I've made a few trips recently. Training and conferences. We were blessed to be able to attend these things in business casual attire. Yikes.
Now, I apologize in advance if this blog post is about you. But, if it is, apparently your Mom's not around to tell you to tuck in your shirt and comb your hair, much less put on a different outfit.
This little blog entry is sort of a rant about business casual, the well meaning dress code policy that cruelly puts on display the poor fashion sense of nearly 50% of the male population over 30.
Under 30 seems to be doing okay. For now... How is it that a young man just out of college (so easily mocked in other areas) can enter the workforce and successfully show up in business casual dress? His worse offense being a boring ensemble; the ubiquitous polo and chinos. Yet, a more mature, adult man, by the age of 40, has had some sort of designer clothing lobotomy, his frontal fashion lobe slit, like so many pleats in the pants he should no longer be wearing...
But, pleats are so obvious. Let's skip to the shirt, the item of clothing most likely to make the first impression.
When did free become better than nice? What does that Comdex '05 golf shirt, so proudly won in booth 1709 really say about you? Well, it means you went to Vegas and probably picked up a ton of pornographic mousepads in the Comdex Electronics Annex down the street from the main event.
And, that yellow buttondown, so proudly proclaiming Warp* to be king of the OS hill? What's your message? Irony? Well, the ironic message falls on mostly deaf ears. That's right. People think "Star Trek" at best (or is that at worst?). ...and even though the odds are solid that you actually ARE a Star Trek geek, the irony is that you're being labeled geek, correctly, but for the wrong reasons...
Look, I know you like the free shirts. So, use them around the house. Gardening or car washing, for instance. A geeky t-shirt is actually a great cloth for cleaning up your car or dusting furniture.
Now, if you're up around 50 or so, look down at the cuffs of your dress shirt. Are they missing? Can you see your forearms without needing to roll up your sleeves? Better sit down. I've got news for you. That's not a dress shirt. At best, it's a sport shirt. But, if you've ever worn it with a tie, things aren't looking too good for you right now.
Think about Apollo 13. The movie. You've probably never seen so many short sleeve dress shirts and ties in one place, at one time. You'll also notice that Houston's second problem was that there were no women in Mission Control. So, which left first? The women or the sleeves? That's all I'm sayin'
The short sleeve dress shirt. An oxymoron if ever there was one. A dress shirt is, by it's very name, dressy. But short sleeves are not dressy. Sorry.
Most guys just put on their clothes. No thought behind it. Just grab from the top of the stack. But, every action, including getting dressed, should be dependent on one's goals. So, what's the goal of that shirt? Keep warm/cool? Impress the boss or a client. Blend in, at least? Meet, get, or keep a woman?
Rank these things how you like. Personally, I'm happy to freeze my ass off or generally be uncomfortable for a shot at a raise or a date.
So, mix, match, rank your goals, then dress appropriately. And, keep in mind that the whole 'women aren't so into looks' thing has it's limits.
Anyhow, if you show me a woman who's listed computer conventions, Star Trek, and hacking in her 'compatibility profile' and I'll show you a woman who's sporting a Comdex shirt, a bowl cut, and considers a lanyard of usb keys and name badges jewelry.
To paraphrase whoever, "I would not date a woman who would date me if I'm wearing an "I <3 Linux" t-shirt."
Rant over. Next time, we'll chat about Sansabelt Slacks and those swank looking pleats you're sportin'. In the meantime, pickup a fashion magazine and at least try to do better.
* Warp was the last version of OS/2, an operating system (OS) competitor to Windows NT. The name is vaguely Star Trek related, but not enough so a geek won't still laugh at you when you refer to the show rather than the OS. No one else will laugh though. It will just be awkward. You'll notice it's not around (the OS). Well it is, but only in people's basements. There are people who still love Warp more than Linux and ham radios combined.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Hearing Aids
As I get older and/or start to lose my hearing, I will try to keep this in mind. Hearing aids are as much for other people as they are for the wearer.
My Father, my ex-Step-Mother's husband, and my Brother-In-Law's Father all are hard of hearing, yet choose not to wear their hearing aids. They claim they don't help at all; that they can't hear better with them.
But, they do help, whether they know it or not. Without the hearing aids, the whole visit is spent repeating EVERYTHING, tapping them on the shoulders to get their attention, and talking very loudly. It makes for a frustrating visit.
While they might not hear a difference, it is there. Someone remind me of this someday.
My Father, my ex-Step-Mother's husband, and my Brother-In-Law's Father all are hard of hearing, yet choose not to wear their hearing aids. They claim they don't help at all; that they can't hear better with them.
But, they do help, whether they know it or not. Without the hearing aids, the whole visit is spent repeating EVERYTHING, tapping them on the shoulders to get their attention, and talking very loudly. It makes for a frustrating visit.
While they might not hear a difference, it is there. Someone remind me of this someday.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Sighs Matter
The other day, I accidentally posted a fragment of this blog entry. With the addition of this intro, this is the version I had meant to post. Oops. Late night posting has it's risks...
I'm trying to write more, so I pick pretty something and go for it. The more I write, the more I can write. Get into the habit of waiting for he perfect subject, and you'll never get anything done. I like to write about fitness, food, and girls (although lack of girl is not as much fun...). When something runs through my head a million times, I figure I should put it down on "paper." Calling it "inspired" is a stretch, but this is the little event that inspired the thoughts and the writing.
Starbucks
The line at Starbuck's was short; only to the end of the pastry case. But, it was taking forever today. The woman behind me was sighing a lot. A lot. There were so many times when the SBuck's workers made a blunder that was pretty much obvious to everybody but them. Each blunder came with a sigh. Asking some one behind us if they could start a drink for them. "No? Okay..." then they'd move along. What about us? (sigh). Taking out the trash NOW? It's not even full (sigh) and you only think there's nothing to do; what about us? (sigh)
These people were single-tasking, at best (sigh) and she was obviously late for something.
Suddenly, it was my turn. Venti Americano. They asked my name. "Roland" is a challenge. It's comical to see what actually gets written on the cup.
Her turn. Grande Latte. I didn't catch the name.
Suddenly, it was like time had turned inside out. By the time we got to the "pickup your order here" area, the Grande Latte for Missus-X was already there. She grabbed it and headed out. A Venti Americano for "Rollon" was up, so I went for it and headed for the half and half.
On the way over, I noticed her not leaving. She was headed to a big comfy chair instead. She sat, popped the top off her latte, and settled down. She didn't even attempt a sip; just smelled it and sank down into the chair. I saw her entire body go from tense to relaxed in no time at all. I suppose she was late. Late for her latte. From that distance, there's no way I could have heard it, but there it was; the sigh. I could see it. Feel it. It was that big.
The Sigh
There's nothing like it. The soft little sound that says so much, even when it comes with no words.
One
It was a long walk back to the car through a huge parking lot. We'd walked all day and we were really ready to go. Once we were inside the car and sitting down, we looked out at the long line of red tail lights. It was the line to leave the lot. It looked like a long wait. Before I could put the key in the ignition, I felt her hand on mine; stopping me. She leaned into me, her back against my chest. I felt, saw, and heard her sigh as she relaxed against me. Mmmm... We might have been the last car to leave the lot...
Two
It was about the last day of the class. That's how long it took me back in '88, although I'm no speedier, now. We were finally talking about things that weren't photography. We had seen the same movie, Risky Business, on our first dates. Cheesecake (no toppings) was our dessert of choice. We both liked Pink Floyd and The Sugarcubes. The list went on and on, and we were laughing at all the similarities; finishing each other's sentences and calling out the answers to questions that we both knew exactly how to answer.
We were sort of slowing down as we neared our cars. The moment of truth. My moment, of course.
Hey! She stopped at my Mustang. Imagine. But, then she leaned against the other Mustang. The one I'd parked next to that morning, just to check out. The one that was virtually identical to mine, other than the color. I laughed and leaned against my Mustang.
She asked, "Is that yours?"
I nodded. "You have a blue '67."
"You have green." She paused for a moment, then she sighed. "Uh, do you need more time?"
Three
She wasn't quite awake, but the alarm was due to go off. ...soon. I didn't dare look for the clock. That would be just enough to wake her. A light sleeper this close to wake up time.
It was about dawn and it was still dark. I watched the slow changes in the room as the sun rose behind the drawn curtains. First, her dark silhouette against the even darker background. But, after a few minutes, I could see more. The mole that I loved to touch. The wild strand of hair that she brushed away like it bugged her, only I knew it really didn't. So beautiful.
The soft light from the window showing me more and more. The curve of her hip under the sheet. Her outstretched hand, resting on my leg. I watched as she woke up. Slowly. Her eyes slowly opened. After a moment, the softest, quietest little sound escaped -- "hey." Then the quietest of sighs followed. Too beautiful.
I'm trying to write more, so I pick pretty something and go for it. The more I write, the more I can write. Get into the habit of waiting for he perfect subject, and you'll never get anything done. I like to write about fitness, food, and girls (although lack of girl is not as much fun...). When something runs through my head a million times, I figure I should put it down on "paper." Calling it "inspired" is a stretch, but this is the little event that inspired the thoughts and the writing.
Starbucks
The line at Starbuck's was short; only to the end of the pastry case. But, it was taking forever today. The woman behind me was sighing a lot. A lot. There were so many times when the SBuck's workers made a blunder that was pretty much obvious to everybody but them. Each blunder came with a sigh. Asking some one behind us if they could start a drink for them. "No? Okay..." then they'd move along. What about us? (sigh). Taking out the trash NOW? It's not even full (sigh) and you only think there's nothing to do; what about us? (sigh)
These people were single-tasking, at best (sigh) and she was obviously late for something.
Suddenly, it was my turn. Venti Americano. They asked my name. "Roland" is a challenge. It's comical to see what actually gets written on the cup.
Her turn. Grande Latte. I didn't catch the name.
Suddenly, it was like time had turned inside out. By the time we got to the "pickup your order here" area, the Grande Latte for Missus-X was already there. She grabbed it and headed out. A Venti Americano for "Rollon" was up, so I went for it and headed for the half and half.
On the way over, I noticed her not leaving. She was headed to a big comfy chair instead. She sat, popped the top off her latte, and settled down. She didn't even attempt a sip; just smelled it and sank down into the chair. I saw her entire body go from tense to relaxed in no time at all. I suppose she was late. Late for her latte. From that distance, there's no way I could have heard it, but there it was; the sigh. I could see it. Feel it. It was that big.
The Sigh
There's nothing like it. The soft little sound that says so much, even when it comes with no words.
One
It was a long walk back to the car through a huge parking lot. We'd walked all day and we were really ready to go. Once we were inside the car and sitting down, we looked out at the long line of red tail lights. It was the line to leave the lot. It looked like a long wait. Before I could put the key in the ignition, I felt her hand on mine; stopping me. She leaned into me, her back against my chest. I felt, saw, and heard her sigh as she relaxed against me. Mmmm... We might have been the last car to leave the lot...
Two
It was about the last day of the class. That's how long it took me back in '88, although I'm no speedier, now. We were finally talking about things that weren't photography. We had seen the same movie, Risky Business, on our first dates. Cheesecake (no toppings) was our dessert of choice. We both liked Pink Floyd and The Sugarcubes. The list went on and on, and we were laughing at all the similarities; finishing each other's sentences and calling out the answers to questions that we both knew exactly how to answer.
We were sort of slowing down as we neared our cars. The moment of truth. My moment, of course.
Hey! She stopped at my Mustang. Imagine. But, then she leaned against the other Mustang. The one I'd parked next to that morning, just to check out. The one that was virtually identical to mine, other than the color. I laughed and leaned against my Mustang.
She asked, "Is that yours?"
I nodded. "You have a blue '67."
"You have green." She paused for a moment, then she sighed. "Uh, do you need more time?"
Three
She wasn't quite awake, but the alarm was due to go off. ...soon. I didn't dare look for the clock. That would be just enough to wake her. A light sleeper this close to wake up time.
It was about dawn and it was still dark. I watched the slow changes in the room as the sun rose behind the drawn curtains. First, her dark silhouette against the even darker background. But, after a few minutes, I could see more. The mole that I loved to touch. The wild strand of hair that she brushed away like it bugged her, only I knew it really didn't. So beautiful.
The soft light from the window showing me more and more. The curve of her hip under the sheet. Her outstretched hand, resting on my leg. I watched as she woke up. Slowly. Her eyes slowly opened. After a moment, the softest, quietest little sound escaped -- "hey." Then the quietest of sighs followed. Too beautiful.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Sighs Matter, #1
There's nothing like it. The soft little sound that says so much, even when it comes with no words.
It was about the last day of the class. That's how long it took me back in '88, although I'm no speedier, now. We were finally talking about things that weren't photography. We had seen the same movie, Risky Business, on our first dates. Cheesecake (no toppings) was our dessert of choice. We both liked Pink Floyd and The Sugarcubes. The list went on and on, and we were laughing at all the similarities; finishing each other's sentences and calling out the answers to questions that we both knew exactly how to answer.
We were sort of slowing down as we neared our cars. The moment of truth. My moment, of course.
Hey! She stopped at my Mustang. Imagine. But, then she leaned against the other Mustang. The one I'd parked next to that morning, just to check out. The one that was virtually identical to mine, other than the color. I laughed and leaned against my Mustang.
She asked, "Is that yours?"
I nodded. "You have a blue '67."
"You have green." She paused for a moment, then she sighed. "Uh, do you need more time?"
High Protein Beans
I'm sure it's a complete source of all the essential amino acids, too.
Tony's pet jumping bean.
Tony's pet jumping bean.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Puppy < Snake
Tony, 9 years old, likes to take his pet snake for "a walk" down by the lake.
Today, Tony's fishing with me, his friend, and the friend's Dad, when he decides to go up and get the snake for a while. He brings down the snake and starts wandering around.
Tony's friend has zero interest in the snake after the first five minutes, but soon a group of 11 year old girls sees the snake and crowds around Tony. Tony lets them all touch the snake, gives them "snake lessons" or whatever, and after about five minutes, they move on. "Bye, Tony..." One comes back to touch the snake one more time.
Tony's friend watches the little group of girls walk away, head straight to his Dad, and says "Dad, I need a snake. BAD."
Today, Tony's fishing with me, his friend, and the friend's Dad, when he decides to go up and get the snake for a while. He brings down the snake and starts wandering around.
Tony's friend has zero interest in the snake after the first five minutes, but soon a group of 11 year old girls sees the snake and crowds around Tony. Tony lets them all touch the snake, gives them "snake lessons" or whatever, and after about five minutes, they move on. "Bye, Tony..." One comes back to touch the snake one more time.
Tony's friend watches the little group of girls walk away, head straight to his Dad, and says "Dad, I need a snake. BAD."
Saturday with the kids
The kids and I are hanging for Veteran's Day weekend.
Allie and the cats.
Tony at the fishing derby.
This is just a bad mobile phone camera...
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