• March of Dimes Fundraiser @ Brooks Brothers

    After being absent from the site for quite some time, for reasons my latest emorrific posts can attest to, Cas attempts to raise my spirits by asking me to “party at Brooks Brothers with Melissa Joan Hart.” Now, I loved Clarissa Explains it All and the early episodes of Sabrina the Teenage Witch–shoot, I even have Drive Me Crazy on DVD. So I drop by for a little bit after work, lounge around, find it a little too stuffy, and leave just as Garcelle Beauvais walks through the door. She was glamorous, managing Brooks Brothers conservative with a red plaid skirt and white blouse on stiletto heels. Did I get a picture? Sadly, I was too lonely and shy. Did I get to see Melissa Joan Hart? Sadly, no…

    If I didn’t bum you out too much, let me tell you more about it, and Brooks Brothers’ Holiday Collection.


    Burning, Again…

    Looking outside to see a giant plume of smoke on the horizon is becoming all too familiar to me. I took a drive last Saturday night to get a Slurpee, and I could see flames creeping down the hill. We’ve been stranded all day–freeways closed, no way in or out. But my mind hardly made a stir. We could be trapped, we could be in danger, we could be consumed–but none of that really mattered to me, in that moment. I just felt…alone.

    Maybe its the fact that I got dumped, again. Maybe its that everything is becoming all too familiar. The things that make me sad, the things I worry about–in that moment, something told me it shouldn’t matter to me.  Something told me to just move on.

    My preschool burned to the ground in the Sylmar fire.  That one place I reminisce with childhood innocence and comfort.  When I started Catholic School in the first grade, I begged to go back to preschool.  The nuns found me problematic, and discussed it with my parents constantly.  But I just wanted to be free again.  I didn’t want rules, I didn’t want structure.  I just wanted to be.  And now, that one place that just let me, be, is gone.

    It is sad to lose things.  But I need to thank God that I haven’t lost everything, because some people have.  I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, because there are so many others to feel sorry for.  And I need to stop being sad, because it would be better to just move on.

    If you would like to help the victims of the Southern California wildfires, please support the American Red Cross.

    The Suite Life of Emore

    I’m a wreck.  I got dumped again, making this three years in a row I’ve been dumped within a week of my birthday.  It’s becoming an unfortunate constant in my life.  And so are these days on the corporate road–lonely hotel rooms, unhealthy casual dining, and free wine and beer at happy hour, 5pm-7pm, Monday thru Thursday.  It’s taking its toll.  I’ve been living out of a suitcase for 9 weeks, and the only place it’s taking me is here:

    St. Joseph Parish Cemetery, Poquonock, Connecticut

    St. Joseph Parish Cemetery, Poquonock, Connecticut


    A Requiem: Emore’s Pink Striped Polo Oxford

    Despite spending my birthday in airports, it was the first time in three years I thought it wouldn’t be so bad (I got dumped on my birthday 2 years in a row…). Fate, however, is an elegant, cold-hearted whore. Imagine my pain when I unpack to find my favorite shirt ruined:

    The Casualties
    The Casualties


    The Rolling Briefcase…

    My co-worker desparately wants a rolling briefcase.  And I desparately want to stop her.  Why?  Because of this:

    rolling backpack

    In middle school, I totally hated these kids. Them, with their strain-free back and pompous grin, taking up that extra space in the lunch lines, keeping me from rushing out the door at the end of the day–they just seemed like they were so much better than the rest of us. But they don’t know suffering, how my back ached every night from walking 2 miles because the bus wouldn’t stop close to my house because its soo hood. Perhaps I was just jealous of their situation. Perhaps I just hated them so I could feel like I was better than everyone else…


    Concert Etiquette

    Looking good is more than just “looking good.”  It’s carrying an attitude that not only draws attention, but commands respect.  And in many situations, that attitude is far too often overlooked.  A manners lesson/rant from your friend Emore:

    This weekend, I took in the LA Philharmonic’s production of Provokiev’s Peter and the Wolf, complete with a machine toy puppet theater and various classical arrangements. Being a free community concert, I expected people from all walks of life–for some it was their first concert, and you cannot expect perfect protocol from everyone. I can, however, expect basic manners.

    Here comes the rant: “You DO NOT complain loudly throughout ANY performance when other people are trying to enjoy themselves. If you want to sleep, you don’t have to tell the world, just sleep or get the *$%@ out.”


    The Color Purple

    Emore went to Connecticut and all he brought us are these stupid pictures of purple clothes…


    J. Crew and Forever 21


    Uniqlo and H&M

    If you haven’t noticed yet, purple is the fall color…

    But does that mean it’s your color?  

    Fast backward in time

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