Something is afoot in men’s fashion. So steady yourselves, because high heels for the heftier sex are making a comeback.

Diminutive shoe aficionados including Karl Lagerfeld, Prince, Richard Hammond and Nicolas Sarkozy have long championed the discreet(ish) Cuban heel. Now, though, height-enhancing footwear has begun to permeate across a broader demographic. For the first time since Glam Rock peaked three decades ago, men of average height are discovering the delights of a few extra inches. Well-heeled shoes of all types, from craftily sized “status” shoes to 21st century platforms, are enjoying a new vogue.

The man-heel — or “meel” as some have termed it — is simultaneously a coming trend in several wildly different milieus. The most eye-catching examples are to be found in the semi-Goth, semi-glam society of high-fashion menswear obsessives. The natural territories for these platform-heeled pioneers include Hoxton, TopMan at Oxford Circus and various international fashion weeks. In Paris this spring, both Gareth Pugh’s and Rick Owen’s shows were attended by high-heeled male audience members. It was the same at Rodarte in New York and Pam Hogg in London. Notable man-platforms are being produced by Jean-Michel Cazabat and Owens himself. Both offer man-heels of about four inches and upwards.

This fashion-pack dalliance may well have been catalysed by Marc Jacobs, perhaps the industry’s most influential bellwether of style. Two years ago the designer let slip that he sometimes wore women’s heels to “suffer for fashion”.

Jacobs told The Times: “If I put heels in a collection I always try them on and walk around the studios in them during the fittings, which take up to 36 hours. It raises a laugh with the team for about five minutes because they’ve seen me do it so many times. But that’s not why I do it. I do it because I want to show that I’m not some misogynist designer designing these torturous shoes for women. The heels are there as a choice and if you want to wear them all the time, some of the time or never, it’s your choice.” He added: “I don’t wear them out on the street.”

Some male style mavens, however, do even go so far as to wear extremely feminine styles out and about. The street fashion photo blog of Peter Stigter shows one example of a young man outside the New York fashion week venue wearing strappy, open-toed stilettos — teamed with a fringed handbag. These camp, provocatively gender-skewing style statements are not the only way in which the man-heel is flourishing. A mariachi-meets-Keith Richards shoe shape — a pointed shoe or boot teamed with a silhouette-boosting heel — is proving popular among a more overtly masculine crowd. Dior Homme’s collection features a cool pointed suede ankle boot that gives about two inches of extra lift.

Selfridges reports a particular appetite for this style of boot. Sam Lobban, a contemporary buyer for the store, described the look as “flamboyant, but in an edgy, cool way. Heeled boots are the epitome of this and seem a natural turn for our customer — rock’n’roll twinned with elegance”.

The dandyish Rochester style by the English shoe designer Jeffery West gives nearly three inches of lift. So spectacularly pointed is it that one could, if inclined, quite easily hide a cheese triangle in front of one’s toes, go for a stroll, and preserve it unsquashed. Wearing the Rochesters — burnished a deep red and punched with a snake motif — earned me numerous appreciative comments at The Times yesterday.

The pointed rockstar boots, however, are obviously Cuban heeled. Men who hanker after a few extra inches but prefer not to brazen it out visit James Taylor & Sons near Baker Street in London. Here “status shoes” are made with visible heels of about 1¼in — barely more than regular shoes. Inside Taylor’s shoes, however, lurks a hidden 1½in lift. The shoemaker’s owner, Peter Schweiger, reports a steady trade in elevating wing tips, Oxfords, and chukka boots.

Not all of his customers, however, are averse to displaying their heels. “Sometimes people bring in shoes which we raise for them, back to the brothel creeper way of things with two inches of crepe under the soles.

~from TimesOnline.com

I am about 5 minutes into The Wolfman, so far it is not so good, and the Wolfman has already killed someone. He did it by first stabbing the man through the stomach with his claws and then slashing him across the face. After that the man ran away and the Wolfman stalked him for a short bit before moving in to finish him with a bite.

Now here is my question:

Why does the Wolfman use claws as a means of killing or incapacitating his prey?

I know he is a strange amalgamation of wolf and man, but in those two completely unrelated species there is absolutely no use of claws as weapons. Sure humans can make claws, but if we come in bare handed we will probably use one of the many ape methods, use your hands like hammers, grab and attempt to throw you, choke you, slap you,etc, etc. We don’t slash.

Wolves bite. Period. Yeah they like most land animals have claws but they don’t use them for hunting.

So. The Wolfman. What gives? Why is he going around like a pissed off cat clawing people?

It makes no sense.

None.

Now i can get back to my illegally downloaded bad movie.

2. Before the date develop an almost intimate knowledge of your tipping point. Sloppy drunk ain’t cute. IT AIN’T CUTE!

3. Never meet your date in any state of drunkeness. Drinking related side-eye is a killer.

4. If you are dating a Japanese fellow be prepared to make all the decisions or hone your innate telepathy into a sharp blade.

5. Don’t be drunk. (Yeah, I already said it twice.)

6. Clean your place completely in the morning. Go out for lunch. Clean your place completely again. Some people, two of my exes, are able to spot a stray spot of dust from five miles out. Clean is never clean enough.

“Will I be hot? Will I be cold? Will I let the sun shine, rain pour, or snow fall today? Maybe I will do two of those during the day and do the other all night. Yeah, that sounds good.”

Stupid spring.

*sigh*

My ex, the recent one, the one that I really liked, the one who I think gave me mental problems for a while, is currently lying in my bed. No, we didn’t fuck… not anally anyway. Not yet, but that will probably be on the table at some point before he leaves.

Him getting here is quite an amusing tale. (Oh and just so you know I am not talking about Jun. He is not allowed within 500 yards of my apartment and 1000 yards of my bed.)

So for the last month i have been trying to meet guys. I have had some successes and failures. One guy I met is pretty cool, but he has a boyfriend in Canada. Another guy I met is pretty nice, but he lives somewhat far away. Lucky, right? Well last friday night as I was planning how to best lock myself in my apartment for the weekend I get a call from my ex about a free HIV testing event that he is organizing and he also tells me about some potential extra work. I thank him for this info and then we shoot the shit for a couple of minutes.

Now this guy is Japanese and in typical Japanese dude fashion is typically oblivious to the problems of his significant other. I know shouldnt make that generalization, but I feel it’s true. While we are talking I think he has a moment of clarity.

He asked, “Why don’t we talk anymore? Are you trying to keep me away?”

I was shocked silent for a couple of seconds.

I have/had been trying to keep him away. I didn’t really expect him to get it. He was supposed to be completely oblivious to my feelings. That was his thing. That is his thing.

“Perhaps,” I thought, ” I’ve been wrong.”

So I invited him over the next day for dinner and conversation. He ended up staying the night and I still don’t have what I want… him. With all the bells and whistles attached.

Sitting in the dark I mean.

When I was a young lad I was afraid of the dark. Truthfully I am still afraid but now I can handle if better. My secret? Never close your curtains.

My parents, both for different reasons, were horrified of leaving curtains open at night. My mom would always scream that we were going to get robbed or murdered. My dad always felt like people would watch us if the curtains were open.

All were valid concerns. Especially when you take into account that we did get robbed once and that my neighbor’s son once watched my sister getting undressed one night.

My parents calmed their nerves by putting some of the thickest and darkest curtains you can imagine in all of the bedrooms. My parents had thick, satiny red curtains that matched their bed sheets.  (Sexy, right?)   My sisters had thick multiple layer, white curtains that matched the wood on their walls. I had thick, navy colored, floor length curtains that didn’t match a damn thing in my room or the house.

Those curtains taught me my first lesson on decorating. Bad decorating.

Anyway the curtains in my room were so thick and my parents closed them so tight that at night my bedroom would turn into a freaking tomb. Pitch black.

I have a theory. People who wear glasses are not afraid of the dark because in regular life they can’t see without  glasses.  Life in the daytime is scary for them so the dark is not much different.

I don’t wear glasses so the contrast between day and night is too shocking.  I can see so I get frightened.

It’s just a theory.

In Sangoku Basara Samurai Heroes, you take on the role of a historic samurai during Japan’s Warring states period. But somehow these famous generals end up looking like characters out of a romance novel.

Let’s take a gander at the reality.

Fictional Ieyasu Tokugawa

In the game, Ieyasu is a youthful samurai who sports red ropes that looks suspiciously like suspenders and takes out legions of armored soldiers with just his fists.

Quote: “May my fists unite all!”

Real Ieyasu Tokugawa

In reality, Ieyasu was a feared and cunning general and adept swordsman who fought in 90 battles. He became the founder and first shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate. He was into falconry and had 19 wives and concubines, one of which he had executed.

Quote: “Life is like unto a long journey with a heavy burden. Let thy step be slow and steady, that thou stumble not. Persuade thyself that imperfection and inconvenience are the natural lot of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent, neither for despair. When ambitious desires arise in thy heart, recall the days of extremity thou has past through. Forbearance is the root of quietness and assurance forever. Look upon the wrath of the enemy. If thou knowest only what it is to conquer, and knowest not what it is like to be defeated, woe unto thee; it will fare ill with thee. Find fault with thyself rather than with others.”

Fictional Masamune Date

The fictional Masamune sports a skin-tight set of armor, charming crescent-moon helmet and an eye patch. He wields six swords at a time, tucking them between his knuckles to dish out Wolverine-like attacks.

Quote: “Just you wait… soon you’ll feel my claws”

Real Masamune Date

Nick-named the “one-eyed dragon” Masamune lost the vision in his right eye as a child to smallpox. He later either ripped the eyeball out himself or had it gouged out by a retainer.

He went out to be a vicious and ruthless general, leading his first military campaign at the age of 14 wearing a soon to be infamous crescent-moon helmet. Masamune went on to found the city of Sendai.

Quote: “Rectitude carried to excess hardens into stiffness; benevolence indulged beyond measure sinks into weakness.”

Fictional Mitsunari Ishida

In the game, Ishida’s has a eye-crossing emo haircut, with white hair no less, wears a waistcoat of some sort and comes off as a bit whiny.

Quote: “I come bearing a gift for you… a gift of death!”

Real Mitsunari Ishida

The real Ishida was known as a talented financial manager and leader of bureaucrats. In 1600, Ishida raised an army led by Mori Terumoto, but was defeated. He was caught by villagers while fleeing the area and later beheaded.

Quote: None

Fictional Yukimura Sanada

Sanada’s get up includes an open leather jacket exposing his chest and six pack, white pants and red boots. He fights in the game with two spears.

Quote: “Like a whirlpool shall the spirit of fire turn!”

Real Yukimura Sanada

In reality, Yukimura was a brave and respected warrior known as the “crimson demon of war.” He was by many accounts the best warrior in all of Japan during his lifetime. He died in battle in 1615, according to one account, badly wounded and too exhausted to fend off his attackers.

Quote: “I am Sanada Yukimura, no doubt an adversary quite worthy of yourselves, but I am tired and will fight no longer. Go on, take my head as your trophy”.

~from Kotaku.com

Lately I have been going to techno… Err, electronic events with my DJ friend and I have been getting exposed to the dark world of Japanese techno-electronic music, and it has been very dark.

It has been an experience. I would call it almost religious experience.

Last night I went to a small club in my city called Cafe Domina.

I always thought that cafes were quiet places where you enjoyed things like coffee, tea, muffins, uncomfortable chairs and whatnot. I fear that saying this will make me sound like a bitter old man, but cafes should be quiet and peaceful places with windows that let in warm light. They should be decorated in a unique way that makes you want to slowly drink in your surroundings while sipping on your tepid cup of…. whatever you like to drink.

I don’t really like going to cafes because I don’t really drink coffee and I am seldom comfortable sitting in one place for a long time. So most of my ideas of cafes come from watching TV shows and movies. They always seem so nice but then there is Domina.

Cafe Domina is not a cafe. It is a club that happens to have a few very uncomfortable chairs and tacky decorations hanging from random portions of the ceiling. Fake flowers. They have fake flowers. I hate fake flowers. I simply cannot find any beauty in hard unyielding representations of poison ivy and daisies. That shit doesn’t even go together. Domina doesn’t have coffee or tea or freaking muffins. I think I will write the owner a letter and demand that he/she remove the fake flowers and “cafe” from the name of the place. I will also request that the walls be painted an agreeable color. Rust orange or something like that.

Why do most clubs have black walls?

Wow, I just realized that I am being somewhat bitchy.

The event last night was actually pretty good as far as music is concerned. The main act was Thomas Fehlmann. Prior to last night I had never heard of him. He was really good. Amazing actually. Unfortunately I don’t know the name of any of his songs or else I would name them. Trust me they were good and I am currently trying to track down one of his albums.

Before he started playing a few local Djs played. There were three and two of them were not really different from each other. I for the life of me can’t remember anything about their performances other than loud banging and clicking. The other DJ was different. He played this ambient, beat-less, mood killing music that annoyed me at first.

It sounded like he was dragging a conch shell across wet piano strings.

That makes absolutely no sense. His music didn’t either for the most part. At least not in a conventional sense. It seemed like he was going for a mood. Reverence. His music had no medley but it did have something. Watching him play was like watching someone make bread.

He was completely enthralled with what he was doing. I don’t know what kind of set-up he was working with on stage, but it seemed like he was kneading and molding the “music” into something special. You could tell he was having a great time, unfortunately the audience, me included, were not, for the most part, having as good a time as he was.

There was one guy who seemed to be as into the performance as the DJ was. He body was swinging and swaying and clawing at the air insanely all by himself. Occasionally he would claw wildly at the air before thrusting one of his arms between his legs to scratch his ass. I thought he was on drugs, but while watching him and listening to the DJ’s music I was reminded of the many church services that I have been to over the course of my life.

For a very brief moment I felt like I was ten again, sitting on a hard pew watching one of the ladies in my church “catch the spirit”. If you’ve never seen someone under the influence of the spirit you are lucky. It is easily one of the most disturbing laughable experiences of your life. Imagine a woman with a harshly painted face convulsing wildly screaming gibberish (god speak) while trying to hold on to her large, new, yellow sunhat. It’s scary stuff man.

The guy in the club was just like that, minus the talking of course. He even fell out on the floor briefly… then he started to crawl. That was weird. That was really weird. What was he on?