What will I wear?

I will be taking several trips in the near future. I have a big blank in my mind about what I should wear.

the WoodBot is not an empty-headed fellow, but he
is, on the other hand, not helping me figure out my
traveling wardrobe. Fact, WoodBot.

First of all, I'm going to Minneapolis this week. Minneapolis is currently having a springtime, I presume. But I also presume that it is a more precipitation-ish springtime than Utah's springtime. I'm presenting at a conference, but also attending a conference. The real question is, having stopped wearing tights in Utah, will I wear them in Minnesota? Is this a bridge too far? And how big will my suitcase have to be to contain these quandaries?

Are you checking out those rainy clouds?

Moving on.

blah blah mug.

In two weeks and one day, I will be going to Ireland. First Dublin, then west and north to Sligo. Please, all you experienced Irelanders, don't tell me that this is a bad idea. I'm going to Sligo. Just tell me: what kind of coat should I bring?

the Sligo forecast.

This is kind of messing with my mind, you guys.

> today's [lightweight & recalcitrant] poem <

Fashion.

Awhile ago, I accepted an invitation to join Gilt.com from my friend Paisley. Gilt says this about itself:

Gilt Groupe provides instant insider access to today’s top designer labels, at up to 60% off retail.


Insider access! Today's top whatever! up to 60% flarf? I'm in, I tell you, is what I said to myself.

Since then, of course, there has been a proliferation of such sites, and I check a couple of them daily. That's right, daily, right when the sales kick in, which is, that's right, in the middle of my work day. I take a moment to pause at the shrine of, whatever, style, and then I move on. At first I bought a couple of things. Now I never. Almost never, anyway. But today, while perusing one of my sites, I found this label:

spiritual gangster

Now, I think this may be my true self/sign/icon/avatar? Because: I am a poet, and I have a thing about religion, yea, even the religion of my foremothers/fathers, and thus I am spiritual, maybe. And also, (b), I am tough and I am street, son, and I would totally flourish with that one badass ring.

But I ask you:

give love (in black)

is this gangster?

For that matter, is it spiritual? (or style, even?)

about spiritual gangster

I think I don't know what gangster means. Or for that matter spiritual.

Lots of pretty people there, reading Rolling Stone, reading Vogue.

At Rockn Fish, in Manhattan Beach. We are sitting on the patio; the historian has his back to the door, which means I am in precisely the spot to observe the comings and goings:

Me: You can't see the exceedingly well-groomed people coming in and out of here.

The historian: Really? (continues eating his artichoke.)

Me: Yeah. Like, just now: tall guy, eyebrows clearly professionally groomed, airbrushed tan.

Velvet blazer. Very well-fitted.

The historian: That could be me.

Me: ...yet tragically, it is not.

M.I.A. vs. M.I.A.

 (Photos courtesy of Go Fug Yourself: because fugly is the new pretty.)

If M.I.A. has to fight herself in order to establish style dominance, which version of her, last night at the Grammys, wins? the dress in which polka dot patches are kind of like a deconstructed Minnie Mouse, covering--sort of--relevant body parts? Accessorized by awesome white trainers. And sun glasses.  And let's not forget the sheer footless tights.

OR:  would it be the huge kimono satin-y thing that can double as a parachute in case she has to jump out of a plane to deliver her baby which is due, like, yesterday, adding a potentially MacGyver-esque aspect to this outfit?  Also, is that an acid-yellow bra peeking out? To complement the awesome blue trainers? (Ignore irrelevant accessory in the form of Katy Perry.)

It would be hard to call the outcome of this, right?  But I say it ends in a draw, with both versions so way out there, they take the breath away, however you might have experienced that.  Way to go, M.I.A.  

[Note:  I have shamelessly ripped off this idea--X vs. Y--from The Cut, New York Magazine's fashion blog.  In the spirit of Larry Lessig, I am calling it a remix.]

Deconstruction of a fashion magazine cover.