Schlubs

I'll own up now, I am not a fashion plate.  Never have been, probably never will be.  I clean up well but sartorial endeavors are generally not on my screen for most of daily life.  So I'm not sure just how much credibility I have in this particular area of human interest.

This is not to say I am completely ignorant of how to dress, or what to wear, or at least how to put on clothes and not look like a dweeb when I leave the house.  Most of the time I do want to maintain a minimum standard of neatness and decorum, just by personal inclination.  What that means is that sometimes I even tuck in my t-shirts.  And I don't go grocery shopping in flip flops and cutoffs.

Which brings me to the subject of this post:  Schlubs, and the women they inflict themselves upon.

I took Wee Lass out for dinner over the weekend, after which we went for a stroll down the main street to window shop and have ice cream.  Something was bugging me, though, something that started during dinner and came into full bloom while we were out walking.  There were an unusual number of schlubs out that evening.  It started with the guy in the restaurant who was wearing a tank top and what looked like satin basketball shorts, along with bizarro black tennis shoes complete with red piping.  He looked like he had just crawled out of a hamper.

His wife (I assume she was his wife, they were eating together with two kids and behaving like a family unit) on the other hand was dressed casually, too, but so much more put together.  Simple black top with white capri pants and canvas deck shoes.  Maybe not knock-'em-dead elegant, but it looked good.  It looked like she gave a hoot about simple things like matching! and neat! and 'I didn't just get up!'.

When we left the restaurant I was sensitized to the phenomenon, as I really started to notice the walking fashion victims attached to arms of (for the most part) much more 'with it' lady companions.  Wrinkled t-shirts, river rat shoes, baggy cargo shorts, ragged jeans with flip-flops and far too many logos for beer and cars and drinking establishments.  All of these contrasted with nice summer dresses, well-fitting shorts, interesting shoes (I confess, my knowledge of womens shoe etiquette is sketchy), even just simple tops and intriguing accessories.  While it wasn't a top hat and tails evening, just a casual weekend night out, the ladies looked a lot better than the dudes.  Like they actually thought about it.  The guys, they made me wonder in some cases if they had scintillating personalities (or money) or if maybe they were just plain lucky to be in the company of the women with them.

In the interest of full disclosure, I was wearing a plain tan t-shirt (tucked in), off white shorts and canvas tan casual shoes with light brown laces.  I wouldn't have won any awards for world-class casual dress, no doubt, I felt I could hold my own against the Larry, Darryl and Darryls out that night.  My daughter was wearing a casual summer top over flower-patterned shorts, along with her favorite golden sandals

To paraphrase Al Pacino in And Justice For All..."Don't you care, guys?  don't you even care?".

I know it isn't earth-shattering, maybe even flirts with shallowness, but I bring this up because I didn't used to care. And now?  I do.  I don't know why, I just do.  While I'm not so much a block head that I would try to outshine the sun, I do want feel like I belong in the same part of the sky.  And that means, for better or worse, that I have to care about how I shine.

Because Bird is the Word

The night before Father's Day, I was winding down from a relatively busy day for a weekend.  Chores were done, belly had been filled (spicy home-made bean and linguica burritos, if you are curious) and I had the luxury of some quiet moments with no agenda.  As is often my wont, I began to follow the inscrutable exhortations of my soul.

In this case, it meant a session on the interwebs and time in on the good ol' iTunes store, from whence I purchased some music.  What music, you ask?  Well, I'll tell you:

Stone Rollin', the new album from Raphael Saadiq and...the single of "Surfin' Bird" by the Trashmen.

I know, I know...you're probably wondering WTH?  How does that even tie together?

Honestly, I'm not sure.  I hear things and I jot them down on scraps of paper and napkins and stuff, so I won't forget.  The end result, especially when it comes to music, is usually eclectic mental flotsam.

Anyway, Stone Rollin' is an excellent album, Saadiq has talent and skill to burn, and discussion of it is a subject for another post.  "Surfin' Bird", well...it got me to thinking about Father's Day and my Big Bro, and how much I miss him since he passed away in 2009.

When we were kids, we heard "Surfin' Bird" on the radio, and we got a lot of hilarity out of it.  This was long before Family Guy got a hold on it (which, BTW, is one of the funniest things I've witnessed on television).  Big Bro and I could both do a credible imitation of the vocals.  Admittedly, that may not be much of a stretch, but we were good at it.

Hearing it again brought back some of the life he and I shared, so long ago.  It made me a little nostalgic for the silliness we could get into, and thinking of him made me think of what he was as a son, brother and father (to my nephew).  Big Bro was an imperfect person, but he had a big heart and an translucent soul.  He tried his best, straining against his limitations, to be the best dad he could be given the circumstances.

And we loved him for that.  Still do.

Happy Father's Day, Big Bro.  You still are the word.

When Office Supplies Attack...

As if the workweek hadn't been enough of a drag, I got injured on the job, as only Irish Gumbo could do it.

I was assaulted by a binder clip.

You know the type: those blue-black metal ones, made out of spring steel and two chrome steel wire loops for handles.  The kind that have the crushing pressure of a small shark when they clamp down.  Which, by the way, is the main reason to NOT clip them on to any part of one's body.  Just sayin'.

It happened at my desk.  I had a stack of papers, a specification I was working on, that was almost two inches thick.  That measurement turns out to be at about the upper limit of what a large metal binder clip can hold.  I had clipped the stack together earlier in the week, and it had been doing a sort of Brownian motion dance around my desk as I constantly shifted it from one spot to another in pursuit of other pieces of paper.

During the course of all that movement, the clip had begun to work its way loose.  The paper was slowly slipping from the jaws of the binder, unbeknownst to me.  Until, that is, I picked it up not 30 minutes before I was due to leave the office for home.

I lifted the stack...
...noted that the clip looked loose...
...thought 'I better point that thing away fr--!"

BINNNNNG!

The clip sprung off the stack like a bullet and hit me with the sharp edge on my upper lip.  Almost dead center under my nose.  That hurt!

How I managed to avoid blurting out a curse word, I'll never know.  My eyes were watering and I could taste blood.  Sure enough, the clip had split my lip.

(sigh) Only I could get hurt like that.  And now I can't shave off my beard/mustache until my lip heals!

Gork, or Stylin' with Irish Gumbo

Well, dear readers, its confession time.  I am, it seems, a geek.  Or maybe a dork.  Perhaps both.

Aha!  I'm a GORK!

"Hey, Irish, don't be hatin' on yo'self!  Why you think that?"  I can hear you say.  Although why you would say it that way, I don't know.  It amuses me, I guess.

Anyway, as to why.  Two things have made me think I'm a gork.  To wit:

ITEM THE FIRST:
Earlier today I finally did my taxes for the year.  I had been dreading it, so I put it off as long as I thought I could.  The weird thing was, once I got into them...I enjoyed it.  You read that right: I enjoyed it.  Best I can figure, I enjoyed it because I turned off the radio and the TV, sat down and really focused on something for a while, and got it done.  No interruptions, no distractions, I FINISHED A THOUGHT, for the first time in months.  Hooray!  What's wrong with me? 

ITEM THE SECOND:
How many of you have two pairs of glasses, one regular for most tasks and one tinted for outdoors/driving?  Show of hands...good!  Those of you who do, listen up, I am about to offer a lifestyle tip.

If one wants to appear self-assured, cool, even, then make sure that when you get in the car and you go to put on your driving glasses...that you remove your regular glasses beforehand.  Trust me, it will save some embarrassment, and no one will point and laugh at you flailings and pokings.  Not that it has happened to me...within the past week.

So there you have it, dear readers, two of the many steps on that steep slide into gorkdom.  Take your time, be careful, I'll be waiting for you at the bottom, wearing my two pairs of glasses...

Crocodile

---

Image of Mr. Boehner from the LA Times Opinion pages. 

Hold On, Let Me Check...Uh, No?

Rare is the day that I do not see something interesting on my way driving to and from the Big City wherein I earn my daily bread, and last Monday was no exception. The parking lot of the building where I work slopes down to a busy road, and when leaving I often have to stop and wait for traffic to clear.

Idling at the bottom of the slope, on a bluish workday evening, I was absentmindedly staring across the road when a bright pink blur passed in front of my car. It was a Dodge Intrepid, and it was a brilliant shade of Pepto-Bismol. Clean, too.

Wow, I thought, you don't see that very often. A courtesy shuttle for a "gentlemen's club", perchance?

So I turned right out of the parking lot, and found my car right behind the Bismolmobile. It sort of looked like a taxi that had been retired from service. I was looking for any faded taxi sticker marks or company name when I noticed the bumper sticker on the back. There it was, big as day, and it read:

"HONK IF YOU GOT A BA-DONKA-DONK!" 

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Nope, still there.

I'm slightly sad to say, I did not honk. But only slightly.

I hadn't been that bemused since a few years back, when I saw a guy wearing a shirt that announced in big, bold caps: DON'T ASK ME FOR SHIT! Roger that, Sparky, you needn't worry that I'd ask you for anything, least of all THAT...

End Result of Drinking Radioactive Beer

Seen in the window of a gift "emporium" at the local Cathedral of Excess Consumerism*:

 

I suppose the only way it could be any better would be if it was "Stripper-Pole Mounted". In case you had no idea where to use this, I like the helpful suggestions of "DORM ROOMS" and "FRAT PARTIES" and "RIVER TRIPS". Oh, and "CAMP SITES"...because the only thing better than one drunk-ass idiot rolling down the hill towards the latrines is SIX drunk-ass idiots rolling down the hill towards the latrines. 

Remember folks, it holds a twelve-pack, so buy in bulk.

*The local mall, in prime holiday shopping time. My little daughter was with me at the time. She's really smart and very observant. Fortunately she didn't see it. No way in hell I'd have been able to explain that to her. Wrong, so wrong...

Sunday Contest: Caption That Stupid Picture, Third Edition - WINNER! WINNER!

Yippee! Yippee! Hey, everybody, the new phone books are here!*

I want to thank everyone who stopped by and commented on this the 3rd edition of Stupid Photo Caption Contest, this was an amazing turnout, and there is an embar-ASS-ment** of riches this time around! With that in mind, I had a very difficult time picking a clear winner. There quite a few laugh out loud types, ‘spit-takers’ as we say in the biz. Very, very good stuff. You can all be proud!

Given that there were so many to choose from, I decided to break it down into some different categories, sort of like the Academy Awards with less cleavage. Well, frontal cleavage anyway. Here are the categories:

Honorable Mentions:
People’s Choice Award – self explanatory, I think.
Best New Vocabulary Award – For most interesting new word.
Far Side Award – For tapping into that ‘Far Side’ Spirit.
Golden Boot In The Ass Award – I have a weak spot for the footie.

And the Grand Prize:
Golden Wiener Award –They get the coveted ‘Irish Gumbo’ wiener award.

To mix things up a bit, I have also decided to randomly award one lucky person from the Honorable mention category to receive a IG wiener award as well. So, with further ado, let’s get to the awards, shall we? Let’s keep the acceptance speeches short and sweet, m’kay?

People’s Choice Award goes to…Michelle, at Michelle’s Blog! for “The lengths a man will go to avoid munching a rug..." She’s got something on her mind, what is it? Hmmm…

Best New Vocabulary Award goes to…Pseudonymous High School Teacher at Pseudonymous High School Teacher! for ‘sodomator’ as in “Daarth Vaaaader. I am your brother, lover, sodomator”. I don’t really know how she came up with that.

Far Side Award goes to…Kat, at 3 Bedroom Bungalow to Let in Crazytown! for “Jimmy thought rock climbing would be easy until he ended up on a sheer cliff and broke his neck. Bummer Jimmy, bummer.” I dig it. And out a shout out to Cambridge, UK!

Golden Boot In The Ass Award goes to…Red Squirrel, at Passably Content! For “Arsene Wenger's newest signing had heard of his Manager's reputation.....” Alright, probably only Red Squirrel, cIII and myself will get this one, but I’m a sucker for the football reference and, hey, Gooners have a sense of humor, too!

Randomly selected IG award: (roll a die, roll die) – Michelle!

And the big wiener, the ne plus ultra,

Golden Wiener Award goes to…Malisa at Moonlight Hollow Musings! for…
“Rump Ranger says, "I always keep my eyes open during sex!"

It could be a weird educational film mascot, or bizarre talking toy, even a cheesy action show: Rump Ranger Rides Again! (or should that be, 'Is Ridden Again')

Congratulations one and all!

To streamline the awards process, lucky winners can pick it up here:

And no cheating, this is the honor system. I think. Thanks so much to everyone for chiming in on this edition of the Stupid Photo Contest, I’m pleased and honored by your visits!

AN ANNOUNCEMENT: NEW FOOTBALL LEAGUE FORMATION
I hereby announce the formation of the Gumbo Primo League, consisting of some of the finest football***teams in the world. The Founding Teams are:

Arsenal – The Gunners – English (Irish Gumbo)
Tottenham Hotspur – ‘Spurs – English (Red Squirrel)
Liverpool – The Reds – English – (cIII at The Goat and Tater)

There is certainly room for more. If you would like to be included, please send me your favorite team, their name or mascot, the league and your name/blog or website. Favorite rallying cry or song would be cool, too. I will try and get links set up periodically. FOOTBALL; The Beautiful Game!

*Bonus points for the first person to correctly identify the movie quoted.
**’Bare ass’, get it? Hee, hee. I said ‘ass’.
***Soccer for the US fans. Although the other ‘football’ may be considered, if I like your team. I might even consider cricket and rugby. Send it in, let’s see what happens. I’ll work out the scoring later.