Father Christmas comes early

Yesterday, while eating breakfast. The photographer for this week's shoot walks in...

As I sit at a table full of Brit's and one other American; one by one, whispers scatter around the table in "hush hush" manor, until one girl loudly debates her neighbor "THAT'S BRUCE WEBER?! He looks like FATHER CHRISTMAS!! I thought he was a young thin man!!"

While I'd seen photos of Mr. Weber and heard of him as if the bible was strictly about fashion... he'd be someone who'd be one of the hierarchy closest to god. The pretty British girl was right. He does indeed give off that "Father Christmas" vibe in person.

He's got a calm and happy presence, he's kind of quiet, and physically meets almost every characteristic that one might list to describe Santa Claus himself.


Although, you'd subtract the red hat with a bandanna, and the red suit with lots of khaki and natural colors.




one of my favorite spreads in W Magazine was shot by him a few months ago:




[ today, is a down day. We were told to go around Providence and explore, and get some color, because we're all looking a bit "pale". But, I chose to stay buried in my over sized bed, and let the sunlight kiss my face through the window. ]

The Island of Rhode

this blog has NEGLECT written all over it.


I sit in a fancy shmancy hotel, alone, atop my california king with bedding for Royalty- which sits parallel to a duplicated bed, with no one to sleep on it. In front of me hangs a flat screen, way bigger than could ever be necessary, yet can't provide a damn thing to hold my attention for the life of me.

Ive spent my day with really really ridiculously good looking people, who at a majority, i found really really faulty in stimulating conversation. If only I spent 10 hours a day in a gym..

I contemplate life, passion, and room service.

Skinny Love

Bon Iver manages to drain out every last tear. Go ahead, give it a try.



Come on skinny love just last the year

Pour a little salt we were never here

My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer



I tell my love to wreck it all

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall

My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Right in the moment this order's tall



I told you to be patient

I told you to be fine

I told you to be balanced

I told you to be kind

In the morning I'll be with you

But it will be a different "kind"

I'll be holding all the tickets

And you'll be owning all the fines



Come on skinny love what happened here

Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere

My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Sullen load is full; so slow on the split



I told you to be patient

I told you to be fine

I told you to be balanced

I told you to be kind

Now all your love is wasted?

Then who the hell was I?

Now I'm breaking at the britches

And at the end of all your lines



Who will love you?

Who will fight?

Who will fall far behind?

Hank and Shirley

Meet Hank, and Shirley.

three amigos

I miss this.

out of the office.

Currently whistling a lonely country twang-like melody, spilling my sorrows onto paper, chased with whiskey, in my ford pickup, with my dog by my side.

will inform you upon my return.

PAX

Another notch on my belt. One more reason I love New York.

PAX- Like Subway Sandwiches. But it's salads. You pick a pre-wrapped bowl of lettuce. Take it to a bar, with a man standing behind it. He then asks you what you'd like in your salad. There are a million toppings to chose from. The killer though, is that they charge you per topping. And different toppings are different prices. I am a sucker for a Jam Packed salad, so I pay the price. Both Financially, And- Calorificly (I don't think that's a word, but you know what I mean). Next to each topping there is the amount of calories in each serving they give you. I let my eyes go out of focus at any sight of numbers. Ignorance is bliss when you don't know how much they're charging you for a cup of cranberries, and how much that cup of nuts is costing my ability to fit into my pants.

The workers at PAX have gotten to know me all too well. "Where is your friend?!" They asked while I ordered my creation Sans my roommate Lauren "Oh she's working" I let them know, assuring them she's not cheating on them with Subway- having an affair with carbs. She's just at a photo shoot.

"You's guys ah Models ahn''t cha?"
yes we are, we live just down the street. (I smile)
"So's, what's y'alls do? Like fashion? Have you been in magazines?"
Yeah, yep fashion magazines.
"Ahh. That's coo." the woman validates my career as she hands me my change.

Skeptical if she was sincere, if she was judging me, or being sarcastic. Her pearly white smile now assures me and warms my heart. She really does think I'm cool.

We've bonded.

THAT night. I come back. You know it- More PAX, I just can't get enough. All of the possible combinations have got the hamsters running laps inside my head! What about switching up the nuts, tossing it in a different dressing? Possibly chopping the mixed greens instead of simply fluffing them up and around?!

Upon my return, I've (by then) changed my attire, washed off my makeup and pulled my hair back. Did I do this to possibly detour the PAX employees from noticing that I'd been in there 4 hours earlier? Not initially, but once I realized that washing my eyelashes and eyebrows off, I become a fifteen year old boy with no eyelashes or eyebrows. I go with it. Me? No.... I wasn't in here earlier.

I walk up to the salad bar. And there is a new guy. Who doesn't really know what he's doing. But I can walk him through it. I've got faith.

I'm thinking he's from Nigeria. I think. I hate to stereotype, but I'd put money on it.

I stare at the Giant menu, then glance down at the beautiful display of toppings. I reference back to the different options of lettuce. I really wanted to branch out this time.

"Are you married?!" the worker asks as he analyzes the sparkles that shimmy around my left ring finger.
Yes. I am.
"Can I ask you something?"
(I'm pretty sure you just did)
ya, sure.
"How old are you!?!?
Twenty-two. Why?
"Well You just look so young. sixteen maybe! I wondered. How long have you been married?"
well well, don't you have a lot of questions! It will be 4 years in December. are YOU married? I ask him as I notice the gold band that rests on his wedding ring finger.
"No. I need to find the right lady...."

"I'm twenty-four... 1995" he offers up free info about himself.

1995?

"yes 12-25- 1995. My birthday"

I think to myself.
a) that would make you thirteen
b) obviously you are concealing some information about your real age
c) you need to become better at lying.
d) if you're going to lie, at least pick the date of a less popular holiday than Christmas. Ca'mon dude, you might as well just go ahead and claim you're Jesus Christ.

"Oh. Ok" I smile and scoot along, anxiously awaiting my newest and latest concoction.

As I get more anxious, he wants to talk more. He asks if I could help him find the right lady.

"I don't live here! I live in California!" I excuse myself from playing matchmaker.

"It's ok! I will go there!"

"eh...heh...heh" I force out a few awkward laughs, trying to figure out what I will say.

"Let me give you my e-mail! You give it to your friends!"

" I don't have any! They're all married! All so far away!" I toss out some measly little white lies.

I smile.
And wish him luck with finding his love.
"She's out there somewhere! You just have to be patient!" I advise him with my hearty wealth of wisdom.
And wave goodbye.

Oh PAX, even though you're now making me work hard for my grub, I'm still you're girl.