I'm Working On The Railroad, I Dig Away The Time

Man, I forgot about this. The following pictures are of a Lionel train layout that I built in my room in high school. I set this up a couple years at Christmas, and it was kind of an engineering feat as it was only about 4' by 6', but got a decent run in by having much of the track run under my bed at the time. 

Looking back, I managed to cram a decent amount into this little layout. The town, some operating accessories, two separate loops of track and two sidings; I think I did alright.

The unfortunate part is that these are the only pictures of it I managed to save. Somewhere there's some video and supposedly some pictures my grandfather took but I have no idea where to find that. 

Speaking of which, my grandfather was actually pretty impressed by how I designed the thing. It was built with extensions on either side that folded up on hinges to make it easy to put away. 

There's also no going back and setting it up, either. My room is no more; my mom converted it to a craft workshop sometime after I moved into my grandparents' place. And I've been setting up the big layout my grandfather and I used to when I was a kid. I think I featured that in at least one post here on the blorg. 

When Did I Bury My Dreams Of Running?

Y'know, it's funny how things change. The following playlists are New Stuff CDs 9 and 10, which, heh heh, have never been commited to an actual CD (as is true for about half of these playlists of mine) thanks to iPods. Specifically, my iPod which no longer functions. I mean, it plays just fine and everything, but the controls are completely shot. Poor thing. I got it during Tekko 2012? 2013? Somewhere around there. Now it sits aside my computer desk gathering dust - and I use my phone to listen to music.

But it doesn't stop there. I'm working in Cranberry, I drive a Ford, I pretty much officially quit smoking, I've lived to see B&LE 643 preserved (somehow) and instead of moving to the South Side I've taken over my grandfather's house. He passed away in 2017.

So yeah, things are not the same as they were when I started this blog, and furthet changed from the blog's heyday. But somehow, I have ended up with some new music. It's one of the few things that hasn't changed - I still manage to find some interesting stuff out there, even though it's less from WYEP these days, and often just random stuff from online - either YouTube or especially Bandcamp these days. And yes I'm still picking up stuff on vinyl. 

So I guess I could play some catch-up. 

New Stuff 9
1. Dancehall Domine - The New Pornographers
2. Break! Break! Tic! Tac! - Satellite Young
3. Only Time - LoFi Delphi*
4. Digital Witness - St. Vincent
5. Lemon Eyes - Meg Myers
6. The Great Unknown - Jukebox The Ghost
7. Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating In The Future - Mike Doughty
8. Science Of A Situation - Pet Clinic*
9. Sedona - Houndmouth
10. 4th And Roebling - The Districts
11. Trying - Bully
12. Kismet Kill - Haley Bonar
13. Pretty Pimpin' - Kurt Vile
14. Outta My Mind - The Arcs
15. Avant Gardener - Courtney Barnett
16. Bury Our Friends - Sleater-Kinney
17. Archie, Marry Me - Alvvays
18. Wildfire - The Mynabirds
19. Shelter Song - Temples
20. Heaven Knows - First Aid Kit

New Stuff 10
1. Big Train - Mike Watt
2. It's A Hit - Rilo Kiley**
3. Something New - Nevada Color*
4. Lightning Bolt - Jake Bugg
5. Gardenia - Iggy Pop
6. Seether - Veruca Salt
7. Ex's & Oh's - Elle King
8. The Party Line - Belle & Sebastian
9. Hitohira No Hanabira - Stereopony
10. Happy Alone - Saintseneca
11. Vaporize - Broken Bells
12. Holiday - Happy Mondays
13. The Distance - Cake
14. Numb - Gary Clark Jr.
15. A Little Evil - Phantom Blue
16. WHat Kind Of Man - Florence & The Machine
17. Into The Black - Chromatics
18. Ambulance Chaser - Triggers*
19. Long Time - Blondie

* All local bands - although I'm having a problem tracking down any official site or anything for Triggers, so if someone could drop a link that would be helpful.
** Ahura Mazdah, is this a blast from the past. I remember watching this in the cafeteria at Penn-Ken. Unfortunately it's mosly an anti-Bush screed, but the music is pretty and the musc video was kinda cool. Oh well. 

Up In Your Arms, Too Late To Beg You

Okay, so one morning last winter, my sister needed a hand cleaning her pet bunny's cage. She asked me to hold Nittany for a few minutes. In the immortal words of Jeremy Clarkson, "What could possibly go wrong?"

Well, this.

One minute Nitt is sitting in my arms calm as can be, and the next she's up on my shoulders! Then again, she's always liked to do that. Hence Brie's former Facebook profile image below. Yarr. 

(As an aside, the title lyrics are from 'The Killing Moon' by Echo & the Bunnymen, hence Brie naming her first bunny Echo.) 

And I Know It's My Fault, Cause I Opened Up The Vault

So it's the end of the year, and here is where the most played list on my iPod stands now (starting with most played):

1. 13 MPH And I'm Speeding - McFadden's Parachute
2. The Writing's On The Wall - OK Go
3. Lemon Eyes - Meg Myers
4. Half Asleep - School Of Seven Bells
5. Game Of Pricks - Guided By Voices
6. Sedona - Houndmouth
7. Kill Your Television - Ned's Atomic Dustbin
8. Sample and Hold - Neil Young
9. Bullet In The Brain - The Black Keys
10. Waterfall - Ex Hex
11. Rolling Down The Hills - Glass Candy
12. Poker Face - Lady Gaga
13. Zesshou - Lolita Dark
14. Exo-Politics - Muse
15. Archie, Marry Me - Alvvays
16. Dreams - The Cranberries
17. Destroy Everything You Touch - Ladytron
18. I Follow You - Melody's Echo Chamber
19. Endless Shore - Melody's Echo Chamber
20. Mind's Eye - The Myrrors
21. Shift Operator - Obits
22. Feather Of Forgiveness - Polvo
23. Clocks - Coldplay
24. 4th And Roebling - The Districts
25. My Valuable Hunting Knife - Guided By Voices

I Am A Scientist, I Seek To Understand Me, All Of My Impurities And Evils Yet Unknown

GBV! GBV! GBV! Dayton, OH's own indie and lo-fi rock demigods Guided By Voices have racked up quite an impressive tally of albums thanks to lead singer Robert Pollard's inability not to write songs; and the two albums that put them on the map in a big way were the '94 Bee Thousand and '95 Alien Lanes. I really don't think they had any finer documents of their sound besides these two albums - at least until the vaunted original lineup reunited in 2011.

This is where it began for so many music fans and for me as well. Bee Thousand got the band noticed, by an order of magnitude greater than the previous albums Propeller (1991) and Vampire On Titus (1993) had. The lineup isn't quite represented in a solidified form, as some of the tracks are home recordings made years earlier. Really, the group largely worked like a collective before this album, with informal meets to rock out in various members' basements and garages; whoever showed up to play got a chance. The usual suspects are all here: Robert Pollard on vocals and some guitar; Tobin Sprout on vocals, guitar, bass guitar, and piano; Mitch Mitchell on guitar; Greg Demos on bass guitar; and Kevin Fennel on drums. Others, who came and went on the early recordings are Robert's brother Jim Pollard, and also Dan Toohey on bass guitar; Don Thrasher on drums, and Randy Campbell on backing vocals. Funny thing - this album almost didn't get made since Pollard considered breaking up the band after Propeller's middling success; and the disc had several proposed track listings which variously included about 30 additional tracks that largely didn't see the light of day until the 10th anniversary 'Director's Cut' version of the album. The version I own is the recent Scat Records re-pressing of the original track listing, in a very nice gatefold. So how should I try to explain one of the greatest indie rock albums of all time to my readers? Dunno, but I'll attempt to anyway!

What I Liked:

First of all, you have to understand what the lo-fi aesthetic means to certain people. For those making records this way, often it means that the record gets made at all. Others have found that the sound has a certain, unique character. One of the early GBV records (Sandbox, I think) was in fact done clean and polished in a proper studio, and Pollard found the sound far too sterile for his tastes. By comparison, Bee Thousand has a sort of earthy, pleasantly janky honesty to it's weird echoes, unavoidable bits of feedback and distortion, and occasional glitches (e.g. the guitar dropping out on 'Hardcore UFOs'). But all by itself, this vintage home-movie aesthetic wouldn't be enough to lift this record to the prominent position it holds in my collection. Robert Pollard has such a knack for penning wildly out-there lyrics that seem to be an enigma yet to be comprehended or layers to be peeled away (as opposed to a Dylan-esque word salad). He doubles down by pairing that with truly fine power pop (often like The Who or possibly The Rolling Stones; but with a fair amount of post-British Invasion garage and psychedelia blended in) melodies and killer power riffs - e.g. 'Hardcore UFOs', 'Gold Star For Robot Boy'. This is balanced with Tobin Sprout's contributions of more gentle, intimate acoustic-driven tracks with hints of Lennon/McCartney-esque lyrics ('Awful Bliss', Ester's Day). While it's a very garage-rock sounding record, in the end it's the emotional resonance that makes this record work. It's a difficult mood to describe, but the feeling of a complete flight of fancy takes root in a lot of the tracks. It's somehow a very daydreamy, or uplifting record at times! Some of the tracks paint vivid pictures ('Peep-Hole', 'Hot Freaks') while others just beg to be given a meaning or be deciphered (the majority, but especially 'Tractor Rape Chain' and 'The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory'). Even so, king on this record is possibly Pollard's greatest achievement, 'I Am A Scientist'. With echoey guitars, a riff that exudes memorability and coolness, and a delightfully enigmatic set of lyrics that I've always felt to be the definitive statement on the complexity of the human condition. A glowing description, I know; but seriously, just listen to it already and tell me I'm not on to something. When so much of this album is so intriguing and nothing short of a treat for the ears, singling out best songs seems rather unnecessary. 

What I Didn't Like:

There's so little, but in a few spots, anarchy seems a bit dominant; see 'A Big Fan Of The Pigpen', 'Her Psychology Today', and the slide whistle (or something) that disrupts 'Demons Are Real'. Besides that, things that would detract from the sound for almost any other band manage to add to the charm of this disc, as I described above. It's very counterintuitive.

In Conclusion:

Look, it's high on lists of great albums for a reason. The title of this post uses lyrics from 'I Am A Scientist' because I couldn't think of anything more fitting. It's a fantastic listen, and unless you end up with more than one GBV album in your possession, you'll never hear anything like it. Everyone, and I mean everyone, should hear this once. 

One year later, GBV found themselves in a contract with Matador Records for the follow-up to Bee Thousand. With the lineup consisting primarily of Pollard, Sprout, and Fennel, and partially of Demos, Mitchell, Toohey, Jim Pollard, Larry Keller, Gary Phillips and (future rock critic) Jim Greer, the band (such as it was!) delivered Alien Lanes, a more consistent record with a little bit more to chew on - both in length and depth of ideas. Greer would report in his GBV biography that the advance Matador gave the band was close to the six-figure mark, while the cost to actually record Alien Lanes was about ten bucks (beer doesn't count). So how does $99,990 worth of PBR sound What do I think of it? Read on! For reference, this is the Matador 20th anniversary release, and I suspect it may now be out of print.

What I Liked:
Still utilizing the same weatherbeaten sound, GBV puts out a record with more consistency, and Robert Pollard brings his songwriting to a more mature and complex level with this album - as far as iI know, none of these recordings are rescued from ten-year-old tapes; Alien Lanes was the first major GBV album to be recorded in one go. And I mean that literally - most of GBV's tracks are first or second takes. One of the advantages of this approach is that earnest undercurrent that much of their best material possesses. Moving from Bee Thousand to Alien Lanes, the boys bring out a blend of harder rock and far more jangly power pop that's unmistakable. It's probably best exemplified by 'Motor Away', the hard-rocking super-upbeat linchpin of the album; immediately preceding is 'Auditorium', which presents a nice lead-in and the change between the two is delightful mood whiplash. 'Blimps Go 90', 'Closer You Are', 'A Good Flying Bird' and probably 'Little Whirl' are some of the most pleasant pop gems I've ever heard - perhaps a bit fluffy, but decidedly nice. The epic 'King And Caroline' and loomingly martial 'Striped White Jets' provide some depth and danger. Meanwhile, 'Game Of Pricks' and 'My Valuable Hunting Knife' hits some of the relatability and vulnerability of 'I Am A Scientist' on the last disc. Pollard begins to assemble a real collection of mature and insightful lyrics. Opener 'A Salty Salute' and closing quasi-instrumental 'Alright' make nice bookends for the experience with very similar sounds (and the former being a legit tribute to the drunks of the world!). It's certainly the equal of Bee Thousand, and taking the two together is probably the best introduction to GBV possible.

What I Didn't Like:
'They're Not Witches' and "Chicken Blows' don't sound finished (always a danger with GBV) and 'The Ugly Vision' (how apt) sounds too slow for this disc. And the two real shorties, 'Hit' and 'Gold Hick' are both rather bizarre, even thought they're listenable. Oh, and whoever slept through 'Ex-Supermodel' should drink more coffee.

In Conclusion:
A second fantastic album from the Dayton boys and a most worthy follow-up to Bee Thousand. If you're going to listen to one, there's no reason not to hear the other. What more can I say about Alien Lanes that I haven't already said about Bee Thousand?

It Took Me Years To Write, Will You Take A Look?

This is my all-time greatest reading list. If it's here, I recommend it.

The Hobbit, The Lord Of The Rings, and The Silmarillion, in that order and on occasional repeat - J. R. R. Tolkien

The Harry Potter series - J. K. Rowling

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo novels - Stieg Larsson

Patton: Ordeal And Triumph - Ladislas Farago

Two Treatises Of Civil Government - John Locke (important stuff)

The Fatal Conceit - Friedrich Hayek (more important stuff)

The DaVinci Code - Dan Brown

Any Terry Pratchett Discworld novel featuring the City Watch: Guards! Guards!, Men At Arms, Feet Of Clay, The Fifth Elephant, Night Watch, and Thud!

Robert Lynn Asprin's Myth Adventures series

Mossflower - Brian Jacques (the best of the Redwall series, IMHO)

The first four novels of Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series (I don't recall reading beyond that)

V For Vendetta - Alan Moore and David Lloyd (if you don't mind a graphic novel [i.e. comics])

Watchmen - Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (ditto [same])

This Here's A Story 'Bout The House Rent Blues

"I'm terribly sorry, Toby old chap, but you're ineligible for unemployment being that you're, well... a locomotive."

So I was laid off from my most recent job (a temp assignment in Murrysville) a couple weeks ago. That's not a good feeling, especially with student loans to keep up with. Worse still, I had really gotten to like the place and especially the people there. But I will say one thing with certainty: Of the two jobs I had previously left behind, I will never go back to either of them under any circumstances.

Yes, I started out, like so many other vaguely fresh-faced young people working at McDonald's. One thing that was, however, different in my case was that I began after college. I left State College without having completed my degree, and without one jot of experience. (Looking back, a year of the place BEFORE college might have changed some things for me. I also think it would be wise to look for a small amount of job experience in college admissions, but hey - what do I know?) I think everyone can relate to the kind of suckage that such jobs seemingly consistently are, so I thin I'll pass on talking about most of it. My coworkers were the usual mix; mostly local high school kids and the like. There were some of the crew I liked and some I didn't; and the owners were good guys but with autocratic tendencies.

That said, what I got tired of fast was the customers. Most were fairly indifferent; and really, if any were outright nice people, there was no time to find out. But the bad ones, holy fucking shit. Typically the bad customers were just miserable, clueless (one time the nearest Wendy's had to close their drive-thru because some idiot managed to wreck into it, and so their customers came to us - and ORDERED WENDY'S MENU ITEMS.), or expected to get stuff for free (e.g. the wad that canceled his order because there was a 50-cent charge to add lettuce to his sandwich, and said rather loudly that he'd go to Wendy's because he'd get it for free, not factoring in that Wendy's is pricier...). But let me tell you, we had some real lunatics come though. Like the cranky old biddy who complained about yellow crap in the vanilla milkshake we served her. It turned out to be VANILLA SYRUP. Y'know, the actual FLAVOR. And she went on this rant about how we were all terrible at running the restaurant and how supposedly her 30s-ish son sitting there in the dining room right then could do better. Or the people who got MORE disappointed when we fixed their complaints. Yeah. That actually happened.

I finally got fed up with this crap, and found another job. In hindsight, the better option might have been politics, or maybe guerilla warfare. Mainly because said job turned out to be Leed's. What a beyond worthless, entire-family-fucking piece of ass crap waste-of-time company this turned out to be. Spoiler alert: I eventually walked out. I managed to piss away four years there on 50+ hour weeks and sometimes weekends. But worse - remember my complaints about the customers at McDonald's? Well, now I WORKED WITH THEM. Sure, I had some good coworkers, but all in all, most of them were lucky enough to move on or unlucky enough to get fired by the time I was done. And you wouldn't believe what it took to get rid of the bad ones. Especially when some of them were friends with a supervisor. I have said that I would refuse to go back even at gunpoint, and I mean it. Surely getting shot would be less painful.

But fortunately, there's a happy ending to this story. Sort of. For the time being, at least. I'm employed again and have returned to the job I lamented losing at the start of this essay (read: rant). I was ready to go to another assignment elsewhere in the Valley; everything was in by last Friday and we were just waiting on the company to respond. Monday, I get a call that the company that laid me off was looking for someone in a different department. I really struggled with such a short-notice decision, but in the end, I elected to return.

Climbing Up The Topsails, I Lost My Leg

This is why my favorite drinking holiday is Wednesday. Not this coming Wednesday, mind you, but Wednesdays in general. Mondays, too. Not many people out on those days. I don't have to worry about competing for a parking place or a spot at the bar, waiting long for post-drinks food, or squeezing through unruly, inebriated crowds while on my sober-up walk.

Of course, let the calendar plop a drinking holiday on a Tuesday and I'm sober for two weeks. Or would be, if I had thought this one through. I'm sitting at Dee's Cafe, listening to Rick Astley - of all people, Rick Fucking Astley* - and watching buzz-cut-headed bros sit on the covered pool tables in complete defiance of the notices placed by management. Amateur drunkards tend to clog the streets starting with the weekend before the holiday, and every night thereafter until the actual day after. That's what happened to me last Halloween - I decided to hit the bar on November 1st (unlike the previous Halloween, when I went down on the actual holiday, which was a clusterfuck in its own right) and was still greeted with dozens of goofballs in costume and having trouble holding their liquor.

Better yet, the ridiculous patronage means that the glassware Dee's is using has temporarily turned disposable and therefore contra-aesthetic, and I was hoping for a nice photo of my first drinks to head up a post I'm working on.

I consider myself one of those who approach their time hitting the bar with at least a little bit of reverence - ironically not unlike how the faithful among us seem to approach going to church on Sunday. I might even go so far as to say that going to the bar on a drinking holiday reminds me of my hometown church being bombarded with worshipers at Christmas and Easter services. I imagine that most Christians are glad to have so many willing to come worship (and simultaneously wondering how to persuade them to stick around the other 50 Sundays in the year); but for a reverent drunk a la Bogart's Richard Blaine, the swell of boisterous, Lite-swilling goofballs on drinking holidays can be vexing, to say the least. And they take up the pews - uh, I mean stools, that us regulars always, always claim when we arrive on normal visits.

It's rough watching amateur night at my favorite bars; if only 'amateur' still meant someone who does something out of the love of doing so. Perhaps they'd have learned something about drinking if they approached it that way. Inexperienced drinkers can be distracting at best and dangerous at worst - from their loss of spatial sense, indoor voice and personal boundaries to disregarding all the advice about getting behind the wheel while under the influence.

For those who want to enjoy drinking - who want to truly get good at it (as good as really is possible - I mean, seriously - drinking as a skill? Who could take the idea seriously, besides me and a few I know?), I would actually recommend drinking at home. If you want to drink on a holiday renowned for alcohol consumption, throw a party at your place and make sure you have enough room for people to crash. You're in a familiar place, with people you know, and if you or your guests aren't certain of their tolerance, spending the night there is your best option. It's safer. Besides, if you don't drive, more time to drink!

I also should lay out a few of my own ground rules for going to the bar. Proper reverence for a night out drinking and being merry starts with having a good idea of your tolerance. You do not want to blaspheme at the feet of the porcelain gods, as it were; or end up arrested for a DUI; or acquire the legit nickname of Duncan Drisorderly (I think there's a punk rocker who already goes by that anyway). Sure it rhymes, but it's no less true - beer before liquor, ever sicker; liquor before beer, never fear. If you arrived operating any motor vehicle with a steering apparatus (how you'd drive a GP30 to the bar**, I have no idea), you may even wish to avoid harder spirits altogether.

Once you start to feel it, stay calm. This might seem like a counterintuitive rule, but I grew up in a Presbyterian church and we're pretty placid in general, really. The last thing you want to do is get kicked out for being a drunken oaf, or piss off your fellow drinkers and the bartender. Just stay relaxed.

The last key rule is to tip well. You can tip every drink (i.e. 'keep the change') or wait until you head out, but never give a bartender a small tip. Be generous. You actually get better service when you tip well and regularly. Even better, thank the bartender as well. Sure, AC/DC says that money talks, but it's not really everything. A little human contact is always appreciated; bartenders are people first, not just alcohol dispensers.

I do have to admit that in the particular case of St. Patrick's Day, one detail that most people overlook, and does irk me, is some ignorance of the reason for wearing green. The symbolism of green does represent Irish republicanism, but all you have to do is look at the flag and learn why one-third is orange. Protestant followers of William III, King of England (who actually invaded England, deposed King James II, and won the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland), took his heraldic color of orange as one of their symbols in the religious conflicts of the time. In the flag itself, green can be taken to symbolize Catholics, and as stated the orange represents the Protestant minority; with the white being an appeal for peace between the two factions. As for myself, I'm pretty sure there's no Irish ancestry in me, so if you ever spot a guy wearing a t-shirt with either the Scottish or Welsh flag, it's probably me.

I should probably get out of here before it gets any crazier, but I sure wish some of my fellow bar patrons would read this and take a few pointers with them. Maybe I'd be more inclined to hang out with them on the weekend, instead of having to be the only guy at the bar at the beginning of the week.

* The reaction is more aimed at 1) the blatant violation of Rules 1 and 2, 2) the fact that Astley is British rather than Irish - specifically a Lancashire lad, and 3) that there does in fact exist the possibility that someone here tonight may be a legit fan.

** In the UK, this becomes 'driving a Black 5 down to the pub'.

They Climbed Aboard Their Starship And Headed For The Skies

Drew at Back Of The Cereal Box posted an amusing anecdote about wearing a certain hat into Home Depot. I think it's a cool hat, despite never having watched Gravity Falls. That said, it reminded me of a similar thing that happened to me - way, way back in 2005 while I was a Penn State New Ken student.

See this hat?

I even have the officers' oak leaves! I expect a salute next time. 

It's a piece of merchandise from the Robotech universe. It is in fact designed after the command ball caps worn by U.S. Navy personnel, mainly officers (though I can find precious little info on them online). The SDF-1 Macross is the freaking huge spacecraft from Robotech canon that, in 1999, falls out of the sky, crash-lands on Earth, and brings World War III to an abrupt halt. After kicking the tires and taking a peek under the hood, Earth's military decides to fix it up a little and press it into service. Ten years later, on its launch day, the insanely powerful alien fleet that's been trying to track it down makes it to Earth. Needless to say, hilarity ensues. (No. No it does not.)

Not long after I'd received it - this was a birthday present, I think - I was getting ready for class at PSNK and was running behind. For whatever reason, I still had wet hair and the day wasn't very warm. So on the way out I grabbed the hat, slammed it on my head and away I went.

First class of the day was Intro to Chemistry with Dr. Clarence Finley. Luckily I popped in just as he was starting class. Dr. Finley's a pretty cool guy and I knew he didn't mean anything sinister when he cheerily quipped "Glad you could join us, Derek," as I took my seat. My friend Mike and I had actually discovered that he was another railfan, and could be our faculty advisor for the railfan club we started. It would have taken a bit more than just being a few minutes late to class one day to make the man unhappy with me, I believe. I think I simply apologized for being late, and so class started properly.

Dr Finley started by introducing what we'd cover in class that day, and asked a question. I had actually done my homework (figuratively and literally, mind you) and knew the answer. Up may hand goes, and I'm given the chance to answer - which I did correctly. Dr. Finley thanked me.

And then he asked me, "Are you a veteran?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. And then I remembered that I was wearing a hat. My Macross hat. Like the official Navy hats. And a lot of Navy veterans wear similar hats. As a matter of fact, my grandfather has one - he served aboard the aircraft carrier Lake Champlain between '53 and '56. I think he might even have a spare.

I froze for a moment. I respect the men and women that make up our fighting forces for their willingness to give their time and possibly their lives in service to their country (although I admit to increasingly questioning the validity of the tasks which the federal government asks of them; but that's a hysterical rant for another time), and the idea that I might end up diverting attention from them with my hat made me feel a little guilty. I should have grabbed the Mon-Valley System trucker hat. Fictional railroads are a lot less controversial. (They may actually be the least controversial thing to exist, ever.)

I still had to answer the question, though. "Oh, uh, no. The hat's just from an old sci-fi TV show."

This is probably why I've only worn it once or twice since I got it.

Still Looking For That Blue Jean Baby Queen, Prettiest Girl I Ever Seen

I think I may have accidentally bought a pair of ladies' jeans.

In fairness, all I was looking for was a cheap pair of jeans to wear to work. One of my pairs of Carhartt jeans, which are supposed to be a bit tougher, wear a bit harder, made for the working man, has finally split its seam. Incidentally, it's to be cut up and used for patches for the other pairs of Carhartts that are still hanging on.

I struck out at the recently opened Salvation Army store on the corner of 9th and East Carson. No jeans in my size. I will say this for the Salvation Army: their store is always far better organized than Goodwill. It's a better shopping experience, actually. Better staffed, better organized, and no irritating BOB FM on the radio. So I picked up my headphones from my car, put on my Guided By Voices mix (a necessity after all this winter and a trying week at work) and made the mile-long trek to Goodwill. It's a fun walk, past all the storefronts, restaurants, and even some of the more interesting vacant buildings that line East Carson.

An important point of context: I had not begun drinking yet.

I made it down to the South Side Works (to give an idea how long a walk this is, the Goodwill is on 27th and East Carson, eighteen blocks away), and began my search. They had rearranged the store since I had been in last, and I had to find the pants. In the end I only found three pairs of jeans in my size - or close to it. There were two ordinary-looking pairs, and one that was obviously from the acid-wash jeans trend of the late 80s and early 90s. I mean, these things were so close to being snow white it was hilarious. I had to at least try them on, but I didn't get a picture of the event, (un)fortunately.

I grabbed them and stole away to the fitting room to check for fit. I jammed myself into the acid-wash beast. It wasn't so comfortable, actually - it was pretty tight around the knees. Not quite skinny jean territory, but not something I want to worry about at work. So I extricated myself from them as best I could; and, with a sigh of either relief or disappointment (still not sure which one) hung the grunge-era relic back on its hanger.

Next up was the first of the ordinary pair. I think they were Faded Glory - you know, the Wal-Mart store brand. They weren't too bad, except the waistband was awful pinchy. I don't like pinchy waistbands. As a matter of fact, I have a pair of Carhartts to replace with that exact problem. So again, out and back to the hanger on the wall hook they went, not to be purchased.

I came to the last pair. The brand was unfamiliar to me - the Mossimo Supply Co. New one on me. As I gave them their moment in the sun, I realized that these were certainly the most comfortable jeans I could have found in the whole store, possibly the best I've worn in my life. Nothing felt squeezed, nothing seemed too loose; it honesty felt like I wasn't even wearing pants at all, they were so comfortable. (Better that than vice versa, I suppose.) Done and done! I decided at that moment that they would be mine. I bought them and headed back to drop them off at the car.

Then I went to the bar.

Fast-forward to the next day. I decide to try them on, and I'm showing them to my mom and talking about how nice the fit is. She asks about the brand and I show her the label. In goes 'Mossimo Supply Co.' to the gaping maw of Google, whose all-seeing eye finds us what we were looking for. I think.

Incidentally, any comparisons between Google and Mordor are easily explained by the fact that the folks and I just finished watching 'Return Of The King'. Besides, only one at a time can wield the Ring - since it took both Larry and Sergey to create the greatest search engine ever, I think we're safe from Google.

As Mom and I scan some online store that carries Mossimo clothing, we notice something problematic. All we're seeing in jeans is in the ladies' category. Men who shop for Mossimo and want something other than dress slacks to cover them from the waist down (they don't even sell kilts!) will be going home in their skivvies. And in this weather, that's bad news.

I'm still not completely convinced that they're ladies' jeans, though. I don't want to return them or let them go, as I really like them. So here's the evidence suggesting that they are in fact men's:

1. Their size is given in the same format as all the other jeans I've ever owned - in waist/length format. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that some company out there sizes ladies' pants the same way, but I've never heard of it. Mom hasn't either. 
2. The belt loops are big enough for my studded belt. You know, one like every hipster has left over from his poorly-executed punk phase. I'd've expected ladies' jeans to have smaller belt loops. 
3. There's plenty of room in them for The Fifth Most Important Things In Life. You'd think ladies' jeans would bind there if a guy wore them. Not so in this case. (Most Important Things One Through Four shall remain secret.)
4. Nowhere on them does it specify whether they're men's or ladies'. This isn't conclusive, but it isn't conclusive for the counter-argument, either. 

Speaking of which, here's the evidence for them to, in fact, be of the ladies' department:

1. Mossimo does not appear to make men's jeans. Despite some serious searching, I found no evidence that they do so.
2. Like I said, Goodwill is comparatively less organized than the Salvation Army. It's entirely plausible that these jeans got moved from the ladies' department to the men's by accident, and nobody noticed. Or just as likely, nobody knew that they were ladies' wear in the first place. 
3. They're so positively comfortable, it boggles the mind. Most of my 'most comfortable' jeans would be better described as 'least annoying', actually. These are actually enjoyable to wear.

Irregardless, I've been wearing them all day, and I think they're my new favorite pair of jeans. 

Darkness Taking Days, Nights Filled With Longer Hours

My mom said she needed a volunteer for dinner. I asked, not entirely joking, if she sought a volunteer to be dinner rather than cook it. As long as it seems it's going to take for spring to get here, being served doesn't seem so bad, really.

It's frustrating, though. It's cold, flakes of frozen water keep falling out of the sky with no end in sight, the driveway is a sheet of ice, and the car needs at least an inch of snow brushed from it - or will by tomorrow morning when I go to take care of all the errands I missed yesterday. Aside from yesterday's delightfully addictive reprieve from winter (which I took full advantage of - just ask Nikki, the bartender at Dee's), I don't know whether it's the boredom or hunger that will get me first.

More likely it'll be the combination of both that gets us all in the end.

All The Other Kids With The Pumped Up Kicks

I want to talk about the end of an era. Not anything that's been on the news, but something I do want to remember. It's this pair of shoes.

Thanks to Jake for the arm.

If you look closely, you'll see that they're completely destroyed. That right sole is half peeled away from the rest of the shoe, they're riddled with holes, and it's a miracle that the original laces are still in any useful condition.

When I first began pounding the pavement on the South Side after work or whenever the hell I felt like it, I found that the best shoes I could wear were these elderly Chucks. I'd been given them sometime during college and rarely wore them; but as I began to enjoy the Pittsburgh nightlife, I kept preferring these over my Reeboks for some reason. Somehow, the Chucks were far more comfortable for the bar crawling I was doing, and when it comes to hitting the hipster bars, they looked about right (even though Stuff Hipsters Hate claims that Chucks are out. I disagree). 

But it didn't end there. These shoes have been to two or three states and picked up mud on numerous railfan trips. Parties and family gatherings saw them out; and I'm certain that a lot of beer, liquor, barbeque sauce and pipe tobacco ash have pelted and rained upon them while I wore them almost everywhere I went. They didn't make it to Puerto Rico as I was worried about wearing them through airport security and didn't quite have space in my suitcase for them. And they've only been worn to work once, when I had a day off and had forgotten something in my locker. 

Sadly, though, they began to take on the epically beaten appearance you see on them in the photo I've posted. That right sole began to peel so badly it was folding over and dragging when I walked. They had hit a level of lifetime mileage that would finally put them out of service. 

Fortunately, I received a replacement pair for my birthday recently; this pair is red, rather than the original pair's black with red lining. And they're a little bit different from their predecessors, but in the long run I don't mind that at all. (I wanted green but that's another story.)

Should I bury them or give them a Viking funeral?

One Wound Up Punch Of Intuition

Somehow, I always find myself down here. I don't think I've ever understood why and I'm not sure it's that important.

The 'Boston Blackie' Kind

I shaved my mustache off.

I know this may come as a shock to some of my readers who were fascinated with (read: concerned about) my hipster-colored antics of late; and it still hasn't sunk in for me yet. I look in a mirror and the reaction is some kind of shock, maybe denial.

That mustache was a lot of work; it took months to get it to grow to the right length, and weeks of using my (neck)beard as the greenhouse bed for its beginnings. Only a few weeks ago, I remembered how I got the fu-manchu-style verticals to the correct width in the beginning: hold them aside with a perfectly vertical finger, and use said finger as a guide for the trimmer. Weirdly, the soul patch stayed very light, compared to the rest of the 'stache, except for a few very dark hairs at the center. Never understood that. Maybe it's the Welshman in me. I always thought that, like the Dude's rug, that soul patch tied my facial hair together. It's been a fun project, actually, if you want to talk about it like that.

But there are reasons that it had to go. Right now, I'm supposed to be job hunting. I don't know if employers are going to take too kindly to some dude with unkempt hair and an apparently ironic mustache asking them for a job. And I'm told the ladies aren't a fan of the ol' face caterpillar either. So, until I have a job with a lax dress code and start dating a girl whose favorite actor is Burt Reynolds, I think I should face the world cleanshaven.

EDIT: An astute reader brought to my attention that, depending on the context, it should be Tom Selleck referenced in this post and not Burt Reynolds. As a matter of fact, I was indeed thinking of Selleck when I wrote it, although I will admit to a soft spot for the original Smokey And The Bandit. Thanks, Roi!

When You're On A Holiday, You Can't Find The Words To Say

Old San Juan, Puerto Rico, April 25-27, 2014.