Sometimes you just have to work from the ground up

If you have read my introductory entry, you may well have asked yourself, "when are we going to get to the fireworks factory?" Yes, I am very much aware that I have not addressed a single outfit of mine yet, and that has probably left you feeling cheated and ready to grab your flaming torch and pitchfork. Well, the joke is on you, I live in a secure building, so just try to get by the front desk. I know I am not fooling anyone... the front door doesn't even lock at the moment. I am relying on you having better things to do. But time to cut the dilly-daliance.

I often find myself wanting (or in this case, needing) to wear one particular item, and that informs my entire outfit, including socks and bloomers (except when the socks and/or bloomers ARE the one thing I feel I must wear that day.) You should always try to guess the one piece that was the seed for my look, and then try to guess the rationale. That is to say, if you really want to probe the crazy that is me.

As most people who live in NYC (at least those who would be reading this) know, Trash & Vaudeville has  the best shoe selection in the city, and their sale rack is none too shabby. In fact, if you are a cheap Jew like me you are actually incapable of paying full price for anything and so must always shop in the clearance racks. I could certainly not afford that vast Imelda Marcos-like (you know who that is right?) footwear collection if I were to pay retail. (Take a breath here... get a glass of water... Blogger just lost everything from here on, so I need to rethink it.)

Ok. Where was I? What was I going on about? Oh yeah... sale shoes at Trash! So there I was, and lo and behold, there was not one, but TWO pairs of shoes that called to me AND were in my size (US 9, meaning my feet are common peasant feet, and everyone wants my size.) so it was like Jesus had come down and demanded that I buy those shoes. Obviously, I did so without question because I am a man of faith, and faith requires that I accept without question. (Helpful hint: always buy shoes in pairs from the Trash sale rack... not just a pair of shoes, mind you, but 2 pair... the second pair is half-price.)

So here I am with some F.A.B. new shoes that I need to break in.

Look! They are both red and snakeskin! How could I go wrong?

Of course, having picked shoes, social convention says I need pants before I can go outside. I also believe that one should put on pants before going out to the market or the post office. Call me old-fashioned. Pants are really just a gateway garment to shirts, which invariably leads to ties, and then before you know it, you are breaking into your neighbor's house, stealing their Precious Moments figurines to pawn so you can afford a vest.

So this is what happened, all so I could break in my new shoes:

Red shoes does force you into that whole red paradigm, and a snakeskin pattern does set some limits. This does bring up a very good point that you can mix a wide variety of patterns (contrary to what someone's mother said) as long as you maintain a cohesive color family. Alternatively, you can combine a huge assortment of colors if you stick to one pattern. Get it? Some common thread to bind it all together. See what I did there? Talking about clothes and used a tread metaphor. I am both hot and informative.

Hot, figuratively speaking. Truth be told I got a bit cold:

Sometimes you have to add a jacket.

Man, I look glum. But as you can see (read, whatever) sometimes I can just write a straightforward description of what I am wearing. The question I have is now that I am documenting my outfits will you judge me for wearing the same thing twice? 

Coming soon: underpants and why come they have to match our socks?

Ok. Now that I have had my coffee...

Sometimes it takes that bit of a jumpstart. I certainly can't have a Jolt since they took that off the market. I believe it had something to do with all those blind college students. Is Tab still around? How about Tab Clear? Or was it Crystal Tab? That couldn't have been good for you, but nothing beats ordering a Rum and Tab in a bar (ideally a Rum and Tab Clear). I guess if you could still get that, it would be the drink of choice of "The Real Housewives of" wherever. Does anybody watch that show? I won't judge, I just want to know if they drink that. By the way, I WILL judge. Apparently, I just can't help myself.

But I digress. Any of you who know me, know that I ALWAYS digress. I won't apologize because to do so would be disingenuous. You should only apologize for things that you are really sorry for, and if you are really sorry, you shouldn't keep doing them. As you can see, I digressed again, so clearly, I am not that sorry.

Also, those who know me will vouch for the aforementioned judgyness. I believe the tangents have enough intrinsic charm to offset the overbearing judgmental nature of whatever point I am making somewhere amongst the ramblings. I personally don't see myself as judgmental at all; I just have taste and the need to express that taste. Spew taste? Ooze taste? Better than oozing pus, but not as good as oozing sexuality.

Another thing about me, I HATE to read what I have written, so I just don't: First Draft = Final Product. If I don't catch an error right away, I will never see it. Not ever. Sometimes those close to me will insist on fixing things, and I let them because by then I have lost interest. The point is, don't expect me to ever read my own blog. Only a loser would read this tripe. (I love tripe, by the way, and miss the tripe soup at old Leshkos at 7th and A. You know, it was about $1.25 for a nice-sized cup.)

I also do know English grammar and the correct use of a comma (I do prefer to use serial commas), but I also enjoy taking liberties to season my prose.

Now that I have given you the basics, my gentle reader (I assume you are gentle. Perhaps you enjoy stepping on kittens. How the hell am I supposed to know that? Do I look like Kreskin?) I will give you a little background on my clothing philosophy.

We live in a society where we are figuratively "up to our elbows" in other people. Here in New York the people are thick as flies, so they are everywhere you turn. You can't leave your home without seeing people, and, unless you are conveniently blind (I am not worried about offending the blind, since this is not a blog-on-tape. If you are reading this to a blind person as part of your community service, please skip over this whole part.) you have to look at them constantly. You can try looking down all the time, but then you are bound to start bumping into them and that is just plain rude. Wouldn't you prefer that all the people you have to see all day long were attractive? Nature provides a heap of variation when it comes to appearance, so not everyone can be pretty. We all know it's true, even though we know we shouldn't say it. You know your neighborhood sure has a lot of ugly people in it. The one thing people can do to counter any shortfall that their genetics may have dealt them is to make an effort to be well-groomed and well-dressed. We can't control our genes, and most of us can't afford surgery (and most plastic surgery gives you tranny-face, which is its own kind of unattractive. You know who you are and what you have opted to do to yourself. And you know damn well what tranny-face is, and that a: not all trannies have it, and b: plenty of real women get enough surgery to have it.) (Should I point out here that I also love parentheticals to excess, so you better stay sharp and focused when you are reading or you will be hopelessly left behind? You get that by now, right? Do you remember the sentence that is still going on? Perhaps you should look back now to refresh yourself.) but we can control how we dress and present ourselves to the rest of the world. I expect everyone to at least TRY so my day is just that much more pleasant. I therefore feel that I must do my best to make myself as aesthetically pleasing as possible to others. It's only fair. Wearing sweatpants and flip-flops says, "I've given up." If you have given up, the just own it and stay home.

If you look like this, I don't want to know about it. 

Does that cover everything? Probably not, but I am getting bored writing, so you must be getting bored reading it. 

On a final note: if you are having trouble following my convoluted style, I recommend using a highlighter on your monitor. 

Now I'm all yours!

This is really just to tease you and let you know that the cavalcade of whimsy is about to begin. Wear your seatbelt (but only if it matches your tie!)