Hit the wall, Jack?

Anyone else think Jack White has, as they say on Howard Stern, hit the wall? I used to find this man dirty hot. Like, in a jerky, bad-for-you, most delicious way. Now... well, maybe he's very happy in his marriage, and kinda losing his edge, as speculated in a less-than-favorable review of their new album Icky Thump in the latest Radar magazine. (I'm also not too impressed with the album, though I've only heard it once.) Meg, on the other hand, looks darling.

Let's remember him as he once was.

Men in tights

I know it's Wednesday, the day I reserve for Saying Something Nice About Celebrities™, buuuut I have been asked to do that very thing on a weekly basis over at another blog, deets about which should come later this week. So I'll put that feature on temp hiatus.

I relished several gorgeous days in Maine over this long holiday weekend as partially described in my previous post, and now it's one deer tick to the neck later, and my frecks are in effect.

I suspected I was home not just when the view from the car got all smoggy and treeless, when my seasonal allergies kicked back in, and when we got hit up for change by several people at the gas station and witnessed some sort of finger-jabbing conflict over a bathroom key. But I really knew I was back in the New York groove when I spotted this guy on the corner of 14th and 6th:



Home again home again jiggety jig.

One evening in Maine

It's Friday night and I'm typing this from a plastic lawn chair in front of my motel room on Lake Sebago, Maine, with the sound of chirping frogs and cars for a soundtrack and Cooper the Labrador at my feet. My beau is at some sort of lobster/cocktail gathering for a wedding that will take place tomorrow. For purposes of not causing drama since some attendees are exes, I was not invited, as apparently were not some other significant others. (I know, right? Couldn't you just slice this rudeness, fry it up in a pan, and throw it at them?! Being majorly awesome and all, I actually enjoy the CoKane time, but guess what couple is only going to recieve an invite for one to the next party I throw? "Sorry, I didn't want to cause drama with myself.")

I love Maine. We used to come to Belgrade Lakes every summer, to a cabin built by my dad and my late Uncle Fred. (I would pour out some Schaefer for him but I am pretty much verboten by the bf to drink such crap beer, so I'll pour out my pale bock.) The cabin is no longer in the family but I intend to reclaim my birthright someday. Amongst ourselves, my family used to celebrate the locals by calling them Maineys, and usually their defining characteristics had a Jack Sprat theme: Mainey guys were often skinny little things and the ladies were typically what my old man would call "powerful women." Examples of this model still hold true today.

Before I forget, I'd like to give a shout-out to the AAA, which I decided stands for Triple Awesome. You can now print out their famous TripTiks on the world wide Interwebs whether you're a member or not, which are vastly superior to Mapquest, plus their discounts on car rentals and lodging are sweet.

There is a causeway area here between two lakes which is the site of the usual touristy hoo ha. First I stopped for provisions aka beer. I got swiftly charmed into buying cheese spread because a sweet old man was promoting it with a Maine accent. Then I noticed the unusual decorative theme of the market.



That's right: inverted open brollys. Then I noticed their tribute to 9/11:



A collection of NYPD, I [heart] NY, and USA #1 umbrellas. Because their English racetrack and puppies umbrellas must've just felt wrong after the shit went down in 2001. Thank you, supermarket in Maine, for this ongoing tribute to my hometown tragedy. When expressing yourself with umbrella displays featuring butterflies and rainbows, never forget.

Then I set out for dinner, and someone yelled out at me from a car, "Hey! Nice ass!" Because the car had been approaching me and he'd said this before they had passed me, I wondered: How'd he know?

After looking at a few menus, I realized that I was probably the only person here thinking, "Where can I get some deliciously prepared vegetables that are somewhat close to their original format?" In touristy areas, vegetables are usually only found in french fry format, buried in cheese atop nachos, or processed into a veggie burger. So I got what appeared to be a deep-fried veggie burger with doubly deep-fried fries, and a yummy local Ship Yard Export beer. You couldn't beat the setting, though: Sandy's Flight Deck, directly on the water. I watched a plane take off from the lake.



I looked at the homes across the way on the water and wished to have one of them. I tried to remember what it is about living on top of each other in an ugly, noisy city with hardly any trees that people pay so much to live there. Oh yeah, culture and stuff. Fancy cheese and soy milk at your corner bodega. Riiiight...

I would so trade my city life in to get our cabin on Long Pond back.

Fulton Mall hair haiku challenge

Someone lost her weave
With its cranberry highlights
Fulton Mall despair

*

Hair piece gone astray
Abandoned amidst the ivy
Urban casualty

*

Hair weave on the run
Is your freedom worth the price
You are wild and free

*

Homework: Commenters are asked to contribute their own interpretations of this tableau, in the 5-7-5 haiku syllable format.

Saying Something Nice Wednesdays™: Get Lost

Since the season finale is tonight, it's time to come clean. It finally happened to me: I got hooked on Lost. (I'm at the beginning of Season Two, so don't nobody give anything away!!!) I know that for almost anyone who has watched this show, this is equivalent to saying, "I breathe air" or "I visit the WC after consuming a lot of beverages." If you don't watch the show, this means I'm now one of those people whose eyes get all glazed as they smilingly wax about how awesome it is and how you have to watch it.

I'm hesitant to say something so Disneyish (and I also rather hate Disney), but Lost truly captures the imagination. [* * **trail of Tinkerbell stardust* * *]

In addish to the fine programming Lost crams into your imagination station, it also serves as a veritable parade of Man Candy!

You've got your Sawyer,




your Jack,



your Boone,



--or shall I say, Rob Lowe, Junior, but prettier!



I seriously think I used to have this pinup on my wall in about 1986, not having seen any movies he was in (kinda like now with Cloon).

Annnd you have your Jin,



...and the rest.



Then there is my favorite: Naveen Andrews!



He is bascially The Professor of this island, as anytime a reactor needs to be fashioned out of coconuts and bamboo, he is your man. He's also a tuff soldier and noble and just yum. Add in his real-life British accent, and I am like, Tattoo up my hands with henna, for I will learn Indian vegetarian cooking for Naveen.

This lineup might just make Lost the only show of all time to have more hot guys than hot women in it. All the women are still pretty, of course, and one is gorge, but the rest of them not as prominently as with the men. At least to me.

Got any cheese?

Answer: yes. Always.
So at 2 and 2:30 am The Jeffersons air one of the local stations, along with some pretty amazing commercials, like an ad for a "When Lights are Low" music collection. The Jeffs happened to be on the other night, when I thought I spied a lad who might be a very young Jaleel White, aka TV's Urkel. Indeed it was.
















This was pleasing, as I will pretty much laugh just from being reminded of Urks. I never watched Family Matters (aka "Urkel," in the same way the show "Life Goes On" is known as "Corky") although I do think there was one episode where he lost his virginity, and those types of scandals are always reason enough to watch any sitcom.

I did, however, consume several boxes of Urkel-Os back in the day.


















And my how Jaleel has changed since the early '90s!






















Unfortch, he also changed a bit since that photo.












You can now hire him as a speaker! But I'd just like to hire him to party.

It's snack it to me time

Wherein our heroine tries out various weird foods.

Clamato-flavored tortilla chips!?!?!?!?!



You say "Clamato," I say "Dear God, WHY?" As I do not comprehend using clam as a flavor in a beverage, I already do not understand why Clamato exists, other than a vague theory that it's for old people (possibly to help with BMs) and obscure cocktails. So in this case, snack fans, I refuse to taste the thing that should not be.

Up next, Hempmilk.















You have to already be cool with nondairy milks to be OK with Hempmilk. Really, there's a lot more reasons to avoid animal milks, and a lot more that's gross about them (uh, just for starters, cow's milk contains pus?). I've tried all the alternatives: soy, rice, almond, oat, multigrain milks, etc. Soy and almond milks are my favorites, but creamy and nutritious Hempmilk is a new favorite. One caveat: shake before serving; otherwise: ew.

Let the hemp jokes commence.

And finally, Snikiddy's healthy snack Pizza Pie Puffs, or as I call them, Pizza Poofs.














I love almost any snack in poof format (and their alter-ego crunch format), and these are no exception: I could not stop cramming them into my Pizza Poof hole. I compare them both to light pizza Combos and my favorite UK/Irish snack Monster Munch; the BF compares the taste to Spaghetti-Os.

And as you can see, it's a sharing pack. So we can all learn a lesson as we snack.

Rage in favor of the Secret Machines

I have several posts coming for this slow Friday. First, this band kicked ass at the Annex last night. It was packed, hot, started at like 12:30, and I watched a succession of girlfriends make their boyfriends leave before it was over. As I especially enjoyed when the band got all heavy and Sabbathy, I outlasted at least 7 such bf/gf duos, before I also had to succumb to the late-hour weariness and heat of the show. Check 'em out in this video.

A New York vignette

So I was walking the dog after the rain let up last evening. A block from returning home, we stopped at a corner and I looked up to see the light was red. I ducked my head down as it was still sprinkling a bit, and as we started crossing we nearly got hit by an SUV. Mind you, I was wearing a vibrant red windbreaker with contrasting white V-stripes, open to show a clashing day-glo green shirt beneath. Not to mention that my skin, apparently, was glowing white, as it is wont to do.

Me: “Were you going to run us down?” I yelled.
Vehicular Homicido: “Light turn green you get out of the way!”
M: “Fuck you, dick!” [thrusting middle finger in his direction]
VH: “Ya honky motherfucker!”
Exeunt.

On the one hand, that was upsetting. He was a jerk, he’d gotten the last word in, and it was just negativity concentrate. But on the other hand, I was like, “Heyyyy CoKaaane! Way to stand up for yourself!”

Curiously, one of the only other times I’ve ever yelled at anyone while not driving took place less than a block away. It was a parking cop writing me a ticket when I’d been about to move Wolfgang and was at my most broke point ever. “Do you like writing people tickets?” was one highlight, another one involved me spiking my iced coffee to the sidewalk in a rage. Probably the last thing he expected from the driver of a VW bus. Maybe I just pick up on aggro waves in that area. Maybe there's an old Dutch or Indian burial ground beneath there, and it's cursed. Or maybe there's just a high concentration of jerks. (Come to think of it, my nemesis coffee shop is right there, too.)

Later it became CoKane on the Rampage night when I was on the phone with my mother, who was trying to tell me her tale of getting evacuated from their home because of the huge fire in south Jersey.
Meanwhile, distracting me from the street below the window came a little kid's grating voice: “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” followed by a few seconds of silence, then “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” not really crying, more like making noise for the sake of making noise. This went on for like five minutes. Finally I was like, "Hold on a sec Ma, someone's being a loud jerk outside my window."

I leaned out and let rip, "WOULD YOU SHUT THAT KID UP? SHUT UP!!!" Then slammed the window so as not to hear any response. Ha! Got the last word on that kid! My roommate told me she heard the kid say, “Bad!” If I heard, I would've been like, "YOU'RE bad!" but should've said, "Your parents are bad for not controlling their kid!"

Seriously. I need a vacay.


*BT-dubs, finding an image for this post this was one of the only Google image-search sessions I've done (anger, fury, rage, yelling, shouting) that doesn't come up with half of the images naked women. That stuff is not very sexy, apparently.

And now, gushing about the Electrelane show at Irving Plaza

--That's right, Irving Plaza, not the Fillmore East. (Just like the Garden State Arts Center and Brendan Byrne Arena haven't changed their names!)

I got two tickets to see Electrelane play last night and figured I'd find someone to come with, so I didn't try very hard. Seven invites later, I had no one to go with, and I was surprised that none of my rock-fan pals were familiar with the band. This is a crying shame, because they put on an AMAZING show.

Here's "To the East" from their newest album No Shouts, No Calls.



They rocked it so hard yet mellow, and between songs one guy in the crowd shouted something like, "Don't stop or I'll be so upset!" My jaw dropped and I nearly cried when they covered Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire" as their final encore song. Regrets, I have a few: that my plus one went unused, and I missed opening act the Blow. Please avenge my unused ticket and see this band if you can!

If you don't have anything nice to say Wednesdays™®

...don't say anything at all.

Sooo, Jerry Falwell ate it.

Watch your language

Soooo, you guys might have noticed that I occasionally abbreviate some words. (Though I do this much less than I used to.) And you might have noticed elsewhere on the Internets that the kids are talking in strings of capital letters like OMG LOL ROTFL. What we are witnessing, thanks to faster means of communication, is our language changing before our eyes and ears.

There's a fascinating article analyzing Internet language morphing on a site that commits some of the most heinous crimes against the English language: I Can Has a Cheezburger (also known as LOLCats, which spawned other sites like LOL Bears and LOL Gays).

Is anyone else scared that this girl is the future?



What hath Cute Overload wrought?

28 margs later

On Friday, I went to my pal Emily's birthday dinner at a Mexican joint in Tribeca.

28 margs later, three other gal pals (all my friends are bloggers, apparently) and I assembled to see 28 Weeks Later at my local rowdy theater. Actual quotes from the crowd:

"Ah shit!"
"You're fuckin' done, man."
"Don't open that door!" (I'm not kidding)
"Oooooooo" (in a bit of a singsong)
"OH!"
"Ohhh noo"
"Damn"
"Oh HELL no" (this is a perennial favorite of mine)
"Oooooooo" (same person/intonation as before)
"Day-um!"
"Fuck this shit!"
"This kid always gettin' lost."
(and concluding the movie:) "Oooooooo"

Awesome.

What genocide in Darfur?

Obvs I am all about seeing 28 Weeks Later tonight at my local rowdy theater, but the biggest Hollywood story is Spider-Man, even on the news on Fox the other night. As if they were introducing a news item about Iraq or something else of import, the anchor began with something like, "Why is the new Spiderman such an exciting, thrilling, AND explosive blockbuster?"

Now, I'm not sure if the two companies are related, but Sony Pictures (who made the film) is clearly in bed with Fox on this one, what with the November tie-in airing of Spider-Man 2 on Fox, and running the Spider-Man trailers on Fox' MySpace site.

Wait a minute...my spider senses are tingling...so mainstream news programs are distracting from actual news with entertaining fluff promoting films in which they're financially invested? On a Fox station? Who knew? Oh yeah, everybody did.

I have an ice dream

As part of a vast right-wing conspiracy to destroy my girlish figure, Ben & Jerry's has joined forces with Stephen Colbert to create Americone Dream.

To quote the company's own propaganda, "The flavor, Stephen Colbert’s AmeriCone Dream™ is a decadent melting pot of vanilla ice cream with fudge-covered waffle cone pieces and a caramel swirl. It’s the sweet taste of liberty in your mouth."

Dammit, I don't even eat dairy (except cheese which doesn't count). OK now this also doesn't count. My dealer boyfriend is like, "This is like a choco taco," (whatever that is), and I am all, mouth open, tongue out, desperate for another hit of that sweet sweet frozen crack. After we got hooked on two pints, my neighborhood bodegas can't even keep this magical confection in stock.

Thanks a lot, Ben & Jerky's!!!

Saying Something Nice Wednesdays™: Some Gentleman Edition

Sir Richard Gere: hunk gone gray, humanitarian, Buddhist, and now inadvertant exposer of draconian sexual mores that make our own look enlightened by comparison. His recent enthusiastic pecks on the cheek of the lovely Bollywood actress Shilpa Shetty at a charity event sparked raging controversy across India and a warrant for his arrest. Admittedly I'm not very familiar with that culture, and certainly don't intend to disparage it, but I was rather disturbed to find this passage in one response in the Hindustan Times to his actions:

I hope it has become abundantly clear to you that we care and respect our women enough that we cannot accept your immoral behaviour. Had you proceeded to rape Ms Shetty (with a condom on, of course, in line with your prevention of AIDS advocacy), we would probably not have found the act as offensive.

While you would be in trouble with the law, the people of India would have not had any issue with you as this is a common occurrence for them.

I hope you have learnt your lesson and in the future rape an Indian woman before engaging in heinous act of kissing her in public. We could be in trouble with law in both cases but at least if you rape her, people will not say that you are inhuman, insensitive and immoral.

Wait, WHAT? So Here's to Gere for unintentionally highlighting a culture possibly more hung up about sex than our own! In our country, it's somehow a sexual impropriety for a woman to breastfeed in public! It's a crime worthy of angry letters and astronomic FCC fines if a lady exposes her boobie on regular TV! (Think of the children!) Vibrators are illegal in certain states! And so on! What a country!

I don't know why I'm so exclamatory today!

Luck o' the Irish

Boerum Hill, my neighborhood in Brooklyn, has gotten so fancy in recent years that movie stars Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams and their famous-people baby now live several blocks away (I've never seen them despite many longing gazes into their windows--but they do have a lovely Chinese lantern over their light fixture and what looks to be a sizeable record collection).

And now, to make things more exiting ("things" meaning "parking"), a film crew has set up shop in the nabe for yesterday, today, and tomorrow. WELL! Yesterday I reluctantly dragged myself from a Simpsons I had never seen to take care of my two post-work responsibilities: walking the dog and moving Wolfgang, and my route to Wolfgang took me right toward a busy throng of moviemaking magic. Dimpling down the sidewalk directly towards me was a tall, hangsome man who looked an awfully lot like--it was!--Josh Hartnett!



He looked pretty much like this except without the cape, cane, tires, and wolves. I smiled demurely in what I hope was an "I know who you are but I'm not going to bother you" way, and he smiled and mouthed a barely audible, "Hey."

Annnnnnd, OMG. OMG. OMGOMGOMG! Then I mentally asessed my appearance, and concluded that not only had I just walked by Josh Hartnett, but that I had looked cute while doing it in the first wearing of my new/old Irish sweater: now to be known as My Lucky Sweater. Then in my excited haste cleaning up after the dog I got a good-sized dab of poo ("good" meaning "bad") on the sleeve of said Lucky Sweater. I hoped Josh wouldn't notice as I walked back home.

Weekend bargain bonanza

Despite the blue tint my digital photos are now adopting, Friday was a gorgeous, sunny day for treasure-hunting at my all-time favorite rummage sale in New Jersey.















I didn't go hog wild as in the past, but still left at the sale's closing time with lots of treasure.



I got vintage '60s & '70s bikinis, pink Pyrex, a handmade Irish button-down sweater...and did you know Waylon Jennings made a disco record? (I guess everyone did in that era; I saw an Ethel Merman disco record there, and that's where I left it.)





Yes! A unicorn sweater with hearts, one of four belts, and a Sasson skirt (I know: Ooh la la!).

Cooper was kind enough to model two of the other belts and a pillow.




















Here's some vintage towels that I picked up partially because they're pretty, and partially due to what my roomate labeled a "vendetta."



There's a boutique about two blocks from my apartment with a window display of new versions of these towels for some no-doubt insanely jacked-up amount. So every time I use these ones, I'll be like, "Yep, one dollar. Boo yaaah." Jerks.

And now, please appreciate this trifecta of beautiful midcentury modern houseware design.





This favorite rummage sale of mine has many departments, including a record tent.


















There I found some worse for the wear but still amazing Rolling Stones posters (one was from 1978) and Madonna posters (one from Desperately Seeking Susan, and one with her in a zebra bathing suit with fishnets and belt). Five for a dollar! If I ever have a basement, it is going to be rec room time for those posters.


But one of my favorite finds were these records from the bawdy old Catskills/Miami comedienne Belle Barth.



My bf says she looks like a Samoan drag queen and I don't disagree, and I put her record on betting I could listen to the whole thing without laughing. Wrong! She has won my heart with her jokes about whores and drunks sprinkled with Yiddish terms like "schmuck" and old-time terms like "risque" and "vulgar," and when she sings at the beginning and end of each record side, it's one of those "Wow, some comedians are really sad people" revelations. Samoan drag queen face or not, her singing was beautiful.

The rummage sale was just the beginning of a great and junky-themed weekend. On Saturday I set up a white-trash outdoor haven on my building's roof with Astro-turf and two vintage alunimum lawn chairs I'd picked up at the sale. Just add bikini top, shorts, and beer. Perfect!

On Sunday, the beau and I went out on some errands, he sporting this classy shirt which he actually purchased from a bum. (It's been washed.)



Then he topped it with a Western snap-shirt we'd just picked up at Goodwill. After that, we bought more used items from a sidewalk sale, and around then I realized what a bum-style weekend we'd been having.

So we classed it up with our weekly trip to Stinky Bklyn, the best cheese shoppe ever.



Lucky for soon-to-be lardass me, I can wear this new (from the rummage sale) dress sans belt:



















It'll all be worth it, as cheese o'clock is a whale of a delicious time.

Everybody rock the Dinosaur

I won't be blogging tomorrow, as it is a CoKane Holy Day of Obligation: it's the spring edish of my favorite rummage sale in NJ.

Meanwhile, to paraphrase a fellow DJ from my former college radio station WSOU, "HOW GREAT is the new Dinosaur Jr.!"



Beyond is their first recording with the original J Mascis/ Lou Barlow lineup in almost 20 years. I'm only on listen number two, but this record is making me so happy with thoughts of the alterna-90s and springtime rocking. I keep turning it up, then realizing it's at an inappropriate volume for la oficina pornografia (where everything is very proper).


YESSSSSSSSSSSS

Snack it to me

As a lifelong fan of the snack attack, I shall now occasionally review some munchies.



This makes a great snack, if you like things that taste like dust. Thumbs down.


Big Cran, affectionately known in my former office of employ as "slut juice," is delish and really is two servings as claimed on the label. (Serving sizes are usually a lie so you don't feel like such a fatso when you read the nutrition label.) If you can't hang with straight cran (I can because I'm hardcore), this one is a "cocktail," but is sweetened with fruit juice instead of high fructose garbage syrup. Bums up on Big C.

Saying Something Nice Wednesdays™: Lean, Green, and Mean

You know who I think would be a trip to hang out with?



This guy.

Woody Harrelson: Hollywood nutjob or visionary green warrior? I vote for the latter. Treehugger calls him "easily one of the most outspoken and straight-talking eco celebrities." He's into all of it--organic vegan diet, yoga, alternative energy; and he lays it all out on his site VoiceYourself. This man also must be ultra mellow, as he makes no "bones" about being "GREEN" in more ways than one. (If you dig what I'm saying.)

Full metal jackets

Picture it: New Jersey, late '80s, early '90s.

I was inspired by a friend known on flickr as East Beast to post a loving tribute to the rock jackets we all wore in high school. ("We" meaning my friends and family of a certain age.) Read the story behind Diego Montoya's glorious wearable monument to Helloween, pictured above, here.

I thought, hell(oween), this should be simple, I'll ask bff Patty to send a photo of our buddy Chris' jacket (black acid wash, so it looked light gray from afar). She bought it from him when he turned alternative toward the end of high school, grew out his shaved-on-the-sides, long-on-the-top-and-back metal cut to an all-one-length 'do, and started wearing big Ned's Atomic Dustbin T-shirts and baggy pants. Chris' jacket was a pretty specacular example of rocker outerwear. I believe it also had a small Helloween patch, as well as a full-size Iron Maiden backpatch, possibly some sort of King Diamond pins? But the best part were the four patches of each face of the guys from KISS going down one arm, each in a different color. Bad ass.

Well, a certain bff Patty of mine seems to have misplaced this important relic. So I turned to Chris' good buddy Pete who is also my brother in law; he would surely be able to send me pictures of his old jean jacket (adorned with a Metallica patch, I think, or was it Rush?) from the days when he had a big mullet that made him look like Geddy Lee. No answer. Hmph. Looks like somebody is too "busy" with his two-month-old "daughter."

So I turned to my big brother...surely he would not let me down in my hour of want need, and would send me pictures of that jacket on which he'd painted the Aerosmith logo across the back with Led Zeppelin ZoSo symbols underneath. (With the same fabric paint, I'd painted the Guns 'n' Roses crest on my bookbag.) No answer to my emails, and to my desperate plea via text message, his only response was, "beer party." (This favorite old phrase of ours is not indicative of his current lifestyle at all, being a family man himself.)

And so, it is down to Lioux, and it is down to me. Although he couldn't find his denim rock jacket, CoKanes Bloggery bff Lioux immediately rose to the occasion by sharing this Halloween photo featuring what might have been the only wearing of a fringed jacket that he'd bought on a whim. Fitting, since this jacket is full of whimsy.



His bff Jodi there was going as the "Thanks for the ride, lady" guy from the hit movie Creepshow 2™®©. I say: best costume of 1987.

Moving on to yours truly.



I realize now that this acid-washed wonder already had a lot going for it: distressed corduroy cuffs and collar, triangular-arm cut, and a rather busy amount of seams and pocket pleats. But as additional adornment, we also have one pewter Bon Jovi logo pin, two Bon Jovi face buttons, a Hard Rock Cafe button, and yes, that is a Winger button. There once were more on there, like a giant ASK ME ABOUT BON JOVI button that'd I'd gotten from Bon Jovi lady at the Sunday flea market, but they've fallen to the bottom of my Bon Jovi obsession box.



Why did I choose to center this patch in the middle of my back instead of at the top? Clearly I was making a lot of questionable judgment calls back then, although it might well have been so my hair wouldn't block it.

And who remembers the Jon Bon Jovi/ Richie Sambora "Wanted"/"Blaze of Glory" Western-inspired short and full-length leather coats trend? This girl does.



Please note the silver Western details and the double-bellied 4-snap closure. Obvs this coat was my pride and joy. I shan't tell you his name.



Considering how many of my friends used to rock this way, this post is a pretty freaking sad showing. DEATH TO FALSE METAL! Nah, I suppose everybody's got other priorities now...and nothing metal can stay.



(Note that although the jeans above are modern-day, they are pegged.)


CoKane photos by Annie Dweebovitz