Well, there's a lot for this post, since I've been putting it off in favor of doing, as my UK aquaitances say 'f*ck-all'.
(You know, I have found my swearing ability diminishing drastically since going plain. I know it is a good thing overall, but it hurts my macho.)
First thing - my internal clock must stil be some analog dinosaur. Example. My alarm fails to go off. I am supposed to be at work at 8. My internal clock takes over.
Do I:
a.) Wake up at 7:30?
b.) Wake up at 8:30?
c.) Not wake up at all?
d.) Wake up exactly to the minute on the dot precicely the moment without a shade of doubt at 8:00?
The answer is d.) ladies and gentlemen. I don't know why this is so infuriating. I don't know why it pisses me off more to be so perfectly calibrated and have the result be so perfectly useless. Poo.
So there I was, scrambling for my clothes at 8:01 am, cursing wonderfully (I hadn't put on the plain clothes, you see) when I remembered I'm going to see Phantom of the Opera tonight. I don't have any "good" plain clothes yet (they are on their way) and I have a thing about people who go to the theatre looking crummy. So I got out one of my last remaining vintage dresses - a little 1960's number which is actually pretty conservative, knee length, wool. It makes me feel a bit like Minnie Mouse. Suffice to say, it's hardly that sexy, but I was walking knock-kneed all the way to the subway. It is shocking to me how quickly I got used to the amount of coverage that more or less traditional plain dress offers. I'm still pretty comfy in a pair of jeans, but even a slightly short skirt makes me feel absolutely exposed. I don't know what to think of that. Also, my whole vanity and body image reasons for taking up plain dress were justified. I was staring into every reflective surface, trying to see if my exposed calves looked fat. Jeeze. I am also wearing my last pair of heels because nothing else looks right with the dress. I'm 6 feet tall in heels.
All in all I feel like a nudist monster-truck rally.
All that aside, I spent Monday and Tuesday night at the Westminster Dog show. It was bar none, the best Valentine's day I ever had. It was awesome. Thrillingly boring, like a cuddly, fuzzy high-stakes golf tournament. I felt like we should also be playing cricket or croquet and eating scones and crumpets or something. The reality of course was that the audience was nearly %100 white middle America Today-Show-watching cutesy-sweatshirt wearing, big-bellied-and-bummed moms. The effortless blending of high and low really was spectacular. Guys with plastic trays of plastic glasses of expensive bad champagne also sold bags of cracker-jacks. I occasioned a fiscal and gastronomic catastrophe when I ordered a $6 hotdog. I believe hell froze over at that very instant.
I have a big touchy-feely spiritual post coming too, but now I've cracked myself up and can't concentrate.
Nudist monster truck rally.
2 comments:
You say "I don't have any 'good' plain clothes yet (they are on their way) and I have a thing about people who go to the theatre looking crummy."
At first I thought you were tongue-in-cheek talking about "good" (meaning dress-up?) plain clothes. But maybe you're not. I can say without running any risk of unjustified flattery that you never look "crummy" in your plain clothes at least at Meeting, which is where I see you.
Besides, I find it hard to understand why you would ever need to look any less crummy at Phantom of the Opera than at your weekly meeting with your Friends to wait upon the Lord.
I saw Phantom of the Opera with my wife, Janet, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I didn't feel in the least self-conscious at the time although I was wearing ordinary street clothes. But I now suspect that if you had seen us there you would have thought I looked "crummy".
In light of all this concern for your appearance (despite the fact that you look so great) I am in danger of starting to consider myself plainer-than-thou.
Rich Accetta-Evans
Hello Rich...
yes, indeed, you've hit the nail on the head. One of my uses of and method in writing this blog is to expose to myself my inconsistencies and foibles. As I think is clear in the entry I've discovered exactly such a fault in myself this morning. I've been untrue to my conviction out of misplaced self-conciousness and instead am feeling even more self concious sitting here at work dressed in clothes that no longer speak to my condition.
Also, what I didn't mention in the blog is that my uncrummy plain dress needs to be ironed. :)
Vainer than thou,
Nudist Monster Truck
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