PT Cruisers

Let me preface this by saying that I, Sydney John Pellegrino, am the proud/ashamed owner of a 1992 Hyundai Stellar. When I put the keys in the ignition, the engine keels over like a Portugese soccer player after just having been breathed on by an opponent (that's right, I'm talking to you Ronaldo, Queen of the Pussies). And while the Hyundai lineage seems to have been bolstered, upgraded, ENHANCED, in recent years, I am well aware of the fact that 1992 was not a good year for the Stellar vintage.

My car is a shit box. That's what I'm trying to say here.

Still, regardless of my vehicle's shortcomings, that doesn't give anyone, hummer or hybrid alike, to cut me off, ridicule me, and ride me from behind like Roseanne Barr on Tom Arnold. This includes you, PT Cruisers, who as of late, have been the most egregious offenders in terms of road ridiculousness. I can't count on any of my fingers or toes, how many times I've been violated by the over-aggressive behavior of the drivers of these cars. It's a disturbing trend, one I think I've only begun to comprehend.

I think the idea of what the PT Cruiser represents (or fails to represent) is at the root of the problem.

When a potential PT Cruiser driver - from my experience, typically a middle-aged, single woman - shows up at the dealership to pick out the little bundle of joy, they see a car that reminds them of their childhood. A car their father drove. A car from old sepia-toned photographs with plenty of flannel-clad folks. A car whose backseat saw more action than Rambo and Liberace combined. They see a time when things were easy - including themselves - and life hadn't quite beaten and mashed them into a puree comprised of post-divorce melancholia and unfulfilled promises. The PT Cruiser, for them, is the good times that have all since dissipated after losing custody of the kids.

It's only after a few weeks of driving that these poor, poor souls come to the realization that these cars don't immediately drive onto the set of Bugsy when you turn over the ignition. The gas mileage is shit. And that their parents are still dead. As is the hope of jump starting their lives with the promise of a new version of something old. The retro wet dream that so many baby boomers still fill their huggies with. The big disappointment.

And this says nothing of the men who drive these cars. But I'll save that for another time.

R.I.P. Hyundai Stellar. You were too good for this world.

And that's how it is,

Syd

Here is the beginning of my post.

And here is the rest of it.

Editorial: SPRING 2014 FASHION PREVIEW...

...j/k. It's still SOOOOO '08. But it's hard to tell when setting your pupil upon Leroi Jankowitz's frock (pictured). My crew and I were out and about this weekend, on the trail of some serious trend-setting, be it Emily Bissett's haute Nipple-Free BodySuit (a one-piece of latex and tar with no holes for anything but nipples) or the new baby-blue-and-sand tone stretchy waistbands of Chanel's OldWetty; a decidedly upscale take on the Depend adult diaper, lined with Swarovski crystals and the embryos of baby seals that have already been impregnated by other seals. Ravishing, dahhhling!

But it was none other than Mr. Jankowitz, thrice turned away from "Project Runway" (this season, he admittedly slept though the call after a heavy night of Rollos and poppers) that made our disposable Walgreen's cameras glitter the greatest...

Few could even pull off his look. At nearly 7 feet tall, 285 lbs, he, today, seems not incongruous with the neoclassicism of a young Audrey Hepburn--an unprecedented vision of strong lines, floor-length gowns with the cleanest silhouettes and a flawless, timeless sense of beauty that could transpose any fashion into the forefront. Hepburn herself, were she not dead from cancer, would truly feel that the 'torch' had been rightly passed should she have bumped into Mr. Jankowitz at 4:11 am this Saturday on Sunset Boulevard.

Alas, she couldn't, so we did our own investigating. Though it was dangerous work at first; I was nearly stabbed by Mr. Jankowitz's stately 'wife' 'Swingin' P' and it was only after I told them both that I wrote for TMA that they eased down...and asked for five dollars. I obliged.

When I asked Leroi what many in my situation would have asked--how he envisioned that the bejeweled-semi-zebra-print-gold-chain-knee-high boot would jive so utterly brilliantly with the rest of the ensemble without overwhelming it, his response was simple, confident, recalling a young Yves Saint Laurent: "One word: My ass. Do I have ham in between my teeth? Do I smell like dicks? Oh, nice, there's still some ham in my purse..."

Indeed there WAS ham in his purse! Literally and figuratively. The ham-colored purse was that 'special something' that made the line backer look-alike look more like a fashion maven than anything else. And the side of raw ham was fabulous--so bold, so...animalistic!

Our interview ended abruptly, as Leroi disappeared into the back of an alley and then momentarily reappeared to make take the gun. I still have it! Note to self: I must be returning that to him (hopefully every sequin is intact).

With a flourish, a light vomit, and then an unexpected burst into the early morning traffic, this week's trend-setter was sure to light the day on fire. With big, wavy flames of sequin, cheap metals, and flamable fabrics. Here's to you, Leroi Jankowitz--I know we'll some day meet again, perhaps in Milan, perhaps at Denny's.

Study our snapshot. See how he works it, right down to those meaty fingers with wildly terrifying press-on nails. Notice that he is unafraid of textures, like plastic, tin, or fake zebra, and that tying your shirt off into a knot is back--in a gargantuan way. See the tiny, useless belt-thing over his brazen short-shorts--go out, get one, NOW, or you'll be behind the times before Leroi's thrown up his breakfast and made his first fifteen dollars of the day. See that there is sensuality in the leg; we don't see much of it--he knows just how to be conservative and get us with how he 'holds back'; control is key in dressing yourself without looking trashy--but it does peek out from those tiny shorts, and over those menacing boots.

And, at last, look at that smile. Charm, wit, charisma. THAT will surely be the staple of fashion in 2014. Yes, Leroi, you may have ham between your teeth, but your star shines so bright that I only see your bacon--