Jazz Fest. Just those two words alone make my brain sweat. It's been a few years, but I recall there being an ongoing debate over which of the two weekends is better at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. I've disappeared into the depths of New Orleans for both jazz fest weeks before; I came out alive, worse for wear, and my life forever changed (it's true, there are really are some things you can never unsee). Tearing through both weeks is a physical and mental challenge where you need to pace yourself like a marathon runner, or maintain unhealthy daily rituals like a junkie. And the fact remains, these days, who can really afford to drop out for two weeks in New Orleans? So, you have to make a choice and pick one good long weekend to blow out the pipes.

Eddie Bauer, that boring bland suburban burp of threads, is getting back to its roots by hiring a "dream team" of mountaineers to design a new line. So now you can zip up and channel Sir Edmund Hillary. Sort of. In any event, come April EB will launch the creations from a vetted gathering of technical climbers and guides, including 25-year mountaineer vet Peter Whittaker; Ed Viesturs, who has stomped 8,000-meter peaks sans oxygen; Dave Hahn, who's summitted Everest ten times; guide Melissa Arnot; Alaskan pro Chad Peele; and cool-weathered science geek Seth Waterfall. Would I buy underwear from these guys? Probably not. A good FU foul weather jacket? Absolutely.

The Kempt crew predicted that the Western belt buckle would make a return to the waists of honky-tonkish hipsters, and they was right. And here's the proof -- "Buckle: the Art and Craft of the Western Belt Buckle" exhibition at Lyons Wier Ortt has moseyed into town and will kick around until March 13.

Years ago when I lived in Durango, Colorado, I used to pack up my dog Gunner and Jeep over Ouray Pass to visit Telluride almost weekly. Great town. Or used to be. Anyway, if you've spent a little time there, you probably have seen the famed Free Box, where locals donated sweaters, pants, fleece, jackets, boots, and other random clothing for anyone to take. It's literally a few stacked bins on a side street under an overhang to protect from the weather. It was a total 1960s concept, first created by the Diggers in Haight-Ashbury, and people loved it. Friends would always show me all sorts of cool stuff like vintage down vests or ski pants from the 1970s. It wasn't a low-rent Goodwill teeming with bedbugs. Sometimes the stuff was really nice, nearly brand new. It made sense for a town like Telluride back then, when the mayor was a laid-back pot-head activist named Dreadlock Stevie. But a "Free Box" in New York's Financial District is another story.

In Iceland, the gene pool is about as deep as my fingernail bed. And that's pretty sweet because that gorgeous couple who contributed the original DNA seedlings have spawned a country of beautiful friendly blonde people. But looks and kindness only go so far. When it comes to national finances, kind of like us here in the US, they are screwed. So screwed in fact that, according to the Wall Street Journal, they have to sell their ambassadorial residences in Washington, New York (each for $5.6 million), London ($14.4 million) and Olso, which has not yet been appraised. Why? They need to raise $25 million just to keep the nation's flag flying. The greatest looming loss is the Washington residence, where I think I once got sick at a party after too much brennivin and gravlax.

This is either proof that the art collectors are still spending, or that they have lost their minds. Maybe both. The piece in question is a chair -- resembling a turd with with tusks -- that gaveled yesterday at Christie's Paris auction for an eye-popping (pooping?) $28.3 million. The leather and wood chair that swaddled the ass of Yves Saint Laurent was among the items fetching $484 million, almost $60 million more than the estimated total sales of the "Auction of the Century," which critics said would determine the future of all art auctions.

Some people don't know when to take a final, graceful bow (hello, Lenny Bruce?). Aren't you supposed to leave an audience wanting more? Jerry Seinfeld, who admires the Borscht Belt entertainer-style of Shecky Greene and the Catskills circuit, should have better timing. But no, he's heading back to NBC with a new series called The Marriage Ref. Sigh.

The Birth of Cool: Miles Davis or Barkley L. Hendricks? This month, my money is going with Barkley. While Miles will live on forever, Hendricks is living now -- at least in the sense that the five-decade retrospective of his work hanging at Harlem's Studio Museum through March 15. Take a look: It's almost as if Andre 3000 was the model for the man.

When last we heard from the fashion-forward Brooks Brothers spinoff Black Fleece, they were unpacking into a handsome 1,700-square-foot corner spot at Bleecker and West 10th. That was back in October, and there was a lot of fanfare surrounding the first free-standing flagship New York shop that dared to bring Brooks Brothers downtown with a signature style of snug-cut sporty, modern togs, and a line of spectators that would make Jack Nicholson blush. Now, five months later, one reporter takes a peek to see if they've pulled it off.

Baby, even the losers get lucky sometimes. Mickey Rourke proved that. During his acceptance speech in Santa Monica at the Independent Spirit Awards last Saturday, he asked Hollywood to give fellow fallen 1980s actor Eric Roberts a second chance. Oh Mickey, you beautiful loser you. By just mentioning Roberts (Julia's estranged bro), you were like Bruce Springsteen reaching an outstretched hand to unknown boyish Courtney Cox and launching her career. "Eric Roberts is great actor, and you should all give him a break like you did me," he said.