August 2007 Archives

8:55 a.m.
George Clooney is transmogrifying into Billy Joel:

And we all know where that leads . . .

9:08 a.m.
Bernanke Says Fed Will Do What's Needed

"It is not the responsibility of the Federal Reserve -- nor would it be appropriate -- to protect lenders and investors from the consequences of their financial decisions," Bernanke said. "But developments in financial markets can have broad economic effects felt by many outside the markets, and the Federal Reserve must take those effects into account when determining policy."

And while it may not be "the responsibility" of the Federal Reserve, it will probably end up being in "the self-interest" of the Federal Reserve to protect people from their own bad decisions -- you know, so the guys running everything don't lose the entire worth of their individual portfolios, or off-shore accounts, or family trusts, or . . .

I mean, why else do you think we have Senators standing up in Congress and screeching about monetary policy? It's not like they know anything about monetary policy, they just know their stocks and real-estate investments are losing value.

3:23 p.m.
Who cares about a subprime meltdown? Now get out of my way -- you're blocking the canvas logo bags!

PPR profit soars as luxury divisions drive growth

"French luxury-goods group PPR said Friday its profit more than doubled in the first half of 2007 thanks to a stronger performance from its Bottega Veneta and Yves Saint Laurent brands and the acquisition of a majority stake in sportswear group Puma . . . The group's biggest luxury brand, Gucci, saw profit rise 6.6% to 284 million euros . . . PPR is repositioning its Gucci brand towards the higher end of the market in Japan, and expects the move to bear fruit in the second half of the year, said Societe Generale analyst Nathalie Longuet in a note to clients. 'We can assume that the positive momentum in terms of earnings in the luxury goods division can continue,' Longuet said."

Even in times of financial turmoil, you still have to make a good first impression.

2:43 p.m.
If you're anything like me, you'll understand my obsession with finding the perfect computer/book bag. I want to lug my computer, several books, pens, magazines, keys, phone, extra paper, power cords, sunglasses, iPod, camera and more with me wherever I go, be it to the coffee shop around the corner or half way around the world. I've tried bag after bag, each one promising to fulfill my very baggy needs, only to have them fail, wear out and/or completely disappoint me in one way or another.

Then yesterday, I ran across the Saddleback Leather company website, and there it was -- like a bright, shining beacon of hope that must have floated down directly from heaven: the perfect bag!

"I will seduce you with my sturdy, practical charm."

A bag that's just as roomy and useful on the inside as it is tough and impervious on the outside.

"My beauty aint just skin deep."

I ordered one of their medium size briefcase bags in a dark coffee brown. If the real thing turns out to be anything like it's pictured and described, I think that my long and desperate search for the right bag, the best bag, the ultimate life toting bag, might just be over.

Here's a link to a video of one of their bags getting attacked by a crocodile and living to tell the tale.

6:04 p.m.
I just finished reading Husband's and Chadha's "The Cult of the Luxury Brand: Inside Asia's Love Affair with Luxury" -- absolutely fascinating summation of why brand name luxury groups are so successful throughout Asia, and how China is poised to rock the luxury consuming world in the next decade.

If you've ever wondered why those brand-name logo bags are so damn popular, it's because of Asia -- the breakdown of old social structures is increasingly replaced with luxury goods as the new status markers.

"It's not just a logo, it's my life!"

The authors relate stories of government officials in China bought off with Zegna suits and Rolex watches, how office ladies in South Korea will pay a month's salary for a pair of Ferragamo shoes, and of young Japanese shoppers clutching one another and weeping for joy that they are now the proud owners of genuine Hermes Birkin bags.

I highly recommend the book to anyone who has an interest in the shift of focus to Eastern economies and what that means for the future of the West.

10:36 a.m.
When I was growing up, I had an Aunt Nancy who was always at me about getting a haircut. "When are you going to get a haircut?" she would complain, often the first thing she would say when she saw me -- and while I generally considered her to be a harmless though mildly annoying member of the family cast (especially after she would have one drink too many at the annual Christmas-Eve family party and insist on kissing every male relative within arm's reach, even the underage ones; or, rather, especially the underage ones), it was fortunate for all involved that she didn't have the authority to demand that I get a haircut, or to tell me exactly how it needed to be cut.

I think I can now view the government of Iran as my Aunt Nancy run far, far amok. If power corrupts, then absolute religious authority makes people bonkers:

Iran closes barbers offering 'un-Islamic' cuts

"Iran has shut down barber shops offering unconventional Western hair styles amid a police crackdown on dress deemed un-Islamic . . . Tehran's barbers' union said in April that police had issued a directive forbidding its members from giving men offbeat hairstyles . . . Shoulder-length, spiky or heavily gelled styles for men have long angered Iran's religious conservatives."

But then, perhaps they have a point:

Agh! Spiky hair! Rock music! The world is coming to an end!

4:16 p.m.
Just ran across a video clip that details how one of my favorite watches is made -- the Corum Classical Vanitas:

I dragged Brian through nearly every watch shop in Las Vegas when we were last there, and I couldn't find the version I wanted of this watch anywhere -- it was either the wrong face pattern, or the right face pattern but the wrong color gold, or the right face pattern and color of gold but with diamonds all around the bezel (and I wasn't really looking for a sparkly diamond watch) . . .

Yes, life is hard.

8:36 p.m.
Astronomers discover that there are places in the Universe that are just like High School, only slightly bigger:

Astronomers puzzled by cosmic black hole

"Astronomers have stumbled upon a tremendous hole in the universe . . . . It is 1 billion light years across of nothing. That's an expanse of nearly 6 billion trillion miles of emptiness, a University of Minnesota team announced Thursday . . . Retired NASA astronomer Steve Maran said of the discovery: "This is incredibly important for something where there is nothing to it."

Kind of like finding a date for the Prom . . .

5:13 p.m.
I wasn't even aware that Arm Wrestling Machines existed:

Arm-wrestling machine pulled after breaking 3 players' arms

"Distributor Atlus Co. said yesterday it will remove all 150 "Arm Spirit" arm wrestling machines from Japanese arcades after three players broke their arms grappling with the machine's mechanized arm."

Japan . . . of course!

5:22 p.m.
Though you'd never know it from the way Wall Street is behaving lately, the mortgage and credit mess is still a nationwide issue, and now the threat of lawsuits has been added to the mix:

"It's a three-part business cycle now," said Don Lampe, a partner with the law firm Womble Carlyle, whose specialty is mortgage matters. "Boom, bust and recrimination. We're moving into the recrimination phase."

Recriminations involving lawsuits against mortgage brokers and loan officers for putting people into loans for which they should never have qualified, as well as potential lawsuits against real estate appraisers who over-inflated the value of property they appraised, leaving buyers holding onto homes that are worth much less than the loans they took out to pay for them.

Me? I'm watching with utter disbelief as the Fed bails out the financial institutions and the stock market. I mean, four major banks plugged into the Federal cash siphon just today -- as if the government has money to lend. Our government is as deeply in debt as the population, so all this "cash" supposedly being pumped into the system is just make-believe, really. There's nothing behind it but wishful thinking.

I feel like I'm witnessing a Las Vegas magic act, but on a much grander scale -- smoke, mirrors and lots of ooohs and aaaaahs from the media and Wall Street, but none of it is real. How long can this be sustained? And what will happen when the curtain is finally pulled aside to reveal the emptiness of it all?

Or have we reached the point in our global economy where the shell game IS the game? Because there's no way the United States government and financial institutions could pull such a wide-scale charade financial off without the full cooperation of the governments of the rest of the world's leading economies.

I suppose it's in everyone's best interest that the band keep playing, no matter how much water the ship takes on . . .

7:29 p.m.
The Victory Park development here in Dallas seems to be in a spot of trouble -- though you won't hear anyone associated with the project breathing a word. The other day, when I looked out the window of the Dallas W residence where we live, I noticed a field of smooth asphalt freshly laid where there was supposed to be a building with shops.

Alarmed, I typed my way to the Victory Park website, and saw that the map of the development had taken on a rather less than desirable twist: "parking lot", "parking lot" and "parking lot" were now designated where there had previously been towers, bistros and clothing boutiques.

Brian and I have both been commenting recently as to how slowly the construction of the Mandarin Hotel and Residences has been progressing. When we first moved in, the completion date was 2009 -- now it's been pushed back to 2010, and there are still no floor-plans or sales information available for the residential units.

I can't imagine being a lease-holder for one of the businesses that first opened in the development, thinking that I was going to be sitting on a gold-mine of potential foot traffic from the surrounding hotels, restaurants and shops, only to find myself surrounded, instead, by parking lots and delayed hotel openings.

I looked all over the web for any mention of troubles plaguing the Victory Park development, but it all seems to be on the QT. I suppose when you have as much clout as the Perot family does around here, negative news can be . . . delayed, much like hotel openings.

But don't forget to check out our nifty, daily Victory Park Cam page!

9:03 p.m.
Ouch!:

"To kick off the one-year countdown to the 2008 Beijing Olympics, China last week unleashed a dazzling spectacle of fireworks, musical performances, and other displays of grandeur. But then came a much-needed reality check, as protesters, "with less pomp but considerable courage," used the occasion to highlight China's dismal record on everything from human rights to environmental degradation. In Beijing, Reporters Without Borders demanded the release of 100 imprisoned journalists and online activists, rolling out a banner depicting the Olympic rings as handcuffs. At the Great Wall, six Westerners unfurled a banner with the Olympic motto, "One World, One Dream," to which they added a kicker, "Free Tibet." Rights groups spotlighted China's repression of the Falun Gong religious movement. In short, if China thought its coming-out party would make us forget everything else, it was, thankfully, quite mistaken."

I think the Chinese government may have overestimated the enthusiasm with which the world embraces a scoundrel.

6:01 p.m.
The BF's been shedding some poundage lately and his wardrobe is beginning to look less than flattering, so we headed out to find him some shirts that might actually fit his newly slenderized torso. Wanting to try for a more "One Stop" solution rather than jumping in and out of the car on a hot, muggy day, we hit the Dallas Galleria Mall for the first time.

You know those places that you've been to where you can tell that they once used to be the IT place but they're not so IT any longer -- where there's that little bit of shabbiness around the edges, the air has kind of a sweaty, used-car-lot odor and the people wandering about don't seem to fit the "You're hip cuz you're Here!" vibe that the place is (now desperately) attempting to push?

Well, that was the Galleria.

We walked into Saks Fifth Avenue, and the men's section (once we found it stuffed away in the top floor and off to the side of the home furnishings department, as if there were something shameful about men's clothing and accessories that needed to be hidden from casual view) was like a cross between a high-end fashion store and a corner flea market -- there were some nice Armani, J Lindeberg, Zegna and Juicy Couture selections (I actually found a terrific black Armani raincoat in which they had every size but mine . . . of course), but the circular common hall that connected all the rooms was virtually lined with racks of old suits emblazoned with "SALE 70% OFF!" signs.

Classy.

A little disheartened, we made our way to the first floor where the likes of Louis Vuitton, Versace, Cartier and Gucci resided. This floor was practically void of any walking traffic whatsoever. Abercrombie & Fitch one floor up was thumping away and pulling 'em in, but Versace? One forlorn customer poking about amongst the sunglasses. Louis Vuitton? We were the only ones in the place. Gucci? Lots of loud music, next to no customers and not much merchandise to speak of, either -- they had a better selection of Gucci wallets and belts in Saks Fifth Avenue than they had at Gucci. The same was true of Versace and Louis Vuitton -- loads of women's handbags, very little of anything else.

Needless to say, the staff at each one of these stores looked like they were all about to lose their minds from sheer boredom, and when we walked into a jeweler's that offered a wide array of high-end watches, we were so aggressively pounced upon by an overeager salesperson starved for a commission that we quickly beat a hasty retreat.

I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure the Galleria has seen much better days.

8:46 p.m.
There's a big crowd of people down in the American Airlines Center plaza taking in the latest outdoor Family Movie showing: Grease!

Is the resurgence of interest in musicals due to American Idol?

7:59 a.m.
I switched over to a newer version of Movable Type yesterday, so pardon what may have been an awkward transition. I'm still not certain if everything has been sorted out properly, and I think I lost the links to other blogs in the sidebar, but I'll eventually get myself dusted off and running.

It's a little odd, having grown accustomed to the former Movable Type system over the past several years, to suddenly begin using a new version. It's like moving from one house to another -- I'm looking for the blender and can't figure out which cupboard it's in. Much cursing is involved.

2:22 p.m.
World's costliest ham triggers pork envy

"Hard-core foodies are drooling over the prospect of something truly superlative from Spain, at least in price: a salt-cured ham costing about $2,100 per leg, or a cruel $160 per pound. It's a price believed to make it the most expensive ham in the world."

That's some pig!

You can preorder your Jamón Maldonado Reserva Alba Quercus 2006 today. C'mon, you know you wanna . . .

3:07 p.m.
I thought this article's headline was apropos considering what happened this morning when the Fed stepped in and cut interest rates, sending shorts scrambling and essentially propping up financial companies who've leveraged themselves to the hilt in their mad dash for easy cash.

Why does Wall Street always get bailed out?

"Wall Street loves to talk about letting financial markets weed out the weak. But when the Street itself gets in trouble, it sticks out its little tin cup, asking for help . . . People with crummy credit who took out mortgages are being allowed to fail in record numbers. The mortgage companies that made those loans are being allowed to fail . . . (but) the Street itself? It's bailout city. Even before the Fed made a symbolic half-point cut in the discount rate, other central banks from Switzerland to Singapore were trying to rescue the Street by injecting hundreds of billions of dollars into the financial markets and announcing they will put up more, if needed."

A free market economy for thee, an infusion of government cash for me . . .

3:17 p.m.
I'm sitting at the coffee shop Louise and I discovered yesterday. The name is Gachet Coffee Lounge -- beautiful stained concrete floors, modern white furniture, contemporary art on the walls. It should do well in this area, as its atmosphere mimics the vibe of the W Hotel just a few blocks down, not to mention the upcoming Mandarin Oriental Hotel and Philippe Starck condo projects.

The Mandarin Oriental project, however, hasn't yet put its residences up for sale, which I find a little disturbing. Usually, hotel condo projects have their residences planned out and for sale before the ground is even broken, but the actual building is rising up from the ground and there's been nary a peep from the development group regarding floor plans or sale prices.

Is the downturn in the national real estate market causing them to hold back in the hope that demand and median prices for luxury condos will either stabilize or increase? It must make them a little nervous that there are a good number of W Hotel residences still unoccupied since opening. They've all sold, but a lot of people bought them as investment opportunities rather than primary residences, and the Flip This Condo market is pretty soft for the moment. The one we're presently renting sat on the market for over a year before we came along . . .

3:51 p.m.
While John Galliano's Fall 2007 menswear presentation was more Battlefield Earth than anything remotely connected with, well, Earth:

"Scientology flop? Galliano menswear? Who can tell!"

It's a relief to note that his Fall 2007 womenswear show was a bit more grounded in reality, even if that reality was a loving homage to the romantic abandon (or the fantasy of romantic abandon captured in period art and literature) of 1920's Golden Age Paris:

7:55 p.m.
Watching CNBC today was like a thriller movie -- or Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, I can't quite decide.

"Sell! Buy! Sell! Buy!"

There was a point in the on-going analysis where one of the many financial talking heads described the panicked currency trading in progress as "a knife fight" -- things leveled out by the end of the day, but for most of the morning and early afternoon, it was messy and vastly entertaining (if your idea of entertainment is watching financial analysts sweat through their Brooks Brothers suits).

I made some money by buying into FXY first thing this morning. I'm pretty much assuming that the Yen will increase in value for at least the short-term, if not longer, as the Yen Carry Trade unwinds.

Went out shopping a little bit with Louise this afternoon, but it's just too damn hot. We called it a day after hitting the barest minimum of stores. I told Brian that we're leaving town next August . . . for the entire month! San Diego sounds nice about right now.

So does Antarctica.

Louise and I did, however, discover a new coffee shop that had opened up just a few blocks away from the W Residences. It's very Seattle like, down to the names of the drinks and the espresso flavored whip cream, and the coffee was excellent. The woman working behind the counter said that the owners are from Seattle where they used to run their own cafe (Lux Coffee Bar), and that they get their beans from a local Dallas roaster who learned his trade in, of course, Seattle.

So I now have a new place to visit when I want to get out of the house and yet still work on my computer -- which is, like, all the time. I didn't catch the name of the joint because they don't have a storefront sign yet. The barista said it should arrive within the next few weeks . . .

8:49 p.m.
We're standing at the windows, watching an intense lightning storm play itself out over the horizon. I think we've counted 10 electrical transformers that have been hit so far, glowing in vibrant greens and blues as they explode.

Hopefully, there's a cool front moving in that's causing all this weather commotion. This past week or more of 100+ degree days has taken its toll.

10:21 p.m.
Okay, I'm sitting here on my computer going over John Galliano's Fall 2007 menswear collection, and I'm bursting out laughing as I browse through the photos -- but it's not because I think his designs are foolish. Not at all! In fact, there's a good amount of sheer brilliance in the colors, washes, finishes, construction and concepts, and I'm literally drooling for overcoats, slouchy trousers and shimmering suits that I'll never see in a store anywhere near me.

No, the reason I'm laughing is because Galliano is a f***king spectacle whore who turns every show into pretty much a theater of the absurd. I mean, really, is this how you sell men's underwear in the 21st century?

But I LOVE the boots!

2:19 p.m.
Brian is currently observing an auction for domain names streaming on the Internet, so I'm hearing an auctioneer's chatter in the background as I read and write. Names like "Boys.com" and "Suspects.com" and "CarManufacturers.com" . . .

"DigitalCameras.com" was up for sale for $600,000.00! It didn't get a single bidder. I can't say I'm surprised.

Louise is arriving in town soon for a business meeting tomorrow, but we'll probably squeeze some shopping in before dinner tonight -- though it's over 100 degrees out, which makes walking from store to store laden with shopping bags a much less pleasurable experience than it ought to be.

The BF isn't much for shopping, so we'll probably head out without him. He and I have very different approaches to life: he wants a destination, and then wants to head there in a straight line without stopping to indulge in any distractions. It's what's made him as successful as he is, and what will continue to provide the foundation for future accomplishments.

Me? I like to wander with a vague, somewhat abstract goal in mind, such as: "Okay, I'm hungry, so let's look about for a restaurant that might potentially catch my interest" or "I need an addition for my wardrobe but I'm not certain exactly what, so I'll meander about from shop to shop" . . . it drives the BF absolutely bonkers.

The year I lived in NYC, I would spend entire days just walking around the city, getting a feel for the neighborhoods, enjoying the architecture or in search of some small boutique that was crying out for my attention. I tended to get lost once I hit Greenwich Village and the orderly grid of wide streets broke down into a winding, chaotic jumble of narrowing roads and alleys, but if it looked like I was in danger of not finding my own way back out again, I'd just flag down a taxi.

Those familiar yellow cars were often my salvation, even though they weren't always the most reliable of transportation. The last time I was in New York, the taxi I flagged down literally gave up the ghost blocks before our destination -- after heaving, chugging and clacking it's way through a good part of the city. The driver knew it was on its last legs and yet just pushed the vehicle until it collapsed off to the side of Fifth Avenue, engine steaming.

I didn't leave him much of a tip.

9:01 a.m.
So, yesterday, it wasn't that our air-conditioning was unable to keep up, it was that it had conked out altogether! And on the hottest day of the year, so far . . . of course.

It got to be around 4 p.m. and unable to bear the continuously rising temperature any longer, I fled the condo for the downstairs lounge, finding out once I hit the sweet, cool breezes of the lobby level that the air-conditioning was on the fritz for only three floors in the entire building -- one of them being ours.

It took a few more hours and then the problem was resolved, but how in the world did anyone survive here in the South when there wasn't such a brilliant modern invention as air conditioning? That's what I want to know.

7:19 p.m.
I spent most of the day reading "The Cult of the Luxury Brand" as my mind reels. The information in this book dovetails a bit with the Gucci book I'm reading, as there was a point in the 90's when the Japanese recession began and all the luxury brands took a huge hit to their profits, including Gucci. It was a time of panic and consternation among the design houses as they struggled to keep afloat while a huge chunk of their regular clientele pulled way back on the purchasing for a few years.

Reading this book also gives me a much better insight as to why most top design houses generally orient their lines to European and Asian body types rather than Americans. Asia and Europe together consume over 70% of the luxury goods produced annually, which leaves the U.S. consumer wielding only about 25% of the clout in the luxury market.

Time and time again, I've listened to American women express frustration about how difficult it is to find a designer dress that fits properly, and I've experienced my own frustration while trying on Prada, Armani, Versace, Yamamoto, etc. -- too skinny in the sleeves, too tight through the shoulders, not enough leg room in the thigh, shoes that pinched my toes. I was, like, "They obviously aren't making their clothing for me!"

And I was right. They're not making their clothes for me. Or their shoes. Or their bags. Or their belts, scarves, coats, luggage, gloves or hats. They're designing their product lines first and foremost for the Japanese and the Europeans. If some mongrel American is somehow able to squeeze into it as well -- that's just a happy accident.

"Look upon my skinny thighs and despair!"

I mean, really, I'd love to look like that in a suit -- Blue-Blooded and in the final throes of consumption -- but my ancestors were clearly German peasants who toiled in the fields, and they passed on the DNA that proves it.

That doesn't mean I don't want a kick-ass suit, though!

8:47 a.m.
Maybe it's just me, but I think perhaps a life-saving rescue is worth a little more. I'd be demanding a stint at a private boarding school in Switzerland.

Kid saves dad's life, kid wants PS3 in return

You can't shoot for the stars unless you aim higher, kid.

8:59
Okay, so I'm officially an idiot:

Update: iPhone surgery story a hoax

It was just too sweet not to believe . . .

11:51 a.m.
Something that has perplexed me for years is how designers will knock themselves out to make near exquisite collections for women, but when it comes to the men? Fuggedaboutit.

Case in point: Comme des Garcons' Spring 2008 collection

This is some kind of joke, right? Even if it is, I would assume that the corporate headquarters isn't feeling particularly amused.

While women's fashion is a global powerhouse to the tune of billions of dollars in profits, sales for men's high-design items lag behind, which may partly explain why so many designers throw their garbage down the catwalks during their menswear shows.

But this strikes me as more a Catch-22 situation -- menswear isn't as profitable, so designers pay less attention to it which only ensures that it remain much less profitable. It's a mistake that design houses are all too eager to make, but they're overlooking the potential for a growth industry that's right under their noses. Again, I'll use the example of DSquared2, a recent entry into the high-end fashion market that originally focused exclusively on apparel for men. Debuting in 1995, they've seen profits explode as men enthusiastically dig into a line of designer goods that caters to what men might actually wear rather than some abstract theory of color and structure that looks good on paper but is arguably ridiculous on the actual male body.

After the page jump are some side by side comparisons of DSquared2's Spring 2008 collection and Comme des Garcons' Spring 2008 collection (DSquared2 on the right, Comme des Garcons on the left) that I believe fully illustrate why DSquared2 is a growing commodity that generates retail excitement and ever increasing profits while Comme des Garcons pretty much spins its wheels as far as sales of its menswear is concerned.

9:08 a.m.
When genocide becomes just another celebrity photo op:

"Did you get my good angle? Can we try that again?"

9:53 a.m.
Here's a good discussion of what's happening in the market right now, along with the antics of Cramer and the Federal Reserve's unfortunate moves to subsidize (if only temporarily) the poor business decisions of Wall Street fund managers and investment bankers: Cramer Pleads for a Fed Rescue

Some of the comments are priceless.

10:43 a.m.
It's soaring past 100 degrees today and our window blinds have yet to arrive, so we're suffering from an onslaught of bright, hot sunlight through the banks of floor to ceiling windows.

The air conditioning simply can't keep up, and the condo is now filled with the sound of whirring fans as we attempt to move cool air from the rooms that have it to the rooms that most definitely don't.

5:37 p.m.
I think we'll see a lot more of this behavior as technology becomes increasingly attractive and personally useful: Man Surgically Alters Thumbs to Better Use iPhone

I can think of worse reasons to undergo elective surgery on the human body.

8:58 p.m.
My new motto: "I'd rather weep in a Rolls-Royce than be happy on a bicycle." -- Patrizia Reggiani

But then, Patrizia Reggiani was convicted of ordering the assassination of Maurizio Gucci, her former husband, so perhaps her utterances aren't the best to follow.

9:56 p.m.
We were watching "America's Got Talent" tonight (I know, I know -- but we can't help it! It's so entertaining for all the wrong reasons!) and the Martial Arts group Sideswipe came on. We both laughed -- not because they're a Martial Arts group, but because the Matthew Mullins guy is so obviously hanging on to sanity by his very last shred of rope.

I mean, what's with all the crying in front of the cameras? Is it an act, or is he really that emotionally raw on a daily basis? Scratch the surface and it's tears and huffing and "I was picked on as a kid!"

The BF said Mullins reminds him of one of those crazy, intense characters that Scott Thompson would play in his Kids in the Hall days:

Separated at birth?

2:39 p.m.
The last furniture we had remaining to be delivered is finally here, and now we're surrounded by boxes and packing material and chairs and end tables and floor lamps scattered every which way as we attempt to bring order to chaos.

It will, however, be nice to have somewhere to sit besides the one lone sofa staring off into a near empty living space . . .

And I'm itching to get started on the pasta, but I can't really get into it with delivery people wandering about and boxes piled in the way. Yes, I know, the deep deep woes of the leisure class.

I started off this morning making a quick profit on the tanking market, then the Federal Reserve stepped in, offered a bail-out (which turned into three bail-outs) and I emerged this afternoon slightly bruised and lightly battered by the experience of betting against powerful lobbies.

"Don't tug on Superman's cape, son!"

Needless to say, thanks to a government that no longer believes in a free market economy, I ended up playing a zero sum game when I could have walked away a winner amidst a sea of hosannahs. Much appreciated, Gov -- Luv Ya! Mean It!

10:17 p.m.
I think if I had actually set out, deliberately, to make the worst ravioli in the world, I couldn't have done as badly as I did tonight. If Mario Batali had seen what I'd done to his recipe, he'd have strangled me with his bare hands.

Absolutely everything that could have gone wrong, did. And absolutely everything that could have tasted horribly, did. I spent about six (or more!) hours slaving away on the damn dinner, only to have to toss out all the pasta I made, scrape the fillings from the ravioli and toss it together with some store bought linguini that I, thankfully, had hidden away in the cupboard.

Now I know why store bought pasta is such a big business. Making that sh*t by hand is hard!

My one consolation is that Brian is doing the dishes. He's really sweet in that respect -- no matter whether I fail hideously at what I try to make for dinner, he gamely rises to the challenge of the mess I leave behind . . . and believe you me, I am a mess!

Thank god for the great bottle of wine: Tin Star 2003 Napa Valley Red. Everything else paled in comparison.

8:29 a.m.
We've always had great luck with the Jura Capresso automatic espresso machines, and have come to rely on ours for great coffee at the touch of a single button -- a feat which can't be overpraised when it's 6:30 in the morning and I'm stumbling into the kitchen, my eyes so bleary I can hardly see.

We're on our third machine after numerous relocations and even more numerous years, and for our last move to Dallas, we decided to upgrade to the Impressa Z6 -- a zippy, hi-tech model in black and chrome. But, like any hi-tech upgrade, along with all the zippier bells and whistles comes a lot more opportunity for disaster, and where we've had years of uncomplaining service from lesser Jura Capresso models, after only 4-6 weeks of regular use the new Impressa Z6 is a torrent of creaks, groans and outright derelictions of duty.

There's nothing more sad than a grown man in the throes of caffeine withdrawal standing in front of his espresso machine, cursing and mashing buttons, as nothing happens but noise, noise and more groaning, complaining mechanical noise.

We're tossing out the Z6 and going back to the model we had before. We're sorry Capresso S9 -- you were sweet, loyal and true, and we never should have broken up with you in the first place!

2:43 p.m.
The House of Cards US Stock Market is teetering, wavering . . .

"Wall Street fell sharply again Thursday after a French bank said it was freezing three funds that invested in U.S. subprime mortgages because it was unable to properly value their assets . . . Losses swept through all 18 western European markets and curtailed a three-day recovery in which U.S. stocks had recovered almost half the $1.6 trillion wiped out in the previous three weeks. Speculation that more banks and brokerages will report declining values in credit investments exacerbated the selling."

2:56 p.m.
Narciso Rodriguez . . . even the name is beautiful.

"Devoted to the geometry of the female form."

I love the sleek, clean lines and edgy glamour of it all. Someone entering the room in a Rodriguez would mean business.

9:10 p.m.
It's next to impossible to find a pair of shoes that the BF likes, yet DSquared2, with their bold colors and eye-catching design elements, consistently fit the bill -- that is, if I can find DSquared2 shoes anywhere, much less in his size.

That's the problem with high-fashion items -- cool, but generally unavailable. Here's a clip of their Fall/Winter 07/08 show:

Despite the fact that the imagery is so hyper-masuline as to nearly stray into camp territory, it's nice to see a design house produce clothes for men that aren't softly feminized. For a textbook example of what I mean:

The Canadian duo of DSquared2 have witnessed an explosion in popularity of late that has propelled them into $100 million+ a year territory, and they're doing what any sensible design team would do with all that newfound cash: expanding!

9:49 p.m.
I'm going to bravely try my hand at making my own ravioli tomorrow. I've never made pasta of any kind before, so I'm quite certain it will turn out to be a disaster, but kitchen disasters are containable, don't leak radiation and they're instructive in that I rarely repeat the same mistake twice. Besides, I'll have opened a bottle of something Napa Valley Red or other while I'm doing the cooking, so any pain will be easily mitigated.

I picked up a recently published Italian cookbook today to be my guide through this perilous journey: The Silver Spoon -- "the Bible of authentic Italian cooking!" Apparently, The Silver Spoon has been a staple in Italian kitchens for over 50 years, and was only just translated into English a year or so ago.

Lucky me.

I decided to just jump right on in and try Chef Mario Batali's recipe for Beef Cheek Ravioli, though I believe I'll nix the chicken liver canape's addition to the dish this time around. Why drop additional straws on the poor camel's back?

God help us all!

9:39 a.m.
While I'm not a trade protectionist or economic isolationist (by any means), the increasingly obvious lack of manufacturing standards and controls in China is alarming.

I wonder at what point it becomes less efficient to import cheaper goods when these same cheaper goods are a.) toxic and/or b.) constructed with little regard for human safety.

10:07 a.m.
While the Fall 2007 releases haven't officially leapt from the starting line, there are a lot of pre-order opportunities and Trunk Shows making their appearances on all the major (and minor) wardrobe and accessories oriented websites.

The designers unveiled their Fall product lines back in February, but it's an entirely different thing to see models skulking about runways in knee-high boots with wool coats slung over skeletal shoulders and leather handbags dangling from emaciated arms than it is to witness the products on sale, up close and personal.

I think this bag by Pauric Sweeney ("Metallic Leather 'Shimmer' Bag") is one of my favorites for the season. It's entirely and thoroughly contemporary while also being delightfully retro-80's, and how it manages to do both at the same time, I'll never be able to explain.

Tough. Bold. It has a punk-rock attitude that borders on the militaristic, though punk-rock has always rather bordered on the militaristic with its chunky boots, industrial inspired jewelry and war-like ethos.

Speaking of which, there's been some attention paid to the militaristic elements that have found their way into design lines this season, and it's always interesting to me when socio-political themes march onto the runway.

There was a music video from Culture Club back in the late 80's ("The War Song") that referenced this exact same trend.

I found it highly suspect at the time that a pop-band would produce a glossy, high-fashion, promotional video allegedly decrying the glamorization of war for profit while using the exact same imagery to push a song onto the pop charts, but though the song itself is clunky and juvenile, the juxtaposition of military imagery with luxury design obviously resonated with me or I wouldn't be remembering it today.

I also remember that particular song and video being pretty much the death knell of Culture Club. Boy George pushed the wigs, clothes and make-up to the point where he resembled a run of the mill drag queen rather than an eccentric pop star import, and we already had Divine, thank you very much.

Way cooler than Boy George.

2:19 p.m.
I just got a new book in from Amazon -- The House of Gucci: A Sensational Story of Murder, Madness, Glamour and Greed . . . I can't wait!

5:07 p.m.
"The movies are so rarely great art, that if we cannot appreciate great trash, we have no reason to go." -- Pauline Kael

The above quote was brought to mind because I also received Roger Ebert's "Your Movie Sucks" book today, as well. When I was in my twenties and early thirties, I thought Roger Ebert was a terrible film critic who just didn't "get" good films. Now that I've grown up a little, I find that he's a terribly insightful film critic who genuinely likes good movies but doesn't put up with pretentious crap.

Unfortunately, when I was in my twenties and early thirties, I was all about pretentious crap because I thought it was deep, and that joining in solidarity with it meant that I was deep, too.

There are times when I'm not too happy about getting older, such as when my knees hurt and my back aches and my hearing deteriorates, but I absolutely love that, as each year passes by, I enjoy my daily mundane experiences more and more while leaving even further behind the need to prop up my ego with the pseudo-intellectual twaddle I so fully and formerly embraced.

8:36 p.m.
Conversation with the BF:

Me: "Where are we going to hang the art?"
BF: "Let's discuss it over a martini."
Me: "Oh, that sounds great."
BF: "Would you make the martinis, please? I'm busy making my dinner."

He was standing in front of the microwave where his dinner was turning around and around as the seconds counted down to zero.

Busy!

8:30 a.m.
I'm sitting at our much too tall table in the kitchen, drinking a necessary cup of Vivace coffee while awaiting the opening of the stock market.

It's actually exciting, what with so much energy and chaos in motion on Wall Street at this time. Analysts are pulling their hair out and attempting to read the tufted handfulls like tea leaves -- "Are we going higher? Lower? Recovering? Collapsing? I need answers! I have a CNBC gig in sixteen minutes!"

I've converted all my positions to cash and am sitting this hyper-volatile roller-coaster ride out, but it certainly is fun to watch.

12:03 p.m.
Leave it to the Japanese to develop a cookie whose fat goes straight to your boobs instead of your ass -- just two a day keeps the plastic surgeon at bay!

Is there anything they can't do better than us?

2:33 p.m.
I was doing my usual surfing around the net for the latest style and design trends when I ran across this pair of Emilio Pucci shoes:

Pucci produces shoe designs that are generally too fussy and delicate for me to get excited about in any aesthetic fashion, but this pair of pumps hits all the right notes and is spot-on as far as trends for Fall/Winter 2007/08 are concerned. Patent leather? Check. Gold metallic accents? Check. Strong, clean lines? Check. Classic style with a thoroughly modern twist? Check.

Sarah Mower, a contributing editor at Vogue and the author of a number of high profile fashion tomes, including Gucci by Gucci, 20 Years: Dolce & Gabbana and Oscar: The Style, Inspiration and Life of Oscar De La Renta, said this about the upcoming season's trends in a July 25th article for the Telegraph:

"The position I'm taking is "womanly". It's the one tag I can think of that best clarifies all the confusing, sometimes downright contradictory, trends that have come out of the collections . . . but if you stand back, the one thing that registers is the dramatic shift from girlish to grown-up. Since I've spent the entire summer railing against mini-smocks, shorts, leggings and tent-dresses, this is music to me. If last season was a bowdlerisation of the dolly-girl 1960s, the next one is more along the lines of the glamorous 1930s and 1940s."

The above shoes by Pucci epitomize Ms. Mower's summation of fall trends in all the right ways -- sinuous lines, a strong and womanly style, retro-classic appeal. I instantly thought of my classic yet thoroughly modern and womanly friend Louise, and I IM'd her with a link to the shoes. "OMG, those are STUNNING!" she nearly screamed (if the typed word can be said to scream), then leapt to the website and purchased them immediately.

Funny thing is, she's never been that much of a Pucci fan in the past. Sometimes it's scary when a designer nails it so perfectly.

9:44 p.m.
Speaking of Louise, she sent me photos of the latest additions to her fashion menagerie. I believe she went on her own personal Safari and bagged some big game!

There's something about a box that begs to be opened.

Just look at the smile on that face! That's genuine happiness, that's what that is. No wonder the fashion industry is a multi-billion dollar global machine.

Here's what she got:

I loves the sparklies!

Jimmy Choo and Anya Hindmarch. Patent Leather with metallic gold accents. Hmmm, I'm sensing a pattern here . . .

10:31 p.m.
We picked up some new sheets today for our Dux bed. One of the unfortunate results of our moving to Santa Monica was that our bed was too large and unyielding to fit into the condo building's old elevators -- and even if it had been able to fit into the elevators, it would never have made it through the narrow, twisty hallway that led to our bedroom.

We lived in a pretty great condo, no matter that the building itself left a lot to be desired. Mel Brooks had purchased four side by side units and had most of the walls knocked out so that they could make it one large living space with two full-size bedrooms, an office, an entertainment area, an open kitchen, etc. The materials were all top-notch -- gorgeous reclaimed hardwood floors, stainless steel, exposed cement walls, natural woods, wool carpeting, beautiful white tilework in the bathrooms . . . we were pretty stunned when we first went to take a look at the place and had no qualms when it came time to say, "Yes, we'll lease it!"

The one big drawback to the unit was that, since it was essentially four seperate units put together, there were walls that couldn't be taken out due to necessary plumbing and wiring, hence the weirdly narrow and twisty hallway that led to the bedrooms. We wound up having to purchase a brand new platform bed and have it cut into four pieces in order to make it fit through the hall. The Duxiana bed we'd bought right before we moved to Santa Monica was sent to storage where it sat until we relocated here to Dallas, but now we have it back and our brand new, super soft sheets and perfect Duxiana pillows are here and I think I'm going to pass out from an overload of creature-comfort heaven.

There are worse reasons for passing out . . .

7:34 a.m.
So we awoke this morning at 5 a.m. to the sounds of horrific banging as the CBS 'Early Show' crew labored to build a temporary concert stage in the American Airlines Center plaza -- which is just across the street from the condo.

Bang bang bang, clank clank clank (and no, it wasn't the trolley) . . . Jesus H. Christ -- there are people trying to get some sleep over here!

So now Kelly Rowland (or some other generic pop star of the day) is performing a couple of songs for a very small crowd consisting mainly of the workers who constructed the concert stage, plus a smattering of employees of the news station.

Look at all that empty space. The Today Show this is NOT.

Oh god, there's now some marching drum corp action going on and I haven't had NEARLY enough coffee to deal with all this ruckus.

I hate CBS and its damnable Early Show. In fact, I hate them even more now than I did when Brian bought us two tickets for one of the last flights to London on the Concorde, only to discover that the CBS Early Show was on board to stick their microphones in everyone's faces and ask "Isn't this exciting? Aren't you excited?"

Yes, I was excited, but no I wasn't thrilled to have to squeeze past camera crew and old, fat, balding guy with microphone every time I needed to walk down the already incredibly narrow center aisle just to gain access to the facilities. When old, fat, balding guy and camera crew trolled up our way for sound-bites, we held our newspapers up in front of our faces.

Do I sound cranky? Hell yeah, I'm cranky! If I had a garden hose right now, there'd be one very wet Early Show.

12:09 p.m.
MnDOT feared cracking in bridge but opted against making the repairs

"Fears about bridge safety fueled emotional debate within the agency, according to a construction industry source. But on the I-35W bridge, transportation officials opted against making the repairs . . . In the case of the I-35W bridge, MnDOT inspections convinced officials that the bridge wouldn't need to be replaced or overhauled until 2020, the governor said."

I predict HUGE lawsuits, and if Pawlenty ever had aspirations for a bigger career than Governor of Minnesota, I think he just kissed them goodbye. Whether or not the decisions for bridge repair rested with him, the collapse of the Minneapolis bridge will always be brought up in the context of his governorship -- that such a catastrophe happened on his watch.

Perhaps Pawlenty can redeem himself like Giuliani did after the 9/11 terrorist attacks in New York, but this appears to be an entirely different situation with heads of state departments signing off on postponing action as critical infrastructure deteriorated.

But hey, let's all vote ourselves a raise anyway . . .

12:38 p.m.
While down in the gym today, I started talking to another resident who lives in the South Tower of the building. "Did you see O.J. Simpson in here yesterday," she said, with a bit of a grimmace. "Yeah," I said, "and I don't know if it was just me, but it seemed kind of creepy." "It wasn't just you," she replied.

We then went on to talk about how weird it was that everyone in the room at the time, including ourselves, studiously avoided talking to Simpson. She said that when he first entered the exercise room, she looked up from huffing away on the treadmill and he gave her a little smile in greeting. She smiled back automatically, but then froze when she realized who she was smiling at and said that she could feel every thought in her head play across her face in rapid succession, but that she couldn't help herself, it just happened.

No wonder the man didn't stay long -- every time he caught someone's eye, he got a horrified shudder in return. She said that this is probably his prison -- he's not behind bars, but there aren't a lot of people willing to talk to him, and when individuals are forced into doing so (such as hotel desk people, restaurant staff, etc.) there's ever the "I'm talking to a potential murderer" look that most likely crosses their faces and the conversation ends as quickly as humanly possible.

1:44 p.m.
Our once a month order of Bouley Bakery cookies arrived today. We removed two chocolate chip specimens from one of the boxes, then took the rest downstairs for the staff as a way of saying, "thank you" for all the great work they do.

Really, the staff here at the W Hotel Residences are amazing. I've lived in several 24/7 staffed buildings, but have never before experienced the quality of service that we get here. For example, the Ocean Avenue residences where we lived in Santa Monica (I think it was called "Ocean Towers") was pretty much a bust as far as most of the staff was concerned -- surly attitudes, dirty hallways, packages that didn't get dropped off at our door until days after they were delivered (and that was when we didn't have to go down and ask where the packages were ourselves), language barriers with main desk staff, door people that shouted at taxi drivers dropping off passengers, night people that were pretty much asleep at the wheel.

It was crazy. There were, of course, exceptions to the rule, but it seemed like a continued downward spiral during the year we were there, with everything getting worse by the month until dealing with desk, door and office people became nearly a grind rather than a pleasure.

I had mixed feelings about leaving Santa Monica, but I'm thrilled that we moved out of the building we were in, especially now that we live in a place where the staff is, literally, awesome. They deserve Bouley Bakery cookies!

11:35 a.m.
One of the advantages of living directly above a hotel is that the faces in the lobby, lounge and gym are always changing. There are the other residents, of course, and after a while you learn to recognize one another, as we're the only constants in a picture that is otherwise constantly in flux -- but for an avid people-watcher, the situation in which I presently find myself is very nearly perfect.

Every once in a while, though, there arrives a face that is different and yet entirely familiar -- a famous basketball player here, a fashion model there, a sprinkling of rappers, television broadcasters, the rare Hollywood celebrity.

Today, in the hotel exercise room, I saw a man walk in and thought, "Is that . . . nah, it can't be" -- and I dismissed the idea from my head; that is, until he later crossed the room to where I was standing and we briefly exchanged glances. My stomach lurched just a little.

It was O.J. Simpson.

Now, there are famous people who attract attention, sometimes admiration or even a flurry of activity around them wherever they go. What made me doubt at first that this was really O.J. Simpson was the way in which everyone else in the exercise area completely ignored his presence. But then, when it was my turn to recognize who he was, I found myself doing the same and realized, after that first rush of nausea subsided, that it must totally suck to:

1.) be a man that allegedly murdered his ex-wife;

2.) get arrested for said alleged murder and then, after a media circus of a trial, allegedly get away with the alleged murder due to a combination of clever lawyering and bungling police work; and

3.) confront daily a general public that mostly believes he's guilty of the alleged murder and so, whereas they once used to lavish him with attention and affection, now avoids speaking to him or even acknowledging the uncomfortable fact that he's in the same room.

Mr. Simpson didn't stay long -- a half an hour at the most. A bit of listless stationary cycling, a few reps of free weights and he was gone. He's a bit heftier than I recall ever seeing him (at least in pictures or media clips), his face puffier and he was showing a bit of a paunch underneath his white t-shirt, as if he's lately been drinking more than is really good for him.

He recently claimed to be under a lot of stress, which is why he says he attempted to peddle the If I Did It memoir: money problems, raising the children by himself, but I don't think he gets much sympathy on both accounts, especially for the "raising the children by myself" complaint.

I mean, what with the mother allegedly murdered and all . . .

I think, as far as celebrity encounters go, this is one that I won't mention in front of polite company.

3:26 p.m.
I pre-ordered these for our assistant for her November birthday -- Christian Louboutin Emily Platform Shoe Boots. It's a surprise, so don't tell her . . . she loves Louboutin and will most likely faint dead away when she opens the box.

5:15 p.m.
We had some wine delivered this afternoon. We hooked up a bit ago with a site called Bounty Hunter, a website run by people who are positively rabid about wine (my favorite kind of people!). They search around the world sniffing out the best vintners and vintages they can find, then introduce them to their members and mailing list.

And god bless their little hearts for doing so.

Today we received our Killer Cab Club and Double Barrel Club selections. One bottle each of:
2004 Icaria Creek Alexander Valley Cabernet
2004 Caldwell Napa Valley Red
2001 Giacosa Falletto Barolo
2003 Fisher Cameron Napa Valley Cabernet
2003 J Davies Diamond Mountain Napa Valley Cabernet

So I'm making pizza tomorrow and we're having some wine! I'm now searching the net for recipes for a good pizza crust . . .

6:06 p.m.
Revenge of the jocks? Smart teens don't have sex (or have much less of it than their rutting, athletic peers).

It carries on past high school, too: "By the age of 19, 80% of US males and 75% of women have lost their virginity, and 87% of college students have had sex. But this number appears to be much lower at elite (i.e. more intelligent) colleges. According to the article, only 56% of Princeton undergraduates have had intercourse. At Harvard 59% of the undergraduates are non-virgins, and at MIT, only a slight majority, 51%, have had intercourse. Further, only 65% of MIT graduate students have had sex."

This explains a lot. Sometimes cliches are cliches because they're all too commonly true -- such as the Football Star getting the girl while the Brainiac mopes despondently in the chemistry lab, cooking up his revenge on a world that's so foolishly scorned him.

12:05 p.m.
Dipped my toe in the volatile stock market and tried day trading for the very first time. I immediately lost money and pulled out. I'm a risk-averse, long-term stock trader and the present market has me completely mystified. Like what your stock is doing? Hang around and it'll get worse in the next fifteen minutes -- or vice versa.

I've pulled out all my cash and am sitting this little roller-coaster ride out. I know there are a lot of people who plunge into markets like this one, rolling up their sleeves and betting the ticker-tape like it's Vegas instead of Wall Street. I aint that kind of guy.

I am, however, greatly enjoying all the talking heads on CNBC, desperately sputtering about "sub-prime" and "earnings" and "mortgages" and "hedge funds" and anything else they can grasp at that might sound intelligent enough to fool people into thinking they've got even the slightest bit of a clue about how to ride this market out.

I guess they have to say something to fill up all that 24/7 cable news chatter space.

The boyfriend, on the other hand, made a cool ten grand today by quick in-and-out trades. He has a keener eye and a steadier trigger-finger than I do.

12:20 p.m.
My sister just emailed me to tell me that my 82 year old mother sold her house in Warsaw, Indiana within three weeks of putting it on the market -- and she got her asking price!

I have to admit to being a bit surprised that the real estate market is that robust in the small-town Midwest. Listening to financial analysts drone on and on about the collapsing housing market and the sub-prime woes had me convinced that now was not the time to be selling a fixer-upper.

2:02 p.m.
Searching about for THE place to go on a vacation. The last time we traveled anywhere for strictly pleasure was Tokyo just before Christmas, 2006 (and even then, we were scouting out possible living conditions and business climates). Most of 2007 has so far been taken up with the occupation of searching for a place to live, then boxing everything up, relocating to Dallas from Santa Monica, then unpacking and rearranging our lives. We're still waiting for some furniture items to show up for the main living area, and we're working our way through some minor electrical issues that are pretty standard for any brand-new, never been lived in before space, but all in all, it was a pretty smooth relocation effort.

Trading the palm trees and ocean views of Santa Monica for urban Dallas didn't turn out to be as difficult as I had assumed.

I like Dallas, but I'm not a fan of the summer weather here. Every time I consider going outside for a change of pace, I quickly regret the decision and hustle back indoors. Just last night, I stepped out onto the balcony, drink in hand, and was met with a blast of hot, sodden air. I could feel the martini getting warmer in my hand by the second, which quickly put the kibosh on the idea of a pleasant drink outside.

There was even some movie night going on in the plaza below, where families gathered to enjoy 80's films on large outdoor screens -- I couldn't imagine why. I mean, yeah, they can get out of the house for free entertainment, but sweating in a cement plaza to the likes of E.T. didn't really sound that appealing.

But back to vacation planning: there are a lot of places on this little planet of ours that I've never visited, and I'd like to rectify that situation before I get so creaky in the joints that rumbling about on safari in South Africa becomes a topic for hilarity rather than serious consideration.

Since the dollar is doing so poorly against the Euro at the moment (and we don't see it improving much in the short term future), then somewhere like Prague or Zurich, while nice to think about, isn't really the best idea. Ditto for Paris. Hence, the South Africa mention.

Come visit! I haven't had a good meal in ages . . .

I ran across a place called Londolozi, which looks amazing and exactly how I'd want to spend my time on safari -- treating the wilderness like fabulous pre-dinner entertainment. Leopards, lions and elephants, then cocktails at six! And will you be having the venison loin or the wild boar in merlot sauce as your main course, sir?

A friend of mine also suggested Singita, another five-star safari destination for younger, trendier travelers. The Queen of England heads to Sabi Sabi, but the nouveau riche hit Londolozi or Singita.

Photos of an outing at Londolozi here, and some photos of Singita here.

3:04 p.m.
Pajiba is hosting a Secret Shames review, where Pajiba contributors admit to embarrassingly bad films that they love. A few of them are the usual "Yes, these were mainstream hits, but I'm a film snob and it's wounding to my own special sense of dignity that I liked what the unwashed masses liked" variety (The Rock, Home Alone, Sleeping With The Enemy -- I mean, really, why is it embarrassing to admit to liking a box office smash? Pretentious gits . . . ), but several are truly god-awful films that I would rather gouge my eyes out than ever see again (Hocus Pocus, Nothing But Trouble, First Knight).

I'm trying to think of a film that I like but would be embarrassed to publicly admit liking. The Pink Panther remake with Steve Martin? I was prepared to hate it, but genuinely adored the darn thing and laughed all the way through it -- though so did a lot of other people to the worldwide tune of nearly $170 million dollars at the box office.

However, the Quick and the Dead might be the perfect candidate. It was an utter financial failure, but I've watched it more times than I can count, and if I ever see it scheduled for a showing on cable, I'll more than happily plop myself down in front of the television for yet another go round. Sharon Stone as a trigger-happy, straight-shooting cowgirl with a kickass spaghetti-western wardrobe and vengeance on her mind is my idea of a grand time -- add Gene Hackman chewing up the scenery in his best Devil Incarnate mode, plus Leonardo DiCaprio as a barely post-pubescent lothario, Lance Henriksen in full-on black leather and Russell Crowe as a former gunslinger turned pacifist preacher-man who's tied up and beaten in the town square (but alas, not with the hotel telephone), and you've got all the makings of a candy-coated camp classic on your hands . . . and that's what true, unadulterated shame is all about.