THE BLING BLOG

Wearing Jewelry While Exercising: Yes or No?

Oh, bother.

This one has been on my mind for some time now.

I live in one of those cities where many of the women like to wear what seems to be the entire contents of their jewelry collection to the gym.  Rings on every finger, a diamond-crusted gold watch nested between a few diamond tennis bracelets on the left wrist, the right wrist dripping with gold chains, the neck and decollete heavily-laden with chains and charms, large hoop earrings, etc.  It's the walking definition of female hysteria.

Now, mind you, these ladies also wear about 1/4" of slap and liquid eyeliner, too, to the gym.  And hose themselves down in Thierry Mugler Angel perfume, which smells like a combination of cotton candy and chlorine gas.  Because one needs that for a proper workout.  I wonder what Kim and i am pretty nyc would have to say about that?  That cannot be good for the skin.  It just can't.  And I know the metals and the sweat can't be a healthy combination either.

Let's not even mention what it's doing to the jewelry.  Dirty, dirty.  Filthy.

Methinks it's a cultural thing, this being Texas and all.

I used to live in Newport Beach, and it was a similar scenario.  Less drippy gold bracelets and hoop earrings, though.  More large diamonds.  A nice pair of E-color, VVS 1, two-carat studs and a TechnoMarine with diamond bezel for an hour of Pilates Reformer and thirty minutes of Tai Chi.  Not me, but I've seen it.

Seriously, what does the personal trainer, the person who is being paid to help a client get in shape and prevent injury, do when their client shows up with a Mr. T starter set on that's bound to get caught up in the machinery?  How does this trainer pass said client a pair of 8-lb. hand weights and instruct the client to commence doing flat flys when said client cannot even close her hands around the grips of the dumbbells because of all the extra platinum and 18-karat and acrylic nails in the way?

Who knows?  Not my problem.  But it's comical to see it.

So what do I wear?  I wear small earrings, nothing that can dangle.  Or none at all.  And I wear a Polar heart rate monitor and wristwatch combination.

I don't wear my engagement ring to the gym.  It's too delicate with the pavé stones, and entirely inappropriate.  Further, when I sweat, my fingers expand.  Duh.  That's one of the more uncomfortable feelings, isn't it?  Trying to pry off a ring off a swollen finger?  Some people with sturdier rings and no stones on the shank who wear gloves can pull this off.  Not me.

Plus, why take the chance of losing something valuable?  Leave the goods at home.  It's a gym.  Not a show place for female hysteria.  They haven't gotten the memo yet here.

The 2,996 Project - I Remember Kevin H. Bracken

This is Kevin H. Bracken, New York City Metro Firefighter, Manhattan Division, Engine 40, who died on September 11, 2001 at the World Trade Center attempting to save the lives of his fellow Americans.

Kevin was son to Sergeant Major Hugh and Mary Bracken of Sandwich, Massachusetts, brother to Billy Bracken of McGraw, New York, Chickie Carlson of Sandwich, and Patty Sample and Kathy Brown of Houston, Texas.  Kevin was husband to Jennifer Liang, with whom he lived on the Upper West Side, and last saw on the morning of 9/11 as they parted ways at the polling booths.

Kevin was a graduate of the Central Islip High School Class of 1982, and was known to his fellow Central Islip alums as "an avid golfer who was up for anything."

The morning of the attacks, Kevin Bracken and his wife, Jennifer Liang, left their Upper West Side home together and parted company at the polling booths, where the couple said goodbye for the last time, said Kerry Katz, a longtime family friend.

Shortly after arriving at his firehouse, Engine Co. 40-Ladder Co. 35 on Amsterdam Avenue, Manhattan, Bracken was dispatched to the World Trade Center.  He and his unit of 10 others, reportedly never made it out of the towers.

If she had to hazard a guess, Katz said, she'd say Bracken is prowling the heavenly greens right now.  An avid sports fan, he was big into golf, she said.  Bracken, 37, was known among family and friends for his seemingly miraculous shots on the greens - shots of his had been known to bounce off trees and into the cup.  So much so, they coined the phrase, "Bracken Bounce," after his mysterious plays.

Katz said Bracken's relatives and friends hoped and prayed the "Bracken Bounce" would somehow work for him in the days immediately following the attack.

But his body has not been recovered.  A memorial service for him is scheduled for 9:30 a.m. Wednesday at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan.

Bracken's eight-year career as a firefighter included a stint with Engine Co. 23 in New York City.  His father had been a volunteer firefighter in Central Islip, where Bracken was born and raised.  Katz said Bracken worked in construction and sales before joining the ranks of New York's bravest.  He and his wife, who had been married five years, were planning to start a family, Katz said.

Youthful in his ways, Bracken strived at several sports.  Katz said he played hockey for his fire company, which regularly competed against other fire companies and police departments.  Softball, too, was a love of his, Katz said.  As coach of a co-ed team on which his wife played, he was fondly known as "Coach Pugs," a reference to his cherubic physique.  He took it all in stride, Katz said.  "He was up for anything, anytime.  He was a fun-loving, easygoing, carefree guy" who seldom got upset or angry.

Kevin H. Bracken was laid to rest on November 7, 2001.

The 2,996 Project was created by D.C. Roe so that bloggers could adopt one of our fallen citizens from that horrible day and remember them on our pages.  Even if readers happen to stop by today to read about jewelry, you can read about Kevin H. Bracken.  And if you follow the link, you can read about many others.

I didn't know Kevin H. Bracken.  But I honor him today.  Thank you, Kevin H. Bracken, for your service to our country.

We miss you.

(Please also go read about John Resta and Sylvia San Pio Resta, Jason Michael Cefalu, and Tom Burnett.)

Kim Said It First, But It Bears Repeating: "Getting Vincent Off"

Yes, Kim and I probably share a brain at some moments, because I really was going to title this thing "Vincent Gets Off" or "Getting Vincent Off" or similar.  And I still did.

I mean, really, now.  How many times do we have to see him in his tank 'beater undershirt, or his boxer shorts, or some combination of the two in various states of undress in the workroom, chest hair a-flyin' like something out of Austin Powers, droning incessantly about how fashion "gets (him) off."  Eww.  Gross.  Disgusting.  Even sitting on the grassy knoll in Paris...  talking about getting off.  Nasty.

And how about that sick, obsequious crap he pulled with Catherine Malandrino on the boat?  Wasn't that the best when Heidi read Catherine's scorecard and the comments?  "No.  No.  No.  No.  No."  Hee!

Here's a snippet of Vincent's totally delusional interview with Entertainment Weekly:

I was not kissing up to her at all.  I likened her to Anouk Aimée.  I don't kiss up to anybody.  When I looked at Catherine, I saw Anouk Aimée, and she just blows my doors off.  I saw a little bit of that in Catherine's style. I approached Catherine, and I said, ''I'm really fascinated by your style.''  But I don't think she liked my dress.  When judges see something new, they get intimidated themselves.  With Catherine and Michael Kors, I think there was a little bit of intimidation.  I might frighten other designers.  I really don't know.

Wow.  Uh, Vincent?  I know, I know!  You frighten America, dude.  Please go read the EW article.  He's utterly nuts.  I think, frankly, the on-camera editing did him a lot of favors.  He's cra-zee.

I guess sucking up to the judges ultimately didn't work after all.  Once again, I have to agree with Kim on this one.  Is Vincent, like, in some way reminding Heidi of Pappy Klum?  Is there some daughter/father guilt there?  Did she feel bad about the 401K or something?

I almost loved Jeffrey a little bit for grinding at his fat neck with the Remington and messing with Vincent's slumber.  Because Vincent was so far past his sell-by date.  He was shelf-rot.  Some upholstery with Judy Jetson sleeves?  Again?  Vincent, old man, hope you still have your COBRA.  Because it's time for those meds to be checked.  For real this time.

Now, Jeffrey.  Okay, so I don't love it when an obvious misanthrope who claims some kind of bizarro Santa Claus relationship with God (and also claims to know when God is drunk, or not, as seems to have been the case in Jeffrey's twisted mind last week and this week) states that he is "happy, joyous and free."

Those three words?  Spoken by Jeffrey?  About Jeffrey?  Uh, no.

Happy?  Only when he can make someone cry.

Joyous?  Perhaps at the sight of another's suffering.

Free?  The man is the definition of a person obsessed with himself.  No freedom in that, son.

That said, he was the only contestant who created anything that approximated "couture" in my mind.  Highly derivative, seen-it-somewhere-before, but yes, sort of couture-ish.  And his model worked it.  She looked like she was having some fun with that business.

And Kayne.  Oh, dear.  His days are sadly numbered.  As Nina said, the taste level just isn't there.  But did anyone else notice how much better that gown looked on the Parisian model?  Was it because she was much smaller?  Not sure, but I think so.  Anyone else notice how much slighter those models were?  I will be sad to see him go.  Because he's going next week.  He loves, loves, loves what he does.  But indeed, the taste level is not there.  However, Kayne will never lack for customers, God bless him.

Oh Laura.  I've heard the camera adds ten pounds.  Does the camera also add three month's gestation as well?  That belly didn't look like any three-month pregnant woman I'd ever seen...  But maybe that's what happens when you've had five pregnancies already?  Jesus H. Christmas.  Oh, bother, though.  I am a little tired of The Standard Laura Fare.  It works, and it works beautifully...  normally.  But it really decomposed this time.  Michael Kors really brought it to light, did he not?  Give her a feather duster and she's a French maid, oui?

Speaking of judges, how about guest judge Richard Tyler?  Love the mumbling, greasy Keith Richards-esqueness of him.  Obviously he missed his sitdown in the TreSemmé hairsalon.  What was in that hair of his?  The egg that was thrown from the balcony at Michael's model?  I have some RT boots and a suit in the closet, circa 1995.  Very severe, yet still wearable.  I digress.

Uli?  Well, not bad.  Definitely not couture, but definitely a close second place.  But again, I am a little bit tired of The Standard Uli Fare.  At least this time it was monochromatic.  Does she seem like she gets a bit defensive when criticized by the judges?  Crossed arms, Teutonic frown?  She doesn't seem the type to take direction well.

And sigh, Michael.  What can I say but obviously the judges love you as much as we do.  Because that dress was a mess.  And, yes, you were doing what Malan was trying to do with the ruching.  But you need some additional skillz.  No doubt you could be a master rucher one day.  Thank goodness you won't have to.  You'll have minions to do it for you.

(As always, check out BPR, Screaming & Punching, and El Manolo for astute commentary and quality PR post-mortems.  You have wait until Monday for FourFour, but it's always worth it.)

A Little Macabre Diamond Humor For Wednesday

Joe died.

His will provided $30,000 for an elaborate funeral.

As the last guests departed the affair, his widow, Helen, turned to her oldest friend.  "Well, I'm sure Joe would be pleased," she said.

"I'm sure you're right," replied Jody, who lowered her voice and leaned in close.  "How much did this really cost?"

"All of it," said Helen.  "Thirty thousand dollars."

"No!" Jody exclaimed.  "I mean, it was very nice, but $30,000?"

Helen answered, "The funeral was $6,500.  I donated $500 to the church.  The wake, food and drinks were another $500.  The rest went for the memorial stone."

Jody computed quickly.  "$22,500 for a memorial stone?  My God, how big is it?!"

"Three and a half carats."

(p.s.  let's cross our fingers and hope that was $22,500 wholesale for three and a half carats, because $22,500 retail is going to buy you a seriously blah 3.5 carat stone)

(yeah, okay, it's an oldie but a goodie...  I'm mucho busy, on a lunch break...  it's all I've got right now!)