What the hell are people wearing nowdays?

I was standing in a department store in Tyson's corner today, looking at the selection of ties, when I noticed something amazing.
Ed Hardy makes ties!
Now for those of you who aren't aware of this new fashion trend, Ed Hardy is a brand which markets "vintage tattoo" inspired clothing and accessories. Imagine, all the tackiness of visible tattoos, now screen printed onto your favorite T-shirt or hooded sweatshirt! Many of the clothes available even have sequins or rhinestones as accents. Be the envy of your friends by wearing this bullshit!
Now the designs center on things like skulls and roses, with weighty terms like "love" and "death" written prominently on the graphics. Now, when my grandfather's navy buddies were getting that inked into their flesh, it was innovative. The permanence of the artwork justified its subject, as arguably "love" should be lasting, and death is anything but temporary. These are weighty concepts with deep philosophical connotations. When you wear a screen print of them on a T-shirt, you look like an ass. An ass with a skull on his shirt.
Ed Hardy markets a cologne, which I assume, in the vein of vintage tatoo-ery, smells like the bowels of a Word War II battleship stationed in the pacific. Eau de man-sweat and diesel, mmm.
But the ties are what really got me. Not only are they horrifically ugly, but the casual nature of tattoos conflicts directly with the purpose of a tie, which is to dress up a bit. These ties make not a lick of sense.
So in conclusion: Christian Audigier please stop. Come on. I said please.

New York

I don't know what it was that brought me here in the first place.
It certainly wasn't the scenery. Skyscrapers are pretty and all, but I saw all that back in 4th grade on a field trip.
It wasn't the city's excellent and various forms of public transport.
I like art, but it wasn't the Met or the Moma, or the Frick, or galleries that drew me in.
I like music, but even so, there are perfectly good jazz clubs in Georgetown.
No, I buzzed up to New York City because of the bright lights and loud sounds.
Because it wasn't DC.
Because it was large, it stood to reason that I could find anything I wanted here.
It also might have been all the pretty women.

So here it is, four years later. I've gotten settled in, I suppose.
I decorated, and re-decorated. This is easy for a college kid, as all it involves is tacking posters in a new arrangement.
I've seen some things. I've had bottle service at a big expensive club, I've drank Absolut Citron on a friends rooftop in Williamsburg, looking out over the river at Manhattan.
I've stood on another rooftop in the west village, talking about life with a good friend.

There's late night train rides back to the Bronx. Sitting alone on the 4 train as it creeps uptown at 3:30 am. Shows and concerts, window shopping on Fifth Ave, dinner with girls way out of my league. I guess New York hasn't been a total loss.

Come summer, my current obligations to reside in this fair city will cease. I'll have done it, made it through school. Pushing the throttle down with my right foot, speeding across the George Washington Bridge in a car packed with all my earthly belongings, seems pretty appealing.

The only thing that makes me want to stay is the possibility of a future with this girl. But this isn't a livejournal, and I'm not emo enough to pour my soul out to strangers on the internet.
Besides, the way things look now, I'll be shifting gears on the turnpike sometime this July, smiling behind my Costa Del Mar sunglasses, the skyline of this place disappearing over the horizon in my review mirror.