Mats Holberg
Hollywood liberal, Bollinger bolshevik, choose your favorite pejorative. Turn-ons include film/TV, music, civil rights, architecture, cars, travel, food, gin martinis. Turn-offs include broccoli, bigots and spectacularly awful people like some billionaires who come to mind. He/Him.
Avatar: Selfie of middle-aged white guy with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and tortoiseshell sunglasses in an arcaded pathway at Bellagio.
Header: Signage for a store called Serge's Wigs in Las Vegas.
I recall being told as a kid in the ‘70s that Mercedes-Benz handle design—like my 1973 450 SLC—was a safety feature: Doors could be pulled open by rescuers.
Being conscious of this is why Tesla-style designs have always made me nervous—that’s even before all the electronic nonsense.
Continuing my tradition of the least manly injuries possible. (I fractured my wrist flying a kite, for instance.)
Managed to gash my shin this weekend on the corner of a chaise longue haha.
OH NO! You must go and order the garlic noodles before Crustacean closes for good. Fucking property developers.
(The noodles are remarkably cheap but be aware—if the server casually asks if you want prawns—that the price will more than triple haha.)
They’re playing Roxette and—now—this mainly bums me out about Marie Fredriksson dying.
A Tipsy Shirley MacLaine Almost Derails the New Year's Eve Heist in Ocean's 11 (1960)
I’m sometimes shocked when remarketing is so profoundly decoupled from everything a brand should know about me.
Yes, I clicked on these trunks. But they are available only in a 40 waist when I never purchase anything but medium or 34.