#and pearl ended up being a lot more unhinged than originally planned

[nottogetpoliticalbutwtfisoatmeal]

here ya go! as far as i can remember it was just a hide and seek game for the entire round. i added on some post-dream inferences based on what would make plot holes make sense, rules that would tie to the life series canon, and what i thought was cool.

anyways this happened in my dream and it was too important not to ignore. tango didnt actually tackle pearl but i like to think he bought gem some time

and of course our beloved canary

i had a dream that there was a new life series and it was hide-and-seek based

last and certainly not least: the winner

[jessicakehoe]

Rest in Peace, Karl Lagerfeld

Karl Lagerfeld came from a different generation. The silent generation, as it’s called, or the ‘lucky few’; a cohort who came of age during the prosperous mid-century where new ideas were plentiful, employment rates were high, mortgage rates were low, and society was beginning to emerge from the haunting spectre of war. A generation for whom retirement was an actual possibility that people planned for rather than a distant twinkle in a disembodied eye. Karl Lagerfeld didn’t care for retirement, however. “Do you know how long my contract is? Until 2045,” he once spat at a journalist who dared to ask of succession.

Even at the age of 85, after he grew a mangy hipster beard and grinned revealing a maw of missing teeth, he kept on designing. Though he failed to take a bow after the Chanel couture presentation in January because he was “feeling tired” – his top assistant Virginie Viard, who has been announced as his successor, appeared in his stead – his absence failed to stoke much suspicion regarding his health because it was always a given that Karl would continue to carry on. He was essentially the human embodiment of the phrase, “When you quit, you die.” (In 2007, he told the New Yorker, “I do my job like I breathe. So if I can’t breathe I’m in trouble!”)

Born in 1933, in Hamburg, Germany, Lagerfeld had a habit of obfuscating his origins. Was he the noble son of “Elisabeth of Germany” and Otto Ludwig Lagerfeldt of Sweden as he often claimed? Not exactly. Lagerfeld was, in fact, the son of a housewife and an evaporated milk salesman. Yet he managed to transcend his humble origins through his work, eventually earning the nickname “Kaiser Karl,” which bestowed on him the aristocratic title he so longed to be born with.

Lagerfeld became good friends, and later rivals, with his contemporary, Yves Saint Laurent. The two men met after placing in 1954’s International Wool Secretariat design competition; Saint Laurent was only 18 and Lagerfeld, 21. (Lagerfeld’s companion of two decades, Jacques de Bascher, had an affair with Yves Saint Laurent chronicled in the book Jacques de Bascher: Dandy de l’ombreby Marie Ottavi.) He began his career as assistant to Pierre Balmain and eventually worked his way up to become head designer at Chloé. In 1965, he was appointed creative director of Fendi. But the real barn-burner of his career came in 1983, when he was appointed creative director of the house of Chanel. Though many counselled against him taking the post — “Everybody said, ‘Don’t touch it, it’s dead, it will never come back,’” Lagerfeld told The New Yorker– he decided to accept the position as a challenge.

Lagerfeld and Chanel had a mututalistic relationship, like the oxpecker bird who picks the ticks off a rhinoceros’s back. The historic house of Chanel gave Lagerfeld an archive to draw from, and a launchpad through which he could eject his public persona onto the world; Lagerfeld offered Chanel his meticulous design ability, a voracious appetite for creativity and a abundant productivity.

How fitting that Lagerfeld made his name at the helm of Chanel, where he managed to fashion a presence just as iconic as the namesake of the label he represented. Coco Chanel had her little black dress, strands of pearls, and a perpetual cigarette dangling from her lips; Karl had his dark sunglasses, fingerless gloves, tiny ponytail, and Diet Coke habit. In the business of being memorable, Lagerfeld was masterful at his job. He created design elements so indelible they barely seem attributable to one person: Chanel’s interlocking C logo, their quilted handbags and two-tone spectator pump. But he created nothing more enduring than a successful caricature of himself.

Lagerfeld embodied the image of an unhinged, out-of-touch designer whose brilliant designs were sometimes overshadowed by his preposterous behaviour. Lagerfeld was prone to issuing pithy declarations that ranged from hilarious (“Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants.”) to absurdly offensive (On #MeToo: “I’m fed up with it. What shocks me most in all of this are the starlets who have taken 20 years to remember what happened.”). Every time Lagerfeld made an off-colour comment it became the subject of animated whisper for days after.  He was “physically allergic” to flip flops, decried selfies as a form of “electronic masturbation” and mocked those concerned about thin models as “fat mummies sitting with their bags of crisps in front of the television.”

And he kept on giving the world his antics, long after it had stopped desiring them. In the past decade, the cultural appetite for such rude antics has markedly decreased. The balance of power is shifting, and marginalized voices are finally being heard after being relegated to live in silence for too long. It is no longer funny to be mean. The world has changed, yet Karl always remained.

For fashion lovers, I suspect that February 19th, 2019 will go down in history as one of those ‘Where were you when JFK died’ moments. When I first heard Karl was dead, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom getting ready for a regular day at work until my boyfriend called out to me from bed. It wasn’t the cold shock and rising nausea I felt upon learning of Alexander McQueen’s death in 2010. Rather the news hit me with a thud, followed by hollow resignation.

Lagerfeld meant a hell of a lot to the fashion world, but I suspect the real impact of his death won’t become readily apparent until years have passed. The fashion industry is in the midst of seismic change and Lagerfeld’s death may come to symbolize a demarcation of time periods, where the new sensibility has replaced the old. The fashion system is in the midst of a painful and protracted death, and as it attempts to redefine itself, it has not yet let go of its reliance on runway shows and print media, two institutions that that now feel particularly old school. It may come to pass that Lagerfeld’s death will speed up the progression towards a New (Fashion) World Order.

It feels somewhat fitting to end a tribute to Lagerfeld with his own words, which he was clearly so fond of. One of the greatest fashion characters who ever lived once evaluated his own trajectory; “I’ve always known that I was made to live this way, that I would be this sort of legend.”

The post Rest in Peace, Karl Lagerfeld appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Rest in Peace, Karl Lagerfeld published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[lindyhunt]

Rest in Peace, Karl Lagerfeld

Karl Lagerfeld came from a different generation. The silent generation, as it’s called, or the ‘lucky few’; a cohort who came of age during the prosperous mid-century where new ideas were plentiful, employment rates were high, mortgage rates were low, and society was beginning to emerge from the haunting spectre of war. A generation for whom retirement was an actual possibility that people planned for rather than a distant twinkle in a disembodied eye. Karl Lagerfeld didn’t care for retirement, however. “Do you know how long my contract is? Until 2045,” he once spat at a journalist who dared to ask of succession.

Even at the age of 85, after he grew a mangy hipster beard and grinned revealing a maw of missing teeth, he kept on designing. Though he failed to take a bow after the Chanel couture presentation in January because he was “feeling tired” – his top assistant Virginie Viard, who has been announced as his successor, appeared in his stead – his absence failed to stoke much suspicion regarding his health because it was always a given that Karl would continue to carry on. He was essentially the human embodiment of the phrase, “When you quit, you die.” (In 2007, he told the New Yorker, “I do my job like I breathe. So if I can’t breathe I’m in trouble!”)

Born in 1933, in Hamburg, Germany, Lagerfeld had a habit of obfuscating his origins. Was he the noble son of “Elisabeth of Germany” and Otto Ludwig Lagerfeldt of Sweden as he often claimed? Not exactly. Lagerfeld was, in fact, the son of a housewife and an evaporated milk salesman. Yet he managed to transcend his humble origins through his work, eventually earning the nickname “Kaiser Karl,” which bestowed on him the aristocratic title he so longed to be born with.

Lagerfeld became good friends, and later rivals, with his contemporary, Yves Saint Laurent. The two men met after placing in 1954’s International Wool Secretariat design competition; Saint Laurent was only 18 and Lagerfeld, 21. (Lagerfeld’s companion of two decades, Jacques de Bascher, had an affair with Yves Saint Laurent chronicled in the book Jacques de Bascher: Dandy de l’ombreby Marie Ottavi.) He began his career as assistant to Pierre Balmain and eventually worked his way up to become head designer at Chloé. In 1965, he was appointed creative director of Fendi. But the real barn-burner of his career came in 1983, when he was appointed creative director of the house of Chanel. Though many counselled against him taking the post — “Everybody said, ‘Don’t touch it, it’s dead, it will never come back,’” Lagerfeld told The New Yorker– he decided to accept the position as a challenge.

Lagerfeld and Chanel had a mututalistic relationship, like the oxpecker bird who picks the ticks off a rhinoceros’s back. The historic house of Chanel gave Lagerfeld an archive to draw from, and a launchpad through which he could eject his public persona onto the world; Lagerfeld offered Chanel his meticulous design ability, a voracious appetite for creativity and a abundant productivity.

How fitting that Lagerfeld made his name at the helm of Chanel, where he managed to fashion a presence just as iconic as the namesake of the label he represented. Coco Chanel had her little black dress, strands of pearls, and a perpetual cigarette dangling from her lips; Karl had his dark sunglasses, fingerless gloves, tiny ponytail, and Diet Coke habit. In the business of being memorable, Lagerfeld was masterful at his job. He created design elements so indelible they barely seem attributable to one person: Chanel’s interlocking C logo, their quilted handbags and two-tone spectator pump. But he created nothing more enduring than a successful caricature of himself.

Lagerfeld embodied the image of an unhinged, out-of-touch designer whose brilliant designs were sometimes overshadowed by his preposterous behaviour. Lagerfeld was prone to issuing pithy declarations that ranged from hilarious (“Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants.”) to absurdly offensive (On #MeToo: “I’m fed up with it. What shocks me most in all of this are the starlets who have taken 20 years to remember what happened.”). Every time Lagerfeld made an off-colour comment it became the subject of animated whisper for days after.  He was “physically allergic” to flip flops, decried selfies as a form of “electronic masturbation” and mocked those concerned about thin models as “fat mummies sitting with their bags of crisps in front of the television.”

And he kept on giving the world his antics, long after it had stopped desiring them. In the past decade, the cultural appetite for such rude antics has markedly decreased. The balance of power is shifting, and marginalized voices are finally being heard after being relegated to live in silence for too long. It is no longer funny to be mean. The world has changed, yet Karl always remained.

For fashion lovers, I suspect that February 19th, 2019 will go down in history as one of those ‘Where were you when JFK died’ moments. When I first heard Karl was dead, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom getting ready for a regular day at work until my boyfriend called out to me from bed. It wasn’t the cold shock and rising nausea I felt upon learning of Alexander McQueen’s death in 2010. Rather the news hit me with a thud, followed by hollow resignation.

Lagerfeld meant a hell of a lot to the fashion world, but I suspect the real impact of his death won’t become readily apparent until years have passed. The fashion industry is in the midst of seismic change and Lagerfeld’s death may come to symbolize a demarcation of time periods, where the new sensibility has replaced the old. The fashion system is in the midst of a painful and protracted death, and as it attempts to redefine itself, it has not yet let go of its reliance on runway shows and print media, two institutions that that now feel particularly old school. It may come to pass that Lagerfeld’s death will speed up the progression towards a New (Fashion) World Order.

It feels somewhat fitting to end a tribute to Lagerfeld with his own words, which he was clearly so fond of. One of the greatest fashion characters who ever lived once evaluated his own trajectory; “I’ve always known that I was made to live this way, that I would be this sort of legend.”

[occupyhades]

The real threat to Trump is unfolding in a courtroom -- thanks to Stormy Daniels - RawStory.com

The weekend started off with a bang and ended with a whimper. In concert with U.S. allies, President Trump ordered a missile strike against Syria on Friday night, in retaliation for the apparent chemical attack on civilians in Douma earlier in the week. The precision strike was limited to some weapons facilities and so far there are no reports of deaths on the ground, which is likely because the U.S. warned Russia and the Syrians in advance. Trump had tweeted to the world that he was planning to launch missile strikes so it’s not as if anyone was surprised. (This is a good thing, although it certainly calls his “Pearl Harbor doctrine” into question.) This article was originally published at Salon By Saturday night, Trump was tweeting out “Mission Accomplished,” with no apparent sense of irony whatsoever. The White House made sure that it was widely reported that Trump really wanted to teach Russia a lesson and had pushed hard for a major bombing campaign but was talked out of it by his Pentagon chief. Everyone is now supposed to believe that Trump is chomping at the bit to be tougher on Russia than even Jim “Mad Dog” Mattis, but in the end Trump bowed to the defense secretary’s advice because he’s always restrained when he needs to be. (If you believe any of that I’ve got some Trump steaks to sell you.) Despite the Syrian strike, with all its Pentagon-provided, video-game footage of fire and fury, the White House couldn’t black out the news of the forthcoming book by James Comey or the astonishing story unfolding around Trump’s personal lawyer and former Trump Organization executive Michael Cohen. When I say the weekend ended with a whimper, I’m referring to Trump’s petulant, puerile Twitter rant on Sunday: Unbelievably, James Comey states that Polls, where Crooked Hillary was leading, were a factor in the handling (stupidly) of the Clinton Email probe. In other words, he was making decisions based on the fact that he thought she was going to win, and he wanted a job. Slimeball! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) April 15, 2018 I never asked Comey for Personal Loyalty. I hardly even knew this guy. Just another of his many lies. His “memos” are self serving and FAKE! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) April 15, 2018 Slippery James Comey, a man who always ends up badly and out of whack (he is not smart!), will go down as the WORST FBI Director in history, by far! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) April 15, 2018 Trump is obviously sincerely agitated about James Comey’s book, but his unhinged tweets are also part of a coordinated response by the Republican Party and are therefore to be expected. What’s more interesting is the fact that he tweeted about the FBI raid on Cohen’s office, commenting for only the second time since his overwrought TV appearance with the joint chiefs on the day it happened. He was obviously watching his unofficial adviser Alan Dershowitz opine on television when he tweeted this: Attorney Client privilege is now a thing of the past. I have many (too many!) lawyers and they are probably wondering when their offices, and even homes, are going to be raided with everything, including their phones and computers, taken. All lawyers are deflated and concerned! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) April 15, 2018 I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that only the lawyers who have engaged in criminal conspiracies with him are nervous. While Trump was ordering airstrikes on Syria last Friday it’s fair to assume he had one eye peeled on TV. There were reports from the federal courtroom where Cohen’s lawyers were protesting the searches and to everyone’s surprise, Trump had his own lawyers in the courtroom arguing — you guessed it! — that the warrants served on Cohen by federal prosecutors violated attorney-client privilege. Judge Kimba Wood was reportedly miffed that Cohen was not available in the courtroom to answer questions that his lawyers couldn’t. Where was Cohen, anyway? Well, he was hanging around with his pals on the street, smoking cigars. I’m not kidding. This brilliant satire about Cohen’s day by Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo says it all: omg this is amazing pic.twitter.com/TOlAIKvPl5 — Josh Marshall (@joshtpm) April 14, 2018 At any rate, Judge Wood has ordered Cohen to appear in court Monday. In one of the three hearings held on Friday, prosecutors revealed that they’ve been investigating Cohen for months. Their filing added that the searches were meant to “seek evidence of crimes, many of which have nothing to do with his work as an attorney, but rather relate to Cohen’s own business dealings.” Those business dealings include suspected money laundering, bank fraud, wire fraud and nefarious criminal partnerships in the New York taxi industry. How all this fits into Trump’s business in the U.S. and overseas or with the Russia probe, if it does at all, remains to be seen. We do know that Cohen was in the middle of all of it. What is becoming clearer every day is that Cohen seems to have made a lot of money, and I do mean a lot, in schemes arranging payoffs to women to keep them quiet. It appears to be a kind of side service he has provides to other clients, not just his patron the president. It was also reported this week that Cohen had arranged for another woman who had an affair with a high-ranking Republican official to be paid more than a million dollars in hush money. The man, a wealthy Trump donor and confidant named Elliott Broidy, paid Cohen another quarter of a million on top of that. (Broidy is also entangled in the Russia probe, having participated in that mysterious meeting in the Seychelles, just before Trump’s inauguration.) Furthermore, the woman involved in the Broidy case was represented by Keith Davidson, the same lawyer who represented Stormy Daniels and Karen McDougal, two women who allegedly had affairs with Trump and were paid to keep their mouths shut about it. There is some kind of remarkable racket going on here. On Sunday the Wall Street Journal reported that Cohen also managed to shut down a story in US Magazine in 2013 about Donald Trump Jr.’s rumored affair with singer Aubrey O’Day, who had appeared with Don Jr. on “The Apprentice.” It’s all in the family. If there’s one person in America who prepared the ground for this scandal, that would be Stormy Daniels’ attorney, Michael Avenatti. He is as smart and clever as Michael Cohen is — or rather, as Cohen evidently isn’t. Avenatti’s TV appearances and legal strategy in Daniels’ civil case have been perfectly calibrated for the Trump era of reality TV and gangster series. He tweets, he talks and he doles out information for maximum impact. He was in court on Friday and stood outside giving interviews while Cohen was being filmed hanging with his goombahs on the sidewalk. Trump evidently realizes that taking Avenatti’s bait would do him no good, but you can bet it’s driving him crazy. Monday’s hearing promises to be quite a circus. Trump’s lawyers are demanding to see everything the feds seized before prosecutors can review it, to determine if any of the material violates attorney-client privilege. Cohen will be there, presumably in a more subdued, lawyerly suit than he wore on Friday. Oh, and did I mention that Avenatti is bringing Stormy Daniels to court today?  The only one missing will be Donald Trump himself but you can be sure that he’ll be glued to the screen watching every move, even if he has to put Jim Comey on the DVR. This case goes straight to the heart of the Trump con — and maybe even his marriage.