It was a terriffic night of poker, folks
I spent the day at one of Chicago's nicer coffee houses, followed by a walk down Michigan Avenue. It was lovely. While I was half-heartedly writing, and half-heartedly reading, I was whole-heartedly watching people. Some things that I saw:
- lots of people jogging
- a horrendous, nearly vomit-inducing lower-back tatoo; now, don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-tatoo, and not even anti-lower-back tatoo's. A friend of mine has a lovely lotus blossom on her lower back (admittedly, too, this same friend got the tatoo before lower-backs or lotus blossoms were ever a popular choice). However, this tatoo was of a butterfly. But not just any sort of normal butterfly. No no, imagine, if you will, a butterfly that instead of having a little bug with six legs between its wings, has a small dolphin. Alternatively, imagine a dolphin with a butterfly's wings. There, that's an easier image to picture. Not any easier to swallow, certainly, but an easier one to entertain. So, yeah, I saw that while on the train, and jsut sighed. I couldn't even keep it an internal sigh. Though, given that the train is never a quiet place, I don't think that she heard me. Which is perhaps a bad thing, as we could have had a debate over the merits of her butterfly-dolphin lower-back tatoo. Mark me words now: she would have lost.
- two bridesmaids smoking; I don't quite know why this caught my attention as strongly as it did, as I have seen A. bridesmaids, as wel as B. people smoking, and even C. bridesmaids smoking previously. maybe it was their dresses, satiny cranberry things. No, even those are pretty routine. I don't know. I should have taken a picture. Oh, were it not for my scorn of picture phones...
- a woman wearing entirely too much pink; pink is fine, in small doses, but when you take a pink shawl, and add to it a pink skirt and shoes - not forgetting, of course, the pink anklet and pink lipsick - as well as, naturally enough, a pink handbag, it's a bit overwhelming. being British (as I think this woman was) is not nearly excuse enough for that much pink.
- sunglasses, and sunglasses aplenty. I will elaborate:
Sitting as I was in teh coffee shop, I was able to watch as people walked west down Fullerton. They were walking into the setting sun, and so many of them donned sunglasses for the occasion (which isn't to say that Eastbound people weren't wearing sunglasses, but I just couldn't watch them). I have recently come into the market for sunglasses, so I was eager to see other people's, so that I may see a pair and exclaim, "Oh, I absolutely must have those sunglasses!!".
But wait, don't I already own a pair of sunglasses? Why yes, yes I do. And aren't they totally awesome? Well, yes, yes they are. But really, they are so awesome that I am self-concious of their total awesomeness. In every piece of clothes that we choose, we walk a fine line between wearing something that does say, if not shout, "me", while at the same not being so bright and shiny-like as to draw too much attention to ourselves. At least, that's my outlook, because clearly, I don't like drawing attention to myself.
So it is with sunglasses. The pair I have now are really nice. I got them from Filene's Basement, proving that, indeed, Filene's is the place for bargains. They are Gucci, and cost me $20. Impossible, you ask? Eh. They look like something Erik Estrada wore from CHiPS, only cooler. Much cooler. And while they are beginning to show signs of wear, and it could be for that reason alone that I shy away from wearing them these days, mostly, they are so awesome that I feel as though I am walking in their shadow when I go out. But, you ask, isn't that what you wear sunglasses for, in a way? So that your own eyes are cast in a shadow, protecting them from the Sun? It burnsss us, it does. I suppose that yes, that's what sunglasses are for. My literary device somehow just got the best of me.
Regardless, I want new sunglasses, but need to walk the line, again, between getting something incredibly awesome, and yet not so incredibly noticeable. I don't quite know that that's possible, considering what I saw today. Anything subdued just isn't... interesting. And I rely on my clothes to make myself interesting, as my own personality, sadly enough, too often fails in this regard (I'm being facetious, as usual, as I don't really think that my clothes are terribly interesting; hah! gotcha with that one). But on the other hand, those sunglasses that I saw that were interesting were also quite ugly. To wit, one dude had a pair that appeared to be a leftover prop from the X-Men movie, looking like the sunglasses that Cyclops wore when trying to blend in. And this dude was clearly not suffering from an extreme case of pink eye. One girl had a pair that reminded me of an ex of mine; had this ex seen the pair, she would totally have lost her shit over how cool they were. I did see one pair that I liked, but they were hardly opaque. Quite the opposite. And what good are non-opaque sunglasses? I'm sure that they do work well enough, but like, a boon of wearing sunglasses is that you can discretely check out cute girls walking by. Also, non-opaque glasses would do you no good while playing poker. People wear sunglasses for the express purpose of hiding their eyes from the other players.
So the remaining glasses were inevitably variations on this theme: black, dark lenses, and kind of big, plastic-y frames. Picture Ray Bans, but more rounded (thought not nearly as rounded as anything Bono would wear), and yet not any cooler. I don't know. Certainly not interesting enough to wear, and yet boring enough to give me the required balance of anonyimity and eye-protection that I desire. So what is a boy to do? Well, firstly, find a better way of spending time than deciding what sunglasses I will someday, possibly, hypothetically buy. But beyond that, don't be afraid to assert my own self in the clothes that I wear.
In the end, it's not as if I'm sporting itty-bitty, hootchie shorts (ala Reno 911's Lt. Dangle) that could put a camel-toe on unwanted display. Hell, I don't even like shorts (I have decided that shorts are decidedly gauche, though I would be at a lost to explain why exactly). My clothes are totally fine, and it is only because I am a borderline narcicuss (sp?) that I think I draw attention to myself at all in what boring shit I put on. Walking where I was, in the midst of Lincoln Park Trixie and ex-Frat Rat central, seeing as I was not in strict adherence of the ex-Frat Rat dress code of sandals, cargo shorts, and a polo or rugby shirt (even though they are so two years ago), I doubt that I garnered any attention at all. Which is what I want, right? I'm not looking for attention. Then why the worry over my to-awesome-to-even-wear sunglasses?
In short, ladies and gentlemen, because I am, as always, full of shit. And neuortic. But mostly full of shit.
xoxo,
ddm
email me
I spent the day at one of Chicago's nicer coffee houses, followed by a walk down Michigan Avenue. It was lovely. While I was half-heartedly writing, and half-heartedly reading, I was whole-heartedly watching people. Some things that I saw:
- lots of people jogging
- a horrendous, nearly vomit-inducing lower-back tatoo; now, don't get me wrong, I'm not anti-tatoo, and not even anti-lower-back tatoo's. A friend of mine has a lovely lotus blossom on her lower back (admittedly, too, this same friend got the tatoo before lower-backs or lotus blossoms were ever a popular choice). However, this tatoo was of a butterfly. But not just any sort of normal butterfly. No no, imagine, if you will, a butterfly that instead of having a little bug with six legs between its wings, has a small dolphin. Alternatively, imagine a dolphin with a butterfly's wings. There, that's an easier image to picture. Not any easier to swallow, certainly, but an easier one to entertain. So, yeah, I saw that while on the train, and jsut sighed. I couldn't even keep it an internal sigh. Though, given that the train is never a quiet place, I don't think that she heard me. Which is perhaps a bad thing, as we could have had a debate over the merits of her butterfly-dolphin lower-back tatoo. Mark me words now: she would have lost.
- two bridesmaids smoking; I don't quite know why this caught my attention as strongly as it did, as I have seen A. bridesmaids, as wel as B. people smoking, and even C. bridesmaids smoking previously. maybe it was their dresses, satiny cranberry things. No, even those are pretty routine. I don't know. I should have taken a picture. Oh, were it not for my scorn of picture phones...
- a woman wearing entirely too much pink; pink is fine, in small doses, but when you take a pink shawl, and add to it a pink skirt and shoes - not forgetting, of course, the pink anklet and pink lipsick - as well as, naturally enough, a pink handbag, it's a bit overwhelming. being British (as I think this woman was) is not nearly excuse enough for that much pink.
- sunglasses, and sunglasses aplenty. I will elaborate:
Sitting as I was in teh coffee shop, I was able to watch as people walked west down Fullerton. They were walking into the setting sun, and so many of them donned sunglasses for the occasion (which isn't to say that Eastbound people weren't wearing sunglasses, but I just couldn't watch them). I have recently come into the market for sunglasses, so I was eager to see other people's, so that I may see a pair and exclaim, "Oh, I absolutely must have those sunglasses!!".
But wait, don't I already own a pair of sunglasses? Why yes, yes I do. And aren't they totally awesome? Well, yes, yes they are. But really, they are so awesome that I am self-concious of their total awesomeness. In every piece of clothes that we choose, we walk a fine line between wearing something that does say, if not shout, "me", while at the same not being so bright and shiny-like as to draw too much attention to ourselves. At least, that's my outlook, because clearly, I don't like drawing attention to myself.
So it is with sunglasses. The pair I have now are really nice. I got them from Filene's Basement, proving that, indeed, Filene's is the place for bargains. They are Gucci, and cost me $20. Impossible, you ask? Eh. They look like something Erik Estrada wore from CHiPS, only cooler. Much cooler. And while they are beginning to show signs of wear, and it could be for that reason alone that I shy away from wearing them these days, mostly, they are so awesome that I feel as though I am walking in their shadow when I go out. But, you ask, isn't that what you wear sunglasses for, in a way? So that your own eyes are cast in a shadow, protecting them from the Sun? It burnsss us, it does. I suppose that yes, that's what sunglasses are for. My literary device somehow just got the best of me.
Regardless, I want new sunglasses, but need to walk the line, again, between getting something incredibly awesome, and yet not so incredibly noticeable. I don't quite know that that's possible, considering what I saw today. Anything subdued just isn't... interesting. And I rely on my clothes to make myself interesting, as my own personality, sadly enough, too often fails in this regard (I'm being facetious, as usual, as I don't really think that my clothes are terribly interesting; hah! gotcha with that one). But on the other hand, those sunglasses that I saw that were interesting were also quite ugly. To wit, one dude had a pair that appeared to be a leftover prop from the X-Men movie, looking like the sunglasses that Cyclops wore when trying to blend in. And this dude was clearly not suffering from an extreme case of pink eye. One girl had a pair that reminded me of an ex of mine; had this ex seen the pair, she would totally have lost her shit over how cool they were. I did see one pair that I liked, but they were hardly opaque. Quite the opposite. And what good are non-opaque sunglasses? I'm sure that they do work well enough, but like, a boon of wearing sunglasses is that you can discretely check out cute girls walking by. Also, non-opaque glasses would do you no good while playing poker. People wear sunglasses for the express purpose of hiding their eyes from the other players.
So the remaining glasses were inevitably variations on this theme: black, dark lenses, and kind of big, plastic-y frames. Picture Ray Bans, but more rounded (thought not nearly as rounded as anything Bono would wear), and yet not any cooler. I don't know. Certainly not interesting enough to wear, and yet boring enough to give me the required balance of anonyimity and eye-protection that I desire. So what is a boy to do? Well, firstly, find a better way of spending time than deciding what sunglasses I will someday, possibly, hypothetically buy. But beyond that, don't be afraid to assert my own self in the clothes that I wear.
In the end, it's not as if I'm sporting itty-bitty, hootchie shorts (ala Reno 911's Lt. Dangle) that could put a camel-toe on unwanted display. Hell, I don't even like shorts (I have decided that shorts are decidedly gauche, though I would be at a lost to explain why exactly). My clothes are totally fine, and it is only because I am a borderline narcicuss (sp?) that I think I draw attention to myself at all in what boring shit I put on. Walking where I was, in the midst of Lincoln Park Trixie and ex-Frat Rat central, seeing as I was not in strict adherence of the ex-Frat Rat dress code of sandals, cargo shorts, and a polo or rugby shirt (even though they are so two years ago), I doubt that I garnered any attention at all. Which is what I want, right? I'm not looking for attention. Then why the worry over my to-awesome-to-even-wear sunglasses?
In short, ladies and gentlemen, because I am, as always, full of shit. And neuortic. But mostly full of shit.
xoxo,
ddm
email me
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