You annoy me.

Please leave me -- and my multitude of readers -- alone. I understand that you need to up your Google profile, but we all do buddy. Do you see me posting on your site? Alright then.

If I wanted to talk about enlarging one's phallus with bogus placebos made from endangered animals in southwestern China, I would simply write about it. But I am not, alright? So, mystery man, please keep your comments at least tangentially related to the corresponding diatribe.

For the rest of you who do not soil my site with links to this annoying haberdashery of sexual ruses, thank you very much much.

Sincerely,

Colin

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Now I've gotten that off my back, anybody want to go see Labyrinth with me at BAM tomorrow?

Posted by Colin J Allen at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have to take a break from work to give you guys a clip of some press from opening party I was at Monday. The party was for Trader Monthly, the magazine that currently pays my bills.

It’s the latter half of the column. Here’s an excerpt:

“On the page, Trader Monthly presents a kind of crass integrity. One front-of-the-book item reproduces and annotates a receipt for a £4,804.70 meal at Nobu in London ("Gosh, free soup. And after only $1,600 so far!"). The founder of Paragon Capital Management reminisces about trying to abandon a wounded buck, rather than tracking and killing it, so he could get to a backcountry pay phone to "long the NDX." A travel piece on Cabo San Lucas describes a pair of traders "conducting a complex business negotiation" with "[t]wo long-legged Mexican beauties."

“The most entertaining—and charming—feature is the "Celebrity Trader" section, in which the magazine gives Damon Dash $50,000 to invest for a week, with all the results going to charity: "First, Dash goes long and heavy into oil futures …. " The Roc-A-Fella boss ends up turning a 23.9 percent profit.”

That’s me changing the world, one trader at a time.

The entire story for you:

The first two edible items on view at the Nov. 15 launch party for Trader Monthly in the Mandarin Oriental ballroom in the Time Warner Center were foie gras canapés and foil-wrapped chocolate coins. At the far side of the room a James Brown impersonator, gold suit jacket hanging open over a bare chest, yelped his way through the highlights of the Godfather of Soul’s catalog. The night skyline glowed through the 36th-floor windows.

"You can’t cut corners," said editor in chief Randall Lane, standing by the doorway. "That means the Mandarin. That means foie gras floating around."

Mr. Lane, former editor of the now-defunct men’s magazine POV, was savoring the atmosphere around his new start-up. Like POV, Trader Monthly is dedicated to an unsubtle whiskey-cigars-women kind of male hedonism. Unlike POV, Trader Monthly doesn’t intend to be aspirational about it.

When Trader Monthly writes about the Porsche Carrera GT or a Bvlgari dive watch good to 2,000 meters (at $2.40 per meter), the theory is that the readership is actually going to buy those things. The audience, publisher Wilkie Bushby said on the phone the day after the party, is "young guys who are earning really enormous amounts of money."

Specifically, Trader Monthly is being handed out free to a controlled circulation of 100,000 names gleaned from the trading industry. It is published by Doubledown Media, an independent company, with newsstand distribution—at an ostentatious $10 cover price—through Comag. Founder Magnus Greaves, Mr. Bushby said, is a former trader himself, who hopes to revive a sense of community that’s fading as traders move from pits to electronic trading systems. "There was nothing that was sort of pulling these guys together anymore," Mr. Bushby said.

At the Mandarin, the party was light on magazine-launch-party types and heavy on young men in neckties. Mr. Lane said it was a relief, after aiming for a broad readership at POV, to narrow his focus. "You can be everything to this specific guy," he said.

Hence the six kinds of olives at the martini bar, the occasional puffs of Mayor-defying cigar smoke and the goodie bags featuring Hummer-branded body wash, miniature bottles of 18-year-old Chivas and gift certificates for $500 off a Tourneau watch and $5,000 off a $100,000 jet-service package.

On the page, Trader Monthly presents a kind of crass integrity. One front-of-the-book item reproduces and annotates a receipt for a £4,804.70 meal at Nobu in London ("Gosh, free soup. And after only $1,600 so far!"). The founder of Paragon Capital Management reminisces about trying to abandon a wounded buck, rather than tracking and killing it, so he could get to a backcountry pay phone to "long the NDX." A travel piece on Cabo San Lucas describes a pair of traders "conducting a complex business negotiation" with "[t]wo long-legged Mexican beauties."

The most entertaining—and charming—feature is the "Celebrity Trader" section, in which the magazine gives Damon Dash $50,000 to invest for a week, with all the results going to charity: "First, Dash goes long and heavy into oil futures …. " The Roc-A-Fella boss ends up turning a 23.9 percent profit.

Meanwhile, at the party, the band took a break. In the far corner of the room, a blond acrobat, wearing a red velvet top and wine-colored tights, grabbed a loop of rope hanging from the ceiling and began to do contortions. Eyes closed or nearly so, she hauled herself above the crowd as moody, drum-heavy music played; the rope formed various triangles, blunt wedges, a parallelogram. She dismounted and disappeared.

"The party is beautiful," said Charles Bradley, the James Brown impersonator, who performs under the name Black Velvet. "The crowd is beautiful." He was heading off to change out of his gold suit, carrying a fresh outfit in cleaner’s plastic on hangers.

And how’s the magazine? "I like how they’re straightforward and kind of up-front with their agenda," said Maurice Malfatti, a trader on the New York Stock Exchange. "I like how it brings together the trading world with a little bit of fashion."

The band resumed, with another vocalist spelling Mr. Bradley, to play a series of Motown covers. Toward the end of "My Girl," they stretched into an open-ended vamp. "Say ‘Traders magazine’!" the singer called out. "Say ‘Traders magazine’! ‘Traders magazine’!"

Then Black Velvet reappeared, in a tuxedo with a short-waisted jacket. The band prepared to reintroduce him. "Anybody in the house got soul?" the other singer asked. "Say ‘yeah!’"

The majority of the crowd failed to say "yeah."

Posted by Colin J Allen at 3:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, my God, it's holiday time. How the hell did that happen? I'll have to start thinking about what I want for Christmas. Hopefully I can give everyone a better warning about what I want than I did with my birthday, when I finished my want list about a week beforehand. Then I have to get tickets… find out what my vacation schedule is… Logistics, logistics… Tis the season for organization. For you readers that may be affected by my holiday plans, I promise to have the details put together shortly.

Posted by Colin J Allen at 12:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We had a Warhol party at my house a few weeks back. I thought that I would lighten things up a bit today with some Warhols we did ourselves.

i said a hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat now what you hear is not a test--i'm rappin to the beat and me, the groove, and my friends are gonna try to move your feet see i am wonder mike and i like to say hello to the black, to the white, the red, and the brown, the purple and yellow but first i gotta bang bang the boogie to the boogie say up jump the boogie to the bang bang boogie let's rock, you dont stop rock the riddle that will make your body rock well so far youve heard my voice but i brought two friends along and next on the mike is my man hank come on, hank, sing that song check it out, i'm the c-a-s-an-the-o-v-a and the rest is f-l-y ya see i go by the code of the doctor of the mix and these reasons i'll tell ya why ya see i'm six foot one and i'm tons of fun and i dress to a t ya see i got more clothes than muhammad ali and i dress so viciously i got bodyguards, i got two big cars that definitely aint the wack i got a lincoln continental and a sunroof cadillac so after school, i take a dip in the pool which really is on the wall i got a color tv so i can see the knicks play basketball hear me talkin bout checkbooks, credit cards more money than a sucker could ever spend but i wouldnt give a sucker or a bum from the rucker not a dime til i made it again ya go hotel motel whatcha gonna do today (say what) ya say im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spankin drive off in a def oj everybody go, hotel motel holiday inn say if your girl starts actin up, then you take her friend master gee, am I mellow its on you so what you gonna do well it's on n on n on on n on the beat dont stop until the break of dawn i said m-a-s, t-e-r, a g with a double e i said i go by the unforgettable name of the man they call the master gee well, my name is known all over the world by all the foxy ladies and the pretty girls i'm goin down in history as the baddest rapper there could ever be now i'm feelin the highs and ya feelin the lows the beat starts gettin into your toes ya start poppin ya fingers and stompin your feet and movin your body while youre sittin in your seat and the damn ya start doin the freak i said damn, right outta your seat then ya throw your hands high in the air ya rockin to the rhythm, shake your derriere ya rockin to the beat without a care with the sureshot m.c.s for the affair now, im not as tall as the rest of the gang but i rap to the beat just the same i dot a little face and a pair of brown eyes all im here to do ladies is hypnotize singin on n n on n on n on the beat dont stop until the break of dawn singin on n n on n on on n on like a hot buttered a pop da pop da pop dibbie dibbie pop da pop pop ya dont dare stop come alive yall gimme what ya got i guess by now you can take a hunch and find that i am the baby of the bunch 'but that's okay i still keep in stride cause all i'm here to do is just wiggle your behind singin on n n on n on n on the beat dont stop until the break of dawn singin on n n on n on on n on rock rock yall throw it on the floor im gonna freak ya here im gonna feak ya there im gonna move you outta this atmosphere cause im one of a kind and ill shock your mind ill put t-t-tickets in your behind i said 1-2-3-4, come on girls get on the floor a-come alive, yall a-gimme what ya got cause im guaranteed to make you rock i said 1-2-3-4 tell me wonder mike what are you waitin for? i said a hip hop the hippie to the hippie the hip hip hop, a you dont stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat skiddlee beebop a we rock a scoobie doo and guess what america we love you cause ya rock and ya roll with so much soul you could rock till you're a hundred and one years old i dont mean to brag i dont mean to boast but we like hot butter on our breakfast toast rock it up baby bubbah baby bubbah to the boogie da bang bang da boogie to the beat beat, its so unique come on everybody and dance to the beat i said a hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop rock it out baby bubbah to the boogie da bang bang the boogie to the boogie da beat i said i cant wait til the end of the week when im rappin to the rhythm of a groovy beat and attempt to raise your body heat just blow your mind so that you cant speak and do a thing but a rock and shuffle your feet and let it change up to a dance called the freak and when ya finally do come in to your rhythmic beat rest a little while so ya dont get weak i know a man named hank he has more rhymes than a serious bank so come on hank sing that song to the rhythm of the boogie da bang bang da bong well, im imp the dimp the ladies pimp the women fight for my delight but im the grandmaster with the three mcs that shock the house for the young ladies and when you come inside, into the front you do the freak, spank, and do the bump and when the sucker mcs try to prove a point we're treacherous trio, we're the serious joint a from sun to sun and from day to day i sit down and write a brand new rhyme because they say that miracles never cease i've created a devastating masterpiece i'm gonna rock the mike til you cant resist everybody, i say it goes like this well i was comin home late one dark afternoon a reporter stopped me for a interview she said she's heard stories and she's heard fables that i'm vicious on the mike and the turntables this young reporter i did adore so i rocked a vicious rhyme like i never did before she said damn fly guy im in love with you the casanova legend must have been true i said by the way baby what's your name said i go by the name of lois lane and you could be my boyfiend you surely can just let me quit my boyfriend called superman i said he's a fairy i do suppoose flyin through the air in pantyhose he may be very sexy or even cute but he looks like a sucker in a blue and red suit i said you need a man who's got finesse and his whole name across his chest he may be able to fly all through the night but can he rock a party til the early light he cant satisfy you with his little worm but i can bust you out with my super sperm i go do it, i go do it, i go do it, do it , do it an i'm here an i'm there i'm big bang hank, im everywhere just throw your hands up in the air and party hardy like you just dont care let's do it dont stop yall a tick a tock yall you dont stop go hotel motel what you gonna do today(say what) im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spank drive off in a def oj everybody go hotel motel holiday inn you say if your girl starts actin up then you take her friend i say skip, dive, what can i say i cant fit em all inside my oj so i just take half and bust them out i give the rest to master gee so he could shock the house it was twelve o'clock one friday night i was rockin to the beat and feelin all right everybody was dancin on the floor doin all the things they never did before and then this fly fly girl with a sexy lean she came into the bar, she came into the scene as she traveled deeper inside the room all the fellas checked out her white sasoons she came up to the table, looked into my eyes then she turned around and shook her behind so i said to myself, its time for me to release my vicious rhyme i call my masterpiece and now people in the house this is just for you a little rap to make you boogaloo now the group ya hear is called phase two and let me tell ya somethin we're a helluva crew once a week we're on the street just a-cuttin' the jams and making it free for you to party ya got to have the movies so we'll get right down and give you the groove for you to dance you gotta get hype so we'll get right down for you tonight now the system's on and the girls are there ya definitely have a rockin affair but let me tell ya somethin there's still one fact that to have a party ya got to have a rap so when the party's over you're makin it home and tryin to sleep before the break of dawn and while ya sleepin ya start to dream and thinkin how ya danced on the disco scene my name appears in your mind yeah, a name you know that was right on time it was phase two just a doin a do rockin ya down cause ya know we could to the rhythm of the beat that makes ya freak come alive girls get on your feet to the rhythm of the beat to the beat the beat to the double beat beat that it makes ya freak to the rhythm of the beat that says ya go on on n on into the break of dawn now i got a man comin on right now he's guaranteed to throw down he goes by the name of wonder mike come on wonder mike do what ya like like a can of beer that's sweeter than honey like a millionaire that has no money like a rainy day that is not wet like a gamblin fiend that does not bet like dracula with out his fangs like the boogie to the boogie without the boogie bang like collard greens that dont taste good like a tree that's not made out of wood like goin up and not comin down is just like the beat without the sound no sound to the beat beat, ya do the freak everybody just rock and dance to the beat have you ever went over a friends house to eat and the food just aint no good i mean the macaroni's soggy the peas are mushed and the chicken tastes like wood so you try to play it off like you think you can by sayin that youre full and then your friend says momma he's just being polite he aint finished uh uh that's bull so your heart starts pumpin and you think of a lie and you say that you already ate and your friend says man there's plenty of food so you pile some more on your plate while the stinky foods steamin your mind starts to dreamin of the moment that it's time to leave and then you look at your plate and your chickens slowly rottin into something that looks like cheese oh so you say that's it i got to leave this place i dont care what these people think im just sittin here makin myself nauseous with this ugly food that stinks so you bust out the door while its still closed still sick from the food you ate and then you run to the store for quick relief from a bottle of kaopectate and then you call your friend two weeks later to see how he has been and he says i understand about the food baby bubbah but we're still friends with a hip hop the hippie to the hippie the hip hip a hop a you dont stop the rockin to the bang bang boogie say up jump the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie the beat i say hank can ya rock can ya rock to the rhythm that just dont stop can ya hip me to the shoobie doo i said come on i go to the halls and then ring the bell because i am the man with the clientele and if ya ask me why i rock so well a big bang, i got clientele and from the time i was only six years old i never forgot what i was told it was the best advice that i ever had it came from my wise dear old dad he said sit down punk i wanna talk to you and dont say a word until i'm through now there's a time to laugh a time to cry a time to live and a time to die a time to break and a time to chill to act civilized or act real ill but whatever ya do in your lifetime ya never let a mc steal your rhyme so from sixty six til this very day ill always remember what he had to say so when the sucker mcs try to chump my style i let them know that i'm versatile i got style finesse and a little black book that's filled with rhymes and i know you wanna look but there's a thing that separates you from me and that's called originality because my rhymes are on from what you heard i didnt even bite and not a god d--m word and i say a little more later on tonight so the sucker mc's can bite all night a tick a tock yall a beat beat yall a lets rock yall ya dont stop ya go hotel motel whatcha gonna do today (say what) ya say im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spankin drive off in a def oj everybody go hotel motel holiday inn ya say if your girl starts actin up then you take her friends a like that yall to the beat yall beat beat yall ya dont stop a master gee am I mellow? its on you so whatcha gonna do well like johnny carson on the late show a like frankie croker in stereo well like the barkay's singin holy ghost the sounds to throw down they're played the most its like my man captain sky whose name he earned with his super sperm we rock and we dont stop get off yall im here to give you whatcha got to the beat that it makes you freak and come alive girl get on your feet a like a perry mason without a case like farrah fawcett without her face like the barkays on the mike like gettin right down for you tonight like movin your body so ya dont know how right to the rhythm and throw down like comin alive to the master gee the brother who rocks so viciously i said the age of one my life begun at the age of two i was doin the do at the age of three it was you and me rockin to the sounds of the master gee at the age of four i was on the floor givin all the freaks what they bargained for at the age of five i didnt take no jive with the master gee its all the way live at the age of six i was a pickin up sticks rappin to the beat my stick was fixed at the age of seven i was rockin in heaven dontcha know i went off i got right on down to the beat you see gettin right on down makin all the girls just take of their clothes to the beat the beat to the double beat beat that makes you freak at the age of eight i was really great cause every night you see i had a date at the age of nine i was right on time cause every night i had a party rhyme goin on n n on n on on n on the beat dont stop until the break of dawn a sayin on n n on n on on n on... like a hot buttered de pop de pop de pop a saying on n n on n on on n on cause i'm a helluva man when i'm on the mike i am the definate feast delight cause i'm a helluva man when i'm on the mike i am the definate feast delight come to the master gee you see the brother who rocks so viciously

Posted by Colin J Allen at 3:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

One annoying thing about getting a brand new computer at work is that when you go home, your old laptop seems so much slower. My laptop seems like it is about to keel over and slip into a coma. This is frankly, depressing. For one, I now have new computer on my want list, and two, every time I go home, my computer... well, she continues to act like a lethargic version of my work computer.

Last time I wrote to you -- yes I know that it has been too long -- I was lamenting the state of the nation. Well I still am, but at least others are as well. Or for something a little less highbrow, this is what Eric G. emailed me. I’m going to sit on this election loss for a while, maybe I’ll have a good angle in a week or so. Until then, my forecast remains gloomy.

Life at my new job is going well, at least.

Posted by Colin J Allen at 11:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am still here, loyal readers. I have had a dramatic change of schedule with this new job of mine. The last week I have been busy prepping the site for the big going live event Monday. Furthermore, I’m still mourning black Tuesday, as Drudge gleefully pronounced "DEMS DEPRESSED" as his top headline today. No shit buddy. There is good reason to be depressed about another four years of these stinking elephants.

I have tried my hardest to spin this election loss into something positive, without much luck. The best I can come up with is that Bush now is responsible for cleaning up the mess he made in the Middle East. There is no way he can blame Clinton on insurgency in Iraq, Iran’s continual development of nuclear arms, Afghanistan’s slow spiral back to a feudal, terrorist-breading nation, and Israel and Palestine now with the death -- at least defacto death -- of Arafat.

There will be nobody to blame but Bush for turning the Supreme Court to the right for the next twenty to thirty years. He’ll shoulder the blame for making America more fiscally irresponsible than it was in the Regan years. He will get credit for finishing that Star Wars, that project was so beloved of his dad’s predecessor. There are so many other things, I could mention, but I should stop before I get too red in the face.

Anything that I believe in, Bush does the exact opposite. Now we are slated for four more years of this. Is it really news that any Democrat worth his salt is depressed?

Posted by Colin J Allen at 6:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Vote.

If for no other reason I have a bet with my roommate about voter turnout and I must win. I said that there would be a record number at the polls today. He said that there will only be a large number of people practicing their civic duty. And riding on this momentous bet is a bottle of whisky, that’s without the e mind you. So we’ll see…

Posted by Colin J Allen at 11:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)