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The End of the Week Eight Plus
1. both chipotle and caribou coffee are going public soon. which do you think will have a higher IPO?
2. list, in order, the tasks you do in the shower.
3. what’s ugliest: hairy hands, hairy feet, nose hair, or ear hair?
4. should intelligent design be taught in public schools: yes or no
5. how often do you do laundry?
6. Art: should it challenge or entertain?
7. on the tv show “alias”, one of the stock bad guys is a korean dentist torturer. Who’s a character from movie or tv that scares you?
8. sunday is the twin cities marathon. i hate running. what’s an activity that some people love that you detest?
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Plus: links to get you through the day:
The Gallery of Annoying Email Signatures
Wednesday’s Episode of “Lost” for BitTorrent-ers
Filed under: Uncategorized
My Too-Tight Pants Are Not the Center of the Universe
New York Magazine has this feature called “The Look Book” where they stop an ‘average New Yorker’ on the street and ask them pretentious questions about what he/she is wearing. The answers not just border on Zoolander silliness, but in fact totter over the edge and flail around willingly in the slop that is the opinions of people who live there and truly believe it’s the center of the universe. For example, this week’s issue features a singer in a scratchy-looking dress my mom would’ve made me wear for picture day in the church directory when I was in 2nd grade, yet the singer justifies her choice by saying I have a bizarre relationship with clothes. It’s like they’re lively creatures that wind up on my body. Like this dress: I found it at a thrift shop, and it totally stood out from across the room—like, “You are the one.” What? What? Does anyone take this crap seriously? (Apparently so, because it’s not the first time I’ve read drivel like that.) Why can’t these people be like everyone else…I didn’t know what to wear today, and I saw this in my closet and it was clean, so I put it on. I think I got it at the Gap a couple years ago.
Anyhow, I write all this because my clothes have given me emotions this week. Earlier this week, my skirt made me sad. Why? Because it’s too tight, and makes my butt look massive. I interviewed for a job in that skirt, and in fact got fired from that job, so I was remorse-less when I got home and put it in the bag for Value Village. Then yesterday, my pants made me mad. Why, well, again with my butt. Also, they seemed to be about an inch shorter than the last time I wore them. How does that happen? How can my hip spread make my pant length shrink? Can the ‘average New Yorker’ answer that? Huh? HUH? So those pants went in the bag, too.
I do love clothes, but I think I love a good deal more than I simply love clothes. Call it the Midwestern in me, the Minnesota, the pragmatism that comes with living within 5 miles of the hospital where I was born. I’ve never owned anything high-end, and don’t know when I will. I would like to. I will wait it out. Perhaps someday a pair of Jimmy Choos, or a Prada purse, or a perhaps a Vera Wang dress will stand out across the room from me, and say, “You are the one.” In the meantime, you can find me at Old Navy, buying more than one clearance item, because I just can’t wait for those lively, marked-down creatures to wind up on my body.
