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• parisian perfection (3/4/08) [View | Hide]

  lanvin alexander mcqueen JOHN GALLLLIANO it was wonderful to be a city dedicated to absolute, unabashed beauty in all its forms. one of the single most incredible experiences of my entire life. I will never ever forget it. more soon. ish. love, Alex.

• Alexander McQueen (2/29/08) [View | Hide]

  oh I'm too tired just read this. I have chanel at nine. and really really need a shower. PLEASE NOTE THE TIME. wonderful, really. my galliano invite came today. love, Alex. p.s. NOTER S'IL VOUS PLAIT THAT THE TIME IS BRITISH TIME AND IN FRANCE IT WAS 3-ISH AND IS NOW 4-ISH AAAARGH i didn't sleep on wednesday night, last night I got seven hours, tonight three. shit.

• yves saint laurent rive gauche. (2/28/08) [View | Hide]

  incredible. just incredible. really really amazing. I cried a little. so wonderful. just wait. SO SO GOOD! I have been rhapsodising about it for hours. love, Alex.

• LONDON’S CALLING (2/19/08) [View | Hide]

  HOUSE OF HOLLAND There were rumours of a 30-odd piece collection at Gareth Pugh (21, but close enough). There were rumours of Kate Moss at Westwood (no Moss, but a bare-breasted placard-toting transexual did close the show). There were rumours Marios Schwab threw out his entire collection a month before the show (that one, Schwab told me, was true – and he’s all the greater for it). London Fashion Week was bigger and – dare we say it? – better than it has been for ten years. Despite the bright mood throughout the city, London’s fashion offering was decidedly dark – then again, this is what we do best. You know something is afoot when you can look at Basso and Brooke’s usually retina-detaching wares without groping for sunglasses, and even Luella proferred something lightly macabre, inspired by Britt Ekland in the Wicker Man and a Cornwall Pagan Witch museum. GARETH PUGH The man most probably responsible is Gareth Pugh, the black sheep of British fashion who delivered pretty much exactly what we expected of him. This season, however, he did churn out 21 looks (an admirable feat) and a collection that made coherent sense in the way his previous offerings have fallen short. This was a whirlwind ride – well, the Wizard of Oz was the loose theme – taking in Swarovski-crystal leggings, lashings of monkey fur and geodesic abstractions galore. However, there was the real feeling that Pugh worked to push his look forward somewhat, from spectacular covetable Nicholas Kirkwood platforms to the exaggerated (but entirely on-trend) Montana-esque tailoring that opened the show: the fact they were made entirely of zips made them all the more impressive, not just schlocky horror pieces. As with Oz, it was all about the man behind the curtain, and even I have to admit perhaps there’s more behind’s Pugh’s playful polyhedra than mere flash and dazzle. Pugh’s offering was indicative of London’s direction as a whole: a consolidation of talent, and proving that we can deliver what we promise. Alexander McQueen’s legacy still means that London is considered a sartorial Dark Prince next to the polish of Milan, the gloss of New York and the dripping bougeoise soignée of Paris. Todd Lynn has always excelled at the dark side of life, and his strong show was sharp and tailored, blurring the masculine-feminine divide in bruised shades of purple, blue and every permutation of black. Louise Goldin’s technicolor spring show darkened for winter, in a collection that was part Logan’s Run part Nanook of the North. Her Swarovski-frosted knits, futuristic fur-trimmed angular anoraks and Constructivist body-con knits in a palette of bruise, amethyst and teal were stunning. Even Emma Cook, the booky, kooky London queen of cute, reinterpreted her signature babydoll shapes in a collection of exquisitely patchworked lace and tie-dyed latex which managed to make Goth Cowgirl a viable option for next season – even with the slightly Jon Benet Ramsey Swarovski-fringed showgirl frocks. LOUISE GOLDIN Lightening the mood somewhat was Henry Holland, who has rapidly set himself up as the Jester of London’s fashion court. His plaid-packed House of Holland highland fling was inconsequential nonsense, but hit a high note because that was exactly what he intended it to be. It was icing on the cake that the fun clothes – lurid tartans, cashmere-mohairs and a clever way with knife-pleating – were well-made and interesting, even if not particularly innovative. The finale of Agyness as a Brigadoon Bride in tiered kilt wedding-gown, tartan antlers and eyepatch, was pretty hard to top. In a frankly stellar season, two shows stood out for their consummate skill, grace and for finally shifting fashion (at least London Fashion) up a gear. Giles Deacon finally moved on his more-oft-than-not clumsy couture techniques into a new realm. His theme was The Masque of the Red Death by Poe, and his collection was the best from his hand since his first show under his own label. There was something Schiaparelli-esque about the duchesse satin suits, their jackets puffed with down to Superman proportions: but like Schiap's subtley surreal pre-war suiting, Giles’ offering combined concept and chic perfectly. For evening, Mr Deacon thankfully didn’t turn to any of his usually shonky shenanigans in floor-length amateur dramatics: merely flawlessly-cut torso-hugging sheaths and billowing capes, with a shadowed, rotted palette of damson, petrol-blue and olive rendering the silken fabrics even more luxurious. Most exquisite were the models with their faces wrapped in featherlight silk-chiffon, although their anonymous beauty begged inherent accusations of chauvenism and the idea of seeing woman as sexualised and yet emotionless automata. If Giles’ collection brought up questions of sexism, Marios Schwab’s brought outright accusations of misogyny. Models, smothered in pattern from high neck to ankle in restrictive tubular dresses hobbled slowly along the runway in six-inch heels. The procession was undeniably uncomfortable, and yet fascinating to watch. If the collection was bad, this would have been a death-knell for a young designer still refining his vision - however, this was a definitive, authoritive statement in which everything, everything looked horrfyingly new. The length and cut were severe in the extreme, some dresses sliced open to form windows onto the body while others were laser-cut to peel away from the form like layers of mildewing textile disintegrating with every step. The collection’s namesake, the feminist novella ‘The Yellow Wallpaper,’ formed a narrative justification for every aspect of the show, and despite a general move away from ‘conceptual’ fashion, it was this concept which made the collection so powerful. The strict attenuated silhouette, faultless styling, exquisite accessories and claustrophic Nick Ryan soundtrack made Schwab’s chilling vision the highlight of london fashion week. This collection pushed his aesthetic – and indeed London Fashion as a whole - to a new level. GILES MARIOS SCHWAB love, Alex.

• I hate fashion. (2/14/08) [View | Hide]

  ann-sofie back, edward sexton, eley kishimoto (missed due to door security and no PR), emma cook, louise goldin, paul smith, duro olowu, marios schwab, krystof strozyna, meadham kirchhoff, aquascutum, basso and brooke, todd lynn, nathan jenden, armand basi, jens laugesen, house of holland, fashion east, roksanda ilincic, gareth pugh, very very very late giles. tonight, vivienne westwood. tomorrow, gavin douglas, peter jensen, MAN, central saint martins MA. no julien. I'm not even thinking about paris. I am tired and unshaven, wearing two john lewis school cardigans buttoned together, with unwashed hair, bags bigger than my vuitton (babeth) and precariously soled westwood pirate boots. giles last night was scheduled at 7.30, finished at 10.30, and I filed copy at about 2. I have been front row, second row, third row and standing. I have been crushed by the tit of a well-known fashion editor, have had my picture inexplicably taken a dozen or so times, ruined my feet by cramming them into luella alphabite-print winks (TOTALLY worth it they are so signature!), and had a very very nice chat with caryn franklin of the clothes show, while on the mobile bordello that was the moët et chandon fashion bus (pronounced 'buzz' if you're from the north. as all the best people in fashion are). god, I love fashion. so much. check it out. love, Alex p.s. we didn't get chanel. bell-end.

• I love fashion. (2/9/08) [View | Hide]

  so, starting tomorrow with ann-sofie back I am doing london fashion week. yes, week. I’m not even punning on ‘weak’ anymore. expect to actually see me update. and if not here I am sure I will be rambling away on SHOWstudio until penny finally punches me out for crying at fucking paul costelloe or something. so yeah, I’ll try and do some kind of show coverage. so keep your eyes open. mine will be behind coke-bottle shades. and possible that stupid bernhard willhelm visor. if you see me say hello or something. I'll be the gibbering wreck down in back. love, Alex.

• LE UPDATE (2/5/08) [View | Hide]

  JEUDI 28 FÉVRIER 2008 09:30 am STELLA MCCARTNEY Carreau du Temple 10:30 am VALENTINO Palais de Chaillot - 1 place du Trocadéro - Paris 16e 11:30 am LÉONARD Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Delorme* 12:30 pm BARBARA BUI Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Le Nôtre* 1:30 pm ANNE VALÉRIE HASH Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Soufflot* 2:30 pm GIAMBATTISTA VALLI Espace Eiffel - Quai Branly - Paris 7e 3:30 pm ZUCCA École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts - Salle Melpomène - 13 quai Malaquais - Paris 6e 4:30 pm CELINE Espace Ephémère Tuileries - Jardin des Tuileries – Paris 1er 5:30 pm HAIDER ACKERMANN Couvent des Cordeliers - 15 rue de l'Ecole de Médecine - Paris 6e 6:30 pm SOPHIA KOKOSALAKI Palais de Tokyo 8:00 pm YVES SAINT LAURENT Grand Palais - avenue Winston Churchill - Paris 8e un hhardcore jour, je pense. je n’aime pas stella mccartney mais elle est mon premier défilé a la Paris et par consequence je pense je dois montrer mon visage. cependant, je dois levez a 4 ou 5hr pour le eurostar, donc mon visage semblera rugueux de la cul d’un badger. quel a shit. mais je peux encore porter mes poussoirs de velours de ysl. ‘poussoirs’ is possible mon favouri mot de français. ou franglais, a mon interprétation. ou something. I have decided I am dressing like a comedy frenchy for my first day in paris. I figure mascara through the moustache, black beret, stripy gaultier matelot and this almost utterly the same as every other coat I have charles anastase mini-french-trench and a hideous printed scarfy-cravat and maybe some kind of huge diamanté PARIS brooch or a stick-on eiffel tower of like a loaf of pain or whatever else the frenchies are wearing pour les hivers. man I am totally going to die ouvert la manche if I have to rely on these linguistic skills. love, Alex. p.s. this is utterly what I haaaave to use for the whole of pariche fashion week. totally (hahah tote-ally worst pun ever a french man is going to beat me to death with a jour-old baguette for that punny lingus). p.p.s. is buying an oversized, out-of-season pleated leather-trimmed crimbo kane cardigan with diamond buttons a bad idea, or THE BEST I’VE EVER HAD?

• merci mode à paris. (1/30/08) [View | Hide]

  THURSDAY FEBRUARY 2008 THE 28TH – to be confirmed FRIDAY FEBRUARY 2008 THE 29TH 09:30 am HIROMICHI NAKANO Carré des Champs-Elysées - Pavillon Ledoyen - 1 avenue Dutuit - Paris 8e 10:30 amCHANEL Grand Palais - avenue du Général Eisenhower - Paris 8e 11:30 am AGNÈS B. Palais de Tokyo - 13 avenue du Président Wilson - Paris 16e 12:30 pm JEAN-CHARLES DE CASTELBAJAC Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Delorme* 1:30 pm ALENA AKHMADULLINA Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Soufflot* 2:30 pm SONIA RYKIEL Espace Ephémère Tuileries – Jardin des Tuileries – Paris 1er 3:30 pm JUNKO SHIMADA To be confirmed 4:30 pm RUE DU MAIL (by Martine Sitbon) Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts - Salle Melpomène - 13 quai Malaquais - Paris 6e 5:30 pm ES ORCHESTRES To be confirmed 6:30 pm JOSE CASTRO To be confirmed 8:00 pm ALEXANDER MCQUEEN Palais Omnisports de Paris Bercy - Salle Marcel Cerdan - Porte 28 - 8 boulevard de Bercy - Paris 12e SATURDAY MARCH 2008 THE 1ST 10:30 am KENZO Carreau du Temple - 3 rue Dupetit Thouars - Paris 3e 11:30 am ELIE SAAB Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Delorme * 12:30 pm WUNDERKIND Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Soufflot* 1:30 pm PAUL & JOE Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Le Nôtre* 2:30 pm COMMUUN Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Gabriel* 3:30 pm CHLOÉ Espace Ephémère Tuileries - Jardin des Tuileries - Paris 1er 4:30 pm MARTIN GRANT École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts - Salle Melpomène - 13 quai Malaquais - Paris 6e 5:30 pm HERMÈS Espace Eiffel - Quai Branly - Paris 7e 6:30 pm LIMI FEU To be confirmed SUNDAY MARCH 2008 THE 2ND 10:00 am VANESSA BRUNO 8 rue de la Pierre Levée - Paris 11e 11:00 am NINA RICCI Espace Ephémère Tuileries - Jardin des Tuileries - Paris 1er 12:00 pm CHAPURIN Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Delorme* 1:00 pm YUKI TORII Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Gabriel* 2:00 pm COLETTE DINNIGAN Le Carrousel du Louvre - Salle Soufflot* 3:00 pm LOUIS VUITTON See invitation - SAKINA M'SA To be confirmed 5:30 pm LANVIN Espace Eiffel - Quai Branly - Paris 7e 6:30 pm MOON YOUNG HEE To be confirmed 7:30 pm MIU MIU See invitation 8:30 pm CHADO RALPH RUCCI To be confirmed god, those 'to be confirmed' slots are killing me. and the WHOLE of thursday?! what the fuck how the HELL can I plan outfits. jesus. this is what paris is totally going to be like. i swear to jesus. six foot runways, pink poodles and everyone tryna be 'san loron'. ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES! jer'my hasn't confirmed when he's showing yet. if I get to see him I will weep weep hot tears of joy. I am wearing head-to-toe backwards PARIS prints and ted lapidus sunglasses. oh, I'm totally a one trick pony until 3rd march. just so you all know. love, Alex.

• 2007. (1/15/08) [View | Hide]

  this is a classic, and always depressing, way to while away time when I should be sleeping post NYE. what did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before? my first real fashion show, my first real fashion shoot, my first real fashion life, work work work work, graduated, got a very expensive haircut that made me cry, was photographed naked – actually, being photographed by someone else and actually liking the pictures is a first. how did you see in the new year? shitfaced with sweaty gays in dior homme. god, déja vu much? did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I definitely had more sex, and the hair has been savagely sliced. although I cried for three hours afterwards (the hair, not the sex). my resolution this year is to write something which reaches the zenith of literary perfection that is ‘no lifeguard on duty: the accidental life of the world’s first supermodel’ by janice dickinson. did someone close to you give birth? possibly. maybe. I don’t really deal with children except for reborns did anyone close to you die? isabella blow. god, isabella. I’m still not really over it. I started crying thinking about her on the bus the other day please don’t ask me why. what countries did you visit? greece. does the frozen tundra of my northern homeland count as a separate country? it should. what would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007? liquidised lamb foetuses injected into my face FOREVER YOUNG what date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? so so many, good and bad. this was a memorable year. what was your biggest achievement(s) of the year? graduating, getting published and working for marios and SHOW would be pretty incredible achievements to the me of this time last year. what was/were your biggest failure(s)? don’t confront me with them. did you suffer illness or injury? I’m always fucking ill. what was the best thing you bought? yves saint laurent embroidered velvet evening slippers. whose behaviour merited celebration? lulu kennedy, penny martin, sophie, ute, maria – in fact, maison marios and all who sail in her (special thanks to mr schwab). essentially, everyone who took a chance on a dickhead with a stupid haircut straight out of s’marts. and special thanks to my svengali professor rebecca arnold. whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed? I’m over being appalled or depressed by anything other people do. I managed to disappoint myself though, as always. where did most of your money go? you tell me. what did you get really, really, really excited about? cakes, biscuits, moustaches, dresses. compared to this time last year, are you: i. happier or sadder? hard to tell. ii. thinner or fatter? I can finally, inexorably, unequivocally say I am SCIENTIFICALLY thinner than last year. with a BMI teetering at a precarious 18.9. fuck. yeah. iii. richer or poorer? richer. and yet poorer. what do you wish you'd done more of? savouring the moment. what do you wish you'd done less of? regretting things I couldn’t change. resenting things. ignoring problems (but that’s a lifetime habit, honestly). worrying endlessly. does the list ever end? how will you be spending Christmas? yet again I spent it waterbound and freezing to death. I wish my parents were landlubbers. did you fall in love in 2007? yes. how many one-night stands? just enough. just about. what was your favourite TV program? totally hollyoaks. do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? amy fucking eleanor still. what was the best book you read? it’s a toss-up between the beautiful fall and janice dickinson. what was your greatest musical discovery? rediscovering dolly parton recently was wonderful. otherwise, maybe jamaican dancehall? what did you want and get? so much. what did you want and not get? too much. what music will you remember from this year? dutty wiiine an da hot wuk bwoy. what did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I am somewhere in my twenties nothing happened we do not discuss it it never occurred capisce? what one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? better hair and jer’my scott 3-D spex. how would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007? reckless, child-sized and far beyond my means. what kept you sane? maison marios schwab, and numerous over-the-counter drugs in dangerous combinations. which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? totally tori spelling. what political issue stirred you the most? they still have politics these days? who do you miss? issy. if only as a front-row fixture from afar. who was the best new person you met? leo. tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007: every silver lining has a cloud. quote a song lyric that sums up your year: non, je ne regrette rien. real resolutions: eat less, but better. drink less, but better. spend more, but better. say ‘no’ more. try to be more confrontational. try to be more mature. think. love, Alex. p.s. if you faygelahs are that was inclined you can go to SHOWstudio and hear my horrible faggy self interviewing the lovely damien jalet about choreographing Bernhard Willhelm's Men in Tights. here and there p.p.s. god I am so sick my face is a pizza of pain.

• overworked, overpaid, over-overspending. (1/10/08) [View | Hide]

  well, I haven’t updated this for eons. well, since november, properly. never prone to hyperbole. maybe it’s better expressed in pictures than in words? then again, according to these pictures I have lost about 15 years in age and am a catholic schoolboy (with overdeveloped facial hair) in the ‘total eclipse of the heart’ video. contrary to the above, I am slogging and blogging at SHOWstudio, I swear. oh and loving every second. it really is wonderful. I’m trying not to gush. I miss marios’, the craziness was great and everyone there was lovely and it felt so fashion, but SHOW is a different rhythm and different environment. and no less fashion, really. just different. unfortunately I haven’t really been too good at unleashing the full extent of my fairly-extensive wardrobe on my (almost) unsuspecting editor. the willhelm monkey-suit and bottega veneta neon leopard will have to wait. well, at least until fashion week. it’ll be a change from her seeing me dressed as what equates to a john lewis attired st trinians extra, though. yeah so in november I saw princess superstar. she may have some kind of restraining order or something against me now, as I did insist on talking to her a little too often. and trying to force her to dance with me. and for some reason I gave her a beret. don’t ask. I have been relatively good so far, purchase wise. all I have bought are a pair of dior glitter-jeans that are ‘unwashable’ (according to the label YEAH), a pair of eggshell-blue mcqueen shoes with each shoe a different size (neither mine) and a 1992 chanel belt with COCO written in 2-inch metallic letters and a logo on the end about as big as my noggin. oh, and these: SO SO BEAUTIFUL REALLY. I have no idea why this picture makes me look like I have gout. never wearing them with white socks again, that’s for sure. even if they did almost get thoroughly ruined at new years impractical footwear is apparently what 2008 is all about for me. I am hankering after patent dries van noten pumps with a tuxedo bow and navy mcqueen patent winklepickers. and we all assumed what with two jobs I would at least try to claw my way slightly out of debt. pft. penny, my editrix, keeps threatening to take me for offal at the st. john bar and restaurant. I can cope with lancashire cheese and an eccles cake, but offal is a step too far, even for a child from the north. happy new year. homos. love, Alex.

• great scott. (12/14/07) [View | Hide]

  god why does it always take me so long to update this thing? seriously, all immediacy is sucked out of my life. but anyway. I have far too much to write. so I will reduce my life down to a single question: SHOULD I BUY THIS PIECE OF SHIT? I kind of love it too much. but it is hideous and overpriced. then again isn't everything I own? something concrete is coming soon. even if it is chained around my neck and pulling me to a watery grave... love, Alex.

• SHOW's on the road. (10/18/07) [View | Hide]

  before we get going, I would like to state for the record that i do not have GAIDS, or renal failure or any of that shit. the 'doctor' thinks I have some horrendous stomach infection and needs to give me morphine or something and knock me out for a week. which is pretty hot. and she has actually prescribed me SUNLIGHT because I have some kind of vitamin d deficiency.which accounts for my carnation milk-like skin-tone. I tried to explain that I cower from sunlight and spend my waking hours slumped in the studio, wrapped in tulle and swarovskis being inspirational and trying to choke down a triangle of toblerone, but I don't think she took me seriously. it happens a lot. so, SHOWstudio is wonderful. pretty much. THIS is the piece they have already had me write READ IT NOW ALL OF YOU. still bleary-eyed at 9.30am, nothing short of the Mandi Lennard press day could jolt me out of my usual self-induced coma this morning. ‘fearsome’ was the theme - this season there was enough fluoro, lurid animal prints and heroin-strength coffee to keep even a narco like me wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. god I fucking loved the danielle scutt shit. as usual, the stinky pugh stuff didn't really impress me so much. although I liked quite a bit of it, and overall it was way better than I assumed shocking quality, but I'm shocked by a lot of catwalk samples in the flesh, really. I was born for couture. more of which later... penny martin, the editor in chief, is absolutely lovely. plus she is endearingly amazed-slash-horrified at my total fashion recall she asked me to find the colour of all the givenchy skirts from last season. I knew them off the top of my head. I think I scared her. and we have already had an in-depth discussion about what bag I should purchase next. for the record, we seemed to decide on an oversized vintage 2.55, although i am kind of concerned it may make me look like an absolute faggot. penny insists I should try it, at least. and I'm a sucker for a bit of gilt, honestly. I'm well-suited, I think. on the subject of SHOW, this is possibly the greatest thing I have seen in a long long time: I'm slightly afraid I may come face to face (or otherwise) with this type of situation daily at SHOWstudio. but I wouldn't mind ganking a pair of those underpants. I really really love the entire thing. it's stunning, you all have to see it and tell your friends. but possibly not your parents. I want this so badly my groin is practically in my mouth. I do realise I could knock it up from a primark jumper with a sofa cushion on each shoulder but really that's not the point. I was trying to explain the inexplicable appeal of the plain white margiela label to some mere mortals, but they couldn't grasp the concept. slash-conceit. really. not that I will actually be buying anything new EVER as I am currently beyond-broke. especially after wasting a dickhole of money on a stupid grindie duffle coat from john lewis' school department. yes, I think I was more enamoured by the fact I could cram myself into a 26-inch CHEST coat than anything else, but bitch please sixty-something quid is totally worth that kind of ego-boost and besides I've worn it every day and lots of people seem to like it so maybe it wasn't as hairbrained as I assumed. god, I actually have nothing else to say. or maybe my duffle's just cutting of circulation to my brain... love, Alex. p.s. best show in paris? sonia rykiel, totally.

• manorexic. (9/28/07) [View | Hide]

  so, according to my doctor I am anorexic. this is not I hasten to add anorexia nervosa. anorexia, deriving from the greek "α(ν)-" (a(n)-, a prefix that denotes absence, and "όρεξη (orexe), meaning appetite - just means you can't cram six dozen jaffa cakes a day into your yap. in fact, right now I haven't eaten a square meal for a week. I had to throw away half a fucking peach today because I felt queasy by the time I finished it. and I have just eaten, like, a twix and am in absolute agony. they have taken like a pint of fucking blood from my wizened wallis windsor-esque physique to run a barrage of tests. and I have lost half a stone. score. well, okay, worrying, but still, better to die from this than to be airlifted to the jeremy kyle show after a wall of your house had to be bulldozed down to get you and your fried chicken out and yes, it must be bad if I've actually consulted a doctor. I miss patisserie valerie. maybe a little too much. then again, I managed to shoehorn myself into sample sizes at work so maybe it's all for the best? I mean, really, what use was that pesky kidney function anyway? and an immune system just weighs you down babes. maybe you've noticed that I am taking the fact I could have fucking chronic renal failure in my stride, and seeing it as an opportunity to phone people and shout I'VE GOT ANOREXIA. although I have refrained from giving my grandmother a heart attack by infroming her of this latest development in my quest for twigginess. my mother is ringing me for daily food updates, though. I have no other news. my life is beyond-boring right now. although I plucked my jeans climbing over the fence into st giles' churchyard at about midnight last thursday. but that's it. love, Alex.

• oh val... (9/6/07) [View | Hide]

  valentino, the terriyake-faced haut couturier of choice to a rapidly diminishing legion of sveltely suited, bombe glacée-haired soignée matriarchs d'une certain age that would be the CRETATCEOUS age has retired. his replacement? that bitch who lasted about 5 minutes at gucci. and even then managed to drag it's name through the shit. no more his built-up movie star shoulders, nipped-in waists and strategically placed bows and flounces hiding, disguising and mollycoddling the cellulite of the idle bitch rich. quelle dommage. I honestly didn't see this coming. even if val is like a mil years old and his face could upholster a bentley (homo pun intended). on the me front, I am still sewing the same fucking thing at maison marios. I have been working on it for three weeks. today I cried because I got the abdomen right, and because someone else's dress was so fucking beautfiul. yes, I have emotion. I'm probably menstruating and haven't noticed it. I also had to stand in the corner because I took nine proplus® and ended up vibrating and possibly developing a heart murmur. someone needs to punch me in the face to get me to calm down and go to bed. I also have to/GET TO write the press release for marios schwab spring 2008. and need to do it now. for those who don't know, I am going to work at SHOWstudio in october and am extremely excited. love, Alex.

• thock it to me. (8/25/07) [View | Hide]

  I never thought I had any weird fetishes. but apparently I do. socks. I don’t mean anything dirty. I mean I don’t like the smell or the taste of them yes I ill-advisably googled this and I’m scarred for life, and I don’t like to ball them up (pun intended) and shove them up my arse again the woe of google. this is a purely aesthetic lust. this reared its head when I tried to look through thom browne’s collections, and found them over-erotically charged. thom seemingly also has a thing about socks: AND sock suspenders. which really (really) are my thing. blame niles crane. other than the socks (and suspenders. and arm garters, which are a further fetish best not explored), I’ve never really been a thom browne fan. the spelling of his name alone looks like a lisp, and as for the designs... they all seems a little too contrived. plus the prices actually make me urinate my (considerably less expensive) trousers with a combination or mirth and disgust. and his brooks brothers collaboration is even worse – by which I mean EVEN MORE EXPENSIVE. case in point: this repulsive lesbo-librarian handbag retails for, oh, a cool GRAND. I mean what the fuck? thom describes his muse as ‘nice.’ I describe his muse as ‘over-moneyed faggot without the taste or daring to buy anything really inventive, probably with a fetish for short pants and/or hitler hair.’ shit. pretty much described myself... love, Alex.

• unzipped. and unhinged. (8/10/07) [View | Hide]

  so it's been far too long and I have far too much (and by much, I obviously mean little) to say. maybe just fashion gossip (or as close as I get): guess which (mc)queen of london fashion instructs his interns not to look him in the eye? I've also heard on good authority that the same fashion house made an intern dye a hundred metres of silk chiffon using a child's paddling pool and a hairdryer. after which her dye-riddled outfits were criticised as not fashionable enough to be seen traipsing in and out of the fashist headquarters with the other drones. and the same fashion house paid models the sum total of £1 each to appear in their multi-million pound diffusion advertising campaign. I name no names. guess which designer (as z-listed as the few celebs that still wear his dresses) left his studio at 10pm before his last show - but was so 'troubled' and 'restless' that he called the studio (still overworking on his overworked designs) at 3am and ordered for someone to bring him bleach for his teeth? guess which london designer was spotted french-kissing and man-handling an underager in a shoxton nightspot - that is, before the security guard flashed his light, and said frock-knocker quickly jostled his own manhood into his trousers and fled, leaving the kid to face the (nu-rave) music. guess which 'top' designer's winter collection currently consists of a piecemeal copied westwood shirt and a rehash of a nineties comme des garçon's frock? this would be the same designer whose studio grinds to a silent halt while he takes a little nap every now and again after a hard night's 'work' (in bumbox boombox, that is). I know I don't really need to say it, but obviously none of the above relates to marios. but speaking of which, guess which outfit dame róisín murphy is wearing in her next video? give you a hint: AMAZING! it's going to look fucking stunning I am sure. although better on me obvs. so marios schwab is psychologically and physically exhausting. right now, with schwab and coutts, I am working a seventy-plus hour week. this means on more than one occasion I have come home and passed out at 9pm, forcing long-suffering leo to carry me to bed and undress me like a four year old. I have been lost in parts of london I never even knew existed (think narnia-wardrobe etc etc), navigating myself (and 47-or-so surprisingly hefty silk-chiffon focks) back to the studio on blistered and bleeding feet via the orienteering powers of a post-it, bolt of grosgrain and someone else's student oyster card. I have wrangled a bolt of stretch-satin from a woman who speaks no disernable english and refused to believe that the fabric existed, that she had it, and that I actually worked for marios. in that order. and managed to restrain myself from smashing her face in with her own overlocker. on the plus side, it is absolutely bloody amazing and I love every second. albeit SWEAT SATURATED WHY WHY DID LONDON FREEZE UNTIL I INTERNED AND THEN BECAME A FUCKING SAUNA?! everyone at the studio is incredibly sweet and nice, and marios is a wonderful person. he is basically my childhood idea of what a designer should be - ridiculously dedicated, utterly passionate and genuinely in love with fashion. he couldn't have got anywhere without a huge amount of passion and dedication. and he's still really down-to-earth and enthusiastic, and just nice. I honestly never thought I would - or could - meet so many genuinely wonderful people in fashion. yes, I'm pretty much a massive schwab groupie right now. and I'm actually doing thing I find interesting, not just making tea. I'm actually already considering going back next season (if they'll have me), perhaps to help research. and I can't say much but for the record next season is going to be fucking gorgeous. love, Alex. p.s. these are keeping me going through the longest days: sometimes shallow is a good thing.

• so racist. (6/4/07) [View | Hide]

  I need to cut my hair. drastically. in every sense of the word. but really I have no idea what to do… only strong strong ideas of what NOT to do. I mean, okay - when exactly did bowl-cuts come back for boys? they look great on girls, but I have no desire to look like a clarissa explains it all sidekick circa 1992. thanks. hey saaam. oh but I can’t just blame melissa joan hart’s dentistry for my overwhelming urge to ‘blow chunks’ fergwad. I have officially finished at saint martins. I can’t even take out books anymore. although I fully intend to sneak in and steal wireless and watch the vivienne westwood on liberty tape on a pretty much constant basis. which also sums up my current plans for the future. I’m starting at marios schwab in a few week (unless that’s all gone tits up) but pft I don’t know. I’m really tired right now. Not that a chance to do a cheeky circuit of the studio in this number wouldn’t perk me up what boy could resist? I’m not sure how the whole b.a. thing has gone, but only time will tell. although my 60p of library fines will apparently prevent the exam board from looking at my thesis, as I was officiously informed today by some cretin. annoyed? me? nah. I’m going to the gareth poo (childish, but it works for me) fashion in motion thing at the V&gAy. yes, gareth pugh. sixty outfits into a fucking four-year ‘career’ and he gets a retrospective at the vam. it even took viv thirty four frigging years, this is just rude. as leo so rightfully asked, exactly who is he fucking? I am looking forward to seeing the likes of this in person and maybe that great thing he did with the key or some of the fashion house shit. although I bet he doesn’t even show his old stuff after all now he’s decided to 'sell' (out). so leo made a beautiful doll and is going to japan. which I cannot afford (in time or in cash). which is crap - although I am sending him with a shopping list. which basically consists of KEWPIE PASTA SAUCE-A and very little else. I am obsessed with the creepy tarako kewpie babies. look at these. and by the way leo you totally have to get me one of these: why do some of them have tears? why do others not? what is difference between happy kewpie and sad kewpie? why I accidentally write like stereotype japanese person? otherwise I would just settle for a jigglypuff costume. he’s also flying with air france so I am obviously forcing him to take pictures of the air hostesses in their amazing comedy ribboned lacroix uniforms. or possibly to punch one out and steal one for me. chiiiiiiiiiic. yes leo is officially living the dream. I wish I could go. so. love, Alex. p.s. oh, and as a few people seem interested – my shit is on eGay, but not for much longer. p.p.s. this is what the eGay sale is all about. because I’m worth it.

• blow. job. (5/18/07) [View | Hide]

  so, issy drank weedkiller. how very madame bovary. detmar blow is a lovely lovely man. this is what he has to say about the situation: ‘on sunday she took a turn for the worse. she said: “I love you,” but there was no great speech. she was fighting for breath. she knew she wanted to die and it seems she helped things along.’ it’s slightly heartbreaking. god I feel old. WHY OH WHY did none of you bastards tell me about fashion television podcasts? seriously I nearly came when I found them. and they still use the same terrible canuck-rock soundtracks and schlock-stock shots of trams in paris and mil-yawn they were using ten years ago. plus issy 'jizzy' (well she makes me jizz) blow in a binbag dress: issy: it's a raincoat. andré: but DAHLING it's not raining?! issy: yes, but if it does... wednesday was my interview at tank magazine. considering I was debating not going, it actually seems like an amazing job which I am probably not going to get (self-deprecating realism, honestly). they haven't called. pft. anyway, a job I actually want would stand in the way of me superglueing myself to a seat for EVERY SINGLE POSSIBLE SCREENING of this magnificent objet d'art: OH MY GOD SPECIAL K IS ON FIIIIIIIILM. I'm a kaiser karl groupie I'll admit it. apparently it's been picked up for a british release at the next london fashion weak (sic), and they're hoping to lure the kaiser over here. no doubt he'll be slipping into bumbox boombox (and a few underagers) before you can say MADEMOISELLE privé. in other news, my flatmate is driving me insane. which is perhaps reflected by the above. during the time we have lived together, she has never once bought any of the following basic luxury items: toilet paper toothpaste toothbrush (yes, she actually uses a toothbrush I bought for myself) veet (she has USED MINE) bin bags shaving foam soap washing powder* *update – after me having a knots landing moment and telling her she didn’t respect my feelings or my belongings over her excessive use of my daz, she has bought washing powder. I am currently stealing it back. ha. this is not because she is absent-minded, or even lazy, but because she is incredibly tight and stupid. she does have her own razor. however, it is about as sharp as a crunchy nut cornflake so I’m pretty certain she uses mine. this week, she ate EXPIRED FISH which could be smelled from OUTSIDE MY FLAT and then acted like it was my problem that the stench was making me gag-slash-vom up organs. she’s mental. she leaves smears of shit in the toilet. and menstrual blood on the toilet paper. seriously, try going into your bathroom and being faced with this every morning: she also gave me the silent treatment when I asked her to stop stealing my washing-powder. unfortunately she stopped giving me the silent treatment too shortly after, and continues to bellow incorrect lyrics to ABBA’s 'waterloo' at 7 in the morning. I hate that she is turning me into a petty petty person. Or makes me think I am, being petty until I recall my latest ‘encounters’ and people scream SHE DOES WHAT OH MY GOD I WOULD HAVE CLUBBED HER TO DEATH WITH HER OWN LEFT LEG. especially telling when it is people I barely know. ...but I can cope. this is how much I love my flat. really. besides I think leo will kill her for me. love, Alex. p.s. I love anonymous comments. I really don’t know why but they intrigue. p.p.s. I hate shitty shitty friends. I refuse to elaborate but many are annoying me greatly. p.p.p.s. leo is listening to bjork. I still don't get it. I doubt I ever will. p.p.p.p.s. I love princess stéphanie so much I could just cry. she killed her mother, worked at dior haute couture, shot covers for french and german vogues, vanity fair and ¡Hola!, launched a swimwear line, launched a musical career, sold a few million records, made another album that bombed, ran off with an elephant trainer, a trapeeze artist and basically every member of staff at her father's palace, and still had time to have a child she refused to legitimise. amazing. experience the magic: princess stéphanie of monaco - one love to give.

• haud muto factum (5/9/07) [View | Hide]

  as everyone probably knows, isabella blow died at the weekend. the circumstances of her death are trivial, honestly. although for the record I believe that it probably was suicide. everyone has written their own 'tribute' of some type, but I wanted to say something, because albeit indirectly, isabella blow has always meant a great deal to me. when I was around 14, I had to write a letter to someone I admired. I chose to write to isabella blow, because she epitomised everything I ever wanted to be. which was extraordinary. now I must add her to the very short list of idols I can never meet. basically, it's issy, ms. vree and la dietrich. and that's so gay it's practically lubricated. I have been obsessed with isabella blow since 1996, when I saw a picture of her wearing a jewelled treacy hat and slashed layers of dante lace-swathed taffeta. I was a boy from a small northern town, I'm making no bones about it, I was always different - I was crying to vivienne westwood documentaries and taping fashion tv while most other boys where kicking a football about and talking about wanking. i always always knew fashion was what I wanted to do. isabella blow fed that dream of a different world, of infinite possibility, and the awe-inspiring power of fashion. and I do genuinely believe fashion has an extreme power - it is the chief modern architect of fantasy. fashion enables people to dream. people haven't always been willing (or able) to cope with isabella. sophie dahl once hid from her beneath a table in the dorchester, while issy shouted 'come out and face me you coward.' she wasn't normal but I can't help but think she never wanted to be. vreeland once stated 'ach! the plainness of life!' isabella evidently concurred, and was appreciate for it. once, when she asked what she should do 'to earn her crust' at vogue she was told, 'oh, issy darling, just be!' but isabella blow did so much more. the marchesa casati once said of herself 'I want to make of myself a work of art.' just as casati became obsessed with her image rendered by the talents of a coeterie of artists, so isabella blow found herself perfected by the talents of her own artisans, whom she in term elevated and deified. she was always an amazing figure, but her incredible clothing always served as an endorsement of talent. the latest issue of vogue becries the lack of billboard fashionista advertising, a la armani in milano. isabella used herself as that billboard, scrawling her allegiances to talent across her poitrine and doing what so few in fashion are willing to - putting herself (and often her chequebook) out there. mcqueen and treacy, of course, are the highest and brightest, which maybe outshine her role as nurturer to a veritable nursery of talent. hussein chalayan, owen gaster, antonio berardi - indeed the entire explosion of british talent in the mid-nineties, can be credited to blow. over the channel, she featured olivier theyskens before his first collection - I have a memory of an exquisite bronze silk-taffeta mini-dress with jet choker and jet-embroidered kaftan of chantilly lace from his gloomy trips spring 1998 collection (a year before madonna picked him up), jerome dreyfuss' sticky-tape corsets and embroidered silk-tulle, and single-legged trousers and pleated organza from a fledgling designer named jermy scott. I always remember her saying that her pheasant-feather philip treacy robin hood hat was the one she wanted to be buried in. but I always hoped it wouldn't be for a long, long time. I hope, at least in death, people won't think of her as 'wacky', 'loony' or 'a fruitcake', and will finally acknowledge the essential role she played in establishing london as a credible base from which to build - and maintain - a brand. isabella blow was fundamental in establishing what we now perceive as london fashion. she inspired, inspires, and will inspire. la blow is dead. long live la blow. love, Alex. 'how are you going to have dinner in that hat? how are you going to eat?' '...nicholas that is of no concern to me whatsoever.'

• greece is the word. (5/2/07) [View | Hide]

  greece was very very odd. I saw the greek national guard, or whatever they're called. the ones who dress like this: it's actually a very exciting outfit. I got a little hot under my (broiderie angalise peter-pan) collar thinking about a woman dressed like that in some pompom platform pumps strutting through athens. maybe I should suggest it to maaaaaaarioth he's from athens he'll know what I mean. and re. the broiderie anglaise thing yes I had some kind of catholic confirmation attack in topshp and ended up buying way too many white-slash-ruffled things. I basically went to greece dressed as this: although financial duress prevented me from buying the varicose-vein pirate boots boohiss. facts you never knew about athens: the population is almost all 60-plus. in fact, 80-plus. I think it's the combination of heat, olive oil and extreme pressure on public transport (almost as bad as londres) that keeps them so well. old people in athens are preserved like sun-dried tomatoes. and kind of look the same too. old people in greece cross themselves three times whenever they see a church (three times – father, son, holy ghost, get it? god gosh I love extreme orthodoxy). or when they see anything religious really. especially on buses. it's almost competitive – when one starts to do it, they all have to follow. I kind of wanted to get a pop-up pope and unleash it on the bus while screaming PROVE PROVE YOUR FAITH IN JESUS to test this phenomenon to its natural conclusion but I would probably be beaten to death with a sophia petrillo-style wicker handbag for presuming to mock the lord. yeah yeah I know she's sicillian but greek grannies all wear black and moan a lot too she'll do as a similie for my purposes. athens is built on a hill. a huge hill. surrounded by other hills. I have basically skidded down various hills to my almost-doom in pirate (or gilded) boots about nine million times. I now have no sole. or right foot. everyone drives insanely. which perhaps has contributed to the almost-doom thing. I mean people drive motorbikes along the pavement. and then shout at any pedestrians in their way (or actually, you know, rudely ground-up in their machinery). they're on the pavement on a motorbike. maybe the old people are crossing themselves in prayer that they will actually exit the bus outside of a casket. it's not as hot as I imagined. in fact, I don't think it's as hot as hackney. then again hackney is practically bubbling atop a volcanic pot of jamaiiiican jambalaya courtesy of 'his 'n' hairs' so maybe it's a bad example. anyway I didn't sweat to death and I was able to straighten my hair every day. greece is cheap. cheap cheap cheap. I mean I think I could purchase the entire athens public transport system piecemeal for the price of a weekly oyster card. an unfortunate side-effect of this is the fact that I ate so much underpriced feta I think I am now half-goat. or at least my THIGHS are say goodbye to skinny jeans until I'm back in blightly on the kate-weight diet (coke for breakfast, 'eroin for lunch, stomach pump and no-calorie saline drip for dinner). I went to a russian disco. yes, an english boy, in a russian disco, in athens. it's practially the united nations. only with more alcohol and probably less sodomy. it was good fun in the way only dancing to homo hits in a greco-russian lapdancing club can be. and I can't remember the last time I left anywhere at 5am. because I am now officially old. please note the juxtaposing of chanel, westwood 'macandreas' tartan shirt and greased nipple-ring which can only happen in the homosexual underbelly. I kept propelling leo (fully-clothed) into people (semi-clothed. and greased) to avoid skin-to-skin contact and hence syphillis by armpit-to-face osmosis or something. I also went to see a greek play, which I assumed I would be unable to understand, but it was actually kind of like opera – I could comprehend the emotion and feeling without needing to understand the language. half-way through writing that I realised I must be on a higher cultural plane than I previously gave myself credit for, and felt superior... until my mind wandered and I spent half-an-hour or so trying to think of the name of the sulky ginger one from girls aloud. my wonderful propensity to misunderstand any and every language that isn't english served me well in a country where every word is spelled ∆∏∑Ω∆ so even written words horrify me. I would undoubtedly have died painfully and repeatedly without leo. and the fucking sole fell OFF my bastard westwood shitting pirate boots. hate you viv you pin-headed nonce try making shoes that last more than five minutes (okay five years but still) pft. the only sign I could understand: he station is called mega moussaka, obv. yes I mocked my way through greece. just as I mock my way through life. my cynicism is clouding my recollection, obviously. I had a wonderful time. just don't tell anyone too loudly I have an image to maintain. love, Alex. oh, and p.s. I stupidly STUPIDLY applied for an internship at patrick cox. my hare-brained scheme being to complete it before marios schwab. without factoring in the fact I have to work. and, you know, sleep and eat and breathe. and therefore there is no way on god's green earth I could ever fit this crap in with everything else and now partick's pr hates me but baaarf they actually sell these hideous shoes so maybe I barely avoided a fate worse than death (i.e. baaad shoes). p.p.s. despite the above I am forced to physically restrain myself from replying to an internship at SHOWSTUDIO. p.p.p.s. this is my first fortune cookie: in youth and beauty, wisdom is rare. so, it's a polite chinese way of telling me I'm getting old. or that I'm stupid. bitches.

• posession is nine tenths of the law. (4/21/07) [View | Hide]

  does anyone know-slash-have-slash-can email me the music in the background of this piece of beauty? please ignore kaiser karl’s grand slam or whatever the fuck that ‘step in time’ brass-band moment at the end is. they actually look like they are shut in a cupboard. sometimes I wonder if the kaiser’s four-calorie a week diet is eating away his frontal lobe. but the music is divine, and the show shots are absolutely fucking exquisite. I need a new bag. I had been hauling round my louis vuitton for six (jeesus) years now. at the moment I’m considering this but only playfully, really. it kind of looks like a bloodied abscess. that and the fisted anus willhelms (or even those varicose-vein westwood boots) may be a little too visceral for even me to handle. I have the occasional dalliance with my winter 2000 ‘PARIS’ print jer’my scott tote, and have a dollar brocade and small concertina one in the ‘jeremy scott’ stripes. suffice to say, if anyone has any jeremy scott bags they want to offload for an (un)reasonable price, I’m the sucker born every minute. there was an early-2000 caramel jer’my-print tote on eGay a while back I am still chinese water-torturing myself for not buying. on the subject of jer’my, I’m hankering after the french fries scarf in kokon to zai (my new favourite cash-only shop) I mean, doesn’t everyone want to look like a creepy fibreglass effigy of a paedophile used to peddle grease to toddlers? as for the image size – sorry, it was by far the creepiest. and henceforth best. vanetha’s computer just exploded. sorry. and I have to say my favourite fact of the week decade is that parental organizations have begun to lobby mcdonald's for the removal of the character ‘the hamburgler’ due to the fact that he presents theft as a justifiable means of acquiring sustenance. wow. shockingly I haven't even said what I feel about next season. In fact I haven’t really said much of anything about the winter shows. then again, there wasn’t that much worth mentioning. I’m utterly over gareth pugh and his shoddy workmanship. the fashion establishment loves newsworthy unwearability and endearing penury but really students are designing bigger collections than this. it just doesn’t seem to be moving on at all. and without the schlock of the new it just looks tired and kind of dull. viktor e rolf was insane. and slightly inane. I have to say I loved it, especially the contre-pied high-heeled dutch clogs. vik ‘n’ ro said the whole schtick was something like ‘to turn the fashion show into a look and to turn the clothes into a show.’ hare-brained indeed. I loved it, but maybe only in a sadistic sense. next season I’m guessing paper frocks and a catwalk of hot coals. the funniest thing is that they’re not even taking the piss... I loved the eighties thing at lanvin and preen: that whole odd thing of dressing head-to-toe (including questionable fuschia hosiery) in a single colour is amazing. especially when that colour is electro-puce. margiela wins my vote, if only for the widest of wide shoulders and indecently short (read: virtually – and sometimes literally – non-existant) skirts. I’m not too sure if I can pull it off but I do like the idea, at least. and my antony price and stephen sprouse gave pretty much the exact same silhouette first time round. I have a serious serious fetish for a hermès collier de chien cuff. in any colour. As long as it’s only black, obviously. please bear in mind I have just blown a hundred pounds on that pejoski, and another three fifty on those pirate boots. a collier de chien may just be overkill. nevertheless maybe it’ll impress marios (who I am insisting on pronouncing as ‘maaaaahrioth’ in an adriano canthian lithp). maybe I should explain my very very exciting (or excitable?) news: come june I will be an unpaid but very willing lackey for marios schwab. here are just a few of his frocks. don’t be put off by the thumbnails, when they’re on a woman they’re amazing. even that flesh-coloured one is a knockout. I am very grateful I have actually got the chance to work for a designer I love as opposed to just some lame student who needs as many cv-slaves as possible. of course the only thing I’m able to think is WHAT THE HELL WILL I WEAR? I mean it’s not like viv where I can just chuck on pirate boots and any old codpiece out of my wardrobe and dazzle her. Schwab is hardcore. right now I’m thinking black white and grey, tight, ocassional pirate when I know they’re not going to fire me, and some scary skintight gabardine trench-trousers that only exist in my head. I’m sure you’ll agree the only thing to meet maaaaahrioth in is this: and some form of girdle to pinch in the carrot-cake weight. love, Alex. p.s. nan’s out, and now pat’s gone too. what’s couture going to do (besides die on its knees)? the ‘kempner kollection’ showing at the met seems interesting, although personally I can think of nothing scarier than furtively creeping through a dead woman’s closet. Then again I’ll probably be waaay too busy ejaculating on THIS FUCKING SAINT LAURENT to really give a shit about ‘morals’. p.p.s. pft this is the most shallow shit I’ve ever done probs.

• I have deadlines to meet so you get my full attention... (4/16/07) [View | Hide]

  how did I miss this HOW?