YEEEE-HAWW (inshallah)!

An open letter to the Persian Cowboy I encountered today:

Dear Mr. Persian Cowboy man,

I was sitting at the Amir restaurant on Boulevard l'Acadie, minding my own business and enjoying the tart, mealy goodness of an expertly wrapped shish-taouk sandwich.

But then you moseyed on in and, if for only a split second, you transformed the buzzing Lebanese eatery into the OK Corral. It started from the ground up: your pointy Italian shoes, up to your spray-on black jeans, then a button-down black shirt which, ironically, was not buttoned down at all. No, sir, you had left 3 of those buttons open, so we all might dare to feast on the visual splendor of your "Mediterranean Sweater". Finally, the luxuriant tufts of your Jeri curl were, sadly, overshadowed by your enormous black stetson. How you thought this could be a good fashion choice, we will never know.

Best of all, you were trying to rock this look in the Jewish/Lebanese/Italian garment district of a French-Canadian city. Was that a rolling tumbleweed I spied behind you? No, my mistake, it was just an errant falafel ball that had fallen off someone's plate. Indeed, you were a stranger in a strange land, a man of obvious Middle-Eastern descent, dressed up like a child's interpretation of a mean cowboy, about to order food (you looked hungry, if slightly effeminate, so I bet you went for the shrimp skewers on rice) at a Falafal joint. It wasn't High Noon - it was 12:45, and you looked ridiculous, but you made my day. Ride on into the sunset, Mahmoud, ride on.

Regards,

FS

Oxford or Cambridge? Which is best for our boy??

I remember my parents had a tough time deciding in which elementary school I should be enrolled. I think my mum was pushing for St. George’s, a co-educational private school with a strong arts program, while my father was a proponent of Selwyn House, an all-boys, private school that offereed a greater emphasis on traditional areas of study. I was too young to remember their deliberations on this subject, but reading this article today, I can totally feel this kid’s pain. A good parent only wants to give their offspring the best possible start in this increasingly competitive, complex world. Sure, as in the case of these two parents, there will be heated disagreements, but their motivations are the same: ensuring the prosperous and productive future of their young son.

http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/15851207/detail.html

Chrysler Cordoba: Now with soft, Corinthian leather

Hot damn, I love good advertising. Done right, it can resonate like nothing else. A good ad will impale you with it's message - it will straight-up broadside you with the overwhelming urge to go for it; to step up to the more whitening toothpaste; to the cigarettes promising entree into Flavor Country; to the faster-acting topical rash cream you were [I was] considering.

This ad, circa 1977 or so, could have been one such example, but there is simply too much going on here: The stunning photography, the poetic body text, the intense font, and Ricardo "I'm Bringing Mexi-back" Montalban - and to speak nothing of the sensuous curves of "The Small Chrysler". It's sensory overload.

Make no mistake, it's all very classy, like a 70's suburban key party or jazz clarinet solo. But what is this ad selling? Is it the car? Is the ad a public service announcement, asking us to step up and use a classier, calligraphic font in our everyday correspondences? Is it an ad for an upcoming TV movie, starring septuagenarian Mex-pot, Ricardo Montalban? Is Ricardo perhaps trying to push his sports coupe-specific leisure wear? We just don't know. Best to cut to the body text of the ad to get a better understanding. Be sure to read it out loud in Ricardo's trademark, butter-pecan-smooth, Latin accent:

“This is Cordoba. The small Chrysler. An automobile in which you will enjoy not only great comfort…but great confidence. It is confidence you can see, the confidence of knowing your automobile possesses a look of great dignity. It is confidence you can feel, in thickly cushioned contour-seats available in rich crushed velour or soft Corinthian leather. It is confidence you experience when you are in control of a truly road worthy autombile. This is the confidence you will find in a most surprisingly affordable small Chrysler. Cordoba.”

Ahhh yes. I know, it's amazing - almost hypnotic. One can't help but be seduced by his sales spiel. Maybe you even start to rationalize a purchase; "Mmmm...maybe Ricardo is right? Maybe I do deserve to have the on-road confidence that comes with thickly cushioned contour-seats." And what does it say about you if you don't go for the Little Chrysler - are you conceding that you are not enough of a mack daddy to roll with Senor Montalban? That is just too depressing to fathom. A take-home question for you: If i'm not convinced enough to buy that shitbox Chrysler, but I decide I need to upgrade my wardrobe with a slew of wide-collar shirts and assorted leisure wear, has the ad still succeeded?

FS

Car racing: cool. Hot candlewax and brown shirts: not so much.

Right, so if you’ve been paying attention to the wacky news, the news that bigtime fancy-pants reporters like to classify as news from “the fringe”, and that’s really the only news worth reading, then you know all about Masochistic Max Mosely.

He’s the British aristocrat whose day job is managing the governing body of international car racing. That’s F1, Rally, Touring Car and all other car racing combined. His night gig, it turns out, is pretty choice as well. He’s into the whole Nazi death-camp guard/prisoner S&M group role playing thing, and he is willing to pay handsomely for it. (see link below for more sordid info)

http://jalopnik.com/373884/f1-boss-max-mosley-caught-with-five-hookers-in-nazi-orgy-video-scandal


I don’t know where to begin with this one. Are we surprised? Of course not. The cliché rings true: old, white dudes can and do have sexual proclivities that are sick and depraved enough to make even your local pederast blush.

Having said that, and Death camp re-enactments notwithstanding, I need to say that I hope I can be half the super-freak as this assbag when I’m in my 70’s. There, I said it.

It’s not looking good for me, though. Even at the young age of 28, I’ve been TiVo’ing Animal Planet and calling it a night on a fairly regular basis. To be fair, this week has been Shark Week, and it’s hard not to get jazzed by the footage of sharks doing their thing; the great whites, the hammerheads, the tiger sharks, the what-have-yous. What can I say? LCD and High Definition technology have turned this former super-freak (absolutely no exaggeration) into a certifiable home body.

Moseley’s publicized shenanigans have indeed sounded alarm bells for this young buck. Simply put: I need to jack up my entertainment standards - perhaps not to the depraved, Hitler-fawning extremes to which that Pommie perv has resorted, but something beyond recorded cable TV, no? Anyway, I’ll let you know if I find something cooler than Shark Week.

FS