Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Chambray Bow Tie

Are there two kinds of people in this world? Those who live in the realm of bow ties and those who don't. Dapper? Certainly, but could I be one of the flock?
Finding The Cordial Churchman in South Carolina may have helped to find my calling. This gray chambray piece in particular seemed to convince me.

For twenty-six bones I am willing experiment and pick up a matching pocket square with it.

Thursday, October 07, 2010

78rpm pressing: Rockin' Chair - Louis Armstrong and his All Stars, 1947

Singing Hoagy Carmichael's "Rocking Chair" with Jack Teagarden

Monday, September 13, 2010

Local Boys Make Good

Pleasant surprise to flip through the NY Times Sunday edition and see two SF fellas in there. Jay Carrol who apparently I know from the fantasticly American display for the Levi's flagship store here in town (which I think I have checked out about a dozen times now) and from his blog OneTripPass along with Mr. Mort from MisterMort.

It's funny, seeing the cool shit they dig in their posts and it just never clicked, to me at least, that this is what they do. Finding cool shit is what they do... for a fucking living. Gotta dig that.

"We cruise north on Highway 1, past artichoke fields and cliffs that dead-end into the vast Pacific. A little leather pouch hangs from the rearview mirror, stuffed with dried sprigs of lavender. Rubinstein plops a Gram Parsons CD case on his lap and begins rolling a joint. The fuel gauge says empty as we start heading up into the wooded mountains to an estate sale in Bonny Doon. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve run out of gas,” Carroll says, as if nothing could worry him less. The Beach Boys are harmonizing on the song “You’re Welcome,” the B-side of “Heroes and Villains,” as Rubinstein sticks his head out the window and lets out an ecstatic howl to the redwood trees crowding the road. So maybe this is where men’s fashion really starts, I think. They regale me with past adventures: the treehouses they’ve slept in, the junk shops, the chainsaw artists, the lady up in Cave Junction, Ore., who makes beautiful moccasins by hand in her double-wide."

Seriously? Driving around with your buddy, listening to Gram, getting stoned, and going to flea markets, if I had known I could have made a career out of that... well, god bless 'em. I am sure they have busted ass to get to be able to do this kind of thing but still...  If they threw in a climbing session on the way out I guess I'd be a just a little bit jealous.

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Friday, August 20, 2010


"Founded in 2010, the WhistlePig Farm Distillery operates under the watchful eyes of Master Distiller Dave Pickerell, who formerly spent 14 years as the Master Distiller at Maker's Mark, and its proprietor Raj Peter Bhakta. This bold, complex rye displays aromas of allspice, ginger, nutmeg, clove, orange peel, and anise which are complemented by notes of charred oak, caramel, and a hint of honey. Full-bodied and rich on the palate, sweet, warming notes of caramel and vanilla are followed by rye-spice and mint flavors, which blend seamlessly into butterscotch and dark chocolate on the crisp, creamy finish."

Monday, August 16, 2010


I should have known the limits of my desire for radical disruption when my mom attended and marched in the first big rally I organized. Students at the University at Buffalo marching against unfair tuition hikes. The best sign from that day "George Pataki Is Screwing Freshman Girls".

"There's a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious—makes you so sick at heart—that you can't take part. You can't even passively take part. And you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all."


Friday, July 30, 2010

Big Sur, California

I was 15 working for a nice family restaining their round house and some old pieces of furniture. I wasn't the best employee. Having discovered pot and secular music I was inclined to sit reading Jack Kerouac listening to tapes. Wearing my grandpa's red wings with a pair of green No Fear shorts, homemade tie dye, and an ever present flannel shirt I guess was the epitome of hippy grunge. Got the house stained, made some furniture look better, and saved up for my first car, a 1968 VW Beetle. I had an epic soundtrack.
Simon and Garfunkle - "Sounds of Silence", Violent Femmes- "Add It Up", Bob Marley- "Burnin'", Grateful Dead "77 Cornell Show", and Zep "IV".
Steven's Memorial Library wasn't stocked with a wide variety of outsider literature. After a couple of trips to Buffalo I was able to read On the Road, Dharma Bums, and Big Sur. Seeds were planted, damage was done.
I knew then I could not stay in my small upstate town. The music and books created a magical California myth in my chubby acne covered stoned head. I would listen to Goin to California over and over again. From that summer I started this weird odyssey that finally brought me to San Francisco then Big Sur. Big Sur was exactly what it was supposed to be. No regrets coyote.