Cell Phones Are Expensive

I think I need fashion help.

Today it took me forever to get dressed. I have a nice V-neck sweater that I wanted to wear, and I wanted to wear a button-down collared shirt under it, like all those fashionable folks in the catalogs do.

Well, I don't know how the catalog folks and fashionable mannequins do it. I tried wearing my brown striped shirt underneath, but the collar was too big and bulky and it looked funny. Then I tried my maroon shirt underneath, and that looks okay, but it seemed sort of weird tucked in. All the catalogs show that you're supposed to leave the tails out so they peek out the bottom of the sweater. That looks better - it gives your look some consistancy. The tails on the maroon shirt look nice in front, but the back is way too long and it looks like a big piece of maroon fabric is covering my butt like some sort of butt cape. As if my butt was a superhero butt that fights butt crime. I realized that all my shirts are like this, for the simple reason that they need that length to be tucked in.

So I don't understand how to make this look work. Do I have to buy smaller, tighter button-down shirts than I normally would, just for the sole purpose of wearing underneath V-neck sweaters? If I do that, the sleeves will be way too short, and will not stick out of the sweater sleeves like they do on these presumably strangely proportioned models. Are there special sweaters or shirts that can help me accomplish this look?

In any case, I tucked in the back of the shirt and left the front out. It appears to look okay, but I'm not a good judge of this sort of thing.

This is why I could never be gay. I am not at all good at coordinating an outfit. Also, I'm not attracted to dudes.

Posted by Dan at 10:59 AM | Permalink | Comments

My commute is getting annoying.

I suppose it's not terrible in the morning, but during the rush hour back home, every red or blue line stop in the loop becomes a showcase for Star Search rejects. People who can't sing singing. People who can't rap rapping. Seeing as my hands are usually already full with my thermal coffee mug and whatever book I happen to be reading at that given time, I have no place to store a gong, or a comically large hook with which to offer up my opinion of these performances. They are all deserving of both. (The one exception might be the guy in the Jackson Red Line Station yesterday who played a panflute version of "We Are The World" to a pre-recorded backing track, which I found to be delightfully kitschy. On yet another side note, the panflute guys usually scare me because at one point in college I swear they followed me wherever I went. As I went to class, panflute. When I went to the mall later, panflute. I could not escape them. But I digress.)

On top of this, the Red Line train that I take home every day seems to be driven by the same driver. Or engineer, or whatever the hell they are called. I know this because after each stop, he feels the need to say something over the speaker system. I first noticed this a couple of months ago. Doors opened at Fullerton, and all of a sudden, I shit you not, this phrase comes over the speaker:

"Take care, wenches!"

Cue bewildered look from my fellow CTA riders, or fellow wenches, as we were now addressed as.

I figured this was some cocky engineer who wanted to see what he could get away with saying over the speaker. I reckoned that the CTA would get a call soon after from some offended passenger, and this certain engineer would be sacked immediately. It would have to be someone other than me, as I am not easily offended, and instead react to these situations in the same curious way a dog does when you burp loud at it.

But then a couple weeks later, same train, same engineer, same send-off: "Take care, wenches!" Then again the next day. And the day after. Now I am growing accustomed to being called a wench on a daily basis. Yesterday he added "May The Force Be With You".

Posted by Dan at 2:51 PM | Permalink | Comments