1. Clothes shopping... what kind of clothes do 30 year old men wear?
Throwbacks and fitted caps with matching AF1s or dunks. Doo rags, mouf full of ice, Dickies, Ben Davis, house shoes, Locs, State Property. Cazals, 4 finger rings, Truck jewlery, etc.
Making $60 by dumping loose change into this machine at lunch.
you got ripped off!
will do it for free, even if you don't have an account there. that $60 could've been $65
Ha... well my bank can do it for free too but I have to wait 3 weeks for it to be processed. Coinstar is right across the street and it's like free money... so they can have the $5.
1. Clothes shopping... what kind of clothes do 30 year old men wear?
RAJ...good question.
What you want to do is think "timeless".
This means nothing too extreme, nothing too trendy, nothing too tight, nothing too baggy.
Yet you can have style. Style never goes out of style.
You want to fall somewhere on the continuum between Jared from Subway and Jared from The Sound Library.
Wear fewer and fewer clothes with words printed on them.
Find out what button-ups/button-downs from which manufacturers look best against your color palatte and then buy 10 of those shirts, and have them pressed regularly.
Also you might want to have some sort of ceremony to say goodbye to any clothes that do not fit your new lifestyle.
Think of how you could make a little dude happy by giving away some of your more Xtreme clothing from the past.
When you are 70 years old you will look great in a crisp button-up.
1. Clothes shopping... what kind of clothes do 30 year old men wear?
RAJ...good question.
What you want to do is think "timeless".
This means nothing too extreme, nothing too trendy, nothing too tight, nothing too baggy.
Yet you can have style. Style never goes out of style.
You want to fall somewhere on the continuum between Jared from Subway and Jared from The Sound Library.
Wear fewer and fewer clothes with words printed on them.
Find out what button-ups/button-downs from which manufacturers look best against your color palatte and then buy 10 of those shirts, and have them pressed regularly.
Also you might want to have some sort of ceremony to say goodbye to any clothes that do not fit your new lifestyle.
Think of how you could make a little dude happy by giving away some of your more Xtreme clothing from the past.
When you are 70 years old you will look great in a crisp button-up.
Have you ever seen a 70 year old in a hoodie?
Good advice.
And please, nothing that shows bare toes. Unless you're on the beach. Or within walking distance of the equator.
Ha... well my bank can do it for free too but I have to wait 3 weeks for it to be processed. Coinstar is right across the street and it's like free money... so they can have the $5.
commerce does it immediately.
and if you guess the right amount, you get a prize. like a t-shirt. and their t-shirts are great.
lemonade 2) Sanpellegrino Aranciata has dethroned Orangina
I've quit sugar, but I can't stay away from a Sanpellegrino Aranciata once a week. I drink it sloooow, and it still leaves me wanting (*pasue*).
BLOWIN' GOLD[/b]
1. Reading some samizdat-style leaflets [/b]and my face was melted by this: People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints, such people have a corpse in their mouth --Raoul Vaneigem
Something in me just knew I needed to holler at Sir rape_donkeys. I don't know why, but I was like that dude knows. Turns out he not only knows, but he knows. (File Under: I love this place.) right next to (File Under: I just spent $160 on books... ouch!)
2. Good things with Asprin, soulrez,[/b] and many other dudes that has me happier than I've been in a while.
3. Finally found a copy of Sonia Sanchez[/b] Homegirls & Handgrenades (see #1). (File Under: Completely Unfuckwithable)
Dear Martin, Martin, Luther come on in here, Martin, King... Great God, my Lord what a morning Martin. . .1 want you to know that the sun is rolling in from faraway places. I watch it reaching out, circling these bare trees like some reverent lover. I have been standing still listening to the morning, and I hear your voice crouched near hills, rising from the mountain tops, breaking the circle of dawn. You would have been 58 this year. As I point my face toward a new decade, Martin, I want you to know that the country still crowds the spirit. I want you to know that we still hear your footsteps setting out on a road cemented with black bones. I want to know that the stuttering of guns could not stop your light from crashing against cathedrals. Great God, what a country??? The decade after your death docked like a spaceship on a new planet. Voyagers all we were. We were the aliens walking up the 70???s, a holocaust people on the move looking out from dark eyes... We were youngbloods, spinning hip syllables while saluting death in a country neutral with pain. And our children saw the mirage of plenty spilling from money mad sands. And they ran toward the desert. And the gods of sand made them immune to words that strengthen the breast. And they became scavangers walking on the earth. And you can see them playing, hide-and-go-seek robbers. Native sons. Running on their knees. Reinventing slavery on asphalt. Peeling their umbilical cords for a gold chain. And you can see them on Times Square, in NYC, Martin, selling their 11-, 12-, and 13-year-old bodies to suburban forefathers. And you can see them on Market Street in Philadelphia bobbing up bellywise, young fishes for old sharks, and no cocks are crowing on those mean streets. Great God, what a morning it???ll be someday Martin! I want you to know that decade fell like a stone on our eyes. Our movements, Rhythms. Loves. Books. Delivered us from the night, drove out the fears keeping some of us hoarse. New births knocking at the womb kept us walking. We crossed the cities while a backlash of judges tried to turn us into moles with blackrobed words of reverse racism. But we knew. And our knowing was like a sister???s embrace. As we crossed the land where famine was fed in public. Where black stomachs exploded on the world???s days while men embalmed their eyes and tongues in gold. But we knew. And our knowing squatted from memory. Sitting on our past, we watch the new decade dawning. I want you to know. . these are strange days, when the color of freedom becomes disco fever, when soap operas populate our zulu braids: as the world turns to the conservative right and general hospitals are closing in black and poor neighborhoods, and the young and restless are drugged by early morning reefer butts. And houses tremble. These are dangerous days, Martin, when nuclear-toting generals recite an alphabet of blood; when multinational corporations assassinate ancient cultures while inaugurating new civilizations. But Martin, Martin... on this, your birthday???with all the reversals, I want you to know???we have learned that black is the beginning of everything. It was black in the universe before the sun; it was black in the mind before we opened our eyes; it was black In the womb of our mother; black is the beginning. And if we are the beginning we will be forever. Martini want you to know that we have learned too that fear is not a black man or woman. Fear cannot disturb the length of those who struggle against material gains for self-aggrandizement. Fear cannot disturb the good of people who have moved to a meeting place where the pulse pounds out freedom and justice for the universe. Now is the changing of the tides, Martin. You forecast it where leaves dance on the wings of man. Martin. Listen. On this your birthday, listen and you will hear the earth delivering up curfews to the missionaries and the assassins. Listen. And you will hear the tribal songs: Garvey, Kewarona... Mandela, Kewarona... Malcolm, Kewarona... Harriet Tubman, Kewarona... etc., ... He is ours As we go with you to the sun, As we walk in the dawn, turn our eyes eastward and let the prophecy come true And let the prophecy come true. Great God, Martin, what a morning, it will be!
4. My dude[/b] just finished recording his album...
(And I think it's gonna have that "smokey" feel...)
5. "Beneath the pavement - the beach!"[/b]
BLOWIN' CHUNKS![/b]
1 - 5. My house could burn down [/b]any second. (File Under: Sleepin' very light lately.)
Comments
you got ripped off!
will do it for free, even if you don't have an account there. that $60 could've been $65
Ha... well my bank can do it for free too but I have to wait 3 weeks for it to be processed. Coinstar is right across the street and it's like free money... so they can have the $5.
RAJ...good question.
What you want to do is think "timeless".
This means nothing too extreme, nothing too trendy, nothing too tight,
nothing too baggy.
Yet you can have style. Style never goes out of style.
You want to fall somewhere on the continuum between
Jared from Subway and Jared from The Sound Library.
Wear fewer and fewer clothes with words printed on them.
Find out what button-ups/button-downs from which manufacturers look
best against your color palatte and then buy 10 of those shirts, and
have them pressed regularly.
Also you might want to have some sort of ceremony to say goodbye to
any clothes that do not fit your new lifestyle.
Think of how you could make a little dude happy by giving away some
of your more Xtreme clothing from the past.
When you are 70 years old you will look great in a crisp button-up.
Have you ever seen a 70 year old in a hoodie?
This guy... although I can't find any pics online:
No dude, your line was supposed to be
"yeah but he had to clean the smegma every day".
Good advice.
And please, nothing that shows bare toes. Unless you're on the beach. Or within walking distance of the equator.
Please no.
Please no.
Please no.
2.
3.
4.
5.
commerce does it immediately.
and if you guess the right amount, you get a prize. like a t-shirt. and their t-shirts are great.
http://www.commerceonline.com/commerce_news/newsdetail.cfm?newsid=119
I've quit sugar, but I can't stay away from a Sanpellegrino Aranciata once a week. I drink it sloooow, and it still leaves me wanting (*pasue*).
BLOWIN' GOLD[/b]
1. Reading some samizdat-style leaflets [/b]and my face was melted by this:
People who talk about revolution and class struggle without referring explicitly to everyday life, without understanding what is subversive about love and what is positive in the refusal of constraints, such people have a corpse in their mouth
--Raoul Vaneigem
Something in me just knew I needed to holler at Sir rape_donkeys. I don't know why, but I was like that dude knows. Turns out he not only knows, but he knows. (File Under: I love this place.) right next to (File Under: I just spent $160 on books... ouch!)
2. Good things with Asprin, soulrez,[/b] and many other dudes that has me happier than I've been in a while.
3. Finally found a copy of Sonia Sanchez[/b] Homegirls & Handgrenades (see #1). (File Under: Completely Unfuckwithable)
LETTER TO DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING [/b](listen)
Dear Martin, Martin, Luther come on in here, Martin, King...
Great God, my Lord what a morning Martin. . .1 want you to know that the sun is rolling in from faraway places. I watch it reaching out, circling these bare trees like some reverent lover. I have been standing still listening to the morning, and I hear your voice crouched near hills, rising from the mountain tops, breaking the circle of dawn. You would have been 58 this year.
As I point my face toward a new decade, Martin, I want you to know that the country still crowds the spirit. I want you to know that we still hear your footsteps setting out on a road cemented with black bones. I want to know that the stuttering of guns could not stop your light from crashing against cathedrals.
Great God, what a country???
The decade after your death docked like a spaceship on a new planet. Voyagers all we were. We were the aliens walking up the 70???s, a holocaust people on the move looking out from dark eyes... We were youngbloods, spinning hip syllables while saluting death in a country neutral with pain.
And our children saw the mirage of plenty spilling from money mad sands. And they ran toward the desert. And the gods of sand made them immune to words that strengthen the breast. And they became scavangers walking on the earth.
And you can see them playing, hide-and-go-seek robbers. Native sons. Running on their knees. Reinventing slavery on asphalt. Peeling their umbilical cords for a gold chain.
And you can see them on Times Square, in NYC, Martin, selling their 11-, 12-, and 13-year-old bodies to suburban forefathers. And you can see them on Market Street in Philadelphia bobbing up bellywise, young fishes for old sharks, and no cocks are crowing on those mean streets.
Great God, what a morning it???ll be someday Martin! I want you to know that decade fell like a stone on our eyes. Our movements, Rhythms. Loves. Books. Delivered us from the night, drove out the fears keeping some of us hoarse. New births knocking at the womb kept us walking.
We crossed the cities while a backlash of judges tried to turn us into moles with blackrobed words of reverse racism. But we knew. And our knowing was like a sister???s embrace. As we crossed the land where famine was fed in public. Where black stomachs exploded on the world???s days while men embalmed their eyes and tongues in gold. But we knew. And our knowing squatted from memory.
Sitting on our past, we watch the new decade dawning. I want you to know. . these are strange days, when the color of freedom becomes disco fever, when soap operas populate our zulu braids: as the world turns to the conservative right and general hospitals are closing in black and poor neighborhoods, and the young and restless are drugged by early morning reefer butts. And houses tremble.
These are dangerous days, Martin, when nuclear-toting generals recite an alphabet of blood; when multinational corporations assassinate ancient cultures while inaugurating new civilizations.
But Martin, Martin... on this, your birthday???with all the reversals, I want you to know???we have learned that black is the beginning of everything. It was black in the universe before the sun; it was black in the mind before we opened our eyes; it was black In the womb of our mother; black is the beginning. And if we are the beginning we will be forever.
Martini want you to know that we have learned too that fear is not a black man or woman. Fear cannot disturb the length of those who struggle against material gains for self-aggrandizement. Fear cannot disturb the good of people who have moved to a meeting place where the pulse pounds out freedom and justice for the universe.
Now is the changing of the tides, Martin. You forecast it where leaves dance on the wings of man. Martin. Listen. On this your birthday, listen and you will hear the earth delivering up curfews to the missionaries and the assassins. Listen. And you will hear the tribal songs:
Garvey, Kewarona...
Mandela, Kewarona...
Malcolm, Kewarona...
Harriet Tubman, Kewarona... etc., ...
He is ours
As we go with you to the sun,
As we walk in the dawn, turn our eyes
eastward and let the prophecy come true
And let the prophecy come true.
Great God, Martin, what a morning, it will be!
4. My dude[/b] just finished recording his album...
(And I think it's gonna have that "smokey" feel...)
5. "Beneath the pavement - the beach!"[/b]
BLOWIN' CHUNKS![/b]
1 - 5. My house could burn down [/b]any second. (File Under: Sleepin' very light lately.)