In a youth hostel in Boston, one day before the United States launched the "war", I found myself in a war of my own. One for my life. It was a slow winter at the hostel I worked at and the travel season for backpackers was just starting to pick up. Earlier that winter an Irish guy, about my age, named Kevin had booked a few nights with us at the Beantown Hostel. Kevin O'Carrol was his name. He was a pale Irishman with greasy jet black hair and a larger than average frame. His nose was red from the chill in the air and he sniffed without cease as he checked in.  After a while in the hostel business, you can begin to spot a persons nationality as they walk through the door before they even say a word and you can be pretty accurate in most cases, even to what part of a particular country they live in.  I logged him into the books and handed his passport back to him and proceeded to fill him in on the particulars about the hostel and the city. I always afforded a backpacker  all the courtesy that was deserved, being a packing nomad myself. However, There was something I didn't like to see at the hostel though and that was suitcases. You see, suitcases are the enemy of the real backpacker and if you are "travelling" that's fine. However, hostels are for backpackers, not suitcasers. Even worse than a suitcase is a duffel bag. In the eyes of a hostel employee, a duffel bag can only say one thing, "whos head is in that bag weirdo!?"

I shared my favorite places to grab coffee, the best cheap meals and the places in boston that shouldn't be missed. As we dropped Kevins suit case and duffle bag into the "packroom" (the lock up for backpacks) he informed me that he would get need to get back into his pack every so often to get his medication. Cheers for the information lad, but I cant drink coffee, he says. I go off my nut, cant think and even have a bit of a panic attack. Well atleast we had something in common, thats what happens to me when I can't get coffee. Kevin quickly made friends with my boss, a high strung middle aged Irish woman from the same part of the "old country". He boasted that Limerick, his town, had the nick name STAB CITY. As Kevins days at the hostel became weeks and the weeks became months, we became friends. He had stayed at the hostel for as long as he had by way of work exchange. He would sit a few nights a week at the small desk in the common area, which was nothing more than a living room with a small check-in desk and inturn my boss and his friend Orla would allow him to stay for free.

It was a pretty normal event that some stray backpacker would wander into the hostel looking for work exchange once they had run out of money for their journey. They would work a few days a week at the hostel, have free board and find some Irish Pub who would hire them under the table until they made enough money to reach their next destination. A few days before St. Paddys Day, a guy named Matt checked into the hostel for a few nights by way of Tulsa, OK. Matt and I talked about Tulsa and where we had both lived in the town. We discovered that we had both spent a great deal of time writing and drinking too many cups of coffee at the same bookstore. I found Matt to be a pretty strange character at the time. He resembled Edward Norton in a way. His mom was a  teacher, former prom queen and devout Mormon in Tulsa, His dad a Catholic tennis champion and Business man in Austrailia and he had just come back from living in Istanbul by way of London where he owned 2 pairs of jeans, one that he obviously had worn more often by the look of the holes in them and a few t-shirts. His accent was a little off for me, I couldnt quite place it. It was a cocktail of a mid-southern-okie-English-Austrailian meets Bono from U2. Matt, at the time, was somewhat educated but his accent made him sound like he had two PHD's..........
TO BE CONTINUED

Riding my bike down the street alongside my best friend Eric, I yelled over the sound of the train that ran through my backyard, "Hey, Lets go get something to eat at my house." We rode passed Shapiro's scrap yard, who my mom had once been a secretary for, and passed the drab little grey brick building on the corner of 9th street that never had a business that lasted 6 months in it. We cranked hard on the pedals as we made the final approach to my house via the neighbors yard that had the perfect jump. The fall leaves cracked under the tires and the wind blew them into a sound that I miss, a sound almost like the ocean crashing the shore. After laughing at the close encounter with the tree, we bombed through the front door leaving it open letting the screen door close with that strange hydraulic hiss that it made.  Mom hadn't made it home from work yet. We slid on our socks across the hardwood in the living room to the kitchen to explore our options. Cracking the freezer open we discovered a small box of 18 mini eggrolls. Perfect, "I love eggrolls! That's pretty good huh? 10 for me and 8 for you OK?" I said. I studied the box to see how long it was going to take to fill our bellies. OK, I didnt study it, I looked at it. Well, Umm, I glanced, and saw that it was 18-20min. So I poured the frozen china treats onto a plate and sauntered over to the microwave.

Eric was a very respectful kid with a presonality that could charm the dentures out of your grandmothers mouth, a real cheek pincher. Every adult who knew him must have applauded his parents for his well behaved polite manor. I was no different. However, something that happened when Eric and I joined forces. There was a planetary shift, the cosmos realligned and we became one serious misfit machine. Time after time we got ourselves into some pickle and dug deeper holes to try to get out. There was no comfort in the fact that Erics father, a man that feared like you would your own father who I admire deeply to this day, was a police officer. Debbie, Erics mom, is a champion of a mother. Her smile is warm welcoming and although shes almost 5 feet tall and has a heart as soft as you will find also had the fury of a volcano when we we're out of line.

Eric suggested we spit the difference and punch 19 minutes into the micowave, that way we could be sure that we didnt overcook them. I agreed, Who likes icy eggrolls. We slid on our socks back to the front door and hopped on our bikes to burn away the next 19 minutes. As our bike ride turned into 15 minutes, we returned to my street, back passed the scrap yard, passed the little gray building and spotted my mom pulling into the driveway. Mom greeted us and walked to the door and opened it. Black smoke billowed from the top of the door. We feared the worst. Our eggrolls could have burnt and we were starving! Mom conducted a stop drop and roll and moved onto the scene. From inside, you could hear the smoke alarms going off.  We heard from inside the dreaded call, the one we heard so often, "JOSHUAH! ERIC!" The microwave seemed to have melted. After further investigation, once the black smoke settled leaving a nice blackish covering on everything in the house, it was concluded that the box was wrong! 19 minutes was way too long for eggrolls! (in the microwave,not the oven)

Regretfully, thats not the only house I nearly burnt to the ground when I was a kid. More on that later.

2.  Where is my hair?!

3.  Pete kicked my ass all over that yoga studio.  And I loved it.

4.  It is too soon post-breakup for me to be drinking and also carrying a cell phone without much closer supervision.

5.  Why didn't you answer my last email?

6.  My kitchen is completely disgusting.

The Kyoot Army top from the last post was too cute to pass on a little mixing. This outfit is cute and a bit tomboy. Very comfy. My boots are adorable, but I'm thinking I want to put a mod size script in them to make them fit my feet better. If that's even possible..? I'm a fashion writer people! You tell me! :D

When you buy a good piece, experiment with it. I think it's easy to wear something one way all the time. The beauty is in the odd coupling, for me at least. I love that 'ah-ha' moment of discovery when you pair something and it works. I think, for this top, I'll try to glam it up next.

***

‘Snake Charmer’ shirt from Kyoot Army @ (190, 223, 21)

'Half Pants 08' & 'Spiked Bracelet' from edge grafica @ (79, 33, 106)

'Engineer Boots' from [0N] ZERO NUMBER @ (229, 47, 40)

Black Nails from J's Shoes @ [FREE!]

'Septum Pincher' Piercing in Black from The Body Politik @  (130, 70, 48)

‘Quiet Seduction’ in Raven from Sky Everett Designs @ (39, 62, 39)

Welcome, everybody, to my first ever video log. Please excuse my incessant rambling - it's a medical condition and can't be helped.

We had a cross-country meet today at a State Park near the lake. I swore that I would go swimming in the Lake after my race, and I did. We finished the girls Varsity race (third place for me...we went against an awesome team) and my two friends and I headed down to the lake. We did not end up swimming. We touched the water, took a few pictures, then fled to watch the "men" in their race. (THEY WON!)

After their race, my brother wanted to go swimming. My friend Ashley and I were all for it, and we began walking back towards the lake with the new guy. Soon we were joined by half of the boy's team, and we ran to the beach. I took off my warm-up pants (my best friend's PJs, hehe - I borrowed them from him and never gave them back), and ran to the shore. Yeah, it was cold, and today wasn't the hottest September day we've had. I looked behind me and saw half of the boy's team running towards me in just their spandex. Haha, hello!

We all ran into the water, and jumped over the waves as they came. New guy even joined in and wore his boxers (he didn't run today - not enough practices). Soon, Ashley and I realized that our shorts were see-through, so we waded deeper and deeper into the water in an attempt to hide ourselves.

It was the most fun I have ever had at a cross-country meet (and I have been to quite a few in my lifetime). Cute guys in spandex in freezing water with waves that reached my shoulders...yeah, FUN! I will probably be sick tomorrow, and if I am, I will just remember how much laughter our little adventure brought me. Today was a day I will not soon forget.

Hierbei setzt Marc O'Polo auf zeitgemäße Unterwäsche in aktuellen Passformen und Farbkombinationen. Die Farben sind in maskulinen, dunklen Tönen gehalten und werden durch dezentes Kontrastblocking ergänzt. Die Schnitte sind sportlich, körpernah ohne einzuenegen.

Die Stoffe sind überwiegend aus hochwertigen Baumwollqualitäten gefertigt, die nur minimal mit Kunstfasern gemischt werden. Das Resultat ist eine hautfreundliche, atmungsaktive Wäsche, die eine hohe Formstabilität und Haltbarkeit aufweist.

Eine Auswahl der Marc O'Polo Herrenunterwäsche Kollektion ist jetzt neu bei trend-wäsche.de erhältlich. Das Sortiment umfasst neben Slips und Shorts auch T-Shirts und fein gewebte Boxer-Shorts.

Size:: 34"
Color:: Olive
Condition:: 8.5/10 condition. no stains and tears. comes with the stussy tag. Forgotten the shorts's name.

OBEY STREET CAT SHORTS -$35-

Size:: 34"
Color:: Army Green
Condition:: 8.5/10 condition. no stains and tears. comes with the obey tag.

News that giant Belgian bank Dexia needed a $9.2 billion government bailout was yet another shock to the increasingly fragile global finance system. But if you've been listening to a shortseller named Bill Ackman, it wasn't much of a surprise.

What most people don't know is that in 2000 Dexia bought a municipal bond insurer called Financial Security Assurance, which would ultimately be the bank's undoing. In June, the activist hedge fund manager predicted that FSA was headed for serious trouble.

Like rivals MBIA (MBI) and Ambac (ABK), FSA had strayed from the safe business of insuring municipal bonds into the more profitable and riskier business of insuring complex investments created from bad mortgages, said Ackman. Many of those structured bonds have defaulted. Speaking to a group of 100 hedge fund managers, he called FSA an "example of what happens when you start with a low-risk business, then add more risk to get higher returns. A company will keep doing that until it does something stupid."

Ackman didn't believe that Dexia had the money to cover the likely losses on FSA's guarantees, so he shorted FSA. Lo and behold, FSA has run into so much trouble that its need for money finally sank its parent bank. Note to regulators who think short sellers are behind the recent collapse of some of the world's biggest financial institutions: no amount of protection from Ackman would have saved Dexia. It dug its own grave long ago.

Anyways, during the hols, I went to the Royla Melb show twice, went away to Benalla for a w/e and hoboy was it hot! I wore shorts all w/e ._. haha, amazing

well yea. so i'll talk to yas laterrr mayte (: xo

I was snuggled in the comforter, warm in the air-conditioned room.

Then I told you I had to leave.

---

Now I'm in the car. Uncle W was driving, and mum upfront next to him. He pulled into a carpark surrounded by low, old 4-storey flats, and got out, saying he'd be back soon, he just needs to get something. After he left, I told my mum I'll go find a friend, and get something from him. I'll be quick.

So I get out, and walk calmly. Once I'm in the shadows, I start sprinting.

After 2 blocks, I see a building which looks remarkably like yours. Up the stairs, the omni-present air-conditioning blasting into my face, and I realized in the spacious corridor that this wasn't your building - it's the next one, and I've made this mistake before.

On my way there I see my mother trying to find me, so I slow my steps, and try to blend into the darkness of night. But somehow, as I enter the open lobby of your building, my mother sees me, and is there in a flash.

"Why're you doing this to me? To yourself? He's not worth throwing everything away for - you're always planning your life to love. You'll never find it now anyway, you're not old enough."

I pull away, shaking my head in disagreement. She sighs, her voice cracks, and she abruptly turns, to sit upon the sofa against the bamboo walls.

This time I slink around the perimeter outside, and enter by the side entrance, which is directly next to the stairs. I go slowly, afraid that she would see me going ahead with my folly anyway.

Up on the second level now, I knocked quietly on the first door - the furthest from the stairs, The sound of feet stumbling, then a sleepy-eyed Asian lady peering blearily at me, hugging a bolster.

"I'm sorry, I got the wrong door."

"You're not her."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, and turned away. This time, I pay close attention to the shoes just visible in the gap between door and floor. Door 2 had high heels, and so did Door 3, closest to the corridor. I went to the last room, directly opposite Door 1. The door was ajar, and I peaked in. I see a rather "male" suitcase on the bed, and relief floods through me. Then I noticed the yellow pumps on the side-table, and my heart sinks.

I could call you. I called you on my cellphone, and ask where you are.

"Have they cleared my room out yet?"

"You room? Clear?"

"Nevermind-"

"Where are you? I see all these rooms with ladies in them..."

"I'm not with another woman," you sounded harried. "Please kitten, you know me, you have to believe me."

I stay silent. I don't know what to say, I think. I trust him, but there's a fear that I'm only his plaything, despite the fact that he has come to my country (in the dream, anyway), and rented a room to stay for sometime. But when I'm not with him, does he invite others in...?

"Just wait there for me, I'll be there soon."

Then I wake up.

I lay in the perspiration-inducing sunlight, the heat and humidity getting to my nerves.

And I think, neither of us deserves my fear and distrust of myself.

Aus dem selben Shooting stammen auch die Low-Key Fotos "Waiting Girls". Weitere Bilder kommen in den nächsten Tagen. // The Low-Key Photos "Waiting Girls" are from the same shooting. More Pictures will be posted during the next days.

Weitere Bilder aus dem Bereich Portrait und Akt natürlich auch in meinem Portfolio !

Additional portrait and nude art pictures are available in my portfolio !

Die in diesem Post gezeigten Bilder wurde von Marcus Locher aufgenommen. Das Urheber und Nutzungsrecht liegt ausschließlich bei Marcus Locher. Alle Aufnahmen sind ausschließlich zu nicht kommerziellen Zwecken aufgenommen und werden ausschließlich nicht kommerziell verwendet. Ein Link oder Trackback auf diesen Beitrag oder blog.magistus.de ist selbstverständlich sehr gerne gestattet.
—
All photos are copyright by Marcus Locher. No distribution allowed with out permission by the photographer! All rights reserved!

(And then the rest of the time, we are happy and do fun things together, but hey, it's the falling apart and moaning about our workplace environment that is relevant here...  focus, people.)

So this card?  It's today's quote of the day.

"You hate your job?  Why didn't you say so?  There's a support group for that.  It's called 'EVERYBODY' and they meet at the bar."

--Mark Birt

See what I mean?  This is like a perfect example why I love stationery.  Perfect message, perfect card.

Now, it's off to the stationary bike.

Why propping up banks will not rescue a debauched financial system

Confession time. As 228 Representatives in Congress voted against Hank Paulson’s bail-out plan on Monday, I was cheering them on.

At last, there were public figures prepared to reject the political and financial blackmail of a debased White House-Wall Street elite.

This is an unfashionable view; it runs counter to The Daily Telegraph’s editorial line. But the hard-sell of President Bush and the US Treasury Secretary felt too much like the pressure patter of a door-to-door hawker. Their message was crude: “Trust us. You are in a terrible place. Only we can get you out of this mess. No need to check the details. Hurry now, or it will be too late. Here’s a pen. There’s the dotted line. Just sign.” Full story: http://tinyurl.com/3jab86

Stop Blaming the Shorts! SEC's Ban Hurts Market and Didn't Help WaMu, Wachovia

The SEC is under pressure to extend its "temporary" ban on short selling, which is set to expire tomorrow. By design, the ban has reduced the level of short interest -but has it really helped? full read: http://tinyurl.com/44855v

Is Tuition the Next Bubble to Pop?

Remember that queasy feeling you got whenever you heard someone advise you that, "In 20 years, the cost of a four-year private college education will be a half-million dollars, so start saving aggressively!"?

Those scary predictions weren't pulled from thin air. Between 1989 and 2005, college costs increased at double the rate of inflation, according to American magazine. At that rate (about 6%), compounded over 20 years, annual tuition at private institutions George Washington University and Sarah Lawrence College, for instance, would end up being $129,543 and $126,521, respectively, by 2028. Full read: http://tinyurl.com/3oybzw

Stocks on Watch: CORS, HKBV, SIL , C , LCC, FSLR , APWR

Tread carefully!

InternetPlays.com
http://www.internetplays.com/chat.php
http://www.myspace.com/internetplays

http://twitter.com/internetplays
http://internetplays.wordpress.com
Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/29fqep

And so it was. Each Monday night. Guiltless. Unseen except for the old English professor who was walking to her car, still thinking about Marquez.

Decisions, Decisions.

I cant quite decide what's to become of my little blog now that I'm back at uni - I almost can't bring myself to changing 'intern' to 'student' in my title...it's just so...dull. But then, I really don't want to become just another fashion blog - there are so many and so many who do it far better than I ever could.  Oh it's just too complex a situation....well, not really but....otherwise I'd be bored.

Intern News

Yes, even beyond my intern grave, I can still communicate with those present in the fashion world and word has reached my little ears of a little razory-sharp shape of an intern and her current demands.  Now 'intern' here is the defining word as this one seems to believe herself above her station and has begun ordering around the others while she sits chatting away to the editors (who does she think she is??) scrolling through Facebook.  Today Anna has been ordered by the little troll to go all the way to - DULWICH - (sorry, but is this place still inhabitable?)  Agh! She makes me so mad!

Now, if I haven't already made myself clear on this subject then let me just make myself crystal clear: There are (I think) four interns - three of them work as a team, they get the job done are polite and work hard.  One little demon - who is most definitely an intern - believes herself to be otherwise.  She is all about appearance - when a certain editor is known to be in at 10, there she is at 9.30.  But when this editor is intending on some pre-work business, the little monster strolls in at 11.  She is above the sorting of the post...unless someone important is around.  She is waay above pick-ups and returns....unless someone important is around.  Would never dream of working as a team and helping the others...unless someone important is around.  And the worst thing about gremlin?  Her act actually works.  Her apparent fakeness is apparently quite real to those with power.

Perhaps I underestimate the editors....maybe they can see it all but decide just to humour her instead.  Wishful thinking?  Maybe the editors were once like her and see it as the 'perfect character' for the industry.  I bloody well hope not.