I may or may not have mentioned my borderline unhealthy fixation with Rick James.  Consider yourself informed. 

Yesterday, I went on a brief Twitter rant that glossed over the need for editors and accountability for online magazines.  Why, you ask?  Because earlier that day, I received an email newsletter from one online magazine in particular that stated the following:

Even without a legendary father, Rick James, Leela James holds her own.

*PUMPS THE BREAKS*

I realize now that this is probably more poor sentence structure than an egregious misstatement of fact, but someone should have a) clarified that Leela James is no kin to the late, great Sir Rick of Sparkles (also known as my Ambrose-ia) or b) completely rewritten that sentence so that the familial relationship wasn’t insinuated. 

What’s funny is I don’t think I would have paid any attention to the oversight had Rick James not been mentioned.  I ain’t ’shamed.  I’m a stan!  I’ve openly admitted several times that had I been alive and/or grown enough at the time, I would have groupied-it-up after a show.   At least twice.  Yup.  I said it. 

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MUSICAL.GENIUS.

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Recently I found, and briefly considered purchasing, a concert jumpsuit of his:

The description:

Startifacts presents the authentic turquoise jumpsuit allotted with several hundred flashy rhinestones and studs along with gold piping accents.  The jumpsuit does show heavy wear, mostly around the sleeves.

The jumpsuit comes with two very elaborate knee-high, high heeled boots.  Rick James wore one pair of leather boots and the other matching pair of boots was worn by another band member.

The Rick James jumpsuit and boots comes complete with a LOA, a lifetime money back guarantee, and Startifacts notarized certificate of authenticity which guarantees the items full and undeniable authenticity.

You read that right.  “…jumpsuit allotted with several hundred flashy rhinestones and studs…,” “…gold piping accents…,” “…lifetime money back guarantee….”  I LOVE that this comes with a lifetime money back guarantee.  Not that I’d ever be dissatisfied with a purchase of memorabilia stained with the wrist and neck (and possibly ball) sweat of THE Rick James, but having that kind of protection is nice.  I’ll bet it smells like the champagne room at a strip club…

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This has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but since the champagne room was mentioned, I thought I’d take it back to 1999…NSFW 

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Ok, I wasn’t really thinking about buying the jumpsuit, but if I had a museum of historical sequined artifacts, this would be #1 on the “To Be Curated” list.  Now, without trying to gauge whether or not I’m being serious in this post, tell me: 

What else should be on the “To Be Curated” list?     

I’ve watched this video about 17 times and STILL cannot tell what this lamb’s name is…

I think I have a thing with wanting to own pets that aren’t really supposed to be pets.  I’ll go ahead and add a little lamb to the list that already includes a Royal Dandy mini-pig, a Tibetan fox, a stoat, a llama and three otters…they’re cuter in groups.

I blame the Planet Earth series, the Life series, the Discovery Channel, and not fulfilling my childhood dream of becoming a zoologist (which is cool because I can’t deal with shit…I just can’t).

You know what I love?

When you see something that you want in the prohibitively expensive, “there’s no way in hell I’m paying THAT much for a ___” category and then finding a suitable equivalent in a thrift shop.  I am convinced that you can duchamp almost anything.

IRO Silk Shirt Dress available at Acrimony

Umm…no.

duchamped blazer and shirt
ksubi jeans
emporio armani mary janes
Talonalia necklace
MAC Pink Poodle Lipglass

OH YES!!!

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You know what else I love?

This.  I love this.  I’m taking more and more time to learn how to construct clothing and outgrew my beloved first sewing machine (if anyone is interested, I’m selling it for $65 – email me!).  Replacing it is this lovely Kenmore 16231 with two knobs and 90 stitch functions.  For me, knobs are just as important as the number of stitch functions.  Shwexy.

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Something else I love?

The Magpie necklace in silver.  Not silver plate, SILVER…like, that 925 stamped ish you get at Tiffany.  Mmm-hmm.  Sexy, isn’t it?  It is.  Trust me.  For those interested, they will be $100 and made to order.  If not, you can still get the brass version at Talonalia.

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Another thing I love?

Eating.  I got a chance to meet up with the gorgeous and talented Sui of RVXN for lunch at Native Foods, a vegan place in Westwood.  I am not a vegan.  Naturally, I was afraid of what was going to end up in front of me, but this was seriously some of the best food I’ve eaten.

Later, dudeguy and I took mom and lil’ sis to the Cat & Fiddle for English fare on Mother’s Day.  Two words: Cornish Pasty.  More words: chips and malt vinegar with gravy.

*food coma*

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You want to know one last thing I love?

WINDOWS 7.  This shit is THE SEX.  Really.

SPOILER ALERT: I got a new pair of jeans.  If you’d like to hear the backstory and/or take a look at my irrational anger issues, keep reading.

Last Sunday, in a fit of “I need to get this shit out of here,” I had another closet clear out.  I wasn’t keen on donating everything or listing things on etsy, so I checked around for stores that bought clothing.  Buffalo Exchanges in LA are too damn picky and I have way more vintage than trendy, so I packed up three Trader Joe’s bags and headed to Squaresville, one of my favorite vintage browsing spots in Los Feliz.

Lesson #1: Always call a store prior to trying to hock your wares, especially if that store doesn’t have a website.  Squaresville only buys Tuesday through Saturday from 12 to 5.

After the mini-fit of rage I experienced (it was hot, I had on heels, the chick up front told me there was no buying even though the buyer was in the back of the store where he usually is when he’s buying, and (AND) I discovered that the shirt I had on was completely moth eaten), dudeguy suggested we go to Goodwill.  I obliged thinking that browsing through the racks would cure what ailed me.  I dropped off one of the bags because I was tired of looking at it, walked the aisles a bit and bought some silk trousers…because summer’s coming…or something like that.

Lesson #2: Sometimes, buying shit won’t make you feel better.  Retail therapy is not the gold standard when it comes to spirit lifting.

When we left, Dudeguy told me he had to go to the store.  Still stewing in my pisstivity at the oppression of the policies and placement of salespeople at Squaresville and my lazy ass cats not killing the moths that are clearly infesting our house (ok, I’m probably exaggerating here), I went along for the ride.  I’m glad I did because I remembered that there is a Crossroads next to the Trader Joe’s in Silverlake.  AHA!    I knew they wouldn’t be interested in most of the clothing I had, but I knew they would take the shoes.   Those were current; they would have to take the shoes!  REDEMPTION was at hand!

I went in, plopped down two bags and hoped that my shit was deemed good enough for resale.  SUCCESS!  I was relieved of two pairs of shoes, those AA cloud leggings that I only wore to take a picture for the blog the day I bought them, and two belts.  In return, I got a voucher for 50% of the clothing’s sale price to use in the store.

Lesson #3:  If you’re selling clothes at a resale shop, OPT FOR STORE CREDIT and then look around the store.  If you don’t find anything, get the cash.  This is that whole “leave your options open” thing that everyone talks about.

I went searching through the racks.  I didn’t see anything I liked, which wasn’t surprising, but I didn’t want to lose out on store credit.  Dudeguy walked in with a bag and said it was time to leave.

FUCK.

What do I get!?!?!

Thankfully, I remembered that I was in the market for a pair of black skinnies.  The F21 pair is starting to show its sub-par construction (read: the seams are popping like Lil’ Mama’s lip gloss) and I wanted to move up to a better brand.  Besides, I feel strangely when labeling my photos with products made by one of the companies whose labor policies I don’t quite agree with. 

Lesson 4: Premium denim is almost always worth the money.  Better materials are used, construction is much better, they last longer, and they wear better than their cheaper counterparts. 

Crossroads is usually good about stocking the good ish, so I ran over to the denim racks.  In about 20 seconds, I found a pair of Ksubis.  They were $25.  Game over.  I took them, my $9 in “change” from the leftover credit, and the remaning bags home feeling like I’d won the lottery.  The new jeans lottery.  Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

I’ll be honest.  These are the greatest pair of jeans that I currently own.  I say currently because the pair that previously held that title decided that they weren’t going to grow along with my thighs.  Rude.

thrifted shirt
UO cardigan
flea market belt
Ksubi jeans
Report Signature shoes

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Squaresville…I’ll be seeing you on Saturday…

*cracks knuckles*

I know this won’t be a popular post with the fashion blog set, but given the recent tragedy in West Virginia, I thought it necessary to point out the plight of one of the most neglected and ignored groups of Americans: Appalachian mine workers.

Harlan County, USA is a Barbara Kopple documentary made in 1976 and tells the story of the Brookside Mine / Eastover Mining Co. strike in Kentucky.  It lasted 13 months.  Mine workers and their families banded together against violence, intimidation, politics, coal operators, and politicians in the pockets of coal operators to assert their rights to form a union, to be paid fair wages, and to ensure safe working conditions.  I’m asking that if you’re still reading this post and decide to watch the movie, that you put aside your possible prejudice against the thick accents you hear and listen.  Listen to the stories of these miners and their wives, the people who value the lives of mules over men, the scabs, and the miners’ advocates who are in the trenches and standing with them on the picket lines.  Listen to the songs.  They are soul stirring and deeply moving, steeped in pain, loss, and unyielding struggle.

Working people, get your help from your own kind.  Your welfare ain’t on that rich man’s mind…

This is America, people.  These are Americans.  What sickens me the most, outside of the country’s complete neglect for and constant mockery of Appalachians as a whole,  is that the very same things these men and women were fighting and DYING for in the 1970’s and 1930’s are still not guaranteed or granted to many mine workers today.  I read this article this morning and was completely heartbroken and disgusted.   This article just pissed me off.

“They’re not doing this because they’re too stupid to do anything else.  They’re skilled and educated people — not just a bunch of hicks.” – Benny Crum, retired West Virginia miner

Profits over people seems to be the rule these days…and that doesn’t just apply to the miners.  I’m pretty sure that this mode of thinking is responsible for about 85% of what’s fucked up in the world today.  See my posts here and here, the recession, and anyone who makes over $100,000 a year complaining about government-run healthcare.

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*high-five* to anyone who stuck this out.  I owe you a taco or two.

UPDATE: an extra taco to Pennerad who brought the song “16 Tons” to the comment box:

Some people say a man is made outta mud
A poor man’s made outta muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that’s a-weak and a back that’s strong

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don’t you call me ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store

You load sixteen tons, what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don’t you call me ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store

It’s new.  It’s leathery.  It’s only the beginning.

GET IT IN.

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In other news, on Wednesday night I had a dream that I was in a Nintendo store watching a vogue competition between Benny Ninja and fLocke from Lost.  There were blue lights going diagonally across the room, and all I could hear was “POSE! POSE! POSE!” as faces would appear over them.  The competition was INTENSE; I don’t remember there being a clear winner.

My only wish as I write this is that I could somehow recreate that scene for you all to see.  This blurb is doing it NO justice.  The closest I can get for now is this clip of Benny doing his thang-thang in 2007:

Now imagine that, with more people and this dude:

Ok, ok…now add NES, SNES and DS consoles on the walls, diagonal blue lights, a couple of strobes, and me wearing an expression that combines awe, confusion, and wonderment.

These are the things that go on in my mind, people.  These are the things that go on in my mind.

Babooshka cardigan, F21 shirt from Ev’Yan, F21 jeans, DRKGMTRY Helter Skelter necklace

Sometimes, I wish I had a studio and a model.  Photographing stuff would be SO much easier.  For now, I leave you with a brief preview of the new-new.

This particular necklace is named for the Beatles song that was playing in the background while I was finishing up the mechanics of the design.

Helter Skelter mashed up with 2001: A Space Odyssey

It’s a matter of synchronicity that the Charles Manson docudrama showed on the History Channel the next day.  I’ve always been drawn to his story.  Something about the Beatles spurring him to start a cataclysmic race riot by murdering middle-class whites with the help of 20-year-olds hopped up on speed is entrancing.  Given the events of the day, I’m often left wondering if Roman Polanski would have been a different person had his wife not been one of the Manson Family’s victims.  That crime scene was truly HORRIFYING.

Morbid LA peeps: there are a bunch of people that go to El Coyote every August 8th and perform a Last Supper ritual.  If you can get a table that night, you’re bound to see some wild and possibly disturbing stuff.

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Yeah…this hasn’t been a fashion blog for a long, long time…LOL

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the most well-versed in the business of fashion…that’s what 39th and Broadway’s blog is for.  However, I am not so naive to believe that world is nothing but pretty clothes, inspired designers, and brilliant photographers.

Photo via Hong Kong Hustle

Thanks to Natalie of Fashion Intel, I’ve been following Jezebel’s coverage…or expose…on popular fashion photographer Terry Richardson and am just short of feeling like I need to shower.  Reading the stories of the models he’s allegedly taken complete advantage of while the head honchos of the industry (I’m glaring at YOU Wintour, Roitfeld, and those fast fashion giants I love to hate) turn their eyes aside is both gut and heart wrenching.

Jamie Peck, a self-professed non-model who likes to take “the occasional cheesecake photo” recounts a nude photo session with Richardson:

I told him I had my period so I wanted to keep my underwear on, and he asked me to take my tampon out for him to play with. “I love tampons!” he said, in that psychotically upbeat way that temporarily convinces so many girls that what’s fun for Uncle Terry is fun for them.  I politely declined his offer to make tea out of my bloody cunt plug. It was then that he decided to just get naked.

That isn’t even the end of the story.  In fact, it gets worse.  I’ll let you read the articles and come to your own conclusions.

From Jezebel:

• Meet Terry Richardson, The World’s Most Fucked Up Fashion Photographer
• Exclusive: More Models Come Forward with Allegations Against Fashion Photographer

There are also some entries on The Cut, the fashion blog arm of New York Magazine:

• ‘Everyone in Fashion Knows Terry Richardson Messes Around With the Girls He Photographs’
• More of Terry Richardson’s Former Subjects Come Forward With Disturbing Allegations (basically a summary of the Jezebel article)

UPDATED: Being a proponent of dissenting opinions and playing devil’s advocate, I want to remind everyone that there are many sides to a story and the issue at hand.  Brooke, gorgeous model blogger formerly of The Glamourous Eccentric (which I am wishing for her to resurrect), tweeted the following:

i’m all caught up on this terry richardson story.i know this is not the popular thing to say, but the way he is being attacked is unfair.

1.these girls were not helpless 2.we have a judicial system for sexual predators not an internet witch hunt. thats all i will say.

hate me im sorry but people need to question themselves before tearing him apart

his photographs are EXPLOITIVE by nature & thats why people loved him. now they want to turn around and say how disturbing and twisted he is.

just to be clear im not claiming he’s a saint but all the people calling for his work to be banned at Vogue Bazaar etc need some perspective

There is definitely no hate being dished from my direction.  This point was brought up in the comment section of the Jezebel article as well.  Although some of the girls making accusations were underage or in their late teens, it stands to reason that if a person of sound mind and body agrees to do something that they aren’t comfortable with, they are deserving of some responsibility for the action.  It is also odd to cry foul when a photographer known for less than savory photos is attacked for providing a less than savory environment to work in.

Photo via Terry Richardson.com (very telling, I might add…)

I’d love to hear what you all think of this.

Discuss…

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ADDENDUM: Looking at that picture above reminded me of one of my favorite Jon LaJoie videos.  I’m sure I’ve posted or mentioned this before, but it’s worth another run.

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Ok, NOW discuss…

And remember…I don’t do that disrespectful shit in my comment section.  We’re all grown here or we can at least pretend to be.

I needed a break.  I really did.  The compulsive email & Twitter checking along with monitoring the etsy store like a hawk with OCD and nothing else better to do were driving me crazy.  How I even got to the point where I was manually refreshing three different windows in 30 second, 5 minute and 15 minute intervals is beyond me.

Yeah, it was a problem…folks wonder why I don’t have a Blackberry.  Can you imagine?!?!

For the last week, I gave myself no more than an hour and a half each day for what is usually 7+ hours of bullshit browsing, blog-reading, and all the other stuff I delude myself into believing is necessary and important.  Amazingly, my head didn’t explode and my urge to constantly be connected has waned.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY.

Sooooooooooo, how have you been?

Me?  I’ve gone about 80% vegetarian, have vowed to only shop at local farmers markets, and am never eating at a fast food restaurant again.  Blame Food, Inc. Better yet, buy/rent Food, Inc and join me.

I try to keep my political views separate from this lil blog o’ mine, so I’ll keep my thoughts short and sweet.  The Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell project by Los Angeles photographer Jeff Sheng found the direct route to my heartstrings and yanked them.  Hard. 

Don’t ask, don’t tell (DADT) is the common term for the policy stopping openly gay, lesbian, and bisexual individuals from serving in the United States military, as mandated by federal law Pub.L. 103-160 (10 U.S.C. § 654). Unless one of the exceptions from 10 U.S.C. § 654(b) applies, the policy prohibits anyone who “demonstrate(s) a propensity or intent to engage in homosexual acts” from serving in the armed forces of the United States, because “it would create an unacceptable risk to the high standards of morale, good order and discipline, and unit cohesion that are the essence of military capability.”  (via Wiki)

Each picture is titled with a name and place of significance to each person.  Each subject, in full uniform, is photographed with his or her face obscured. 

How that must feel…to have to conceal who you are while voluntarily putting your life on the line to defend a country where your rights are not fully respected. 

It boggles.my.mind.

Photos are from Volume 1, available for purchase here.  Volume 2 is in progress. 

photos via The Los Angeles Times / Thanks to Linda for the heads up.

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REMINDER: I have no problem with dissenting opinions.  I have a MAJOR problem with people being assholes in my comment section.  Please be respectful.  Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanks!