28th August 2003. Back on the essays for a bit. Does this site needs a makeover, a name change? What d'ya reckon? Feel like one. I keep an eye on fashion and the yooves are wearing pretty much what I used to wear and still have somewhere (minus all the pixie boot balderdash, natch.) Yet somehow, while I wasn't looking, my wardrobe crept back to basics, the curious highstreet questing of the Egg-billed Thirtyplus, or Tokenus Straight Man In Muji. Teens were spent cutting, sewing, dyeing; giro-inspired trips to Affleck's Palace to drag Pulp-like flares or hooded things back to all-out-of-irony rural nitespots. I recently caught a tv debate about ageism and not being able to find a job over the age of twelve or whatever it is these days. Some samey-fashionable young ripstart ('Bob's Car Parts' t-shirt, tweaked around de Nîmes) scoffed at a middleaged and unemployed graphic designer by claiming that the graphic lark was a young razor's game, as employers wanted fresh ideas. I'd have pointed out that the association of fresh ideas with fresh cheeks is a profoundly stale idea, then fired him off the show. I know that I never met an interesting band member who thought their art form should present a digit to the juddering, only smalltown fanzine editors still living with their folks, the best twiddlers and twangers happily traded tips and tales. Many minds get fresher the further away they are from educative monoculture, mum and dad and 'what employers want'. Currently wearing: 'Bjorn Borg' brand underpants from Stockholm, (Etiquette note - not to be used as one's Saturday Pants, those held back in anticipation of good luck. A man's Saturday Pants should be tasteful, well-fitting and will avoid extraneous humour), old Wrangler jeans, a Fossil watch, a red t-shirt I only wear around the house as it's pulled to bits at the neck. Delightful.