Here's what happened. I went to the doctor's this morning, dressed casually but appropriately. Chinos, darkish moss green. Buttondown, brown gingham check. Socks to match the pants, darkish moss green.
So I got home and decided to take the dog for a well-deserved walk. I put on jeans and a rugby shirt, kind of a bright green with a mini-stripe every now and then.
Somewhere between the closet and the car I noticed that I had inadvertently matched my socks with my shirt, like a girl. I said fuck it.
Okay. So here's my question: Am I a homo because I matched my socks with my shirt? Or am I a homo because I even noticed at all? Or am I a homo because I know that girls match their socks with their shirts and men don't? Or am I a homo for thinking the whole thing remarkable enough to spend five minutes or so typing this out to the internet?
Before you answer, bear in mind that I've got nearly four ounces of brandy in me.
I know it's odd. Socks with sandals. And shorts on top of that. I just don't like the detritus of humanity piling up between my toes, or even the thought of it. I do try to make socks match, from back when Gants, Haggars, Weejuns, and Gold Toes seemed important, and you could match any to the either. Usually it was socks to shirt. Sometimes socks to shoe.
Oh, the anti robot is here at home, on my Android tablet.
Did you check out any of the other 2 cellos videos that offer when this one ends? The "be a rock star" video is great, along the same line except different reaction from the crowd in their minds.
There's an Australian guitarist, whose name escapes me at the moment.
Hold on. Give me a minute.
Okay. I went to Bing and typed in "Australian guit" and the name "Tommy Emmanuel" popped up. Amazing.
Anyway, he has an extremely vigorous way of playing the guitar. I watched a couple of YouTubes of him in concert and one of the comments was memorable.
"Tommy Emmanuel takes that guitar and makes it his bitch."
A month or two ago I saw a pretty college-aged girl walking down a city sidewalk. She had bare feet except for flip-flops.
And I'm, like, sweetheart, don't you realize that the only thing between your pretty skin and the absolute filth of the city is 1/8 inch of cheap plastic?
Looks like I'm finally turning into a dotty old man. Hey, it happens.
Staying for a week in Kip's Bay looking out the window of a high rise apartment block, the double towers that stick up starkly, duolithically like communist gray and streaked glass. I saw a bum pissing while walking nonchalantly down the sidewalk, a woman hold her baby with outstretched arms between two parked cars for it to poo, people walking small animals without cleaning after them all in the wee hours. Then when the sun came up the night zombies disappeared and the streets really came alive with bustling activity, there's Carrie Bradshaw types racing back and forth over the exact same spots and I'm thinking, "Good Lord, get me outta here," and I left.
Getting out is a whole 'nuther sequence of stories. I was never so happy to be home in green green green park-like Denver.
21 comments:
Whereby the peril of peak testosterone is demonstrated.
Here's what happened. I went to the doctor's this morning, dressed casually but appropriately. Chinos, darkish moss green. Buttondown, brown gingham check. Socks to match the pants, darkish moss green.
So I got home and decided to take the dog for a well-deserved walk. I put on jeans and a rugby shirt, kind of a bright green with a mini-stripe every now and then.
Somewhere between the closet and the car I noticed that I had inadvertently matched my socks with my shirt, like a girl. I said fuck it.
Okay. So here's my question: Am I a homo because I matched my socks with my shirt? Or am I a homo because I even noticed at all? Or am I a homo because I know that girls match their socks with their shirts and men don't? Or am I a homo for thinking the whole thing remarkable enough to spend five minutes or so typing this out to the internet?
Before you answer, bear in mind that I've got nearly four ounces of brandy in me.
I'll take my answer off the air, thank you.
That was great, hadn't seen those gentlemen before... thank's Chip!
I think it is only in Chrome at work where the robot question pops up, don't see it at home on IE.
Eric, have another drink my friend.
I like the part where he imitated John Belushi imitating Joe Cocker.
When I dress casually I don't even get my socks to match. That makes the odds slightly greater one of them will match my shirt.
Rocket go boom.
So, Eric, what kind of sandals were you were you wearing, closed toe or thong?
Whereby Chippie demonstrates that his ears might actually be capable of something.
Yeah Eric, if you were wearing some sort of Birkenstock, there might be a way out of this.
In any case, I fear you're not a homosexual, but a metrosexual. Which is much worse.
;)
Why?
That's terrible, Chip. By terrible I mean terrible that those aren't eligible for Amazon Prime.
I know it's odd. Socks with sandals. And shorts on top of that. I just don't like the detritus of humanity piling up between my toes, or even the thought of it. I do try to make socks match, from back when Gants, Haggars, Weejuns, and Gold Toes seemed important, and you could match any to the either. Usually it was socks to shirt. Sometimes socks to shoe.
Oh, the anti robot is here at home, on my Android tablet.
Did you check out any of the other 2 cellos videos that offer when this one ends? The "be a rock star" video is great, along the same line except different reaction from the crowd in their minds.
Yes, I watched several or more. Very talented those gentlemen. Though didn't hit 'in their minds' as yet.
These guys are from somewhere in the Balkans, and they seem to be touring everywhere. I'd go see them, if they came to Dayton or even Cincinnati.
After listening to this, I went and found the original by AC/DC. I like this cello version a lot better.
There's an Australian guitarist, whose name escapes me at the moment.
Hold on. Give me a minute.
Okay. I went to Bing and typed in "Australian guit" and the name "Tommy Emmanuel" popped up. Amazing.
Anyway, he has an extremely vigorous way of playing the guitar. I watched a couple of YouTubes of him in concert and one of the comments was memorable.
"Tommy Emmanuel takes that guitar and makes it his bitch."
Kind of accurate, actually.
I just don't like the detritus of humanity piling up between my toes, . . .
Precisely. I don't wear sandals. Period.
I wore flip-flops. When I was a little kid. At the beach. That's it.
A month or two ago I saw a pretty college-aged girl walking down a city sidewalk. She had bare feet except for flip-flops.
And I'm, like, sweetheart, don't you realize that the only thing between your pretty skin and the absolute filth of the city is 1/8 inch of cheap plastic?
Looks like I'm finally turning into a dotty old man. Hey, it happens.
Check out Vitamin String Quartet
They have 100+ albums on iTunes of cello-ized covers of almost anything. Led Zeppelin to Coolio, I think.
Eric, that is what I thought while in Manhattan.
Staying for a week in Kip's Bay looking out the window of a high rise apartment block, the double towers that stick up starkly, duolithically like communist gray and streaked glass. I saw a bum pissing while walking nonchalantly down the sidewalk, a woman hold her baby with outstretched arms between two parked cars for it to poo, people walking small animals without cleaning after them all in the wee hours. Then when the sun came up the night zombies disappeared and the streets really came alive with bustling activity, there's Carrie Bradshaw types racing back and forth over the exact same spots and I'm thinking, "Good Lord, get me outta here," and I left.
Getting out is a whole 'nuther sequence of stories. I was never so happy to be home in green green green park-like Denver.
The city's not even a nice place to visit, so far as I'm concerned.
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