A Love Song to Laps Trinity

Guys, I know I claimed to be swearing off horoscopes, but remember how I stood up for those featured in L Magazine? Check this out:

"To hell with that, I actually think French can sound pretty good in a rock and roll song. The key, though, is that it be sung by a pouty redhead with a strong Parisian accent. The redhead in question may be either male or female, but must be thin and pretty and possessed of a febrile sexuality always on the edge of burning out. We don't talk enough, Gemini, about what we want from life."

So you guys wanna start a band?

My Luck is Balls, Yo.

I am too full of emotion to do anything. Does that ever happen to you? Though I know I should go to bed, I can't: I'm sort of buzzed right now on feelings. I don't mean emotion and feelings in the sens majuscule or the elongated vowels (feeeeelings, emoootions) sense. Strictly, I have many emotions right now. Sitting at 30th Avenue at 11.33--where I found myself after noticing only too late that the doors were closing on Broadway--hoping that the next inbound train will come as quickly as the one I'd just missed, I found myself not knowing what to feel, and inside just running through a litany of emotions. Wanting to scream because trains take fucking forever, wanting to cry because it's 11.45 and I just want to be home, wanting to hop onto the tracks and just run home, and wanting to laugh and laugh and laugh until I scream and cry and go crazy and run down the tracks because it is just my fucking too-pathetic-to-be-a-lie luck that as I'm walking down the street, I hear the inbound subway coming, and despite taking the steps three at a time and knocking old ladies out of the way, here I am twenty minutes later, still waiting.

So now I'm home. I've been home for 45 minutes, but I still have too much emotion swirling around to rela-- fuck it. I just thought of the title of this post, and that pretty much sums it up. I'm going to bed because it's too fucking cold to be up trying to wax poetic about shitty luck when you're shitty at waxing poetic to begin with.

Lambert OUT.

Get on This

Watch, Cry, Sign

The opening sentence pretty much says it all.

From nymag.com

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Female Bank of England Employees Must Wear Makeup and Heels

Well, this is appalling: Earlier this week, the Bank of England held "Dress for Success" day. On that day, they sent out a memo to female employees detailing just how they should dress for success, important now more than ever in These Economic Times, the worst financial crisis Britain's dealt with since the Depression. WWD obtained a copy of the memo:

“Look professional, not fashionable; be careful with perfume; always wear a heel of some sort — maximum 2 inches; always wear some sort of makeup — even if it’s just lipstick.” Shoes and skirt must be the same color. No-no’s include ankle chains — “professional, but not the one you want to be associated with;” white high heels; overstuffed handbags; an overload of rings, and double-pierced ears.

On behalf of all women at the BOE, excuse us? A woman can dress almost exactly opposite to these rules — in black flats, with gray trousers, no makeup, and a giant handbag — and still look professional and chic. We understand the need to enforce a dress code, but mandating heels of a certain color, makeup, and degree of handbag-filling is ridiculous. What about rules for the men? It wouldn't hurt BOE governor Mervyn King and deputy governor Sir John Gieve to wear ties that aren't so loud — set an example if you're so concerned about color-coordination, gentlemen. And while you're forcing women to wear two-inch heels, you should, too. Sarko does it, after all.

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This reminds me of a certain e-mail I got from Baffles once. We don't need anyone to tell us how to dress--we've been doing it all our lives, thank you!