I’m wide awake at 6:00 for no useful reason

I might as well get up and get dressed so I can make things happen.

I can’t decide if I should be upset because that name totally appropriates my culture or because that plaid totally doesn’t

Wait, what?

This--THIS!--is what inspired me to go into fashion writing. The fearless metaphors! The nimble wordplay! The bold yet never vulgar turns of phrase! It's all here, preserved for the ages. Just like the creased, flared, no-natural-fibers-denim fashion tsunami it generated that splashes through our wardrobes to this day. Well, at least those of us who LIVE FOR FASHION.

Though I'm pretty sure embroidered, possibly ruffled shirts with lightly ballooned sleeves undermine all claims of being either a dude or a stud, but that's just a quibble.

Please note: Shoes are sold separately on page 442

Western Electric. 1974.

That top photo is giving me a panic attack.

Don’t scream words like UNIVERSAL, FITS ALL BRANDS and REPLACES ALL STYLES in huge bold type at the top of your damn packaging

and then all-but-literally whisper 2” in brown-on-fucking-gradient-brown-on-fucking-beige on the bottom corner under the fucking blister pack with no context that might alert me to the fact that 2” is FUCKING IMPORTANT PURCHASING INFORMATION TO KNOW and not expect me to yell FUCK at you on my blog after I’ve torn my toilet tank apart and gotten myself covered with toilet-tank slime and finally gotten your poorly labeled flapper installed and THEN discovered not only that it was the wrong size but even that there are multiple sizes you should have made me aware that I should consider so I wouldn’t have to make two trips to the hardware store when there is no earthly reason this repair project should warrant two trips to the hardware store, korky.

PS: Your company name is stupid. And fucking LEARN HOW ADULTS CAPITALIZE.

My Fair Lady > Elf > Full Monty > 9 to 5 > Follies

Yesterday marked the end of an eight-month marathon of rehearsals and performances for five overlapping shows. It’s been fun and exciting and challenging and exhausting, but now I’m more than ready to put my dance bag in the back of my closet and delete all the screen grabs of still-need-to-memorize lyrics from my phone and contemplate the joys of maybe actually watching a television show. Or seeing a movie. Or having more than 30 minutes to work out after work. Or maybe finally Swiffering my long-neglected bedroom floor.

Speaking of unmentionable bedroom filth, what the hell do you suppose was the creative spark behind this disconcerting advertisement ... or how the agency convinced Joan Crawford that fanning her skirt around would make a compelling sales pitch for Lysol?

Subtext, Joan. Subtext.

Today marks three months without Diet Coke for me! And there’s only one way to celebrate!

LIES! Nobody goes gay in cap sleeves

Every time I look on the mirror, I conduct this same cost-benefit analysis

This all sounds delightfully practical and wonderfully logical, except if it lasts a lifetime why does it have only a five-year guarantee?

Christmas gifts or Christmas jifts:

Battling autocorrect for the sake of a cheap pun while clearing the last of the unposted holiday memes from my phone