It took a few days of botched FedEx delivery attempts, but today I finally received the HP Mini 110 Netbook that I won last week at Masquertweet.

A nice, shiny new tech toy to tinker with over the weekend. I still don’t see how I’d use this even semi-regularly — my notebook computer is portable enough most of the time, and my iPod Touch suffices for when I really need to travel light, i.e. something pocket-sized. So the netbook is a classic ‘tweener. But again, a freebie is a freebie, so I’ll find some use for it!

Thanks again to the Masquertweet crew for the fun time. And related to that, here’s a video artifact from the party, courtesy of Nicole and her Socolite “Philanthropy Is Sexy” series:

Yup, I’m in there somewhere, both behind and in front of the camera (I shot only the good parts, of course). Overall, not a bad result from far too many minutes of Twittering…

Joining Twitter may not have boosted this blog’s traffic as much as I’d hoped, but it has paid off in other tangible, offline ways. To wit:

Last night was the first-ever Masquertweet party/meetup in New York, at 49 Grove. The theme, obviously, was to show up “in costume”, with a mere eyemask sufficing as the bare minimum in dress-up. I took this minimalism to heart by getting a lorgnette handle-held black mask (which got me some looks on the walk down Bleecker Street as I let it hang from my shirt collar like a pair of sunglasses). Perfect as an unobtrusive accessory, plus it put me in mind of Eyes Wide Shut…

Proceeds from the cover charge were for charity (12for12k and Eye Care For Kids, specifically), so it was all good. I met some great people, most of them in the PR field or some offshoot. It’s always a little jarring to meet online acquaintances face-to-face, although I’d say most of the tweeters there were people I hadn’t been following up until then. I am glad I got to meet-and-greet with @prcog (who organized this event), @aerocles, @kibbe, @jdodd, and others. I was especially glad to meet @nikisnotes, who somehow charmed me into Flip-filming her host segments for an on-the-spot “Philanthropy Is Sexy” video…

While meeting people in real life is tangible enough, the real payoff came at the end of the night, when the raffle giveaway was drawn. I somehow wound up winning the grand prize of an HP Mini 110 Netbook! I was floored, because I never win these things. So I’m pretty stoked to have netted some free hardware, just for getting out of the house for once and networking/cocktailing. (I don’t have any real need for yet another techie device, but I’ll never turn down a freebie.) Thanks go to PR firm BurrellesLuce for donating the prize, along with some quality conversation.

And, ultimately, I wouldn’t have had this night of masquerade fun and gain if not for everybody’s favorite bird-themed social network. So I have to admit that Twitter is, indeed, good for something other than time-killing. Which I’ll be doing a bit more of, now that I’ve got another wireless toy on the way…

Not so long ago, I lodged the following complaint against the post-modern vampire, as personified in Twilight and the like:

Meaning enough already — what used to be fresh and inventive is now the tired norm. The romanticization of the dreamy nosferatu should signal the end of the line for this fantasy-fiction aesthetic. I don’t know that future vampire tales need to revert back to the Bram Stoker trappings, but a fresh reinvention is in order.

Naturally, my plea was roundly ignored, as the realms of fashion and pop culture continue to chug along on the fanged-undead kick:

“The vampire is the new James Dean,” said Julie Plec, the writer and executive producer of “The Vampire Diaries,” a forthcoming series on the CW network based on the popular L. J. Smith novels about high school femmes and hommes fatales. “There is something so still and sexy about these young erotic predators,” she said.

This generation of undead prowls high school hallways and dimly lighted dance clubs as menacing — and as seductive — as they have ever been. The June premiere of the second season of “True Blood,” in which Sookie, played by Anna Paquin, is reunited with her imperious fanged suitor, drew 3.4 million viewers, making it HBO’s most-watched program since the “Sopranos” finale in 2007.

Charlaine Harris has just published “Dead and Gone,” the ninth novel in her Sookie Stackhouse series, variations on Southern Gothic fiction on which “True Blood” is based. The publishing world has been intrigued by “The Strain,” a first installment in a planned trilogy written by the film director Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, about bloodthirsty predators run amok in Manhattan.

The style world, too, has come under the vampire’s spell, in the shape of the gorgeous leather- and lace-clad night crawlers who have crept into the pages of fashion glossies.

As silly as the vampirific trend is in books, movies, and TV, it’s doubly ludicrous when applied to fashion — and that’s an industry built upon the sublimely outlandish. To me, it comes off as nothing more than goth revisited, with maybe a hint of blood-red color. It’s ironically anemic in concept.

I guess this meme will have to run its course via overkill. But even without actually directly intaking any of its manifestations, the marketing osmosis I experience from this movement has already stricken me with bloodsucker fatigue. Somebody drain me, quick…

I must be completely punch-drunk tonight, if all it takes is a tweet request for me to post the above picture. That would be me, wearing my festive purple pimpwear fedora, a leftover relic from a years-ago masquerade party. I had a more-or-less complete suit to go along with it, but that’s long gone now.

Note the accessory fuzzy dice hanging off the side. I added that touch myself. I must have lucked upon them, because they obviously match well with the hat’s leopard-skin trim. Believe me, the partygoers appreciated my attention to sartorial detail.

Bigger photo on Flickr, although the quality is only fair, thanks to my cameraphone’s limitations. Pimpin’ may be easy, but spur-of-the-moment photography sure ain’t.

If you want to look like you’re down with the Mexican Mafia, Torcido Clothing will hook you up with Southern California’s slickest gangland garb. And while this outfit isn’t officially gangmember-approved, it’s got the next best thing: The company is run by a Los Angeles-area police officer.

Among the shirts [El Monte Police Officer George Fierro] sells is one with a black handprint dripping blood — a symbol of the Mexican Mafia prison gang. The shirt includes the names of members of “the EME” who “wore this tattoo logo.” Another shirt has a logo that reads “Green Lighters” with a splatter of blood in the background. The term refers to someone who has defied the Mexican Mafia and has been put on a hit list…

Some gang intervention experts said they were surprised anyone would sell clothing referring to the Mexican Mafia, or that anyone would buy it. Mike Garcia, a former Boyle Heights gang member who works to prevent gang violence, said wearing such clothing can be dangerous in many neighborhoods.

“You’re not even supposed to talk about them. It doesn’t matter if you’re a member or not,” Garcia said. “You can get in a lot of trouble. That’s dumb.”

This is pretty much akin to a narcotics officer running a head shop in his spare time. to avoid the conflict of interest, maybe Fierro should take up selling real estate on the side, like everyone else in California.

On a Midtown sidewalk today, a rather large individual walked past me, wearing a black tshirt with this simple slogan on it: APE NEVER APE.

Given my fascination with cryptic tshirt-based phraseology, I just had to make note of it.

And research it further, of course. Not much online, but it seems to be connected to fashion boutique A Bathing Ape. Must be a discontinued brand, because it doesn’t seem to be in Bape’s current clothing line.

It’s an odd word structure. Ape never ape? Does that mean that a primate never copies?

In any case, I feel I’ve focused enough mental energy toward this sartorial mystery. If anyone knows the low-down, by all means share.

Clutch Tees delivered! After I blogged about the Caddyshack “Bushwood Country Club” t-shirt my friend sent me as a birthday present, I promptly emailed the permalink to get a gift certificate for another Clutch shirt. Sure enough, they sent back the $25 voucher, to be applied toward the purchase of another tee.

And I chose the one pictured above, which I’m wearing right now. Frankly, it was the only other one in their collection (aside from the Bushwood one I already have) that I could see wearing without incurring lost-youth embarrassment. The “Give Peas A Chance” tagline is cutesy, but I can live with it, and I liked the simple smiley-faced green sprites. They look good against the light-blue cloth, too (which is much darker in real life than in the photo here). Worth the minor-grade blog shilling.

So the net result is that I got two birthday t-shirts. I guess I could submit this post for yet another gift certificate, but I think I’ll stop at just two.

You’re looking at an early birthday gift I just received from my friend Kirby. I guess it caught his eye on the Clutch Tees catalogue; the combination of green (my favorite color) and the Caddyshack referential (one of my favorite movies) doubtlessly triggered the purchase.

I’ll conveniently overlook the subtle attempt to prematurely age me by a whole month

It is a good-looking t-shirt. (I would have posted a pic of me actually wearing it, but I gave up after taking a half-dozen fairly crappy shots of myself looking gawkishly dorky.) The Bushwood Country Club logo (accompanied by the “It’s In The Hole!” crest) is hardly an officially-sanctioned symbol, but then, none of these ironically-hip humor tees are ever formally sanctioned. I wonder how they get away with using some of those unmistakable catchphrases and such; I’m guess there’s enough legal leeway in fair-use provision that the movie studios can’t (or won’t) sue.

Or if they do, they can do so after I cash in on my forthcoming free shirt from Clutch. Because that is the deal they’re cutting for any bloggage tossed their way, and that is, of course, what this post amounts to. I would feel bad about the quasi-shilling, but since I would be blogging about getting the gift anyway, my conscience is clear.

So I finally got my swag from running that No Fear “Earn Some Cred” contest: A 12-pack of double-shot cans of No Fear Energy Bloodshot and a black No Fear t-shirt.

I have to say, I was anticipating just giving away both prizes. I’m not much for chugging energy drinks, and No Fear’s branding is really a better fit for someone 10-20 years younger than my 37-year-old hide. Such concerns were why I originally had misgivings about taking Tara up on the offer of hosting the giveaway.

But, now that I’ve got the stuff in my hot little hands, I do think I’ll keep it. I tried a can of Bloodshot, and I like it. I figured the blood orange (blood orange, bloodshot — get it?) and dragonfruit flavoring would be citrusy-bitter enough that it would suit my palate, and I was right. It doesn’t taste nearly as sugary-sweet as Red Bull or the other ultra-caffeinated fizzy drinks. It’s definitely not for everyone — for instance, the inimitable Marvo of The Impulsive Buy gave it a thumbs-down. But I like it. Which I’m sure means that it’ll fail to catch on and be discontinued soon enough, much like the similarly-flavored and long-extinct 180, which I also liked.

As for the t-shirt, I was pleasantly surprised by the super-stylized No Fear logo on it. If you squint, you can see it on the contest image above (the third shirt on the right). For some reason, it comes off as less skateboarder-ish than the standard skull-and-wings orange-bordered version. So I can see myself wearing it, and so I will. Besides, at a Large size, it’s too big to hand down to my 8-year-old nephew, so I might as well make use of it myself.

No telling how long either the t-shirt or the 12-pack will last me. Maybe long enough until the next trinket giveaway comes my way.

I may or may not have detected a curious retro-tech trend this past week: The reemergence of giant, two-handed grip calculators from yesteryear.

I don’t know how widespread these oldstyle, single-purpose electronic devices are, in New York or elsewhere. I just know that I spotted them in the wild on three separate occasions recently: Twice on the subway, and once in a coffee shop. The two subway calculator owners were as different as can be: One was a burly old man, obviously an absentminded-professor type, while the other was a young woman probably in her mid-20s. The coffee-shop calculator was a 30ish woman. All three shared the same trait: They were all pounding away on their number-buttons, obviously skilled and practiced at wielding their number-crunchers. And the kicker: All of them seemed to be performing their calculations strictly on the fly — no notebook paper or anything else to record the results, just focused on performing electronic arithmetic in public.

With any number of other, more portable devices floating around (cellphones, netbooks, iPods, etc.) that have built-in calculators, I was thrown to catch sight of so many oldie models. And in all three cases, these were old-looking calcs, not the cutesy-modern models made for schoolwork.

What could be the appeal? Obviously they’d be a cheaper option. The display is pretty huge compared to a phone, so maybe there’s that appeal. Beyond that, I can’t figure it out.

Just as deviance devolves downward, it seems that greed, and its accoutrements, devolves upward — all the way to this 0.02 carat-encrusted Visa Infinite Diamond Card, for those making $300,000 and up per year.

That leaves me and my zinc-card carrying brethren blacked out. Although in this perverse financial-status arms race, it’ll be only a matter of time before this “infinite” credit limit is far surpassed, with the residual effect being that black and the other now-exclusive shades of plastic will become devalued enough for the unwashed masses to qualify for them.

Then again, the Visa Infinite is being issued by the Eurasian Bank of Kazakhstan. Considering that the oil-primed Kazakh economy is collapsing right along with the price of a barrel of crude, this might be the first-ever toxic asset to be delivered in wallet-sized card-swipe form.

I got a happy surprise today when 10/10 Optics called and told me that my new glasses were ready for pickup, days earlier than I expected.

So I hustled over to get them. Maybe I was excited about gracing my face with this l.a. Eyeworks black-grey frame (inexplicably named “Shorty”). Or maybe I was anxious to start seeing a little more crystal-clearly than I had been through my years-old lenses.

Or, more likely, I was looking forward to getting myself another shot of Jack Daniels to seal the transaction, as is the unique habit at this particular optician.

I actually had to request my goodbye hit of liquor this time out, after the final fitting. But they complied cheerfully enough. Luckily it was another bone-chilling day out, which justified the tippling well enough.

A unique touch to the service you get at 10/10 Optics, on Madison and 26th Street: When you’re all done with your eye exam and eyeglass selection, they’ll serve you up a quick shot of booze.

No, seriously. The bottles of high-end hooch are all on display, right there on the illuminated shelves alongside the designer frames. I noticed them right away when I first walked in a couple of days ago, and had them in my line of sight while trying on glasses; but at first, I thought they were just decorative. When I finally asked about them on my way out the door, the optician promptly pulled out a little plastic shotglass and offered me a hit of whichever spirit I chose.

Of course, I accepted. After dropping as much money as I had on my new specs (long overdue, both stylistically and prescription-wise), I felt I was owed a small payback, even in liquid form. Since it was freezing outside that day, I zeroed in on a bottle of private-reserve Jack Daniels; it definitely did the trick.

As for the explanation behind the somewhat strange juxtaposition between alcohol and eye-doctoring: I was told it was simply because the guy in charge, Dr. Rozenberg (who examined me, nice guy), liked it that way.

Fair enough. Just make sure you have your shot after you’re done conducting your business there, instead of before. Otherwise, I’m thinking an unfortunate “blind drunk” effect might take hold, where you’ll overpay for some blurry-eyed eyewear…

Yesterday while walking around Manhattan isle, I encountered not one, but two instances of the familiar New York Yankees team logo displayed upside-down, as pictured above (next to the regular version, for comparative purposes).

Well, they weren’t exactly as pictured above. In both cases, the logo was on articles of clothing (a winter cap and a sweatshirt), and the people wearing them had chosen to turn those articles inside-out. So what was on display was the reverse-stitching of the logo, in its mirror-imaged form. It actually looked unusual enough that, both times, it took me a few seconds to recognize exactly what I was looking at. The first time around, in the case of the cap, the weird outlines of the reversed “NY” put me in mind of some kind of Klingon alphabet symbols…

Anyway, I’m sure that both cases, the effect was unintentional. Still, I’d like to imagine that this flipping of the Yankees imagery was some kind of silent protest, conscious or not, in response to the ‘roid-raging Alex Rodriguez scandal. In similar spirit to flying an upside-down flag.

Probably not. But why not make it so? I say, any Bronx Bombers fan pissed off enough over A-Rod’s a-roid situation should reverse out their Yankees cap, tshirt, and other merchandise and walk around with it in full view. It’ll be non-committal way of showing off displeasure.

Being that it’s Fashion Week in New York, and being that it’s also winter (not much of a coincidence there), the following comes to mind:

Adult mittens.

More to the point, do mittens belong on the hands of full-grown adults? To me, they come off as somewhat childish.

I’m sure that in, say, the polar regions, using mittens is entirely justified as extreme cold-weather protection. I just don’t see need to tuck in all your fingers here in New York, even with the harshest of windchills blowing. Gloves should do the job, with the built-in benefit of allowing digital dexterity.

I should point out that when I do see adult mittens in action, they’re always worn by women. I’ve yet to see a man wearing them. Maybe there’s a gender divide in this, where female fashion better accomodates a big-little-kid look.

I may have to consult with the couple of style-istas I know for further insight in this…

Some sobering numbers on Domino, the Condé Nast home-decorating (or “shelter”) magazine that’s just been shuttered:

- A rate base of 850,000, plus an additional 200,000 subscribers that it inherited from the defunct House & Garden magazine.

- Average newsstand sales of 111,000.

- Targeted readership consisting of young women in the mid-20s to mid-30s demographic — a coveted segment in the consumer market.

Those numbers are sobering only because THEY ARE GOLDEN. And even with all that going for it, Domino couldn’t survive. Because advertisers weren’t convinced that a publication that was, essentially, an ad catalogue for hipster furnishings would sell for them.

And that leads to even more sobering assessments on the magazine industry as a whole:

“I think it’s pretty simple,” said Charlie Rutman, senior adviser to MPG North America, a media buying company. “The magazine industry in every category is under extreme pressure, extraordinary pressure, for a lot of reasons: the Internet, the cost of subscriptions in a tough economy, the tough economy, you name it. By the way, there probably are too many magazines, but if companies can’t survive these kinds of pressures we’re not going to have any magazines in the future.”

And that’s the most frustrating thing about this state of affairs. I don’t mourn the demise of Domino specifically — the world will survive having one less glorified product-placement laden rag around. But if that model, with the successful draw of the intended eyeballs, can’t pull in ad dollars, then what chance does any content format have?

I take this pretty personally, even though I’m effectively out of the magazine business these days. I’ve worked on both sides of the media marketing divide, including affinity campaigns designed to enhance the value and appeal of hard-copy publications. And the thing is, they generally work, whether the category is shelter, business news, sports, etc. The readers aren’t the ones who need to be worked on, beyond pricing.

The advertisers, though… I know all too well the basic drill: Your advertisers are your true customers, and your readers are your audience, and that’s the exact hierarchy in place. The persuasive energy is directed toward the ad guys, and whatever is left over is aimed at the readers.

It may be time to reconsider that time-honored model. Obviously there’s a disconnect if even the strongest of numbers aren’t enough to sell pages. Even in a crashing economy, it doesn’t make sense that attained targets result in failure. Focusing on the readers, then having the advertisers follow — a sort of bizarro process, given the circumstances — might open enough eyes to save not only print, but a broad range of ailing media as well.

In a National Hockey League pre-Super Bowl matinee today, the Boston Bruins visited the Montreal Where’s Waldos. As you can surmise from the photo above.

Seriously, I appreciate hockey history, and applaud the Canadiens for celebrating their century of existence. That doesn’t mean they have to don all the long-ago uniform designs the club has sported over the years. Especially not with those red-white-blue striped leggings, which makes them look like school-aged girls or something.

I’m wondering just how many replica jerseys of this 1912-13 “Barber Shop” look the Habs gift shops are selling. Considering that they lost this game 3-1 to the B’s, I’m guessing they aren’t flying off the hangers.

Anyone know the proper way to handle your headwear immediately after you walk away from getting a haircut?

My typical drill when visiting the barber shop (or hair stylist, if you prefer) is to arrive without any gel or other product applied to my usually-overgrown locks. Accordingly, I tend to cover up the unmanageable mess by wearing a baseball cap. No problem with that, on the front end of this process.

But when I’m done getting trimmed, and am heading out the door, I’m at a loss for what to do with my now-unnecessary lid. I feel like a dork carrying it around in my hand, and stuffing it in a pocket is either unfeasible or too much trouble. Yet, I feel like if I put it on right away, I’ll offend the person who just cut my hair — as if I’m sending a non-verbal message that they screwed up the haircut and I need to cover it up immediately, before I even get out of eyesight from the scene of the crime.

That’s rarely ever happened, though. When it does, I have no problem taking that remedial action. But usually that’s not the case. So if I do don the hat, I feel like I’m misrepresenting, and possibly offending. I would just tell the haircutter what the deal is, but it seems too silly to actually verbalize.

What I end up doing is walk away from the shop with hat in hand, then, once I’m a good enough distance away, I plant it on top of my head and forget about it.

Probably the best course of action, right? Not that I want to expend any more thought into this than I already have.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m not the only one who wondered what will become of this decade’s most distinctive New Year’s novelty eyewear mask:

The first decade of the new millennium allowed novelty manufacturers to use the double zeros as the spot for the “lenses.” Although the side-by-side zeros will no longer be an option next year, 2010 still leaves a possibility.

“With 2010, you still have the two zeros. But 2011, it will be interesting,” said Bill Furtkevic, vice president of marketing for Party City. “We’ll have to wait and see what they do.”

The party-junk manufacturers have something up their sleeves for two years down the line. But they’ll have to do it without the original inventors of these specs, who are giving up.

As you can see above, the year doesn’t have to contain consecutive double-zeros for face-strappable fun. So not only does next year’s 2010 work, so will 2020, 2030, etc. Not that a once-a-decade frequency is a particularly sustainable business model…

I also wonder why these goofy glasses didn’t catch on twenty years ago. The ’80s and ’90s would have lended themselves well to this numerical creativity, with 8s and 9s having that closed-loop effect. I guess it took a millennium to make it happen.

Anyone remember a stillborn fashion quirk that involved taking denim jeans out to a gun range, and filling them full of lead?

Something to that effect, anyway. I vague recall reading or seeing something about this. The jeans wouldn’t be absolutely shredded with gunfire, but they would end up with a couple of strategically-placed bullet-holes in each leg — and from there, be ready for a hefty retail markup. The ultimate in distressed apparel.

This is distinct from something called Gambino Jeans, which apparently were just glammed-up stretch jeans adorned with sparkly crystals.

I did find this sketchy account from 2004, although I could swear I came across this concept long, long ago — maybe back to the ’80s. It probably gets resurrected every few years, when someone gets bored enough to drag an old pair of jeans out to the backyard to use for target practice.

Here are the two things I came away with after my visit to the Chanel Mobile Art exhibit/installation in Central Park last week:

1. The definition of a French saying heretofore unknown to me, provided on a postcard-like takeaway with the title “EMPTY YOUR BAG, BARE YOUR SOUL” on the front side:

In bygone days, in the legal world, case files were just simple sheets of paper rolled up and carried in leather bags. Each lawyer had his own, and took his scrolls out one by one in front of the judge in order to read his defense speech. In other words, he “emptied his bag”. To “empty one’s bag” has become an idiomatic expression in French, “vider son sac : dir ce qu’on a sur le coeur”, used when someone reveals something that was kept secret for a long time.

2. That the sexual nature of flowers is best expressed via their “arrogant pistils”, to quote the exhibit tour’s MP3-player delivered audio guide (a husky, accented woman’s whisper — I kept getting the feeling that it was supposed to be the ghost of Coco Chanel). It’s a phrase I’m going to cherish, with a chuckle, for a long time.

Good luck getting into the odd-pod Mobile Art show now — I think it’s got only a few days left in New York before it packs up all the handbag-inspired objets d’art and takes its show to London (or Moscow, I can’t remember which). I’m actually glad I got invited to experience it. I went in cold and expected to have to suffer through an hour of looking at vintage purses, but it was actually a head-trippy slate of works, including video and abstract expressions that only touched upon the namesake fashion accessories.