Invitations...what?

After a few months pining over the designs, I had to figure out how these puppies were going to get printed. I finally settled on store-bought kits that fit perfectly for what I need. Now I have to figure out how to assemble these monsters.

People, it's ONLY the save-the-date!

AC - "Your uncle, who is also your sponsor, thinks he's the only one invited from his family because you addressed the invitation to him."

...silence...

GC - "We're partnering him with one of Joe's aunts. I only sent the save-the-date, not the invitation. It's for people 'save the date'."

AC - "Oh, well call him and clear it up."

GC - "No call is necessary. They'll receive invitations soon with all the info."

aarrrggghhhh...Thank goodness my older sponsors have children who know what's going on.

Bucket List

Here goes:
1. Bumbershoot Festival, Seattle/WA
2. Austin City Limits Festival, Austin/TX
3. Seychelles Islands, South of Africa
4. TED Conference
5. Meditation retreats, Sedona and Taos/New Mexico
6. Visit every island in the Philippines
7. Partake in a meal from the chef's menu at El Bulli, Calla Montjoi/Spain

Guest list misunderstandings

AC - "Don't porget to inbite your Auntie Rose."

GC - "Who's that?"

AC - "Don't you remember? She libs in Palmdale. She was the one when we went to BASCA. You know, you said she was a 'cool lady' and she called you apo apo."

GC - "No. If I can't remember her, I'm putting her on the B list."

AC - "Ay ta #*&$!" [dial tone]

I love talking about my wedding guest list with my parents. It's the highlight of my day, really. I play guessing games with my mom mostly. She'll list off several situations where I interacted with a distant family member and I still won't remember.

Please understand, this is no family reunion. That kind of party can happen on a different day, with a lesser budget - maybe one that everyone contributes to at the very beginning, maybe with the same amount of people, but with a very different set of people.

Ah weddings. They really, truly bring out the best in people.

On a lighter note, three cheers to flower girls as pretty as mine!

Wedding prep starters

I know people mean well but if I had a date confirmed, would I not have told the world already?

Not so fresh at Fresh and Easy

Dropped by the neighborhood Fresh and Easy tonight to grab a few things to make mango lassi. As I walked out, I was disturbed by not-so-usual symbols painted into the prime parking spaces near the store front: mommy with kids and "hybrid only" symbols. Since when did driving a hybrid garner prime parking spaces? If one is really concerned about "living green," it shouldn't matter where one parks since one's primary mode of transportation shouldn't involve using gas at all, right? Isn't it better to pick the first parking spot available once you enter the lot and just walk to the front door? What's the big deal?

Ella's Desafinado

A combination of two of my favorite sounds - Ella Fitzgerald singing and the bossa nova!

Yang Yuck!

I'm meeting with someone next week and I made the mistake of letting the person pick a place. This is the first time I've met her so I don't know her tastes. She suggested the most in-authentic place in Chinatown! I've looked at all the Yelp reviews for this spot and it seems most of them were written by Western tongues who really don't care for authentic food.

I'm torn. The last and only time I was there, the food was pretty bland or way too salty - nothing compared to dishes I've had at Asian joints in the San Gabriel Valley or Seattle's House of Hong. Should I lie about having a bad experience there and suggest another restaurant where I'll be happy? Technically, my last experience wasn't the greatest.

I was told that I shouldn't be so critical about something as small as this. I'm still trying to decide how small this really is. Besides, food suggestions really do say a lot about a person.

RESPONSE POST
I had the dinner meeting at the spot. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The company definitely made the experience more interesting. I liked two out of the three dishes. She picked all of the food which was fine since I wasn't in the mood for much of anything there.

The author and I shared stories of us growing up and finding our cultural/ethnic identity. Thank goodness for my family and how I grew up. I wouldn't trade my experience with anyone else's. Her stories were a nice slap of reality highlighting the variety of experiences immigrants undergo growing up in the United States.

Overall, everything was better than I expected. But then again, that's me...expect the worse, hope for the best.

Magic Balloon People

The one time I truly do wish I have a camera with me...

I decided to go to a cafe in Highland Park so I could concentrate on writing. Instead of finding a nice, contemplative spot, I find myself budging into a workshop where people are creating balloon animals, demonstrating magic tricks and telling stories with their balloon animals, complete with voices. They even have this contest where you're timed while creating a balloon Disney character. The A for effort and creativity goes to the chick who had no idea what to make so she created a brown house with a yellow balloon and she used a black marker to create Peanuts' Woodstock. Yeah!

Who needs tv?! It beats being entertained by the valley-nailtoting-overdone hairstyling-shop obsessed-suv/luxury car driving-super soccer moms. I LOVE living in the City!!

Countdown to the Move

I have less than two weeks before I'm relocated to a cubicle. Now that I'm thinking about it, I haven't worked in a cubicle since 2004. I'm cherishing the days that I can look out the window.

This was the view from when it rained last week. The mist was absolutely beautiful.

My powerbook's hard drive went kaboom. I keep reminding myself there are worse things in this world. It's a good thing I save a lot of things on email. The majority of my music is still on my ipod so that's not so bad either. There are worse things in this world.

Picking up the pieces

Today has been one of those days where you thought things were going to go right but didn't start off exactly as planned. I just want to go home, dig a hole and hide until Friday.

I can eat Japanese food every day of my life and be happy. I’m particularly obsessed with any dish that contains seaweed: seaweed salad, handrolls, cut rolls, seaweed snacks. I finally decided to find out the nutritional values of seaweed.


http://www.nutritiondata.com/facts-C00001-01c20ic.html


It’s not all peachy but the fact that’s it’s a good source of iron and calcium, I’m all for it! As with any other foods we eat, balance is key.

We are online! We are online! We are online! We are online! Man, it's great to be back!

As much as I'm all for technological advancements, sometimes technology doesn't make things more efficient. My organization just implemented a new virtual desktop set and it's killing me. It's taking me twice as much time to find the documents I want when I need them. I have to think more often about making sure my documents are backed up each night. AND I have to toggle back and forth from my local desktop to my virtual desktop becase our virtual desktop doesn't support any of my graphic programs or web editing software!!! AAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!

La Musica de Los Angeles

Every where you live, there are bound to be local bands and performers that create sounds that prompt nostalgic thoughts of your neighborhoods. For me, Los Lobos, Ozomatli, Jurassic 5, People Under the Stairs, Native Guns, Kim HIll are local acts that remind me of Los Angeles.

Growing up in my little corner of NorCal, I was first introduced to Los Lobos through the La Bamba soundtrack released way back in the day. I can't recall if the Lou Diamond Phillips' voice was dubbed over by Los Lobos' lead singer. The whole soundtrack was great. I loved when their acoustic guitars. They're mix of rock and Latino sounds always holds me captive and reminds me of the type of music I'd hear at parties in the 'hood. One of my favorite albums of their's is "Good Morning Aztlan." It's filled with acoustic folk tracks, my favorite! I blame my dad for making corrupting my ears with the Beatles and Everly Brothers' acoustic guitars as well as the philippines' haranas.

Ozomatli first came into my conscienceness during the late '90s. It was one of the first groups I had encountered that fused hip hop, Latino beats and all sorts of sounds from various ethnic traditions. Listening to them reminds me of my college years, hanging out with the homies in the PMC wing of Phelan Hall. One of the best concerts I'd been to was their performance at SF's Maritime Hall during my sophomore year at USF. A friend and I got pushed up to the stage to dance with the band. I also fondly remember trekking to Downtown LA's California Plaza with a friend to watch another Ozo concert during a warm summer evening. The band performed on the stage that is set apart from the crowd by a big pool of water. The audience got so into the music, a group of people began dancing in the pool - good thing it was close to the finale or else we would've really witnessed a riot.

LA represents a mix of so many different cultures, each with distinct qualities - no melting pot here. The region's native sounds embodies this mix. It's nice to be reminded of where you really are. Don't expect to hear bland music when you're here. People live so close and are forced to interact with each other so often, you can't help but to be influenced by all the different sounds.

It's a treat to have the time to read the NY Times each day. There's an article about fashion designers creating lines targeting men who have made recent fortunes from hedge funds in today's edition. Go figure! It's a great read.


Looking Like a Billion Bucks
June 28, 2007
Fashion Review, New York Times
By GUY TREBAY

MILAN

HEDGE funds, hedge funds, hedge funds,” Richard David Story, the editor of Departures, the magazine for American Express premium cardholders, said before the Ferragamo show on Sunday when asked to account for the current mood in men’s fashion and what looks like newly set markers for giddy excess.

To judge from all the $700 cotton poplin trousers (Bottega Veneta), $250 flip-flops (Hermès) and $20,000 satchels in matte tobacco crocodile (Tod’s) on offer, the fractional-jet-share crowd has coffers so deep that there’ll be plenty left over for chronographs or John Currin paintings.

Whether these customers are real or imagined, the idealized notion of them appeared to dominate many designers’ offerings for spring 2008, all pitched to a guy with both a high net worth and a 30-inch waist.

“Preppy deluxe” is how one editor characterized Tomas Maier’s solid collection of high-end slouch-wear for Bottega Veneta: glazed linen three-piece suits; rumpled jackets with zippered detachable sleeves; and soft bags in crocodile, ostrich and deerskin, which, the designer indicated, “reflect the careless elegance of the clothing.”

As in seasons past, Mr. Maier’s clothes were an elaboration of the insouciant formality that characterizes good Neapolitan tailoring. Still, they could also be mistaken for a billionaire’s version of the stuff from a J. Peterman catalog.

That some version of that Bottega Veneta man — lithe, young, carefree in his moneyed assurance — seemed to be everywhere said something about the generally buoyant economic mood in Milan.

His spirit was to be seen in Frida Giannini’s slick and well-orchestrated show for Gucci, which presented a tautened version of that same fellow and put him in graphic suits with madras cloth checks rendered in black and white, and trousers that sat just above the pubic bone and biker jackets with grommets and shoes with lethally pointed toes.

He appeared again in shiny trench coats, knife-slim suits and a muted palette at the Versace show, designed this season by the Russian-born Alexandre Plokhov, formerly of Cloak. He was spotted at Roberto Cavalli’s unexpectedly restrained show held in a cavernous disco near Linate Airport wearing not the leopard spots and junky rocker paraphernalia one expects from this designer, but instead the subdued suits and the slouchy suede driving shoes favored by the Maserati crowd.

Another avatar of the hedge-fund hottie turned out at Valentino’s brand-consistent presentation, notable as usual for natty Roman tailoring styled in a way that is often more than a little bit campy. Wasn’t that double-breasted white jacket nipped at the waist once a uniform of sorts among the high-end gigolos populating the piazzetta in Capri?

Mr. Bigbucks was here again at the Salvatore Ferragamo show, conjured this time wearing sharp-edged suits of white cotton (with accompanying gloves), handsome tweedlike cotton blazers or faintly feminine evening clothes (a kind of shiny hoodie) that suggested a time in the future when it will be the man who needs help with his zipper before leaving the house.

“It’s more cool now to be refined,” said Massimiliano Giornetti, the young Ferragamo designer. “It’s cool to wear a jacket again on the weekend and in the evening and in your spare time.”

It is particularly cool if you happen to be in Milan when, in a not-altogether-accountable spirit of optimism, the city cracks open the oaken doors to its fabled palaces and cloisters and turns them into party rooms.

On Saturday night a dinner was held for Nicolas Ghesquiere of Balenciaga beneath Tiepolo’s hallucinatory and superpopulated ceiling at the Palazzo Clerici. This was followed the next evening by a vast alfresco feast whose host was Franca Sozzani, the editor of Italian Vogue, honoring the painter Julian Schnabel, who is enjoying a retrospective here. The dinner drew from the worlds of fashion and politics and also from what is left of the local aristocracy, and was served at a series of long tables set inside the arcade of what at one time was a hospital for sufferers of the plague.

For his first men’s wear show in Milan, the Belgian designer Dries van Noten took over the Caryatid Room at the Palazzo Reale, illuminated it with 1,500 candles and served guests plates of pasta before offering them a moody selection of clothes shown on models who paraded like sleepwalkers through a low-lying bank of manufactured fog.

There were diaphanous raincoats of parachute silk and side-belted blouson shirts that vaguely recalled Russian Tea Room waiters. There were also boxing shorts and judo trousers, remade in matte satin and jewel colors that, however romantic they looked in the setting, would not be much help if our man found himself looking to get lucky or, for that matter, trying to flag down a taxi at 3 a.m.

If, on the other hand, he had it in mind to slip on an apricot-colored parachute-silk skimmer, hop into a time machine and set the dial for New Haven circa 1984, he might glide to a graceful landing at a Yale seminar where earnest brainy sorts were ardently discussing something quaint like the butch-femme dyad or the future of men.

Gender studies, of course, have gone the way of the dodo. Yet like that bygone creature they have an insistent way of insinuating themselves into our consciousness and our collective dreams. “The concept of duality so dear to psychoanalysis and art in general,” read a press handout at Versace. “This is the challenge facing the Versace man in the coming spring/summer 2008 season.”

You don’t say. Even before the Versace man got there, many of us were puzzling over what to make of the tension between masculine and feminine dualities in sartorial self-expression and also wondering why it is that, for a lot of designers, Peter Pan seems to be the ideal man. How, for example, do you rationalize the success of Thom Browne, who won a men’s wear award from the Council of Fashion Designers of America in 2006 and who was recently hired by Brooks Brothers to help revamp the brand?

You can’t argue with the influence Mr. Browne’s clothes have had on the industry, although he was surely not the first to make suits that suggested a Pee-wee Herman romp along Savile Row. At a garden party staged for a pictorial in the July/August issue of Departures, Euan Rellie, the husband of the fashion gadfly Lucy Sykes, is seen wearing a Thom Browne suit that has all of that designer’s trademark details: cropped jacket piped at the collar, lapel, hem and pocket; shirttails left hanging; bow tie.

A caption identifies Mr. Rellie as an investment banker, and one would certainly have to be making a bundle to afford a get-up that cost $6,170, not including underwear, socks and shoes. Yet far from embodying a model of fiscal authority or contemporary chic, Mr. Rellie comes across in the picture as the man hired by the caterers to make balloon animals.

With the notable exceptions of Dsquared and Armani, labels whose designers are unabashed in their appetite for manly types, a lot of shows this week cast models that looked as goofy as Mr. Rellie did and also far too young. This is probably as good a place as any to remark that, by returning to the clean tailoring, body-hugging lines and gimmick-free forms of his early career, Giorgio Armani produced his best show in a long time, one that had nothing to do with our general cultural infantilism, or what sometimes seems like a plot by the fashion cabal to get the Centrum Silver set to relinquish all hopes of growing old stylishly and to accept the inevitable orthotic inserts and elastic waists.

EASILY the most aesthetically charged shows of the week were at Prada and Jil Sander, both labels by designers of intellectual agility, technical know-how and aesthetic quirkiness. Raf Simons at Sander recently narrowed his already-slim silhouette to the point where his models look like calligraphic brush strokes.

His palette this season was cool and maritime: the pale greens of dunes covered in beach grass, the flat blank blue of a Low Country sky. Somehow, though, while declining to flout the visual vocabulary created by the label’s founding designer — often mischaracterized as minimalism — Mr. Simons has managed to articulate a visual idiom of his own. It is terse, direct and, as probably befits the son of a professional soldier, disciplined.

No sentimentalist, Miuccia Prada nevertheless remains a romantic, her work driven by her highly singular notion of social engagement in all kinds of media (art, architecture, music, clothes). It may seem like a far-fetched assertion to make about a designer who turns out a collection built around boiler suits, mad scientist lab coats, pajama sets in muted floral patterns, and skinny shirts over skinnier trousers in patterns that collide nearsighted geeks, but Ms. Prada has once again come up with her own alternative to the scrawny, unconvincing bad boys that have dominated men’s fashion since Hedi Slimane first saw Pete Doherty play. It is not exactly that she makes emo fashion. But that’s the general idea.

I'd like to think of myself as an optimistic person. I like to think the best of people - until they prove me wrong, that is. Tonight I was proven wrong and another person was right on the money the entire time. I hate assholes and it doesn't make me feel better that this person is going to be in my life whether I like it or not.

Wedding Season 2007

It's going to take a lot to top the wedding weekend we had this past May. Here are a few photos from that weekend.

Moving, moving, moving

To Eagle Rock we go. We finally found a place which is so much closer to LA and all the things we do every day. I only found out last week that Eagle Rock is known for the eagle image etched into a mountain of a rock in the area. Go figure.

On top of the Yolanda House Roommies' move, Manong, Vi and Aiden are now in Boston. As much as I'll miss them, I'm glad that I'll have some place to stay when I go to that area. I'm sure the summer months there are fabulous!

The Joe is getting ready for his move up to sunny Seattle. I know for sure that place is fabulous in the summer, evident from the high airline fees he had to pay to get up there this week. ha! At least he can take in the sights of naked Seattle-ites that come out when the sun shines for longer than 12 hours a day...as I'm told.

Here's to new adventures in new places with new neighbors! Cheers!