The Funeral

Back in May, I had the solemn task of attending my father's funeral.  Of course, it was a sad day, and yet it was punctuated by stories and laughter, as always happens at funerals when family and friends remember the lives of those who have passed.  In some ways, it was like any other funeral I have attended.  We had an afternoon visitation and an evening visitation, followed by the funeral the next day. 

Perhaps it's my age speaking, but I have to say that I was stunned by what people choose to wear to the visitations.  My cousin wore a pair of ratty old jeans, white running shoes, and a faded yellow t-shirt.  Others came in shorts and sandals, short skirts and halter tops, and garments that made it look like they had been out for a hike.  I do not think that a black dress or suit are requirements any more (though I wore a black suit), I think that people ought to make an effort to dress properly to show respect.  I think it's insulting to the family to show up wearing something you would wear to a bar-b-que or to change a flat on your car.

At the funeral home, I was greeted by an aged woman who asked if I knew who she was.  A name popped into my head immediately, but then I rejected it thinking that it was an impossibility that she could still be alive.  After a few seconds, I uttered her name at the same time as she.  I almost fainted.  How is it possible that you are still alive, I wanted to ask.  I manged to restrain myself.  My grandmother is older (now 91), but I always thought that this woman was even older, but maybe that has to do with the beard and mustache she has sported for her entire life.  And, of course, this explains why she never remarried after her husband died a very young man.

I knew the even older woman standing beside her instantly, though she was even older.  She is someone I could never forget.  Throughout the day and the next, I saw people I hadn't seen in 20, 30 or more years.  So, I guess the themes of the day were grieving, nostalgia, remembrance, and reacquaintance.

Smart Casual

On my way to the IFLA World Library and Information Congress in Québec, I noticed that the dress code for the Cocktail Reception and Fun Night was listed as "Smart Casual". Oh, the horror, the horror. There are just too many things wrong with that. For one, the word 'smart' reminds me of the superlatives my mother would use when describing the ugly sweaters my aunt liked to give me every year at Christmas. "That's a smart sweater," she would say. I quickly learned that smart equaled ugly. These sweaters languished in my closet for years, unworn.

But, if you are ancient, then 'smart' somehow becomes a good thing and the old people in our society start using the word 'smart' in conjunction with 'outfit'. No boy or man would ever want to be seen in anything resembling an outfit. Informing a man that he is wearing an outfit is emasculating. Add the word 'smart' to 'outfit' and you might as well kill him where he stands. It means that his life is over. He has failed.

Once you are a senior, you are permitted, for some bizarre reason, to wear outfits. You know: velour tracks suits or matching polyester jacket and pants and shoes with those velcro fasteners. I guess if you have to bend over for more than a few seconds to tie your shoes, you risk death at certain ages. My dad also started to wear ill-fitting baseball hats even though he doesn't watch baseball and went his entire life without a baseball hat.

So, I hauled a black vintage suit jacket with me and donned that for the night of fun. I did not look smart, but I think I passed for casual.

Feeling Poor in Forest Hill

I am younger that this Vice President. I am slimmer and better looking too. My hair is more lustrous. Oh, and I am taller ... and not so pale. He is as pale as Dracula's ass, if you ask me. And that accent made me think of Transylvania, until I was corrected. But, he is a nice guy with a beautiful house in Forest Hill, one of Toronto's wealthiest neighbourhoods, after The Bridal Path (TAFKAP's former 'hood) and Rosedale. I felt impoverished after the visit. The welcoming glass of Prosecco, the open bar, the pool, the caterers, the open bar, the kitchen, the open bar, the meticulously manicured lawn, the .... OK, I will stop listing the things I covet. Did I mention that I am younger and far more handsome?

Of course, I was under-dressed. Who could have anticipated all of those suits? I was in jeans. I did have a jacket, a vintage black suit jacket made in Fredericton, New Brunswick, of all places. Aren't all clothes now made off-shore? Are there any Canadian manufacturers of clothing left? Eventually, I slipped on the jacket, even though the temperature argued against such a move, but doing so made me feel less under-dressed, but not inconspicuous. After all, I had to decline all of the hors d'oeuvres as none seemed to be gluten-free. That must have aroused suspicion and I think the caterers began to wonder. The cold Prosecco was a good antidote to the heat, but then I had to cycle home, through Forest Hill Village, but at least it was all downhill from Forest Hill (and by that I mean the down slope of a hill, but it could equally suggest that I was on the way to an inferior or worse condition).

For the rest of this week, I will be at a conference. In fact, I am at the conference right now, doing all manner of conferency things. It looks to be a good conference, but I will be the judge of that.

Another Conversation with my Daughter

Upon noticing a white shirt hanging in the closet, my daughter (age 6) said:

Daughter: You have a white shirt?

Me: Yeah.

Daughter: But you never ever wear white!

Me: Well, sometimes, one needs a white shirt. But you are right, I usually avoid white.

Daughter: Only dads that are 30 wear white. Really young dads.

Mad at Madonna

I am seriously annoyed that Madonna has a new clothing line with H&M. I am also seriously annoyed that she has published a series of kid's book, especially since her first book received the largest launch in publishing history. I am seriously annoyed that the rich and famous get to do whatever they want, even if they have no talent for it.

In case you missed it, there's a growing list of celebrities who have written kid's books. Some of these are probably good, like those by John Lithgow and Jerry Seinfeld, but I have not read them. But, do we really need books by Jamie Lee Curtis, Katie Couric, Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, John Travolta, Jane Seymour, Spike Lee, and Dr. Laura?

Of course, publishers love these celebrity books because they rake in buckets of cash and H&M will probably do the same with Madonna's clothes. It sucks.

I am supposed to be writing an abstract now, so off I go...

Listening to: The Dears - Gang of Losers (liberated from a delete bin for $5, marked down from $37! It's an import with a funky package).

Technorati Tags: Madonna, books, celebrities, clothes

When I was 18

I went back to that Imagination Prompt Generator and was asked:

"What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think back to being 18?"

That's easy: my jeans. I spent a lot of time finding the most flattering jeans. They had to be tight and make my ass look good. Now, they weren't so tight that I had to lie on the bed, get out the coat hanger, and invite a friend over to help me get them done up, but they were rather constricting. I am glad the era of tight jeans for men is over, at least I hope it is.

I wish I had a good anecdote about my jeans from that period. I can tell you that, in my adult years, all of my jeans seem to wear out in the crotch. It leads me to believe that today's jeans are inferior to the denim of my youth. There could be other explanations, but I am going with that one.

Here's a little price of trivia: my waist is still same size today as it was when I was 18, but I wear slightly larger pants :-) I credit a diet that is completely free of beer with aiding in my great physique. Oh, and maybe some cycling helped out a bit.

The second thing I think about from that age is my hair. I still have a full head of hair, I should point out. But, back then it was lustrous and long, and very shiny. I spend lots of time styling my hair. I kept a black comb in my back right hand pocket. We all did, back in the day, just like The Fonz.

_____

I got a flat tire on my bike two days ago, and I haven't been able to pick up a new tube, so I have been taking the subway. Yuck. Happy March.

Technorati Tags: adolescence, jeans, hair, cycling

Vote!

So, nine months after I invited people to ask me questions, I am almost finished with the answers. Cooper asked me:

boxers, briefs or thongs?

Before I give away the answer, I'd like to run a poll. Please choose from the options below:

a) ZF wears briefs
b) ZF wears boxers
c) ZF wears boxer briefs
d) ZF wears thongs
e) ZF goes commando

Here are some hints. Don't forget that my dad wears a thong bathing suit from time to time. Also remember that I am part Scottish.

Technorati Tags: questions, underwear, polls

My Pants are Falling Down

I am now boycotting Gap & Old Navy denim (I should have done this ages ago when I heard about The Gap and slave labour). I remember, back in the day when I was concerned about the appearance of my ass, always worrying about whether the denim I was about to purchase would shrink, and by how much. These were key issues in my younger days. After purchasing jeans from The Gap & Old Navy, I find myself wondering just how much they will stretch.

A few days after I had first purchased this inferior denim, I thought I had suddenly dropped ten pounds. They hung down around my ass like those hip hop guys, exposing the waistband of my underwear. I kept pulling them up, worrying that they would fall off while I was standing in front of a class of undergrads discussing searching techniques. Then, I put on another pair of my pants, and they fit fine. It was like I was in that episode of M*A*S*H*. You know the one.

The next time I bought jeans from The Gap, the same thing happened. I tried them on; they fit; then, they stretched all to hell. I clued in after that and I bought the next pair two sizes too small so I could stretch into them. The problem is, that pair had a kind of distressed look. A small imperfection suddenly grew into an enormous hole only after a few weeks.

That's it for me and jeans from these awful stores.

Technorati Tags: New Year's resolutions,resolutions, jeans, denim, Old Navy, Gap

Toes

So, I was cycling in, minding my own business, when I saw this Asian lady crossing the street. I know that many Asian people are very fashion forward. Why, just the other day, I saw an Asian (perhaps Korean?) girl wearing a yellow coat with orange rubber boots and a pink handbag. It was very colourful. However, when I saw this lady crossing Harbord Street, I thought, my God, that has to be the most grievous fashion error since parachute pants.

She was wearing, and I have no idea what to call them, boots that were like sandals. I guess you could call them sandal boots or boot sandals. But, let me explain. First, they were a most horrid shade of beige. Very little good comes out of beige (as proof, I remind myself that every room in my ex-in-laws' house was painted beige - but that was years ago, and maybe things have changed). Each boot also had two brown stripes that only added to the travesty. Are you getting this? OK, so they were low boots, kinda like the ones my grandmother would wear, but they had open toes! This can't be a good look for anyone, and I have to say that I was slightly nauseated. Mind you, I refused to expose my toes in public until I was in my mid-twenties.

I did go to the beach and swam in pools, but you would never catch me wearing sandals in public. Even now, I am very careful about that. And, I can never see a movie while wearing sandals because the damn air conditioning is way too intense in summer.

In other news, I am back from my long weekend. Actually, I was back yesterday, but I had no energy to post anything. That's all I have today. I need more sleep.

Technorati Tags: boots, sandals, toes, fashion

On Enthusiasm, Muscles, and Shirts

My interest in blogging comes and goes. That is, it fades and then reappears. I think I am in a relatively unenthusiastic mode at present. It's hard to say why. It could be the change of seasons, the alignment of the planets, or the amount of work I have. I have a lot of competing interests, and it is sometimes difficult to make time to post entries and to visit other blogs.

I recently started a photoblog, and that has diverted some of my attention away from this blog. I have other online projects, which all require some time.

Today, I wore a nice shirt. It's a favourite, but it is barely long enough to cover my midriff. If I have to reach up, I will expose parts of my stomach, which is ok, because I have a well-formed abdomen. This reminds me of my high school days. I used to do 500 sit ups and 500 pushups per day (Currently, I only find the time to cycle to work and back, which is roughly 11 KMs round trip). In high school, I would ask people to punch me in the stomach as hard as they could. I borrowed that from another guy - Craig - who gained some sort of popularity from the act. If your stomach muscles are strong enough, all manner of fists will just bounce off.

So, this shirt is a little short, but not too short. It's just a tad shorter than I would like. I'll spend the rest of the day doing the Picard maneuver.

Technorati Tags: blogging, exercise, muscles, shirts, feats of strength, photography

The End of an Era

There was a time, I famously told many people, when I could go an entire semester without doing laundry. That time was when I was a grad student at the University of Toronto shortly after I moved from Laundromat heaven to Laundromat hell. Suddenly, there was no Laundromat within a reasonable distance. And, the slumlord reneged on his promise to install machines in the basement.

I hit a laundry crisis. I lived too far from a Laundromat for it to be even remotely useful. So, I came up with a radical plan. Instead of doing laundry, I bought new clothes. The dirty laundry piled up in the closet while I took detours home along Spadina Avenue to Chocky's (which, sadly, no longer exists, at least not in it's original form). Mostly, I bought socks and underwear and, my were they fine underwear.

Most of them lasted this long. And so, I say goodbye to my last pair of special underwear. They'll hit the trash can this week. The material is still in good shape, but the waistband is shot. I considered replacing the elastic, but that seems like an extreme measure.

I wish I could tell you more about them (I will avoid posting a picture of them), but all I know is that they were made in India with some really nice cotton. My plan, then, is to sell them on eBay. After all, they are the age of some really fine wine, and I'm sure they'll go for big bucks.

Technorati Tags: underwear, socks, laundry

My Shirt

Today was one of those days where I ran out of time in the morning, and so I grabbed a shirt of almost last resort. It's not such a bad shirt; it is black with long sleeves. It does have a fine cut. It's warm, solid, and feels nice. I gave it the sniff test and pulled it over my head.

The problem is that is has some sort of padding on the front. It's not a serious padding, but it is noticeable. In fact, a colleague said to me today: "Is that padding on your shirt?" I couldn't say that it wasn't padding. If anyone touched it, they would know. It's like there is extra material bunched up in there.

Of course, I was reminded of my step mother, a woman with some sort of serious quilting fetish. She will quilt on top on anything. Hand her a perfectly fine jean jacket and she will layout a patchwork quilt that would be the envy of all of the Mennonites in Waterloo County. That's what my shirt is like. It feels almost quilted. I may have to take this garment out of rotation.

Technorati Tags: shirts, quilting

The Kilt

Despite being half Scottish, I do not own a kilt, nor have I ever worn one. I think that is a serious oversight. Of course, they are expensive garments and, let's be honest, unless you are Prince Charles, how often does one really get a chance to wear a kilt, especially in Canada? And then, there is the whole issue of whether or not to "go commando."

Anyway, I am a bit miffed at the University of Cambridge. The administration has banned Scottish students from wearing kilts at graduation ceremonies. In truth, they have also banned other national dress and armed forces uniforms. This strikes me as remarkably intolerant. But, I wonder if it has something to do with that infamous picture of the Queen and the 1st Battalion of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders?

In other news, who will ever eat at Wendy's again (link)?

Update

This woman has dropped the suit against Wendy's. According to one story I read, she has a history of making legal claims against corporations, including General Motors and a restaurant in Las Vegas.

Technorati tags: kilts, Wendy's