two-twenty

home is where the vodka is | alex

I'm baaack. It is entirely possible, indeed likely, that you never even missed me. I have spent the last ten days on a freakishly undeserved vacation, sailing about the BVIs with my impressionable younger sisters. I am happy to report that they returned home with no more tattoos than they already had when they left. I have it on good authority that they were already confirmed alcoholics before they were able to pronounce my full name correctly, so don't blame me.

What did I miss? Apparently not much, since US Weekly, which my sister had the decency to pick up in San Juan during our return trip (and kindly allowed me to peruse), declared both Ugg boots and trucker hats "hot". Ugh. I saw the date on that "magazine", and let's just say it included the numerals "2004".

I have had a few moments to look over what is quickly (and unfortunately) becoming my weekly muse: the Times Sunday Styles section. So much to comment on, so little time. To tide us over I will merely make reference to that wee item in "The City" section, entitled "The Art of Going Too Far": Page Six's Ian Spiegelman does not speak. He quotes, and the music at his parties may "suggest" "capers", but, lo, he is wise, and to the press he does not speak. At least not to David Carr of the Gray Lady.

Urban Studies: The Art of Going Too Far | NY Times