I had a massive celebrity crush on Angela Cartwright when I was a lad.
I was out for a walk this morning when I came to a corner. I was about to proceed down the street when I a noted a figure walking towards me. In such a circumstance one can usually ascertain rather quickly whether the approaching biped is male or female, tall or small, perhaps even whether they are old or young. I couldn’t. It baffled me. I thus held my ground perplexed by this fellow pedestrian and wondering about her/him/them. As the figure neared I still could make no determination about gender, height or age. Not wanting to be standing still on a corner as the person walked right up to me, but still perplexed, I crossed the street to watch from that vantage point.
It was not until the person was almost directly across from me that I was able to sort out what I’d been looking at. It was a short person with facial hair wearing a man’s polo shirt, a woman’s skirt and platform heels most likely designed for women. Atop the person’s head was a large turban made of indeterminate material though I don’t believe it was what usually comprises said headwear.
To each his or her or their own, I say. I offer no other judgment on whether a person should be allowed to wear this, that or the other. But I daresay it was an odd combination and no wonder I couldn’t make out what exactly I was seeing. The individual in question was wearing clothes generally ascribed to both men and women. The combination of the platform shoes and the turban made determining height difficult. Also the shoes contributed to his/her/their awkward gait. It did not appear the person had been walking in such shoes for very long.
Again, vive la différence, say I. But I also feel entitled to render an opinion purely on stylistic merits. He/she/they looked ridiculous. I don’t mean to suggest that a person should not combine men’s and women’s clothes, do as you will. But this chap (chapatte?) did not pull said look off. Similarly I once saw a young father lifting a child into a carseat at a supermarket parking lot. Dad was wearing a dress. He also had a long beard. Do what you want buddy but a beard and dress work no better together than polka dots and stripes. My opinion, of course.
(What? You approve of stripes and polka dots? Me, I lean perhaps to the matchy-matchy).
Before I further offend anyone I will move on to another topic….
In my last post (thanks for all your cards, letters and telegrams in praise of it) I picked apart a few words that are over-used. Here’s another: tirelessly.
“Bob Politician has worked tirelessly for the people of this city and deserves our vote in November.” Hunh? How hard can you work if you never get tired? What the hell does that mean, anyway? You don’t get tired? What, you’re a machine? Whenever I’ve worked hard I’ve gotten tired. That’s the way it works. If Bob is working “tirelessly” then he’s a slacker. Come on, Bob, pick up the pace.
Here’s a word I don’t get: shibboleth. Oh I know what it means. It’s a custom or practice, usually of a particular group, that has become outmoded. But look at that word. Here’s how it looks like it should be used: “the ancient Visigoths fashioned shibboleths or fighting clubs out of oak with which to smite their opponents in battle.”
Come on you're telling me that s-h-i-b-b-o-l-e-t-h is a word for a custom or principle? No way. That’s a weapon. Somebody’s got to get around to fixing that.
Speaking of fixing things. We need to switch the cities of Strasbourg and Cologne. What the hell is Strasbourg doing in France and Cologne in Germany? A classic case of switched at birth.
I’ve been listening to a greatest hits album while writing this and recalled that someone I knew once said he hated the group. I always find it odd when someone tells you that they dislike or hate something you enjoy. Do they imagine that you’ll thus feel shame and renounce the musician or group for good and all? But the best example of this was in college when a fellow student who was a friend of one of my roomies was at our house and he looked through my record collection (you kids will have to Google "records"). After doing so he pronounced, “you have lousy taste in music.” I always thought the guy was an idiot and so was totally unfazed. But it was even odder than saying you don’t like a particular performer. A whole collection of performers? That’s pretty damning and again I wonder at the end game.
For the record (pun not initially intended but gladly accepted) those albums included ones by The Beatles, The Who, Rod Stewart, David Bowie and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Not too shabby to most people of my generation.
Opinions…am I right?