In my haste to blabber on and on about the British...
I forgot
completely about the ever-imperative need to discuss Tommy Hilfiger's new show "The Cut." In case you missed it, you might want to know that not only is Tommy an uncharismatic tool mimicking a robot, he's also a hardass that was embarrassed by the output of his "future designers." Rightfully so, I might add. Where did they find these no-talent hacks? The one that was booted off was (shamefully) a personal shopper, which is all the more reason to throw this show in the crapper --> there isn't a pedigreed fashionista in the bunch, just a cat-eyed middle-aged man and some guy that bawls every time his wifebeater gets slightly askew. Not that I'm biased, or anything, you know. Not that I go to the best fashion school in the nation (which, you know - is actually stupid, since I hate the school and I'm consistently disappointed in its methods).
So I've noticed in these interim periods - Christmas/Winter break, summer break - I refind my love for the fashion. While Parsons tries to squeeze the love of anything out of its "patrons," I think sometimes its unsquashable. Remind me of this in 5 months when the bitching begins again.
Tonight looks like its shaping up to be something of a freebie, which is always good. I have a deep-seeded hankering for free fun and alcohol, not unlike those of you who also like to overimbibe. I was rereading some of my past posts in homage to myself - a retrospective on the Cobb - and I was rethinking my consistent beating-up. I have been badgering and guilt-ridding myself for a while now, and I kinda wonder -- why? Like, who cares, really, it's water (booze) under the bridge (crusty dorm room bed). Why be so mean to the Cobb? And on that note, I will sit back in my chair and wait for the next 2 1/2 hours to roll, roll, roll... on by.
2005-06-10 | 3:09 p.m.
