fedora was not to be ridiculed though admiration was not in the cards either. Just a philosophical tip ‘O the hat (all pun intended). His was a new hipster fedora. More a trilby than a fedora really. Black and white in color, and in a faux Prince of Wales check pattern. It was sitting above his head, exposing his full head of dark wavy hair.<br /><br />With his long thin sideburns and his thinly sculpted goatee featuring a soul patch under his lip, there was no mistaking this gentleman for another. He was a hipster and he was not afraid to tell the world.<br /><br />The standard uniform was thus observed on this man.<br /><br />Jeans – dark, dirty and indigo. Skinny with cuffs folded up.<br /><br />Shoes – possibly used. Very dirty but very Euro in style. White leather athletic-inspired, with 3 velcro straps – two of which were non-functioning bungee bands.<br /><br />Black Tee – crew neck. Blue and white graphic across the front stretching around to the back. More tattoo or street-inspired than irony-filled.<br /><br />Sunglasses – new shiny faux Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses hanging off the tee collar. <br /><br />Canvas Messenger Bag – khaki, again quite worn and old looking. A red, white and navy fabric strap giving a hint of Americana.<br /><br />Frankly, he looked like he was a hipster who dressed like he shopped at JC Penney or Kohl’s. Other than the trilby, nothing on him was authentic and they all seemed manufactured to confer that hipster vibe. <br /><br />Nothing we dislike more than a faux-hipster.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-39196253008309868662009-08-31T10:18:00.000-04:002009-08-31T10:26:40.905-04:00Calling all Bikers! Ride for Charity.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mBrDu76GS9nJjmBnYrlnkN8hNraESBGrw2XBRmujEbqYi5_lBFPPDzboPkb7ZyscKy0jh5gYFKdYfRxKnHKCr70RfUiuZiOouYF3zC20tC3y6qYPyZH_DPWsQGbcB-z1YxhHo-gFavg/s1600-h/MotorcycleRallyPoster2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mBrDu76GS9nJjmBnYrlnkN8hNraESBGrw2XBRmujEbqYi5_lBFPPDzboPkb7ZyscKy0jh5gYFKdYfRxKnHKCr70RfUiuZiOouYF3zC20tC3y6qYPyZH_DPWsQGbcB-z1YxhHo-gFavg/s320/MotorcycleRallyPoster2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376134108475633330" border="0" /></a>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-87824812796930432252009-08-26T13:20:00.001-04:002009-08-26T13:22:13.752-04:00White on WhiteWoman 8/26/09<br /><br />Immediately, one notices the obvious. White pants. Summer white, pristine and not quite sheer and very weather appropriate. The white singlet. Ok, the white wifebeater. Plain white and in this context, again, very weather appropriate. On her arm was a grey cardigan, no doubt for the cooler air that her work environment was sure to provide.<br /><br />Curiously, she wasn’t tan at all. All that white, and her skin was just as alabaster though perhaps not as severe. The singlet revealed very freckled pale arms which matched her equally freckled and pale face. No makeup on her but a slight hint of lip gloss. She had shoulder length brown hair.<br /><br />On her ears, pearl earrings. One pearl on each lobe, sitting on a gold setting.<br /><br />As much as one noticed the big hits of white. It also came into view that there was a very deliberate secondary color at play. Orange.<br /><br />On her neck was a necklace composed of three strands of beads. Well, more like pearls – orange pearls. Three stands of orange faux pearls that demanded to be noticed in a sea of white.<br /><br />On her feet, a pair of burnt orange sandals. Faux-leather gladiator-inspired straps from toe to ankle with a comfortable sole - maybe Aerosoles? And all this topped off with toenails in a near matching color. Orange, but not quite burnt. Her fingernails though were clean – no color.<br /><br />Her handbag was this large brown leather handbag. In a hobo styled design. A large brown leather strap on each end attached to silver buckles. No pockets or outside zippers. Just one large opening on the top of the bag.<br /><br />And as modern women are no taking to doing, she was wearing a men’s watch. A stainless steel sports model with a round black face. Couldn’t make out the brand though.<br /><br /><br />About three stops into her ride, she pulled a book out of her handbag and proceeded to spend the rest of the ride in reader-trance. She was reading “Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living” by Pema Chodron.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-19462387560193110582009-08-26T12:51:00.001-04:002009-08-26T12:52:37.874-04:00CrooklynMan 6/16/09<br /><br />People talk about the Brooklyn attitude like they do about the Bronx attitude or in some cases, the Queens one. (Apologies to Staten Island and Manhattan) The more one lives in Brooklyn, the more you realize that perhaps there is such a thing. Starting from Tony Manero, to the Eighties rap renaissance and followed by the latter day Jay-Z shout-outs. There have been all along pop culture the personification of this Brooklyn attitude.<br /><br />The kid was dressed much like a lot of his urban compatriots. First off, the shoes. Air Jordans. Not the late model ones, but the early model re-issue. Looked like Air Jordan III to the non-expert shoegazer. The white patent leather, the purple accents and finished with ultra clean white laces. A modern take on a street classic.<br /><br />Super skin tight black skinny jeans. Worn not in a rocker or hipster manner, but more in the style of the street skaters of today. Just hang out at Tompkins Square Park if you need a closer look.<br /><br />Over the jeans was a large black puffer vest. It was severely oversize. It’s shiny fabric reflecting the light off the subway train and highlighting the quilted design. The hood was detachable and the collar was in perpetual pop-up mode. Two side hand pockets on the front. Basic gear for this crowd.<br /><br />But all this was put together with quite some thought. The tee under the puffer vest was this purple crewneck. Not royal but your basic purple. And on his head was a Colorado Rockies baseball cap. Why the Rockies? Purple. The interlocking CR logo was purple with a white outline – no doubt the cap was bought to complete the color scheme. The cap’s bill was as flat as new, and the size sticker still affixed to the top of that bill. His hair was completed hidden under that cap.<br /><br />His baby face suggested someone no older than his late teens. Which meant the diamond studs in each ear were probably fake – though being that impossibly large screamed fake anyway. A gold crucifix hung across his neck over the front of his purple tee. <br /><br />On his hand was a metal silver and gold link strap watch. A white face with black numerals.<br /><br />Further up his left forearm? A large Brooklyn tattoo done in script. Bold, brash and obviously in homage to his hometown.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-23662325355606045122009-08-19T15:09:00.000-04:002009-08-19T15:10:08.927-04:00State of ConfusionWoman 6/17/09<br /><br />Variety is the spice of life. So, what happens when one has outfitted and accessorized with the idea of achieving variety?<br /><br />At first glance, she already appeared to be out-of-sorts. Not in a hair-all-over manner but in a way that one instinctively knows after years of riding the subway – some people are just inexplicable.<br /><br />She was wearing a denim jacket. Not an acid-wash retread but it was in a light indigo hue which was very, very 80’s. Still it was a standard denim jacket design, with the double patch pockets in front, silver buttons and rivets, and as her once-folded sleeves illustrated - working buttons on the cuffs. Still it was at least one or two sizes too large for her. The jacket shoulders drooped over her tiny frame. Not a tent or a poncho, but it wasn’t a flattering slim fit either.<br /><br />Under that denim jacket was a simple white cotton tee. It was longer than the typical tee, and the tail of it reached down to her hips. It looked like there was graphic on the tee that resembled the writing on a typical doctor’s eye chart.<br /><br />The pants were basic business work pants. Black with slim gray, brown and blue stripes running vertically. You could make out the black stockings she had on underneath. And on her feet were two inch heels with a square toe and a small bow on the front. There was a strap at the heel. The contrast of the beige colored shoes and the dark pants with black stocks only served to highlight the continuing enigma that was this woman’s style.<br /><br />Her accessories only confused more. First, a black briefcase. Yes, a black hard-shell leather briefcase usually seen with die-hard fans of L.A. Law. Sure, this one was slim making it a non-Willy Loman issue, but still nowhere close to being an acceptable part of a respectable woman’s executive attire. The second? A medium green tote bag. The primary color was green but there was a sea of white, blue and yellow dots as well. The dots were positioned such that it reminded one of star constellations. The larger blue dots could have been planets and the smaller white and yellow dots possibly stars and moons. And not content with those two pieces, she was carrying yet another bag with her. This time a very basic run-of-the-mill white canvas tote. The kind LL Bean makes.<br /><br />Does the woman’s style end with her clothing and accessories choices?<br /><br />Her hair was short. But the mane was teased up in such a way that coupled with the obvious brown dye job with even lighter brown highlights, one could only say – Tina Turner. A slightly shorter version but unmistakably Tina.<br /><br />Her makeup wasn’t spared either. The foundation, is understood. The lipstick in a subtle pink hue was even tasteful. Then came the blue eye shadow and the heavy black<br />mascara.<br /><br />In her hand was a thick handheld PDA. I’m not even sure what brand, model or decade it came from. But there she was tapping away with that black stylus pen. Perhaps she was playing a game? She was staring at it rather intently.<br /><br />On her neck was a small gold crucifix dangling from a thin gold chain.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-78398510622064633022009-08-11T11:51:00.003-04:002009-08-11T12:36:05.222-04:00John Hughes R.I.P.I'm just naming my favorites here:<br /><br />Pretty in Pink<br />The Breakfast Club<br />Weird Science<br />Ferris Bueller's Day Off<br />Sixteen Candles<br /><br />There's nothing I could add that hasn't been written about John Hughes over the past week. But I'll say this. Until John Hughes came along, no one made movies for teens. And certainly not movies about contemporary teenagers specifically for teenagers. I can only think of George Lucas's American Graffitti, Saturday Night Fever (1977) and of course, Rebel Without a Cause (1955) as two before John Hughes. But Lucas' movie was in 1973 and set in the 50's. So, really only Rebel and Fever. That's a long time before anyone realized that an entire generation existed without a voice in cinema.<br /><br />There's no one who spent their teenage years in the 80's who could deny the influence of those movies. The Breakfast Club taught us that we're all the same insecure and frightened teenagers under all that bluster and bravado. Ferris Bueller was the smart kid who was cool because he was free of everyone's rules and opinions, and not a typical jock or caricature nerd. Andie making her own prom dress and Duckie in vintage in Pretty in Pink - that is fashion.<br /><br />And though I hate to admit it, Andie kissing Blane in front of that 3 Series? Made me equate BMWs to girls forever.<br /><br />Just look at the casting, Molly Ringwald, Ally Sheedy, Judd Nelson, Anthony Michael Hall, Jon Cryer - yeah they were really white and really surburban, but none of them with classic Hollywood-ready looks and all of them had something for each of us to relate to.<br /><br />We all loved the movies.<br /><br />And for a generation of moviegoers, one man was largely responsible for making us feel like we were all in it together and perhaps we were not so different after all. And with a little courage and a little luck, we could be who we really were and possibly even succeed in love and life.<br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Mr. Vernon,<br /><br />We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are.<br /><br />You see us as you want to see us. In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions.<br /><br />But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain,<br />and an athlete,<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />and a basket case,<br />a princess,<br />and a criminal. <p>Does that answer your question?</p><p>Sincerely yours,<br /></p><p>The Breakfast Club.</p>The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-40757806081179787882009-08-11T11:25:00.000-04:002009-08-11T11:26:08.254-04:00Lady In RedWoman 7/21/09<br /><br />What is it with men and redheads? Men are under the illusion that all redheads are attractive and desirable. Perhaps its because we’ve yet to see an unattractive redhead.<br /><br />Her hair was slightly more orange than red. Burnt orange might be the more accurate term. And that hair was tied back into a ponytail. With her face devoid of make-up, she reminded me of Molly Ringwald in Fresh Horses. Then again, for men of a certain age, all redheads remind them of Molly Ringwald, just as older men view all redheads as descendants of Ann- Margret.<br /><br />The curious case of this redhead is the amount of colors on her that matched her hair color. Her scarf was orange. A summer weight scarf with ruffles and tassels and tied in a double loop around her neck. It really made the orange of her hair all the more obvious. And on her feet were orange Wellingtons. They were from Hunter, and had the usual buckles on the outside of the boot, right near the top, which reached to just under her knees.<br /><br />Was orange possibly also her favorite color?<br /><br />She was wearing a large oversized grey cardigan. Long enough for one to tell that it reached to about her hips when she was standing up. Under that a faded blue deep v-neck cotton tee. Just about peeking out from under that tee was what seemed to be a collar of an identical v-neck tee in white.<br /><br />Slung on her shoulders was a black tote bag that had a black umbrella sticking out from one of the corners. It was one of those cheap street vendor umbrellas.<br /><br />On her lap was her iPhone with a pink silicone cover. And in her hand was a large coffee cup.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-36991469172808275612009-07-30T18:02:00.001-04:002009-07-30T18:03:52.030-04:00Take Me Out to the Ball GameMan 7/21/09<br /><br />Full disclosure. I am a Chicago White Sox fan. Not because of President Obama, not because they won the World Series in 2005, not even because of the dungeon called Old Comiskey (R.I.P.) But really because of Frank Thomas, Jack McDowell and the greatest Okie State baseball player, Robin Ventura (sit down Pete Incaviglia fans).<br /><br />It’s no wonder that a man wearing a Chicago White Sox jersey riding the subway in Brooklyn makes an appearance here. That distinct “Chicago” in black script lettering across the chest with sliver and white outline. The white socks on black logo on the sleeves.<br /><br />What’s really the wonder here is that the man was also wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. Yes, a Red Sox hat – navy blue hat with the distinctive “B” in its auld glory script.<br /><br />What on Earth? WTF?<br /><br />The rest of him was a fairly standard blue collar guy uniform. The basic light blue jeans. Loose fitting in a standard wash and there was a handkerchief dangling from his left pocket.. The white Nike sneakers with enough off-white to suggest a decent amount of wear. A digital watch in a stainless steel casing with a black rubber strap – probably a Timex or Casio.<br /><br />The glasses on his face were a pedestrian rectangular style metal frame. A goatee on his face to highlight his masculinity while not wearing any jewelry of any sort. He was carrying a small black drawstring nylon bag. <br /><br />One last thing, a lanyard with I (Heart) New York printed on.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-84071123042530407032009-07-23T20:18:00.000-04:002009-07-23T20:19:02.436-04:00Cuts like a KnifeMan 7/16/09<br /><br />What hurts isn’t when you see someone dressed in a wild inappropriate manner, or when they are showing too much skin, or when they just plain can’t match, or they are just too damn weird. <br /><br />No, what hurts is when said subject dresses not quite up to snuff but you can tell that they are trying. They are really trying to be fashionable or presentable and it’s just not happening. <br /><br />The man was really a kid. Probably right out if not still in college. His baby face gave his youth away. His clean-cut looks were aided by the close cropped hair and the lack of any facial hair.<br /><br />For starter’s he was wearing black dress slacks that were double-pleated. Apologies to the sartorial gods for not intervening immediately, for the rules clearly state that if you are born past 1980 you are not allowed to wear pleated pants period. You are not allowed to wear pleated pants. Plus, his pants were not only cuffed but they ended at the top of his feet. Too short, two pleated.<br /><br />On top of those pants? A pastel lime-green short sleeve button front shirt. And paired with that day-glo shirt was a bright yellow wide tie with an equally fat knot. No, he wasn’t dressed as if at a masquerade ball, he was dressed like he was on his way to a desk job or an interview.<br /><br />The black loafers on his feet were polished and the dark dress socks were not going to be out of place in a standard Herman Miller cubicle. He was carrying a brown leather messenger bag on his right shoulder. It was a fairly worn light brown bag with the standard bronze hardware though his seemed to be crammed full – of what it wasn’t readily obvious.<br /><br />To complete his look, gold rectangle rimmed glasses and the gold link watch on his left wrist, plus keys dangling from one of his belt loops.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-48343707109154215902009-07-18T21:31:00.001-04:002009-07-18T21:32:53.270-04:00Do the Right ThingWoman 7/2/09<br /><br />Sometimes the world sends you a signal that says, “Hey! You! Yeah, you! Pay attention for there is much that you don’t know and paths will cross.”<br /><br />And it was this morning where that sign appeared though it was little more than a wink and a wry smile.<br /><br />In case some have missed it, and most have. It was the 20th anniversary of the release of the seminal Spike Lee movie, “Do the Right Thing”. 20 years ago when Public Enemy seared through the ears of the wayward youth, Rosie Perez turned boys into men and Ghetto-blaster entered the nation’s vocabulary. So, this very morning, if this wasn’t a sign, then perhaps it was just coincidence. <br /><br />Have you ever seen a tote bag that resembled the large Ghetto-blaster that Radio Raheem was carrying around the entire movie? This one was black and on the front was a print of a very large, loud and colorful stereo or Ghetto-blaster. It was an exact reproduction on canvas from the knobs and switches right down to the red, yellow and green colors on the equalizer. Of course this being 1989, there was no CD player, just one large mouth of a cassette tape, plus two large speakers that anchored each side. And funny enough, the side panels of this tote bag had AV input and outputs in the standard red and yellow.<br /><br />So, what sort of person carries this tote bag? <br /><br />She, yes a she. I’d say mid-thirties to early forties if I had to guess. Her hair was short, curly and purple. Yes, purple. But the dye job might have gone a little awry as the hair was black in the lower back portion of her head. Or perhaps she had only wanted a crown of purple and liked the black below her eyeline.<br /><br />Black was the predominant color of choice for her. A black sleeveless tank top – cotton crewneck. A black knit skirt that ended at the knee with a slight flare. Not chunky but honestly looked homemade. And the shoes? Black. Black Converse Chuck Taylor lowcuts. No socks though, this was summer after all.<br /><br />For all the juxtaposition of her old school radio tote bag. She was actually wearing these black wireless headphones. The oval panel connecting each ear bud was had a Motorola logo which was lit up in blue to signal the use of Bluetooth. And when she pulled out her iPod Touch, you could see the adaptor plugged into the player.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-70091390234590795912009-07-09T11:36:00.001-04:002009-07-09T11:37:18.777-04:00I've Got You Under My SkinWoman 6/29/09<br /><br />Summer means skin. Well, it also means sheer. And what perplexes are the New Yorkers who insist on riding the subways wearing sheer outfits that barely conceal the swimwear they have on underneath. If you’re already showing plenty of skin, must you wear and outfit that reveals even as it covers?<br /><br />You couldn’t help but notice. If sitting across from you is a woman whose pink bikini top is clearly visible underneath her barely there tee. Well, it’s not a skimpy tee. It’s actually a white tee that has a day-glo peace sign with paint drips to suggest an LSD mind melt of colors. This peace tee covers her well enough but it’s so worn it’s essentially sheer. So, while looking at the LSD Day-glo peace sign, one can’t help but also notice that you are staring right at her pink bikini top. Right through that peace sign.<br /><br />There’s no doubt she’s preparing for a day at the beach or perhaps by a pool. Or being a New Yorker, it could just be a trip to the park to lay out. She was wearing sandals that had white straps across the front and back of the foot. One particular strap across the front of the foot had the word Camelot printed on. The sandals had a tan sole and footbed.<br /><br />Her shorts were not of the bohemian kind one would expect. They were in fact quite tailored, with buttons on the side hems as well as a button on a rear pocket. The shorts were a white and purple plaid fabric – giving it a more sophisticated look. Still they were short and ended at her upper thigh.<br /><br />With her was this large green tyvek tote bag. There was an equally large Steve Madden logo on the side printed in white.<br /><br />She reminded me of the wispy girls one sees on America’s Next Top Model. Tall, skinny and pale. A noticeable mole above the left side of her upper lip. Her brunette hair was long but tied up into a ponytail that was then folded back over making it look like a short stump on the back of her head.<br /><br />And since she was in the outdoor state of mind, her sunglasses were already on her face. They were a purple resin frame - in an oversize exaggerated retro-aviator style popularized by Tom Ford. Frankly, the Barney the Dinosaur purple made those glasses more fun and interesting.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3852758698524678514.post-80590697414850687632009-07-01T12:35:00.002-04:002009-07-19T11:03:32.985-04:00Stars and Stripes ForeverWoman 7/1/09<br /><br />It’s a fairly common in NYC to spot genuine or faux genuine military clothing appropriated as fashionable attire. However this statement generally applies only to men, and it’s really rare to see a woman build her wardrobe around something from Army surplus.<br /><br />Military field jacket. Or what may also be referred to as a Battle Dress Uniform (BDU) Coat. This was the standard issue BDU Coat made of sturdy cotton and in a green and black camouflage print. The large jacket was too large for her small frame and drooped over her shoulders. The stripes on each arm were Sergeant’s stripes, but with the extra stripes on the bottom, they were definitely of a First or Staff Sergeant rank. What I couldn’t (and still can’t) figure out is if the stripes were current or from a certain era in military history.<br /><br />What I do know is that the star in the middle of the stripes indicated US Air Force. Of course, so did the patch on the left breast of the jacket. On the right side was the name patch – Benton. There were two other smaller patches, one under each name patch, but it was tough to make out the design from a distance.<br /><br />So, how does a woman complement her BDU coat?<br /><br />Well, underneath the jacket is a blue cotton crew neck tee. I’d say it was a Thomas the Tank Engine blue. She was also wearing a basic black knee-length skirt – a cotton poly blend by the looks of it.<br /><br />She also had on knee length argyle socks. Brown and grey argyle which were just visible above the top of her Wellingtons. Well, Chooka rainboots to be exact. The same Wellingtons that I had described in my earlier post. She was the owner of those much admired shoes.<br /><br />Her handbag was a medium sized, white canvas with a black tribal or ethnic print. But with these green-yellow bordered black racing stripes going around the bag from center front. The leather straps were black with gold hardware. And there was one front pocket with a zipper.<br /><br />She was reading a hardcover copy of “Wish I Could Be There “ by Allen Shawn.<br /><br />In one of the few instance when she looked up from her book, you could just make out the lip piercing. A silver stud centrally positioned under her lower lip.The Descriptionisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06736750401020104899noreply@blogger.com0