19. Blogman

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 6/1/12.)

There are only two weeks left of school here in Spokane. It’s amazing how quickly my first year of retirement has passed. In many ways the Happy Fridays have helped me remain connected with the many people in the district who have responded in one form or another. And, I’d like to thank everyone for not responding, “These suck.” So thoughtful! I know how hard you work and how difficult it is to get through your backlog of emails. I appreciate those of you have taken the time and hope that you’ve enjoyed at least some of them. 

During the year, several people suggested that I put these bird walks on a blog instead. One hindering factor is that blogs seem like “new tricks” for this dog. You see, with all the social media out there – Facebook, blogs, YouTube, Wikis, podcasts, twitter, tweets, peeps, chirps, and occasionally tittering (for mature audiences) – I’m only familiar with email and PhoneCalling. 

I’m getting braver, though, and have begun looking into how to do the blog thing. So far, my biggest helper in the Bloggerama is named Lisa. She’s a young professional who works for Google, and her blog page is used as an example on their training site. She seems nice enough … swell home in San Francisco … pictures showing her having lots more fun than I ever have … she’s traveled a lot … and, she has a ton of interests. Fortunately, her top-10 list does not include quiet walks on the beach or dolphins or beached dolphins, which means we have much in common. Already I’m feeling pretty close to her and can hardly wait to share My Life Story … in installments so I don’t have to water it down. Lisa must have very good social skills judging from the 17,564 people who consider her to be in their inner-circle of friends … although a few might be credited to the fact that you automatically go to her example page when you’re learning how to blog. (I’ve thought about doing something similar if I ever started a Facebook account; I’d just post “FREE iPads,” and let the friends roll in.) Anyway, I figure I’ll stand a better chance with Lisa if I include pictures of myself when I was younger … although I have to admit that I peaked on the cuteness scale when I was four or five years old. Better yet, maybe I’ll just use pictures of a hunky 30-something guy … the kind you see in underwear and cologne ads … but less serious and more capable of  carrying on a conversation without using the word “dude” in every sentence. And, if I ever did happen to meet her, I’d just say that I had this sudden aging condition kind of like Brad Pitt had when he played Benjamin Button, only in reverse. That should tug her heart-strings and buy me some sympathy time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just toying with her until I figure out the blog thing. Mary is still #1 in my book, and not just because I don’t heal as fast as I used to. You can count on me to keep introducing her as “my current love interest.” … OW! C’mon, that hurt. It's probably going to leave a mark, ya know….

So, I plan to start a blog shortly to replace the Happy Fridays from now on. I’ll re-run some of the better pieces and just throw in new stuff when my life careens out of control as it tends to do. Now, here’s where you come in. I need a name for the blog. So far I’ve come up with “Incidents of Incredible Importance.” I don’t know if someone has already grabbed this one up or whether it would just drive people away. But, the person who sends me the best idea for a name – whether or not I actually use it – will receive a very impressive prize: an original Spamanimal created by yours truly. If you’ve worked in the same building with me anytime during my career, you know what a treasure this is. It’s a detailed carved animal made from real Spam … ORIGINAL Spam, not an off-shoot like Spam Light, BBQ Spam, or Edible Spam. So, just email potential names for my blog, and you may be the lucky winner. (Think: Ed McMahon showing up on your doorstep, only MUCH better.)

L. Haymond

New Trickster

18. Prolog: Poor Fit

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 5/25/12.)

Some of you have asked whether Mary actually tried on the exquisite necklace I welded for her. Well, YEAH, of course she has. And, the good news is that, with a few stitches and a little bed rest, the doc at Minor Emergency says she’ll be back to her regular routine in no time. And, I plan to get her a nice spring mock turtleneck to wear during the healing process. I think she’ll like something in a vibrant pastel … coral seems to be quite popular this season. Sadly, it doesn’t appear that a household welding unit is in the cards for me anytime soon though. But, I’m always the optimist, and it’s off to do a bit of shopping at Nordie's right now before the holiday crowds hit … and catch me lurking randomly around women’s apparel.

L. Haymond

Purgatory Temp

17. Rocket Science

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 5/18/12.)

It’s been a busy week as I continue to lead a useful and productive life in retirement … which I’m beginning to think is overrated since I’m growing tired of the responsible pacing that I hadn’t really counted on.  The reason I’ve been busy is because I had the last session of my yard-art welding class and my project was due.  I didn’t know when I signed up that it was pass/fail; and to pass, you have to show up, and you’re required to actually COMPLETE a project.  Go figure.  Well, I showed up every time, but I wasn’t particularly prolific compared to the other students who were doing a bunch of smaller projects during our 10 sessions at SCC.  More than half the class was made up of women, and they generally focused on flowers … and fencing and the occasional eagle, an arbor, and something with chains and barbed wire that made me a little nervous. Horse shoes and table spoons were also popular materials, but esthetically, they didn’t work well together if you ask me.  Mostly, the guys went with insects.  They weren’t your average crawling pests, but rather each was characterized as stinging, biting, avenging, or in some other way, menacing creatures … except for the goliath ant that my pal Brad made out of three 8-pound steel balls. He quickly convinced me of its inherent fear factor by threatened to throw it at me, antennae-end first.  I’m learning to keep reviews to myself around sensitive artist types.

My plans were for an industrial era Flash Gordon-style rocket ship made of heavy-gauge steel … that I discovered was much too thick and hard to work with … but they don’t like returns at the steel store after you’ve cut it all to pieces with a torch … and, in the event of a confrontation, these guys sized-up in the Real Burly category … so I was stuck and just had to deal with it.  But, the cool thing about welding is that you start with bare metal, and using high-voltage electricity, piercing flames, and metal-grinding wheels, you spark away about half the original mass until you’re left with a shape that suits you … or doesn’t, but that’s alright since you got to watch fireworks the whole time.  It’s a win-win experience as I see it, particularly if you’re kind of a pyro at heart, and you don’t really count on the final product working out anyway.  However, I needed to complete at least one REAL project, or I’d fail.  And that just wouldn’t look good on my transcripts for the next time I apply for a job …HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, that’s a joke.  For those of you who are still working: I’m retired.

Okay, I’ll admit I wouldn’t want to fail … just because ... on principle ... or whatever.  And, I gotta tell you, it’s difficult to do welding well.  Making metal stick together -- like I do -- is easy.  Making consistently clean welds isn’t.  So, I was coming right down to the final days of putting all the pieces of the puzzle together and hoping it would work out as planned.  I did a lot of homework sanding using a power grinder in my little basement shop … and set off the smoke alarm in the next room.  Honest.  The good thing is that the system worked; the bad part is that it triggers all the alarms in the house, even if it’s 10:30 at night … and your wife is sound asleep.  I really don’t want to talk about it anymore though, because it’s been discussed quite enough already, and there’s been a big lesson learned here … a reeealy BIG lesson.  So, the next day I went over to my pal Brad’s house so I could borrow his welder … and a Corona, which wasn’t covered during the safety lecture in the first session, so I figure it was okay … you know, for artistic creativity, like Hemingway or Fitzgerald might have done … and remembering that, with authors, the pen is mightier than the sword -- and probably an arc welder – so I decided I was safe having a cold one for incidental inspiration on a hot afternoon.

Well, I finished it up just before class by gluing little glass pieces in the window holes, wiring up lights inside and a flicker flame bulb on the tail, and adding a ’63 VW Beetle turn signal that I bought on eBay.  

Sparks and flames

Then, I scribbled a few graphics on the side this morning … for authenticity.

It's the real thing

Now, although I’m kind of surprised and proud of how the Space Cruiser turned out, I have to say that my real creative passion was for making jewelry … FINE jewelry, designed especially for Mary.  You see, she just deserves it for being who she is.  Sometimes our friends call her “Poor Mary” when they see her with me, and I think that’s just not fair.  Apparently, they haven’t seen her wearing the exquisite new necklace that I made, or else they’d be calling her “Lucky Mary.” 

Artisan at Work

Detailed Craftsmanship

   
And, I’m hoping that she will allow me to get even BETTER at my craft by letting me buy my very own arc welder like ALL my friends’ wives have let them … for example: my pal Brad.  Yes, “Lucky and GENEROUS Mary” … kinda has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

So, there you have it.  If anybody happens to ask you how I’m doing, just tell them I hope to continue making refined contemporary jewelry … and keeping my mind occupied doing Rocket Science.

L. “Sparky” Haymond

Classified Extraterrestrial Division

Northrop Corp.

16. Meeting John Stockton

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 5/11/12.)

The highlight of my week was meeting NBA basketball legend, John Stockton.  I was out for a bike ride through Riverside State Park and had just finished carrying my heavy bike down a long set of new stairs. They just finished building them, and I haven’t gotten used to working on my upper body strength that you wouldn’t expect to be working on when you’re just out riding your bike and minding your own business. If I’d wanted to get that kind of exercise, I could have just stayed home and used my weights in the basement like I do when Mary occasionally makes me dust them.  It used to be a lot easier to just walk your bike down the steep, dished-out trail that leads to the suspension bridge at Bowl and Pitcher … and risk sliding on the rocks that could have resulted in a serious injury to your tail bone.  But they went ahead and built the steps anyway.  

I always stop in the middle of the bridge for a drink from my water bottle and to take in the spectacular views.  The river is very high this time of year from runoff, and you can feel the roar of the rapids just beneath your feet.  I’ve gotten to know the area pretty well and have noticed a patch of poison ivy growing near the railing at one end of the bridge.  I feel it’s my humanitarian duty to caution folks when they go near.  The park service probably doesn’t mention it because it’s just part of nature … and, if they warned about poison ivy, then visitors would expect the same for every little thing that might bother them … like chipmunks getting into your potato chips, even if they have a family history of heart disease … or that you sometimes don’t get the correct change from the Pepsi vending machine which lights up the night sky and obscures your view of the stars.  So when I see someone close to the poison ivy, I point out the three shiny leaves drooping from the top of each stem and say that, if they did touch it, all they’d have to do is wash off the affected area with liquid dish soap within two hours.  I learned this from an issue of AARP Bulletin … along with using Vick’s VapoRub to effectively treat toenail fungus, although I haven’t found a good forum to bring this to people’s attention.  Maybe I should just hang around locker rooms more and check out guys’ feet, although Mary doesn’t agree with the idea for some reason.  I’d also tell people that I feel a little guilty quoting the AARP since I’m kind of mad at them right now for several of their big lobbying efforts in Washington D.C. that I disagree with.  Don’t get me started.

Anyway, I was taking a break in the middle of the bridge and could tell someone was crossing because you can feel it in the foot boards.  I looked up as they neared and was pretty sure it was John Stockton in a baseball cap along with a couple other people.  Surprised, I just said, “Hi!” like I knew him, and he kind of looked back as if he wondered whether he should know me.  “Beautiful day,” he said as he passed, and I responded, “Yes. You’re John, right?”  He stopped and said, “Yeah.”  I told him, “I’m Lou Haymond; it’s a real pleasure to meet you!” and he shook my hand … VERY firmly.  Then he said, “Thanks,” and they walked away.  I waited until they were all the way off the bridge before I pounced on my bike and scurried home to tell Mary all about my new friend.

She was envious and wished she’d gone along even though she’d just gotten home from her exercise class with the girls.  I told her how John and I really connected, probably because we had a lot in common.  She asked me what we could possibly have in common, and I was quick to admit that it wasn’t basketball. (I’d tactfully refrained for telling him about my days playing for the Monroe Elementary Mud Hens, because like most people, he probably would have listened just long enough to give his companions a good head-start scattering away from me.  I don’t know why people do that.)  I knew I couldn’t tell her we both had “boyish good looks,” because that one no longer amuses her in the slightest.  So, I decided to go with “We both enjoy state parks … being outdoors … and breathing fresh air while exercising,” although I didn’t share with her how I’d panted away going uphill on my bike, and John just sped off in his shiny black Lexus with the windows rolled up.  And I told her how his handshake was REALLY firm and I didn’t even grimace or say “ow.”  “Yeah, John and I really connected alright.”  Then Mary asked if he commented on my hulky rat-rod bike that had the “ZERO” license plate, an oxidation-and-rust theme, and a blue Jaguar hood ornament with a plastic dinosaur in its mouth.  (See pictures in Tour de Park posting.) I told her, “Mmm, well he didn’t comment specifically about them, if that’s what you mean.”  Then I started wondering if maybe he didn’t see the humor in it … and maybe I should have ridden my newer bike from REI that’s pretty snappy with bright green paint and a lot more gears.  She pressed, “Well, did he seem kind of nervous around you, Lou?”  “Uhhh, not really,” I replied, except I did remember that he drove away pretty fast for being in a camping area with rangers around. 

I told Mary that she was just jealous now that John and I were tight.  I’m looking forward to seeing him again, although I don’t know when since we forgot to exchange phone numbers.  Next time, it’ll be much better, because I know exactly what I’m going to say:  “YO, John, my MAN!  It’s Lou.  Uhhh, Lou HAYMOND.  You remember, Riverside State Park … suspension bridge … you said, ‘Beautiful day,’ ‘Yeah,” and ‘Thanks,’ … and I’d just found this really WEIRD old bike and was taking it to give to a charity for children.  Hey, John … wait up!  Say, did I tell you about poison ivy?  Hey, c’mon, slow down!  How about toenail fungus … so, do you happen to have toenail fungus?  YOO-HOO, MR. STOCKTONNN!!! 

L. Haymond

John’s Best Friend

15. Fake Tattoo

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 4/27/12.)

Before I retired, the elementary principals group had a monthly drawing at their Friday meetings.  The prize is purchased by the membership on a rotating basis.  It was my turn to buy the gift, and I wanted to find something more “creative” than the usual dinner for two at a very nice restaurant that anyone would LOVE.  That’s just SO predictable and joy-filled.  Not my kind of moment.  At the time, I was principal in a school near the E. Sprague area where there are many … mmm, “interesting” livelihoods.  I decided to look for a nice gift at a well-known tattoo shop … a place with protective bars covering the doors and windows and an inviting picture of an attack dog apparently waiting inside for after-hours visitors.  Typically, several custom Harleys were parked out front along with a faded Blazer that needed to be towed. 

I parked across the street and down a little to avoid scrutiny … and door dings.  This was AFTER my normal work hours, mind you, but before dark.  I took a deep breath and walked in … mentally prepared … casual like, as if I were a regular.  Thinking back, I probably should have lost the tie and penny loafers though.  I scanned the business looking for possible parents of kids I had in school, much like I’d do when buying beer, wine, or personal hygiene items at a neighborhood grocery. I was safe.  I found a sales associate and explained my situation: I needed a gag gift certificate for the principals’ group.  He didn’t appear to see the humor in it and just stood there glaring at me … with perhaps the same intensity he’d had while getting the snake tattoo around his neck.  Or maybe he’d simply noticed my principal’s ID badge that I’d forgotten to remove and was recalling the carefree experiences in school office areas as a youth. I told him I’d thought about getting a nice tattoo … andwouldjustmoverightalonganddoalittlebrowsingthankyou
verymuch.

They had a large selection of tattoos, and I was immediately drawn to the more traditional types … something a respectable sailor would have coveted while spending lonely months away from home on the high seas: buxom women!  There were so many to choose from.  I finally settled on one with a girl-next-door look -- if you were very, very lucky where you lived – and headed for the counter to inquire.  But, on the way, I lost the bounce in my step when I looked down at my scrawny forearms and thought, “Well, THAT’S not going to fit THERE.”  And it wouldn’t make sense to cut her in half to split across both arms … and try to show her off by locking my elbows and wrists parallel-like. It was the only time in my life when I actually envied Popeye for his arms.  And he only used the expanses for ANCHOR tattoos … what’s with THAT?  Disheartened, I returned the pattern back to the shelf and wished I had faithfully followed the Charles Atlas exercise booklet I’d sent off for as a kid … and could have stomached the regimen of bananas and wheat germ powder I’d whipped up in the blender.

Then it sparked!  I rushed back to Mr. Intense, showed him my arm, and asked, “Okay, how much for a PENCIL tattoo?”  He didn’t respond right away … possibly wondering if I was joking.  What … ME joking?  I remained earnest.  Finally, he quoted me, “$48.”  I pressed him, “Yellow, with a pink eraser?”  He responded, “Yeah.”  Still, I didn’t feel I’d really connected with him.  Glanced around, I noticed that all the other customers had tattoos which were much more sinister.  So I leaned slightly into his personal space, looked him straight in the eye, and asked, “How much to put some bite marks on the pencil … some reeeally JAGGED bite marks?”  He kind of lightened up with a little smile and told me, “I’ll just throw those in.”  Now we were talking.

I walked about the place mulling over the possibilities of having such a tattoo; you can’t just return a buyer’s remorse here. For starters, it might actually help with school discipline … Mr. Haymond’s legendary cruel tattoo.  Example: when dealing with a tough sixth grader who wasn’t about to cave that he’d made an error in judgment … I’d simply say, “Don’t make me show you … The Tattoo,” and s-l-o-w-l-y start rolling up my sleeve.  Yeah, that would get results.  But then I remembered that I was a professional and had to ask myself: an intimidation tattoo … in education?  No, Lou, THAT would be wrong. 

Hmmm, “THAT would be wrong.”  Do you know who made that statement famous? Richard Nixon, that’s who.  They found it on his secret recordings made in the Oval Office during Watergate.  After that, I recall thinking: “Richard Nixon, he’s MY kind of guy.”  In fact, Richard Nixon became my moral compass.  You see, sometimes when I’m just thinking along … kind of flat-lining, I get this blip where my mind suddenly starts telling me to do some “risky behavior.” No, no, no, not THAT kind of risky behavior … I mean the kind of risky behavior where I say or do something that makes me laugh and entertain myself … usually at someone else’s expense.  It’s the kind of risky behavior that a former district human resources director would later ask you, “What WERE you thinking???” … again.  So, from then on, just as I was about to do some risky behavior, I’d stop myself and say, “But, Lou, THAT would be wrong.”  And then I’d just go right ahead and do it anyway … just like President Nixon did. 

So, there I was at a cross roads with the pencil tattoo … facing The Neck, mano-a-mano … controlling the situation with a long pause and direct eye contact, I used my best Clint Eastwood voice and said, “ALRIGHT,  I’ve made a decision!  I’m just going to trot on home and check with my with.”  And then I beat it out of there!

L. Haymond

  “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam.”  ~ District Nutrition Services

P.S. At the following principals meeting, the drawing was for a hand-made gift certificate from “Tigger Tattoo” and a romantic dinner for two at Dick’s Drive Inn. 

14. Continuing to Lead a Useful Life

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 4/13/12.)

I’d like to give you an update on how I’m doing in retirement:  quite well, according to the Government of the United States.  In fact, so well, that they’re giving me a raise.  That’s right, I recently received a 3% increase in my Social Security payments. Now, some naysayers may allude that it’s simply a cost-of-living increase.  But obviously, these folks aren’t retirees working hard at their vocation. Yes, this is definitely a raise.

Now, Mary doesn’t have an opportunity to see me honing my skills at home each day, since she’s … “at work.” Perhaps this explains why she, too, seems to be questioning the validity of my recent pay increase.  Fortunately, spring break provided us “quality time” together for nine full days.  We had a wonderful visit with friends in San Francisco.  We ventured out on trolley cars, ate at neighborhood restaurants, and rode a tandem bike along the wharf and over the Golden Gate Bridge to points north. While on our way to have lunch with friends, we heard a commotion outside the City Hall building. Always interested in a little excitement, we decided to go over and sniff around.
 

Commotion at City Hall

Just sniffing around

Then, it was back to Spokane for the remaining days of vacation … well, Mary’s vacation. Spending so much time home alone this year has made me realize how much I need someone around to practice my cynicism, irreverence, and general annoyance.  You see, I’ve been getting kind of rusty at these favorite past times and was beginning to worry that I might be losing my edge.  But, thanks to Mary, spring break was very rejuvenating for me.  She’s back at work now. And, although I miss the quality time with her, I can’t say that I miss her death threats.

I’ve just started a new session of classes from the Community Colleges’ Continuing Ed Program.  Last time, I took Step Aerobics and Tai Chi which I really enjoyed … except for the sweating and body coordination aspects. This session, I’m taking Step, Zumba, Yoga, and Yard Art Welding.  The one thing Mary insisted when I retired was that I work out more often so I would stay healthier … at least physically. 

Going to the initial class in each course is always a bit nerve-wracking … anticipating what to wear.  I lucked out with the Step class because several other guys were taking it, and we all showed up in t-shirts, shorts, and sneaks.  Zumba was another matter since I figured the dress code would be Lycra in electric colors.  Turns out, I’m the only guy taking it, so I just opted for a t-shirt, shorts, and sneaks.  I arrive early in order to claim my personal space in the back corner of the room.  I’m less conspicuous there when our instructor tells us to “shake that thing” and do a “belly-dance kind of move.”  I gotta be honest here … this stuff doesn’t come naturally to me. So, at the end of the first class, I went directly to her and said, “Carol, just so you know, I wasn’t seizuring back there … that’s just me doing the Zumba. No need to be calling 9-1-1. You see, I’m more of a classical dancer really … and it’s hard to adjust from what I learned at Juilliard.”

Mary went shopping with me to find some yoga pants at Sports Authority last week. Actually, we were already there looking at seasonal sports clothes for the grandkids; so officially, this would have to count as my Easter outfit. I was envisioning something like David Carradine wore when doing Kung Fu smack downs … while seeking inner peace.  You know the look:  loose fitting, natural fibers, earth tones … something that would go well with wool socks and Birkenstocks.  When I couldn’t find anything like that, Mary -- without checking with me – asked a sales associate where we could find a “man’s yoga outfit” … which was immediately broadcast over the loudspeakers for all the jock-types to hear … kinda like what would happen in a drug store if you quietly asked for a stool softener.  Fortunately, the message came back, “We don’t carry those” instead of “Has he tried the granola store?”  I ended up going to class wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sneaks.  That was just fine since the classroom was only illuminated by incidental light filtered through some nice homemade curtains … and she was teaching us nonjudgmentalism using a soft, calming voice in an environment of unconditional acceptance … where you hold these yoga “poses” WAY too long making your muscles really burn … which was bothering my inner peace … but somehow I didn’t feel accepted enough to come right out and say that. I’m happy to report, though, that the class isn’t turning out to be quite as transcendental as I’d feared … as evidenced by our instructor calling me by my first name rather than “Grasshopper” or “Albino Legs.”

The lead-up to Yard Art Welding was easy since the catalog spelled out the dress code: long-sleeve cotton shirt, levies, and leather shoes that cover your ankles.  I can do the traditional logger look … although I did stash a t-shirt, short pants, and sneaks in the car, just in case. Our course assignment is to draw a plan for a piece of yard art and then build it.  Right away, I had this great idea to weld a life-size nude.  I don’t know where I get with this kind of creativity … it’s just a gift, I guess.  I figured I’d need to hire a professional model, which would be worth it to keep my mind active as I approach the second half of middle age.  Use it or lose it.  Now, my initial attraction to welding was that it makes A LOT of really neat sparks.  But then I realized that they also create a serious downside: the model would have to station herself some distance away from the artist and his work.  And, to complicate matters more, you have to wear this welding hood with a dark-glass shield to protect your eyes … and obstruct your view of the model.  Even worse, we learned that, if you get distracted from focusing on all the sparks you’re making, things could quickly deteriorate into an emergency-room situation.  So I finally accepted that I’ll have to find my niche with less-interesting industrial subjects.  But, on the bright side, I know I’m going to feel good about using my new skills to give something back to society … the one that gave me a raise for doing meaningful work in retirement. And, it’ll prove to Mary that I can be productive and useful. In fact, I’ve been thinking about fusing a few pieces of her favorite jewelry to my massive scrap-iron creation … for an endearing personalized touch. She is going to be SO surprised when she sees it … and want to spend MUCH more quality time with me!  Yeah, for sure…. 

L. Haymond

Artist in the Rough

13. Stylin'

(Previously sent to friends as a “Happy Friday” email on 3/30/12.)

I’d like to make a correction to an earlier Happy Friday where I mentioned something about finding a “perfect blouse” for Mary, my wife.  An anonymous reader responded to this with: “Who uses the term ‘blouse’ anymore??!! I believe the current term is ‘top.’  Idiot.”  Actually, “idiot” was just implied. First of all, I appreciate your constructive criticism, Ms. Mindy J. Hopkins at 12319 W. 24^th, Spokane, WA 97218, especially as it relates to enhancing my communication skills with non-guys.  You see, I thought I’d made real progress years ago when I transitioned from using the term “girl’s shirt” to “blouse.”  It was about the same time I actually used the term “top,” apparently before it became official.  The response was less than optimal though when I said, “Hey, nice top!” and was nearly slapped.  Fortunately, I’d become conditioned to maintaining at least an arm’s-length from any woman with whom I was attempting casual conversation. I may have complicated the communication, however, by including the term “hubba hubba” or “oolala” -- as a compliment -- during this at-risk-male period of my life.  Somehow, I survived unscathed … except for the well-adjusted part. So, what I’m saying here is: I’ve checked it out, guys, and it’s probably okay now to go ahead and use the term “top” without wincing like a fast ball was headed straight for your face.  

Keep in mind that I may not be the best person for advice about style, but I’m always prepared with a defensive response if the topic arises. For example, when a wardrobe-conscious person says something to me like, “So, do you like that frumpy cardigan with elbow patches better than what’s in style?” I simply reply, “Yes, I call it ‘traditional.’”  Or, maybe I’ll say, “Yes, it’s a classic look … you know, ‘retro.’  They’re all the rage in Europe … well, RURAL Europe … and parts of Minnesota.  Don’t you read Q.G.? … uh, I mean “D.Q.” … yeah, don’t you read D.Q.?”  “Mmmm, I thought not.”

I can tell you there have been A LOT of changes in style since my day.  For example, basketball outfits.  Players used to wear really short shorts … the kind that looked pretty much like Jockey briefs from a distance … or Fruit of the Looms to some of you.  Plus, they’d wear these airy sleeveless jerseys … the kind that would come in handy in future years when you start filling them out with a gut while sitting in front of the TV, watching sports, and thinking of your glory days.  They could also double as napkins, which was important so you wouldn’t have to get up quite as often … since no one stuck around the house to wait on you with that fetching new look you’d … “evolved.” 

And, what’s with the uniforms basketball players are wearing nowadays?  They’re like these long silky “shorts” that really aren’t.  I mean, if they went to Catholic school when I was growing up, these baggy numbers would have passed the skirt-length test if the nuns made you kneel on the floor. In fact, they kind of look like the old culottes that young women used to wear that looked like a skirt but were actually pants that hung like a skirt … sorta like that.  And underneath, these big players appear to be wearing what looks like Spanx … although I, for one, have trouble discerning the slimming effect.  Maybe it just gives them something to talk about during half-time. Seems odd in this day and age that young guys have become so much more modest than their AARP counterparts were in their day.  Still, it’s probably a good idea not to yell “Bunch of SISSIES!” when attending games … unless you can quickly blame it on someone who isn’t paying attention because they’re reliving their glory days in their heads. 

Let’s bird walk into international style and I’ll give you a few more tips. We traveled to France a couple of years ago and ended the trip in Nice on the French Riviera.  I’ve been looking forward to this all my life because of the … well, topless beaches.  You know, from an historical point of view, of course … different cultuuures … and all very natural and healthy.  But let me warn the guys in the audience: don’t waste good money on a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses since toplessness is “passe’” now.  Apparently has been for quite some time, but nobody bothered to mention it to me, thankyouverymuch.  And I found that the few women who did go topless were generally about my age or older … perhaps for a “traditional” or “classic/retro” look. Yeah. But the really disappointing part was: Guys-Wearing-Speedos.  VERY popular on the Riviera these days, regardless of age.  Ugh…. So, if you’re going to Nice and searching for something exciting to look at, you might want to consider one of their fine Renaissance museums with marble statues.

 

And finally, I’m going to go out on a limb here and offer you guys a final tidbit of advice.  If you happen to receive an email from Ms. Mindy J. Hopkins saying, “Who uses the term “skirt” or “pants” anymore??!!  I believe the current term is ‘bottom.’” Don’t fall for it!  Next thing you know, you’ll be telling somebody at work, “Hey, nice bottom!”  Call me old fashioned, but I just have a BAAAD feeling about this one.

Happy to help, guys.

L. Vuitton Haymond