What’s Right Under Your Nose, Spread Like Wildfire Across The Globe In Less Than A Century, Defines Over 50% Of Americans, Is A Multi-Billion Dollar Industry, And It’s History Is The History of The Twentieth Century In Microcosm?

Alright people it’s time to talk about a huge part of your life that you never discuss, namely, your T-Shirt.

That’s right you’ve got a bunch of them in your possession right now. (Side note, thanks spellcheck, I had forgotten that the word ‘possession’ was hogging all the ‘S’s these days) (Side note number 2, there is some guy howling outside my window right now.  Fortunately he’s alternating howls with ‘Hey!’.  He’s up to three howls and five hey!’s Jeez,what a weirdo.)  Now back to the subject at hand.

And you put your t-shirt on without even stopping to think about how massive a role t-shirts play on this great planet, our mother earth.

Here, this will help you begin to grasp the enormity of what I’m talking about.

Close your eyes.

Remember what most of the everyday people on the news last night were wearing.  

Remember what all the tribes who used to be nude are now wearing.  

Remember what your friends were wearing last time you saw them.  

Remember what your family members were wearing last time you saw them.

Now imagine all the t-shirts on the entire planet just disappeared.

AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!

That should have been your response if you did the exercise properly.

Okay, now that you’re aware of the huge, gaping hole in your awareness, allow me to fill it.  (No, that last sentence doesn’t prove I’m a pervert, it proves you’re a pervert.)

First, brief history: T-shirts, as we Americans know them today, actually started as undergarments in France.  Do not share this fact with anyone who has ever uttered the words “Freedom Fries.”

Actually, historians can trace strained relations between Americans and French back to World War I, when American soldiers got all jealous because they had scratchy shirts and European soldiers had nice soft shirts under their uniforms, making them comfortable, jolly and less murderous.  Unfortunately, soldiers are supposed to be murderous, so this explains a few things about French military history, doesn’t it?  (Disclaimer: not all of the “facts” you are reading have been well-documented.)

Obviously t-shirts came back to the US with the soldiers.  However, they remained underwear until some seriously cool guys started doing a real half-assed job of getting dressed.  Yeah, I’m talking about James Dean, Marlon Brando and John Wayne.  When they started running around in just a t-shirt, it became officially “OK” for everyone else to follow suit. 

Couple more facts to round out the history lesson:

It’s called a t-shirt because of it’s shape when laid out flat. BORING!

It was first called a t-shirt in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel, This Side of Paradise.  I know, you never read anything by F. Scott Fitzgerald, I can’t help that you are inherently flawed.

(Side note – Matt Bacak just tweeted me directly, and I’m blushing so furiously, that I actually feel like my head is pressurized.  Dang it!  I’m now too nervous to respond to him in any coherent manner, so I’m just going to keep clicking the refresh button until so much time has passed any response becomes moot.  If you want to know more about that follow me on Twitter)

Where were we….. ah, yes…..The term t-shirt was first included in the English dictionary in 1920.  That’s correct, hasn’t even been 100 years, just further evidence that you were right all along — time is speeding up!

In the 1960’s t-shirts became part of the protest movement, then big clothing companies realized the market potential of t-shirts and now, today, you’re more than likely a walking billboard.

(Side note: The sounds coming from outside my window can no longer be classified as even remotely human.  What the heck?!  That settles it, I’m going to finish typing the rest of this blog while safely hidden under my covers.  The lack of fresh oxygen will probably help reduce all the side notes.  Right? Didn’t someone once release a study showing increased levels of carbon dioxide in the blood lead to greater focus?)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we’re still discussing t-shirts.

And this brings me to my main point — the t-shirts I was thinking about a few minutes ago.

First we have my current favorite t-shirt.  Someone gave it to me at least seven years ago, but I hardly ever wear it.  See, it used to be too big on me and now that it fits, I’m simply reminded of me in the past, which skews my view of me in the present, which doesn’t bode well for me in the future.  You understand, don’t you?

Here’s a close up of the image on the front.

I don’t know why, but I currently love it.

(Side note: It has smelled like mashed potatoes in my bathroom all day, which leaves me vaguely worried.  I’m blaming my neighbors for that, because I blamed them for the cigarette smell in my kitchen earlier today and I like to stick with what works.  After all, that’s what all the gurus tell me to do, stick with what works.)

Second, we have what I consider to be the weirdest t-shirt I own.  I found this shirt on the floor of the Phoenix Theater after a concert.  So I’ve owned this one for around 14 years.  I’ve never worn it and never will.  If you take a look at the picture, you should understand why.  Strangely, I cannot bring myself to get rid of it.

Here are some close-up views.  Since I don’t have a camera, other than Photo Booth on my Mac, I had to take a few different shots in order for all the printing to be legible.

I personally do not understand where Jesus and Budweiser come together, but I have a sick feeling that well over 73% of the American population totally gets it.

The previous shirt reminds me of the 3rd shirt we’ll be showcasing here, and that is the most recent t-shirt I have taken ownership of, a gift from my most devoted follower.

He sent it to me because it made him laugh, and therefore reminded him of me. (That’s right, I bring laughter to his otherwise joyless shadow of an existence.)

Recently I ran into a shirt that made me laugh and reminded me of him.  So wanting to take good care of my number one fan, I shipped it off.

Yep, he’s a huge Scrabble nerd, and CAZIQUES is the highest scoring word ever played in a Scrabble game.

Unfortunately, I sent it to the wrong address and it was returned to the company.  I only found out when they sent me an email letting me know they had refunded my money.

Now, I sent the shirt as a surprise and on a whim, so the second I had to follow up and find out what happened, it was no longer a surprise and became too much work to be considered a whim anymore.  Therefore, I decided to just send my faithful disciple a link to the shirt, explaining what happened, and hoping that the thought is what would count in this instance.

This is the part where you come in dear reader, I am taking a poll, the results of which I will abide by, determining whether or not I should still gift the shirt to my most loyal student.

 

I actually would like to bring up a lot more on the subject of t-shirts, such as did you ever have one of those t-shirts that changed color when you wore it because of your body heat, or did you know I have this shirt with alien space ships on it, and when you rub them just right the shirt says things like “Take me to your leader” and “Greetings Earthling”, or what ever happened to guys in half-shirts, especially net half-shirts, remember those?

But as it’s turning into more of an eBook instead of a blog post, I leave you with two t-shirts I find absolutely hilarious and a link to the website I found them on.

 

Best part is the tag on the picture of a t-shirt says META

 

Yeah, nature abhors a vacuum.

  I found these under Socially Awkward Tees.  Here’s their site.

http://store.cottonfactory.com/aaaviewall.html

Laughter, Repulsion, Regret – Just Another Sunday Afternoon

Upon walking into the grocery store today I remembered that I don’t have to subject myself to the madness that is Sunday shopping.  I immediately turned around, walked out, and took myself across the street to the nearest restaurant.

(I find it very freeing every time I re-awaken to the fact that I can change my plans at any moment and wing it as I go along.)

Allow me to paint the picture: I’m sitting in a booth, reading a book which is so hilarious, it’s hardly conducive to eating.  Across the room to my left is the bar, where local patrons are gathered watching sports on TV.  Immediately behind and to the left of me is the hostess station where all the menus are stored.

Right around the time I’m feeling grateful that everyone is too caught up in themselves to notice that I keep spitting food across the table every time I laugh, I suddenly become aware that someone is yelling loudly and agressively.

I look up in time to see a giant shove aside a table and launch himself at a little preppy dude at the the bar, whose head was just slightly bigger than the giant’s fist.  At the last second a short, yet still extremely large woman, threw herself in between and managed to hold off the giant by yelling almost as loudly as he was yelling, refusing to stand down, and eventually getting through to him as he left the restaurant without killing the now very pale, little preppy dude.

As I was already in a state of high merriment, I observed the entire altercation with amused interest, and quickly returned to my book once it was clear no actual violence would ensue.

Now remember, the hostess station is directly behind me, actually connected to my booth.  Why should you remember?  So you understand when 3 seconds later I become aware of someone standing right behind and beside me, speaking to themselves in a voice that’s very easy for me to hear.  So easy to hear, in fact, that I couldn’t ignore it, as much as I wanted to.

Alright, at this point, I suppose I have to mention that the aforementioned giant was African American and the woman standing behind me, restocking the menus at the hostess station was a grizzled old hag, with blond hair, who although she had only been alive for a mere 50+ years, managed to look and sound as though she had been smoking unfiltered whiskey-soaked Pall Malls for at least two millennia.

Her gravelly, phlegm-rattled voice caressed my ear with her venom:

“G**-damned stupid f***ing n****rs.  That’s right I said it. And I don’t care.  Stupid f***ing n****rs.”

It was at this exact moment that the I finally joined the rest of the dining room in experiencing the tension and nastiness of the moment.

Perhaps she didn’t see herself as being racist and simply thought she was being observant and applying the appropriate descriptive terms to the situation.  I however, just found it to be so profoundly racist, ignorant, primitive, un-professional, distasteful, offensive, un-sophisticated, un-civilized, and neanderthal, that I was put completely off my lunch and quickly gave up on having any more fun in that locale.

I closed my book and summoned the waitress asking for a check and a manager.

Fast forward a few minutes.  I’m looking around for anyone to take my money, when I glance back over at the bar, where the little preppy dude is now commiserating with the other customers and two friends, one of which I make direct eye contact with.

After we stare at each other briefly he quickly turns to his friends and says

“Dude, that chick over there…” And at that point I couldn’t make out what he was saying.  But each of his buddies said no to whatever he was saying, and he insisted yes and the other two started turning around in their chairs and looking at me.  I caught the words “I’m telling you…” and “by her a drink,” while I furiously pretended to not notice them noticing me.

The reason I’m describing this is because, two days ago, I was on the front page of the River Oaks Examiner and it was only as I gathered my belongings and rushed out, that I began to wonder if they recognized me from my enormous picture in the newspaper.

Unfortunately at that point, I felt it was too late to go back and find out, in any sort of nonchalant, cool way.  This filled me with regret.

I have found it is always fun to be recognized by strangers when it’s for something you’re proud of and only happens once in a while.

More importantly, it would have made me feel like someone other than myself and the twenty people I hand delivered and personally read the article to, had noticed it.

I think it was probably for the best, as I don’t drink and it really seemed they couldn’t agree that it was me.  Not surprising since I was wearing sweats and my dorky florescent green sweatshirt.  All of this suggests I most likely didn’t look quite as good in person.  I mean, it was a super great picture of me that got printed.

I guess the moral of the story is, when you write about every day stuff in your blog, you have no clever way to wrap it all up.

The Speaking Tube Beneath My Tub

Today I discovered when I sit in my empty bathtub, it’s as if someone accidentally installed a speaking tube under it instead of a drain pipe.  In other words, I can hear every word my neighbors are saying inside their apartment.

This afternoon their conversation centered around marijuana and how it should be legal.  Due to the irate nature of the rant, and the fact that it went on for well over half an hour, without anyone losing the thread of what they were talking about, I have come to the conclusion that this particular subject was brought on by a lack of marijuana created by a lack of funds.

For some reason, my favorite bit was the following stated vehemently and adamantly:

“The government isn’t a corporation!  They can’t make money!  What does the government sell that people want?!  Nothing!  That’s what!”

While I was sorely tempted to put my mouth against the bathtub drain and shout “Down with The Man!” I did not have the guts to test whether or not the speaking tube went both ways.  However, I’m pretty sure it does.

No matter how hard I pray that sound is like heat and only travels upward, I have no choice but to assume that if I can hear every word they’re saying, they can hear every word I’m saying. Or singing, as in this case, we’re talking about the bathtub/shower.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of hell my neighbors are living in, as there are two things I consistently do in the shower, every day.

1. Sing I’ve Been Working On The Railroad

2. Laugh, chuckle, guffaw.

I don’t know why but I never tire of singing I’ve Been Working On The Railroad.  It doesn’t matter what time of day I’m showering, when I sing that, I feel as if I’m up early and working hard.  And it’s as if I’ve been working hard for forty years straight, which fills me with a sense of deep accomplishment and pride at my massive contribution to society.

I also like to sing certain verses with what I imagine to be a Jewish New York accent.

But the most important part is to sing the very last line, “strumming on the old banjo” as loud as I possibly can.  I’m trying to reach the level of volume where I can feel my whole skull vibrate.

It’s a thrill I’m addicted to.

As far as the incessant chuckling and laughing, it’s pretty straight forward – being in the shower makes all kinds of funny things pop into my head.

In the end you’re probably wondering why I was sitting in an empty tub.  The answer is – I was spying on the neighbors of course!

Helping That Nigerian Move His Money Through My Bank Account Finally Paid Off

Not really.  But I did get my hands on some Nigerian money a couple of days ago.

As you can see it’s 500 Naira.  That’s about $4 US Dollars.  According to my research*, the average Nigerian yearly income is $1036.  So I basically have an average days wages plus 100 Naira.  These 500 Naira bills weren’t minted until 2001, so it’s not a very old bill.  Still it’s been so many places that I never have.

It has an oil platform on the back because Nigeria is oil rich.  Nigeria also has tons of natural gas, as well as great soil and climate for growing things.  However because of the corruption there, they actually torch the natural gas and vast amounts of land go un-used agriculturally speaking.

Now a lot of the information I found was from the 1990’s so there’s a chance that the corruption isn’t quite as wide spread.  But it’s still highly likely that my 500N bill was used as a “dash” at least once and more likely countless times.

What’s a dash you ask?  A bribe, I answer.

For instance, the police there are underpaid and so they have a quaint custom of setting up roadblocks, (I read an account of a guy who drove through 17 roadblocks on one road).  You slow down, the cop comes over, sticks his elbow in your window, so you can’t drive away, and asks “Have anything for me today?” You hand him 20N and move along.

In the cities, a good paying job brings in 30,000N per month, which is about $200.

Along with roadblocks and some of the worst traffic in the world, on your daily commute you’ll most likely see orphaned/abandoned children and a dead body or two.

You’re probably going to get malaria, diahrrea, and meet one or two people whose children proceed to die of cholera, if you visit for more than a few days.

But you might get to see some really cool rocks.  Especially one that reminds me of Devils Tower.

Zuma Rock

Olumo Rock

Riyom Rock

If you want to know more about Nigeria, just ask me because I somehow managed to spend 5 hours researching it.

I leave you with my favorite Nigerian Proverbs.  I encourage you to apply them liberally in your life.

He who pursues an innocent chicken always stumbles.

One cannot go back to the farmer from whom one borrowed seed-yams to plant to say that the beetles have eaten up the seed-yams.

A man who is trampled to death by an elephant is a man who is blind and deaf.

*Footnote for asterisk at beginning of post: really such a great beginning to a sentence as it sounds so credible at first blush, and only upon further rumination is it obvious that I’m merely citing myself!

Bet You Can’t See This One Coming

(Vaughn do not read this one)

Wow!
Okay.
Heard a lot of stories last night but this one pretty much topped them all.  It started when someone called up their friend Phil to wish him happy new year.  Phil apparently lives somewhere far away so he couldn’t make it to the party.  I don’t know anything about Phil, I just hear his voice coming through the phone as the person he’s talking to has put it on speaker phone so I can listen in.

And Phil begins his New Years Eve Story.

Phil: See, this was back when I was sixteen or seventeen.  Yeah, I was sixteen.  It was New Years Eve and I was at a party with my girlfriend, Cher.  A little before midnight we went upstairs to this room so we could be alone. And we’re laying on the bed kissing, and talking, gazing into each others eyes.  It was this amazing moment, because she was the first serious girlfriend I had, and the first girl that I fell in love with who I had also had sex with.  I was completely overwhelmed, just feeling so great, laying there looking into her eyes.

So I said “I’m completely in love with you.  I’ve never been this in love with anyone.”

And she said “I think we should see other people.”

At this point there are many “Awww”‘s and “poor Phil”s and “that’s rough man” coming from myself and the other person listening to this story coming out of the phone.  We continue to commiserate with Phil as he goes on to wrap up his story.

Phil: So a few minutes later it’s midnight and everyone at the party is hooting and hollering, cheering, lighting off fireworks, kissing and singing.  I’m standing out on the porch screaming to the heavens “Why did you do this to me?” Literally just yelling as loud as I can.  “Why?”  I just can’t believe it of course because I thought Cher felt the same way.  Then I look over and see her standing with some people, one of which is her best friend Steve.  So I walk over, grab Steve, bring him upstairs, and fuck him.

(Sound of a record needle scratch) My response: Wait, what?!  Did you just say that you took her best friend Steve upstairs and had sex with him?

Phil: Yeah!  I was really pissed at her.

At this point the conversation is just us laughing and saying holy crap, what a story, you really fucked her best friend, etc.

Phil laughing: Yeah, I did.  We ended up getting back together though two weeks later.

Wait, what?  They got back together?!

Phil continues: We got back together a couple of weeks later and we went out to this party.  While we were there we picked up this other guy, took him home and had a threesome with him.  But while we were fooling around she noticed that I was paying way more attention to him then to her.  So she stops, gets up and says “Um…it’s seems like you’re more into him then me, do you want me to just leave you guys alone?”  And I just look directly at her and say “Yeah.”  So she left and I never saw her again.   Hahaahahaha. Payback.

Wait, so they got back together and then he ditched her during a threesome?

And that was the end of the best New Year’s Story I heard last night.  Definitely didn’t see any of that coming.

Bet you didn’t either.