The winner of the 2015 Official Hat of Summer contest

Thanks to everyone who votes this year. I hope you like this choice.

 

Official Hat of Summer 2015!

The sun is getting brighter. The weather is getting hotter. People are wearing shorts and sun dresses. Goodbye brown liquors and hello clear. The birds are singing and the bees are buzzing.

All of these are important signs of the impending arrival of Summer. But none of these is more important than the start of this year's campaign to choose my 2015 Official Hat of Summer.

For several years now, I've been letting you--the digital public--determine the single, sole, and solitary hat that I will wear for the entire summer. (I define the summer at the days starting with the Summer Solstice--June 21--and ending on Labor Day--September 7.) During those days, I will only wear a single hat from the choices below.

And YOU get to decide which hat that will be.



There are many ways that you can make your vote heard.

1. Please leave your vote in the comments of this blog post.
2. Or leave a comment on any of the other social media engines that I will place this announcement on: Twitter, Facebook, or Tumblr. Heck, if you have a Google+ account, I'll even let you comment from there as well.

All legitimate votes will be counted.
The ballot collection begins today and will end at midnight, June 21. I will post another video announcing the winner at that time.

Thanks for your annual participation. Thanks for ignoring my amateurish video-making skills. Thanks for your support.

May the best hat win.

Football Counter-Programming #10

If they are still playing with the ole pigskin, then I'm still writing something to keep your mind off of football and keep you from noticing how pathetic the Big Ten actually is. (But I'm sure you are already quite aware how pathetic the Big Ten is. You've got ears and a television, don't you?)

Anyway, here is this week's edition of Football Counter-Programming!

credit: www.crasstalk.com

Today's topic . . . clothing.

If you have followed this blog now and then over the years, you know that I sometimes write about my clothes, the history behind them, maybe a story or two. I call it The Clothing Project.

And so today I am wondering what do clothes mean to you? Are they simply something you put on to cover yourself and keep you warm? Do you look for clothes that are cheapest and utilitarian? Or must you have the recognizable name brands and align yourself in some way with what those clothes "say"about yourself or others who wear them.

I have been all of these things at various times, and I suspect that you have as well. Defining oneself through our outerwear is one of the easiest and fastest ways to create an identify and to find others who seem to have that same sort of personal view. I know that I did this kind of thing a lot in high school and (to some degree) in college as well. Back in high school, I wanted to have the Coca-Cola rugby shirts and the right sort of shoes. I wanted a Members Only jacket or later a band letter man jacket. And in college I wanted to right sort of t-shirt, concert shirt, stupid-looking woven poncho, or other kind of nonsensical flannel shirt to look like I really enjoyed Nirvana all the time.

I had boxer shorts when those were popular. Now I wear a variety of thematic t-shirts that place me in the subset of the culture that I wish to identify with most strongly. And now I work in a Doctor Who-inspired bow tie from time to time.

In fact, thought, there was a time when I shifted my routine a bit. I once tried to move away from a reliance upon t-shirts and wanted to wear more buttoned shirts and polo shirts. And that held for a good few years. But even within that effort I had specific likes and dislikes. I didn't (and still don't) like to have polo and dress shirts that have brands and logos emblazoned on them. (I save that sort of obviousness for my t-shirt collection.) And I tend to like solid colors in my polo shirts and I'm cautious about how dynamic my dress shirt patterns get. I'd rather the tie carry the emphasis. BUT I don't want buttoned shirts to be purely plain either.

When I did wear lots of boxer shorts, I rather enjoyed brash patterns and bright colors. Not that anyone was enjoying that--unless they did my laundry. Heck . . . once upon a time I wore argyle socks all the time (especially in high school). But I don't do that at all anymore.

It is absolutely true that I still use clothes to define and align myself. And I'm not even subtle about it. What about you?

Goodbye Official Hat of Summer 2014

November Days of Gratitude #9

The month of gratitude is rattling on toward the halfway point.
Are you running out of stuff to be thankful for?
Well, if you are . . . you'd better get your mind right and start thinking about what's really important.

Me? I can't swing a dead cat without hitting something to be thankful about. And today, that thing is that I'm thankful for my BBC-logo, navy blue, hoodie zip-up jacket.*
 

(Credit: me. And don't let this expression fool you. I'm gratful as all get out about this jacket.)

Why am I in love with this jacket? First of all, I look great in it. And it is comfortable. Whenever I'm cold around the house, I put this baby on and BAM . . . instant warmth. Most weekends, when I roll out of bed, I just go ahead and put it on right away. It's got convenient, easily accessible pockets for either my hands, my cell phone, or sometimes BOTH.

(And if you know me, you know that quick access to my cell phone is a life priority. you never know when I might need to post a picture of a well-cooked omelet on Tumblr, which will be simultaneously posted on Twitter and Facebook. . . . Also, you're welcome.)

But here's a secret. When I first got this jacket--a castoff from my wife, who got it as some job-related swag--I DIDN'T like it. But once I imposed my sartorial will upon it, I fell in love hard.

So, if you see me around the office or in the city sporting my new favorite threads, give me a sly wink, or maybe even a quick high-five if you're feeling like it. I'll know what its all about.

* Yeah, it DOES deserve that many adjectives. When you love something, you want to describe it to your friends.

The Official Hat of Summer 2013 has been chosen

It was a dramatic final week, but the choice has been made.

BEDA 4: That Witchcraft That You Do . . .

Bam!

Back when things were smoother and I wasn't a mewler all the time, a defining bit of my public persona was the persistent wearing of the sweater vest.

So, let's try to conjure up some magic today, shall we?

NaBloWriMo #17: T-Shirts Strike Back!

In yesterday's post, I got all mopey about the fact that my clothes were boring and ordinary.

There was, however, a significant portion of my closet that didn't get represented in that sad assessment.



My t-shirts reminded me that they are quite colorful, very diverse, and anything but ordinary.

The only problem with that is, I don't get to wear them to work everyday.

Curse my corporate, office-based job!

(Actually, no . . . DON'T curse my job. I need my job.)

NaBloWriMo #16: Ordinary

Credit: jamieford.com

Lacking any other idea for tonight's post, I thought I'd take advantage of an old standby and add another entry to The Clothing Project. But when I stepped into the closet and took a look at the options, I was confronted by the fact that I think I've covered all of the interesting clothes already. All that is left are nondescript khaki pants, suits, plain button up shirts with no story.

A purely adult, functional wardrobe of no discernible interest.

Is this what middle age is about? No flash, no nothing. Just . . . existing?

Ugh.

The Official Hat of Summer 2011

I need your help.

 

I am in need of advice on which of the following hats I can declare the Official Hat of Summer 2011. As you may recall, I chose an Official Hat of Summer 2010 and as such, I wore that hat throughout my summer adventures, such as they were. But this year, I thought I would toss the choices out to the viewing public and see what they preferred.

 

So, here are the contenders.

 

Option A: First up is a hat given to me by my dad several years ago. It is a royal blue cap in the baseball style.The white lettering says South Georgia Seniors. This is the golf group that my dad is a part of and with which he was the treasurer one year. The emblem above the lettering shows rampant lions flanking the letter "G."

Option B: Next is a woven cowboy style hat with a simple black cord circling the hat. The material is probably a synthetic reed or something. Truth be told, the hat is slightly small for my head, but I include it for completeness sake. (I hesitate to admit this, for fear that it will sway the votes, but this is MY least favorite option for many reasons. As I said, it is a bit small and it is probably the least flattering choice and the one that provides the most difficult clothing accompaniment choices. Fair warning, then, that if this is chosen, I probably will go hat-less more often than not. You may waste your votes accordingly, if you wish.)



Option C: This faded, sweat-stained Ohio State visor has my tennis-playing lid of choice a few years ago when I was playing tennis every week. As you know, I haven't had much time to play in the last 13 to 16 months. The visor is scarlet with a grey (or silver) block O emblem in the middle. Underneath the visor is a notification to myself that I bought the visor in a recent year that the OSU basketball team won the Big Ten Tournament. (This was back several years ago when this was a less frequent occurrence.)



Option D: This is my latest Atlanta Braves hat incarnation. It is modeled after the early 1970s Braves uniform style that the team first wore when it moved from Milwaukee to Atlanta in the late 1960s. On the back of the cap, opposite the "A" is the year 1974--the same year that Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth's career home run record. This hat is very patriotically-colored and has often been worn on July 4th, as the non-sports fans might mistake the A to stand for America.



Option E: This baseball cap is another Ohio State option. I bought it at a local golf course several years ago. The scarlet and gray coloring on the front is contrasted with white mesh circling around the back of the head. The Velcro adjustment band on the back is stitched with Buckeyes. This hat, of course, can be worn without fear anywhere in the state of Ohio and might even be suitable for a state dinner with the governor.



Option F: This green baseball-style cap is one of many Pioneer Hi-Bred hats that I have worn over the years. This is much like many that were worn in the fields of South Georgia and across the corn belt as kids learned the ins and outs of controlled hybridizing and (so I'm told) de-tasselling. Though I prefer the all-mesh variety (which helps cool the sweaty head during the hot summer months, it is very old, very dirty, and not suitable for public viewing. This one is clean and not frequently worn. Perhaps now is the time to end that? It will be up to you to decide.



Option G: Finally, the yellow bucket hat that was the most recent (and my first) Official Hat of Summer. It could be so again. It has the casualness that says "Summer" and the sunny color that makes you forget the chills and overcast days of Autumn and Winter in Ohio.

So, what say you? Make your choice and leave it in the comments below. I promise to abide by your decision. I'll even leave the voting open until the kids elementary school closes in early June, close to the Summer Solstice.

It must be Sweater Vest Weather!

(With some apologies to Mr. Simon and Mr. Garfunkel.)

Hello sweater vest, my old friend
I've come to put you on again
Because a cold front softly creeping
Left its chill while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
A vest of warmth . . . with no sleeves.


Through cubicles I walked alone
Narrow rows of office drones
'Neath the halo of halogen lamps
I flaunt my arms to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of the Xerox light
That split my sight
And touched the hem . . . of my vest.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand sweaters, maybe more
People warming without vesting
Coats a'wearin' without styling
People wearing clothes that Tressel never wears
I only dared
To wear the vest I so loved

"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Sleeveless is the way to go.
View my vest that I might teach you
See my arms? So easy to reach you."
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the coats of cotton they had made
And the wind blew out its warning
Of the front that it was forming
And the wind said, "The words of the prophets are seen on his exposed arms
And V-necked top"
And whispered "Wear the vest . . . you'll love it."



(Want to know more? Read on here.)

Bucket hat & "Prisoner" shirt

If something is going well, don't change it I say. So, I'm back again tonight with another entry in The Clothing Project.

Tonight's entry? My Skyline Chili bucket hat and my new "Prisoner" inspired Glarkware t-shirt. They don't go together, but I thought I'd put them together for the purposes of this entry. And maybe my stream of consciousness composition style can lead me down synergistic paths that I can't foresee as I finish typing this sentence. Ohhh, can you feel the excitement?

So, the hat is older, and that is where we'll start.

I won this hat in a church auction approximately seven years ago. This was when Lynda and I were still living in Hilliard on the city's west side. We were toiling (and I DO mean toiling) along in the small Episcopal church there. Besides work and our (at that time) family of three, the church took up a lot of our energy. It was a small congregation and we were always trying to find ways to grow the membership and stand on our own two feet as an operating unit. Over the years that we lived in the area and attended that mission church, Lynda and I served on just about every position there was . . . except for priest. (And, there were Sundays that I almost served that function. But don't worry Mom--or Father Rick--I didn't attempt to consecrate anything.)

ANYWAY . . . one thing we did to raise some money once was an auction of items and services. It was a silent auction. The kind where you walk around, placing your bids on a sheet of paper beside each item up for grabs. You then can come back later and see if someone has upped the ante on your bid and whether or not you want to raise the price further. It was at this auction that I bought a nice piece of art made by a church member that is now hanging in the house. But, the hat . . .

The hat was part of a set of items--the bucket hat in all of its yellow, Skyline chili glory along with a golf towel. I won these items, not in the silent auction itself, but as some other sort of prize that I don't now remember why I won. But, I did and I've worn the hat off and on again ever since. There was once a time when I tried to convince myself that this would be my regular golfing hat. But it didn't really take because 1) I don't play golf enough to need a "regular" hat and 2) I've convinced myself that the hat looks best on me when I'm sporting a beard--I guess it's some sort of slacker motif that I've got in my brain. And since I don't have the beard now . . .

But, that isn't really the reason I wanted to bring the hat into the Clothing Project discussion. What I haven't brought up yet is the logo for Skyline Chili that is the hat's whole reason for being. Have you heard of Skyline Chili? (Chances are, if you aren't from the Midwest or live in the Ohio area, you haven't.) Its a chili franchise that originated in Cincinnati. I had never experienced it until I moved to Ohio. I ate it once, disliked it immediately, and have never gone back. I've even gone so far to say publicly that I won't EVER go back!

Now I know that this is upsetting to some of my Ohio readers. Heck, I might even be alienating them from ever reading WWYG?! again, but I've got to be true to myself. I don't like the taste of the chili and question the use of some of the spices that are in the "signature" chili recipe. (I am never good at identifying individual spices in foods, but something . . . maybe cinnamon? . . . just doesn't belong according to my tastebuds.

My dislike of Skyline Chili is not new to my friends and lunch companions at work. Whenever they get a hankerin' for some Skyline, the head across the street from the office, grab some of the mini coneys or a chili "threeway" (or whatever it's called), then come back to the lunch cafeteria ready to extol on the greatness of the Skyline experience. The cult is so strong that they even claim the cheddar cheese to be out-of-this-world good. Now, I've had the cheese, because they bring back extra in little dime bags to load up their coneys with, and I'm here to tell you that there is absolutely NOTHING extraordinary about this cheese. But they won't hear it. They claim that the cheese is special. They can't quite explain to my why this should be so. It simply is. I shake my head and disagree.

So, there is item #1. A Skyline Chili bucket hat that I have convinced myself only to wear on a golf course when I'm bearded. And I guess I must also wear it ironically. Picture that psychological/sartorial stance if you will. Any artist that can draw it will get special mention on the blog!

Item #2? My brand-spanking new Be Seeing You shirt from Glarkware.

Normally, Glarkware has good ad copy on their shirt pages. Sadly, this one didn't bowl me over in any way. But, no matter. I guess that is why I'm here tonight.

Those in the know will recognize that this shirt is a reference to the Prisoner TV show that I enjoyed watching this past summer. As I prepare for the AMC remake of the series set to premiere next month, I had to take an opportunity to get another excellent t-shirt to add to my collection. I can thank Lynda's brother M. and his wife A. for their generosity as this was an early birthday present for me.

I'll wear it in good health. And if I can find any way to wear it other than ironically, I'll try to do so.

But, until we meet again . . .

. . . Be Seeing You!

These old socks

Back to one of my old themes today, focusing on my oldest pair of socks.

I bought these socks back in college. I think it was my freshman year at Georgia Southern. there are some things about that trip that I remember and that is what I am going to write about today, not the socks themselves which are pretty ordinary tan colored elastic socks that straddle the line between casual and dress. I haven't worn them all that much over the years, which is why they are still around about twenty years after the original purchase. Truth be told, there are things about the socks that I don't particularly like--especially how difficult they are to pull off of my feet. But maybe I'll get back to that.

The occasion of the sock purchase was something of an ordinary Saturday in the Spring (I think?) of 1991. My first year of college was coming to an end and I had been living in the dorm with my old high school friend G. On this Saturday, either because we needed clothes (not likely) or we needed something to do (more likely), we decided to drive to Savannah to go to the mall. Statesboro had a mall, but it wasn't much of one--though not as bad as my hometown's mall, which had been in steady decline for the last several years. Savannah, however, was the most "urban" area in this part of Georgia and therefore, had a mall to go shopping in when necessary. Plus, it was a manageable roadtrip for a weekend afternoon and got us off of the campus and out of our dorm rooms. (You can see that while we did have friends, we weren't burning up the social circuit at school. We just weren't those kinds of people.

So, of to Savannah we went. I don't remember many of the particular details of that trip. I guess I could make things up--the songs we listened to in the car, the sorts of conversations we might have had, but I'll try to stick to the things I do remember. I remember that I bought these socks in the Gap store and along with the socks, I purchases a thick sweatshirt/hood pullover that was a bright mustard yellow. Looking aback on that purchase now, i really wonder what I was trying to accomplish. I have a few yellow things in my closet--even today--but I'll admit that yellow is hard to pull off, especially in cold weather wear--which at the time I thought this hoodie/sweatshirt thing was. In actual fact, it was probably intended as something for those kids who were aspiring to be white boy rappers like Marky Mark or (God help us) Vanilla Ice. I, I hope you realize, was aspiring to be none of these things. I was probably simply attracted by thew bright yellow color--a color that said "Look at me!!"

(I know that this is a undercurrent of many of the clothes I wear . . . wanting people to take notice. But, moving on.)

So, I bought the socks and the obtrusive sweatshirt. What is funny is that I had an uneasy relationship with both items of clothing for as long as I had/have them. The sweatshirt is long gone to some charity donation box and the socks, as I said, I still have. But I knew that the sweatshirt wasn't quite me as soon as I got back to Statesboro and tried wearing it some. It's color was a bit too "Look at me!" and it wasn't sized correctly for me. (I say this like it is the shirts fault that I picked it in the wrong size.) It was always a bit big, too much for me to pull off in so many different levels. And as I've gotten older, I find that I like clothes that fit me tighter. I think they just make me feel more secure, more in control of what I'm doing than things that are too loose, too baggy, too outsized. (As usual, I push myself to be "outsized" at times, but find that I don't like it when I'm there. I want to pull back and slide into the crowed a bit more.)

That day was one of the first times I went out and purchased my own clothes--and I guess I learned a few things as I lived with those choices. You may find it remarkable that I was nineteen years old and had such limited clothing purchase experience. But, well, in the past I went with mom to get things and I just wore clothes for a very long, long time. I didn't go out in search of clothes that often. Maybe that was the reason that I still remember the day out of all the other weekends that we did things in college. Maybe it was because I came away from this taste of independence with nagging regret that I couldn't quite let go of. Maybe it's just because I saw the socks this morning and some of these memories came back and I decided to sit sown and write about it finally. Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn't. But I'm glad I took the time while sitting out here on the sun-dappled patio to put it out there.

It felt good to blog a bit again.

Let it be the start of a new commitment.

(Man, that is sappy! But I'll leave it there.)

Kurt Cobain is Rickrolling in His Grave

I asked Facebook for suggestions on what to write about.

They demanded that I write about this.

No, I'm not going to write anything more until you watch the link, okay?

Seriously, go watch it. I'll wait . . .

. . .

Done?

Alright.

1. The fact that this was done disturbs me. The fact that it melds together so seemless disturbs me more. Are two items more incongruous? Does this make Cobain and Nirvana hacks, building their chord structures and whatnot on such a simple, common platform that it can be welded upon anything. And, as you can see, I do mean ANYTHING?

What does that say? How would Einstein work this video mashup into his theory of general relativity?

I'm shaken.

2. I was not the most knowledgeable Nirvana fan and I don't appreciate all of their songs. In fact, other than "Smells Like Teen Spirit" I guess I like "All Apologies" and "Heart-Shaped Box" the most. There may be a few others, but I'm not going to rack my brains to figure it all out right now. And truth be told, I liked the Unplugged Nirvana more than the grungy version. But I liked to headbang to "Teen Spirit" as much as the next guy back in college.

3. Does Mr. Astley have any chance in hell in enticing the cheerleader in the video? Of course not! It is much more likely that the janitor with the mop and bucket will go home with Team Anarchy. Astley is much more likely to be mobbed by the frenzied crowd in the gym and have his spotless white trench ripped off his pasty body. And if Astley himself only managed to escape with a few bangs on the head from Cobain's guitar . . . he should consider himself lucky.

4. Why did I like Nirvana? They were a bit too intense to match up with the majority of my musical history. But there was an undeniably visceral appeal to them that spoke to a bit of the college me. Maybe it was because I was letting my emotions free from the pent-up, more repressed me of my previous High School life. Certainly Lynda helped me relax a bit in many internal ways and gave me outward confidence that I had not had before--but don't misunderstand. She can tell you that I was still uptight in a lot of ways.

Maybe I was simply more open to this music more then.

Anyway, that's my entry for tonight. Thanks for the suggestion Friendly Stranger!

I'll have to try this method again. It certainly adds an interesting element of randomness to my sputtering blogging patterns.

Hat

It's been a while since I did a Clothing Project post and it has also been a while since I wore this hat. So, combining the two seems a good idea.


I picked this hat for obvious reasons today--as it is red, white, and blue and features a letter A. Happy birthday America! But, I also like this hat a lot because of its groovy 1974 font styles.
It is, of course, an Atlanta Braves hat for the design years when Hank Aaron was finishing his march on Babe Ruth's record of 714 career home runs. I purchased this hat a few years back when my previous Braves hat disappeared.
I honestly don't remember where it went, but it probably snuck away and met up with the six or seven other Braves hats that I have lost in Atlanta-area restaurants during my childhood. I used to have several of the lighter blue caps from the early 1980s and every summer that we went to a game, (being a polite young Southern boy) I'd take my hat off and place it beside me on the booth seat while we ate at Shoney's. (I almost guarantee that it was a Shoney's.) And when the meal was over, my mind sluggish with the satiation from the endless salad bar and the Italian Feast, and (if I was lucky) the Hot Fudge Cake, I'd leave the restaurant and forget to grab my new Braves hat with the not-broken-in brim.
And now, since the Braves aren't lighting up the division (though the division as a whole isn't all that impressive) I repurpose the hat to celebrate America on the 4th of July.
After all, as TBS always (used to?) say, "The Atlanta Braves: America's Team!"

Grass and hats

Yesterday's post was my 1,000th.

That doesn't mean anything, just something to note.

Yesterday was also the first time this season that I broke out the lawn mower and shouldered that particular burden of home-ownership. Thursday morning I had talked myself into doing it when I got home from work on Friday. Such a thing was easy to say on Thursday, soon after a shower, in clean clothes, heading to work with a fresh cup of coffee working its way into my waking brain as I headed to the office.

It was a less palatable chore to consider as I left the office on Friday, a bit worn down, my head full of office thoughts, considering a light evening of pizza, movie, and some book reading. Yet, somehow, between leaving the office parking lot and the arrival in the driveway, I'd re-talked myself into it. 

And so, after changing into some shorts and shedding my office shirt, I attached the spark plug, filled the gas canister, and pulled the cord. The mower started up and I did the deed. I guess I had talked myself into it by casting the chore as simply a walk outside, just pushing the machine back and forth, letting it do its work. And while that IS true, it is more than a simple stroll. I had to push up the front yard rise again and again to get it done and I'm always struck with the "unfinished" nature of my lawns grass. So, there is a psychological component of it as well.

But it was done. And just moments ago, here on Saturday as I type, I finished the job by trimming the tallest fringe along the border of the front yard bed. And so, its done for another week.

*****

While doing  this work I wore my sweat-stained Pioneer work cap. I've worn this hat for many years, since end of high school or college summer's at least. It is an emblem of my time working for Dad and a symbol of hard work and a talisman of Dad himself.

I've got two other Pioneer caps--one I call a "dress" cap that is more for wearing when talking to agra-salesmen for instance or while eating barbecue and sipping sweet tea with a clean shirt on during a field day. The other, my newest, is a winter hat, best suited for those hardy Iowa farmers who fold down the flaps to cover their ears when the winds get bitter in the fall or early winter. (When I wear that one next, it'll likely be when I'm shoveling snow next winter.)

Coming from the South, I never had to wear such as the third. My cap of choice was the all-mesh (allowing the full--if often meager--breeze to get to my sweaty head for a bit of cooling off. And sweat in it I did quite often.

"Corde du roi"

It's been a grim, depressing few days here on WWYG?! so I am attempting to move on with myself today by shifting the focus to one of my themes that has lain fallow for a while . . .


The Clothing Project!

Today, I am choosing corduroy pants as my clothing to ruminate on, in part because during the fall and the winter months, I almost entirely live in corduroy pants.


A few of my potential readers might have their own particular associations regarding corduroy but that is mostly a joke for some of the insiders.


You aren't here to figure that out. You are here to learn about what corduroy means to me and what it might say about my personality and my own life journey.

Well, I'm afraid I don't know how to answer that question. I'm just going to sit here and look at my corduroy pants--I've got six pairs of them--and free associate.

Let's begin . . .

As you can see from the photo, I've got quite a few pairs of cords here. I favor the wide wale type of corduroy--meaning that the fabric bunches in thicker "ropes" rather than in a more numerous thin pattern. Back in high school, when I first decided that I liked the soft feel, warmth, and drape of the corduroy pant, I wore a more narrow wale, but once college hit, for whatever reason I don't actually recall, I went exclusively to the wide style.


I only wear them in the cold weather months, of course, but during that part of the year, I wear them almost constantly. I have a brown pair, a tan pair, and a black pair that I rotate through with regularity. As you can see from the above photo, I have some color duplication. That is a result of the expanding and contracting of my waist over the years, not because I need to have more than one of a color.


You can also notice that I have a dark blue pair. They are probably too snug for me to wear right now, but they are distinctive for the fact that they are the only pair of pants that I have ever paid a seamstress to have the length adjusted. I bought them, oh . . . about six or seven years ago now when we were living in Hilliard. Previously, when younger, I had always had my pants hemmed by Mom or been careful to purchase pants that were length-appropriate. I think these were given to me as a gift. I don't think Lynda knows how to hem (but I guess I've never had occasion--except here--to ask . . . and they say people who are married for a long time have nothing new to discover about each other), so I had to find someone. I recall simply looking in the yellow pages under seamstress or some such appropriate key word until I found someone close to where we were living then.


I drove over on a Saturday morning and felt distinctly foolish and apprehensive. I carried the pants with me, thinking it was inappropriate (?) to wear the garment to the appointment. But, as I approached, I wondered if there would be a place for me to change. And then I'd have to stand there while a stranger crouched at my feet and adjusted and pinned. It was just a newly odd experience. This kind of thing used to be quite common, I believe, but I've never had it done to me in a business-like fashion. (And it was before I became a Harry Potter fan, so I couldn't distract myself from the awkwardness by imagining I was shopping in Madam Malkins or Twilfitt and Tattings.)


I used to get good-natured jokes aimed at me in the office for my constant wearing of the corduroy pants. And I just shrug it off. (There are much worse things to be defined by. . .) But this year, my uberboss stopped me at the start of the Fall season and asked me point blank why I wasn't wearing my corduroy pants yet. He pointed out that HE was already wearing his--and he was quite happy about it too. I don't think he made our sartorial solidarity known throughout the office, but I took that as a point won by me.


And ultimately, I don't care what anyone says. Comfortable pants are not to be scoffed at, no matter the fabric or season.

Another dream sequence

Over this past weekend, I had another dream in a mall.

But this was a regular mall, not a weird surreal Mall of Madness.

It went down like this.

Lynda, Hannah, and I were in the men's clothing section of a generic anchor store in your typical generic mall. It was probably either J.C. Penneys or Sears or maybe Belks. But I was in the market for a track suit. (Perhaps I was getting ready to go back in time and reinvent myself as a 80s style rapper?)

I had my eye on a nice red number that one of the mannequins was sporting--bright red (to get the ladies attention?) two piece ensemble with a zip-up jacket/hoodie and straight-legged pants (no elastic at the cuffs, yo!). But what really set it all off was the addidas-style white stripes (think Fat Boys, not White Stripes) running down both pant legs.

So, I knew what I wanted. I just had to get the right size. I got the proper jacket, but for some reason I couldn't locate a corresponding pair of the red pants. I waited around for a bit, hoping to get some sales clerk assistance, but even in a dream sequence, no help was to be found.

I eventually cornered a store manager and he told me that they were completely out of the pants, but he directed me to one of the sales clerks. Lynda and I (and I was holding Hannah) discussed our problem with the clerk (who, for whatever reason I can't begin to explain was of Arab descent). He led the three of us through the men's department and out of the store into the mall corridors.

At this point I thought he was going to lead us to some separate storage or merchandise staging area where the appropriate pants were available. But we just kept walking past store entrances and through the wide mall expanses.

Suddenly, I found that part of the mall floor was moving. (You know how in airport walkways part of the floor is a motorized belt that speeds you along faster than regular walking?) Well, I and Hannah were on this moving part--which wasn't a rubberized mat but was made of the same tile as the stationary mall floor that Lynda and the store clerk were on.

As I realized that I was on this moving floor, I lost my balance and fell backwards. I landed safely--kind of like if I was sliding down a waterslide, not flat on my back but semi-upright--and kept Hannah from harm. But I felt the floor's pace quicken and I could see that it was propelling me toward a wall that jutted outward from a Chik-fil-A entrance. (The floor just kept moving underneath the bottom of the wall protuberance.) As I slid non-stop to this barrier (which was also . . . oddly . . . guarded by a regular sidewalk bench that was supporting a couple sitting in front of the Chik-fil-A; again, the moving floor just slid right beneath their feet), I leaned over and sort of handed off/tossed Hannah to Lynda, who was on safe, predictable solid "ground."

With the baby safe, I just sort of curled up and let myself get slammed into the bench/barrier at the feet of the sitting couple. It turns out--though I couldn't have told you who they were in the dream--Lynda and I knew them from church. So, I got up, got off of the moving floor, and we chatted for a few minutes.

But then we went on our way, again following the sales clerk who was now leading us out of the mall itself and suddenly we were walking with him through a moderately forested area (tall, Georgia pines) that cast a shady area on a courtyard of an apartment complex. On either side of the little artificial glen screen doors indicated the entrances to apartments. There were little squares of concrete that was each entrances stoop and I sat down on one of these in the piney shade to see what was going to happen next.

At this point, I was now rationalizing that the sales clerk we had been following was going to offer me a pair of red (and white striped) track suit pants that he owned, even though he was at least six inches taller than me and probably 50 pounds more muscular. (He was wearing a generic sales outfit of black pants, white shirt, and black suit vest. He was very handsome in a non-me sort of way.)

So, I'm sitting, Lynda is standing to the side holding Hannah just waiting and staring at the apartment screen door that the clerk is opening. Upon opening, he is greeted by an older man that is clearly his grandfather. I don't remember that the two exchange any words but the clerk who has led us all this way without so much as speaking to us now turns to Lynda (ignoring my presence COMPLETELY) and asks her to marry him.

. . .


!!!


To her credit, Lynda immediately slumps a bit in disappointment, turns to look me in the eyes and gives a full-bodied, very weary sort of sigh.

And then the dream ends.

Closets & Doors

Sarah has been updating some of her room decorations, removing old pictures and putting up new ones. 

I noticed two new items posted on the door to her room.

This sign, in case you can't read it, says: "KEEP OUT!!! Sarah might be sick, sad, mad, tired, or sleeping. So you must NOT disterbe her if her door is closed. Knock and say yoor name and she will say If you can come in. Otherwise . . . STAY OUT!!!"

Fairly clear.

The other sign--

says: "RULES--There will be no Screaming, yelling, kicking, punching, hitting, running, disturbing, jumping on the bed, and no TOUCHING EACH OTHER!!!!! Otherwise have as much fun as you can!"

I have no adequate response to that.

*****

In other news, I feel the need to apologize that I haven't blogged more. I know that I sometimes do this apology thing about not being committed enough and blah, blah. But it has dawned on me that the sheet number of things that I have set up as bloggable material make it very difficult for me to NOT blog on a fairly non-stop basis.

For example, if you have set up rules (as I have) that even your items of clothing are fair game for blog subject matter, then every day should be something new to discuss.

To that end, I offer this bit of clothing-related musings.

Is it freakish that I have organized my area of the closet in this way? Please someone tell me that I am not alone in this?! Though I will admit that my newest clothing idea might be a bit bizarre. You see, I am experimenting with the notion of rotating through my collared shirts from left to right. I wear a shirt and it gets dirty. But after it is washed, I hang it up on the extreme right end of the group. I pull my next collared shirt from the left side and so on. Therefore I avoid wearing the same shirt too frequently and maintain a consistent rotation of usage. I can, of course, make weather/temperature-related allowances and much make sure that I don't cluster together two shirts that are the same style but different color.

???

*****

Finally tonight, an essay about being an editor and a writer by Mr. Brian Doyle. I am neither an editor nor a writer in the ways that Mr. Doyle describes, but his work is within the same solar system as mine . . . I think. I pass it along as a professional courtesy and hope you can enjoy its word play. (h/t to Cheryl Klein's Brooklyn Arden blog)

Say Hello to My Little Friend

While in Georgia for the recent holiday trip, I picked up an item from my parents house that has deep meaning for me.

This is the orthopedic brace that I wore for several years during elementary school. It was not the first one of its kind that I had to wear. Rather, it was a simplification of the larger, double-legged model that fit on both legs and had a bar running from one thigh to the other. This had the effect of forcing my legs into a triangular shape and I walked with a swaying, twisting motion, swinging one stiffened leg in an arc from back to front while pivoting on the stationary leg. I got used to the walking style and was even able to cross the (very small) creek running through the woods that edged my childhood home while wearing this brace.

Later one, I only had to wear the single-leg model shown above, on my left leg. The buckle hit the younger me on the calf, below the knee. The bottom of the brace fitted into a metal channel inserted in the heel of my brown Buster Brown shoe. When I walked, the hinge of the brace made a satisfyingly, cyborgian click on each step. (Not that I though of it in those terms or so positively when I was young.) You can get a sense of the set up by viewing this not-to-scale photo.

One of the main drawbacks was that at night I had to sleep in the brace, still attached to the shoe. I can't remember wiping the shoe clean of each days dirt and mud before I crawled under the covers at night, but I equally can't imagine that mom wouldn't have cared if was constantly dirtying my sheets. (Mom, can you provide some help here?)

Wearing the brace was often a source of frustration and embarrassment for me, to be sure. No elementary-aged kid wants to be different. Certainly, no kid that age wants to click along and be slowed down by metallic braces. (The "Run, Forrest, Run" sequence in Forrest Gump is much more fantasy than reality, if you are wondering . . .) I hope I handled it all with good graces, but there were days, I know, when I took it all VERY personally and wasn't happy with my lot. I was always told to be thankful that I was wearing a small brace on one leg with a (relatively) healthy body and mind rather than living in a wheelchair.