Your cocktail sir,





2002-05-31 - 3:00 p.m.

Iím having a really rough time with clothes today. And not necessarily my own. I started today with a pair of old khakiís that Iíve had for years and are worn in and out in the most comfortable way possible. The seems are a touch darker than the fabric, and they seem like an old friend rather than the forced jocularity of the ďagedĒ pairs one buys today. They are the real thing. Iím also wearing a plaid short sleeve oxford from Abercrombie and some Vanís. I was going for a, Right after work Iím taking the ferry to Marthaís Vineyard for the weekend with Buffy and her cousin Irene from Boston. But it doesnít work. Itís just wrong. I was okay with it this morning but, after lunch I got a sudden glimpse of myself and the group I was with in the fish tank at the Dim Sum place we had just finished at. In addition to my casualness which suddenly seemed cheap and forced, or more accurately I looked like someone trying to hard to fit in. With me was one of the myriad Europeans at my company with his tight short pants, odd socks, and pointed shoes when everyone else is wearing square toed. Another of my companions had those scary slacks that are made out of denim so that they are a bastardization of jeans, along with Ostrich cowboy boots. I was suddenly sickened by the oddness of our group. Mainly because women would shy away from us as if we were a group of software engineers discussing our Everquest abilities or dissecting the latest Enterprise episode for fun. Later, in the Europeans Eclipse Convertible (to add insult to my perceived injury) I contemplated the excesses of the day. Because it was better than listening to J-Lo with a 50 year old Eurotrash in a red car only a Jr High School student could love. Iím normally more of an elitist at lunch, preferring small groups of people who compliment my attire and worldview. I have no idea what I was thinking today. I must have been just too blinded by the thoughts of egg tarts. Or strumpets as Weetabix calls them that because the word is rapidly disappearing from our English language. And it shouldn't. So Save the Strumpet. Because we'll always have Tarts.

I guess I should go back to looking busy.

previous - next

Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29

Zen and the stumbling rocks of fitness - 2007-07-19

- - 2007-07-11

Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20

Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18

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