Hello all (or at least me, since I might be the last person to be actually reading this).

PMG has been trying to find its roots for the last few months. And by “roots” I really mean root directories and other such computer mumbo jumbo. See, I had a good friend set up this whole blog thing for me, and since moving to NYC I’ve had to learn what the heck all this stuff was, including all the FTP stuff, database stuff, Google analytics, and even upgrading WordPress to the latest edition. I even had to learn how to use this computer more effectively (it’s not just a typewriter that also shows porn!)

Anyways, thanks for bearing with me, and I promise actual, God-honest content will soon be here.

There are three things people love to use: hookers, commas, and apostrophes. Not sure if this sentence needs a break? Let’s put a comma – no wait make that 5 commas. What about this sentence concerning the Ellis brothers and their ownership of the sawmill? Put an apostrophe after the ‘b’ in ‘brother’ and then two after ‘ownership’. What about this hooker? Just toss her in the river. And put an apostophe in her pocket.

Here’s a clear, fully illustrated guide to using an apostrophe. God knows the internet has enough text as it is.

God writing that title was painful. However, i just learned that increasing your web traffic means putting really specific phrasing into the title, a fact that is both informative and depressing. Like learning how to get rid of weird rashes.

Anyways, there was some kind of charity event at Inven.tory in SoHo last week called Save Fashion. A nice lady from Refinery 29 took a picture of us.

I never understood the whole “let’s have a fashion event for charity.” In the end, it just seems like a party. A fancy party with superficial people in fancy clothing. That seems almost insulting to whatever charitable group we’re trying to help.

“Hey let’s clothe these orphans by giving them coats!”
“No, I have a better idea. We’ll have a benefit that generates money for coats!”
“No, even better. We’ll have a PARTY in the guise of a benefit in which people may or may not buy anything with a small fraction of the proceeds going towards a fund which may or may not be used for buying coats.”

I went with no ambiguity. I was there for free beer.

More pics at refinery29

Have your own nebulous charity event.

I was in an ESL class the other day and the topic was on subject verb agreement.  An exercise question posed:

There is/are four bananas on the table.

Of course the answer is “are”, as the subject “four bananas” requires a plural verb.  The word “there” in this case, is not the subject.  I just learned that this form of a sentence, with the subject after the verb and starting with the word “there” is called an expletive construction. It’s not how English normally is, with the whole Subject-Verb-Object thing (“Jimmy three the ball”).  This kind of construction is much more Yoda-esque (“Thrown the ball was, young padawan Jimmy”).

Anyways, the lesson continued with conjunctions.  Again, a question:

There is/are two apples and bananas on the table.

The answer is again “are”, because of the number of apples AND because “and” is a conjunction joining the apples and bananas.  But then things got crazy.  A student asked what verb was to be used if there was, say, a single noun with a plural noun.  Specifically, what if the single noun was a non-countable, like “the water”.

You might get a sentence like “There are water and bananas on the table.”  Technically this is right, yes?  “Water” and “Banana” are being combined with the conjunction “and” and thus we have a plural, thus requiring a plural form of “be.”  Holy crap.  The ESL teachers and myself scratched our heads.  No native speaker would ever say this, but it made sense.

English is a crazy ass language.  Grammar especially.  Grammar rules aren’t like math rules – hard and immutable. Rather, they’re more like fashion rules, rules meant to guide and suggest and even to be broken on occasion. Language is fluid and ever-evolving, so it doesn’t make sense to have rigid rules. Instead, we should merely look for consistency where possible, applying the rules always for the sake of that which is often left at the wayside of language: clarity. Similarly, we should apply the rules of style to promote individuality, taste, originality, and sensibility.

Just so you know, you should never write “There are water and some bananas in the fridge.”  Rather, re-write that grammatical Frankenstein, avoiding the explicit construction altogether. The water and bananas are in the fridge.

So damn true.

That picture in the last post was taken in Washington Square Park, a favorite spot amongst transients and fashionites alike. It was also the spot for an endeavor for the arts. Tattfoo, a charming artist of ecological bent, in collaboration with Yana handbags, braved the elements to produce work for the former’s Mobile Garden project.  Some of my favorite shots:

Way more pics at Tattfoo’s site.  Check it.

I also am a big fan of Tatt’s boots. I think that hipsters like myself* are always in search of the authentic, and you don’t get more authentic than crazy-ass, eco-warrior boots. Tatt is an artist and a gardener, which I’m pretty sure makes him technically a Californian.

Yana and Tatt and puss and boots

*I’m no a hipster because I just said I’m a hipster. But if I’m not a hipster maybe I am. It’s all explained in the math.

So about a week ago the Times put out this article on perhaps the latest way to waste money: bicycles.  You could tell that the person who wrote it hasn’t ridden a bike since his Huffy was stolen from him after Mrs. Cobbler’s 4th/5th grade combination class.  You could tell because the author brazenly endangered the public by publishing such dangerous advice as never wearing a helmet, as helmets somehow make biking less accessible because it makes you look dorky.

As someone who fully embraces his dorkiness (Star Trek soon bitches!) and rides his bicycle all over the damn place, let me be clear: biking is dorky.  There’s no way to ride a chain-driven, two-wheeled, human-powered device and not be a little bit of a nerd.  But I’ll let Bike Snob get into all that.

So while the article, with pretty awesome photoshoot, was strangely silent on, was how a person could and should dress while on the Steel Steed.  This is where PMG comes in.

Rule 1: You’re probably gonna start sweating.

Biking is exercise.  That’s why people say it’s a great way to stay in shape. As such, I can’t imagine, unless you live in some crazy MC Escher world where you’re somehow going downhill both ways, you’re going to work up a sweat.  If your commute is pretty flat and it’s pretty cool, you can probably get away with wearing your collared shirt and work/suit slacks.  I don’t know why people insist upon wearing an entire suit when they commute.  You’re not the Batman, you don’t have to appear to the scene of the crime fully dressed.

Batman on his way to his dentist. Hey, he could be.

If possible, wear something you could change into and out of.  There are some really cute vintage cycling jerseys out there that will give you some cred without damaging your fragile heterosexual ego.  If that is too involved, wear a t-shirt.**

Rule 2: Go ahead and unload.

Like Han Solo, you should be very clever as to where to put your cargo, such as it will not interfere with your bike ride and/or Imperial scanning crews.

"There are alternatives to riding with a sweaty back"

Having a pack on is a surefire way to get a crazy sweat stain on your back, so putting things onto panniers/racks lets you stay and look cool.***

Heh.  I said “racks”.

Rule 3: Positions.

Hand (and body) position on a bicycle is like hand (and body) position while at 2nd base: it can really ruin your good time if you do it wrong.  I’m not talking about baseball.  If style is your goal, you’ll probably want a bike that is upright, with curving, swept-back handlebars.  Anything else will cause you to hunch forward.

Rule 4: Wear a helmet.

I told you biking was dorky.  But you know what is even dorkier?  Brains.  On the outside of your skull.  There are tons of helmets out there, some fit for adults, some fit for adults in denial, but with the range of options there really is no excuse.

So if you want that idyllic bicycle scene where you’re careening freely through a country back road, adorned in a handsome seersucker suit, loaded down only by a picnic basket with a tiny dog in it, well then the answer is clear: do a whole ton of shrooms and lie down in a park.  But if you actually want to get around town and not be a total douche, well ditch the tie (until you get to wear you’re going), ditch the dog (and put your bag in the basket instead), and get out and ride.  Also, as demonstrated in the spread, don’t actually ride, just look back constantly.

Why does he have only one glove on? Is he stopping so he can moonwalk?

**Go ahead, I’ll say it’s ok.  BUT JUST THIS ONE TIME.

***Again, impossible on a bicycle, but whatevs.

DEAR READER PLEASE forgive my recent respite.  I was off on an important trip to New Amsterdam*, attending to important meetings and relations as is the demand of the life of a Postmodern Gentleman.  Amongst the dodging other human beings in the subway, paying Disneyland-esque prices for even basic necessities, and nearly freezing my Little Gents off in the cold, I managed to actually ponder some elements of Style.

It is Fashion Week in New York this week, and so I managed to get a glimpse of some of the hoopla that has taken hold of the city.  I first went to a party for a designer whose name I cannot remember, but it is just as well, as there was not very much Style there to be had.  Not to say that the beautiful people (and they were indeed very beautiful) were not stylish, it was that it was a dark, trendy bar in New York, and subject to the fluxes of fashion that dark, trendy bars in New York sometimes have.  I would have taken photos, but where there is fashion there is almost always alcohol**, and so there are none of that party to be had.

However, I did manage to snatch some pictures at the next event I was honored enough to attend a fun little soiree at Patricia Field.  For those who call a dark hole in Tazmania a home, she was none other than the stylist for such obscure pop culture minutiae as Sex and the City and The Devil Wears Prada.

Taz has only a cursory knowledge of the latest Dior Homme collection.

Take a moment, Reader, to drink in the images.  Considering this is P. Field, you may wish to use a Crunk Cup with a sippy lid.

Sorry for the terrible quality, I was equiped only with my iPhone and I fear the engineers at Apple have not taken into account Fabulousness into their device’s calibration.  That last picture was of Omar, a very friendly shop worker who gave me the courage to snap off these few shots.  Cheers, Omar, thank you for helping me look for those cheetah pants.

You may be wondering what sequins, mascara, and high heels have to do with Postmodern Gentlemanlyy-ness.  But I insist that in order to get at the heart of Style, one sometimes must take unusual, uncomfortable, exhilerating routes.  What I like about Patricia Field is that she pushes the limits of what is acceptable to wear.  There was a photo I saw in her charming shop (in my excitement I neglected to take a picture) of Sarah Jessica Parker’s character from the aforementioned Sex.  She wore a stunning green floral dress, but with a studed belt and very strappy, leathery, heavy, heeled sandals.  I wonder what person would have thought such a mismatched conflation of dress and accessories would have worked were it not for people like Ms. Field and her liberal sense of Style.  What I also like about Ms. Field is how she captures certain everyday items and transforms them into high fashion.  Her shop contained such accoutrements as ammo pouches, baseball shin guards, chest protectors and these:

Forget the athletic supporter for a moment.  That is a Sam Browne belt.  You know how I feel about irony.  This is not irony, but reappropriation.  The difference is that she is not using these items in way which diminish the object, rather she is taking the accessory and finding new, unexpected uses for them.  Truly, she is adding to the use of these items, rather than taking away.  Now recall the supporter.  There is no reason, it is merely hilarious.

Note that this is New Amsterdam 1.  I plan to write a short series (and by short I mean two) on my experience with the Big Apple, for I have a number of observations on the state of Style in that city that I hope will be both entertaining and illuminating.  Until then, Reader.

*That’s New York City to you New Worlders.

**Where there is Fashion there are usaully also mood lighting, disco balls, shiny poles, and ostriches (Tanzania only).

IT HAS COME TO my attention that perhaps it is apt to delve back into that blackhole of human endevour called popular culture.  And if pop culture is but a vacuous hole in time space, then surely musicians are but very singularity which rips atom from atom.  It is literally a musician’s job to take culture and turn it on it’s head, so to turn to them for any sort of fashion would be like looking to a hooker for advice on what to wear to a wedding.  Nonetheless.

Much attention has been given to her outfit during the performance but I quite am taken by this.  She looks like a beautiful flightless bird.  A bird that later laid a spotted egg.

At last.  Now I can say with certaint that I live in the future.

T-Pain sort of reminds me of some kind of scary Willy Wonka.  And that is really saying something.

I don’t know who all of those chaps are, but they illustrate a common trend I have been noticing: the use of greys and blacks at parties.  Personally, I think such a combination makes one look a bit like an office drone, textures and fancy hat be damned.

Finally,

I don’t know exactly what to think of these chaps.  As you get to know me, dear Reader, I am a lover of that feat of precision called the military dress uniform, so these fellows coordinated outfits fill me with a strange feeling I can only describe as sheer terror.  Also, their coordination is a surpring decision.  Do they believe themselves to be a late 90’s R&B group from Philadelphia?

Dear me.  I suppose things could get worse.

Actually I must admit these fellows aren’t terrible this time, aside from their self-assuredness.  What is that one on the left doing?  Stop using your Jedi mind tricks on us, lad.