Time Will Tell

Time is a funny thing
Breakfast time... what is that for real? Is it the first few hours than any one person is awake? Is it a set number of hours in the a.m.? I can wake up late because of my job and nothing is the worse for wear my first of three meals occurs at about noon. Many people would insist that makes what I'm eating "lunch" but why? As I stagger bleary-eyed across the carpet toward my kitchen to align reality with the will of my stomach, all I can think is, "breakfast."

Speaking of breakfast; people have these strange adherence patterns to the strangest rules.

"Hey Bill, Jim brought in burritos. They're sittin' on the table if you want some."

"It's like 8:30 in the morning man."

"Oh don't worry, they're breakfast burritos."

"Well, in that case..."

(Why does this make sense?)

"...Oh and Sue brought in some breakfast meatballs. And I think Jeff brought in some breakfast wine."
The beauty of nomenclature.

Cut and Paste

Tailoring is a completely foreign concept to most people for most things. Women and men daily walk away from outfits they swear were made for them because of minor issues in fitting. That they are likely to recount the fish story of, "the one that got away" does nothing to warm them to the suggestion that they might take the piece in question to a professional for a little snip and stitch. When presented with such an option, the unwitting suggestor is presented with a veritable cavalcade of very good reasons (read: excuses) for why they couldn’t possibly take this otherwise perfect item to the next level by having it cut to fit them.
"I don’t have the money."
"I don’t know tailors."
And the best "good reason" not to have the clothes you love, made to fit,
"I’ve never gone to a tailor before." I can only hope that you have less anxiety deciding on your first house.

Men specifically have a unique benefit in fitted clothing. Other than, wealth, fame, professional lighting and make-up designers what do many celebs have to make them attractive? Tailors (perhaps that’s not all, but let’s not get too caught up on the negatives). Not every famous celebrity spends hour after hour with a personal trainer; so hide your dodgy bits the same way the stars do, and I don’t mean behind bags of cash.

With just about one-third of our lives spent at work, the office standard shirt and tie see more daylight than any other top our guys might choose. The proper gent’ would always wish to be both comfortable, and still maintain that "cut above" look. For many men, however, putting a dress shirt is akin to either wearing a cylinder with arm holes. With a size determined only by the measurement of your neck, men of every shape are trying to live their days in someone else’s shirts. Falling awkwardly off the shoulders or bunching at the sleeves, these ill fitting shirts leave the bodies trapped inside uncomfortable and insecure.

Barbara and Alan Pease, authors of Why Men Don’t Have a Clue and Women Always Need More Shoes, dedicate a chapter to the physical turn-ons for women about men. Topping list at number one was an athletic body type specifically incorporating the "V" shape. Number two, very closely related was "Broad shoulders, chest, and muscular arms. While I doubt that your tailor will take you to the gym regularly, he or she can do the next best thing. In her book, Superflirt, Tracy Cox, noted expert on sexuality notes that people use clothes to cover up their imperfect parts when you should, instead, "dress to show off the ones you [like]." The tailor of your choosing can easily take what "V" shaping you already have and show it off to the world, or even add the effect to those devoid of it altogether. A tightened shoulder line and slightly vented back help tuck away an extra pound or two.

How much you are willing to pay to make "sexy" a staple of your wardrobe is between you and your wallet. But a twenty dollar tapering of your shirt can go a long way to distinguishing you among your colleagues, just a thought. Many small alterations can go from conceptual to realized in less than a week. Kwab Asamoah of Kustom Looks Clothier in Silver Spring forecasted a 48-hour turnaround on a simple tapering. And, offering a full range of apparel options, once you get the taste for truly fitted clothing, all of your needs can be met.

But for now, just walk over to the closet and pull out that shirt that you wished showed you off just a little bit better and take to the streets. Stop at the first alteration shop you see and lay it on the line, you’ll love the result.

See you next week

But, Smoke It Like a Grown-Up

But, Smoke It Like a Grown-Up

Smoking. It happens. People seem to be extremely attached to smoking. As the places where one can enjoy a good drag indoors are growing fewer and further between, with even the Commonwealth of Virginia instituting their own ban, people are taking their cigars, cloves and cigarettes out to the patios, porches, and front lawns of public buildings everywhere. In the satirical universe maintained by the Onion’s news team, smokers are finally corralled into a single room in a small town in a Midwestern state. And despite the minor inconvenience of having to drive across several state lines, smokers are determined to hit the road instead of kicking the habit.

The resilience of the tobacco industry notwithstanding, the widespread attack on indoor smoking has taken an odd toll on the society at large. In its heyday, smoking enjoyed an odd prominence. Crystal ashtrays adorned many tables, reserving seating for smoking patrons. The burning embers of a consumed cigarette crushed in the container a la The Rat Pack. But with the virtual elimination of smoke-friendly buildings, there is no longer the easy access ashtray.

The cigarettes once used are, by their owners reckoning, gone. All that remains for them now is a casual gesture, something to signify the accomplishment of finishing (or stopping, whichever the case may be). Where once this act was a twisting of the hand, victory is celebrated by the flick of the fingers and twist of the foot, fin. But to the world’s eye, something remains. A minor piece of litter, really is it that bad? The same stirring one would get watching someone wad up his Starbuck’s receipt and throw it to the sidewalk wells up when the uninvolved observer notes this convenient disposal technique enacted on the patio of a favored café.

This particular manner of resolution is uniquely upsetting to Kevin, a smoker who endures a complicated practice of flicking the fading ashes to remove all risk, and throwing away the remaining filter, in a garbage can. Kevin, when questioned about his diligence on the matter replied in frustration, “‘Cause I’m a God damned grown-up.” This Silver Spring, MD resident went on to explain that people fail to consider the clean-up required to maintain aesthetically appealing areas, and leaving a trail of litter conjures up images of a parent having to follow unruly children caring for their messes.

Smoking. It happens. People are extremely attached to smoking,
and that’s fine. But, smoke it like a grown-up.

Photo Credit: Gruvistim on DeviantArt.com

Who?

We’re students. We’re dancers. We’re actors. We’re writers. We’re slackers. We’re friends. We’re enemies. We’re lovers. We’re working parents. We’re kids. We’re alcoholics. We’re potheads. We’re Christians. We’re Muslims. We’re Atheists. We’re agnostics. We’re hard workers. We’re rarely surprised. We know you. We do anything you demand of us and more with a smile plastered on our face. We get shit on everyday time after time. We smoke like chimneys to calm the stress. We drink to forget. We take the blame for your mistakes and have five seconds to shake it off and engage the next client. We aren’t satisfied unless you are. We balance and pace. We stage and clean. We reap the rewards on the good days. We just hope to make it through the really bad days. We cry. We laugh. We can fix it. We got a good customer. We really blew it. We made a friend. We need to party. We need to work. We need the money. We are bored. We are totally swamped. We’re weeded. We’re out. We ARE right, but no one cares. We aim to please. We will see what we can do. We didn’t hear that. We don’t understand. We didn’t need that. We can’t believe it. We appreciate that, really. We take your order, and remember your tiny idiosyncrasies. We abide the no tips and the bad tips on the off chance of a great table. We don’t forget how rude you were. We’re easy to get along with…if you are. We love the drinkers and hate water. We don’t do this for free. We definitely don’t do this for fun. We love the irony of Diet Coke. We like cute kids. We could do without the bad ones. We laugh at ketchup-steak people, extra well done people, extra extra dressing people, and forget their to-go food people. We hate it when you can’t make up your mind but won’t let us leave. We have stuff to do…always. We want twenty percent. We accept fifteen plus. We bristle at ten, remembering anything less with a righteous fury. We told you the center would be red, you still wanted medium. We’ll take that back for you. We can’t read minds, say virgin daiquiri. We will get that. We’re cut, finally. We’re done cleaning. We’re checked out. We’re out. We’re spent.

We are servers who just want to make a lot of coin with a little stress and not a lot of mistakes but mostly… We just don’t give a shit.

Tune in Next Week

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